![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thegirl20TITLE: Valentine's Day: Terri
FANDOM: Glee / #Glitter
PAIRING: Terri/Emma, Terri/Will
SUMMARY: Terri visits Will on Valentine's Day
RATING: R
WORD COUNT: ~2,300
DISCLAIMER: Don't own 'em. They're Ryan Murphy's.
SPOILERS: None
AUTHOR'S NOTES 1: Based on the Twitter based Role Play known as Glitter (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
the_glitter). Check out the twitter accounts of Terri, Emma and Will.
AUTHOR'S NOTES 2: This fic is set before![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
voodoochild_101's fic: Valentine's Day - Emma.
You’re pulling your jacket on as she comes into the kitchen, hair still wet from the shower you shared. Her face registers surprise at your attire.
“Are you...going out?” she asks.
You smile at her.
“For a little while...I have something to pick up,” you say, leaning in to kiss her cheek.
She rolls her eyes.
“Is this your way of saying you forgot to get me a card?” she teases, her thumbs lifting the hem of your shirt and caressing the skin of your belly. “Because I don’t need a card...I’d rather you just stayed here with me.”
Her words cut you unwittingly and you turn your face into her neck, breathing in the scent of her skin mixed with your body wash. When you’ve managed to school your face into a neutral expression you pull back and raise an eyebrow.
“Get you a card? Hello? I made you a card with my own fair hands I’ll have you know!” you say with mock indignation.
She looks suitably contrite and kisses your pout away, leaving you short of breath and with a lump in your throat.
“Fine, be all mysterious,” she says. “I’ve got some paperwork I can look over while you’re gone.”
“I won’t be long, I promise,” you whisper.
*
You sit in the car, holding two envelopes. One says ‘Emma’, the other says ‘Will’. You’ve made him a card every year for sixteen years and it felt wrong not to do it this year. After everything that’s happened, not making him a Valentine card seemed so final. And you’re aware of how stupid that sounds.
Looking at both cards in your hands now, it strikes you that it’s completely inappropriate to do this. It’s not fair on either of them. Without further thought, you drop hers into your purse and stuff his into the glove compartment. You cross your arms to stop your hands from shaking.
You look up at the window of his apartment and then close your eyes and picture the way she smiled at you before you left. That should be enough to make you start the car and drive home. And it almost is. But not quite. You unclench your hands and instead of turning the key in the ignition, you pull it out and open the car door.
*
The sick feeling in your stomach intensifies with every step you take. But you’re not turning back. You love Emma, you really do. And yes, you chose to be with her. But that doesn’t mean you can just turn off what you feel for Will. It’s hard to erase sixteen years of loving someone so completely.
Valentine’s Day was always sort of one of your favourite holidays to spend with him, even if you never told him that. Because he was always so sweet and always arranged something really special. Like the year you moved into your first apartment together and you had absolutely no money because he was a substitute teacher and you still had your waitressing job from college while you decided what you wanted to do with your life.
(You’re pretty sure you never made a conscious decision to fold sheets for a living.)
You’d come home late from the restaurant, exhausted. He’d set up a picnic on the floor of the living room in a re-enactment of your first date. He’d stuck glow in the dark stars on the ceiling so that you could lie on the blanket together and look up at them, his hand shyly slipping into your own, as it had done on that first night. You let him get a lot further than you had that night.
And now you’re standing in front of a door that is his and not yours. It feels almost surreal for you to be visiting him in another home and you ask yourself for the umpteenth time how you ended up here.
You lift your hand and knock on the door. There’s movement from within and the door opens to reveal him standing there, obviously surprised to see you. He’s unshaven and his hair is messy. It looks like he’s lost a little weight too. It rattles you to see him like this, he’s usually so careful of his appearance. You can’t curb your instinct to reach out and touch his face but he flinches away and you let your hand drop.
“Really, Terri? Today? Is this a joke?” he says, his voice and his eyes are tired.
“I...just wanted to check you were OK,” you hear yourself saying, which isn’t entirely truthful.
“Well, as you can see I’m fine. I haven’t killed myself in a fit of self-pity, nor do I plan to, so you needn’t worry about me,” he says, looking somewhere over your right shoulder.
“Will...I...” you begin, unsure of what you’re even going to say.
“Isn’t there someone else you’d rather be with today?” he asks, his voice oddly soft.
You swallow down the guilt.
“She...she doesn’t know I’m here,” you say and then wish you hadn’t as his face slides into a sneer.
“Dishonesty’s still the best policy, huh Ter?” he spits, but then stands aside to let you in.
You enter the apartment and walk through to the living room, your eyes gliding over unwashed dishes and clothes strewn over the furniture.
“You’ll have to excuse the mess, I wasn’t expecting company today,” his voice comes from behind you.
“It’s fine,” you say and you clamp down on the part of you that wonders what Emma would have to say about the state of the place.
You take a seat on the couch and he takes the armchair opposite. Now you’re here you have no idea what to say. ‘I’m sorry’ seems inadequate. But anything else seems frivolous.
“I got you a card,” he says, his eyes on the floor. “It’s at school in my desk drawer.”
Your throat closes up and you can feel your lip start to tremble.
“I made you a card,” you say, your voice weak and scratchy. “It’s in the car.”
He looks up at that, a surprised smile on his lips.
“Yeah?” he asks, looking so much like the Will you fell in love with it physically hurts your heart.
“Yeah,” you confirm with a nod.
“Did you...did you write what you usually write?” he asks.
You nod again, not trusting your voice.
‘All my love,
T
x’
You couldn’t write anything else.
“Me too,” he says. “And then I cried like a baby.”
“Oh God, Will,” you say, covering your mouth with your hand, tears spilling down your cheeks.
“I’m so, so sorry, Ter...I should...if I’d just made a decision...if I’d just...stayed...”
His head is in his hands and his shoulders are shaking. You can’t let him blame himself for this. You stand up and walk across the room and kneel in front of him, gently guiding his face up so that he’s looking at you.
“No, Will, this is not your fault. If I hadn’t lied to you...if I’d been a better wife...”
He’s shaking his head no but you put both of your hands at the sides of his neck and look him directly in the eye.
“Yes, Will...you left because of what I did...and if you hadn’t...who knows...maybe you’d still be pining away after her...maybe I’d still think she was the devil incarnate...so many ifs and maybes...”
You pause to wipe the tears off his cheeks with your knuckle. You suck in a deep, shuddering breath, because you really need to say the next part.
“I’m sorry I hurt you, Will...probably more than you’ll ever know...but I’m not sorry I got to know her...because I love her...I really love her...so much...”
Your voice breaks on the last word because it’s probably the most honest you’ve ever been with him and because you know you shouldn’t be here with him like this.
“I know you do,” he says, and the understanding on his face is almost more than you can take.
He reaches out and pulls you into a hug. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, burying your face into his neck. Everything is so familiar, the feel of his arms around you, his scent, his cheek against yours. You draw back and look into his eyes. They flick to your lips and back up. Then he leans in. And you don’t stop him.
Your lips automatically part to greet his. He pulls you tighter against him, but the angle is awkward, with him seated and you kneeling so he stands and brings you up with him, your lips never losing contact. He pushes your jacket off your shoulders and it falls to the floor behind you. Your fingers fumble with the buttons on his shirt. His hand slides under your sweater and up your back, large enough to almost cover it. You’ve got his shirt undone now and he shrugs out of it. You run your hand over the downy hairs low on his belly and up over his toned abdomen. He’s tugging at your sweater and you lift your arms to aid in its removal.
Immediately his lips move to your collar bone, one hand palming a breast through your bra and the other grasping your ass, pulling you against him. You can feel his arousal against your hip and the steady pulse between your legs gets stronger. You kiss his neck, his ear, his shoulder. You run your flat tongue over his nipple and he grinds into you in response. You fall to your knees, trailing kisses down his stomach and tracing his sculpted abs with your tongue, but before you can do anything else his hands are on your elbows, pulling you to your feet.
You look up at him but he’s already turning you around and pushing you down onto the couch. He climbs on top of you and kisses you again. You’ve missed this; someone bigger and stronger than you. His hand trails down your arm and grasps your own, bringing it to the bulge in his pants. You stroke him firmly through his clothes and he moans into your mouth.
He pops the buttons on the fly of your jeans and slides his hand inside, into your panties and your hips rise up to meet his fingers as they slide along a familiar path.
“God...you’re so wet,” he whispers, in something like awe. “You see what we still do to each other?”
He grinds against you again to drive home his point and you freeze. You shouldn’t be doing this. Not with him. Not anymore. You push at his shoulders.
“Will...no...stop...we can’t...I...I can’t...”
He lifts his head and looks down at you. You half expect him to look like he did the day he walked out. Angry and spiteful. But he just looks sad and defeated and you pull him back down and hold him, your nose buried in his hair.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers against your chest.
“God, no Will, I’m sorry” you say, voice thick with tears. “I can’t...I just can’t hurt her like this...I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have come here today.”
He pushes himself up and off you and walks across the room, his hand covering his face. You fasten your jeans and slip your sweater back on.
“No, you shouldn’t have come here today,” he says, still facing away from you. “But I’m not sorry you did.”
You don’t know how to respond to that, so you keep quiet. He drops his head back and looks at the ceiling, laughing humourlessly.
“God, Ter...I wish I could just hate you, you know? Or her. It would be so much easier,” he says, finally turning back to you.
You shake your head.
“Don’t hate her. None of this is her fault. If you’re gonna hate someone, you hate me, OK?”
He smiles, sadly.
“You really do love her.”
It’s not a question and it doesn’t require an answer, but you give him one anyway.
“Yeah, I really do.”
You almost tell him that you love him too, and that you don’t know what to do with that because obviously the threeway thing didn’t work out and you’re not even sure how he feels about you and it would just complicate things to a degree that you really don’t need. Anyway, you chose to be with Emma and Emma makes you happy.
You pick up your jacket from the floor and put it on.
“I’m gonna go...I need to get...I should go.”
You pick up your purse and head into the hallway, you feel him follow you. You open the door and turn to face him.
“I’m not going to tell Emma about this,” you say, realising that you’re handing all of the power to him.
He doesn’t say anything. He just leans in and presses a kiss to your cheek.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Terri,” he says, without smiling.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Will.”
You turn then and run down the stairs because you can’t stand to look at him for another second. You don’t stop running until you reach your car and you fall into the driver’s seat and sob.
*
After a quick stop to buy new lingerie and then a quick change in the bathroom at Starbucks you’ve been wandering aimlessly in a department store for God knows how long. You know you need to get home, but you can’t go empty handed because you told her you were picking something up.
Your insides clench as you think of her waiting for you. Trusting you. And you’ll go back and lie to her face. Which is how you lost Will. But in this scenario, telling the truth would result in the same thing. And you can’t lose her, you just can’t.
You look up to find you’re in the toy department of the store. You eyes land on a stuffed tiger cub with big brown eyes and bright orange fur. You pick it up and rub its soft fur against your cheek. And you cry.
FANDOM: Glee / #Glitter
PAIRING: Terri/Emma, Terri/Will
SUMMARY: Terri visits Will on Valentine's Day
RATING: R
WORD COUNT: ~2,300
DISCLAIMER: Don't own 'em. They're Ryan Murphy's.
SPOILERS: None
AUTHOR'S NOTES 1: Based on the Twitter based Role Play known as Glitter (
the_glitter). Check out the twitter accounts of Terri, Emma and Will.AUTHOR'S NOTES 2: This fic is set before
voodoochild_101's fic: Valentine's Day - Emma. You’re pulling your jacket on as she comes into the kitchen, hair still wet from the shower you shared. Her face registers surprise at your attire.
“Are you...going out?” she asks.
You smile at her.
“For a little while...I have something to pick up,” you say, leaning in to kiss her cheek.
She rolls her eyes.
“Is this your way of saying you forgot to get me a card?” she teases, her thumbs lifting the hem of your shirt and caressing the skin of your belly. “Because I don’t need a card...I’d rather you just stayed here with me.”
Her words cut you unwittingly and you turn your face into her neck, breathing in the scent of her skin mixed with your body wash. When you’ve managed to school your face into a neutral expression you pull back and raise an eyebrow.
“Get you a card? Hello? I made you a card with my own fair hands I’ll have you know!” you say with mock indignation.
She looks suitably contrite and kisses your pout away, leaving you short of breath and with a lump in your throat.
“Fine, be all mysterious,” she says. “I’ve got some paperwork I can look over while you’re gone.”
“I won’t be long, I promise,” you whisper.
*
You sit in the car, holding two envelopes. One says ‘Emma’, the other says ‘Will’. You’ve made him a card every year for sixteen years and it felt wrong not to do it this year. After everything that’s happened, not making him a Valentine card seemed so final. And you’re aware of how stupid that sounds.
Looking at both cards in your hands now, it strikes you that it’s completely inappropriate to do this. It’s not fair on either of them. Without further thought, you drop hers into your purse and stuff his into the glove compartment. You cross your arms to stop your hands from shaking.
You look up at the window of his apartment and then close your eyes and picture the way she smiled at you before you left. That should be enough to make you start the car and drive home. And it almost is. But not quite. You unclench your hands and instead of turning the key in the ignition, you pull it out and open the car door.
*
The sick feeling in your stomach intensifies with every step you take. But you’re not turning back. You love Emma, you really do. And yes, you chose to be with her. But that doesn’t mean you can just turn off what you feel for Will. It’s hard to erase sixteen years of loving someone so completely.
Valentine’s Day was always sort of one of your favourite holidays to spend with him, even if you never told him that. Because he was always so sweet and always arranged something really special. Like the year you moved into your first apartment together and you had absolutely no money because he was a substitute teacher and you still had your waitressing job from college while you decided what you wanted to do with your life.
(You’re pretty sure you never made a conscious decision to fold sheets for a living.)
You’d come home late from the restaurant, exhausted. He’d set up a picnic on the floor of the living room in a re-enactment of your first date. He’d stuck glow in the dark stars on the ceiling so that you could lie on the blanket together and look up at them, his hand shyly slipping into your own, as it had done on that first night. You let him get a lot further than you had that night.
And now you’re standing in front of a door that is his and not yours. It feels almost surreal for you to be visiting him in another home and you ask yourself for the umpteenth time how you ended up here.
You lift your hand and knock on the door. There’s movement from within and the door opens to reveal him standing there, obviously surprised to see you. He’s unshaven and his hair is messy. It looks like he’s lost a little weight too. It rattles you to see him like this, he’s usually so careful of his appearance. You can’t curb your instinct to reach out and touch his face but he flinches away and you let your hand drop.
“Really, Terri? Today? Is this a joke?” he says, his voice and his eyes are tired.
“I...just wanted to check you were OK,” you hear yourself saying, which isn’t entirely truthful.
“Well, as you can see I’m fine. I haven’t killed myself in a fit of self-pity, nor do I plan to, so you needn’t worry about me,” he says, looking somewhere over your right shoulder.
“Will...I...” you begin, unsure of what you’re even going to say.
“Isn’t there someone else you’d rather be with today?” he asks, his voice oddly soft.
You swallow down the guilt.
“She...she doesn’t know I’m here,” you say and then wish you hadn’t as his face slides into a sneer.
“Dishonesty’s still the best policy, huh Ter?” he spits, but then stands aside to let you in.
You enter the apartment and walk through to the living room, your eyes gliding over unwashed dishes and clothes strewn over the furniture.
“You’ll have to excuse the mess, I wasn’t expecting company today,” his voice comes from behind you.
“It’s fine,” you say and you clamp down on the part of you that wonders what Emma would have to say about the state of the place.
You take a seat on the couch and he takes the armchair opposite. Now you’re here you have no idea what to say. ‘I’m sorry’ seems inadequate. But anything else seems frivolous.
“I got you a card,” he says, his eyes on the floor. “It’s at school in my desk drawer.”
Your throat closes up and you can feel your lip start to tremble.
“I made you a card,” you say, your voice weak and scratchy. “It’s in the car.”
He looks up at that, a surprised smile on his lips.
“Yeah?” he asks, looking so much like the Will you fell in love with it physically hurts your heart.
“Yeah,” you confirm with a nod.
“Did you...did you write what you usually write?” he asks.
You nod again, not trusting your voice.
‘All my love,
T
x’
You couldn’t write anything else.
“Me too,” he says. “And then I cried like a baby.”
“Oh God, Will,” you say, covering your mouth with your hand, tears spilling down your cheeks.
“I’m so, so sorry, Ter...I should...if I’d just made a decision...if I’d just...stayed...”
His head is in his hands and his shoulders are shaking. You can’t let him blame himself for this. You stand up and walk across the room and kneel in front of him, gently guiding his face up so that he’s looking at you.
“No, Will, this is not your fault. If I hadn’t lied to you...if I’d been a better wife...”
He’s shaking his head no but you put both of your hands at the sides of his neck and look him directly in the eye.
“Yes, Will...you left because of what I did...and if you hadn’t...who knows...maybe you’d still be pining away after her...maybe I’d still think she was the devil incarnate...so many ifs and maybes...”
You pause to wipe the tears off his cheeks with your knuckle. You suck in a deep, shuddering breath, because you really need to say the next part.
“I’m sorry I hurt you, Will...probably more than you’ll ever know...but I’m not sorry I got to know her...because I love her...I really love her...so much...”
Your voice breaks on the last word because it’s probably the most honest you’ve ever been with him and because you know you shouldn’t be here with him like this.
“I know you do,” he says, and the understanding on his face is almost more than you can take.
He reaches out and pulls you into a hug. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, burying your face into his neck. Everything is so familiar, the feel of his arms around you, his scent, his cheek against yours. You draw back and look into his eyes. They flick to your lips and back up. Then he leans in. And you don’t stop him.
Your lips automatically part to greet his. He pulls you tighter against him, but the angle is awkward, with him seated and you kneeling so he stands and brings you up with him, your lips never losing contact. He pushes your jacket off your shoulders and it falls to the floor behind you. Your fingers fumble with the buttons on his shirt. His hand slides under your sweater and up your back, large enough to almost cover it. You’ve got his shirt undone now and he shrugs out of it. You run your hand over the downy hairs low on his belly and up over his toned abdomen. He’s tugging at your sweater and you lift your arms to aid in its removal.
Immediately his lips move to your collar bone, one hand palming a breast through your bra and the other grasping your ass, pulling you against him. You can feel his arousal against your hip and the steady pulse between your legs gets stronger. You kiss his neck, his ear, his shoulder. You run your flat tongue over his nipple and he grinds into you in response. You fall to your knees, trailing kisses down his stomach and tracing his sculpted abs with your tongue, but before you can do anything else his hands are on your elbows, pulling you to your feet.
You look up at him but he’s already turning you around and pushing you down onto the couch. He climbs on top of you and kisses you again. You’ve missed this; someone bigger and stronger than you. His hand trails down your arm and grasps your own, bringing it to the bulge in his pants. You stroke him firmly through his clothes and he moans into your mouth.
He pops the buttons on the fly of your jeans and slides his hand inside, into your panties and your hips rise up to meet his fingers as they slide along a familiar path.
“God...you’re so wet,” he whispers, in something like awe. “You see what we still do to each other?”
He grinds against you again to drive home his point and you freeze. You shouldn’t be doing this. Not with him. Not anymore. You push at his shoulders.
“Will...no...stop...we can’t...I...I can’t...”
He lifts his head and looks down at you. You half expect him to look like he did the day he walked out. Angry and spiteful. But he just looks sad and defeated and you pull him back down and hold him, your nose buried in his hair.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers against your chest.
“God, no Will, I’m sorry” you say, voice thick with tears. “I can’t...I just can’t hurt her like this...I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have come here today.”
He pushes himself up and off you and walks across the room, his hand covering his face. You fasten your jeans and slip your sweater back on.
“No, you shouldn’t have come here today,” he says, still facing away from you. “But I’m not sorry you did.”
You don’t know how to respond to that, so you keep quiet. He drops his head back and looks at the ceiling, laughing humourlessly.
“God, Ter...I wish I could just hate you, you know? Or her. It would be so much easier,” he says, finally turning back to you.
You shake your head.
“Don’t hate her. None of this is her fault. If you’re gonna hate someone, you hate me, OK?”
He smiles, sadly.
“You really do love her.”
It’s not a question and it doesn’t require an answer, but you give him one anyway.
“Yeah, I really do.”
You almost tell him that you love him too, and that you don’t know what to do with that because obviously the threeway thing didn’t work out and you’re not even sure how he feels about you and it would just complicate things to a degree that you really don’t need. Anyway, you chose to be with Emma and Emma makes you happy.
You pick up your jacket from the floor and put it on.
“I’m gonna go...I need to get...I should go.”
You pick up your purse and head into the hallway, you feel him follow you. You open the door and turn to face him.
“I’m not going to tell Emma about this,” you say, realising that you’re handing all of the power to him.
He doesn’t say anything. He just leans in and presses a kiss to your cheek.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Terri,” he says, without smiling.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Will.”
You turn then and run down the stairs because you can’t stand to look at him for another second. You don’t stop running until you reach your car and you fall into the driver’s seat and sob.
*
After a quick stop to buy new lingerie and then a quick change in the bathroom at Starbucks you’ve been wandering aimlessly in a department store for God knows how long. You know you need to get home, but you can’t go empty handed because you told her you were picking something up.
Your insides clench as you think of her waiting for you. Trusting you. And you’ll go back and lie to her face. Which is how you lost Will. But in this scenario, telling the truth would result in the same thing. And you can’t lose her, you just can’t.
You look up to find you’re in the toy department of the store. You eyes land on a stuffed tiger cub with big brown eyes and bright orange fur. You pick it up and rub its soft fur against your cheek. And you cry.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2010-02-14 09:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-15 07:11 am (UTC)Erin
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Date: 2010-02-15 07:29 am (UTC)