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02 September 2013 @ 04:15 am

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.
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.
19 January 2013 @ 12:26 pm
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.”


    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.
10 January 2013 @ 06:19 pm
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.


    “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.”
Tags: , ,
07 January 2013 @ 10:01 pm
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.”
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23 November 2012 @ 10:03 pm
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.
04 October 2012 @ 12:15 pm
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.
13 September 2012 @ 10:36 am
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.
Tags: ,
05 September 2012 @ 07:39 pm
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.”


    “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.
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.
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