Pairing: Cordelia/Misty
Synopsis: Cordelia is on a downward spiral after Hank’s betrayal and her mother’s abandonment.  Everyone gives up on her but Misty.
A/N:  This was based on an amazing prompt from an anon.  I did take some creative liberties during some parts (I hope that’s okay, anon!) because I felt it made the story flow more naturally and fit the characters more.  The way it’s set up is in a way that could possibly bring more than one part (no promises).  I hope I did this prompt justice.  I love slow-burners and the process of falling in love, so I guess that’s what this is about.  Even at our most messed up, the ones that love us the most are the ones who’ll be there at the end.

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Okay, SO I had a fic idea while writing tags on this post but I ran out of room, and had tagged a lot more and I figured it deserved it’s own post.

Epic Bananun (That’s Lana Banana and Sister Mary Eunice from American Horror Story: Asylum for those of you going ???) fic prompt ahead.

#oh my god #I just realised I ship her with Lana both BEFORE and After she was possessed #no #wait #I had a thought #IF ANYBODY WANTS A PROMT I’VE GOT ONE #Seriously #think about it

The devil starts messing with Lana and it becomes a very sexual and very fucked up relationship and as time goes on Lana kind of starts to enjoy it and the devil being the fucking DEVIL rewards that. 

Lets Lana hang out in Jude’s office, allows her to do far more than the other inmates and poor sister Mary Eunice who is trapped inside and has done everything without being able to stop is slowly starting to fall in love with Lana.”she’s so sorry about everything that ‘she’ has done and the devil is just suddenly having all these ‘feelings’, finding that rather than just wanting to fuck Lana because she’s there, she wants to cuddle and make out and touch her softly and TAKE CARE OF HER and all of this is coming from Mary Eunice, so the devil is all THE FUCK?!

all the while Lana is just like ‘what is going on with you?’ kinda stockholm syndrome-y thinking that maybe Mary Eunice is someone she could be happy with. She finds herself thinking of Wendy less and less these days.

Meanwhile, the devil is all STOP IT to Mary Eunice, all “you can’t win I’m stronger than you” and “you think because you have “love” now that you are any match for me?” and as punishment for even fighting, not even for herself or her own soul, but just for the devil to be kind to Lana, the devil beats the shit out of Lana while Mary Eunice weeps inwardly because she’s beating the shit out of the woman she loves and she starts ‘fighting’ trying the make the devil STOP.

Eventually, in a big push, she manages to get control of her own body temporarily, mainly because the physical exhaustion of beating Lana while trying to fight off Mary Eunice became too much. Mary Eunice has control of her own body for long enough to help Lana get comfortable and dress her wounds, she’s trying to explain that ‘It’s not her, all the bad things that she did were not her, but she thinks that all the good things were’, like, the urges to cuddle and overall sweet things were ‘pushes’ from her and the thing inside her just kinda went with it.

While she is explaining this the devil starts fighting back and fighting back hard, and when it does regain control of Mary Eunice it is PISSED, and is all like “I SHOULD KILL YOU BOTH, BUT NO, MARY EUNICE THAT WOULD BE TOO EASY, THAT’S WHAT YOU WANT, I’M NOT DONE MAKING YOU SUFFER.”

Anyway, the devil intends to torture and kill Lana to hurt Mary Eunice, during this process, some thing about ‘True Love’ manages to give Mary Eunice a HERCULEAN amount of strength, enough to kick the devil out of her for good, upon which the injured and emotionally damaged couple GET THE HELL OUT OF BRIARCLIFF.

If you feel like being generous, you could end it up with them trying to get over the emotional trauma that they both experienced together, because if they tell anyone else, they’ll end up straight back at Briarcliff.

I don’t imagine that they would just jump straight in, like, one might accidentally grab the others arm and that sends the other one off crying for 2 hours, locked in the bathroom, and them just slowly learning to be okay again, be functional members of society, probably Mary Eunice having a complete identity crisis because the church and her faith is all she’s ever known, but all that she feels for Lana, it can’t be a sin, it literally gave her the strength to get her own body back from the devil.

And then leaning on each other for support because nobody else understands what it was like in there. Them kind of freaking out when they have to be separated, ect.

They aren’t sure if they are ever going to be “Okay” again, but at least they have each other. KINDA HAPPILY EVER AFTER?

I Will Come Home (1/5)

Prompt: Finn is thirty minutes late. The train/plane is leaving in thirty minutes. You look at your watch, fifteen minutes. You sigh, he’s not coming. Someone taps your shoulder and you turn around puzzled. Quinn. 

Pairing: Quinn/Rachel
Author’s Note: The above prompt comes from the awesome chrismukkah, as I am the humble creative hands and chrismukkah is the brain.  Intended as an experimental chapter to start with, and if it goes well & you guys desire it, it’ll then become a multi-chapter piece.  Lyrics utilized belong to Rae Spoon, from their song “If You Lose Your Horses.”

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Little Encounters

Title: Little Encounters

Pairing: Rachel/Santana (Pezberry)

Rating: M

Word Count: 11,124

Synopsis: Rachel takes a brief vow of silence and unknowingly opens the flood-gates.

A/N: ONE-SHOT. :) Lyrics by Red Hot Chili Peppers, “Snow (Hey Oh).”


Part I: No Fun

The more I see, the less I know
The more I like to let it go
Hey oh, whoa…

Rachel’s books clattered to the ground, the punctuation point to an absolutely terrible day. She’d woken up late, had no time for elliptical, forgotten there was a paper due in her last class, and now the diva felt as if she had no coordination whatsoever. How could she be a triple-threat if she couldn’t even close her locker without dropping her books? No Broadway star got famous by tripping.

Letting out a heavy sigh of frustration, but always keeping her composure, she glanced about before picking up her spilled belongings. Just as Rachel went to pick up her history book, a white-shoed foot met with the corner of it and the already-damaged copy flung itself into Jacob Ben Isreal. Rachel looked up first at the current location of her book - Jacob Ben Isreal’s feet, where he was staring at it as if he expected half-naked pictures of a girl to come flying out. She then followed the approximate direction from which it had been kicked, followed one very tan and toned leg up to a red Cheerio’s skirt. Feeling hot in the face, Rachel narrowed her gaze and stood abruptly. She held out her hand, Jacob immediately placing the textbook in her grasp and then gaping at her as if he wanted an autograph.

"Woops, sorry. I didn’t see you down there," Santana smirked quietly at Rachel and folded her arms. "I can’t help it that you were in my way, Frodo. I mean you really should look into getting some kind of surgery. You know they can make you taller."

The diva huffed. That smug look on her face only infuriated Rachel more. Never one to censor her thoughts, she lifted her chin, “You know, Santana, I thought perhaps in you joining Glee club it would make you somehow kinder or more tolerable, but it turns out that you’ve only used the opportunity to torture me more frequently.”

"Duh. What did you think would happen? We’d run off holding hands singing showtunes?" Santana cocked an eyebrow upward and scoffed, black ponytail swinging with the motion of her head. She rolled her eyes. "Please. If anything, I like you even less than I did before. Mostly because now I see how annoying you are all the time.

Rachel, at this point, was telling herself not to lose her lady-like composure. Chin still lifted, she was repeating in her head the fact that she was better than some high-school rivalry. Even now, with Quinn de-throned as the head of the Cheerios and more absent than present, Rachel was reminded how bad tensions with Santana were. She’d thought, naively, that when Quinn lost her seat as Cheerio captain, that all arguments would cease. Quinn pretty much ignored her, and what was worse, the newly-crowned Miss Lopez had found her groove as HBIC. It seemed no matter who was in charge of the Cheerios, their target remained the same.

"And ‘cause Britt isn’t around today I get to be extra mean to you today, pumpkin. I don’t have her over my shoulder telling me that I should be nice to you because you remind her of a leprechaun and you won’t give me any gold if I’m mean to you," Santana reached forward, tweaked Rachel’s nose condescendingly, and turned on her heel. Just when Rachel thought she was safe and began to head to her own class - despite the anger boiling in her chest and the frustrated tears - she heard a snap of fingers in Santana’s direction. Rachel froze.

Slushie crashed into her face a moment later, with Santana’s throaty laughter echoing in its wake. The offending football player who’d slushied her only dropped the cup at her feet, grinned, and jogged after his buddies.

Eyes stinging, Rachel did her best to make it to the bathroom without bursting into tears. There was something about today that was just especially terrible, and part of Rachel was absolutely exhausted - tired of fighting Cheerios, tired of fighting insults, tired of changing sweaters and putting up a front that nothing ever bothered her. As the door clattered open and a few straggling freshman scattered out of the bathroom, Rachel leaned heavily over the sink. Her beautiful brown locks dripped with slushie-juice and her lip began to quiver.

Largely, Rachel went ignored by Quinn now. The diva used to think it was all Quinn’s doing, but it seemed that wasn’t the case. The blonde was broody, often quiet, and spent all her time with Sam; she wasn’t directing Rachel’s torture anymore. Maybe Rachel was just cursed. Santana’s laughter rung in her memory and made her angry.

"No more Miss nice Diva." Rachel resolved, staring at her slushie-covered reflection before she began to wash the cold slushie from her skin.


"Oh look, a troll’s wandered in to Glee club," Santana’s familiar voice was the first to speak up as Rachel strode into Glee club - late, but for good reason. "Anyone have a lamb we can sacrifice?"

Most of the others in the room laughed. Schue directed a disapproving look. He’d begun to speak but before he could get a word in, Rachel cleared her throat, “Pardon me, Mr. Schue, but I’d just like to say that I won’t be displaying my vocal talents, or my speaking voice. In fact, I’m withdrawing myself from this year’s Regionals as well.”

Suddenly, voices were aflurry in a mass of confusion and, she can’t do that's because as Rachel suspected, they only wanted her around for her talents.

Schue stood confused, if not blatantly upset, “Rachel you can’t just - “

"Oh, but I can. As it states in Section 3, category 94 in the Student Conduct manual, ‘Any participating student may withdraw his or herself from school-approved clubs for any reason. These organizations are non-obligatory and withholding financial support.’ So as you see, I am allowed to withdraw myself. And I choose to until certain treatment discontinues." The diva turned her head and stared directly at Santana. The Latina rolled her eyes and looked away.

"When are you gonna stop acting like you’re God’s gift to the planet?" Mercedes scowled from behind Santana. The rest of the Glee club remained quiet and bewildered.

Rachel turned on heel and left the room. The only voice she didn’t hear protesting her leaving was Santana’s. What bothered Rachel the most amidst all of it was that they didn’t care about Rachel. There wasn’t one person, even Finn, that would “have her back” as they said. Granted, she didn’t expect any of them to suddenly start caring about her, but she hoped at least they could find some temporary appreciation for the fact she was indeed a human being with real emotions. In her own way, she could relate to Quinn’s former struggle to keep up a mask - that’s what Rachel still did every day. She had to pretend nothing bothered her, when it really did.

She wondered idly, how long it would take for her to be silent, for someone to come apologize. Namely, she hoped Santana would. Quinn had already apologized a month prior, and Rachel had forgiven her without hesitation. Rachel thought of herself as a very forgiving person, so if Santana even came out with one apologetic syllable, the diva would return and all would be well. Mostly, Rachel just wanted to be treated like a human being. That was asking for a lot from the residents of McKinley High.

"You’re really going to just ditch Glee club like that? You think we can’t win without you?" A familiar voice came from a few feet behind her, followed by a warm hand on her elbow; the hand forced her to turn around. Those penetratingly dark eyes stared Rachel down until she felt three inches high. Rachel gaped for a second, momentarily forgetting her vow of silence, but clamped her jaw shut and jerked her arm away from Santana’s grasp. The Latina rolled her eyes and shook her head, "You’re the most ridiculous human being. As much as I don’t agree with Aretha most of the time, she’s right. You really think you’re something. You’re not."

Rachel clamped her jaw shut tighter, furrowed her brow, and ignored the sting of the insult. Avoiding Santana’s gaze at all costs, she started to step around the girl until Santana shoved her back against the lockers; her bag spilled to the ground.

"Don’t ignore me, midget," Santana bit, and began to look angrier than before. "Oh wait, I forgot you took that little vow of silence. Well, bruja, I’m actually kind of amused at the fact you think you can stay quiet. I have plenty of ways to make you do exactly what I want.” A finger trailed over the arm of Rachel’s sweater and the diva’s eyes widened dramatically at the ripple of warmth. Santana suddenly seemed to be standing too close. “You won’t be able to ignore me for long.” With that, the Latina spun on her heel and made her way down the hallway, arms folded over her chest and characteristic dimpled smirk on her lips.

Rachel shivered and swallowed her mixture of anxiety. There was something else as well, something Rachel didn’t understand. It felt like heat, swelling up inside her chest. As students cleared the halls and began to make their way home, Rachel found herself jogging at an increasing pace toward the front doors.


Three days. Three days was the longest Rachel had ever gone without speaking in public. Her foot tapped anxiously on the floor beneath her desk and she couldn’t sit still. Not speaking, participating, or controlling situations made her feel restless and bothered. It wouldn’t have been nearly as bad if Santana wasn’t in this particular class and actually present today; then at least she could have spoken in answer to questions presented by their teacher.

"I think Rachel knows the answer," Santana was trying to make Rachel crack. She’d been doing it all week - bumping her into lockers, knocking things out of her hand, attempting to corner her, and she’d even managed to trap Rachel in the library stacks and attempt to intimidate Rachel. The diva had remained stoic and silent.

The teacher expectantly turned, stared at Rachel. The brunette sunk lower into her seat and shook her head. A foot nudged her own and Santana was cruelly grinning in her direction. Again, Rachel shook her head and dodged that deep, dark gaze of Santana’s.

Not today, Santana, not today. Not until the words “I’m sorry” fell out of the Latina’s mouth, unlikely as they were. One thing Rachel noticed is that it was easier to observe people when she didn’t speak. People only really noticed Rachel when she made herself known, but when she wasn’t speaking she could easily take in the sight of someone’s body language or the warm timbre of their voice. Even the most recent Glee club meeting had been enlightening. Santana had been singing background for Mercedes, looking rather bored, and Rachel could occasionally feel the Latina’s intimidating stare coming her way. Every time, Rachel avoided it. Occasionally her instinct would tell her to look up and she’d find Santana staring her down.

While Rachel thought herself quite adept at reading people’s emotions, Santana was consistently impenetrable. Even Quinn Fabray was easy to read no matter her mood. The one person that never gave away a single shred of their inner-workings was Santana. Rachel found that quite frustrating.

More frustration compounded as Rachel made the mistake of dwelling upon the fact she probably had a much longer period of silence than she’d originally planned. The class bell rang, teacher calling out assignment due dates as a last-ditch attempt to do some actual teaching, while students filed out. Rachel took her time packing everything up; it was safer that way. She’d spotted Santana’s red Cheerio skirt disappearing out of the doorway shortly after the bell rang. Even Santana’s persistence wouldn’t make her stay longer than was required of her.

Rachel breathed a sigh of relief, books clutched to her chest as she assumed she was all in the clear. That is, until a hand grabbed her wrist and dragged her forcibly down a relatively empty hallway. Her first instinct was to struggle and resist, which only resulted in Rachel sliding along behind who else but Santana Lopez. The Latina was stepping up her game and it had only been three days.

"Look, this whole thing is stupid. Regionals are coming up, you know that, and you’re holding out because of some stupid grudge?" Santana was never gentle, and this was no exception. Rachel’s shoulders got shoved against the pliable metal of the locker behind her. "Talk about juvenile, you infantile excuse for a person."

Rachel noted one thing immediately: Santana had used the word infantile. Santana expected her to respond, this she knew, but all Rachel did was quirk her eyebrow and fluff her shirt up a little bit from Santana’s hard grip. Instead of avoiding Santana’s gaze, Rachel met it head on this time. Lips pursed, her golden brown eyes locked onto the nearly black ones in front of her. Unlike looking at Quinn, or Finn, or anyone else for that matter, Santana didn’t even falter.

They were both as stubborn as they were different.

Rachel sighed, waited.

"This is so dumb!" Santana slammed a hand beside Rachel against the locker. The diva only flinched slightly, despite her desire to squeal and duck. "You’re going to make us lose for your ego," Santana pulled away and paced the empty hall before stopping in front of Rachel, throwing her hands out in frustration. "Is it because of the slushies?" Rachel shrugged. "The names?" Again, a shrug. "That’s not an answer!"

Rachel flinched and expected Santana to advance again, but she didn’t.

"We can’t win without you, and you know it."

Rachel hesitated, stared at the floor. It was the first time Santana’s voice had softened at all. Of course, it still sounded confrontational and aggressive, but there was an undertone of softness.

Madre los Dios, Rachel! You could at least look at me! Talk about rude,” Santana demanded.

Rachel was afraid, felt her chest tightening in that way it did anytime she was confronted - especially by Quinn or apparently Santana. Those dark eyes were waiting for her to match them, and the diva shivered. Swallowing a little, she shifted her weight onto one foot and looked at the books in her arms. The diva, without explaining to Santana, held out her books to the Latina. At first, Santana appeared to be confused and offended that Rachel would suggest Santana even touch her books, but then her eyes rolled and the Latina grunted. Santana took Rachel’s books, and Rachel held back the urge to beam. She took the notebook from the top, flipped open to a clean page, and began to write.

I just want to be treated like a human being. Rachel’s large, looped handwriting was her only voice. And I deserve an apology. Until then, I stay silent. Sorry. She tore the page off for Santana, shoved it in Santana’s hand before taking her books from the Latina’s arms. Rachel clutched her books to her chest and didn’t dare a glance backward to the Cheerio as she strode as strongly as she could manage.

Last class over and thankfully no Glee club, Rachel knew that the choir room would be abandoned, so that was her immediate destination. Her heart was racing and she felt a little afraid that she would be followed, but she wasn’t - initially. It was easy to slip into her own mental space when she was in the choir room. Sheet music spread on the piano-top, Rachel sat down and began to touch the keys lightly, not hard enough to play any notes. Thoughtfully, the brunette stared at each key as her fingers passed over them.

She’d been a fool to think Santana wouldn’t have something to say to the note. The choir room door swung open and Rachel felt the rush of cool air from the hallway - along with the scent of a musky, sweet perfume.

"You don’t act like a human being, you act like a bitch."

Rachel swung her head around, eyes wide in surprise and anger. “I do not!”

Santana quirked an eyebrow, gave that dimpled smirk, and shrugged a shoulder, “Hah.”

Rachel clapped her hand over her mouth, realizing she’d just broken her vow of silence. She looked up angrily and advanced, slamming a fist into Santana’s chest, “You and your damn friends treat me terrible!” Rachel Berry didn’t curse, but this was it. Her breaking point. “I get slushied in the face every day,” pound, "I get called terrible names that aren’t even accurate in any type of nomenclature," thump, "and I get treated like I’m no better than scum on your shoe. I know everybody hates me," Rachel felt hot tears stinging her eyes. Her fist tiredly pounded against Santana’s collarbone one last time and she stepped back, "but it doesn’t mean you have to treat me like I don’t matter."

Santana stared at the girl in front of her. Rachel could feel the palpable tension of the moment, and she didn’t dare look up. She had the urge to cover her face - maybe Santana would hit her back. “Well, first I’d like to say you just won me fifty bucks,” Santana’s voice made Rachel flinch as the brunette stepped forward again, this time to shove Santana’s shoulder back in response to the comment, “‘cause I knew you couldn’t shut your trap for any longer.” As the brunette moved to swing once more, she felt a warm hand encompass her balled-up fist. “Stop hitting me, Cristo. I thought I was violent.”

Rachel tried to pull her hand way in a futile last-ditch effort, tears freely falling, “You don’t understand what it’s like to be treated the way I am. You get to be part of something that.. that makes you some kind of celebrity around here. You don’t know how many sweaters I’ve had to throw out because of your friends, because of you,” the diva spat the last word. “It’s not fair, Santana, and all I wanted was an apology. Instead you call me a… a…-“


Glaring, Rachel felt her chin quivering, “I’m not.”

"I know."

Confusion spilled into Rachel’s head.

"I’m a bitch. Everyone says you are but I’m the bitch. I mean, yeah you have your little tantrums and shit. You storm out like you own the place," Santana merely let Rachel’s hand fall from her grasp, "but stop hitting me and let me speak."

Rachel faltered, swallowed, and took the tiniest of steps backward as Santana stepped forward. The diva’s brown eyes stared at the ground. Imperceptibly, she nodded.

"By all means this doesn’t mean I’m not going to call you names. It’s my job or whatever," Santana rolled her eyes, but her voice had softened some. Rachel noticed she smelled like a mixture of perfume and wonderful-smelling cooking spices. "I’m calling the slushies off, but only if you come back to Glee club and help us compete in Regionals."

Rachel felt confused. Most likely Santana was just using the slushies as a bargaining tool. It’s not like she - or anyone in Glee club - really cared about her anyway. The diva merely nodded, frowned a little. “Fine. No more slushies, I suppose.” Rachel stepped back a little further and motioned to the door. “Now, I’d like to be alone and I doubt you want to stay here while I practice my vocals.”

The strange thing as Rachel glanced up at the Latina was that Santana looked a little disappointed. Just for a second. Then that paradoxically aggressive and nonchalant exterior was back and Santana waved a hand in the air as a sign of dismissal. Rachel flinched at the motion, and Santana left without another word.


Part II: The First Encounter

Come to decide that the things that I tried

Were in my life just to get high on

When I sit alone come get a little known

But I need more than myself this time


"I guess I just wish someone cared," Rachel spoke aloud, looking at her own reflection in the mirror. It’s not like she expected things to change. She didn’t know exactly what she’d expected in her silent protest but she thought maybe someone would realize she was a person and even if she pretended they didn’t, their words hurt.

She thought in getting no slushies, she’d spend less time in the girls’ bathroom, but in reality she still came in there. So far, every day this week, Rachel had come in here to clear her head. Although the diva would never wish for more ruined clothes, it turned out that the lack of aggression made Rachel feel invisible. She’d be a Broadway star one day - but what would she have to say in response when interviewers asked her about her high school friends?

Rachel came to the conclusion that she wanted friends. She’d always wanted friends, but the feeling was even more intense now. How did people make friends? The diva gathered her things before leaving the bathroom and making her way down the hall.

What Rachel had not expected was Santana standing at her locker. Alone. Looking irritated (as usual). Her initial reaction was one of fear, but the diva wouldn’t let Santana intimidate her today. They’d come to an agreement, after all.

"Here," Santana shoved a bit of paper into Rachel’s hand before the girl could register it.

Rachel felt suddenly flustered and nearly dropped her books again, when she felt Santana’s hands briefly steady the books before pulling away. It was quick enough for someone not to notice, long enough to seem out of place in their normal interaction. “What is this?”


Rachel felt confused. She was pretty sure this was against whatever rules Santana had as HBIC. The diva stared after her with a confused expression, shaking it off long enough to open her locker, place her books inside, and uncrumple the flyer in her hand.

The party was this coming Friday at Brittany’s house. Why had Santana even thought to invite her? From what she heard in the hallways, there were parties all the time and she’d never been invited to one. Maybe it was a sort of contractual agreement that Santana was going to call off the slushie-hounds?

Strange as it was, Rachel felt the stirrings of excitement and tried not to smile too big as she made her way to class.


Excitement had this knack of turning into anxiousness. Maybe it was a set-up. Maybe it was a bad idea. After all, she did have studying to do this weekend and she had to keep her G.P.A. up. Rachel had thought of nearly every excuse but it was both impolite and silly to turn down the party invitation when it was the first she’d ever been invited to. Santana didn’t just give invitations out.

Rachel took nervous breaths as she smoothed out her skirt - black, to pull out the polka-dots in her shirt. This was the only outfit she really had that could be deemed as “party-worthy” and Rachel hoped there wouldn’t be underage drinking because that would be unacceptable. The diva paced a little before closing her eyes. Don’t be ridiculous. She had this. She could do this.

She came down the stairs to the waiting pair of fathers in the kitchen, and the diva smiled.

"You look lovely," Leroy smiled at his daughter and Hiram nodded simply. "Ready to go?"

Rachel offered her best showface and nodded anxiously. “I’ll call you both when I’m ready to leave. Is it okay if it’s a little late?”

"This time," Hiram squeezed his daughter’s shoulder before ushering her gently out the door as Leroy got in the car and the engine came to life. Rachel settled in the backseat, folded her hands in her lap, and ignored the turning of her stomach.

The ride to Brittany’s was far too short. Rachel’s hands were still trembling in anxiousness despite her excitement at being able to attend her first real high school party. Rachel stepped out of the car, offered a small wave, before gathering all her courage to head up the walkway to Brittany’s house. Who all had been invited? Would it be overwhelming? As soon as doubts started to filter their way in her head, she knocked on the door and was greeted by Brittany’s boyfriend - Artie smiled up at the familiar diva.

"Hey Rachel," Artie stated before wheeling back a bit to let Rachel come in.

"Hello Artie," Rachel smiled a little. "Is this a large gathering?"

"Nope, Glee kids only. It was Kurt’s idea." Rachel followed Artie as he spoke, leading her into the oversized livingroom, where everyone was settled in a big circle around a collective of snacks. There were drinks of both legal and illegal nature on the table nearby, and Rachel nervously made her way to the circle of familiar faces. A few greetings were stated as each person one by one noticed Rachel’s arrival, but nobody seemed overwhelmingly happy to see her.

Rachel swallowed, waved a little to the ones who’d said hello, and settled in the only empty place - between Artie and Santana. The Latina’s familiar sweet musk rose to Rachel’s awareness, and the diva glanced over and met her eyes briefly. Santana nodded, and Rachel nervously glanced down at the floor. Chatter seemed to go on all around them, but Rachel could only concentrate on the way Santana’s hand was fidgeting with the cup beside her. It rested near enough to Rachel’s leg to distract her.

This was the first of that night’s odd trains of thought, Rachel guessed as her eyes trailed up Santana’s thigh. Santana looked nice in jeans. She felt a flush of guilt as she realized Santana was looking at her with a mixture of confusion and disdain. The Latina shifted her leg a little further away, and Rachel realized that she’d been literally staring at Santana’s leg in the way only Finn stared at Cheerio skirts.

The diva reached forward, taking a few baked Lays from the bowl and snacking as the group lost themselves in conversation, discussed possible games for the night, and when “spin the bottle” was brought up, Rachel’s eyes went wide. Her fathers had warned her about these kinds of games.

She felt a hand put pressure on her shoulder and she realized Santana was getting up and using her as leverage. Rachel flushed and allowed the use of her shoulder but felt warmth flood her body. Another odd train of thought passed through - she enjoyed that. Rachel knew it was only the fact that she hadn’t had physical contact with anyone that she noticed it. Beside her, Brittany was sitting in Artie’s lap, and the blonde offered Rachel a smile.

"I’m glad you came. I didn’t know if San was going to invite you, even though it was her idea."

Blink, blink. Rachel’s only response was silence and a slight nod. Once she regained verbal ability, she smiled, “I’m glad I came, too. It was very thoughtful of her to invite me.”

Around Rachel, she realized how many of the Glee clubbers really paired off with one another. Quinn and Sam were nearly inseperable - more like brother and sister than couple. From what Rachel had heard, they had gaming tournaments every weekend and Quinn wasn’t dating anyone. Finn and Puck were bros for life, and therefore always engaged in conversation. Kurt and Mercedes were the perfect team - and both snippy enough to make anyone feel insignificant. Brittany and Artie were inseperable but not for the same reasons as Quinn and Sam. The pair had just celebrated their four month anniversary together. Tina and Mike were along the same track as Brittany and Artie. Essentially, everyone was paired up in some way - platonic or more than - except Santana. While Santana and Brittany were best friends, Santana seemed to spend more time alone lately than was usual. When she wasn’t playing at HBIC, the Latina was somewhat of a loner. It was in this realization that Rachel understood her best chance at a friendship was not to break into an already-forged bond, but to begin one herself.

Santana reappeared in a timely manner and sat back down. She smelled a little of whine coolers and perfume, and Rachel dared a look at the Latina’s face. Her cheeks were slightly flushed - suggesting she’d been drinking and was tipsy. Rachel offered a timid smile but recieved only an appraising look from those dark eyes. Always impenetrable.

"Spin the bottle!" Kurt shouted as he jumped up, daintily retrieved an empty Heineken bottle, and set it on the floor. "Me first!"

"Oh man, this could be bad," Puck groaned softly.

Rachel didn’t have much time to react as the bottle spun on the floor madly. Already the conversation became more animated and a bit of laughter spilled out between a few of the Glee clubbers. The bottle landed on Tina and Kurt clapped his hands excitedly. Tina blushed and moved forward, and the pair kissed for only a moment.

"Kurt’s a good kisser," Brittany mused, and Rachel was reminded that the pair had ‘dated’ for a little bit when Kurt was trying to deny his sexuality. She’d had no idea they’d kissed. Beside Rachel, Santana groaned softly.

The bottle made its rounds, the most memorable pairings being Quinn and Mike, Finn and Brittany (Finn had pulled away with a stupified look on his face), and finally the bottle made its way to Santana. The Latina was smirking as she looked around at the circle, seemingly gauging the level of excitement some of them had for the bottle landing on them. Finn, of course, was salivating.

Rachel settled a little against the couch behind her, legs crossed over one another and finally feeling relaxed after an hour of being at the party. She really had no concerns or anxieties - that is until the Glee club erupted in catcalls and whistles without Rachel really knowing why. As the diva glanced up, she saw a bottle head pointing straight at her feet. Her stomach dropped through - possibly beneath the foundation of Brittany’s house - and Rachel’s eyes went wide. Beside her, the tipsy Latina was unreadable until she sat up on her knees. Rachel’s heart pounded into her throat as she realized Santana was really going in for it. The guys, of course, were whistling and making various noises but they faded out as she felt Santana’s arm on the other side of her waist, slide to the curve of her hip, and the warmth of Santana’s breath came way too close. Rachel was frozen, unable to do anything but stare at Santana and wonder if this was really happening.

"Oh man," laughter came from somewhere in the circle and it sounded like Quinn, but Rachel whimpered softly.

"You r-really don’t have to .. I mean it’s perfectly reasonable not to and I mean I’d rather not - " Rachel sucked in air in response as she felt a warm, plump pair of lips settle against her own. Soft at first, Rachel didn’t know how to respond. Her fists were clenched at her side tightly as if to keep herself conscious, but when she felt a tongue dip softly against her bottom lip Rachel melted against the couch behind her and felt herself responding. Santana was an amazing kisser. The diva already felt dizzy, whimpering as she felt Santana’s tongue slip to meet her own. Rachel’s hand had a mind of her own as it slipped to Santana’s shoulder and lightly clutched the fabric there. She wasn’t sure who, but one of them deepened the liplock to the point of arousal.

Santana broke the kiss before it seemed to grow too heady, but Rachel dizzily stared at the air in front of her as Santana sat back down and passed Rachel the bottle. Rachel felt herself on fire in all kinds of ways and she numbly took the bottle. The group was amidst laughter and teasing, and had apparently taken the kiss as more of a joke than anything.

Rachel swallowed, reminding herself it was just a game, but it seemed that Santana was sitting a little closer than before. The diva spun the bottle, not truly conscious of anything as it spun. Her head was still swimming and her heart was hammering in her throat.

More catcalls.

It had somehow landed on Santana. Oh no. Rachel didn’t know exactly what to do or how to handle it, but as she sat up a little she tried to tell herself this wasn’t some makeout session. This was a game. High school memories and all that. She smoothed out her skirt and glanced over to Santana, who was staring hungrily at her lips in a way Rachel was sure she was imagining. It wasn’t possible for someone to look at her like that. Rachel tried to lighten the mood by thinking of other things, but as Santana pulled her by the hand and Rachel took her last breath against Santana’s lips, she felt the Latina set her on fire again. The diva groaned softly enough for only Santana to hear as their lips met. This time, Rachel tried desperately to blame it on the alcohol, because there was no way Santana would willingly slip her hands over Rachel’s back and crush her torso gently against her own. Rachel’s hands hung loosely over Santana’s arms and the kiss became too all-consuming the moment Santana moaned quietly against Rachel’s lips and tangled her fingers in Rachel’s hair.

Catcalls and laughter swelled around them as they pulled apart - they’d only pulled apart because Rachel had pushed Santana gently away from her (and simultaneously her body had decided to betray her want because she’d whimpered very audibly against Santana’s perfect lips) before sitting down and trying to gather her composure.

The game continued in somewhat of a haze, but the Glee club lost interest before it got back around to Santana (luckily). Rachel was grateful for that, and she was even more grateful as everyone spread out around the livingroom and settled in for a couple horror movies.

The diva hated horror movies, but somehow everything seemed to be a blur currently as she settled in the corner of the couch. Her heart couldn’t regain a calm pace as the kisses played over and over in her head. Every detail was crisp even as the opening credits began. Rachel would normally be cowering but she was only trying to ignore the sound of Santana’s voice as she joked with Artie somewhat near where Rachel was sitting.

Were kisses supposed to feel like that? Like liquid fire being poured inside her veins? They’d never felt like that before, not with anyone, and all of a sudden it seemed that it was all Rachel could remember. Santana had grasped her so hard and pulled their torsos together. Rachel could understand why Finn had given his virginity to her - she was irresistable.

The diva couldn’t figure out why she was a little disappointed in thinking the Latina probably kissed everyone like that.

It was just a game of spin the bottle, anyway.


Part III: Not Just a Game

Come to believe that I better not leave

Before I get my chance to ride


It had been approximately four days, six hours, and two minutes since Rachel had been consumed by the fire that was Santana. Not that she was counting or anything. Not only did it seem like everything had been some sort of weird dream, but there was new talk of having a movie night for the glee club at someone’s house every weekend. The idea sounded lovely to Rachel - as she’d been thinking she wanted friends and starting to have better relations with her fellow glee clubbers. Another part of her had mixed feelings, because there was something about the fear that they’d end up playing spin the bottle and she’d end up kissing Santana again. It could have been excitement, because after all, you can’t really forget a feeling like that. It certainly been a good feeling, not a bad one. Perhaps she was afraid of what it meant, not how it made her feel.

Everyone but Santana seemed to be speaking to her more regularly. The Latina was going out of her way to avoid Rachel, that much she could tell. Whenever Rachel came out of a classroom and spotted Santana, she’d see the Latina heading in the opposite direction faster than she’d ever seen Santana walk. The diva wondered why, but being a realistic person figured it just meant that the kisses had made Santana feel awkward and uncomfortable. It wasn’t possible, after all, that Santana had enjoyed it just as much. She’d been tipsy anyway.

So lost in thought was Rachel that she failed to see the slushie flying at her. Karofsky was the offender from what she could tell, and the cold washed over her. It was almost painful, realizing that the order had to have come down from someone. Had Santana gone back on her word or had someone else ordered the hit?

Rachel remained stunned to silence and stillness. Her legs wouldn’t function even though they said ‘run’ very clearly. A mixture of emotion - surprise, anxiety, sadness, anger - flooded her and just as she was about to speak she felt another slushie collide against her. More laughter. It was like a nightmare.

Sputtering a cry of surprise, she felt someone brush past her and before she could wipe the slushie from her eyes, she heard the voice. Santana. Yelling. Was she yelling at Rachel? No. Wait just a moment. Rachel used her stained sleeve to wipe slushie from her eyes, ignored the stinging of false flavoring and chemicals, and gasped at the scene in front of her. Santana had somehow pinned Karofsky to a locker and already hit him once, and just as he was covering his face, the Latina managed one last blow before she was yanked off of him. She was shouting loud, angry curses in Spanish and her legs were flailing about trying to get one last damaging kick to Karofsky’s gut.

Rachel really couldn’t make out Santana’s words. In her anger she’d lapsed into Spanish and was lecturing Karofsky even as she was being pulled away. She pulled and pried at the arms around her - Mr. Schue had come flying out of course - trying her best to get at Karofsky.

Two questions lingered on Rachel’s mind. Where had Santana come from and why was she so angry? Was she angry because she’d seen the slushie attack?

Before Rachel could say anything to Santana, she was being tugged away by Ms. Pillsbury. The diva had actually momentarily forgotten she was covered in flavored slushie until Ms. Pillsbury began fussing over her ruined clothes and directing her to go wash up the best she could. Rachel tried to get one last look, and all she could see was Santana being held back by both Figgins and Schue.

After a clean change of clothes and a fresh layer of makeup, Rachel was still pondering Santana’s reaction. The diva wondered, as she leaned closer to the mirror, if Santana had really gotten upset that she’d been slushied. If she had, then why? Perhaps she was just reacting out of loyalty to the promise she’d made Rachel. After all, Santana had been avoiding her all this time anyway, so there wasn’t anything that would speak of another motivation.

The diva didn’t know if she should even ask, truthfully, and as Rachel grabbed her things and made her way out of the bathroom, she was stopped by Brittany.

"Movie night," Brittany bounced on her heels, handed Rachel an invitation, and bounded down the hallway before Rachel could ask the blonde if her best friend had said anything about the afternoon’s confrontation.

She guessed she’d just have to wait until Santana said something to figure it out.


The thing about Kurt’s livingroom was that it was relatively small. While the room Finn had in the basment and Kurt’s bedroom were fairly large, neither had a television as large as in the livingroom.

By the time Rachel arrived, it was pretty packed full. The couch was taken up by Mercedes, Kurt, and Quinn, with Sam on the lounging chair. Mike and Tina sat against the arm of the lounging chair, Finn and Puck sprawled out in front of the television, and only enough room for two more people in front of the couch - Santana and Rachel. Santana was already seated and avoiding eye-contact with Rachel as the diva waved to everyone and took the last remaining space. Even with space beside Santana, there was little room if Rachel had wanted it. At most, she could get a half an inch of space between her arm and Santana’s. Brittany and Artie were both near Puck and Finn, and anyone who had to cross the room would have to climb over bodies.

Rachel glanced aside at Santana as opening credits rolled, the light from the television illuminating the Latina’s distracted expression. The diva wished she’d say something, anything, or even look at her - and then she realized that was perhaps how Santana had been feeling when Rachel had taken on the silent protest. Blinking, she felt a little bit of surprise at the epiphany.

Leering wasn’t exactly the way to get Santana comfortable enough to say something. Everyone else was talking loud enough amidst their own conversations for Rachel to clear her throat quietly enough for only Santana to hear.

The Latina looked immediately irritated, “Yes?”

"I was just wondering," Rachel hesitated the moment those dark eyes found hers in the dark, and shrunk against the couch a little, "if you’re.. did you get hurt this afternoon?"

"No, why would I?"

"I-I just thought that since you’d, you know, hit Karofsky that you might - " Rachel pointed dumbly to Santana’s hand, which was jerked away from any potential graze of skin.

"I’m fine."

Rachel waited a moment, breathing in bravery and spitting out the question that had been bothering her since the happening this afternoon, “Did you hit him because he slushied me?”

Santana’s expression was completely unreadable, and she remained silent.

The diva hesitated, her hand halting in the air before resting atop Santana’s. Only for a second, before she pulled it away. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. Or .. you know.” Rachel tucked her hands in her own lap and stared at the television screen. A zombie film. Quinn and Sam must’ve brought this evening’s entertainment.

Rachel felt Santana shift beside her - but the strange thing was that she had shifted closer, not further away. Brown eyes widened in silent surprise as she glanced over at Santana. Santana wouldn’t acknowledge her, but the funny thing Rachel noticed was that there was now considerable amount of space where Santana had previously been sitting. If she’d been moving to have more space, she’d done exactly the opposite.

The Latina’s arm was warm, pressed against Rachel’s. Rachel’s muscles were tense as she tried not to focus on how nice it felt. It must have just been because she hadn’t had physical contact. That’s all. Rachel took even breaths, subtle enough to go unnoticed. At some point, Rachel’s arm relaxed ever so slightly beside Santana’s, and felt the true weight of Santana’s form right next to her. She may have been leaning a little on Rachel.

A few times, Rachel took the chance to openly watch Santana’s expression from the side but it was still unreadable, and Santana wouldn’t acknowledge her again for what seemed like forever. The diva shifted slightly, angling her knee to come into contact with Santana’s thigh. The Latina didn’t move.

It shouldn’t have mattered, but Rachel had to know why Karofsky had gotten the worst of the Latina’s fury that afternoon. Yet, how to ask? How to get past Santana’s stoic and stubborn expression to see what was behind it?

Openly staring at someone wasn’t generally a good idea, but Rachel hadn’t realized it until she got caught. Santana must have realized Rachel was staring because she turned her eyes challengingly to Rachel’s, and the diva felt frozen. The apology got stuck in her throat as Santana watched her. A familiar burning sensation began in Rachel’s chest.

It was as if Santana was searching for something, the way she looked at Rachel. The diva could only gape.

"He shouldn’t have gone against my order," Santana spoke just loud enough for Rachel to hear over the sound of screams on television. "He knew better."

She’d done it for Rachel.


Leaving had been harder this time - realistically it shouldn’t have been, because there’d been no heated makeout games. Yet she felt as she was walking down the sidewalk to her father’s car, that she was leaving an important opportunity behind. As Rachel turned around, she saw Santana saying goodbye to Kurt. The rest were staying just a little longer, or taking a longer time getting ready to leave.

Santana made her way down the walk, and even though Rachel should have just let it go, she couldn’t. As Santana made as if to ignore Rachel and leave, the diva reached a hand out and gently caught Santana’s arm. The Latina looked down at the hand, rolled her eyes, but didn’t have anything sarcastic to say. She just looked at Rachel expectantly.

"I just wanted to uhm, well, to thank you. Not so much for the violence but for upholding your promise to me and defending me," Rachel stumbled a little over her words and couldn’t look Santana in the eye. So many times she’d felt so brave, even in front of Quinn - it was easy to confront Quinn and everyone else - but in front of Santana she felt small.

"Don’t," Santana brushed off the gratitude and began to move out of Rachel’s grasp, but the diva stopped her by squeezing her elbow delicately. Her skin was like silk, Rachel noted, as her thumb slid over the curve of her elbow. Before she could warn Santana, she was moving forward and wrapping her arms around Santana’s waist. The diva pressed herself flush against Santana, rested her head against her collarbone.

It was the best ‘thank you’ she could give Santana. And while Rachel expected Santana to push her way, or curse her out, or something, she did none of that. The diva felt two warm arms hesitate at her sides and slowly slip up her back. Notably, a trail of goosebumps made their way after Santana’s hands. Santana’s breath was near Rachel’s ear, and it sounded a little hesitant, as if she too felt something squeeze her lungs when she was close. Santana’s fingers pulled Rachel tighter and the curtain of black hair wafted the smell of some wonderful shampoo in Rachel’s direction. There was a moment that Rachel felt breath right beside her earlobe.

Rachel’s breath hitched as Santana whispered against her ear, “I got your back.” The sensation of it was spectacular - Santana’s lips brushing so near her ear - as well as the insinuation that Rachel was under the protection of someone who might eventually care about her.

Then all too soon, Santana was disengaging and making her way down the street, heading home without a word. Rachel stood alone on the sidewalk until her dad rolled down the window and asked if she was coming.


Part IV: Sleepovers

Running through the field where all my tracks will be concealed

And there’s nowhere to go

It was now a weekly occurence, and while not all the glee club members made it to every movie night, it had become something Rachel looked forward to. While she hadn’t had any encounters with Santana since they’d embraced outside of Kurt’s house, the Latina had started to acknowledge her with the barest of head-nods and sometimes a smirk. Rachel would flush and push hair behind her ear bashfully as Santana would pass.

Part of Rachel craved the opportunity to be near Santana once more, but it was too soon to suggest any one-on-one activities. This weekend would be Rachel’s first chance - Mercedes was having the girls over for a slumber party at her house. In fact, Rachel had never been to a real slumber party before. While Quinn had opted to spend the night with the boys at Puck’s for an all-night Call of Duty tournament, the rest of the girls would be there.

No more slushies had ruined Rachel’s clothing since Santana had beat Karofsky into a locker, and Figgins kept an unusually close eye on Santana. Rachel noticed he too had gotten bruised in Santana’s display of authority.

Standing in front of Mercedes door, she felt no hesitation as she knocked and waited. It was nice; even though she was only on acquaintance-level relations with everyone, Rachel didn’t feel so alone anymore. She also had one thing to look forward to - seeing Santana.

The Latina was already there as the door swung open and Tina smiled at Rachel in greeting. Rachel could hear Brittany and Santana as she stepped into the house, and when Rachel asked what they were doing, Tina merely grinned. “Karaoke. Imagine that.”

While it was difficult to maintain the urge to gasp at the fact they were playing a singing game, she followed Tina up the stairs as quietly as possible. Rachel hummed a little to herself but halted in the doorway as she saw Santana in nothing but black boy-shorts and a white beater. The diva had to stop herself from gaping, though, and made her way into the room.

"Hey guys," she stated, waving a little to Mercedes. "Thanks for inviting me."

Mercedes merely shrugged in response then picked up an apparently interrupted conversation as Tina sat down next to the girl. Brittany and Santana were too busy figuring out what song to sing to acknowledge her, so Rachel sat her things next to Santana’s and settled into the bean-bag chair near the television.

It wasn’t until after Santana finished that the Latina seemed to notice her. While she didn’t say anything to Rachel, the Cheerio didn’t hesitate to meet her eyes and smirk just a little. Rachel wished there was a way not to blush everytime Santana did that, but she really had no choice. The diva felt a strange twist in her stomach, ever since that hug. It was one thing to kiss in a game of spin the bottle - that was just a game - but Santana had willingly hugged her last time, for longer than necessary.

Rachel’s eyes found the floor less nerve-wracking to look at. Brittany sprawled on the bed near Mercedes and Tina, and the three were so absorbed in their conversation that Rachel felt the beginnings of butterflies in her stomach.

Santana was near her backpack, spreading out her sleeping bag right next to where Rachel had laid her own. The brunette tried not to stare but she found it hard to concentrate thinking Santana would be sleeping next to her. In those boyshorts.

Saving the world might have been an easier task than not salivating. Rachel felt very unlike herself. This wasn’t a normal reaction to someone. Yet with all the previous encounters in tow, it made sense. Maybe it was just a hormonal thing.

And then Santana had reached for Rachel’s sleeping bag and spread it next to her own. Rachel swallowed and perhaps expected Santana to say something, but she said nothing as she finished smoothing it out and sat on the bed with the other three girls. Rachel stood as she realized there would be no current acknowledgement of the fact that Santana had just made the choice (for herself and Rachel) that they’d be sleeping beside each other.

It’s not like they’d be sleeping together. It probably wasn’t important. So Rachel let it go and sat down on the bed. Conversation came easier when she wasn’t wondering at Santana’s motives.


It wasn’t until 2 a.m. that anyone started dropping off to sleep. While both Brittany and Tina had brought sleeping bags, Tina ended up passing out beside Mercedes on the bed and Brittany was sprawled on the carpeted floor on the other side of Mercedes’ bed. The five of them had happily conversed for almost six hours before they’d gotten tired. Santana was still awake when Rachel came in from the bathroom, dressed in pajama bottoms and a matching t-shirt (stars, what else). She nervously cleared her throat as she flicked the light off. As her eyes adjusted to the dark she spotted Santana settling against the bed, apparently putting her regular clothes into her backpack. Those tanned thighs were right in Rachel’s line of sight as she unzipped her own sleeping bag and climbed in, but she tried not to leer.

Rachel felt confusion now that everything was quiet. As she usually did when trying to clear up her thoughts, she made a list of all the things Santana had done in order to discover what they had as a common denominator. Ticking things off on her fingers, she worked through it: first, Santana had been bothered Rachel wasn’t speaking and offered her protection; secondly, she’d been perfectly fine with kissing and/or making out with Rachel (depending on how you looked at it) twice in a game of spin the bottle; thirdly, she’d hit Karofsky for throwing slushies in Rachel’s face, and then the list became too long to keep track. There were several small signs all adding up to one conclusion: Santana may have had some sort of affection for Rachel.

The diva glanced over at Santana in the dark. The Latina was zipping up her backpack and settling down on her pillow the moment Rachel sat up, leaned on her elbow, and looked down at Santana. She arched an eyebrow, “Can I help you?” The Cheerio spoke lowly, but not in a way that suggested she was irritated.

"I don’t understand you."

"Good," Santana smirked in the dark. Those penetrating eyes were locked on Rachel’s.

"I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me."

"Big surprise. I mean, I barely even tell Britt anything and she’s my best friend."

"What am I?"

"What do you mean?"

"What am I to you? Why have you been kind to me?"

"I made a promise."

"It’s more than that."

Santana dropped her gaze and wouldn’t answer. That was all Rachel needed to confirm what she thought. Santana had some affection for Rachel. The question was whether or not it was romantic or platonic.

Rachel wanted to ask more, to press, but she only laid down on her back and stared at the ceiling.

"I’m not playing with you."

"I know."

"I mean I’m not being nice to dump a bucket of blood over your head at prom."

"Lovely image, Santana."

Santana scoffed and rolled her eyes, sitting up. “You’re not going to ask me why?”

"Didn’t I already do that?"

"You shouldn’t answer questions with questions."

Rachel could see now, in the dark, something had fallen inside of Santana. A wall, a barrier, something. In the dark, maybe she felt safer revealing a part of herself she wouldn’t talk about. Maybe she thought Rachel couldn’t see the way her eyes were shining or feel that Santana’s torso was near the line of Rachel’s body. Maybe she just wanted to be out with it.

Something about sleepovers brought out the secrets in people, that’s what Rachel thought.

"It’s when you stopped talking I realized that I liked when you talked," Santana began quietly, almost a whisper, and she was leaning up on an elbow with that thick curtain of black hair hanging over her shoulder. Near enough for Rachel to smell her shampoo. Rachel’s soft brown eyes searched in the dark and saw Santana staring at her fidgeting hands. She had no words, because her heart was being strangled at Santana’s opening words. "Then the game, you know. That was… fucking brilliant," Santana’s voice took on a slightly husky tone, and her penetrating eyes found their way up Rachel’s throat, to her mouth, and finally to her eyes. Rachel lay there, vulnerable and nervous. "I guess it’s just," Santana shook her head. "I suck with words, dude."

"I’m not a dude, but I .. I think I get what you’re trying to say," Rachel spoke with a nervous tremor, and her eyes dipped into the darkness for a moment. Santana’s eyes were too intense for her to stare at much longer.

The Latina seemed to have said all she could as a warm hand sought Rachel’s arm and trailed over Rachel’s forearm, then the inside of her elbow. Goosebumps erupted all over her flesh as she felt Santana’s palm full against her arm, slipping underneath the arm of her shirt and cascading back down. It was harder to breathe than Rachel could remember, and she still couldn’t force herself to look at Santana. She was nervously chewing on her lip and praying for the courage to react accordingly.

Santana’s touch didn’t stop at her arm. As the Latina grew bolder, her fingers moved across Rachel’s collarbone (at one point dipping beneath the rim of Rachel’s shirt, making the diva think it was either very fortunate or very insane not to be wearing a bra).

"You haven’t been drinking have you?" Rachel breathed finally, her voice meek and quiet. Santana couldn’t possibly want to touch her this way. Santana only chuckled throatily and that thick black hair swayed a little in Rachel’s sight as she shook her head.

"Why aren’t you stopping me?" Santana asked the question like a perplexed child as her hand stroked the skin at Rachel’s throat.

Rachel swallowed and her eyes fluttered. It was getting harder to verbalize, because every once in a while Santana’s fingers would dip below her shirt collar and go a little too close to the beginning of Rachel’s modest curves. She felt like she was shaking from the inside out.

"Aren’t you afraid I do this with everyone?"

Rachel frowned a little. She had been, initially, but the way Santana asked it made her think there was a tone of insecurity, as if the assumption was too familiar and too painful. The diva shook her head and finally forced herself to search Santana’s eyes. There was vulnerability there for the first time since she’d known the Cheerio. “No,” she whispered.

Santana hesitated, her hand stopping. And then the touches continued. Santana’s hand went from her collarbone to her arm once more, as if following an invisible trail, and Rachel should have stopped her when she heard the unzipping of her sleeping bag. Santana pushed the corner of it aside, just enough to slip her hand beneath the thick, insulated fabric, and Rachel’s eyes widened as she felt Santana’s fingers slip over her hip and underneath her shirt. It was then Rachel realized Santana was exploring, seeing how far she could go before Rachel stopped her.

Trembling from the inside out, Rachel only stopped Santana’s hand as she heard movement above them. Someone shifting in bed, sighing, and shifting again. Those dark eyes locked on hers and Rachel clutched Santana’s hand to keep her from going any further - and to keep her from withdrawing. It took perhaps five minutes before she let go of Santana’s hand. She gave no indication she wanted her to stop.

Santana’s fingers moved dangerously close to the underside of Rachel’s breasts. The diva felt she couldn’t breathe, and felt her body start to respond to the most minute of movements, even the way Santana’s fingers drew hesitating lines against her ribs as if Santana was deciding to stop.

That alone was proof enough that Santana was weighing whether this was the right thing to do. In some way, that showed Rachel she cared. The diva tried her best to keep breathing, but it was when she felt Santana’s fingers blatantly drawing half-circles against the curve of her breast that Rachel stopped. She nearly grabbed Santana’s hand in askance for her to stop, but she couldn’t think. Fog rolled through as she registered the Latina leaning down in the dark, and those lips brushed first her neck, her throat, and eventually found Rachel’s lips. At first the kiss was tentative, gentle. Santana was brushing her lips against Rachel’s as if seeing it was alright. When Rachel let out the quietest of whimpers, the kiss became a little more passionate.

I’m going in for the kill, I’m doing it for the thrill…

Santana’s tongue drew along Rachel’s bottom lip, and the diva gasped just before she found herself becoming the aggressor. Her fingers tangled in Santana’s thick locks and tugged her closer, her other hand seeking Santana out to pull her closer. A wash of craving spilled from Rachel as she tried to be as quiet as possible - a task which became a lot harder when Santana’s hand boldly covered Rachel’s breast before her thumb rolled Rachel’s nipple between her thumb and forefinger. She all but moaned into Santana’s mouth and her hips bucked haplessly.

Santana smirked against Rachel’s lips at this, and the diva felt her body yearning for a whole lot more contact. She was all but tugging Santana on top of her, pulling at the Latina’s shirt and arching her chest up into Santana’s eager touch.

Rachel really wished they were alone. Especially when she heard Brittany mumbling on the other side and they broke apart slightly, breathing heavily into one another’s mouths. Despite the desire to keep descretion, Santana was still rolling a nipple in her fingers and making Rachel squirm. The diva all but growled and moaned, kissed Santana harder. It was a demanding kiss, and she sought out Santana’s passion as she writhed beneath her experienced touch.

At some point it became evident things weren’t going to stop, so Rachel decided they needed to change location. The girl unwillingly disengaged from Santana and grabbed the Latina by the hand, dragging her eagerly into the bathroom far, far down the hall. The second the door shut, Santana grabbed Rachel by the waist, hoisted her up onto the sink’s edge, and reconnected their lips forcefully. Rachel’s toned legs wrapped around Santana’s hips and the Latina’s hands were already making their way to Rachel’s aching nipples.

"I’m not going to be able to stop now," Santana whispered against Rachel’s lips, causing Rachel to groan quietly. A hand slipped from Rachel’s shirt and without warning slipped beneath the line of Rachel’s panties. Rachel gasped in surprise as Santana slipped her touch down much lower than Rachel had expected. The diva was breathing heavily in shock against Santana’s lips and before she could finish working through the fog of what she wanted and what they should do, she felt Santana push her fingers deep inside of her and curl in just a way that made Rachel moan and dip her head forward. Santana’s hips rolled forward to accentuate the motion of her fingers, and Rachel’s lips crashed against Santana’s once her body started to respond to the Latina’s rhythm.

She’d certainly never expected to be having sex in Mercedes’ bathroom with Santana, but here it was, a very delicious reality. Santana’s fingers moved again and again, deeper, and in ways Rachel never had expected. Her hips were grinding against the touch and her hands had slipped to Santana’s very nice (now that she noticed) backside as if to pull Santana’s touch deeper inside of her.

"Don’t stop," Rachel heard herself pant against Santana’s lips as she got closer and closer to the abyss. Each stroke became more intense, her insides beyond sensitive at this point and her lips crashing against Santana’s as her hips rolled frantically into Santana’s experienced touch. "Oh god, please," Rachel pleaded in a whine against Santana’s lips, and she felt a third finger join the other two; this alone was enough to send the diva over the edge. Her muscles clenched around the touch and Rachel moaned Santana’s name against the Latina’s shoulder.

Her hips still writhed wantingly, and while she thought she was finished, Santana didn’t stop for the first. She brought Rachel headlong into a second round, this time holding Rachel’s thigh around her waist and showing the diva exactly what she knew how to do.

At some point, after Rachel had fallen into a third orgasm, Santana finally let up and brought Rachel back to earth by kissing her, slow and heady. Their kiss was different, fueled by something different. While it was passionate, it was something else. It was a kiss that could start a slow-building fire that would last for hours, the kind of kiss that would make you want and ache. Yet there was a sweetness to it, an affection, the way Santana’s hands were pulling Rachel into her arms, pulling her close, not grasping or groping, but holding. When they finally needed to come up for air, Rachel felt Santana press her swollen lips to the diva’s temple and her hands pulled gently.

This was something. She could see it in Santana’s eyes as they finally pulled apart. Santana’s hand slipped into her own, and together they made it back to Mercedes room as if nothing had happened, but in the dark it was safe for Santana to pull Rachel against her. The last thing Rachel heard before falling asleep was the sound of Santana’s heartbeat near her ear, the sound of her even breathing, and she felt Santana’s fingers drawing shapes over her back. This was something special and it was just beginning.

I’ll Protect You | Pezberry ficlet photo prompt by poohlikeaboss

Rachel Barbra Berry didn’t very much like the boys in her class.  Ever since she’d switched schools and tried to make friends, it just didn’t seem to work.  And the boys, they were the worst.  Sometimes they threw pebbles at Rachel, or called her names.  She liked to think she was just like the other kids, but they didn’t seem to think so.  They said she sounded like she was puking up the dictionary; she tried to explain that her fathers had taught her that Broadway stars needed to be well-spoken.

She felt the prick of something sharp against her shoulder.  One of the boys was poking her with a sharpened pencil, digging it into her arm.  ”Ow, stop it!” 

"Make me!" The boy stuck his tongue out and poked her again.  Just as Rachel was about to get up and find the teacher, she watched as one of her new classmates took his pencil and held it above his head.

The other girl had introduced herself as Santana only once before, and after that seemed to shy away from talking to Rachel.  Now here she was, and she hadn’t arrived quietly, “Hey!  I’m gonna tell the teacher on you if you keep hurting her!”

"Psh, like I care," the boy scoffed and made a grab for the pencil.

"You’ll care when you’re sitting in detention."

"I have detention all the time."  The boy sounded proud, but Rachel didn’t think detention was something to be proud of.  She watched, wide-eyed, as Santana shoved the boy onto the carpeted floor.  He landed on some wooden blocks, and cried out.

"Are you really gonna make a girl beat you up?” Santana kicked a stray block at the boy, and it smacked against his arm.

Rachel wiped the tears from her eyes, “It’s o-okay.”

"No it’s not.  I get sad when I see you cry." Santana let Rachel grab her arm and drag her over to the art corner.  

Rachel smiled, brown eyes shining.

"Wait, you’re crying again," Santana looked confused and upset.  The other girl shook her head adamantly.

"You’re the nicest girl I’ve ever met, even if you did just threaten to beat up a boy."

Santana cast her eyes to the ground, pushed her toes together.  ”I can protect you from now on.”

Perfect the Way You Are | Pezberry ficlet photo prompt by poohlikeaboss

"Hey Rachel?" Santana bent over to pick up another sea shell, her bucket already heavy with the ones they’d found.  Their families were on vacation with one another, and Rachel’s favorite thing to do was find sea shells on the beach.  Santana didn’t like it very much, but it made Rachel happy so she went along with her.

"Yeah?" Rachel stopped examining the shell in her own hand, trotted in the sand toward Santana.  "Did you find another good one?"

"No, well I mean … yeah, but that wasn’t it."  Santana held out the most recent find, watched with admiration as Rachel beamed in approval at it.  "What if I’m not like other girls?"

Rachel looked confused, “What do you mean?”

Santana took a breath, frowned a little.  ”Well, you know, we’re 9 now and … the other girls talk about boys.  How cute they are, or how they want to try being boyfriend-girlfriend.”  Her best friend continued to listen, perplexed.  ”I don’t think about that though.  And my mom, she said that any normal girl … “

"You are normal!  Your mom is crazy sometimes.  She likes all those Jesus candles and talks about stuff out of the bible.  I think you’re normal."

"What if I feel the same way about girls as I should about boys?”

The question was almost too quiet to hear.  Rachel didn’t respond right away, and Santana flushed with embarrassment.  Just as she was about to run, Rachel flung her arms around Santana’s neck and held on tight, “You’re perfect the way you are.”

You May Want to Read This (If You Love Pezberry)

Hello there, beautiful readers!

I hope you’re having a fantastic day.  So as of last night — after writing like a madman with pen and paper some ideas, I’ve decided now is the time to start writing the fleshed out version of New Day and Age (that Pezberry fic that so many ended up loving).  

What I’m going to do is transform the parts into part of the whole fic.  Basically I’m starting with prologue and part 1 as “chapter one”-ish.  And the rest of the fic, or the majority of it is going to take place between part 1 and part 2.  There will be more that takes places after part 2 and 3, but that’ll be later to come.  Right now I’m probably looking at around 20 chapters once it’s finished.

Since most of you have been following me a while you know that I don’t always get these things done within a month or two, so this could be an on-running fic, but my hope is that I’ll be able to do at least a chapter a week (between working & such) for this story.  At least, a chapter every two weeks.

The chronology will be the same, I’ll just be expanding on what occurred during their friendship and after they consummated their relationship.  If you have any questions or get confused on anything, just hit my inbox and I’ll get with you and try to explain things.

I’m republishing/repackaging prologue and chapter 1, along with the newly written chapter 2 tonight (it’s all getting posted at once, in one big chunk, so probably 15000 words when it’s published tonight).

Love you all!


Hello lovely readers!
I wanted to update you on the reason it’s taken me so long to get any updates out. This month (on July 17th) and the two months prior I was preparing to move about 1,000+ miles away from where I grew up and lived for 24 years. However,  on July 20th I arrived at my destination - a lovely town along the East coast of Virginia - and started the arduous process of moving into a new apartment with my girlfriend of 2 years. We are moved in now, and mostly settled. We were supposed to get the internet Monday but Verizon fiOS is a pain and the equipment didn’t arrive. We may have a technician coming tomorrow to set the internet up, though. So I don’t have internet but hopefully will tomorrow, at the latest by Thursday. When that happens, updates will be very soon to follow. If you have a request, feel free to leave It in my ask.

Somewhere a Clock is Ticking: Chapter 8

Title: Somewhere a Clock is Ticking

Pairing: Quinn/Rachel

A/N: Lyrics from “Somewhere a Clock is Ticking” by Snow Patrol. Also, I want to issue a sincere apology for the long wait in between updates lately. I suffer from Bipolar I Disorder. While I mostly suffer manic episodes, occassionally I suffer from very, very depressed episodes where I can’t even pull myself out of bed. I had been struggling with my mental health for the better part of the last month and a half, as well as waiting for my medication refills. Anyway…replies and then Chapter 8! Thank you so much for the incredible reviews you guys have been leaving. Also, MorningMsMagpie/Aelithe created an amazing piece of fan-art. Seriously it was spectacular, so thank you so much for that Aelithe. I’m so flattered and honored and speechless that everyone is giving the story so much love and attention. Yeah… just.. thank you guys. I really appreciate it more than you know.


Chapter 8: Afraid

Another soldier, says he’s not afraid to die…


Somewhere in between four and five in the morning, a harsh knock at the door caused a half-clothed Quinn to tumble to the floor, shoot up in a panic, and dart around looking for her discarded clothing. The blonde even scrambled to find Rachel’s clothes for her. “Rachel!” She hissed harshly into the dark, once and then twice. “Rachel!" The brunette groaned and Quinn found herself practically jerking Rachel into a sitting position and shoving Rachel into a sweater.

"Quinn, what on earth are you - you can’t possibly - " Rachel’s voice was muffled by the hoodie being shoved over her head, arms flailing and confused.

Quinn hushed her harshly, “Berry, unless you want someone to see you naked besides me, you’ll stop struggling,” another knock at the door caused Rachel to gasp and suddenly go into panic mode. Quinn was almost knocked backward as Rachel violently batted Quinn’s hands away and struggled to get her hoodie the rest of the way on.

Rachel looked flushed and panicked even in the dark, and Quinn practically dove off the bed. There was a hard thud as Quinn’s knees connected with the floor. Rachel was hissing quietly with laughter from behind her hand. “Oh my god, Quinn, are you okay?”

"Laugh it up," Quinn whispered harshly and tossed the blanket that had been carelessly discarded during their passionate first time directly into Rachel’s face. The brunette peeled the blanket from her head and sent a glare in Quinn’s direction.

Another knock. Impatient. “God, open up already, the only reason you should have this door locked is if you - mrrphmrphmm - ” Santana’s voice was muffled as Quinn threw the bedroom door open, clapped her hand over Santana’s mouth, and forcefully drug her into the room.

"How about not insinuating sex?”

Santana peeled Quinn’s hand from her mouth and her nostrils flared in irritation. “How about you keep your hands off my face next time or I’ll go wake everyone up and tell them you two hooked up?”

Rachel was blushing a deep red, even noticeable in the barely-there light of the morning. “Oh god,” she groaned quietly and rolled over, buried her face underneath a pillow.

Quinn seconded that, “I’d really rather people don’t find out right now,” the blonde moved back over to the bed.

"What, regrets?" Santana arched an accusing eyebrow.

"What? No! No! No regrets I just .. Santana you of all people should understand wanting to keep things, erm, secret - " Quinn frowned. She certainly didn’t regret a second of what had happened with Rachel. It was just that dealing with it this way meant that the likelihood of ending up homeless again was little to none. If her parents ever found out that she was dating a girl, dating a Jewish girl, and had sex with said girl, she’d be out on the streets quicker than Sue Sylvester could come up with a horrifying scenario to frighten the Cheerios into working harder. “I don’t regret it, not a second of it,” Quinn clarified insistently and glanced over her shoulder at Rachel, who had peeked back over her own shoulder and was looking a little in awe at what Quinn was saying. “Do you?”

Rachel didn’t speak. She gaped, and shook her head insistently.

"Good," Quinn breathed.

"Next time, be a little quieter. I’m a light sleeper. Lucky for you, no one else seemed to hear anything or be awake," Santana practically collapsed into her own bed, but then eyed the bed suspiciously. "You used your own bed right?" A hand hovered above her pillow as if she thought she might need a haz-mat suit.

Quinn rolled her eyes, “Obviously.”

"Hey, just making sure." Santana eased herself quietly onto her mattress. "I got uncomfortable on the couch but I didn’t wanna wake Britt up. She’s still passed out."

The blonde wanted to say that Santana didn’t really need to explain, but seeing as how she’d nearly had a heart-attack at the idea of someone walking in on herself and Rachel, she appreciated the sentiment. Rachel’s hand reached the distance between them and found Quinn’s. Although Quinn had to squint to see, she could read that pleading expression in Rachel’s eyes. She immediately understood what the brunette wanted, because she wanted it just as badly. Carefully, Quinn lifted her legs and moved the blanket from underneath herself, slipped beneath the covers. It felt natural, but somehow still exciting, as she wrapped an arm around Rachel’s hip and felt the brunette settle against her. Quinn idly wondered if it was possible to still have a very intense crush on someone after you’d just had sex with them. The way her heart reacted against her ribcage when Rachel let out a contented sigh confirmed that yes, even after you’d been intimate, you could most certainly have a crush on someone.

Santana seemed to have dropped off into sleep not long after she’d stopped speaking, and Quinn felt exhaustion slip over her like a heavy blanket as well. Pulling her own body forward, into Rachel’s, she buried her face near Rachel’s hair and settled against her pillow. She fell asleep with a smile on her face, content for now and her atoms still thrumming evenly beneath the surface with the warmth of affection she had.


Quinn moved through the brush quietly. For the last 12 hours, she’d been tirelessly making her way through the dark jungle surrounding her. Religious insurgents had ambushed the base she’d been hiding out in with a few other guerrillas stationed at the southern outpost. Two men had died, and Quinn had managed to escape. She thought one in particular had managed to escape as well, but judging from the sounds coming from behind her, she was barely ahead of the attackers. They were shouting in the distance.

"Traitor!" One voice, deep and gruff, similar to her father’s, shot from what sounded to be less than 6 feet behind her.

Quinn’s instincts led her to dodge left and make her way back. They would be so busy runningtoward where they thought she was, that they likely wouldn’t expect to be flanked by her. She fingered the trigger of her AK-47 as she dropped to the ground silently, behind a fallen tree, and waited. Footsteps slowed.

"Traitor!" These were the men she’d fought with, defended. These were the men she formerly allied herself with. "You forget what purpose you serve, Fabray!" That gruff voice bellowed in the deep, swallowing darkness. A warning shot fired in the opposite direction.

She steadied the gun in her hands, and just as the silhouette passed into her line of sight, she used the log as leverage and let out a fierce cry, black streaks of war paint greased onto her cheeks. “I serve no man!” She managed to shout in response, hazel eyes flashing dangerously in the dark. The soldier wheeled around but as he spotted her, she fired off the rounds, the butt of the gun jarring against the crook of her shoulder. Teeth gritted, she let the shots ring out, heard answering shouts, and quickly disappeared into the brush again. She throw the gun over her shoulder, tightening the strap, and peered from behind the thick root of a tree. Body flattened against the ground, she breathed as quietly as possible. Any indication of her position meant death.

"Where’d the traitor go?" One of the soldiers, a little younger than the one she’d just injured, looked desperate to find her. He wouldn’t be stupid like the other had been - firing off warning rounds only wasted precious ammo, a limited resource where they were. He drew a machete and began hacking his way through thick brush in her direction.

Shit. She’d left a foot trail. Quinn, as quietly as possible, moved around the ancient trunk hiding her and began inching her way out of sight again. He still hadn’t seen her. She pulled on the strap for her AK-47, back to the tree, closed her eyes, and listened. Her heart beat heavily in her ears, thrumming unevenly, and she felt her skin starting to react with sweat. She freed a hand and hastily wiped away sweat from her eyes. Chest heaving, she heard him come ever closer.

Just the right moment, she had to wait for just the right moment. A crack to her left.

She spun from her position, aimed the gun directly at the young soldier. “Don’t move a muscle!”

Caught off-guard, he didn’t have time to react as she used the barrel of her AK to dislodge the knife from his hand and kick it into the distance. He reached for the smaller gun at his side, but she aimed and fired at his knee. Crying out in pain, blood spattering outward, the man fell.

"I told you not to move," Quinn growled and knocked him out, before she slung her AK over her shoulder once more and began to salvage whatever supplies she could off of him. A few sealed food packets, a couple Capri Sun, commonly sent to soldiers through supply tanks. She didn’t want any unnecessary weight, but she’d need supplies. She didn’t know how long she’d be on the run. A third soldier was still out there somewhere, but he was apparently too frightened to do much.

That gruff voice bellowed out again. She’d killed him, how was he still alive? “You’re a traitor to the cause, Fabray! I’ll have your head for this!” His voice sounded considerably weaker. She nearly fell over when she felt a hot breath at her ear, “How dare you turn your back on your own kind.”

Quinn awoke from the dream trembling. Her eyes wide, she patted the spot next to her, felt Rachel’s warmth. She sank into the mattress, panting with anxiety. That dream had been too realistic for her, too symbolic of her inner struggle. Rachel stirred beside her, blinked sleepily. That perfectly soft hand reached over and touched Quinn’s arm.

"Quinn? Are you okay?"

"Bad dream," Quinn grumbled quietly, frowning a bit and closing her eyes. Her breath was still coming a bit short. She kept trying to tell herself it was only a dream, but fear still drummed quietly against her ribs. "What time is it?"

Rachel groaned sleepily, craned upward to glance at the clock. “11,” she stated mid-yawn, stretched, and slowly sat up.

Although that dream had been markedly unpleasant, looking at Rachel made her feel a little more calm. Rachel looked positively radiant. “Rachel,” she murmured quietly, “I’m scared.”


Quinn nodded silently.

Recognition slowly flashed over Rachel’s features, knitting her brows together as she reached out. Her soft hand twined with Quinn’s, and the pad of her thumb stroked carefully over her skin. “Nobody has to find out right away. I mean .. I-I certainly don’t expect everything to be .. I mean..” Those brown eyes darted around with uncertainty and a little bit of disappointment.

Quinn felt a pang in her chest. She didn’t want to be a cause of Rachel’s doubt. Rachel deserved someone who could openly admit they were proud to be dating her. Quinn laughed, a little bitterly, “God, Rach, how can you even - “

"Quinn," Rachel hissed softly, "don’t you dare start that. Your self-deprecation is not welcome in my presence, understand?"

The blonde only nodded, gulping down air and closing her eyes. “I have such an intense crush on you,” she laughed a bit ironically. Her eyes slid open and she rested her gaze on Rachel’s face. Rachel was smiling in that way, the way she did when she felt bashful - biting down on her bottom lip to keed her grin from splitting across her entire face.

"I would hope so after.. after .. you know," Rachel blushed a deeper red, and Quinn chuckled softly.

"I’m just scared, that’s all. And I wanted to be honest with you about it. I don’t know where we .. go from here, I really don’t. I think that’s the worst part. If my parents find out I-I get kicked out again and I have nowhere to go. And I’m not ready to be thrown out again." Quinn could see Rachel nodding quietly in acknowledgement and agreement, "but you deserve someone who can be open and proud that you’re dating them. You deserve that."

Rachel smiled quietly, “I appreciate you saying that, Quinn. Truly. I can wait for that step. Right now I feel as if it’s more appropriate to focus on what’s between us, and not so much on what everyone else gets to see and understand. I’m not concerned about who knows and who doesn’t.”

Rachel Berry was an astounding woman. She constantly outdid her own extensive capacity for compassion, and it was difficult not to admire her for that very quality. As Quinn stared up at Rachel, searching that open expression, the blonde was only pulled out of her trance as a small pillow came flying at her head.

"I hate you both for waking me up," Santana groaned from the other side of the room. "I can’t wait til I can get back to my own house and I won’t have to listen to you two moon over one another."

Rachel laughed a little bit. “Good morning to you, too,” her tone was affectionate and she threw the pillow back in Santana’s direction. “Lucky for you, we head home today.”

"Lucky me," Santana gestured at Rachel, shared an affectionate smile with her very unlikely best friend. "Shit," she rasped, rolled over onto her back, and stretched.

Quinn smiled a little bit. There was still a lot to discuss with Rachel. She’d been Rachel’s first. That was a pretty big step, something she’d never expected them to fall into so very quickly. They were still only teenagers, and Quinn was experienced enough to know that she couldn’t even fully understand the consequences of such a serious relationship this young. She’d learned a lot from having Beth, and the main lesson had been a humbling one. Maturity wasn’t gained through action, only through growth. Her eyes searched Rachel’s face, and her smile grew as Rachel’s deep brown eyes dropped back down to meet her own. The blonde reached up, gently touched Rachel’s face, before she stretched and climbed out of bed. She made a quick job of changing into clothes, and crouched down on the floor to begin packing up her clothes.

"So, how was it?" Santana’s tone suggested that it was a rather personal matter, and Quinn was glad her back was turned to the Latina, because she flushed a deep red. Rachel’s gasp confirmed Santana was speaking of the very same thing Quinn suspected.

"Santana I really don’t believe that’s an appropriate line of questioning," Rachel stuttered out and quickly stood up as well. Quinn glanced at her from the side, spotting the tell-tale nervous way Rachel was pretending to be very focused on making the bed.

"Sure it is. Was it good or not? I mean, you two were totally all bottled up sexual tension and shit. Did Q blow your mind?"

Quinn blushed, glanced over her shoulder in disbelief. “I… uhh.. yeah, I’m just going to…is that bacon I smell?” She hurriedly zipped up her bag and darted out the door, hearing Rachel scold Santana as the door swung shut. Her stomach was a little twisted with nerves. She was sure everyone would be able to tell. That frightened her. Luckily, the cabin was mostly empty, besides three people. Kurt and Mercedes were sitting on either end of the couch, Brittany still sprawled out between them, snoring a bit loudly. Kurt looked irritated, and Mercedes was busy filing her nails.

"Morning tiger," Kurt raised an eyebrow, a smug expression crossing his features. His expression fell when Quinn shot him a vicious, dark look. A simple warning was enough, and he cleared his throat uncomfortably, eyes darting as if she was a gorgon and looking at her would turn him into stone.

"Tiger?" Quinn gazed in his direction as if to suggest he’d better come up with a believable lie for that nickname.

"The hair. It’s dreadful," he waved his hand dismissively and arched an eyebrow.

Brittany had impeccable timing. She was mumbling something about the moat around Tubbington’s castle and stopping the evil Sylvester from crossing the bridge with her army of cereal, before she started to rouse. Sleepy eyes blinked open, and the lithe cheerleader sat up, yawning, “Good morning… where’s San?” her expression contorted immediatley, noticing the absence of her sleeping partner.

Quinn smirked at everything that had just come out of Brittany’s mouth, both while unconscious and conscious. “She’s in the bedroom with Rachel,” Quinn motioned carefully before busying herself in the kitchen. Quinn Fabray could make one thing well - bacon. So that’s what she was going to make. She fished around in the refrigerator, found some bacon in the meat drawer, and readied the skilley. Humming quietly to herself, she thought over the very passionate joining that had happened last night following Finn’s dethroning of manhood. The blonde didn’t know what had caused Rachel to practically maul her and jump her bones the second that door had shut, but she didn’t mind one bit. There had been something else besides lust there. Something deep, a bit like a time capsule someone had buried inside of them both and only then had it been able to open for them. As if it was something intended by a higher power… or something. After all, Quinn hadn’t had many positive experiences with the ‘higher power’ her parents had so thoroughly pushed her to believe. This kind of blessing could only be universal in scale.

It meant a lot, being their first time. It had been a little sudden and kind of hasty, but somehow perfect all in the same. Rachel had looked at Quinn in the aftermath with such love that she couldn’t have imagined it being anything but perfect, and safe. That was the thing, Rachel made her feel safedespite her fears of being outed, of being homeless, of being rejected, disowned. Rachel seemed to tether her safely to the ground and one look from those brown eyes and a squeeze of that soft hand told her everything will be just fine, you’ll see.

The only real downside she could see in this situation was that Rachel might kill Quinn’s hard-earned cynicsm with her overbearing optimism. That was a trade she could deal with, though. And, the blonde had to remind herself, she still wanted to make it all proper and slow - as contradictory as it seemed. They had a relationship to build. Sex didn’t constitute a relationship. They’d built a slow foundation of trust and affection with one another, and now came the real work. Relationship. How did you have a proper relationship? How did you keep it real and exciting at the same time? How did you keep it from taking over your entire life? All valid questions, but nonetheless all complicated. One day at a time, Quinn supposed.

Wait, hold on a second. Army-Quinn smacked real Quinn hard in the back of the head with the butt of her AK-47.

Relationship. Call Quinn a broken record, but she’d just thought to herself that she wanted a relationship with Rachel. That was serious. That was … that was a commitment.

Rachel smiling. Rachel laughing. Rachel singing. Rachel’s warm embraces. Rachel’s affectionate gazes. Rachel fingertips tracing over Quinn’s wrist.

She could commit to that feeling, the one that surged up like heated rock from beneath the earth’s surface. She could commit to the feeling Rachel gave her with every bit of attention she showed Quinn. The power-play was fun, too, especially with Quinn and Rachel’s past now officially their pastand therefore something to mimic playfully. Maybe pursuing a committed relationship could still be fun. It didn’t have to be like one of those U-Haul situations. Quinn wasn’t ready to nest.

The blonde smelled the bacon’s crisply-done scent and turned off the skillet, piled a bit of bacon on a small plate and left the rest for anyone else who wanted some, and plopped down on the recliner. She munched away happily at the bacon, lost herself in the joy that was eating. It wasn’t until Rachel came out with their bags that she felt completely distracted. The brunette made her way over to Quinn’s chair and sat on the arm of it, making idle conversation with the rest of the group, but all Quinn could concentrate on was Rachel’s thighs. Resting right near her line of sight. The way those perfect hands were drifting up and down the side of her thigh as if itching an invisible bug bite.

Quinn sunk a little lower in her chair. It was really hard to concentrate on how perfect bacon was when the girl she’d just had sex with was teasing her with the sight of those perfect, delicious, lust-inducing thighs. She wanted her head between them, wanted them rested over her shoulders, pale fingers clenching into those perfect muscles as Rachel’s head dipped back -

"The bacon tastes good," Santana stated absentmindedly as she sat heavily down beside Brittany. "Good job, Q," the Latina congratulated her. It was enough to jar Quinn from her very lusty, very inappropriate thoughts. Rachel’s eyes sparkled as they searched Quinn’s, and Quinn blushed. Rachel knew exactly what she was doing.

"Thanks," Quinn commented darkly and avoided the burning lust in Rachel’s eyes.


"So how was everyone’s weekend?" Schue clapped his hands together and looked around the room expectantly.

"These losers went on some Brownie trip," Lauren narrowed her gaze and looked disapprovingly around the room.

Rachel frowned and looked behind her, “In fact, we rented two cabins and had a wonderful time,” she lifted her chin haughtily before turning back around. Beside her, Quinn grinned a little bit and secretly took in the sight of her irritation. In school, they still didn’t act particularly like they were dating just yet, but they definitely sat next to one another at every chance possible, lunch included. “It’s too bad you couldn’t pry yourself from your gaming schedule long enough to join us. Perhaps you’d stop acting like we’re forcing you to be here.”

"Oh be quiet, midget," Lauren rolled her eyes, to which both Santana and Quinn popped out of their chairs.

Finn flinched, “Uh, Lauren, you might wanna .. cool it on the insults,” he warned shakingly. His jaw was still significantly bruised and a little swollen.

"I could take these bitches," Lauren folded her arms over her chest.

"Why don’t you can it, Zizes?" Quinn barked.

"Before we find a way to permanently dismember that rude-ass mouth of yours," Santana finished and was still tense despite Britt’s hand on her arm.

"Dyke squad all up in arms."

"Hey!" Rachel popped up from her chair, whirled around, and pranced determinedly in front of Quinn, who was shaking with anger. Rachel’s short stature was nothing compared to her ability to call up a sense of quiet fury. Quinn had learned it was similar to her ability to cry on command. "How dare you use such offensive language, Lauren Zizes! We’ve done nothing to you, and neither have I, so I would greatly appreciate it if you would cease and desist."

Lauren scoffed, pushed Rachel by the shoulder a little too hard, causing her to stumble backward into Quinn. Quinn caught Rachel by the waist, made sure she was okay and steadied her. Without hesitation Santana was behind Lauren’s chair and had tipped it backwards. Quinn circled from around Rachel and was kicking a leg off of Lauren’s chair. Apparently getting defensive over Rachel brought a violent streak out in her. Just as she raised the shining leg and swung it into her palm, slow-as-ever Schuester was dashing up the stairs.

"Hey! Girls! And Zizes, you need to refrain from using such … offensive language in this room or I can’t condone your membership here," he scolded, pushing Quinn gently away and shooting Santana a look. Rage boiled up in Quinn and just as she was about to land a kick in Zizes side as the word ‘dyke’ echoed in her mind again, she felt arms encircle her waist and pull her gently back. It took a few moments to register it was Rachel, pulling her back.

Just like back in the beginning, when she and Santana had been at each other’s throats and Rachel had pulled her away from the Latina. Quinn was leaning against Rachel’s shorter frame, feeling soothed immediately. This time, instead of pulling violently out of those perfect arms, she let herself rest there as long as she could without being conspicuous. Her hand rested gently over Rachel’s and the metal leg of the chair slipped from her hand, fell to the floor next to them both. Her rage all but disappeared. Rachel. Rachel was right behind her. She’d always been right behind her.

Santana was being similarly contained as Brittany held her hand and tugged her away from a standing Lauren.

"Now if you’re honestly all going to continue acting like this … I mean it’s just completely unnecessary - "

Beep-buzz, "William! I see your animals are as unruly as ever." Sue Sylvester shouted through her megaphone from the doorway, a shit-eating grin on her face. "I’d say I’m surprised but I’m not. May I say it looks like you may have gotten just the right amount of Crisco on that head of yours today? Now if you’re going to encourage such violence I just may have to report you to Figgins, and once and for all get this pathetic excuse for a club," beep-buzz, "shut down permanently. Then I won’t have to listen to you loathsome children squawking like baby chickens on stage. Chickens, which I might add, that I wouldn’t even grill up and eat if I had the choice."

This brought the room to a standstill, and Quinn found herself turning around to the familiar feedback of that megaphone. She didn’t give it much thought, but her body flushed warm as she felt Rachel’s hand slip into hers. Those hazel eyes glanced at their joined hands, her heart fluttering a little bit, and Quinn felt like she was jumping for joy. Only she wasn’t. She was merely standing quietly next to Rachel, holding her hand.

The rest of the room had slowly begun to mumble apologies and put things back together and take their seats, all except Santana (who was still cursing under her breath in Spanish), Brittany, Rachel, and Quinn. Schuester was heading down the stairs and frowning.

"Sue, is there a reason you’ve interrupted our - "

"Bloodfest? Gladitorial display?" She was still speaking loudly through her megaphone, even as William was standing right in front of her. "To be honest I just wanted to see if the pure volume of this megaphone would make that greasy, wavy hair of yours move out of place but as it seems you use enough Crisco to fry the entirety of the Mexican hen population. That isn’t moving an inch. Well done, you sad excuse of a leprechaun-man. Now if you can pull yourself away from your harem, Figgins wants to see us both in his office,” beep-buzz, "pronto."

Schue was flaring his nostrils angrily and glanced back at the Glee club, “Behave. I’ll see you guys tomorrow, then.” He shoved past Sue and stalked out of the room.

Sue merely grinned at them all wolfishly, then pointed a finger at Lauren Zizes, “Hey, Fat Albert, if you ever decide you want to weigh less than an average beluga whale, I’ll give you the recipe for the drink my Cheerios substitute at every meal.”

With that, Sue Sylvester left a snickering Glee club behind, all except Lauren, who was barking at them to shut up before she hospitalized all of them.

After that, everyone seemed to filter out on their own, Santana and Rachel joining up right away in the hallway, with Brittany and Quinn behind them. Quinn felt silent today, she felt happy. It did bother her, however, that Lauren had called herself and Santana the ‘dyke squad.’ Did that mean other people were suspecting her of being a lesbian as well? Well, she was, so it wasn’t like they’d be wrong, but word would get around and then her parents… she couldn’t let herself think about it too much. Instead, she focused her gaze on Rachel, who was striding meaningfully in front of her talking with Santana about where they were all going to go tonight - Santana’s, Brittany’s, or Rachel’s. Santana’s house was almost always a no, Brittany’s was usually a yes, but the group tended to agree when they went to the Berry’s they got to eat the best vegan food ever. At Brittany’s it was just fondue - which only Lord Tubbington seemed to enjoy that fully.

"My house it is," Rachel announced matter-of-factly, her head craning back for a moment to share a bright glance with Quinn. The brunette smiled quietly at Quinn, and that familiar stirring in Quinn’s stomach made her falter a little beside Britt. There was something about the earlier subtle exchange as well as the feeling of Rachel’s hand in her own in the middle of that choir room a little while ago that made Quinn feel flustered the way she had when she’d first began to realize her feelings for Rachel. Amazing, she thought, how they could’ve already had sex and yet somehow Quinn still felt just as shy as she would if it was an unrequited crush.

It was actually quite spectacular.


"Oh, man, okay so if you put this one right here - " Santana was busily snacking as she leaned over Quinn to place a card atop the unrealistically large tower they’d already all built together.

"Santana if you put that there it’ll - " Rachel panicked, flew forward, her fingers splayed as she tried to stop Santana from placing the last card on top, but it came toppling down before the diva could do anything. Her expression fell and her bottom lip pouted outward, " - fall."

Quinn was torn between laughing and letting out a sympathetic ‘aww’ at Rachel’s disappointed expression. “I mean that really wasn’t your smartest idea, S,” the blonde smirked quietly at her friend, who shoved her shoulder a little roughly and rolled her eyes.

Brittany took the opportunity to steal the bag of chips from Santana and lay back on the couch, idly taking a handful and popping each chip one by one into her mouth.

It felt good to be friends with Santana again. Even though she hadn’t really let herself overthink it when they’d been split apart, being without Santana was a little bit like being without a limb. The girl was smart, funny, and guarded - but somehow beyond all that she was warm and gentle without openly displaying it. Every sarcastic remark masked some affection, every shove tended to cover up Santana’s desire to embrace whoever it might be (usually just Brittany or Quinn).

"So you guys never really explained how you two became friends," Quinn observed and motioned between Santana and Rachel. "I mean, obviously I know why but not how. Or when.”

"That’s because you don’t pay attention," Santana arched an eyebrow. Quinn gently nudged her shoulder and looked to Rachel for the answer.

The diva shifted almost a little uncomfortably. Curious reaction, Quinn thought, and lifted an eyebrow in questioning. “We kind of uhm - “

"They made out one time when Santana was drunk at Puckerman’s party and then they started texting each other and became friends," Brittany said without a drop of jealousy in her tone.

Quinn gaped. She felt a jealous stirring in her stomach and her eyes darted between the pair as if to confirm this was true. Rachel was blushing guiltily and staring at her hands, and even Santana was blushing a little bit.

"Don’t give me that look, Q, I mean I was drunk and we all know I’m gonna end up shacking up with Britt the rest of my life," Santana seemed to find her voice after a few moments.

Okay, so this would take a little bit of processing. Quinn didn’t want to think of herself as a particularly jealous person, but this feeling was definitely not a pleasant one. Her hazel eyes blinked as she merely nodded and took a moment to soothe the burning jealousy in the deepest pits of her heart. Brittany didn’t seem to care, after all. And why hadn’t she been at this party? Had it been during her anti-social period, when even her mother hadn’t been able to coax her out of her bedroom? Surely Puck would have spent enough time drooling publicly at school about it that she’d have noticed. Then again, she’d never noticed Santana defending Rachel until everything had already changed.

Army Quinn stopped sharpening her knife, looked at the blade as if she didn’t know where it had come from and frowned a little bit at her mirror image. "Stop being an idiot, you had sex with her and she’s been pining after you this whole time.”

Right. Okay.

"Well, at least I know her first lesbian kiss was with someone worse than me," Quinn finally managed to find some words to choke out and she felt Santana shove her backward. A smile returned to her lips and the blonde chuckled as Santana batted at her.

"You’re a bitch."

"You love me."

"You don’t even know if it’s true!"

"I’m not about to find out, especially not with an audience."

"Ew, like I’d even let you kiss me."

"Oh, Lopez, you know you’ve dreamed about it."

"You wish.

"Every day."

Santana rolled her eyes in end to the argument, but there was a small quirk at the corner of her lips that told Quinn they were okay.

Rachel, on the other hand, was gaping disbelievingly at the pair. She appeared to be struggling with some feelings as well, “I don’t think I’d like the idea of you two .. you know, - ” she waved her hand between them, ” - kissing one another.”

"Afraid I’d steal your girl?" Santana teased her best friend and Rachel glared. "I mean we both know how good of a - "

"Okay, really we need to stop talking about this, ” Quinn breathed out and covered her face. Why were they all talking about making out with one another anyway? Really, this wasn’t some kind of badly written, no-plot, soft-core here.

Brittany only laughed at the three of them and shook her head. Those long legs were stretched over the back of the couch and the Cheerio was laying now upside down - as if she were five years old and watching cartoons while doing a hand-stand.

Rachel seemed to notice that Quinn was markedly uncomfortable. The diva met her gaze as Santana dipped over to the couch to press a quick kiss to Brittany’s cheek and settle against the back of the couch. Taking advantage of Santana’s distraction (she had grabbed the TV remote and was flipping through the stations while Brittany righted herself and played with Santana’s hair), Rachel had reached gently over and found Quinn’s hand, the warmth of her fingers spreading Quinn’s palm open and tracing over it. Those brown eyes searched the lines of Quinn’s hand as if she’d find the future there, and Quinn could only look at her beautiful face. That perfect face. How it enchanted her every moment, every time she took a glance. Hazel eyes searched Rachel’s expression, and breath halted in her throat as Rachel’s eyes rose to meet her own in question.

A silent question passed between them. Quinn nodded mutely and stood, Rachel following suit.

"Be right back," Rachel spoke softly to Santana as she stepped over long, tan legs.

"Use a condom."

Quinn laughed at Santana’s comment but her laugh was silenced as they entered the hallway and began the climb up to Rachel’s room. The diva had reached behind her and taken Quinn’s hand in her own again. Although the blonde really didn’t know exactly what Rachel wanted to be alone with her for, she had a couple vague ideas of what she might want. She moved through the doorway and Rachel shifted behind her briefly to close the door, and Quinn took a nervous seat on Rachel’s bed. A moment passed and Rachel was still standing at the door, fingers dancing over the surface of the door handle, and Quinn tilted her head to the side to see Rachel’s profile. The diva was nervously chewing on her bottom lip.

"Does it bother you?" Rachel spoke finally, appearing to be afraid to turn around. Was she afraid Quinn was angry?

Quinn didn’t know just how to respond, “I mean.. I guess I’m .. I was kind of jealous thinking of it but .. we’ve .. and you know everything’s.. we’re obviously.. you and I…” Okay, so Quinn wasn’t good with words at all.

Rachel appeared to smile softly, but still didn’t turn around. “It wasn’t anything. For the longest time, I mean, it’s always been you.”

It’s always been you.


The words rang in her head, and Quinn blinked dumbly before she stood and moved behind Rachel, resting her head against Rachel’s shoulderblade from behind, eyes cast to the floor before the drifted shut. “Rachel,” she breathed reverently. Quinn could feel Rachel inhale quietly but sharply, as a hand moved to Rachel’s hip delicately and slipped around from behind.

The brunette’s hand hesitated at Quinn’s fingers, grazed over them, before resting her palm over Quinn’s grasp. Rachel appeared to have stopped breathing. Quinn lifted her head, pressed her lips to the back of Rachel’s neck, her shoulder, as her hand slipped further around her. Gently, she coaxed Rachel into turning around and her fingers drifted over Rachel’s jaw.

Rachel looked flushed, a little breathless with anticipation. Quinn felt it too, that deep tension that was always between them, that had always been between them from the start. “I don’t deserve you, but I’m not letting you go now.”

Rachel smiled in what appeared to be a quiet sense of disbelief. Quinn searched her face, her everything, wanted to memorize her moment of rapture. It was funny, how they still had this affect on each other. The air thick between them, Quinn finally inched forward and brushed her lips over Rachel. It felt like the first time they’d kissed, even though it wasn’t. Sparks flew into Quinn’s skin, started her heart thumping against her ribs. She thumbed the curve of Rachel’s jaw as the diva whimpered and parted her lips. Deeper, always deeper, Quinn felt herself falling headlong into the perfect ocean that was Rachel Berry. Carefully, she was backing Rachel against the door and grasping her hip with her other hand. Rachel’s fingers slipped around Quinn’s waist and cupped the curve of her shoulderblades, fingers gripping Quinn through her shirt. Quinn loved the feeling of those fingers grasping, pulling silently at the fabric of her shirt. The ex-Cheerio languidly drew her tongue along Rachel’s bottom lip and finally sought out the warmth that was Rachel’s tongue, her sweet taste. It amazed her how Rachel tasted like vanilla, honey, like sweet tea.

It wasn’t one of those fiery kisses from the movies. It was quiet and undemanding and … well, loving. Quinn was pouring her heart into this kiss. She wanted to convey all her promises to Rachel, wanted to claim her without consuming her. The blonde pressed closer, kissed just a little deeper. Rachel was whimpering softly and asking for more in her own silent way. Quinn couldn’t quench that desire just yet, even though Rachel’s hips were pressing against her own and one hand had slipped to Quinn’s backside and pulled her in. It took all of Quinn’s self-control not to continue on with this.

She broke away, much to Rachel’s displeasure. That bottom lip of Rachel’s pouted out noticeably.

"I just don’t want us to rush through it again. I want to do it all the right way, even if I don’t know exactly how to do that yet," Quinn breathed quietly against Rachel’s mouth, dipped her lips against Rachel’s again and avoided that all-consuming fire. "Okay?"

Rachel hesitated, then nodded, “Okay.” Her petite arms snaked upward as Rachel seemed to struggle with the concept of not kissing Quinn the way she apparently wanted to. Quinn felt the diva slowly wrap her arms around her, tighter, and her own slid easily around Rachel and pulled her close. “Who knew Quinn Fabray was such a romantic.”

"Not me," Quinn laughed throatily, quietly, and buried her face against the sweet-smelling curtain of Rachel’s dark hair.

"Me either," came the reply from the other side of the door, Santana sounding amused. "She’s so good at playing a bitch," the Latina teased, her words muffled. Rachel and Quinn both grinned, and Rachel banged gently against the door. Her smile grew larger as they both heard Santana jump a little in surprise. "Hey, no need to get aggressive."

"That’s what she said," Brittany responded from somewhere around the same vicinity as Santana.


"What’s your favorite scary movie?" Santana breathed against Quinn’s ear, and the blonde shoved her away playfully. They were in the middle of a Scream marathon (Brittany’s request), and Rachel was curled tightly against Quinn. The blonde didn’t know if she was shivering from the feel of a warm whisper against her ear from Santana’s side or the way Rachel’s hand was slipping over her stomach from the other side.

"I absolutely do not understand the concept of scary movies, do not, do not," Rachel’s words were muffled against Quinn’s collarbone.

"Aw, come on, short stuff. It’s only a slasher film. In fact it’s probably one of the funnier movies you’ll see in the horror biz," Santana hopped up and rounded the couch, retrieving a bag of chips from the table before hopping over the back of the couch and landing next to Brittany.

"It’s gratuitous and violent."

"It’s good."

"It’s terrible."

"Shhh, you guys I’m trying to remember who the killer is,” Brittany emphasized.

Quinn glanced behind her at Santana, who was smirking devilishly. A smile crossed her lips and she wrapped an arm further around Rachel’s waist and tugged her closer. At least she could use this as a reasonable excuse to snuggle as close as physically possible to Rachel. She personally wasn’t scared a bit - Santana was right, these movies had their own peculiar brand of comedy - but Rachel obviously was a huge chicken.

It was quite distracting, the way Rachel’s fingers moved over her hip bone and gripped tightly at the sound of glass breaking on the television. The diva made it hard to control her urges. Ever since that delicious kiss earlier, she’d been thinking about how it’d felt when she and Rachel had taken things further at the cabin. Rachel’s olive skin dampened with sweat, the absolutely carnal but somehow beautiful noises that had come from her throat every time Quinn did something just right and made Rachel feel really good.

Right, movie. Must watch the movie. Think about the movie. Quinn blinked, cleared her head. She was sure her cheeks were flushed with arousal but thank goodness for that ‘all lights must be off’ rule that seemed to apply to all scary movies.

Truly, Quinn was determined to slow things a bit, make them just right for Rachel. There was something absolutely emotional about the fact that she’d been Rachel’s first, the one person she’d always remember for the rest of her life - if not for the fact they’d still be together (she hoped), than for the fact she’d been Rachel’s first real intimate experience. Quinn had never really considered love before, never really thought about it as something that was possible for her, but as her grip tightened around Rachel’s waist and she felt her stomach flutter at the feeling of Rachel burrowing herself tightly into her arms out of fear and the need for comfort, she realized it was entirely possible. She wouldn’t give it a name just yet, but the feelings she had, the desire she had to make everything right for Rachel, they could very possibly be the kind of love you saw in movies and read about in old literature.

This was something worth fighting for. This feeling right that moment, in both the memory of her first time with Rachel and the current moment being shared. Even if her family found out, even if people made mouths behind her back, nothing could replace the strength of feeling when Rachel looked at Quinn.

"You okay?" Quinn asked Rachel quietly against her ear, and she felt Rachel nod quickly.

"Just keep me safe."

"Of course. I mean it’s just a tv…" Quinn teased quietly.

Rachel nudged her, and dared to break away just to wrinkle her nose at the blonde.

Hazel eyes met brown, “You don’t have to be afraid. I’m not,” Quinn all but whispered. Those words were loaded with so much meaning, so much emotion, that even Quinn felt surprised. Rachel looked surprised as well, and quietly rested her head on Quinn’s shoulder - but not before leaning in and pressing a delicate kiss to Quinn’s neck.

Rachel’s grip tightened even more, but this time Quinn sensed it wasn’t out of fear, but emotion.

Yeah, she could face down the world for this feeling. Quinn could face down the army of Mordor for this. Gladly.

Just in case Tumblr ever goes down/malfunctions again:

Feel free to save THIS LINK.

It’s the link to my fanfics over on FFnet.  Exact same stories and they’re always updated at the same time, so it’s not like there’s anything different, other than that it’s a little more reliable (sometimes) than Tumblr has proven to be at times.  I’m still going to continue to post as I always have been, but I figured I’d give people the link so, just in case, I can’t post a chapter on Tumblr until it decides to get its act together, then you all know where to go to read the latest chapter. 

Thanks so much everyone. <3 ^_^

Updates to Come (WIP)
  1. Last Living Souls 
  2. Resolution (part 2 of 2) 
  3. I Will Come Home (2 of 5) (prompt by chrismukkah)
  4. Burning House (Quinntana, 2 of 7) 
  5. Somewhere a Clock is Ticking (13 of 13) 

Until I finish these WIP, I don’t intend on starting any new stories.  I have a few hidden away ready to be worked on, but I’d like to complete all these others first.

LLS will likely be updated next since I believe I’ve made good progress on this next installment.