Connoisseur of All Things Pezberry
Finntana existing

With Finn’s arm around her shoulders, Santana comfortably snuggled into his side, she couldn’t stop herself from smirking at Rachel. That’s right, she thought, the corners of her eyes crinkling even after she’d told them they didn’t have to, He’s mine.

He, being, of course, Finn.

And the meaning behind her thoughts being, of course, the fact that Rachel wasn’t the one who had Finn.

No, Santana smiled, pressing herself closer into the quarterback, pulling his large hand into her lap so it could press into her crotch even as she laced their fingers together, she, Santana, was the one who had Finn’s heart.

Not Rachel.

Not anyone else.

Not any girl who stepped uselessly into the wolves’ den without knowing it.

Laughing along with something silly he said to Puck, Santana pressed her lips against Finn’s jaw line, snuggling into the lanky boy’s side.

Who cared if he was younger than her? Who cared if he only barely supplied the popularity she wanted? He was what she wanted.

He was who could give her what she wanted.

Finn’s arm tightened around Santana’s shoulders, and he smiled, turning his attention to grinning down at her. “Hey, you okay?” he asked, fingers stroking absently along her side.

“Of course,” Santana smiled back up at him as she purposefully snuggled into him, hoping he couldn’t read through her expression.

Of course she was okay.

They were a thing, weren’t they?

A real thing.

A thing that had no reason to be threatened by any, Santana resolved again, surging up, pressing her lips against her boyfriend’s, her tongue coming out to lick along the seam of said boyfriend’s mouth, perverted, or unnatural impulses that Santana could ever, ever, ever – so ever happen to  have.

Sipping her punch, Anna rested one elbow on the balcony railing, her hip acting as a balance against the stone underneath. There was a slight chill in the air, the wind heavy with the scent of flowers, but the heat from the people crowded in the ballroom combined with the smell of sumptuous meats and sweets prepared by the kingdom’s finest chefs made it so she barely noticed. Happily people watching, she sighed, smiling when she caught sight of Her Majesty, Queen Elsa, taking a dance with the Royal Ice Harvester. Knowing Kristoff had only approached her sister because she’d told him he had to, it was still gratifying to see how well they were actually doing, both still fairly new to the art of dancing with a partner than Anna was, herself.

"Good evening, princess," a young noble from a neighboring kingdom, whose name was currently escaping Anna’s grasp, greeted as he approached, bowing as low and stately as befitted her higher rank, "Tallak of the Northern Fjords. May I take a few moments of your time?"

"Of course." Straightening, Anna turned her smile onto him. Unremarkable, made of fine blond hair and thin mustache, gray eyes and average body and height, she didn’t seem the harm in entertaining him for a little bit. It was, after all, part of what she had to do, being who she was. "Are you enjoying your evening…" She searched her memory, "…Count?"

Tallak’s mouth turned up, and he nodded. “Forgive me for not adequately reintroducing myself. I am sure you have met many people in these past months. And yes, I am, thank you. Arendelle and this castle and its hosts have been perfect.”

His manner was refreshing, and Anna relaxed minutely. She bit her lip, narrowing her eyes, and abruptly asked, “What’s your favorite part?”

Blinking, Tallak’s expression slipped almost as much as Anna’s had, and he suddenly looked more like her own age, if that. “It should be the gracious and… Forgiving manner of the hosts, but,” he sighed, “Forgive me if I’m wrong, but you’re not big on pomp and circumstance…?”

Surprised that he had so easily asked her, Anna found herself grinning. “Ohh, noo,” she laughed, waving her free hand in the air, “No, that’s my sister. I’m.” She looked back and forth conspiratorially before leaning in slightly, Tallak meeting her just as slightly, “I’m pretty new to all of this, actually.”

Tallak’s gloved hand stroked self consciously at his hair, and he laughed. “Oh, tell me about it. This is my first foreign ball – well, first ball, really, ever!”

"No!" Anna gaped at him, "But you so smoothly introduced yourself! And properly."

The count nodded. “Hours and hours of practicing under the watchful eyes of my tutors.”

"Well, give me their addresses; I’d love for them to talk to mine."

Tallak laughed behind his glove, his eyes crinkling. “I shall see about that,” he smiled good naturedly, taking note of how the ending strains of the current song was approaching and turning, shyly offering her his arm, “But first, may I have this dance?” When she paused, he added, eyes twinkling, “See how your dance instructor stacks up to mine?”

He wasn’t as polished as Hans had been, and there was something more sincere about him, that, after studying him, Anna laughed herself, rolled her eyes, set her glass onto the railing beside her, and allowed him to pull her into the ballroom. “Forgive me if I step on your toes,” she warned, “That happens, sometimes.”

"My apologies in advance for the same thing," Tallak answered, respectfully cupping her waist. His other hand gently took hers.

Glancing over his shoulder, Anna met her sister, already standing back in front of her throne’s eyes. Giving her a smile, inclining her head in such a way to let her know she was fine and didn’t need saving, Anna giggled when Elsa made a teasing huffy face. ‘You’re not marrying this one either,’ she mouthed, and, mock glaring at her, Anna somehow still managed to almost expertly move into the first step as soon as the music swelled.

She and Tallak danced in silence for a couple of minutes, smiling whenever their eyes met, but otherwise not really making an effort to do much else. Finally, coughing quietly under his breath, Tallak murmured, “How does my dance teacher appear to have fared?”

Anna elected to respond honestly. “About as well as mine did.” 

That elicited a laugh, and Tallak bowed sweepingly as the music trailed off. “It was an honor,” he murmured, blinking at her before he started, his lips parting in an, ‘oh!’, and Anna suddenly found her hand once more swept up in his; brushing his lips across the back of her knuckles, the count smiled at her. “May I escort you back to your sister?”

Craning her head around, seeing said older sister still watching her, barely paying attention to the chatter of the latest delegate of Weselton as Kristoff crunched on the food at the snack table behind her and to the left, Anna smiled. “You know?” she responded, smile stretching across her face, “I’d appreciate that.”

When he dropped her off, ending in another deep bow and expected statement of gratitude, Anna lightly brushed her fingers across his upper arm in goodbye, unable to keep a real smile from reaching her lips. “And you,” she nodded, wishing Tallak a sincere goodbye, “You have, at this time, the favor of the Princess of Arendelle.”

“Was that really a smart decision?” Elsa murmured to her, nodding her head at the leaving count, elegant as always.

Anna lightly hit her hip with hers. “Believe me,” she smiled, going back over her whole encounter with Tallak of the Northern Fjords, “Even though we barely spoke, I can guarantee he is one who would support us.”

And indeed, watching him approach Kristoff, exchanging what looked to be laughing comparisons of the food, Anna smiled. Her hand reached for her sister’s, squeezing her warm palm supportively. “Promise.”

Elsa’s lips quirked up. “Okay,” she whispered back, smiling meaningfully at her and squeezing Anna’s hand as quickly as she could while still lingering before letting go, making Anna’s heart warm and cheeks heat up, “I believe you.”

Anna beamed. “Good,” she laughed, meeting Elsa’s gaze even as she was unable to stop herself from adding before she slipped away to catch up to Kristoff to question him suggestively about the blond count who had just been speaking to him, “About time! It’s not like I’m trying to make it hard for you!” 

A/N: For comfortablyobsessed (which is like the most awesome url!), who asked for Pezberry, NY, where Rachel is trying to pluck up the courage to do something about her crush on Santana. Thanks!


Rachel’s almost filled two complete notebooks. Little ones, more commonly used by journalists when they’re jotting down notes in the movies, but the sentiment is still the same. She’s sitting at her desk she’d had her dads ship from Ohio, supporting her head in her hands with her elbows on the desktop as she stares down at the filled pads. Her forgotten pen is hanging awkwardly from her fingers while her teeth worry her lower lip, her eyebrows furrowed, dark should-get-them-trimmed-soon bangs hanging over her eyes.

She can’t believe she’s almost filled two complete notebooks.

What she should do, she thinks, right hand wavering minutely, the pen slightly bobbing with her motion, is sweep these notebooks off of the desk, straight into her wastebasket. Then, as she piles other discarded combustibles on top, she’ll go into the kitchen and pick up the latest bottle of cooking wine, as well as the matches, and send her private thoughts into an empty but hopefully satisfying death courtesy of flame.

But, no. She mentally shakes her head. With her luck, she’d set the whole loft on fire. She doesn’t want to do that.

So. Finally letting her left hand drop down, slapping against the surface of the desk, Rachel’s stomach flips as her fingers slowly reach over to flip the closer notebook open.

not like she doesn’t know that she’s doing it. It would be very anti-Santana if it were truly on accident. I don’t believe it for one

She flips a couple more pages.

spend time getting to know those lips of hers

Rachel slams the notebook closed. If she were being completely honest, she doesn’t know why she’s bothering to read over these again. She knows what they say.

Musings and rants and complaints about her very inconvenient attraction to her very feminine roommate. Her very feminine female roommate.

The one who had seemingly hated her for years.

The one she’d thought she’d continue hating for years to come.

The one –

A darker hand than hers suddenly appears in her line of sight, a trim presence pressing against Rachel’s shoulder at the same moment the first of the two notebooks gets plucked up into the earlier mentioned hand. Finely filed nails easily slip under the cover, and, with a horror that fills her with cold, spreading fear, Rachel watches as Santana rests her hip against her desk, opening the notebook with a smirked, “What’s this? ‘Secrets of a Former Member of the Hobbit Nation’?”

“No,” Rachel jerks, trying to grab Santana’s arm before she reads what’s written there, “Santana, please – ”

But Santana’s lips, the ones Rachel had spent countless small pages describing and daydreaming about, part as Rachel’s very feminine female roommate starts reading aloud, “’I can’t believe that I, Rachel Barbra Berry, Broadway-bound ingénue with nothing to lose, has, indeed, found something that makes me feel completely unprepared. I don’t think I have to go into detail as this is only for my eyes, but, suffice to say, to perhaps remind myself years in the future after, hopefully, this infatuation goes away – ‘Jesus, Berry.” Santana interrupts herself, shaking her head, “But do you write as terribly as you speak – ‘I am afflicted with the worst of unrequited hopefully passing fancies: that of my roommate San…’” Santana’s voice abruptly cuts off within mid-reading of her name, and Rachel can’t even breathe to alleviate herself of the tension radiating out of her body.

Her desk creaks, and that’s only how she knows Santana’s moving; snapping her eyes open as a rush of air batters against her cheek, what she first sees is the green of the notebook held rigidly in front of her face, and, practically on impulse, she pushes back so her desk chair rolls backwards, banging against her bed.

But, “What the hell is this?” Santana’s voice is low and high at the same time, and her hand is now pressing against the back of Rachel’s chair, over her shoulder, making Rachel feel like she’s cornered, her other still holding the notebook up.

Rachel straightens her back. She can fake this. “I asked you not to read that.”

Santana scoffs, and the notebook falls to bounce against Rachel’s thigh, sliding down between her legs and finishing by slipping off the chair seat, landing askew on the stone floor. “That’s not an answer,” Santana continues after watching the descent of the notebook, looking back up to meet Rachel’s gaze, eyes sharp and darker.

“It’s…” Rachel wets her lower lip. She’s not sure she understands what Santana’s expression is telling her. Her heart spasms. “It’s all I’ve got. I don’t – ”

But Santana’s face is so close to hers, Rachel can’t do anything but recoil, feeling her pulse jump in her throat. She can’t read this. She wishes she could read this.

Because if she could read this, she’d know what to do.

But as it is…

As it stands…

Please God, she thinks, staring into Santana’s eyes, heart fluttering and body inhaling, trying to predict what each motion Santana makes means, tell me if I should lean in or laugh the whole thing off.


Her breath hitches.




kiss me


kiss me

Okay, tonight was a bust. Hopefully tomorrow night (really today’s, heh) will be better. :}