fictions.

we double and unfurl, PG-13, Ann/Leslie

The bed is shaking. Ann’s breath catches and she opens her eyes to see the fuzzy glow of her alarm clock — 4:29. “Ann, Ann. Wake up. Ann?” Leslie’s voice comes from somewhere above her and, having deduced that she’s being assailed with Knope and not an earthquake, Ann groans and rolls over, knowing that in a few seconds she’ll be wide awake and ready for whatever Leslie needs her for.

“Ann?” Leslie says again, her voice now reduced to a whisper. She sounds, and this is what causes Ann to finally jerk the covers away from her face, scared.

“‘m up, Leslie. Are you okay?”

—> more @ AO3, at wordpress

covers got thrown, NC-17, Ann/Leslie

Blind dates, Ann has discovered, are a pretty shitty way to spend the little time she has off work. Leslie is good at, well, just about everything, but setting Ann up on dates is not in her skill set. More often than not, she ends the evening disappointed, a little tipsy, and wet (something she blames on the situation rather than the company). Tonight’s was, shockingly, just as much of a dud as the rest, and Ann flicks the lock on her front door behind her, ready to give in to a frustrating evening alone in front of Grey’s Anatomy or whatever she has stored up on the DVR.

She sighs, stopping in the kitchen to grab a beer (inexplicably next to three cans of Redi-Whip) and abandon her heels. The guy, Kevin (she thinks, she’s already starting to forget him) didn’t even offer to pay the bill. Not even his share.

(Hell, the evening would have been better spent with Leslie at JJ’s. At the very least, Ann wouldn’t be out an extra twenty dollars. And Leslie very rarely makes Ann want to stab herself with a fork.)

—> more @ AO3, at wordpress