Sinking in to sweet uncertainty

the numbness or the pain (so intense to feel)

only_because3 — Mon, 02 Sep 2013 11:15:11 GMT

I've been neglecting lj for a while and I'm so sorry for that. Maybe when I'm not having a total crackhead moment of being awake at 4 am, I'll upload the things I have but haven't uploaded here. Anyway, this is me [SPOILER WARNING KIND OF] trying to make sense of Finn's upcoming death and Quinn not going to the funeral. Uh, enjoy?
--

Santana calls her.

"To what do I owe the pleasure," Quinn asks. Santana is quiet for a moment and it’s so out of character that Quinn genuinely thinks Santana somehow managed to butt dial her. But then there’s a faint noise, almost like a cry, before Quinn hears the unmistakeable noise of the loft door close. "Santana?"

"I don’t know how to-" There’s a sharp intake of breath and then it rushes out. "Finn is dead," Santana whispers.

Quinn’s eyebrows furrow and she looks down at her art history textbook. Santana doesn’t play games like this. This isn’t a joke Santana would pull, not now, probably not ever, but that would mean… “Santana, I was studying. I don’t have time for whatever this is.”

Santana takes an audible breath and Quinn can hear the tears Santana is trying to keep in when she repeats, “Finn is dead.”

Quinn glances at the calendar above her desk and then swivels in her chair to look at the clock. She watches the minute change from 13 to 14. She realizes then that she hasn’t taken a breath.

Just as Santana starts to say something, Quinn cuts her off. “I have to go.”

She turns off her phone as soon as she ends the call.

—

She doesn’t cry. Not at first.

She goes into the kitchen and drinks a tall glass of water. She goes to the bathroom. When she reaches for toilet paper, she realizes she’s shaking. She washes her hands with water so hot it burns. It gives the shaking an excuse.

She goes back to her room and as soon as the door shuts, she starts breathing heavy, rapidly. She leans against her door, scratching at her chest as she squeezes her eyes shut. She counts to twenty. By the end, her chest is red and raw and she still can’t breathe comfortably.

She puts on a record and then turns her phone back on. There’s one text from Santana, explaining everything she knows, and Quinn doesn’t know what to make of any of this.

Finn can’t be dead. And he certainly couldn’t have died that way. He was Finn Hudson.

She blinks as she slumps on to her bed. When was the last time she had thought about him before now? The last time they even spoke?

She looks up and studies her reflection in the mirror she has propped up against the wall. This isn’t right. This reaction isn’t appropriate. She’s a disgusting mess. This is the look of a mother, of a brother, of a lover, hell, of a friend. Quinn’s not sure she was any of those things, at least not recently.

She wishes she could be angry at him for dying the way he did, instead of angry at herself for acting like this.

Quinn has to take a pill to stop herself from hyperventilating again.

—

She’s been listening to records all night. She’s tried to sleep, tried to study, but nothing can stop her mind from racing.

It’s a little passed three when a thought strikes her. If Beth had been Finn’s, or if they could have been the family she was never sure they could be, this wouldn’t have happened. Even if Finn hated her, he never hated the baby. He would’ve done better then, if he had someone who counted on him.

She swallows thickly. She could’ve saved him the second time around too, maybe. If she had learned to control her jealousy, learned to open up, if she stopped viewing him as this weight that would keep her in Lima forever.

She wonders briefly if something similar is going through Rachel’s head right now too.

The record ends and instead soft scratching fills the room.

She, Quinn Fabray, ruined Finn Hudson.

At 3:37, four hours after hearing the news, Quinn cries.

—

Santana only texts her (and Quinn has never been more thankful).

Puck calls her.

She almost doesn’t answer. She’s too scared that he’ll somehow blame her (after all, she ruined him too). But she knows that Puck wouldn’t call unless he needed her. “Yeah,” she answers softly.

He coughs. “So, I’m in New Haven.”

She gives him her address and when he arrives twenty minutes later, she wishes he wouldn’t have come.

He looks just as bad as the time they gave Beth away.

—

They sit awkwardly in her room and he’s crying when he asks how she can still be such a fucking robot.

"After everything," she breathes out, "I’m not sure I deserve to cry."

Something about that makes him cry harder than she’s ever seen him cry. He pulls her to him roughly and tells her it should’ve been him. It would’ve made sense. No one would’ve missed him.

She hates him for saying that. Hates that she had the same thought about herself last night.

She cradles his head against her chest as a sob rips from her throat and his fingers dig into her sides so hard that she thinks she’ll bruise.

—

The next morning, he asks if she wants to go back to Lima together. Santana sent a similar text late last night.

When she tells both of them that she’s not going, only Puck asks if she’s sure. “You can’t… This isn’t something you’ll get a redo on, Q.”

She nods. “I know,” she says softly. “But it wouldn’t be right.”

He doesn’t ask her to explain.

—

The day of the funeral, Quinn wears a black dress. She goes to class but doesn’t contribute. She thinks about Lima and reassures herself that she made the right choice. If she had gone, it would’ve been a mess. Stoic or emotional… neither would’ve been right. Not from her.

Quinn has always belonged on the outside.

When she gets home, she puts on The Joshua Tree and cries until the album ends.

Life is Never What You Wanted [Quinn/Santana]

only_because3 — Wed, 10 Apr 2013 06:21:11 GMT

Title: Life is Never What You Wanted
Rating: M?
Word Count: 1327
Pairing: Quinn/Santana
Author's Note: Written for this prompt. I'm so sorry my first thought was to make it depressing but, well, here we are. Enjoy!

--

Quinn hasn’t told you why she’s here and, because it’s been almost four hours since she showed up, asking you to buzz her in, you don’t think she’ll ever tell you. This doesn’t stop you from forming your own theories, like Quinn’s looking for another go around because she’s bored, but you don’t say anything. You had just gotten home from your shift barely ten minutes before Quinn came by.

   You two made chit chat, caught up like this is some regular occurrence, and then you were both sucked into what was playing on the tv (first it was She’s All That, now some E! True Hollywood Story). There’s a lot of noise coming from outside, which is normal given where you live, but it peaks Quinn’s curiosity and, before you know it, she’s going to the window you had propped open right before the buzzer sounded. She pokes her head out of the window. “You should come see this,” Quinn calls over her shoulder, her hands gripping the window pane. You know it’s nothing you haven’t already seen but you amuse her, pushing yourself off the couch. Quinn gracefully climbs on to the fire escape, her brown skirt that was an appropriate length before inching up her thighs. You can’t be sure if your mind is playing tricks on you or not, but you can’t swear that Quinn’s wearing underwear.

   This is Quinn though, and you know her (maybe not as well as you once thought but you do). It’s obviously your drowsiness and the sun and any other factor that could mess with your sight.

   There’s a car accident down on the street. A taxi is practically wrapped around this fucking mini van. The drivers look like they’re still in their respective cars, though you don’t see a driver in the taxi. Instead you see Quinn’s leg bending at the knee, her fingers outlining the web of scars on the outside of her leg. You can hear an ambulance coming as more and more people come out of the woodwork to stare at the scene. No one moves to help. Quinn’s other hand grips the rusty railing but her face remains blank. It doesn’t matter that her face seems disconnected from the rest of her, you know that Quinn’s mind is going a mile a minute.

   “How long has it been anyway?”

   Quinn turns away when the ambulance pulls up. She brings her hair over her shoulder, looks at you a little differently. “A year today.”

   “So that’s why you’re here,” you say as you sit down on the escape. You pull the loose brick from the wall and grab the cigarettes and lighter you keep there. “Do you want me to ask how you are? Because I wasn’t aware we did that.”

   Quinn smirks just so as you light the cigarette sitting between your lips. “No, I don’t want that. I wouldn’t be here if that’s what I wanted.”

   You glance down at the wreck and notice they have to use the jaws of life to get out the taxi driver. The mother who rammed him sits, only frazzled, with her two kids in the back of one of the ambulances. “Did the guy who hit you get hurt?” Quinn shakes her head. You notice Quinn pressing her fingertips into her thigh through her skirt. “So, what do you want me to do? Talking isn’t what you want so… Should I buy booze and let you control our Netflix for the day?”

   Quinn shakes her head again, leaning on the rail. You try not to blow smoke in her direction but the wind carries it back to her. “I want you to have sex with me,” she breathes out, honestly and unashamed. Bold, like most everything Quinn says or does. “I had a plan to seduce you but, well.” The tools start cutting through the distorted metal with so much noise that you wouldn’t have heard Quinn had she continued. “I just want a reminder of why I decided to keep on living.”

   You weren’t aware that was a decision Quinn actually made. Maybe you’re interpreting it wrong or maybe you just want to be.

   Stubbing out the cigarette that you’ve only taken two puffs from, you wave her over. Quinn walks like an expert on the grated floor in her wedges. She stands beside you, glancing back at the accident.

   They still haven’t gotten the taxi driver out.

   You touch her calf and Quinn looks down, eyebrow carefully arched. “Why me?”

   Quinn pushes a bit of your hair back, giving her an unobstructed view of your face. “You’ve seen all my scars.” Quinn shrugs just a little. “Only seems right.”

   Your hand travels up her leg and you feel Quinn shiver under your touch. Your fingertips brush the curve of her ass, touching only skin when you venture just a little further. You let out a small laugh, which causes Quinn to stiffen, but you shake your head as you pull your hand out from under her skirt. “I really thought I was imagining you going without,” you tell her as you grab your hand and tug on it.

   She looks down at you, confused. You pat your lap to make it more obvious. “Out here,” Quinn asks.

   You nod. There’s the sound of metal hitting the concrete but neither of you turn to look.

   It takes her another second or two before Quinn kneels next to her, her knees digging into the weathered metal. When Quinn doesn’t immediately move to straddle you, you tap her leg, pull it across your lap. She settles on to you, a familiar weight. You suck a finger between your lips, the tobacco smell lingering, before settling your hand between Quinn’s spread thighs.

   She’s more wet than you thought she would be. It only takes a few swirls against her clit, a few well placed kisses along the column of Quinn’s neck, and a strong grip on the blonde strands at the back of her head before you can slip one finger into her. A breathy sigh toys with the hair near your ear as you pump into Quinn. There’s a sudden pause in the grating sound below them and you take that brief moment to add another finger, thrusting faster, harder. You’re rewarded with a moan that hitches and hips starting to work in time with your hand.

   Noise surrounds you again and Quinn takes advantage of it, releasing the sounds you know she’s capable of; low moans and grunts when you don’t give her exactly what she wants. Her hands wrap around the straps of your tank top when you curl your fingers. She’s starting to sink a little too far down and you pat her hip with your free hand, nudge her to rest her weight on her knees. You glance up to see her face when she listens to you, watches the way her face contorts conflictingly; her eyebrows furrow in pleasure and then briefly in pain as the metal digs into the skin on her knees. “Do you feel that,” you question her, fucking her harder than you think you ever have. Your hand is soaked to the point where you think that you can feel Quinn dripping down your wrist. “Do you feel alive?”

   The ambulance starts its siren as her cunt tightens around your fingers. “Yes,” she gasps. Her breathing is labored, each intake filling Quinn’s chest to the point where her breasts run against yours. She pulls you closer, claims your lips for her own, and you grope her through her striped sweater. She’s braless too, but that isn’t surprising, her nipple already pebbled by the time you seek it out. You take it between your thumb and forefinger, twisting, pinching, as you bury three fingers in Quinn roughly.

   The siren is quieter, further away, but it still muffles the cry Quinn releases towards the sky when she comes.

Wonderwall [10/10]

only_because3 — Sat, 19 Jan 2013 20:26:25 GMT

Title: Wonderwall [10/10]
Author: only_because3
Word Count: 3733
Rating: T?
Pairing: Quinn/Puck/Rachel
Summary: "Just because I got out of this rinky dink town doesn't mean my dreams magically came true."
Author's Note: Here it is! The very last chapter of Wonderwall (it's only taken me, what? Two years to actually finish this?)! Since this is the last chapter, I tried, where I could, to go back to how this story started in terms of style. I know that a lot of you aren't going to like this ending but I really hope that you respect it as the honest, realistic ending. This still feels a little bit like something is missing and I spent all day yesterday trying to figure out what it was before I
realized that that's the only way I could feel after reading this. This will never feel complete and sometimes in life, there are moments that don't feel like you've gotten closure but it's not necessarily a bad thing. Anyway, I do hope you enjoy and thank you very much for taking this journey with me :)

--

Rachel tells them the appointment is at three and, no, she doesn’t need them to pick her up.

   Her appointment is actually at noon and she asks her dad to drop her off at the clinic. She’s not sure if she’s surprised or not when he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t look at her any different, just turns to the sports section and says, “I’ll be ready by 11.”

   When they pull out of the drive way, she sees Mrs. Brooks getting ready for her run. Rachel grips her knees. Her dad leans forward, to change the station Rachel assumes, but instead his hand wraps around hers, giving it a gentle squeeze before forcing her to relax her grip. “Have you thought anymore about what your daddy said?”

   Closing her eyes, Rachel nods. “Maybe we could all take a weekend trip soon?”

   She looks at her father and can’t figure out whether or not the half smile he wears is sad. “That sounds really great, baby. I think I could clear my schedule for next weekend.” He clears his throat and turns left on to Baker. “I’ll call your daddy about it when I get into the office.”

   A silence falls between them, only breaking when they pull up to the clinic fifteen minutes later. “Thank you.” He stares as she unbuckles and gathers her purse and coat.

   “Do I need to pick you up?”

   Shaking her head, she opens the door. “No, I have a ride home.”

   Just as she’s about to step out, he grabs the hand closest to him again, forcing her to look back at him. “I love you, my little star.”

   It’s something she would’ve expected from her daddy; it surprises her so much that she ends up rooted in her seat, just looking at her father whose eyes, instead of tearing up, become stained red. “I love you too.”

   She doesn’t realize she’s crying until her father puts the car in park and wraps his arms around her, pulling her uncomfortably across the middle consol and to his chest. “It’s going to be okay… I am so proud of you, no matter what,” he repeats, rubbing circles on her back. It’s not until he offers to stay with her that she pulls back, wiping her cheeks furiously like she used to as a child.

   “No. Please, just go to work. Like you said, it’s going to be okay.” Her cheeks twitch from the effort to smile but she falls short.

   “Yeah,” he sighs. He pats her cheek and tucks her hair behind her ears. “Will you be home for dinner?”

   The real question hangs silently between them and she shakes her head. “No, probably not.”

--

   At approximately 2 o’clock, hours after her appointment time, Rachel stares up at a blank ceiling, her legs elevated and mind just a little fuzzy. She’s told that she will feel some discomfort, some pressure, but she’s been numbed so it shouldn’t be too much worse (if that) than a standard exam.

   It hurts in a way she can’t describe. She doesn’t feel like she’s dying but it’s worse than menstrual cramping, which is what nearly every online resource she read compared the pain to. Her mouth is clamped shut but she realizes that a whine of sorts has escaped her throat when the nurse who offered to hold her hand steps forward and pushes her hair off her face. “It’s okay, deary. Almost done now.”

   With the clatter of the doctor returning tools to the tray besides him, Rachel suddenly feels as though she can breathe for the first time in months and she knows that it’s done.

--

   She spends the next half hour in another room, sunk into a cushioned chair surrounded by magazines that are at least two months old. She’s given crackers and water and she finds that she can actually stomach the sight of food again. She shovels so much into her mouth that if she were anywhere else, she’d practice restraint or at least have the modesty to act embarrassed by the amount of food she takes; this feels like the first time she’s eaten since this whole thing started.

   She’s advised to go to the bathroom before she leaves. She grimaces at the blood and few clots that appear on the pad they’d given her when she first got redressed. When she shows the nurse, the older woman smiles and says, “All normal then.” Rachel’s face pulls just a bit, because for her that is not normal (her periods have never been heavy and though she’s sure at some point in her life she’s passed a clot, she can’t recall a time when she did), before asking if she can go now.

   It’s possible that she’s sad… Actually, she’s pretty sure that she is. She’d built up the idea of having a baby in her head these past weeks, of giving Noah something he seemed to really want. And now she’s empty.

   The strange part is she feels more full of life now than she has since she first slept with Quinn and Noah.

   Rachel walks out of the clinic at 2:53 and slips on her sunglasses, the sunlight extraordinarily affronting with her senses still a little out of whack, right when Quinn and Noah pull into the parking lot. Neither one looks happy as the exit the car but Quinn is the only one who attempts to smile. “Should we go in,” Noah asks as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

   “No,” Rachel answers with a shake of her head. “It’s done. We can go home.”

   Quinn’s eyebrows furrow before one arches sharply. “It’s done?” She looks down at her watch. “It’s not even three.”

   “My appointment was at one.” Rachel shrugs her shoulders when they both continue to just stare at her. “And I’m a bit tired now, so if you don’t mind…” She starts towards their car and they have no choice but to follow.

--

   Quinn knocks on the bedroom door, even though it’s her own, and waits until Rachel tells her to come in before she enters. She wasn’t sure what, if anything, Rachel would want to eat but she stands in the doorway with a cup of apple juice in one hand and a bowl of tomato soup in the other.

   She realizes now that might be a horrible combination in the taste department.

   “Hi,” she says, hating the way she sounds a strange mix of ashamed and shy. “Did you manage to get any sleep? We told Caroline to keep quiet but, well, you know.”

   Rachel sits up and Quinn didn’t realize she was waiting by the door until Rachel waves her over. “What’s in the bowl?” Quinn hands her the bowl wordlessly, setting the cup down next to Rachel’s phone on the bedside table. She tries not to look at the open text message but fails; Rachel’s dad asked if she’d made it alright, adding that they’re good to go to Chicago next weekend and Quinn swallows hard. She watches Rachel take spoonful after spoonful until the bowl is half empty. Rachel looks up at her with the wide eyes Quinn loves. “This is very good,” Rachel compliments softly.

   Quinn shrugs. “It’s Campbell’s.”

   Rachel shrugs herself and Quinn thinks there may be a small smile. “It’s still good. Thank you.”

   There’s a clamor outside, something breaking in the living room, and instead of hearing Noah curse like Quinn expects, he laughs. It unnerves her in a way Quinn can’t describe. “Why did you tell us the wrong time?” The question slips from her mouth unexpectedly and though Rachel doesn’t stop eating, Quinn can feel the way she tenses.

   “What would you two have done,” Rachel asks in between bites of soup, “besides glare at nothing and sit in discomfort next to one another?”

   Quinn sinks further into the bed, looking as the blank wall behind Rachel. “Could have held you hand,” Quinn supplies.

   “There was a nurse there.” Rachel takes another bite before setting the bowl down. “Really, it wasn’t horrible. It was fine.” Rachel pats Quinn’s knee. “I’m fine.”

   Quinn wants to call bullshit but Rachel seems so sure of herself that Quinn almost finds herself asking how.

--

   The sun has already set by the time he works up enough courage to go see Rachel. For the most part, they’ve left her alone all day. When Quinn left the room earlier she said that Rachel asked for it but, honestly, he’s not sure he would’ve been able to go in anyway.

   He expects her to be asleep but he opens the door to find her sitting on the edge of the bed. “Hey.” She glances back at him with a look he can’t quite figure out but says nothing. He shuffles over to the bed and lies down, pushing the blankets closer to her. “It’s gonna be cold.” He sighs. “Are you cold?” Rachel tilts her neck from side to side, her bones popping and almost echoing in their near empty room, before lying back down. She rolls over and instead of looking at her face, he stares at her arm that’s covered in goosebumps. He lifts his hand to warm her up but stops short.

   “You can touch me,” Rachel whispers. She curls into him just a little bit, palming the back of his neck as she buries her face in his chest. Hesitantly, he wraps his arm around her. He expects her to relax in his arms then, but she stays tense. “I need you to do something for me.”

   “Okay.”

   Her whole body shrinks when she exhales. “I don’t ever want to talk about this.” Her nails start pricking his skin. “Dwelling will kill us and there’s nothing…” She pulls back to look at him and it terrifies him how normal she looks when he doesn’t know how to be acting himself. “Everything is okay and there’s nothing to discuss. So, please, never bring this up.”

   He nods because, well, what else is he supposed to do?

--

   Rachel spends the next three days with them. She wakes before everyone and makes breakfast and has dinner ready by the time Quinn comes home. She plays with Caroline and looks genuinely sad every time she has to tell Caroline that she can’t pick her up just yet. Quinn doesn’t remember the last time she saw Caroline this happy. It’s a shame, she thinks, because she and Noah are floundering.

   Rachel leads them the three days she stays. She starts conversation, she initiates touch, she does everything and they just follow her cues while trying not to stare at one another wide eyed.

   She doesn’t want to think it, and she certainly won’t vocalize it, but she’s glad that Rachel heads home on Friday.

   When she gets home from work, after dinner and entertaining Caroline before putting her to bed, she drops onto the couch next to Noah. He turns the TV up two more notches before tossing the remote on to the coffee table and turning to stare at her. “Do you need to talk about it,” Quinn asks.

   He scoffs. “Like you don’t.” She smiles just a little bit and nods.

   “I don’t really know what to say,” she admits. She’s… well, she’s not sure she could say that she’s happy and there’s really nothing to be sad about, if Rachel genuinely is okay.

   “Do you think she’s faking it?” Quinn pulls her bottom lip into her mouth as she shrugs. She allows Noah to pull her legs into his lap and she rests her head on the cushion of the couch. “I feel like I shouldn’t be okay… even if she is.”

   His hand rests on her knee and she sits up a little better so that her fingers can tap along it. “Are you okay?”

   He’s quiet for a long time and she waits patiently, watching the way his jaw flexes every now and then. She jumps a little when he abruptly chuckles. “You know,” he says, patting her knee before holding her hand, “I don’t know. I don’t really know anything anymore.”

   She squeezes his hand. “It’s okay… Not like you knew much before anyway.” He pinches the bottom of her foot and she kicks the inside of his thigh before leaning up and kissing along his jaw.

--

   Rachel thinks that maybe she doesn’t deserve this weekend away. She shouldn’t be gorging herself on food or seeing show after show or shopping so much when this is all on her fathers’ dime and she’s been so distant from them both.

   She sits between them as they wait for the ballet to start and looks around as they talk over her. She’s very lucky and she realizes now how incredibly unfair it would have been for them to help support her and a child.

   The day before they leave, her fathers take her to look at apartments “just to see if she likes anything.”

   She likes most of them.

--

   He kind of tries to start being a better dad.

   He doesn’t do much, because he still works long, shitty hours, but what Quinn had said to him was right. He already has a daughter and he should focus on making everything better for her.

   (There’s a little part of him that thinks maybe this will help prove to Quinn that they can have a future with Rachel.)

   He plays dolls with her one day, does some macaroni art (he’s not sure it could be called art, but) the next. Caroline gets more excited the more they do. Really, it’s the most he’s seen her and Quinn smile in months.

   Even Rachel (when she’s around, anyway) gets this look in her eye when Caroline tells her about how he took her to the library after school and let her pick out four books.

--

   She knows that it shouldn’t be awkward around Rachel’s dads, but it really is. So Quinn spends the majority of her lunch hours applying for different jobs. It helps now that she has experience in a field that isn’t waitress-ing and, though Quinn feels bad about leaving them potentially short staffed, Rachel’s come back to work full time; they shouldn’t have a problem finding a replacement if she gets a job elsewhere.

   She debates telling Rachel for a long time and it isn’t until three months later when Quinn actually has an interview that she actually does.

   Rachel congratulates her and, though she doesn’t know it then, Quinn completely misreads the way Rachel’s voice cracks when she tells Quinn that she’d better tell her dad soon.

--

   It’s been months since it happened. They’ve gone through winter and spring in this state of… Rachel’s not quite sure what it is. Yes, they’ve been together but it hasn’t been at all like it was before.

   Shortly after the abortion (and she can say that now, at least to herself), she hardly spent the night because, while she physically felt great, was weary of being touched. And, frankly, she knew that Quinn and Noah weren’t great. There was a rift between all of them; taking the time to mend it was important, especially for them since they have Caroline to worry about. It didn’t surprise her that even after she felt comfortable in her own skin again she chose to spend more time at home than with them. To be honest, she’s not sure the others even noticed that much. They’ve spent a good amount of time apart, angry and sad and disillusioned by their reality that cramming into that small apartment again felt less comforting than before.

   At least once a week they all have dinner together and it’s nice. She loves them and she knows that they still love her. Being with them is still one of the best parts of her life…

   But this is not where she’s supposed to be… She’s not sure this is where she wants to be anymore.

   She’s been back to Chicago a few times since that first weekend. She’ll stay a weekend or maybe a week. Sometimes her dads will come with and other times she’ll make the drive by herself and see the little places she wants to check out that her dads would never go. She’s roamed the city and fallen in love with it more than she ever thinks she loved New York. It’s a little upsetting that she was allowed to be seduced by the glamour of New York. With Chicago, she’s going to ever dark, grimy place she can find and she falls in love with each space.

   Strangers become friends that lead her to gigs in places she never would’ve seen on her own and take her to diners she never would’ve stepped foot in.

   The best part so far though: Chicago drowns out the what ifs.

--

   Quinn lays gasping in the middle of the bed, her body covered in sweat on the first of July. Noah drops on to the bed, his head falling to her belly and sweat dripping and pooling in her belly button. Rachel giggles and collapses next to her. She apologizes when she accidentally pulls Quinn’s hair with her leg, kissing Quinn’s thigh that’s right in front of her face. “I can’t fuck in this heat,” Noah pants and Quinn laughs a little as she licks her lips, tasting nothing but Rachel.

   They don’t do this quite so often anymore but Quinn finds that usually makes it better. She and Noah still have sex fairly regularly but Rachel has pulled away a lot, focusing more on her own life than twining herself with them. Noah’s asked if she thought Rachel was fucking someone else but Quinn knows that’s not the case. For all intents and purposes, the three of them are still dating and she knows that Rachel would remain true to that.

   Rachel starts tracing imaginary lines on Quinn’s hip and that’s when Quinn feels it.

   This is their end.

   “I’m going back to Chicago after the fourth.”

   Quinn’s fingers tighten around Noah’s hair when he asks, “How long are you going for?” Rachel glances up at her and bites her lip before looking back down at Quinn’s skin in front of her. She can feel Noah looking up at her now but she can’t look down at him. Instead, she does her best to cup her cheek, her thumb tracing along his eyebrow. “Oh.” His voice is a bit gruffer, reminding her of the boy she first let into her bed at 16. “So this is it then?”

   Quinn clears her throat. “You were never meant for Lima.”

   Rachel smiles and that’s all Quinn wants for her.

   If it were any other time, Quinn would shove Noah off her when he rises on to his elbow on her stomach but she deals with the pain because she knows that he wasn’t expecting this. “What about us?”

   “Noah,” Rachel cries and buries her face in Quinn’s thigh. “We…” Quinn can feel Rachel’s hot breath on her skin before Rachel bites lightly. “I just…”

   Quinn wraps her hand around Noah’s wrist. “Rach, can you give us a minute?” Rachel slides out of bed, tugging on Quinn’s shorts and her tank top before stepping into the living room. Noah rolls on to his back but stays near the foot of the bed so Quinn scoots down to see his face. “You can’t honestly be this surprised.” She palms his cheek, forcing him to look at her when he tries to look away. “You’ve said it yourself… That ever since it’s been different.”

   “I didn’t think she’d actually fucking leave us,” he spits out. “It’s been different but it’s not… We just had two really great days with her and our daughter and she wants to leave us for what in Chicago exactly?” Quinn tangles her legs with his and tries not to notice how red Noah’s eyes are. “Is there some other guy or girl? What’s better than us?”

   With a small sigh, Quinn shakes her head. “You’re an idiot,” she states. “Chicago can give her everything else she’s wanted. It has the stage and it’s an actual city and it’s a place that you know should be Rachel’s home.”

   Noah scoffs. “She thought that about New York too and look at how that turned out.” Quinn slaps his cheek and his glare softens. “Sorry. That wasn’t fair.”

   “No, it wasn’t.” Quinn lets out a breath. “She needs to do this… We can survive without her. We are fine without her. God, I’d even go as far as to say that we’ve been good. Haven’t we been good these past few months?” He nods and she smiles a little bit before kissing him. “This’ll be okay. It’s like that saying.”

   “Quinn, if you even say that shit, I’ll push you off the bed.” She laughs as he pulls her closer.

--

   Their lives can not be described as shitty, at least not anymore.

   He still works long fucking hours that make him wish he could spend all day sleeping. But ends have started meeting and then some and he’s realized that he needs to focus on the little things.

   Like the fact that he has Quinn, who is not someone who tied him down or ruined his life, but instead the best person he’s ever fucking met. And he has Caroline, who is somehow a smart and great little kid despite having him as a dad.

   Rachel sends postcards sporadically, and presents for birthdays and holidays but she doesn’t come back to Lima. It was hard at first (and even though Quinn put on a brave face, he knew that right after Rachel left, it tore her up inside) but now when he thinks about her, it’s okay. She’s happy in Chicago and Quinn’s heard from Rachel’s dads (they still don’t care for him too much and he can’t blame them) that she’s doing really well, is even back on stage. On one postcard a month or so back she wrote about her supporting role in a musical and some guy she’s started seeing who sounded a lot like the St. James kid.

   He did not think this is where their lives would end up but he can’t find room to complain.

the dark of the sun

only_because3 — Fri, 11 Jan 2013 02:19:57 GMT

Title: the dark of the sun
Author: only_because3
Rating: M
Word Count: 4953
Pairing: Rachel/Mike/Quinn
Author's Note: This has been sitting on my computer for waaaaay too long. But recently I got the motivation to finish it up! There's a bit of angst, a bit of smut, and hopefully some hilarity. The whole idea came from a drawing luckypressure did a while back on tumblr. Anyway, enjoy!

--

Generally they only go back to Lima once a year (flying or driving with their clan is hell). It’s usually for Thanksgiving or Christmas but when they get an invitation to Puck’s wedding in June, Rachel insists they go.

   “He’s finally found someone worthy of settling down with,” Rachel says excitedly as she wipes down Madeline’s hands with a wipe. “We absolutely have to be there to support him during this joyous occasion!”

   Mike screws the lids back on to the paints, smiling as Halden explains to him the dinosaur painting he finished. “Honestly, I never thought the day would come.”

   “All the more reason we should make it a priority to go!”

   The front door opens and Sophie bursts in, her backpack falling off her shoulders. “Mommy said I could go with you to dance since I got 100% on my math test,” she shouts even though Rachel reminds her that the baby is sleeping. “Can we go now, Daddy? Please, please, please?!”

   Halden and Madeline look up at him expectantly too and he sighs, glancing at the clock. “You two okay with cooking dinner tonight?”

   Quinn nods as she kisses Madeline on the head. “Sounds perfect. That way you guys will be nice and hungry by the time you’re back from dancing around.”

   “We should book our tickets as soon as we can,” Rachel says against Quinn’s lips and the blonde pulls back with an arched brow.

   “Tickets?”

   “Puck’s finally getting hitched,” Mike answers, twirling Sophie when she takes his hand in hers.

   “Oh.” Quinn smoothes down her shirt after she kisses Halden. “When is it?”

   “June. You and Sophie will be on summer vacation so it will be the perfect time for our Lima trip,” Rachel insists.

   Quinn nods, putting her bag down on the kitchen chairs. “I’ll be okay to still fly then too.” Both Mike and Rachel pause, staring at each other before turning to look at Quinn. Sophie giggles next to Halden like she always does when she knows something no one else does. “Would you like to tell them, Soph,” Quinn asks as she grabs a banana from the dish in the middle of the table.

   Sophie stands up on the chair just as Harrison starts crying down the hall. “Mommy’s having another baby.”

   Rachel’s eyes widen and the paint in Mike’s hand falls on to the table as Quinn grins sheepishly. “I know that this is a lot sooner than-” She shrieks when Mike scoops her up and throws her over his shoulder.

   The kids start laughing and Rachel smiles when Madeline looks up at her and starts asking if this one can please be a girl. Rachel simply showers Madeline in kisses before backing towards the wall when she notices Mike turn towards her. “Michael, no! Don’t you dare pick me up!”

--

   He’s supposed to pick up Sophie from school because Quinn has a doctor’s appointment, Rachel’s at work, and considering Santana has the three little ones, it’s a pain for her to get Sophie too. But when he gets to the school, he’s told that Quinn stopped by around 1 and checked Sophie out early.

   He calls Rachel and Rachel hasn’t talked to Quinn since she left this morning so he just heads home, texting Quinn the entire way there.

   The house is completely quiet when he gets home but Quinn’s heels are kicked off next to the door, Sophie’s backpack tossed next to it. “Q,” he calls, checking the kitchen just to make sure neither girl is in there. There’s no response and he pulls out his phone again, this time dialing Quinn’s number. He walks down the hall as the phone goes straight to Quinn’s voicemail. No one is in the bathroom and Sophie’s room is empty too but when he turns to look in their bedroom, he stops in the doorway.

   Quinn has Sophie pressed against her chest, arms wrapped tightly around their daughter as they lay in the center of the massive bed. Quinn’s face is buried in Sophie’s hair but Mike can hear her crying and he swallows hard as he takes a step closer. “It’s okay, Mommy,” Sophie says softly, petting Quinn’s hair and Mike’s heart completely shatters when Quinn moves just enough to look at him with her bloodshot hazel eyes.

--

   “I really don’t think we should go anymore,” Mike whispers as he dries the bowl Rachel handed him. It’s been two months and for the most part, Quinn’s okay, but he doesn’t want her to have to put on a front for an entire week.

   “We should leave the decision up to her.” Rachel washes off a cup and hands it to Mike, leaning back so she can look at the rest of their family at the kitchen table. They haven’t really talked about the trip and they should because it’s only a month away. Rachel thinks that getting away fro a week could do Quinn good and at the very least, seeing Judy could help. Quinn has been functional, though she’s been keeping the kids incredibly close and Rachel’s pretty sure Sophie only leaves Quinn’s side to go to the bathroom which is completely understandable. But Quinn’s been keeping her distance with her and Mike and that Rachel isn’t okay with. Each night Quinn curls into herself and away from whoever is laying next to her and Rachel’s seen Quinn pull away from Mike more than once. Rachel knows she needs space but every time Quinn does that it kills her. “Even if we don’t go to the wedding, I still think we should do something that week. We need a pick me up.”

   Mike wraps his arms around Rachel’s waist and kisses his way down her neck. “We’ll talk tonight, okay?” She nods, leaning against his chest after she turns off the water.

   The kids are chatting away about some Disney show, Harrison babbling from Quinn’s lap. Mike looks over at them and squeezes Rachel when Quinn mouths I love you.

--

   “You coming to bed, doll?”

   Quinn looks up from her book, pushing her glasses into her hair. “I think I’m going to read for a little while longer… I don’t want to keep you guys up.”

   “You know your reading won’t bother us.” Quinn shrugs and Mike catches her hand when she puts her glasses back on. “We’re still here.”

   Quinn swallows, watching as Mike brings her hand to his lips. “I know,” she admits. “I just…” She sighs and lets her book fall shut. “I wasn’t even that far along and we’ve got our hands full with our babies now, but I was already used to the idea of adding another.” She lets her free hand fall against her stomach and she closes her eyes. “I just need a little more time, baby. I promise I won’t ruin our vacation.”

   “That’s the farthest thing from my mind, Quinn. We don’t even have to go if you’re-”

   “No, no. We should go. It’s Puck,” she says with a small smile. “I won’t believe he’s married unless I see it with my own eyes.”

   He chuckles, nodding his head as he tugs her out of the chair. It’s the first joke he’s heard from her in a while and, yeah, they’ll be okay.

   He spins her around the living room slowly until Rachel clears her throat from the hallway. “Coming to bed, my loves?”

--

   It’s surprisingly easy to get Santana to watch the kids. They sit together on the flight to Lima with Harrison on the plane and before Rachel can even bring up her plan, Santana asks casually, “Hey, isn’t your anniversary the day before the wedding?” Harrison tries putting his drool covered hand on the Sky Mall Santana’s flipping through but Rachel grabs his hand before he can ruin the pages. “Please tell me you have some crazy, over the top plan to help pull her out of her funk. She’s been too down to spar with me verbally and it’s starting to bum me out.”

   “My ideas are not over the top,” Rachel insists.

   “You told them you were pregnant with Halden via song and dance number.”

   “That was creative!”

   Santana rolls her eyes, turning to the next pages. “Anyway, you guys are doing something right?”

   “If all goes well, yes. We’re definitely going out to dinner and probably a show.”

   “Then I’ll make sure I’m free that night so I can watch the munchkins.”

   “Are you sure,” Rachel asks, trying to get Harrison to sit back down on her lap. Instead he nearly pokes her eye out, only sitting down once he shoves his hand in her shirt. “I was kind of expecting you to be too busy catching up and I’d have to pawn them off on Judy. But I don’t really think she can handle the crazy that Soph and Mad are plus Harrison.”

   Santana waves her hand before putting the magazine back. “If she volunteers, I’ll stop by to make sure your kids don’t completely tear apart her house.”

   “Thank you,” Rachel sighs. “My dads refuse to watch anyone who isn’t potty trained since Sophie peed on the living room carpet when she was two.”

--

   Quinn’s been trying to keep busy with the kids which saves her most of the time from meeting up with friends who she hasn’t seen in years. It’s fine because she honestly doesn’t want to go out to lunch with Tina or Finn but Puck’s constantly texting her, asking why she didn’t go out to dinner or drinks or to Temple (she knows he only throws in the last one to get a smile out of her). It’s why she’s not surprised at all that he just randomly stops by during lunch with a pack of wine coolers.

   “Oh, so this is why everyone has mysteriously stepped out for the afternoon,” she quips as she lets him in the house, hugging him tight when his arms envelop her.

   “I knew you wouldn’t drink with the kids in the house.” He kicks off his boots and then follows her into the kitchen, sitting down at the island. “So, Q, what’s for lunch?”

   “I was going to make myself a sandwich.”

   “You still eatin’ like a bird I see,” he says as grabs a piece of bacon from the plate on the counter.

   She steals it back and glares. “I only made enough bacon for me, Puck.”

   “This is like a half a package!”

   She arches her eyebrow as she picks up the bread knife. “Go ahead then. Try and finish that piece you just bit.”

   He stares between the bacon and her hand before leaning across to take another bite. She lets him take the bacon which has him grinning but then she slaps him and it only makes him smile bigger. “I really fucking missed you, Quinn.”

--

   Puck stays for a while, even after her family comes home, but eventually his fiancé, Quinn still isn’t 100% sure what her name is (Stacey? Sylvia? It might not even be an S the more she thinks about it), calls reminding him about the dinner with her parents. “You have a good time catching up,” Mike asks her later, when she’s sitting in the tub with Harrison, the rest of their kids in bed with Rachel and her mom watching a movie.

   He grabs Harrison’s rubber duck and puts it on top of his head. It only upsets him for a second but then he reaches over the best he can to put his rubber alligator on top of Mike’s head, giggling and splashing when Mike leaves it there. Quinn’s fingers trace Harrison’s chubby cheeks, smiling wider when he kisses her fingertip. “It was really nice… Just the person I needed to talk to, I think.”

   Mike picks up the baby shampoo and squirts a little in his hand before running it over Harrison’s head. “That’s what we thought too,” he tells her honestly, even though Rachel told him not to.

   “He reminded me just how much I need to be present for the family I already have, and not dwell on the ones I’m missing… I have all of my loves under one roof and I think that makes me really lucky.” She rests her head on his shoulder, watching as he washes their son’s hair carefully. He’s always best with baths; while she and Rachel have accidentally gotten soap in all of the kids’ eyes, he hasn’t once. “Thank you for being patient.”

   “No need to thank me, doll.” Harrison starts drumming his hands on her boobs which only makes Mike laugh. “I know he’s only a year old, but I think it’s safe to say our son is a boob man.”

--

   Even though Santana is often a thorn in her side, Rachel really thinks that Quinn made a great choice for a best friend. She walks in as Quinn is zipping up Rachel’s dress with Halden on her hip, their son holding out a card. “Happy anniversary, my freaky friends.”

   Quinn rolls her eyes but takes the card and opens it. “What’s this?”

   Rachel looks over her shoulder, a hotel card key between Quinn’s fingers. She grips Quinn’s hip gently and presses a kiss between her shoulder blades. Quinn barely tenses now but they still haven’t been physical like that since Quinn lost the baby and her eyes flick nervously to Santana. Rachel’s totally grateful because she has no doubt that Santana got them a really nice room, but this is all kind of riding on how Quinn feels.

   “Just to give you guys a night away. I’ll be here to help your mom with the kids,” Santana explains as Halden buries his face in her neck. “Plus there’s breakfast in the morning. All the bacon you can want.”

   Rachel laughs and Quinn elbows her. “Apparently she threatened to stab Puck for taking a bite of her bacon yesterday.”

   “I did not! I simply chose that moment to pick up my knife.”

   Santana snorts, putting Halden down as he starts wiggling in her arms. “You look pretty mommas,” he tells them both as he grabs their hands. He gives each hand a kiss before smiling up at them widely. Not caring that she’s certain Santana’s just gotten a view of her underwear, Quinn sighs and sits down on the floor next to Halden. He takes the apples of her cheeks in his hands, squeezing them gently. “Your smile is back, Mommy!”

   Quinn scoops Halden into her arms, thankful he’s still small enough that she can do this with ease (she misses the days when she could still do this with Sophie), and peppers kisses all over his face until he’s giggling.

--

   The whole plan was to go out to dinner and catch a movie but once they all pile into the car, they end up going back to the hotel. It’s nice to go out but Santana spent a nice chunk of her own money getting this room for them and Rachel comments on the fact that she can’t even remember the last time they’ve enjoyed the luxury of a hotel.

   “We should totally do this more often,” Rachel says as she spears the last bit of her fish. “Get all dressed up, even if we’re just eating dinner at home.” They’ve been watching all the movies they said they wanted to see when they were in theaters on Pay Per View and ordering way too much food from room service for the past three hours. Quinn and Mike have already relaxed a bit (Mike’s pants were unbuttoned half way through eating his steak and Quinn pulled the hair she’d carefully curled earlier into a messy bun on top of her head) but Rachel sits with her back straight against the headboard, still 100% all dolled up.

   Quinn rolls her eyes as she chows down on her bacon omelet, nodding along when Mike voices what she’s thinking. “We have small kids, Rach. It’d be way too messy.”

   Once Quinn’s mouth is empty she adds, “Just dress up when you’re playing tea with them.” Rachel huffs a little, only for Mike to nuzzle into her neck, which gets Rachel to melt into him, resting her head on the top of his. Quinn licks her lips after finishing her orange juice, gazing at her partners from her portion of the bed. Mike’s eyes are glued on the TV (this movie had been his pick), but Rachel glances over at her and reaches for her just as Quinn decides to get up from the bed. The hurt look that Rachel gains barely lasts longer than a second, her brunette valiantly covering it up with a smile and a redirection of her attention to the TV. Quinn feels her own face twist and she hurries to gather the dishes they’ve all left on the bed.

   “Qui-,” Mike starts but Quinn shakes her head, dropping all of their dirty dishes on to free spaces on the cart room service left.

   “You two aren’t leaving me with much space to lay with you.” Rachel visibly relaxes once she says that and that smile of Mike’s that she loves graces his face for the first time in too long.

   Even though Rachel has been in the middle all night, they insist on Quinn squeezing in between them. After a while (and the start of another movie), Quinn can no longer feel the chill from the air conditioner they’ve been blasting all night. She can see goosebumps on the arm Mike’s wrapped around her waist but Rachel keeps moving around because she’s too hot still. “Rach, you’re wearing wool tights,” Mike points out after Rachel announces that she’s turning the air up more. “Why don’t you just take them off?”

   Rachel glares at him, obviously flustered as she walks over to the wall cooler. Mike just shakes his head but Quinn pushes herself up, head cocked to the side as Rachel very pointedly pushes the down button four times. “Rach, just take them off. I don’t even know why you wore them in the middle of summer anyway.”

   “No, it’s fine,” Rachel says. “Mike can just get under the blankets if he’s cold.”

   Quinn arches an eyebrow. “What’s going on with you?”

   Mike props his head up on his elbow. “She doesn’t want you to think that we’re trying to bed you.”

   “Michael,” Rachel grits with a stomp of her foot.

   Quinn sits up and scratches at the skin below her ear. “We got dressed together earlier! And I’ve seen you undress a lot since…” She takes a deep breath and though she knows they won’t fault her if she doesn’t finish her sentence, she knows that she needs to verbalize it if she really wants to move on from this. “Since I lost the baby.”

   “I know that! But we also haven’t been in a nice hotel room on our anniversary all those other times,” Rachel says as she gets back to the bed, kneeling on the edge. “And putting on clothes doesn’t count.” Quinn takes Rachel’s hand in hers just as Mike starts rubbing her own back. “I know things are better but I just don’t want you to feel like we have to have sex tonight, because we absolutely do not.”

   “Could we?” Mike’s hand stills on her back and Rachel’s eyes widen just a little bit. Clearing her throat, Quinn gives Rachel’s hand a squeeze as she curls her legs around Mike’s even more. “I’ve missed you both a lot more than I thought I did.” Her fingers start dancing along invisible lines on Rachel’s palms before traveling up to lightly brush Rachel’s forearm. Turning Rachel’s arm in her hands, Quinn presses kisses along Rachel’s smooth skin until Rachel tangles her hand in Quinn’s hair.

   “We’re here anyway, Quinn…”

   Mike playfully bites Quinn’s shoulder, bringing her attention to him. “How about we just see where the night takes us.” Rachel nods in agreement but Quinn just arches an eyebrow. “Rachel will take off those damn tights, I’ll get under the blanket, and we’ll just watch the rest of the movie.” Rachel huffs about how well they work with this outfit while reaching up under her dress, both of her partners staring at her as she does so. It’s impossible for her to not show them her underwear given the length of her dress and the fact that she’s taking them off while standing and while Mike just gets that pervy teenage boy smile on his face (it amazes her that the littlest things can still do so much for him), Quinn bites her bottom lip, squeezing her thighs together.

   She falls on to all fours on the bed before cupping the back of Quinn’s neck. “We’re going to have sex aren’t we? If you say so, we just fall to obey your orders, huh?” Quinn laughs but nods and Rachel dips her head to kiss Quinn as Mike’s hand slips between Quinn’s legs. Rachel playfully bites at Quinn’s lower lip before Quinn kind of squeaks against her mouth, causing her to pull back with one more peck. Mike’s hand has now disappeared under Quinn’s skirt and now that her mouth is free, Quinn turns to their boy. She takes his cheeks into her hands, their lips sliding together feverishly as Quinn does her best to move closer to Mike without breaking contact. The bulge in Mike’s pants is obvious and Rachel whines when she realizes that, somehow, she hasn’t been with Mike during the past few months either.

   Rachel starts to get up from the bed, no doubt to get the condom she always carries (they’re dating an odd but wonderfully prepared duck) and before she can get too far, Quinn pulls away from Mike. “No,” she says quickly, her breathing already labored and her lips red. Mike starts running his hand up and down Quinn’s arm, whispering that it’s okay but the blonde shakes her head. “No.” She swallows hard, reaching over Mike to tug Rachel back on the bed. She takes a deep breath, her head falling on to Mike’s shoulder. Rachel squeezes her hand and Mike nuzzles her hair with his nose. “I want to try.”

   “Are you sure, baby,” Rachel asks, her eyes flicking to Mike’s briefly.

   Quinn nods and pushes herself even more against Mike, her thigh sliding against his hard on. “I know we didn’t plan the last one, or any of our kids really, but it made me realize that I do want one now.” She turns her head and leaves four kisses over Mike’s thundering heart, pulling Rachel’s hand against her chest. “I want a baby.”

   Rachel and Mike’s hands both immediately grip her leg, their fingertips digging into the soft flesh of her thigh when they laugh. Rachel’s hand travels to Mike’s leg, tugging playfully at his slacks. “Too much clothing. If we’re making a baby, we better do this right.”

   They make quick work of their clothes, Rachel wrapping her arm around Mike’s waist once the both of them are nude, outlining his abs as Quinn kicks off her underwear. “I’ve missed this,” he sighs. Quinn smiles softly, long delicate fingers following an imaginary trail across her stomach and down to her pussy. Rachel groans against his skin and he bucks into the hand that wraps around his dick. “I can’t believe you two haven’t killed me yet.” His girls laugh in unison and Rachel pumps him once more before nudging him on the bed.

   “I want you on top of him.”

   “Where are you going,” Quinn asks as she kneels next to Mike’s hips, her legs wide enough for him to dip two fingers into her wet heat.

   Rachel straddles Mike’s leg, his dick twitching and hand roughly thrusting into Quinn as Rachel’s juices run down his leg, her hands running over the deep V of his hips before taking his cock in her mouth. Mike curses under his breath, a hand fisting in Rachel’s hair as her head bobs three times. He looks down to see mirth in her eyes as her tongue rolls around the head of his cock just before she pulls off with a pop. “Come take a seat my love,” she breathes out, her eyes roaming all over Quinn’s body. “Face our boy.”

   Mike holds his hand out once he pulls out of Quinn and the sound of his girls moaning, Quinn from the sight of Rachel sucking his wet fingers into her mouth and Rachel from the taste of the woman they’ve both gone without for months, is music to his ears. Might even be better than the sound of Rachel singing or their kids’ laughter but he’d never say that out loud.

   Rachel grips Quinn’s hips once their blonde straddles him, guiding her on to Mike who thrusts up impatiently.

   Quinn’s eyes squeezes shut, her mouth dropping open as Mike stretches her and Rachel scoots closer until her breasts are pressed against Quinn’s back. Rachel’s hands travel up her sides lightly. Quinn finds herself gripping Mike’s hip as Rachel’s hands stop just below her breasts, fingers fanning and flexing over the supple flesh.

   “Oh god,” Quinn moans, grabbing Mike’s other hand desperately when he shallowly thrusts into her. She squeezes around him as Rachel’s thumb runs over a hard nipple and Rachel catches Mike’s eye over Quinn’s shoulder.

   It still amazes him just how well they all communicate, even when they don’t speak. Rachel bites the space where neck and shoulder meet just as he cants his hips up, thrusting a little harder, a little faster when Rachel drags her tongue along the column of Quinn’s neck. “How is it that every bit of you tastes so sweet,” Rachel murmurs into Quinn’s skin, her own hips thrusting into Quinn’s ass and her pussy dragging over his leg in a way that Mike can feel is helping her get off.

   His fingers run along the inside of Rachel’s leg before he grips Quinn’s thigh, staring at their hips as they both jut forward. “Fuck,” he sighs, letting his head fall to the bed when he hears Rachel tell Quinn to fuck herself. A whine escapes the back of Quinn’s throat and Rachel kneads Quinn’s breasts, her own hard nipples dragging down Quinn’s back as the blonde rises on her knees. Quinn’s back arches, her ass pressing into Rachel as Mike thrusts up, sheathing himself in her when Rachel’s fingers slide down Quinn’s body and slips over her clit.

   Quinn throws her head back on Rachel’s shoulder, legs trembling as a scream rips through her.

   Rachel smirks deviously down at him as she latches on to the mark she started on Quinn’s neck earlier, not caring that the deep purple bruise will be hell to cover up once they check out tomorrow morning.

   This may be the night they kill him.

--

   When they get back to Judy’s early the next morning (Santana had told them to stay until check out but they hadn’t slept much anyway and they missed the kids), it is unusually quiet given the fact that there were four children in the house. Rachel immediately assumes the worst. “Oh my god, what if someone has broken in,” she whispers, clutching her overnight bag to her belly as Mike steps in front of the girls.

   Santana walks out just then, in nothing but an oversized t-shirt Quinn vaguely recognizes. “Holy christ, fuck,” Santana yelps, bringing her hands, each of which hold a water bottle, to her chest. “What the hell are you guys doing back so early?”

   “It’s all ready 9 in the morning,” Rachel counters.

   “That’s early for people who don’t have kids!”

   Rachel just rolls her eyes and makes her way into the kitchen, citing that she’ll start a pot of coffee for all of them, while Mike asks if Harrison has been up yet since it’s unusual for him to sleep in so late. Quinn simply stares at the shirt Santana’s wearing, tapping her fingers against her hip rhythmically until it clicks. “Is that my mother’s shirt?” She hadn’t realized that Mike and Santana were talking so much until they stop and turn to look at Quinn who still remains focused on the faded Brown University shirt. “Oh my god, that is my mother’s shirt.”

   At that exact moment, Judy starts making her way down stairs. “Santana,” she calls, her voice almost giggly. She stops abruptly halfway down the steps, hastily pulling her robe completely shut. “Quinn! Mike! You guys are back rather, um, early… I thought check out wasn’t until noon.”

   Mike doesn’t even look back at Quinn before fully stepping in between her and Santana. “You,” Quinn whispers and Mike can hear the growl growing in her voice, “slept with my mom?!”

   Harrison spends the next five hours chanting bitch. The only reason the other kids don’t repeat any of the words coming out of either Quinn or Santana’s mouth is because Rachel promptly rushed them out to the mall where the three older kids made teddy bears in their pajamas.

--

   Judy visits early in August and while Quinn has made her peace with the fact that Santana is… dating her mother, the fact that Santana is standing next to her at the airport, rocking on the balls of her feet is unsettling. What is even more unsettling and disgusting is the fact that after her mom hugs her and kisses her cheek, wraps her arms around Santana’s waist and lets Santana practically devour her face.

   “I’m going to direct my morning sickness towards you two if you grab my mother’s ass.”

i love a woman that rains

only_because3 — Tue, 08 Jan 2013 06:01:16 GMT

Title: i love a woman that rains
Author: idontneedtobeforgiven (on tumblr)/only_because3 (on live journal!)/
Rating: Uh, I’ll go with M.
Word Count: 2813
Prompt: For wristlocks on tumblr: "I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul."
Author’s Note: Written for the Quinntana exchange on tumblr. It might be useful to read this oneshot I’ve already written to fully understand the Fabray portion of this oneshot but it’s not necessary since this is a story about our girls :) I hope you enjoy!

--

You are almost certain that you fell in love with Quinn the first day you saw her. Freshmen year, zero period (which you loathed because it meant you had to be up at 6 to get to class by 7), she sat beside you in the middle of the class. You had caught yourself staring the moment she walked in, with her blonde hair falling in perfect curls down her back and her white dress swishing at her knees. In order to distract yourself, you put on the make up you didn’t have time to do before you left the house, and you only looked back at Quinn when you not her staring at you. “What are you doing to your eyes,” she asked innocently, pointing to the eyeliner in your hand.

   You showed her how to do a cat eye before offering to do it on her but she politely declined, stating that her mother and father would kill her if she wore dark make up like that.

   You thought Quinn Fabray was the exact opposite of you that day. You thought she was perfect and light and everything your grandmother said you couldn’t be. Your first thoughts bordered on the delicately creepy line of wanting to be Quinn or just wanting to be her friend. But then, when class was over and you walked down the hall side by side and she viciously spit at an upperclassmen that her face looked like someone took a cheese grater to it, you knew that you absolutely loved Quinn.

   Seven years later, with your slacks unbuttoned and your shirt halfway off, you lean in the doorway of the bathroom. You assumed Quinn was out since the apartment you sometimes share was dark and quiet when you entered, but as you were taking off your shoes on the edge of the bed, you heard water slosh in the tub. You can barely see Quinn now, the reading light attached to her book only dimly illuminating her face and hiding it even more when she flips to the next page. Even though, visually, she’s still the light to your dark, this is how you know and love Quinn; shrouded in her darkness and contorted by the unique way Quinn loves you.

--

   To put it simply, you only fuck Brittany because she looks like Quinn Fabray. Brittany is your best friend but she’s too tall, too blonde, and her beautiful blue eyes aren’t as gorgeous as Quinn’s hazel ones. Eventually though, fucking Brittany turns into a lot more, which you need, because Quinn Fabray will never be yours; Quinn is not someone you could openly wrap your arms around, tuck your head in the crook of her neck, and breathe her in.

   But, even though you know you love Brittany, when Quinn shows up at your house one night, her face pained but ultimately composed, you lead her up to your room.

   Quinn’s shirt is damp and there are bags under her eyes that she’s tried to cover up with make up. You notice that she keeps her arms at her sides, not curling around the curve of her deflated stomach, tucking her hands under her thighs when they start twitching. “Were you asleep,” she asks but you’re not sure why.

   “No. Just listening to music.” Quinn nods and lays down. She stares at the ceiling and you stare at her. Quinn hasn’t been back to school since she gave birth two days ago. You can’t help but wonder if anyone has noticed the change you see in Quinn. Part of what you loved about her was this sense of lightness that radiated from her. You wouldn’t call it innocence or niceness, you know Quinn well enough to know that she can be a ruthless bitch (and that makes you want her all the more), but there’s always been something else you can’t quite put your finger on. But all of that is gone now, has slowly been slipping away for the past six months. This Quinn is broken and tired and dark. Her head turns and she meets your eyes. It’s like looking at someone else even though you’ve studied these eyes for years. “What are you doing here?”

   “I don’t know.” It’s a surprisingly honest answer from her, the very first you think. You lay down next to her, intending to leave a huge amount of space between you two, but Quinn rolls closer before stopping herself. “Are we friends?”

   You feel your face twist before softening. “Do you think I would have let you in so late if we weren’t?” Quinn doesn’t finish scooting over but instead laces her fingers through yours, holding on tight.

--

   You know that you fell asleep staring at her face but when you wake up, you’re met with her back and her soft cries. You think of saying her name but instead you touch her. She flinches then relaxes and cries harder. “It hurts.” When you get up, you see she’s clutching her chest but you’re certain that’s not the only thing she’s talking about.

   You bring two of your sports bras to the bed, kneeling behind the blonde you’ve been infatuated with since freshmen year. Your fingers curl under the hem of Quinn’s shirt, somehow finding the right words to get Quinn to allow you to pull it off of her shacking body. Slowly, you put one bra over Quinn’s head, her arms slipping into place, and you repeat the process with the second one. You tug at the fabric so that it sits better around Quinn’s ribs before your hands get trapped at her sides when Quinn presses her palms against her breasts. “Do you want me to lie to you?” A sound tears through Quinn’s lips that terrifies you (and you don’t know it then, but you have a hard time not replaying it in your head for months afterwards whenever you look at Quinn). You wrap your arms around her and whisper, “Everything will be okay, Q. The pain… It won’t last forever.”

   Quinn calls you a liar and pushes you away. You expect her to leave then, but she turns and presses against you fully. You’ve been with a lot of people, yet it has never been like this; you’re not sure you have ever been this close to someone and it makes your chest tighten uncomfortably. Quinn’s tears coat your neck, hands grip your shirt so tight that it feels like it’s about to be ripped off, and lips graze where your pulse is quickening.

--

   “You’re such a creeper.”

   You roll your eyes, smile creeping onto your face though you fight to keep it hidden. “Says the girl who is sitting in the dark.” You can’t see it but you know that Quinn barely arches an eyebrow in response, already drug back in by the words on the page in front of her. “What’re you reading?”

   “Sylvia Plath.” You nod as you walk back in to the bedroom you sometimes share, taking off your shirt and bra before falling back down on the bed.

   “Don’t you ever read anything happy?”

   The water splashes against the sides of the tub again. “I don’t think there is a book that’s always happy. Anything worth reading has conflict.” The bed dips near your knees and your eyes open only when you feel water drop on your chest. Quinn stares down at you, thighs flexing around your hips. You’ve known Quinn long enough now to know that she won’t say a single thing that’s swimming around in her head, but after seven years, you know how to read her. Threading your fingers in Quinn’s hair, effectively loosening the bun Quinn had constructed, you bring her down for a kiss. Quinn bites at your bottom lip, tongue curling under your teeth just before pulling back. It’s an ‘I missed you’ which is unfortunate, you think, because you doubt you’ll be able to stay the night and you know you won‘t be back like this until Brittany leaves again.

--

You two never really talk about what you do together and so you certainly don’t tell other people about it. Through high school you carry on, no one suspecting a thing, and yeah, Quinn has boyfriends and you have Brittany. When you and Quinn first have sex (and that’s not until senior year, following the horrible cliché of fucking on prom night), you start to think that maybe you shouldn’t be doing this. Quinn’s single-ish but you’re dating Brittany. Kissing is one thing but prom night ends with Quinn’s cum running down your chin and your scent lingering on her fingers for two days.

   “Do you think this is wrong,” you ask, watching Quinn shuck off her pretty dress that you couldn’t be bothered to take off earlier.

   Once all the taffeta is on the ground far away from Quinn’s face, she works on the bobby pins keeping her hair up. “I think that you’re my best friend.” You nod slowly as Quinn sits down next to you on the bed, pressing kisses along your shoulder while still searching for more metal in her messy blonde hair. “But if you need me to leave so you and Brittany-”

   “No,” escapes you faster than you’d like and Quinn doesn’t smirk or grin up at you, just wraps her arms around your waist like she’s thanking you.

   Later that night she tells you about things you never wanted to hear. That’s your relationship with Quinn though. You are the ears that pick up every little detail of the memories that have rotted Quinn from the inside out. You know all about what her father did when he found out she had sex, what he did the night he kicked her out (you remember being surprised that it wasn’t the same night but that was quickly replaced with the churning in your stomach when you listened to Quinn tell the story of how her father forced her to strip down in front of him), and you know each and every thought she’s had about Beth. But that night she tells you that she’s never had a best friend before. “I’ve never really had a lot of things,” she whispered, her breath hot against your collarbone (she never looks at you when she speaks like this). “A real father, a real mother, and never a real friend… But now there’s you.”

--

   Quinn goes back for a fresh bath, her water having gone cold while her fingers pumped inside you, and you go into the kitchen to make the two of you dinner. Brittany texts you while you’re tossing the salad to go with your tortellini. She’s been on tour for the past nine months, which means you’ve pretty much been living at Quinn’s (only going home when Quinn needs space), but also that it’s time for you to be getting back to your life with Brittany.

   You know that you should leave her. You’re just not sure which ‘her’ you’re talking about.

   Quinn makes you feel needed and wanted. Brittany makes you feel loved.

   You think Brittany probably knows what you do with Quinn, knows that it’s much more than being her best friend (after all, you and Brittany were once that too) but she’s never once said anything, never tried to stop you from seeing Quinn. For the duration of your time with Brittany, she’s kept you happy and warm and light… You just can’t help but be drawn to the dark that Quinn is endlessly swimming in.

   Quinn’s never asked you to leave Brittany, never asked you to pick her over your girlfriend. You think that might be because she’s afraid you won’t choose her even though you’ve chosen Quinn every day for the past 7 years. Truth is, you’re a little scared Quinn won’t choose you either. She’s had no problems having boyfriends during your time together. Brittany, while still responding to the label of girlfriend, often chooses jobs over you. You’re grating carrots when you realize that maybe Brittany only does that, opts for leaving you alone for months at a time, because of Quinn.

   The pot on the stove starts boiling over but you don’t pay attention to it until you hear Brittany’s voice on the other end of the phone.

--

nbsp; You accompany Quinn to her father’s funeral your second year of college. It involves taking a train down to Boston, because that’s where Quinn’s dad relocated apparently, and an awkward weekend surrounded by a bunch of white people. Quinn’s mom doesn’t go but her sister does and you feel almost uncomfortable meeting her eyes. But you do, tell her sorry for her loss with a shrug, and she stares blankly at you.(Later, at the wake, she’ll tell you that she wishes people would stop telling her that. Quinn will chime in, saying that they’re wasting their breath) She had to plan the funeral since she was the oldest and actually lived in the state already (not that she knew her father lived in Massachusetts). The priest goes off on some tangent in the middle of the sermon (or maybe this is the sermon? It’s been too long since you’ve stepped inside a church) and Quinn leans into you, holding your hand in public for the first time.

   Once the crowd clears from the cemetery, you stand by Quinn and watch her sister push all of the flowers and trinkets off their father’s coffin. Paige’s husband tries to calm her down but she pushes him too before throwing dirt at the shiny white casket. Paige breaks and cries but Quinn stays strong, her back straight and face emotionless. You never would have known she was angry if you didn’t know her (well, and if she never spit on the coffin). “That’s it then,” she exhales, her body deflating just so.

   The next day you’re dragged along with Paige’s husband over to the Fabray residence. Neither of you are sure why you’re there because the girls are just trying to find any personal items they’ll want before there’s an estate sale and you don’t know what’s important.

   You two discover soon enough that you are the two who will be going through things and asking the girls, who sit like ghosts, if it’s anything they want to keep.

   When Derek (or Eric… You’re not too sure what the hell his name is) takes Paige downstairs to start going through the basement, you continue through Mr. Fabray’s bedroom. There’s nothing really in the bedside table: a book of matches next to a smoking pipe, a small tub of Tums, reading glasses, and a bible. You hold up the bible for Quinn to see and pictures flutter out just as Quinn pales. You try not to look at them. You see Quinn’s blonde hair and skin and tears in the polaroids, near identical poses in other polaroids of a different girl in a different room. “That was my bible.” You look up at Quinn who is staring at the pictures scattered on the floor instead of the bible that you still hold.

   You pull the drawer out of the bedside table and throw the pictures back in, along with the bible Mr. Fabray’s tainted. You light match after match, throwing them into the drawer until all of the pictures sizzle and snap and disappear.

--

   “I want to be an adult,” you calmly explain to Quinn as she sits at her vanity, drying her hair with a towel.

   “Aren’t you anyway,” Quinn counters and you find yourself simultaneously annoyed and adoring.

   “I’d like a straight answer, just this once please.” Quinn’s back straightens, tips her head just enough for you to understand that she’s giving you permission to continue. “Brittany and I broke up. And I’ve loved you since I first met you. Can you just love me now?”

   Quinn stays silent. She throws her wet towel over the back of her chair and then picks up her hair brush. “Do you honestly think that I don’t?” You open your mouth but Quinn raises her hand. “I’ve told you things that I never thought I’d share with anyone. I’ve already let you into my heart Santana, you’ve just never taken it.”

   You blink and fall back against the wall next to the closet. Quinn finishes combing her hair and then curls her finger at you. Wordlessly, you French braid her hair. Quinn grabs your hand when you go to take the hair tie, bringing the inside of your wrist to her lips. “Why did you or Brittany never tell me I was an idiot?”

   “We both love you too much to.” Quinn turns when she stands, kneeling on the chair you stand behind. “Though I was beginning to think that I’d always be your other woman.”

   “Everyone else is the other,” you admit. “Because I have always been yours.”

Wonderwall [9/10]

only_because3 — Sat, 24 Nov 2012 06:03:09 GMT

Title: Wonderwall [9/10]
Author: only_because3 or jeytonbrucasnaley
Pairing: Quinn/Puck/Rachel
Word Count: 2098
Rating: T
Summary: "Just because I got out of this rinky dink town doesn't mean my dreams magically came true."
Author's Note: Oh my god! Look! An update! Only took me a little over a year to upload again! Anyway, this chapter is pretty short and is mainly just setting up everything that's going to happen in the final chapter (which should be up before the year's over. And I know I said that last time but I actually have a solid idea as to where I definitely want to take this). If there are any of you still reading, enjoy!

--

She just wants to sleep. She’s tired of thinking and caring and every single movement she makes seems to be rejected by her body. There is nothing left in her stomach yet it threatens to leap from her throat. “Oh, my baby.” She peeks open an eye as her dad pushes stringy hair from her eyes. “You’re disappearing right in front of me.” His hand tenderly touches her shoulder, her arm, her hip, cups the back of her knee.

   She brings her knees closer to her body, muscles feeling like they’re being pulled past their limit, and whines. “What am I doing?” Her father continues to pet her hair in the same way he used to when she was younger and she tries not to analyze the way he sighs.

   “Do you remember the first time we went to Chicago,” he asks and she’s too tired to remember anything other than the last few months. “We saw quite a few shows… You fell in love with Chicago before you set foot in New York.”

   “I haven’t been there since high school,” Rachel murmurs through gritted teeth.

   Her father redistributes his weight. “Are you happy here?” It feels like her entire body is laying on broken glass as she rolls away from the man who raised her. “Rachel?” She shoves her face into the pillow, a scream tearing through her throat as she starts sobbing. She’s not even sure there are tears spilling from her cheeks (she’s cried so much already) but she cries harder when her dad tries to hold her, his arm wrapping around her waist. His hand brushes the skin of her stomach and she vomits onto the sheets.

--

   She meets him in the middle of the supermarket where Carol worked when he was a kid. Caroline is on her knees in front of the cereal, fingers tapping against a box of Captain Crunch and a box of Fruity Pebbles. “How am I supposed to pick just one,” Caroline asks Noah, turning the boxes around to look at the games on the back and Rachel lets all the air escape her body.

   He puts an arm around her shoulders when she’s close enough and when he presses his lips to her temple, she very quietly, very simply says, “I’m not going through with it.”

   Caroline starts babbling about the pros of Fruity Pebbles as Noah’s arm slips down, the bag of chips in his other hand crunching loudly. “Did-” He stops himself, hands relaxing. He takes a deep breath. “What changed?” Caroline turns her attention to the Captain Crunch and Rachel can’t think of anything to say that won’t lead to a fight so she shrugs. “Quinn talk to you?”

   “This doesn’t… that’s not why-”

   “Don’t lie to me, Rachel.”

   She sucks in a breath, takes a step back from him and squares her shoulders. “After careful consideration, I think that this is what’s best for all of us.”

   He shakes his head. “That’s bullshit. You want that baby! I want that baby,” he yells, pointing at her stomach.

   “I didn’t say that we didn’t. Want isn’t the problem here.” Caroline is looking between them now, hands clasped against her lap. “We shouldn’t-”

   “What did she say to you? I know it was something she said something.” Caroline presses herself up against the cereal boxes.

   “It doesn’t matter. Look at me.” Her greasy hair is pulled into a frizzy bun on top of her head and he notices for the first time just how much sharper her features have become, how dark the area around her eyes are. “Look at us.” He scratches at his jaw, he hasn’t shaved in days, glances down at the clothes he’s worn for nearly a week. “We’re miserable, Noah.”

   “We don’t fucking have to be. We’ll be okay if Quinn would just-”

   “Then go talk to her,” she says softly, rubbing the back of her neck. “Go ahead and grab both, Caroline.”

   The little girl’s eyes light up and Rachel knows that she shouldn’t be encouraging the thought that Caroline could have anything she wanted. “Really?”

   Rachel nods, licking her lips as she reaches out for Noah’s hand and he pulls her flush against him. It’s overwhelming but comforting and he whispers that he’s going to fix this. She laughs and pushes him away, sniffing. “I’m the one fixing this,” she says. Caroline’s tiny arms wrap around the two boxes of cereal, the boxes nearly as big as her. Try as she might to clasp her hands together, she can’t reach, the box of Captain Crunch falling to the floor.

--

“Where is our daughter,” Quinn asks when she opens the door to find Noah pacing in the hall. His head snaps to look at her and she shrinks back, fingers curling around the door. Puck has never hit her before, never even went as far as to raise a hand to her, but over the past 4 years she’s seen the look in his eyes; he wishes desperately that he could punch her. Quinn knows she can be a cunt, that it really is a testament to the man he is that he’s only used his voice against her.

   “What the fuck did you say to Rachel?”

   She squares her shoulders and blinks as Noah fills the doorframe. “I told her that she could have you.”

   He punches the door frame and she refuses to flinch. “To fuck with her? I knew you were manip-”

   “I did it to fix this god damn mess,” she practically screams.

   A door down the hall opens, a man they’ve never seen before stepping out with his arms across his chest. “There a pro’lum or ya gonna can it?”

   Quinn moves just enough to let him pass the threshold. He keeps trying to look her in the eye but she hangs her head and rubs the back of her neck. “I love you. I love her. I want you two to be happy so I gave her an out. I was going to leave and talk to you when she said she’d…” It’s suddenly hard for her to say now that it’s so overwhelmingly final. The appointment is made, 3 o’clock tomorrow afternoon, the final nail in the coffin.

   Noah still doesn’t look like he trusts her and she can’t blame him. “You didn’t say anything else to her?”

   Quinn shakes her head. “I was trying to leave.” She falls against the door, her head bouncing against the wood and she closes her eyes. “Is Caroline with her?”

   “Yeah,” he croaks. He stands in the middle of the place they’ve begrudgingly called home for years now, looking just as disheveled and ruined as the first day they moved in. “She made us better.”

   “We ruined her,” Quinn says, nodding even when Noah starts shaking his head. “We fucking sucked before her and we just… We dragged her down with us.”

   Noah walks up to her, his hands gripping her hips in a way he hasn’t in what feels like so long. His thumbs push up her shirt and find her skin, rubbing circles against her bones. “She brought us up,” he asserts. “We could… We could finally do right, Quinn.”

   She chokes out a bitter laugh, her hands wrapping around his wrists, nails digging into his skin. “Right? If anything we were doing was right, there wouldn’t be a problem.”

   “Fuckin’ a, Quinn.” His arms drop back down to his sides, his shoulders still tense. “This could be our do over, don’t you see that? All the shit we wish we’d done. All the shit we wish we didn’t do. I could be the kind of dad I knew I should be.”

   She presses the heel of her hands against her eyes when her vision starts to blur. “If we’re talking about righting wrongs, then Rachel shouldn’t have this baby. That’s pretty much where we fucked up, right?” His fists clench but he doesn’t yell at her for it because he knows it’s true. “For god’s sake Noah, do you really think this new baby will help make up for the shit we already put Caroline through? You should be wanting to fix things for her, not showing her she wasn’t good enough to try harder for.” Slipping past him, she shakes her head and goes to their bedroom, the one she has been fitfully sleeping in since her lovers left. Quinn slumps in the doorframe. She has never felt at home in this place and now just the sight of her room, with the ghosts of memories taunting her, makes her skin crawl. She wants out. “Aren’t you tired? I’m so tired.” She can feel him standing behind her and she wishes he’d touch her again. It’s going to have to last her a long time. “I don’t even know why you’re here. I’m not the one you need to be talking to.”

   Hesitantly, his arms wrap around her waist. She hates that it feels a little easier to breathe. “The only thing I’ve ever been able to give you is our daughter,” she sighs. “Don’t be an idiot and stay with me when she can give you more.”

   “So, what, I can prove you right?”

   She closes her eyes as she lets her head fall to his chest. “Don’t put words in my mouth.” Quinn takes a big breath, laces her fingers with his where they sit low on her belly. “If you chose her, you are not your father. I will not think any less of you. I will love you just the same.”

   “I promised her everything would work out.”

   She blindly cups his cheek. “You should know better than making promises you can’t keep.”

   His head turns in her hand and he kisses her palm.

--

   “Hey, bug.” Caroline jumps off her bed when she sees her dad standing in the doorway, hugging herself to his legs before he picks her up. “Your mom is downstairs. Why don’t you go see her and get ready to go home?”

   “Are you coming home too, Daddy?”

   Rachel can feel him looking over at her but she stays focused on packing the suitcase in front of her. “Yeah,” he sighs. “I’m coming home too.” Caroline squeals and kicks to be put down. The second her feet hit the ground she starts to take off down the hall only to sharply turn back around. She runs up to Rachel’s bed and climbs up before launching herself at Rachel.

   “Now you just need to come home too!” Caroline’s hands excitedly tap on Rachel’s back as they hug. “I love you, Aunt Rachel.”

   The lump swells in her throat and she tries not to start shaking. “I love you too, sweetheart.” Noah closes the door when Caroline leaves and Rachel has every intention of not looking at him until she’s finished packing her suitcase. He walks closer to her, choking on her name before he falls to his knees. “Noah,” she breathes out as his arms wrap around her thighs.

   “I’m sorry,” he cries, fingertips digging into her aching muscles.

   She cradles his head in her arms and strokes the back of his neck as he tries to bring her even closer. Her t-shirt is soaked by the time he looks up at her. Immediately her hands travel to his face, wiping away tears that are replaced as quickly as they’re removed. “It’s okay.” He shakes his head as she nods hers. “It is, Noah. I promise.”

   “I promised you everything would work out.” His hands push her shirt up as they move to her waist. She tenses. Her stomach is something she’s tried to ignore, both because the thought of what’s growing underneath and because she’s been sick for what feels like forever. But when Noah’s lips press against the skin just below her bellybutton, she tries to pull him closer.

   There’s no space between them but it still doesn’t feel close enough.

   “Everything is working out. Just not like…” She swallows hard, closing her eyes for a moment. Three deep breaths later, she cups Noah’s chin, forcing him to look up at her. “It’s okay. I love you.”

   He repeats that it’s not okay until she drops to the ground. He buries his face in the crook of her neck and she kisses the skin in front of her, trying to convince herself she’s not crying either. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees her half packed suitcase. She bites down where shoulder and neck meet, closing her eyes.

as loud as my heart (Quinn/Santana)

only_because3 — Thu, 04 Oct 2012 19:15:35 GMT

Title: as loud as my heart
Author: only_because3
Rating: M
Pairing: Quinn/Santana
Summary: It started freshmen year of college, during winter break when Santana spent a week up in New Haven with Quinn.
Author's Note: There isn't much plot here. Basically what you need to know is Quinntana + scary movies = Porn. But not a lot of porn. Enjoy!

--

Santana’s fingers graze up and down her pale thighs, carefully tracing where Quinn’s muscles are defined when she feels Quinn fist the fake cock standing at attention between Santana’s own legs. Quinn widens her legs just a bit more before finally sinking down in Santana’s lap and even though this is the only position that will really work for what they’re doing, she wishes she could see the look she knows is on Quinn’s face when Santana’s dick fills her to the hilt. “You okay,” Santana asks, kissing Quinn’s shoulder and smiling against her skin when Quinn nods.

   “Let’s get this over with,” Quinn sighs.

   Santana pinches Quinn’s hip and Quinn smirks at Santana over her shoulder. “Don’t say that when I’m in you.” Santana grabs the remote from beside her as Quinn settles and leans forward to rest on her elbows, the dildo slipping out just a bit. “Ready?”

   “I guess.” Santana presses play and tosses the remote to the side before letting her hands grip Quinn’s hips. “This isn’t as scary as that Japanese one we watched last time is it?”

   “That wasn’t-”

   Quinn flips her hair over her shoulder and glares. “It was scary!”

   Santana bucks her hips and juts her chin towards the tv. “Watch the movie.” Quinn does as she’s told with a sigh, but not before reaching back and giving Santana’s hand a squeeze.

   They’ve been doing this for at least five years now. It started freshmen year of college, during winter break when Santana spent a week up in New Haven with Quinn. She’d still been upset about her break up with Brittany and even though Quinn hated scary movies, suggested they watch one. It was the closest to girly bonding or whatever since Santana chopped off Quinn’s hair junior year. Santana spent half the movie laughing at Quinn and the other half trying to wiggle her fingers in Quinn’s death grip. After that, it kind of became a tradition every time they met up (which was more frequent once Santana got the fuck out of Kentucky) and, god, she doesn’t even know how it happened, but she and Quinn made out practically topless during Child’s Play.

   And now here they are, upgraded to girlfriends and actually fucking their way through a scary movie.

   It’s actually a great fucking win-win situation. Santana gets a buddy to watch scary movies with, Quinn gets an orgasm if the movie is scary enough (There’s only been one movie where Quinn hasn’t gotten off and Santana totally should’ve expected it. The Haunting is the funnier version of Scary Movie 2 because it’s actually supposed to be serious).

   They’re not even twenty minutes into the movie when Quinn starts rocking back, burying her face every few seconds in the sheets. “Why do you keep picking the foreign ones? They’re scarier.”

   “That’s the point.” Santana takes Quinn’s ass in her hands, rocking the blonde back on to her cock, thrusting up to meet her when the next victim finds her tub full of blood.

   Despite this shallow, slow fucking they’ve been doing for nearly half the movie (which has kept Quinn whimpering from pleasure rather than fright), Santana grabs the remote during the middle of a killing spree. Quinn’s been trying to fuck herself faster, harder for the past five minutes and trying to discretely cover her ears. “Baby,” Santana says softly, muting the TV. “You can tell me to turn it off.”

   Santana pats Quinn’s hip and the blonde rises on to her knees. “I was doing fine,” Quinn insists. Santana smiles and shakes her head as she maneuvers out from under Quinn. “Where are you going?”

   Santana lays out on their bed, pushing the pillows out of the way so she can lay flat. “I want you to sit on my face.”

   Quinn arches a brow and glances at the movie that’s still playing before looking back at Santana with a frown. “What about your movie,” she asks, crawling over Santana nonetheless. She pauses to take the fake cock in her mouth once and Santana moans through a laugh.

   “I’d much rather eat your pussy than watch a movie, especially when you start doing shit like that.” Quinn looks up at her and smirks around her dick. She pulls off with a pop, continuing her way up until her thighs are on either side of Santana’s head.

   Santana licks her lips and locks eyes with Quinn as she presses her tongue against wet heat.

   She’ll finish her movie once Quinn is passed out next to her.

I Got a Bad Desire

only_because3 — Thu, 13 Sep 2012 17:36:35 GMT

Title: I Got a Bad Desire
Author: only_because3
Rating: M
Pairing: Quinn/Santana
Word Count: 815
Summary: If she had known shit like this could have happened before, Santana would have sewn a fucking pocket into her purse for her vibrator.
Author's Note: This is literally PWP. It's the first time I've actually managed to write anything without plot which is also why it's so short! Anything longer and I would have added actual story! Anyway, enjoy!

--

Her legs wrap around Quinn’s, bringing their legs back and spreading Quinn further. Something between a whine and a sigh travels from Quinn’s parted lips and Santana looks up to see them pressed against Quinn’s headboard. The vanity Quinn spent the better part of her high school career in front of (making sure every hair was in place, that her make up was applied with precision) now gives Santana a perfect view. Quinn is not perfect in the reflection. She’s sure that if Quinn were to look up, she’d be absolutely horrified at her reflection. Her blonde hair, which had been pulled into a bun when Santana first got to the apartment, is now a mess; Though most of it is still up, tendrils lay against her face and neck, and Quinn’s bangs sit knotted against her forehead. She’s not wearing any make up which is probably a good thing because the amount of sweat between them would have caused things to run and her lipstick would have only served to stain Santana’s lips. Quinn’s pale skin is already marked, the breasts Santana’s currently squeezing already bearing angry red scratches and crescents from where Santana’s nails clawed down, eliciting a sharp whine from Quinn.

   Quinn’s head lolls against her shoulder but her gaze remains down. This is the first time they’ve done anything like this (well, done anything like this together) and so Santana gets wanting to soak it all in as much as possible. But god, the sight of them as a whole is so much better than seeing Quinn fuck herself from over her shoulder. Santana lifts her hips, rubbing herself against Quinn’s bare ass. It does the trick; Quinn looks up and the arm working Santana’s toy in and our of her stills. “Oh,” Quinn breathes out, sagging just enough against her that Santana gets enough friction against her hard nipples to buck into Quinn again.

   Santana lifts one hand from Quinn’s breast and slides it down to Quinn’s pussy, two fingers spreading around the toy still vibrating inside Quinn. Though she could see just how much Quinn was glistening in the mirror, it’s another thing to actually feel just how fucking soaked Quinn is. Santana grips the fake cock and pushes it just a little bit further in before bringing her fingers up and pressing hard on Quinn’s clit.

   A moan tears through Quinn when Santana starts circling her fingers over the swollen bud. Quinn bites her bottom lip but it doesn’t do much to stop the noises once Quinn starts moving her arm again. Quinn’s back to looking down at them, her chin pressed against her chest as her arm works a little faster but Santana’s eyes stay glued to the mirror, watching her hand work in tandem with Quinn’s to get the other girl off.

   If she had known shit like this could have happened before, Santana would have sewn a fucking pocket into her purse for her vibrator.

   Santana attempts to take the vibrator in her own hand but Quinn kind of growls at her which only makes her laugh. “You don’t have to do all the work,” she whispers against Quinn’s ear and when the blonde rolls her eyes, Santana bites her earlobe. Quinn gasps then and her fingers fumble to press the button on the vibrator. Santana’s not sure which button ends up getting pressed; she’s too distracted by the expanse of flesh in front of her.

   Quinn’s toes curl and then something blasphemous spills out of her mouth. Santana smirks, running her nose along the column of Quinn’s neck. It’s almost too intimate for this moment but she allows herself to nuzzle Quinn for a moment longer before sinking her teeth into the flesh in front of her. Santana glances up at them in the mirror when Quinn practically screams. She thinks for a moment that that’s maybe too much but Quinn presses against every part of her, her eyes shut tight, and she fucks herself harder and faster than she had before.

   “Again,” Quinn demands. Santana laughs, licking along the length of Quinn’s neck before biting harder just as she pinches Quinn’s clit between her fingers.

   Quinn gasps and her whole body goes still against Santana as she comes. Santana's quick to grab the vibrator when Quinn drops it, quickly turning off the vibrations. Quinn's coming so hard Santana can barely keep her grip on the toy but Santana buries her toy in Quinn, a strangled cry coming from the blonde.

   It's not until Quinn finds her breath again that Santana slides the toy out of her, leaving it to sit between their spread legs, that she rubs her fingers along Quinn's cunt, gathering as much of the other girl that she can. Santana brings her coated fingers to her hips and keeps her eyes locked with Quinn's as she sucks her fingers clean.

Sins of My Youth (8/10)

only_because3 — Thu, 06 Sep 2012 02:39:09 GMT

Title: Sins of My Youth (8/10)
Author: only_because3
Rating: I'd say M
Pairing: Santana/Brittany, Quinn/Puck, Quinn/Santana
Word Count: 6299
Summary: "God, that's such complete bullshit, especially coming from you." Quinn pulls her hand back sharply as Santana takes in a big gulp of air to continue. "Not winning prom queen is going to make you feel even more insecure about yourself for like, ever, even though that stupid piece of plastic doesn't mean shit. Brittany is my best friend. I've known her since we were eight. She's always going to matter, more so now that she… That I'm… That." She squeezes her eyes shut, still unable to say it out loud because there is no coming back from that. She's not a Fabray, even though she has spent the entire summer thus far in their house. She can't acknowledge something and then pretend it didn't happen.
Author's Note: Look! An update! Hopefully these should be a bit more consistant as I recently got laid off BUT school also just started back up so we shall see! Anyway, I'm hoping this chapter goes over well because I was a bit iffy on how in character our ladies were towards the end. Thanks to Az for reading this over for me. Enjoy!

--

She doesn’t think she can be alone today.

   For a minute, she debates asking Quinn if she can tag along with her to work but then she finds herself reminding Quinn that she needed to tell Puck about the kid. Quinn may get the literal and metaphorical nudge if Santana went, but she realizes now that this isn’t something she can bully her way through. Quinn needs to do this herself and, well, Santana supposes she should learn how to stand firmly on her own two feet again.

   She texts her mom shortly after Quinn leaves and they make plans for dinner. She was hoping for something a little sooner but her mom is still a doctor and has to work to pay for the giant house that no one seems to live in anymore.

   Sighing, Santana slumps down on the edge of the side of the bed. There’s clothes scattered around the room but other than that, Quinn’s room is annoyingly clean. It won’t take her more than five minutes to pick up the room and god damn this is frustrating. Before Brittany cut her out, she was able to just sit in Quinn’s room all day, passing her time writing and watching shit tv. It shouldn’t be any different now.

   She decides to head over to Mitch’s as she’s getting dressed but once she’s downstairs (which is significantly cooler than upstairs), cursing filters from the kitchen.

   Judy is kneeling on the counter, all of the cabinet doors open and an array of dishes are stacked on the island. Uncharacteristically, Judy is wearing slacks instead of a dress or skirt and Santana thinks that she’s not even wearing make up. The older woman practically growls as she rips what looks like wallpaper off the bottom of the cabinet she’s in front of. “Are you okay,” Santana asks, actually feeling bad when Judy jumps a little.

   Carefully sitting down, Judy sighs. “Sorry. As I was getting ready this morning, work just seemed like an awful idea but then, so did doing nothing,” Judy explains, balling up the ruined paper. “So I decided to re-line the shelves since they’ve been the same since we moved in and you know what I remembered?” Santana shakes her head even though she’s 75% sure that was a rhetorical question. “I can’t line shelves to save my life.” Judy kind of laughs then and hops down. “It’s too fucking difficult.” Santana’s eyes widen and Judy picks up a stack of plates; the plain white square ones that she uses on a regular basis. “I told Russell that we needed to slow things down last night.”

   She falls in line next to Judy, grabbing the bowls from the counter and sets them to the right of the plates. “What’d he say?”

   Judy picks up one of the glasses, the bottoms square to match the rest of the dishware, and uses the end of her blouse to buff out a smudge on the rim. “He hung up on me,” she announces almost proudly and when Santana looks at the older woman, Judy wears a smile. “He called me back at one in the morning and apologized. I don’t think he’s ever apologized to me.”

   Santana takes the cup, starting a straight line as best she can with the cups Judy passes to her. “You didn’t really waste any time after our talk,” Santana says evenly and Judy shakes her head like she’s unaware of the way Santana’s inspecting her.

   “We’d been talking for nearly an hour and not once did he bring up Quinn.” Judy’s hand finds purchase on her hip, now simply watching as Santana continues to put the contents of the cupboard back. “I spent half the night worrying if I should go in and talk to my daughter and the only thing he was worried about was when he’d see me next.” Judy sighs and rubs her temple. Santana notices that the wedding ring she spotted the day before has already disappeared from Judy’s slender fingers. “For the first time, that didn’t sit well with me.”

   Santana nods and closes the cupboard that is once again filled with pristine dishes. “And after he apologized for hanging up on you?”

   “We fought some more.” Judy’s voice remains upbeat and Santana thinks Judy’s missing the point of standing up for herself.

   Santana hops on to the counter where Judy had been when she first walked in. “So...” Judy stares at her like some sort of show dog and Santana sighs. “Is this just going to be a cycle? You’ve done this once before, right after Quinn gave-”

   Judy shakes her head, body rigid as she puts her hands up. “No,” bursts out of Judy’s mouth and Santana moves around the kitchen, closing everything so it not longer looks like Paranormal Activity 2.

   “God damn Fabray women,” Santana mutters under her breath. She rounds the island, holding her head in her hands as she stares at Judy, whose smile finally slips. “I’m glad you stood up to Russell.”

   Judy’s cheeks twitch. “But I still don’t know what I’m doing.” Santana nods and Judy sighs, picking up her mug and walking over to the coffee pot.

   “You can’t even bring up the-”

   “I know,” Judy shouts, Santana’s eyes widening. “I’m sorry but… Please, just don’t.”

   “You guys have got to stop ignoring shit.”

   Judy pours herself coffee, dark liquid splashing over the rim. Santana can see the steam floating from the cup and when the coffee hits Judy’s fingers it should hurt her, but the blonde doesn’t even flinch. “After I gave birth to Quinn’s sister, I spoke to a therapist.” Santana stays quiet while Judy sips her coffee. It surprises her that Judy takes it black. “Russell didn’t like it at all but I was suffering from post partum and I couldn’t medicate.” Santana runs her hand through her hair, bites the inside of her cheek to stop herself from something bitchy. “I only went a few times but it helped… Maybe it could help now.”

   Judy looks to Santana for confirmation and, god, Santana didn’t realize that she was going to be the adult of the house when she started shacking up here. “What do you have to lose?”

   “Russell and Quinn won’t like it,” Judy says as she drums her nails on the ceramic cup.

   The clock above the sink reads 10 and she knows if she doesn’t leave soon, she’ll melt before she gets to Mitch’s. “I’m going to have dinner with my mom tonight so maybe you should try talking to Quinn then,” Santana throws out there as she stands up.

   “You don’t want to be here for the show,” Judy teases and Santana rolls her eyes before giving Judy a small smile.

   “Good luck.”

--

   Puck comes in not too long after Santana texts her saying she’s actually going home for the night. “You okay,” he asks when he finds her sunk into a beanbag chair in the kids section.

   She nods, giving him a small smile as he sits down next to her. “Just a lot of stuff happened.”

   “Want to talk about it?” He pulls Goodnight Moon from the bookshelf next to him, flipping through the cardboard pages once she shakes her head.

   They slip into the routine that’s been established over the past few weeks. They talk about mostly everything as they move around the store and she smiles a lot more than she has in a while. Santana’s voice is in the back of her head though, telling her that this isn’t right, but how is she supposed to give this up? It’s been so long since she felt something close to happiness. She knows it’s selfish as hell but-

   A woman walks into the shop with a toddler on her hip and Puck stops mid-sentence when he sees them. “If you need anything, let me know,” Quinn greets from behind the desk. She feels that phantom flutter again, low in her belly, and she pushes herself flush against the wood, creating different pressure points to try and confuse her body. It’s quiet between them, uncomfortable so, and she turns the radio up a little louder. She can still hear the kid babbling to it’s mother down one of the aisles and it freezes her up. Puck’s watching her as he continues, slowly, sorting the books. She closes her eyes. “Why didn’t you see her without me?”

   He takes one of her hands in his, more careful with her than he’s been in a long time. He would’ve treated Beth with the utmost tenderness. Suddenly guilt starts weighing her down. “I tried,” he answers honestly. She opens her eyes just in time to see him shrug. “It’s scary alone.” She nods, even though she’d use a much stronger word than scary. “Didn’t feel right without you.” Those words nip at her and she almost tells him then.

    'Wonderful Tonight' starts playing on the radio as Puck flattens her hand with his. She squeezes his hand, trying to force words passed the lump in her throat, but he walks around the cart of books he’s been going through, their clasped hands in the air. “Remember when you’d let me do this?”

   She smirks, his arm wrapping around her waist. “Begrudgingly,” she answers as she places her free hand on his shoulder.

   “You always pretended it annoyed you,” he comments, pulling away just enough to spin her.

   “Sometimes it did. I would be trying to do homework and you’d want me to dance.”

   “S’cause that’s one of the only times you’d actually smile.”

   She goes a little stiff in his arms but lets him pull her close. Quinn clears her throat. “Wasn’t able to get this close before.” Puck shakes his head, his hand patting her skirt just above her ass. “You should go see her,” she whispers, ducking her head underneath his chin.

   She feels him move underneath her. “Will you come with me?” His voice cracks just so and the song ends, moving on to a commercial for the drive in on the edge of town.

   She wonders if she’ll ever be able to not let him down.

   She turns around, lowering the radio before repining her hair, just to keep her hands busy. “I can’t.”

   Crying comes from one of the aisles and, haggard, the mom darts towards the door as she rubs the baby’s back.

--

   She’s prepared to disappear upstairs as soon as she gets home. Her mom, however, is coming out of the living room as Quinn walks through the door, the kitchen timer keeping loudly. “I hope you didn’t make a lot,” Quinn says as she tosses her keys into the bowl in the hall. “Santana wo-”

   “I know,” Judy cuts in, hand careful ling checking to make sure her hair is pulled back smoothly. “I thought we could eat at the table tonight.” Quinn looks over at the formal dining set and shakes her head. She hasn’t sat at the table in over a year and she doesn’t think she’ll start now. “I’d really like to eat together, Quinn.”

   Her attention snaps back to her mom, the beeping getting louder. “We can eat at the island.” The smile on her mom’s face is too hopeful. “I’m going to take a quick shower.”

   “Come down after. Everything should be done then,” Judy calls out as she takes off to the kitchen.”

--

   Normally she wouldn’t bother putting make up on but she can’t remember the last time she ate alone with her mother and a perfect face is the best shield she’ll get right now.

   Judy’s all ready set two places at the island, some sort of casserole in front of the plate, rice and beans in a side dish. Their glasses are empty but Quinn can see the print of her mother’s lips along the rim of her wine glass.

   “What’d you like to drink,” Judy asks from inside the fridge.

   Quinn hesitantly sits down. “Just water.” She moves her place setting and chair away from her mom just a little bit more.

   Her mom fills their cups with water before finally settling down next to Quinn. “I saw this recipe a little while back but never got around to trying it,” Judy explains as she cuts out a decent size square and slides it on to Quinn’s plate. “It’s kind of a deconstructed enchilada dish.”

   Quinn pokes at the square, pulling a little bit of cheese off the top. Her mom continues talking about nothing Quinn cares about. She waits until her mom has filled their plates before she sets her fork down. “What is all this?”

   Her mom stops mid sentence. She smoothes out the napkin in her lap before turning in her seat to look at Quinn for the first time since she sat down. Simply, Judy answers, “Dinner.” Quinn can’t stop the way her eyes narrow and her mom swallows audibly. “We need to talk.”

   Quinn stabs at the casserole on her plate. “We’re not the type of family that does that.”

   “Maybe we should be.” Quinn glances at her mom and though Judy looks calm, her knuckles are white around her glass. “I want us all to go counseling.”

   Quinn’s shaking her head before Judy even finishes the sentence. “Absolutely not.”

   Her mom quirks an eyebrow. “That’s exactly what your father said.”

   “Well I did used to be his favorite before he decided I didn’t exist,” Quinn spits, pushing away from the counter.

   “Obviously that’s something that needs to be discussed. A lot of things need to be dealt with so that-”

   “So that what? We can pretend that we’re a big happy family until Daddy cheats on you again and you slip back into drinking two bottles of wine a day?” Judy tries to catch her hand but Quinn puts her arms up. “And I spend the next year worrying that anything I do will get me kicked out? God, you’ll probably send me back to church.”

   “What do you want then, Quinn?” Her mother’s voice is loud and upset but surprisingly not angry. Judy throws her napkin on her plate before turning in her seat so she can look Quinn in the eye. Judy folds her hands in her lap, her breathing a little ragged. “Is continuing on like we have been preferable to you? I’m trying to fix things but it seems like you’re content with blaming me for the rest of your life.” There’s bite in her words and Quinn fists her hands at her side as she takes another step away from her mother.

   She still has to live another year in this house, one more year until she can get out of this stupid town, and so she bites down on her tongue until she tastes blood. She will not say what she wants because the fear of getting thrown out of this house again stands next to her like a shadow.

   Judy takes a breath, sagging in her chair. “Just go once. Please.”

   Quinn can feel herself shaking her head before she realizes it and Judy runs a hand through her hair, ruining her perfect French twist. “If he’s going to be there…” Quinn wraps her arms around her waist. “No.” She feels nauseous and she wishes that there was a better escape than an empty room upstairs, a better escape outside of Lima.

   “If your father doesn’t go,” Judy asks and Quinn doesn’t know what to do other than shrug.

   “I need to just…” She closes her eyes and feels like screaming. “I’m going upstairs.”

   “Qu-”

   “Give. Me. Time,” she grits out, not once pausing when she finally turns to leave the room.

--

   Santana expects no one to be at her house when she finally gets there around 4. It’s why she puts on a new record (though it’s not really new because it’s Tragic Kingdom) and turns the volume up. She can feel the music under her skin, allowing her to smile for the first time in days. But then, just before Spiderwebs breaks into the chorus, the sound cuts out, replaced with, “Hey there, Boo Boo, Surprised to see you here.”

   She tucks the pack of cigarettes she was fishing out from between her mattresses back, turning around with a smile. “I’d say the same to you, Dad. I thought you’d still be at work.”

   He shakes his head, slipping his hands into the pockets on his slacks. “Your mom told me you were joining us for dinner tonight. Seemed like a good enough excuse to get off early. I feel like I haven’t seen you all summer, mija.”

   “S’cause you haven’t.” She doesn’t say it to be cruel, she actually doesn’t care that her parents work insane hours because it keeps her safe, but she watches guilt fill her father’s eyes anyway. “It’s okay, Dad.”

   He sighs, shaking his head the tiniest bit, before rolling back his shoulders. “Let’s go catch a movie. By the time we’re out, your mom can join us for dinner.”

   Movies put the perfect amount of distance between them (allows her time with her father but leaves no room for questions and lies). “Only if we can get popcorn.”

--

   Dinner is not eaten in near silence like it is at Quinn’s. Instead, almost everything that’s said is used as fuel for an argument that feels like it’s lasted Santana’s entire life. It’s so rare that the three of them are actually together that she hasn’t built up a tolerance; Their words don’t turn into white noise and she hears every bitchy comment loud and clear.

   Santana stabs a crouton and a leaf of lettuce when her mom slams her glass on the table. Phyllis, who is undoubtedly Santana’s favorite waitress, starts to walk over to check on them but Santana smiles, subtly shaking her head. She doesn’t want to create an even bigger scene.

   Her father huffs and tosses his napkin on the table before pushing back his chair. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

   Her mother rolls her eyes and clears her throat. “Never should’ve told him about our dinner plans,” Mrs. Lopez mutters. “But then I never would’ve heard the end of that.” Even though Santana’s fairly sure her father isn’t done with his salad, her mother stacks her empty plate on top of his and passes them to Phyllis when she passes. “Are you not friends with Brittany anymore, mija?” Santana takes a long drink from her water to avoid the question. “I only ask because, well, you don’t normally like Quinn.”

   “I like Quinn,” she answers but her mother raises a questioning brow. “She wasn’t my favorite person but…” Santana shrugs. Quinn is her friend now, she just can’t explain to her mother how exactly that happened. She’s not entirely sure she could explain it if she wanted to anyway.

   Her mother puts her hands up to show no ill will and then looks over her shoulder for Mr. Lopez. “I like Quinn more anyway,” her mother says casually and Santana realizes very quickly that Mrs. Lopez is purposely not holding eye contact with her. “She’s more up to par…”

   Santana fists her hands around her napkin. “Brittany’s not stupid.”

   Mrs. Lopez looks at her finally, eyes wide. “No, she’s not. But Quinn is better suited-”

   “Mom,” Santana barks and she tries not to notice the few heads that turn, once again, to look at their table. “Stop talking about Brittany.”

   “Mija, I was just saying.” Her mother uses the same tone she uses when she speaks to Mr. Lopez. “There is no need to get so snippy.”

   Santana rolls her eyes. Her father returns to the table and she turns almost completely away from her mother. “Do you think we could fit in another movie before I go back to school,” she asks and a smile spreads beneath his graying moustache.

   “Of course, Boo Boo. You gotta let me know ahead of time though.” She nods as Phyllis sets their plates down. Santana glances over to where her mother is obviously pouting. Mrs. Lopez looks at her food with disgust but then something flashes across her eyes.

   “Did your sister call you today?”

   Her father’s fork slips from his hand and he instantly starts murmuring in Spanish the way he used to when she was in trouble as a child. “Can you believe it,” he shouts, his face flushed when he finally looks up.

   Her mother puts her hand on his arm, ushering him to lower his voice. “I told you that no teenage boy is that nice without a secret or two.”

   Santana blinks between the two, cautiously nibbling on a breadstick. “What happened?”

   “It’s so disgusting,” Mr. Lopez spits and her mother nods.

   “Aunt Maria caught John with a boy from his basketball team.” Santana snaps the breadstick in two, her stomach lurching. “His hand was-” Her mother stops short and shakes her head, hand going to her throat. “I can’t even say it.”

   Santana drops the breadstick on her plate and then wipes her sweaty hands on her jeans. “What-” Her father starts to lean across the table when her voice cracks but she scoots back before he can touch her. “What did she do?”

   “Kicked his ass out,” her father says, almost proud. “She couldn’t let him keep sharking a room with Gabriel.” Mr. Lopez scoffs, running his hand over his hair. “Could you imagine what John could’ve been telling him? Could’ve been doing?”

   Mrs. Lopez clucks her tongue. “John wouldn’t touch his brother,” she asserts but that’s the only thing she deems needing correction.

   Everything starts fading out then. Her father keeps talking about how utterly revolting his own flesh and blood is, her mother nodding her head in agreement. John is 16 and even though they have a lot of family in Lima, none of them would take him in, not now. “I shouldn’t have brought this up during dinner,” her mother says amidst the vile coming from Mr. Lopez’s mouth. “We’ve all lost our appetites.” She motions to Santana’s barely touched plate before pushing her own away.

   Santana can’t breathe but she doesn’t gasp, doesn’t leave, just succumbs to this drowning until Phyllis comes over to their table. “Is everything okay,” she asks and her father doesn’t even shut up then, just lowers his voice even more.

   “Could we get some boxes,” her mother asks politely and Santana is surprised she makes it to the bathroom to throw up.

--

   Santana isn’t smiling when she opens Quinn’s bathroom door. Quinn looks up, her hands still pulling her hair up into a bun on top of her head. Santana stares at her for a moment before pulling off her shirt and kicking off her flip flops. It’s kind of weird seeing Santana so dressed down, in things that are loose and relaxed, and not something that molds to every curve of her body, but Santana has always been respectful when it comes to her parents and that means not dressing like she normally does in their presence. Santana unbuttons her jeans and shoves them to her feet, stepping out of them as she reaches around and unhooks her bra.

   Quinn finds Santana’s relationship with her parents odd. Santana’s sort of always kept them at arms length which was for the best, Quinn guesses, because they worked so much, but close at the same time. Quinn’s never seen both of Santana’s parents at the same time but she has witnessed real conversations in the Lopez family and more love than Quinn thought could exist in a family.

   She bends her legs and Santana slides open the glass doors, stepping into the tub. Quinn gnaws on the inside of her cheek, debating if she should even ask why Santana’s here, but instead just watches her friend sink into the water, keeping her own legs close to her. “My mom left you a plate in the fridge,” Quinn says neutrally, picking up the book she had set down to pull her hair up.

   “What’d you have?” Santana’s voice is rough and strained, not bitchy or cocky like it normally is. Quinn’s eyes flick to Santana’s over the top of her book, noting that they’re neither glazed over or red.

   “Some sort of casserole.” Santana runs a hand through her hair and Quinn bookmarks her page before tossing the book back down, this time near Santana’s discarded jeans, when she notices that Santana’s hand is shaking.

   “You ate didn’t you? How do you not know what kind of casserole it was?” Santana’s eyebrow is arched and Quinn’s never really considered it before, but she thinks she might have learned that from her. When Quinn was transforming herself into Quinn, she found herself copycatting different people. Copied her mother, her sister, other girls she’d see at the mall who she assumed were popular and obviously pretty. She watched ‘Mean Girls’ and clearly took away the wrong message, but at 14, she knew that while it was a realistic depiction of high school life, the ending was complete bullshit.

   When she first met Santana at cheer camp the summer before freshmen year, Quinn recognized her as a threat to the new persona she created. Santana was pretty and secure and clearly someone looking to be in charge. She remembers Santana, with her eyebrow arched and arms folded harshly across her chest while Brittany introduced them, and how she frightened and intrigued Quinn at the same time. Lucy would’ve stayed in her place among the other faceless fat girls who somehow made it on to Sylvester’s squad at the mere sight of that eyebrow. Quinn, however, rolled her shoulders and somehow put Santana in her place over the course of six weeks. And maybe even stole that eyebrow thing along the way.

   Quinn shrugs. “I didn’t really eat it,” she admits, sinking lower into the water. “My mom asked me to go to therapy with her and Russell.”

   Santana stretches out her legs, feet running along Quinn’s hips when they’re fully extended. The tub isn’t big by any means, and she’s glad that it keeps Santana closer to her without making her seem too concerned. “Yeah, I gave your mom the head’s up that I’d be gone.” Santana licks her lips. “How’d it go?”

   “Did you see my mom when you came in,” she asks and Santana dips her head. Quinn’s hands find Santana’s shins under the soapy water. “Fiction.”

   Santana lets out a heavy sigh and Quinn thinks that, for once, she won’t participate in their coward’s game. But then Santana mutters, “I had a wonderful dinner with my parents.” She closes her eyes and lets her head lull against the tile wall. “Fact.”

   Quinn bites her bottom lip, taking in all of Santana she can see. She can only see from the ribs up, and her eyes trail the pink scar tissue that’s still visible between Santana’s chest. Santana isn’t as insecure about her scars as Quinn is about hers, since hers are attached to new, bigger boobs and Quinn’s are on a stomach that won’t go flat. “Your boobs look nice.” Santana’s eyes open immediately and Quinn can’t fight the small smile she gets when Santana manages to smirk a little bit.

   “My boobs are always amazing.” Her voice kind of cracks again and Quinn squeezes the skin beneath her fingertips. “Dinner was okay. Probably a lot better than any dinner you’ve hand with Judy but…” She lets out a heavy sigh and shakes her head. “I guess my cousin John is gay too.”

   Quinn drags her nails along Santana’s tan skin. “I’m guessing your parents weren’t very fond of that.”

   Santana scoffs and ducks her head again. “I’ve never heard my father speak like that before.” Quinn tugs on Santana’s legs, silently urging her to come closer, but Santana shakes her head. “No. It’s fine. I’m sure you had a worse night and you shouldn’t be deflecting or whatever the fuck it is you’re doing now.”

   “Shut up,” Quinn says, punctuating her words with a slap against Santana’s knees. “If you want we can talk about my horrible dinner but I think you need this more.” Santana rolls her eyes but this time when Quinn leans forward, Santana lets Quinn take her shaking hands and pull her, more or less, in her lap.

   “If you wanted to fuck me again, all you had to do was ask.” Quinn swats her again but this time on Santana’s ass. “Wanky.”

   “Are you close with your cousin,” Quinn asks, trying to ignore the way Santana’s eyes are starting to gloss over.

   She shakes her head. “Not at all. We make awkward conversation at family gatherings. I don’t even have his cell phone num-” Santana’s words lodge in her throat and even though she doesn’t cry, her legs wrap tightly around Quinn. “My aunt kicked him out and I can’t stop thinking about the fact that this kid is out there, roaming Lima without anywhere to go… And how that kid could be me.” She thinks about lying, about assuring Santana that her cousin is fine, but Quinn knows no better than her. Santana brings her hands up to cover her face, fingertips digging into her eyes in a way that must hurt, and just when Quinn decides she has to do something (be it say something or simply pull Santana’s hands away), Santana shakes her head, her hands falling back into the water with a splash. “I think therapy could be good for you guys.”

   “Unlikely. I can barely say what’s in my head to you and you expect me to share that with a stranger and my parents?”

   Quinn shakes her head as she stretches, pulling her arms over her head and a few drops of water fall on to Santana’s face. A single droplet catches along the side of Santana’s nose and it travels down to her lips where Santana catches it with her tongue. Santana is still shaking and Quinn thinks of bringing her closer; Right now there is still plenty of space between them and though she really just wants to hold Santana the way she was held yesterday in the very same shower, her mind thinks about what it’d be like to be pressed against Santana like that. She’s had sex with two people now but she never embraced either of them in such an intimate way. The only other person who comes close is the child that came from her body and that only serves to scare her away from holding another person like that.

   Santana slides her arms around Quinn’s neck once Quinn’s hands return to Santana’s waist. “Bargain with Judy. Maybe if you have some one on one with a shrink first, she’ll… I don’t know. Make sure Russell stays out of your group sessions for a bit?”

   “I’ll think about it,” Quinn answers as Santana slides a little closer until there is no space between them and Quinn can feel slick skin against hers.

   “Are you okay with this?” Santana’s eyes flick down to where their chests press together. It almost seems like an out of body experience; Quinn knows those are her breasts but then there are others there too, hard nipples and firmer, tanner flesh pressed against them, and this is never anything she thought she’d see. Quinn notices Santana chewing on the inside of her lip. Nodding, Quinn wraps her arms tightly around Santana and she feels the brunette exhale against her shoulder. “I’m really surprised this isn’t weird for you.” Santana is silent for a beat before she says, “But then again, you really surprised me when you fucked me so I guess this should be like seeing a cross around your neck.” Quinn knuckle punches Santana just below her ribs and Santana yelps, slapping Quinn’s shoulders. “Ow, you bitch! You know I had a shitty day and then you abuse me?”

   “We both had crappy days and you’re ruining whatever semblance of a moment we were having.”

   Santana rolls her eyes before pushing herself away from Quinn. She stands up then and, naturally, laughs when she notices Quinn’s blushing. “You seemed pretty eager to have your face down there a few days ago,” Santana says, hands falling to her hips as she smirks down at Quinn.

   Quinn’s eyebrows drop but she continues to stare at Santana’s face rather than what’s directly in front of her. “If I didn’t think you’d enjoy it, I’d twat swat you right now.” Santana snorts as she steps out of the tub, sidestepping Quinn’s book at the last second.

   “I never thought I’d hear you say twat.” Santana digs underneath the sink before pulling out a spare towel. “And you didn’t even think twice about smacking my ass earlier and I can tell you that I certainly like that.”

   Quinn watches as Santana dries off her torso before toweling off her legs. She’s stopped shaking and the tears Quinn was terrified would fall retreated before Santana even stood up. But Santana still chews on the inside of her lip and it’s bugging Quinn more than she thought it would. “Do you want to drink tonight?”

   “I figured I’d save getting wasted on a Tuesday till college,” Santana answers, tossing Quinn the towel when she stands up.

   Santana goes about the bathroom, pulling out a wet cloth to remove her make up and then fishing a hair tie out of the pocket of her jeans. Quinn simply watches with the towel tucked around her and it’s not until Santana looks at her questioningly that she asks, “Do you want to have sex?”

   She’s not sure if it surprises her or not that Santana doesn’t even flinch once the question leaves her mouth. “With you?” Quinn’s shoulders drop just enough for Santana’s eyes to widen. “Oh god, I only asked because we said we weren’t going to do that again. Please don’t get a complex.”

   Quinn sits down on the toilet and picks up Santana’s clothes, folding them on her lap. “I slept with you because I wanted to make you feel better and you still seem… off. And I know that booze and sex help you the most.” She glances at Santana who is simply staring at her and Quinn drops the stack of clothes on to the counter. “Forget it.”

   “Having sex with a friend is what got me feeling so shitty,” Santana says when Quinn stands up.

   “It was a stupid suggestion.” Quinn smiles a bit when Santana looks at her and pulls her hair out of its bun. “Come on. We’ll watch bad reality tv like normal people.”

--

   She doesn’t know what time it is but she’s been laying in complete silence since Quinn turned off the tv a while ago. Quinn hasn’t moved next to her but her breathing hasn’t fallen into the pattern Santana’s grown accustom to over the past few months.

   What happened at dinner tonight is not what’s keeping her up, she knows that. Her parents didn’t surprise her in the least bit and, yes, she’s mildly worried about her cousin. But she knows that he’s likely already figured some where out to go and that, if need be, she could give herself peace of mind with a call to CPS the next morning.

   Quinn’s fingers flex against her stomach and Santana looks over at her. They barely said anything once they collapsed on Quinn’s bed. It feels like a step back and she sighs loud enough for Quinn to peek open an eye. “Are we okay?”

   Sleepily, Quinn murmurs, “You ask that too much,” before rolling away from Santana.

   “That’s because we fuck up like crazy,” Santana says, fingers wrapping around Quinn’s elbow. “I’ll have sex with you.”

   “Don’t sound so excited,” Quinn drawls. “I don’t have to sleep with you, Santana.”

   Santana pulls Quinn’s arm but the bitch stays rooted to her spot. “Look,” Santana starts, straddling Quinn’s hip. The blonde lightly punches her in the stomach but Santana catches her hand. “Do you want me to say that I’ll fuck you? Because, yes, we’re friends, but in case you haven’t looked in a mirror, you’re insanely hot. No, you’re gorgeous. Having sex with you will not be a chore. But we’re also all we have, Quinn. I can’t lose you.” Quinn rolls so that she’s flat on her back but Santana stays where she’s at, eyeing Santana carefully. She feels like she’s being inspected and, god, she hates that she can’t read Quinn. “So if you honestly think that we can do this like Puck and I used to, then we can. But you have to fucking promise me that this won’t get weird.”

   Quinn stays silent before the corner of her lips quirk up just a bit. “That sounded like a more vulgar version of a speech from ‘A Walk to Remember’.”

   Santana pinches Quinn’s side. “I’m being serious, ass!”

   Quinn laughs a little and pushes Santana off her. “We don’t have to have sex.” Quinn lets out a breath. “It was a bright spot,” she says quietly, burrowing her face into her pillow. “That’s all.”

   Quinn goes to roll away from her again but this time she stops when Santana hooks her hand underneath the strap of her tank top. She can’t think of anything else to do right now and so she kisses Quinn, running her tongue lightly over Quinn’s lip. She intends to leave it as that, intends to roll over and actually try to sleep now, but instead she finds her hands tangling in blonde hair that’s different but not new, her leg fitting between creamy thighs she’s never experienced.

ONESHOT: something more this time (than sweet sweet lies)

only_because3 — Wed, 08 Aug 2012 20:38:24 GMT

Title: something more this time (than sweet sweet lies)
Author: only_because3
Rating: M
Word count:1681
Summary: There’s a picture of them from before in her locker (she ignores the fact that she’s unnoticeably pregnant) and, no, saying thank you to Finn Hudson isn’t enough, not when he has been so good to her for so long.
Author's Note: So I've literally had this idea in my head ever since season 2. The Finn/Quinn hallway scene near the end of 'Born This Way' spoke volumes to me and I just always thought that Quinn had to have at least thrown him a handjob after what he says to her. So that's this story! Enjoy!

--

“I think this is the first picture you can actually see her.”

   She crumbles in on herself when he says that.

   Her mask, the one she wears practically 24/7, the one that makes everyone believe that she’s confident, beautiful, and fine, slips just a little. (She’ll wonder for the rest of the day if Finn realized then, at that very moment, he was getting only his second look at the real Quinn.) Emotions swell in her head and in her heart; it’s simultaneously nauseating and amazing to her that she is still capable of feeling so much when she thought that she would feel numb for the rest of her life.

   She thinks of doing things that happens only in movies but she’s already made a fool of herself enough today and, after all, Quinn isn’t one to make a spectacle of herself.

   She cups his cheek and kisses him instead, trying to pour everything she has into this one small gesture. “Thank you,” she whispers but it doesn’t feel like enough. Finn smiles at her, that smile that’s always made her knees a little weak, had made her freshmen self set her sights on making him hers. If he were to tell her at the very moment that he loves her, she would believe him without a shadow of a doubt.

   “I’ll see you in Glee.” He pulls away after she nods and she suppresses the urge to clutch to him, wrap herself in him entirely. It’s disgusting to feel so dependent on him but this irrational fear has developed inside her that if he leaves, she’ll go back to feeling nothing. He squeezes her hip firmly, nods just slightly himself, and when she finally turns back down the hall, she sucks in a breath.

   There’s a picture of them from before in her locker (she ignores the fact that she’s unnoticeably pregnant) and, no, saying thank you to Finn Hudson isn’t enough, not when he has been so good to her for so long.

--

   She has him drive out to where there is next to nothing instead of taking her home after school.

   They don’t say anything at all as they drive even though Quinn can feel words building up in her throat. Humiliating memories about Lucy, stories about Quinn that will do little to prove she’s not the same girl she was when she was 12. There’s a lot of things she could say, she knows there are things she should say, but she can still hear her parents in the back of her head. Fabrays did not air their dirty laundry to anyone.

   She sighs as Finn takes a left onto a dirt road, the unpaved road causing them to bounce in their seats. They drive until they read the turn off, Finn parking behind the abandoned barn so that Mrs. Hollings can’t see them from her house half a mile up the road. Unbuckling before he can even turn off the truck, Quinn slides across the bench, her head finding purchase on Finn’s shoulder. Her hands lace against his arm, her skirt folding instead of fanning out when she folds her legs on the seat.

   Finn picks at the fabrics, gingerly spreading the skirt flat. “Don’t want it to wrinkle or anything.” he mumbles, smiling sheepishly when she looks up at him, her eyebrow quirked. She smiles back at him, her cheeks stretching in a way that she doesn’t think they have since freshmen year when everything was normal and it’s silent for just a moment before Finn starts talking.

   He tells her about the time Mrs. Hollings caught him and Puck out here. She’s always had a love/hate relationship with this part of Finn. Silence makes him uncomfortable while she relishes it. There have been so many moments during they’re relationship where she’s wanted it quiet and he’s always started telling some pointless, random story just as she’s about to feel at peace. But then there are times like this, when silence isn’t something she wants but a real conversation isn’t something she can take either, and Quinn is suddenly thankful for Finn’s never ceasing mind.

   “She was waving her shotgun around like a maniac,” he laughs, shaking his head. “And I swore the board I was balancing on was gonna snap. There was literally one nail holding it up on one end.” Quinn closes her eyes, imagining Finn’s lanky, uncoordinated form snaking up to the hayloft in a hurry and laughs just as ungraceful as Finn looks in her head.

   Finn reaches up, moving the rearview mirror down so that he can see her face plainly. “She had to have seen the both you,” Quinn comments before he can say anything more.

   He looks like he might compliment her, or worse, turn the conversation to Lucy, but he instead just cracks a small smile. “She’s blind in one eye and has that cat thing in the other,” he explains. “She did shoot at Puck though when he was in the tree.”

   Quinn’s face screws up. “I thought he was in the hayloft with you.”

   “Yeah, after she shot at him. He jumped from the branch he was on through that window.” He points at the wide window on the side of the barn, the glass broken and missing completely on one side. “I bet if we were to go up there, Puck’s beer can that he was holding when he jumped would still be there.” Quinn rolls her eyes because, of course, Puck would keep the beer. Finn squeezes her shoulder and meets her eyes. “Hey, he made that jump one handed. You have to admit, that’s impressive. I mean, look at the space between the tree and window!”

   She shakes her head, her hands falling against his thigh. She says a few more words here and there while he finishes the story but otherwise stays silent, just listening to the excitement in his voice. The story ends like most Finn and Puck stories do, with the two narrowly getting away and ending back at the Hudson household where Carol makes them brownies and Finn surprisingly stays quiet once his story is over. He just smiles at her with that damn boyish grin she loves and it just reaffirms her decision.

   There is no pretense for what she does. She pulls her legs underneath her (tries to ignore the fact that she’s done this once before, with a boy she never should’ve touched in the first place), his hands coming to rest on her hips like it’s still second nature to him. She can feel them relax into one another and when he tilts his head to kiss her, she sighs against his lips, a smile threatening to erupt on her face. She licks her lips and when he finally kisses her, he bites down on her bottom lip, his arms starting to wrap around her waist. He stops when her arms snakes between them, biting down harder when he feels her hand find the zipper on his jeans.

   He tears away from her lips, his hand going to sit on hers. “Quinn-”

   “Shut up.” She pulls down his zipper. He’s soft under her touch and she tries to kiss him again but his head falls to her chest the moment she cups his balls. He groans and his dick twitches against her. “Unbutton your pants,” she instructs, the teeth of his zipper scraping along her hand as she pulls away from him. He does it slower than she expected but then she notices him staring at her as she licks the length of her hand. She spits into her palm. It’s disgusting but necessary and Finn grips his dick through his boxers when she does so. She bats his hand away with her dry hand and then pulls back his boxers, squeezing her thighs together when she sees his hardening cock against his thigh. She wraps her hand around the base of his dick, her grip firm as she strokes him once. Her thumb swirls over the tip of his dick and she can feel an evil grin stretch her lips when his hips buck up into her hand.

   She sticks to short, half strokes, her grip tightening just so around the head of his cock until he’s completely hard in her hand. His breath is wetting the skin on her neck, his fingers digging into her hip almost painfully. He pulls her closer to him and she drapes her free arm around his neck, his head falling to her collarbone. He drags his lips along her exposed skin so softly that a shiver runs through her entire body. She feels it in the tips of her toes, all the way up to her scalp, like a thousand little pinpricks reminding her that she’s here, in this moment, giving this boy back just a little bit of all that he’s given her.

   Precum starts to run down his cock and it adds just enough moisture to let her pump him faster. Her name comes out garbled just before a wet, open mouthed kiss burns the skin over her heart and she twists her wrist just so halfway through the next stroke. His hips jump again and she can’t help the laugh that escapes her. “I’m gonna-” His words die in his throat and his hand wraps around hers. It only takes two more strokes before warm, thick liquid coats her fingers. She drops a kiss on top of his head as he gasps, pumping him slowly until he’s given all he can and pushes her hand away. “What,” he breathes out, shaking his head before he looks up at her. His face is red and a little sweaty, his hair mused. “Thanks.”

   She smiles softly, tries to fix his hair as he fumbles beneath her, apologizing about the mess in their hands. “It’s okay,” she says, her voice small. “Good?”

   He looks up at her like she’s insane. “Great.”

   She exhales with her whole body and presses her body against his again.

Sins of My Youth (7/10)

only_because3 — Tue, 17 Jul 2012 04:05:45 GMT

Title: Sins of My Youth (7/10)
Author: only_because3
Rating: I'd say M
Pairing: Santana/Brittany, Quinn/Puck, Quinn/Santana
Word Count: 3984
Summary: "God, that's such complete bullshit, especially coming from you." Quinn pulls her hand back sharply as Santana takes in a big gulp of air to continue. "Not winning prom queen is going to make you feel even more insecure about yourself for like, ever, even though that stupid piece of plastic doesn't mean shit. Brittany is my best friend. I've known her since we were eight. She's always going to matter, more so now that she… That I'm… That." She squeezes her eyes shut, still unable to say it out loud because there is no coming back from that. She's not a Fabray, even though she has spent the entire summer thus far in their house. She can't acknowledge something and then pretend it didn't happen.
Author's Note: SORRY! Life had taken over for a while and I've actually been seriously working on my novel after I finished my epic fic. This was going to be a bit longer but I think this can stand on its own and, frankly, I owe you all an update! Enjoy!

--

“Sometimes it was just the two of us, like it’d always been and I suddenly remembered how to breathe again… Just me and my baby which was all I’d ever need… All I had.” Santana doesn’t get up from the floor, her finger outlining the curve of Beth’s smile in the picture and Quinn’s hand twitches against her stomach. “I never should have gone over there… It hurts so much more now than it did during those first three days without her.”

   Santana puts the picture back in the box, plucking Quinn’s hospital bracelet from the hidden memories. “Why did you go over there?”

   “She was mine,” Quinn states and Santana blinks. Once upon a time, she thought she had someone like that. Brittany was hers right? At some point or another, it’d just been them, like all those stolen afternoons at Mitch’s.

   She supposes was is the word they both should be paying attention to. Or maybe they shouldn’t have ever thought they had the right to anyone else.

   Santana slips her hand into Quinn’s hospital bracelet before she gathers up the rest of the pictures and tucks them back in the box. “It’s not really easy to pretend, is it?” Quinn licks her lips, watching Santana carefully as she stands up. Quinn can still feel how scratchy the bracelet was around her wrist and the way it weighed her to the bed when Beth was taken away. “At the end of the day, we both retreat inside our dark little closets.”

   Santana scoops Quinn’s hand in hers, plastic pressing into her skin. A kiss is pressed to Quinn’s lips and just like everything else, it feels achingly familiar. Santana pulls away once they get to the bed and Quinn simply watches as he friend lays out on her side. Quinn’s hospital bracelet is the only thing Santana wears and it seems blindingly white against he tan skin. Quinn doesn’t understand how Santana can move so freely when that bracelet felt like a shackle to her. “Aren’t you going to put that back?”

   Santana shrugs, patting the sheets next to her. “I will tomorrow, that way you can’t pretend this didn’t happen.”

   Quinn quirks an eyebrow as she sits in her normal spot, fingers picking at the plastic band. “You underestimate my abilities.” Quinn reaches down to the foot of the bed and pulls the sheet over both of them before she lays down.

   Santana catches her hand again, this time lacing their fingers together. If there were anymore light, Quinn would be able to call Santana on the look she’s wearing but for now, Quinn decides it’s just shadows tricking her into thinking Santana’s scared. “Tonight never happened,” she asks. “I never made an absolute ass of myself, I don’t know that you were a mother for three months and you-” She stops herself and Quinn watches Santana squeeze her thighs together. “Why the fuck did you even do that?”

   Quinn’s fingers slip beneath the flat square where her information is typed, along with the words ‘Baby Girl Fabray’. “You were upset.” Her voice is tinier than she’d like it to be

   Santana looks up at the ceiling, shaking her head. “So you decided to explore lesbianism?”

   “Are you saying that what you and Brittany did was different?”

   Santana pulls her wrist away from Quinn, glaring at the blonde as she tries to put more space between them. “You’re a lot fucking smarter than that.”

   “I’m not going to push you on something I know you don’t want to talk about. Isn’t that something friends do?” Santana’s hand rests on her stomach and Quinn swallows hard, carefully taking Santana’s hand in hers. Santana doesn’t pull away but she doesn’t get any closer either, their hands rising and falling with each breath Santana takes. “I was just trying to take your mind off everything and maybe make you feel better. That’s all okay?”

   Santana sighs, their hands sinking into her stomach. “Okay.”

   Somehow, Quinn thinks that wasn’t the right thing to say.

--

   Quinn wakes up this time not because she’s alone in bed, but because everything feels too close. She doesn’t really know how they got like this when for months they were able to share this bed without touching. But Santana is pressed against her back and Quinn can feel the hospital bracelet pressing into her spine. Her head is sinking in to her pillow and the sheet somehow got balled up in front of her. She pushes it away violently as she realizes her arms cradle it the same way they cradled her stomach when she was pregnant, Santana jerking awake behind her.

   “Stop,” Santana pleas, clutching her forehead as she rolls on to her back. “Please just… No sudden movements.” Santana groans behind her as Quinn slinks from the bed, dropping into a heap on the floor. She rummages through Santana’s bag, ignoring the fact that the remote is digging into her ass until she finds a bottle of Aleve.

   “Is there any water next to you?” Santana just groans again before complaining about Quinn’s useless curtains. Quinn sighs and dry swallows one of the pills before taking out two for Santana. “Here,” she offers, stretching across the bed. Quinn stays sprawled out on the mattress once Santana takes the pills from her, her eyes heavy and her whole body sticky from the heat that’s swallowing Lima whole.

   There’s so much she doesn’t want to deal with right now and so Quinn focuses on the only thing she can: breathing. She breathes evenly, deeply, staring at the triangle of moles on Santana’s ribs. She briefly thinks about reaching out to trace them before remembering she touched that spot last night, when it was dark and just the two of them. Now that the sun is flooding the room, everything is clearer and different. She can feel her heart start to beat harder against her chest. “I should get ready for work,” she sighs, pushing herself on to her elbows.

   Santana peeks out from behind her arm, the hospital bracelet catching in her thick hair. Quinn can’t make out the look on her friend’s face but her heart pounds a little harder and her breath catch as Santana just continues to look at her. “He doesn’t know, does he,” Santana asks and no, Quinn can’t do this right now. Quinn pushes herself off the bed and when Santana doesn’t say anything or follow her, she feels herself breathe a little easier again.

--

   She gives Quinn five minutes purely because she’s hungover and not at all eager to deal with her own shit just yet. (Santana knows Quinn. That bitch’ll definitely bring up Brittany just to deflect.) It still vaguely smells like vomit in the bathroom and damn it, it almost makes Santana reconsider barging in because Quinn had to clean her throw up last night.

   Quinn sits, completely curled into herself, as the shower runs over her. “If you want to date him or fuck him or whatever, keeping that from him is shitty.”

   “Shut up, Santana.” Quinn’s voice is garbled, her face hidden behind the fog on the shower door, and Santana runs her fingers through her hair.

   “Clearly I shouldn’t have been so angry with Puck for making out with you and fucking the whale because this is probably even more fucked up.” She can vaguely see Quinn shaking her head and Santana crosses her arms under her chest. “Has he even seen Beth since you got rid of her?”

   Quinn gets to her feet so fast that she slips a little, but she grabs on to the shower door, and slides it open. It rattles against the other and Santana takes a step back in fear of it shattering. “I didn’t get rid of her,” Quinn screams. Santana can finally see how red Quinn’s eyes are and she’d be lying if she said that the way Quinn’s shaking wasn’t scaring her. “You have no fucking idea what it’s like to have the greatest thing ever taken from you.” Santana opens her mouth but Quinn shakes her head, reaching out to grab Santana’s wrist. “You’ve been without Brittany for what? Less than a day?”

   “Don’t fucking bring her into this,” Santana starts when Quinn’s fingers dig into her skin.

   “I love Puck, and that’s why I don’t want him to feel as shitty as I do.” Quinn looks Santana up her down, shaking her head. “Like we do.”

   Santana’s body sags. “Q…” Quinn shakes her head, shoving Santana away from her.

   “I’ve already lost my baby… I can’t lose him too.”

   She can tell that Quinn is trying the absolute hardest not to cry and Santana wonders if she should get one of Quinn’s pills to calm her down. The blonde is still shaking and she’s starting to gasp for breath. “Are you going to throw up or pass out,” Santana asks and when Quinn doesn’t respond, she steps forward, taking Quinn’s hand off the shower. “Sit down.” Quinn lets out this noise from the back of her throat (god she sounds like a kicked puppy) as Santana takes Quinn’s hands in hers. Santana steps in the tub behind Quinn, hissing when the scalding hot water hits her toes.

   “Go away please,” Quinn grits out, letting go of Santana’s hand and curling into herself again as she sits down.

   “No.” Quinn looks up at her and Santana frowns, pushing Quinn’s fading blonde hair off her face. “I’m not going anywhere, okay?” Quinn’s head drops to her knees and Santana sits down behind the blonde. She wraps her arms around Quinn, her thighs on either side of her friend and presses a kiss on the back of Quinn’s neck. “I know all you’re shit and I’m still here. You won’t lose me.”

   An ugly, wretched sob tears through Quinn’s throat and Santana has never seen Quinn cry like this before.

   She completely understands why Quinn did what she did last night. Quinn is literally breaking in her arms and Santana knows that words will fall short. She’ll say something wrong or not enough and the only other thing that Santana can think to do is hold Quinn, kiss her, make her forget…

   Quinn’s hands hold on to Santana’s forearm and bites into her flesh, releasing a scream as she cries. Santana just kisses her neck until the water goes cold and Quinn stops shaking.

--

   Santana thinks Quinn is going to have another panic attack when she tells her that she’s not letting Quinn go to work. Instead of telling Quinn that she looks like absolute shit when she complains, Santana just glares and dials Quinn’s boss for her.

   Quinn passes out shortly after that and Santana is about to do the same when the front door closes. She grabs one of Quinn’s dresses from the floor when she hears Judy’s laugh, making sure her boobs aren’t completely busting out of the top before heading downstairs.

   This time Judy and Russell are in the living room and it’s really kind of gross the way they’re looking at each other. Santana clears her throat and Judy tears her eyes away from her husband. “Oh, hello Santana.” Russell looks back at her too and she’s sure she looks absolutely ridiculous in this dress (it’s like, two sizes too small on the top and this yellow is stupidly cheerful, which is hilarious because it’s Quinn’s) but she doesn’t really give a shit about whether or not she has Russell’s approval. “Did you need something?”

   “Quinn’s home.”

   Russell coughs and Judy’s eyes widen. “But she’s supposed to be at work.”

   “She’s sick,” Santana answers simply. “She’s asleep upstairs right now.”

   Russell rolls his eyes before clearing his throat. “We can go to my apartment, Jude,” he says, reaching for her hand but Judy slaps it away.

   “Is she alright? She doesn’t have a fever does she?” She knows that Judy isn’t horrible but it’s still weird to see her act so motherly. It’s like seeing a teacher out of school.

   “She’s fine. We’ve managed all morning. I’m just letting you guys know.”

   “Thank you,” Russell says and Santana rolls her eyes.

   “Quinn doesn’t need to deal with this fuckery when she’s sick. I hope she finds out about you two as soon as possible.”

   Russell’s face turns red and Santana sees his hands flex. “You’ve been letting this piece of trash stay here?”

   “Excuse me,” Santana shouts and Judy jumps up, stepping so she’s slightly in front of Russell.

   “Both of you, please just…” Judy shakes her head and, no, this is bullshit.

   “I now completely understand why Quinn hates both of you.”

   She thinks Judy might look hurt when Santana turns to walk away but she doesn’t give a shit. She can only handle so many Fabray problems in one day.

--

   She can’t be laying down for more than 5 minutes when there’s a soft knock on the door. Quinn stirs a little next to her but then, thankfully, starts snoring again.

   “Santana? Can I speak with you for a minute?”

   Santana manages to find one of her own tank tops and an old pair of Cheerio shorts that really could belong to either of them. She opens the door just enough to see Judy’s face. She notices that Judy took off all of her eye make up but that her lips have a fresh coat of lipstick. “Downstairs, please? I don’t want to wake Quinn.”

   Santana slips out the door. “Are you kicking me out,” she asks. “Because I have things I need to grab if you are.”

   Judy shakes her head as she starts down the stairs. “You’re always welcome here.”

   “If Russell is going to apologize-”

   “I sent Russell home.” Judy clears her throat, hands adjusting the waist of her pencil skirt. “He wouldn’t have apologized even if he was here, you know that.” Judy sits where she had been earlier, her posture rigid, and pats the cushion next to her. “I am sorry for what he said to you though. It was completely inappropriate.”

   Santana rolls her eyes. “Little late for apologizes, Judy.” Santana drops down on to the couch, her arms crossed under her chest. “Are you going to like… Convince me to keep quiet again?”

   “Is Quinn okay? She’s not…” Judy bites her bottom lip and, fuck, it’s kind of crazy how 10 minutes ago she looked like some school girl with eyes she was giving Russell but now she looks worn down and sad. God, what’s even worse she that Judy looks even more like Quinn when she looks like this. “She’s not…” Judy sighs, hand coming up to rub along her brow. “Is she purging again?”

   “What? No, of course not.” Judy exhales, her body relaxing into the couch. “Quinn hasn’t done that since she found out about…”

   Judy shakes her head so discretely that Santana almost doesn’t catch it but blue eyes start to well up with tears. “I just wanted to make sure. I know that I haven’t exactly been helpful when it comes to that.”

   Santana coughs. “She just had a really bad panic attack.”

   Judy nods. “So she’s okay?”

   “Okay is not a word I’d use to describe Quinn,” Santana scoffs.

   Judy runs her hands over her thighs. “I know I’m not a great parent-”

   “You’re actually kind of a shitty parent.”

   “There’s no manual for this stuff, Santana. It’s hard.” Santana folds her legs Indian style and pulls one of the throw pillows into her lap. She needs to prepare herself for the crap Judy is going to try and feed her. “I’ve been with Russell for nearly 30 years. How am I just supposed to throw that all away?”

   “Um, I don’t know, maybe think of all the absolutely horrible shit he did to you and your daughters?” She knows her own mother isn’t perfect and, well, if she ever found out about the lady loving, her mom would kick her out on her ass, but at least her mom doesn’t take any of her father’s bullshit. Santana can remember one of the rare times her parents were both home when she was younger and they’d been fighting. Her dad told her mom to shut up and her mom locked her dad out of the house. “I’m pretty sure my parents only like each other now but they still treat each other better than Russell treats you.”

   “It’s not easy to just let someone you love go, no matter what they do to you. You may be too young to understand that now-”

   Santana shoves the pillow she’s been holding into Judy’s lap. “He cheated on you! He threw your daughter out of the house! And he’s a drunk! If you want to let him treat you like crap, fine. But it’s disgusting that you’d let him back into your life when Quinn, your daughter, is still in it.”

   Judy gets to her feet when Santana does. “I’m trying to figure out what’s right.”

   “Yeah, well, you’re doing a shit job.” She turns to go back upstairs but then there’s a hand on her shoulder. Manicured nails and Judy’s wedding ring (Santana can’t remember the last time she saw it on the woman’s hand) fill her vision. Santana locks her jaw and turns, trying not to notice the tears filling Judy’s eyes.

   “Don’t speak to me like that.” Judy’s voice is small but her shoulders are rolled back, her posture perfect. Santana knows she shouldn’t speak like this to a parent but, no. Judy isn’t exactly a parent to anyone. Just because Quinn shot out of her, doesn’t mean she deserves any ounce of respect, especially when Santana care more about Quinn than Judy. “How do you expect me to stand up to my husband when I allow you to walk all over me too?”

   “Do you still love him?”

   Judy’s hand drops to her side. Her nails dig into her thighs through her skirt, her shoulders slipping just a little. “I don’t think you can ever really fall out of love with someone, Santana.”

   “Wonderful,” Santana mutters under her breath. She bites her bottom lip for a second before she drops it; she’s been spending too much time with Quinn if she’s starting to do that now. “Look, I’m just trying to be honest with you. I’ll try and be more… Respectful in the future, but as long as I feel like I’m the only one in this house who actually gives a fuck about that girl upstairs, I’m not retracting my claws.”

   Sighing, Judy nods, her hand coming up to wipe away the few tears that land on her cheeks. “She’s lucky to have you as a friend.”

   Santana rolls her eyes before heading upstairs.

--

   She wakes up to the most annoying array of sounds. A phone keeps vibrating endlessly against the bedside table and another, she thinks hers, is chiming every five minutes, not to mention the stupid bird that’s made a nest just outside her window. “San, shut everything up,” Quinn grumbles, folding her pillow around her head. The noises don’t stop, at least not the ones Santana can deal with, and Quinn juts out her leg to wake the brunette up, but her leg just slides easily across the mattress. Rolling on to her stomach, Quinn props herself on to her elbows. She shakes her hair out of her face the best she can, only pushing it back when she realizes that Santana’s just walking into the room. “Where’d you go?”

   Santana starts to say something but then the phones start up again and Santana’s face pinches. “Who is blowing up our fucking phones?” Santana grabs one of the phones, Quinn’s, off the floor, and looks at it once before tossing it to Quinn. “S’your boy toy.”

   Quinn doesn’t even bother checking the messages (or the two voicemails) before turning her phone off. “I’m guessing yours is Brittany? Or maybe your mom?” Santana glares as she taps at her phone and Quinn drops down on her stomach, wrapping her arms around her pillow. “What’d she say?”

   “Doesn’t matter,” Santana breathes out. Dropping on to the bed, Santana turns on the tv, her phone silenced and back on the floor. Santana won’t look at her, just stays staring at the tv, but Quinn doesn’t stop looking at her. Santana pulls repeatedly at the loose thread on her tank top and won’t stop fidgeting, her leg jiggling to the point where Quinn’s getting annoyed.

   Quinn pokes her with her foot. “What did she say, Santana?”

   “Nothing she hasn’t already told me.” Quinn pokes her again and Santana shrugs, looking at her for a moment before going back to the tv. “Are we okay?” Quinn blinks, her head cocking a little.

   “Why wouldn’t we be,” Quinn asks and Santana scoffs, pulling her hair into a bun before she lets it fall around her shoulders again.

   “Are you shitting me? Everything’s different now.”

   Quinn pushes herself up, pulling just enough of the sheet on her lap to cover her. “No. Nothing has to change.”

   “Bullshit.” The hospital bracelet is still around Santana’s wrist and Quinn takes a deep breath. “I’ve fucked friends before and in case you’ve blocked it out, it didn’t end well.”

   “Trust me, Santana,” Quinn starts as she stands up, the sheet falling and leaving her nude not for the first time in front of her friend, “I’m not going to end up like Brittany. I’m not going to fall in love with you and you are not going to fall in love with me.”

   “Okay, so let’s say we never fuck again. Fine. That doesn’t mean I can block out the rest of your crap anymore. You are such a mess and I’m not going to enable you anymore.”

   Quinn steps into the first pair of underwear she pulls from the drawer, the fabric snapping at her hips. “Enable me? I’ve been functioning well enough this summer exactly as we were.”

   She crosses her arms underneath her chest and Santana rolls her eyes. “You’ve been functioning. You need to start fucking living, Quinn. We both do. We’ve been through so much shit and ignoring it clearly isn’t fucking working. If anything, we’re both even more screwed than before.”

   Santana sounds too much like the therapist the hospital made her speak to after she gave up custody of Beth. Quinn can’t even remember the woman’s name now, only what she said. “What you’ve just gone through is exceptionally hard, Lucy.” The use of her first name caused her to tense and her entire body ached more than she thought it could. “It’s not something any woman, no matter what age, can easily move past. Most women find it beneficial to talk through what they’re feeling. Otherwise, it’ll just eat at you.” Her mom had been right next to her, had taken the list of therapists the woman recommended, thanked the woman for really doing absolutely nothing. They didn’t talk about it until Quinn was back home in her own bed for the first time in months, but Judy didn’t push it when Quinn simply replied that she would be fine.

   “Can we please just stop lying to each other,” Santana pleads. She doesn’t sound desperate, doesn’t look it. Santana tucks her thumbs between her fingers and squeezes her hands into fists as she waits, only relaxing when Quinn does. “Brittany fucking told me she was sorry and that she’s going to stop going to the parties on weekends because she doesn’t want to see me. I’m literally not going to see her anymore.”

   Quinn swallows hard. She brings her thumb up, chewing at her skin before standing straight. “I can’t stop crying as easy as you,” she admits.

   Santana breathes out, nodding carefully as she pats the space next to her.

If My Heart Could Beat, It Would Break My Chest

only_because3 — Thu, 31 May 2012 05:46:49 GMT

Title: If My Heart Could Beat, It Would Break My Chest
Author: only_because3
Word Count: 7781
Pairing: Quinn/Rachel/Puck
Rating: M
Summary: She’s just passed the kitchen when she sees it out of the corner of her eye. Her roommates always sleep with the door closed. But what she turns to see is Puck’s naked back, each muscle flexing as he pushes forward, Rachel’s legs wrapping around his hips.
Author's Note: I have literally been working on this since June 8th of last year. I just got my ass into gear to finish it. Not entirely sure I'm happy with it, but happy enough to post. Also, I wrote this before ANY of season 3 but that shouldn't really matter. Well, actually, no. Ignore all of season 3 because it'd probably help. As for some warnings, there is a lot of kinky sex in this, including breathplay so if that's not your cup of tea, I'd leave now. Enjoy!

--

She comes home a little past 3, tired and no longer feeling the drinks she had at some time around midnight. She was going to crash on Kurt’s couch but she would much rather not spend her morning putting on a fake smile for her friend (as far as he knows, this is just another day for her).

   Though she’s not sure spending the night at home (the one she shares with Rachel and Puck) is such a good idea either.

   The thing is, they don’t talk about it. Ever. All that shit that went on between them in high school? Never happened. They were different people then and they’re friends now, really good friends actually. Quinn’s tried apologizing to Rachel before, once she realized just how amazing of a friend the brunette was (which was probably around the time that Rachel told Quinn to move in with them when Quinn’s old roommate kicked her out last year). But Rachel just shook her head. “It’s okay now, Quinn.” And Puck… well, they’ve had a silent understanding since junior year.

   She tosses her purse on the table, shrugging out of her jacket that had been completely unnecessary. It’s hot in the apartment and the small, half broken AC is doing almost nothing to lower the temperature to a bearable one. She’s glad she appears to be the only one up because her dress is starting to stick uncomfortably to her skin and she pulls it over her head without a second thought. It doesn’t cool her down much and she considers going into the kitchen to stand in front of the open fridge to cool down since she can’t shower (she still can’t get over how stupidly laid out their apartment is. Who puts the only bathroom in one of the bedrooms?), but in the end she decides against it. She just wants to lie down and watch some infomercials till she falls asleep.

   She throws her dress over her shoulder, taking off her earrings as she walks to her room quietly. She’s just passed the kitchen when she sees it out of the corner of her eye. Her roommates always sleep with the door closed. But what she turns to see is Puck’s naked back, each muscle flexing as he pushes forward, Rachel’s legs wrapping around his hips.

   Maybe Rachel asked if she was coming home tonight for a reason.

   Rachel’s legs don’t stay around Puck for very long because now he’s grabbing her left leg, pushing it so it’s flush with the bed and resting somewhere next to the brunette’s chest. The other leg is moved to his shoulder and it’s then that Quinn notices Rachel’s wrists bound to one of the bars of the headboard. She swallows hard as she takes a step forward, her body now completely facing the open bedroom door. She can hear Puck saying something between labored breaths and she strains to make out what he’s saying. This involves another step forward, her heels clacking loudly this time because she’s forgotten that she shouldn’t be watching this. Her eyes widen when she hears the noise reverberate back. Puck stops moving and Rachel’s arm tugs at her cuff.

   Nobody says a word for what feels like forever, until Rachel very calmly says, “Undo my restraints.”

   Puck doesn’t move at first but once Rachel’s leg drops from his shoulder, he turns to look at Quinn who stands three feet away from their open door. “What the hell,” he asks, face scrunching up in a way that reminds Quinn she’s a pair of underwear from being naked. She feels herself blush and she brings her hands up to cover her chest. His eyes aren’t focused on that though, but instead her stomach and she knows that he’s staring at the four silvery stretch marks on the left side of her stomach. She can feel a muscle twitch beneath her skin near her belly button and it’s then that they lock eyes.

   “It’s hot,” she says dumbly, trying to defend her nude form while saying the completely wrong thing.

   “Is she talking about us?” Another tug against the cuff before she releases an aggravated huff, “Noah, I told you to undo these!”

   “What the hell,” he repeats, though it’s less gruff this time. It’s more questioning than it is a reaction and she slumps in her heels, her dress slipping from her shoulders.

   “I never know what I’m doing today,” she whispers, running a hand through her shaggy hair as she turns to walk to her room, not bothering to pick up her discarded clothes.

--

   When she finally hears a knock on her door (she’s surprised it took so long but she figures they probably finished before they decided who would come check on her), she’s already crying. She hates that she still gets like this and she hates that just seeing Puck look at her like that brings it all back again. It’s been four years. Shouldn’t she be over this by now? She doesn’t regret what she did because if she had kept Beth, she doubts that she or Puck would be in New York City right now and she knows that her daughter is out there somewhere, happy and loved (or at least, she hopes she is). It’s silly to still cry about this, to still feel inadequate and lonely. This overwhelming sadness that envelops her on June 8th is stupid but she lets herself cry anyway, because she can’t stop it and this is the only day she really allows herself to think of Beth.

   She doesn’t say anything so Rachel just walks in, barely covered in Puck’s old basketball jersey, a frown already set on her face. “Oh, Quinn.”

   The blonde groans and slaps Rachel’s arms away when she tries to hug her. “No, don’t feel bad for me.” She sniffs, wiping away her tears as she takes deep breaths to calm herself down.

   “I thought you were staying at Kurt’s.”

   “I didn’t want to pretend when I woke up. Even though Puck’s here, I could just lie in my room and sulk until tomorrow.” Her vision starts to clear and it’s then that she notices Rachel’s neck. “What the hell happened to you?”

   Rachel smiles meekly, hand going up to softly run over her red neck. “It makes him feel better,” she says with a small shrug. “Today’s just as bad for him, but you know Noah. He’d rather be angry than sad.”

   She pulls her legs up to her chest (which, she realizes, is still bare), hands clutching her shins. “So you let him choke you?” The words feel foreign on her tongue and she almost wishes she hadn’t said it aloud because Rachel is biting her bottom lip and refusing to look at her.

   “It makes him feel better,” she reiterates. “You cry, he fucks me roughly all day. It’s what works.”

   Quinn scoffs, almost laughing. “Only you could tell me this like it’s completely normal.”

   “I’m here for you too.” She puts her hand on Quinn’s knee, causing the girl to look back up at her. “If you need a shoulder to cry on, I can do that for you. Noah’s actually gone to sleep for a bit.”

   “You don’t have to do that.” Rachel shakes her head with a sigh as she climbs on to Quinn’s bed and plops down next to her.

   “You’re my best friend, Quinn. You don’t have to spend today as a loner. I know how to split my time between the two most important people in my life.” Rachel takes Quinn’s hand into her own, squeezing it tightly as she relaxes in the bed.

   “I’m topless,” Quinn comments when Rachel tries to get her to lay down.

   “You saw me cuffed to a bed today, Quinn. Humility between us has gone out the window.” Quinn settles against Rachel’s side, eyeing the brunette with an arched brow. “Watch your crappy infomercials, Quinn… Unless you’d like to talk?”

   She lets her head fall on to Rachel’s shoulder, her eyes closing when she feels Rachel start running her nails over Quinn’s scalp soothingly. “It’s not healthy to let him do that.”

   “It’s not healthy to cry in a dark room and not talk to anyone for one day out of the entire year either. To each their own.”

   “I’m talking to you, aren’t I,” she asks defensively, looking up to catch Rachel smiling.

   “Only because I’m pushy and I’ll annoy you if you don’t.”

   There’s a lull then as Quinn fiddles with the silky fabric of the jersey Rachel’s wearing, both women seemingly enthralled by the Slap Chop infomercial on Quinn’s tiny TV. She takes a deep breath before asking, “It helps him?”

   “Well it seems like it does. It takes a long time to chop vegetables that small and he appears to get it done in seconds.”

   “No! Not the Slap Chop guy… I was talking about Puck. With the whole…” She mimes a choking motion, embarrassed that she’s actually asking because she knows this won’t be a quick, breezy conversation, not with Rachel Berry. Rachel was obviously right though. Any humility they had before tonight was lost because Quinn’s not sure she would’ve asked if it were any other day.

   Rachel doesn’t say anything but she absently starts twirling some of Quinn’s hair between her fingers and she takes that as a sign that the brunette is thinking. It’s weird to her that Rachel is taking her time to articulate what she wants to say, when usually Rachel always has a point on the tip of her tongue. The infomercial changes and Rachel sighs as she sits up, legs draping over themselves carefully but making sure she’s still holding Quinn’s hand. “The first year, I almost developed a complex about it because I knew he wished it was you.” She starts to back up, ready to push herself up and off the bed but Rachel tightens her grip on her hand to keep her close. “Not that he actually wants to harm you… He doesn’t hate you, Quinn. At least not now, but…” She sighs, aggravated that she isn’t getting her point across in an eloquent or even rational manner. “It has a lot to do with power. Everything that happened back then, he had no real control with it. There was no clear cut ‘right answer’ and you were both damned if you did and damned if you didn’t and he’s angry. At life, at you. He’s in control of this and it helps him get out all those feelings he hasn’t ever dealt with any other time. I know now that it’s less about you, though I won’t lie to you, it’ll always partly be about you, but I’ve realized that he does love me. That he’s releasing all these feelings through me.” She looks at Quinn cautiously, almost frowning. “Somehow that turned into a long answer anyway.”

   Quinn nods, eyes cast down on the bed as she starts picking at a loose thread on the hem of Rachel’s jersey. Rachel’s waiting for a verbal response and Quinn knows from experience that Rachel won’t leave until Quinn says something. She doesn’t want to respond because she can see herself saying something stupid like she did before and Quinn doesn’t want to continue the awkward string of moments that seem to be happening tonight. “Just say it. It’s obvious that you have something to say and I just explained to you why I let Noah choke me. Whatever you could say will not freak me out… Not to mention the fact that we’re hanging out with you practically naked right now.” Rachel tilts her chin up and Quinn’s met with a soft smile. “I love you, Quinn. I don’t care what you have to say.”

   “No, it’s weird,” she mutters, looking around for the tank top she normally wears to bed now that Rachel’s pointed out, again, that her boobs are out.

   Rachel huffs. “Quinn.”

   “Do you get anything from it,” she asks, voice cracking slightly. She refuses to look up and she can feel her face getting hot.

   “I like it,” Rachel says nonchalantly. “Though I obviously get something different out of it than he does. Not just physically, but emotionally he obviously gets a lot more from it. It’d be completely different for you though.” Quinn looks up quickly and Rachel gives her that soft smile again, the one that’s starting to make her feel uncomfortable in a way that she can’t quite place. “It’s okay if you want to try it. It’s perfectly natural to be curious.” Quinn looks at her wearily, eyebrow arched, unsure of what the hell Rachel’s trying to say. There are times when Quinn can read the brunette like a book but then there are times like this when Quinn’s almost positive she’s completely misinterpreting everything.

   Thankfully, she thinks, Puck appears in her doorway. He blinks tiredly, his eyes looking only at Quinn and she squirms under the scrutiny when his eyes adjust to the fact that he’s awake. She’s glad Rachel gets something from the choking; otherwise Quinn would feel even worse than she already does because he’s looking at her like he would strangle her if he could. “Noah.” It gets his attention off Quinn, allowing her to let out the breath she’d been holding.

   “Come to bed?” His hand flexes at his side and she notices that Quinn sees it too. The blonde is chewing on her bottom lip, eyes watering up again and Rachel realizes she can’t just leave Quinn alone. She’s helped Noah get through June 8th for the past three years and it’s about time someone actually cared about Quinn Fabray.

   “Do you trust him,“ she asks, looking between Noah and Quinn carefully.

   “Rach, what’re you doing?“

   Rachel rolls her eyes, and gives her full attention to the blonde beside her, letting her hand fall softly on Quinn’s leg. “Do you trust him?”

   “Yes.” She blinks, a lump forming in her throat as she braves another glance at Puck. “I’ve always trusted you.” Had she not trusted him with all her heart, June 8th would just be another day.

   He looks at her a moment longer, never taking his eyes off her face (which both women consider a miracle or a possible sign of the apocalypse). His eyes are softer than they were when he first walked in, reminding her of the man she knows every other day of the year. Right now, he’s not the boy she had a child with four years ago. Right now, he’s the guy who graciously carried her stuff up and down three flights of stairs every time she’s moved, the guy who went across town everyday for three weeks to pick up soup for her when she was sick last winter, the guy that helps her keep Rachel Berry from killing the actresses who beat her for roles. When she really thinks about it, she’s beyond lucky to have Puck in her life and that, despite the fact they’ve never really talked about the life they created, they’re able to actually be friends. That only one day a year is hard for them, instead of 365.

   He sighs, looking down at the floor as he shakes his head. “And you think this’ll help? Or are you suggesting this because you’ve wanted to get into Fabray’s panties since she moved in?”

   The use of her last name is a relief and it reminds her that she was completely honest when she said she trusted Puck. It doesn’t hit her till a moment later, when she makes out the slight blush on Rachel’s cheeks in the dim room. “I completely resent that, Noah. I do believe that this would be beneficial for both of you as you’ve never talked about what happened between you two in high school. As it’s been four years, I doubt that you two will ever verbally work through everything, so why not try a physical, “symbolic” action? Especially when I’m willing to let you guys try that? And while I have expressed to you, privately, that it could be exciting to add Quinn to the mix, it was merely a fantasy I had no intention of making a reality, least of all today when Quinn is in a vulnerable state. I didn’t come in here with the intention to bed my best friend as she is my best friend and that would undoubtedly change our friendship, possibly for the worst. All I planned to do was make sure Quinn was okay and lay with her until she managed to fall asleep. And, as it stands, I made no suggestion for me to be involved in the two of you sorting out your issues, though I would prefer not to leave the room if/when you two decide to pursue the option I’ve presented. Though I want to make it clear, I wouldn’t be opposed to joining if you two mutually decided that you want me to.”

   Puck shakes his head with a small smirk, ignoring the glare that developed in Rachel’s eyes during her speech. “This is fuckin’ crazy,” he mutters, scratching the back of his shaved head as he walks over to the bed.

   “You do realize that this wouldn’t be just sex, right,” Quinn asks. “I know you just gave an impressive little monologue, but there’s a difference between saying it and seeing it.”

   Rachel smiles softly and nods. “I know. I fully recognize that this is a, for lack of a better term, slippery slope. The two of you went through something I can never fully understand no matter how hard I try and I know that there are unresolved feelings. I don’t doubt that you love me, Noah. And Quinn, I know that you love me too. Neither of you would purposefully hurt me and I fully believe that… I would have never brought it up if I wasn’t secure enough in myself and the relationships we all have with one another.”

   Quinn runs a hand through her short hair, he eyebrow arched, unconvinced. “This is a horrible decision. Sex is not the answer.”

   “But you were curious about what it is we do.”

   “That doesn’t mean I should do that with Puck,” Quinn exclaims, looking up at the guy in question.

   “So you don’t want to have sex with Noah and/or me?”

   The blonde opens her mouth, stuttering as she feels her ears get hot. “You know, for this being about me and Q, you sure are eager to join in,” Puck points out, earning a frustrated huff from Rachel.

   “Look here, asshole,” Rachel starts, pressing a finger sharply to her boyfriend’s chest. “I’m trying to help and will admit that, yes, I do want to have sex with both of you.” She turns to Quinn, voice suddenly softer. “You’re a beautiful and amazing woman, Quinn. And I know it’s weird because we’re friends but I would love to fuck you. I completely understand if you don’t return the sentiment and I would never pressure you into having this threesome, though I’m sure Noah thinks otherwise.” At this, she redirects her attention back to Puck, bite returning to her voice. “I don’t know if you two remember but I remember when you two were horrible to each other that first year. Somehow, you two managed to become friends but it is so very unhealthy to ignore these extreme feelings you feel today. This decision needs to be made now. I can’t have Quinn sulking all day while I fuck you across the hall. This could make both of you feel better because, honestly, I can’t give either of you what you want. Not when it comes to her. Quinn knows where I stand, but maybe you should tell her exactly how you feel. Perhaps that will help her with her decision.”

   Quinn’s eyebrows furrow and she sits up a little straighter, looking between the couple. There’s a silent exchange between the two, Puck’s jaw clenching before Rachel turns to her with an evil smile.

   “He still wants to have sex with you,” Rachel answers and Quinn’s eyes widen. It’s not that surprising as no one has verbally said no up until this point, but it’s a little overwhelming to have everything so clearly laid out. She’d be lying if she said the thought of sleeping with her friends, both separate and together, had never crossed her mind before. But it was never something she seriously entertained or thought about for very long at all. What they have now is great and Quinn knows that casual sex, even if it is just once, complicates things. Besides, Quinn is used to spending her daughter’s birthday alone and sobbing. She’s not sure she could actually handle having sex with anyone right now, let alone having sex with Puck.

   However, Rachel’s logic, though completely not logical to any normal, sane, person, sort of makes sense. Puck’s still upset and she still feels something reminiscent of guilt so why not?

   She briefly thinks that maybe she had a lot more to drink tonight than she originally thought because that is probably the only reason this seems like a good idea. But the people in front of her are sober and this entire thing is making her head hurt.

   She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. Physically, she wants this. She knows there’s a warm slickness between her legs and when she found her friends having sex, she walked towards them instead of away. She’s made no real effort to cover herself in the presence of her friends, leaving her naked from the hips up in front of them. This is probably a horrible idea but she releases the breath she’s holding anyway and opens her eyes, eyebrow inching up as she stares at Puck.

   “Kiss her, Noah.” She’s barely surprised when he doesn’t hesitate. His hand cups the back of her neck and he laughs lightly, his breath hitting her lips when her muscles tense underneath his touch. He bites her bottom lip hard enough to make her pull back reflexively, but he keeps her in place with his hand, practically growling when Quinn whimpers. If this was anyone else, on any other day, she wouldn’t be this complacent. She’d bite back instead of just kissing back as softly as she can because it feels like the closest she’ll get to saying sorry.

   There is no way that doing this is healthy.

   “Noah, stop.” He tugs on her top lip before pulling away from her completely. “Quinn, you have to relax for this to work.” Before she can even process it, Rachel’s kissing her bruised lips lightly and she can distantly feel fingertips running up and down her thigh. Part of Quinn thinks that she doesn’t deserve this; that the way Puck was treating her was just, but then that heavy sadness returns and she remembers that she lost something today too. Rachel pulls back with that same smile she’d been giving Quinn before and she realizes that that uncomfortable feeling was pooling deliciously in her belly. “Lay down,” Rachel instructs and Quinn does as she’s told.

   “It feels weird taking orders from you.” She lays in the middle of the bed, biting her lip as Rachel pulls Puck’s jersey over her head. Puck slumps down next to her, an appreciative sigh escaping his lips as Rachel tucks her hair behind her ears. This is not the first time Quinn’s seen Rachel naked but this is the first time she’s been able to really study her best friend’s body. To Puck, this is nothing new. He’s claimed this for his own years ago, knows every curve and every mark, but she’s curious to find out as much as she can about Rachel’s body now that she has the opportunity.

   Rachel runs her hands up Quinn’s thighs before dropping them on to the bed next to the blonde’s chest. Quinn licks her lips as she stares at the way Rachel’s body moves above her. She’s not too sure what sort of etiquette there is to follow in a threesome but she’s almost positive Rachel’s done talking about this. Still, Quinn looks up at Puck, her hands twitching at her sides. He nods slightly before his eyes flick back to his girlfriend and she lets out a shaky breath, bringing her hands up to palm Rachel’s sides as the brunette settles above her. Her smile is small but Quinn can tell she’s holding back. Rachel’s trying to be courteous because this day is about them, not her, but she’s doing what she’s apparently wanted to do for almost a year now. “Okay,” Rachel asks, her body goose bumping under the imaginary trail Quinn traces down her sides with her nails.

   “Yes,” Quinn answers as she grips Rachel’s hips carefully, gripping harder when she hears Puck mention that Rachel likes it rough. The brunette above her rolls her eyes playfully, exactly like she does whenever Puck says something that almost irritates her. It makes this entire situation feel so normal, like she’s not about to have sex with the two people she has a huge amount of history with. Quinn smiles when Rachel does and Rachel looks at the blonde a moment longer, eyes steady and focused, as if she’s trying to memorize Quinn’s face even though they see each other every day, before leaning down to kiss her again.

   It’s different than it was before. It’s not as soft, not as convincing, but it still gentler than Puck. Rachel kisses her greedily, nipping lightly at Quinn’s lips before running her tongue over where her teeth abandoned. Quinn lets her hands wander again, this time running up Rachel’s flawless stomach. She’s envied Rachel’s body for a long time; Quinn’s body has been permanently changed since she was 16. She can barely remember what her stomach looked like before she gave birth. She cannot imagine her body without the stretch mark that mars the right side of her stomach or her skin lying flat with the muscle beneath it. As a teenage girl with an enormous amount of body issues, her post pregnancy body was something she hated. She remembers looking at Rachel when they’d change into their costumes for glee and wanting so badly to look like that. Even now that Quinn actually has self worth and doesn’t pretend to think she’s hot shit, she still thinks that Rachel has the best body she’s ever seen.

   She finds herself sighing softly between kisses and Rachel pulls back with a small smirk. “It’s almost creepy how much her smirk looks like yours,” Quinn says lightly, looking up at Puck as she finally finishes her small love affair with Rachel’s stomach, her hands coming to a rest on Rachel’s sides again. He looks conflicted between agreeing with her and screaming at her and she can’t help but think how wrong it feels to lay there with Rachel being so sweet to her and knowing Puck is upset next to her. She lets out a breath and redirects her attention to the ceiling, trying in vain to blow stray hairs out of her face.

   Rachel leans to the side, pressing her lips against Puck’s bent knee. “Are you okay?” He sighs and cups her cheek. They’re completely silent when Rachel turns her head to the side slightly, pressing a kiss into his palm and it amazes Quinn how often her friends communicate without speaking when they both love the sound of their own voices. After another moment, Rachel reappears in Quinn’s line of sight. She steadies herself on one arm, free hand coming up to push Quinn’s hair out of her face. Quinn’s bottom lip finds its way between her teeth and Rachel can tell she’s nervous again. “How long have we been friends?”

   Quinn’s eyebrows raise in surprise before answering, “Three years.”

   Rachel nods, leaning down to kiss both of Quinn’s cheeks. “And when did you actually start considering me your friend?” She tugs on Quinn’s forearm and Quinn lets both her arms fall away from Rachel.

   “It was spring semester of freshman year.” Rachel nods again before kissing a trail down Quinn’s neck. “We were both in American Lit II. My skirt got caught on a nail in the desk and ripped when I stood up.” She feels the ‘mhm’ Rachel gives in response more than she hears it as the brunette reaches her collarbone. “You gave me your sweater because mine stopped at my hips and yours reached the back of my knees.” She lets out a shaky breath, fingers tangling in Rachel’s hair when the brunette runs her teeth down the slope of Quinn’s breast. “You walked with me all the way back to my apartment even though it was all the way across town and you missed your next class, which you had a quiz in.” Like a reward, Rachel’s lips close around a hard nipple and Quinn lets out a noise that’s halfway between a whine and a moan.

   Rachel looks up through her lashes, rolling Quinn’s nipple between her teeth before biting down hard. To her surprise, Quinn’s staring down at her but, thankfully, the wheels have stopped turning in her head. She runs her tongue over the swelling flesh before releasing it, setting her chin in the valley between Quinn’s breasts. “I got a C in that class because I couldn’t make it up.”

   Quinn rolls her eyes and Puck scoffs next to her. “It helped contribute to the C. You totally missed an exam because you had an audition and you were still walking a little funny,” he says and Quinn can’t hide her giggles. Quinn doesn’t know all the details but she does know that her friends had been MIA for three days, bought a new coffee table during that time, and Puck always seems to get this smug look on his face every time they watch Inception.

   “I’ll excuse that because today is your day. But if you keep this up tomorrow, you’re going to be getting reacquainted with your right hand.”

   The response is on the tip of his tongue and they both catch it, waiting with bated breath to see if he’ll actually say it. He doesn’t, instead shuts his mouth and shakes his head. Right now, this is billed as a one night engagement. He doesn’t know where Rachel stands about the possibility of a repeat on a night where they’re not so broken, though if the other talks about doing Quinn have any indication, she’d be willing for another go. He really doesn’t know where Quinn’s head is at all in this. Judging by how much she appears to be flip-flopping now, he’d put money on this being it. He realizes then that he hadn’t implied another threesome, but instead another round with just Quinn and he swallows hard before staring at Rachel.

   “I love you,” he echoes and, fuck, she just smiles and he knows that she believes him. Her eyes dart towards Quinn, reminding him that he should apologize for assuming, even mentally, that he could just fuck her and, even though he’s upset with Quinn, it is a dick thing to do. But before he can even look at her, he feels her hand on his arm and she squeezes lightly to let him know it’s okay.

   Quinn shifts her hips then and Rachel’s smile turns devious. “Do you know why I asked you that Quinn?”

   Rachel continues her path down Quinn’s body, leaving hot opened mouth kisses on every piece of skin she can reach; paying special attention to her stretch mark (the only physical proof that Quinn carries that Beth was real). “Because you like hearing how wonderful you are,” she asks, nails starting to drag up and down Puck’s arm.

   The brunette laughs into the skin below her belly button, nose tickling Quinn when Rachel shakes her head. “I like taking care of you Quinn and I think that that is a perfect example to show just how far I’m willing to go to make sure you’re okay. After all, you know how seriously I take my education.” Her fingers hook into the hem of Quinn’s underwear at her hips and Quinn squirms beneath her. Rachel notices that Quinn’s hand has moved from Puck’s arm to his thigh and she can feel herself grow wetter between her legs (she’s completely given up on trying to figure out if there’s something wrong with her because the thought about her boyfriend fucking her best friend turns her on more than anything else). She tugs the fabric down Quinn’s legs, about to ask once more if Quinn is sure about this, but the panties in her hands are noticeably wet and she’s overwhelmed by this musky scent that she knows is Quinn.

   She really does try to fight the grin that forms on her face when she’s met with Quinn completely naked in front of her, but it’s useless. Her eyes flick to Puck, who looks like he’s torn between stopping this and getting up to fuck her from behind, before sliding her hands lightly up the inside of Quinn’s thighs to get the blonde to look at her. She lays her tongue flat against soaking heat when Quinn looks her straight in the eyes, firmly dragging it up before wrapping her lips around her clit. Quinn rolls her hips, trying to push herself against Rachel’s face even more and Puck chuckles. Quinn digs her fingers into Puck’s thigh and Rachel laps a few more times at her clit before pulling away. “I can think of a better way you could be using that hand right now.”

   Quinn’s fingers tangle in her hair and nudge her head back down while her other hand presses against Puck’s crotch. It’s all about pressure and friction until she feels Rachel’s tongue play at her entrance. That’s when she slips her hand in to Puck’s boxers and her hand wraps around his dick. He sucks in a breath as Rachel moves back to her clit, one finger slipping in to her easily and Quinn strokes him in time with Rachel’s thrusts.

   She squeezes her eyes shut when her thigh twitches and she swallows hard. Her toes start curling and she grips Puck tighter, her pace remaining steady even when Rachel’s speeds up. She’s close but she can’t let go. This day has never been anything but horrible for her and, in a way, she thinks she’s deserved it. She doesn’t deserve the release Puck gets.

   Rachel looks up at her with a wet mouth, the two fingers inside her slowing but still keeping an even pace. “Quinn.” She licks her lips, running her heel along Rachel’s back as she stares back at the brunette. Her thumb swirls over the head of Puck’s dick and he grunts softly before pulling her hand away. “Honey, you’re tense again,” Rachel says softly, dragging her free hand up and down her inner thigh.

   Quinn makes a noise somewhere in the back of her throat and then Puck shifts next to her, laying down so they’re almost face to face. Her hips cant up to Rachel but her back remains rigid until Puck turns her head towards him. He rubs softly as the skin below her ear before his hand travels to her chest, taking one of her breasts in his hand. Her nipple hardens even more beneath his touch and she clenches her jaw as she lets out an unsteady breath. “It’s okay,” he whispers, pressing a simple kiss against her lips.

   Rachel takes her clit into her mouth again, her fingers speeding up even more. Puck repeats himself and squeezes her breast firmly just as Rachel does something with her tongue that Quinn can’t really process at the moment, and then she’s gasping out, “I’m sorry,” against Puck’s lips. Rachel laps at her sensitive skin and wet fingers snake up, tracing the twitching contours of Quinn’s torso.

   She feels more than she hears Rachel say something against her and then Rachel’s mouth moves against her deliberately again. A whine escapes Quinn’s throat, her mouth tearing away from Puck’s so she can bite onto his shoulder. Her hand grips Rachel’s hair, pulling her closer but almost pushing her away and Puck laughs low in his throat. “Good pussy, babe?” When he locks eyes with Rachel, she nods into the wet, heated flesh. It’s followed by this obscene slurping noise and Quinn’s body arches, heels digging into Rachel’s sides as her teeth sink desperately into his skin. Rachel won’t stop staring at him and she’s never looked so god damn hungry and before he thinks any of them know what’s happening, Quinn screams and pushes Rachel’s head away, pressing her legs together tightly. Rachel’s face is absolutely soaked and she licks her lips as she runs her hands soothingly up and down Quinn’s thigh.

   “Oh my god,” Quinn whimpers, turning to look up at Rachel when she feels the tiny brunette straddle her waist. Puck tangles his fingers in Rachel’s hair and Quinn can see how much he pulls on the strands as he captures Rachel’s lips. He groans, tasting Quinn for the first time in years on Rachel’s tongue, and his hips buck into Rachel’s thigh just as Quinn’s hand snakes around him again. “This is crazy.” Rachel lowers herself on Quinn’s stomach, dragging her wet pussy along Quinn’s abs and wrapping her hand above Quinn’s on Puck’s cock, her thumb running over his head.

   Quinn’s teeth drag along Puck’s neck, her tongue pressing against where his heart pulsates beneath his skin, and the shaky breath she releases when Rachel’s hand runs over her neck cools his skin. “Okay,” Rachel asks, her nails digging into Quinn’s collarbone. The blonde pulls back to look at Rachel and nods, her lips parting when Rachel traces the fingers that had been pumping Puck over her cupid’s bow. Rachel’s eyes are completely black as Quinn sucks the warm liquid from Rachel’s fingers and Quinn runs her hand over the length of Puck’s cock twice, gathering the rest of his precum on her fingertips before bringing her hand up for Rachel to take. Rachel’s eyes follow Puck leave the room as she cleans Quinn’s hand and once they’re alone, Rachel pulls Quinn’s fingers from her mouth and laces their fingers together. “Ready?”

   She bites her bottom lip but nods again, trembling hand gripping Rachel’s hip and urging her hips forward a little. Rachel bucks slowly, grinding down on Quinn’s stomach as she squeezes Quinn’s hand. “Thank you,” Quinn breathes out and Rachel just smiles a little, hips stilling.

   “You’re going to be okay,” Rachel whispers, bringing their joined hands to her lips. “You’re both going to be okay.”

   The bed dips at Quinn’s feet and Rachel turns around completely so that she’s facing Puck. She takes the condom from his hand and opens it, rolling it on him as he tangles her fingers in his hair, massaging her scalp. “I love you.” Quinn squirms underneath Rachel when they kiss. She feels like she’s intruding again because she’s seen her friends kiss like this before. There’s nothing lewd about it and it’s like they both may as well be clothed because it’s just about lips for them; Puck kisses Rachel like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do and she breathes him in like she’ll die if she doesn’t.

   Quinn wishes she knew what that was like.

   A hand presses against her and she jumps a little, not expecting the touch. Puck runs his hands up and down her calves as Rachel presses a little harder, dragging her fingers through wet flesh before Puck scoots forward a little bit more. He thrusts slowly into Quinn and Rachel can feel the way Quinn’s whole body tenses and twitches before relaxing, her toes pressing into the mattress. Rachel kisses Puck once more before she slips away from both of them. “Where’re you going, baby?”

   “I’m just going over here.” She sinks down on the chair Quinn has shoved in the corner of her room, pulling her legs against her.

   “But,” Quinn starts, and Rachel shakes her head.

   “This is about the two of you,” she answers, pulling her hair over her shoulder. “I’m just going to watch from right here.” She twists the tips of her hair between her fingers and arches an eyebrow when neither one of them make a move. “Go on.”

   Quinn swallows hard and takes her eyes off Rachel once Puck settles between her legs, his cock completely sheathed. Her breath catches in her throat when his hands run up her sides, and she grips the sheets beneath her when he pulls out of her before thrusting into her harder and deeper than before. “Fuck, you’re wet,” he groans. She’s still sensitive from when Rachel ate her out and each time he buries himself inside of her, she clenches tightly around him. He plants his hands on either side of her waist and she inhales sharply as he hovers over her.

“It’s okay,” Puck says, his words punctuated with two quick thrusts and he waits until she’s whimpering beneath him to run his hand along her torso. His fingers trace every imperfection that she has; he starts with each stretch mark on her stomach, follows an imaginary trail around her belly button and up to the scar in between her ribs.

   Every movement is slow and measured, completely different from how he was with Rachel. She doesn’t get it, he’s supposed to be mad at her, and so she brings his face down to hers, biting at his lips the same way he did to her earlier. She expects him to quicken his pace, expects him to fuck her, but he stays steady, pumping in and out of her slow enough that she feels all of him with every move he makes. The rest of him changes accordingly; he bruises her lips, claws at her breast, twisting her hard nipple between his fingers and pulling.

   Quinn can feel him everywhere and with each hard thrust filling her to the brim, a tremor runs through her body, igniting her every nerve. She digs her heels into the mattress, moves her hips to meet his as he pushes into her harder than before. He steals her breath when she gasps then, taking her lip between his teeth as he lays his hand along the column of her throat, his thumb rubbing against her pulse point. He pulls back to look at her face and it’s strange because this doesn’t seem so scary anymore. She feels the pressure increase around her neck and she can feel her heart thundering beneath her chest, her throat tightening. His eyes lock with hers and she doesn’t see any of the anger that was there before; the complete overwhelming sadness in his whiskey eyes match what she’s seen in her own. “Our baby girl is five,” Quinn whispers with what little breath she has left.

            He bows his head and tears fall on to her collarbone, pooling for a moment in the crescents Rachel left in her skin before trailing down the slope of her neck, hitting the heel of his hand. “We were so fucking stupid,” he spits. The veins in his forearms become more pronounced the harder it gets for her to breathe and Quinn is vaguely aware of Rachel moving in the corner of the room.

            She can feel herself dripping down her thighs, each of Puck’s thrusts harder, faster, and deeper than the one before it. She tries to moan but nothing more than a whimper passes her lips. “How close are you?” Rachel’s words seem muffled and far away; through hooded eyes she can see Puck say something but she can’t quite make out what he says, instead can only focus on the small bit of air he allows her when his hips buck into her particularly hard.

            Rachel stands up, removing her hand from where she’d been lightly playing with herself and reaches between the two lovers. Quinn clenches around Puck when Rachel’s fingers slip over her, rubbing tight circles over her clit. Quinn’s heart beats loudly in her ears and she gropes for something to hold on to. Everything is fuzzy now but she can still see Puck perfectly. She can see the beads of sweat on his brow, the way his muscles flex with every move he makes, and the tears that are still glossing over his eyes.

            “I’m sorry,” she repeats and his fingers sink into her neck as Rachel pinches her clit. It feels like her head is about to explode when Puck buries himself in her one last time and then suddenly everything it too much. She gasps, her lungs filling with the air she’s been craving as she completely falls apart. This is like nothing she’s ever felt before; she feels weightless. Her body feels like it’s on fire. She feels alive.

            Puck leans back on his legs but not before wrapping his arms around Quinn, bringing her to his chest. She clings to him desperately, her whole body still shaking, still humming, as he shallowly thrusts into her once more. His hand tangles in her hair as he cups the back of her head and he buries his head in her neck. It takes a few more deep breaths on her part to realize that he’s crying. “I know that we did what’s best-”

            “But it doesn’t erase the want,” Quinn finishes sadly.

            Rachel hesitantly reaches out, her fingertips gliding over part of Puck’s back that isn’t covered by Quinn. Quinn feels his head turn to look at his girlfriend and she contorts her own body to give them a little more room. Rachel is delicate with him, her hands carefully running over his eyes, his cheeks, his lips. “I love you,” she whispers and Quinn can feel Puck’s body sag as he releases all the air inside of him, like he’d been holding his breath waiting for her to say that.

            “I love you too... So fuckin’ much.”

            Quinn tries to pull away then, feeling too close to a moment she shouldn’t be a part of, but Rachel stops her. “Are you okay?”

            Puck’s knuckles keep running up and down her thigh softly and Rachel holds on to her elbow as if she were trying to keep Quinn stable.

            “Yeah,” Quinn answers honestly for the first time in five years. “I’m okay.”

A Little Sweet and Simple

only_because3 — Sat, 14 Apr 2012 19:30:55 GMT

Title: A Little Sweet and Simple
Author: only_because3
Rating: T?
Word Count: 1091
Summary: “This mess could’ve been avoided if we just bedazzled the eggs like I suggested.” Santana snorts and Rachel swats her on the back of the head with the empty dye box.
Author's Note: This is about a week late but my girlfriend put this idea in my head of Santana turning the eggs she's dying into boobs. I then decided to put it in the Rachel/Mike/Quinn verse because they have some pretty cute and crazy kids. Enjoy!

--

“I wish this wasn’t such a messy process.” Rachel runs a tired hand through her hair before pulling it up into a messy ponytail as her family generally ignores her. Halden and Madeline pretty much have their hands in the bowls of dye even though she’s told them twice already that they don’t have to hold the egg while it’s in the bowl. She can tell Sophie is starting to get upset that her eggs are not at all turning out like the ones in Charlie Brown. Harrison is sitting in Santana’s lap, running his hand over the egg she’s trying to draw on and Rachel’s starting to think Santana’s going to pass the baby off.

    Instead, Santana just hands the crayon to Harrison and sighs. “How the fuck are you supposed to use that thing? You can’t even see what you’re doing.” Harrison scribbles on the egg Santana’s holding before bringing the white crayon to his mouth but Quinn takes it from him before he digs one of his teeth into it.

    “You could always do what I’m doing,” Mike pipes up, turning his egg around to show them women. He’s been using a black crayon he took from the kids’ art bin and he’s been drawing stick figures dancing around the egg (or at least, that’s what it looks like is happening).

    “Do that to mine, Daddy,” the girls exclaim. Sophie and Madeline start handing him eggs but Madeline realizes quickly that she’s already dying her eggs due to the purple stain on her fingers. “Momma, why is it doing this?”

    Quinn plucks the egg from her daughter’s hand, dropping the egg into the green dye. “This is why Mommy told you to let the egg go.” She grabs a wipe and starts cleaning Madeline’s hands. “Halden, give me your hands too.”

    Halden pulls the blue dye close to him, the liquid splashing over the rim and thankfully missing his jeans, and grips his egg tighter. “No. It makes my eggs look pretty.”

    “This mess could’ve been avoided if we just bedazzled the eggs like I suggested.” Santana snorts and Rachel swats her on the back of the head with the empty dye box.

    “Babe, I don’t think glue and our kids is really a better idea,” Mike says as Madeline climbs into his lap, demanding that he show her how to draw the dancers instead of doing it for her.

    “There is no clean way to do this, Rach.” Quinn fishes her egg out of the purple dye and watches Halden out of the corner of her eye. He isn’t dying his eggs anymore, instead looking intently at all the bowls in front of him and then looking at his brother. “Whatever you’re thinking, stop it.”

    Halden pouts but pucks up his white crayon anyway, drawing something on it before holding it stubbornly in the yellow dye.

    “Rachel, go get me a… brown crayon.”

    “You could as nicely.”

    Santana rolls her eyes and runs a hand over Harrison’s head. “Rachel, please go get me a brown crayon whole I make sure your kid doesn’t drink any of this.”

    Rachel walks down the hall, muttering something about how next year, this entire process will be less messy before saying something in Yiddish that has Sophie giggling madly. Harrison reaches from Santana’s lap and kicks her shins when he realizes he can’t get to the dye. Santana tries bouncing him a little bit as he starts fussing even more. “Trade me,” Rachel says, tossing the crayon on to the plastic table cloth she spread out to save her wood floors. Harrison reaches up for her but once he’s on her hip, he tries reaching for the dye on the ground, only calming down when Rachel holds open her palm full of cheerios.

    “What’re you doing there, Santana,” Mike asks, eyes flicking over to her before guiding Madeline’s hand over her egg.

    Quinn doesn’t trust the smirk on her friend’s face and tries to see just what Santana’s drawing on her egg before Santana hold the tip into the pink dye. Sophie slings her arms around Santana’s neck, leaning on her aunt’s back. “I know what she’s doing.”

    Santana arches an eyebrow, turning her head just enough that she can see Sophie’s face. “Do you now?”

    Halden rises on to his knees, peering at the egg curiously. “What is it, Soap?”

    Madeline scowls at Quinn and then at Rachel. “Mommas, Aunt is holding her egg! Why aren’t you yelling at her?”

    Harrison tugs at Rachel’s hair and when she tries to pull her hair from his grasp, he puts his hand over her mouth. “She’s holding it correctly,” Rachel says, voice muffled by her son’s hand.

    Mike starts laughing, shaking his head as he takes one of Sophie’s eggs and starts drawing on it. “Our kid’s been hanging out too much with you, San.”

    Santana pulls the egg out of the dye, careful to make sure all the excess drips off before moving it over to the carton, the tip still face down. “Soap, what’s she doing,” Halden pouts, finally letting go of his egg so he can crawl over to Santana’s eggs. He’s about to pick it up when Rachel clucks her tongue and tells him that his hands are dirty.

    Quinn leans across and picks up the egg herself, simply swatting Santana’s hand away when she tries to take it back, complaining that the dye is going to run and ruin it. Quinn sighs heavily, glaring at her friend when Sophie stands back up, laughing. “It’s cheechees, Mommy!” Sophie pats at her still flat chest and, god, Rachel loves her oldest son because Halden blushes and turns back to his eggs. Sophie starts running around the circle, poking everyone in the chest, even the baby though Rachel tries to shield him.

    “Are you really drawing nipples on our eggs,” Quinn asks, glaring at Mike when he starts laughing. “It’s not funny!”

    Mike just laughs harder. “I just can’t believe it’s taken years for Santana to turn her eggs into boobs.”

    Santana snatches her egg back, trying to wipe away the dye that’s run down the side of the mostly white shell. “To be fair, I tried drawing a pussy last year but it looked janky and so I added a stem and called it a flower.”

    Rachel shakes her head and Harrison slaps his hand against his forehead before shaking his head himself. “Mad,” Halden whispers. “What’s a pussy?”

    Quinn’s back straightens. “I’m going to kick your ass, Santana.”

All The Noise Died Away [6/6]

only_because3 — Fri, 06 Apr 2012 07:16:06 GMT

    She has no idea where the hell Brittany found this rubber duck considering they’re in the Fabray household which means cute, fun things are like, signs of the devil. But there it is, floating on the water between Brittany’s bent knees, it’s beak missing some of the orange paint. “I miss Mike.”

    She makes a tiny wave with her hands, sending the duck to the other end of the tub before bringing both hands to rest on Brittany’s abdomen. “I know, baby. I miss him too.”

    Brittany’s fingers poke at Santana’s thighs and she squeezes them around her girlfriend’s hips. “I knew him longer than you,” Brittany points out softly. “I knew him longer than everyone, other than my parents… He was my very first dance partner. Did you know that?”

    Santana shakes her head, dragging her fingers up until they rest on Brittany’s ribs, her thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts. “I knew you two used to take dance together when you first started.”

    “It was just a tiny recital for our parents and we were only paired up because we both missed the class where we picked partners.” Brittany locks their fingers together, squeezing them tightly. “We tried to show off and do a lift. I ended up chipping my tooth while Mike broke his wrist.”

    Santana laughs even though it feels almost rude to do so so soon after everything. But, well, Brittany’s still here. Why not enjoy that instead of staying caught up, thinking of all the things they could have done to change where they’re at now. “Weren’t you guys like, five? What made you try a lift?”

    Brittany turns in her arms, arching one of the eyebrows Santana sculpted yesterday when she was bored. “Have you seen how amazingly talented we are? We were totally better than the rest of our class then too.”

    Santana rolls her eyes, letting go of Brittany’s cheeks in her hands their lips sliding against each other’s. Brittany turns around and Santana can’t imagine how uncomfortable she must be in this tiny tub. Brittany’s legs are bent in half, her toes wiggling in the cold air, and her arms wrap around Santana’s waist, her elbows hitting the sides of the tub, but she doesn’t complain, just sinks further into Santana. Brittany tucks her head into the crook of Santana’s neck and she can feel her heart start to beat wildly against her chest. Every part of her can feel Brittany. There’s no inch of skin that can’t and she swallows hard when she realizes how bad she could have fucked this up. Sometimes during the endless hours of downtime they have, she thinks about what would have happened between them if life went on like normal. She doesn’t doubt that she would have continues to fuck up at every turn because she’s emotionally retarded. Back then the thought of this, having Brittany completely consume her touch, her smell, her thought, seemed like it would kill her. It was too much for an “average” teenage girl. But now, there is no more average, no more normal, and what once scared her serves to keep her motivated and strong.

    “I miss Tina too” Brittany says against her skin. Santana threads a wet hand through Brittany’s hair, trying to bring her the tiniest bit closer. “I know I’ll miss Mike more and probably forever though.”

    “You were closer to him. Of course you’ll-”

    Brittany shakes her head against Santana “I don’t think that’s why.”

    “No?”

    She feels Brittany lick her lips, her eyelashes fluttering against wet skin before Brittany’s eyes close. “I think I’m mad at her for leaving.“ Brittany’s fingers start to dance slowly along the parts of Santana’s back they can reach. “I loved Mike too. Differently , yeah but I’m still here. Puck and Rachel and Kurt stayed after Finn… She didn’t think about us.”

    “I don’t think you can really fault her for that,” Santana says softly. “People do stupid shit when they’re in love.” Brittany sets her forearms on either side of Santana, and a shiver runs through her entire body when Brittany puts space between them to look Santana in the eye. “What would you do if something happened to me?”

    Santana blinks. “I don’t like thinking about that.”

    “I’m serious, San.” They untangle from each other but she catches Brittany’s wrist, her thumb pressing down just enough that she can feel the steady pulse. “What would you do if I died? Would you do what Tina did?”

    She hates to admit it, but she probably would. A few clays after Tina left, she and Quinn talked about it. It was one of the most honest conversations they’ve ever had. Quinn admitted that she’s not sure she’s ever loved someone enough to really want to just, not want to live anymore, but that she has thought about it before, weighed the pros and cons more than once. “You know I hate being considered weak,” Quinn said. She has the kids to think about now too and when she turned to Santana, she didn’t ask if she’d disappear like Tina. She just kind of frowned, refused to look at Santana and said she’d really miss her.

    “I’m not sure I really remember life without you, Britt.”

    Brittany crawls into Santana’s lap, shaking her head as she settles on her knees. “There was life before me and there will be after me. Promise me you won’t do that to our friends.”

    Santana’s hands grip Brittany’s hips and she hates that the bones are more prominent now that they’ve been surviving on food rather than eating. I don’t want to talk about this.”

    Brittany puts her hands on Santana’s shoulders, taking a fallen stand of Santana’s hair and swirling it around her bun to get it off her neck. “Did Rose give up after Jack dies? Did Noah give up on Allie when she couldn’t remember? Did Blue stop leaving clues after Steve left?”

    “That’s a really creepy comparison” She can feel her face scrunching and Brittany kisses the tip of her nose till she relaxes again.

    “Promise me you’ll stay here safe and surrounded by our family if something happens to me.” Her hands clasp behind Santana’s neck and she can feel tiny droplets if water run down her exposed skin. “I know they’ll take care of you if I can’t.”

    Santana licks her lips, her forehead falling to Brittany’s collarbone. “If I promise you that, you have to promise too.”

    Brittany nuzzles her head before taking the tip of Santana’s ear between her teeth, biting hard enough for her to feel it. “I promise.”

    Brittany pulls back, her thumb dragging the nape of Santana’s neck to her heart, palming her breast. When she breathes out, “I promise,” Brittany’s other hand slips between her legs.

--

    Puck looks at him like he’s crazy when he laughs. “S’ funny,” he asks stretching out his legs on the bed. It’s a pretty sunny day and the room seems too cheerful given that they’re essentially living in hell.

    He yawns, eyes hooded as he rolls on to his side, knees bumping against Puck’s thigh.

    “Life” Kurt answers simply.

    “Yeah?”

    Kurt nods, bending his arms under his head. “If our town hadn’t been overrun by zombies, none of us would be where we are now.”

    Puck’s eyebrows furrow together and he scratches his stomach. “In Q’s house?”

    “I meant in the more personal sense,” Kurt drawls, shaking his head as he looks past Puck and out the window. If he squints hard enough, he can see a zombie trudging through the snow before falling to the ground.

    Puck’s quiet for a second and Kurt doesn’t understand how Quinn is able to tolerate him thinking so loud. “I dunno… I think some of the same stuff would’ve happened. It’s like, fate, or whatever bullshit you want to call it.”

    It’s Kurt’s turn to look at him like he’s crazy. “After this year, we all would’ve gone our separate ways. Rachel and Quinn would have never become friends, Santana wouldn’t have accepted herself, at least not yet, and this?” He looks between the two of them and can’t hold back the small bark of laughter that bubbles in his throat. “Realistically, we would’ve always been at least aware of each other because of Finn but the minute I got my diploma, I was going to either LA or New York. Did you even have plans to leave Ohio?” He knows that he sounds harsh but it’s the truth. He knew that Puck was doing a lot better in school. Doing better didn’t equal much more than a state school though, if that. “We weren’t even close enough for me to know what the hell you wanted to do after high school.”

    Puck pushes himself up so he can lean against the headboard. “Did you know what Blaine wanted to do after high school?”

    Kurt wrinkles his brow. “I thought we established that I evidentially did not care for him as much as I thought.”

    “All I’m saying is that you didn’t give a fuck about his plans and yet you were dating him.”

    Kurt sighs and rolls on his back. “You’re Noah Puckerman. That’s why, we never would have happened.”

    “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

    He covers his face with his hands. “Do we really have to do this?”

    “Considering you brought it up, yeah, I think you at least owe me a reason as to why this is laughable.”

    “Because I don’t think you would have ever been with a man if it weren’t for the fact that you’re in a world with limited options. You’d probably still be boinking Quinn if not for -”

    Puck looks straight at Kurt and snarls “Fuck you,” before kicking off the blankets and getting out of bed. “We’re in the middle of the end of the fucking world and yet you’re still the same judgmental asshole you’ve always been.” Puck shakes his head, picking his boxers off the ground and angrily stepping into them. “If I didn’t like you, I wouldn’t be here, Kurt.”

    “That’s not what I’m saying,” Kurt sighs, sitting up as Puck pulls his shirt over his head. “You just can’t honestly tell me we would have started doing whatever this is if everything was still normal.”

    “As fast as this did? No, it probably not. But I’m not going to stand here and say that it was never on the table.”

    “What are you saying,” Kurt asks, running a hand through his hair. “Did you like me?” Puck shrugs stepping into his sweatpants. “Answer me.”

    “Wasn’t it obvious that I at least cared about you? I know I used to do shit things to you, but we had become friends. You’re Finn’s brother, that meant that I had to protect you and shit.” He shakes his head, scratching at the back of his neck. “If anything ever happened to Finn, I’d still be right here for you… I don’t fucking know, Kurt. I don’t know what I’m trying to say ‘cept that I didn’t write you off like you apparently did me.”

    “Puck,” Kurt tries but Puck just shakes his head, slamming the door behind him. Kurt can hear him next door asking Quinn to come do some mark practice with him and before Kurt knows it, Rachel’s coming in.

    “What happened,” she asks like she didn’t hear almost the entire exchange. He pulls the blankets up to his chin, rolling so that he can’t look at her. The bed dips behind him and Rachel stays above the blanket as she curls around his body, perching her chin on his shoulder.

    “Come on, Kurt. It’s just me.”

    “Do you believe in fate?”

    She reaches up, pushing his hair which is getting way too long off his forehead. “In some cases, I think.” She shrugs a little. “Life is funny.”

    “Be careful who you say that to,” he muses and then sighs heavily. “I essentially told Puck it was ludicrous to think we would have… fallen into bed with each other if zombies hadn’t taken over.”

    “Ludicrous?” Rachel’s hand finds his forearm, her fingers tapping out what he thinks is the opening bars of ’Don’t Rain’. “I think 'unexpected' would have probably been a better word.”

    He rolls his eyes. “Point is, I don’t see why we should pretend we never would have happened otherwise.”

    “Frankly, I don’t think you can say it never would have happened if it’s happening now.” He looks up at her and she wears a tiny smile. “I know that we’ve all changed a lot since we’ve been here, but I don’t think that you two being together is such a stretch.”

    “Puck isn’t gay,” he stresses.

    “Sexuality is incredibly fluid, Mr. Hummel. Just because Puck had only been with members of the opposite sex doesn’t mean that’s all he’s interested in or open to.”

    “How can you say that about Puck?”

    Rachel kisses his shoulder and sits up. “Because I’m thinking about my good friend Noah Puckerman, not the football player ‘bro’ you are.”

--

    Quinn runs her fingers over all of the stab marks from their practice, picking at the splitting wood before sighing. “You know that I love you, right?” He nods, tells her the same thing, lets her take his hand from his thigh and cradle it between her own. “I’m really lucky to have you.”

    “Good, ‘cause I may be living on your couch forever,” he grumbles and she rolls her eyes, shoving his shoulders with hers.

    “God, you sound like a chick.” He manages a small laugh and she grins when she hears it. “Besides, world is over. You’ll be in my bed forever if you think you’re going to be alone.”

    He looks at her, eyebrow raised. “Really? Because you and Rachel have been getting pretty close.”

    She shakes her head but chooses to look down at their hands. Hers aren’t as soft as they used to be and rightfully so considering all the moving and work they do. There’s tiny calluses on her palms and, yeah, this reminds him of Quinn. Soft with some rough patches. “Rachel and I are friends. I know Santana, Brittany, and all the porn you used to watch probably confused you, but rumor has it, girls can be friends and not shove their tongues various places.”

    This time his laugh echoes in the practically empty office. “S’pretty vulgar for you, Q. Guess all it took was living with me and Santana 24/7 for a few months.”

    “Shut up,” she says, shoving him again. “You going to come back to our room?” He shrugs, lacing his fingers with hers. He chips at the nail polish on her index finger and even though she glares at him, she doesn’t stop him.

    “I dunno yet,” he breathes out. “Think Kurt will pull his head out of his ass?”

    “Probably not.” He nods and she lets her head fall to his shoulder. “You know we probably shouldn’t…”

    He nods again. “Can’t afford to fuck shit up now, huh?” He sighs. “End of the god damn world and still can’t catch a fucking break with you bitches.”

    Before, Quinn probably would’ve gone off on him about respecting women or shit like that, but now she just laughs and plants a kiss on his cheek. “Finally caught a break with this one. Only took you till the very end of life as we knew it.” He catches her lips for another kiss and because she’s still more decent than him, she tenses for a second before she kisses him back.

--

    “What day is it,” Stacey asks a few weeks later when she’s laying on her tummy in between Brittany and Rachel. They haven’t really told the kids that they’re already in a new year because Quinn said it’d just bum them out that they didn’t have a Christmas or a Thanksgiving or anything like that. They’ve never really asked before though, just usually ask when Sam will be coming back, but they don’t really ask that as often anymore.

    “Why do you ask?” Brittany wonders if Rachel’s started to forget too. It’s not like the days really matter anymore and whenever Brittany’s curious, she has to look at the calendar she made for the year. Santana makes sure to cross off the day before they go to bed every night.

    Stacey shrugs, coloring in the last bit of the unicorn on her page. Quinn clears her throat from the doorway and then softly says, “It’s close to your birthdays, actually.”

    Stacey says quiet for a really long time, putting the blue crayon back in its place. “ My birthday is in March though… Did Santa turn into one of the monsters? Is that why we didn’t have it?”

    “Did you ever see the Nightmare Before Christmas,” she asks and Stacey shakes her head. Brittany stands, scooping up Stacey in the process. “Come on. We’ll go hang out in your room so Stevie can hear the story too.”

    Brittany makes a mental note to tell anyone who has watched the movie about the changes she makes to the version she tells the kids.

--

    “Isn’t the shelf life long on twinkies and stuff like that,” Artie asks as they sit around the card table that night, once the kids are put to bed. “The thought of them not even having a cake… Every kid needs cake on their birthday.”

    Puck shakes his head from across the table. “That shit in Zombieland was a joke. Twinkies expire just like other shit.” Puck throws an arm around the back of Quinn’s chair and Kurt shift uncomfortably next to him.

    Quinn’s head is in her hands, pulling at her hair. “Artie’s right. Cake is a birthday staple. They deserve a day that feels normal.”

    Rachel slides the legal pad that’s been sitting in front of Artie, BIRTHDAY IDEAS written in boldface at the top in his too neat handwriting, and then starts writing down things like streamers, balloons, and signs. Next on the list is graham crackers, followed by frosting, and he smiles. “That’d totally work.”

    She smiles. “A little ghetto, but we have to work with what we got.” She finishes off the list with presents and then throws it into the middle of the table. “We should still be able to find most of that. I don’t think anyone really made it a priority to grab anything on that list. Well, except maybe graham crackers.”

    Puck looks it over, his hand now rubbing Quinn’s shoulder, and since Artie spends so much time alone, he’s not exactly sure what’s going on between Kurt and Puck but he really hopes there isn’t another Brittany/Santana/him thing forming, especially since this is still Quinn’s house. Kurt won’t look away from the hand massaging Quinn’s shoulder until the blonde looks up and he actually gets up from the table after that, asking anyone else if they want water. “We’ll run out tomorrow and get all this stuff. I’ll make sure there’s still enough gas in the van when I wake up.”

    “Can I go with tomorrow,” Brittany asks and Santana’s eyes are on her immediately.

    “You always stay here with the kids and Artie, in case they need anything.”

    Brittany nods, chewing on her thumb. “Yeah, but I figure that maybe you can stay tomorrow? I wanted to pick something out for the kids myself.”

    Santana shakes her head and when Artie locks eyes with Puck, they both back up from the table. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

    “Why not? I can take care of myself out there.” Brittany folds her arms over her chest as Santana opens her mouth again and, damn it, Artie isn’t going to get any sleep tonight if they fight this out in here.

    “Can we talk about this in the morning,” Quinn suggests, standing up. “Or can you just, not argue about this now? It’s late and we need to rest up if we’re going out tomorrow. We need to leave early too. Looks like it’s been going to rain for the past few days.”

    Brittany uncurls from her chair, fake smile on her face. “It’s okay, Quinn. No need to argue because I am going.” Brittany fixes Santana with a look and Artie’s a little surprised to see that Santana glares back.

--

    She’s showing Stevie how she makes her sandwiches (except she’s using crackers now since they ran out of bread a long time ago) when Brittany’s arms wrap around her waist, one of her hands sneaking under the hem of her shirt. Santana wipes the excess peanut butter on the rim of the jar before pointing at the cracker. “You see how I made sure you can’t see the cracker underneath? You have to do that if you want it to taste good.” Stevie nods as he writes that down on the spiral notebook in his hands. Brittany circles Santana’s belly button with the tip of her finger, setting her chin on her shoulder.

    “Everyone is ready and the van’s running fine, so we’re going to head out.” Santana nods, pulling her hand from her shirt as she tells Stevie that he forgot to cross his T. “Baby…”

    “Don’t,” Santana warns her and when Brittany kisses her neck, she can feel that the corners of Brittany’s lips are downturned.

    Stevie looks up, grimacing when he sees that Brittany’s kissing her, and she almost pushes Brittany away again when she feels Brittany’s teeth scrape along her skin. “You always stay with us,” he says and Brittany pulls off her with a pop. It makes Stevie look at them even more weird and she feels herself blush for the first time in years.

    “I know, but Santana is today because I want to get some things that I don’t want the three of you to see,” Brittany responds, trying to slip her hand back underneath Santana’s shirt but she pushes Brittany away, pressing herself closer to the counter.

    “You’re getting me something too?”

    “It was supposed to be a surprise,” Brittany answers as she swats the side of Santana’s thigh. “But I don’t want you acting like this towards me anymore.” She sees Brittany blow some hair out of her eyes in the mirror. “Even though you don’t really have a right to be upset at all.”

    “I don’t like the thought of you going out there, Brittany. It’s dangerous and I know you’re safe here.” Brittany squeezes her thigh and Santana pushes her off before she opens the jar of jelly. “I know it drives you insane when I go out but, I just…” She scrapes the edges of the jar, shaking her head. “I want you here.”

    Kurt calls Brittany from downstairs and when Brittany tries to kiss her cheek, she turns her head. She notices Stevie’s eyes widen and then Santana looks up to see Brittany glaring at her in the mirror. “I can’t believe you sometimes.”

    She holds her breath until Brittany’s out of their makeshift kitchen and then lets her whole body sag before she picks up the cracker with the jelly on it. “For this one-”

    “Go tell her you love her,” Stevie instructs, his pencil pointing to the door. She rolls her eyes and tells him to pay attention, otherwise she’ll never teach him how to make the sandwiches, but he stands his ground, going as far as swatting her hands when she starts smearing the jelly. “Stop it! She’s leaving and you’re being mean to her! What if she doesn’t come back like Sam?”

    The cracker drops face down in the sink, leaving a purple trail as it slides down the side of the porcelain. “What do you mean like Sam? You’re brother’s coming back, Stevie.”

    He grabs her wrist and tries his best to pull her towards the door. “Stop her before she leaves, stupid!” He uses his whole body to try and pull her forward and he has a decent amount of strength all things considered. “Brittany,” he yells, and when she starts walking, she has to catch him before he falls over himself. “Brittany!” She lets him drag her all the way to the stairs because yeah, this seven year old kid is right. If something happened to Brittany she’d hate herself and she actually hates fighting with Brittany. Hasn’t even been a day, really, but somehow it already feels like forever.

    Brittany pops up from behind the ledge, her smile dropping when she sees Santana. “She has something that she has to tell you.” She kneels down on the edge of the stairs once Stevie pushes her forward and she tries to block out the rest of their friends staring up at them. Quinn, thankfully, suggests they all load up, so that the only audience they have is Stevie. “Tell her.”

    “Tell me what,” Brittany asks, holding on to the crumbling landing, and Santana cups her cheek. Brittany’s eyes soften, her hand starting to come up to touch Santana’s wrist but she stops her.

    “I don’t want you falling,” Santana says as she leans forward, capturing Brittany’s lips. Brittany nips at her bottom lip and Santana can feel her smiling. “I love you. I’m sorry.” She presses a few more lingering kisses against Brittany’s lips. “Be safe, okay?”

    “I love you too, even though you’re a jerk.” Santana rolls her eyes as she tucks back Brittany’s bangs before she can blow them out of the way herself. “We’ll be back soon.”

    Santana leads Stevie back to the sandwiches, hitting the back of his head when she notices the smug look on his face. “When’d you get so smart, kid?”

    He shrugs. “My teachers must be really good.”

    She grins. “I actually think it’s probably just one of your teachers.”

    “You’re right. Quinn knows so much more than the rest of you,” he says and she hits him again, ruffling his hair just to mess with him more.

    Stevie picks up the crackers, pulling a new one out and handing it to her before picking back up his pencil. She waits until she pours the jelly before she asks, “Why don’t you think your brother’s coming back?”

    He shrugs a little, smoothing out his hair. “It’s been a really long time… And you guys already said that the other people aren’t coming back because of the monsters.” He sticks his pencil behind his ear, sighing as he looks up at her and god, this kid might as well stab her in the heart. “Sam is smart and awesome, but so was Mike and the monsters got him.”

    He doesn’t look like he’s going to cry but Santana sure as fuck feels like she’s going to start to. “If I hug you, are you going to stab me with a knife,” she asks and he narrows his eyes.

    “If you hug me, are you going to stab me with a knife?” She chuckles and shakes her head, wrapping her arms around the kid she always thought she’d hate. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t stab you with my pencil.”

    She laughs harder and throws his pencil across the room to make him mad.

--

    He swears they haven’t been ignoring each other. Honestly. They talk to each other when it’s eating time, like when they say thank you for taking their plate, and every once in a while, they’ll say goodnight if they pass one another at night. So when Puck suggests they split up, he really has no reason to protest when Rachel says the girls will go off to get the food while they go look for decorations.

    He keeps his hands in his pockets as they walk down the aisles to the party supplies, trying to think of any small talk he could make. “I was looking into some art schools,” Puck admits as he grabs a duffle bag they pass. “Ms. Pilsbury-” He pauses and shakes his head. It’s been a really long time since they talked about anyone that wasn’t family. “Ms. Pilsbury suggested it actually. There was a few in New York, a couple in LA, but the one that looked like the best was in Florida.”

    Kurt nods, looking at the aisles as they pass. “For music?”

    “Yeah. Probably in comp or education.” They head down aisle thirteen, and Puck cuts the plastic keeping the zippers together on the duffle. “You’re a dick, you know that?”

    Kurt rolls his eyes, pulling two packs of multicolored balloons off the shelf, tossing them into the open bag in Puck’s hands. “You’re not exactly the greatest person. Flattery is also far from your strong suit.” He picks up two rolls of streamers, a pink one and a blue one, and then starts sifting through signs for a happy birthday one. “I’m sorry for what I said, okay? I shouldn’t have just…” He sighs. “Seriously though, you can’t fault me for thinking it’s crazy that someone like you would ever want someone like me unless the situation was dire.”

    Puck pulls a bag of confetti from the shelf, tossing it in the bag as they do a once over. “Can we stop acting so fucking weird? World’s over… I don’t have the fucking energy to deal with your bullshit.”

    “My bullshit? You’re the one who got so upset.”

    “You were being a dick.”

    Kurt huffs, pushing Puck in the shoulder. “I just told you-” Puck kisses him, taking advantage of the fact that his lips were parted.

    Yeah, he’s definitely missed this.

    Puck pulls back a few seconds later with a smirk on his face and Kurt punches him in the chest. “You’re such a jerk.”

    He laughs and then throws an arm around Kurt’s shoulders. “Come on. Let’s go meet up with the girls.

--

    They kind of go overboard when it comes to the toys. Because they don’t really make the effort to go into town where the Toys R Us is, the kids have been limited to the few cheap toys they pick up at the stores closest to Quinn’s. They practically grab one of every Barbie for Stacey, including all the houses and cars and stuff she wishes she got growing up, and a bunch of action figures and cars for Stevie. Brittany wanders to the next aisle over, saying something about seeing something for Santana as they try to fit all the boxes into the bags they grabbed on the way to the toy section, but then there’s a gunshot and Brittany’s running back down the aisle, her back to them. “There’s a bunch of them,” she yells, shooting one right between the eyes. Quinn plucks a Barbie and an action figure out of the bag as blood splatters over the bright pink Barbie display, tucking them under her arm before she pulls the axe off her back.

    Rachel swings her bat through the skull of one that darts for her and Brittany takes out two more as they run towards the entrance of the store. “Where are you guys,” Puck shouts and Quinn trips over a body. She pushes it towards the zombies but it doesn’t do much. Only one of the five seem to take any interest in it, the rest still scrambling towards them. “Where the fuck are you guys!?”

    Quinn manages to get to her feet in enough time to swing her axe through the neck of the zombie in the front of yet another swarm. “Are you okay,” Rachel asks, pulling out her gun and shooting the zombie who starts darting at Brittany from the side before turning around to take another zombie’s head off with her bat.

    “I’m fine.” Quinn stabs a zombie through the back of the head and only manages to chop off the arm of another by the time she pulls the axe free from its skull. Brittany’s gunshots start to deafen her but then Rachel realizes there’s no more shooting. She spins around to see Brittany struggling to reload her gun. “Just drop it,” Rachel yells, shooting at the two still advancing on Brittany only for her to hear Quinn scream behind her.

    She knows she shouldn’t, but the moment she hears it, Rachel closes her eyes because it already feels like it’s too late.

--

    Kurt’s bullet sails through the zombie on top of Quinn and Puck uses Mike’s jiàn to kill three of the zombies that start frenzying towards them. “Thank you,” Quinn yells, shoving off the now dead zombie as she pulls her axe from it’s collarbone. Rachel tosses her gun to the ground when it runs out, using her bat to fend off the horde that starts to filter out from the rows of household cleaners while Brittany shoves the bullets into her gun.

    “We gotta go. Just… We gotta get out.” Quinn slices four zombies in half at the waist and Puck follows behind her, stabbing each one in the head.

    “We can’t turn our backs when they’re like this.” A zombie claws at Rachel and Quinn puts a bullet through the back of its skull.

    “Fuck!” Brittany pulls at her trigger but her gun doesn’t shoot. Kurt tries to help Rachel the best he can at picking them off before his own gun runs out of bullets and he flips the gun in his hand, using the butt to crush the skulls. Brittany follows suit, the three of them managing to take out most of the zombies rushing them until Brittany gasps. He turns around as the last zombie in front of him drops to the ground, its blood staining his hands, and sees Brittany lower her gun, Tina staring at her like she actually remembers who Brittany is.

    And then Tina rushes forward, her dirty, rotten fingers curling around Brittany’s arms, pulling Brittany closer. The blonde tries to bring her gun up once she’s been grabbed and he’s already shouting no as he raises his own gun up, but Tina, or this… thing that looks like somebody he used to know lurches forward, her teeth tearing into Brittany’s neck.

    Blood paints her pale skin, covers the hickey that’d been on her neck for nearly three days now. Her head lolls towards him and he can hear Tina tearing away at her throat but he can’t look away from the blue eyes that seem to still be staring at him.

    Brittany drops to the ground when Puck puts a bullet through Tina’s head. There’s still a handful of zombies around them but Puck and Rachel manage to handle them all as Quinn pushes Kurt out of the way, falling on to her knees next to Brittany. Her hand goes straight to the hole in Brittany’s neck, putting pressure on it even though it won’t help. “No,” she cries, shoving Tina’s body off of Brittany and he can’t stop staring at Quinn’s hands covered in their friends’ blood. “You can’t die!”

    Kurt looks around them, all of the dead now resting on the ground for good. Puck and Rachel are staring at them and he swallows hard. “Quinn,” he tries and she shoves him away when he tries to pull her away as gently as he can.

    Quinn cradles Brittany’s head in her arms, wiping her hand the best she can on her shirt before smoothing back Brittany’s hair. “We lose Santana too,” Quinn mutters.

    Puck kneels down next to, taking Brittany’s head out of her grasp and laying the blonde flat on the ground. “We gotta take care of her before she comes back,” he says softly. Quinn starts shaking her head and pushes him away from her but he just locks on to her shoulders when she starts crying harder. “Do you want me to do it?”

    She shakes her head again, slumping into Puck for a moment. “I need to do it.” Rachel walks over to him, her arm curling around his and she hides her face in his shoulder when Quinn kisses Brittany’s forehead before putting the gun against it.

--

    Kurt ends up next to Quinn on the walk back to the van, Rachel already a few feet in front of them and Puck lingering in the back as he smokes the last cigarette he has. He doesn’t know what to say. Even after all the loss he’s been through himself, he still doesn’t know the dialogue that should be used in these types of situations. Actually, lying is about the only thing that helps, at least for a little while.

    Quinn sniffs, running the back of her hand under her nose and he says the first thing that pops into his head. “Brittany was my first kiss.”

    Her steps don’t falter but she does side eye him a little before breathing out, “Yeah. Brittany was a lot of people’s first kiss.” She licks her lips and looks like she might say more but instead she shakes her head and turns around. He watches from over his shoulder as she falls into step with Puck, his sort of boyfriend pulling her close against him, putting out the cigarette when she asks.

    He runs to catch up with Rachel.

--

    Santana’s on her way to the bathroom when the front door opens and she smiles, leaning on the railing. “About time you guys came home,” she says and the first person in is Kurt, not Brittany. He doesn’t look up at her at all, just throws his blood stained gun to the floor and no.

    No.

    Quinn, who is covered in dried blood, looks up at her when she walks through the door, her face blank in a way that reminds Santana too much to when she was trying to ignore the fact she’d given away her child.

    “No,” Santana says, shaking her head.

    “I’m sorry, San.”

    She starts screaming and cursing and crying and can’t find it in her to stop when Stevie and Stacey stare at her from the door of the living area.

--

    Puck and Quinn lead her into what used to be Papa Fabray’s office. They bring a few of the weapons with them but they keep them on them as they tell her what happened. She doesn’t want to hear it, doesn’t want to hear how Brittany, her god damn Brittany, died no thanks to that fucking lovesick whore who Santana once fucking understood, but she lets them tell her everything because some part of her wants to know. She doesn’t think she could stand not knowing.

    Quinn holds out Brittany’s charm bracelet when Puck’s done talking. There’s blood on the silver heart.

    She takes it from Quinn, slips it around her own wrist, and then punches Quinn in the face. “You were supposed to protect her,” Santana spits, punching Quinn again. “She was one of us! You fucking ruined the unholy trinity!”

    She tries to punch Quinn again but Puck steps in the way and her fist lands on his chest. “And you! Where the fuck were you?!”

    She goes to kick him in the crotch but he blocks the shot. “Anything above the waist is fair game,” he says and she growls, punching him twice in the chest before slugging him in the chin.

    “You’re both so fucking worthless,” she screams, shoving Puck away from her. Quinn holds out a machete and Santana takes the blade, turning around to stab the wooden desk as many times as she can.

    It should’ve been her. She always goes on the runs and if she had gone then…

    “I knew it was too dangerous! If she just fucking let me go instead of her.” The blade gets caught in the wood and she pulls at it fruitlessly for a few seconds before slamming her hand on the desk hard enough for her hand to feel like it’s broken. Puck swings an axe into the desk and she grabs it, chopping away until the desk splits down the middle. She turns around, axe still poised, and tries to push past her friends. “Let me out of this fucking room. I need to go kill something.”

    “You are not going out there while you’re like this,” Quinn tells her and Santana has to look away because Quinn’s eye is already turning black.

    “I will kill you if you don’t let me the fuck out of here,” she snarls and Quinn squares her shoulders. “Move out of the way.”

    “Punch us all you want, Santana. I’ll even let you swing at me with the bat. But you’re not leaving this room until you calm the fuck down.”

    She drops the axe and starts throwing punch after punch, her left hand throbbing with each blow. “I fucking hate both of you! You weren’t fucking watching her! You should have fucking watched her!” Puck stumbles back when she gets him in the nose and she’s about to turn back to Quinn when she notices Puck’s nose bleeding. Her stomach churns at the sight of the fresh blood. She tries to look at Quinn but her vision is blurred and she tries to fist her left hand again but the pain seems worse than before. She can actually feel the sharp shooting racing up her arm and she has to start sucking in breath before she passes out. “She’s all alone now,” she cries, using her good hand to wipe at her cheeks. “Brittany hates being alone.”

    Quinn pulls her against her chest just when her knees start to buckle and Puck comes up behind her. She tries to stay focused on the beating of Quinn’s heart against her ear.

--

    He hears someone moving around in the room and he strains to see who it is without putting on his glasses but he can’t make out the blur of colors. “Sorry,” Santana says, her voice almost completely gone. He strains to push himself up, sliding his glasses on to his face, and he sees her pulling a water bottle from the case.

    “I’m kind of surprised you haven’t passed out from exhaustion.”

    She shrugs, takes a gulp, wipes her mouth with her hand. “I can’t sleep without Brittany.”

    “You’ll learn to,” he says and he thinks she might be glaring at him. “It’ll take a long time, but eventually… Eventually it gets a little easier to accept she’s not going to be by your side anymore.”

    Santana walks to the foot of the bed, staring at his legs. “You’ll have to teach me your exercises.” She runs a hand through her curly hair before crossing her arms underneath her chest and shaking her head. “I’m never going to accept that she’s not here. Without her… I’m alone.”

    He smiles sadly and pats the space next to him. “Yeah, you’ll get used to that too.”

    She sits in a ball on her side of the bed, the hand she has wrapped resting next to her. “Was it hard,” she asks. “Seeing her be with me?”

    “You know what Brittany’s like,” he says. “It sucks to see all the light that was in your life so close and yet completely out of reach.”

    She nods and then does something he never thought would happen in a million years. Not even a zombie apocalypse made him think this was any more likely. Santana scoots towards him until suddenly she’s curling around him, crying so hard that she starts dry heaving a little. He pulls her closer, rests his cheek on the top of her head. “I wish she could be here instead of me… That way you two could be together.”

    She digs her face into his pajamas, shaking her head. “I don’t want anyone dead.”

    “But if it came down to it,” he starts, rubbing circles into her arm, “I’m the one who should’ve gone a long time ago. And it’s okay… You don’t have to tell me that it’s not true.”

    He thinks that she might purse her lips over his heart but he couldn’t swear to it.

--

    She wakes up in an empty bed, the place Santana had occupied last night cold. She quietly checks every room, everyone still asleep even though there’s usually at least two people awake before the sun comes up. She finds Santana curled up in Artie’s bed, hands fisted around his shirt, and Quinn breathes out a sigh of relief when she realizes that everyone, at least physically, is still okay.

    Judging by the sunlight peaking from behind the horizon, it couldn’t be much later than 6:30. She knows it’s careless of her to go alone but they’ve been cooped up in her house for so long now and she still kind of craves the solitary life she used to live. She grabs her weapons just in case, a hunting rifle and the sharpened broom stick, and she watches from behind the van once she’s out of the house to make sure the street is safe before she crosses over to the development that never got started. The ground is wet beneath her and she sinks in a little once she settles on the unleveled dirt, looking out at what looks like miles of untouched land.

    She never wanted to stay in Lima. It’s little more than a cow town people only see because they’re passing through on their way to a real city, and staying means she failed to do anything worth while with her life. She’s spent a lot of time hating and resenting Lima when life was normal but at this very moment in time, she’s strangely at peace with this place she reluctantly calls home. For all she knows, there’s nothing else out there anymore. No big cities, no colleges, nothing that could be better than the set up she has now where she’s surrounded by the people who have always been there when everyone else in her life, including herself, have fallen short. She still wishes that some things were different, that they hadn’t lost so many people, that she knew what happened to the one person in the world she loved more than herself, but considering the destruction surrounding them, she knows that she’s lucky.

    There’s some footsteps behind her and she turns, hand already wrapped around the wooden post, Rachel crossing the street with her bat slung over her shoulder. “Noah would have a fit if he knew you went out here alone.” Rachel drops to the ground next to her, tucking back a piece of hair that falls out from her bun. “Especially after…”

    Quinn nods but shrugs a little. “I just needed a little breathing room.” Rachel looks back at the house and then starts to push herself up but Quinn pats Rachel’s knee. “It’s okay. Being alone is actually a little weird now.”

    “Last night was the first night I can remember actually sleeping alone,” Rachel admits. “First it was Finn, then Kurt, then you, then back to Kurt… I keep trying to think about that night before all this happened but I can’t really remember the details anymore. I know I must’ve slept alone. What I did that night, what I listened to… It’s like I’m trying to remember a dream.”

    “You ever think that this could all just be a dream?”

    Rachel tilts her head, picking at the straw on the ground. “I think this would better suit the nightmare category.”

    “I guess sometimes… But aren’t you supposed to be terrified in your nightmares? Aren’t they supposed to beat you down and leave you… hopeless?”

    “You’re not scared,” Rachel asks, looking up at her through her lashes and she can say with the utmost certainty that, no, she’s not really scared anymore.

    “Everything that we’ve seen is like out of a horror movie. Well, sort of it. It’s Hollywood stuff that somehow came to life around us, and, of course I’m worried. I worry that the next time we head out on a run, we’ll lose someone else and I can’t stop thinking about what will happen to the kids if it’s me or Puck who goes next, but… I don’t know. I’m not hopeless. Everything that’s happened between all of us… Good things have come out of all of this, right? Through all the horrible things we’ve been through, there’s always been a little bit of light at the end of this tunnel.” She looks out at the blank space in front of them, a shiver running through her body when the wind starts to pick up a little bit. She pulls her sweatshirt around her tighter as Rachel does the same, the brunette nodding a little.

    “I guess you’re right… Kurt…” She laughs a little and shakes her head. “Kurt swears that what’s going on between him and Puck is nothing but it’s been so long since I’ve seen him this happy. Last night was rough, but there was still miles of difference between the boy I’d been sleeping next to and the one leading Puck to his room.”

    “It’s not nothing,” Quinn says. “For Puck, it’s almost everything. Almost.”

    Rachel smiles. “He’s got you and the kids to think about too.”

    “Yeah, but Kurt is the one who can give him everything he’s ever really wanted. Someone to return every bit of feeling he has.”

    Quinn sighs and Rachel reaches over, slipping her hand into Quinn’s. “Think we can keep the party supplies hidden from the kids until Friday?”

    Rachel’s hand is warm against hers and she squeezes it tightly. “I think so. Stacey isn’t too much of a snooper but we’re going to have to watch Stevie.” The dew has officially soaked through her sweats but she likes sitting here too much to suggest to Rachel they go back inside.

    “You’re really good with them,” Rachel says, turning away from the length in front of them and looking back at the house. “I don’t think I could have stepped up quite like you and Noah, especially as fast as you both did.”

    “They’re my kids… I only hope that someone-” She cuts herself off. She and Rachel are close now, will probably get even closer the longer they stay together, but Beth… It’ll be years before she can bring her baby up to anyone other than Puck. Rachel squeezes her hand and then brings their joined hands up to her lips, kissing Quinn’s pale skin softly.

    “I think that they’re really going to like the set up. And I really don’t think they’ll care that we weren’t able to bring back as many toys as we wanted to.”

    “I was actually thinking we could all do some sort of, as cheesey as this is, personal gift too. Like, you could sing for them and I found these really good pictures from Regionals. There was even one of all of them… I think they need to have that. Remember their parents and Sam just in case they’re starting to forget too.”

    “I think that will be really amazing, Quinn.”

    “I hope so… And Stevie has been dropping hints about wanting to learn how to use some of the knives and as much as that makes me want to have a heart attack, I think if Puck starts teaching him, that could be okay.”

    “It’s good to be prepared,” Rachel says softly and Quinn nods. The sun hangs bright in the sky, all the clouds that loomed all week finally gone. She starts humming that song from Annie and Rachel laughs before tugging Quinn’s hand. “The sun’ll come out, tomorrow, bet your bottom dollar that, tomorrow…”

    “It’s funny, isn’t it? How we can forget some things and yet we both still remember lyrics to songs we haven’t heard in forever.”

    Rachel does her best to spin Quinn, rising on to her tiptoes even though Quinn still has to bend down. “I don’t really think I can forget music. Words to songs I used to know? Sure. But something as simple as opening my mouth and a melody coming out?” She shakes her head. “Music has been around forever and I sure as hell won’t let it die out now.”

    A lopsided smile forms on Quinn’s face as Rachel starts singing the rest of Tomorrow, spinning her bat in her wrist, and Quinn can’t look away from every movement the other girl makes. She’s only singing loud enough for Quinn to hear but Rachel might as well be putting on a concert for hundreds of people. “I think this whole journey could turn into a pretty decent musical,” Quinn says once Rachel ends her final note. “You know, if you manage to build Broadway from the ground up when everything is said and done.”

    Rachel quirks an eyebrow. “Yeah?” Quinn nods, holding her hand out for Rachel to take again but the brunette goes one step further. She leans up, hand curving around Quinn’s cheek and Quinn can only stare in shock as Rachel looks her straight in the eyes before pushing forward just a little bit more, her lips sliding in place against Quinn’s. It’s gentle and quick, nothing more than simple pressure. Rachel pulls back to look at her, her brown eyes catching in the light that reminds Quinn of something that she’d only ever seen in movies. “I think that sounds like the perfect project to start while we wait,” she says quietly.

    Quinn nods, her arms wrapping around Rachel’s shoulders and all of this is new in a way she never thought she’d experience again. She kisses Rachel this time, even though her mind is racing a mile a minute, trying to figure out what this could mean for them. Rachel’s arm slips around her waist, hand flat at the base of her back and Quinn finds herself sinking into the kiss just a little bit more.

    She has the time to figure this out.

All The Noise Died Away [5/6]

only_because3 — Fri, 06 Apr 2012 07:16:01 GMT

    “Breakfast is ready.” Quinn looks up from what she’s doing at her desk, waving her over once she peers over the rim of her glasses.

   “I found a really good picture when I was looking through some things last night after dinner,” Quinn explains, pushing her glasses up into her hair that she hasn’t pulled back yet. Rachel looks down at the photo in Quinn’s hand. It’s of Puck, Finn and Quinn on the bleachers at some school that isn’t McKinley and it’s definitely from before Rachel really knew any of them. They all look so young and the difference between the Quinn and Puck she lives with and the ones in the picture is almost frightening. She takes it from Quinn, looking on the back and finding the date written in Quinn’s loopy handwriting.

   “I met him the week after this,” she says softly.

   “I thought you might want it.” She looks at Quinn for a moment before staring at her dead boyfriend. “I think that’s the best picture I have of him. You can crop us out, obviously.”

   “It’s a really nice picture of all of you. I wouldn’t want to ruin it… Unless you wanted the half with you and Noah.”

   Quinn rolls her eyes and starts stacking up the pictures on her desk. “Why would I? I look horrible.” She pauses, looking down at her sweatshirt and pajama pants, laughing a little. “Well, not as horrible as I do now, but I’m surprised I left the house with how I was back then.”

   Rachel’s not going near that because though Quinn is beautiful, this is truthfully the most run down she’s seen Quinn look. Rachel tucks her hair behind her ears as she clears her throat. “It’s a very nice picture of you and Noah. Don’t you want…” Quinn arches an eyebrow. They’ve definitely been getting closer ever since Quinn saved her two months ago, may actually be friends with her now, but this is still territory she’s not comfortable with.

   “You can ask. Nothing would have stopped you from asking before.”

   “Yeah, but if I pissed you off before, I still had a home to go to,” she says, prompting Quinn to roll her eyes again.

    “I’m not going to throw you out, Rachel.”

   She drops down on the edge of the bed, curling her feet underneath herself to keep them warm. “Aren’t you and Noah together now?”

   “No,” Quinn answers simply, spinning around in her chair to look at Rachel.

   “But…” Quinn’s eyebrow raises and Rachel takes a deep breath, hands fisting inside her sweatshirt pocket. “I just don’t understand I guess. Before everything happened, you two were friends at best and now you’re… well, you two may as well have a picket fence.”

   Quinn shakes her head, a small sad smile playing on her lips. She’s not looking at the brunette and Rachel follows her gaze to the picture frame on the bedside table. That’s probably the only family picture Puck and Quinn have (even though Quinn says she wouldn’t kick her out, Rachel knows Quinn would in a heartbeat if she brought up Beth). “Puck is… I love him, I trust him. Probably more than anyone else in the world now. But even if everything gets better, Puck isn’t someone I plan to marry.” Quinn shrugs before gathering her hair in her hands.

   “You two are sleeping together.”

   Quinn pulls the hair tie from her wrist and the look Rachel gets has her back straightening. “It’s better than fighting with each other. Better than crying too.”

   Rachel nods slowly and stands up, tucking the picture in her pocket. “We should go get breakfast.”

   “I hope you know that there is really no point in fighting with each other anymore.” She looks back and Quinn is slipping into her slippers before she gets up. “You don’t have to act like I’m going to turn on you at any second.”

   “I can’t fight with you anymore. After what you did… I know I’ve told you before, but I really can’t thank you enough.”

   Quinn brushes her off. “I used to make your life hell. This is the least I could do.”

   They walk side by side down the hall and Rachel shakes her head. “If you think there’s still some score to settle, there’s not. We’re even now.” The corner of Quinn’s lips turn up just slightly before they walk in to the living area.

--

   Puck drops down next to him, leaning in close to read over his shoulder. “Must you always do that,” Kurt asks and Puck shrugs, relaxing on Rachel’s side of the bed.

   “You and Q… Always acting like I’m reading your diary when I hover.”

   Kurt slips the flap of the book cover between the pages to mark his place. “Because it’s annoying.” Puck rolls his eyes before stretching, a yawn tearing through his body. “You don’t have to keep doing these weekly sit downs, Puck. It’s been three months.”

   “He was our brother,” Puck breathes out with a tiny shrug. Kurt rolls on to his side, propping his head up on his elbow. “I know that for the most part we’re fine but… It helps me remember him, ya know?”

   “Yeah…” Some things have already started getting fuzzy, like what exactly Finn smelled like and what his laugh sounded like, and it doesn’t make sense because he has all the time in the world to think about his family, to preserve them in his memory. If he’s constantly thinking about them, shouldn’t he remember everything with startling clarity? “Sometimes I think it might be easier to forget all together.”

   “You and Q,” Puck repeats, laughing a little. “You’re like her with a dick. ‘Cept slightly less issues.”

   Kurt rolls his eyes. “At this point, we’ve all got issues.”

   Puck drums his fingers on his stomach and the beat is familiar but he can’t place it. “You ever think about Blaine? Or does he fall in the forget category?”

   Puck looks at him when he’s been quiet for too long and Kurt lets out a breath. “Honestly? I haven’t thought about him since before everything hit the fan.” he closes his eyes for a second, tries to imagine Blaine but the most he remembers is a shapeless blob in Warbler colors. He opens his eyes, shaking his head. “Guess he wasn’t as high on my list of priorities as I thought he was.”

   “I thought you weren’t supposed to forget your first love or some shit like that.” Kurt rolls his eyes, shoving Puck in the shoulder.

   “Must not have been my first love then.”

   “Yeah,” Puck asks, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

   Kurt nods. “It’s been years since my mom died and even though I can barely remember things about her, I can still see her vividly in my head. Blaine… He’s like a dream I had months ago that I’m trying to remember. Eventually, we’ll all just forget.”

   “You think so?”

   “Have you thought about Lauren?”

   Puck folds his arms under his head. “I did that day, when we were still at school. She knew how to handle herself but…” He shrugs. “My focus has been on everyone here, the kids especially. You all are what’s important now.”

   Kurt squeezes Puck’s elbow, smiling a little before he rolls on to his back. “What you’re doing would mean a lot to Finn. He knew you’d make sure Rachel and I were safe.”

   Puck swallows audibly. “He’d want you guys to be happy.”

   “We’re all as happy as we can be.” Kurt picks up his book, scooting closer so that Puck can see the words too. “Do you want me to read out loud or do you get a certain amount of gratification from reading over my shoulder?”

   Puck turns Kurt’s wrist so that he can get a good look at the time. “May as well read it out loud. I could use a nap anyway.”

--

   Brittany has a habit of singing under her breath when she helps him do his leg exercises. He’s pretty sure he’s heard the Spice Girls’ entire catalog by now and today she’s moved on to what he thinks is a Backstreet Boys’ song. Brittany does not take requests. She stops midverse and looks up at him. “I wonder what happened to Kevin.”

   “Who?”

   She bends his left leg and then starts massaging the muscles in his calf. “Kevin. He was the only one who didn’t participate in the reunion tour.”

   “It wasn’t a reunion tour,” Tina says as she plops down next to his head, a small bowl of dry Captain Crunch in her hand. “They never broke up.”

   Brittany rolls her eyes. “But Kevin wasn’t there. That means there was some sort of break up going on.” There’s a distinct rumble outside and Brittany’s fingers pause, pushing into his skin to the point where if he could feel it, he thinks it’d hurt. Every so often a vehicle will putter down the street but it’s always rare, especially now that it’s been snowing.

   Mike peeks out the window in the bathroom before yelling, “Just another looter moving past us.”

   “You ever wonder if there’s anyone trying to help out there,” Artie asks once Brittany’s hands start moving again.

   “Like the government?”

   “Doubtful,” Santana says from her spot at the table, flipping through a months old copy of Martha Stewart Living. “They’ve probably quarantined the state and that’s about all they’ll do.”

   “Maybe they’ve just been waiting for winter,” Mike chimes in. “In The Walking Dead, the walkers moved much slower in winter. It was easier to avoid or kill them then.”

   “Oh my god, you’re as bad as-” Santana cuts herself off abruptly and the veins in Brittany’s wrist are more pronounced when she works up to his knee. “I don’t think the bigwigs are looking at a TV show for pointers.”

   “What if somebody does come though? Takes us to a safer place,” Tina asks, tossing a cereal square in to Artie’s mouth when he opens it.

   “A safer place like…”

   “California,” Artie breathes out. “You said that the states were mostly east, right? California is about as far west as we can go. Plus there wouldn’t be any snow.”

   Santana’s eyebrows furrow. “Doesn’t it snow in-”

   “We could go swimming in the ocean,” Brittany exclaims, taking his ankles in her hands, moving his legs like he used to when he could still swim.

   “Brit, just because there’s no snow-”

   “If they quarantined the states then California should still be safe, right,” Tina asks and she holds her hand up for Mike to take, tugging him down to the floor. “I bet all the celebrities are safe. I don’t think the zombies could get past those huge security gates if they did manage to get out there.”

   “I hope Megan Fox is still alive,” Brittany adds, straightening his right leg and resting it on her shoulder. If he looks back enough, he can see Santana glaring at him a little bit. It’s not nearly as bad as it was before, back when he legit thought Santana would slash his tires (or hands), but he can’t really find it in him to care that this still upsets her. Brittany and Tina are the only ones who know his routine, Brittany even more so, and he has to do this at least twice a day. If he doesn’t, he’ll get sores which could get infected which takes them to a whole realm of trouble they can’t deal with.

   “Do you think they’d make us go back to school right away? Or hold us back,” Mike asks and Santana rolls her eyes.

   “I don’t think education is going to be high on their priority list when there’s bodies everywhere and the people qualified to teach us are dead.”

   “Maybe they’ll just let us graduate. It’s not like we really do much senior year anyway,” Tina adds as Santana tosses the magazine to the center of the table.

   “If that’s the case, then I’m totally down with California.”

   “We could live on the beach, right San? Oh, but then you wouldn’t be able to visit us, Artie. Unless you got, like, truck tires on your wheel chair.”

   “I don’t know if I’d want to go somewhere here… If we’re free from everything, why not travel to Europe? It’d be totally safe there too.” Mike slings an arm around Tina’s shoulders, the girl sinking into his side. “How do you feel about France?”

   Tina smiles. “I could eat pastries all day. Think of all the nutella.”

   Brittany switches his legs and bite the corner of her lip. “What’s up,” he asks as Tina and Mike argue about whether savory or sweet crepes are better.

   “What happens if we run out of food before anyone comes?”

   Mike and Tina fall silent, Santana’s chair creaking when she sits up straighter. “That store still had a lot of food,” Santana says quietly, forcing a small smile on to her face when Brittany looks over at her.

   He tries to put his hand on Brittany’s when it’s close enough to reach, but she pulls back, slumping on to her knees. “Do you think we’ll all still be here when the government comes?” She sounds so tiny but somehow not really scared. Her blue eyes don’t tear up and he doesn’t know what anyone else’s reaction is because he can’t stop staring at her blank face, her fingers creating a pattern against his thigh he almost thinks he can feel instead of just see.

   Santana walks up behind Brittany, her arms draping around the blonde’s neck, her palms finding purchase over her heart. He thinks he sees a wet trail on Santana’s cheeks but he blames it on dirty glasses. He pulls them off, wiping down the lenses thoroughly so that he can’t make out the details of what’s happening in front of him. Santana’s lips press right above Brittany’s ear in a blur, both of their eyes closing before Brittany nods.

   He never had that with Brittany (never had that with anyone) and he wonders how much longer it’ll take for Santana to see he never was (never will be) a threat to their relationship.

   Brittany pats his thigh and then lowers his legs down, whispering, “Excuse me,” as she takes Santana’s hand in hers, the two of them disappearing down the hall.

   He pushes himself up into a sitting position, slipping his glasses back on. “You don’t really think we’ll lose anyone else, do you,” Tina asks.

   Mike shrugs next to her, stealing a few bits of cereal from the bowl. “We’ve managed to last four and a half months unscathed,” Artie says. “Our set up is pretty damn decent too.”

   “Accidents happen though,” Mike reminds them. Overall, Mike’s been handling what happened pretty well. But it’s hard not to make it sound like he’s partly to blame when they talk about what happened the day Brittany shot Mr. Buce (nobody, except Rachel, refer to it as the day Finn died). They can’t say they’ve learned from their mistakes when it comes to group sizes, they can’t bring up the fact that the only person they’ve lost to zombies was only with Mike when he died. That casualty was so different from Sam’s. Doesn’t hurt anymore or less, but there’s so much more guilt to weigh them down with Finn.

   Tina swallows hard and squeezes Mike’s thigh. “We gotta take this one day at a time.” She kisses Mike’s cheek and whispers something Artie can’t hear.

   “Yeah,” Mike breathes out, standing up with Tina.

   “Do you need help getting back in your chair,” she asks and when he tells her no, she nods. “We’re going to go lay down for a bit.”

   He can hear various noises coming from different parts of the house. Stacey and Stevie are laughing, Kurt is yelling at Puck, and Rachel’s singing some Barbra song he’s never heard before. He swallows thickly from his spot on the floor and tries to ignore that he’s alone in the only silent room.

--

   Sometime in February, a looter breaks the lock on the back door. The house is, as always, amazingly quiet and he hears it the minute whoever starts hammering into the lock. Tina doesn’t wake up, just snuggles further into him, but he hears someone else, his best bet is Puck, getting up down the hall.

   He tries to slip out of bed without waking his girlfriend but her eyes open as soon as he has one leg off the bed. “Where are you going,” she asks, voice heavy with sleep. The door downstairs cracks open and Tina pushes herself up, blinking wildly. “What was that?”

   “I think a looter. Stay here.”

   She crosses her arms. “Mike, I can handle myself against a looter.”

   He takes a deep breath. “I know, baby. But just… It’s late and please, just stay here till I assess the situation.”

   “You can turn around right now or I can shoot you right now,” Puck yells outside and Mike grabs the gun they keep in the bedside table as Tina counts to three, a gunshot echoing in the house when the last syllable passes her lips. She scrambles to her feet the minute she hears crying across the hall, meeting Quinn at the kids’ door. He can see Stevie clutching Stacey tight, tears streaming down both their faces before Quinn shut the door.

   “We should find the kids earplugs,” Mike says once he’s next to Puck. The body of someone he’s never seen before lies in a heap on the floor, blood staining the wood beneath him.

   “I think we should find another lock first. Cut out the middle man.” Brittany slinks in between them, her hair sticking to her forehead and gunk in the corner of her eyes. “Go back to bed, Brit.”

   She makes a noise in the back of her throat, taking the rifle from Puck’s hand. “You should’ve given him a warning shot.”

   “I gave him a warning and besides, we can’t afford to waste the bullets,” Puck says as gently as he can.

   Mike slips his hand into Brittany’s free one and Santana’s arm slips around her waist. “It’s probably better this way… Least now he doesn’t have to live like this,” Santana whispers.

   Brittany shakes her head, pulling away from all of them. “What if he had friends alive? Family?” Her voice cracks and Santana tries to catch her wrist but Brittany curls into herself, backing up against the wall. “And they won’t know what happened to him because…” She licks her lips, staring past them. “What if that happened to one of us? What if people come looking for him?” Her gaze drops to the ground and even though he can’t see her face clearly now, he knows that she’s crying just by how she’s standing.

   “It was him or us, Brittany,” Puck says after a moment and the blonde shakes her head.

   “I don’t like this… What could he have done? It’s not like he was a zombie or doing something bad like Jacob.”

   Santana takes a deep breath, silently apologizing to both of them as she walks over to her girlfriend. She sinks on to her knees, forcing Brittany to look at either her or them. “What if he brought back people with more guns? What if he figured out how to get up here? He broke in after all… That means he thought we’d have good stuff here.” Santana pulls Brittany’s hands from where they’re balled up at her side, lightly running over pale skin. “Lets go lay down, baby. We can talk more when we’re back under the covers, okay?”

   Brittany whimpers but lets Santana drag her away, the rifle left leaning against the wall. “I did the right thing.” He doesn’t say it like a question but Mike claps a hand on his shoulder anyway and nods.

   “Puck?” Tina lingers in the doorway of the kids’ room, tipping her head back. “Quinn’s going to spend the rest of the night in here.”

   “We’ll get up early and move him,” Mike says, walking over to pick up the rifle. “Tina and I will go close up the house. Get some sleep.”

   “Thanks dude.” Puck squeezes Tina’s hand as they pass.

   Mike hands Tina the rifle and then lowers down the ladder. “Do you ever think about having kids?” He slips on the third step and he looks up at her once he finds his footing again.

   “Now? Because I’m not… I love you Tina, but I’m not about to pull a Glenn and Maggie.” He takes his rifle from her as she rolls her eyes, climbing down now that he’s safely on the ground.

   “I’m not saying now. I just mean in general. Have you ever thought about having kids?”

   “I kind of did when Quinn was pregnant,” he says, scratching at the back of his head. “But that was nothing too serious.” Tina takes the gun back, nodding in agreement. “And I guess sometimes I think about it when I’m hanging out with the kids but… I don’t know. It’s hard to imagine something so normal anymore.”

   There’s a low moaning coming from the kitchen and then something falls to the ground with a thud. Tina raises the rifle as he turns off the safety on his own gun. He tries to ignore how bad his hands are shaking, tries to block out the kissing sound of death around the corner. This is the first time since Finn died that he’s heard that sound and no matter how many times he repeats to himself that they’ll both be fine, he can’t help but think this could be it.

   Tina steps in front of him, the butt of the gun set against her shoulder. “I know you want to protect me,” she starts quietly. “But you have to let me protect you too. Take a deep breath, okay love?” She waits until he takes two deep breaths before turning into the kitchen and she’s going about this too dangerously. She’s an okay shot, it's something they’ve been working on with a BB gun they picked up on their last run, but she’s waiting until the zombie can practically grab her until she shoots. Tina cocks back the gun quickly, the other zombie frenzying but she takes that one out too. She looks calm but her breathing gives her away.

   “All clear!” He presses himself up against her back and she sinks into him immediately, taking his arms in her hands and wrapping them around her waist when he kisses the back of her head. “We’re okay,” she says, digging her nails into the back of his hand and he has to admit, it’s nice to know he can still feel.

   “You ever think about it?”

   She swallows hard, shrugging lamely before he gives her another kiss, this one right above her ear, and then pulls away. “Before you, I never really thought about kids.”

   He starts pulling out the deep freezer that the Fabray’s kept off the side of the kitchen across from their pantry. “And now?”

   Tina helps him push it into place against the back door, tucking her hair behind her ears when they’re done. “Now…” She sighs and slumps on the freezer. “I would have really liked to see what out kids would be like… Not just what they would look like, but if they would’ve been more like you or me or a combo of both. Not that I wanted to have kids with you right then. It was just a what if for my future.” He sits next to her, throwing an arm around her shoulders. “Now though… You’re right. It’s hard to think of something so domestic now. I don’t know understand how anyone can bring someone else into this.”

   “You ever think things will go back to normal,” he asks, hooking his ankle around hers. “Honestly?”

   “I don’t know,” she exhales. “How can I go back to school when I’ve lost friends, family? Especially now that I know I can survive on next to nothing?” She shakes her hand and then grabs a chunk of her hair, twisting the faded dye between her fingers.

   He stands up, stretching his limbs before he takes her hands in his, pulling until she stands up. “C’mon. Dance with me.” Her smile is faint but there and he slips an arm around her waist, raising her other hand in his. “This still feels normal to me. Especially if I’m doing it with you.” Her smile grows and she tightens her form before he leads them around the rubble, bodies, and blood in a Viennese waltz.

--

   A week later two more looters have managed to get in (one, smartly, left at the warning) and a handful of other zombies. They’ve been trying to avoid leaving unless absolutely necessary because it’s been snowing hard and none of them except for her really have the proper clothes to go out in a storm. But the smell of the bodies is just serving to get them sick, not to mention it’s attracting more zombies. Or could be anyway.

   “We’ll have to get rid of them soon,” Quinn says to Mike as they sit side by side at the end of the hallway, stretching as they watch Brittany teach Stacey a pirouette. She can tell that Stacey’s starting to get frustrated that she can’t do it exactly like Brittany, but her friend is patient with her, her hands carefully guiding Stacey through every move.

   Stevie pokes his head out of his room and the minute he opens his mouth, Mike clears his throat. “Don’t say anything that would make her want to give up.”

   Stevie’s face scrunches, his arms crossing over his chest. Sometimes, she’d swear he’s Santana’s brother instead of Sam’s. “I wasn’t going to say anything mean.”

   Mike shakes his head. “What were you going to say? Because if it wasn’t nice, she doesn’t need to hear it.”

   Stevie has a much harder time listening to anyone other than Puck, Santana, and herself and so his scowl really sinks into his features before he turns to Quinn. “Do you think the tooth fairy ever leaves food instead of money?”

   “What do you mean, Stevie?”

   He pulls his arms into the sleeves of his shirt and tries balancing on one foot. “Well I don’t really have any use for a dollar anymore, but I really like raviolis and we ran out of those.”

   Mike slowly exhales and, god, somehow this hurts her just as much as it does when the kids ask about Sam. “Maybe… We’ll have to wait till tomorrow to see.” He nods and then turns back into his room. “God,” she breathes out, leaning forward to touch the toes on her outstretched leg.

   “If we take the bodies today, maybe we could swing by a store,” Mike whispers though he doesn’t have to.

   “I’m going to feel horrible if I don’t get him a can.” She wraps her hands around her foot and her back pops just before she sits back up. “It’s the least I can do.”

   Mike brings his legs together, shaking his head. “You and Puck do all that you can for them.”

   “I wish I could give them more than this.” They look up when Stacey starts shrieking and they watch as the tiny blond does a pirouette perfectly. Brittany claps before scooping Stacey up in her arms as Mike helps Quinn get to her feet.

   “They’re happy, Quinn. What more could you do?”

   “By the end of the week, this little girlie could do all of Swan Lake,” Brittany proudly exclaims as Stacey laughs from her spot on Brittany’s hip.

   “That was amazing, Stace,” Quinn says, pushing back a stray hair that full out of Stacey’s bun. “I think I might have one of my old tutus in a box.”

   “I think she should only get the tutu if she agrees to give us a performance,” Mike says and Stacey’s cheeks turn pink.

   “In front of everyone?”

   Quinn presses a kiss against her forehead. “How about just us,” she suggests, pointing to the four of them. She still doesn’t look too sure and Stacey starts playing with Brittany’s hair until Quinn has another idea. “What If we all danced together?”

   Stacey’s eyes light up and she nods enthusiastically. “We can all be swans!” She looks at Mike and she blushes again. “Except you, M. You don’t have to be a swan . You can be the prince!”

   Mike laughs and nods as Brittany hikes Stacey higher on her hip. “C’mon. Lets go show San.”

   “Can we show Da-I mean Puck too?” Brittany glances at her and Quinn bites her lip.

   “Why don’t you show Santana first?” Stacey nods and Brittany leads them into the room where Santana’s reading.

   “Is that the first time she’s done that,” Mike asks once Brittany’s shut the door.

   “No… Stevie actually didn’t catch himself once and called me mom.” She rubs her forehead, exhaling heavily as Rachel, Tina, and Artie break out into some song she can’t figure out just yet. “He wouldn’t talk to me for the rest of the day, but I get it… Still weird for me to be called that even though…”

   “You going in with the new members of Outkast?”

   She smiles but shakes her head. “I think I’m going to talk to Puck for a bit.” He comes out of Kurt and Rachel’s room just as she’s about to knock and rather than quirk an eyebrow, she lets her whole body sag. “We have to talk about some things, she says as he shuts the door behind him.

   He wraps an arm around her shoulders and when she takes a deep breath, the comfort he brings her is different. It reminds her a lot of before.

--

   “I think this is the warmest I’ve been in a while,” Rachel says as they bound down a strip of unfinished road on the other side of town. The heater is on only enough to keep the windshield clear but the fact that she’s shoved on to the bench with Quinn, Tina, and Santana means their body heat is making the whole cab of the truck toasty. She wipes away the fogginess from the window next to her, squinting to make out the boys in the bed. There’s no way they’re not freezing.

   “I would suggest we all start bunking together but I like my space too much.” Santana pauses for a second. “Plus, I don’t want to have to get up to fuck my girlfriend.”

   “Santana,” Quinn groans, leaning forward to clear a bit of the window.

   The girl shrugs next to her. “What? It’s the truth. For the most part, people are still getting laid in our house.” Rachel shifts uncomfortably and Santana’s face changes into what Rachel thinks is a sympathetic look. “You totally would be too if-”

   “Santana,” Quinn repeats as she slows to a stop in the middle of a field.

   The boys hop off the back of the truck when Quinn cuts the engine. Santana climbs on to the roof, laughing under her breath that it’s been a long time since she’s been up there, and everyone else pairs off to get the bodies out as fast as possible. There’s 10 or so bodies and they only manage to get 3 off and into the melting snow when Santana cocks the rifle in her hand. Rachel drops the arms in her hands when she sees the horde trudging slowly through the snow.

   “Everyone get back in the car,” Puck shouts even though they’re all right there.

   “What about what we haven’t unloaded,” Kurt asks, staring as the zombies get even closer to them, the snow giving way to them easily.

   “We’ll dump them as we go. C’mon, in the truck, now.”

   Tina has to physically pull Rachel off the edge of the truck and Quinn makes both girls slide in on her side before hopping behind the wheel. Santana slides off the roof, landing in the back of the truck with a thud and Rachel hears her growl through gritted teeth. Through the fogged up window, she can see Kurt running over to Santana who is clutching her ankle next to the first looter who broke in. Quinn turns the key, the engine scratching as it tries to turn over. Come on, Quinn,” Puck yells as he and Mike shove another body off the edge of the bed.

   “I’m trying,” she snaps, turning trying to bring the car to life again only to fail.

   Tina rolls down her window, sticking her head out to get a clear view of the group coming their way. “They’re moving faster,” she says quietly, gripping the axe she’d been keeping between her knees.

   “How many,” Quinn asks. She tries giving the truck some gas but it doesn’t help. Her hands are starting to shake and Rachel swats her hand away, trying to turn the key herself.

   “15, I think.”

   Puck’s yelling and they can’t just sit here. The truck’s not going to start in enough time. It’d be stupid to think that they’ll be handed a miracle; that the truck will magically come to life at the last possible second. “We have to kill them,” Rachel says. That seems to be all Tina needs because she jumps out of the truck, swinging the axe over her shoulder.

   “Get back in the cab, Tina,” Puck and Mike say simultaneously.

   Quinn takes a deep breath and then grabs the broken broom stick from the dash. “Do you have your-” Rachel holds up her baseball bat and handgun and Quinn nods before sliding out of the truck.

   Puck’s propping Santana up against the back of the truck, far enough in that nothing will be able to grab her from the sides. “We’re ready for this,” he says firmly. “We...” His shoulders sag with the deep breath he takes and he squares them off just before he jumps down to join the rest of them.

   “That’s more than 15,” Quinn mutters and she’s right. It looks more like 20, maybe more, and she’s absolutely terrified. She wonders if this is how Finn felt before he died. If all hope had left him and the harsh reality of what was about to come over him hit him like cold water to the face. She wonders if maybe, just maybe, he thought he’d make it. If he had just enough optimism to get him through that first kill.

   The zombies break into a run and she feels the baseball bat starting to slip in her grip, her hand sweating as she waits for one to get close enough for her to swing at. Her gun is a last resort because she’s still not very good with it and she still has to be pretty close to her target.

   Kurt is the first to shoot, firing two bullets into the zombie in the front of the group followed by Quinn and Tina rushing toward the undead. Puck covers them the best he can, sending a shell between the eyes of a zombie, its head practically exploding before it can get a hold of Tina. “Rachel,” Santana shouts and when she blinks, she realizes there’s a zombie heading straight for her. She thinks it might be Mrs. Schroeder but it’s hard to tell since half her face is gone. She’s wearing the sweater Rachel had complimented her on the morning the outbreak happened and her stomach is still swollen with the baby that was supposed to arrive mid October. Rachel notices a chunk of skin missing from Mrs. Schroeder’s stomach and even though she can’t imagine doing anything other than throwing up at the sight of the tiny arm trying to claw its way out of its mother, her bat somehow manages to swing through Mrs. Schroeder’s head, blood splattering across the field and seeping into her bat. She hits her skull two more times, the crack echoing in her ears. Another zombie falls next to her feet and she turns to see Tina pulling back her blood soaked axe.

   “Thanks,” Rachel breathes out but the word is lost over the sound of gunshots. Another three descend upon them and they take the first two out with what Rachel thinks would be called ease but the last one pulls on her ankle once she knocks it to the ground. She can’t swing like this and Rachel kicks at the forehead of the zombie while reaching for her gun. Tina manages to swing the blade directly through its head, slicing it in half. Thick, almost black blood mixes with deteriorating brain, bits of fractured bone slipping into the dirty snow and hay.

   “Mike!” Tina’s axe drops into the disgusting mixture as her eyes widen and when Rachel looks over her shoulder, she can’t believe what she sees. Santana’s shooting at the zombies that frenzy towards Kurt while he throws his gun to the ground, giving up on reloading his gun and fumbling to pull his blade from the holder on his hip. Quinn and Puck are back to back, Puck trying to reload his shotgun as fast as possible while Quinn kicks a zombie off her shank, her eyes focused on Mike who is being over taken by five walkers.

   Tina won’t stop screaming. She’s drawing even more attention to them but Rachel can’t fault her for it. They all get their free pass and she knew this would be Tina’s from day one.

   Rachel scrambles to her feet as Tina tries to pass her, wrapping her arms around Tina’s waist as Quinn and Puck rush towards the horde surrounding Mike. Puck pulls the shotgun trigger twice and two zombies fall instantly, the other three falling after Mike swings his machete through the throat of the one gnawing at his hip and Quinn stakes two with her sharpened post. Tina falls to her knees just as Rachel hears a twig snap behind her and she empties her gun into the heads of four living corpses.

   Tina starts to crawl forward and Rachel physically has to sit on her back and pin her down to stop her from going over to Mike.

   They both watch as Quinn pulls Mike to his knees, his body swaying from side to side in a way that looks like he’s showing them some new choreography. Blood runs down his pants, Quinn’s fingers twitching to put pressure on the wound, but there’s no point. His head falls to Quinn’s shoulder and Rachel’s positive she can see tears staining her pale cheeks before Puck raises his gun.

   Tina screams louder. Rachel shoves her hat into the other girl’s mouth, squeezing her eyes shut as she distantly hears Quinn repeating no. She bravely opens her eyes in time to see Puck return his gun to his back, reaching for the blade on his hip. Quinn lifts Mike’s head, her fingers threading through his dark hair, and she presses a kiss against his forehead right before Puck’s blade slices through flesh.

   She covers Tina’s eyes just before it happens. Rachel thinks it’s fitting how graceful his body falls to the ground.

--

   Everyone keeps bugging her, jiggling the locked door knob before sighing against the wood. Artie offers to talk, both Quinn and Santana offer food, and Puck simply asks if she’s still breathing (Rachel must hit him because Tina hears this indignant sound she always associates with Rachel followed by a mumbled apology). She stays curled and contorted in the middle of the bed that’s too big for her now. This entire room is too big for her. She knows that she could go out the door, be surrounded by people instead of this overwhelming loneliness, but it won’t help. Being alone in a crowded room is something she was all too familiar with before she met Mike. Those people out there may be her friends but they’re not who she wants, who she needs.

   She’d trade every single one of them for Mike.

   Tina doesn’t know how Rachel managed to come back from Finn’s death. This sadness is weighing her down yet she feels hollow, empty; she feels like she did before, when she thought the only person she could trust, count on, and believe was herself. The only light she had left in her life has been extinguished and it makes her feel dead and ill and she has to lean off the side of the bed to empty her stomach.

   If Mike hadn’t gone with her, he could still be alive right now. He would be with his family and he wouldn’t have had to go with Finn and-

   She heaves again and it tears at her throat, nothing but bile coming up.

   She can’t live like this. She doesn’t want to. Without Mike, she’s done.

   Tina puts on the clothes she wore the day everything changed, folding her sweats and leaving them on the end of the bed. She doesn’t take a jacket or anything more than she had on her that day at school and quietly walks out of the room, leaving her vomit to soak into the carpet.

   As silently as she can, Tina lowers the ladder to the ground and when she gets downstairs, she’s surprised that no one has poked their head out of their room.

   She steps outside, making sure the door is locked behind her.

   She doesn’t even feel the cold as she walks down the street.

--

   “Mommy? I mean, Quinn?” Someone is pushing on her shoulder and when Quinn cracks open an eye, Stacey is standing in front of her, arms clutching the stuffed dog she’d taken from Quinn’s room.

   “What is it, Stacey?”

   Puck lifts his head behind her, pulling Quinn closer to the middle of the bed to make room for Stacey. “Where is Tina going?”

   “What,” Puck asks louder than he should and Stacey jumps back a the volume. Quinn runs her hand over Stacey’s hair, nails scratching at a scalp in a way that has always calmed the little girl down. “Stacey, come here and lay down.”

   Stacey slides into Quinn’s spot when she gets up and Quinn goes down the hall, pausing when she notices that Tina’s door is open. “Tina,” she calls out.

   The room is empty.

Part 6

All The Noise Died Away [4/6]

only_because3 — Fri, 06 Apr 2012 07:14:49 GMT

A/N: Non-con warning for this chapter!

--

    It’s been 23 days since Finn died (eight days since she’s been able to say that without shutting down afterwards). Everyone let her be for that first week, with only Puck and sometimes Brittany bringing food to her and Kurt. The days already seemed endless and that week she didn’t leave her room felt like a year. They’re all living on borrowed time and she may as well do something other than cry her eyes out 24/7 (she can settle for just crying herself to sleep). She always believed she was destined for great things and even if everything’s gone to shit, she’s still going to try and she can’t do that from a bed. One week was all she gave herself. Then she walked with her head held high into the living area and quietly asked Brittany if she needed help with the laundry she was doing. A lot of them probably think she’s putting on an act right now but she’s not. Is she still sad? Of course. There hasn’t been a day that goes by where she doesn’t think about Finn or talk about him with Kurt.

   Truthfully, she’s starting to go a little crazy being cooped up in the house. She went from being an only child with busy parents to living in a house where everyone is on top of one another. They’ve been here for two months now and she’s read nearly every book, played numerous card games (horribly), and even spent a day coloring an entire coloring book with Stacey. She’s tired of being forced to stay upstairs (though she knows it’s for safety reasons) unless they’re training and she can only train so much. Puck’s been training everyone for almost four hours a day every since Finn died and he’s always a little upset when she does more damage with a baseball bat than a blade. So when Santana announces from the top of the stairs that they’re working with their last four tampons, Rachel offers to go on the run with her.

   Puck pulls the butcher knife she got stuck in the door frame out, shaking his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

   She apologized to him the morning after Finn died but it hasn’t been the same. He’s too careful with her now, thinks before he speaks (which she would’ve considered a miracle before, but now she just wants Noah back), and it’s driving her insane. She’s tempted to ask where this concern was with Finn but she knows she can’t keep going back to that. She can’t stay upset with him during times like this. “I do,” Rachel says and Puck pushes the handle of the knife back into her hand.

   “Hit that same mark again and pull it out, you can go.”

   Her face scrunches up, gripping the wood. “I’m not discussing this with you.”

   “And I’m not letting you out of this house unless you can prove to me you won’t lose one of your weapons.” Brittany slides up next to her, wiping away the sweat that’s formed on her brow despite the cold. She wordlessly repositions Rachel’s hand, humming a little under her breath and Rachel can feel the hatchet that hangs from it’s case on Brittany’s jeans digging into her hip. Brittany pats her hand and steps away. Rachel sends the blade through the white wooden frame and yanks back hard enough to strain her arm a little, the knife coming back with her hand this time. When she turns around the first thing she sees is Brittany’s huge smile, the blonde bouncing a little on the balls of her feet, and Rachel can feel her lips curling in a way they haven’t since before Finn died. Puck sighs heavily behind her. “Santana, who else is going on the run with you two?”

   Kurt follows her up to their room, sitting down on the bed they’ve been sharing since Finn.

   “Are you sure about this, Rachel?” She tugs on her jeans, running a hand through her hair that she actually hasn’t brushed in a day or so. “I don’t want you leaving here unless you’re 110% sure that you can handle anything that happens out there.”

   She tucks in the shirt she’s wearing and it feels a little ridiculous because it’s so long, but she knows Puck will be looking for any reason to keep her here. Everyone has read the book Sam left them at least once and it stressed the importance of tight clothing and short hair. While she’s not going to be chopping off her hair (frankly, the mental image of all of them with short hair and the gauntly figures they’ll sport eventually remind her too much of concentration camps. She just wants to stay looking like herself for a little while longer), she can at least pull it up in a bun. She debates pulling her socks over her jeans but they’re skinnies and she’d rather not hear Santana or Quinn comment on how she still manages to dress like a blind person despite limited options. “I need to get out of this house,” she admits as she runs a brush through her hair, wincing when she hits a bad knot. Kurt stands up, pushing Rachel to sit down as he takes the brush from her. He works the knots slowly, carefully, and she closes her eyes, trying to breathe in time with Kurt. “Do you think I’m ready?”

   He stays quiet as he pulls her hair into a bun and she feels like smiling again because she knows that Kurt is sweeping her hair up in a way that will look cute. She honestly hasn’t thought much about her appearance since Finn woke up next to her that first morning, that tiny half smile of his the first thing she saw (and, god, how thankful she had been that he found it in him to smile then), and he whispered that he didn’t think he loved her anymore than he did right then when they both looked their worst. “Ready?” He laughs a little, or maybe it’s more of a scoff, the hair tie pulling at her hair and holding it in place. “There’s zombies outside. Who on earth would be ready for that?”

   Kurt twirls a single strand of hair that won’t stay in place around his finger and then yanks it out. “Ow,” she complains. He swats her hand away when she tries to rub her scalp but she catches his hand in her fingers. “I’m not like Finn was…”

   He nods. “I know,” he breathes out. “You’re better than he was that day.” He wraps his arms around her shoulders, pulling her against his belly, and she wonders briefly when he stopped smelling like himself and they started smelling like each other. “Please don’t do anything stupid.”

   “I love you too.”

--

   “I’m surprised Puck let us out of the house without a dick,” Santana muses as she forces open the sliding door. She’s honestly surprised the glass wasn’t broken but over all the strip of stores don’t look as bad as the Wal-Mart did that first day they had gone out. This is seriously the best part of town (or was). She figured some jackasses would’ve come to get the good stuff.

   “Must’ve thought his second command was good enough,” Rachel mutters under her breath as she passes through the space Santana’s opened up, shinning the flashlight over the rows.

   Santana glances back at Quinn who simply shakes her head and cocks the gun in her hand before squeezing through the doors herself.

   God, not only is she bleeding but she has to deal with these bitches too?

   The door slips closed behind her as she glances around the store. The check out lines are totally trashed, same with the redbox and the bank branch from what little she can see, but the aisles of food don’t look that worse for wear. It does smell like someone’s died and, well, it’s actually possible they’ll find dead things in here.

   She rolls back her shoulders, stepping over the completely destroyed display table as Quinn calls for Rachel to stay close. “I’m fine,” Rachel asserts and she steps on a broken bottle of booze (naturally, one of the things people would’ve taken), the glass scratching on the tile in a way that has Santana running her tongue over her teeth. “Sorry.”

   “I’m not trying to be like Puck,” Quinn starts, her words clipped in a way that has Santana wondering if maybe she should’ve taken the gun.

   “You’re the only one with light. We can’t see shit if you’re ten feet ahead of us, Rachel,” Santana sighs, looping her arm through Rachel’s once she’s close enough, just to make sure the girl doesn’t leave them in the dark, and to keep her as far from Quinn as possible.

   This place is creepy as fuck with no lights on and even though it’s pretty quiet around the house, it’s eerily quiet here. Kind of to the point where she thinks she hears something behind them but she knows it’s just Quinn. “This’ll be a good place to come when we run out of other stuff,” Quinn comments as they pass yet another aisle of food that remain pretty much intact. She has to say, she’s glad people are stupid enough to go after shit like money and movies instead of food when all hell breaks loose.

   “Do the kids need anything,” Rachel asks, stopping in front of the aisle that has a few cheap toys that kids always bug for. There’s some coloring books and cheap parachute men, along with other stuff that’ll probably break after a few plays, like those damn paddle balls she could never do (Puck told her this summer when she was hanging out with him and Jenna that it was because of her aversion to balls). “I know Stacey and I completely finished one of her coloring books last week.”

   Quinn nods and starts to grab a princess one that Stacey probably has already when Santana shakes her head. “Get the Iron Man one.” Quinn’s hand pauses and for the first time, Santana notices that she’s wearing the ring Sam gave her when they dated. It’s funny how they’ve been shacked up for a while with nothing better to do than stare at each other and it still took her this long to notice the bling. Rachel shifts next to her and Santana’s pretty sure she’s biting her tongue. Least she’s not stupid enough to say something now.

   Quinn rolls the coloring book and tucks it into her back pocket as they walk two rows over to the health aisle.

   “We should’ve grabbed a cart,” Rachel says, shining the flashlight on the still stocked row of tampons. She would find it funny that the smell is actually worse over here if the smell of all the spoiled meat wasn’t about to make her vomit.

   “Let’s just grab what we can. It’s fucking foul back here.” Something falls to the ground down the aisle and when Rachel puts the light in that direction, they both tense until they realize it’s only Quinn, emptying out an abandoned basket. “Jesus, Q.”

   She shrugs and then looks at the rows of tampons before ripping open a box and pouring them into the basket. “We can get more this way right?” Rachel doesn’t look too sure so Santana just sighs, drops her arm, and starts breaking boxes open.

   She looks absolutely ridiculous toting a basket filled to the brim with tampons and a superhero coloring book but she’d been the only one with free hands even though Rachel’s just holding the fucking flashlight, but they’re getting the fuck out of here in under five minutes and Rachel’s stopped glaring at the back of Quinn’s head so much so she chooses not to complain. Once they get to the end of the aisle, Santana hears that noise again and this time both girls stop on either side of her. “What was that,” Rachel asks and when Quinn sticks her hand out for the flashlight, the brunette hands it over without comment. Quinn takes two cautious steps towards the overturned tables and chairs by the Starbucks counter which, god damn it, she doesn’t care if it’s just two steps, they’re supposed to be sticking close. Santana sets down the basket and grabs the hunting blade from her hip, nudging Rachel to grab the bat she has slung over her shoulder. “Shouldn’t we just leave?” The flashlight shines through a crack in the furniture fort and Quinn’s back straightens.

   “Come out,” Quinn orders and it’s still for a moment before Quinn takes another step closer. “Out now or I’ll shoot.” She waits another beat and fuck, Santana hopes if something is back there, it’s already dead because she has no doubt in her mind that Quinn’ll shoot. Rachel puts her hand on Santana’s arm, opening her mouth to say something when Quinn pulls the trigger, hitting the edge of the wood. It’s a scare tactic, Santana knows she’s not a shit shot, and it does the trick because there’s scurrying from behind the tables before someone starts crawling out.

   “That is why she’s ‘second in command’,” Santana says, tightening her grip on her blade as fucking Jacob Ben Israel stands up with his hands in the air, eyes squeezed shit.

   “I’m sorry! Please don’t kill me,” he pleads and Quinn lowers her gun, letting out a breath as she runs her fingers through her hair.

   “Jacob,” Rachel asks and he opens his eyes, blinking as they get used to the light.

   “Rachel?” He closes his eyes again, rubbing his fists against his eyelids. “Oh my god, am I dead?”

   Santana rolls her eyes. “Surprised you lasted this long, Jew Fro.” She picks up the basket she abandoned and slips the knife back in its holder. “Let’s get out of here.”

   “Where are you guys going,” Jacob asks, trying to slip in beside Rachel when they start walking away but both girls sandwich her before he can get too close.

   “Away,” Santana answers, putting her free hand on Rachel’s lower back as Jacob starts hovering behind her. God, has he been in here the entire time? Creeper looks even paler than he used to and it’s freaking her the fuck out. “You can go back to your fort now.”

   “D-do you guys have a safe place? With weapons? Are there others?” He scurries around, stopping them in their tracks when he plants himself in front of them. “Can I come with you guys?”

   “No,” Santana and Quinn respond instantly and when Santana looks down at Rachel, she has this stupid sad look on her face. “No, Rachel.”

   She shrugs a little, glancing at Jacob before turning back to Santana. “We can’t just leave him here alone. He’s defenseless.”

   Jacob nods moronically and Quinn turns her nose up. “He made it this long. You’ll obviously be fine, Jacob.” She starts to guide them around him when he drops to his knees, hands clasped together like he’s about to pray to them.

   “Please take me with you. Have you seen the things crawling around outside? I don’t even know what day it is anymore. I’m completely alone here.”

   “You have all the food you need. You’re fine,” Santana assures him and he shakes his head.

   “I’m scared,” he admits, like it wasn’t obvious, and when she and Quinn try to walk around him again, Rachel keeps them in the same spot.

   “We have the space,” she says softly and Santana shakes her head.

   “Where’s he gonna sleep? With you and Kurt?”

   Rachel wrinkles her nose. “He could bunk with Artie.”

   “Shouldn’t Artie have a say in that?”

   Jacob keeps pleading and crying, going as far as trying to take Quinn’s hand in his. “Don’t touch me,” she says simply, pointing her gun at him to make him back off just enough, and he turns his attention to Rachel who bites her lip.

   “I can’t protect myself. The group I was with… Have you seen what they do? What those things are capable of? It’s.. It’s madness. Please don’t leave me here, please, please, please.”

   “I know we never really liked him,” Rachel starts and Santana can’t fight the bark of laughter.

   “He might as well have Megan’s Law tattooed on that giant forehead of his.”

   Rachel stumbles on her words, having to completely turn away from Jacob because apparently his face would hurt the case she’s trying to make for him. “But, well, everything’s different now. It’s all different and weird and, would having something so familiar to before be so bad?”

   “When that something is Jacob, yes.”

   Rachel glances back at Quinn who just shakes her head and uses her gun to motion for Jacob to stand up. “We can vote when we get to the house. You’re riding in the bed of the truck though.”

   “Thank you,” he repeats an annoying amount of times, only shutting up when Quinn aims the gun at his head after he tries to hug them.

--

   “You are one lucky motherfucker,” Santana sighs as he leads Jacob around the corner into what used to be the Fabray’s living room. Brittany starts chastising her, going on about how she’s only getting a free pass because she’s on her period and, yeah, he doesn’t need to hear where this is going.

   Jacob is walking around the living room, looking at what few personal belongings Mrs. Fabray kept up. “I can’t believe I’m in Quinn’s house,” he whispers, touching the last school photo Quinn took. Puck really fucking hopes he can find a scratch on this spazz because he really doesn’t want him around any of the girls. Hell, he doesn’t want him around any of them.

   “C’mon, Jacob. Start… stripping.”

   Santana snorts from behind the other side of the wall. “Oh my god, that is literally the only thing that makes him being here worth it.”

   He really thought nobody besides Rachel would be the only one who would want this stalker to stay, not over fucking half of them. Not even Artie said no and he was going to have to share a room with this dude, who, fuck, definitely hadn’t showered since this shit went down. “Hey, tell Q to throw down some of the extra clothes we have.” Jacob starts to take off his tighty, not so white, whities and Puck’s eyes nearly bug out of his head. “Shit, no. I trust that you didn’t get touched in your junk.” The worn elastic snaps back against Jacob’s impossibly white skin and Puck takes a huge breath while he’s still far enough away before tapping Jacob’s arms and legs. He’s disgustingly dirty, to the point where he’s about to suggest they hose him off instead of actually letting him use the shower upstairs, but there aren’t any bite marks or scratches so it looks like Puck’s going to end up spending the end of the world with Jacob Ben fucking Israel.

   “He checks out,” Puck says, grabbing the extra set of clothes (he has to keep thinking of them as extras and not Finn’s) from Santana.

   She glares over his shoulder. “I can’t believe those assholes voted to keep him here.”

   “I can hear you,” Jacob says lamely and Santana rolls her eyes.

   Puck tosses Jacob the clothes and walks back into the entryway with Santana. “As dangerous as this could be with the kids around,” he starts, his voice barely above a whisper, “I want everyone to have a knife on them. Especially at night.”

   “I don’t think we should leave him alone with anyone… Or the food. Or the weapons. Can’t we just let him stay down here?” Jacob comes out of the room and, god, this fucker is so damn squirrelly looking, it’s freaking him out. “Do you always breathe that loud?”

   Jacob opens his mouth but all that comes out is a whine which is a let down because Puck was starting to look forward to seeing Santana punch him. “Food is ready,” Stevie announces from the landing. “Who is that?”

   Puck scratches at the back of his neck. “He went to school with us, so he’ll be staying with us for a bit. Go start eating.” Stevie looks at them wearily for a second, hand clutching on to the railing, and Puck juts his chin before Stevie walks down the hall. “He’s hanging out with you too much.”

   Santana shrugs, turning toward the ladder in an effort to hide her smile. “Only good sparring partner now that Quinn’s trying to watch her mouth around them or whatever.”

--

   “I can’t believe you voted for that creep,” Puck says, glancing at the card table where Jacob is quietly eating his dinner between Tina and Brittany.

   Mike shrugs, picking at his rice. “Tina thinks he should get a second chance. Maybe he’ll be different now that the rules have changed.” He takes a bite and then washes it down with a Capri sun. “Might be nice to-”

   “Rachel’s an idiot,” Kurt says, dropping his bowel into the sink. “Nothing nice can come from that weirdo being here. I feel like I need to bathe just walking near him.”

   “At least he doesn’t smell anymore,” Mike tries before pushing off the counter and walking back to join the card table.

   “If Rachel had offered him our room, I would’ve killed her.”

   Puck chuckles and then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “San said she was actually against that. Not enough to be a deal breaker apparently.” Kurt takes his bowl from him when he’s done, starting on the few dishes from lunch no one got around to. “I want you to keep a knife on you now that he’s here.”

   “He’s creepy, sure, but I don’t think he’s dangerous, Puck.”

   “I didn’t trust him when everything was normal so I sure as fuck don’t trust him now.” Puck pulls one of the smaller blades out of his pocket, setting it next to the sink. “Just in case, okay? I know there’s not a whole lot of space between all of us, but things happen fast.”

   Kurt stares at the knife, the water running over his soapy fingers, and he nods. Puck smiles, claps a hand on Kurt’s shoulder and gives it a firm squeeze before going off to talk to Artie.

--

   There’s no denying they’re in winter now. It’s steadily been getting colder and colder and around eight, it starts snowing. First snow of the season and it’s a blessing that they managed to get to November without any sort of storm. The blankets they’ve been using aren’t going to be enough and Quinn only has so many things the girls can layer with a whole lot less the boys can use. Puck keeps insisting he’s fine, even when he starts shivering against her. They’ll have to do a run soon to get more clothes, more blankets, but they’re going to need something to get through tonight as comfortable as possible.

   Rachel’s digging in the hall closet, all the extra sheets and towels stacked around her. “Did you really never have a need for spare blankets,” she asks, slumping back and pulling the sleeves of the sweatshirt she borrowed over her hands.

   “The only people who ever used to spend the night were Brittany and Santana. Who else would actually want to stay here? I barely did.” She picks up two of the towels along with some washcloths. “Our heat went out our first year here… My dad hated getting rid of stuff so they’re probably somewhere in the basement.”

   Rachel nods. “Do you know where they’d be?”

   “Probably against the back wall, near the Christmas stuff.” She hadn’t even thought of the holiday, or any, until now. Thanksgiving is coming up soon and they’ve already completely skipped passed Halloween… Rachel tucks her hair behind her ears and starts putting everything back in the closet. “I’ll go look for them after I’m done bathing the kids.”

   “I can go down and get them. Will the boxes be marked?”

   “Yeah. Make sure some-”

   “I know,” Rachel says as she stands up. “I’m sure Puck will remind me too.”

   “You do realize we’re not picking on you, right,” Quinn asks, putting all her weight on one hip as she tucks the towels under her arm. “And even so, we’re just trying to make sure you’re safe.”

   “It’s overbearing,” Rachel says, closing the closet doors respectfully but the way she does it still somehow manages to irritate Quinn even more than she already is. “You don’t need to remind us all the time how we should keep safe. We’re not stupid.”

   “Nobody seems to be complaining but you.” Rachel shrugs and, god, she’s suddenly struck with how annoyingly headstrong and difficult Rachel’s always been, only now Quinn has to deal with it in her own house. “You want us to stop caring, fine. Go get yourself killed.” Rachel shrugs again and Quinn locks her jaw as she heads back to the bathroom.

--

   “Who wants to come downstairs with me,” Rachel asks as she walks into the living area, narrowly avoiding the parachute men Stevie’s playing with near the door. “Quinn thinks there could be some spare blankets in the basement.”

   “I’ll go,” Jacob announces, tossing down his cards on the table. “I’m out anyway.”

   Puck glares at him and Santana gets this small, evil grin on her face. “I think that’s perfect. Helping Rachel can be like, your thank you for saving your ass when Quinn could’ve and would’ve shot you.”

   She can’t stop the wince from playing on her features. She’s notorious for giving people second chances, letting them prove they can change and she really does think that Jacob will be different now, but it’s the first day and the thought of going with him still makes her skin crawl. She’s the only reason he’s here though, and well, that really doesn’t leave room for her to complain. “Grab a lantern and then we’ll go get you a weapon,” she tells him, ignoring the smirk on Santana’s face.

   “Only give him something small,” Puck reminds her. “Make sure you grab your bat.”

--

   Even though the bath’s warm, Stacey’s shivering like a leaf when Quinn has her stand up. “I’m going as fast as I can, sweetheart.” Stacey nods, her bottom lip quivering as she continues the story she created between the shampoo and conditioner bottles as Quinn runs the soap over her. “I think you’re going to stay with me tonight, okay?”

   “Stevie too?”

   “Yep. We can all get into my bed with Puck and we’ll all be really warm. Go ahead and sit back down.” The water splashes on her shirt when Stacey plops back down, a soft sorry said in the middle of the speech the shampoo bottle is making.

   “Hey Q, you almost done?”

   “Puck,” Stacey exclaims, stretching her neck so that she can see Puck in the doorway around Quinn. “Did you know we’re having a sleepover tonight?”

   Quinn takes the shampoo and pours some into her palm before giving it back to Stacey. “Stay still. I don’t want soap going into your eyes.”

   She can hear Puck step into the bathroom as he answers, “I was actually going to suggest they bunk with us for a while.”

   “Lean back and close your eyes,” she instructs, running her fingers through Stacey’s blonde hair. “What’s up?”

   “Wanna go help Rachel and Jacob find those blankets?”

   “They haven’t found them yet?”

   Puck shakes his head as he sits down on the toilet seat, putting the towels on his lap. “Figured you’d be able to find them the fastest.”

   “Will you finish her up and then start on Stevie?” She taps the back of Stacey’s head to get the girl to sit up again, wringing out her hair as gently as she can.

   “’Course.”

   Stacey’s eyes are wider as shit sits back up. “Does this mean you can give me a mohawk again,” she asks, holding out the conditioner bottle for him.

   Puck grins while Quinn rolls her eyes, drying her hands on his shirt as he takes her spot. “Sure thing,” he says, squirting a liberal amount of conditioner in his hand. “Oh, and Q? Take your gun. I know it’s just downstairs but-”

   She slips into her sweatshirt, nudging his foot with hers before pressing a kiss to the back of his head and turning out of the room.

--

   She could kill Rachel.

   Quinn clutches on to the handrail when her ankle rolls, kicking Rachel’s bat out of the way with her good foot once she’s settled on her feet at the bottom of the stairs. She has no idea what possessed her to just drop it in the most dangerous place possible and she actually barks out, “Rachel,” as her flashlight illuminates Jacob’s back and Rachel’s hands that he has pinned above her head. “What…” It hits her all at once what she’s looking at but somehow still feels like it’s in slow motion. Jacob’s fingers are digging into Rachel’s wrists, her hands spread out like she’s trying to claw for something, his knee pushing up between Rachel’s legs to the point where her feet are barely touching the ground. Jacob turns back to look at her, eyes squinting at the harsh light and his hair casts a shadow over Rachel’s now visible face. He has his fist shoved as far as it will go in Rachel’s mouth and Quinn can hear just how heavy Rachel’s breathing around the skin and bones. All of the other sounds are muffled until Jacob starts pulling away, his eyes now wide, and she hears that first sob leave Rachel’s mouth as Jacob manages to laugh nervously. He’s twitching a little and Quinn can tell he’s trying not to look at her.

   He opens his mouth and before he even fully turns his body towards her, Quinn shoots him in the head. Rachel screams, tripping over the discarded lantern as she moves out of the way of Jacob’s falling body. “Are you okay,” she asks, shining the light over Rachel to see if there’s anything she didn’t see before. Rachel shakes her head, covering her face with her hands as she pulls herself into a ball.

   She can hear the commotion going on upstairs but she can’t focus on that now because Rachel’s crying so hard Quinn thinks she might throw up. She walks over to Jacob’s body, nudging him on to his back with her foot. Blood spills from the wound on his head and a shiver runs through her body when she sees his eyes staring at her. She turns his head so that it’s facing away from both of them and then sits down next to Rachel on the freezing concrete. Carefully, she wraps an arm around Rachel’s shaking shoulders, the brunette tensing before pressing into her side.

   “What’s going on,” Puck shouts from the top of the stairs and when he steps down one of the stairs, she tells him to stop.

   “We’re fine. Give us a minute. We’ll come up.” Rachel deflates next to her and Quinn pulls back enough to take Rachel’s hands in hers. There are red fingerprints on her wrists and Quinn’s pretty sure there will be bruises there tomorrow morning. She swallows thickly, putting Rachel’s hands back in her lap and then smoothes Rachel’s hair down. “You’re okay. It’s okay now.”

   Rachel nods weakly, her hand going up to touch Quinn’s elbow. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, sniffling as she uses her other hand to wipe her cheeks.

   “There’s nothing to apologize for.” She runs her hand up and down Rachel’s back. “Come on. Just take deep breaths and then we’ll face everyone upstairs.”

--

   She tries to tell him that she can walk just fine but she’s tired and it’s easier not looking at either of them when she’s hiding her face against Puck’s chest. “Watch her feet,” Quinn says behind them and when they reach the top of the stairs, Puck turns them so there’s no risk of her even touching the doorframe.

   “What happened,” Mike asks and Puck completely ignores him, taking her into the kitchen while Quinn asks Mike to help her move a body.

   She expects to be put down but Puck just holds her tighter as he leans against the counter, resting his cheek on the top of her head. “Are you going to say I told you so,” she asks. Her hand goes up to rub her jaw, her muscles impossibly sore and she wonders if taking a handful of snow to it will help or if the sting will hurt more.

   “’Course not.” He pats her thigh. “Santana probably will though.”

   She presses a kiss to the underside of his chin as Quinn and Mike drop Jacob’s body on the floor, their breathing labored. She’d bet this is the warmest they’ve been all week. “I asked him about the group he’d been with.” He tries to readjust her and she shakes her head, putting her feet back on the ground. His fingers lace through hers, trying to anchor her down, and she chooses to stare at their intertwined hands instead of his face. “They had been going to the store when they were attacked. Out of 20, Jacob made it out.”

   “Not really a wimpy fuck face anymore, huh?”

   He strokes her hand with his thumb as she shakes her head, finally looking up at him. “I’m not weak.” She can hear someone walk in behind her and a shiver runs through her body even though she knows that she’s safe now. “I’m not.”

   “I know, Rach. I know you’re not weak.” He pulls her close, his arms wrapping around her and she can feel herself tensing. She keeps repeating in her head that this is Noah, that it’s all okay now, but her breathing gets faster and erratic and she can hear Quinn telling Puck to give her some space.

   She curls her hand around his arm as she takes a few deep breaths. “He was really strong,” she says softly. She’s been really good about not missing people, but right now all she can really think about is how much she wants Finn or her fathers to be there instead of him. Her fathers would know exactly what to do and if Finn were here… This wouldn’t have happened. He would’ve gone downstairs with her and everything would have been fine.

    She can hear more people coming downstairs and she hopes that some people are staying upstairs because she’s having a hard enough time with Quinn and Puck looking at her. She’s not sure she can handle everyone right now.

   It’s Kurt who ends up running his fingers through her hair, his face completely fallen. “Come on,” he says, pulling her away from Puck. This is better. This is less threatening. She falls into him like she fell into Quinn and lets him walk her back towards the stairs.

   As she’s about to step on to the ladder, she can hear Puck and Quinn agreeing that nobody else comes into the house.

   She should’ve listened to them.

--

   “You did what needed to be done,” Santana tells her as she’s about to walk into the kids’ room. She nods and Brittany gives her a smile over Santana’s shoulder that has her feeling sick to her stomach.

   She braids Stacey’s hair, apologizes when she pulls too tight, and then asks her to go wait in her bedroom. She reminds her to knock first, just in case.

   “Quinn,” Stevie shouts when she opens the bathroom door, and she covers her eyes to make him feel better. He’s old enough to take his own baths now but she remembers Sam telling her once that he was at the age where he would just stand in the water and then get out. They may be in the middle of hell but she’s not having a smelly little boy running around this place when there’s practically no space to call their own.

   Puck chuckles (he’s the only one Stevie will let in the bathroom) and tells Stevie to cover up so he can go get his pajamas on. A few seconds later Stevie goes shivering past her, mumbling under his breath about how she needs to learn manners and that’s enough for the corner of her lips to upturn. She closes the door behind her, turning the lock as she watches Puck soak up the bath water that tipped over the side with an old towel. She tugs her sweatpants down, kicking them off once they reach her feet. “Noah.”

   He looks over his shoulder, slumping so that he’s sitting down once he sees her, and shakes his head. “What’re you doing, Q?”

   She opens up the third drawer and fishes out a condom that she’s hidden beneath most of their tampons (the kids don’t go through much, but she can’t handle that talk just yet. Not now. She’s not sure she’ll ever be able to, actually. But she’s not going to leave that up to Puck). “I killed someone.” She swallows thickly, glancing at herself in the mirror and she looks absolutely horrible. If this had been before, she never would’ve let anyone see her like this. Her hair is in a ponytail that’s a little less than perfect, she has no make up on, and her sweatshirt completely dwarfs her. “He wasn’t a… thing. He was still breathing. His heart was still beating.” She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, closing her eyes when she can’t handle the stinging anymore.

   “He had a weapon. He was hurting Rachel. What else were you supposed to do?” She can hear him undoing his belt, the buckle hitting the tile loudly, and she turns towards him, tossing him the condom when she opens her eyes again.

   “I could’ve gotten you. I could’ve grabbed Rachel’s bat and just hit him. But instead I shot him.” She kneels between his legs, leaning into his palm when he cups her cheek.

   “You did the right thing, Quinn. What if it had been Stacey? What if it had been you?” He pulls her closer as she nods and she moves so that she’s straddling his thighs. “You were protecting us. You saved Rachel.”

   His other hand grips her hip. “You’re right,” she whispers, her forehead dropping down on to his shoulder. “But I want to forget.” He pats her hip and she rises on to her knees as he tears open the condom.

Part 5

All The Noise Died Away [3/6]

only_because3 — Fri, 06 Apr 2012 07:13:39 GMT

It’s funny, who ends up being able to sleep. He’s pretty sure Kurt, Rachel, and Finn are knocked out. Brittany and Santana are tangled up on their makeshift bed. He’s not sure which one is snoring softly, but he’d put money on Santana. Artie seemed like he’d be up for a while, same with Tina and Mike. Quinn tosses and turns next to him, stilling the moment there’s a soft knock on the door. He crawls over her just so he doesn’t have to figure out a way to get around the two on the ground. The first thing he sees when he opens the door, is the shiny metal sticking from Sam’s pocket. “Fuck,” he breathes out and Sam gives him one of those smiles that’d be really small on anyone else but takes up half his face.

    There’s the tiniest touch on his back and then Quinn is looking over his shoulder. “It’s cold out, Sam.”

    “You guys need it more. I left it in the kids’ room.” He coughs a bit, careful to cover his mouth and, fuck. Puck wraps his arms around Sam and pulls him in for a hug. It’s not a bro hug, it’s a real, heavy, hearty hug. The kind of hug he would’ve given his mom if he’d known…

    “I’m gonna miss you.”

    Sam claps him on the back and when they pull apart, he shoves a crumpled piece of paper into Puck’s hand. “I’m sorry I have do this to you.”

    Puck shrugs. “Thank you for saying goodbye.” Quinn pushes past him gently and gives Sam a kiss on the forehead. She curls into herself after that and Puck can feel her watching as he and Sam walk over to where the staircase used to be. Puck carefully lowers down the ladder and when Sam takes that first step down, Quinn disappears into the room where Stacey and Stevie are sleeping. He thinks he hears someone moving in one of the other rooms but it stops after a second and no one shows themselves. Sam lifts the ladder up for him to grab. “Where are you gonna be?”

    “Everything you need to know is on that paper.” Puck nods and grabs the ladder, leaning it back against the wall. Sam looks back at him once before he goes out the front door and Puck tries not to think about how this is the last time he’ll see Sam alive.

--

    The walls in her house are far from thin but she can hear everything. Every time the house settles it sounds like a gunshot (she tries not to use that comparison though) and when Artie coughs, she can hear it as if he’s sitting next to her instead of down the hall. She can even distantly hear the frogs croaking loudly from the marsh across the street. It seems like they’ve been trying to build houses on the land for as long as Quinn can remember but every time there’s word of a new development, it gets shot down and the frogs croak louder.

    Stevie rolls over, his arm curling around his sister and Quinn finds herself pushing further into the chair she’s sitting in. Sam’s note lays on her lap, his careful scrawl explaining what he’s told them already and there’s a paragraph for all four of them. Puck read his part, had to before he left, and she’s skimmed what little he wrote to his brother and sister, but she can’t look at hers. Just seeing her name written down was enough to make her tear up and she folded it up quickly, the crunch of the paper causing the kids to stir just for a moment.

    The front door closes. She slips out of her bedroom, padding down the hall to the wreckage. Puck looks up at her and she eases down the ladder. He moves slowly and when he gets to the top, he sits on the ledge. It worries her, she briefly imagines the floor giving out, and she sits down next to him. “The kids still asleep?” She nods, her hand hesitantly sitting on top of his. His hand is freezing and it takes her a minute to realize that his knuckles are bleeding. Puck won’t look at her, not even when she brings his hand up to her face, trying to make out just how serious his wounds are with what little light filters into the house. “I’m sorry you’re always stuck with me.” She looks up at him but he pulls away from her. He’s slow getting to his feet but he does and when he closes himself in the bathroom, she stays where she’s at.

    She looks back down at her hand only to discover she’s shaking, the blood drying in the crevices of her palm. “Quinn?” She fists her hand and rolls her shoulders back, blinking rapidly so that the tears in her eyes stay there. A sob travels from the bathroom and she feels Rachel step closer to her.

    “I’ll get him.” Rachel takes another step and the floorboard creaks loud enough to send the girl back to her door. Quinn would tell her it’s always done that (it’s how she used to tell when her dad left his office) but Rachel isn’t invited into this moment. She may have been there for him earlier, held him when he needed it, but Quinn doesn’t want her here now. Quinn’s accepted that she’ll have to get used to Rachel being in her space but this is Quinn’s place, it just took her some time to realize that. “Go back to bed, Rachel.” The sentence feels strange and she licks her lips as she pushes off the floor.

    Puck’s sitting against the tub, his head in his hands and the blood is still running down his skin, dropping onto the rug beneath him. “I’m not stuck with you.” He looks at her and her heart cracks a little when she sees how swollen and red his eyes are. She picks up the rag from the sink and turns off the water before she sits down in front of him. “Did it help,” she asks, inspecting the cuts better in the dim light. She leans back to pull a first aid kit from underneath the sink. She grimaces when she tweezes some bark out of the wound.

    “Not really,” he admits. Other than a few sniffs here and there, they are silent while she patches him up. It’s not until she’s done and cradling his hand in hers that he asks, “Are we going to treat Sam like Beth?”

    She shakes her head slowly, fingers outlining the lines on his palm. “Was he still…” Her voice cracks and she clears her throat before trying again. “Had they-” It cracks again and he holds her hand even though the action stings.

    “There wasn’t much left.” He swallows hard, the tears already staining his cheeks again. “I had to sho-” He pauses for a breath, squeezing her hand a little tighter. “There wasn’t much left,” he repeats and she nods.

    “I’ve never been stuck with you, Noah.” He looks at her again and she bites her lip, free hand raising to cup his cheek. “Everything good Beth gets will be from you.”

    He keeps crying but he manages to laugh a little. “Just cause the city’s gone to shit doesn’t mean you have to lie to me, Q.” She slaps his cheek lightly and he catches her hand, tugging her closer. He buries his face in her neck, her arms falling around his neck, and his hot breath paints her skin, his entire body deflating in her embrace.

    “I love you,” she whispers. She’s never said that to him, had barely entertained the notion when she gave birth to the child they’ll never know, but she knows now with the utmost certainty it’s true. When the dust settles, he always seems to be the last one standing there for her. The fact that he’s still here, tangible and sane and strong, after everything he’s had to face today proves to her that Noah Puckerman is one hell of a man. She’s lucky to have him here; they all are.

    His hands tighten on her waist and she repeats herself, over and over until her lips slide against his, the words getting lost in his breath.

--

    “Not that I’m not thankful I’m alive,” Tina says, taking two cards from the deck, “but I kind of wish this was like the movies.”

    They’ve been holed up in the house for about a month and this is the most exciting thing they’ve done. Brittany found Mr. Fabray’s old poker set in the hall closet on the second day and they set up a tournament the day after that. It’s taken up a lot of time, thankfully, because there isn’t much they can do in such a confined space.

    Mike shakes his head and after Puck confers with Stacey as to which cards they should toss, he shakes his head too. “Trust me when I say you don’t mean that.” Stacey stretches for the deck of cards but she can’t quite reach so Tina inches it over just enough for the girl to grab three cards.

    “Everything just seemed more exciting in movies… Who would’ve thought a zombie apocalypse would be so boring?”

    “No school though,” Stacey quips. “School is boring.” She pats Puck’s arm, motioning for him to lean down. “I think we’re gonna win.”

    Mike arches an eyebrow. “You sure about that?” The little girl nods confidently but as soon as Mike lays down his four of a kind, she throws her cards at his face.

    Before Puck can even open his mouth, Quinn is clearing her throat loudly from the other side of the room. Stacey shrinks in his lap, apologizing to Mike before turning to Puck again. “I just don’t like losing,” she complains and Puck chuckles.

    “It’s okay, kid. We can play again when they’re done. We made it really far.”

    Santana drops down in the empty seat at the table, handing Stacey half her sandwich as she eyes the other two at the table. “Personally, I think they cheated. It’s no coincidence that the last two in our tournament are the Asian duo.”

    “You’re just bitter I called your bluff,” Tina retorts, shuffling the deck.

    Santana rolls her eyes, muttering ‘cheaters’ under her breath

    Finn watches them from his spot on the couch, shifting uncomfortably as the gameboy (which, just, really is too small for his hands) waits for him to press A. He really doesn’t want to be so separated from everyone but he can’t help it. Kurt’s gotten better. His brother can carry on a conversations again, has even managed to laugh when Tina and Brittany were talking about some movie earlier. Puck’s been okay since day one. He actually forced him to get his ass out of bed after a week of only getting out of bed to go to the bathroom. Rachel was livid that Puck was being so insensitive but Puck was right. You don’t survive anything like this if you can’t accept that there will be casualties. Finn wants to step up to the plate (should be); he wants to be the kind of guy his dad was. But every time he so much as blinks, he sees what was left of his mom in a pool of blood. How is he supposed to be okay after that? Everyone at the card table laughs and Finn sighs when he notices Kurt talking animatedly to Quinn and Rachel.

    “It’s a lot, baby,” she says to him when he can’t sleep. “Everyone grieves differently. You don’t have to cut your grieving short just because Kurt and Puck seem okay.” He usually pretends to fall asleep after that, pretends that it helps just to make Rachel feel okay, but it doesn’t help. If anything, it just makes him feel like even more of an ass than before.

    Kurt thrusts a can of Spaghetti-Os in front of his face and Finn blinks before taking the food. “Isn’t that Stacey’s?”

    “She wanted me to catch a Pokemon for her.” He saves the game and Kurt sits down with his own lunch, a can of raviolis, patting Finn’s knee.

    “You’ve lost a lot of weight,” Kurt comments as Finn practically drinks the can of noodles. “It’s starting to worry Rachel.” He pokes at his own can, sighing before choking down a bite.

    Finn shrugs. “It’s not like I can help it.” They can only eat so much a day and it’s not really enough to sustain him but it’s been a while since he’s actually felt hungry. The first two weeks he didn’t eat more than once a day and the only reason he eats more now is because Santana threatened to shoot him if he didn’t (Brittany told him she was just kidding but he wouldn’t put it past her). He puts his empty can next to the couch and Kurt tries to give Finn his own can. “You need to eat,” he says, shaking his head when Kurt sets the can down on his knee.

    “You need it more than I do.” Finn rolls his eyes but eats half the can before giving it back to his brother.

    “You have to eat.”

    Rachel nods as she walks up from behind Finn, pressing a kiss to his cheek as she picks up his empty can. “If I can force down Easy Mac, you can eat some ravioli.”

    “Please. Like that’s even real cheese.” Kurt has to take a bite before she leaves and when they’re alone again (well, as alone as they can be), he looks at Finn seriously. “You can see the worry on her face… I’m surprised she’s not graying.” Finn watches as Rachel sits down next to Stevie on Artie’s bed, listening to Quinn and Artie animatedly read aloud some book, and for the first time notices what Kurt’s talking about. There’s worry lines on her forehead that weren’t there before and even though she’s smiling, it seems so much dimmer than he’s seen it before. He swallows hard, tries his hardest to smile at Rachel when she notices him staring, but he only manages to barely curve one side of his lips. “I miss my dad every day,” Kurt whispers, scraping the plastic fork around the edge of the can. “It’s… difficult, but I don’t want the people still here to suffer too.”

    Finn scratches the back of his head, sighing heavily. “I’m trying.”

    Kurt offers a sad, sympathetic smile and he leans over, giving Finn’s knee a squeeze. “I know. Just…” He looks like he’s trying to find the right words to say but all Kurt ends up doing is letting out a breath the accompanies a tiny shrug. “Keep trying okay? If not for her or us, but for your mom. When your dad died, she kept going for you.”

    A shot goes off down the hall and everyone is suddenly at attention, Quinn and Puck each clutching a child. Santana is up instantly, the dining room chair Judy kept in perfect condition tips back, banging against the wall in the rush and Finn suddenly realizes Brittany isn’t in the room.

    Santana throws open the door and there’s Brittany standing there with wide eyes, a shot gun hanging in her right hand and a bruise forming on her shoulder. “I got it,” she says simply and Santana throws her arms around her girlfriend.

--

    “Looks like it got through the back,” Mike yells, turning the lock before walking back to the entryway.”

    Tina frowns from her spot in between Artie and Kurt. When she and Quinn went to throw out the trash this morning, she was last one in which meant it was her job to lock up. “Sorry.” Artie squeezes her shoulder and Puck shrugs downstairs.

    “S’okay. Luckily it was only one.” Puck and Santana crouch next to the body and Brittany wrinkles her nose when Santana starts checking his pockets.

    “San,” she whines, tapping her girlfriend’s butt with her foot. “That’s gross.” Thick, dark blood surrounds the man’s head and there’s some splattered on the front door behind him. She’s about to ask someone if she should clean it up but then Mike asks her if it looks like Mr. Buce, the man who sometimes worked as a janitor for the dance studio. It’s hard to tell, his face practically ruined by decay and the bullet, but then she notices the tattoo on the inside of his wrist. Her breath catches in her throat and she starts playing with the end of her hair. She liked Mr. Buce.

    “I can’t believe you got him between the eyes your first time out,” Puck muses. “Your girl’s got an amazing shot.”

    She thinks Santana smiles but she’s not sure. Santana pulls out a black wallet and Brittany swallows before asking, “Is it Mr. Buce?” Santana looks back at her and then looks worried which means Brittany definitely looks upset and she forces her face to go blank as Santana stands up. Santana tries to hug her but Brittany shakes her head, taking a step back. “You just touched him!”

    Santana hands Mike the wallet and looks up at Tina. “Can you throw me down some hand sanitizer?”

    Mike opens the wallet and there’s the Mr. Buce’s she remembers.

    She killed Mr. Buce.

    A whine escapes the back of her throat and Santana squeezes a whole bunch of gel into her hands, rubbing it up to her elbows, encasing Brittany in a hug just before she backs into a wall. “You did good,” Puck says as she hides her face in Santana’s neck.

    A hand rubs her shoulder and then Mike’s saying, “He wasn’t Mr. Buce. This wasn’t Mr. Buce,” which Santana whispers how much she loves her in Brittany’s ear.

    “I’m okay,” she says, squeezing Santana’s waist before pulling back. Santana doesn’t look convinced so she squeezes her waist again, this time smiling a little. “I’m okay.”

    Finn sits down next to Kurt on the ledge even though Brittany can hear Rachel asking him not to. “We’re gonna need to get rid of it,” Puck says as he stands up, Mr. Buce’s key ring in his hand. He looks at Mike and Brittany slips her hand into his when he nods.

    “I’ll go.” Everyone looks at Finn, Kurt shaking his head.

    “This wasn’t what I-”

    “Yeah, it was,” Finn says, standing up and then making his way down the ladder. “I’ll go with one of you guys.”

    Puck nods but his jaw remains locked and Brittany leans into Santana. “Where are you going to take him?”

    It’s silent but then Mike nods next to her. “I know a place that’ll probably be good.”

    “Then you two’ll go. If you’re sure, dude.”

    “It’s my job,” he says with a shrug and Santana scoffs.

    “’Cause you have a dick?”

    Brittany elbows her. “Because he cares, Santana.” Finn almost gives her a smile as he nods but she understands why he falls a little short. Tina announces that she’ll go get weapons and Finn goes back upstairs to pick out his own. “You’ll be careful with him, right? He was always so nice to us.”

    “Of course, B.”

    “Where’d Finn go,” Rachel asks, tucking her hair behind her ears.

    “In Tina’s room,” Santana answers and Brittany worries her bottom lip, only dropping it when Santana kisses the corner of her lips. “C’mon. Let’s go play with the kids.”

--

    “I don’t really think you should go.” God, this is awkward. She tried leaving as soon as Rachel walked in, Finn could totally pick his own weapon, but Rachel’s standing in front of the door and Tina really doesn’t think it’s a good idea to interrupt now.

    Finn weighs a hatchet in his hand. “Rachel, I’ll be fine.” He hands the tool back to Tina and she swaps it with a pickaxe, focusing on rearranging their weapons when she notices Rachel’s eyes starting to tear up.

    “You haven’t been sleeping well,” Rachel adds but even Tina knows that won’t stop Finn. None of them have really slept well since this became their home. Rachel stammers in the same way Tina used to until Finn wraps an arm around Rachel’s shoulders, moving the pickaxe so it’s not near his girlfriend and as a result, almost clocks Tina. “Why don’t you let Puck go?”

    “There’s no reason I can’t go.”

    Tina’s eyebrows shoot towards her hairline, shaking her head. Rachel pulls back. “You haven’t been well.” Finn seems to remember she’s still there and he looks down at Tina, embarrassed, but she pretends to be busy with braiding her hair. Rachel cups his cheek, making him look at her again. “You’ve been having a hard time and I just worry that…”

    Tina tries off her braid and then picks up one of the hand guns. She loads in a magazine. Finn kisses Rachel’s forehead and Tina makes sure the safety is on. “This is step one, okay? I’m trying, so that I can be good again.”

    Rachel sighs but lifts on to her tiptoes, kissing Finn in a way that always made Tina uncomfortable (she loves Mike but she doesn’t try to consume him in front of other people and those two don’t seem to know how not to kiss like that). “And you’re sure going out is the best way to start this?” Finn nods and Rachel breathes out again, rolling back her shoulders and wiggling her fingers. “Okay. Be careful.”

    Finn actually smiles and Tina watches as Rachel practically beams at the sight.

--

    There’s cars abandoned in the middle of the street, bodies rare but there, if the stench is anything to go by. Mike thinks it helps that Quinn lives in the newer part of Lima, in a development that the majority of the population is too poor to afford. The truck sputters down the street and Mike carefully weaves through the mess, trying not to notice how tense Finn is next to him when he has to drive over the arm of a body. Mike has definitely always been closer with Puck. He’s not sure why but it’s just how it turned out. He and Finn work well as teammates but he wasn’t exactly making gaming plans with him on the weekends like he did with Puck and Sam. So this drive is awkward, especially since Finn hasn’t talked to anyone who wasn’t Rachel or Kurt since this whole thing came about.

    “Where are we going,” Finn asks as Mike brakes at the last stoplight of town. The stoplight is blank as it swings from the wire in the wind. He could just drive through it; it’s not like there’s anyone else around. Still he looks both ways and then presses on the gas when Finn coughs.

    “Old barn,” he says. It doesn’t have a name, never has as far as Mike knows. He’s pretty sure it’s never been used for as long as he’s been alive, he’s not even sure anyone actually even owns the land or if it’s county property, but he always used it as a marker on road trips to figure out how close they were to home. It’s one of the first things you see besides farmland when you drive back into Lima from Dayton. High school kids have been using it for the last few years. Most of the time it’s McKinley kids but sometimes the football team will go over there to fuck around and find Fort Shawnee kids using it. It’s far enough out that they can usually party without cops showing up since there’s really no one close enough to complain or report them.

    Finn scratches the back of his neck, nodding unsurely until Mike turns down the road towards the abandoned barn. “Oh, this place. I remember this place.” It looks even more run down if that’s even possible. One of the doors has fallen down and a van crashed into the side of it. “Think there’s anyone in the car?” Mike shrugs, driving closer to it but staying far enough back in case they don’t want to know what’s in there. The windshield is busted, wooden planks resting on the vehicle and as a result, the barn’s started tilting a little. They grab their weapons as soon as he parks, going straight to the back of the truck. Finn keeps looking over at the van.

    “Do you want to take the legs or the head,” Mike asks, pulling down the gate. He pulls on Mr. Buce’s legs so he’ll be easier to grab. He’s really glad Santana decided to cover his face though Mike guesses it was also to stop blood from going everywhere on the move.

    Finn looks back at the van again and doesn’t move to grab Mr. Buce. “I think there’s blood on the van.” Mike squints, eyes roaming the silver van, and notices something that could be blood above the front tire, but it’s hard to tell without getting closer.

    A twig snaps and both of their heads go to the doors of the barn. A woman stands there, head cocked to the side like she’s surprised to see them and her clothes torn hang from her body. Her top is sliced open, like somebody tried to cut her in half, what’s left of her decomposing boob poking out through the ripped fabric that’s stained with her dried blood. Finn takes the gun from his pocket and turns off the safety.

    Mike knew that the zombies weren’t walkers, that they had a mob like mentality, but it’s not until this one sprints towards them that he really gets just how dangerous these things are. Finn pulls the trigger twice and one bullet blows through her arm, the other skimming her neck. Third time’s the charm, thank god. The woman’s so close that Mike can see how many fingernails she’s missing (all but the pinky on her left hand), can hear things snapping from beneath her flesh as she tries to grab for one of them. Her eyes are clouded over, he can’t even tell what color her eyes used to be, and when the bullet finally sails right between her eyes, a chunk of black hair falls off her head before she goes to the ground.

    “Fuck,” Mike breathes out, looking at Finn who is blinking down at the body.

    Turns out, nothing can really prepare you for that moment. No amount of movies or video games or knowledge. Mike can’t believe he honestly didn’t just soil himself. “We should hurry up and g-” A garbled moan rips through the air and they look up to see four zombies lurching towards them. Mike doesn’t even have the time to tell Finn to get back in the truck, barely has time to pull his jiàn from its sheath, before the zombies descend.

    He jumps into the bed of the truck, stabbing his sword into the head of the zombie that manages to grab Finn’s shirt. Finn keeps the zombie up the best he can with his pickaxe, using it like a shield as he shoots over it’s shoulder at the others. He hits them but doesn’t kill them and Mike yells for him to climb into the truck too when the gun simply clicks in Finn’s hand. “My axe is stuck.” Finn tugs on his weapon and Mike slices the head off the one closest to Finn. The weapon finally comes free, a rib falling from the zombie, and suddenly there’s this scraping that makes his teeth hurt. Mike turns to see two more zombies desperately reaching for him from the other side of the truck. He turns, swinging his blade back in hopes of slicing off both heads at once, but then Finn screams and Mike turns just in time to see a zombie tearing into Finn’s shoulder.

    “No,” Mike shouts, his sword falling to the bed of the truck with a thunderous clap, and he pulls the pickaxe from the neck of the zombie, instantly shoving it through its skull. Finn stumbles back, groaning and Mike can see the tears coating Finn’s cheeks as he stumbles backwards. One of the zombies from the other side of the truck rushes him and Mike can’t believe what he’s seeing. It’s like some sort of National Geographic special. All of the blood thirsty creatures forget about his still beating heart and swarm Finn like flies.

    He falls to his knees and throws up on Mr. Buce’s dirty jeans. It’s almost enough to block out Finn’s screams.

--

    There’s a knock on the door and Kurt rolls over in his makeshift bed, using his index finger to keep his place in the book Quinn recommended (he has to admit, she was right when she said he’d love it. He hasn’t been able to put it down since lunch). “Come in.”

    “Dinner’s ready,” Puck says and Kurt can see Tina and Rachel jump to their feet behind him.

    “The boys aren’t back yet?” Puck looks behind him when the front door slams and Tina’s voiced is laced with worry when she calls out to her boyfriend. Rachel is noticeably silent.

    By the time Kurt and Puck stand at the landing, Mike’s dropped to his knees in the very same place Mr. Buce’s body was earlier. Tina is halfway down the ladder when Mike looks up at them. “I’m sorry,” he cries. Every inch of him is dirty, Kurt thinks there might even be some throw up on his chin, but as soon as Tina gets to him, she pulls him into her lap, clutching him as close as possible. He’s never seen Mike look so small.

    “Can you go sit down?” Kurt blinks and looks at Puck who tenderly puts a hand on his shoulder. He nods, even though he’s not exactly sure he can. Brittany appears out of nowhere, smiles at him sadly and kisses his cheek as she leads him into the main room.

    It hasn’t been this quiet since the morning after Sam left.

    Brittany sits him down at the table in between Santana and Stevie, the two of them fighting about something, as usual, until Quinn asks Stevie to come with her. Santana looks at him then and he only realizes he’s crying when her face relaxes just slightly before she stands up. She pulls the hem of her shirt around her hand and does her best to dry his face with it. There’s some sort of vague joke in his head about being so close to her crotch but it never really falls into place and he pushes her away. Puck yells for Brittany. The only ones left in the room are him, Santana, and Artie.

    It’s kind of funny. Here they are in the middle of the end of the world yet this is probably the most still they’ve been since this whole thing started. Artie is literally in the middle of turning a page of the book he’s reading and Santana is leaning on her chair, far enough to not feel like she’s suffocating him but close enough that he can still feel how warm she is. It’s really loud outside the room or maybe it just sounds that way because there hasn’t been cause for this commotion. It didn’t even get this loud when Brittany shot that zombie earlier. His eyes flick from Santana to Artie and then to the can of soup on the table they both seem to be zoning out on.

    The door opens behind him and the other two in the room come to life again but he doesn’t. Kurt keeps staring at the can of chicken noodle, his arms crossed against his chest.

    Tina and Puck ease Mike into the chair across from him. He looks like he’s going to be sick. “I’m so sorry,” he repeats. The words Kurt told Finn earlier keep ringing in his ears and he closes his eyes.

    “Where’s Rachel?”

--

    Before today, Rachel always found the beauty in heartbreaking devastation. The portraits painted in West Side Story and Romeo & Juliet left her wanting to feel something so spectacularly grand at least once in her life, even at the cost of everything being ripped away.

    Before today, she was nothing but a stupid girl.

    Mike isn’t able to say a lot and everyone keeps telling her to go sit down. She shakes her head, grips the rail when Brittany tries to pull her away, only letting go to push Puck back when he tries to move her. “Let her hear,” Quinn says as she shuts the kids’ door. “Having her sit down isn’t going to soften the blow.”

    “She doesn’t need to see this.”

    Quinn moves somewhere behind her and Rachel tightens her hand into a fist, Puck’s shirt firmly in her grip. “I knew he shouldn’t have gone,” she whispers. Brittany’s downstairs now, helping Tina get Mike to his feet. Blood is staining his clothes and now it’s staining the girls’ and she feels her stomach lurch. “You should’ve stopped him.” She shoves Puck and swallows hard. “You knew he wasn’t okay. He wasn’t ready for this.” He doesn’t say anything but she notices the way his jaw clenches and she thinks that he might actually be crying. Her vision is too cloudy for her to tell for sure. “You should have stopped him.”

    “Stop it.” Her head jerks to look at Quinn. One of her hands is curled around Puck’s arm and the other is hanging in the air between her and Quinn. She shakes her head and takes a step back, glancing over at Mike who has made it up to the landing. It doesn’t look like he’ll get up anytime soon. “This isn’t his fault.” Quinn barely even looks shaken up over this and her voice just seems too steady for what’s happening. What’s happened.

    She can see Brittany looking at her over their shoulders, her face drenched in pity. It’s the same look she gave Stacey and Stevie that first week after Sam-

    Rachel squeezes her eyes shut, backing away from all of them. “Finn wouldn’t be de-” The words catch roughly in her throat, her hand going to clutch her neck before she tries to say it again. “Finn wouldn’t be de-” She blinks and Quinn takes a small step towards her and no, this isn’t happening. Quinn Fabray doesn’t try and comfort her when she’s upset. Her chest tightens viciously. It’s like that first day all over again where she just can’t wrap her mind around what she’s just been told and what she’s just seen. The hand on her neck trails down and she pulls on her shirt, pulling it away from her body in an effort to get some air and cool herself down. Her back hits a wall and she closes her eyes again, her nails digging into her as she gulps for air.

    Someone grabs her then, she’d guess Brittany but she’s honestly not sure, and she doesn’t open her eyes until she’s being sat down. Quinn’s digging through the medicine cabinet, tossing aside pill bottle after pill bottle until she finds one she likes. She presses a pill into Rachel’s hand before handing her a Dixie cup of water. “It’s one of my anxiety pills,” she says, raising Rachel’s arm up when she doesn’t move to take the pill. “It’ll help.”

    If everything was still normal, she probably wouldn’t have take it. But the world is ending and Finn is… She swallows the pill dry. It’s not like she has nothing to lose anymore.

    “Take deep breaths,” Quinn tells her and Rachel wants to tell her she’s not stupid. She may not have anxiety but she knows how to handle a panic attack. Fighting with Quinn just seems so pointless now though and, well, Rachel’s not sure she’d put it past Quinn to kick her out.

    “Can you just say it?” Quinn is lining up all the pill bottles in the medicine cabinet, making sure the labels face out, and Rachel’s about to specify what exactly she’s asking when Quinn closes the cabinet and looks at her through the mirror.

    “Finn is dead.” Her voice cracks a little on the last word but overall she lacks the emotion everyone else probably has right now and that alone allows Rachel to exhale. Even though everything is turned upside down, at least she can still count on Quinn to be brutally honest with her.

    The pill must be kicking in because her heart doesn’t feel like it’s going to burst through her chest anymore and she uses the hem of her shirt to wipe the sweat from her forehead. “Thank you.” Quinn nods, looks at her awkwardly, and then takes a chance. She gives Rachel’s shoulder a small squeeze that actually feels a bit like a death grip and pushes back the bits of Rachel’s hair sticking to her skin.

    “I’m going to go check on the kids.”

--

    “We need to start training people,” Puck says, scraping the side of his can to get the rest of the sauce. “And no more pairs. At least three people need to be together when we go anywhere.”

    Brittany is helping Artie stretch his legs on the bed, bending his legs at the knees and massaging his muscles. “How would we do that?”

    “Train?” Brittany nods and he shrugs, running a hand over the back of his head. “With the melee weapons, we can practice downstairs. Use the walls, furniture. S’not like we’re using it anyway.”

    “What about guns? I know you guys got a decent supply of ammo but, I mean, I don’t know how to shoot a gun. I’d be wasting bullets,” Artie says as he puts his glasses back on so he can see Puck clearly. “Not that I’ll be leaving here, but I don’t think I could do what Brittany did.”

    “The most I’ve ever shot is a paintball gun and I have no idea if that’s like a real gun or not. The only ones who I know know how to shoot are Quinn and Kurt. Well, and I guess you too, Britt.” He shakes his head and reclines in his seat. “We’d be wasting bullets. But at the same time, we can’t just wait for zombies to swamp us and, really, I don’t know how well Rachel and Tina can do close up.”

    “That’s sexist,” Santana says when she walks out of the bathroom they’ve been using as a kitchen.

    Puck rolls his eyes. “You two and Quinn were Cheerios, Mike and I were football players. I know what we’re capable of. I don’t know about them. I’d include Kurt too but he at least knows how to shoot.”

    Santana folds her arms against her stomach, looking down at the floor when she says, “Finn played too.” Brittany places Artie’s legs back on the bed, crawling next to him as Puck looks back at Santana, his jaw locked. “Whole lot of good it did him.”

    “Finn managed to kill two,” he snaps. “He killed three that first day too. It wasn’t lack of skill, Santana.”

    She shakes her head, her wild hair sticking out at all angles (whatever shampoo Tina snagged at Walmart has done fuck all for her hair). “That’s not what I’m trying to say. Finn was competent and he still-” She licks her lips and shakes her head again. “We’re all fucked if there’s enough of them. Don’t single anyone out because none of us are prepared for this.”

    “We know, baby,” Brittany says softly from the bed. Santana swallows hard, rubbing at her temple. “Come lay down.”

    Puck pushes back from the table, hugs Santana when he passes her and instead of just amusing him, she holds him tightly. “I’m sorry,” she whispers against his chest and he squeezes back just as hard as she’s clutching to him. She pulls away after that, slipping in bed next to Brittany and Artie. He shuts the door when he leaves and Quinn’s coming out of Mike and Tina’s room when he looks down the hall.

    “How’s he doing?”

    Quinn shrugs. “I gave him one of my mom’s sleeping pills just so they could get some sleep. He managed to stop crying but he still couldn’t stop shaking.”

    He nods. “You gonna go lay down?”

    “I was going to check on the kids first… Maybe Rachel and Kurt too.” She wrings her hands together. “Truthfully, I think I just make it worse.”

    The tub starts filling up in the bathroom and Puck lets out a breath. “I’ll check on them. I think Brittany and Santana are bunking with Artie tonight.”

    “Come to bed soon.” He used to hear that a lot from her when they lived together. Pregnancy made her restless and even though she generally hated him for knocking her up, she couldn’t fall asleep unless she was somehow touching him, even if it was something as simple as her knee touching his leg.

    He never though he’d hear her say that to him again.

    “I will.” She gives him a weak smile and he opens Kurt’s door.

    He’s sitting in his make-shift bed, his back pressed against the wall, staring at the bed Rachel and Finn have been sharing. His legs are pulled against his chest, chin perched on his knee, and Puck’s eyes have adjusted enough to the dark that he can make out the wet trails on Kurt’s cheeks. “I don’t understand,” Kurt whispers, his voice rough, a little deeper than Puck’s used to hearing, “how you were able to make it through that first day.”

    Puck slumps down next to him, trying his hardest not to mess up the sheets, but he guesses Kurt’s usual neurotic habits have been thrown to the wayside today. “I don’t know,” he admits. It’s probably one of the most honest things he’s ever said.

    Kurt shakes his head, his hands fisting the fabric of his sweats. Puck’s surprised he hasn’t sewn them yet like everyone else’s but it’s not like there’s much of a need anyway when all they really do is stay inside. “You lost your mom, your sister, Sam…” He runs a hand under his nose, grimacing at the feel, and then looks over at Puck. “I don’t know if I’m as strong as you.”

    “Ku-”

    He puts his hand up. “It was different when Finn was still here. Even though my dad was gone, we still had each other. But now my entire family is gone… I know that I’m still alive, in a house full of people that, well, you guys aren’t horrible to be shacked up with, but…” Puck slings an arm around Kurt’s shoulders and pulls him close. In the time they’ve been friends, he’s done this more and more and it’s kind of fucked up, Puck realizes, that they only seem to do this when something shitty happens to Kurt.

    They’re quiet for what feels like a long time. Kurt lets his head fall to Puck’s shoulder and the larger boy does his best to hold him close. With Finn gone, this is his job now. He needs to take care of Kurt and Rachel, keep them safe, keep them sane.

    “Before he left, I essentially told Finn he needed to stop being such a Debbie downer.” Kurt stretches out his legs, leaning forward a little bit to run his kneecaps but he doesn’t stray far from Puck. “Kind of hard to follow my own advice now.”

    Puck nods, letting his thumb rub small circles on Kurt’s arm. “No one’s gonna say shit if you decide to hole up in here. We get it.”

    “Yeah…” Kurt looks out the window. Now that the city is without power, the sky is filled with stars and the moon seems brighter than he’s ever seen it. Kind of ironic, Puck thinks.

    “I’m gonna go check on Rach, then head to bed.” He gives Kurt’s shoulder a small squeeze before he stands up. “You gonna be okay?”

    Kurt huffs, a shadow of a smile creeping on his face. “No, I’m not going to be okay.” Puck pauses and Kurt wipes his cheeks and then lightly pushes Puck towards the door. “Go.”

--

    He’s a little surprised the door isn’t locked. She has the shower curtain pulled back so he can’t see much past her collarbone (which seems stupid now because there’s only so much space in this house and chances are they’ll all get pretty well acquainted sooner or later. He’s already seen Britt, Santana, and Quinn naked. He is sharing a room with them though so he’s not sure that counts), not that he’d be able to anyway since the one candle doesn’t do much in way of lighting the room. “Leave me alone,” she says tiredly, doing something behind the curtain that makes the water splash against the sides of the tub.

    “You know that’s not gonna happen.” He sits down next to the tub, pushing her discarded clothes out of the way. “Where’s your head at?”

    He thinks she’s glaring at him but he’s not 100% sure. “Where do you think, Noah?”

    Puck smirks, shaking his head. “Been awhile since someone spit my name like that. Have to say, I thought Quinn’d be the one to do it.” The water moves again and Rachel covers her face with her hands. Her breathing is heavy, but she’s not sniffling so that means it’s at least been a while since she stopped crying. He’s really at a loss for words. He’s never been good with them, has a habit of sticking his foot in his mouth more often than not, and saying sorry isn’t going to mean shit.

    Before he can try to say something that won’t help, she looks at him, almost glaring. “You should have told him no.” She needs an outlet, he gets that, so he squeezes his hands into fists and counts to five in his head, not saying anything. “Why didn’t you tell him no?” He really doesn’t trust his own mouth so he just shrugs and her hands hit the water with a loud slap. “Do you really have nothing to say for yourself? He was your best friend!”

    “I know you’re upset,” he says through gritted teeth and she laughs bitterly, the sound choking her slightly.

    “Upset? I’m devastated, Noah. This is all so…” She pushes herself up in the tub, her arms coming up to cover her chest, not that he has any intention of looking now. Water drips from the side of the tub and she shakes her head, looking at everywhere but him. “Why do you always do this to him? He was your best friend and you always just… destroyed him! You gave him flack for joining Glee, you slept with his girlfriend, got her pregnant… And now you got him killed.”

    He shakes his head and stands up. “I’m not going to just sit here and let you shit on me no matter how upset you are. This is not my fault,” he yells, his voice bouncing off the walls. The bathroom shares a wall with the kids’ room and he hopes that he doesn’t wake them. He opens one of the drawers, pocketing a condom as she sneers.

    “Is that how you’re handling everything so well? With Quinn Fabray’s pussy?”

    He slams the drawer shut. “Why didn’t you stop him, Rachel? Huh? You talked to him before they left. You were the last one to. If this is my fault, then it’s your fault too.” Her eyes widen like he just fucking slapped her and, fuck, this is exactly what he didn’t want to do. She’s just staring at him and he knows he should apologize but he is still way too fucking angry to do anything except yell at her some more.

    Kurt slips into the room, shaking his head a little. “You two are going to wake the whole house,” he says softly and he looks back when he hears soft crying.

    Quinn’s clutching Stacey to her chest, trying to soothe the little girl who keeps asking when Sam will be back with their parents. “Can you take her,” she asks, looking past Kurt at Puck. He doesn’t even glance at Rachel before he’s taking Stacey from Quinn and disappearing into their room.

    Kurt looks at the blonde nervously, putting his arm out when she tries to walk over to Rachel. “Quinn,” he warns and she shakes her head.

    “I know that Finn died, but I do not want my kids to go through what I went through,” Quinn growls. “They already lost their family and have to live through this cataclysm, I will not stand for them to be woken up by fighting.” It’s been a long time since Kurt’s seen the ice queen cry, and he knows that what he has seen hasn’t been anything more than superficial tears at best, that he wouldn’t believe she’s actually crying if he wasn’t standing right next to her. “Are we understood?”

    Rachel nods and the moment Quinn leaves, she bursts into tears, hiding her face in her hands.

    He locks the door and then pushes back the shower curtain so he can gather his best friend in his arms. She’s completely soaking his clothes and he doesn’t understand how she’s still sitting in this tub because the water is freezing. She really should get out but she leeches to him, sobbing even harder than he thinks he did, shaking her head against his chest. “I should have stopped him,” she cries between hiccups. Kurt carefully runs his fingers through her hair, pulling apart any tangles he comes across. “Puck was right… I talked to him and I just… I knew he wouldn’t come back.” His hand pauses and she curries her face in the crook of his neck. “I knew and I just let him go.”

    “Rachel, there’s no way…”

    She looks at him and god, she looks disgusting. Her entire face is red, snot running from her nose, and she really doesn’t have a pretty crying face (she was never sure if that would hurt her or help her in the long run). “I did Kurt. I had this feeling and I still let him go.”

    He grabs the washcloth from the side of the tub, dunking it in the water before telling her to close her eyes. He wipes down her face gently. “It is not your fault, Rachel. This isn’t anyone’s fault.” She squeezes her eyes shut and he can feel a shiver run through her body. “Come on, let’s go to bed.”

    He tries to reach for the towel she left on the toilet but she holds on to his arms, looks at him with those eyes that make him feel even worse than he already does. “I can’t,” she says weakly. “The bed, the smell…”

    It’s funny how what comforted him, that musky smell that was always just slightly different from his dad’s, is what she can’t handle.

    He nods, pulls her close once more before standing on wobbly legs and opening the towel for her to wrap herself in.

--

    She can hear someone moaning softly from the other side of the wall their bed is shoved against followed by a sharp gasp, and Tina thinks she can hear crying then, different from the sobbing she’s heard all day from the room on the other side of them (she’s never regretted taking the middle room more than she does now). Mike twitches against her lap, his dirty fingers (she scrubbed them for an hour straight but somehow they still don’t look clean) digging into her thigh as he whimpers, trying to burrow into her further. She pushes his hair back, reveals his contorting face to her as she does her best to lace fingers with the hand clutching her thigh. For the first time since this entire thing started, it hits her how real this is.

    When Sam left, it was different. They knew it was coming; he gathered them in the living area and very calmly told them he was infected. He was able to tell them what he wanted to, as able to say goodbye. Even the mourning process was different. Everyone was obviously upset but it was something they all dealt with in private since, as far as the kids knew, their brother was coming back. But this? Finn was supposed to come back. He was supposed to eat a crappy dinner with them. He was supposed to be sleeping now, his arm wrapped around his girlfriend and his brother a breath away. Finn said a ‘see you later’ goodbye with what is now an unbearable amount of certainty. The kiss he had given Rachel before he went down the latter was chaste.

    She wipes away the tear that falls on to Mike’s cheek. He twitches against her again and she runs her hand up and down his arm lightly, trying to sway in an effort to sooth him into a peaceful sleep.

    Compared to everyone else in the house, she didn’t know Finn at all. They’d never dated and it’s not like she played football. It almost makes her feel like she shouldn’t be so upset about this. But Mike is starting to cry into her lap and she remembers that someone will be next. Someone she’s closer to. It could be Mike, could have been him.

    She’s been stupid to say this was boring. Up until today, they’d been safe and that’s the only thing that should have mattered. It is the only thing that matters.

--

Part 4

All The Noise Died Away [2/6]

only_because3 — Fri, 06 Apr 2012 07:12:27 GMT

All the times he imagined Rachel Berry pressed up against him in his truck, his mother and sister were definitely not there too.

    Not that he’s thought about Rachel a lot recently since she’s dating Finn, but he’d be a god damn liar if he said she never popped up in his head when he was jerking it (hell, sometimes she was there with Quinn or Brittany and-)

    He shifts in his seat as he takes a left on Holden. He’s pretty sure they’re in the middle of fucking zompocalypse and he’s getting a hard. What the fuck?

    “Slow down, Noah,” his mother lectures from the passenger seat. Just the sound of her voice is enough to squash any feeling in his pants.

    “Ma, you’re the one who wanted me to drive.” Rachel’s talking quietly to his sister in Yiddish and it’s a good thing his mom seems to be more focused on his driving than what they’re saying because he’s pretty sure his sister just confessed to taking that twenty last week.

    “And I’d like us to get there in one piece.” She clutches on to the door handle, her other arm tightening around Jenna’s waist when he guns it through another yellow light. “Noah, slow down.”

    “Do you want to drive? Because we can switch if you’d like.”

    Rachel leans forward next to him and then his mother slaps him up the back of his head. “Could you act like my nice Jewish son for once?”

    “I’m driving to temple aren’t I? Even though it probably would’ve been a lot safer if we’d stayed at the house.

    “It’s important for us to be close to God right now and surrounded by our friends.”

    He opens his mouth to respond but Rachel puts her hand on his knee and subtlety shakes her head. “Okay, Ma,” he breathes out, slowing down as he turns down an alley. His mother nods once before turning her attention to Rachel and asking her how her father feels about her dating a gentile. He can’t help but laugh a little as Rachel sputters through a response and it earns him a pinch in the side.

    “What’s that,” Jenna asks, pointing to a lump in the middle of the alley. It looks like a coat or maybe a garbage bag, and he slows down a little when it moves slightly. He leans over the steering wheel to get a better look just as someone jumps out from behind the dumpster to his left, pouncing on the blob in the middle of the street. Both his mom and Rachel’s hands fly up to cover Jenna’s eyes. He brakes harder than he meant to but nobody seems to complain since Patches is viciously biting into what Puck can only assume is a person.

    Patches looks up at them, a chunk of flesh falling from his mouth, and Puck throws the truck into reverse, speeding out of the alley. “Sorry,” he says once they’re back on the main road before his mom can complain.

    “Just get us where we need to go,” his mom says quietly as Jenna asks what happened. He sort of takes that as an okay to speed the fuck up again and so going around the block instead of through it takes the same amount of time. The alley is visible from the front of the synagogue but he can’t see Patches. He really doesn’t want to get out of the truck because this can’t be safe, but his mom already has the door open by the time he parks. Jenna’s way too big to be held but his mom refuses to put her down, even when his sister complains. “I will once we’re inside safely.”

    He takes Rachel’s hand once she steps out of the truck, keeping them far enough back so that his mom can’t hear them but close enough that if Patches or anyone else jumped out, he could get the girls to safety. “You okay,” he asks and Rachel squeezes his hand with strength he didn’t know she had.

    “This is a dream right?” He looks at her like she’s crazy and she sighs. “I figured it was worth a shot to ask.” She leans into his side as they walk towards the steps. “So… zombies.”

    He nods. “That’s pretty much what it looks like. Unless everyone is just turning into cannibals which would still leave us fucked.”

    Rachel tucks her bottom lip between her teeth. “You know, I’ve prided myself in preparing for almost any role that could be thrown at me, but I really don’t know how to react to this.”

    “This is why you should’ve played Left 4 Dead with us.”

    She glares at him. “I highly doubt that it would’ve helped. It’s not like we have a bunch of guns and stuff now.”

    “It’s no different from the military playing Call of Duty or whatever for training. It’s called a simulation.” She rolls her eyes as he drops her hand, jogging ahead so he can open the door for his mom.

    Rabbi Greenberg is literally right there when he opens it, the man’s eyes wide beneath his thick glasses. “You’ll be the last then,” he tells them, waving them inside. “They keep getting closer and we can’t keep risking opening the doors.” He smoothes down Jenna’s hair and smiles at her softly. “Are you hungry, Jen? Mrs. Cohen has some ponchkes.”

    “With custard or jelly?” Puck smirks. That would’ve been the first question he asked too.

    “Why don’t you go see? I’ll be in there as soon as I lock up.” Rabbi Greenberg puts his hand on Puck’s shoulder as he passes, disappearing down the hall.

    Temple is usually loud because the women constantly gossip but there are a bunch of people here today, way more than usual, and it sounds like a god damn football game, everyone’s yelling so loud. They’re all trying to talk over the others as they speculate what’s going on and every other word he hears is 'terrorist'. On the plus side, there’s a bunch of food, way more than just doughnuts. Puck has absolutely no idea how Jewish women always seem to get so much cooking done so fast when there’s some sort of tragedy but he’s never been more thankful than when he is now. All that running around the school he did coupled with the fact that he skipped breakfast this morning means he’s starving, so he grabs Jenna’s arm before she can run off. “Get me food too,” he whispers and his sister salutes him. She’s totally gonna grab the good things. He taught her well.

    His mother watches Jenna nervously, playing with the star of David around her neck before his little sister disappears in the sea of children around Mrs. Cohen. “Thank you for getting us here, Noah.” He rolls his eyes because, really? Would he really tell his mom to figure it out herself? She swats his arm. “Thank you,” she emphasizes and he mutters a ‘welcome’. She rises on to her tip toes, cradling his face in her hands so that his cheek meets her half way, and leaves a kiss on his cheek. “You’re a good boy.” She pats his cheek before turning to Rachel. “And you’re a good girl, even if you’re dating a gentile.”

    Rachel laughs, shrugging a little. “Thank you for letting me tag along.”

    Her mother tucks Rachel’s hair behind her ears and pushes Rachel’s grown out bangs out of her eyes. “You’re so good with my children! That means you’re always welcome in our family, bekl.” Mr. Weiss calls his mother over and Puck would normally go with her. He really doesn’t trust the guy. He’s always tried to date his mom, even before his dad bailed, and he gives Jenna the creeps which means Puck instantly thinks he’s a pervert who needs to stay the fuck away from his family. But Rachel tugs on his hand and he stays puts.

    “I have to go to the bathroom,” she tells him for some unknown reason (he really doesn’t need to know shit like that) and he stares at her stupidly.

    “And…?”

    She sighs, eyes darting all around the room, her hand tightening around his when there’s a crash near the bimah. “I kind of don’t want to go anywhere alone right now.”

    “Oh, yeah. Okay.” His mom catches his eye when they start walking towards the entrance and he mouths ‘bathroom’. She nods, gives him a small smile, and turns back to Mr. Weiss.

    “I really hope Jenna can score me a custard doughnut,” he says just to fill the silence in the hallway.

    “How can you be so calm right now?” The temple creaks as it settles, causing Rachel to get closer to him, their hands pressed between their hips. “Zombies eat people and we’re people,” she explains like he didn’t already fucking know that.

    “I’m pretty sure if I wasn’t with you guys, I would have physically shit myself already,” he admits and her face crunches at his language but her hand relaxes slightly in his. “Honestly, it kind of helps that I’ve seen worse in movies.”

    “But this isn’t movies, Noah. This is real life.” She pauses and then shakes her head. “I can’t believe I just said that.”

    “Seeing Patches back there was crazy, I’m not going to deny that, but everyone we’ve seen so far look like people. We haven’t seen anyone who looks like a walker yet and those scared the shit out of me.”

    “A walker?” He knocks on the bathroom door, going so far as to check it for her before he lets her step in.

    “It’s what the call zombies in The Walking Dead.” The coast is clear and he holds the door open for her. “You’ll be okay in there?”

    She nods. “But, stay out here, okay?”

    “’Course.” The door closes behind her and his head falls against the wall. The bricks are cool against his skin and suddenly his eyes feel heavy. His phone reads 9:26. He doesn’t even understand how slow time seems to be passing. It feels like it should be so much later. He runs a hand over his eyes, a huge yawn escaping his mouth as everyone in the main room get louder, something he wasn’t sure was possible. But then he hears someone scream and it’s Jenna. He knows it is. The toilet flushes behind the door and he’d never leave Rachel but this is his sister and Rachel’ll get that. He pushes off the wall, half-assedly jogging back towards the open doorway. Another scream filters out (not Jenna’s) and he’s about to break into a sprint when who he thinks is Mr. Cohen staggers out of the main room. “What’s g-” Mr. Cohen’s head snaps towards him, an audible crack accompanying the movement, and he blinks at Puck slowly, his fingers flexing at his sides.

    Puck doesn’t remember Mr. Cohen being in the synagogue.

    Puck swallows hard, looking around him for anything that could help him keep this guy away from him. There’s a few coat racks behind Mr. Cohen which won’t help unless he can get to them without being bitten. He really shouldn’t have left the truck without grabbing the tire iron from the bed, but his mom was walking away and fuck, why didn’t he grab anything? He shoves his hands in his pockets and lets out a breath when he finds his switchblade. It’s not much and he tries not to think about the fact that if this was a video game, he wouldn’t make it past this challenge.

    Mr. Cohen steps toward him slowly, a wide grin stretching across his face as he inhales deeply. He dashes towards Puck then, hands greedily stretching out to grab him. Puck manages to slice his face (which isn’t at all what he was going for) and kick him back with enough force that Mr. Cohen drops the hold he managed to get on Puck’s arms.

    Puck stumbles into the open doorway as Mr. Cohen tries to get back to his feet. He has never seen temple in such a state of chaos before.

    His eyes search frantically for his mom and sister but he can’t find them. His throat tightens, his grip on the blade in his hand slacking for a second as he watches people he used to know attacking their friends and family. Rabbi Greenberg’s body is literally being ripped apart by the Katz’s oldest daughter and Mr. Weiss, his blood spilling onto the wooden floors and staining Mr. Weiss’ white shirt. To the right, Mrs. Cohen and Mrs. Dreyfus are clawing into Mr. Geller, who he’s almost positive is, was, the oldest living resident of Lima. There’s a mass of bodies near the ark and there’s so many different people screaming that it starts sounding like white noise.

    He still can’t fucking see his mom or sister.

    “Noah?” He and Mr. Cohen turn at the sound of Rachel’s voice, her head poking out from the bathroom. Mr. Cohen darts towards her and Puck can see her eyes widen. She’s just going to stand there, he knows she is. He runs towards Mr. Cohen, turning the blade in his hand, and just as Mr. Cohen is about to leap, jumps on to the older man’s back, stabbing into the side of his skull. They fall to the ground and he twists the serrated blade until he feels the body beneath him go slack. “Oh my god,” Rachel mutters and he looks over his shoulder to see Mrs. Dreyfus coming down the hall.

    “Go,” he shouts, shoving her back into the bathroom when he gets to his feet. He locks the door behind them and she stands in the middle of the bathroom, her eyes wide like she still doesn’t believe that this is actually happening. He sees the window behind her just as the door jumps. “You can fit through that right?” She follows his line of sight and her fingers tighten around the fabric of her dress as she nods.

    He gives her a boost to the window sill and it’s not until she’s halfway out that she turns and asks, “Can you fit through this?”

    The door struggles in the frame. “I have to.” He climbs up to the window sill just as she jumps down. He tosses her his car keys and she has to dig them out of the mud because she fumbled the catch. What’s really getting him is that he’s too fucking tall to get out of this window and when he tries to shrink, it makes him too wide. Rachel keeps nervously glancing at him and then at the street just beyond the bushes, jumping each time there’s a crash against the bathroom door.

    “You need to exhale,” she whispers.

    “What,” he asks, holding his breath as he tries to push himself out again.

    “Breathe out. It’ll make you smaller.” That makes about no fucking sense to him but she just looks up at him and her eyes just about tear him apart. “Trust me, Noah.” He breathes out, grappling against the brick frame around the window, and with a shift of his leg, he falls out of the window. He actually looks like an idiot compared to the way Rachel popped out of the window but he can’t give a fuck right now because they’re both out of the building.

    Rachel sticks close to him as they run to his truck but then pauses awkwardly once they get to it. “Did you want to…” She holds his keys out towards him but then looks up at his face and her eyebrows stitch together, her free hand coming up to cradle his face. “Get in the truck.”

    By the time he slams the door shut, he’s sobbing. Rachel reaches out for him, the truck swerving a little as she does it, but she straightens out once his hand is in hers. “ Sh'ma Yis'ra'eil Adonai Eloheinu Adonai echad.” He has no idea where they’re going and for the first time, he can’t recognize the town he’s lived in his entire life. “Barukh sheim k'vod malkhuto l'olam va'ed.” Rachel’s hand squeezes his, her thumb running softly over his skin right before she pulls over. She doesn’t cut the engine, instead just slides across the seat and wraps her arms around him, his head tucking into the space between her neck and shoulder. One hand rubs circles into the middle of his back, the other flexing over the curve of his head, and he can feel her lips form every word against his cheek. “V'ahav'ta eit Adonai Elohekha b'khol l'vav'kha uv'khol naf'sh'kha uv'khol m'odekha.”

    He squeezes his eyes shut and bites down on his bottom lip in an effort of muffle the scream that explodes out of him. It just makes Rachel hold him tighter and she continues with the prayer as her dress soaks up his tears.

--

    Santana may have met her match with Stevie. He knows that she can be crueler and that his little brother is actually a pretty good kid, but watching them verbally spar from across the island in the Fabray kitchen is pretty entertaining. Plus, he has to give it to Santana for keeping all her comments appropriate for the kids’ ears. “This is an ugly sandwich,” Stevie says once Santana slides the plate in front of him.

    She licks a bit of peanut butter from her finger as she drops the knife into the sink. “Your sweatshirt is ugly,” she weakly counters. “Besides, you’re just going to eat it anyway. Who cares what it looks like?”

    “My mom cuts them into dinosaur shapes.” He stares at the sandwich, his nose upturning slightly as he crosses his arms over his chest. “You even left the crust on!”

    “I’m not your mother, I don’t love you enough to do any of that.” Santana brings the other plate over to Sam and Stacey at the table, smiling a little when Stacey thanks her. “If the crust really bothers you, I’ll take it off, but I’m not doing the dino thing.”

    “I bet this isn’t even going to taste good.” Stevie pushes the plate towards her and Sam’s about to tell him to just eat the damn sandwich, but Santana shakes her head when she notices him open his mouth.

    “I actually make the best peanut butter and jelly you’ll ever have, sweet cheeks.”

    “Doubtful,” he sighs, watching as Santana tears the crust of with her hands. “Your hands aren’t clean and you’re touching my food.”

    “Doubtful? Sounds like a big word for someone with such a tiny head.” She pulls tosses the crust on to a paper towel, flicking Stevie in the head before she gets up to throw it away. “I will give you $100 if that’s not the best PB&J you’ve ever had, even with microscopic bits of my spit.”

    Stacey picks up a half of her sandwich and bites off the corner. A huge smile envelops her face as she chews and she holds it to Sam’s lips. “It’s so good, Sammy!” He takes a small bite. It’s actually really delicious. “Stevie, just take a bite. It’s yummy!” Soon the half in Stacey’s hands is gone and Santana is smiling as she wipes down the counter.

    Stevie tears off a piece of the sandwich, inspecting it closely before he puts it in his mouth, chewing experimentally. They’re all intently focused on him and Sam has to hold down his laughter when Stevie looks back at him with that look he always gets when he’s cranky. “It’s really good,” he whispers.

    Santana’s still smirking a few minutes later when Quinn walks into the kitchen slowly. Her eyes are red and she’s pulled her hair back into a ponytail. “C’mon hooligans. Let’s go watch some TV.” Stacey gladly moves when Santana starts waving them out of the room but Stevie glares and demands to be called by his name. “Not gonna happen, kid. I don’t even call your brother by his name.” Stevie looks over at him but Sam just nods for Stevie to follow their sister and he sighs loudly, dragging his feet all the way to the living room. Santana sets a plate of two sandwiches down at the table and then runs her hand over Quinn’s shoulder as she passes. “Eat up, Q.”

    “Her jewelry is gone,” she says as she sits down next to him. “Emergency money’s gone too.”

    “I’m sorry, Quinn.”

    She shrugs. “I’m used to my mom abandoning me.” Sam puts his arm around the back of Quinn’s chair, holding out half a sandwich for her to take. He knows they’re not dating anymore, aren’t anything more than friends, but he still worries like crazy about her. She doesn’t eat enough, apparently only did when she was pregnant, and he knows she didn’t eat breakfast this morning (when he told her he didn’t eat, she gave him the fruit she brought with her). He doesn’t understand how she can run on such little food, but really, that might come in handy if they’re in a zombie apocalypse.

    She almost smiles as she looks at the sandwich. “Santana used to make these all the time for us.” He moves the sandwich closer to her mouth and she takes a decent bite, running her tongue over her lips once she’s done chewing. “It was the only thing I kept down for a long time when I was pregnant. Santana refused to keep making them for me once I asked her to add bacon to them.” She takes another bite but she’s already disappeared inside her head.

    He kisses the side of her head. “Please eat the rest of the sandwich.” She nods but doesn’t look at him, just keeps staring into empty space. He grabs his sandwich, only going into the sitting room once Quinn takes another bite. Stevie is sitting as far away from Santana as possible but Stacey has her feet drumming against Santana’s thighs, her eyes falling shut every once in a while.

    “Anything from Brittany?” Sam shakes his head, sitting on the other end of the couch. He digs his phone out of his pocket as Stacey reaches for the hand closest to her. Her tiny finger outlines each line on his palm and he feels Santana staring at them before going back into the kitchen.

    His phone buzzes. Puck’s asking where he’s at and even though Quinn had a meltdown earlier about people coming over, he tells Puck’s troupe to meet them there. He double checks his messages after that, just to make sure there wasn’t a text or call he missed.

    There’s nothing from his parents or Mercedes.

    The doorbell rings, followed closely by Brittany’s voice. “Why did you ring? This is Quinn’s house,” she says and soon the foyer is full of people. Artie has two duffles on his lap and the girls’ arms are full of what he thinks are groceries.

    “You guys go shopping?” Quinn takes the bags from Brittany’s arms, allowing her to hug Santana fiercely, and motions for Tina to follow her.

    “I blocked the door with the van,” Mike says with a small shrug. “Figured it couldn’t hurt.”

    “This is actually happening isn’t it?” They look down at Artie, who adjusts his glasses. “We’re actually going to have to talk about what to do to survive.”

    “Do you have the book?”

    Sam nods. “Hasn’t left my backpack since I bought it.”

    “What book,” Brittany asks, her fingers lacing with Santana’s.

    “Zombie Survival Guide,” Sam answers and Santana rolls her eyes.

    “They keep that in the humor section.”

    “Somehow, I don’t think Max Brooks is laughing now.”

    The front door opens and he didn’t even realize Mike was carrying something until a machete is raised in front of him. “Oh my god, Michael!” Rachel clutches at her heart, only coming around the door once Mike puts the blade away. “We need someone to move the van.”

    Mike nods and the two disappear just as Quinn and Tina come back. “Where’s Mike?”

    “The rest of Glee has arrived.”

    Sam’s surprised when Quinn doesn’t complain about the crowd, but instead asks, “Mercedes is with them?”

    Rachel comes back in, arms full of various garden tools that dwarf her. She looks at Sam carefully and he exhales with his entire body. The thought had been in the back of his mind all day. Frankly, it was too much of a coincidence that there was a rabies outbreak in Lima late last month and now people are apparently zombies. “She…” They all look at Rachel and he can see her aching to reach out and touch him. “Puck saw her in the nurse’s office.”

    He nods, swallowing hard as Tina slips her hand into his. “She hadn’t been feeling well since…” She trails off but squeezes his hand tighter.

    “Rachel, you can throw those wherever you want,” Quinn says softly once they’ve been quiet for too long.

    “But you have white carpet.”

    Quinn rolls her eyes. “Kind of not worried about stuff like that now.”

    The guys walk into the house, looking like complete shit. Their eyes are red, their clothes dirty. Sam realizes that this is worse than he thought and he’s working on borrowed time now. “C’mon,” he says. “We should probably all talk in the kitchen.”

--

    They’re obviously not dealing with solanum. Based on the news reports the girls heard and what Mike’s dad told him, Sam’s certain this was a mutation in the rabies vaccine. Even though the Zombie Survival Guide outlines some zombie basics, they’re obviously dealing with a different breed. According to Finn they still produce saliva (“They have a lot of spit,” Finn says as Kurt nods on the other side of Rachel), which makes sense considering the virus stemmed from rabies, and they frenzy, which should be impossible according to the book, but he realizes that the realm of impossibilities is the norm right now.

    Quinn walks in and he pauses. “They’re completely captivated by the movie,” she assures him and he nods, turning back to the group as she sits down next to him.

    “Most of these rules should apply to what we’ll be dealing with.” He flips through his well worn copy of the book until he gets to the section describing zombie characteristics. “Their sight, while they still have it anyway, is movement based.”

    “Like dinosaurs,” Finn asks and Sam shakes his head.

    “They’ve pretty much proven that’s not the case with dinosaurs.” Rachel pats Finn’s arm. “Zombies have amazing hearing. Like, Daredevil levels of hearing.”

    Santana raises her hand. “In non-geeky terms please.”

    “They have the hearing of blind people,” Puck answers.

    “Why couldn’t you just say that?”

    Sam shuts the book and stares at her. “Would you like to do this?”

    “Read from a book? Yeah, I think I’m capable of doing that.”

    “San.” Santana sighs but shuts up. Brittany smiles at him from across the table as her fingers tangle with Santana’s. “Go ahead, Sam.”

    “They also have a great sense of smell. According to this, they can smell a fresh corpse from more than a mile away. They will eat animals but, I guess it’s like comparing dog food to steak, so…” He flips through a few more pages. “Oh, and technically they shouldn’t be able to climb but because they frenzy, I’m not sure if that still applies.”

    “Is that good,” Artie asks. “That they can’t climb?”

    Sam nods. “If they can’t climb, we could knock out the stairs and be safe on the second story. If they can…” If they can, then they’re fucked. There is no way around that but he really can’t bring himself to say that out loud. “They can’t heal, which I’m pretty sure you guys already knew… They don’t have touch receptors.” He really doesn’t think his friends need to know about the bowel movements of zombies so he skips past all that until he gets to the actual survival portion of the book. “Headshots are what kill. Destroy the brain, destroy the zombie.”

    Quinn kind of laughs next to him. “Sorry, I just really can’t wrap my head around the fact that we’re having a serious discussion about all of this.” A few smiles pop up from around the table and Quinn shakes her head.

    “We should go collect supplies,” Mike says.

    “Definitely. People are probably looting as we speak. We’ll need to stock up on food, weapons, other necessities like toilet paper.”

    Rachel looks between Finn, Kurt, and Puck. “Some of us should probably stay here. It can’t be safe for all of us to go. Plus Stacey and Stevie shouldn’t be out there.”

    “I’m dead weight out there,” Artie chimes in. “I’d be more than happy staying here.” Brittany volunteers to stay too and he watches as Santana immediately relaxes next to the blonde. Finn and Kurt want to stay too and judging by how they look, that’s for the best. Sam doesn’t know what happened, but if they’re focused on something else, they’ll do more harm than good out there. Where Finn goes, Rachel goes, and she tries to get Puck to hang back too.

    “We can’t just send out Mike and Sam,” he tells her. “No offense girls, but I’d feel better knowing there’s just as many guys going as girls.”

    “Noah-”

    Puck shakes his head. “I’m going with them.”

    “We should clean you up a bit if you’re coming with,” Quinn says before look at Finn and Kurt. “You guys should clean up too.” Rachel takes the boys’ hands as Quinn leads the way with Puck at her side.

    “What do we do when we stay here,” Brittany asks. “Just wait?”

    Sam runs a hand through his hair, scratching at the back of his head. “I’d move anything we could need upstairs. Probably even the fridge if you guys can do it. Though we might be able to find some mini fridges.”

    “We brought any dry food we could find from our houses,” Tina adds.

    “Good. We need things like that. You guys should probably try and take out the stairs too. We can grab a ladder when we’re out.”

    “Is that even safe?”

    He shrugs. “Safer than zombies, I guess.”

--

    He says it as calmly as he can once he’s alone with Puck. “I think I’m infected.” Puck stops walking, turning to look at Sam. “I’m not sure, but I definitely kissed Mercedes yesterday and if…”

    Tina and Mike are off collecting things like soap while Santana and Quinn are getting food. They were going to the hunting section of Wal-Mart but decided to stop at the kitchen section which is surprisingly and stupidly untouched. Sam clears the shelf of knife sets, dropping them all into one of the carts Puck punched a man for. He looks at the rest of the aisle for anything they could use as Puck just stares at him. “But you could be fine?”

    Sam shakes his head, a lame laugh escaping him. “Realistically, probably not.”

    “You weren’t vaccinated though,” Puck says and Sam knows he’s smarter than that but he can’t fault Puck for being in denial.

    “All it seems to take is some spit.”

    Sam pushes his cart, grabbing on to the end of Puck’s before rounding the corner. Puck grabs a meat cleaver from an end cap and swallows hard. “How’re you feeling?”

    “For now? Okay. But so was Mercedes for a few days.”

    “I can’t kill you.” Sam looks back at Puck who is just shaking his head, his face paling. “I can’t.”

    “I don’t expect you to… The minute I don’t feel okay, I’m gone.”

    “Like…”

    Sam nods a little, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I won’t do it near the house, but I’m taking one of the guns and-”

    “Stop.” Puck presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I can’t listen to you say shit like that either. This is too fucking much for today. First my family, now you.” He sits down on the shelving, threading his hands together on the top of his head. “What about Stacey and Stevie?”

    “Well I kinda thought you and Quinn would-”

    “I meant what do we tell them,” Puck cuts in. “God, it’s not even a fucking question of what we do with them. Q loves those kids.”

    “Tell them I went to look for our parents… I don’t know, Puck.” He shrugs, eyes darting to the man who just appeared at the end of the aisle. He’s staring at their carts and Sam starts shaking his head. “Don’t even think about it,” Sam says, picking up the meat cleaver from the cart.

    “What’re you gonna do with that,” he asks and Puck stands up, cracking his knuckles.

    “Want to find out?”

--

    Mike pushes the cart as Tina hangs onto the end of it, swiping as many things as she can into the cart. So far they’ve gotten what they need and she finds that people seem to be less likely to get in their way with their weapons drawn. “Do you think we should get first aid stuff,” she asks, dropping a few extra deodorants into their cart. “I mean, if we get bitten we have bigger problems than whether or not we have bandaids, but if we encounter any looters it could help, right?”

    Mike smiles and nods. “Good idea.” He’s about to go straight to the first aid aisle but Tina puts her foot down to stop him.

    “We’re gonna need to stock up on tampons.” Mike’s face scrunches up and Tina shrugs as she hops off the cart. “Fact of life, Mike. We’re not going to stop bleeding just because there’s zombies.” She has her own preference but she really doesn’t know about the other girls. She decides to just grab a bunch of variety packs, grabbing a few packages of pads just in case.

    “You think we should get condoms?”

    “Are you really thinking about sex right now,” Tina asks, rearranging the twenty or so boxes in the cart so she can fit the entire shelf.

    “No, but you watched The Walking Dead. I really don’t want a Lori situation for anyone.”

    Tina nods. “I’d definitely go get some.” She goes through her mental check list: Candles? Check. Soap? Check. Shampoo and conditioner? Check. Fuckton of hand sanitizer? Check. Toothpaste along with toothbrushes (specifically character ones for the kids)? Check. Tampons? Check. Mike throws in about ten boxes of condoms into the basket, which seems like way too many, but, then again, she overdosed on tampons because she didn’t know the girls’ situation down there. “Can you think of anything else?”

    “Besides TP and the first aid stuff? No.”

    “We’re all going to be okay, right,” she asks as Mike grabs an abandoned cart from the middle of the walkway. A woman tries to take it from him and without hesitation, Tina swats her in the ass with her shovel. “Back off.”

    “Did you just hit my wife?” A big, bear looking man steps out of the next aisle. Mike starts to let go of the cart since it’s really not worth the fight (he has no problem carrying the toilet paper they’re going to get) but Tina glares at him before turning her attention back to the man.

    “My boyfriend got to it first.” The guy sizes Mike up, laughing a little as he continues toward the cart. Tina swings the shovel, hitting the man in his chest with the back of the spade, and he hunches over, all breath leaving his body. “Go at him again. I dare you.”

    “Are you crazy,” the woman asks as she rushes toward her husband. Tina shrugs before waving for Mile to follow her.

    “Is it weird that I found that hot,” Mike whispers in her ear once they get to the first aid aisle and Tina has to admit, it’s nice to laugh while she still can.

--

    “Ride with me,” Puck asks as they’re loading up the back of his truck. They haven’t spoken a lot since last summer. Seeing each other is hard enough and they’re honestly not sure how to talk to one another without mentioning those eight months (actually talking about their baby is worse). They always talk out of need, not want, and so she nods, taking another mini fridge from him and sliding it in the truck.

    She sees Santana start to say something when Quinn slides into the truck but then Sam puts his hand on her shoulder (to which Santana pushes it off) and says something Quinn can’t hear.

    It’s really quiet in the cab on the truck and it makes her itch uncomfortably. Puck hasn’t looked at her since they pulled out of the parking lot, turning left towards her house while everyone else turned right in hopes of getting more weapons from the Artillery Shed over on North Cole street, and she can see him clenching his jaw from the corner of her eye. “What aren’t you telling me,” she asks, keeping her gaze out the window. They haven’t had a lot of rain and so the farmland they drive through is different shades of brown, the dead vegetation creeping up the rotted wooden posts and tangling in the low lying barbed wire. There’s a goat roaming the dry dirt and when Quinn notices a body on the other side of the pen, she looks down at her lap.

    “Sam’s going to kill himself.”

    Her head snaps up and his hands grip the steering wheel tighter, his leg shaking a little bit worse than it was before. He refuses to look at her. “That’s not funny.”

    “It’s not supposed to be.”

    He swallows hard and she shakes her head, her arms crossing tightly underneath her chest. “Sam wouldn-”

    “He’s infected.” Puck finally looks over at her and she wishes he’d go back to paying attention to the road. She’s seen Puck cry more than anyone else so she knows what’s going to happen based on how red the tops of his ears are. “Basically as soon as he feels it coming, he’s gone. We pretty much decide what to tell the kids.”

    “We?”

    “Still terrified of raising kids with me,” he snaps, leaning over to pull an old pack of cigarettes out of the glove compartment. “He suggested telling them he’s going to look for his parents but if you have a better suggestion…” She pushes in the truck lighter for him just so she can focus on something other than what he just said.

    Sam can’t do this to any of them. Aside from the fact that he’s the only one with the knowledge to help them survive, he’s Sam. He takes care of her and Santana even though he shouldn’t. The two of them especially have been horrible to him but he’s there for her whenever she needs him, no questions asked. When she thinks about it, he’s helped all of Glee club at one time or another and didn’t expect anything in return. It was like pulling teeth to get him to accept help from her and Kurt earlier this year even though he’s done more for her than he probably realizes (she’d never be able to repay him). And, god, she never thought she’d say this, but she’s not sure she wants to go back to the days where she doesn’t learn some useless comic trivia.

    The lighter pops out. “Pull over,” she whispers. He doesn’t question it, seen her throw up enough times to know there isn’t a big window between the words and the action. They’ve barely stopped when she throws open the door and she heaves four times before anything comes up. It’s not much, she hasn’t really eaten since lunch the day before, and the bile burns her throat. The cigarette bounces off the edge of the truck and falls into the vomit. One of Puck’s hands gather her hair the best he can, his other hand rubbing circles against her lower back. That part isn’t really necessary anymore now that she’s not curved awkwardly to accommodate a swollen stomach, but the familiarity is nice. The feeling calms her down more than the action itself and she takes a few deep breaths before finally sitting up. “I’m sorry.” He rolls his eyes and she slams the door shut, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “We’ll use the lie he came up with.”

    Puck takes her gross hand in his, squeezing it tightly before she laces their fingers together. “I kind of missed you, Q.”

    She hates to admit it, but she feels the same way. “We’re going to have to get the kids clothes,” she says, looking over at him. “I didn’t even think about it. Everyone needs to have at least two outfits.”

--

    Being in Quinn Fabray’s house is beyond weird. Downstairs was common ground but now Rachel is walking down the hall the blonde walks down every morning on her way to the bathroom, her arms full of blankets that smell like musk and the Fabray house. Brittany looks at home in Quinn’s room as she passes, sitting on the large bed with the kids on either side of her. Rachel wonders if the awkwardness will ever fade or if she’s doomed to spend the rest of her days unbelievably uncomfortable in the place she supposes is now home.

    She blows her bangs out of her eyes as she walks into the guest bedroom. She and Kurt sent Finn in here to sleep after he helped Brittany move Artie and a couch upstairs and she sags onto the mattress when his eyes blink open. “Hello, gorgeous,” she whispers, pushing back his slightly damp hair. He doesn’t say anything, just wraps an arm around her waist and she curls into his body, pressing her lips over his still beating heart.

    He grips her tight enough to hurt but she says nothing. It doesn’t feel like they’re close enough, though the space between them is scant. She wishes her verbosity would kick in but all the words that flutter through her head aren’t enough, just like their crushing bodies.

    “I’m an orphan.” His words are garbled in her hair and she sinks her nails into him.

    “But you’re loved,” she says softly. “I’m still here to love you. Kurt is still here to love you. You have your brother, baby.” Though he barely nods, she feels every muscle movement it takes.

    There’s a soft knock on the door and Tina pokes her head in. “Just letting you know we’re back,” she whispers once she gets a good look at them and Rachel waits until she hears the door close again to move.

    “I’m going to go help them. Do you want me to send in Kurt?” He nods again, this one more definite than the last and she untangles herself from his body, kissing him gently before slipping out of the room.

--

    He wants to tell Quinn the kids really don’t need their own room, especially since four people are cramming in her sister’s room, but she was adamant about giving them their space.

    They’re tucked under Quinn’s comforter, in Quinn’s bed which is about to become their own, talking about Spongebob or something and he needs to say goodbye before he progresses to the point where swift action is needed. He can’t bring himself to enter the room just yet and he leans into the doorframe, listening to Stacey defend Mrs. Puff against Stevie’s endless tirade against the blowfish (Sam’ll never understand that kid’s beef with that cartoon character).

    There were days when their incessant babbling drove him insane but it serves now as part of a soundtrack he wishes he could loop forever.

    (The rest of the soundtrack would include the Star Wars theme, that old Supremes song Quinn and Mercedes sang when they were cooking in Mercedes’ kitchen the last week of July, the conversation his parents had with him before his first day of McKinley where they told him how proud they were of him, and a line from that completely non-canonical Captain America mini series he read ‘Courage, honor, loyalty, sacrifice. You’re braver than you think.’)

    “Sammy, tell Stevie to stop being mean to me!”

    “I’m not being mean, you’re being stupid.”

    “I think you’re both kind of cranky because of everything that happened today,” Sam says, dropping down on the foot of the bed. “You guys should try and get some sleep.”

    Stevie wiggles beneath the covers and Stacey holds her hand out for Sam to take. “How long is this sleepover going to be, Sammy?” Shrugging isn’t a good enough answer for his little sister and she sighs as she pats his hand rhythmically. “Can I tell you a secret?”

    “Of course.” She sits up, scooting closer to him. The blankets go with her and Stevie huffs and puffs as he makes a big deal about pulling the blankets back over him.

    Stacey cups her hand around his ear. “I don’t like how the stairs are gone.” She pulls back to look at him with a pout on her face and she pushes her hair back, only for it to fall back into place. “It’s scary. Looking down now.”

    “I know.” He pulls her into his lap and she nuzzles close. “But it’s so that we can stay safe.”

    Stevie crosses his arms beneath his head. “Safe from what?”

    Quinn and Puck and, really, everyone in this house, are going to be taking care of these two from now on. They’ll have to make sure they’re fed and safe and clothed and they’ll have to deal with being asked when he is coming back with their parents. The least he can do is save them the ground work on this.

    His fingers drag through Stacey’s hair. There are tons of knots and he tries to pull them apart as gently as he can. “Are there monsters, Sammy?”

    Stevie scoffs. “Mom and Dad said there’s no such things as monsters.”

    Sam sighs and Stacey squirms in his lap as Stevie sits up. “Before today, there were no monsters. But now there are, but they can’t get you if you stay up here.”

    “How do you know?”

    “He knows because he reads, stupid,” Stevie says, shaking his head.

    Stacey climbs out of his lap and stands on the bed, grabbing both of her brothers’ hands. Her face twitches and then her big blue eyes fill with tears. “What about Mommy? What about Daddy?”

    “I’m going to go find them.”

    Stevie folds his arms across his chest and Sam realizes just how much he’s swimming in the shirt Quinn picked up for him. “Do you know how to fight the monsters?”

    Stacey clutches his shirt, tugging on the fabric. “What if you get hurt, Sammy?”

    “I won’t get hurt,” he says, patting his chest. “Captain America taught me all the best ways to fight.” Sam watches as Stevie relaxes and Stacey drops back down, bouncing a little on the mattress. “I want you to listen to Quinn and Puck while I’m gone okay? You need to be good for them and do what they say, even if you don’t like it. They’re just trying to keep you safe.”

    Stevie pulls his arms into his shirt. “Are the monsters scary?”

    Stacey rolls her eyes. “If they weren’t scary, they wouldn’t call them monsters.”

    Stevie leans over to shove her but Sam swats his hand away. “Some are scarier than others, but you shouldn’t ever have to see them. But they’re strong, so it might be a little while before we can leave.” The kids look around the room and the worry is written over every feature. He misses their smiles already. “I’m going to leave after you guys fall asleep, okay?”

    “When will you be back?”

    Sam shrugs. “I don’t know. However long it takes me to find Mom and Dad.”

    The kids scoot back in the bed and Sam covers them up again. They tell him they love him and he watches them for hours.

--

Part 3

All The Noise Died Away [1/6]

only_because3 — Fri, 06 Apr 2012 07:11:15 GMT

Title: All The Noise Died Away
Author: only_because3/jeytonbrucasnaley
Word Count: 47,667 (total)
Rating: M
Warnings: Zombies and all that those include (this does include character death). Also, slight non-con warning for something in a future part. I'll make sure to point it out then.
Characters: All of the Glee club members as of Season 2 with the exception of Lauren and Mercedes. Pairings start out as canon and go from there
Spoilers: Up to season 2. It's completely AU from that point on
Summary: Up until today, they’d been safe and that’s the only thing that should have mattered. It is the only thing that matters.
Author's Note: Hello! I've been working on this for quite some time now and was for a big bang. I've tried to make this as in character as possible for everyone and well, I really hope that you all enjoy this. It's the first time I've tried covering nearly everyone in such an indepth manner. I also want to say that I've tried to portray what I believe to be a realistic zombie apocalypse. Huge thanks to my friend Nia, who worked as my zombie advisor for this story and to Az who worked as my beta. Enjoy!

Oh, and because this was part of a big bang, there is a wonderful fanmix created by kcollinson that you can download here

--

She brings a hand to her head, rubbing her temple as Santana continues droning on about Brittany. Normally she wouldn’t care, might even add a word or two, but her head has been killing her all morning and this Math worksheet is kicking her ass for some reason.

   “If you were really a good guy,” she says, cutting off Santana and putting her free hand on Sam’s forearm, “you would shut her the hell up.”

   Sam grins a little and Santana shoves her before taking the worksheet from in front of her. “Pop a Pamprin and actually be my best friend for once.” Santana fills in the answers easily and while usually Quinn hates how good Santana is at Math because it’s just another thing they try to best each other at, she’s thankful for it today. “What am I supposed to do?”

   Quinn runs a hand through her hair, shrugging. “Be a normal person and ask her out on a date? I know you haven’t had a lot of them but I remember a time when you used to make Puck treat you to dinner before you ended up on your back.”

   “I can’t just ask her out on a date, Tubbers. That’s not how-”

   “Why don’t you actually use the balls you talk so much about,” Sam interjects. “Just last week you said they were bigger than mine but even I can take Mercedes out to dinner at Breadstix.”

   Quinn laughs. “He makes a good point.”

   “Fuck you both,” Santana grumbles, returning her attention to Quinn’s paper.

   “How is Mercedes by the way,” Quinn asks, looking at the group near the back of the classroom. They laugh loudly but the girl with strawberry blonde hair looks pale and though she tries to smile, it falters spectacularly. She shivers in her seat but even Quinn can see the sweat forming on her brow from across the room. “Today’s her first day back right?”

   Sam nods, tapping his pencil to a beat she can’t place on his Math book. “She’s good. Nothing a few stitches and a shot couldn’t fix.” He turns to see what she’s looking at and his face scrunches. “She’s not looking too hot.”

   Santana looks up just as the girl goes slack, her head falling back as she slumps in her seat. “The fuck?” Mrs. Dial rushes over to the group, one of the guys Quinn vaguely recognizes from the hockey team easing the girl on to the ground. “Aren’t you not supposed to move people if you don’t know what’s wrong with them,” Santana remarks, glaring at the rest of the students who gather around the scene like flies. “Give her some air!”

   A few students actually listen to her and return to their seats but most try and get closer. “This is disgusting,” Quinn comments, flicking Sam’s shoulder when she notices him craning his neck to see what’s going on.

   “I’m just trying to see if she’s okay.”

   Mrs. Dial pushes her way out of the group, telling everyone explicitly not to touch Linda. Someone must try and reach her because Mrs. Dial, who at 64 is usually very passive and docile, yanks the boy by the hood of his sweatshirt and practically screams, “Everyone in their seats right now or I will make sure you’re all given three weeks detention.”

   Sam leans forward. “I think Mrs. Dial found your balls.” Santana takes her pen from her hand and it hits Sam directly between the eyes. Quinn quickly snatches it back before the two can start a fight that won’t end.

   Mrs. Dial slams the phone down as the door opens, Jacob Ben Israel skirting in to the classroom. It’s the middle of the period but the hallway is full of students running around like the bell is about to ring. Quinn glances at the clock.

   8:35.

   There’s a bang outside, the unmistakable sound of someone being shoved against lockers, and Santana’s hand curls around her wrist when Jacob turns off the lights before sinking to the floor. “What’s going on,” Santana asks. Jacob spots Linda passed out and his eyes get so large, it’d be comical in any other situation. He keeps muttering under his breath and Quinn can’t hear him at all but he looks even creepier than normal, the way he’s pulling at his hair and shaking his head.

   She grips Santana’s hand when Jacob starts to back into the corner of the room. Quinn can’t be the only one in the room thinking what she’s thinking. She can still remember when various TV shows had their own very special episodes concerning things like this and this independent film she caught late at night back when she was pregnant. Of course, it’d happen in some sleepy town like Lima. She glances at Santana and then pulls off her cardigan. It probably won’t help; if they’re targeting specific people, they know what the popular kids look like and it’s not like she has a spare pair of pants so that Santana can get rid of her Cheerio skirt. But she shoves her sweater into Santana’s arms and even though she’s visibly confused, she quickly trades her letterman jacket for Quinn’s cardigan when someone screams in the hallway.

   “How many are out there,” Sam asks. Jacob ignores him and tries to keep Mrs. Dial away from Linda. She pushes him off her as Sam stands up. “Did you see their guns?”

   Santana’s nails dig into her palm.

   “Guns,” Jacob asks, not taking his eyes off Linda who finally looks like she’s coming to. “Why would they have guns?” Linda sits up slowly and Jacob shakes his head, scrambling to the door.

   “Are you-” Mrs. Dial’s words are cut off when Linda turns her head and leeches on to their teacher’s neck.

   Jacob’s the first one out of the classroom. All she can do is stare as Linda tears away from Mrs. Dial’s throat, gnawing on flesh with a grin as blood runs down her chin and stains her white Titans sweatshirts. Mrs. Dial’s pearls bounce on the floor, some catching in the pool of blood at the woman’s knees. Linda goes back in, and Sam physically pulls her up from her seat while Santana holds open the door.

--

   She has absolutely no idea what’s going on.

   She pulls her headphones off as she rounds the corner, letting them hang around her neck, and looks around the crowded hallway. Jacob runs into her, sending her sheet music to the floor. She sighs, crouching down to pick up the papers. She suspects the hockey team is armed with slushies again but then somebody grabs her arm, causing her to drop her papers again. “Let go-” She turns in the grasp and finds that Puck is the one grabbing her and pushing her back towards the choir room before pulling them into Mr. Schue’s office. “What on earth are you doing,” Rachel asks, watching as he locks the door. “What’s going on? I have to go get my sheet music before it’s completely ruined.”

   She tries to move past him but he shakes his head and grabs her by the shoulders and spins her around. “You’re not going back out there.”

   She digs her heels into the ground but it’s a useless move on linoleum when she’s wearing flats. He pushes her gently but firmly and when they get to the doorway into the choir room, she puts her hands on the frame. “I’m not moving another inch until you tell me what’s going on.”

   “You wouldn’t believe me so we may as well keep moving.”

   The door to the music room is kicked open, completely unnecessarily since it wasn’t even locked, and suddenly Puck is pulling her back. He seems two seconds away from throwing her over his shoulder so she kicks him in the shin to get him to let go. “Noah Puckerman, if you-”

   “I will explain while we go, but you’ve got to stop wasting time.” He looks past her and his face pales just before he grabs her hand.

   The hallway is a complete madhouse which makes her grip Puck’s hand tighter as they weave through the masses. “Where are we going?”

   “My truck,” he answers simply and her eyebrows furrow.

   “Wouldn’t it be faster to go past the office?”

   He shakes his head. “Too risky.”

   “Risky?” She looks at all the other students and though they do look panicked, this doesn’t exactly look like a high risk situation. “What-”

   “I was on my way to take my usual nap through Math class but the nurses office was kind of crowded.”

   “Crowded how? Is there something contagious going around?” He shrugs and then shoulders the football players out of their way. “Is it even safe for us to leave?”

   “I don’t fucking know, Rachel. All I know is that Mercedes bit the medic working on her-”

   Her shriek cuts him off and he spins around, eyes frantically searching her for something before studying the people around them. “What happened to Mercedes? Is she okay?” She turns, ready to drag Puck back to the front entrance because, honestly, he should have known better than to mention that Mercedes was ill. She’s worried enough that she hasn’t seen anyone else but if they’re in some sort of danger and Mercedes is carelessly left to… It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that she makes sure her friends are okay.

   “She bit the medic! Clearly something isn’t okay.” He yanks her back and pushes them out the double doors. “I’m not sure what’s happening but people are acting fucking weird and we have got to go.”

   The cold air hits her cheeks and she reaches into her coat pocket for her hat before realizing she put it in her locker with her gloves when she first got to school. “What about Finn? Are you sure we even can leave? I know you’re fine with ditching, Noah, but I have perfect attendance so far this year and I’d really like to-”

   “Does it look like second period is going to start today,” he snaps and she pulls her wrist out of his hand.

   “I do not appreciate how you’re speaking to me,” she says and he throws his hands up.

   “Are you really doing this now?” She crosses her arms beneath her chest and he sighs, running a hand over his short mohawk. “I’m sorry, okay? But I’m freaking the fuck out and I don’t know how safe it is here and I wouldn’t be able to handle leaving you here. Mike thinks…”

   “Mike thinks what?” He digs around in his pocket and then hits a few buttons before tossing her his phone.

   Am I the only one getting Left 4 Dead vibes?

   Her faces scrunches. “I don’t know what this means.” A new message pops up, this one from Sam, and she opens it without hesitation. “ ‘Half way to kids’ school with Q & S. Chick in Math bit Mrs. Dial.’”

   “Fuck. C’mon, Rachel.” He grabs her hand again, this time lacing their fingers together.

   “Why are people biting each other? It can’t be rabies… It simply can’t spread that fast.” Puck doesn’t say anything but she hears him sigh when he finally spots his truck. Kurt is already in the bed of the truck and Finn has his hands shoved in his pockets, pacing back and forth as he makes sure no one comes close to the car. Kurt spots them first, pointing them out, and it’s amazing how just seeing Finn’s face makes her feel a little bit better.

   “Sam text you,” Puck calls out as Finn jogs over to them.

   He nods, immediately wrapping his arms around Rachel. “It can’t be true right? This doesn’t happen in real life.”

   “What doesn’t,” Rachel asks and Finn looks down at her before looking back at Puck.

   “You didn’t tell her?”

   “Have you said it out loud yet? Because it sounds fucking retarded in my head, I can only imagine how crazy it seems out loud.”

   Kurt jumps out of the truck and she finds herself slightly more grateful for him. She slips out of Finn’s arms and walks over to her best friend. “Are they telling you anything? Puck practically went almost completely Neanderthalic in there.”

   He picks at her coat, pulling off a piece of lint before calmly saying, “They think it’s zombies.”

   She laughs. Not just a small, that’s a crazy suggestion laugh, but she practically doubles over, maybe even snorts. She laughs so hard. Kurt smiles and she keeps laughing until Puck yells, “Finn,” and she turns around in time to see Puck punching one of the football players away from Finn. The player falls to his knees and she opens her mouth to lecture him about violence when he goes in for another punch, but then the guy grabs Puck’s arm and looks like he’s about to bite it before Finn kicks him square in the face.

   “Get in the fucking truck!”

--

   They go to his house first only because it’s closest to the school. Brittany tries to stress how much they should go to Artie’s first, just in case this is a situation where they need to grab necessities (she is so much smarter than she lets on) but Artie just shook his head. Even though Mike’s house won’t afford the same accessibility as Artie’s, there’s no point in backtracking, especially given… Artie trailed off after that.

   He parks in the driveway, next to his father’s car, and he tries not to think about how this is probably the first time his car has ever been home at this time. Tina reaches over and squeezes his thigh. “Do you want us to go in,” she asks and he glances at Brittany and Artie through the rear-view mirror before shaking his head.

   “I’ll go talk to my parents and see if we can find out anything.”

   He finds his mother at the dining room table with a cup of tea shaking in her hands. Her hair, which is normally in big waves, is in a bun at the nape of her neck, and she has on her ridiculously oversized glasses instead of her contacts. Her suit jacket is on the chair next to her and her heels lay forgotten at her feet. “Mama?”

   She looks up from her cup and then drops it immediately. The china breaks, brown liquid spreading across polished wood, and it would’ve fallen onto her lap if she didn’t get up to hug him. “Michael, I’m so glad you’re here! I was so worried when I couldn’t reach you.”

   He pulls his mom close and then asks in Mandarin, “What’s going on? Where’s Dad?”

   She takes his hand and leads him to the table, motioning for him to sit down. “He’s calling your grandparents. We need to go get them.” She gets two new cups out of the china cabinet and sets them down in from of him. She runs a hand through his thick hair before pulling him to her again. “Your father isn’t saying much… Just that we should be with one another.”

   “Tina, Artie and Brittany are outside.”

   His mom sits down next to him, eyes focused on the bay window. “Have they spoken to their parents?”

   “I don’t think so… Unless they’re calling now.”

   She runs a finger over the handle of the tea cup. “They shouldn’t be outside.”

   His father comes in and though he looks more together than his mom, Mike can see the stress written on his normally stoic face. “Michael.” He claps a hand on Mike’s shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze before letting go. “Now that we’re all here, we can go get your grandparents.”

   Mike looks to his mother. “What about my friends?”

   “Friends,” his father asks, shaking his head. “We need to be with family now, Michael. We need to protect your mother and grandparents.” He gets up and follows his father into his office. “It’s time for you to become a man. And as a man, your responsibility is to your family. There is nothing more important in this world than family.” He goes to his desk and unlocks the bottom drawer. He pulls out a machete, sets it carefully on his desk, and then pulls out a handgun.

   “If I’m a man now, can you tell me what’s going on?”

   His father swallows hard. “There was something wrong with one of the new vaccines.” Mike’s eyebrows furrow and his father lets out a breath. “Instead of fixing the problem, it made it worse.”

   “What’re you saying, Dad?”

   His dad stays silent and then tosses Mike the machete. “We have to go get your grandparents.”

   He watches as his dad pockets a box of bullets before checking the chamber of his gun. Satisfied with what he sees, he puts it in his inner breast pocket and then walks over to his closet. He pulls out two jiàns (Mike can remember his mom hiding them in there every morning after his dad left for work. They used to be up in the dining room and his mom hated how it made the room look. After two years of bickering, his dad agreed to put them away) and hands the black and red one to Mike.

   “I can’t leave my friends.”

   His father shakes his head. "This is serious, Michael. We are going to go pick up your grandparents and we will stay together until everything is taken care of."

   "What are they supposed to do? I can't just leave them." His father picks up his car keys and pushes past him. "If I'm supposed to be a man now, I need to protect them."

   His father stops in the middle of the hallway, turning his heel to stare Mike down. "Would you really choose people you barely know over your family?"

   Mike's grip tightens on the sheathed blades in his hands. "They are my family, Dad."

   His father rolls his eyes and turns around, muttering under his breath in Mandarin, his voice steadily getting louder. "In two years you won't even remember these people! Tina is just a girl whose parents are much too lenient with her. All that make up and those clothes." His father scoffs. "Who is else out there, hm? Her ex-boyfriend she always seems to hang out with? He'll only hold you back. He can't even walk! And that other dumb girl? Pft." He shakes his head and Mike throws the jiàns his father handed to him to the ground. The noise cuts through his father's words and when his father looks at him again, Mike shakes his head.

   "I'm not going to let you bully me. I know that family is important, Dad, I do. And I want nothing more than for all of us to be safe together. But I will not just leave the people I love stranded in front of our house. They need me."

   His father doesn't say anything and so he walks outside, surprised to find his mother holding Tina and Brittany close. "Mama, you should be inside."

   Her grip tightens on the girls and she presses a kiss to Brittany's head while running a hand through Tina's hair. "I wanted to make sure they were okay." Brittany burrows further into his mom and Tina smiles softly. His mom and Brittany are closer than Tina and his mom but that's okay because he's known Brittany since they were 6. They met in a dance class, the only class he's ever actually taken since his father disapproved, and they've been best friends ever since. She was his first girlfriend and even though his father always hated when she was over, his mom adored Brittany. His mom is trying with Tina but he knows it'll take time for them to get to the same comfort level.

   It's really nice though, seeing all his girls like this. "Mama, I'm not going with you to go get Ye Ye and Nai Nai." She stares at him for a moment before nodding slowly.

   "I don't want to leave you," she breathes out and then carefully untangles herself from the girls. "Where is your father?" Mike nods to the house behind him, pulling his mom in for another hug. "When we bring your grandparents back, will you meet with us?"

   "Of course, Mama."

   "Julia." His father shuts the front door and walks up to them, eyeing the girls carefully. "Come on. We have to go."

   She nods, taking a deep breath. She hugs the girls tightly and waves to Artie who is still sitting in the back of the van. His father throws a bag into the backseat of his car, along with the jiàns before drumming his fingers impatiently on the roof of the car. "I love you, Mike," his mom says and he leans down so she can kiss him on the forehead. "I love you and I know that you'll protect them with everything you have." She reaches up and fixes his hair with a small smile on her face. "You're such a good boy."

   "Julia!"

   His mother turns on her heel and she shakes her head. "I am saying goodbye to my son! Do not rush me, Michael!"

   "You wouldn't have to be saying goodbye to him if he did the right thing and came with us."

   His mother clucks her tongue and motions to Artie's van. "This is honorable! This is the son we raised and I am proud. Now come say goodbye to your son."

   "Julia." His father's voice is a bit softer now but she still shakes her head.

   "You are not your father. Hug your son." His father sighs and Brittany and Tina climb back into the car as he walks over. He holds out his hand for Mike to shake and his mother slaps his father's hand. "I said hug," she shouts in Mandarin and his father rolls his eyes before stepping forward.

   "Be safe," he says, hugging him tightly. It's the closest he'll get to an I love you from his dad and that's okay. It's enough for him.

   When they part, his mom hugs him again and he'd almost swear his dad looks at them fondly. "I will call you when we get back okay?"

   Mike nods. "Okay."

   His dad is about to get back in the car when he pauses and then calls for Mike. “You’ll need this,” his father says, handing him the jiàn he had given him earlier. Mike smiles a little and then steps back as his parents pull out of the driveway.

--

   “What the fuck was that,” Santana asks when she decides the car has been quiet for too long. Quinn’s in the backseat, trying to get a hold of Sam’s parents since the school couldn’t contact them, but all she gets are voicemails and Sam’s gripping the steering wheel so tight it looks like he may hulk out.

   Oh fuck. Not only is crazy shit like Linda Wilde killing their teacher happening, but she’s referencing comics correctly.

   She glances back at Quinn who just stares out the window, cell phone pushed desperately against her ear, and then over to Sam, who opens his mouth before closing it again. “What, Evans?”

   He pulls into the parking lot of Lima Elementary, not giving one fuck about parking in a designated space, and when he cuts the engine, he turns to Santana. “Do not laugh, okay?”

   “You know I can’t promise that.” Out of her peripheral vision, she sees Quinn nodding as she redials a phone number.

   Sam rolls his eyes and runs a hand through his hair. “I think a zombie apocalypse is starting.”

   Surprisingly, she doesn’t laugh, mainly because Quinn sighs, “Sam,” before she can get the chance to. “This isn’t the time for-”

   “I’m being serious, you guys.”

   “I don’t see how considering you just said the word zombies,” Santana comments but Sam ignores her and turns to Quinn.

   “Do you remember that one zombie movie I made you watch?”

   Quinn’s eyebrows scrunch together and she briefly stops her frantic calls. “The one with the Nazis?”

   “What,” Santana asks and Sam simply shakes his head.

   “The comedy. ‘Shaun of the Dead’.”

   Quinn sighs before shrugging. “Sure.”

   “Do you remember when the step dad got bit? In the neck?”

   Quinn nods and Santana puts her hand up before Sam can say anything really stupid. “Just because it happened in a movie, doesn’t mean you can apply it to real life.”

   “How else can you guys explain what happened back there?”

   “Um, I don’t know, rabies? Your girlfriend got bit three weeks ago. Clearly it’s not the craziest idea.” Sam shakes his head and gets out of the car without another word, making sure to slam the door. Santana scoffs, watching him go into the school. “Zombies,” she says. “He actually fucking said zombies out loud.”

   Quinn lets Sam’s cell phone fall into her lap. “I don’t think this is rabies, S. We have vaccines for that kind of thing. And what happened in Math…” Quinn shakes her head and then leans over the middle console. “That’s not normal.”

   Santana arches an eyebrow, turning so she can look at the blonde clearly. “Are you about to tell me you agree with Sam? Because, so help me God, Q-”

   “No,” she says softly. “But this is obviously something bigger than rabies.” Santana leans over and turns the car on just enough so that the radio will come on. She turns the dial, finding static and the occasional Billboard hit before Quinn reaches over and presses AM. “Try 89.7”

   “Are you fucking eighty? Who the fuck listens to AM,” Santana asks, flipping through the stations.

   “My dad used to listen to it all the time.” Santana shuts up after that because that is so not something she wants to deal with right now.

   After a brief moment of static, a gravely voice filters through the speakers. “The vaccine was delivered to the following states before it was recalled: Massachusetts, New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Maryland, Vermont, West Virginia, Kentucky, Ohio, and Indiana. However, there have only been outbreaks in Massachusetts, Vermont, and West Virginia. There has been no official word from the U.S. government but reports claim that most outbreaks have been contained locally. While the other states are not considered clear, there is no need for evacuation.” Static cuts through the line and Santana turns the car off before the voice comes back through.

   It suddenly feels really still around them. She turns to see if Sam is coming but nobody has come out since he went in. Quinn sinks back into the seat and Santana licks her lips. There’s a playground near the edge of the blacktop, the swings swaying in the wind, and Santana feels a shiver run up her back. “Ohio was on the list,” Quinn whispers and Santana blinks. “They said it was a vaccine.”

   Santana feels her chest, frowning when she realizes her phone isn’t in her bra anymore. She groans, realizing she must have dropped it shortly before they got into the car, after she replied to Brittany. The blonde had assured her she was okay, that she was with the Asian duo and Wheels, and Santana knows that Mike would take care of Britt for her but it’s been too long for her taste since she last talked to Brittany. She grabs Sam’s phone from Quinn’s lap and her fingers move on their own accord, dialing Brittany’s number like a reflex. “Sam?”

   “I lost my phone,” Santana breathes out. “Where are you? Are you okay?”

   “We’re leaving Mike’s right now.” There’s shuffling on the other end and when Brittany speaks again, it’s barely above a whisper. “What’s going on? Mike has this look on his face… Why is-” Brittany lets out a frustrated huff. “Are you okay? You’re not hurt, are you?”

   “No, baby, I’m okay. I’m not sure what’s going on just yet.” The back door opens and she’s about to yell at Quinn to sit her ass back down, but then she sees the Aryan Evans clan coming out of the school. “Where are you going?”

   “I’m not sure,” Brittany answers before her voice drops a little again. “You’ve never called me that before.”

   Santana’s eyebrows furrow. “Yes I have.”

   “Not outside of bed.”

   Her teeth toy with her bottom lip and her blunt nails dig into the arm rest on the door. “I don’t care anymore.”

   Brittany squeals excitedly and she wishes she could see the smile Brittany probably has on her face, but Santana knows she wouldn’t have said that today if shit wasn’t going down.

   She sighs. Better late than never, right?

   “Ask Mike where you’re going.”

   There’s a pause and doors open again, the blonde bunch piling in and making her feel like a red headed stepchild. Stacey waves at her shyly while Stevie mainly ignores her and she hears Quinn fussing for both of them to buckle up when Brittany comes back on the phone. “We’re going to Artie’s and maybe to Tina’s.”

   “Where are we going,” Sam asks from behind the wheel, and Quinn pushes Stevie’s hair out of his face before telling him to head to her house.

   “Meet us at Quinn’s.”

   Quinn perks up in the backseat, shaking her head. “Who all is she with?” She looks at Sam. “I can’t house everyone.”

   “Oh my god, it’s four more people, Quinn.”

   “It’s over half the Glee club!”

   “What’s Quinn saying,” Brittany asks.

   “Nothing. I’ll see you at Quinn’s, Britt.”

   There’s silence on the other line and she’s about to hang up when she hears it. “I love you, Santana.”

   It’s like a breath of fresh air. “I love you too.” She hangs up and gives Quinn back the phone who looks torn between asking her about that development or yelling at her more. “Why are you freaking out about people going over?”

   “Do you not remember the woman I live with?” Quinn shakes her head. “I’m already pushing it with you guys coming over.”

   Stacey perks up on the opposite end of the backseat. “Your momma doesn’t like us?”

   Quinn slips on the mask she’s seen many times before, but for once, Santana thinks it’s fitting. “Of course she likes you, sweetie. It’s just she usually naps at this time.”

   Santana rolls her eyes, tapping Quinn’s knee. “If you won’t let them stay, then I’m leaving with them.”

   Quinn frowns, her eyebrows knitting together before she lets out a small breath. “I’ll see what I can do with my mom.” She grabs Santana’s hand for a second, squeezing it lightly before letting it go. Santana nods and turns around in her seat, putting her feet up on the dash.

   Sam puts his hand on her shoulder, giving her a wry smile when she looks at him. “So, found your balls, huh?”

--

   Puck’s truck sputters to a stop in front of their house and Finn tightens his arms around Rachel, who had to sit on his lap so that they could all fit. Normally, all the squirming Rachel does would totally make him hard but he’s honestly kind of scared shitless right now and he’s just really fucking glad Rachel is this close to him. She leans into his chest and even though her hair is in his face, he kisses her neck three times as Puck turns off the car. “My mom’s freaking out,” he says after he looks at his phone and Finn nods.

   “She want to go to Temple?” Puck rolls his eyes while he nods and Finn smiles a little bit. It’s nice that some things are still the same. “So… we’ll call you?”

   Puck looks out the windshield and chews on the inside of his cheek before nodding again. Rachel clears her throat, tucking her phone into her pocket. “Who am I going with?”

   “I can drop you off at your dads, Rach. My mom’ll understand.”

   Rachel’s hands cover Finn’s arm and shakes her head. “They’re out of town. This is the weekend they go antiquing with my aunt in Columbus.”

   Kurt looks past them and Finn notices him plucking at where his jeans are bunching at the knee. He always jokes about how he’s gonna wear a hole in his pants when he does that and Kurt never fails to roll his eyes and tell him that he respects his clothing. “I think you should go with Puck,” Finn says carefully. Puck and Rachel turn to look at him simultaneously, Rachel’s nails digging into his skin slightly.

   “Are you sure,” she asks, moving a little bit more so she can face him. She cradles his face as he nods and he takes a deep breath, pushing his face into her touch.

   “We’ll probably have to talk to Mom and Dad for a while.”

   Kurt scoffs. “They’re going to think we’re insane.”

   Finn nods and cracks that little smile again that he knows Rachel can’t resist. “Plus Puck’s gonna need you to help him keep his mom from completely melting down.”

   She glances back at Puck who shakes his head, holding his phone up. “Yeah, that’s probably not gonna happen.”

   Kurt looks at the text message Puck has up and then snatches the phone from him. “You’re not actually going to text that to your mother are you?”

   The boys start bickering next to them and he can see the smile begging to be released on her face. He twirls some of her hair around his finger before tugging gently so she’ll look back at him. “Go with Puck. Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid,” he whispers, sighing when she presses her forehead against his.

   “I would rather stay with you guys,” she admits, kissing the corner of his mouth as Kurt exclaims that he doesn’t care if Puck always talks to his mother like that, it’s still inappropriate.

   “I know, baby, but you and I both know Puck doesn’t do well alone.” She nods a little, nose grazing his before she tucks her head against his neck. “We’re gonna meet back up, okay?”

   “Promise?” He feels the question more than he hears it.

   He takes a deep breath, completely overwhelmed by everything that Rachel is. She’s all he can see, all he can feel, all he can smell. “I promise, Rachel.” When she pulls back just enough, his lips slide over hers, and he smiles when he tastes her strawberry lip gloss.

   “You made me sound like a pussy,” Puck exclaims, causing Rachel to drag herself away from him.

   “I made you sound like a decent human being,” Kurt bites back, pushing Puck’s phone to his chest.

   “You guys,” Finn says, clapping a hand on Kurt’s shoulder. “Come on. We need to go talk to them.”

   Rachel opens up the truck door and hops off his lap. She wraps her arms around his waist once he stands, one hand swinging to grab Kurt’s once he’s out too. “Be careful, boys.” Her hand squeezes his hip before she practically spins into Kurt’s arms, laughing at something he whispers into her ear. She hugs his brother tightly before jumping back in Puck’s truck, smiling at them before Puck drives away.

   Kurt fixes his hair, turning in his boots to look at the house. “Do you have your keys on you?” Finn shoves his hands into his pants and comes up empty. “How on earth did you lose your keys? It’s not like you carry a bunch of things to school.”

   “Oh, I don’t know,” Finn says, reaching over the top of the fence to release the latch. “Maybe it was when I had to kick someone in the face because they were trying to chew on my best friend’s arm like it was a piece of chicken.” They round the corner of the house and the screen door is open, something that’s not uncommon, because it seems like more often than not, the only one to close it, is his mom. But the actual door is open too and Kurt grabs his elbow before he can go up to the door.

   “Should we really just walk in,” he asks. Finn looks at the doorway, noticing that nothing seems out of place. The laundry room looks fine. The soap he knocked over this morning is still there which is kind of weird since he told his mom that it spilled and she usually cleans stuff like that pretty fast. His mom was exhausted today seeing as she closed and opened for the store, so her not cleaning it up isn’t a big deal. There’s a crash just past the laundry room and Kurt squeezes his arm, trying to pull him back a little. “Finn, I don’t really think…” Finn takes a step forward, peering around the corner so he can see the entire laundry room, the old wooden shelves, the jacket Kurt stained last week laying on a drying rack, his football gear shoved next to the cabinets, and he thinks he sees something move in the kitchen that is definitely not his mom or dad.

   “Uh, yeah,” he whispers, pushing Kurt back towards the garage. “C’mon. We can grab like, a shovel or something.”

   “A shovel?”

   The door to the garage creeks open, the wood splitting at the bottom and Finn really has to shove it to get the door to open wide enough for them to get through. “What do you expect us to find in here? Unless Burt has some guns I don’t know about, a shovel is probably the best thing we’re going to find.” There’s a cup of coffee sitting on the hood of the old pickup their dad’s been working on, right next to the sports section of the paper. Xavier won last night, 74 to 63.

   “He is always leaving his cup in here,” Kurt complains, folding his arms closer to his body.

   Finn shrugs (he totally forgets stuff in here too when he helps Burt out) and walks around the truck to the small collection of garden tools they have. Neither his mom or him have a green thumb so he’s not exactly sure what he’s looking at past the shovel and rake. Kurt saddles up next to him. “Shouldn’t we use a power tool of sorts?”

   “If you want to get that close to them, be my guest and take the power saw.” Finn pulls the shovel out of the bin, testing the metal to make sure it won’t fall off. He hands it off to Kurt who holds it almost loosely and Finn rubs the back of his neck. Kurt has some strength, especially in his legs thanks to dance, but if they’re actually going up against zombies (God, Finn wishes he could take back that time freshman year when he told Puck a zombie apocalypse would be kind of cool), upper body strength is needed. “Can you jab with that?” Kurt looks at him like he’s crazy and Finn sighs heavily. “If you don’t think you could lift that up and shove it through someone, we need to give you another one of these things.”

   “Can’t we just… Knock them out,” Kurt asks, miming hitting someone over the head and Finn can see the way Kurt struggles vaguely with the motion. Finn moves the rake to the side, no point in using that, and pulls out… Well, he really has no idea what it is but the way it’s shaped probably won’t be helpful in destroying brains.

   “You can’t knock zombies out,” Finn explains, pulling out a pretty lightweight pitchfork. “Why do you guys even have this?”

   They trade garden tools and all ready the pitchfork is a much better suit for Kurt. “My mom and I used to garden,” Kurt answers simply and Finn nods.

   “Come on. Better go see what’s going on.” Kurt grips the pitchfork with two hands, turning to walk out of the garage when Finn notices he still has his book bag on his shoulder. “I’d leave that here,” he says, tugging lightly on the black leather strap.

   “This is Marc Jacobs! I’m not leaving it in here with the dirt and grease and-”

   “Dude, if there’s someone in there that isn’t Mom or Dad, they can grab you by that.” Kurt stares at him for a minute before shaking his head and tightening the strap on his shoulder. “I’m not letting you go in there with that on.”

   “Well you’re not going in there alone,” Kurt counters. He knows he should hold his ground but his focus is completely on his mom right now and they don’t have the time to argue about this.

   Once they’re out of the garage, Kurt lets him go in front. There’s nothing but quiet coming from the house now, a good sign he hopes, and when he starts on the steps, the old wood Burt’s been meaning to replace creaks loudly, stopping him in his tracks. Kurt’s breathing is already labored but Finn holds his breath until he’s sure that nothing is going to pop out from around the corner. They get into the laundry room without any other hesitations. His palms sweat around the wood of the shovel and he takes a few deep breaths when he feels his heart pounding mercilessly against his chest. He can hear something now, low and quiet, but he’s not sure what it is. What he can see of the kitchen still looks normal. The side of the table he and Kurt sit on has been wiped down, their cereal bowls removed and drying on the dish rack next to the sink. There’s still a frying pan on the stove, his mom’s coffee cup (the one he got her for mother’s day when he was 8. Mrs. Puckerman was the one who helped him pick it out) on the counter next to the stove.

   He tilts the shovel so that the pointed tip is protecting him and he doesn’t notice the small trail of blood dripping from the sink until he rounds the corner. There is absolutely no doubt they’re dealing with zombies anymore. The man biting off Burt’s ear is missing the skin on his forearm, revealing straining muscles and a bit of bone near his wrist, and his skin lacks color. “Dad,” Kurt whispers and Finn can feel him backing away from him. The other zombie, a woman Finn realizes, is staring at them with cloudy eyes, her head cocked to the side and it reminds Finn of that one raptor in Jurassic Park. There’s something in her hand, something half eaten, hollow, and bloody. Burt’s torso is almost completely empty and the woman’s other hand is clutching on to what little is left in their dad, practically holding Burt up against the fridge.

   He suddenly feels like he’s back in biology sophomore year. Quinn had barely started to show, he remembers her complaining that morning about her pants not buttoning, but her nausea was still in full force. He was going to have to do the entire dissection while she just took notes since she was barely allowed to be in the same room as the animals and he was not looking forward to it. A lot of the guys found dissections cool but it honestly freaked him out (he imagined the animals coming back to haunt him) and he remembers being so fucking thankful that Quinn threw up the minute she got to their rabbit because they both got exempt from the lab.

   He distinctly remembers the rabbit being pinned against the tray, its skin and fur pulled back to reveal the ribs and organs. The mouth hung open slightly, much like Burt’s is now, and that albinism stuff they used smelled like spoiled milk.

   He barely realizes the woman is quickly crawling towards them until Kurt shrieks. She’s missing a foot and she has a hole in her chest so serious that there’s not even bone there, and her dirty hands reach out for him when he’s close enough. He fights the instinct to go back, instead lurching forward and jabbing the shovel right through the woman’s dead eyes. “Oh my god,” rushes out of Kurt’s mouth when the other zombie stops eating their dad, his mangled, lifeless body dropping to the floor with a wet pop and rushes them.

   The zombie slips in the blood covering the linoleum, giving Finn enough time to pull the shovel from the woman’s skull (it takes four tugs and he has to push off her chest with his foot on the last one before it releases) but the zombie barrels into him anyway. He pushes against the zombie’s shoulders to keep him from biting him but the dead guy is freaky strong and practically drooling on top of him. Finn wants to yell at Kurt to stab the guy but that brings a risk of getting the spit in his mouth which could totally turn him into one of the undead. Thankfully, Kurt doesn’t pass out like Finn thought he might and stabs the zombie in the back. His head jerks to look at Kurt and Kurt just stabs him again, this time in the side. Kurt starts backing up when the pitchfork gets stuck but it’s okay because the zombie is distracted enough for Finn to shove him off. “You can’t just poke them,” he yells, grabbing the shovel and Finn misses the eyes of the guy but the metal rips through his mouth with the force that he comes at Finn, effectively lodging the shovel into his head.

   “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Kurt says in a rush, kneeling down next to Finn once he lets the body land next to him. Kurt pulls his sleeve over his hand and wipes away the bits of spit that landed on Finn’s cheeks before pulling him into a hug. “I didn’t know what to do and I just… I’m sorry.”

   “It’s okay, Kurt.” He gives his brother a tight squeeze before pulling away. “It has to be a head shot. Destroy the brain and you’re good.” Kurt nods and stands back up, helping Finn up too. Finn tries to get the shovel out of the dead guy but it’s no use. It’s lodged in too far and he’s too tired from fending the thing off to try again. He settles for taking the pitchfork out of his side, twirling it in his hands easily. A trail of blood leads from the kitchen and out towards the living room. He knows he’s not very smart but he already know what he’s going to find once he crosses the threshold. “Go get a few knives, okay? I’m going to see what’s in there.”

   Kurt awkwardly side steps the bodies, muttering something underneath his breath that Finn can’t make out. Finn swallows hard as he approaches the doorway and he stops in his tracks once he sees his mother’s hand next to the coffee table but not the rest of her. “What is it,” Kurt asks. He feels choked and it gets worse when the only thing Kurt says once he sees it too is, “I love you.”

   There’s a groan coming from behind the couch, a man who looks an awful lot like Mr. Karofsky popping up from behind the cushions, his body covered in what Finn can only assume is his mother’s blood.

   He kind of blacks out because the next thing he knows he’s behind the couch too, Mr. Karofsky pinned to the wall behind it, the pitchfork keeping him there through the eyes. He’s sweating a lot and he can’t catch his breath. His vision is a little fuzzy too and it’s not until he looks to his left that he realizes it’s tears.

   Her entire face is gone and so is a lot of her, but that’s his mom lying there.

   It was easier when it was Burt. That man was a father to him but this is his mom and he turns to his right, hunching over as he throws up all over his mom’s carpet.

   Through his tears he can make out Kurt sitting in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, cradling his head in his hands before Finn has to throw up again.

Part 2

The Lack of Space for the Light-hearted

only_because3 — Mon, 02 Apr 2012 06:40:49 GMT

Theme(s): Family life and Free Day
Pairing: Quinntana
Rating: T
Word Count: 1,320
Author's Note: So this is actually two days put together. I wrote them separately but they're in the same verse so I decided to post them together. I may revisit this because I had a really fun time writing it. Second half is definitely heavy but there's actually a happy ending. Oh, and there's obviously a bit of a time jump between the two halves. Enjoy!

--

It's a hot, sticky night, the whole city unusually quiet thanks to the rolling blackouts. Santana's spread out uncomfortably in the middle of the bed while Quinn stands in their shower, the water thankfully cold. "You should hop in," she says, looking out the open stall door, rolling her eyes when Santana flips her off.

   "That shower is a fucking prison. You'd know that if you were the one growing this demon inside you." Her hair is damp against her skin and she pulls it off the back of her neck, only slightly more comfortable than she was a second before.

   "I would've if I could've," Quinn calls back and then Santana hears the stall door close.

   This pregnancy is officially reaching the point where Santana wants to scream at everything and she just wants it over with. If this was any other time, she'd get up and say she's sorry for adding the last part (because that shower is hell now. She can't even turn around without her belly hitting the wall or knocking over some sort of product), maybe even show a little physical appreciation for her girlfriend. But this thick humidity hangs heavy over her, keeps her weighed down and mute until she hears the shower turn off.

   “I wanted to run something passed you,” she shouts, attempting to roll on to her side before she realizes it takes too much effort. “Have you thought about breastfeeding?”

   “I thought you were against it because of your nipple piercing.” Quinn walks out of the bathroom, not a stitch of clothing or make up on her, a dripping towel slung over her arms. Her whole face is tinged pink due to her walk home but the raccoon’s mask of red stands out and Santana is about to force herself up and apologize when Quinn pushes lightly on her shoulder. Quinn lays the wet towel over Santana’s torso, her body instantly relaxing into the bed.

   “I meant you,” Santana breathes out, feeling small drops of water trailing down various parts on her body. “Have you thought about breastfeeding our little heathen?”

   Quinn glares at her, easing down on to the bed with her good leg. “I told you to stop calling him that. You’re going to give him a complex before he’s out… It’s bad enough he has you for a mom.” Santana punches her arm but lets it go because, yeah, they’re good. No need for any ‘I’m sorry’s. “What exactly do you mean?”

   Santana points to her bedside table which is littered with essays she needs to grade, parenting magazines, and baby books, telling Quinn to grab the magazine on the bottom. “It’s called wet nursing. I think I dog eared the article.” Quinn starts scanning the page and Santana taps along the scars on Quinn’s leg, following each trail up until her palm is sliding across raised skin low on the blonde’s belly. Quinn breathes in, her hand coming to rest on Santana’s before lacing their fingers together. “I thought that… I dunno. Since you’re already feeling left out,” Quinn’s head pops up and Santana shakes her head before Quinn can protest, “Shut up. I know you’ve been feeling disconnected since you’re not carrying him. And this would be a win for all of us. Our kid gets all the nutrients he needs, you get bonding time, and we don’t have to rely on formula just because I don’t want to take my bars out every time the leech his hungry.”

   “Well,” Quinn sighs, tossing the magazine to the floor, “I guess leech is better than demon.”

   “So?”

   A tiny smile creeps on to her face and Santana starts to warm up again. “Our friends are going to love both of us full of hormones.”

--

Quinn isn’t moving next to her and god fucking damn it, she wants…

   “You have to keep pushing,” the nurse says, voice stern but soft. Quinn snaps then, tells the woman to shut the fuck up and Santana’s hands that ache from clutching on to the side rails go up to cover her face. She can’t catch her breath, can’t hold it long enough like the doctor keeps telling her to, and she can’t see anymore. Everything is a blur, her vision completely lost as the tears continue to flood down her cheeks. She wants Quinn to touch her, hold her. She wants Quinn to stay as far away as possible because she promised that she’d give Quinn a baby and she’s failed. The one thing her girlfriend asked of her and she just-

   Her throat feels like it’s bleeding, every sob and groan and scream tearing away at it. Someone, not Quinn, is whispering in her ear that she has to keep going, and then hands are wrapping around her calves, her legs being pulled further back. She shakes her head stubbornly and she can hear Quinn even though everything sounds so far away right now, shouting at them to give her a fucking minute.

   “Calm down or-”

   Her right leg drops for a second and then Quinn’s there, pulling her leg back far enough, her forehead coming to rest against Santana’s temple. “I love you,” she says softly and Santana’s face contorts, pressure building between her legs, her heart cracking just a little bit more.

   Quinn’s fingers stroke her skin, tell her it’s okay. Santana knows it’s not but it gets her through the final push, the pressure between her legs replaced with a weight on her belly.

   There is no crying other than her own.

   The weight is gone and no. She wants him back. She needs more time. “Where-” Quinn presses a kiss against her head and Santana can feel her tears too now.

   Everything feels like it’s moving too fast around her, like she’s stuck. She’s stuck in this bed, empty and alone, people brushing past her and not speaking to her even though she’s a mother. She’s the mother here and no one is telling her about her son.

   She’s been with Quinn for years now. They’ve talked about Beth but, god… Quinn never told her it hurt this much.

   Santana doesn’t think she can take this feeling for as long as Quinn has.

   Someone calls out the time. She will forever hate 3:28 pm.

   She can’t really hear anything other than Quinn’s uneven breathing in her ear but when the nurse says something to her, Santana just opens her arms. “I want to hold him.”

   He looks like Quinn does when she sleeps and she bites her bottom lip hard enough that she can taste blood. She cuddles him to her chest, nuzzles the brown hair on top of his head. “I’m sorry,” she cries and she’s not even sure who she’s apologizing too.

   She kisses his too cold skin, her hands running up and down his tiny body in time with Quinn’s hand stroking her hair.

   She wonders if they’d let her stay like this forever. The thought of him being taken away again makes her cry a little harder, clutch her son a little closer, and kiss him until…

   There’s a noise. She thinks she might make it but then she feels Quinn tense next to her, the noise getting louder before she feels the tiniest bit of movement against her chest.

   Suddenly a huge cry rattles her bones and she looks down in enough time to see dark brown eyes staring up at her before they close, another wail escaping her son’s lips.

   She thinks Quinn might be laughing through tears next to her and when the nurses take her son away this time, his voice echoing in the room, Santana grabs Quinn’s shirt. Her hands fist in the fabric and she sobs against Quinn’s stomach, Quinn’s arms wrapped around her head. “You’re amazing,” Quinn repeats softly until their son is brought back over to them, his body slipping into Quinn’s arms.

Young Folks

only_because3 — Mon, 02 Apr 2012 06:30:32 GMT

Theme: College AU
Rating: Somehow we’re still in the T area
Pairing: Quinntana. Puck's here too
Word Count: 649
Author’s Note: Yeah, super AU and random and not smutty.

--

She finally finds the book they’ve been searching for (in the wrong fucking section no less) when Puck elbows her. “What,” she snaps. She’s been doing all the work for this stupid project, she’s hungry and coffee deprived, and she knows that she will not give a fuck about whatever it is Puck’s going to say because it is without a doubt something idiotic.

   He juts his chin towards the end f the aisle, sick grin on his face, and she follows his eyes to one of the librarian assistants. Santana can’t see much of her since she’s bent over to put away a handful of books but what she does see… Well…

   The brown dress is a nice contrast from her pale skin and it stops just below what is probably the most amazing ass Santana has ever seen, creamy, toned legs ending in a pair of wedges that Santana’s been debating buying for a month now. They look ten times better on this chick than they did on her.

   She stands back up, brushing her blonde hair out of her face with the arm of her glasses, checking the next title of the book. “I call dibs,” Puck whispers, pulling the book they need for their project off the shelf. “Unless you want to join.” Santana shoves him before pulling at the bottom of her shirt, smoothing it over her hips. “No. Stop that.”

   “Stop what,” she asks, watching as the girl drops to her knees to put a book away on the bottom shelf. Not a lot on top but what Santana can see, and it is a straight shot down the girl’s dress, is most definitely workable all other things considered.

   “I called dibs, damn it,” he whispers harshly. “Put your fucking tits away!” The girl looks up at them, blinking as she arches an eyebrow. Santana looks over at Puck who just coughs before clearing his throat. “Sorry. I was talking to her.”

   The girl hums a bit, sliding a book on to the shelf before standing up. “Do you need help finding anything?” Santana licks her lips and shakes her head, covering Puck’s mouth when she notices him open it. The girl nods and looks back down at the next book in her arms, walking over to the duo, completely invading Santana’s personal space. “Aren’t you in my Lit class?” Santana leans against the stacks and Puck shoves his hands into his jeans, rolling his eyes next to her, trying not to throw the biggest fit ever.

   “4 o’clock every Monday and Wednesday with Professor Sweet,” Santana answers and when the girl smiles, it practically takes up her whole face.

   “You ready for the midterm next week?”

   Santana shrugs a little. “More or less. Still have to finish up Uncle Tom’s Cabin though.”

   “Yeah, me too.” She looks Puck, who has moved on to fucking around on this phone, up and down before quirking an eyebrow again, pushing her glasses on top of her head. “You up for some studying later? I think I’m going to get the letters we read at the beginning of the semester mixed up…”

   Santana grins, nodding as she passes the girl her phone.

   She waits until they’re a few aisles away to let out a laugh. “Every time you call dibs, I get the number.”

   Puck rolls his eyes before realizing he put down the book they needed. “Fuck. I’ll meet you at the desk. I put the book down when you were sluttin’ it up.”

   “God damn it, Puck. Hurry your ass up.”

   He jogs to the end of the aisle and Quinn’s holding out the book for him. “Thank you,” she says sweetly, pressing a kiss against his cheek.

   “Your sister and I are still on for Friday right?”

   Quinn nods. “And she’s totally a sure thing.”

   Puck laughs a little before grinning. “So’s Santana.”

Sweetness and Danger

only_because3 — Mon, 02 Apr 2012 06:27:17 GMT

Theme: UST
Pairing: Quinntana
Rating: T?
Word count: 759
Author’s Note: This past week was Quinntana week and I participated in a few days so I thought I'd post them over here! Quick little fic that is actually not as smutty as I thought it was going to be. Set during the finale of Season 2. It’ll be obvious. Hope ya’ll enjoy.

--

“You should’ve cut your hair a long time ago,” Santana yells over the whirring of the hairdryer. She runs her fingers through Quinn’s newly cropped hair, shaking out any stray hairs that haven’t fallen yet as she blows hot air from scalp to tops. “You look cute.”

   A shiver runs through Quinn’s body when Santana scratches lightly at her head. “You did a good job.” Santana shrugs a little like it wasn’t that big a deal, turning off the blow dryer and putting it on the counter. She sues the nail on her index finger to form Quinn’s part, walking in front of Quinn to get the pieces to fall just right. “You do realize that after this, we’re just going to go sit back down in our room.”

   “No reason for my work to look like crap.” Quinn rolls her eyes and settles further into the chair they dragged into the bathroom, trying to ignore the fact that they probably won’t be able to get it back out again (they had to throw their entire weight against it and turn it sideways just to get it in there). Santana blows some hair out of her own face twice before finally using some of the styling putty she has on her fingertips to pin it back. “You okay,” she asks and Quinn sees Santana staring at her hands fisted in her shirt.

   She forces her hands to relax, smoothing out the fabric till the wrinkles are barely visible. “I’m fine.”

   Santana leans against the counter, arms draped across her stomach. “Do you really think nobody loves you,” Santana finally asks after a moment and the way she says it makes Quinn look at her lap like a coward.

   “I said I’m fine, Santana.” Quinn pushes herself out of the chair and Santana grabs her elbow.

   “Q,” Santana tries, pulling Quinn back so she’s in front of her. “Don’t be a dick; let me hug you.” Quinn’s arms stay glued to her sides as Santana almost awkwardly hugs her. It’s not until she pinches the back of Quinn’s arm that the blonde actually hugs her back. “Even if it doesn’t seem like it, I totally love you.”

   “That doesn’t count, Santana.”

   Santana pulls back just enough to look at Quinn’s face and the shorter girl scowls a little, her hand coming up to smooth down a few fly away hairs before her face softens again. “Why doesn’t it count? We’re like, best friends.”

   “Exactly,” Quinn stresses. “You’re my friend. You’re required to at least like me.”

   “Sometimes I actually hate your guts. Doesn’t mean I love you any less.” Quinn’s smile is miniscule but genuine and Santana cups her cheeks. “I love you Quinn Fabray, or whatever the fuck your name is.” Quinn slaps her on the back and laughs as Santana grins widely. “I’m serious. Just because I’m not shoving my hand down your pants doesn’t mean I love you any less than I love Brittany.”

   Quinn’s eyes widen and she wheezes a little as she laughs. “I know I can be, well, a b-”

   “Cunt,” Santana supplies and Quinn glares before she continues.

   “That… Can you honestly say that you love me as much as you love Brittany?”

   Santana rolls her eyes, pulling her closer until her lips are sliding against Quinn’s. They haven’t kissed in ages (not since cheer camp freshmen year) and it’s strange because this feels so different than before. It’s not a dare this time, with her reluctant to give Santana a peck while Santana was too eager to impress the upperclassmen. Santana’s careful with her, barely moving until Quinn finds it in her to take it further. Santana’s hand tucks her newly short hair behind her ear, thumb running over Quinn’s earlobe before her hand drops and curls around her neck.

   Her tongue curls around Santana’s just as someone knocks soft on the door, Brittany’s voice filtering into the room. “Almost done? I want to see!”

   Santana pulls back and clears her throat. “Almost. Just fixing a few little things.” She gives Quinn’s neck a small squeeze, pressing another kiss against her lips. “I love you, Q.” She runs her fingers through Quinn’s hair until it’s perfect again and gives her a small smile.

   “Thank you,” Quinn breathes out, her eyes focused on Santana’s lips that are little more red than they usually are.

   She doesn’t think she’s any closer to okay, especially not now, but she finds herself wrapping her arms around Santana, hugging her desperately before her friend can walk away.

A Lover's Carousel [2/2]

only_because3 — Sun, 26 Feb 2012 07:34:53 GMT

Title: A Lover's Carousel (2/2)
Author: only_because3/jeytonbrucasnaley
Rating: M
Pairing: Rachel/Quinn + Santana
Warning: We got some kinky sex happening
Author's note: So sorry this took so long! I needed to get my big bang rough draft done and then ya know, life got in the way. But never fear, readers, I've got your porn done! I kind of lose POV towards the end (or it jumps a lot) but meh. I'm done with this. Thanks to Az for reading it over and being my soundboard and I hope you all enjoy!

--

    Quinn nods and then Santana is guiding her head to Rachel’s breast, squeezing the back of her neck while her other hand cups Rachel between her legs. “Takes her nipple into your mouth but don’t bite or use your tongue.” The moment Quinn’s lips wrap around the painfully hard flesh, Santana slips two fingers into both girls, smirking triumphantly when Rachel pulls at her restraints. Quinn gasps, her mouth quivering but ultimately not doing anything Santana instructed her not to. She doesn’t get any verbal praise this time but Santana thrusts her fingers not nearly as fast as Quinn would like but it’s better than the completely still hand inside of Rachel.

   The brunette’s chest starts heaving harder and the moment Rachel lifts her hips in hopes of getting Santana to move inside her, Santana pulls out. “My fingers not good enough, Berry?” Rachel doesn’t say anything, just whines and wiggles her hips a little. Quinn groans when Santana pulls out of her too and the slap she receives on her ass stings a lot more than the others due to Santana’s wet fingers. “Bite,” Santana instructs. “Hard.” Quinn looks up at Rachel the best she can before she does as she’s told, releasing the hold on Rachel’s hard nipple when her girlfriend cries out. Santana shakes her head and laces her fingers through Quinn’s hair, yanking her up by the golden locks. “I never told you to stop biting.” The crop finds its way into Santana’s hand once more and the only thing Quinn can do is watch as she delivers four strikes to Rachel’s oversensitized breast. The first two produce strangled whimpers as Rachel tries to stay quiet but by the last slap of leather on skin, Rachel’s moaning and her hips move in search of anything.

   Santana smirks and gets off the bed, taking Quinn with her. “Bend your knees,” she tells Rachel and then she shoves Quinn, forcing her to lay down between her girlfriend’s spread legs. She’s just far enough that she can’t touch Rachel but she’s completely overwhelmed by the smell of her and she can’t believe what all this play has been doing to Rachel. Nails rake down her back and she moans embarrassingly loud. “She’s only that wet because you finally gave her what she wanted. Isn’t that right, Rachel?” Santana delivers ten smacks to Quinn’s ass with her palm, eyes locked with Rachel’s every time.

   The blonde tries to squirm away but Santana grips the cuffs around Quinn’s wrists to keep her from going far. “Tell me,” Santana says as she shakes her hand out, admiring just how red Quinn’s ass is. “How wet is your girlfriend now?”

   Both girls groan and Quinn licks her lips before breathing out, “Baby, you’re dripping.”

   Rachel whines and Santana laughs. “See, if you’d learn how to exercise some patience,” she starts, the last word punctuated with another harsh slap to Quinn’s ass, this time with the crop, “this could be you right now.”

   Quinn squeezes her thighs together with every blow she receives. She gets fifteen more, Santana makes Rachel count them out loud, each one differing in severity. Some are barely a tap while others actually hurt but not in a way that makes her want it to stop because even though her ass feels like it’s on fire, it still feels so good.

   “God,” Rachel groans when Santana’s done and there is no way the brunette isn’t actually aching for someone to touch her. Quinn’s never seen Rachel this wet before, so completely soaked that even the sheet beneath her is wet, and it must be driving her insane that she can’t even press her legs together. “Santana, please.”

   Santana quirks an eyebrow, pressing herself flush against Quinn’s ass and perching her chin in her hand as she pushes the blonde further into the mattress. “Please what, Rachel? Please touch you?” she asks, ghosting her fingers up the inside of her leg, stopping once she gets to mid thigh. “Please spank you? Please let you cum?” Rachel nods her head eagerly, another plea for nothing specific escaping her lips. Santana shakes her head and pushes herself up, gripping Quinn’s hips tightly when she stands. “Well not everything is about you. And Quinn here, she took that last beating like a big girl.” She pats Quinn’s hips and then grips the crop in her hand, backing up to make sure she has enough room. “Which is why if you can make it through twenty more strikes, I’ll let you cum, okay?”

   “Yes,” Quinn practically moans, and god, the twenty are so much harder than the fifteen were. She can only imagine just how red her ass is right now, how raw it is, but she’s not sure she’s ever been this turned on before. It doesn’t matter that she’s almost positive she’ll have problems sitting down for days after this because she’s so on edge right now that all it would take is Santana just touching her between her legs and she’d call apart.

   The last strike is the hardest and she actually yelps, squeezing her eyes shut as she feels Santana pause behind her. Rachel pulls at the restraints more forcefully than she has before, her foot inching towards Quinn’s shoulders when the brunette realizes that’s the only thing she can do. Quinn takes two deep breaths to calm herself down and then presents her ass a little better. “May I have one more?”

   The other girls breathe out and then Santana kisses the skin between her shoulder blades before giving her ass a solid slap. “Good girl,” Santana whispers, dropping down to her knees behind her best friend. She prods her legs open a little wider and then takes Quinn’s ass in her hands, squeezing as she drags her tongue along Quinn’s slit, allowing herself to play at her entrance. Quinn shoves herself against Santana’s face, something she’d probably be self conscious about any other time (desperate is not a good look) but she doesn’t care right now because yes, Santana is giving her exactly what she needs. Lips wrap around her and Santana sucks crudely before pulling back, licking her lips.

   “Damn,” she mutters under her breath, lightly slapping Quinn’s ass. It makes her keen on the bed and Santana smiles as she digs through the bag she brought. She drops the harness on Rachel’s stomach and the couple’s eyes widen. “If I let you wear this, do you promise to follow the rules?” Rachel nods so enthusiastically Santana’s surprised she doesn’t get whiplash.

   “I promise,” Rachel reassures, watching as Santana releases Quinn’s wrists. Santana rubs Quinn’s shoulders as she gets used to letting them relax again before Santana tells the blonde to help get Rachel in the harness. It’s a little difficult to make sure everything’s tight enough but they get Rachel strapped in and then Quinn’s left practically bouncing next to her girlfriend as Santana surveys their work.

   “Did you like watching me touch your girlfriend, Rachel? Are you so filthy that knowing I know what Quinn tastes like, makes your pussy ache?” She tries to squeeze her legs together but Santana slaps her thigh, shaking her head. “Good things come to those who wait,” she drawls, lighting tapping Rachel’s breast with the leather. “To the hilt but then no moving.”

   Quinn straddles Rachel’s hips, the toy between her legs brushing up against her cunt deliciously and she has to restrain herself from simply grinding against the toy. She grips the toy in her fist, surprised by just how wet it is, and then guides it in, her head lolling to the side once she’s flush with Rachel.

   “Fuck,” Rachel groans, nails digging into her palms so she won’t lift her hips. Quinn looks at her through heavy lids, pale skin covered in a light sheen of sweat and her hair looks like a rat’s nest from being pulled. Her chest heaves with each breath and this is absolutely insane because Rachel’s not sure she’s ever wanted to fuck Quinn more than she does right now.

   Santana takes off the garter belt, her panties joining the fabric on the floor and then she places a thigh on either side of Rachel’s head. “Eat me. You may move the best you can as long as you don’t stop until I say so.”

   It surprises her just how quickly and eagerly Rachel leans up, lapping at the wet heat between Santana’s legs. She does this thing with her tongue that Santana can’t quite comprehend before a moan tears through her throat. She claws one of Rachel’s breasts when she does it again and Santana looks up to see Quinn smirking at her with dark eyes.

   “Fuck yourself,” she breathes out. She presses herself more firmly against Rachel’s face, the brunette now working her tongue in and out of Santana as she lamely tries thrusting into Quinn. Rachel doesn’t have any leverage in this position and though the thought of torturing Quinn like that is tempting, Quinn’s earned the right to fun.

   She almost laughs when Quinn moans a thank you before unabashedly sliding up and down on the toy, but the sight of Quinn fucking herself like she’ll die if she doesn’t get off paired with the way Rachel’s sucking on her clit causes Santana to cry out, her nails digging into tan skin as she drenches Rachel’s face.

   Maybe she’ll tell Quinn that she doesn’t have to buy her that new coat in thanks because this might even surpass the threesome she had with Mike and Brittany freshmen year of college.

   Rachel keeps going, even after she’s completely milked Santana for everything she’s got and Santana pushes herself off, collapsing on the bed next to the couple as she fights to breathe in the corset that, she realizes now, was such a stupid idea. “Stop,” she breathes out, slapping Quinn’s ass when she tries to get in one more thrust. “Stand next to the bed.” Quinn whimpers as the toy slips out of her and then blushes once she can take a full look at Rachel. The fake cock is soaked in Quinn’s juices, her breasts littered with angry red scratches and half moons, her face covered in so much of Santana’s cum that what she can’t reach with her tongue drips down her neck.

   “Oh, baby,” she whispers, unconsciously licking her lips as Santana stands up.

   “Get me out of this thing,” she says and Quinn unlaces the black ribbon before helping Santana pull the corset over her head. “Finally.” She takes two deep breaths and then puts her hands on her hips, turning to face Rachel. “Do you want to cum?”

   “Yes,” Rachel croaks and that evil smile returns to Santana’s face.

   “Quinn, release your girlfriend while I take off the harness.” Rachel watches as Santana runs her tongue along the length of the toy before taking it in her mouth, head bobbing a few times as Santana stares up at her through her lashes.

   Her arms fall limply against the mattress and, god, now that Quinn’s this close she can smell her and see her wetness trailing down the inside of her thighs.

   Santana pulls off her with a pop, loosening the straps as she licks her lips. “If you can make it through fifty lashes, I’ll let you cum and get Quinn off.”

   “Okay,” Rachel exhales, squeezing her thighs together to try and alleviate the throbbing. Santana moves to sit on the side of the bed and pats her lap, the brunette laying across her bent knees quickly. “Watch and count, Quinn.”

   The first few spanks are nothing more than teasing. They sting but she wants more and when Quinn says six, Santana’s hand comes down harder, her fingers spread, sending the pain across her flesh like a spider web.

   “Yes,” she moans, lifting her ass a little higher in anticipation of the next blow.

   “Look at you,” Santana spits, her hand coming down harder still as Quinn says seven. “So eager to be put in your place.” At ten, Santana pauses, running her fingers through Rachel’s folds, pushing her thumb inside the brunette as she pulls at Rachel’s hair. “You’re such a fucking pervert. I’m redding your ass and your cunt is sopping.” The grip on her hair tightens and the next ten spanks are quick, barely any time between them for Rachel to catch her breath. It’s a whole different sensation now that Santana’s fingers are covered in her own cum, and it makes her twitch against Santana’s lap, thankful that she hasn’t been forbidden to speak because she’s positive that she’s mewling like a cat in heat.

   “On your hands and knees, Berry,” Santana says, telling Quinn to come stand beside her.

   It’s somehow even more unnerving now that she can’t see either of her partners. The air is cool against her hot ass and there’s a rush of cold air before the crop collides with her skin. Her cheeks clench which make her ass throb even more and she bites her lip to stop herself from screaming as she takes the next ten.

   “You think you can handle more,” Santana asks, the next hit lighter than the last but the sting feels the same. Santana’s literally never played with someone who loves this as much as Rachel does. By now, the safeword is usually thrown out but every time Rachel inches away, she comes back, her hips wiggling in anticipation of the next blow.

   “Yes ma’am,” Rachel groans, bowing her back as her ass rises.

   Santana surprises her, the next four hits landing where ass meets thigh and Rachel’s pretty sure she can hear Quinn moan after that. When they reach forty, she’s aching in every possible way. Her ass and thighs burn and quake and her pussy literally hurts from neglect. She can feel herself dripping down her legs and when Santana says, “You’re going to spank her now,” she practically growls.

   “What,” Quinn squeaks and Santana is slipping her hand through the loop at the end of the riding crop, pressing it in her palm.

   “Rachel doesn’t get to cum, you don’t get to cum, until she gets ten more blows.” Santana sits down on the edge of the bed, rubbing her hands over the bright red skin as she looks at Quinn. “C’mon blondie. Ten hits and you can sit on her face.”

   Quinn looks down at the crop in her hand, shaking her head. “I...”

   “Oh my god,” Rachel whines, dropping her head down to her hand which just puts her on display even more.

   Santana runs her nails down Rachel’s cheeks before getting up and wrapping her hand around Quinn’s wrist. “You watched me give her plenty. Hit her.” Quinn is tense in her arms and it’s awkward to mime the motion but Santana forces Quinn’s arm back and then forward, the leather gold star hitting Rachel square on the ass. The brunette purrs, muttering thank you over and over under her breath. Santana drops away from her. “Again.” She wouldn’t even call the next hit a blow. It’s barely even a tap and that is not what Santana wants. “Harder,” she bitches, her hand colliding with Quinn’s ass. It makes the blonde jump a little but the next hit with the crop is the hardest yet.

   Rachel cries on the fifth hit and Quinn immediately lets the crop hang from her wrist. Even though Santana is telling her to do it again, just like that, it’s not until Rachel whines, “Please, baby,” that she allows herself to grip the crop.

   By the last hit, Santana’s moved back by Rachel, her own hand slapping one side of Rachel’s ass as the leather marks the other. She chuckles, gripping the flesh. “On your back, Rachel.”

   The sheet burns against her skin, even more so when Santana loops her arms under her thighs to bring her flush with her face, but then Quinn’s looking down at her, familiar taste and smell right there in front of her, and god, all of the waiting, all of the spanks were worth it.

   Santana’s nails dig into her hipbones as Quinn reaches back to twist the nipple she had bitten earlier, her own tongue fluttering over sensitive skin as Santana’s pushes inside her. If this were any other occasion, she’d be embarrassed by how quickly she’s at the edge, everything pulling tight in her stomach, but she’s just been through the most wonderfully torturous foreplay ever and she really just can’t help the way she bucks relentlessly against Santana’s face. She can feel a laugh against her skin and Quinn pulls at her hair, trying to push her closer. She wants to keep going, she does, but she can’t keep any sort of rhythm once Santana sucks her clit into her mouth as she shoves three fingers inside her.

   She screams against Quinn’s wet skin, her girlfriend rolling her hips against her face twice before she curls, her whole body going breathless.

   Santana rests her head on Rachel’s thigh, all three girls heaving. “Holy hell,” she says, the smile obvious in her voice.

   Rachel laughs and reaches down, threading her fingers through Santana’s hair, her other hand clapping Quinn’s thigh. “Best Valentine’s day ever.”

A Lover's Carousel [1/2]

only_because3 — Wed, 15 Feb 2012 07:22:28 GMT

Title: A Lover's Carousel [1/2]
Author: only_because3
Rating: M
Pairing: Rachel/Quinn + Santana
Warnings: We got some kinky sex going on here
Summary: She can not believe Quinn talked her into this. Santana’s pretty manipulative herself so Quinn’s evil powers usually don’t work on her but for some crazy ass reason they did this time, which is why she’s standing next to Quinn in a sex shop
Author's Note: So I wanted to get this completely done today but Valentine's was a lot busier than I anticipated! There will be a second part of this (it'd be cruel if I left you hanging here) and that will hopefully come tomorrow. I hope you all had a lovely and wonderful Valentine's day and that you enjoy! Oh, and this is mostly a V-Day gift for my wife Az because she totally stoked the fire when it came to the creation of this fic (and she's awesome)

--

“Baby…” Quinn groans and buries herself further under the covers. She can vaguely hear the heat kick on, thankfully, because her toes are freezing despite the fact that she’s wearing the thickest pair of socks Rachel owns. Rachel shakes her again, this time pressing her knees into Quinn’s back slightly. “Baby, wake up.”

    “What time is it,” Quinn asks, her voice thick and rough.

    “A little past 5:30,” Rachel says softly, drumming her fingers on Quinn’s hip.

    Quinn groans again and pulls the covers up until her hair just barely pokes out. “You promised you’d let me sleep in on my days off.”

    She can feel Rachel hovering above her and then the blankets are pulled down, hot breath hitting her ear. “But it’s Christmas!” Quinn slowly opens up one eye, turning slightly so she can look at her girlfriend. Rachel’s smile practically takes up her whole face and the brunette bounces lightly on her knees. “Merry Christmas, Quinn.”

    Quinn nods, closing her eyes again. “Merry Christmas, Rachel.”

    Quinn relaxes into the mattress and Rachel huffs. “Wake up,” she repeats, reaching over Quinn to turn on the bedside lamp.

    Quinn recoils under the blankets, arms rushing to cover her eyes. “I hate it when you do that,” Quinn bites, turning away from the light.

    “I can’t go back to sleep so either you’re getting up now or I bug you every two minutes.”

    Quinn sighs and rubs the top of Rachel’s thigh. “Turn off the light and go start some coffee. Just give me till 6, please, and it’ll be the best Christmas present ever.”

    Rachel presses a kiss to her temple. “Deal.”

--

    “Baby, let her sleep.”

    Rachel makes a noise in the back of her throat, rocking on the balls of her feet next to the tree. “But it’s Christmas! And she’s sleeping on our couch. We should be able to wake her up when we want to.”

    Quinn pats her butt and shakes her head on her way to the kitchen. “You’re Jewish, Rachel. And if anything, you’d want her to sleep in because it’s Christmas.”

    Mr. Bobinsky uncurls from under the tree, tail whipping one of the low hanging ornaments and the red ball bounces on their hardwood floor but it doesn’t break. Mr. Bobinsky looks at it curiously before taking it into his mouth and dropping it at Rachel’s feet. She smiles, bending down to pick up the cat and ornament. “You’re such a good kitty,” she coos, her smile growing when Mr. Bobinsky purrs louder.

    Quinn comes back in with two mugs full of coffee and nods toward their bedroom. “Let’s go back to bed.”

    “But I want to open our presents,” Rachel pouts. Mr. Bobinsky jumps from her arms, trotting over to the couch and jumping on to Santana’s head.

    “Mr. Bobinsky! Get off her,” Quinn whispers harshly, putting their coffee down on the table as Rachel puts the ornament back on the tree. Mr. Bobinsky moves down to sit on Santana’s chest but his tail still lays across her face.

    “Let him sleep, Quinn.” The blonde glares over her shoulder at her girlfriend and then picks up the cat off of their sleeping roommate. He hisses at Quinn and she rolls her eyes, dropping the cat to his feet. Mr. Bobinsky walks over to the door, curling up on Quinn’s discarded coat and Quinn sighs heavily.

    “I hate how much that cat loves you,” she grumbles and Rachel grins.

    “Can we at least open up a present now? Santana could sleep till noon!”

    Quinn grabs her cup of coffee from the table and then pads over to the tree. She taps her finger against her chin and then plucks a present from the pile around the tree. “Hurry up, baby.”

--

    By the time Rachel picks out her present, Quinn is once again sprawled out on their bed, eyes blinking slowly. She’s already turned on Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer (which, she’s not sure why because it makes Quinn cry every single time they watch it), Rachel’s present laying on her tummy as she fights off sleep. “I find it funny that for you being the Christian, I’m always more excited about Christmas,” Rachel muses from the doorway.

    “It’s because you haven’t had twenty odd years of Christmases already. And all the Christmases you have had were amazing,” Quinn yawns.

    “Don’t you dare fall asleep on me, Fabray,” Rachel teases, slipping under the covers after Quinn pats the mattress next to her. They sit silently for a bit, Rachel’s head resting on Quinn’s shoulder until the next commercial break. “Thank you for waking up with me.” Quinn snorts and Rachel swats her stomach.

    “Open your present,” Quinn replies, handing Rachel the box. “I promise I got you grander things than this.”

    “You know I don’t care what you got me.” Quinn arches an eyebrow and Rachel grins. Rachel used to take her time when opening gifts but it seems that the longer they date, the more impatient she gets. She tears away the wrapping paper instead of peeling it back and when the box is the only thing keeping Rachel from her present, she tugs at the lid almost violently. It barely budges and Rachel sighs. “There is no need to tape down the sides,” Rachel complains and Quinn laughs, sliding her nail underneath the tape. Rachel drops a kiss on to Quinn’s forehead before opening the lid.

    “I hope you like it.” Quinn fidgets next to her as Rachel pulls out the red and white striped sweater Quinn spent two months knitting. It’s nothing fancy and she messed up near the end but overall, she’s happy with the turn out. Quinn watches as Rachel’s smile stretches and the brunette lays the sweater down so the tv can illuminate it better.

    “This was what you’ve been working on,” Rachel asks and Quinn nods, tapping at the box.

    “There’s more.” Rachel sifts through the tissue paper and then pulls out another sweater, this one significantly smaller.

    Rachel’s eyes widen. “Is this what I think it is?”

    Quinn bites her lip. “Do you like it?”

    Rachel throws her arms around Quinn’s neck, peppering her face with kisses. “I love it, baby! I mean, my sweater is gorgeous but you knitted one for Mr. Bobinsky too!”

    “You have an unnatural amount of love for that cat,” Quinn laughs and Rachel rolls her eyes before shaking her head, running her fingers over the sweater.

    “You made sweaters so I could match with my cat! Santana is going to make fun of you so much for this but…” Rachel trails off, fingers quickly unbuttoning her pajama top. She tosses the shirt to the foot of the bed and then slips the sweater over her head. Quinn pulls down the back of the sweater when it bunches up, running a finger over the messed up stitch. “This is really soft.”

    “I’m really glad you like it.” Quinn tosses the packaging to the floor and Rachel puts the present in Quinn’s lap. “This is mine?”

    Rachel nods. “I figured it was best you didn’t open this in front of Santana.” Quinn inspects the package and before she goes to tear the paper back, Rachel puts her hand on hers. “Baby?”

    “Hm?”

    “Try not to freak out about this okay?”

    Quinn looks between the present and her girlfriend carefully. “What did you do?”

    “I didn’t do anything… I wasn’t sure when else to give you this and figured Christmas might soften the blow. Not that this is anything bad… I think.” Rachel bites the inside of her cheek and shrugs.

    Quinn runs a hand through her hair before ripping away the paper, eyes almost closed like something was going to pop out of her. But all she sees is the back of a book and she laughs lightly. “I thought this was going to be something about sex.” Rachel bites her lip, tucking her hair behind her ears as Quinn flips the book over to reveal the title. “Uhm…”

    “I wasn’t sure how to tell you and then I saw this when Santana and I were at the bookstore last week… I went back and picked it up.” Rachel tightens her legs around Quinn’s hips and watches as Quinn looks between the book and her a few times. Rachel licks her lips nervously. “Are you upset? I didn’t want to ruin your Christmas…” Quinn stays silent. “Baby, I’m sorry. This was a bad idea. We can just forget this happened.”

    Rachel tries to take the book from Quinn’s hands but Quinn grips on tighter. “Is…” She takes a deep breath and then locks eyes with Rachel. “This didn’t ruin Christmas, okay?” Rachel nods and Quinn presses her lips against hers. “But… I’m really gonna need some time to process this.”

    “I flipped through it already and there’s a lot of good dialogue starters in there…”

    Quinn runs a hand through her hair. “You’re happy though, right?”

    “Of course I am! I’ve just wanted to… I really want to explore some things and I know that certain things relating to sex is still hard for us to be vocal about. Plus, this isn’t exactly the easiest thing for me to admit.” A small blush covers her cheeks and Quinn nods, looking back down at ‘When Someone You Love is Kinky’. “I love you, Quinn.”

    Quinn smiles. “I love you too.”

    A scream comes from the living room. “DEMON CAT!”

    Quinn tucks the book into her bedside table as Rachel grabs the sweaters from the box. “I should get a medal,” Rachel murmurs.

    “What for?”

    She grins crookedly. “For finding a pussy Santana doesn’t like.”

--

    Despite the fact that none of them had enough money to go home for the holidays, Christmas is pretty amazing. Rachel and Quinn surprise Santana with an actual bed and she’s obviously PMSing because she tears up quite a bit when she opens the card containing the receipt. “We know the couch isn’t comfortable and even though we can’t fit anything bigger than a twin in here, you deserve a real bed,” Rachel says with a smile and Quinn is already reaching for her phone.

    “Don’t you dare, Fabray,” Santana warns. “It may be Christmas, but I have no problem punching you in the face today.”

    “I have no problem returning your bed.”

    Rachel swats Quinn’s stomach. “We’re not returning her present! And there will be no physical harm in my house on Christmas.” Quinn bites her lip, ducking her head and Santana rolls her eyes before sobering.

    “Thank you,” she says honestly and Rachel grins a little wider. “I know I said I’d be out by now but-”

    Rachel shakes her head and leans across their make shift circle to squeeze Santana’s knee. “Don’t worry about it.”

    Quinn looks at her for a second before grabbing the last three presents under the tree. “Maybe we should open the last of these so Santana can save some face and not start crying.” When Santana flips her off, Quinn just laughs and passes out the presents.

    They’re from Rachel’s dads (Santana’s still not sure why they send Christmas presents when they don’t celebrate, but Quinn told her not to question it) and she’s surprised they actually send one for her too. “Why did they send me one?”

    “Because they’re my dads.”

    “That means absolutely nothing to me.”

    “It’s just how they are,” Quinn answers, pulling the bow from her package and sticking it to Rachel’s forehead. “Puck got one last year and he only stayed with us a week.”

    Santana unwraps the present and finds a dark purple scarf and glove set. She looks up to see that Quinn and Rachel got the same thing, just in different colors. It’s one of the best things she could have gotten since she left her scarf on the bus last week and Rachel’s demon cat got a hold of her gloves last night.

    Rachel’s cell phone starts ringing from the bedroom, her smile completely filling up her face. “That’s probably my dads.” She scrambles out of the room and as soon as the door closes behind the brunette, Quinn turns to her.

    “I need to talk to you.”

    Santana arches an eyebrow as she wraps the magically soft scarf around her neck. “Are you kicking me out so you and Berry can fuck? Because you of all people should know I don’t care.”

    Quinn rolls her eyes and carefully starts folding Rachel’s present back in its box. “Don’t make fun of me and do not bring this up to Rachel.”

    “I make no promises.”

    “I will kick you out.” Quinn isn’t looking at her, instead she still busies herself with cleaning up their Christmas circle but Santana can tell from the sound of her voice that it’s not an empty threat.

    “What’s up?”

    Quinn runs a hand through her beyond messy hair before sighing. “Rachel got me a book…”

    Santana nods. “I did watch you open it. I was actually sitting in this very spot.”

    She shakes her head. “She got me another book, that I opened before you woke up.”

    Santana looks at her. “Did she get you Sex for Dummies? I don’t understand why you have that look on your face.”

    Quinn takes a deep breath and Santana can see her whole body tense up even more. “The title is ‘When Someone You Love is Kinky’.” Rachel laughs from the back room and the only thing Santana can think to do is blink. Quinn hides her face her in hands before getting to her feet. “I need more coffee.”

    “She gave it to you for Christmas,” Santana finally asks and Quinn nods her head as she disappears into the kitchen. “I know she’s Jewish and everything, but I thought she was smart enough to know what proper Christmas presents are.” Santana balls up the wrapping paper. “Did she say what she wanted you to do to her?”

    “Considering I probably looked like a fish out of water, no.”

    Santana trades Quinn the trash for her cup of coffee and Santana greedily gulps half. “What do you think she’s going to ask you to do?” Quinn shrugs, slumping into the armchair Santana’s leaning against. “I feel like she’s too vocal to want you to gag her, so maybe she wants you to like… spank her?” In all the years she’s known Quinn, the blonde has never gotten so red before and that includes spring break freshman year of college when she fell asleep on the beach. Santana really is trying to be helpful with all of this but she can’t stop herself from snorting at the look on Quinn’s face. “Well, she’s clearly sleeping with the wrong person if you can’t even hear the word.”

    Quinn promptly smacks the back of her head, muttering ‘jerk’ as she takes back the coffee. “You’re supposed to be helping me.”

    “How am I supposed to help? Do you want me to spank her for you?” The second smack on the back of her head is harder and Santana can admit that she kind of earned that one. “Are you really freaking out about this because you seem to have no problem hitting me.”

    “I didn’t spend the better part of high school tormenting you,” Quinn grits out and Santana rolls her eyes before turning to look at Quinn.

    “You’ve been dating for three years now, Q. I thought you were both over that shit.”

    Quinn tucks her legs underneath herself, carefully balancing the coffee mug on the arm of the chair. “I am, or at least I thought I was.” She hooks her hair behind her ears. “You know I love Rachel, I just… even though she’d enjoy whatever it is she wants me to do, if it involves pain I really don’t think I can do it,” she breathes out.

    Santana thankfully doesn’t comment on the way her voice cracks and instead just gets to her feet, pressing a kiss to Quinn’s cheek while taking back the coffee cup. “Maybe she just has a foot fetish.” Quinn wrinkles her nose and Santana pauses. “Or maybe she wants to spank you.”

    “You’re the worst best friend ever,” Quinn groans as the bedroom door opens.

    “Pft, I’m the best best friend.”

--

    Santana doesn’t hear about it again till the 6th of January.

    Quinn comes home from work while she’s taking down the tree, asking where Rachel’s at and going through the mail. “Left for rehearsal about 20 minutes ago,” Santana answers, wrapping the menorah ornament she bought Rachel in tissue paper. “Have you eaten lunch yet? I was thinking about getting pizza.”

    “I’ll call the order in.” Quinn taps one of the envelopes in her hand. “Do you remember what I told you on Christmas?”

    Santana fumbles and drops one of the balls on to Mr. Bobinsky, the cat immediately hissing at her before moving closer to Quinn. “Rachel tell you what she wanted?” Quinn nods but stays silent and Santana wraps two more ornaments before sighing, “You’re not really going to make me ask are you?”

    Quinn’s cheeks are already tinged pink and she chews on her bottom lip before saying as casually as she can, “She wants to be restrained and spanked. She also said she could be partial to grabbiness.”

    Santana’s face scrunches and she takes a deep breath. “I really can’t look at Rachel the same way ever again,” is what she finally ends up saying and Quinn glares at her. “What did she say when you vetoed it?” Quinn continues sorting the mail, tossing Santana’s in her own pile on the table and she keeps her head down even when Santana says, “You told her you couldn’t do it right?”

    “She really wants to do this,” Quinn explains. “And she said it’s fine if I didn’t want to do it but her eyes practically lit up when I said the word spank.”

    Santana covers her eyes. “But you said you couldn’t do it if it involved pain! Now she thinks you’ll do it!”

    “I told her I’d think about it.” Quinn slumps down on at the table. “I’m going to ask you something and I would really appreciate you responding like a normal human being okay?”

    Santana sits down at the table too, eyebrow quirking. “If I was ‘normal’, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

    Quinn tilts her head. “Fair enough.” Santana starts looking through her stack of mail, rolling her eyes when she sees what’s probably a belated Christmas card from her parents as Quinn sighs. “Do you think I did this to her?”

    “I’m pretty sure that’s not how kinks work, otherwise I’d be really in to dick.”

    Quinn slides her finger underneath the seam of an envelope. “That’s different.”

    Santana shakes her head. “Did you ask if she wanted anyone else to do this to her? Or if she’s had it done to her before?”

    “Why would I ask that?”

    “Well, if she says ‘Around the time Glee club started’ then, yeah you might have something to worry about. But if it was like… always kind of there or stemmed from some weird shit with Finn, then it probably wasn’t you. Probably has nothing to do with you anyway.” Quinn pulls out the cell phone bill and stares at it. “Does that change anything for you?”

    Quinn digs around in her purse and pulls out a pen. “Honestly? No. Because even if something else prompted this, I still can’t.” She circles the total at the bottom a few times. “I fucking hate the person I was back then, Santana.”

    The last envelope in her stack is a letter from Brittany and Santana manages a half hearted laugh that doesn’t sound as sad as she actually is. “Ditto.”

    Quinn glances at the envelope in front of her and lets out a breath. “C’mon. Let’s get pizza.”

    “And drinks,” Santana asks.

    Quinn nods and smiles a little. “And drinks.”

--

She knows Rachel’s home because Mr. Bobinsky trots into the room, immediately curling up next to Quinn but facing Rachel’s side of the bed. Quinn puts the book back in the bedside table as Rachel dumps her coat and purse next to their dresser. “Long day,” Quinn asks and Rachel nods through a yawn before collapsing on to the bed. The cat moves directly in front of Rachel’s face so it’s hidden from Quinn.

   “Very,” Rachel responds, lazily petting the cat. “Were you reading the book I got you?” Rachel must still be able to see her because all Quinn does is nod before Rachel asks, “Anything you want to talk about?”

   Quinn picks at a loose thread on the comforter as she sinks further into her pillow. “When did you realize this was something you wanted to try?”

   Rachel stops rubbing Mr. Bobinsky’s tummy as she thinks and even though the TV is on some random channel, it’s eerily quiet. “The spanking thing happened freshman year. Do you remember that guy I dated for a few months?”

   “The one with the mullet?”

   Rachel props her head up on her hand and glares. “It wasn’t a mullet.”

   “It totally was. Santana thought so too.”

   Mr. Bobinsky stretches, effectively hiding Rachel’s face from her again and the brunette swats him out of the way. “Anyway, he spanked me a few times, just with his hand, and I liked it a lot.” Her fingers drum on the mattress before she shrugs. “I’m not sure when the restraining came about though. If I had to take a guess it was probably that time when you told me I couldn’t move and I had to be quiet because Santana would murder us if she knew we were having sex next to her.”

   Quinn eyebrows scrunch together. “But I didn’t restrain you.”

   “But you told me not to move.” She shrugs again. “Same sentiment.” Quinn nods, eyes closing when Rachel reaches over and drags her nails along her scalp. “Why do you ask?”

   Quinn feels something land on her chest and when she opens her eyes, she swears Mr. Bobinsky is glaring at her. Rachel laughs and scoops the cat off of her, tossing him towards the foot of the bed. “No reason.” She laces fingers with Rachel who squeezes firmly as she snuggles closer. Mr. Bobinsky chirps and crawls between the two of them before Rachel can get any closer to Quinn. “Give me a little more time to think about it?”

   “Of course. Take your time, Quinn.”

--

   Something smells heavenly. Santana rolls over in her bed and is greeted by a plate full of pancakes and sausage, a dead give away that Rachel is responsible for the surprise breakfast. As if on cue, the brunette starts singing as quiet as she can in the kitchen and Santana pushes herself up, shoving Rachel’s cat off her lap. She doesn’t understand why that damn thing insists on sleeping on her when they hate each other. He hisses and Rachel’s head pokes out from the kitchen. “Did he wake you up?”

   Santana shakes her head, pulling the plate on to her lap. “This did.” She cuts into the pancakes and Rachel disappears. She turns off the faucet and walks into the living room, drying her hands. She worries her lip as she settles down at Santana’s feet, Mr. Bobinsky weaving his way through her legs. “What’s bothering you, short stack?”

   Rachel glares. “You’re not that much taller than me.” Santana shrugs and spears a sausage link, dipping it in some of the syrup before taking a bite. “I’m assuming that Quinn’s told you.”

   Santana’s face scrunches and she licks a bit of syrup from the corner of her lip. “Told me what?”

   Rachel’s cheeks tinge pink but she says, “That I’d like her to dominate me,” with a straight face and clear voice. Santana almost drops her fork and she coughs, her last bite of pancake lodging in her throat.

   “Could you not have waited till I swallowed?” She puts the plate back on the end table she’s been using, crossing her legs to get them away from that fucking cat Rachel lets on to the bed.

   “I’d like to think that after five years, I’m pretty good at reading her… It’s because of what we were like in high school, isn’t it?”

   Santana gulps down half of the orange juice Rachel left next to her food, nodding a little. “And even though she doesn’t say it-”

   “Lucy,” Rachel says softly and Santana nods again. Mr. Bobinsky crawls into Rachel’s lap and she pets him until he’s purring obnoxiously loud. “Next time she brings it up, work in that I don’t have to explore that. I don’t want her to try if she’s uncomfortable with it.”

   “I’ve been telling her to tell you no. I couldn’t believe she didn’t the first time you guys talked about it.” Santana picks up another sausage link, nibbling on it before she shakes her head. “Apparently she just wants you to be happy, even if that means taking a hair brush to your ass.” Rachel blushes harder and then mumbles under her breath. “What?”

   “I said, it’s not a hairbrush I’d like to be spanked with.” Rachel clears her throat and focuses all her attention on the cat in her lap, tapping at the bell on his collar. “Just, try and convince her to tell me no.”

   “Don’t you think you’d both save a lot of trouble if you, I dunno, spoke to each other?”

   “Please,” Rachel says as she rolls her eyes. “You know how Quinn is. If I approach her before she’s ready, she’ll be insufferable.” She sighs a little and then stands up, thankfully taking that damn cat with her. “You’re her best friend. I trust you enough to talk her down.”

--

   Quinn hasn’t brought it up since they went drinking and Rachel hasn’t cornered her again so Santana’s pretty sure it’s safe to say her friends worked it out (either with words or kinky sex. She’s honestly not too sure but the walls are thin in the apartment and she figures if there was any spanking going on, she’d have heard it).

   So when she and Quinn are running around town on Sunday, she’s completely surprised when Quinn nonchalantly asks, “So, how would you feel about spanking Rachel?” she chokes on her Starbucks.

   “What?”

   Quinn pushes her sunglasses higher on her nose. “I’ve been thinking about what to do in regards to Rachel’s request and it’s the best compromise I could come up with.”

   Santana’s face scrunches in confusion. “Your best idea was a threesome?”

   “Could you not talk so loud,” Quinn lectures, looking around the crowded sidewalk.

   “You’re the one who just asked me to partake in some light bondage with you and your girlfriend in the middle of fucking grocery shopping!” That one actually produces some looks and Quinn’s face practically matches the color of her coat. “What the fuck are you all looking at,” she yells and most of the passerbys go back to their own business. “God, we live in New York, This place is full of kinky bitches and yet we get looked at?”

   They turn on to 48th and Quinn holds out her coffee so she can rearrange the bags in her arms. “I’m not propositioning a threesome,” she clarifies, hoisting the bag full of fruit higher on her shoulder.

   “You are full of shit if you think that you can actually handle waiting in the living room while I redden your girl’s ass.”

   Quinn picks up the other two bags and then takes back her drink. “I do plan on being in the room when it happens, if you two agree to it.”

   “You haven’t told her?!”

   Quinn shrugs. “There’s no point in telling her if you’re not up for it.”

   Santana sighs, running her fingers over her forehead. “This is literally the most awkward way I’ve been invited into a threesome and also the most awkward thing you’ve asked me to do since you asked me to get you out of those pantyhose when you went into labor.”

   Quinn lets out a breath. “Look, lets go drop off our groceries and then I’ll tell you my plan over lunch at your favorite place. My treat.”

   This feels like such a trap and it makes her nervous that she can’t see Quinn’s eyes but, fuck it. She may as well get a free meal out of it.

--

   She can not believe Quinn talked her into this. Santana’s pretty manipulative herself so Quinn’s evil powers usually don’t work on her but for some crazy ass reason they did this time, which is why she’s standing next to Quinn in a sex shop, looking at rows of whips, crops, and paddles.

   The blonde looks more than a little uncomfortable being in the place as it is and she would ask why Quinn didn’t just order this stuff online, but then she spots a riding crop near the top. “Oh my god, it’s like she fucking made that.”

   “Hm?” Quinn follows Santana’s eyes. “Holy crap, that’s perfect!” Quinn rises on to her toes and pulls down the riding crop with a gold star on the end.

   “I’m not entirely sure I can hold that with a straight face.”

   Quinn turns it upright. “It does look a bit like a wand, doesn’t it?” Santana takes it from her, swinging it through the air a few times just to get her wrist used to the motion, and then swiftly hits her own thigh. “Well?”

   Santana nods a little. “Give me your arm.”

   Quinn looks at her like she’s crazy, which, really? The bitch brought her here. “No.”

   Santana rolls her eyes and grabs Quinn’s wrist, pushing up the blonde’s long sleeve. “I’m not going to beat the shit out of you,” Santana assures her, running the crop along her pale skin. She keeps it far enough from Quinn’s skin to make it feel like a barely there whisper and then she digs her nail into Quinn’s palm so she’ll look at her and not her arm. “Do you really think she’ll go for this,” Santana asks, continuing the feather light touch on Quinn’s forearm. The blonde starts to respond and that’s when Santana smacks her. The hit is audible and Quinn gasps, her eyes wide, but she doesn’t pull her hand away from Santana, doesn’t even try. Santana grins deviously, running her fingers over the red skin. “Good to know that if this doesn’t pan out, I at least get a good toy out of it.”

   Quinn swallows hard. “Huh,” she comments, blinking a few times before finally pulling away from Santana.

--

   “Do neither of you understand how presents work,” Santana asks as she pours herself a cup of coffee.

   “It’s Valentine’s Day. You’re allowed to do things like this then.” Quinn clasps her necklace and Santana shakes her head.

   “You don’t surprise someone with a threesome, Quinn. No matter what day it is if you’re not sure how they’ll react!” She sips her coffee. “It’s a Puck move,” she adds.

   “Puck would do this because he wanted it. I’m doing this because Rachel would like to be dominated and I’ve picked you as my second in command.” Quinn pulls her usual mug from the cabinet and fills it to the brim with coffee. “And for the last time, I’m just going to watch! It’s not a threesome if I’m just watching.”

   “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that actually and we both know you’re probably going to jump in.”

   Quinn fumbles with her cup and then curses when the coffee burns her skin. “Santana!”

   “Hey, at least I’m fucking telling you in our place. You sprang this shit on me in the street.” She hands Quinn a paper towel, taking another sip of her own coffee. “Even if you don’t touch me, which, I know we’re friends but I’m hot and you could do a hell of a lot worse, you will want to touch Rachel, especially once I get her squirming.”

   “Can you please just not refer to this as a threesome? It’s weirding me out.” Quinn tosses the paper owl in the trash and Santana takes it upon herself to top off Quinn’s cup while she washes her hands.

   “You asked me to have sex with your girlfriend and the thought of you participating is weirding you out?” Quinn makes a noise in the back of her throat and Santana sighs heavily. “I’m not blind so, yeah, I don’t have a problem fucking you and Rachel since you’re both attractive. But god help me, I’d stab myself if I had to date either of you.”

   “You’re my best friend, Santana,” Quinn whines.

   “Therefore, this doesn’t have to be awkward. Obviously I’m not going to do anything either of you aren’t comfortable with, but we’ve made out before and the world didn’t end. Hell, Rachel’s made out with Blaine.”

   Quinn blows her bangs out of her face. “This has got to be the most educated lead up to a threesome ever,” she comments. “This is so much more than just making out, Santana.”

   “I’ve practically had sex with our entire bunch and we’re all still friends. Well, except…” Quinn frowns and Santana rolls her eyes. She’s over it, for the most part, and she really doesn’t need or want Quinn’s sympathy. “We’re actually all super incestuous when you think about it.”

   Quinn wrinkles her nose. “That made it really weird again.”

   “Look, you two will probably get so caught up that I’ll be cast to the side and so I’ll slip out and then go to Puck’s for a roll in the sheets.”

   “Yeah, that’s not how Rachel is. If she agrees to this, she’ll make sure you get off too.” Santana just hums because getting excited about that will probably freak Quinn out even more and hands Quinn her coffee. “God, this is like an episode of Sex and the City. We just discussed having a threesome over morning coffee.”

   Santana snorts and pads her way back to her bed.

--

   “I have a surprise for you,” Quinn says just before Rachel can unlock the door.

   The brunette spins around in Quinn’s arms, her eyes lighting up as she loops her arms around Quinn’s neck. “Really?” Quinn looks a little paler than usual but she nods anyway, wetting her lips before she speaks again.

   “I’m not sure if you’ll like it though and it’s completely okay if you don’t.”

   “I’m sure I’ll love it, baby.” Quinn kind of wheezes and then clears her throat, motioning for Rachel to open the door.

   Santana has literally come through in every way this Valentine’s Day. All the lights are off except for the one in the hall, flower petals (not rose petals though because Rachel hates them and Santana’s more than mildly allergic) lining the way from the front door to their bedroom. They had argued for about five minutes on if there should be candles but then Santana pointed out that Rachel would be worried the entire time about setting the apartment on fire and would insist on blowing all of them out before they got to do anything fun.

   “Baby, how could you think I wouldn’t like this?” Rachel drops her purse on to the kitchen table and unbuttons her coat as Quinn locks up.

   “The real surprise is in the bedroom.” Quinn catches Rachel’s wrist before she can run off to their room, taking both of Rachel’s hands in hers. “And it needs a little preface okay?” Rachel’s body is practically humming and Quinn leads the way, walking backwards to their room. “So, on Christmas, you asked if I could do something for you. And I’ve given it a hell of a lot of thought, but ultimately I don’t really think that I can whip you.” Rachel’s smile shrinks a little but she recovers flawlessly, stitching the perfect smile back on her face. Quinn’s sure that her girlfriend is about to launch into something that’ll make her feel secure and she presses a kiss against Rachel’s lips to silence her. “But…”

   She opens the door and there’s Santana, perched on the foot of her bed, her legs crossed elegantly and encased in knee high stilettos and fishnets. She’s sitting perfectly straight, the black corset forcing her to if she wants to breathe any easier. Rachel’s eyes are the size of saucers and Santana holds up her hand, wiggling her fingers at the two. “But, if you’re okay with it, I’m more than willing to put you in your place,” Santana says as she stands up, straightening the straps of her garter belt. Rachel just stares at her and Quinn is starting to fidget nervously in the doorway, looking about two seconds away from passing out. God, after tonight they are so even for the fact that they’ve been letting Santana live here. “If you don’t want to, then I’ll slip out of the apartment, but if you want to, then we can have a whole lot of fun tonight.”

   Rachel blinks for the first time since she’s seen Santana and then looks at Quinn who is trying to smile but still looking like she’ll faint. “Happy Valentine’s Day?” Quinn chews on her bottom lip while Rachel takes a huge breath, leaning into the doorframe.

   “We’re having a threesome with our roommate for Valentine’s day.” It’s more of a statement than anything.

   Santana pushes her curls behind her shoulders, walking towards the duo with her head held high. “Quinn knew how much you wanted to be spanked,” she says breathily, swinging the crop from her wrist. “And, being the absolute best friend ever, am willing to help you both out.”

   Quinn clears her throat and whispers, “I didn’t expect you to go all out with the outfit.”

   “Figured Rachel would appreciate the complete submersion in character,” Santana says with a shrug.

   “If you were fully submersed, you wouldn’t be talking, you’d be instructing,” Rachel pipes in, playing with her necklace.

   “Gotta make sure you’re okay with it first.”

   Rachel nods. “Does that mean you’re okay with this,” Quinn asks and Rachel closes her eyes before nodding once more.

   “Why not? We’re young, it’s Valentine’s day, Santana’s hot.” Rachel nods again and Quinn lets out the biggest sigh of relief.

   “Thank god because I was literally trying to figure out how long I could stay with Puck when you inevitably kicked me out.”

   “This is just for tonight though, right,” Rachel asks, side stepping Santana as she walks to her dresser, taking off her earrings as she goes.

   “Preferably,” the two answer in unison and Rachel smiles, turning on her heel to look at the girls.

   “Okay then. Quinn, will you be spanking me too?”

   The blonde shakes her head. “Honestly,” Santana starts, picking up the small pile of restraints from the foot of the bed. “I think she would appreciate a good whack too, not that she’ll admit it.” Quinn starts to protest but Santana shakes her head. “Please, your face when I tested the crop on you? You totally liked that.” Quinn blushes and tucks her hair behind her ears, finally stepping into the room. “Okay, I’m going to go clean up. I want the both of you to strip down and wait for me side by side on the bed. Face the wall.” Rachel immediately starts unbuttoning her pants but Quinn bites her lip, looking at Santana uncertainly. Santana walks over to her and kisses her cheek. “Remember that bad girls get punished, Quinn.” Santana gives her one good smack on the ass and Rachel groans so loud it practically drowns out the sound of Santana’s hand meeting Quinn’s dress.

   She closes the door when she leaves and Rachel pulls Quinn close once she kicks out of her pants. “This is so weird and not expected,” she says as she kisses along Quinn’s jaw before trailing down her neck. “But so fucking awesome.”

--

It feels like forever until Santana waltzes back in. Rachel is already squirming next to Quinn, has been since they kneeled on the bed, and her breathing gets a little ragged the louder Santana’s heels clack on the wood floors. “Put your cheek on the bed, Rachel. Ass up and hands clasped behind your back.”

Rachel shivers and does as she’s told and then the riding crop is in front of Quinn’s face. “Give it a kiss,” Santana instructs and the blonde side eyes her friend who simply arches an eyebrow. She presses her red lips to the gold star and Santana smiles, smoothing Quinn’s hair back. “Good girl.” She strolls to the other side of the bed, running her hand over Rachel’s ass. Rachel moves her hips from side to side, pushing back against Santana’s palm. “Somebody’s eager... I think that means you’ll have to wait. Rachel, sit up. Quinn, cheek to the sheet.” Rachel pouts as she sits up, glancing over at Quinn who slowly starts to bend over. She must take too long because Santana laces her fingers through Quinn’s hair and shoves her face to the bed. “I’m not fucking around, Quinn. Do what I say, when I say it or you can spend the rest of the night hogtied, watching your girlfriend eat me.”

“Oh god,” Rachel moans, her hands fisting around the sheets. “Sorry. I don’t know if I can talk but, fuck.”

Santana’s hand snakes between Quinn’s leg and smiles. “You’re a dirty girl, Quinn Fabray. For as coy as you were about this, I think you can’t wait till I soak your girl’s face.” Quinn squeezes her thighs together, can feel herself grow even wetter, and she whines when Santana runs her hand along the length of Quinn’s slit before pulling away completely. “Clean my hand.” Quinn looks up at Rachel, watches as her lips part for Santana’s fingers. She sucks on them until there’s no trace of Quinn left and her girlfriend never once breaks eye contact with their roommate. “Keep your eyes on her face, Rachel.”

Rachel gives her a tiny smile and then Quinn feels that barely there touch again, the crop running in a straight line down from the top of her ass to the back of her thighs. She knows what’s going to happen and she bets that is why Santana does this for nearly a full minute before she pulls her arm back and delivers three blows only a few seconds apart. The slaps echo in their tiny room and god does it sting. Her eyes water when Santana evens her out, giving her three more strikes on the opposite cheek and Quinn’s absolutely mortified when she doesn’t cry, but instead lets a moan slip past her lips.

    Santana laughs, running her hand over the pink flesh, squeezing firmly. “Switch.” Quinn doesn’t hesitate this time and her ass is hot when it comes in contact with the back of her legs. Rachel licks her lips when Santana starts running the leather over her ass but Santana doesn’t wait as long before she strikes. Unlike with Quinn, the slap is delievered to the wet heat directly between Rachel’s legs and the brunette gasps, arching her body only for Santana to lay her hand flat between her shoulderblades to keep her down. She gets three more rapid fire hits, and Rachel lets out all these different kinds of sounds that Quinn has never even heard before. “Is this everything you ever wanted, Rachel,” Santana asks, bending so she can whisper the words in Rachel’s ear. She lets the crop fall from her wrist, bringing her hand up to see how wet the singer is. “Christ.” Two fingers slip in to Rachel easily and Santana pumps them only twice before pulling out, tapping her clit before she stands back up. “Lay on your back and grip the headboard. Quinn, bring me the bag on the dresser.”

    When Quinn comes back with the bag, Santana taps the inside of Rachel’s legs and the girl spreads them without any further instruction. She swipes her fingers over Rachel’s pussy and then holds her hand back. “You may taste them.” It seems like Quinn just barely gets a taste of Rachel before Santana pulls her hand back. “I’m going to have so much fine driving you insane,” Santana muses, patting the space next to her. She pulls out two cuffs from the bag and hands them to Quinn. “Once you secure them, sit next to me.” Rachel’s chest is heaving and her pupils are completely blown. She runs her fingertips over the inside of Quinn’s wrist when she wraps the cuffs around the bars of the headboard, winking up at Quinn. The most the blonde can muster is a smile and then she’s sitting next to Santana who is waiting with another set of cuffs in her hands. “Behind your back, Quinn.” The cuffs are tight but Santana doesn’t care and Quinn’s not entirely sure she does either. “If I notice you taking your eyes off us, you’ll be punished.” Quinn nods and then Santana crawls over Rachel’s body until she’s straddling her girlfriend’s hips.

    Santana presses a kiss at the base of Rachel’s throat as she drags her nails up and down the brunette’s sides. “Safe word is Bobinsky, okay?”

    “You chose the name of my cat,” Rachel asks when Santana pulls back to make sure Rachel heard her.

    “I hate that cat. It makes sense. Okay?” Rachel nods and then Santana slips back into her character, her hands coming up to palm Rachel’s breasts. Rachel’s nipples harden even more under the touch and Santana looks back to make sure Quinn can see just what she’s about to do. Santana rakes her nails over the swell of Rachel’s breasts and then twists both of Rachel’s nipples. The singer’s mouth drops open, her back bowing what little it can with Santana on top of her and Santana smiles down at her like the Cheshire cat. “I knew you were even dirtier than you were letting on.” She twists a little harder and then cups her breasts again, pressing down on the hard buds. “Come up here, Quinn.” Santana grabs her by the back of the neck when she’s close enough, her other hand rubbing the skin just above her belly button. “When I tell you to, you’re going to bite her.”

Sins of My Youth (6/10)

only_because3 — Thu, 26 Jan 2012 04:50:50 GMT

Title: Sins of My Youth (6/10)
Author: only_because3 or jeytonbrucasnaley
Raiting: I'd say M
Pairing: Santana/Brittany, Quinn/Puck, Quinn/Santana
Word Count: 4237
Summary: "God, that's such complete bullshit, especially coming from you." Quinn pulls her hand back sharply as Santana takes in a big gulp of air to continue. "Not winning prom queen is going to make you feel even more insecure about yourself for like, ever, even though that stupid piece of plastic doesn't mean shit. Brittany is my best friend. I've known her since we were eight. She's always going to matter, more so now that she… That I'm… That." She squeezes her eyes shut, still unable to say it out loud because there is no coming back from that. She's not a Fabray, even though she has spent the entire summer thus far in their house. She can't acknowledge something and then pretend it didn't happen.
Author's Note: Okay, this is going to be the last update in a while. I'm working on a big bang and I need to get that done by late February so my focus is pretty much on that. I'm not sure just how much I feel about this chapter since it is kind of a very big turning point and I hope I did it well! The next chapter will be much, much longer. Enjoy!

--

She rocks on her heels as she waits in line, pushing a stray piece of hair back as the older woman in front of her takes her time trying to decide if she wants a Caesar salad or a Chinese chicken salad. She knows that Mr. Apenta won’t be upset if she comes in a little late but she prefers to be prompt. “I think I’ll go with the Caesar salad,” the old woman croons and Quinn sighs before the woman then stumbles on what to drink.

   This is her favorite deli and she’s been craving their BLT for a week now, but she really doesn’t have the time for this. A hand slips into hers, pulling her out of the line and even though she was going to get out of line this is not okay. “Excuse-” Puck glances over his shoulder, giving her hand a small squeeze, and she finds herself walking with him instead of trying to dig her heels into the tile. “What’re you doing here,” she asks as he leads her out of the store. He drops her hand and she pulls her phone out of her pocket just so she has something to do with her now empty hand.

   “I was picking you up this.” He holds up a white paper bag, the smell of bacon wafting towards her. She smiles as she tucks her phone back into the pocket of her dress before taking the bag from him. “Guess it’s a good thing I got in before the crypt keeper, hm?”

   Her smile stretches as her hair falls back into her face but it shrinks when he tucks it behind her ear before she gets the chance to. They walk side by side the four blocks to the bookstore and he catches her up on the fight between his mom and Jenna. Apparently Jenna thinks she’s old enough to not go to day camp anymore and made the point of saying that Puck was able to stay home alone when he was her age. “I have to take her kicking and screaming every morning now,” Puck says, opening the door for her.

   “I know I’m not your mother’s favorite person,” she starts, straightening up a few books as she passes. “But since you’re here nearly everyday anyway, your sister is more than welcome to come too.”

   Mr. Apenta putters out of the office, smiling at both of them. He really only comes by to open and close the shop, trusting Quinn enough to hold down the fort. His wife had a really bad stroke earlier this year and even though they have a live in nurse to take care of her, he prefers to spend as much time with her as possible. “Will you be okay alone, Quinn,” he asks, just like he asks her everyday before he leaves.

   “Of course! Tell Esther I said hello.”

   He smiles at her, adjusting his glasses before he tucks his newspaper underneath his arm. Puck pretends to be looking through the collection of Edgar Allen Poe on one of the display tables and Mr. Apenta looks at him as he stands next to Quinn behind the counter. He busies himself with the cash register and then says under his breath, “He’s been here a lot.” Quinn nods, biting her lip lightly. “You have a very nice smile when he’s here.” He looks up at Quinn’s surprised face, a grin spreading across his wrinkled face. He pats her hand. “Call me if it gets busy.”

   When the door shuts behind him, Puck puts down the book. “What’d he say to you?”

   “Nothing.”

   Puck leans against the counter. “Should I stop coming by so much?”

   She catches herself shaking her head a little too quickly and she picks up a stack of books, handing half to him in an effort to distract him. “You should talk to your mom about bringing Jenna here. I know it’s not very exciting here, but Jenna likes to read.”

   Puck follows her down the aisle, nodding a little. “Kind of cuts into my time with you though.”

   “You do realize I exist outside of this store, right?” She arches a brow and he rolls his eyes, sticking a book in its place on the shelf.

   “People are going to make it more than it is. This town likes to talk.” He’s right and she knows that if Lauren were to catch on to anything, Quinn would be done for (not even Santana could take her down). It still doesn’t stop her face from falling ever so slightly and Puck slings an arm over her shoulders when he catches it. “I think Jenna would like it here.”

   Quinn nods. “Bring her by tomorrow, if it’s okay with your mom.”

--

   Quinn opens her bedroom door, hoping that for once, Santana doesn’t want to go out. It’s not like they talk about shit that matters, so she won’t have to explain that she really just can’t see Puck anymore today (they’re almost friends, she thinks, but then they made out for her entire lunch break. Afterwards they went back to just talking, like real, functional people but god, he looks at her like an angel sometimes). Santana’s laying in the middle of her bed, cocooned in a sheet so that the only part of her Quinn can see is her head. It’s weird because Santana is usually sprawled out in little more than her underwear when Quinn gets home, hand shoved in a bag of potato chips with some horrid reality show on the tv. “San?” The tv is off and Santana isn’t moving at all. Quinn kicks off her flipflops, dropping her purse on top of them, and when she walks to the edge of the bed, her eyes widen. Santana’s cheeks are shiny and the tips of her ears and the tip of her nose are red. Her eyes are bloodshot and it’s like she’s looking right through Quinn.

   Quinn kneels on the bed, hand hesitantly raising to push some of the hair stuck to Santana’s cheek and neck back. “She left,” Santana sighs out, her eyes closing slow enough to look like it physically pains her to do it. “She left without waking me up.” Tears start to pool quickly and Santana tries to laugh. “Wow, I actually thought I wasn’t able to cry anymore.”

   “Shut up,” Quinn says softly, too softly for the type of friends they are, and pushes back Santana’s hair.

   “She’s dating him again.” Quinn wants to say sorry but the words get stuck in her throat as Santana pulls the sheet up a little higher to dry her eyes. “I need to drink,” she croaks. “Like, I need to get shitfaced.”

   Quinn nods. “We can do that.”

--

   She can’t find Santana.

   Before she went to the bathroom, Santana was sitting on the old couch Quinn used to sleep on when she lived with Puck, nursing a bottle of tequila Quinn swiped her from the kitchen. Now, two freshman are making out in her place and she would yell at them because who the fuck let them in if she weren’t so freaked out about Santana.

   She manages to find Puck at the beer pong table and grabs the ping-pong ball before he can toss it. “You see Santana?”

   He only looks irritated for a second before rising up to scan the crowd. “Nah, but I don’t see Britt either.” She nods and if Zizes wasn’t giving her the evil eye from the other end of the table, she’d tell him to meet her at work a little earlier tomorrow. She bumps him out of the way and takes his shot, bouncing the ball off the table and smiling widely when it goes into one of the cups across the table. Beer pong is so much easier sober.

   She walks away before Lauren downs the contents of her red cup, nervously chewing on her bottom lip. She’s 99% sure Santana is with Brittany and her hands fist at her sides. She makes her way through the crowd until she reaches the stairs, her chest constricting uncomfortably. She and Santana stay on the edges of the rooms for a reason because she can’t handle being sandwiched by so many people and she’s really not used to parties this big. If she can get upstairs and calm down in Mrs. Puckerman’s room, she’ll be able to breathe and think clearly.

   A mess of dark brown hair catches her eye and then there Santana is, over in the kitchen, one hand holding a beer bottle, the other resting on Brittany’s hip. “Hey,” she yells pointlessly with what little breath she has left, unable to hear herself over the music. Brittany moves just enough for Quinn to see Santana’s face and Quinn can tell she’s two seconds away from crying. She pushes her way into the kitchen as fast as she can, losing a shoe in the process but not caring because 1) she needs to get to Santana now and 2) she needs to get to a space less crowded now. Her hand wraps around Brittany’s bra strap once she’s in reach, pulling the blonde away from Santana roughly. “Get away from her.” Brittany looks so innocent and confused that Quinn almost feels bad about growling at her.

   “Why are you yelling,” Brittany asks, a frown settling on her face as she reaches to take Santana’s hand.

   Quinn swats her hand, stepping in front of Santana to create even more space between the two. “Because you need to stay away from her.”

   Her features twist and Quinn feels Santana’s head rest against her shoulder blades. “I just wanted to…” Brittany says quietly, looking past Quinn in an effort to look at Santana. “You stole her this summer.”

   “You pushed her away,” Quinn spits, physically shoving Brittany back when she tries to reach for Santana again. “Talk to her when you’re sober. If you actually remember this tomorrow.” She turns around and grabs Santana by the waist, pulling the bottle dangling from her fingers away and slamming it on the counter.

   She leads them out the back door and off the patio, only stopping when Santana sinks to her knees on the grass and throws up.

--

   It’s amazing Santana lasts until they get to Quinn’s bathroom. She’s been dry heaving all the way home and even though Quinn is not looking forward to cleaning up Santana’s throw up, she is thankful that it’s in her bathroom and not on the stairs. “I’m sorry,” Santana cries (that Santana couldn’t hold out on) and Quinn really can’t hide the disgusted look on her face. Santana’s dress and Quinn’s left foot (the one that’s already dirty and kind of hurting because, in her haste, totally forgot to go back for the shoe she lost in the hallway. Not that is matters because, you know, Santana) are covered in throw up and it actually makes Santana sob harder than she was on the walk home.

   “It’s okay,” Quinn says softly, unzipping Santana’s dress. “We’re gonna clean you up and it’s going to be okay.” She pushes the strapless dress down until it hits the floor with a gross slap and then helps Santana around the mess, sitting her down on the toilet.

   “I must look so pathetic.” Quinn debates lying to her but they aren’t that kind of friends (hell, they aren’t those kind of people), so she says nothing and busies herself by digging through her drawers for a hair tie. “And my boobs are out and you don’t even like boobs and you’re just so fucking nice, Quinn.” Santana sniffs and then cries harder. “Oh my god, what was in my stomach? It smells like ass in here.” Quinn gathers Santana’s hair as best she can, twirling it into a bun so, in case Santana does throw up again (though Quinn’s not sure how she possibly could), her hair will be out of the way.

   “You have very nice boobs, Santana,” Quinn breathes out, grabbing a wash cloth from underneath the sink and wetting it. “Do you feel dizzy? Close your eyes for a sec.” Santana shakes her head as Quinn wipes away any eye makeup Santana had left on, washcloth then following the mascara trails down Santana’s cheeks. “I know your stomach probably still feels horrible, but I won’t let you leave this bathroom until you drink a cup of water.” Santana whines, trying to push Quinn away when the blonde runs the towel over her mouth and chin. “I will hold you in place.”

   “God, is this what you would’ve been like if you kept your kid?” Quinn stops moving and god, even drunk Santana knows saying shit like that isn’t cool. It gets eerily quiet then and Santana can hear Quinn take about four deep breaths before she folds the wash cloth in half and does one last wipe down Santana’s face. “Oh my god, why do you put up with me?”

   “For some stupid reason, I kind of like having you around,” Quinn mutters, stepping back from Santana to wipe off her own foot. “You want to brush your teeth first or drink the water?”

   “I have to brush my teeth?” Quinn rolls her eyes when that makes Santana start to tear up again.

   “You are not getting in my bed with your mouth smelling like it does. When you’re drunk, you sleep with your mouth open.”

--

   When she walks back into the bedroom, Santana is curled around the pillow that has since become hers, in nothing but a tank top Quinn’s proud she actually managed to get on, and her underwear. She started crying again, which isn’t surprising considering Quinn was gone for almost a half an hour cleaning the bathroom, and the blonde finds herself slumping against her door as she watches Santana’s body shake with each breath.

   “It shouldn’t be this hard for us.” Quinn pushes herself off her door, going around the bed until she’s kneeling in front of Santana, pushing back some of the dark hair that fell out of the sorry excuse of a bun.

   “It’s just high school. This won’t matter a year from now, San.”

   “God, that’s such complete bullshit, especially coming from you.” Quinn pulls her hand back sharply as Santana takes in a big gulp of air to continue. “Not winning prom queen is going to make you feel even more insecure about yourself for like, ever, even though that stupid piece of plastic doesn’t mean shit. Brittany is my best friend. I’ve known her since we were eight. She’s always going to matter, more so now that she… That I’m… That.” She squeezes her eyes shut, still unable to say it out loud because there is no coming back from that. She’s not a Fabray, even though she has spent the entire summer thus far in their house. She can’t acknowledge something and then pretend it didn’t happen.

   She rolls on to her back, pushing her palms against her eyes until colors flash on her eyelids. “You think that Rachel isn’t going to be permanently fucked up because of what we did to her? You think that Puck will actually be able to think about high school and not remember you or your baby? High school is what fucking makes us, Quinn. And as of right now, we’re all hopeless.”

   She feels the bed dip next to her and then hands are wrapping around her wrists, pulling them away from her face. “We don’t even know how to be friends, Quinn,” Santana cries, blinking rapidly until she can vaguely make out Quinn’s sad features through her tears. “How fucked up is that? We’re seventeen and we don’t know how to function in a friendship, let alone a relationship. But without you, I’m left with what? Getting drunk every Saturday night, fucking Brittany, and then crying because she doesn’t want me. And without me? Fuck, Quinn. I really don’t want to think about that. I don’t understand how you function enough to verbally spar with me everyday with all the crap going on in your head.”

   She closes her eyes again when Quinn lets out a strangled laugh and on top of all her regular shitty feelings, now she feels bad for unloading on Quinn like this. She opens her mouth to apologize for what seems like the millionth time today, but stops when Quinn tugs lightly on her hands. “Sit up. Slowly,” Quinn whispers, voice cracking noticeably. It’s actually a really difficult thing to do because Santana completely forgot how utterly uncoordinated she is at this level of drunk, but Quinn helps, wrapping her arms around Santana when her own arms give out half way.

   She pulls Santana to her chest and this is just getting really weird. The only other person to ever hold her like this is Brittany. Plus, Quinn hasn’t been this sappy since she was pregnant and Santana is 100% certain that’s because all those extra hormones managed to turn Quinn into a normal person. “I know I’m crying and shit, but don’t go all soft on me. I’m only friends with you because then I’m not overwhelmingly bitchy.”

   “So we’re friends then,” Quinn asks lightly, easing back so she can look at Santana with a small crooked grin.

   “Apparently. In our own fucked up way I guess.” Quinn’s smile turns sad then and it really isn’t fucking fair that they’re both so damaged.

   “You think you’ll throw up again?” Santana shakes her head and Quinn tugs at Santana’s messy bun, pulling out the hair tie that wasn’t doing its job. She slides it around her wrist and then pushes Santana’s hair away from her face. She’s still uncharacteristically gentle which is understandable since Santana may as well have had a mental breakdown five minutes ago, and it’s kind of nice because she’s a needy drunk (even if Quinn Fabray is the one with her). So when Quinn kisses the drying trails of tears on her cheeks before placing one more kiss on her lips softly, it’s surprising but not alarming. Quinn has been treating her like a child since she took her away from Brittany and the simple pressure of Quinn’s lips against hers feels platonic. But then Quinn pulls back, eyebrows scrunched together but that left one is still somehow arching, and suddenly Santana’s hyper aware of Quinn looking at her. Not that she hasn’t been all night, but this is different. Curious. Skeptical even.

   She’s not entirely sure who moves first but she really fucking misses Brittany and Quinn doesn’t seem to mind the way Santana’s tongue runs over her bottom lip because her lips part instantly.

   She hasn’t wanted to do this with someone else in a long time, but Quinn’s hands are on her ribs softly, even when her own hands clutch at Quinn’s tank top needily. Thumbs rub against her in soft circles, the tips of Quinn’s nails grazing her breasts with every 360, and Santana whines when one of Quinn’s hands becomes bold enough to slip underneath the fabric bunching at her waist. Quinn’s hands are freezing and she’s pretty sure they’re both shaking even though it’s hot as hell in the room.

   Quinn keeps her hands at Santana’s waist, really not sure if she should continue the path let alone what to do if she does. She grips on to warmed tan skin when Santana pulls back just enough to get some air. Santana’s eyes are still closed but she can feel her eyebrows furrow against her forehead. “What-” Santana cuts herself off when Quinn’s fingers drag up a little bit and when they trace over the curve of her breasts, she locks eyes with Quinn.

   “Show me how to help you,” Quinn whispers and a shiver runs through Santana’s body. Her head is pounding and Santana knows this is not a good idea in the least bit. This is actually something she’ll probably add to her list of fuck ups and this is essentially ruining her safe haven, but Quinn’s hands slide up further, adding just enough experimental pressure that Santana feels her nipples harden beneath Quinn’s palms. She can’t tell if her head is spinning because of the booze and the way she falls back against the pillow or if it’s because Quinn shifts just enough to straddle her thighs. Quinn’s lips trail down her neck, her tongue darting out every so often, and Santana knows she needs more. Her hands cover Quinn’s over her shirt, forcing the blonde to squeeze, and she must have forgotten where her hands were because Quinn pops up with a soft ‘Oh’.

   Her nails are longer than Brittany’s so when Quinn squeezes, there’s a little bit of pain that Santana doesn’t mind in the least bit. “Oh,” Quinn repeats, pulling one hand out from Santana’s shirt, fingers dusting over a hard nipple on the way out. Pale fingers trace a spot near her collarbone and she can’t make out the look on Quinn’s face. “I left a mark.” Santana moves to feel the spot, which is stupid because there’s not really anything to feel, but she’s never let anyone do that to her. It happened once, when she still fucked around with Puck, but she never let Brittany do that.

   God, she really just wants to stop thinking about Brittany.

   “I need more,” she says, her voice catching against her burning throat. Quinn nods, lifting on to her knees and pulling Santana’s underwear far enough so that the brunette can kick them off. It gets kind of awkward then because Quinn’s just staring at her.

   “I… I don’t know what to do,” Quinn admits and Santana laughs loud enough that it makes her head hurt. Quinn’s face scrunches, her cheeks turning red. “Don’t laugh!”

   “I’m sorry, I just…” She trails off, laughing a little more until Quinn gets up. “Wait, no-” Quinn grabs her ankles and bends Santana’s legs, trailing up to her thighs where Quinn pushes them apart. “Okay, wait.” Quinn looks up at her from between her legs and Santana tugs her up until Quinn’s hovering above her again. “You can’t just dive in your first time out.” Even though it’s almost completely dark in the room, Santana can see Quinn blush even harder.

   “Does this work,” Quinn asks, her voice husky in Santana’s ear as one long, pale finger drags up her slit.

   God, does it work.

--

   She doesn’t know why she does it. She doesn’t know why she’s awake.

   But it’s 6 in the morning and she’s sitting in Quinn’s closet because she couldn’t fall back asleep. She shouldn’t be awake this early, should still be passed out on her back, but she laid in bed next to Quinn for what felt like an eternity because when she closed her eyes, nothing happened. Soon enough her mind started thinking about things she isn’t sober enough to process and this was the best distraction she could think of.

   She pulls back the flaps of the cardboard box, and yeah, she figured as much. The hospital blanket is soft against her fingers and she’s surprised that there’s so much underneath it. Ultrasounds, Quinn’s hospital bracelet, tons of pictures. She sees herself in a few of them and she picks up a stack, careful to keep her fingers near the edges.

   The only one Quinn’s pregnant in is the top one.

   Her eyebrows furrow as she looks at each one carefully, just to make sure that her mind isn’t playing tricks on her. Santana knew that Quinn had seen Beth once after she gave birth but these pictures aren’t from one day.

   There’s dates on the backs of all of them.

   June 12th: Quinn’s wearing grey sweatpants and her black tank top is pulled down to expose one breast to nurse Beth, who is clutched tightly in Quinn’s arms. Santana’s never seen Quinn look so miserable but there’s a shadow of a smile on her face.

   June 26th: Beth’s laying in her crib (bassinet? Santana’s not sure what the fuck it is) and there’s a hand on either side of her. Santana can only assume one is Quinn’s and the other is Shelby’s.

   July 4th: Beth’s done up in a red, white, and blue dress, a large white daisy on her headband. She’s sitting up against Quinn’s stomach and her friend has her lips pressed to the blonde curls on top of the baby’s head.

   August 2nd: Quinn’s laying on her back and Beth is on her stomach, her head raised to look at her mother. As opposed to the first picture, she’s not sure she’s ever seen Quinn look so happy. Even though it’s just the profile of the two girls, Santana can tell Quinn’s smile takes up her entire face and there’s this look in her eye that Santana’s never seen before.

   There are so many more pictures in the box and in most of them, Quinn’s being a mother to that little girl she supposedly gave up before she left the hospital.

   There’s a noise behind her and when Santana turns from the picture she’s looking at (Quinn in a rocking chair with Beth in her arms and it’s scary just how much they look alike), Quinn’s leaning in the doorway, her hands pressing against her stomach.