For the Unusual Fic-Specific Asks For Authors
Perspective Flip: I’ll write a scene from [that fic] from another character’s point-of-view
Would you consider doing Sharon’s point of view for The Hug™️ in Brenda’s bedroom from “where I’m going now, I don’t know”? If not, that’s totally ok! (I know that might not be one you want to revisit!) But, regardless I feel like I just want you to know that that scene is probably one of my absolute favorites I have ever read in fic or book. The tension, everything that’s led to that point, the absolute anticipation and intimacy is something I think about on a weekly basis. I can actually feel that scene, and I still hold my breath every single time I read it.💜
this made me like, GASP with excitement tbh
Sharon’s prediction, made over coffee and croissants with Charlie one morning while Brenda slept, was that Bobby and Joyce coming to visit would be good for Brenda in the long run, but perhaps set her back emotionally in the short term.
“We know she loves us,” Charlie said of the Johnson clan as a whole, “but we also know that she’s not much for visiting.”
Sharon thinks that it’s not the actual visiting that Brenda finds off-putting, but the time and the distance. Brenda’s family was always too far away, but even when they came to her, she worked through it all.
However, Brenda’s workaholic days seem to be behind her. Perhaps the best thing to come out of this overall shitty situation.
Sharon’s plan is to give the Johnsons space but she’s too curious to stay out of it completely, so she calls Brenda just to make sure everyone has arrived and been collected safely and earns a desperate dinner invitation for her trouble. Brenda’s high-pitched, casual tone is far more concerning than if they’d just spoken normally.
She’s worried that the keen observational skills that Brenda and, to a slightly lesser extent, Charlie have is a Johnson trait and that Brenda’s brother will take one look at her and know what’s in her heart. That she is and always has been harboring untoward thoughts about his sister.
Sharon dresses nicely for dinner. She doesn’t dress up, but she wears her designer jeans and the tailored blouse and spends a few extra minutes curling the ends of her hair. She let the sales lady in Sephora convince her that black eyeliner was too severe for her complexion and brown too dull, so she’d purchased a plum colored eyeliner to smudge into her lash line and she hates to admit that the woman was right and her green eyes do pop with minimal effort.
She stands on the porch for just a moment, wondering if she shouldn’t ring the doorbell, but that feels strange she gives a courtesy knock and lets herself in. The door is unlocked, of course, because it always is. It’s like Brenda wants to get murdered in the night.
Bobby Johnson looks so much like his sister that it’s a little disorienting at first. He’s taller than Brenda but only by a few inches. He has the same build, rail thin and wiry. The same coloring, the same wide mouth and deep set eyes. She remembers him from the funeral, but Sharon hadn’t sat that close to the family and everyone looks different in funeral clothes.
Introductions are made. Charlie is obviously nervous because she’s made a feast and keeps darting in and out of the kitchen, the backyard, her bedroom, never staying more than a few moments. She’s wearing the apron that Sharon got her for her birthday. Williams-Sonoma, a crossback chambray that she’d tucked into a whole basket of kitchen things. Sharon can see the little egg timer shaped like a peach sitting on the window sill now.
Dinner is delicious and the backyard glows warmly with string lights as the sun goes down. It all seems to be going fine at first, until Charlie’s mother starts asking pointed questions about what Charlie’s doing with her life out here in California and Brenda excuses herself and never comes back.
Of the two Johnson women that Sharon has grown so fond of, Charlie is the one most able to hold her own, so Sharon leaves the table too, carrying her plate and setting it in the sink. Brenda isn’t in the kitchen or the living room and the bathroom door is ajar. When Sharon doesn’t see her in the bedroom either, she feels a tendril of worry and moves to go make sure Brenda’s car is still in the driving and she isn’t speeding toward Mexico, but then she sees her out of the corner of her eye, back against the wall, partially obscured by the open door.
She’s about to ask if Brenda is okay, but Brenda raises a finger to her lips and points to the open window. Then she extends her hand and Sharon takes it. Brenda gives her a good tug and she steps forward, and suddenly they’re flush. Sharon feels her heart jump as her blood starts to pump. Brenda reaches out and puts her arms around Sharon, so she does the same, melting into the hug.
Brenda smells like sunshine, like sunscreen and blooming jasmine and freshly cut grass. Sharon wants to put her face into Brenda’s neck and breathe deeply. She wants to run her tongue along Brenda’s jaw and slide her hands into all those blonde curls, but of course, she won’t. She squeezes harder in an effort to hold herself in place, on good behavior.
And then, as if Brenda has read her mind, Brenda turns and pushes her face into Sharon’s neck. Sharon’s entire body roars to life. She can feel every pore, every hair stand on end, every blood vessel swell. Her breath hitches and she tries to hold it together.
Out the window, she hears Charlie say something, but she couldn’t say what.
Brenda sighs and her breath is hot on Sharon’s neck. Sharon drags her hand up Brenda’s spine and she can feel each vertebrae through the fabric and skin. Brenda’s so warm and alive and as she moves her hand back down, she finds the hem of Brenda’s shirt.
When her hand moves back up, it slips under the fabric and slides along Brenda’s skin. Sharon didn’t mean to, she just can’t help herself. Brenda whimpers and arches her back, her breasts pushing into Sharon’s.
What are they doing? What are they doing? What are they doing? Why is Brenda torturing her like this? Does she know how Sharon feels? Did Charlie spill the beans? Is Brenda screwing with her? What are they doing?
Sharon feels the band of Brenda’s bra and Brenda’s exhale is a shuddery groan.
“Shh,” Sharon says softly. She doesn’t want to get caught and she certainly doesn’t want whatever is happening to stop. Her mouth is so close to Brenda’s ear. She presses her nose behind it, rubbing lightly, drunk on the smell of her.
Brenda twitches, like maybe she’s going to push Sharon away, but instead she puts her hands into Sharon’s hair and squeezes and Sharon can feel it in her scalp and then, in response, pleasure shoots down her spine and settles low. She’s breathing hard now, trying to suppress every urge in her body. Does Brenda even know what’s happening right now? Is she in there or is her brain locked away someplace safe where nothing can hurt her and her body is acting on autopilot… Sharon hopes not. She hopes that she’s the only one Brenda would touch like this.
She scratches the skin of Brenda’s back and when Brenda’s feet slide apart, Sharon’s body reacts and she angles her knee between Brenda’s thighs. Brenda sinks down with a whimper and Sharon can feel her, feel her center hot through Brenda’s cotton pants and the thick, dark denim covering Sharon’s legs. She wants to push hard against Brenda, wants Brenda to grind against her until she comes, Sharon’s tongue in her mouth to catch the sound.
They haven’t even kissed.
She pulls her hands out of Brenda’s shirt and cups her face instead, searching her eyes and hoping to find the answer. Is Brenda ready for Sharon to kiss her? Does she want it at all? Brenda’s eyes are glassy and her pink lips are parted, her breath coming out in little gasps.
It would be easy to kiss her now. But Brenda’s family is just on the other side of that wall, and Brenda looks dazed and lost and it wouldn’t be right.
Just as the arousal overtook her with lightning speed, Sharon now feels defeat coursing through her and she lets her head fall, landing on Brenda’s shoulder. Brenda hugs her again, their hearts beating fast and in sync.
“We should go save her,” Brenda whispers.
Sharon moves back, giving them some space and they part piece by piece until all contact is lost and all that’s left of the moment is Sharon’s tousled hair and Brenda’s wild, dark eyes.
this fic got published, for the one person left on earth who doesn't know that. buy it here!
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