forever is the sweetest con (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
delacourtings) wrote2013-07-19 02:50 am
delacourtings) wrote2013-07-19 02:50 am
Entry tags:
- f: push,
- genre: f/f,
- genre: m/f,
- genre: m/m,
- sh: beck/jade,
- sh: cook/effy,
- sh: danny/jackson,
- sh: derek/stiles,
- sh: doctor/rose,
- sh: effy/freddie,
- sh: jackie/hyde,
- sh: nick/cassie,
- sh: pandora/effy,
- sh: ryan/kelly,
- tv: doctor who,
- tv: skins,
- tv: teen wolf,
- tv: that 70s show,
- tv: the office,
- tv: victorious,
- type: fic
[fic] multifandom fic dump
this evolution. skins. effy/cook. effy/freddie. r.
he leans in close, whispers, "we've got chemistry, you and me, doll." 1920's AU.
untitled. skins. pandora/effy. pg-13.
"you're the only one she ever really loved, you know."
sweet disposition (and a wide-eyed gaze). that 70's show. jackie/hyde. r.
"do you ever think about it?"
five things kelly kapoor never told anyone about ryan howard. the office. kelly/ryan. pg-13.
he likes to brush her hair.
(your) hallelujah. victorious. beck/jade. pg-13.
her eyes glisten and you know it isn’t the stage lights.
nubilous remembrance. teen wolf. danny/jackson. pg.
sometimes danny counts the freckles on jackson's skin.
the up all nights (they don't know about). teen wolf. stiles/derek. r.
they don't talk about it.
interlacing reminiscence. doctor who. doctor/rose. g.
sometimes she wishes the memories would just fade away all together.
rusted brandy. push. nick/cassie. r.
he shakes his head, mutters, "missed you." she smirks at him and asks where he keeps the liquor.
o1.
title:
fandom: skins
pairing: cook/effy, freddie/effy
rating: r
summary: he leans in close, whispers, "you've got chemistry, you and me, doll." 1920's AU.
warnings: character death
notes: inspired by katy perry's hummingbird heartbeat.
she’s at the gin mill, she doesn't recall the name (too many men and too many shots of liquor
down her throat for her to.)
he comes up to her, all crooked teeth and fedora. he’s got a predator’s smile. she wonders if his skin flushes to flushes the same color of his hair.
her legs are crossed and she’s forgone hosiery. he puts his hand on her knee, she smiles at him, sweet as honey. he leans in close, whispers, “we've got chemistry, me and you, doll.”
she takes him home and fucks him.
hard.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
he leaves when the sun comes up.
“attagirl!” he tips his hat to her on the way out the door. his tie is crooked, jacket thrown over his shoulder, wrinkled, held onto by two of his nimble fingers.
she leans over to the bedside table, pulls out a ciggy and lights it, not worrying about the sheets falling off of her.
“haven’t you heard?” she says, taking a drag. “i’m the cat’s meow.”
“that you are, doll, that you are.”
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
he dies on a thursday.
she’s at a juice joint when she finds him, dark skin and even darker hair.
she goes up to him, asks, “cash or check?”
he flushes, stammers, “i’m fred. freddie.”
she thinks, perfect.
she takes him home and fucks him.
hard.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
she’s breathing heavy, sweat plastering her bob to her head. she’s waiting for a hair of the dog, paid for by the daddy she was just dancing with. he comes up behind her, lets her know he’s there by a hand on the low of her back.
she doesn't turn around. “you never called.”
“sorry, doll, gotta bull after me.”
“and what about bear-cats? got any o’ those after you?”
he grins at her. “none i want to catch me.”
she looks at him from under lashes and smiles. she sways her hips as she walks away.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
he tries to kiss her awake in the morning.
“sorry,” she says, slipping into her dress. “bank’s all closed.”
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
02.
fandom: skins
pairing: effy/pandora
rating: pg-13
summary: "you're the only one she ever really loved, you know."
warnings: character death
03.
title:
fandom: that 70's show
pairing: jackie/hyde
rating: r
summary: “do you ever think about it?”
it’s eric’s idea, really.
he says he wants to have one last moment with the six of them all together, one last hurrah. and they all make fun, poke jabs at his sentimentality but make no objections. and they all find themselves leaving the basement having agreed to spend a night in the mountains.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
hyde shows up with a paper bag from the A&P which donna suspects holds more weed than essentials. jackie appears with four designer suitcases, two of which hold nothing but hair products. and fez shows up with himself and an armful of candy.
eric shakes his head, mutters a comment at donna about the two of them being the only sensible ones, grins as she giggles, and slides the door open to kelso’s van. only to have an assortment of items ranging from tube socks to sticks of dynamite and slices of pepperoni pizza avalanche out and carry him to the ground.
donna screams, “kelso!”, berates him for not cleaning the van beforehand while eric gets up. eric suggests they split up; four in the vista cruiser and two in the van, which earns a “i call shotgun!” from fez, a “yeah, and nobody’s drivin’ my baby but me.” around a disgustingly old piece of pizza from kelso.
no one protests, resulting in eric sliding into the driver’s seat of the cruiser, hyde already starting to fall asleep in back, and donna crossing her arms at a pleading jackie. “no.”
“donna, come on,” and a cutting side eye at hyde is all that’s needed for donna to take pity and step aside.
“i hate you,” she says as she opens the back door.
eric groans as jackie slides into the front seat, and jackie snaps. “shut up, forman.” it goes on with mostly silence after that, the back filled with discussions on music and road trip games intended for easily bored children.
then eric starts yawning. and keeps yawning, and closing his eyes. “late night, foreman?” hyde sneers.
“i was...busy.” he responds, glancing at donna in the rearview mirror and almost running them off the road. which is how hyde ends up with his hands on the wheel and erics ends up with donna, lying comfortably across the backseat.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
the next forty minutes consist of hyde’s silence, donna’s snores, and jackie’s crossed arms until hyde flips on the radio out of desperation. and then it’s his and jackie’s hands battling over likes of the stones or sellouts. the first note of thank you pours from the speakers and jackie’s hand falls from it’s place in front of the speakers. hyde clears his throat and tries not to think of the time he kissed every inch of her body while a broken record played these words over again and again.
when it ends hyde turns the radio off and jackie doesn’t question. it’s silent again until hyde pulls into a station for fuel and asks jackie to go in and pay. she returns with two cold bottles of coke and his favorite snack.
“thanks,” he says gruffly. she nods before getting in the car, and he takes a deep breath as he turns around and focuses on the rapidly increasing numbers in front of his eyes.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
they pull up to the campsite and none of them are too surprised that kelso and fez are nowhere to be found.
jackie’s sitting on a log with her arms around her knees in front of the fire (started with hyde’s lighter because neither of them were naive enough to believe eric and donna were disappearing to collect firewood.)
hyde’s flipping through a playboy he found in the console (really, forman? really?) and the silence between them isn’t uncomfortable as much as it is strange.
he goes through the magazine twice before throwing it aside and reclining with arms folded behind his head. he tries to let the hard to come by peace and constant chirp of crickets lull up into a light doze but he’s done too much of that own the way. he sighs as he sits back up, starts picking at his fingernails.
“do you ever think about it?” jackie says quietly, and part of him feels relief.
“think about what? i think about a lot of things. that’s how one makes it in civilized society.”
“steven.”
and she’s staring at him with those big brown eyes and he has to force himself not to think of how those are the same eyes that looked up at him from under long eyelashes as she had his cock in her mouth.
“i mean, about us. don’t you ever wonder?” she scoots a little bit further down the log with every word she says and he wishes more than anything they hadn’t left kelso in charge of the beer.
04.
title:
fandom: the office
pairing: ryan/kelly
rating: pg-13
summary: he likes to brush her hair.
one. he likes to brush her hair.
sometimes, when things get a little rough between them in bed, her hair tends to pay for it. she always complains about it afterwards, when she runs her fingers through the strands and they inevitably meet one of the multitude of knots.
most preferably, she'd take a shower, wash out all of the sweat, the sheen. but that's one of the top things on ryan's don't list, along with with leaving feminine products in the bathroom and claiming a certain side of the bed as "hers."
she's started carrying a travel sized brush. she'd asked him to do it the first night, when she couldn't quite reach the very back, and he'd taken the brush out of her hand without complaint. a sigh, but no complaint.
he was surprisingly soft, gentle. nothing at all like he was when he was usually touching her.
she'd only said, "thank you," quiet and subdued when he was finished, but he was already turned over on his side, falling fast asleep.
he started doing it every night she stayed over after that.
two. he sends in a vote for whichever favorite she has on american idol that week.
he says it's so he doesn't have to listen to her complain if they get sent home, but.
three. he said the l word first.
it was late, that period of time right in the middle of night transforming into morning.
he'd whispered it to her, her curled up to his chest, and his hand resting loosely in her hair, "love you."
he'd said he must've been talking in his sleep when she brought it up the next day, and they had both been drinking copious amounts of alcohol the night before.
but, he snores when he's asleep and while his breathing had been slower, heavier than normal, he wasn't snoring.
four. he took her to new york once.
they had pizza and visited rockefeller center.
he went down on her in a dressing room in bloomingdale's and she'd teased him with her fingers on his upper thigh the whole way home.
five. he called her.
while he was with corporate.
she realizes now he must've been about to hit rock bottom, he'd sounded like it. strange, unlike himself. she'd told him so too. or rather,
"stop it, ryan, you're being weird."
she'd then gone on to brag about what a perfect darryl was and how he was the exact opposite of ryan.
she was too blinded by resentment, and betrayal, and hurt to see his call for what it really was: a plea for help.
to this day, she still feels like his downfall is partially her fault.
o5.
title:
fandom: victorious
pairing: beck/jade
rating: pg-13
summary: her eyes glisten and you know it isn’t the stage lights.
she surprises you with tickets to your favorite band for your birthday and you thank her by slipping your tongue into her mouth and your hand between her thighs.
she shows up the day of the concert wearing cutoffs and a t-shirt of yours with fraying edges. you focus more on it than her combat boots or shining legs.
she passes the time in line by hooking her black painted finger into your belt loop and kissing the veins in your neck.
she deals with hours in line by picking up rocks and tossing them at passerby.
you grab her by the hand and pull her away, towards a gate with the words high voltage on it.
you hold her up and focus on how her hip bones jut out instead of the view of her ass.
she flirts her way into cup after cup of free beer and most of it sloshes onto the grass as she dances into you and you’re drunk off her laugh.
they play your favorite song and she stares at you as she mouths every word.
they play hers and her eyes don’t leave the stage the entire time. her eyes glisten and you know it isn’t the stage lights.
you kiss her as the last notes echo around you and it feels more real than anything else ever has.
o6.
title:
fandom: teen wolf
pairing: danny/jackson
rating: pg
summary: sometimes danny counts the freckles on jackson's skin.
notes: for her.
jackson goes to school 3,000 miles away.
danny follows.
-
he thinks of jackson as the moon.
there always a darkness surrounding it, and it only comes to life when no one else can see.
but you know it's there. and it's a comforting presence to all your fears and insecurities and troubles. to know that no matter what time it is, or what piece of the world you're in, it's right beside you.
-
he likes to think he's the sun.
and occasionally, when the night hasn't ended
and the day hasn't started,
when the birds are yet to chirp
and the crickets have silenced,
when the sky is painted with the lightest of blue
and the darkest of pink,
they meet.
-
he's born in the hospital room next to jackson's.
but he doesn't meet him until he's thirteen.
-
he's thirteen and he gets something akin to butterflies in his sternum when he looks in another boy's eyes.
he's thirteen and he moves back to a town called beacon hills.
he's thirteen and he sits behind a boy named jackson whittemore in algebra one.
-
his notebooks are filled with college-ruled paper and notes on comparing integers.
his thoughts are filled with what it would be like to have friends.
-
beacon hills is different.
it's light. and no one cares is if he's seen eating strawberry ice cream off a spoon, fed to him from a boy from the next town over.
it's nice.
-
but sometimes the sky is a little too dark,
the night is a little too quiet,
he hears howls that are a little too human,
and other things
he can't quite explain.
-
sometimes danny counts the freckles on jackson's skin.
when he's leaning forward on his desk and the teacher pauses in her monologue, he looks up.
and the first thing he sees
is jackson.
the pale skin of his neck,
the three freckles
all in a straight line.
the slender fingers,
as he places them over the circular marks on his skin,
and cranes his neck.
-
friendship evolves slowly.
a single vine attempting to overcome an entire broken-down house.
-
trust comes even slower.
-
on sundays,
he sits in their dorm room,
and watches the dust glitter
in the afternoon sun.
-
thinking of what could be.
-
he gets hooked on coffee, and foreign films, and a boy named james.
he can feels jackson slipping away, right through his fingertips.
and he's too afraid to say it.
-
stay.
-
it's two weeks before graduation and underneath his bones are growing and cracking and he can feel the time starting to run out.
-
it's needy and desperate and they both have someone else.
-
they sleep under a single white sheet afterwards, in silence, fingers intertwined.
-
when he wakes,
the organ in his chest,
the rhythm,
is an extreme staccato.
-
it falls
when he feels fingers wrapped in his.
and jumps when a pair of lips
find his eyelids.
-
confessions are told
over coffee and pillows
and something like hope
starts to grow.
-
o7.
title:
fandom: teen wolf
pairing: derek/stiles
rating: r
summary: they don't talk about it.
derek hates to cook. he's tried not to, he tried in new york, and he's tried here but he can't do it. every time he does, the heat emitting from the stove envelops him and isn't a comfort. he starts to sweat and his mind flashes with images of fire and heat and he starts to shake, cold, despite the warmth of the kitchen.
stiles doesn't cook. his mother did. he remembers homemade macaroni and cheese on family game night and stirring batter sprinkled with chocolate chips on christmas eve. he remembers her stubbornness and determination, making three meals a day even when she had to wheel herself around the kitchen. he remembers staying home from school to get eggs from a certain shelf and taste tasting spoonfuls of spaghetti sauce that would put ragu to shame.
he doesn't cook, because his breathing starts to quicken and he sinks to the floor, telling himself that the smell of the cookies is what his mind has associated his memories of her with, it doesn't mean she's in the kitchen in an apron with his handprints on it, waiting to ask him about his day.
they eat take-out. they get discounts, delivery boys know them by name, they have menus from every restaurant that offers delivery in the town. they don't talk about it.
they don't talk about how any movie available on netflix instant with the words fire, illness, hospital, or dead in the summary or title is instantly vetoed. they don't talk about how derek will walk out of the room when a scene of a family preparing dinner plays on the screen, how he'll stay in the kitchen until stiles calls out "bring me the soy sauce!" or "this coke's flat, man, got any sprite?" or "napkin!" when the scene is over and done with. they don't talk about how derek brings whatever stiles requests and wordlessly hands it over though they both know he didn't need it.
if stiles crosses his legs over derek's or if stiles glances over at derek periodically to find his head rested on the back of the couch, mouth open and snoring slightly, they don't talk about it. and if stiles looks at him a bit too long, gulping and swallowing his want, if derek opens his eyes and licks his lips, looks back at stiles like maybe, maybe he wants too...
well, they don't talk about that either.
they don't talk about how seemingly happy scenes will make stiles mumble an "excuse me," and run to the bathroom, splashing water on his face and trying not to cry. they don't talk about how derek will come in, sit on his knees in front of stiles and puts his hands firmly but carefully on either side of his face, and look into his eyes, exaggerating his own breathing until stiles starts to feel normal again.
they don't talk about how stiles looks at derek with his hands still on stiles' face, and says "please," with watery eyes and a voice that cracks on the middle syllables. they don't talk about how derek looks into his eyes for minutes, seeking confirmation that stiles wants this, that he isn't just looking for distraction.
they don't talk about how derek first kisses him like he would break, his own lips barely brushing stiles, but still warm and soft enough to make stiles gasp.
if derek pulls back, worried about stiles' breathing, and stiles pulls him back towards him with a hand around his neck, moaning softly as derek's mouth immediately opens up to his persistent tongue,
if derek carefully pulls the two of them up and stiles hands wrap around derek's hips as derek leads them out of the bathroom, backwards, never breaking their lips apart for more that a second of air at a time,
if derek gently lays stiles down onto the couch and holds himself on top of him in such a way that makes stiles want him to not reduce his weight, for him to place his body entirely on stiles' as he ends their kiss to trail down his neck to his collarbone,
if derek helps stiles take off his shirt and says something along the lines of "god," and "gorgeous," and stiles' body flushes red and he turns his head in embarrassment and derek says "hey," turning stiles' head towards him again and meeting him in a kiss,
if derek kisses every plane of stiles' chest, every mole and freckle on the pale skin, scrapes his teeth over each nipple until stiles' is a shuddering mess,
if derek attempts coy as he slowly unbuttons stiles' jeans, starts to drag down the zipper with his teeth, before stiles' jerks his hips involuntarily, moaning derek's name,
if derek yanks off stiles' jeans and boxers at the same time, throwing them somewhere behind them, and ghosting over stiles' fully erect cock,
if derek stares in awe before taking stiles completely into his mouth, moaning at the taste, licking and lapping and swallowing as stiles' comes not much later, if derek comes without anyone touching him at all, completely on stiles' and stiles' gasps, and lips, and moans, which makes stiles pull him up by the neck of shirt and kissing him, and already wanting to go again,
if they both collapse into the couch, arms and legs intertwined with each other, feeling warm and content and safe and happy, falling asleep for the first time in months, sleeping all night long, dreams devoid of nightmares or memories,
then, they don't talk about that either.
o8.
title:
fandom: doctor who
pairing: doctor/rose
rating: g
summary: sometimes she wishes the memories would just fade away all together.
notes: written for some drabble challenge i forgot about.
others she wishes she could just stitch them up into one straight line,
have them all filed neatly beside each other,
coexisting in harmony.
where she'd only have to deal with them once a year,
she would set aside a day,
that day.
and then, only then, would she allow herself to cry.
o9.
title:
fandom: push
pairing: nick/cassie
rating: r
summary: he shakes his head, mutters, "missed you." she smirks at him and asks where he keeps the liquor.
warnings: implications of abuse.
she's seventeen when she shows up on his doorstep.
her hair's darker, legs longer, but her eyes still look the same.
she doesn't offer to help with the paper grocery bags in his hands, and there's a cigerette hanging from her lips that she never lights.
she doesn't say anything as she follows him inside, sits across the island in the kitchen as he stirs basil into a pot of boiling red sauce.
when it's finished he sets a plate in front of each of them, sprinkles a mound of parmesan on his, and protests when she grabs a handful off his plate and deposits it right into her mouth with her fingers.
he stares at her, unable to keep his emotions in check. she chews slowly, stares back at him until she's finished, asks "what?"
he shakes his head, mutters, "missed you."
she smirks at him and asks where he keeps the liquor.
----------------------------------------------------
she's twenty one she shows up again.
in his bedroom, opening up a coat to reveal her in lingerie and saying please.
"cass."
"nick." her voice tries to imitate his, mocking and sarcastic but it cracks at the last note and is broken and shrill as she says,
"please."
he gets up and wraps his arms around her, and she doesn't fight, just sags against him, breath coming in short uneven gasps as she sobs.
he rubs his hand up and down the smooth expanse of her back, tries not to look at how the red of the lingerie makes the blue and purple all over her body flash against her skin.
----------------------------------------------------
she's twenty-five when she finds him bed in with someone (blonde, pale, skin smooth as stone).
he finds her in the living room, sitting in the armchair, the tv creating a blue glow on her bare legs. she's wearing a flannel shirt that's too big for her and isn't his.
there's a cigerette in between her lips.
it's lit.
----------------------------------------------------
she's twenty-nine when he fucks her for the first time.
she's clumsy at first, too hurried, too fast.
she tries to take him in her mouth, he stops her, and she looks up at him as if she's afraid he's telling her no.
he runs his fingers through her hair and she closes her eyes, a look of contentment that makes her seem young.
younger than he's ever known her.
happier too.
he takes her slowly, cherishes her. kisses each freckle on her cold, white skin. traces each curve with the kindest hands. enters inside her the gentlest push. says i love you only after it's over.
she tries to leave, after.
he lightly grabs her wrist, ready to beg her not to go. she laughs, swats his hand away, and tells him she needs to take a piss.
when she crawls back in she faces him, he fingers the hem of the shirt she's put on (his).
he stares at her, sweat still creating a sheen on her face, blonde hair frizzy and held loosely back by a hair band.
"i'm not going anywhere." she says.
he kisses her.
"good."
he leans in close, whispers, "we've got chemistry, you and me, doll." 1920's AU.
untitled. skins. pandora/effy. pg-13.
"you're the only one she ever really loved, you know."
sweet disposition (and a wide-eyed gaze). that 70's show. jackie/hyde. r.
"do you ever think about it?"
five things kelly kapoor never told anyone about ryan howard. the office. kelly/ryan. pg-13.
he likes to brush her hair.
(your) hallelujah. victorious. beck/jade. pg-13.
her eyes glisten and you know it isn’t the stage lights.
nubilous remembrance. teen wolf. danny/jackson. pg.
sometimes danny counts the freckles on jackson's skin.
the up all nights (they don't know about). teen wolf. stiles/derek. r.
they don't talk about it.
interlacing reminiscence. doctor who. doctor/rose. g.
sometimes she wishes the memories would just fade away all together.
rusted brandy. push. nick/cassie. r.
he shakes his head, mutters, "missed you." she smirks at him and asks where he keeps the liquor.
o1.
title:
fandom: skins
pairing: cook/effy, freddie/effy
rating: r
summary: he leans in close, whispers, "you've got chemistry, you and me, doll." 1920's AU.
warnings: character death
notes: inspired by katy perry's hummingbird heartbeat.
she’s at the gin mill, she doesn't recall the name (too many men and too many shots of liquor
down her throat for her to.)
he comes up to her, all crooked teeth and fedora. he’s got a predator’s smile. she wonders if his skin flushes to flushes the same color of his hair.
her legs are crossed and she’s forgone hosiery. he puts his hand on her knee, she smiles at him, sweet as honey. he leans in close, whispers, “we've got chemistry, me and you, doll.”
she takes him home and fucks him.
hard.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
he leaves when the sun comes up.
“attagirl!” he tips his hat to her on the way out the door. his tie is crooked, jacket thrown over his shoulder, wrinkled, held onto by two of his nimble fingers.
she leans over to the bedside table, pulls out a ciggy and lights it, not worrying about the sheets falling off of her.
“haven’t you heard?” she says, taking a drag. “i’m the cat’s meow.”
“that you are, doll, that you are.”
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
he dies on a thursday.
she’s at a juice joint when she finds him, dark skin and even darker hair.
she goes up to him, asks, “cash or check?”
he flushes, stammers, “i’m fred. freddie.”
she thinks, perfect.
she takes him home and fucks him.
hard.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
she’s breathing heavy, sweat plastering her bob to her head. she’s waiting for a hair of the dog, paid for by the daddy she was just dancing with. he comes up behind her, lets her know he’s there by a hand on the low of her back.
she doesn't turn around. “you never called.”
“sorry, doll, gotta bull after me.”
“and what about bear-cats? got any o’ those after you?”
he grins at her. “none i want to catch me.”
she looks at him from under lashes and smiles. she sways her hips as she walks away.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
he tries to kiss her awake in the morning.
“sorry,” she says, slipping into her dress. “bank’s all closed.”
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
02.
fandom: skins
pairing: effy/pandora
rating: pg-13
summary: "you're the only one she ever really loved, you know."
warnings: character death
katie tells you. nothing but a blank email and an obituary attached.
your roommate walks in as your stuffing your suitcase, you say death in the family at her questioning gaze.
you don't answer her furrowed brow of why you haven't cried.
you aren't quite sure.
----------------------------------------------------------------
you walk to the house, and even if your brain doesn't quite remember - your legs do.
you wrap your arms around your covered sleeves, glance up at the clouds protecting the sun.
she'll never feel this, you think. the sun. the cold. any of it. she's gone.
you wrap your jacket tighter around stomach. you hasten your step.
----------------------------------------------------------------
her mother answers the door. she looks at you with a sad smile and down-turned eyes. "panda,'"
she whispers and wraps her arms around your waist, breathes deeply around your neck.
it's a surprise. you weren't even sure she knew your name.
she fixes you tea, dissolves spoonfuls of white crystals into it as she says
"you're the only one she ever really loved, you know." you shake your head and remember how you're name is synonymous with useless.
she tilts her head and reads something in the way you look down at the table. effy was always good at that - deciphering you when no one else could. but she fixed you with a touch of cool fingertips to the underside of your wrist, a puff of smoke in your lungs, or a kiss to the middle of your stomach.
she can't do any of that now.
"it's true." andrea says, turning away and focusing on the steam rising from the cup in front of her.
"those boys..."
you see a flash of dark hair and red blood on tan skin. copper hair and freckles and a pale canvas slicked with sweat. you swallow.
it doesn't help the lump in your throat.
"she kept them like she kept all her toys, playing with them until she got bored, tossing them aside until she conceived a plan to make 'em new again."
"she was never like that with you."
you don't look at her, focus on your cup. you put your lips on the porcelain, drink until your throat is scalded enough to distract you from the pain.
03.
title:
fandom: that 70's show
pairing: jackie/hyde
rating: r
summary: “do you ever think about it?”
it’s eric’s idea, really.
he says he wants to have one last moment with the six of them all together, one last hurrah. and they all make fun, poke jabs at his sentimentality but make no objections. and they all find themselves leaving the basement having agreed to spend a night in the mountains.
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hyde shows up with a paper bag from the A&P which donna suspects holds more weed than essentials. jackie appears with four designer suitcases, two of which hold nothing but hair products. and fez shows up with himself and an armful of candy.
eric shakes his head, mutters a comment at donna about the two of them being the only sensible ones, grins as she giggles, and slides the door open to kelso’s van. only to have an assortment of items ranging from tube socks to sticks of dynamite and slices of pepperoni pizza avalanche out and carry him to the ground.
donna screams, “kelso!”, berates him for not cleaning the van beforehand while eric gets up. eric suggests they split up; four in the vista cruiser and two in the van, which earns a “i call shotgun!” from fez, a “yeah, and nobody’s drivin’ my baby but me.” around a disgustingly old piece of pizza from kelso.
no one protests, resulting in eric sliding into the driver’s seat of the cruiser, hyde already starting to fall asleep in back, and donna crossing her arms at a pleading jackie. “no.”
“donna, come on,” and a cutting side eye at hyde is all that’s needed for donna to take pity and step aside.
“i hate you,” she says as she opens the back door.
eric groans as jackie slides into the front seat, and jackie snaps. “shut up, forman.” it goes on with mostly silence after that, the back filled with discussions on music and road trip games intended for easily bored children.
then eric starts yawning. and keeps yawning, and closing his eyes. “late night, foreman?” hyde sneers.
“i was...busy.” he responds, glancing at donna in the rearview mirror and almost running them off the road. which is how hyde ends up with his hands on the wheel and erics ends up with donna, lying comfortably across the backseat.
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the next forty minutes consist of hyde’s silence, donna’s snores, and jackie’s crossed arms until hyde flips on the radio out of desperation. and then it’s his and jackie’s hands battling over likes of the stones or sellouts. the first note of thank you pours from the speakers and jackie’s hand falls from it’s place in front of the speakers. hyde clears his throat and tries not to think of the time he kissed every inch of her body while a broken record played these words over again and again.
when it ends hyde turns the radio off and jackie doesn’t question. it’s silent again until hyde pulls into a station for fuel and asks jackie to go in and pay. she returns with two cold bottles of coke and his favorite snack.
“thanks,” he says gruffly. she nods before getting in the car, and he takes a deep breath as he turns around and focuses on the rapidly increasing numbers in front of his eyes.
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they pull up to the campsite and none of them are too surprised that kelso and fez are nowhere to be found.
jackie’s sitting on a log with her arms around her knees in front of the fire (started with hyde’s lighter because neither of them were naive enough to believe eric and donna were disappearing to collect firewood.)
hyde’s flipping through a playboy he found in the console (really, forman? really?) and the silence between them isn’t uncomfortable as much as it is strange.
he goes through the magazine twice before throwing it aside and reclining with arms folded behind his head. he tries to let the hard to come by peace and constant chirp of crickets lull up into a light doze but he’s done too much of that own the way. he sighs as he sits back up, starts picking at his fingernails.
“do you ever think about it?” jackie says quietly, and part of him feels relief.
“think about what? i think about a lot of things. that’s how one makes it in civilized society.”
“steven.”
and she’s staring at him with those big brown eyes and he has to force himself not to think of how those are the same eyes that looked up at him from under long eyelashes as she had his cock in her mouth.
“i mean, about us. don’t you ever wonder?” she scoots a little bit further down the log with every word she says and he wishes more than anything they hadn’t left kelso in charge of the beer.
04.
title:
fandom: the office
pairing: ryan/kelly
rating: pg-13
summary: he likes to brush her hair.
one. he likes to brush her hair.
sometimes, when things get a little rough between them in bed, her hair tends to pay for it. she always complains about it afterwards, when she runs her fingers through the strands and they inevitably meet one of the multitude of knots.
most preferably, she'd take a shower, wash out all of the sweat, the sheen. but that's one of the top things on ryan's don't list, along with with leaving feminine products in the bathroom and claiming a certain side of the bed as "hers."
she's started carrying a travel sized brush. she'd asked him to do it the first night, when she couldn't quite reach the very back, and he'd taken the brush out of her hand without complaint. a sigh, but no complaint.
he was surprisingly soft, gentle. nothing at all like he was when he was usually touching her.
she'd only said, "thank you," quiet and subdued when he was finished, but he was already turned over on his side, falling fast asleep.
he started doing it every night she stayed over after that.
two. he sends in a vote for whichever favorite she has on american idol that week.
he says it's so he doesn't have to listen to her complain if they get sent home, but.
three. he said the l word first.
it was late, that period of time right in the middle of night transforming into morning.
he'd whispered it to her, her curled up to his chest, and his hand resting loosely in her hair, "love you."
he'd said he must've been talking in his sleep when she brought it up the next day, and they had both been drinking copious amounts of alcohol the night before.
but, he snores when he's asleep and while his breathing had been slower, heavier than normal, he wasn't snoring.
four. he took her to new york once.
they had pizza and visited rockefeller center.
he went down on her in a dressing room in bloomingdale's and she'd teased him with her fingers on his upper thigh the whole way home.
five. he called her.
while he was with corporate.
she realizes now he must've been about to hit rock bottom, he'd sounded like it. strange, unlike himself. she'd told him so too. or rather,
"stop it, ryan, you're being weird."
she'd then gone on to brag about what a perfect darryl was and how he was the exact opposite of ryan.
she was too blinded by resentment, and betrayal, and hurt to see his call for what it really was: a plea for help.
to this day, she still feels like his downfall is partially her fault.
o5.
title:
fandom: victorious
pairing: beck/jade
rating: pg-13
summary: her eyes glisten and you know it isn’t the stage lights.
she surprises you with tickets to your favorite band for your birthday and you thank her by slipping your tongue into her mouth and your hand between her thighs.
she shows up the day of the concert wearing cutoffs and a t-shirt of yours with fraying edges. you focus more on it than her combat boots or shining legs.
she passes the time in line by hooking her black painted finger into your belt loop and kissing the veins in your neck.
she deals with hours in line by picking up rocks and tossing them at passerby.
you grab her by the hand and pull her away, towards a gate with the words high voltage on it.
you hold her up and focus on how her hip bones jut out instead of the view of her ass.
she flirts her way into cup after cup of free beer and most of it sloshes onto the grass as she dances into you and you’re drunk off her laugh.
they play your favorite song and she stares at you as she mouths every word.
they play hers and her eyes don’t leave the stage the entire time. her eyes glisten and you know it isn’t the stage lights.
you kiss her as the last notes echo around you and it feels more real than anything else ever has.
o6.
title:
fandom: teen wolf
pairing: danny/jackson
rating: pg
summary: sometimes danny counts the freckles on jackson's skin.
notes: for her.
jackson goes to school 3,000 miles away.
danny follows.
-
he thinks of jackson as the moon.
there always a darkness surrounding it, and it only comes to life when no one else can see.
but you know it's there. and it's a comforting presence to all your fears and insecurities and troubles. to know that no matter what time it is, or what piece of the world you're in, it's right beside you.
-
he likes to think he's the sun.
and occasionally, when the night hasn't ended
and the day hasn't started,
when the birds are yet to chirp
and the crickets have silenced,
when the sky is painted with the lightest of blue
and the darkest of pink,
they meet.
-
he's born in the hospital room next to jackson's.
but he doesn't meet him until he's thirteen.
-
he's thirteen and he gets something akin to butterflies in his sternum when he looks in another boy's eyes.
he's thirteen and he moves back to a town called beacon hills.
he's thirteen and he sits behind a boy named jackson whittemore in algebra one.
-
his notebooks are filled with college-ruled paper and notes on comparing integers.
his thoughts are filled with what it would be like to have friends.
-
beacon hills is different.
it's light. and no one cares is if he's seen eating strawberry ice cream off a spoon, fed to him from a boy from the next town over.
it's nice.
-
but sometimes the sky is a little too dark,
the night is a little too quiet,
he hears howls that are a little too human,
and other things
he can't quite explain.
-
sometimes danny counts the freckles on jackson's skin.
when he's leaning forward on his desk and the teacher pauses in her monologue, he looks up.
and the first thing he sees
is jackson.
the pale skin of his neck,
the three freckles
all in a straight line.
the slender fingers,
as he places them over the circular marks on his skin,
and cranes his neck.
-
friendship evolves slowly.
a single vine attempting to overcome an entire broken-down house.
-
trust comes even slower.
-
on sundays,
he sits in their dorm room,
and watches the dust glitter
in the afternoon sun.
-
thinking of what could be.
-
he gets hooked on coffee, and foreign films, and a boy named james.
he can feels jackson slipping away, right through his fingertips.
and he's too afraid to say it.
-
stay.
-
it's two weeks before graduation and underneath his bones are growing and cracking and he can feel the time starting to run out.
-
it's needy and desperate and they both have someone else.
-
they sleep under a single white sheet afterwards, in silence, fingers intertwined.
-
when he wakes,
the organ in his chest,
the rhythm,
is an extreme staccato.
-
it falls
when he feels fingers wrapped in his.
and jumps when a pair of lips
find his eyelids.
-
confessions are told
over coffee and pillows
and something like hope
starts to grow.
-
o7.
title:
fandom: teen wolf
pairing: derek/stiles
rating: r
summary: they don't talk about it.
derek hates to cook. he's tried not to, he tried in new york, and he's tried here but he can't do it. every time he does, the heat emitting from the stove envelops him and isn't a comfort. he starts to sweat and his mind flashes with images of fire and heat and he starts to shake, cold, despite the warmth of the kitchen.
stiles doesn't cook. his mother did. he remembers homemade macaroni and cheese on family game night and stirring batter sprinkled with chocolate chips on christmas eve. he remembers her stubbornness and determination, making three meals a day even when she had to wheel herself around the kitchen. he remembers staying home from school to get eggs from a certain shelf and taste tasting spoonfuls of spaghetti sauce that would put ragu to shame.
he doesn't cook, because his breathing starts to quicken and he sinks to the floor, telling himself that the smell of the cookies is what his mind has associated his memories of her with, it doesn't mean she's in the kitchen in an apron with his handprints on it, waiting to ask him about his day.
they eat take-out. they get discounts, delivery boys know them by name, they have menus from every restaurant that offers delivery in the town. they don't talk about it.
they don't talk about how any movie available on netflix instant with the words fire, illness, hospital, or dead in the summary or title is instantly vetoed. they don't talk about how derek will walk out of the room when a scene of a family preparing dinner plays on the screen, how he'll stay in the kitchen until stiles calls out "bring me the soy sauce!" or "this coke's flat, man, got any sprite?" or "napkin!" when the scene is over and done with. they don't talk about how derek brings whatever stiles requests and wordlessly hands it over though they both know he didn't need it.
if stiles crosses his legs over derek's or if stiles glances over at derek periodically to find his head rested on the back of the couch, mouth open and snoring slightly, they don't talk about it. and if stiles looks at him a bit too long, gulping and swallowing his want, if derek opens his eyes and licks his lips, looks back at stiles like maybe, maybe he wants too...
well, they don't talk about that either.
they don't talk about how seemingly happy scenes will make stiles mumble an "excuse me," and run to the bathroom, splashing water on his face and trying not to cry. they don't talk about how derek will come in, sit on his knees in front of stiles and puts his hands firmly but carefully on either side of his face, and look into his eyes, exaggerating his own breathing until stiles starts to feel normal again.
they don't talk about how stiles looks at derek with his hands still on stiles' face, and says "please," with watery eyes and a voice that cracks on the middle syllables. they don't talk about how derek looks into his eyes for minutes, seeking confirmation that stiles wants this, that he isn't just looking for distraction.
they don't talk about how derek first kisses him like he would break, his own lips barely brushing stiles, but still warm and soft enough to make stiles gasp.
if derek pulls back, worried about stiles' breathing, and stiles pulls him back towards him with a hand around his neck, moaning softly as derek's mouth immediately opens up to his persistent tongue,
if derek carefully pulls the two of them up and stiles hands wrap around derek's hips as derek leads them out of the bathroom, backwards, never breaking their lips apart for more that a second of air at a time,
if derek gently lays stiles down onto the couch and holds himself on top of him in such a way that makes stiles want him to not reduce his weight, for him to place his body entirely on stiles' as he ends their kiss to trail down his neck to his collarbone,
if derek helps stiles take off his shirt and says something along the lines of "god," and "gorgeous," and stiles' body flushes red and he turns his head in embarrassment and derek says "hey," turning stiles' head towards him again and meeting him in a kiss,
if derek kisses every plane of stiles' chest, every mole and freckle on the pale skin, scrapes his teeth over each nipple until stiles' is a shuddering mess,
if derek attempts coy as he slowly unbuttons stiles' jeans, starts to drag down the zipper with his teeth, before stiles' jerks his hips involuntarily, moaning derek's name,
if derek yanks off stiles' jeans and boxers at the same time, throwing them somewhere behind them, and ghosting over stiles' fully erect cock,
if derek stares in awe before taking stiles completely into his mouth, moaning at the taste, licking and lapping and swallowing as stiles' comes not much later, if derek comes without anyone touching him at all, completely on stiles' and stiles' gasps, and lips, and moans, which makes stiles pull him up by the neck of shirt and kissing him, and already wanting to go again,
if they both collapse into the couch, arms and legs intertwined with each other, feeling warm and content and safe and happy, falling asleep for the first time in months, sleeping all night long, dreams devoid of nightmares or memories,
then, they don't talk about that either.
o8.
title:
fandom: doctor who
pairing: doctor/rose
rating: g
summary: sometimes she wishes the memories would just fade away all together.
notes: written for some drabble challenge i forgot about.
others she wishes she could just stitch them up into one straight line,
have them all filed neatly beside each other,
coexisting in harmony.
where she'd only have to deal with them once a year,
she would set aside a day,
that day.
and then, only then, would she allow herself to cry.
o9.
title:
fandom: push
pairing: nick/cassie
rating: r
summary: he shakes his head, mutters, "missed you." she smirks at him and asks where he keeps the liquor.
warnings: implications of abuse.
she's seventeen when she shows up on his doorstep.
her hair's darker, legs longer, but her eyes still look the same.
she doesn't offer to help with the paper grocery bags in his hands, and there's a cigerette hanging from her lips that she never lights.
she doesn't say anything as she follows him inside, sits across the island in the kitchen as he stirs basil into a pot of boiling red sauce.
when it's finished he sets a plate in front of each of them, sprinkles a mound of parmesan on his, and protests when she grabs a handful off his plate and deposits it right into her mouth with her fingers.
he stares at her, unable to keep his emotions in check. she chews slowly, stares back at him until she's finished, asks "what?"
he shakes his head, mutters, "missed you."
she smirks at him and asks where he keeps the liquor.
----------------------------------------------------
she's twenty one she shows up again.
in his bedroom, opening up a coat to reveal her in lingerie and saying please.
"cass."
"nick." her voice tries to imitate his, mocking and sarcastic but it cracks at the last note and is broken and shrill as she says,
"please."
he gets up and wraps his arms around her, and she doesn't fight, just sags against him, breath coming in short uneven gasps as she sobs.
he rubs his hand up and down the smooth expanse of her back, tries not to look at how the red of the lingerie makes the blue and purple all over her body flash against her skin.
----------------------------------------------------
she's twenty-five when she finds him bed in with someone (blonde, pale, skin smooth as stone).
he finds her in the living room, sitting in the armchair, the tv creating a blue glow on her bare legs. she's wearing a flannel shirt that's too big for her and isn't his.
there's a cigerette in between her lips.
it's lit.
----------------------------------------------------
she's twenty-nine when he fucks her for the first time.
she's clumsy at first, too hurried, too fast.
she tries to take him in her mouth, he stops her, and she looks up at him as if she's afraid he's telling her no.
he runs his fingers through her hair and she closes her eyes, a look of contentment that makes her seem young.
younger than he's ever known her.
happier too.
he takes her slowly, cherishes her. kisses each freckle on her cold, white skin. traces each curve with the kindest hands. enters inside her the gentlest push. says i love you only after it's over.
she tries to leave, after.
he lightly grabs her wrist, ready to beg her not to go. she laughs, swats his hand away, and tells him she needs to take a piss.
when she crawls back in she faces him, he fingers the hem of the shirt she's put on (his).
he stares at her, sweat still creating a sheen on her face, blonde hair frizzy and held loosely back by a hair band.
"i'm not going anywhere." she says.
he kisses her.
"good."