Prompt:Fringe AU verse. The scene where Beca tries to sneak away to meet with Agent Dunham but it turns out she was followed by Aubrey because Beca was never good at being a spy and Aubrey grew up as a naturally suspicious military brat. Not that Aubrey is much better; she still winds up getting caught by the FBI’s finest too.
prompt: aubrey, beca, chloe, and jesse talk about the future as unbelievably perfect graduation prospects threaten to scatter them across the US. secrecy verse.
Bechloe. They don’t know each other. Haunted House. Chloe gets scared. She holds on to Beca. It’s dark. You could take it from there.:)
Sometimes, it’s enough just to be here.
Sometimes, a bed can feel as vast as a continent and as intimate as your childhood backyard.
Sometimes, a stolen t-shirt feels sweeter against the skin simply because it belongs to someone who looks upon you with love.
Sometimes, the arms wound around your middle make you feel bigger and grander and more magical than any song and dance routine ever could.
Sometimes, when she laughs, the honest mirth of those bells ring through your head, on and on, painting the night with hope.
Sometimes, when her lips find yours, you forget—just for an instant—that you feel fucked up sometimes, and lonely, and damaged.
Sometimes, when her eyes go ocean-deep blue, go sky-above-the-clouds blue, go as blue as berries in May and the blanket draped across your feet, you think this is as beautiful as it gets.
It’s a strange, mystical sort of experience, laying here tangled up in Chloe. The sort of experience you never imagined you could deserve. The sort of experience you’d long forgotten how to want. The experience of music and dreaming and sincerity.
Sometimes, it’s enough to make you believe you can fly.
Pairing: None. Just a jumble of ladies doing lady-bro things.
Spoilers: Uh, none. Except, spoiler, this is easily the strangest thing I’ve ever written. Ever. Thank my girlfriend for her prompting.
Summary: The Female Code has no problem whatsoever with enjoying yourself in a mature, healthy fashion. The Female Code does frown heavily upon the leaving of expensive clothing articles where you will never see them again. And when that Code is broken, the Sisterhood will stop at nothing to resolve the problem—before it’s too late.
A/N: Fair warning: I know none of these ladies (obviously), and I therefore have not even tried to aim for accurate characterization. Also, this is sort of a crackfest. It’s the only way I could write RPF.
Pairing: Beca Mitchell/Chloe Beale, Beca Mitchell/Jesse Swanson
Spoilers: Nothing of note; references to Pitch Perfect and Fringe.
Summary: A birthday fill for Kay. Fringe AU: The scene where the Becas meet, and discover one is dating Jesse, and the other is dating Chloe.
I imagine it would have gone a little something like:
“IN-DI-ANA FU-CKING JONES.”
Jesse jerks properly awake, leg spasming so hard, it bashes against the wall. “What the fu—”
“IN-DI-ANA MOTH-ER-FUCK-ING JONES.”
She’s singing the words to the tune of the damn theme song, he realizes with a sharp start as his dreaming mind runs for cover beneath normal waking consciousness. Beca is actually singing curse words into the theme song of friggin’ Indiana Jones, through his phone—which he should know by now, he supposes, not to pick up in a dead-asleep stupor—at friggin’ three in the morning. Beca Mitchell is—
“Insane,” he rasps. “You are insane.”
“BITE MY BALL-SACK, YOU NA-ZIS, I’M IN-DI-ANA FUCK-ING JONES,” she replies, delightful as ever. Then, in a normal tone of voice, she adds, “What? You wanted me involved. Is this not the greatest song you have ever heard in your life?”
He drops the phone into the drawer of his nightstand without remembering to click end first, and spends the next half hour listening to her chorus through the words all over again, with Chloe for back-up.
Yeah, okay, maybe forcing her into movie nights needs to stop.
“It’s Indiana Jones! Everyone knows there’s no singing in Indiana Jones!”
“If the moon smiled, she would resemble you.
You leave the same impression
Of something beautiful, but annihilating.”
-Plath, “The Rival”
“Seriously?” Beca is staring at her, skeptical. “Seriously?”
Laughing, Chloe rolls onto her back, dragging her fingers through her hair to comb it back into something marginally resembling order. These make-out sessions are the uncontested highlight of her week, but sooner or later, Kimmy Jin is going to come back and wonder about her sincerely disquieting failures in grooming.
Grooming appears to be the last thing on Beca’s mind, judging from the way she’s gawping. “You’re kidding. Aubrey?”
Chloe shrugs, sitting up and shaking her head. “What? You’ve seen her.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen her.” Beca pushes herself up on her elbows, mouth agape. “I’ve also heard her speak. In whose universe is that sexy?”
Oh, she shouldn’t. She really shouldn’t. Beca is so sweet to her, and so funny, and does such deliriously wonderful things with her tongue. Teasing her this way would be cruel.
But Beca, for all her sweetness, also happens to be deeply arrogant and almost obscenely naive. And that is something Chloe has all the trouble in the world resisting.
“It all depends on what she’s talking about,” she says gleefully, laughing uproariously when Beca wrinkles her nose and lets herself flop backward. A pillow finds its way over her face, and her muffled voice floats up a second later.
“That’s it. I’ve lost all will to live. I hope you’re happy.”
“If you suffocate yourself every time I share a former romantic fling with you,” Chloe tells her sensibly, “you’ll never make it to sophomore year.”
One blue eye peeps out from the edge of the pillowcase. “But it’s Aubrey,” she pouts. “Aubrey is—”
“Pretty?” Chloe suggests. “Smart? Driven?”
“A dick,” Beca drawls. She pulls the pillow somewhat reluctantly away from her face, hugging it against the front of her rumpled t-shirt. Chloe tsks.
“Be nice, or I’ll tell the dick where I spend my afternoon Biology sessions.”
Beca’s mouth works for a second, contemplating. “Fine,” she decides at last, grudgingly. “But if you ever say her name while we’re…studying, I’ll tell her where you spend your afternoons. And you know she’ll hate it ten times more if it comes from me.”
Chloe studies her, then leans in and sweeps her lips across one smooth cheek. “Deal. Now come here. I don’t think we’ve quite got the anatomy chapter down yet.”
She finds Beca leaning against a wall outside, her arms folded protectively around herself. Gently, she nudges against her shoulder, tongue between her teeth to keep from laughing when Beca breaks from whatever zone she’s been loitering in with a jerk.
“Hey, daydream believer,” Chloe sing-songs. “How’s it going?”
Beca stares at her with goose-egg eyes, bewildered. “Uh. Hey. Sorry, I was, uh—”
“Thinkin’?” Chloe offers helpfully. Beca nods, a sharp, jittery motion. “Whatcha thinkin’ about?”
“Um—” Her face is pinkening, her lip working its way between her teeth. “Valentine’s…Day. Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, weirdo,” Chloe laughs, prodding at her again. “What about V-Day? That’s my favorite holiday, you know. After Christmas, and Halloween, and, ooh! Presidents Day!”
Beca squints at her, clearly baffled, but shakes it off. “Just, uh. Trying to figure out what kind of gift is best. For, um. A friend.”
Chloe tilts her head, curious. Beca is not normally the most verbose of Bellas, but this level of uhming and uhhing is surprising and distinct. She must really find gift-giving to be an ordeal.
Which works out, because—
“Well.” She loops an arm through Beca’s elbow, grinning. “That’s easy. I’m great at this sort of thing. Let’s see…there’s music, of course. You could always go the mix-tape route, although that’s admittedly a little dated. Still cute, though. And there’s candy, and flowers, and stuffed animals—wait, is this for that Jesse kid?”
Staring at her with wondering eyes, Beca manages to shake her head once, as jittery as before. Chloe shrugs.
“Cool. Guys are much harder to buy for.” She pauses, considering. “Well. Unless you want to go all Porn City. I guess that works out.”
“Not a guy,” Beca croaks. “Just, um. A—”
“Friend.” Chloe winks. “I gotcha. So, let’s see. I think if we’re playing to your strengths, music is definitely the way to go. Super old-school or something fresh and funky, d’you think?”
Beca is still mouthing soundlessly at her when they reach her car. No matter. Chloe is pretty sure she’s got this gift thing in the bag.
Beca’s “friend” is never going to be able to resist a medley of The Beatles’ “In My Life” and ‘N Sync’s “The Two of Us.”
Though they probably should work on ironing out that adorable blushing thing first.
“I. Hate. Cats.”
Beca slings her backpack beside the couch and flumps moodily down into its overly-squashy cushions. Her chin rests upon her palm, her lips turned down in a scowl. Chloe glances up at her from a copy of Bossypants, cautiously turning a page.
“I’m…not going to ask.”
“Good,” Beca grumps. When she tips her head a certain way, Chloe can make out thin pink lines on her left cheek.
“Are those…scratch marks—”
“Not talking about it,” Beca reminds her, nestling deeper into the crook of her own palm and blowing out a breath. Chloe shrugs, scoots closer on the couch, and sets back to reading.
A few minutes later, Beca groans.
“It’s just—I mean, you try to do something nice. And then scratches! On the face! This is why we can’t have nice things, Chloe. This is why.”
She gesticulates wildly, bumping Chloe’s head from its cozy perch against her shoulder. Biting her lip, Chloe swallows against the urge to giggle.
“What great drama destroyed your day this time, Mitchell?”
Beca exhales noisily. “It’s just—okay, so there’s this tomcat, right? Lives alone. Sheltered existence, clearly lonely. And starving. Like, can-count-your-ribs starving, it’s pathetic. And I just thought, hey, you know who would like food? This cat. Who is starving. Did I mention the starving?”
Chloe can already see where this is going. She plants a hand against her own mouth to conceal a snigger.
“I never would have dreamed that a Snickers bar could set off that kind of fury,” Beca concludes, and crosses her arms over her chest with a finality that is just too charming for words. Chloe snorts through her fingers.
“Oh God, you tried to feed it chocolate?”
“I was trying to help,” Beca pouts. Stretching for her cheek, Chloe plants a soft kiss against the pink marks.
“Maybe next time leave the wild animals be?”
Beca gives a miffed little grunt and says nothing, but the way she leans into Chloe and closes her eyes suggests a lesson well imparted.
Also, Chloe thinks cheerfully, maybe they should look into kitten shopping.
When you’re sleeping with a succubus, certain things are straightforward: drink plenty of liquids, wear easily-removable clothing, and never, ever say die.
It takes mere days for Chloe to find out Beca works at the radio station, and as soon as she does…
“So,” she says cheerfully, swinging herself down at Beca’s CD-stacking table. “What’s your story?”
Beca jumps. “How did you get in—”
Chloe waves a hand. “Not important. You and Barden. What’s the deal? How’d you wind up here?”
Beca regards her for a long moment, head tilted. At last, she shrugs. “Well. I guess it all started when I was born a poor black child…”
Chloe blinks at her. “What?”
“It was a pretty normal childhood,” Beca goes on, apparently oblivious. The dark-haired boy working across the room has put his own stacking efforts on hold to goggle at her. “I mean, there was that time I lost a baseball to the drooling beast over the fence. Oh, and the time I met a cute, friendly alien, who taught me important life lessons about friendship…and possibly codependency…”
Chloe is starting to grin, her head shaking. “Hang on—”
“And then, my teenage years,” Beca continues, her face still utterly solemn. “Everything was perfectly fine until 1985, when I traveled back in time and accidentally interrupted my parents’ love affair…”
“That’s Back to the Future,” Chloe points out. Beca meets her gaze, lips twisting.
“So it is.”
“You know,” the boy says, speaking amazingly clearly around his own free-hanging jaw, “for someone who hates movies, you reference them remarkably well.”
“What can I say?” Beca tells him, serious as ever. “I was a carefree, whimsical teen, until my aunt and uncle were brutally murdered by the government, and I accidentally fell in love with my twin sister. Weird story. I prefer not to go into it.”
“You know all of those references star male leads,” Chloe observes, giggling now. “Aubrey would be so irritated.”
Beca peers at her, smiling absently around the stack of Beatles CDs she’s organizing. “Good point.”
“So is that your way of saying you’re not going to tell me about yourself?” Chloe asks, stretching over to snag a copy of The White Album. Beca shrugs, swiping it back and flipping it between her hands.
“Hey, did I ever tell you about that time Richard Gere rescued me from a hard-knock life on the streets?”
Bo’s hands leave her breathless.