it's okay to have scars (they will make you who you are): puck & quinn.
Title: It's Okay To Have Scars (They Will Make You Who You Are).
Rating: PG-13 (some language).
Word count: 592.
Fandom: Glee.
Pairing: Noah Puckerman/Quinn Fabray.
Summary: So she lies and lies and lies, and prays that if she does it for long enough, her lies will become truths.
Disclaimer: Do I even need to say it anymore? I don't own them. If I did, they would spend their days tied to a bed.
A/N: I wrote this on Beth's birthday earlier this year. I've noticed I can only ever write depressing things or porn. Sometimes both. Also, I tried a different writing style this time.
"We could be a family."
It starts that way. She can practically hear her heart pounding against her ribcage, as if it's begging for an out. Or maybe it was his.
(It didn't matter in the end, though, because her heart belonged entirely and only to him all along anyway.)
…
She spends too much time thinking about him. It was a lie, a blatant lie when she told him she wanted to do it alone. She knows she should. But unfortunately, should and would are two different things.
So she lies and lies and lies, and prays that if she does it for long enough, her lies will become truths.
…
They don't.
…
Should and could are different things, and it's not long before she finds herself in his arms again, pretending to sleep while he quietly sings her a song because he thinks she can't hear it. He knows she can.
He lives for those moments.
…
"I don't care if you want to date her for the sake of your reputation," she spits out (lies). "Just go and fuck her while you're at it."
(And shit, she gives him that fucking look, the one that makes him feel like he means less than dirt to her, like he doesn't deserve her, and it's not fucking fair.)
He gives her a sneer. "Maybe I will," and maybe he's been spending too much time with her, because that's a lie too.
"Good, maybe then someone will give a shit about you."
She thinks she can hear a crack. (His heart.) It makes her flinch as she walks away, and he just stares numbly, not for the first or for the last time.
…
He lives for those moments, he reminds himself more often than not. Those like when she's snoring up a storm in his bed. He can't sleep, though he thinks he'd rather be awake and pretend like she's his, anyway. But she has not, is not, and will never be.
Every now and then, she allows herself to pretend, too.
The timing was just always wrong.
...
Sometimes he stops and thinks about how much she scowls as she mentions his dreams, and dares to wonder if it's because she doesn't want to get left behind. She's a part of them, too, but she doesn't know.
If only.
…
He doesn't let her let go.
We could be a family, a house, some furniture, especially now.
She's thankful, she realizes, as he watches him on the couch - their couch - with Beth laying on his chest, both fast asleep. They're a family now, and she thinks that maybe this could fix her. She thinks this might be her chance at mending her broken pieces, at being normal and… and happy.
…
She stirs awake on a tear stained pillow and hisses, wishing and wishing and wishing desperately that her dream could be made true with just enough will power. That she could go back in time to years ago, when she envied Puck for having his.
Hers could easily be mistaken for nightmares now, birthday wishes to a daughter unknown whispered quietly in the night.
(She was a coward loner then, is what she tells herself. When his name lights up her phone screen restlessly, year after year, she doesn't find the strength to answer, and she thinks not a lot has changed after all.)
Rating: PG-13 (some language).
Word count: 592.
Fandom: Glee.
Pairing: Noah Puckerman/Quinn Fabray.
Summary: So she lies and lies and lies, and prays that if she does it for long enough, her lies will become truths.
Disclaimer: Do I even need to say it anymore? I don't own them. If I did, they would spend their days tied to a bed.
A/N: I wrote this on Beth's birthday earlier this year. I've noticed I can only ever write depressing things or porn. Sometimes both. Also, I tried a different writing style this time.
"We could be a family."
It starts that way. She can practically hear her heart pounding against her ribcage, as if it's begging for an out. Or maybe it was his.
(It didn't matter in the end, though, because her heart belonged entirely and only to him all along anyway.)
…
She spends too much time thinking about him. It was a lie, a blatant lie when she told him she wanted to do it alone. She knows she should. But unfortunately, should and would are two different things.
So she lies and lies and lies, and prays that if she does it for long enough, her lies will become truths.
…
They don't.
…
Should and could are different things, and it's not long before she finds herself in his arms again, pretending to sleep while he quietly sings her a song because he thinks she can't hear it. He knows she can.
He lives for those moments.
…
"I don't care if you want to date her for the sake of your reputation," she spits out (lies). "Just go and fuck her while you're at it."
(And shit, she gives him that fucking look, the one that makes him feel like he means less than dirt to her, like he doesn't deserve her, and it's not fucking fair.)
He gives her a sneer. "Maybe I will," and maybe he's been spending too much time with her, because that's a lie too.
"Good, maybe then someone will give a shit about you."
She thinks she can hear a crack. (His heart.) It makes her flinch as she walks away, and he just stares numbly, not for the first or for the last time.
…
He lives for those moments, he reminds himself more often than not. Those like when she's snoring up a storm in his bed. He can't sleep, though he thinks he'd rather be awake and pretend like she's his, anyway. But she has not, is not, and will never be.
Every now and then, she allows herself to pretend, too.
The timing was just always wrong.
...
Sometimes he stops and thinks about how much she scowls as she mentions his dreams, and dares to wonder if it's because she doesn't want to get left behind. She's a part of them, too, but she doesn't know.
If only.
…
He doesn't let her let go.
We could be a family, a house, some furniture, especially now.
She's thankful, she realizes, as he watches him on the couch - their couch - with Beth laying on his chest, both fast asleep. They're a family now, and she thinks that maybe this could fix her. She thinks this might be her chance at mending her broken pieces, at being normal and… and happy.
…
She stirs awake on a tear stained pillow and hisses, wishing and wishing and wishing desperately that her dream could be made true with just enough will power. That she could go back in time to years ago, when she envied Puck for having his.
Hers could easily be mistaken for nightmares now, birthday wishes to a daughter unknown whispered quietly in the night.
(She was a coward loner then, is what she tells herself. When his name lights up her phone screen restlessly, year after year, she doesn't find the strength to answer, and she thinks not a lot has changed after all.)