these twists and turns of fate.

beeeez — Tue, 28 Aug 2012 08:41:58 GMT

I am not dead, contrary to popular belief.

It has been a really long time since I have been on here. My life got crazy, crazy, crazy and it's taken me months and months to get to where I am now. But I am happy and I am healthy and I am good :)

I can't say I'm going to be on here a lot, to be honest, because I probably won't be. I have been trying to cut back my blog time recently and work is CRAZY for me and I just have limited time. But I hope you are all well and fantastic and happy.

Much love.

x

Glee Fic: We're All Stories In The End (1/?)

beeeez — Wed, 23 May 2012 13:02:25 GMT

Title: We're All Stories In The End (1/?)
Pairing: Finn/Rachel
Rating: Eventual R
Chapter Wordcount: 4,300
Spoilers: 3x22
Summary: New York seemed lonelier now. Like the image in her head has projected into something that isn’t quite right. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Maybe it was, but it felt wrong.
A/N: Okay, so I'm not entirely sure how many chapters this will be. Could be anywhere from 7-10 I would imagine, but once I figure that out I'll update the count. This is my attempt at making myself feel better. I hope you enjoy it.

The finger on her left hand is red raw.

It’s past three am but she can’t sleep. The hotel is dead quiet and she can hear her dad’s sleeping soundly in the bed across the room, but she can still hear the sounds of the city through the walls. She has been twisting her ring on her finger over and over, like a mantra, like she has to, for over an hour. She lost count of how many times about forty-five minutes ago, but she can’t give up now. It’s kind of her only lifeline right now.

She can’t take it off. She won’t take it off.

The past twenty hours have seemed like a blur of information and experiences and loss and she can’t get her head around it. She swallowed again, that damn lump, and began twisting, over and over. She felt like she was on the edge of a breakdown, about to topple over, not quite sure where she would land. She only thing she could think of, amidst the dorms and the people and the information, was that she missed him. It had been twenty hours and she missed him more than she could even say or think, the hole in her heart gaping and exposed.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Maybe it was, but it felt wrong.

She picked a dorm room today. Well, her dad’s picked it for her. She could barely function and she’d seen about five [it felt like fifty] and finally she nodded and her dad’s organised everything else. She officially moves in three days. It’s small and she has a room to herself, though she shares the floor with five other people. It’s only a block away from NYADA and only ten minutes from Central Park and in any other circumstance it would have been perfect.

But it’s not a shoe-box apartment and it’s missing someone that she can’t bear to think about because her heart is still breaking inside her chest.

Her dad snored loudly and it knocked her out of her thoughts, her fingers stilling on her ring. It’s starting to sting now but she felt numb. Numb to it all. This was supposed to be the most exciting time of her life. She was in New York, she got into the school of her dreams and everything is finally in place. But yet it still felt like her world had crumbled around her and her throat swelled at the thought that this was it from now on.

She was going to be alone.

Her feet have touched the old carpet before she has even thought about it.

It’s freezing outside. It shouldn’t be, because it’s almost Summer, but the wind is cold and she’s only wearing shorts and a long sleeve shirt but she’s standing out front of the hotel, her finger stinging against the cold air. Her cell phone is firmly clasped in her other hand and she squeezed it tighter as she sat on the steps, bringing her knees up to her chest.

There, she took the first deep breath in about twenty hours.

Her eyes burn immediately. New York seemed lonelier now. Like the image in her head has projected into something that isn’t quite right. It seemed less colourful, less full of that energy that she had always imagined it to have. The streets are empty. They’re not, but they seem like they are. She felt empty. This was supposed to be everything she wanted, everything she dreamed of having since she could even remember and now it … she felt lost.

Her eyes flutter down to her cell phone in her hand. She hasn’t opened it all day. It’s buzzed a few times, and she’s pretty sure who is has been, but she can’t bring herself to open it. Because opening it is really and completely admitting that this is actually happening and that she is actually here and he is not. He’s in Ohio, over eight hours away, away from her and from them and she squeezed her eyes shut tight because she knew that if she kept them open she would cry. She doesn’t want to cry anymore.

She wanted to be mad at him for doing what he did, and forcing her into this without any warning. She wanted to be mad at him for proposing to her, only to break up with her in the car at the train station and applying for the army and just … stop. She wanted to be mad at him, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t because every time she thought about it, every time she tried to picture in her head why she would be mad at him, it came back to the same thing. He gave up everything for her. For this. He believed in her that much, that she was going to make it, that he gave up his life with her for it.

Her phone lit up again in her hands and she swallowed, turning it over. Finn [2] flashed up on her screen and her heart stopped in her chest, her throat swelling as she flipped it open and pressed the button.

[Finn] 12:25pm: I am so proud of you. I love you so much. I’m sorry. Please ring me when you can.

[Finn] 4:55pm: I miss you so much already, but I know this is right. This is right, Rachel. I love you forever.

Tears spill over her lashes and she didn’t even feel them forming. They hit the phone and she snapped it shut in an instant, tucking it into her pocket and out of sight. This isn’t right. This doesn’t feel right. This just feels like a hole has been punched in her heart, leaving her empty and lonely in a city where she wasn’t supposed to feel like that.

It’s after four when she finally climbed back into her bed, bringing the sheets up to her shoulders. Her phone is still in her hand and she’s exhausted and alert all at once and before she even thought it through she punched in a text and hit send.

His reply came ten seconds later.

[Rachel] 4:18am: I don’t know if I can do this without you.

[Finn] 4:19am: Of course you can. You’re amazing.

She fell asleep with her phone still between her fingers.

FOUR MONTHS LATER.

Santana is kind of driving her nuts.

“So I said to him, ‘I swear to God, if you don’t get your hand off my ass I’m gonna go all-“

“You can’t talk to people like that, specifically your boss” Rachel said simply, ripping off a piece of her bagel and putting it in her mouth. She gave Santana a pointed look and rolled her eyes when the girl glared at her.

The coffee shop just off 42^nd street was packed but they had managed to find a table just near the window. This had unintentionally became their coffee shop, mostly because it was right near NYADA and a block away from Santana’s dodgy little apartment. This had become almost a daily occurrence, Santana bitching about her job. She’d only been working there eight weeks and it was the first place she applied for. Well, applied is an interesting word, she had walked in three days after moving to New York and wore a low cut black t-shirt and the guy had given her the job on the spot. Rachel kind of suspected she liked the attention, even though she would never admit it.

“I can when there is bound to be a sexual discrimination lawsuit sometime in the near future all up in his face. Seriously, I work in a bar not a strip club,” Santana replied, flipping her hair over her shoulder and bringing her cup of coffee to her lips, downing the rest of her latte.

Rachel grinned. Even though she drove her completely nuts on most days, she was incredibly glad that Santana had moved to New York. They saw each other practically every day, not counting the days Rachel was at NYADA and Santana worked a double at the bar. Rachel suspected Santana thought it would totally turn out to be like a Coyote Ugly type situation, however all it turned out to be was a dodgy little bar in Hell’s Kitchen in which Santana was the star bartender. Mostly because of her boobs, not her voice. Or her bartending skills. Of which she had zero, and had a fake ID in order to even get the job to begin with. The place was so dodgy that Rachel was pretty sure that if her boss even found out that Santana was nineteen he wouldn’t care.

“What time have you got class?” Santana asked her, reaching into her bag and pulling out her cell.

Rachel looked at her watch. “45 minutes. I’m there til eight tonight though.”

“Jesus, what do they have you doing for ten hours straight?” Santana questioned, chucking her phone back in her bag. She pulled out a ten and put it on the table.

Rachel shrugged, pulling out her wallet and fishing out a ten. For a second her eyes fell on her left hand a second longer than she had let them for a few weeks and her heart skipped a beat. It was missing a ring, the only indication that it was ever there a small indentation around the base of her finger. She swallowed and put her hand under the table. Santana didn’t seem to notice.

“How’s Carmen Tibe-whatever her name is?” Santana asked, a small smile appearing on her face.

“To put it in the most polite way – she’s a pain in the ass,” Rachel replied, groaning and putting her head in her hands. Santana snorted.

“What, like you?” She asked, raising her eyebrows.

“I’m serious; she seems to have made it her personal vendetta to make me feel like a complete idiot on a daily basis. I think she thinks that she did me a favour by giving me a second shot and that I’ve got to earn it or something,”

“Heard from Finn?” Santana asked quietly, leaning back in her chair and looking at Rachel.

Rachel stiffened immediately. That came out of nowhere. Well, maybe it didn’t. Rachel hadn’t spoken about it for a few weeks, hadn’t even voiced his name. Not to Santana anyway. The stinging in her heart made her bury it, putting a façade on her face that she had to live up to. It was a lie, she knew it.

“Not for a few weeks. I guess he’s … busy or …” Rachel drifted off, looking down at her hands. God, she hated talking about this. Santana knew it too, and she wanted to be a little annoyed at her for bringing it up but she knew that it wasn’t intentional. Or maybe it was. Even though they were friends, Santana still had that streak in her that made Rachel revert back to freshman year.

“It’s probably too hard to talk. I mean, that’s why I don’t talk to Britt. It sucks and why put yourself through it when there is nothing you can do?” Santana replied simply, sitting up straight.

Rachel nodded, swallowing again. She wanted to stop talking about it. She’d put on a good face most days, but she doesn’t tell Santana about the nights she cries herself to sleep because her finger feels bare and so does every part of her life. The last conversation she had with Finn lasted twelve minutes and ended with him being cut off and she cried for twenty three minutes after that because she wasn’t ready to say goodbye. He gets terrible reception in Georgia and their conversations were few and far between and not only did she have to adjust to life without seeing him every day but talking to him?

She closed her eyes briefly and reminded herself to stop and then Santana is standing up because she’s late for work. Maybe she thought she’d overstepped, Rachel thought, because she gave Rachel’s shoulder a little squeeze before she took off down the street, her bag over her shoulder.

Today would be better. She took a breath and started to walk to school, repeating that over and over in her head.

Finn definitely has no idea what he is doing here.

The office is completely white and sterile, like something out of a hospital. Not exactly what he was expecting out of a government office, but he isn’t exactly sure what he was expecting anyway. The first time. This is his third trip to this office in a matter of months. He’s been blown off three times in person, four times on the phone and more than he’d like to count via email. If he wasn’t so damn determined he’s pretty sure he would have crawled into a hole weeks ago.

This has become more than what he originally set it out to be. This was about his dad. About his record and about his integrity and dignity. And then somehow, along the way, this became about him. After everything he had been through, this had almost taken on a life of its own, a lifeline for Finn.

Because although he had been here four times, he was still in Ohio.

Finn hated liars. And now he had become one.

He twisted his fingers together as he stared down at his lap, the flickering light above making an annoying buzzing sound. This wasn’t exactly how he expected everything to go. But then again, nothing was ever as he expected lately. He was working pretty much full-time at Burt’s tire shop, and earning pretty decent money while he spent his days off researching til his eyes felt like they were bleeding. He’d gotten a fairly decent case behind him, he thought, but it would have been better if he could have gotten someone to actually agree to see him.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he stuck his clammy hand inside, pulling it out. He flipped it open, his stomach clenching when [One Missed Call – Rachel] flashed up on his screen. He swallowed, closing his eyes as he flipped it shut again and stuck it in his pocket, ignoring the nauseas feeling that engulfed his stomach. He fucking hated not talking to her. He felt a lump grow in his throat every time he thought about it and the last time they had spoken – sixteen days ago. He’s counting, and he wished that he didn’t because in the back of his mind it was continuously lingering, that feeling of complete and utter desperation.

Sometimes he felt so desperate to talk to her he literally felt like he would burst. It took everything he ever had not to key in her number on speed-dial, or send her a text. It was breaking his heart, every second, but it would get better right?

On nights when he is lying in bed completely alone he lets himself wonder if he has made the biggest mistake of his life. He’s doing this for her and to bring her down with him, to stop her from living her life, would be completely and utterly selfish. He reminded himself that at least ten times a day.

He is knocked out of his thoughts when a woman, or a captain or whatever, came out of the office completely decked out in uniform. She shut the door behind her and walked to the desk. Finn stared at her for a moment before he stood up and cleared his throat.

“I’m waiting for Sargent O’Neill,” he said simply, ignoring the wave in his voice. Now was not the time to get nervous.

“He just left I’m afraid,” she said, but Finn could tell that that was a lie. He held in a groan.

“Look,” he started, walking straight up to the desk, “this is my third time here, and you know that as well as I do and I’m kind of sick and tired of being blown off. I don’t care if he doesn’t want to talk to me, all I’m asking for is five minutes,” he finished, his fingers pressing into the wood of the desk.

The woman stared at him for a moment before smirking. “I know what you’re trying to do Mr –“

“Finn,” he cut in. “Finn Hudson.”

“Finn Hudson,” she said. “I know what you’re trying to do and I think it’s very admirable however –“

“Don’t give me the ‘it’s impossible’ pep talk, because I’ve had it given to me by about every single person I’ve ever met. I have a case. It’s solid. All I’m asking for is five minutes,” he replied, attempting to keep the frustration out of his voice.

The woman watched him carefully. After a moment she sighed. “Look, I can’t guarantee anything but if you make an allotted appointment with Sargent O’Neill at a time that suits him, we’ll see what we can do.”

He has to stop himself from grinning.

“Thank you.”

It was after midnight by the time Rachel walked into her dorm room, books stacked in her arms. It was incredibly awkward, attempting to fish her keys out of her bag while trying to keep five hardcovers from slipping out of her arms and tumbling onto the floor. She grunted a little, kicking her door as it jammed and shouldered it open, stepping into her dark room and flipped the light switch on with her free hand.

The room was small, but she had grown to like it. She had decorated the walls with posters of Broadway shows and Barbra, a poster of Funny Girl hanging directly above her bed. Slowly but surely the room had started to become distinctly Rachel. There was a small desk next to her wardrobe, mostly filled with her school work but above it was the collage she had started to make but stopped. Pictures of the Glee Club, everyone from Artie to Sam filled the spaces on the sides of the mirror, all of them together and separately. Smiling. Laughing. She’d started, but then she stopped. About sixteen days ago.

Her books fell from her arms and onto her bed as she collapsed on the mattress, kicking off her shoes with her toes. She heard them tumble onto the ground and closed her eyes, bringing her forearms over her face. Her back ached, her arms ached, her legs ached and she was pretty sure her brain was hurting pretty badly too. Her dignity as well. She had received a rather stinging lecture from Carmen this afternoon about practice and her inability to connect with her monologue. It took everything Rachel had not to burst into hysterical tears. She’s not that girl anymore though. She hasn’t cried in sixteen days.

She’s a lot stronger now, a lot stronger than she ever thought she could be. Everything hurts, both mentally and physically and there are some days when she just wanted to curl into a ball in the corner of this dorm room and wish it all away, but she doesn’t. She fought. Every day she fought and if anything she realised that that was going to get her through.

Her cell phone vibrated in her bag and she leaned over, groaning as she fished it out. She fell back against the mattress as she read the text.

[Santana] 12:11am: So I just gave douchebag a piece of my mind.

Rachel laughed to herself, shaking her head as she responded.

[Rachel] 12:12am: Yeah, how’d that go?

[Santana] 12:13am: I think I got a promotion. Head bartender bitch. He said he liked my spunk.

[Rachel] 12:14am: Dream job!

She smiled as she flipped her phone shut and let it fall out of her hands onto the mattress. She closed her eyes, bringing her legs up as she pushed her bag off of the bed. It was probable she would crash right in this position. That’s another thing that she’s noticed, she’s become a lot less pedantic living in New York. A lot of things have changed.

She’s just drifting off when her phone vibrated again, ringing, and she reached over and flipped it open, her eyes still closed.

“Head bartender bitch,” she muttered quietly, smiling.

“Uh, what?”

Her eyes snapped open. “Finn?”

“Uh yeah, you okay?” He sounded confused and nervous and she sat bolt upright, phone pressed against her ear.

Suddenly, she felt as though she had reverted back to weeks ago and she swallowed before she spoke, pressing down the lump that had formed in her throat. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine, I thought you were Santana.”

Finn laughed into the phone quietly, though it sounded a little forced. She knew him well enough now to know when he was nervous, when his voice cracked a little and his laugh wavered. She pushed her fingers down into the mattress as she sat completely still, in shock more than anything.

“Right, sorry, I know it’s late-“

“No – No, I’m … I’m really glad you rang,” she said softly, her voice swaying a little and she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. She wasn’t going to lose it. Not now.

There was a silence that she wasn’t entirely comfortable with. After everything they had been through, this was it? She shook her head, tucking her legs underneath her as she sat on her bed, picking at the thread on her sheets.

“How’s NYADA?” He asked her after a moment, and she noticed he sounded a little pained. God, his voice. She missed his voice. She missed his everything.

“Good,” she said softly. “I mean, it’s hard. Stressful. But I’m learning a lot.”

She could practically hear him smiling into the phone. “I’ll bet you’re doing amazingly.”

Rachel smiled, looking down. Her throat swelled and she couldn’t keep swallowing. There was that never-ending faith that he possessed when it came to her. Even if she was terrible, and she was the worst person at that school, he would still tell her she was incredible. It’s one of the most annoying and wonderful things about him.

“H-How’s training?”

She didn’t want to ask the question, because deep down she doesn’t want to know. She still doesn’t quite understand why he felt the need to enrol himself in the army in Georgia and she doesn’t think she’ll ever get it. But she’ll support him. Just like he’s supporting her.

Sometimes she just wished he’d support her here. [But she can’t think like that for long.]

“Uh yeah – yeah good. Hard work, but I’m pushing through,” he brushed over it like it didn’t mean anything and she nodded even though she knew he couldn’t see it. God, this was hard. Why was this so hard? Her eyes burned with tears but she didn’t try to push them away this time. They spilled down her cheeks and she didn’t even bother wiping them away, just closed her eyes tightly as she listened to him breathe on the other end of the phone.

“Finn…” she said softly, and she heard her own voice crack under the weight of her emotion, her voice thick. She heard him intake a sharp breath on the other end.

“I miss you so much,” she said softly, so quietly, her voice shaking. Her voice caught in her throat as her chest heaved a little and she brought her hand up to her cheek, wiping away her tears. Her heart felt heavy and full all at once, a dull familiar ache returning that she had spent the past eight weeks trying to repress.

“Rachel-“ his own voice cracked under the pressure and she shook her head, biting her lip hard to stop herself from saying all the things she wanted to say. I miss you. I need you. Come to New York. Don’t leave me.

“Rachel-, “ he breathed into the phone.

“Don’t,” she said, sniffing, wiping her cheeks. “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”

Rachel heard it clear this time, his breath sharply inhaling. Like a cut to the skin. She didn’t say anything, mostly because she knew that if she opened her mouth, she was likely to start crying uncontrollably. She listened to his breathing, steady and slow and her heart ached. After what felt like forever she opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by his voice, so quiet it was almost static.

“I miss you so much it hurts, Rachel. I feel like a piece of me is missing and I -”

He stopped and she swallowed, her eyes closing as she pressed the phone against her ear tighter. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. How can they both be so miserable without each other and still think this was the right decision? How can this be right when it feels so wrong?

“I think I should go,” he whispered after a moment and her heart jumped in her chest.

“It’s late,” he said, answering a question she didn’t ask and she nodded, slowly lying back down on her mattress.

“Okay,” she replied quietly, waiting for something, anything. She hated ending conversations because they always sounded so final.

“I’ll talk to you soon, okay? Stay safe,” he said and she laughed a little, whispering ‘okay’ as she heard him let out a breath. God, she missed that. Him. Everything.

“I love you,” she said after a moment, squeezing her eyes shut as if she was scared of what the answer would be. She knew the answer. It didn’t make a difference though, not really.

“I love you,” he replied. “Always.”

The phone beeped a few times before she let it fall from her fingers.

She fell asleep in her clothes.

beeeez — Wed, 09 May 2012 10:39:46 GMT

Title: This Is How It Starts.
Pairing: Finn/Rachel.
Rating: R.
Spoilers: Post Prom-asuaras.
Summary: "I don't want to take them off yet."

It’s actually the perfect night.

The key fumbles in her fingers and she laughs, her eyes fluttering closed as his lips trace her neck, his arm curled around her waist. She tries again, letting out a low moan when he presses an open mouthed kiss against her collarbone, his fingers splayed out over her stomach.

“You need to stop,” she says softly, laughing. The hotel room door is still no closer to being opened.

She feels him smile against her skin and then she is facing him, his fingers against her waist as he spins her around and presses her up against the door. His lips are inches from hers and he has that wry smile on his face that drives her crazy and she barely has time to register anything before he kisses her.

You would think that after three years of kisses her heart wouldn’t stop anymore. That her knees wouldn’t feel weak, her body on fire at his touch. It’s always the same, her heart skipping a beat, the familiar tingle in her lower belly. It’s her favourite feeling in the world. He kisses her softly, sweetly, smiling against her lips before he breaks away and trails his lips down her jaw to her neck.

“We really need to get inside,” she says, and it surprises her a little how cracked her voice sounds. She’s starting to feel that ache between her legs and she arches into him a little to let him know. He groans and grabs the key out of her hand and she laughs loudly as he opens the door quickly, tugging her inside.

Her back is flush against the door as it snaps shut, her mouth slanted over his as he kissed her desperately, tossing his sceptre and her bag on the ground behind them. He goes to remove his crown, his lips still firmly attached to hers, but she makes a noise of protest against his lips.

“I don’t want to take them off yet,” she says quietly as his lips brush against her cheek. His body shakes a little and it takes her a moment to realize he was laughing at her. “What?! I like them.”

He takes her hands and steps deeper into the room, pulling her with him. He stops after a moment and pulls her flush against his chest, his arm circling her waist as she places her hands on his chest. He stares at her, smiling, and he brings his free hand to her cheek, brushing his fingers against her skin. Sometimes when he looks at her, she feels weightless, like she is falling. But he’s always there to catch her. She’s never felt so lucky.

“What?” She says quietly after a moment, biting her lip. He just smiles, his fingers falling from her cheek to her neck and slowly down her arm.

“You are just so beautiful,” he replies, his hand pressing against the small of her back.

She feels her heart tug in her chest, a lump gather in her throat, her eyes glass over. His touch is so soft, so tender, and she loves him more than anything in this whole world, she feels like she could burst. She flushes a little, biting her lip before her tongue darts out to smooth out the skin.

“Get me out of this dress,” she says softly, so quietly it’s almost inaudible.

She feels his fingers move up to her shoulders, brush against her skin there. He’s going slowly, gently, his face watching hers as his fingers brush against the zipper. He lowers it softly, so deliberately it’s almost painful and she feels like she is holding her breath, her fingers curled around his forearms. Her dress falls to the floor when he reaches the bottom, leaving her standing in front of him in nothing but a pair of white lace panties, but she doesn’t feel shy at all. He takes her in and she feels him take a sharp breath, his chest rising and falling against hers as he lowers his lips down to her shoulder, pressing down.

Her fingers unbutton the front of his suit, smoothing over his chest as she runs her hand up over his shoulders, pushing his jacket off him. It falls to the floor behind him but her hands have already found his tie, expertly undoing it, as slowly as he undressed her. He moves his lips away from her shoulder as she starts to unbutton his shirt, smoothing her fingers over the fabric as she does so. She pushes his shirt off his shoulders and he shrugs it to the floor, bringing her flush against him, skin against skin and his hand immediately went to her thighs, hoisting her up and against his hips. She curls her legs around his waist, her arms coiling around his neck as they became eye level.

She kisses him first. It starts off slow but becomes quick and urgent fast. He slowly backs them up towards the bed, his hands still firmly attached to her thighs and she kind of falls on top of him as his knees hit the mattress. She giggles, straddling his hips and he leans up, cupping the back of her head as he crushes his lips on hers, a moan escaping his lips as she subconsciously grinds down on him.

Her crown topples off her head and hits the mattress beside her. He reaches behind him and pulls his off, tossing it with hers and then pushes them both off the bed. She makes a noise against his lips but he rolls them over, hovering above her and silencing her protests with his mouth.

With their bodies flush against each other she moans against his lips, hitching her leg up to that he settles in between her legs, the only thing between them fabric. She can feel him against her and she arches up into him, her fingers gripping his shoulder. She’s never wanted anything so badly in her life. She almost stops him impatiently but his lips leave hers before she has the chance and she moans at the lack of contact. His lips find her neck, sucking gently as his fingers trail down her side, across her stomach, before reaching the waistband of her panties. Her breathing quickens and she lifts her hips up as he hooks his finger and tugs them down her legs.

“What do you want me to do?” He whispers into her ear, his breath hot against her skin. His fingers are lightly brushing against the inside of her thigh, teasing her, and she pushes against him.

“Touch me,” she breathes, her fingers curling around his arm and she lets out a breathless moan when he brushes his finger over her center.

They’ve done this more times than she can count, but it still leaves her completely in awe. His lips are against her cheek as he rubs her slowly, and then faster, curling his finger against her clit and teasing her opening with his middle finger. She subconsciously arches against him when he presses a finger inside her, slowly pumping in and out and she turns her head, capturing his lips with hers.

“Finn…” she moans against his lips as he begins to go faster and she can feel the pressure building, low in her stomach, spreading throughout her entire body. He whispers against her skin, against her lips and she comes fast, squeezing his arm tightly.

She’s coming down while he’s pressing lazy kisses against her cheek, against the corner of her mouth. Her breathing has evened and she reaches down between them, pressing her hand against the bulge in his pants. His forehead falls against hers, his eyes closing, and she unbuttons his pants, pulling down the zipper and nudging for him to get rid of them. He shucks them off quicker than she’s ever seen and she would have laughed if she didn’t want him so badly. His boxers go next and then he settles between her legs and he is whispering ‘condom’ and she shakes her head because she needs to feel him, all of him. ‘Have you taken your-…‘‘took it this morning.’

He enters her swiftly and she lets out a moan from the back of her throat, her fingers digging into his arms. He presses an open-mouthed kiss against her lips, more for contact than anything, both of them breathless, and begins to move slowly. She matches his movements, arching into him and she leans up and catches his lips, tugging his bottom lip between her teeth.

“Rachel…” he whispers and she kisses him harder, harder as they find a rhythm, connecting. She feels close, her stomach warming and her heart swelling and she grips him tighter. She wants them to come together, together, always.

“I’m so close,” she whispers against his lips and he moans, fastening his pace a little, dropping his lips to her neck. His movements are becoming more jerky and she knows he’s close too so she tightens around him, arching against him deeply and she lets go, her fingers digging into his shoulder blade as she came. He pushed once more before he pulsated around her, his head in the crook of her neck and his fingers holding onto her hips.

They didn’t move, and she doesn’t want them to. As they both came down she holds onto him, her breathing becoming more regulated as the seconds roll by. After a few moments, he kisses her neck before pulling out and she has to bite her lip to stop the moan from escaping her lips at the now lack of contact. He doesn’t go far though. Falling back onto the pillows he reaches over and tugs her by the arm, pulling her against him. She curls into his side, her head falling onto his shoulder, hearing his heart beat return to normal. She presses a kiss against his chest and closes her eyes when he kisses her forehead.

“I love you,” she says, her fingers smoothing out against his stomach. “I love you so much.”

“I love you more,” he says and she can hear him smiling even though she can’t see his face. She grins.

“Not possible.”

It feels like forever before they speak again. She’s starting to fall asleep, the sheets around her waist, her body still pressed against his. He is making shapes against the skin of her stomach with his finger and it’s soothing her, lulling her into security. She always feels safe, in his arms.

“Do you know what we should do?” He asks after a while, his fingers moving from her stomach to her arm. She feels his lips brush against her hair.

She smiles and turns her head a little. “What?”

He grins against her hair, his finger lightly brushing against her chin, tilting it up to face him.

“Elope.”

glee fic: my heart, it beats, beats for only you

beeeez — Wed, 19 Oct 2011 06:42:09 GMT

Title: My heart, it beats, beats for only you. (1/1)
Pairing: Finn/Rachel
Warning: Rated R, Spoilers for episode 5.
Summary: Fuck, he needs to focus. He shouldn't swear. He needs to keep swearing down to a minimum for this, he thinks.

He’s never been more nervous in his entire life.

Not even before Nationals last year, when he felt like he was going to puke. Not even before the championship game, when he was all but confident they were going to lose. He remembers the conversation like it was yesterday (well, it was yesterday) and his hands shake as he puts the last piece down.

The ‘I’m ready, Finn’ is still ringing in his ears, and he feels like an idiot, because he was the idiot that made her repeat herself about five times before he grinned. He remembers her taking his hand, smiling, and that small familiar flush across her neck. He felt the warmth of her hand, and remembers it shaking and fuck, he needs to focus.

He shouldn’t swear. He needs to keep swearing down to a minimum for this, he thinks.

There’s a knock at the door and he almost jumps out of his skin. When did he get so jumpy? He almost trips over the carefully positioned objects on the floor as he rushes to his door, pulling it open and making down the hall. He takes a breath, smooths his hand over his shirt and curls his hand around the doorknob, pulling it open.

The sight literally takes his breath away.

She looks as nervous as he feels, which is kind of relief. She’s holding her purse, and is wearing the prettiest dress he’s ever seen her wear (and that’s saying something). She smiles, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and steps forward, placing her hand on his chest as she leans up and presses a kiss against his cheek.

Her hand stills as he places his on top of hers. It’s shaking a little, and he squeezes it a little tighter, tugging her inside slightly. The house is empty (he still isn’t quite sure how they got so lucky with timing) and she clears her throat a little as he turns in the living room to face her, his hands still holding hers.

“I’ve got a surprise for you,” he says softly, and her eyes light up. He gestures with his head towards his room and she walks around him, pulling him inside as she took the lead.

She opens his door and there’s a moment when he thinks that this is the worst surprise ever. That she’s going to hate it, and that it’s corny and cheesy and he’s going to ruin it, but her eyes settle on the ground and he hears her intake a sharp breath.

“Finn…” she says, turning slightly to look at him, and he sees her eyes a little glassy. Definitely a winner, then.

She walks around the picnic rug, and places her bag on his bed, pulling off her coat. She toes off her shoes, grins up at him and sits down gently, biting her lip. He does the same, being careful not to knock over the flask of drink, or the basket of food, and he swallows as she smiles at him again and bites her lip. Yeah, he’s nervous again.

Getting the picnic rug, one that looked identical was hard. But he found it at a swift shop downtown. The food was easy, the recipe for virgin cosmos just that little bit harder to find and assemble. He tried about four times before he got it right. She leans over and opens up the flask, pouring them drinks. She giggles, and he grins because damn he loves to hear her laugh. He’s nervous because he wants to make this perfect for her, for them and he loves her so damn much that he feels like his heart is about to explode. She takes a sip of the drink, and he does too and it takes a total of ten seconds of silence before she leans over and presses her lips against his.

“You taste like cosmo,” she whispers against his lips as she pulls away, still just inches away from his mouth. He grins as she takes his cup out of his still shaking hands and places both his and her own cup on his bedside table.

It’s his turn to kiss her now. He cradles her cheek in his hand, the other moving along her hip as he brushes his lips against hers, slowly, thoughtfully. She pushes herself a little closer, opening her mouth and running her tongue along the bottom of his lip as she tugs on his shirt a little. He grins against her lips and kisses her deeper, his hands going through her hair.

She breaks off, her lips bruised and her face flushed. He worries instantly that he’s done something wrong, but she kisses him softly, quickly before looking behind her, at the carefully placed pillows and blanket. Her neck flushes again.

“We should – um, lie down,” she says, a little quieter than usual, and her voice a little shaky, but certain. He nods, his eyes never leaving hers as his arm curls around her waist, lifting her up a little and lying her down on the pillows behind her slowly. The food and drink forgotten, she stares at him and tugs at his blue collar shirt a little, implying him to take it off. He obliges. Her chest is rising and falling quickly, in time with his as she watches him. She bites her lip as she shifts slightly, her hand moving to the side of her dress. She watches him as her fingers find the zipper to the side; as she pulls it down slowly and carefully; as she slides down the straps past her shoulders. He thinks his heart stops beating when she gently pulls the dress down her stomach, over her hips, and to her ankles. She looks amazing, more beautiful than anything that he’s ever seen, so he kisses her, his hand grazing her jaw.

He pulls up the blanket, as not to make her completely uncomfortable, and she turns on her side to face him, her hand resting on his chest.

“I’m nervous,” she says, so quietly, and she watches him for a response.

“Me too,” he replies, curling her hand in his on his chest. She smiles at that, and he grins at her in return.

She leans over and presses her lips against his, their hands still entwined on his chest. Her breasts, still covered were pressed against the side of his chest and he breathes because he still can’t quite believe this is happening. She kisses him deeper, deeper than before, and arches into him slightly, causing a small moan to escape his lips. She giggles against his lips, but he kisses her again, turning her over so that she was on her back.

He hovers above her, his fingers trailing from her cheek down to her neck, along her collarbone and down her chest. His breath catches in his throat when he reaches her breasts and she arches into him as he runs his hand along the hem of the lace. He thinks he’s in awe, a little bit, but she kisses him urgently, urging him to continue. He runs his finger alone the line of her bra to the back, where he settles on the clasp. She nods against his forehead and he twists his fingers until the clasp opens, falling to the side. He pulls it off, gently, and swallows as he casts it aside.

“Rachel…” There’s too many things he wants to tell her, too many things swirling in his head, but she kisses him, nudges her nose against his and covers his hand with hers, moving it to her breast. His fingers brush against her nipple and she moans into his mouth, arching into his hand, and he takes a breath he hadn’t known he was holding as he flicks it with his thumb, over and over, feeling her.

“Finn…”she whispers against his cheek, her breath hot against his skin. “Finn … please touch me.”

He swallows and nods, brushing his hand along the skin of her stomach, her hipbone, before grazing against the hem of her underwear. She lifts her hips a little, and he hooks his fingers in the waistband of her underwear, tugging them down her legs. He can already feel the warmth coming from her and she presses her forehead into the nook of his neck as his hand moves down, lower and lower, before he reaches the inside of her thigh.

She feels amazing, more amazing that he would have ever imagined, and he has to remind himself to actually breathe as he brushes his finger against her wetness. She whimpers against his neck, her hand grasping his t-shirt as he runs his finger in a circular motion around her clit, over and over, faster and faster. He dips his finger in her, slowly, and she tenses a little, grasping onto him a little tighter. He does it again, and again, and she arches herself into him, small breathy whimpers escaping her lips. He flicks his thumb, and she moans, so he does it again, over and over, until her whole body tenses and she grips his shirt as she releases.

The whole room is spinning, for him, because she’s against his chest, still gripping him tightly, her chest covered in a light sweat. She’s still breathing deeply, and he shifts a little, pressing his lips against the top of her head. His pants are painfully tight, and it’s almost uncanny that she chooses that exact moment to brush her hand against the front of his pants, pressing slightly. He moans, loudly, and she smiles against his chest, moving her hand up to the hem of his shirt and tugging upwards. He pulls it off, as she unbuttons his jeans, even slight push causing him to jump a little. She’s flushed, lying back on the pillows completely naked, and he pulls off his pants before hovering above her.

“Are you okay? I mean are you-“

She smiles. “I’m perfect.”

He smiles and leans down, brushing his lips against hers softly. She whispers “I love you” against his lips and he rests his forehead against hers, “I love you, so, so much” falling from his lips.

She takes a breath as he pulls a condom out of his jeans pocket, pushing it on quickly. She’s still holding her breath as he positions himself over her, his hands hovering over either side of her. He whispers breathe against her lips and she does before he pushes inside of her slowly, gently. She intakes a sharp, sharp breath, and her eyes glass over with tears instantly, so he pauses, stilling himself. She blinks and he leans over, kissing her over and over and over before she nods against his lips and he pushes into her deeper. She still tenses a little, but not as bad as before, so he continues, slowly. He pushes into her again and a soft moan escapes her lips, different to before. He waits for her to tell him to continue but she leans up, arching against him and crushes her lips on his. He isn’t going to last long, he knows it, but fuck – did that actually slip out? She groans after he swears and he’d be confused except for the fact that he can’t think of anything other than her right now, and this, and feeling every part of her. He thrusts one more time, his lips against hers, and he comes, holding her hips against his.

It takes a minute before he pulls out, pulling off his waste and throwing it in the trash. She lies against the pillows, her face flushed and sweaty and he moves back next to her, his fingers grazing her cheek.

She cringes slightly as she turns over to face him. He immediately panics. “Are you – I mean, did I-“

She smiles at his panic and shushes him, placing her hand on his chest. “I’m fine. It was expected I’d be a little sore.”

He nods, watching her. “Was it – I mean…”

“Perfect,” she whispers, brushing her fingers against his lips. “It was perfect, Finn.”

Nothing can stop the smile that appears on his lips, and he leans over her, pulling over the basket of food.

“Hungry?”

She giggles and nods. He kisses her shoulder.

They spend the night on that floor.

Glee Fic: Anatomy Of A Glee Club (1/1)

beeeez — Wed, 05 Oct 2011 12:18:02 GMT

Title: Anatomy Of A Glee Club
Characters: Ensemble
Rating: PG
Spoilers: 3x03
Summary: They’re all broken, you see.

-

He hasn’t slept in days.

There should be bags under his eyes, and he should feel exhausted, but all he feels is broken. He feels like a failure, useless, and his constant insomnia is just another reason he can’t focus. He started the year with a fresh mind, a clear head and a dream. Their dream. Now he stares at a potential disaster unfolding and can’t do anything about it.

He hates to see her in pain. She’s breaking at the seams, and he’s watching it from the outside, unable to help. He wants to help, he needs to fix her, to make her happy and loved and unbroken. He hates to see his kids falling apart. They all are, in their own way, and three weeks into the school year he already feels like everything is spiralling out of control, out of his grasp, and there is nothing, nothing he can do about it.

He fixes things. He fixes people, their mindset and makes everything right.

He can’t fix this one. And it’s breaking him in two.

-

She should feel happy.

Shouldn’t she? She got the part of her dreams, the role she was born to play. Maria, Maria, Maria, and she can’t think of a single reason why she shouldn’t be happy. She deserves this. She deserves this. It’s becoming a mantra, repeated over and over like a broken record and she smiles when congratulated, but it’s forced. It’s forced and she closes her eyes when she’s alone because she should be happy.

She hates that she is doubting herself. She has never, ever once doubted her talent, and her life and everything she ever stood for. She’s faced with her future, and it’s only a stone throw away and she is frightened. She had everything figured out, her dreams set high, and now, now with that dream up on show for the world to see, with it in her grasp, she has never been more terrified in all her life.

She smiles and it’s forced, but inside she’s breaking.

Because she’s never been more uncertain.

-

There is a big fat lie hanging above her head.

It’s obvious, to everyone, yet she keeps denying it. She’s plays dumb, and smiles, because that’s the only way. It’s the only people will keep seeing her as herself, not as the person she is and is terrified to become. People know, and yet the lie get’s bigger and bigger, and more extravagant and she can’t help but feel like the heaviest load is on her back. It is. Not just anyone can carry a lie that big.

This year was supposed to be different. She pictured it different, in her head during the summer. On the warm nights she laid on her bed, her legs tangled with hers and her lips swollen. Her heart full. That was how she wanted to live. She wanted to live with no regrets, no secrets. Loving.

Someone calls her out on it. She turns her head and forces that smile again.

She’ll just keep on lying.

-

He has no idea what he is doing.

Everyone has plans. Dreams. He has a few dreams of his own, deep down, but he doesn’t even know what he wants anymore. His mind is a cluster of college applications and reading material and everything that he has been trying so desperately to avoid. He avoids the conversation, the ‘f’ word, and changes the subject every time.

But in his head it’s all he thinks about.

He sometimes imagines what his life would be like, if he stayed here in Lima. Without her. There are days where he thinks he could do it and days where he thinks it would be okay to settle. But then there are days where the thought of losing her cripples him, and he realizes quickly that he has to make a choice.

Problem is, choices have consequences.

And he isn’t sure he’s ready to live with them.

-

She’s stronger now.

She tells herself that everyday, as she walks the corridors with her head held high. She doesn’t miss what she had. She doesn’t miss being walked all over, and not having all the solo’s (she’s getting them all now), and being treated like garbage. She’s better now, she’s appreciated now.

Yet, something’s missing.

She ignores it for awhile. She just needs time to adjust to her life without the club. She’s thinking about herself now, about her needs and about what she wants.

That sick feeling won’t go away.

Maybe thinking about herself is what got her here in the first place.

She’s keeping that one to herself. ~~Because she’s not selfish.~~

-

Deciding to run for class president was an easy decision.

She has everything she needs. She’s totally going to win this, she’s tripled him in the votes and her flash mob totally got everyone on her side. She’s got the posters, and the badges, and more flash mobs up her sleeve. She’s got everyone’s vote in Glee Club (except for Maria and Officer Krupke).

Everything’s perfect.

Except she’s still living a lie too.

Sometimes she thinks it’s easier this way. There’s no stares, no whispers in the corridor. It’s easier for the both of them. Isn’t it?

She just wants to show the world that she loves that girl.

Is that too much to ask?

-

The first time he laid his eyes on her, he fell so deeply in love he couldn’t even stand it.

And then she was taken away, and he was happy, because he wanted what was best for her. He wanted his little girl to have the best in life, and yeah, he couldn’t give her that. He’s been struggling with that for a year, with his loss, and Quinn and he can’t fucking take what shit she’s pulling right now because it’s complete bullshit.

He can’t take it, because he’s scared that if he does, he’ll have his little girl back.

He can’t provide for her. She can’t provide for her. This life isn’t for her, and it would break his fucking heart to see her ever suffer at the hands of them or anyone. She deserves what’s best. He’s going to tell her she’s full of shit, and to leave it. She’s not hers anymore.

He tries to tell her three times. But he can’t.

He imagines his life with his little girl and he can’t.

He gives her the card, with a number scrawled on the bottom.

He’s a really good lawyer, apparently.

-

He’s happy.

He feels confident, and his mom makes him feel stronger everyday. He got the part, and he gets to dance, and sing, and be the artist he needs to be. He wants to be. He wants this life more than anything. More than grades, more than a 4.0 average. More than every part of his life put together.

His dad hasn’t spoken to him in three weeks.

The silence is echoing, and his heart races every time he passes him in the hallway. But nothing. He says nothing. He doesn’t break, because he’s stubborn, and because he thinks he’s doing the right thing. But he knows better. He knows that he’s disappointed, that he thinks he’s a failure and every part of him breaks because of that.

Rehearsals start in a week.

He’s going to make sure he didn’t sacrifice everything for this dream.

-

She’s broken.

She admits it only to herself at night, after the dinner at the kitchen table in which every night her mom stares at her, and then excuses herself after five minutes. She always hears her crying in the pantry in the kitchen as she walks past it, on the way to her room. Not once has she flinched.

Because she created this. She created this cell of a girl, the shadow of her former glory, and she is just another person who thinks this is all a façade. That this isn’t who she really is. But the truth is, she doesn’t even know who she is anymore.

She can’t feel a thing.

She turns over the card, and she twists it through her fingers.

She dials.

-

He just wishes that everything didn’t have to be so messed up.

In a week he’d lost his best friend, his dream role and his dignity, all of which were a hovering dust cloud in the wake of a flash mob. He had high hopes for this year, that things would be different. He’s graduating at the end of this year, and yeah, he pictured his life a certain way at the end of it. He pictured himself in New York. In college. Becoming the best possible performer he could be.

He isn’t sure that dream exists anymore.

He’s down in the polls, and he rolls his eyes when his boyfriend tells him not to worry. He hates himself for doing that. He hates himself for becoming this petty person who has become vindictive in achieving his dreams.

Her face in the hallways is kind of breaking his heart.

She’s not his problem anymore.

-

He is Tony.

He can’t even count the amount of times he has been told this the past week. He is Tony. But is he? Right now, right now he feels like the guy who stole his boyfriend’s dream, his part, and all for a chance in the spotlight. He isn’t as ambitious and him. He doesn’t want to tread on anyone’s feet, or ruin anybody’s chances at fame. Let alone the person he loves.

The truth is, he’s happy.

And that makes him feel like the worlds biggest dick.

Because he looks at him, and sees him smile, but he knows that inside he’s really breaking. He did that. He did that.

He doesn’t say anything.

What’s to say?

-

Junior, Senior.

Junior, Senior.

She hates those words, with a fiery passion. She hates what they mean, and what is going to come of them. She hates the fact that he’s leaving, and she’s staying here, and she is scared out of her wits that this might be the end.

Sometimes, sometimes she thinks she’s more invested in this relationship than he is.

She has aspirations. Larger than life aspirations, like everyone else. But her main aspiration? Him. She can’t think of her life without him in it, and she doesn’t want to think of her life without him in it. So Junior, Senior? Just words.

She tells herself this every day, because if she thinks about it too much, her throat swells and her eyes glisten.

She can’t lose him.

-

He misses everything about her.

And yeah, he stuffed it up. It’s all his fault. Never mind the fact that she was cheating on him for God knows how long with her best friend. He knows about the two of them, maybe he’s known all along, but he ignored it. He’s really good at ignorance.

He shouldn’t want her, because she ruined it. She broke his heart, and then he broke hers, so it should be done. He wants it to be done. He wants to forget all about her.

The truth is, he just doesn’t want to be alone.

He wants to know why he can’t be good enough.

-

It’s a fact. They’re all broken, you see.

glee fic: age twenty two racer (1/1)

beeeez — Sun, 31 Jul 2011 10:25:03 GMT

Title: Age Twenty Two Racer(1/1)
Pairing: Finn/Rachel
Rating: PG
Summary: It seemed like a good idea, when he was signing the papers, and when he put on his new killer leather jacket, and when he rode into the small spot outside their apartment. And then suddenly the idea came crashing down. Future!fic.

His smile kind of fades, because all of a sudden he has a sneaking suspicion that this was a really, really bad idea. Like, it seemed like a good idea, when he was signing the papers, and when he put on his new killer leather jacket, and when he rode into the small spot outside their apartment. It seemed like an awesome idea when he pulled off his helmet, and rang her from outside, telling her to come down. It seemed like a great idea until her eyes went wide, and her hands went to her hips. And then suddenly the idea came crashing down.

“But Rach, it’s a Ducati, I mean this is-“

“Seriously?” She asks, and he realises real quick that he is in trouble because her voice raises about three octaves higher than normal.

“This is seriously what you’re going to say to me after you went and bought a motorcycle? Do you know how dangerous these things are? Statistically, they are more dangerous than cars, and considering you have never ridden one before, I’m pretty sure that the statistics are raised against your favour. What are you thinking? Because I’m pretty sure that –“

He winces. Yeah, maybe not such a good idea.

-

She doesn’t speak to him for three days.

And it’s kind of awkward, because they live together, and sleep together, and the fact that he pretty much is in a house of silence weird’s him out a little. He tried to feel her up in bed the night before, and he is pretty sure she almost broke a rib. Because it’s been three days since they had sex, and he knows her better than anybody, and he’s pretty sure that she’s going just as crazy as he is.

He loves his bike, though. He thinks it’s worth it. She’ll get over it.

“Okay, I’m ready to talk to you now,” she announces three days and seventeen hours later, walking out of the shower dressed in this black dress that she knows he loves. He raises his eyebrows from the kitchen, putting down his beer. She moves closer, but her hands are still on her hips, her slightly curled hair falling over her shoulders, and he’s pretty sure she’s not done talking.

“That’s good,” he says simply, because he knows if he says anything else, it’ll be another three days without sex. He moves closer, his hands curling around her waist and she puts her hand on his chest, giving him a small shove.

“I’m not done yet. We still need to talk. You bought a motorcycle. And while I think it’s possibly the worst idea you have ever come up with, I’m accepting it. But I swear to God, Finn, if I get a call from the hospital at three in the morning because you have been hurt coming off that bike, I will punch you so hard, you will be praying you never bought the ridiculous thing,” she finishes, folding her arms over her chest.

He grins and grabs her hips, backing her up against the wall of their kitchen as his lips attach to her neck. He hears her moan a little, and he pushes himself against her firmly as her fingers curl through his hair.

“We can’t, we’ve gotta go to this dinner,” she mutters a second later, slipping out underneath his extended arm that was pressed against the wall. He groans and knocks his head against the wall as she walks into their room, grabbing her heels.

“Please put a nice shirt on!”

He rolls his eyes and slouches into the bedroom, thinking of thoughts that don’t directly lead him to pinning her against the wall and ripping her dress off.

-

He thinks he has a pretty good plan.

Like, it took a whole lot of effort and fifty bucks, thanks to the guy down the street who owed him a favour. He’s pretty proud of himself, when he walks into their apartment a week later, a wrapped up box in his arms.

“Babe, I’ve got something for you,” he calls out and she pokes her head out of the pantry, her arms full of groceries. She grins, dropping them on the counter and moving forward as he places the box in her arms.

He’s pretty sure this is the best plan ever.

She rips open the box, grinning as her eyes found the gift underneath. Her smile falters a little as she looks up at him.

“A helmet?”

He grins. “Yeah! And it’s got gold stars on it, ‘cause I know they are your favourite. Just for you, babe, so now you can ride with me!”

He points to the gold stars for extra measure, grinning at her enthusiastically as she stares at him. A second later, she shakes her head, pulling out the helmet and shoving it on her head. He grins and pulls her closer, tapping her head encased in the helmet.

“I’m still not getting on the bike, Finn, even if I am appropriately dressed.”

She pulls off the helmet and puts it on the counter before reaching over and pressing a kiss against his cheek. She whispers a soft ‘thank you’ which he’s pretty sure defeats the purpose considering she wasn’t even going to wear it.

He furrows his brow as he watches her move around the counter, pulling the groceries out of the bag.

Not a successful plan, then.

-

“You’re so drunk,” he mutters, pulling her out of his car, grinning down at her pink face. She giggles, holding onto his arm as she stumbles in her heels, grabbing onto his shirt to hold herself up.

They had just came back from Santana’s birthday party, and while Finn was designated driver, it was kind of fun watching her get completely and utterly plastered. She gasps suddenly, spinning around to face him, and he grabs her waist, steadying her.

“I have the best idea! Let’s go on your bike!”

He stares at her. He knew this was drunk Rachel speaking, because sober Rachel wouldn’t be caught dead on his beloved motorcycle, as she pointed out every chance she got. He grins, because this was the perfect opportunity to get her on it and make her realise that the stupid thing wasn’t as terrifying as she pitched it to be. He nods, and grabs her hand, pulling her over to the bike parked on the side of the road.

“Wait! I need my helmet,” she says suddenly and he nods, telling her to wait right there as he runs up the stairs of their apartment building. He shoves his key into the lock and moves to the kitchen table, grabbing the helmet and snapping the door shut as he leaves. She is in the exact place he left her, holding onto the post as he moves in front of her, brushing her hair out of her face as he placed the helmet on her head. She
giggles, and he turned around, hopping on the bike.

“Jump on,” he tells her, hooking his fingers into the belt of he jeans, pulling her forward. She grins and grabbed his shoulders, hoisting herself over the seat behind him, her arms clasping around his middle.

“Hold on, baby,” he mutters softly, turning on the bike and flipping the stand back. He felt her breath into his ear deeply and he grins, kicking away from the curb.

Pretty sure he’s going to win this.

_

“You actually got her on it?” Puck asks over the phone the next morning, as Finn walked towards the kitchen.

“Yep,” he replies, opening the fridge and pulling out the carton of juice. He swigs it straight from the carton, as Puck scoffs on the line.

“Are you sure she’s not going to be, like, super pissed at you for agreeing when she was wasted?”

He stops suddenly, carton in his free hand. He hadn’t thought about that. Granted, it was just after nine and Rachel was still sleeping and he’s pretty sure she’s going to be nursing the worst kind of hangover today, but he hadn’t really thought that far ahead. She had enjoyed it, he knew that much. She spent the rest of the night squealing how fun it was.

“Dude, I gotta go,” he says quickly and Puck laughs on the other end before he hits the disconnect button. He shoves the juice back on the top shelf and closes the door, making his way back to the bedroom.

She’s curled up on her side, facing his side of the bed, her hand tucked under her pillow. She’s wearing his old McKinley shirt, and he knows nothing else, but he shoves those thoughts aside as he kneels onto the mattress, leaning towards her. The pressure and movement causes her to stir and she opens her eyes, blinking a few times.

“Oh God,” she mutters, her hand immediately going to her head. He almost laughs, but instead leans over and presses his lips against her forehead. She smiles and he thinks he’s in the clear but suddenly her smile disappears and a look of horror appears on her face.

“Oh God, I got on that, that, that thing last night, didn’t I?”

He really does laugh this time. “You did. It was awesome, right?”

She leans over and whacks his arm. “How dare you, Finn Hudson, take advantage of me. You know I make bad decisions when I am intoxicated. We could have died.”

He rolls his eyes. “Stop being so dramatic, people ride motorbikes all the time and don’t die. In fact, we live in New York, so I’m pretty sure statistically, more people get hit by cars in this state than die in motorcycle accidents.”

She pouts, falling back against the pillows and bringing her hand to her head again. He grins, because it’s ridiculously cute, seeing her all mad at herself for giving in. He’s not going to gloat, because he knows better than that, but instead brushes his hand against her stomach, his fingers sliding underneath the material of his t-shirt and splaying over the skin of her hip. He moves his lips to her neck, sucking softly on her collarbone and she makes a noise that he’s pretty sure means he’s in the clear.

“So I can keep the bike?” he murmurs against her neck, and her hands move to his forearm. She arches into his touch and he grins because he knows she’s rolling her eyes right now.

“Fine,” she mumbles, and he grins, his fingers moving lower as he crushes his lips on hers.

He’s pretty sure it’s the best idea he’s ever had.

glee fic: let's go back to the start (1/1)

beeeez — Tue, 24 May 2011 06:58:06 GMT

Title: Let's Go Back To The Start (1/1)
Pairing: Finn/Rachel
Rating: R
Word Count: 3,609
Summary: She'd known this guy for a total of five seconds, and maybe it was the martini speaking, but she didn't want to say no. AU.

She’s late.

Her apartment is a complete mess when Rachel opens the door just after six, her arms full of books and notes and her book bag slung over her shoulder. It’s dark out, and she snaps the door shut, taking a few steps into the dark room, dropping the contents onto the kitchen bench. She trips over God knows what as she makes her way to the light switch, a sharp ‘shit’ falling out of her lips as she hobbles over to the wall.

The clock is illuminated as her apartment lights up. She’s really late.

Her apartment is small, for New York standards anyway, but it does her just fine. It’s all she can really afford anyway, with her only real income being the small pub she works at down the street three nights a week. It’s an awful job and she hates it but the money’s good and it’s getting her through college, so she get’s by. The apartment only has one room, leading off the combined living room and kitchen, and she walks quickly through the door, flicking on her bedroom light and walking straight over to her closet.

It’s her fault she’s late to the party. She was at the library all afternoon, finishing the paper she had to hand in on Monday. She knew Santana was going to kill her, being late to your own best friend’s ‘thank fuck I graduated college’ party was frowned upon. Ignoring her wardrobe, and deciding to shower first, she walks into her bathroom and pulls off her jeans and NYU sweatshirt, dropping them on the floor as she steps into the shower. The warm water feels like heaven on her shoulders and she closes her eyes as she presses her fingers into her shoulder blade.

Ten minutes later she walks back into her bedroom, towel wrapped around her as she stops in front of her closet and brushes her fingers against the clothes. She grabs the black dress she bought for Santana’s last ‘thank fuck I graduated college’ party (you know, the one before she realized that she had actually failed stats and had to take it again next semester) and drops it onto the bed as she steps into her underwear before pulling the dress on. She stands in front of the mirror as she zips up the side, looking at her appearance. She really likes this dress. It fell just above her knees, was tight enough to be sexy without being slutty, and had thick silk straps running over her shoulders. She pulls her long hair out from the messy bun on the top of her head and shakes her head a little, letting her hair frame her face. Nodding, she walks back into the bathroom and begins to put her make-up on. Her phone buzzes from the living room and she rolls her eyes, putting on her lip-gloss before she grabs her handbag next to her bed and her black heels on the floor next to the closet and rushes into the living room.

“I know, I know I’m late, I’ll be there in ten minutes,” Rachel says as soon as she answers the phone, cradling the handset against her ear and shoulder as she put on her shoes.

“Yeah, well you better be, I’ve got a martini sitting here with your name on it, and currently it has nobody to drink it,” Santana says, and Rachel smirks as she hangs up, dropping her cell into her bag as she looks around.

Muttering ‘okay’ under her breath, she heads towards the door, making sure she has her keys and wallet as she glances at the clock. 6:35. Fifteen minutes to get ready.

She’s oddly proud of herself.

-

The bar is busy when she walks in. She brushes her fingers against her dress, looking through the crowd to try and find Santana. Within moments, she spots her, surrounded by about fifteen people, some of them Rachel’s friends too, others she is pretty sure are just randoms who wanted to get laid. Santana jumps up when she spots her and waves and Rachel laughs, moving over to the table.

“Move your asses, people,” Santana says loudly, gesturing for the girls on the other side of her to shuffle over so Rachel can come sit next to her.

“Drunk already?” Rachel whispers into her ear as she sits down, placing her bag on the table.

“Honey, I was drunk this morning,” Santana replies, loudly. She taps the drink in front of Rachel and she laughs, bringing it to her lips and taking a sip.

It was loud. They had their own little booth in the corner, and Rachel sat there, drinking her drink while Santana talked about how happy she was that she had finished school and that now there was a whole world waiting for her. Rachel knew that she had no idea what the hell she was talking about though, because it was only yesterday that she rang her up crying about how she didn’t know what she wanted to do with her life now that she had graduated. Rachel only had another semester to go, and then she was graduating. She majored in theatre and music, and had an internship lined up on Broadway. It wasn’t much, but it would get her foot in the door.

After the third guy came up to Santana, really wanted to hear the story about how the fuckers failed her in Statistics 101, she downs the last of her drink and gets up from the table.

“Going to get another drink,” she says to Santana, but she was too far into her story to care.

Smirking, Rachel grabs her bag and walks through the mess of people in the bar, heading to the bar. It’s less busy there than the rest of the establishment, so she takes a seat and orders another martini.

She kind of wants to just go home. She knows that’s entirely lame of her, and that she is a twenty two year old girl who lives in New York City and on a Saturday night she would rather be in her apartment than out at a bar with her friends. She looks back at Santana and laughs a little; she was surrounded by four guys now, each of them hanging onto every word she said.

The bartender places another martini in front of her and her fingers brush against the stem. She thinks she must look really pathetic, sitting up at the bar by herself cradling a drink, and when she looks up to see if anyone is looking, someone catches her eye.

He is standing near the end of the bar with two other guys. He was looking at her, a beer in one hand as he leant on his elbow. He was ridiculously good looking, and she smiled a little to herself before she focused her attention back on her drink. She brought it to her lips, taking a small sip when she saw him out of the corner of her eye walk up to her.

“Hi,” he says, taking a seat next to her at the bar. He has a small smile on his face, and she wants to roll her eyes because she knows how this goes, but she just takes another drink before setting it back down.

“Hi.”

“What are you doing here all alone?” He asks her, taking a swig of his beer. His eyes never leave hers, and she would be a little bit concerned if it wasn’t for the fact that he was incredibly attractive. She smiles, and turns a little to face him.

“Oh, I’m not alone,” she responds, pointing to Santana and the band of drunks over in the corner of the room. The guy laughs a little and downs the rest of his beer, setting it on the bench.

After a few moments he reaches out his hand. “Finn.”

She takes his hand, shaking it softly. “Rachel.”

“It’s really nice to meet you, Rachel,” he responds, and she feels her stomach twist a little, causing her to smile.

He orders her a drink, and she doesn’t object. She drinks the last of hers and pushes it forward a little, crossing her legs and resting her elbow against the bench. He’s still watching her, and she finds it ridiculous because she kind of can’t stop smiling.

“So what do you do, Finn?” She asks him, running her fingers along the stem of her glass.

“NYPD,” he says, putting his new drink back down on the counter. “Well, almost. I’m in the final weeks of training.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Wow,” she says, twirling around the olive in her drink. She’s starting to feel a little tipsy.

“What about you?” He asks her, leaning forward a little. She could smell his cologne. He smelt really good.

“I’m in my last semester at NYU. Theatre major,” she replies, looking up at him and smiling a little.

He raises his eyebrows in return and she laughs a little, looking down. He continues to watch her, a small smile on his face, and she bites her lip. Her cheeks flush a little, and she brings her glass up to her lips, taking another sip.

“So, how come you’re not with your friends?” He asks her, and she notices that he had moved a little closer to her. She wasn’t objecting.

She glances over at Santana. “She, Santana I mean, can get a little full on when she’s drinking. This isn’t really my scene, anyway.”

“Wanna get out of here, then?”

Her breath actually hitches in her throat, and if it was five seconds earlier, she would have choked on her drink. He had that small smile on his face, and really, she should say no. She had known this guy for a total of five seconds, and hooking up with someone at a bar was never something she did, or contemplated doing. But the way he was staring at her, she felt a connection she had never experienced before. She couldn’t explain it. She didn’t want to say no.

So she didn’t.

“Okay,” she nods, and he grins downing the rest of his beer before he stood up, holding out his hand. She took it, biting her lip at the butterflies in her stomach as he weaves his way through the crowd, his hand still firmly clasping hers. She looks over at Santana, whose jaw dropped as she gave her two thumbs up, nodding enthusiastically. She almost laughs, but shakes her head and made the motion of ‘ring me later’ before she steps out into the night air.

It was almost summer, and the air was warm. She still shivers a little, compared to the stuffy bar behind her and Finn turns to face her.

“Where do you want to go?” He asks her, dropping her fingers. It was slow, and she immediately feels the loss of contact.

“My place is only a few blocks from here,” she answers. In the back of her mind, she questions who the hell she is because the normal Rachel would not outwardly suggest that she go back to her apartment with a guy she just met. But she couldn’t explain this feeling – this attachment she felt, like she was drawn to him.

She didn’t want to stop feeling like this. So she brushes her hand against his arm, a small smile on her face as she takes her eyes off of him and sticks her hand out to hail a cab.

They reach her apartment ten minutes later and she stops at her door, fishing through her bag for her keys. She can feel him behind her, almost brushing her back and she can’t ignore the heat that rushes through her body. Biting her lip, she finds her keys and shoves it into the lock, opening the door.

She opens the door for him to come inside, as she flicks the switch. Her place is a bit messy, and she curses under her breath silently, placing her bag on the kitchen bench before she brushes past him and moves over to the couch next to the window, picking up some stuff as she does.

“Sorry, it’s a mess. Finals…” she says softly and she hears him laugh gently behind her. It should annoy her, but she just openly smiles, turning back around. “I’m a bit of a perfectionist.”

“I can see that,” he responds, taking a few steps closer to her. His hands are in the pockets of his jeans as he moves towards her in the middle of the living room, a small smile on his face.

“Do you want a drink?” She asks him, circling him and moving towards the kitchen, her gaze still on his. He grins and nods, and she can tell he was close to reaching out and touching her, but she laughs to herself and goes to the fridge, pulling it open.

“Okay, I’ve got milk, orange juice and a bottle of disgustingly cheap wine, your pick,” she tells him, her fingers brushing against the door handle.

She feels him come up behind her. His fingers brush against her waist as he pushes himself against her back and she closes her eyes, the most powerful feeling she has ever felt engulfing her. She spins around and he closes the distance between them, pushing her against the fridge, his lips crushing against hers

She whimpers against his mouth and he lifts her a little, spinning her around and pushing her back against the solid wall of the kitchen. Her head spins as his fingers graze her waist, his other hand in her hair as he opens his mouth and she collides her tongue with his, pushing into him deeper. She can’t explain this feeling, she has never done this before, the whole sleep with someone on the first date. Not that this was even a date. But he pushes into her deeper and she moans a little, all thought completely lost because she was absorbed in him.

Her hands move to his shoulders and push off his jacket, letting it fall to the floor. He moves his lips to her cheek, then down her jaw to her neck, sucking gently on her collarbone as his fingers grasp the hem of her dress, brushing the line. She’s a little drunk, and she’s pretty sure he is too, but she is past the point of caring because she can feel him pressed against her thigh and she has never wanted anyone so badly in her life.

“Bedroom,” she whispers as he kisses her neck and she pushes him off slightly, her hand grasping his as she backed them both towards her room. He looked dishevelled, his shirt was lopsided and her lips were swollen, and as soon as they crossed the threshold of her room she pulls him against her, her arm curling around his neck.

He pushes her gently against the edge of the bed, his arm around her waist as he lowers her down onto her bed, continuing to kiss her. They became urgent, and she arches into him as his free hand moves down to her thigh.

“This dress is awesome,” he mutters against her lips, his voice low. His tone alone caused her to moan slightly as he slipped his fingers underneath her dress, splaying against the smooth skin of her thigh.

She wiggles slightly, the throbbing between her legs becoming deeper. He moves his hand up higher and higher and her breath became shallow, hitching in her throat. His fingers brush against the front of her panties and she whimpers slightly. She is already incredibly wet, and she arches her hips up, begging him to touch her. She feels his lips curl into a smile against her neck, and he hooks a finger into her underwear, pulling them down.

“We should probably exchange surnames,” he breathes into her ear, his fingers brushing lightly over the bare skin of her inner thigh. Her dress still covered her, even though now her panties were now laying beside her on the bed.

“Berry,” she moans slightly, arching a little into his hand. He skirts his fingers closer and closer and she swallows, pretty close to begging him to stop teasing her.

“Hudson,” he grins, and he brushes his finger along her wet centre, causing her to groan and push herself into the bed as her hips arched. His free hand went to her hip, pressing her down, holding her, as his lips brush against her neck. He touches her again, slowly, and she bites down on her lip, her finger curling into the fabric of her dress.

He dips a finger into her then, his mouth capturing hers as he began pumping, alternating between that and rubbing her clit with his thumb. She moans against his lips, feeling the pressure building in her stomach, the familiar tingling sensation building as he presses into her a little harder.

He moves his fingers, and she moans instantly at the lack of contact. He slides his hand up her hips, before he reaches the zipper of her dress. He kisses her as he pulls down her straps, his fingers brushing against her zipper before he tugged it down. Her fingers move to his shirt, fumbling with the buttons as she hikes her leg up a little, causing him to settle between her legs. She arches her hips against him, brushing herself against his front, and she smiles against his lips as he groans, his finger stilling on her zipper.

She pulls of his shirt, tossing it to the side and moves her hands over his, tugging on her dress a little. He takes this as an invitation and pulls the top half of her dress down, as it pools around her stomach. She was particularly happy that she chose to wear the black and red combo lingerie tonight. He watches her and she bites her lip as his fingers skate over the strap of her bra, over the smooth skin of her collarbone. He pulls a strap down and she leans up, pressing her lips against his hard, her tongue running along the bottom of his lip as she grazes it with her teeth. She is now almost painfully wet, and she can feel him incredibly hard against her, his front brushing against her leg.

Within moments, his belt buckle had come undone, and she pushes down his pants and underwear, and he hooks his fingers into her dress, tugging it all the way down her legs. She unclasps her bra, her lips still playing against his, and brings her hand behind his neck, pulling him back down on top of her. She places her hand on his chest, moving down slowly before she curls her fingers around him, pumping slightly. He was incredibly close to her, and she squeezed him once before muttering ‘condom’ against his lips. He leans over, fishes into his wallet and pulls one out, sliding it on and within seconds is back on top of her, his chest pressing against hers. She guided him close to her, brushing him against her opening and watching his eyes close as an inaudible sound escapes his lips. He grabs her hands, holding them against the mattress on either side of her, before he enters her, groaning against her lips.

She’s kind of losing her mind, because he feels amazing and she shouldn’t be feeling so damn much because this is new. She barely knows him. And she isn’t sure whether it’s because he causes such a reaction from her, or something more, but arches into him, her breath hitching in her throat and she moans against his lips as he presses himself deeper into her. He pulls back and pushes forward and his lips find her neck, sucking on her collarbone as he pushes into her. He is still holding her hands, and he moves his lips to her cheek before crushing his lips back down on hers again, slowing his movements as he tasted her.

He pushed into her once more, and she falls apart, gripping his hand as she comes. He follows soon after, stilling as he came, his hand still firmly clasped in hers. He pulls out gently, and rolls to the side, cleaning himself up a little while she stares up at the ceiling. Her heart raced, and suddenly she found herself feeling extraordinarily exposed. She leans over and pulls up her sheets over herself, tucking the sheet over her chest as she leant on her elbows. He turns around then, lying back on the pillow with a small smile on his face. She felt exhausted.

“What are you doing?” he mutters, tugging on the sheets a little. He watches her again, and she feels the twisting in her stomach return, and she closes her eyes a little a laughs.

“I – I um, I don’t know how this goes,” she confesses, letting her head fall back on her pillow. She feels a little stupid, now that most of the alcohol had worn off, and she closes her eyes. She hears him chuckle a little beside her.

Her eyes snap open when she feels his lips brush against the bare skin of her shoulder. He leans over, his fingers rubbing into her hip, and he presses his lips softly on hers. It’s quick and when he breaks away, she looks at him and smiles, turning on her side slightly and letting her eyes fall closed.

She sleeps better than she has in months.

glee drabble: the secrets in the telling (1/1)

beeeez — Mon, 16 May 2011 11:56:19 GMT

Title: The Secrets In The Telling (1/1)
Pairing: Finn/Rachel
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Pure spec. for the finale.
Summary: And somehow going slow had turned into Rachel straddling his lap in the front seat of his truck, his hands in her hair. Post-Nationals.

He’s not sure how it happened, really.

It had been a week since Nationals. A week since they had performed in front of a large stage in New York City. A week since they had lost. A week since he had swept her up off her feet and kissed her til he couldn’t breathe.

They were supposed to be going slow. That’s why he isn’t really sure how it happened. Because it was the Saturday night, and he had just taken her out for ice cream and dropped her back at her house, and somehow going slow had turned into Rachel straddling his lap in the front seat of his truck, his hands in her hair.

He wasn’t complaining.

She grasped the front of his shirt, her lips moving over his and her thighs tightening. His arm circled her waist, the other hand in her hair as he kissed her hard, his tongue running along the inside of her lip. She moaned against his lips and he swore his eyes rolled into the back of his head because this feeling was almost too much to handle right now. His jeans were becoming painfully tight as she moved against him gently.

“Baby,” he muttered, almost warningly, against her lips. She broke away gently, her lips swollen and he seriously didn’t give a shit about his situation then and there, because he wanted her lips back on his now.

“I should go,” she whispered softly, her forehead resting against his. She bit her lip and his grip around her waist tightened.

“Do you want to?” he replied, his voice low and ragged. He was having difficulty with any form of restraint right now, as his finger brushed against the hem of her skirt.

She bit her lip again. “No.”

He kissed her again, and she complied just as eagerly, crushing her lips against his. He honestly can’t believe that for six months they weren’t doing this. He missed her more than he would like to think. He missed the way she smelt, the way she felt as her body crushed against his. He missed the way she tasted, her soft lips underneath his. He missed every little thing about her, and he squeezed her almost subconsciously, as a silent reminder that he was never letting her go.

She giggled against his lips when his fingers grazed her thigh, edging upwards. She broke away again, and he made a soft noise at the lack of contact, feeling a little dizzy.

“I have to go,” she said again, but she didn’t make a move.

“I don’t want you to,” he muttered, kissing her on the lips as he pulled her closer to him. The front porch light was on, and he was sure her dad’s were home. He should care, because her dad’s kind of scared him a little, but the feeling of her on his lap and pressed against him made every sane thought jump out of his brain.

She pressed herself against him, her hips moving slightly, and he groaned against her lips, kissing her harder. He curled his tongue around hers, his fingers dipping below the hem of her skirt and brushing against the smooth bare skin of her upper thigh. She didn’t push him off, and he can feel her push against him harder, so he slid his hand up further, his head becoming clouded by everything that was Rachel. Her breathing was shallow, her chest pressed against his, and she whispered ‘Finn’ softly against his lips, her fingers curling in his hair.

A second later she broke away again, leaning against the dashboard, still straddling his lap. Her lips were bruised and her breathing was heavy, and he watched her, his hands still on her thighs. After a moment, she smiled softly before biting her lip.

“I really do have to go, “ she said, before hoisting her leg over him and climbing onto the seat next to him. He immediately groaned at the lack of contact. His head fell back against the seat.

“Oh, shut up,” she said softly, a smile on her face as she swatted his arm.

He moved his head to the side as he watched her. She fished through her bag for her lip-gloss, flipping down the mirror and putting some on, fanning herself slightly. He grinned. She was pink in the face and there was no way her dad’s wouldn’t know what she had just been doing.

She pulled on her jacket, dropping her bag to the seat before she turned and faced him. He continued to watch her, and she smiled softly, a small ‘what?’ escaping her lips. She blushed, and he immediately brushed his fingers against her arm.

“I love you,” he said, dropping his hand to her lap and lacing his fingers with hers. He didn’t think he would ever stop telling her that.

She smiled, and he thought he saw her eyes glisten a little, but she leaned forward and softly pressed her lips on his. “I love you,” she whispered when she broke away, her hand against his chest.

Moments later, she had opened the car door and jumped out, slamming it shut and leaning against the window frame.

“Come by tomorrow?” she asked, running her fingers through her hair, which was kind of mussed. He almost laughed. Definitely his fault.

He nodded, his hands resting against the steering wheel as she winked at him and began to walk up to her front porch, quickly. She reached the door and fished her key out, sticking it in the door and opening it. She turned around and smiled at him, winking before she disappeared behind it.

He put the keys in his ignition and started up the car and seconds later, his phone buzzed from in his pocket. He stuck his hand in it, pulling it out and glancing at the screen.

I love you. R x

He smiled all the way home.

glee drabble: show me how it ends (1/1)

beeeez — Wed, 11 May 2011 11:58:58 GMT

Title: Show Me How It Ends (1/1)
Pairing: Finn/Rachel
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Prom Queen
Summary: He can't let go. And he knows that makes him incredibly selfish, but he can't find a way for this to end. Post Prom.

It takes him a total of fifteen minutes to get to her place after Prom.

His lip is swollen and bruised, a small cut in the corner of his mouth. He's pretty sure he caused St. James more damage. The parking lot was empty and he pretty much just wants to forget everything that was said, because he feels like the wind has been ripped out of his chest and he can't breathe.

He's so fucking pissed at himself.

Her front light is on, and her dad's are probably home, so he doesn't want to rush up to the door and start banging on it loudly. Not the time for that. He waits, because her car isn't out the front, and he knew that she drove to Sam's that night before Prom and Breadsticks. So he waits.

Twenty three minutes later, she pulls into the driveway and he has opened his door and climbed out of his truck before she has even turned her car off. She sees him though, and instead of being shocked, she puts her hand up, snatching her bag up from the seat.

"Not now, Finn," she says sharply, "go home."

"No," he replies, and it kind of sounds completely blunt, but he thinks he wants it to sound like that. He wants her to see the urgency of the matter. He needs to talk to her.

"Finn..." she begins, and it almost sounds like a warning, but her voice has kind of softened a little, like she wants to give in. He knows she does, because he knows her better than anybody, and he hates that he is doing this to her, but he can't stop. He can't let go. And he knows that makes him incredibly selfish, but he can't find a way for this to end.

"I don't know what to tell you, Rach," he says, taking a step forward and he reaches his hand out to touch her but she pulls away. He kind of deserves it. "I fucked up."

She takes a sharp breath, and he knows it's because he swore and he could laugh because it's so damn cute, except this isn't the time to laugh.

"I'm ... I'm tired, Finn..." she says, and he questions what she is really tired of. She looks tired, and she looks emotionally drained. He is too. He knows he is the cause of it.

"I - I know. I need you to listen to me, okay? Please, just listen," he practically begs her, and he gets a hold of her hand this time because she has let her guard down. She doesn't pull away, and his stomach knots at the thought.

"I'm sorry for what I did. I'm sorry for hurting you, because I swear I never meant to. I just care about you so damn much and I don't want that - that -"

"No," she says, cutting him off. Her voice is soft, and she is shaking her head. She pulls her hand away and he immediately feels the loss of contact. "You don't get to tell me that anymore."

"Rachel I -"

"I said no, Finn," she responds, harder this time, and she begins walking up to her front porch. He grabs her by the hand again.

She turns around in a rush and he can see her eyes well up with tears, and he swears the lump in his throat grows bigger. He can't see anything but her, and that scares the ever-loving crap out of him. He grips her hand tighter when she tries to pull away and she begins to cry, taking a step forward. She has her bag in her hand and she hits him, hard, on the chest. Another time. She is crying harder, and she drops her bag, bringing her fist to his chest once more before he grabs her by the arms, stilling her.

"I can't, I can't-" she stutters, and his heart literally stops beating because he is doing this to her.

"Why can't you let me go?"

She says it so softly, he almost doesn't hear it, but he is holding her against his chest tighter than he ever has held anyone, and his cheeks are wet and everything and nothing makes sense anymore. He has never felt so broken, so torn, and he is holding in his arms the girl he loves and it should be simple, right? This should be the simplest thing in the world.

She pushes him away, and he swears he almost starts crying again just at the loss of contact. She is staring at him in a way that he has never seen her look at him before. He feels his heart break into a million pieces.

"This is killing me, Finn," she says, her voice thick, and her cheeks wet. It comes out as almost a whisper. "I can't do this anymore."

He opens his mouth to reply, but nothing comes out. She turns around and walks up to her porch, fishing out her key and opening the front door, disappearing behind it without another look.

The light goes out.

He sinks to the ground.

And behind the door she does the same.

Glee Fic: We've All Got Our Stories (1/1)

beeeez — Wed, 16 Mar 2011 09:57:28 GMT

Title: We’ve All Got Our Stories (1/1)
Pairing: Finn/Rachel
Rating: M (swearing)
Spoilers: Original Song +
Word Count: 5,780
Summary: ’There is a moment, when you say to yourself ‘Oh, there you are.’ I’ve been looking for you forever.' Over the course of eight weeks, Finn finds his moment.

It’s been a week.

A week since Regional’s. It had been a good week. Everyone was motivated and happy and they were going to New York City in a few weeks, and it was only just starting to become real. Everything was starting to become very real and there was a part of him that was excited. He swears there is a part of him that is excited. But then there’s this other part, this very real part that leaves him with a sick feeling in his stomach and a bad case of the sweats. He doesn’t think its nervousness. Maybe it is. But there is enough crap to get through the next weeks as a distraction, a distraction from the only part of his life that he can’t figure out for the life of him.

He sits with Kurt out in the backyard, and it’s a really sunny day, which was strange for March. Kurt is drinking lemonade and he is talking really loudly and excitedly and Finn thinks he might have to start to pay attention. Kurt tends to notice when he zones out.

‘And he says, and I quote ‘ there is a moment, when you say to yourself ‘oh, there you are.’ I’ve been looking for you forever. ‘I swear to God, my heart almost dropped out of my chest.’

This part sticks with him. He kind of get’s this weird clarity with his attention span and he listens. Kurt kind of blushes and he would laugh except for the fact that it was very clear that this wasn’t a laughing matter. Besides, that feeling in his stomach had returned. His attention would be all Kurt’s.

“So, are you and Blaine like together now?” He asks him, bringing his cup to his lips.

Kurt smiles and nods. “Yeah. Yeah we are.”

Finn stares at him for a moment before he smiles back at him. He is really happy for him. To be quite honest this was a long time coming, and he was kind of glad this was happening because he was sick of Kurt going on and on about Blaine and wether or not he should express his feelings or reciprocate his flirting or whatever. Really, he didn’t know why the hell Kurt decided to come to him for advice on his love life. Finn had no fucking clue.

His phone buzzes next to him and he reaches over, flipping it open. It’s from Quinn, and he reads the first three lines, something about coming over and prom (there’s that fucking word again) and he doesn’t reply, snaps the phone shut and tosses it to the side, laying back on the grass with his cup of lemonade resting on his stomach.

“Quinn?” Kurt asks, peering over at Finn with his eyebrows raised.

“Yeah,” is all he can bother responding with. He really couldn’t be bothered getting into it.

“So that’s really happening, huh?” Kurt says and Finn wants to roll his eyes and tell him to shut up, but he knows better than that.

“I guess so,” he replies, and he knows his voice sounds resigned and sarcastic, like it wasn’t even his decision to begin with. A part of him thinks that. Because he wound back up in this position again, where he was at the beginning, and he feels like everything is now out of his control. Like his life is already being planned ahead. He doesn’t look at Quinn the way Blaine looks at Kurt.

He doesn’t say anything like that to Kurt though. Because it wasn’t worth it.

“Okay, well I hope you’re happy anyway,” Kurt says, and he’s tone is obvious that he is dropping the subject. Finn is both grateful and a little annoyed. He could always count on Kurt for giving unwanted yet necessary advice.

He thinks about that long after they abandon the backyard for indoors. Is he happy? He doesn’t even know what the true definition of happiness is anymore. He thought he was happy. At one stage there was a moment where he thought he was happy.

Kurt distracts him by putting on a game, and even though he knows this is Kurt’s own personal definition of hell, he really, really appreciates it.

+

There’s Glee pretty much everyday after school now, because Nationals are in just under seven weeks and they need to work really hard if they want to beat Vocal Adrenaline. Their Regional’s song selection was killer and they are all kind of struggling to find something to top that. So it’s been pretty much Four til six Monday through Friday until they find something that works.

He’s kind of sick of the arguments.

“Look, I’m not doing this because of me, I’m making suggestions that I think will help us win!” Rachel says, turning around to face Santana.

Santana rolls her eyes. “Whatever, all this is about is you getting another solo. You choose songs for yourself, not for us. And I’m sick of you-“

“No, you know what? I’m sick of you – all of you – not trusting me. I’m not doing this out of spite or maliciousness; I want to win, just like you! So get off my back and help me instead of disagreeing with me,” Rachel interrupts her, standing up and snapping.

He kind of wants to high five her. Instead he shoots her a small smile, one that he knows she will see and appreciate, but small enough so that Quinn doesn’t see and get her panties in a twist. Santana shuts the hell up, mutters something under her breath, but doesn’t object. Neither does anyone else.

She smiles back at him softly before she sits back down. And his stomach kind of twists in a knot, and not in the ‘I just ate a whole bag of Doritos’ kind of way. Quinn rests her hand on his knee and he closes his eyes.

He remembers a time when everything wasn’t so complicated.

+

Prom’s coming up, in like a week or something, and he’s getting really sick of talking about it. He kind of went along with it, because it’s what Quinn wanted, but after the fifth campaign poster of them he swears to God he wants to punch something.

“This is completely stupid,” he says after he rips it off the wall in the empty corridor, turning around to face her and gesturing to it in his hand.

“Excuse me?” she says, and she gets that haughty tone in her voice that he really doesn’t want to have to deal with. “I told you what I was doing, and you were perfectly fine with it.”

“Perfectly fine? I agreed, because I was sick of you talking about it. It’s all you ever talk about. Prom, and the crowing and what we are going to wear and how we are going to colour co-ordinate our freaking accessories. I’m sick of it,” he says, and maybe he’s being a little harsh, but he should have an opinion about something that involves him, shouldn’t he?

“I didn’t realize it was such a hassle for you,” she bites back, and he can see the tears welling in her eyes and he really, really wants to roll his eyes. But he can’t. He shouldn’t.

He should care about this stuff right? He’s got a hot girlfriend, and he’s back on top, and he should care about what colour bow tie he is wearing to prom and what they are going to dance to when they win. He feels like he should care, but he can’t. He can’t care. He isn’t sure what that means.

“Look, can you just tone it down a bit? I don’t want any posters. Seriously. I don’t want people seeing my face all …”

“You mean you don’t want Rachel to see?” She says, her voice hard.

He stops, his fingers stilling on the poster still crumpled up in his hands. The knot it his stomach becomes bigger and he wants to turn around and walk away. Because this has nothing to do with her ~~he tells himself~~ and she needs to stop bringing her up. He can’t think about her. Not now.

“You can make the decision about where you want to go from this,” he says before he turns around and walks away, tossing the poster on the ground as he rounds the corner.

When he finally gets to his car he slams the door shut and stops. He finally stops and he has to close his eyes he feels so dizzy. Because he is back in this place again, and he feels the worse sense that he completely fucked up doing this again. There was a reason him and Quinn didn’t work out in the first place, wasn’t there? A reason deeper than her sleeping with Puck and getting knocked up. He slams his hand into his steering wheel, before resting his head back against the seat.

This is definitely not what happiness feels like.

+

It’s prom, and he feels like the most awkward and uncomfortable person in the room. He’s in a tux that he hates, this bowtie that is seriously cutting off the circulation of his neck, and shoes that are giving him blisters. The hall is crowded, and there are balloons (matching blue and silver, Quinn’s idea) everywhere and streamers and the band that is playing make’s him feel like he is in a really bad 90’s high school movie.

But he’s here right? And Quinn is on his arm, and she’s like super happy and cheerful, even though she’s squeezing him just a little bit too tightly. They haven’t really spoken much since the hallway last week, she came over on Wednesday to drop off his tux and all the other stuff he had to wear and left him a message not to forget the corsage. He feels like a royal class jerk-off because he kind of really hates this. He hates the idea of prom, and the higher expectation that it’s supposed to be the best night of your life and that everything is supposed to fall into place and be perfect. This is anything but perfect.

He sees Rachel instantly. She walks into the hall with Kurt on her arm (she brought him as her date) in this dress that he swears she was born to wear and he honestly feels like his heart has stopped beating. She laughs as Kurt whispers in her ear, her fingers smoothing the emerald green silk of her dress and she catches his eye. She smiles at him, really smiles and he finds himself grinning stupidly back at her.

Yeah, this is kind of what prom is supposed to be like.

He loses track of her after a few moments and Quinn grabs his arm, turning him around to face her.

“What are you doing?” She snaps, her eyes flashing. Yeah he’s getting real fucking sick of this.

“Nothing, what do you think I’m doing?” He asks her, resigned, because if she’s got something to say, she’s sure as hell going to say it.

“I saw you looking at her,” she replies, the bite back in her tone and he really does roll his eyes this time.

“She’s my friend. I can look at her if I damn well want to,” he snaps back at her and her grip on his arm tightens.

“Your friend? Don’t make me laugh. Would you get your head out of the clouds just for one minute and maybe you would see what is right in front of you. You are so incredibly oblivious to the fact that I’m here, and I’m the one who is doing all this stuff for you and making all these sacrifices and –“ she stops, her face flushing as she glares at him.

He’s smiling. He can’t help it. Because she’s right, he is incredibly oblivious to what’s in front of him.

“We’re done. Have fun at your prom, Quinn. I hope it’s everything you ever dreamed of,” he says, turning around and walking away. He doesn’t look back, because he knows what he’s going to see and for the first time in weeks he actually feels a resemblance of happy.

He has to get out of this hall. He high fives Puck and Mike and smiles at the girls as he exits the hall and he must look like a complete idiot, stalking out of there with a weird smile on his face. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about any of it. He just wants to get rid of this fucking bowtie.

He walks down the main corridor and past the choir room. But then he stops. Because he sees a sliver of green through the crack of the door and he knows who it is instantly. He steps up to the door and cracks it open, seeing Rachel sitting at the piano, her fingers brushing the keys, but not pressing down.

“Hey,” he says gently, not wanting to scare her. She turns around, smiling, her hair falling around her shoulders. She pats the seat next to her.

He moves over to her, wrenching the bowtie so that it comes undone and he pulls it off, undoing the top buttons of his shirt. That’s better. He sits down next to her, and watches her as she presses down a few keys, humming softly.

“What are you doing in here?” he asks her, his eyes falling to her fingers.

She shrugs. “Got a bit much in there.”

He smirks. “Yeah, you’re telling me.”

She grins, still staring at the keys and he swears his heartbeat quickens at the sight of her smile. He feels really messed up, actually, that he just broke up with his girlfriend at prom and now he’s in the choir room with Rachel. It feels like it should be messed up, but it doesn’t feel that way to him. It feels normal. Right. She plays the piano gently and the tune sounds familiar, though he can’t pinpoint what it is. They are silent, and it should be awkward, but it isn’t. He really likes the way it feels though.

“I broke up with Quinn,” he says, because he feels like he needs to tell her, even though he doesn’t know why. He kind of just blurts it out and he waits for her response. She keeps playing, and he thinks he sees a change in her expression, but he can’t tell.

“Oh,” she replies, but it’s not really the response he was hoping or waiting for. He isn’t sure what he was expecting. Maybe that was it.

She stops playing and turns slightly to face him, a small smile on her face. She slides out of the seat as she speaks.

“I should probably get back. Kurt’s really excited,” she says, turning to face him as she smooths over her dress.

He nods and she smiles as she turns slightly to walk out the door.

“Hey Rach?”

She stops and turns around her fingers twisted together. He looks at her from his seat in front of the piano and he notices her face soften.

“You look really beautiful,” he says, and he thinks his voice almost cracks, but he can’t be sure. All he knows is that she grins at him before she turns away and walks out of the room and he feels the best he has all night. All week, actually.

He knows that that means something.

+

It becomes second nature, Glee Club rehearsals. Nationals are getting closer and closer, only three weeks away now, and they have started doing rehearsals on Saturdays. Nobody seems to mind, because everyone had gotten into this motivated mood where everyone is totally on board and they want to win. Rachel and Santana have even started agreeing on things, which was a surprise to everybody. Every one of them has clicked in a way that they never have before.

Quinn is still pretty pissed about prom. She lost, to Puck and Lauren of all people and she made it her life’s goal to shoot him as many death stares as she possibly could. He doesn’t know why she was so mad, really, she knew as well as he did that their relationship was never going to work. They both wanted each other for different reasons; Quinn to gain her popularity back and Finn used her as a distraction from Rachel. He isn’t proud, in fact he kind of hates himself for what he did to her, but he just didn’t want to lie anymore. He didn’t want to lie about loving her, about caring about all the small things she cared about. He didn’t want to hurt her, and breaking up with her was the only way to avoid that. He avoided her as best as he could.

“I hope you’re happy,” she says one afternoon after practice when he is walking to his car. “You broke my dream and my heart.”

He rolls his eyes, because she’s being more dramatic than Rachel and turns around to face her. “I didn’t break anything. We didn’t love each other. What was the point?”

She opens and closes her mouth a few times before she purses her lips and turns around to walk away. She stops suddenly before she reaches her car and turns to face him.

“I hope she’s worth it,” she says, and there is something in her voice that makes him think that she really means it, but she turns and gets in her car without another word.

He kind of stands there for a moment and is knocked out of his thoughts by Rachel, who kind of jogs up to his car, her books cradled to her chest. Her face is flushed slightly and she smiles at him.

“Hey,” she says, kind of breathless. “You sent me a message today asking me to meet you here?”

“Yeah, yeah I did,” he replies, dumping his bag on the cement as he leant up against his car. She watches him expectantly, waiting for him to say something, but he kind of forgets. He doesn’t think he had any real reason to message her to meet him, he just wanted to see her.

“I – uh, did you want to go see a movie tonight?” he says, and he thinks it’s kind of lame that he suggests they go see a movie. It’s kind of first date stuff, and they have had three first dates so far, so he thinks that they are way past this barrier.

She looks surprised. “Oh! Oh well um – I’d love to, but I promised my dad’s I’d go to a show with them at the revival tonight. They already booked tickets.”

He tries not to show he is disappointed. “Oh, okay. That’s cool, its kind of last minute anyway.”

“Message me though.” She replies, backing up.

She shoots him a grin before she turns and walks to her car. He watches her as she gets in, and pulls out of the lot. He watches her until he can’t see her anymore. And then he pulls out his phone.

whatcha doing?
sent 6:08pm friday april 15th to rach

She sends him a :) within a matter of minutes. And he is smiling all the way home.

+

She seems a bit hesitant around him. Like, when they are alone, or he talks to her alone, she smiles shyly a lot and kind of moves away from him if he gets too close. Which he doesn’t really get because this is what they wanted, right? Well it’s what she wanted, and then he went and fucked everything up in the first place, but now it’s all about making her see that he screwed up and that he only wants her. Nationals is in two weeks, and they have a killer number in place, and he’s really confidant that they can actually win this.

She’s not.

“I’m kind of nervous,” she tells him one day when she’s sitting in the bleachers at school during lunchtime. He followed her, and it would have been creepy except for the fact that they are them and it kind of works. He is resting his back against the metal chair in front of her to the side, his elbows hitting the solid. He turns to face her.

“What do you mean you’re nervous? You’re going to be amazing, everyone knows-“

“No, not about Nationals. About you. And us. And this.” She doesn’t elaborate, even though he wants her to. He figures he’s going to have to do some prodding to get to what she means.

“Why?” He asks simply, and he waits for her to respond.

She doesn’t at first, kind of looks down at her books that she is writing her homework in, playing with her pen between her fingers. She opens her mouth a few times until she speaks. “It’s like this is the most important thing, you know? You and me. I’ve been waiting, and you’ve been waiting, and so much stuff has happened in between that and I’m not sure I’m ready. I’m nervous because I don’t want this to be rushed, you know? We have to … reacquaint ourselves with each other. We’ve both changed.”

He kind of gets what she means, but he’s still confused. Because in his head this goes a completely different way, and there is no hesitation on either of their parts. He knows that he fucked up, and he knows that she is still hurt from that. He knows this, and he knows that they need to get to a place where they are both in this before they continue.

So he nods. And she smiles, continuing with her homework.

He already has a plan.

+

So his plan doesn’t entirely go to, well, plan.

He has this idea that he was going to take her to the revival, because he knows she loves that, and then he was going to walk her to her front step after and tell her everything he has been thinking over the past few weeks, about them and about how he feels and about how he is going to make sure they don’t screw it up this time. He has this grand plan.

But then she rings him in hysterics, the good kind, because Kurt surprised her with tickets to the revival and she’s really sorry but she can’t go out tonight. He’s super pissed at Kurt, and he makes sure he knows it. Kurt’s all apologetic and stuff, but when it comes down to it, he’s still really excited because him and Rachel love going to the revival and singing along to the shows and being all musical and all that. So his anger kind of disappears.

Nationals are in a week. Next Saturday to be precise. And they leave on Thursday. They will be spending an entire weekend in the Big Apple, the place where he knows she’s going to be in her element and he thinks maybe he can wait a week.

He still punches Kurt in the arm when he walks out, a little picnic basket in his hand.

+

He’s packing his bag on Wednesday night when his phone buzzes. He reaches over and grabs his phone from the beside table, flipping it open and smiling when he sees rach on caller id.

“Hey,” he says, holding the phone up to his ear as he puts a pair of jeans in his bag.

“Hi,” she says, and she sounds pretty happy. He grins just at the sound of her voice.

“Excited?” He asks, sitting down on his bed next to his suitcase lying open. He picks at his jeans as she laughs on the other end.

“Can you tell? This weekend’s going to be amazing,” she replies, and he can just see the smile on her face. “What are you doing?”

“Packing,” he responds, looking at his open suitcase. He doesn’t need to pack that much, just some jeans, shirts and jumpers. And underwear and a toothbrush. He can’t forget that.

“Same,” she says. “I just wanted to ring and tell you how excited I am.”

He laughs. “I’m glad you called.”

There is silence on the other end for a moment before she responds. “I’ll see you in the morning, Finn.”

He smiles. “Goodnight, Rach.”

He clicks the phone off and tosses it on his bed, laying back down on the mattress. He really hopes they win this weekend. They have all worked so hard, so, so hard and he needs to win this. For the team. For her.

Everything was for her. And the thought should scare him, but it doesn’t.

+

It’s Friday night and they have been in NYC for just over a day, preparing for tomorrow. They are out on Times Square, eating dinner from carts lining the streets. He’s eating a pretzel. It’s a freaking awesome dinner. Everyone is kind of scattered around, Brittany and Artie are over to the side with Santana and Sam eating and laughing as they watched everything. Quinn, Puck and Lauren were leaning up against the railing, eating and watching the busy street. Mike, Tina, and Mercedes were running around after each other, laughing their heads off over something or other. Rachel sat by herself, eating her vegan dinner (it was ridiculous how New York had vegan places everywhere) and watching everyone. She had a look on her face that he didn’t recognise, so he walked over to her and sat down.

“You okay?” He asks, taking a bite of his pretzel.

“Yeah,” she says, kind of surprised, and then smiles. “A little bit nervous, I guess. Big day tomorrow.”

He bumps his shoulder with hers. “You’re going to be amazing. I know it, they know it, we all know it. Don’t be nervous.”

She grins at him and stares down at her food. She looks back up at him. “You’re kind of amazing, you know.”

He looks away and smirks. “No I’m not.”

“Well I think you are,” she says, taking another bite of her food and staring ahead. He watches her, his eyes staring at her features. She can tell he is staring at her and her face flushes slightly, but she still stares ahead. She smiles.

“We’re gonna win this,” he says gently, looking out at Times Square.

“Yeah, we are,” she says, looking with him.

This night is kind of perfect.

+

They are about to go on, and he peers out into the crowd. It is massive, bigger than Regional’s and Sectional’s put together, and there is this small nervous feeling bubbling up in the pit of his stomach. There are hushed voices throughout and he takes a step back, breathing deeply. Rachel steps up next to him, looking at the red curtain ahead of them and he looks at her. She takes a deep breath and turns her face, smiling at him gently as the booming voice of the MC erupts throughout the theatre.

‘From McKinley High in Lima, Ohio, The New Directions!’

He grabs her hand and squeezes it and she squeezes it back as the band starts up and the curtains pull back. And he sings. And God does she sing. The duet is perfect, and they are perfect and he feels his heart swell as she opens her lungs and belts out the song, her face expressing every emotion he could possibly imagine plus more. He loves her. God, does he love her. He loves her more than anything in this world, and it’s taken him a long time to realize it, but this is it. They are it. And he can’t help but slide his fingers into hers when they finish and the crowd erupts into cheers.

Their second song breezes by and he can’t even think when it finishes and everyone in the crowd stands up and cheers. He glances at Rachel, grinning stupidly, and she has tears in her eyes and he grabs her, pulling her into a hugs. She squeezes him back, tighter than she ever has before and he feels his heart swell. They have this.

When they get back stage, they have an hour. The judging panel has gone away to decide, and the nervousness is incredible. But he can’t think of anything but her. She is smiling and she is sitting in the corner, her fingers twisted together and he walks up to her, opening his mouth to speak.

She shakes her head, and grins, reaching out and holding his hand. “Later.”

He nods, because there isn’t much else to say, so he sits next to her on the couch, his hand still in hers and they wait.

It feels like six hours later when they are called back to the stage (really it was only 74 minutes). The all walk on, silenced immediately by the impending decision. She is still holding his hand when they read out the winner.

They lost. They lost. Some school in Michigan, and they lost. He’s kind of in shock, and she loosens her grip on his hand, but he tightens his. This isn’t over. Everyone looks devastated and they file off in single order after a few moments of clapping for the school that won. He is disappointed, he is, but then there is this part of him that is squeezing her hand tightly and all he wants to do is talk to her. Because this isn’t over.

They have dinner at the hotel restaurant and everyone is kind of glum, but after an hour Mr. Shue tells them they can all go mingle upstairs and try and forget about it. That they did great. That they were fantastic. Because they were fantastic. He grabs Rachel’s hand when they reach the hallway and she starts to head into the direction of her room.

“Come with me,” he says, gesturing down the lifts.

She opens her mouth to object and he almost laughs because he knows she’s worried about breaking the rules and leaving but he just shakes his head. “Puck’s covering for us. Let’s go.”

She nods and follows him into the elevator. The ride down to the bottom in silence and when it opens to the ground floor he grabs her hand and leads her out. They end up out on the street and he marches her straight up to the cab that is sitting in the cab bay out the front. She looks at him when he opens the door and gently pushes her in, questioning him with her eyes. He grins and hops in after her, buckling his seatbelt before he talks to the cab driver.

“44th Street,” he says and she looks at him, a small smile playing on her lips.

“Where are we going?” She questions, and he knew that if they were standing she would have her hands on her hips.

He grins at her. “Just wait, will you.”

She rolls her eyes, but he can tell that she’s excited. She looks out the window and her face lights up, and he beams at the sight of her. This is her city.

They get to 44th street and he pays the cab driver before jumping out, reaching for her hand to follow him. She is still looking at him as he pulls her down the street. She begins to laugh, because he has this grin on his face and this is possibly the most insane thing he has ever done, but this was the moment. He thinks that this is it, this is his moment, and he wasn’t going to screw it up.

He stops suddenly and she almost runs into him. He still has a hold of her hand as he turns her around and places his hands on her hips to still her. He looks up and she does the same, a small smile appearing on her flushed face.

“Do you know where we are?” He asks her, and he grins because she knows exactly where we are.

“We are out the front of the Majestic Theatre,” she replies, beaming up at him as she tears her eyes away from the building.

He nods. She is looking at him, really looking at him and for the first time he realizes that he can’t screw this up. That this moment is everything he had hoped and planned and that he was ready. She would be ready for this.

“I love you,” he says simply, and her smile doesn’t fade. He grips her waist tighter before he continues.

“I’m an idiot. And I don’t deserve you. I know we both screwed up, but I don’t care about that anymore. We are out the front of the Majestic Theatre because this is it. This is what we are aiming for. You are going to be on that stage one day, and I will be there front row. We are here because I am in this. No more screwing around. We are both coming to New York, and watching your dreams come true. I will come with you. I’m not running away anymore,” he finishes, and her eyes glass over as he presses his thumb against her cheek, brushing away her tears. “I am so in love with you Rachel and I-“

“Shut up,” she says, staring up at him, her cheeks stained with wetness.

He’s kind of taken aback and he opens his mouth a little before she laughs.

“Just kiss me,” she says and her hands are gripping his forearms so tightly his fingers are starting to go numb.

He grins down at her before he pulls her to him and crushes his lips down to hers. Her hands curl around his neck she kisses him hard, her mouth opening as nips at her bottom lip with his teeth. He slips his fingers through her hair, his arm going around her waist holding her as close as possible to him. She whimpers against his lips and pushes herself closer to him, and he swears he feels his knees go weak.

She breaks away and rests her forehead against hers. “I love you, so much.”

He kisses her lips again, softly, as he lifts her up off the ground. She giggles slightly against his lips and she curls her legs around his waist as he holds her up. They are out in the middle of the street, and people are staring at them, but he really doesn’t care.

Now he knows exactly what Kurt meant. This was their moment.

This was what happiness felt like, he remembers.

And this night was kind of perfect.

glee fic: just a moment (1/1)

beeeez — Wed, 23 Feb 2011 06:33:03 GMT

Title: Just a moment (1/1)
Rating: PG
Pairing: Finn/Rachel
Spoilers: 2x14
Summary: It takes him just a moment to realise this isn’t what he wants.

He isn’t sure why he’s mad.

It’s like 2am, and everyone has kind of hit their second wind, and it’s been like three hours since they played spin the bottle, but he’s still mad. But he’s kind of not. He’s kind of totally confused right now.

It takes him just a moment to realise this isn’t what he wants.

All he knows is when he sees Rachel stumble up the stairs, her ridiculous dress causing her to trip up, he follows her. He reaches the top of the stairs and looks around. She can’t have gone too far. The music becomes louder and the shouting becomes more obnoxious downstairs and there is a massive bang and a crash from the kitchen. He walks quickly in there, stopping suddenly as he sees her on the floor, a large pot in her hand and a few kitchen utensils surrounding her. She kind of looks dazed and he stares at her for a moment before he bursts into hysterical laughter.

“It’s not funny,” she sulks, her bottom lip pouting slightly as she pushes away the drainer and grinder that had fallen onto her lap. He hand goes to her head as he moves towards her, sinking down next to her on the kitchen floor.

“It’s kind of funny,” he replies, picking up the spatula that was sitting on her lap and tossing it to the side. She stares up at him, and her hair is kind of mussed, and her cheeks still flushed and he swallows, turning his head away. He can’t look at her like that.

“You shouldn’t have kissed Blaine, you know,” he says simply, and he wishes he had changed the subject, but he wants to get this off his chest. He wants to talk about it, in a round about way that won’t lead to her thinking that he’s being a douche, or that he’s jealous. Even though he is.

“And why’s that?” she asks, raising her eyebrows at him as she pushes away a strand of her hair covering her face. He wishes she hadn’t done that.

He licks his lips. “Because, y’know, Kurt. And … he’s gay. And … I don’t know … you just shouldn’t have.”

She stares at him for a moment before she smirks. “It was just a game, Finn.”

“It’s not a game.”

He doesn’t know what makes him say it, or even where it comes from, or even what it means. All he knows is that it isn’t a game to him. And he knows he is being selfish, and he wishes that he hadn’t volunteered to be designated driver, because maybe with a bit of liquid courage he would have been able to face all his problems with her without it leading to this.

“I’m not doing this with you now,” she says, and her voice is tired, and she attempts to get up off the ground. She still holds her head and she looses her balance and falls back against the cupboards again, a small but noticeable shit coming out of her mouth. He raises his eyebrows.

“Did you just swear?” He asks, a smile appearing on his face.

She flushes and holds her head, frowning. “I – uh, no! Of course not.”

“You totally just swore,” he repeats, his smile growing wider and she throws him a filthy look, resting the back of her head against the cupboard behind them.

There is silence. He turns his head to face her, his back still against the pantry and she is looking directly in front of her, her fingers softly rubbing her head. He stares, and he wills himself to stop, but he can’t. Finally, she turns her head to look at him, her back still pressed against the wall.

“What?” she asks softly, shyly. Almost vulnerable. He doesn’t want her to feel like that around him.

“You’re beautiful. Even when you’re blind,” he replies simply, his fingers intertwining with his own as a distraction. Because if they were free, he would touch her. He would touch her and then he wouldn’t be able to stop touching her and … it’s better. It’s better like this.

She smiles, and he smiles right back at her and then Puckerman walks into the room, rolling his eyes at the sight of them. He kicks the loose pan on the floor and it’s only then when he drags his eyes away from hers.

“You two are pathetic. Get you’re asses back downstairs,” Puck says, grabbing Rachel’s arm, and then Finn’s and hoisting them up off the ground. She sways slightly, but his hand rests on the small of her back and he thinks that steadies her a little.

“What did you even come up here for anyway?” He asks her, as Puck herds them back downstairs.

She opens her mouth slightly, then closes it, then opens it again. “I don’t actually remember.”

He smirks and she grazes his hand with her own before she walks over to Mercedes and Tina and begins talking animatedly, crashing down on the couch next to them.

And suddenly he’s not mad anymore.

glee fic: i lose control (when i hear your body move) (1/1)

beeeez — Fri, 18 Feb 2011 10:01:17 GMT

Title: I lose control (when I hear your body move) (1/1)
Characters/Pairing: Blaine, Blaine/Rachel/Finn
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: 2x13 + Spoilers for ‘Blame it on the Alcohol’
Summary: It starts off with a kiss.

It starts off with a kiss.

He is sitting next to Kurt and the next thing he knows, she grabs him by the clasps of his shirt, pulling him to her. His lips touch hers, and she kisses him hard, her tongue slipping past his lips and curling around his. She tastes like raspberries with a hint of vodka and then suddenly it’s over before he knows it. He feels Kurt’s arm on his, pushing him away slightly. He’s drunk, he knows that much. His head is slightly fuzzy, and he isn’t sure if it’s because of the peach schnapps he just shot or because Rachel Berry just kissed him in a way he has never been kissed before.

He can’t stop staring at her and her face is flushed slightly. She brings her lips back up to her cup and she downs the last of it.

Her eyes meet his and she smiles, her fingers grasping her cup.

He isn’t sure what he feels right now.

-

It’s the next day, and she must have got his number off Kurt, because he gets this message:

Hey, sorry about last night.
I’m paying for it today, don’t you worry :)
Hope you aren’t feeling too terrible!
- R

He can’t explain the feeling in his stomach as he stares down at the message. He hits reply.

Don’t be sorry. You did nothing wrong.
We should do coffee soon.
- B

He barely has time for it to hit that he probably shouldn’t have sent that before she replies back.

You mean like with Kurt and Mercedes?
- R

His reply is instant.

No, just you and me.
- B

He can’t help the smile that appears on his lips while his fingers graze over the keypad to the response, Okay :)

-

“I think I really like her, Kurt,” he says, staring down at his medium drip while Kurt stares at him, his eyes wide. He knows what he is going to say, and he almost wishes he hadn’t brought it up.

“Blaine…” Kurt begins, putting down his mocha. He is interrupted almost instantly.

“You’re right, I’m sorry for bringing it up. I know you still have feelings –“

“This isn’t about me,” Kurt begins, staring at him. “This is about you.”

Before he can open his mouth, Kurt cuts him off. “Here’s the thing about Rachel – it’s always going to be Finn, Blaine.”

He doesn’t reply, but takes another sip of his coffee. He almost takes it as a challenge, but he holds back. Kurt doesn’t know. Hell, he doesn’t even know.

He nods, and smiles gently. But he doesn’t mean it.

-

She kisses differently than he thought she would. Granted, the first time they kissed they were both intoxicated, but still. She places her hand on his shoulder, or his neck, and she kisses him deeply and he finds himself falling for her every time. Like when she curls her leg over his waist and he grips her waist, kissing to bottom of her lip as her hand moves to his chest.

He can’t get what Kurt says out of his head.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” He asks after, when she is sitting on the edge of her bed, tying her messy hair up in a ponytail.

“Sure,” she replies, turning her head to him.

He knows this is probably off limits, but he can’t help himself. “What happened with you and Finn? Like are you still … I don’t know … do you still love him?”

He watches her expression. She stares at him for a moment, but he can see her freeze. She brushes it off, and smiles, climbing over the bed and brushing her lips over his.

She tells him of course not. Don’t worry. I’m kissing you, aren’t I? A repetition of phrases that are supposed to give him confidence. In her. In him. In them.

But he leaves her place feeling worse than he did before.

-

There is another party.

It’s at her place again, and reminds him of the last time, except last time he wasn’t kind-of-dating her. And this time, he isn’t drunk.

Which is why he can hear the conversation plain and simple from outside the door. He walks past the laundry, coming back from getting a drink when he hears her voice.

“What do you want from me?”

“I don’t want anything, Rachel, and you don’t want anything either, you’ve made that clear…”

“Don’t you fucking put that on me!”

His stomach drops when he hears whose voice is accompanying hers. He hears the hiss in her voice, and the growl in his and he can barely stomach it before he keeps walking.

He knows she is lying to him. And he wants to prove a point.

He has had three shots by the time she makes her way back into the basement, and Finn follows her a short moment after. He waits for him to sit before he walks straight up to Rachel, curls his hand in her hair and pulls her to him, crushing his lips on hers. His hand goes to his waist and he is kissing her, kissing her and she is kissing him back and he ignores the wolf whistles and the cat-calls, because he is winning.

Her eyes are glazed when they break away and she smiles at him gently, her hand gripping his shirt.

He sneaks a look at Finn. The smirk he shoots him is incredibly satisfying.

-

It’s Regional’s and he kisses her on the cheek, wishing her good luck as she prepares to go onstage. She smiles, and kisses him quickly before disappearing.

She sings and she makes her entrance from the back and the song she wrote is perfect. It’s beautiful and amazing and powerful, just like her, and she spins around in the middle of the aisle, as his voice chimes in.

And suddenly he realises. Because she is singing, and he is singing and the song is perfect but so are they. She sings to him, and her face is lit up in a way that he has never seen before. She is smiling, really truly smiling and he can’t remember a time when she ever smiled for him like that. He got to kiss her, and he got to hold her, but he never got to do this with her.

What Kurt said finally makes sense, and he swallows thickly, his ears ringing as they reach the stage and all of New Directions start singing their anthem, Rachel Berry’s anthem, and he realises hard and fast that they were going to lose. He was going to lose.

She walks up to him after they win, after they leave the stage, after the squealing stops. He sees the etching of a smile on her face and she reaches out to him. He hugs her and kisses her on the cheek.

And then his lips graze her ear.

“I never stood a chance.”

She stares at him, her mouth open slightly and he squeezes her hand before he walks away. And he smiles. Because it’s okay.

He’ll be okay.

Kurt’s hand grazes his a short time after and he knows that he’ll be okay.

-

beeeez — Wed, 09 Feb 2011 05:24:16 GMT

Until further notice, my default picture will comprise of Rachel Berry and Rachel Berry only. Until such a time when Finn Hudson decides to pull the enormous stick out of his ass and get his shit together.

/public service announcement.

Glee Fic: All we know is falling (1/1)

beeeez — Wed, 09 Feb 2011 04:08:04 GMT

Title: All we know is falling (1/1)
Pairing: Finn/Rachel
Spoilers: 2x11 slightly AU after that
Rating: PG-13
Summary: It’s a never ending cycle for them. And both of them are falling.

It starts with a text message.

Are you home? I’ll be there in ten. We need to talk. R x

Wednesday 10:17pm

It’s raining when he pulls up to his driveway, his headlights beaming onto the small figure standing out the front of his house. He knows who it is instantly and he barely turns off the ignition as he walks over to her. She is squinting, and the rain is pounding down hard, and he sees her skin turn a bright shade of pink from the force of the raindrops. He reaches out to her.

“What- What the hell are you doing here? Here, take my-“

“Just tell me if it’s true,” she practically shouts, because the rain has picked up and it is now hitting her dress with such force and he can see that she is completely and utterly drenched.

“Is what true?” he asks, but he knows what she is talking about. He wishes she would get out of the rain.

“You and – “ she doesn’t finish before she wipes her cheek and he can’t tell whether she is crying or it’s just the rain.

He stands there with his hands by his sides, and he wants to answer her. He wants to, because she deserves to know. He wants to, but he is so God damn confused right now and he doesn’t even know what the hell he is doing, but he knows that he doesn’t want this.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he replies, and it’s a cop-out; a ploy to drag the conversation out longer and to keep him from having to say what he can’t. He can’t do this. To himself or to her and he wishes for once in his life everything didn’t have to be so complicated. Because it’s after ten on a Wednesday night and she is standing in front of him in the pouring rain and she doesn’t deserve this. There was a time, a few weeks ago maybe, when he really believed that she deserved this. She deserved to be hurt, exactly the way that she hurt him.

But she is watching him, and her gaze feels worse than the sharp pins of rain hitting his bare skin, it feels like blades cutting through him, digging into his stomach and he just wants it to stop.

“I want you to tell me the truth. That’s all I want,” she says, and her arms tighten around herself and he can see that she really is crying because without him having to say it, she knows that it’s true. Her voice breaks with every syllable and it actually hurts him. He wants to reach over and touch her, feel her; he wants to tell her that everything will be okay. But he doesn’t know that because he doesn’t know what he is doing.

He can’t say it. He can’t form the words, so he nods and she looks away, her mouth opening slightly as a soft sound comes out of her mouth that he has never heard before. She turns around and begins to walk across his lawn but he grabs her arm before she reaches the sidewalk, turning her around.

“Where are you going?” He shouts over the rain, his grip slipping from her arm as she tugs it away.

“Home, I’m going home,” she responds sharply, turning and walking in the opposite direction. She starts to run slightly when she reaches the sidewalk, and soon enough she is out of his sight.

He wishes he had followed her.

Saturday 7:45pm.

Santana throws a ‘we quit the Cheerios so let’s get totally plastered party’ the following Saturday night. He isn’t quite sure how it happens, but he ends up picking Quinn up from her place at seven sharp (because Quinn likes to be on time). She kisses him on the cheek and he ignores the sharp pain in his gut, forcing his car jerkily into gear and pulling away from the curb.

It’s been seven days since the football game. Six days since Quinn kissed him. Five days since Quinn and Sam broke up. Four days since Rachel turned up on his doorstep.

It’s been seven days since the chain started and when he steps into Santana’s house and sees her in the corner of the room, sitting on the edge of the couch with a cup of beer in her hand, he freezes. Because Puck is standing next to her and she is laughing and she is drinking and they do a little fist bump and he wants to punch Puck in the guts. He shouldn’t want to, because Quinn is next to him, and fuck are they dating and it takes him a total of thirteen minutes before he grabs Rachel by the wrist when the others aren’t looking and pulls her into the laundry.

“What the hell are you doing?” She hisses at him, yanking her arm away as he shuts the door behind them.

“I don’t know,” he says, and he really does mean it. He doesn’t know what he is doing, all he knows is that everything is complicated and she was staring at him in a way that makes him really want to kiss her.

He does.

He pushes her against the washing machine, one hand going to her waist and the other through her hair and his lips are on hers hard and fast, taking no time at all before he collides his tongue with hers. She whimpers against his lips, but she is kissing him back and she grips the folds of his shirt hard, pulling him against her. He doesn’t know what he is doing but his hands find their way to her thighs and he hoists her up onto the machine, kissing her still as her legs curl around his waist.

When she pushes herself closer, closer to him and he feels himself react, it sends his mind into a tailspin. He breaks off instantly, almost slamming himself into the door. She stares at him and her lips are bruised and her face is flushed and her legs are open slightly … he closes his eyes, mutters ‘I’m sorry’ and leaves the closet quicker than they entered.

He doesn’t drive Quinn home that night.

Tuesday 3:15pm.

“We need to stop doing this,” she mutters against his lips, but she doesn’t let go of her grip.

The stands are empty because football season has finished, and he skips sixth period because he just can’t deal with today and he can’t deal with Quinn and he can’t deal with her. But he presses her against the metal frame of the stands and his hands are roaming down her sides, against her thighs and she letting him. She is letting him. Because even though both of them are fucked up, they still can’t keep away from each other. Her breath is short and she makes these soft noises in his ear as he sucks on the soft skin above her collarbone that drives him crazy and he wishes that he could stop. Saturday night was just the beginning.

He was beginning to hate himself.

Saturday 10:18pm.

“I’m not doing this,” she says, and she has that determined look on her face that he both loved and loathed. She is standing on her doorstep and he is drunk and she is wearing those hot pink shorts that he loves and he is finding it incredibly hard to form words.

“But I- y’know Rach-“

“No,” she cuts him off firmly, holding her hand up. “You’re drunk. And I’m not doing this with you. If you want to talk to me, come back sober.”

And with that she walks back into her house and slams the door. It reopens a few moments later, and he has a surge of hope before a bottle of water is tossed to his chest and it takes every motor skill he has to actually catch it. The door slams again.

He drinks the water, sitting on her curb.

An hour later, and he is still sitting on the curb, and he finishes the bottle, tossing it to the side. He feels sober. He hears the door open behind him and he turns his head around. She is still wearing her hot pink shorts and she has on her bright pink jacket. She stares at him for a moment before she walks to him, grabbing him by the arm and yanking him up.

“Come inside,” she says, leading him across the lawn.

“Aren’t your dads-“

“They aren’t home,” she responds, pushing him through the door as she closed it behind them.

He stares at her as she moves around the hallway, placing her keys on the table. She begins up the stairs and he still watches her as she turns around.

“Are you coming?” She doesn’t wait for a response and climbs the stairs further towards her bedroom. He almost fumbles up the stairs and he shakes his head as he follows her through her bedroom door.

He stands awkwardly in the centre of the room as she closes the door, moving around her bedroom quietly. She takes off her jacket, placing it on the chair next to her computer table. Then she turns to face him and he stares at her, waiting for her to speak first. The room is spinning just a little and he wishes he had another glass of liquid courage. Or Puck’s God-awful keg would do.

“So why are you here, again?” She asks him, crossing her arms over her chest and he realises that she isn’t wearing a fucking bra and he feels himself go instantly hard.

“I needed to – s-see you,” he stutters and he almost wants to punch himself in the gut for being such a pussy. He knows, even in his drunken state, that he shouldn’t be here. He is screwing himself and her over. But he doesn’t know what else to do.

He decides in an instant to man the fuck up and he walks towards her, grabbing her waist as he pulls her to him. He crushes his lips on hers, snaking his arm around her tiny waist and splaying his fingers along her bare skin. He expects her to pull away, to tell him that he needs to get the hell out. But she doesn’t. She stands on her tip-toes and curls her hand around the back of his neck, bringing him down to her as she kissed him back. She kissed him back.

“You taste like beer,” she murmurs against his lips, running her tongue along his bottom lip.

He knows they should stop, but something takes over him and he lifts her up, placing her on her bed behind them as he moved, hovering above her. He presses her into her mattress, his kisses becoming more and more urgent and she spreads her legs a little instinctively underneath him. He swears he begins to have trouble breathing.

He breaks away and stares down at her. She bites her lip, her fingers digging into his shoulders and he starts to wonder why the hell this is happening. Why does it have to be so complicated? This, this right here is making things complicated.

So he stops.

“What are you doing?” She asks as he climbs off the bed, grabbing his jacket from the floor. He wasn’t sure how it got there. He honestly doesn’t know how to answer her question so he turns to face her, running his hand through his hair.

“I’m drunk. I have to go,” he says, and he thinks it’s the smartest decision he has made all night, and he leaves the room, walking down the stairs.

She runs out of her room and grabs his arm as he reaches the stairs, yanking him around to face her. Her eyes sting with tears.

“Why are you doing this to me?” She asks, her grip on his arm tightening.

He can feel his heart drop. Because he doesn’t know and he hates himself for what he is doing. He is a hypocritical ass and he hates everything that he has become. But he doesn’t know how to answer her, so he turns around and walks down the stairs, leaving her.

He hears her start to cry as he closes the front door and he swears that this ends right now.

Tuesday 12:14pm.

It starts with a text message.

Meet me at the stands at 3. R x

He almost doesn’t go. Not because he doesn’t want to skip a period, because it was US History and he doesn’t give a crap, but because he hasn’t spoken to her since Saturday night, and he isn’t sure he can face her after that. The sound of her crying tears his heart in two and he avoids everyone and Glee because the sight of her makes him feel like the giant ass he is.

But he goes.

She is standing there when he arrives, in her really big red coat and her hair frames her face and he feels his heart rate rise just by looking at her. But she has a different expression on her face and he stops still before he reaches her.

“Hi,” he says hesitantly, not sure what else to say. He kicks himself internally for not coming up with a better opening line.

“This,” she points to herself and then him, “is done. We’re done. I’m not doing this anymore.”

He feels his heart stop beating. And he shouldn’t feel like that, because this is what he wanted right? He wanted space, and he wanted them not to be a couple and he … he has Quinn. He doesn’t, because they aren’t ‘official’ yet, and he never wants them to be official, but he doesn’t want this either. He doesn’t want to not have her. He doesn’t want to feel like this.

He opens his mouth to speak but she holds her hand up and smirks. It’s not a nice smirk, not a Rachel Berry smirk, and he can’t describe the feeling that creeps up into his chest when she looks at him.

“Save it,” she says and she walks around him and around the corner out of sight.

He kicks over the table at the entrance to the stands a couple of moments later.

Friday 5:03pm.

He grabs her by the wrist when everyone leaves Glee. He waits until everyone has left the room before he pulls her over to him. She tugs her wrist away almost instantly.

“Don’t,” she says warningly, holding herself out of his grip.

He looks at her pleadingly. “Rachel please-“

“Please? No. I’m not being the girl on the side again Finn. And you are a hypocrite. You’ve got to make a choice. And even then…” she stares at him and he hears her voice break on the last word and he reaches out to her, but she pulls away again.

He closes the gap between them, holding both of her hands still as he rests his forehead against hers. A sob escapes her lips and he can’t stand himself for doing this.

“You’re breaking my heart, Finn,” she says, each word enunciated by the tears that streaked her cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he says and he means it with all his heart.

She leaves. And he knows that it isn’t over.

_

It all starts with a text message.

I miss you. F

She doesn’t reply.

-

beeeez — Tue, 18 Jan 2011 04:03:24 GMT

http://baby-barbra.tumblr.com/therpgroup

NEW GLEE RP. I am Tina. And we need a Mercedes, Mike and Artie BADLY. If anyone is interested, shoot me a PM. It's so much fun, seriously.

Fic Fundraiser for the QLD Floods

beeeez — Thu, 13 Jan 2011 07:15:53 GMT

This is an amazing cause, and an absolutely wonderful idea. I'm more than willing to contribute. Essentially the idea is I pledge to write 100 words for every $1 donated to the floods.

Flood Relief: Fic Fundraiser Challenge.

I am writing for Glee and Harry Potter. Click on the link for my thread :) Even though it is a bid, I will be writing a drabble for everybody who bids. Because I really appreciate it. So make a request as well as your bid :)

beeeez — Tue, 11 Jan 2011 12:58:29 GMT

http://beeeez.tumblr.com/

SHAMELESS PLUG. PLEASE FOLLOW.

beeeez — Thu, 06 Jan 2011 10:36:24 GMT

Glee Fic: Just another night (happy new year) (1/1)

beeeez — Wed, 29 Dec 2010 10:11:22 GMT

Title: Just another night (happy new year) (1/1)
Pairing: Finn/Rachel, with appearances from everyone.
Rating: PG-13
Words: 2,588
Spoilers: If you are up to date, you are sweet.
Summary: Crack!fic. They were completely screwed. What the glee club got up to on New Years Eve.

_

Many people look forward to the new year for a new start on old habits. ~Author Unknown

_

They were completely screwed.

About five of them turned up at once, all of them carrying their annoyingly bright flashlights, and it took Finn about five seconds flat to realise that they were screwed. There were loud noises, and the fucking bright light, and Rachel curled her shaking hands around the folds of his shirt and tugged.

“We have to go,” She said quickly, completely un-Rachel Berry like. She was ridiculously calm, given the current circumstance and all Finn could do was nod dumbly and follow her as she ran as fast as she could. She tripped a little, and Finn stifled the need to laugh. This wasn’t a laughing matter.

He heard the others laughing from across the field and out of the corner of his eye he saw them all pelting for the dark corners of the oval and the bushes, in an attempt to be concealed. He was pretty sure that they were all going to Juvie for this. At least they had Puck to protect them all.

The alcohol hit him with incredible force as he ran, and he was momentarily stunned at how much he had actually consumed and attempted to figure out exactly how to put one foot in front of the other. But he was running, and Rachel was in front of him, and he heard yelling from the cops or the guards or whoever they were behind him.

Yep, they were screwed.

3 hours earlier.

Douches, meet us at school carpark @ 9.
- San

Finn glared at Kurt, who was currently driving Finn’s car. They had both received the mysterious text message from Santana an hour ago, and even though Finn had a wonderful evening of watching television planned, Kurt dragged him up off the couch and practically forced him into the passenger side. They had just left, and Finn watched the streets as Kurt drove, driving slower than usual due to the people surrounding the streets and the parties that were currently occurring over town. It was New Years Eve, and even though they both had nothing planned, apparently Santana did, and Finn wasn’t exactly thrilled with the idea. There had to be something going on, and Finn was sure that whatever it was, it couldn’t have been good. Kurt yapped on, adjusting his glasses, which Finn thought he looked ridiculous in because it was ten to nine, and drove steadily to the school.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Finn interrupted him, having a one last-ditch attempt at convincing Kurt that this wasn’t a good idea.

Kurt rolled his eyes. “It’s fine, besides what were you doing tonight anyway? Watching some stupid sport instead of being with your friends? What’s the worse that could happen?”

Finn shook his head, a sense of doubt filling him. That was always somebody’s last words, in the movies, before something worse happened. Finn knew this, because he had spent the first three months of his relationship with Rachel being educated in what she called “pop culture” but was really every movie that tossed every single cliché you could think of around. His stomach knotted uncomfortably when he thought of Rachel, and he wondered if she was going to be there. If they all were going to be there. It was an odd request, and Finn promptly deleted the text message when he received it, only to find out Kurt had received the same thing. And here they were.

Kurt pulled into the baron carpark of McKinley High, and drove directly to the small group of cars that were in the middle. There were three, and Finn recognised Puck’s, Rachel’s and Santana’s. They were all there already, and Finn felt his stomach knot up tightly again when he saw Rachel, standing to the side of Puck’s car, with her arms folded across her chest. She was wearing a small skirt and a turtleneck blouse, and Finn thought instantly how she must be cold. Then he realised that he wasn’t her boyfriend anymore, so he didn’t have to care if she was cold or not. He didn’t. It bugged him way more than he cared to admit that she was standing next to Puck. Did they arrive together? Why did she look mad?

Kurt knocked him out of this thoughts as he turned off the ignition to the car and jumped out. Finn begrudgingly got out of the passenger seat and made his way to the group with Kurt, making sure that he directly avoided Rachel’s eye contact. It had only been a week and a half. It felt like a year to him.

“Now that everyone is here…” Santana began, pointedly looking at Finn. He rolled his eyes and folded his arms over his chest, the cold air causing hot steam to blow out of his mouth. “I can reveal our plan.”

“I’m not doing anything illegal, I don’t care what you blackmail me with,” Rachel piped up instantly, her arms still folded tightly across her chest. She had to be freezing.

Santana rolled her eyes and pulled out a set of keys from her car. “It’s not illegal if I have the key.”

“How the hell did you get that?” Quinn asked, leaning against Sam with a incredulous look on her face.

“I’ll never tell. Also,” she reached into her car and pulled out two bottles of vodka. “I’ve got the booze.”

“Me too,” Puck said, holding up three more bottles. They looked like Tequila. Finn hoped to God it wasn’t tequila.

Rachel shook her head. “This is stupid. You want to break into the school just to get drunk?”

“It’s New Years Eve, Berry, lighten up,” Puck responded, elbowing her in the side as he walked around her. Finn felt his stomach do a flip again, and he finally looked at Rachel, who glanced at him for a few seconds before she looked away quickly and followed the others.

This night is going to be fucking fantastic, Finn thought to himself as he begrudgingly followed Kurt, who tagged behind Mercedes. They all reached the bolted gates of the school football field, all the metal bars chained together by an impossibly large lock. But Santana had the key, and she shoved it into it’s tiny socket and unbolted it, pushing the gate open and smirking at the group before she grabbed Brittany’s hand and pulled her towards the field.

This was illegal. And breaking and entering. Completely and utterly against the rules, in fact if they got busted, Finn was sure that the Lima police would be called. And then they would be expelled. And also this was illegal.

Finn stood back for a moment, his hands in his pockets, as he watched the others move forward. Rachel hung back as well, and Finn knew she was having an internal struggle with breaking the rules and doing this. He was as well. But when Puck reached for Rachel’s hand and pulled her over the threshold of the gate, and he heard her giggle, his giggle, he didn’t care anymore.

He reached over and grabbed the bottle of vodka out of Tina’s hands and unscrewed the cap.

And he ignored Rachel’s gaze as he took a large swig.

An hour later.

There was a moment when Finn became increasingly aware of exactly how much alcohol he was drinking. They were all drinking out of the bottles, and it was disgusting, but everyone was way past drunk to even care. Even Rachel, who was very pink in the face and giggly. Finn had to ignore the urging sensation he was feeling to walk up to her and kiss her senseless, because she was looking extremely hot right now, and she was sitting next to Puck, and he wanted to go and whack Puck in the chest and tell him that she was his. But she wasn’t his. He took another swig of tequila.

“Let’s play a game!” Brittany said loudly, swaying slightly as she leant on the side of Artie’s wheelchair. “Hide and go seek!”

“What are we, twelve?” Quinn asked sarcastically, hiccupping slightly.

“Who gives a crap, let’s do it,” Santana piped up, getting up from the grass and pulling Brittany with her.

The next second Puck was unanimously decided to be seeker and everyone started running in opposite directions. Finn tripped his way to behind the bleachers, grabbing onto the railings as he peered out onto the field. This was ridiculous, but he was drunk and he knew that he was going to regret this in the morning,

“What are you doing? This is my hiding spot.”

Finn turned around and saw Rachel standing a good three feet away from him with her hands on her hips. She had a pouty look on her face, masked by the fact that she was flushed from her shoulders up, and she was swaying slightly on the spot. He glared at her.

“I was here first,” he said loudly, looking back onto the field. He was sure Puck had forgotten which numbers were next and was now yelling out random numbers.

“Like hell you were,” Rachel said, moving up next to him and shoving him. He gaped at her, staring down at her tiny body which in her drunk mind she thought she could move him with. Her mouth was open slightly and he could feel the heat coming off her and he took a step back to keep the distance. He couldn’t control himself, given his current state.

“Why don’t you just go give Puck a blow job and then you can win by default,” Finn muttered under his breath, but he wasn’t really trying to be quiet and Rachel’s mouth dropped open as she stared at him. He didn’t know what made him say it, but again, he was drunk and why the hell should he have to sensor his thoughts in front of her. He didn’t have to protect her anymore from what people were saying.

“Excuse me?” She said haughtily, shoving him harder with her hands up against his chest. She attempted to, anyway, and Finn just laughed at her feeble attempt, grabbing her around the waist and dropping her about two meters away from him. He walked back to the edge of the seats and peered out onto the field again.

He knew about half a second ago that that probably wasn’t the best idea. He may not have been Rachel Berry’s boyfriend anymore, but he still knew her better than anybody, and he was sure that there were going to be consequences for his actions. He waited for her to punch him, hit him, string a line of words he didn’t understand at him. She didn’t do that though.

He turned around, because he had thought she had left, when she walked up to him. She had a look on her face he had never seen before and she curled her hand behind his neck, bringing him down to her as she crushed her lips on his. If Finn was sober, he would have pushed her away. Told her that he hadn’t forgiven her. Told her that they needed space, and that this wasn’t right. But Finn was the opposite to sober. His hands immediately went to her waist, gripping her tightly as he responded to her kiss, moving his lips feverishly on hers. He moved his hands lower, to the hem of her ridiculously short skirt, and slipped them under, running his fingers along the smooth skin of her thigh. He expected her to push him away, but this was drunk Rachel Berry and instead she pushed herself closer to him, hiking herself up higher to meet his face. His hands gripped her thighs and he pulled her up, slipping his arm under her bottom and holding her against him. She curled her legs around his waist and slid her tongue along his lip, biting the bottom one as she moaned softly against his lips.

He was so incredibly turned on right now.

They swayed slightly, mostly from the fact that Finn was having trouble standing, let alone standing holding Rachel, and he backed them up slightly, resting his back along the singular metal pole behind them. It didn’t help much, but Finn didn’t care because Rachel had her legs curled around his waist and was kissing him and really kissing him and he was sure that he would almost lose it. This wasn’t like how they had made out before, this was a new level of awesome. The way she moaned into his mouth and pressed herself against him, right there, was possibly the best thing Finn had ever experienced and he gripped her tighter thinking about it.

Then they heard the noises.

Rachel broke away, her arms still around him, and still hoisted on his waist. She looked around wildly, her hair mussed and her face flushed, her lips bruised from kissing him. Finn had never seen anything so hot in his entire life and he leant forward to kiss her again when she jumped out of his arms. Finn heard the noises this time as well. Then there were the lights, and the others screams and laughter.

“We have to go,” Rachel said quickly, and she grabbed his hand, dragging him away.

They were running from the cops – were they cops? – and he was drunk and he had a very large issue down there so running wasn’t really the most ideal situation for him. He was humming a silent mantra as they ran – We are screwed. We are so screwed. – And Rachel hushed him, telling him to shut up as they ran further. Then she grabbed him and pulled him behind the sports shed, flattening herself against the wall and pulling Finn flush against her.

Yep, Finn was screwed.

Rachel looked up at him and nodded. “We have to run.”

She took his hand and pulled him, around the side of the shed and made a bolt for the main carpark, which lead to the main street. They ran fast, and Finn’s chest had begun to hurt when they reached the side of the street. Rachel stopped suddenly and turned to face him, dropping his hand.

“I’ve gotta go,” She said, backing up towards her general direction, which was the opposite to Finn’s.

“No, wait,” Finn began, taking a step and reaching out for her. She smiled and continued to back up, brushing her hair out of her flushed face. She stopped suddenly and looked beyond Finn. Before he had time to question what she was doing, she sped up to him and jumped into his arms, kissing him again. Finn was taken-aback, but responded quickly before he heard noises again behind them. She broke away and ran, winking at him as she did so. He watched her for a minute before the noises behind him became louder and he pelted in the opposite direction as fast as he could, running across the street and down the side street towards his house.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

Happy New Year.
Rachel – 12:04am

+

Contemplating continuing this. Thoughts?

_

Glee Fic: Five And A Half Months (1/1)

beeeez — Tue, 14 Dec 2010 10:41:17 GMT

Title: Five And A Half Months (1/1)
Pairing: Finn/Rachel
Rating: R
Spoilers: 2x10
Word Count: 2,014
Summary: It’s been the longest and most depressing five and a half months of his life.

But you know it's alright
I came to my senses
Letting go of my defenses
There's no way I'm giving up this time
All In - Lifehouse

It’s been five and a half months.

Five and a half months since “I’m officially breaking up with you”. Five and a half months since watching her face crumble and the realisation that he couldn’t kiss her to make her feel better. Five and a half months since singing together, holding that connection that he never knew he actually needed. Five and a half months since he threw Puck into a wall and told him to ‘fucking stop kissing my girlfriends!’ And the longest and most depressing five and a half months of his life.

He imagines everything to work out. It takes him four and a half months to actually realise that maybe, just maybe he was in the wrong too. It had been four and a half months of soul searching after all. It takes him five months before he wants to make it work, the two of them. But it takes him five and a half months before he realises that he was a fucking idiot, and she was a fucking idiot, and maybe they were meant to have this time apart. Because it’s five and a half months in when he realises that he wants her to be it.

It’s not a spectacular epiphany, like in the movies. It’s just a glance. One small glance as she belts out the final word to their number and he realises that he loves her, and that he has loved her all along, and that he cannot bear to be without her another second. It’s Nationals, and it’s been five and a half months, but as the crowd erupts into loud cheers that he can barely hear, he walks from the carefully formed line behind her, behind their star, and steps up next to her, his hand curling in hers. She is flushed, and she looks at him quickly, almost as if she is completely stunned by this. Her eyes move from their hands intertwined between them and his eyes and she smiles at him. And he swears he almost melts, because he has missed that smile, more than the making out, more than the one-time groping, more than her incessant nagging (which he found he actually missed during their five and a half months apart.)

She is smiling, and he can’t help but smile back at her, his face erupting into a grin he barely even recognises. He becomes vaguely aware of his surroundings, and the fact that he is on stage, and it isn’t until she tugs at his hand, pulling him away, following the rest of Glee Club before he realises what actually is happening. But they are in the in the dressing room and she turns around and stares up at him, her hands clasping his jacket as she smiles. He kisses her and God, he suddenly remembers what she tasted like and how it felt to have his lips on hers, and he begins to kiss her harder before they are pulled away from each other by Kurt, who rolls his eyes and takes her by the hand, yanking them back up to the stage.

Everything is a blur, but all feels is her hand firmly clasped in his, and he knows they lost, they lost, because everyone looks shattered, but he finds himself grasping her hand harder and she responds, and suddenly losing doesn’t matter.

It wasn’t an epiphany, and it wasn’t like lightening struck him, but he feels warmer, like the hole that was gaping in the middle of his chest had suddenly evaporated.

They were silent until they reached the hotel, leaving the others downstairs to wallow, and he pulls her into him and Puck’s hotel room. He hears her giggle slightly and he closes the door and turns around, taking a moment to just stare at her. He swears the air actually leaves his lungs and her eyes are soft, her smile one of the most beautiful things he has ever seen in his life. She twists her fingers together, her eyes never leaving his and he takes a few steps forward, his hands going around her waist as his lips crush against hers.

She responds immediately, her arms wrapping around his neck to pull herself closer to him and he wraps his arm underneath her bottom, hoisting her up. She wraps her legs around his waist, her lips moving against his as his grip around her tightens. He backs her up to his bed and places her down, hovering above her, lips still attached to hers. He breaks away, and she moans softly from the sudden lack of contact, her fingers gripping his arms. He looks at her, laying beneath him, her hair splayed against the sheets, her lips swollen and her cheeks flushed pink.

“I love you,” he says, and he knows his voice is cracking slightly. Her eyes glass over and her lips creep into a smile and suddenly he kisses her again, his tongue colliding with hers as he pushes himself closer to her.

He begins to feel completely and utterly dizzy, and he wonders if she feels the same way. As she curls her leg around his waist, pushing herself closer to him, he hopes to God that she does because he isn’t sure that he has enough willpower to stop. His hands go to her thigh, settling there, right under her skirt. He expects her to break away and tell him no, that they had only just – he wasn’t even sure what this was. To him this was it, he wasn’t ever letting her go again. But she moans again and shifts her body so that he was now settling between her legs, the fabric of his pants and her underwear the only thing keeping them apart. He almost loses it, and he thinks he needs to stop, but she grips him tighter and he slides his hand further up her skirt, skimming the hem of her underwear and she makes this noise that is possibly the best thing he has ever heard in his life. He runs his fingers along the hem before slipping them underneath, stroking the smooth skin of her upper thigh. She jolts, arching into his touch and he breaks away from her, his fingers stilling.

“Finn…” she says softly, her voice breathless.

“I love you, and I don’t want to rush you into…”

She presses her finger against his lips, her leg still curled around his waist. “I love you. I want this. I want you.”

He takes a moment, and he is sure he has a dopey grin on his face but she beamed at him and pressed her lips on his hard, her fingers moving quickly against the button’s of his collared shirt. She fumbles, still kissing him, and he moves his hand to help her, before he tosses it onto the floor. His hand goes back under her skirt and he grips her waist, feeling the soft cotton of her underwear and the smooth skin of her waist before he hooks his finger into the hem and pulls them down gently. She still has her dress on and she breaks away from kissing him to reach around and unzip the back of her dress, resting back down on the bed as he becomes increasingly aware that she has no bra on.

She has her fingers around his belt buckle and undoes them with such a speed that before he realises, she tugs his pants down and he slides out of them, kicking them off. She still has her dress on, even though it is open, and he slides his hand over her shoulder, down her collar and down her sides, taking the soft green fabric into his hands and gently tugs it down, revealing her underneath him completely naked. He can’t help but stare, and it takes him a moment before he leans up and kisses her softly, his bare chest rubbing against hers and he knows he has never been so turned on in his life. The only thing between him and her was the fabric of his boxers, and he was so painfully hard that he almost feels like bursting.

Her lips are so soft, and he takes her bottom lip into his mouth, gently sucking on it as his free hand slides up her waist, to the smooth skin of her stomach, before he cups her breast in his large hand and runs his fingers over her hard nipple. She jerks underneath him, arching up and he does it again, feeling her body vibrate in his hands. She moans into his mouth, and flicks her nipple one last time before sliding his hands down further. She moves underneath him, arching up to where his hands were going and he almost smiles. His free hand grasps her waist, holding it down, before he moves it closer. He feels the heat coming from her centre and he teases her for a moment, not quite touching her, having his hand painfully close.

She groans again, but it is cut off as he gently runs his finger along her clit, feeling how wet she was and she makes that noise again, gripping the sheets of the bed. He watches her as he strokes her as his fingers swiftly move quicker and quicker and she jerks underneath him again, her face becoming flushed before he pushes a finger inside of her.

“Nnnng…” (He swears this noise will be the death of him) and he watches her mouth drop open as he pumps his finger, in and out, and he feels her begin to clench around him, her chest glistening with sweat as she comes, arching into him.

He kisses her softly, and he feels her hands move to his shorts. She pulls them down, exposing him, and if it’s possible, he feels himself become harder. Her fingers graze his length and he jerks, his eyes closing as she takes him into her hand and begins moving. She is slow, careful and gentle and the feel of her hand around him is the best feeling he is sure he has ever felt. Suddenly she stops, shifting herself and her legs so that he is settled between her.

“Do you …” she asks softly and he curses under his breath, remembering to breathe as he leans over and grabs his wallet and pulls out what he was looking for. He slides it on, and she watches him biting her lip. When he is ready, he position’s himself as he watches her. She kisses him and he pushes inside of her gently. He feels her take a sharp breath against his lips and he almost wants to stop, but she thrusts herself against him, wanting him to continue.

He knows he isn’t going to last very long, and he watches her as he slides in and out, watching her face, watching her movement. He feels her push into him deeper and he spirals over the edge, grasping her waist as he does so. He slowly pulls out of her and lies next to her, turning over slightly and disposing of the condom into the trash. He turns to face her, his eyes meeting hers and he watches as she smiles, her eyes glassing over.

“I missed you,” she says softly, her hand resting on his chest.

“I missed you too,” he replies, pulling her to him and tucking her head under his chin. She curls into his chest, her arm draping around his waist.

And he holds her.

It’s five and a half months before Finn realises that Rachel is the love of his life, and even though he is seventeen and they have their whole lives ahead of them, he knows that she is it. They are it.

And suddenly the longest and most depressing five and a half months of his life seem worth it.

+

beeeez — Fri, 10 Dec 2010 09:30:16 GMT

http://beeeez.tumblr.com/

I am on tumblr now about 80% of the time, so follow me, and I'll you!

xo

Glee Fic: Only one way that it was always meant to be (1/?)

beeeez — Tue, 07 Dec 2010 08:51:26 GMT

Title: Only one way that it was always meant to be (1/?)
Characters/Pairing: Finn, Finn/Rachel, Puck/Rachel, mentions of various other pairings.
Rating: Eventual R.
Word Count: 1,748 this part.
Spoilers: Everything up to 2x09.
Summary: AU after 2x09. Everything was different.
A/N: This is essentially the prologue – there will be between 5-10 chapters, I am imagining, but that figure could change as the story progresses. The title of this and the song that inspired it is Kill by Jimmy Eat World. This is AU after 2x09 – the base of it being what if Finn and Rachel stayed broken up? Hope you enjoy, and because this is my first foray into Alternate Universe, I would love feedback!

“Now, I know we’ve had our dramas this week. But our families back in a happy place. And I think we should celebrate the best way we know how.”

Two Years Later.

Everything was different.

Finn was different.

It had been three hours since they had announced it. ‘And for the second consecutive year, the National Glee Club Championship goes to … New Directions!’ Three hours, and it had all accumulated to him being in this hotel, much grander than he ever thought they could afford, in this bed, with this blonde next to him. It had been three hours since they had won Nationals, and the bright lights of New York City screamed at them, because they had won and because this was finally it. Finn graduated in three weeks, the dust finally settling on their final year of school; their final year together. But everything was different.

Finn turned his head slightly and looked at Hannah Foley, the freshman who had joined Glee last year. She was sleeping, the bed sheet just barely covering her naked frame. She was beautiful. But somehow, being here right now with her, it felt like the walls of Finn’s life had crumbled. Finn almost felt as if he should punch himself for being such a girl, but after two years, the amount he had changed… He could barely even see himself anymore.

Slowly, he turned his whole body so that his legs swung over the side of the bed. He made sure not to wake Hannah. He stood up, reaching over to the chair beside the bed and grabbed his jeans, pulling them on slowly and quietly, making sure to keep as silent as he possibly could. He snatched his t-shirt off the ground on his way out, pulling it over his head and stepping out into the corridor of the hotel.

Finn glanced down the hall of the hotel, it’s walls dimly lit by the fluorescent beams above him. He could hear the others, scattered throughout their various rooms alongside his. Celebrating. He could hear them, but he had no intention of joining them. He walked down the hall, shoving his cell phone into the pocket of his jeans and mussing up his hair, listening to the yelling that was going on in the rooms. There was music, loud music, and he was sure that Santana had managed to get some form of booze snuck in from one of her more unnamed sources. He knew this, because he heard them talking about it earlier. For once, Finn wasn’t in the mood.

He reached the elevator and pressed the button to go down to the bottom level of the hotel. Ignoring the obvious loud noises behind him, his fingers grazed ‘ground level’ and he waited, alone in the lift. Finn had no idea what had brought on this feeling, this feeling of panic and loneliness. He mussed his hair again as the door sprung open, a clear indicator of his feelings. Shaking his head, annoyed at himself, he walked through the busy foyer and out the door, breathing in the cool night air.

It had to be at least midnight, but whoever it was that said New York was the city that never slept sure wasn’t kidding. There were people everywhere, the streets busy, aligned with people and bars and pubs. There were clubs and café’s and hotels and he felt entirely out of his element, which strangely enough made him feel calm. He ran his hands through his hair again, taking a few mismatched steps towards the row of seats surrounding a large garden out the front of the hotel. Or at least it was a garden, New York style. There were maybe three flowers, a whole lot of dirt and mounds of rocks spelling out the hotel’s name. Finn shook his head at it before he sunk into the seat, staring absentmindedly at the city skylights.

Everything had changed, and Finn wasn’t sure why. He imagined himself, two years ago, and who he thought he would be. Who he wanted to be. It was nothing to who he was now. He was graduating in three weeks, and he felt that he had nothing to show for it. A winning football team didn’t guarantee him a scholarship, and he figured that if he hadn’t heard by now, there was no chance of that happening. There were no music scholarships offered to him. He had applied for a couple of community colleges, the University of Ohio State and on a complete and utter whim, NYU. He knew there was no chance of him getting into NYU. His grades had improved, sure, but NYU? He had to be dreaming.

Kicking the cement beneath him with the sole of his sneaker, Finn became to be increasingly more frustrated with himself. He had no idea where this self doubt came from. He remembered it beginning when they were on stage singing during Nationals and when Mercedes beat out that last note, it finally hit him that this was it. This was it for him. The thought alone sent his mind into a spiral, and he remembered very clearly that moment. It was stupid, and it turned into one of those everything-fades-out moments, but he couldn’t help but feel incredibly apprehensive about his impending graduation.

Shaking his head, annoyed at himself, he stood up and walked back into the hotel, focusing his attention to the little café/bar that was just to the left of the foyer. He knew it couldn’t get alcohol – he could try – but anything as a distraction from him going back upstairs would serve it’s purpose. But instead, his attention turned to the small brunette who was sitting up at the bar.

“And how, may I ask, did you get that?” Finn asked her, pointing to the gin and tonic sitting in front of Rachel.

She turned, startled at his words and glared at him. “Shut up.”

He smirked slightly and pulled up the stool next to her, asking the bartender for a water.

“How very manly of you,” Rachel muttered under her breath, twirling her toothpick with an olive on the end in her drink. She stared down into the drink and Finn rolled his eyes, taking a gulp of the water that was placed in front of him.

If anything had changed in the past two years, it had been Rachel. Sometimes, he barely recognised her anymore. Gone were the days were she practically killed someone for a solo, her determination becoming an inner quality that she didn’t express quite as loudly. She still looked the same. Spoke the same. Smelt the same. But she was different.

“What do you want, Finn?” Rachel finally asked, glancing up at him from her drink.

Finn stared at her. There was a part of him that should have been shocked at the way she spoke to him. Her voice defeated, lonely and cold. But that was how she spoke to him, to most people now.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he responded, turning his attention to the glass of water in front of him. He wasn’t going to tell her the exact reason for his insomnia, he wouldn’t even tell his friend’s that. Friends. He really didn’t think he could count Rachel as a friend anymore.

She smirked and stared down into her glass before she picked up the toothpick and slipped the olive into her mouth. He didn’t want to know what she was smirking about, or why, but there was a part of him that was beginning to think that maybe coming here wasn’t such a good idea.

After a few moments of silence, Finn spoke again. “You don’t look happy.”

She continued to stare down at her drink, but he noticed that she tensed up a little. She had an unreadable expression on her face, and Finn watched her, waiting for her to respond.

“I’m peachy, Finn, really,” she said, smiling at him slightly, a smile so fake that Finn actually was taken-aback.

Again silence. It had been awhile since the two of then had spoken, just by themselves. Finn wracked his brain, attempting to think of the last time … it had been maybe six months ago? He really couldn’t remember. He also couldn’t remember it being this intense with her, this cold. He could tell that she wasn’t herself, she was different, and there was a part of her that felt the same way he was feeling right now. He wanted to talk to her about it, because maybe she would understand, but her tone made him withdraw.

“Do you think I’ve changed, Finn?” Rachel asked him softly, after a moment, and Finn stared up at her, startled. It was almost uncanny, and his mind reverted back to the first time they broke up, when he told her that he thought she was reading his mind.

“Yes,” he said simply, his fingers running along the rim of his glass. He hadn’t meant to make it sound so abrupt, but he watched as her face flinched slightly. There was something else, he was sure of it.

“You’ve changed too, you know,” she replied gently, mimicking his own distraction on her own glass. She wouldn’t look at him. He wondered why.

Finn nodded, agreeing. They had all changed. It had only been two years. But Rachel was different, harder and almost tired of everything and everybody. She was snappy, and she had somehow taken on an attitude of sarcasm that she hadn’t had when she was sixteen. At eighteen, she seemed older, darker. Sometimes Finn wondered if going back or changing things would have made a difference.

Her phone buzzed from the counter and she jerked slightly, moving her hands to the device and flipping it open. She read in silence before she closed it shut and turned to look at Finn.

“I have to go. Puck-“

“Yeah,” Finn cut her off before she had time to finish. She watched him for a moment before she took her glass and drank the remainder of her drink in one motion.

“Have a good night,” she said, picking up her purse from the counter and hopping off the stood, walking past Finn and out into the lobby.

He didn’t watch her leave.

beeeez — Wed, 01 Dec 2010 00:58:53 GMT

WHY DO I DO THIS TO MYSELF?

I AM SUCH A SPOILER WHORE.

WHYYYYYYYYY.

*HAS NO SELF CONTROL*

So I am going to try something a little different...

beeeez — Mon, 29 Nov 2010 13:02:49 GMT

PROMPTS!

You must choose a character and/or pairing from the Glee fandom and then a prompt from one of the following websites:

Text's From Last Night.

or

Damn You Auto Correct!

I want this to be a massive prompt sesh, pimp, and see if anyone else wants to join in. You can prompt me several times if you wish, as well. This could quite possibly turn into comment!fic, if you so choose to participate :)

Glee Fic: All Of Her (1/2)

beeeez — Wed, 24 Nov 2010 10:52:36 GMT

Title: All Of Her (1/2)
Pairing: Finn/Rachel
Spoilers: 2x08
Word Count: 1,267
Rating: PG
Summary: She said nothing.
Authors Notes: Song from title and what this fic is based on is Nothing by The Script.

*

I’m still in love but all I heard was nothing.
I wanted words but all I heard was nothing.
Nothing. I’ve got nothing.
Nothing – The Script

He was drunk.

It was a stupid idea, going to the party. Puck had turned up at his house at quarter to nine and pulled him by the shirt out of the house, ignoring his protests. He had almost punched him. But then he was in the front seat of Puck’s Volvo and the next second he was stumbling out of Santana’s house two hours later, the music dim compared to the thoughts running through his head. He isn’t sure why, but he needed to see her.

Because it had been eight days, and they had finished first at Sectionals that day and all he wanted to do was to call her, see her, kiss her. She had barely spoken a word to him since.

It’s rushed and before he realised he was standing in front of her in his old bedroom, watching her reach around slowly and unzip her red dress. She watched him the whole time, her eyes never leaving his and she is doing it so slow it actually physically hurt. Because the way she was staring at him was so intense, and so beautiful, and he fell in love with her all over again.

Which is when he realised he needed to tell her.

His fingers meet hers at the bottom of her zipper and he stilled them, his fingers grasping hers softly. Her expression doesn’t change and the lump that gathers in his throat is more of a shove than he could ever have received.

“I have to tell you something,” he whispered. He didn’t mean for it to come out as a whisper, but he felt like somebody had punched him in the stomach, winding him.

“What is it?” She asked him, in the same tone that she had used earlier when she saw him after Santana. He couldn’t lie to her anymore.

He remembered saying it, he did, but it turned into a blur as she backed away from him, and the expression on her face changed, oh it changed, and he tried taking a step forward, but she pushed him away. He felt his eyes glass over and she was really crying now, like really crying, and he watched her, completely helpless. She picked up her bag at the door and walked away.

He didn’t follow her.

He began walking, and there was a part of him that was sure that this was a good idea. But he was drunk, and he couldn’t think straight because thinking about being without her physically hurt him, like he was being pummelled over and over again. He stumbled as he reaching into his pocket and fumbled around for his cell phone, pulling it out and flipping it open. He had her number on speed dial and pressed the button, holding the earpiece up to his ear.

It rung once. Then twice. On the ninth ring, it cut out. He tried again. And again. Same story. He knew she was at home, Mercedes had told him, but she had been ignoring his calls all week. But at Sectionals he had watched her, and he held her hand at the end, finally feeling her touch. But then she was gone and he just wanted to see her. He needed to see her, he needed it more than he thought was possible.

He didn’t even realise he had walked four blocks when he reached her street. His head was spinning and he walked determined down the street, towards her house. He saw the lights on and he supposed her parents would be home, but he was in a state and he couldn’t find himself caring.

He stood on her lawn, his breathing ragged. He had felt himself sober up slightly in that last 100m walk, but there was no going back now. He pulled out his phone again and rang her. Her parents would never let him in. She didn’t pick up. He sent her a message. She didn’t respond. Without thinking, he grabbed a stone from the pathway and tossed it up to her window, hearing it crack against her window. It was an act of desperation, and he realised the second he did it that it was possibly the worst thing he could have possibly done.

But a moment later the front door opened and Rachel stepped outside, closing the door behind her. She was wearing tights and a large grey sweater, and only then did he realise that it was actually was quite cold outside.

“What the hell are you doing?” She whispered angrily, taking a step towards him, her arms folded around herself.

He had practiced this all week. In the mirror. When he went to bed. When he woke up in the morning and remembered what had happened. He was meant to tell her that he loved her, that he loved her more than anything in this world and they he needed her and that he was sorry. That nothing mattered but her, and he would do anything to fix it.

But he stared dumbly at her for a moment, swaying on the spot. Then he took a step forward and walked directly in front of her. He leant down and rested his forehead against hers. But she took another step back, holding her hand to his chest when he tried to take a step towards her.

“You’ve been drinking,” she said, her eyes meeting his. She still kept him at arms distance.

He began speaking, and he knew that he was talking, but the words sounded jumbled as he spoke them. He was sure he said I love you and let me fix this and I need you, Rachel but when he stopped talking, she just stood in front of him, her eyes watching him with an expression that he didn’t recognise.

It should have been like a fucking movie. Like the type of movie she had made him watch, where the girl fell in love with the boy and something kept them apart. And it always ended with the boy going to the girl’s house and begging her to take him back and it would be all well-lit and he would say something that was sweet and romantic and she would run into his arms and they would kiss like they did in the movies.

But this wasn’t a fucking movie.

She stood in front of him, pulling her sweater tighter around herself. And he watched her, waiting for her to say something, anything. Because he loved her, and he needed her, and everything he did was for her. Why didn’t she realise that? Why was she staring at him, not responding? Why was she saying nothing?

“Go home, Finn,”

And with that she turned around and walked to her porch, pulling open the front door. She looked at him once more before she disappeared, closing the door behind her. And then the porch light switched off.

He vaguely remembered walking home, but when he woke up the next morning he was in his bed, his head pounding with his cell phone curled in his hand. He stared down at it. And at the message already opened.

3:48am: Tomorrow, Finn. I’ll talk tomorrow. Go to sleep.

*