Author's Note: Over this summer, I really feel like I could begin a load of one shots for many ships: Mitchsen, Bechloe, Chacie, Triple Treble - I'll even be adding my old one shots and unfinished test chapters into this.
So this is not just Mitchsen, and you can sumbit your prompts through my ask on my tumblr: Readwritefangirl [insert normal tumblr ending].
What Makes A Lawn
Mitchsen
Imagine your OTP as a married couple who take horrible care of their lawn despite living in very nice part of town and all the neighbours despise them for it.
Gardening was not their 'thing'. Beca's thing was music and Aubrey's thing was making sure Beca didn't die, it worked like clockwork. However, many of their neighbour's things were making sure their Beverly Hills lawn was perfect - something Aubrey and Beca couldn't care less about, especially since letting Beca loose with a lawnmower would inevitably end with the brunette riding it like a mechanical bull and falling off. And Aubrey's thing was making sure Beca didn't die, so their lawn grew, and grew, the hot weather then turning it into a brown mess.
So, they removed their front lawn and turned it into a large driveway - perfect for their two cars.
Even then the couple knew that they wanted children in their lives, so when Drew turned up, they tried to ignore their brown mess of a lawn and focussed on making sure their child turned out a nice balance between boring and Fat Amy. For years, their lawn was maintained by Beca's mom when she came down from Portland and both Aubrey's parents when they visited from South Carolina for birthdays, Christmas and Thanksgiving.
"Why don't you ladies look after your lawn?"
"Because, mom, Beca's hobby is music and my hobby is making sure she doesn't die." Aubrey sighed and sipped at her glass of wine, they'd had to endure that conversation many times.
"You could just pay a landscaper to sort it out, I'm sure-"
"We appreciate your help, Mrs. Posen, but our lawn is doing just fine." Beca had gritted out.
The older woman scoffed, her disapproving glare moving to the mess that stood only inches away from the patio table. "If you say so."
Just as soon as Drew was reaching two years old, Beca's career as a singer/songwriter blew up, resulting on the brunette dragging her wife and their son all the way to Europe for her breakout tour, the three months leaving the lawn to die and give up. As the grass sweltered in the heat, their next door neighbours were staring at the mess from their master bedroom and swearing to make them do something about it - except Aubrey was a really scary lawyer, and they didn't want to cross her, ever (much like the rest of the country).
"Your lawn is looking… nice." Chloe said, her blue eyes moving between her two best friends before reverting back to their original position, looking at her steak. The redhead was visiting the pair as part of her Bella road trip - she travelled to every state in order to catch up with every one of their Bellas - and due to the heat, they were sitting outside to eat their dinner (which meant extra attention was said to their lawn).
Aubrey sighed, putting her fork down, "just say it, Chloe, our lawn looks like someone shit all over it."
Beca placed her hand atop her wife's, "we're genuinely just doing it to piss off our neighbours now, Mr. and Mrs. Stuck-Up-Republican next door absolutely hate it, and us, so y'know, we aren't maintaining it." She sent a reassuring squeeze to the blonde's hand, "we're making a point, hating our lawn and hating gay marriage are the same concept, they can't do anything about it and it isn't any of their business."
"Plus, if I let Beca have a ride-on lawnmower she'd fall off, and I had to sign a contract saying this klutz wouldn't die under my supervision." Beca shook her head at her wife's words, she wasn't that clumsy…
"Beca, are you sure you're okay cutting the opinions without me?" Beca had then hid her bleeding hand from her wife.
"Yeah Bree, everything's fine, absolutely fine." She turned around and grabbed a load of kitchen towel, attempting to hide the blood that was pouring from just below her wedding ring. "Shit…"
"Baby are you sure that you're alright? It sounds like you're in pain or something similar… Do you need any help?" The distinct sound of Aubrey's favourite pair of heels echoed towards Beca as her very stunning wife's head poked around the door frame. "Sure?"
Beca nodded once as she shoved her hand behind her, "I'm one hundred percent sure baby, I promise. You can go back to spending my money on bras." Aubrey huffed before making her way to the living room, Beca celebrating that she had managed to fend off 'the beast'.
"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to Drew, happy birthday to you!" Aubrey found herself being pulled away from the table of five year olds and towards their house, her kidnapper, Mrs. Stuck-Up-Republican-Housewife, stopped by the kitchen island and folded her arms.
"Can I help you?" Aubrey mimicked the woman's posture, using the height she gained from her higher heels to look down on the woman, "I am trying to celebrate my son's birthday."
"And I, Ms. Posen, am trying to sell my house - but everyone is put off by your lawn."
"My lawn or my so-called lifestyle?" Aubrey took a step towards the woman, her normally kind emerald eyes illuminated with hatred and disgust. "Because I assure you, if you make one more homophobic comment or refuse to address me as Mrs. Mitchell I will take you to court."
"Have fun trying to make a case."
"I make the rules nowadays." She wasn't lying, her status had managed to propel the blonde to the House of the Senate, even though she only wanted to punch the stupid housewife in the face. "So I'd like to tell you that my lawn is absolutely none of your business, and I can't wait until you and your excuse of a husband move out and my best friends move in, because I assure you, they don't give a fuck about my lawn or my 'lifestyle'." Aubrey normally refrained from swearing, especially when a five year old could overhear, but she had finally cracked.
Homophobic Neighbours: nil.
Aubrey fuckin' Mitchell: one.