#you’re a cute short ginger dude with glasses and you put your fingers in my mouth what am i supposed to doooooooo

[fingertipsmp3]

Genuinely can’t figure out if I have a dentist kink or if I’ve just had a crush on like every dentist I’ve had in my life

[ren1327]

Pretty Boy Ch. 5

Kenji returned the next morning and noticed Ben wasn’t there.

“Hey, is he sick?” Kenji asked, worried.

“No! No.” Sammy said. “You’re early is all. He and Yaz have been doing…yoga.”

Kenji nearly salivated at the idea of Ben bending this way and that.

“Yoga?”

“Yup.” She lied and thought back to Monday morning.

 Five days ago…

 “What?” Yaz asked.

Ben was blushing fiercely.

“Please teach me to dance.” He said. “By Saturday night?”

Yaz’s hair was done in a high ponytail and she had just finished stretching, practicing ballet to help with her flexibility.

Sammy sat on a cushioned bench in the observation area of the dance studio. “Please, Honey? He’s got a hot mess of a date at Blue tonight.”

“You don’t sound happy, Love.” Yaz said.

“I’m not. But Ben really wants to impress him.”

Yaz looked at her girlfriend’s puppy eyes and looked back at Ben.

“Fine. There’s extra yoga pants and a tank top in my bag that should fit you. Get changed and we can start some basic moves.”

Ben ran off with the black clothing to the changing rooms as Yaz sat next to Sammy.

“Kenji Kon?” She asked.

“Yup.” Sammy said. “They disappeared the other night and I’m…worried.”

“You know it wasn’t anything special. With me.” She said.

“He just dumped you!” She yelled.

“It was mutual, actually.” Yaz said. “He didn’t feel that spark and I learned I prefer cute women.”

Sammy grumbled a bit and Yaz cupped her chin, pulling her into a kiss.

“Besides. Kenji never asks for a date to meet his friends.”

“Omigosh, you’re right!” Sammy said excitedly. “Could this mean…?”

“Maybe. If it is…well, you better say bye to cute innocent Ben.” She said.

“What does that mean?” Sammy asked.

“Oh, Sam~” She cooed. “Don’t tell me you haven’t ever wanted to push it for a crush.”

“I did.” Sammy said and smiled shyly, Ben coming out of the changing rooms with a determined look on his face.

“Okay Ben.” Yaz said. “I’m going to teach you how to seduce your date in one song.”

“Wh-what does that entail?” He asked.

“Confidence, little bean.” She said and started a song. “You’re going to learn to dance to this song. I’ll make sure it’s played, but you. You need to grab Kon by the throat with your pretty face and hypnotize him with your body.”

“I don’t think I have that kind of confidence.” Ben said with a gulp.

Yaz patted his shoulder. “Yes you do. We just gotta dig deep and coax it out to play.”

Ben smiled at her as Sammy got up and joined them.

“Let’s do this all together.” She said with a bright smile. “Then we can work on improve if we need to.”

Yaz smiled at her girlfriend. “Okay you two. Let’s have some fun.”

Ben nodded and put his hands on his hips.

 Ben came in with a smile and waved at Kenji. Kenji handed him the thermos.

“Dad loved it.”

“And you?” Ben asked, big eyes gazing up at Kenji.

“I love yo—it! I love it!”

Ben’s eyes became impossibly wide and he turned, running into the counter and squeaking out a sorry as he put the thermos in the sink.

“I’m glad! I glad your Dad loves it. That you love…it…” He said, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

Kenji moved closer and took his hand from over the counter, looking into his eyes.

“I do.”

Ben smiled and bit his lip. “I have a carob banana shake you can try before you go work out.”

“Let me at it.” Kenji said as Sammy smirked and texted Yaz about how impossible these two were around each other.

 *                                      

 “Okay. I’m good right?” Kenji asked Dave as he exited his car. “I look good?”

He was in a tight thin blue sweater with black slacks and a black leather jacket with his most expensive boots. Dave meanwhile was in brown board shorts and a crisp flower patterned short sleeve button up with high tops.

He gave Kenji a thumbs up. “You look great, Kenji! Don’t worry about a thing.”

“I really like Ben, Dave. I gotta just…be perfect.” He said.

Dave made a shocked face. “Wait. We got a second date?”

“Yeah?” Kenji said. He stopped.

“Yeah. We do.”

“You must really like this kid.” Dave said.

“I do, Dave. I really, really do.” The boy sighed as he and Dave were let in the front door of the club.

The silver and blue themed club was two stories high with two massive bars on each side, one upstairs and one down. Upstairs were private rooms for groups and booths under sheer blue canopies that wait staff tended. While downstairs just had first come first serve booths. A staircase led down to an area filled with sofas and water cooler watched carefully right next to the dance floor for tired or overheated dancers.

Dave gasped as he saw a familiar man dressed in black slacks and a midnight blue button up.

“Excuse me, kiddo, I’ll be watching from the bar.” Dave said.

“Okay, but—” He noticed Dave was talking to a black man at the bar.

“That’s new.” He said with a smile.

Brooklynn, Darius and Yaz were sitting in one of the sectioned off booths upstairs. Darius was talking to a waiter, most likely ordering drinks.

Darius was in yellow and black patched pants, the latest Jordan’s and a black t shirt with a yellow bandana around his neck. Brooklynn was in a one shoulder red lace dress that went down to her waist and flared out around her knees with some matching red peep toe pumps. Yaz was in a tight purple crop top and a longer black pencil skirt with white lace up high heeled sandals.

“Hey, dude.” Darius called. “We all got here before you.”

“We all?” He asked and turned to see two people walking to them.

First was Sammy in pink cowgirl boots and a white ruffled dress with a tea skirt. But then…

Ben walked next to her, wearing tight faded skinny jeans with rips showing creamy thighs and knees. He was in a short sleeve black and grey button up with the top two buttons undone and black high tops.

He stared at Kenji and Kenji stared back.

He walked up to him. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Ben said with a smile.

Kenji slid into the booth, Ben coming in beside him. A waiter brought them a tray of drinks.

“Rose lemon spritzer?” She asked.

Ben took it from her and smiled. “Thank you.”

She looked him up and down, but Kenji gave her a look and she quietly served the rest of the drinks and left.

“Calm down, Ben’s gonna be 21 in like, three weeks.” Yaz said.

“Really?” Kenji asked.

“Yeah.” He said. “Plus. This is non-alcoholic.”

Kenji wrinkled his nose.

“It’s just ginger ale, pomegranate juice and rosewater with some rose petals on top.” He said and held it out to Kenji.

The older male took a sip. “That’s…really good, actually.”

Ben took it back and, while keeping eye contact with Kenji, turned the glass around and sipped directly from where Kenji had. Ben made a show of licking his lips and hummed.

“Tasty.” He said as Kenji’s face lit up.

Yaz gave a thumbs up as Sammy handed Kenji his Jack and Coke.

“You look thirsty.” She said, trying hard to hold in a giggle.

Kenji huffed and sipped his own drink as Brooklynn and Darius went to dance.

Yaz whispered to a passing waitress and she nodded.

The music seemed to get louder and Kenji held out a hand. “Dance with me?”

“Sure!” Ben said and Kenji shrugged off his jacket, leaving it in the booth.

Kenji led Ben down to the crowded dancefloor as a song he knew Yaz had to had recommended came on.

He saw her and Sammy find their own spot to dance and he smiled down at Ben.

Ben swayed to the intro of the song and batted those long eye lashes at him, cheeks red. Kenji could tell he was a little embarrassed but was hypnotized by the way his hips were swaying side to side.

Kenji placed his hands on those hips and Ben stepped back with a coy smile, lifting an arm and spinning as the beat dropped.

Kenji’s jaw hug as he watched Ben sway and turned away from him, bending his knees and rolling his shoulders, making Kenji’s mouth dry up when Ben smiled at him from over his shoulder. His hips popped as he lifted his hands again, bending the elbows and showing off his frame.

He turned and kept the momentum as he placed his wrists on Kenji’s shoulder, eyes staring into his as he popped his shoulders and despite being so close, still danced out of his reach. He looked Kenji up and down, biting his lip and pressing his chest to Kenji’s solar plexus.

Ben cocked his head and rubbed his cheek against Kenji’s, letting out a soft sigh in his ear before he did a slow turn away from him and seemed to pose, neck extended and eyes heavily lidded.

He rolled a shoulder crooked his finger in his direction and Kenji stepped forward as Ben leaned back into him.

Then he started swaying again and Kenji felt like he was going to die.

He wrapped his arms around Ben’s waist and the smaller man rolled his body into him, slotting their shapes together perfectly. Ben’s arms came up and hooked around his neck. The music slowed for a verse and when Kenji leaned down, Ben brushed his lips over his teasingly. But when Kenji moved forward, Ben moved away again.

He took Kenji’s hands and put them on his hips. He placed his hands on Kenji’s shoulders, swaying his hips from side to side. He smiled and squeezed Kenji’s shoulders, mouthing ‘how you like that?’ to the song.

Kenji could feel his heart thudding in his ears as he yanked Ben forward into a kiss, color exploding behind his eyes as Ben moaned and wrapped his arms around his neck. He pulled Ben closer, as if trying to absorb him.

Ben moaned and pulled away with a gasp, giving Kenji a heated look. The lights and music making him look like some kind of ethereal beauty.

Kenji grabbed his hand and led him to one of the unoccupied rooms, slotting his credit card in the payment kiosk and not caring how much it was. He was surprised when Ben threw the door open and yanked him in, slamming and locking the door behind them

The green eyed boy moaned again when Kenji pinned him against the wall, lifting him up. Long legs wrapped around his waist as he started undoing the buttons to Ben’s shirt.

“Kenji…” Ben moaned softly when he started kissing his neck, sucking a mark right over his collarbone.

“Ben.” He moaned back as Ben lifted his hips and bit his bottom lip.

He could hear the loud music still pumping and he wondered if he was getting drunk off Ben’s voice.

Ben wrapped an arm around his neck and with his other hand, grabbed the back of his head, fisting his hair to keep him in place.

He tasted rosewater and tea and Ben, Ben, Ben!

He panted as Ben yanked his shirt up and off his body, kissing him again.

His heart was racing.

His blood was singing.

He felt like he was made of starlight and he was going to burn through the damn world.

This.

This was it.

Ben was his one.

[infinitum-imaginaerum]

Ooh! How about 29: You look pretty hot in plaid with our boy Jae because dang dude he does. And I feel like he doesn't get hyped up enough for being the extremely handsome man he is

29: “You look pretty hot in plaid.” | Jae

LOL DRABBLE WHO? I could make this into a series. It’s kind of choppy because I tried to make a 12k fic fit into a drabble and yeah I had this idea in the shower the other day and I’m wrecked. Also kind of a song fic. Also based loosely on this. Anyway, be still my rampant heart. 

It’s Christmas Time!

Tuesday night was open mic night at the cozy little tavern you bartended at. It wasn’t typically a super busy night, just a few people who came for that type of stuff, a chance for smaller musicians to sell or giveaway some tapes and for patrons to expand their music horizons. Most artists who came in just did covers and you only ever saw most of them once—only a select few performed weekly.

There was one in particular you’d grown a liking to. His name was Jae and he was one of the regulars who came in every week. You’d talked to him quite a few times when he’d come sit at the bar after his slot was up to have a drink or two before heading home—he was becoming quite popular among the ladies who also frequented the place, and therefore bringing in more girls, bringing in more dudes, bringing in more money.

After pouring a few drinks for the patrons at the bar, the hairs on the back of your neck stood up when his smooth voice seeped from the speakers. He introduced himself, the way he always did, fiddled with the mic stand a bit and the stool he placed himself on as he got settled. A few of the regulars clapped, welcoming him, some of them artists who had performed prior—customarily they stuck around to support their fellow musicians. There was a familiar plucking of strings, testing the tuning, and then he cleared his throat. It was the same routine all the time.

He opened with an instrumental, playing around a bit before getting into vocals, and every time he began singing, you melted, but it got you in a groove. You became more efficient, more anticipatory of customer’s needs; like he got your blood really going.

“You should just ask him out,” your coworker commented,picking up a couple of drinks from the well, promptly stabbing her tickets ass he looked at you basically jamming out. It shocked you back into reality as you looked at her, and then looked past her to look at Jae—which was a huge mistake, because my god was he looking finer than the small print on a contract. His dark hair was messily pushed away from his face, his signature thick black glasses hanging on the bridge of his nose as he swung his head with the tunes, that cute thing all musicians did when they were really in tune with themselves.

“Don’t even start with me,” you laughed as his lips came back to the mic, his perfect vocals gracing your ears once more. The way he looked when he sang lit a fire in your stomach; he peered around the place and you swore a smile broke on his lips when his eyes met yours, looking past your server to watch him. It only seemed to get him more into the music because he owned the stage in that solitary spotlight that made the atmosphere entirely his to command.He played more passionately, sang with more gusto, and you tried your best to get back to your customers, especially the ones who were on their way out—typical for this time of night.

Jae always requested a thirty minute slot and never disappointed. He began his last song, a cover of Shape of You.

At this point your bar was empty; everyone had migrated to tables which was fine with you. You placed an elbow down on the freshly cleaned bar-top as you listened. Something about his voice put the right tinge on the song that made you love it, even if you hadn’t before. When he got to the chorus, his gaze met yours again, only this time, it didn’t leave.

“I’m in love with the shape of you, we push and pull like a magnet do, though my heart is falling too—”

Your heart was pounding in your throat, unable to blink or move a single muscle.

“Last night you were in my room, now my bed sheets smell like you—”

“That’s so cute, he’s singing to you!”

And the moment was over.

Your gaze slowly turned to your coworker and you were sure your face was as red as Jae’s plaid shirt, opened to a white undershirt that he wore oh so well. You wanted to scold her, you wanted to be mad at her for ruining the moment, but the smirk you caught on Jae’s face when he realized your attention was taken away from him was a distraction in and of itself. Your mind was going a thousand miles an hour as you snatched a glass off the bar to clean, almost throwing it on the floor in the process as you turned away from her and the stage.

The clapping and cheering was enough to drown your thoughts out, thankfully, because you almost broke that same glass in the sink and undoubtedly would have cut yourself. The screech of the stole signified that he was up and leaving the stage, even if the sound itself was almost silent. Along with the screeching of the stool, you could hear the sound of the clamps on the hard case of his guitar as he settled it back into the soft velvet.

Before you knew it, that sweet voice was in your ear again.

“Hey,” he started smoothly as he took a seat directly behind you.

“Hey, you,” you replied, turning to face him and pull a short glass from the cooler to place on the bar-top and filled it with ice. You popped open a can of ginger beer, grabbing the dark rum with your other hand and counted appropriately, finishing the glass with a splash of lime, and a wheel for garnish. After placing it on a beverage napkin, you slid it towards him,admiring the sweet grin on his face as he braced on the bar with his crossed arms.

There was a slightly awkward silence, but it may have only been awkward for you after the completely uncalled for comment from your coworker. He looked down at his drink, pulling off the lime wheel and swirled it around for a moment.

“I tried something a little different… what did you think?”

It wasn’t abnormal for him to ask for your opinion on his performances, but he’d never been so engaging with you during them like he was tonight. Not only that, but the thought swirling in your head that it was charged specifically towards you made it a little hard to think, so like word vomit, your response came out.

“You look pretty hot in plaid.”

He couldn’t help but laugh, especially when you realized what you had said. Funny thing was, you didn’t turn red, you didn’t even turn away, in fact there was no indication of your embarrassment at all, especially when he replied.

“I kind of thought that you thought something like that,especially when every time I was looking for you, you were looking right back at me.” He paused for a moment and took a sip of his drink. “Do you mind if I stay until you get off? I feel like we need to have a serious talk.”

The inflection he put on serious talk had your stomach all in knots, but you agreed and attempted to continue calmly until then. He made it pretty simple. He was extremely easy to talk to, funny, engaging, often asked about you and it was just making this whole thing harder. When he got up to use the restroom, it was time to spill the dirt to your coworker.

You should have known she was going to cause a scene—the place was empty, she was cut, but was there to listen to you tell her about Jae,squealing and shaking you exactly the way you guessed she would have and you almost regretted telling her anything, especially when she reminded you that she was right about him singing to you.

Patiently, Jae waited as promised while you closed. Your coworker was long gone as you put caps on all the bottles, listening to Jae quietly play guitar as you worked, enough to fill the silence but not loud enough to distract you as you cleaned and counted, mopped and put up all the chairs. He propped his guitar up against the bar and waited for you to return to him. The look in your eyes said you were ready to leave, but when you grabbed you things with your keys ready to lock the door and moved to shift past him, he grabbed your wrist.

Shock was the first look on your face as you looked down to your wrist in his burning hand. Slowly, your eyes shifted to his as he spoke, “Let’stalk here.” You nodded, accepting his request as he moved to the side for you to sit in the stool you hadn’t put on the bar yet because he was previously occupying it.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and for the first time you could tell he was nervous. He was looking down at his feet, kicking them around a bit as he took a couple of deep breaths—multiple times he opened his mouth to speak, but decided that wasn’t what he wanted to say and closed it once more after letting out a sharp exhale.

“This seems so easy in song,” he finally said after a few moments of silence and met your gaze with his.

“Please don’t say what I think you’re trying to say,” you replied, just as nervous as him as you gripped the hem of your shirt, almost tearing at it.

His brow drew together. “Why not?” he asked as you shifted in the stool. He took a half step closer to you, genuine concern on his face now. Though he was unsure that you knew what he wanted to say, the words out of your mouth made the knot in his throat preventing him from telling you almost double in size.

“I’m nervous!” you squeaked back.

“I’m nervous, too,” he chuckled, trying to lighten the mood,another half a step closer.

You stared at his throat, at his chin and lips, just trying to avoid his gaze as your brain started going again. Your heart was pounding loud enough for you to hear it, your hands still tight on the hem of your shirt until you could vaguely feel his warm fingers tentatively touch the back of your hand.

“Why are you nervous?” you asked him as his hand covered yours, another half a step closer.

Just barely and out of your peripheral, you could see him shake his head, those lips parting to attempt to say more words to you. “B-because.I… I feel so many things and I just… I don’t want to screw it up,” he stuttered, eyes scanning your face over and over, praying you would look him in the eyes because he begged to see those gorgeous glittering orbs of yours.

“Why are you nervous?” he asked you in return, almost as a whisper, another half a step closer, tentatively tracing the curve of your jaw with the back of his knuckles on the hand that had previously graced yours.

“Because you make my heart pound in my throat,” you replied confidently, a spark of audaciousness flowing through you from his tough. Your eyes met his, finally. He was so close that once you tilted your head up to look at him, your nose almost brushed against his.

“Then why are you so afraid of what I want to say?” he whispered.

Your hand shot out to catch him, to press firmly against his chest. You could feel the outside of his legs on the inside of yours as he stood between them. His one hand was still caressing your jaw; the other snaking passed the hand pressed against his chest to settle on your hip. His breath was warm on your face, his eyes glancing between your eyes and the sweet lips he was dying to kiss.

“Maybe you’re just better off saying without words; that way you can’t possibly mess it up,” you replied meekly.

He flashed his dazzling smile at you. “You’re right,” he muttered before your hand previously flat had curled up to take a handful of his white undershirt, inadvertently pulling him closer as his lips softly covered yours. You had always laughed at the cliché reactions to the perfect kiss that everyone talked about—the fireworks behind your eyes, the breathlessness, the lightheadedness, the need for him to be that much closer to you. If not fireworks, there were definitely stars behind your closed eyelids, even as he pulled away, letting you catch the breath you hadn’t realized you lost.

Your eyes stayed closed, waiting for him to depart, but he never did. His forehead remained pressed against yours, gauging your reaction,especially as his nose caressed yours, shuffling his feet even closer which only had him curling over to meet you further. His hand retreated from cupping your jaw to cover your hand tangled in his shirt to untangle it at settle it gently on his shoulder, just to return that hand to your cheek, stroking his thumb over it while his palm cupped the side of your neck, tilting your head back while his tilted to the side to steal another breathtaking kiss.

The small sigh you gifted him along with the shift in your chair was stellar enough a reaction for him. There wasn’t a need to gauge anymore as he pulled away far enough to look into your eyes which fluttered open for him soon enough. Both of his hands were tucking your hair away from your face, a dazzling smile across his lips as he looked at you utterly star-struck.

“Jae…” you trailed off, unsure of what to say, but attempted to fill the silence nonetheless.

He whispered your name just the same, stroking your cheeks almost obsessively with his thumbs, as if he’d just gotten new shiny toy he didn’t want to put down.

“Girl, you know I want your love, you love was handmade for somebody like me—”

Despite adoring the way his voice sent a shiver down your spine, you silenced him with another eager kiss, pushing yourself off of the bar stool and onto your toes in front of him. His hands steadied your hips,breaking the kiss with soft laughter, displaying the comfort level as if the two of you had been together for ages.

“Come on, be my baby, come on.”

“Jaehyung,” you laughed.

“Yes, baby?” he asked.

“Boy, let’s not talk too much, grab on my waist and put that body on me,” you sang back to him.

Your squealing laughter filled the emptiness of the bar as Jae buried his face in your neck, picking you up to spin you around while you begged him to put you down, hardly able to get coherent words out between your laughter and calling his name. His searing kiss under your jaw as he set you back on your feet brought you back to earth.

“I would never have gotten the courage if it wasn’t for today, you know,” he explained to you, swaying back and forth with you tightly in the confines of his arms, the comfort of yours finally wrapped around his neck permanently sculpted the smile on his face. “Between catching your gaze so often and your word-vomit earlier; I would have waited forever to see if you were going to make a move.”

“My coworker insisted you were all about me, but I kept laughing it off as wishful thinking,” you replied and reached up to brush his hair away from his eyes.

“And to think, you didn’t want me to tell you,” he teased,even just his chaste kisses left you breathless for a second as he placed one against your lips just before you were about to speak.

A few months had passed. You gave up your Tuesday shifts so that you could be there to really watch him perform. You sat at a small round table near the front closer to the stage and now you were sure, with every song he sang, he was singing to you. Now he opted to perform earlier, instead of close to last, so that he would have maximum time to spend with you at that table and enjoy the other musicians.

Before all the regulars knew the dirt, he broke a lot of girl’s hearts the first night you didn’t work; he got off stage, packed up his guitar and waltzed up to your table. He planted a hand on the table to his left and gently took your chin with his right—you still weren’t able to anticipate him properly and grabbed a handful of his shirt as he confidently leaned in fora kiss, slanting his mouth over yours to elicit all types of ooooh’s and hoots and hollers and claps and chants from the surrounding patrons, most of which had some idea that something would transpire between the two of you.

His kiss still sent sparks flying through your body and you were still sad when he’d pull away before you were ready, but lit up your heart with that gorgeous smile.

“You look pretty hot in plaid,” he told you, admiring the shirt you were wearing which happened to be his from that day the two of you finally confessed to each other.

“Funny, I could say the same about you,” you replied, noting the blue plaid shirt he opted to wear today.

He grinned at you and bit his lip, stealing another kiss for some more exaggerated hollering among the crowd.

[lets-talk-appella]

Don’t Touch Her

Bechloe Week Day Three - Drunk Texting

Summary: Getting drunk texts from Chloe is nothing new for Beca. However, when the messages become a little alarming, Beca races into action. Potentially triggering interaction in a bar, though very brief.

Word Count: 3.5 k

AO3 and FFN

Beca reclined on the fold out bed she shared with her best friend, casually scrolling through Instagram on her phone. She ‘liked’ a picture of Aubrey and Stacie together, as well as one of Emily celebrating the end of her semester. Her thumb hesitated over a picture of Jesse with his new dog, unsure whether they’d become good enough friends since their mutual breakup for her to ‘like’ his photos. After debating for a moment, she decided that the dog was cute and hit the button.

After another few minutes of mindless scrolling, Beca set down her phone with a sigh, locking the screen. She looked dejectedly around the small apartment she shared with Chloe and Amy, hoping something interesting would catch her eye. Nothing did.

She glanced hopefully to her right, wondering what Amy was doing, only to see the Australian sprawled out on her back, clearly fast asleep, her mouth hanging open. Beca sighed again. She liked a quiet night in every now and then, sure, but this was a little ridiculous.

It was kind of embarrassing, actually, how bored she was without Chloe there. She wasn’t sure when it had happened, but somehow, she’d started to rely on having Chloe around in the evenings to hang out with. The apartment without her in it seemed smaller and dingier.

Beca missed her best friend more than she cared to admit. Chloe not being with her felt wrong.

She knew she was being dramatic. Chloe had only gone out bar hopping for the evening, so it wasn’t like she was on some major trip across the country. Beca was only put out about it because it had been a spontaneous decision of Chloe’s to “re-live her crazy glory days” and Beca hadn’t been able to make plans of her own.

Chloe had invited her along, of course, but Beca had declined. It was a Thursday night, and she had to work the next day. Besides, she found bars less appealing after her last experience, which had involved far too much tequila and far too little time to make it to a toilet before she’d hurled her guts out on the middle of a dance floor. So, Chloe had gone out alone.

Beca was broken from the unpleasant, tequila-filled memory by a short buzz from her phone. She snatched it up immediately, smiling when she saw a text notification from Chloe. She unlocked her phone, already guessing what the message would be.

Heeyyy Becs another move, at the plus now love you lots be good

Beca rolled her eyes affectionately. Chloe always told her when she was changing bars so that Beca knew where she was. She’d already gotten three similar texts and figured this would be the last one; The Plus was Chloe’s favorite bar and was only three blocks away from their apartment, so she’d probably head home after she finished there. Beca pushed on the text and typed her response.

Thanks dude, be safe.

Chloe replied a few seconds later, always quick to respond to Beca.

youre so nice beca alwyas you care abt me

Beca stifled her laugh. She could tell that Chloe, typically good with grammar and spelling, must be more than slightly tipsy. She typed out a reply.

Of course I care. Almost done?

Chloe got back to her nearly instantly.

Almost i'm pretty gone had 3 shots and 2 mojito already

Beca frowned slightly. Chloe could handle her alcohol, but that was kind of a lot even for her. Bars tend to make their mixed drinks strong, so the mojitos were especially concerning. Still frowning, Beca sent a quick response.

Maybe it’s time to slow down?

She had to wait a little longer for Chloe’s reply, the unusual delay making her wonder if she’d offended Chloe with her suggestion. But then, her phone buzzed in her hand once, twice, three times, until she had a string of messages from Chloe.

bec theres a really nice guy

hes bying shots for evryn

no just me

this guy is buying drinks

hes so nice

I like shots

Beca read through the messages quickly, her worry increasing with each one. Chloe was entering scary drunk territory, and some random guy was encouraging it. Beca closed her eyes, berating herself for not going out with Chloe. It had been dumb to let her go to drink alone. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Chloe; she didn’t trust this mystery guy.

She opened her eyes, needing to respond to Chloe to gauge how drunk she really was. Though, even as Beca frantically typed into her phone, she already had a good idea of where Chloe was at based on the look of her messages.

Chlo, drink some water for a bit. What’s this guy’s name?

She hit send, only to receive even more messages from her best friend.

he ask about you

well asked why im alone

told him my beca is at home

he got me another drink

Beca jumped off the bed, her heart racing. She didn’t like the questions this guy was apparently asking. It had gone on long enough. Chloe needed to come home.

She paced around the apartment, half wanting to wake Amy to ask what she thought. With slightly shaking fingers, she typed out a message to Chloe.

Come home, please. I’m worried.

As soon as it sent, another text from Chloe appeared. Beca groaned; she knew Chloe hadn’t read her last message. She devoured the texts from Chloe as they appeared.

im tired

feel fnny

he keeeps tuching me

he want my phone

Beca’s blood turned to ice. The air rushed from her lungs as if she’d been punched in the stomach. No. What had that guy done? Put something in one of Chloe’s many drinks?

Even before her brain had time to fully register the wave of panic rising in her throat, Beca spun to the front door, nearly tripping over a pair of Chloe’s boots on the floor as she grabbed a jacket and her keys. She shoved her feet into her shoes, only bothering to tie them because she knew she’d be running. She flew out of the apartment, the door slamming behind her (sorry Amy), pounding her thumb onto the call icon next to Chloe’s name in her phone. She launched herself down the stairs of their apartment building at breakneck speed as the ringtone sounded in her hear.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” she chanted as she ran. The phone rang and rang until her call was sent abruptly to voicemail. She slipped at the sound of Chloe’s recorded request to leave a message and tumbled down the last few stairs, sliding to land painfully on her butt. With barely a thought to her own injuries, she forced herself up impatiently and pressed the call icon again, plowing through the exit door to arrive on the street.

She turned in the direction of The Plus bar and started running, drawing more than a few stares from passersby. She knew she might be overreacting, but Chloe was her best friend. Chloe was the most important person in her life.

Chloe wasn’t answering her phone. Beca swore and tried again, not intending to give up anytime soon. She was panting, feet pounding against the pavement, choking on her breath and on her fear. Absurdly, she felt like she was in one of the many action movies Jesse had talked her into watching while they’d dated.

Chloe still didn’t answer her phone.

But it didn’t matter because Beca could see the sign for the bar. She stopped trying to call Chloe and instead snatched her ID from its pocket on her phone case, sprinting up to the bouncer at the door and thrusting the ID into his hands.

“Woah, there, in a hurry?” the bouncer asked, shining his light on her ID before reaching to hand it back.

“What does it look like?” she snapped, ripping her card from his outstretched hand and shoving past him into the bar.

It was fairly crowded inside for a Thursday, sweaty bodies writhing around, most holding some sort of liquid in the bar’s plastic cups. Despite the number of people present, Beca’s eyes immediately zeroed in on the red hair she spotted at the bar, knowing in her heart that it was Chloe. She had always been able to find Chloe in a crowd, as if some invisible thread existed between them, pulling them together.

She made a beeline toward Chloe, eyes on the guy standing much too close to her. Beca shoved through the crowd, most of them parting automatically when they saw her to seek cover from her rage. When she got closer, she could see the large number of empty glasses in front of Chloe. She also saw the guy’s hand on Chloe’s back. He had her phone, too, moved away from her and set facedown next to his own drink farther along the bar.

Beca’s stomach tightened, her blood boiling. That’s why Chloe hadn’t been answering: she couldn’t.

She was on them in an instant. She grabbed his wrist and flung his hand away from Chloe, barreling in between them and forcing him back several steps. She only took a moment to glance at Chloe, all wide and confused blue eyes, before she turned on the guy who’d been way too close to her best friend.

“Get away from her!” Beca yelled right in his stupid, surprised face. He was older than them, and bigger, with dark hair and small eyes.

“Bec?” Chloe’s voice, slurred and confused, almost made her turn around, but she knew she couldn’t let the man out of her sight.

He sneered at her, leaning in to say in a nasally voice, “Go fuck yourself, we were having a good time.”

Beca snarled at him and snatched Chloe’s phone from the bar, shoving it into a pocket, her own phone in her other. “That involved making sure she couldn’t call for help?”

She felt familiar hands rest on her back, clutching at her jacket. Beca reached back her right hand without taking her eyes from the man, calming slightly when Chloe’s fingers laced with hers.

“Listen, bitch,” the man said, “Ginger here is going to come with me, and you’re going to leave and forget you saw anything.”

Beca’s mouth filled with bile and her fingers tightened on Chloe’s. He wouldn’t take her. Not over her dead body.

“Yeah, that’s not happening,” she spit back. “She and I leave together.” She raised her voice so that Chloe could hear her and said, “Chloe, we’re going home.”

Chloe clung tighter to her, mumbling inaudibly and Beca felt her stand unsteadily from her stool.

“I don’t think so,” the man growled. He reached around Beca, trying to grab Chloe again.

Beca saw red.

“Don’t touch her!” she shouted, swinging her left hand up in a fist. Her punch connected solidly with the side of his face, jerking his head back and making him stumble away from them. Chloe screamed, drawing the attention of everyone around them.

Chaos erupted in Beca’s mind, her only goal to get Chloe out safely. Chloe’s hand was still in hers so she whipped around to support Chloe, leading her rapidly to the exit. She heard the man calling obscenities after them, but he didn’t follow. Beca risked a glance over her shoulder to see that several other guys, including the bartender, were holding him back, preventing him from getting to them.

Beca fought a path through the crowd, never losing contact with Chloe. She stumbled once, her foot having caught on someone else’s, but Chloe supported her surprisingly well and they made their way to the exit. For a moment, she thought she was going to have to punch the bouncer, too, to get through; he stood, blocking her way, only to move aside at the last second to let them pass. Once they made it out of the bar, he moved back in place and she understood – he was making sure they weren’t followed.

She fully intended to race home but was dragged to a halt after only a couple of feet by the hand holding hers. Shocked, she turned, wondering if Chloe had forgotten something. But Chloe released her hand to teeter alarmingly to the side of the building, leaned forward, and was sick against it. Beca was there instantly, holding her hair back, grimly relieved. If that creep had put anything in her drink, it was gone now.

She waited for Chloe to finish, finally registering the throbbing in her left hand. She internally berated herself for not punching the man somewhere softer, but it had still done the trick. It had gotten him away from her best friend. Fury rose in Beca, and she was tempted to run back inside the bar to hit the man again, as many times as possible.

However, reason kicked in and she forgot her rage when Chloe, wiping her mouth, straightened up to look at her. She was shaking, whether from adrenaline or from being sick Beca wasn’t sure. Without hesitation, Beca slipped off her jacket and put it around Chloe, trying to comfort her.

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s over,” Beca soothed, her hands sliding up and down Chloe’s arms bracingly.

Chloe blinked at her, attempting to clear some of the alcohol haze from her mind. “You found me,” she said, looking at Beca like she’d put the stars in the sky.

“Of course,” Beca replied softly. “I’ll always find you. I’ll always be there.”

Chloe nodded jerkily. Beca hated how pale she looked, how shaky she still felt under her touch. Her anger spiked again, but this time at herself for not accompanying Chloe and for not checking on her immediately after leaving the bar.

“Thanks, Bec,” mumbled Chloe. “’M really drunk.”

Beca couldn’t stop the small, crooked smile that formed at Chloe’s words. “I know,” she said. “That’s okay. I’m here. Let’s go home?”

Chloe nodded and Beca turned away, only to feel Chloe’s hand land on her arm and pull. She knew what Chloe wanted and opened her arms, enveloping Chloe in a hug. She smelled like alcohol and sweat, but Beca squeezed her tight, thankful that the bar was in running distance from their apartment. She didn’t know what she’d have done if she’d lost Chloe.

The hug went on for a while, until Chloe was the first to move away. She looked better, more herself, and Beca knew it was time to go. The man had to come out of the bar eventually.

“Come on,” she said gently, pulling on Chloe’s hand and lacing their fingers together. Chloe smiled down happily at their entwined hands, making butterflies burst in Beca’s stomach. They walked like that all the way to their apartment, Beca making sure Chloe didn’t trip over anything on the way.

Chloe handled the stairs surprisingly well, only stumbling once. Beca’s tailbone ached at the memory of her own tumble, but she didn’t care. All that mattered was that she’d gotten to Chloe.

The door flew open the instant they reached the landing, Amy’s wide eyes greeting them.

“Thank God!” she exclaimed. “I was worried! And I’ve already opened the door like that for two other people, because I thought they were you coming up the steps. Aca-awkward.”

Chloe laughed weakly and Beca’s heart relaxed at the sound. She was going to be okay.  

Moving into the apartment and locking the door behind them, Beca explained, “Yeah, there was a little emergency. We’re okay now, though.”

“Mmm, Beca punched a creeper,” Chloe slurred, still far from sober but looking better with every passing minute.

Amy raised her eyebrows and nodded once. “Good on you, I hate a dumb creeper.”

“They’re the worst!” Chloe exclaimed, throwing her hands into the air in exasperation. “But Beca saved me. I love Beca,” she sighed, making Beca’s stomach somersault.

Amy looked at Beca delightedly and opened her mouth, clearly about to make a comment.

“Don’t,” Beca cut her off. “She’s drunk.”

“Oookayyy,” Amy drew out, wiggling her eyebrows excessively.

Beca rolled her eyes and nudged Chloe to the kitchen. “Water, bathroom, then to bed with you, drunko,” she instructed, giving Chloe a little push toward the fridge.

“Okay, okay,” Chloe huffed, blinking a lot. “You know, Beca, if you’d just come out with me in the first place, this wouldn’t have happened.”

Beca winced at the truth in the statement, internally vowing to never let it happen again. Then, she frowned.

“Wait, was this just a ploy to get me to go to bars with you in the future?”

Chloe only giggled as she attempted to pour water into a glass, nearly spilling it everywhere. Beca immediately moved to help her, taking the pitcher from her hands. From behind, she heard Amy make a whip cracking noise and rolled her eyes.

Chloe drank deeply from her water, finishing it before she set it down with a wink at Beca.

“I’m gonna shower, you wanna join?” she asked, swaying slightly.

Ignoring the heat that rose to her face, Beca firmly said, “No, and you are not going to shower. You’d slip and fall and die. You’re going to brush your teeth then go to bed, yeah?”

Chloe jutted out her lower lip into a pout but nodded and made her way to the bathroom, drawing the shower curtain closed behind her.

Beca plopped down at the kitchen table with a groan and covered her eyes. It had been a long night. She heard Amy walk to the fridge and open the freezer, rummaging around before closing it. A chair was pulled out from beside Beca, and she looked up to see Amy settle down in it, offering her a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a towel.

“For your hand,” Amy said in response to Beca’s questioning look. “If I know you, it was a left hook to that asshole’s face.”

Beca took the peas with a tight smile and pressed it against her hand, soothing the ache instantly.

“And if I know Chloe, I’ll bet that tonight was a lot scarier than she’s making it out to be,” Amy continued quietly, unusually serious.

Beca nodded and sighed. “Yeah, I was freaking out. It was bad. He kept touching her and he’d taken her phone.”

Amy frowned at that, tapping her fingers on the table. “I’m surprised she didn’t punch him herself. She must have been completely smashed.”

Beca’s lips tightened, her voice strained as she replied, “She was. If I hadn’t gone over…” she couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence. Nausea rolled her stomach and she had to close her eyes until it passed.

“Hey,” Amy’s hand on her arm brought her back to the present and she reopened her eyes. “Don’t think about that. You went, you saw, you punched, and now you’re both safe. That’s what matters.”

With a deep breath, Beca nodded. Amy was right. They were okay.

“So…” Amy added after a moment in an even quieter tone, not looking at Beca. “When are you going to tell her?”

Beca blanched, guessing what Amy meant but not wanting to address it. “Tell her what?”

Amy merely smiled and said, “You know what.”

Beca stared at her, trying to keep her expression neutral. She knew by the widening of Amy’s smile that her poker face was failing. Thankfully, she was saved from responding further by Chloe’s emergence from the bathroom.

“All ready for bed!” Chloe said excitedly, moving toward the fold out. Beca jumped up from the table like she’d been electrocuted, dropping the peas and launching herself into the bathroom to complete her own nightly routine. She couldn’t handle any more serious talks with Amy.

By the time she’d finished, Amy was in her own bed, already asleep, and Chloe was curled up in their shared bed. Beca’s bedside lamp had been left on for her. Tenderness erupting in her chest at the sight, Beca quickly changed into her oversized sleep shirt and a pair of shorts and slipped under the covers next to her best friend, flicking off the light and plunging them into darkness.

As soon as she was settled, Chloe wiggled backward against her until Beca turned to hold her from behind, her arm drawing Chloe into her protectively.

“’Night, Bec,” Chloe mumbled sleepily.

“’Night, Chlo,” she replied softly, resisting the urge to press a kiss to Chloe’s shoulder.

Chloe was asleep within seconds, her breathing steady and even. Beca lay in the darkness, her eyes open and her mind racing. She’d been absolutely terrified earlier, afraid she was going to lose Chloe. She couldn’t get the image of the man’s hand on Chloe’s back out of her mind. Beca’s heart clenched; she knew Amy was right. She was in love with Chloe.

She’d have to tell her soon.

Beca’s heart pounded with nerves and her mind whirled.

She wouldn’t be sleeping much overnight.

[darveyfics]

Christmas prompt- Donna and Harvey are a couple but they’re fighting. Every time they see mistletoe, they kiss. Eventually they make up. Idk just lots of angst and then fluff lol

Darvey & Mistletoe; aka the only Christmas tradition Harvey finds interesting. Bonus points if it drives Donna crazy :)

Mistletoe kiss fic please (it's up to you if they're already in a relationship or not)

Harvey and Donna fight right before Christmas

Harvey and Donna first Christmas as a couple

AN: I’m not sure if this is anything like what you wanted, but this one got away from me a lot. It’s a full blown fluff/cheese fest. Hope you still enjoy.

“Of Gingers and Kisses”

“Donna, come on,” Harvey heaves out a breath as he chases his relentless girlfriend out of the elevator. 

He stops short when she halts her steps, both of them standing in the middle of the annual- now Specter Litt- holiday party.

“You’re seriously going to continue giving me the cold shoulder?” Harvey huffs beside her, and if she wasn’t so pissed at him she would’ve laughed at the adorable pout he gives her.

“I think you’re forgetting why I’m so upset with you,” Donna retorts, crossing her arms over the black Prada dress she donned- flowing down her body instead of her usual skin tight dress look, complete with a pair of red hot pumps. 

Harvey sighs beside her, “Trust me, I’m not,” he mumbles, absentmindedly giving a few fake smiles to some of the firm’s employees that pass by. The party was in full swing now, taking place just off to the side of the library. Holiday music was playing in the background, a tall Christmas tree sat in the center of the room, honing in most of the attention to the surrounding area, strategically placed next to the open bar. 

He takes her arm then, gently guiding her until they’re in a semi-secluded corner of the room. 

“You know I didn’t mean to-”

“It wasn’t just that, and you know it,” she hisses, her eyes sending daggers his way.

His lips turn thin at her words, trying his best to reign in some self control and not smile at how cute she looked. He was still feeling the backlash from when he had called her that earlier. 

“Donna,” Harvey starts in that low tone of voice he only reserved for her, “I’m sorry, and for the way I acted afterward,” he repeats her earlier words right back.

“Are you?” She raises an eyebrow at him, firmly standing her ground and he tilts his head at her, trying his best to not let his irritation come to fruition.

“You know I am,” he tells her softly.

“Oh, so now you’re telling me what I know?” She shoots back with raised eyebrows. He gapes at her then, trying to formulate a sentence that won’t keep sending him to the dog house. 

“I-”

“Hey guys!” Mike’s all-too cheery voice interrupts their moment, appearing with a half filled champagne flute and his signature 100-watt smile. “Uh, why do I have a feeling I just walked into a couple’s quarrel?” He questions, blue eyes glancing from one friend to another.

“Oh, look, your puppy showed up,” Donna rolls her eyes.

“Whoa- she’s pissed,” Mike’s eyes widen comically before looking back to Harvey, “Dude, what the hell did you do?”

Harvey’s mouth opens at the same time Donna lets out a half-amused laugh, “Why the hell do you automatically assume it was something I did?”

“Because it’s you,” his former associate retorts without hesitation. 

“He’s not wrong,” Donna mumbles beside him.

“It’s- nothing, Mike.” Harvey shoots him a look in warning, trying his best to ward off his friend so he could continue talking to his girlfriend. 

“Nothing?” 

“Oh, boy,” Mike mutters, fearfully looking between the couple now.

“Donna, I didn’t mean-”

“The hell it was nothing,” she swivels around to face him, standing a mere inch away from him now, hazel eyes glaring at him.

“And… that’s my cue to leave, see you guys,” Neither notice Mike scurrying off to the side of the room, automatically finding Rachel in the sea of Specter Litt employees. 

“Donna, I just meant it was nothing concerning him,” Harvey sighs, willing his girlfriend to understand. His eyes subconsciously survey the area around them, trying to find the answers to his current predicament elsewhere. 

“You know, you’re being a real pain in the ass- mmph!” His lips land on hers in the next second, catching her off guard. She stays still for a moment, letting their kiss linger in half surprise and half reflex before she’s pulling back, “What the hell are you doing?” She seethes in a whisper.

Harvey gives her a sheepish smile and points up with his index finger. Donna’s eyes follow him and she purses her lips when she sees the small twig hanging above them. 

“Seriously?” 

“It’s tradition,” he shrugs, giving her his signature charm smile, hoping it would set her at ease then.

Donna shakes her head instead, annoyance seeping into her, “I need a drink,” she mumbles under her breath before turning around.

“Donna,” her name is a warning and a question all in one.

Her loose copper waves bounce when she turns around to face him again, rolling her eyes at him, “It’s a saying, Harvey, you can calm down.”

Before he could stop her again, she’s walking off to meet Rachel, standing by one of the array of decorative tables. Harvey sees his girlfriend’s best friend handing her what appeared to be apple cider as the two shared a laugh. He shakes his head then, turning around to grab a drink from the open bar. He didn’t notice when his own best friend left his wife’s side to come meet him.

“So,” Rachel starts tentatively after a couple of minutes of laughter, “How long are you going to make him squirm?” She tilts her head in the direction of the bar, Donna turning around to see Mike clasping a hand on Harvey’s shoulder as the two began a conversation. 

Donna chuckles, “I don’t know, I am still pretty pissed at him, but, it’s been fun watching him squirm and grovel for the past couple of hours.”

Her friend shakes her head, “You’re pretty evil, you know that?”

Donna shrugs, taking a sip of her apple cider, “Yeah, well, I’ll forgive him before Christmas. And hey, you’re one to talk,” she quirks an eyebrow in return.

Rachel lets out a laugh, “I don’t think I ever tortured Mike that long, though.”

“Hmm, true, poor guy’s gotta deal with double the trouble soon,” she places her hands on Rachel’s growing stomach, “how are thing one and thing two, anyway?”

Rachel smirks, still amused by her friend’s nicknames, “They’re fine. Pretty sure they’ll both make the soccer team, but I hear that’s normal.”

“Have you picked any names yet?” Donna smiles, feeling the babies kicking under her touch.

“We’re waiting to find out the sexes first, but if one of them is a boy, Mike really wants to name him after Harvey, at least for a middle name.” 

Donna’s features soften, her eyes filling with tears and she curses herself for her current uncontrollable emotions, “He would love that.”

Rachel nods with a smile in return.

“And well, if it’s a girl, you really can’t go wrong with ‘Donna’,” the redhead flips her hair in a dramatic gesture, giving her friend her signature overconfident look. 

Rachel lets out a bubbly laugh, “No, you really can’t.”

“So… you going to stay here all night drowning yourself in self pity for wherever it was that you did to piss off Donna so much?”

Harvey swirls the amber liquid in his hand before placing it down, turning to glare at his friend, “Is that why you came here? To lecture me?”

Mike puts his hands up in defense, “Hey, I just want to know why mom and dad are fighting, is all.”

Harvey’s lips quirk up at his words, taking a sip of his scotch before turning to face his friend again, “I may have… done something I shouldn’t have.”

“Well, no shit, Sherlock. Question is, how bad was it and what the hell are you going to do to make up for it?”

Harvey sighs, playing with the glass holding Macallan as he glances up at an awaiting Mike.

“Okay, before I tell you, you have to understand… this is… a big deal, for her, I don’t- really understand myself, but…”

Mike gives him an expectant look, “I’m literally so lost already so can you just spit it out already or…?”

“I may have…” Harvey looks away from his friend for a moment, eyes finding his favorite redhead before landing back on Mike, “eaten the last of the gingerbread cookies we had,” he finishes in a low mumble, turning away from Mike’s gaze.

“You-”

Harvey puts his hand up before he could continue, “Don’t try to analyze it, it is what it is.”

Mike stays quiet for a moment before nodding, “First trimester cravings.”

Harvey swivels his head around to his friend, “You know?”

Mike scoffs, “Of course I know.”

“How the hell do you-”

“Because,” Mike points to the corner, smiling when he sees his pregnant wife talking to Donna, “My wife and your girlfriend are best friends, they talk.”

“Why the hell didn’t you say anything?” Harvey prods, not knowing whether or not to be annoyed or amused. 

Mike shrugs, “Rachel told me and I figured you two would tell me when you wanted to. Though, I am a little offended that your girlfriend told my wife and you didn’t say anything,” he playfully pokes him. 

“Hey, we,” he points toward Donna, “had agreed not to tell anyone. I didn’t even know Rachel knew,” he mumbles before taking another sip.

Mike claps his hand over his back in assurance, “Rachel told me Donna had accidentally let the news slip, she’d been ‘adorably excited’ apparently.”

Harvey’s lips curl at his friend’s words, an all-too familiar fluttering settling in his stomach then- one he had been getting ever since Donna had dropped the news that she was pregnant weeks before, “She said that?”

Mike nods, mirroring his friend’s smile, “Yeah, and speaking of, congratulations, dad.”

Harvey’s lips stretch into a full grin at the word, still not used to the notion that he was going to become a father- the father of his best friend’s child, to be exact. He breathes out a quiet “thanks” to his friend, clinking his own glass against his when Mike extends his champagne glass to him.

“By the way,” Mike begins after taking a sip of his drink, “you should know I won the pool.”

Harvey’s brow furrows, “The pool?”

Mike nods, “Yeah, there was a pool going around to see when you two would finally settle down, have a family. I bet you would get her knocked up within the first year of you two dating,” he smirked.

Harvey gapes at him, trying to render in all of his annoyance. He watches Mike taking another sip of champagne, and he reaches out a hand, pursing his lips as he tilts the flute upward, causing the younger lawyer to choke on his champagne, the liquid spilling out in front of him.

“Dude!”

Harvey lets his lips twitch, automatically feeling better. He stands up in the next second, downing the last of his drink before clasping his hand on Mike’s shoulder, “And on that note, I’m gonna go. I have some making up to do.”

“Hey,” his voice is a low whisper behind her ear, and she supresses the urge to turn around and kiss him, mentally cursing the way her hormones were playing with her. 

Rachel gives her a knowing smile, waving hello to Harvey at the same time. She watches in amusement as her friend puts on her best acting skills and hides her smile before turning to face Harvey.

“Can I help you?”

Harvey sighs at his girlfriend’s stand-offish attitude, turning to face her friend, “Rachel, can I steal her away for a second?”

“Uh yeah, sure, I’m just gonna go see what Mike’s up to,” she leaves with a smile that turns into a confused frown when she notices her husband dabbing a napkin on his tie.

Donna lets out a dramatic sigh once they’re left alone again, or as close to it as possible with a mired of people surrounding them, “You wanted to talk?”

“Donna, you really have to help me out here, how long are you going to freeze me out?” She feels a twinge of guilt then, noticing the way his brown eyes bore into her own, a mask of of his own guilt written all over his face.

She had partly been annoyed with him- knowing that her hormones were in no way normal at the moment, but the other part of her had been having fun with him, enjoying the way he squirmed every time she had an outburst. 

“I haven’t decided yet,” she frowns instead, folding her hands over herself. Okay, so maybe Rachel was right and she was being a little evil with him. 

“I told you I’d buy you more cookies,” Harvey gently reminds her, taking hold of her hands in his. He was trying his best not to laugh at the matter- at how ridiculous this whole situation was because he had eaten the last of her gingerbread cookies.

“And I told you it wasn’t just about the cookies, Harvey,” real annoyance settles in her again and she moves away from him to walk to the corner of the room, with her boyfriend in tow.

“I told you I was sorry about what I said too,” he sighs again, trying his best not to lose his cool with his very emotional and pregnant girlfriend.

“Okay, A- you never actually said you were sorry about what you told me, and B-”

Her words are cut off again when his lips land on hers for the second time that night. She closes her eyes on reflex, internally groaning when he pulls back too soon, yet tries her best not to show her disappointment. When she sends him a confused glare he just points up again, and she rolls her eyes at the familiar twig.

“You’re shitting me, right? Who the hell decorated this place with mistletoes?” She berates then, glancing around the room to finally take note in the dozen or so mistletoes that decorated the area.

“I thought you were in charge,” Harvey remarks, a slight amused tilt to his voice.

Donna rolls her eyes, “I’ve also been dealing with morning sickness at all odd hours of the day, so no, I gave the job to- Louis,” she sighs when she notices the other name partner in the room, a shit eating grin on his face as he kissed Sheila under one of the mistletoes in the room. “Well, that explains it,” she mutters. 

Harvey turns his attention back to his girlfriend, “Donna,”

“What?” She crosses her arms over her chest again.

“You’re right, I didn’t apologize for what I said, but only because I meant it.”

She gapes at him, “You can’t be serious.”

“What’s so wrong about what I said?” Harvey throws his hands up, confusion taking over him.

“You called me cute, Harvey,” Donna reminds him.

“I-” 

“While we were in the middle of an argument, because you-“ she pokes his chest, “just had to eat the last batch of gingerbread cookies.”

She gives him a pout and he nearly loses it when her bottom lip begins to quiver and she turns to walk away again, this time to the far side of the room where there were less people present. 

Harvey internally groans when she walks away from him for what felt like the dozenth time that night. He catches up to her in seconds, reminding himself not to tell her how ridiculous this whole thing was, knowing that that would only get him sent to sleep on the balcony that night.

“Donna,” he begins softly, “I’m sorry.”

“For?” She sniffles, hugging her arms over herself.

“For being an ass,” he begins gently, taking a tentative step toward her, “for- making light of a situation I know must have- is- frustrating for you,” when she doesn’t back away, he grabs hold of her hands again, “I know this must be a really difficult time for you,” he rubs circles on her hand, and she sighs in response.

“It hasn’t been all bad,” she mumbles, staring up at his eyes.

His lip quirk slightly before sobering up again, “I’m kind of learning this as I go too, you know? And you did look cute. I mean, you always do, but, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m pretty infatuated with my pregnant girlfriend, I can’t help it if everything you do now is…cute.” He risks sending her a sheepish smile, and he fights back sighing in relief when she finally lets herself crack under his gaze. 

She rolls her eyes at his words, but her annoyance is diluted by the smile she sends him, “You’re pretty relentless, you know that?”

Harvey lets a full grin grace his features when she steps into his arms, “Does that mean I’m forgiven?”

“For eating my cookies when that’s what your unborn kid wanted to eat?” She raises an eyebrow at him.

He swallows back, “Seriously?”

“You and I both know I’m very serious when it comes to my cravings lately, mister,” she mumbles against him, winding her arms around him.

Harvey sighs, “I promise to buy you a whole pack. And then some.”

She hums against him, her lips hovering over his now, “I guess I can…” she toys with his tie, sending him a coy look, “forgive you.”

He lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, “I promise to make it up to you, to both of you,” his hand rubs her stomach above the fabric of her dress, watching her face softening further beneath his caresses.

“We thank you,” she sends him a grin before closing the gap between them and slanting her lips over his, letting their kiss linger for a minute before pulling back. Harvey’s eyes glance above them, and his smile turns into a frown.

“We’re not under a mistletoe,” he observes, glancing back down to Donna.

She purses her lips at his words, “You want me to stand under a little Christmas twig just so you could kiss me? 

Harvey shrugs, “It’s the only tradition I actually like.”

Donna rolls her eyes at him, ”Fine, you want me to go and stand over there instead?”

When she moves to step away from him, he reels her back in, her chest flush against his now, “Don’t you dare,” he growls, pulling her in for another kiss. He lets his tongue boldly snake into her mouth, tasting the remnants of apple cider and something else he couldn’t quite get a read on at first. 

He pulls away from their kiss then, and she sends him a confused look when she finds him frowning, “What?”

“You had gingerbread cookies tonight, didn’t you?”

She bites her lip at his inquiry, giving him a shrug after a beat, “I may have… a secret stash in my office and went to eat some when you weren’t looking.”

He shakes his head at her, disbelief and amusement in his features, “So I didn’t eat your last stash. You had some here the entire time.”

“You ate the last ones we had at home,” she tries to defend.

“You know, I’d be more annoyed with you, but I can’t help but find all of this… cute.”

She gawks at him then, narrowing her eyes at his smirk, “Shut up.”

And with her mouth slanting over his smile, she makes sure he does just that. 

[hey-i-wrote-a-story]

Chapter 31 Hillbilly Homecoming

Stiles found that the more he walked in the giant gumboots, the better they felt. They were still a bit big on him, but the soft rubber and the cushioned insoles above the durable treads made it obvious how the farmers of old could wear them comfortably for hours on end even while hard at work with backbreaking labor. Stiles looked down as he shuffled his feet, and wiggled his toes inside the boots. If these things came back into fashion (were they ever?), nobody would have to spend a hundred dollars a pair on name-brand athletic shoes again.

“Really comfy, aren’t they?”, Scott said.

“No!”, Stiles answered quickly, snapping himself out of his momentary reverie.

Scott grinned, remarking, “Good thing you found the ancient crypt with those dead farmer remains. We’d be stuck in our shorts right now.” Stiles opted not to comment. Scott began to hum a clumsy version of “Turkey In the Straw”, while adding an exaggerated spring to his step.

“I’m gonna slap you”, Stiles warned. Scott laughed again, returning to his normal stride which already had a bounce to it. “Tell me something”, Stiles said.

“Yes, you can borrow my hat”, Scott smirked.

��          “I have my own, thanks, and that’s not the question. The question is, do scary energy monsters drive?”

           Scott looked at his best friend askance, wondering where that question came from, then followed Stiles’ pointing finger. A pair of dim headlights was coming down the highway towards them.

           “Could be you’ll get that ride home after all”, Scott said.

           “Unless whoever’s behind the wheel is an ax murderer.”

           Scott poo-poohed the idea away. “Pfft. I can handle an ax murderer.” He stepped to the middle of the road and waved his arms to flag the vehicle down. It slowed as it approached them, passing long enough under one of the few tall street lights along the road to show that it was an old pickup truck. The ramshackle red truck slowly drove past the two makeshift hillbillies, then once it was perhaps forty feet down the road, made a clumsy U-turn and came back at a slow crawl. It was Freddie behind the wheel, and he eyed his heroes in their ridiculous costumes with a bright smile.

           “I almost kept going. I didn’t know it was you guys at first.” He leaned over and opened up the passenger door. “Need a lift?”

           “You have no idea”, Stiles answered, grateful for the first time to see his redheaded devotee.

           In short order, they were rumbling back toward Beacon Hills, the dim headlights of Freddie’s almost-truck poking ahead of them as the darkened scenery grew less desolate and the air a bit less biting. Scott sat in the cramped back seat of the old truck, his denimed knees pulled up a bit to fit, but seeming not to mind. Stiles sat in the passenger side up front, staring out the side window in a vain search for some silhouette of interest to divert his attention, wishing the rusty pickup would get them home faster.

Freddie kept staring at Stiles peripherally. He was finding it hard to keep his eyes on the road, so he tended switch his attention back and forth. He’d look at the road as he was driving. Then he’d glance over at Stiles. Then the road. Then back at Stiles. Road. Stiles. Road. Stile—whoops, swerving a little—road. Stiles. Freddie wasn’t being particularly discreet.

Stiles finally looked back at him and groaned, “Whaaaatt?”

Freddie put his eyes back on the road immediately. “Sorry. It’s just that…well…”

“Just well what?”

“You look really cute in that farmer outfit”, Freddie said.

Scott leaned over into the front of the cab and added, “You know, you really do look cute like that, Stiles.” His smile was mercilessly sincere.

Stiles pulled his hat down over his face and leaned his head upon the passenger side window, where he gently thumped his temple against the glass. He began to wonder if being torched by magical monster fire might not have been so bad.

 Freddie made a beeline to the Stilinski house, eager to get his hero safely home. Stiles hopped down from the cab as Freddie shut off the engine. Freddie was already out of his seat belt and ready to leap out and join his detective mentor when Stiles held up a hand. “I’m going in alone, if you don’t mind. The last thing I need is a cry of ‘Honey, we’re home!’ from you when I look like this.”

“B-but…but I—“, Freddie stammered.

“Besides, were you going to leave the werewolf yokel in the car all night?” Stiles jerked a thumb back toward the truck where Scott sat, still in the back of the cab, waving cheerfully.

“Hello. Remember me?”

Freddie rubbed his chin. “Oh yeah. I should probably drop him off too, huh?”

“That’d be a splendid idea”, Stiles said, giving his charge a slap on the back that was more of a push toward his truck.

Freddie loaded up quickly and began to back down the driveway. “I’ll be back soon! I won’t be long!”

“I count the seconds”, Stiles said back.

With that, the old pickup with the anxious ginger and the bumpkinized teen werewolf departed into the night.

           Scott leaned over the backseat of the truck and stretched himself partway into the front. “Hey, driver”, he smiled, “how about a quick detour before we get to my place?”

           “Um, sure, I guess”, Freddie said. “Where to?”

           Kira was elated that her mother agreed to let her have the rest of the night off after hours of work in honing her ability to focus on distant energy sources. Kira had had to endure another lecture on the severity of their situation and the weight of responsibility and all that stuff like that there. She groaned when she heard the doorbell. She was unwilling to move from her spot in her favorite cushy chair into which she felt she was melting. Kira hollered, “Mom! Doorbell!”

           It rang again.

           “Is somebody going to get that?”, Kira called out.

           Kira’s mother descended the stairs partway and looked at her daughter. “Kira, can’t you hear the doorbell?” Kira shot her the universal teenager look for ‘Duh!’ and her mother replied, “Well then, perhaps you should answer it.”

           Kira dragged herself from her resting spot and plodded to the door. She was all set to say, “We don’t want any” or “Do you realize what time it is?” when she opened the door to find her boyfriend duded from head to toe in dusty farmer gear.

           “What the…”

           Scott touched the brim of his straw hat. “Howdy, ma’am. I was a-wonderin’ if you’d do me the honor of accompanying me to the county square dance.”

           Kira double over laughing. She tried to ask how Scott had come to be in such a state, where he’d gotten the clothes (costume?), and what the hell he was doing out in public n them, but her giggling fit prevented her from speaking a coherent sentence. Scott had to hold her up once, as Kira just about slip down the door frame, her face caught in a frozen laugh face, but nothing but gasping coming out. She finally caught her breath long enough to pull out her phone.

           “Oh my God, I have got to get a picture of this. Hold still. Turn your head like we practiced so your eyes don’t glow.”

           Kira held up her phone to capture a photo of her boyfriend in his ridiculous hayseed ensemble. She snapped one of him all bibbed, plaid shirted, and straw hatted, a hilarious smile on his face. Happy with capturing the moment, she was going to put the phone away. Then Scott started posing. “Oh, oh—get me like this! And one like this!”  Scott had trouble holding back his laughter as he struck his exaggerated hayseed poses while Kira’s giggling made it a challenge to hold her phone still. After what they had been through, it felt good to laugh. Kira found some sunglasses in the kitchen junk drawer so Scott could pose with abandon, which he did. By the time they were done, their sides ached from laughter and a good chunk of Kira’s memory card was used up by photos that looked like old Marlboro ads. The two sat side by side on the porch, leaning against each other for support.

           “So, plow boy”, Kira said, “where’d you get them fancy threads?”

           “Have I got a story to tell you.”

           And so he did. Once Kira was brought up to speed on everything from their chilly ride to the farm to their lift home in Freddie’s pickup. An impatient Freddie waved from his truck, which had been parked on the side of the street this entire time. Kira waved back.

           “I’m glad you two are okay”, Kira said, shaking her head at the thought of their close call. Then, “So how did Stiles feel about walking home beside his best friend who’s dressed up like a hillbilly?”

Scott grinned. “Actually, about that…”

              Stiles entered his house very slowly. It was entirely likely that his dad was still at the sheriff’s station, but in case he wasn’t, Stiles didn’t want him to see his son looking like a brainless hayseed. Stiles was able to ease the door shut without a creak or a click to give him away. He started to step lightly toward the hallway which led to his bedroom with its precious allotment of normal clothes. One good thing about the stupid rubber boots, Stiles thought, was that they didn’t make a sound, even when walking over old floorboards. He stepped lightly with his gumboots over the hardwood floor and onto the blessed silent scatter rug at the edge of the living room. He began to slip around the corner, his bedroom door now in sight.

           “Stiles? Is that you?”

           So close and yet so far.

           “Yeah dad, it’s me. I just got in. Listen”, he said, rapidly taking the first few steps down the hallway. If he was quick enough, he could scamper away without being seen. “I’m gonna zip into my room and then I’ll be right back out—“

           Too late. Sheriff Stilinski rounded the corner, saying, “You’re late. I was starting to get worried. You weren’t answering your phone, and with everything that’s been going on, I didn’t want to think that—“  He froze in his tracks, staring. Just staring.

           Stiles let out a low breath of surrender. There he stood, one booted foot on the rug, his hand on the wall, posed like a sprinter waiting for the starting gun. For a heartbeat, agonizing silence hung in the air.  Then, with an expression of, I might as well get this over with, Stiles stepped back into the room, turned, and faced his father. His arms hung limp at his sides, and he considered spreading them wide and making a slow turn all the way around to give his dad the full 360 view. But no, he decided. The front view was more than degrading enough.

           Sheriff Stilinski just stared at his son. He just stood there, staring. Neither of them said anything. They just stared at each other. Stile’s dad started to say something. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He did that twice. He looked his son up and down. Boots, overalls, flannel, hat…hat, flannel, overalls, and boots. Then he finally said, in a voice that sounded deeply concerned, “Just tell me one thing.”

           “Sure. Shoot.”

           “You didn’t get possessed by an evil scarecrow, did you?” The sheriff inclined his head toward the top of Stile’s head.

           Stiles looked up and realized that he was still wearing the frayed Huckleberry Finn hat. He didn’t even reach up and take it off. Why bother? “Nope. We’re all good here, Pop. It’s me. Juuussst little ol’ me.”

           The sheriff made a curious frowny face that clearly indicated where Stiles got his from. Then he said, “Undoubtedly.”

           Stiles pointed toward the hall. “I’m gonna go to my room. Get changed. Y’know, ‘cause as stylish as this is--” He forced an unconvincing smile.

           Stiles’ dad nodded quickly. “Yes. Good idea. A very good idea.” He stretched out his arm in the direction of his son’s room as he turned away. Be my guest, the gesture said.

           Stiles trod the hallway, and once he got halfway to his room, he leaned back and yelled, “If you want, when I come back out I can tell you why I’m wearing this—“

           “Nope”, the sheriff answered back. “Just as soon not know.”

           Stiles considered that. Fair enough. Made sense. He continued his path to his room.

           “Oh!”, his dad called after him, as an afterthought, “you have company waiting for you. Just thought I’d warn you.”

           But Stiles had already tuned him out. “I think I’ll take a shower”, he said aloud to no one. “Maybe two. I wonder if there’s a scrub brush under the sink—“  He opened his bedroom door and saw Malia, his beautiful girlfriend Malia, lying on his bed, propped up on one elbow, flipping angrily through the pages of a textbook. Stiles froze in place. His chin then dropped to his chest, he stared at the floor, and muttered under his breath. “Could this night get any worse?”

           “You’re late”, Malia said, not looking up. “You promised to help me with all this school stuff. Lydia’s notes can only take me so far. I realize that there’s this energy dragon monster thing going on, but I still have to pass—“ and that was when she looked up. Stiles continued staring at the floor. The one person he had wanted most in the world not to see him like this had just gotten an eyeful. Shoot me now, his mind silently declared.

           “Well this is new”, Malia said. There was no hint of sarcasm or ridicule. It was just an observation. “I like the boots. You look cute in those. Don’t quite get the hat, though.”

           His girlfriend’s complete aplomb was lost on the suffering Stiles. Lifting his head only a few inches, he looked at Malia under the brim of his bird’s nest hat and held his arms out slightly, to then let them drop back against his thighs as he said, “Okay. Let me have it.”

           “Have what?”

           “Old McStiles had a farm, ee-i, ee-i-o”, Stiles offered. “Hi-ho the derrio, a Stilinski in the dell. Go ahead.”

           “I have no idea what any of that means”, Malia admitted. “But the outfit makes sense.” She moved to a sitting position and draped her legs over the side of the bed to face him.

           Stiles looked at her askance. He jabbed the bib of his overalls with his index finger and said, “This makes sense? In what world does this make sense?”

           Malia stood up and approached him. “The look. I assumed it was just a natural progression of how you already dress.”

           “I have never dressed like this”, Stiles insisted. “Trust me, I would remember.”

           “Not the farmer pants, no”, Malia conceded. “But otherwise”, and she fingered his soft, dusty flannel sleeve between two fingers. “You always did have the whole plaid thing going on.”

           “I don’t wear that much plaid”, Stiles said, suddenly even more self-conscious.

           Malia turned her head to look at Stiles’ room. Stiles’ eyes followed hers. There, draped over the back of a chair, a zip-front hoodie. Shirts hung in the open closet. More lay on the floor in front of it. A jacket hung from the closet doorknob. The odd sleeve and shirtfront stuck out here and there from the partially closed dresser drawers. All of them plaid. Every collar, sleeve, and hood. All plaid. Malia looked back at Stiles and raised an eyebrow. See?

           “Scott wears plaid too”, Stiles said quickly.

Malia smiled. “Not as much as you do.”

“Whatever”, Stiles huffed. “Just let me get out of this stupid—what are you doing?”

Malia had leaned in close and was sniffing Stiles.

           “Malia, what--?”

           “Shh” she whispered. “Wait.” Her sniffing continued, now with deep, slow breaths as she inhaled Stiles’ scent. “I can smell where these clothes have been.”

           “Yeah, I picked them up off the floor of an old barn, so I can imagine they don’t smell too good—“

           “No, they do”, Malia breathed, in a somewhat unnerving husky voice. “Everything is here. The straw, the hay, the smell of the building around it. The wood when it’s baked by the sun, when it gets wet and musty in the rain. It’s like I’m back out there again…in the wild.”  

           “Okay, well right now we’re here in the wild of the bedroom, so can we just—Hello!”

           Malia began nuzzling Stiles’ neck, her nose to his skin, taking in his scent with hungry sniffs. “There were mice; tiny, scurrying…”

           “The m-mice were actually quite large…”, Stiles started to say, but found he’d lost his voice.

           “A fox had made a bed nearby once”, Malia went on. “Stayed for weeks. Deer came and went often, some through the barn, probably when seeking shelter…I can smell it all, the animals, the grass and hay, autumn leaves and spring wildflowers tracked in by animals.” She kept rubbing against Stiles, now kissing his neck passionately.

           “O-oh…okay…”, he said, mouth hanging open as a dopey grin formed on his face. “I must have missed that.”

           Malia breathed a satisfied smile as her arms wrapped around her boyfriend. “Now it’s all on you. Your scent, mixing with all of it. Like you’d been there all along, in the barn. A part of it. So many smells…you in the center of them.” She was pressed tight against him now, gently kissing all around his neck as her nose drank deep the heady aromas clinging to Stiles, making him now seem musky and rugged.

           “I was going to shower”, Stiles offered apologetically.

           “Don’t”, Malia said firmly. Then, softer, “At least not yet. Not…for a while.” She took his face in her hands and kissed him, slowly, passionately, repeatedly. When she paused, she rested her forehead against his, her eyes closed, still breathing deeply.

           “The, um, the shower could wait”, Stiles conceded.

           Malia tried to press closer, and stepped on Stiles’ foot. She was about to apologize when instead she looked at his boots and said, “They’re soft and squishy. I like that. You should keep them.”

           “Well, actually, I wasn’t planning on hanging onto—wulp!”

           Malia had taken a firm hold of Stiles’ bib straps and yanked him over to the bed, pulling him down on top of her. She continued kissing him, this time with greater abandon. She couldn’t get enough of him. Stiles struggled to maintain his balance, trying not to collapse onto her. As it was, she wouldn’t have cared. Stiles tried to pull off his gumboots, the toes of one scraping on the heel of the other in attempt to loosen them from his feet. Malia pulled him closer with a sharp tug.

           “Leave the boots on”, she said.

           Stiles stared at her for a heartbeat, saw the intensity burning behind her eyes, and replied with a slight squeak in his voice, “Sure.”

           As Malia pulled Stiles the rest of the way down onto the bed, holding tightly until their lips met, she reached up with one hand and removed the straw hat from Stiles’ head. She tossed it like a Frisbee across the room, where it landed atop Stiles’ lacrosse stick propped against the desk, spun twice, and settled there. Malia’s nimble fingers traced the “Y” back of Stiles’ overalls and massaged his shoulders underneath. She never stopped kissing him. She was nearly drunk on the banquet of scents and the feel of her boyfriend’s gentle, slender body.

           As Stiles surrendered to her affections and returned them in kind, three words came to his mind.

           Best.

           Night.

           Ever.