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La La Love You (Deena/Sam)

Summary: Deena and Sam find happiness in the little things, like listening to The Pixies, and making one another laugh. (Second Femslash February fic! I’ve only seen the first Fear Street movie so this fic is very focused on that, but I really loved the film and look forward to watching the others at some point. Enjoy!)

The Pixies are playing softly from the stereo, Sam’s legs thrown over Deena’s lap, the two girls grateful to be together after all that has happened.

Moving on isn’t easy, but they’re managing. Having one another helps. And Deena knows that Simon and Kate wouldn’t want her to sit and mope around, so she allows herself those moments of happiness, and pushes down the guilt.

The song changes, and Deena’s face cracks into a smile. It’s a song that she had put on mixtapes for Sam back when they were just friends who sometimes glanced at one another a bit too long.

Sam is content with her face nuzzled into one of Deena’s pillows, and doesn’t seem to notice the song change, and that just won’t do. So, Deena starts to sing: “All I'm sayin' pretty baby, La la love you don't mean maybe,” she croons, a bit off-key and very dramatic.

That gets Sam to look up, and her lips curl into a smile. “You’re a dork,” she says with a fond shake of her head.

Deena feigns an offended look while continuing to serenade her. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I love you…”

Although they’ve said that phrase many times, this goofy display of affection makes Sam’s cheeks turn red, and she turns her face away to once again bury it into Deena’s pillow, trying to maintain a little dignity while her girlfriend acts like a fool.

A mischievous smile tugs at the corners of Deena’s mouth, and as she sings the chorus once again, her fingers scribble at the bottom of Sam’s socked foot, making the blonde squeal and bring her knees to her chest, but Deena follows close behind, scrambling to take hold of her ankles so she can tickle without getting kicked in the face.

“Cut it out!” Sam whines.

“This is what you get for not appreciating my performance,” Deena replies.

Sam pulls her foot out of Deena’s grip again and holds up the pillow she’d been snuggling in a form of self-defense. “You were off-key!”

“Oh, so now you’re insulting my talent? Oh, this means war.”

Deena launches herself at her girlfriend, the two of them tumbling around on the mattress like overgrown children. It’s nice to think that despite all that’s happened, they’re still kids at heart.

A moment of wrestling leaves Sam sort-of pinned to the mattress, Deena sitting on her thighs to keep her in place, and begins tickling again, attacking her sides. But Sam isn’t going down without a fight, and when she realizes batting at Deena’s hands isn’t helping at all, she instead starts trying to tickle back, latching onto her girlfriend’s knees and squeezing.

Both of them are giggly messes by the time they call it a truce, breathless and desperate to use their mouths to kiss instead of laugh. When they pull away, there is a calm almost-quiet (because the long-forgotten music is still playing). And because calm and quiet are the times in which bad shit starts to resurface, Sam speaks.

“You know, for a former marching band member, you have terrible pitch.”

Deena gives her a glare which holds no venom behind it, and her fingers are darting beneath Sam’s shirt to tickle her belly in no time.

And laughter fills the room, drowning out the sound of The Pixies yet again.

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