Garden of Everything

fic: no filter in my head

grdnofevrythng — Thu, 04 Apr 2013 20:35:01 GMT

Title: No Filter in My Head
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Rachel/Santana
Prompts: this over at the Glee Girls Smut Meme
Summary: Rachel and Santana record themselves having sex
Disclaimer: I don't own them. If I did, they'd probably go at it like bunnies.
A/N: I have no excuse for this. I saw the prompt and wanted to write this. Really, it's just smut for smut's sake. Thanks to Laura for the quick beta. Enjoy!

Surprisingly, it’s Santana that is hesitant about taping themselves while they have sex. It’s not that she doesn’t get the appeal. It’s just...been there, done that, and got the crappy ass t-shirt in the form of it being put on the internet for the whole goddamn world to see. But it’s Rachel’s insistence that this will be for their eyes only that puts her at ease. It’s the reminder that Rachel has a future career to think about that has her stripping in front of the camera.

Rachel has a tripod set up because apparently they’re making a porno in the late 90’s, but Santana’s not dumb enough to comment. They’ve been together for about three years now and she likes to think she’s learned a thing or two about keeping her mouth shut. She just eyes the camera for a moment and then reaches for the hem of her tank.

“Slower...”

The words are practically purred as Rachel watches her from the other side of the room. The sound sends a shiver up Santana’s spine and she slides the cotton up over herself slower than she’s ever removed a shirt in her entire life and lets it drop to the floor. She lets her hand follow the same path over her abdomen, stopping to cup both of the breasts still covered by fabric of a bra.

“Take that off too.”

A part of her wants to ask if Rachel’s done this before, but she already knows the answer is no. Santana knows she’s just winging it for cameras, maybe to laud it over Santana that she’s just a natural at giving directions or maybe to score points on their never ending the debate of “who tops whom more often.” Either way, the bra’s the next to go and Santana brings her hands back up to her breasts, palming at them as her thumbs circle the taut peaks and her eyes meet the dark, hungry gaze of her girlfriend.

They both moan at that.

“Are you just going to stand there and watch me or...?” Santana questions, her voice now thick with arousal. It’s not a surprise that she’s turned on, like look at her girlfriend, but she’s just getting there a little faster than she normally does. She’s pretty sure that has a lot to do with the camera aimed towards them and their bed. And she’s eager to feel Rachel’s hands on her.

“I’m certainly not opposed to a show. I mean, when I’m watching this back later, this will just be like the appetizer before the main course. Something to whet the appetite.” There’s a grin dancing at Rachel’s lips because she thinks the play on words is clever. And any other day, Santana would call her lame or laugh at her, but something about the way her eyes just keep raking over Santana’s body and the husk in her voice stops Santana in her tracks.

Instead, she whimpers.

She’s pushing her boy shorts over her hips (no sexy lingerie for them; Rachel insisted part of the fantasy was knowing they were just being themselves) before Rachel even makes a move to disrobe. She’s wearing even less than Santana. Once her shirt’s off, there’s just bare breasts that Santana can’t wait to have in her mouth. She steps out of her shorts, completely bare now, and moves to the side of the bed. The mattress dips with her knee as she climbs on and she tries not to visibly cringe at the sound of the squeak. They really need a new mattress. They’ve almost worn this one out.

The “just be themselves” rule must not apply to Rachel’s underwear, which are light blue and made of nothing but lace. Her eyes linger there and she hears Rachel sigh. “I wear these all of the time. At least...once a month.”

Santana holds up her hand, her eyes taking in the pout and the way Rachel’s folded arms are making her tits look amazing. “I didn’t even say anything.”

“But you’re thinking it, which is just as bad.”

“You don’t know what I was thinking,” Santana counters, unable to stop the smirk she can feel spreading across her lips. “I said nothing. I was just looking at them, but if I were the kind of person that would say something, all I would say was I wear that black lacy teddy all of the time. At least...once a month.”

Rachel doesn’t think she’s funny, which of course makes things even more hilarious, but she manages to keep it at a light chuckle and crawls across the bed. Her hands fall to Rachel’s hips and she pulls her closer, fingering the lace. “You know I think these are sexy.” She drags her fingers down the front and doesn’t stop until she presses up against Rachel’s slit.

The other girl gasps and she surges upward, taking her lips in a searing kiss. She doesn’t need them sidetracked anymore than they were. She does that thing with her tongue that always makes Rachel whimper and as she swallows the noise, she feel victorious. Rachel’s hips rock gently on her fingers and she is soaking through the lace.

“Take these off,” Santana commands softly, pulling away just enough to watch. Rachel bites at her lip and sort of shimmies out of them. She loves looking at her girlfriend’s body, but there’s something about the way Rachel’s playing to the camera that is just sending Santana into overdrive. She reaches out for Rachel’s hand and pulls her down onto the bed, rolling her beneath her. She leans down and presses light kisses to Rachel’s lips until her girlfriend grows impatient and pulls her down, pushing her tongue past Santana’s lips and scratching down her back in the way that shoots straight to Santana’s core.

Sprawled horizontally across the bed, Santana pins Rachel’s hands to the mattress to keep her them from wandering. If she’s going to be on film, this is going to be nice and slow. “Keep them there,” she whispers just as she nips at Rachel’s lobe. Santana thinks she might actually win the points for topping this time and now she’ll have proof on tape. She peppers kisses down along her jaw and down her neck and then back up again. Her teeth join in the mix and by the time her lips find Rachel’s again, the girl is moving restlessly beneath her.

She loves Rachel’s neck, loves that it’s one of her biggest erogenous zones. It was a discovery she’d made completely by accident one day when they were fooling around. She’d bitten down just so and Rachel’d orgasmed so hard that it still got Santana wet whenever she thinks about it. She could spend hours there, has many times before. It just renders Rachel to a stuttering mess. Which, judging by the harsh breaths coming from the girl, Rachel’s not far off from being. And Santana knows it’s killing her not to be able to use her hands, and if she didn’t know that just heightened Rachel’s arousal, she’d almost feel bad about it.

Her tongue trailed down over Rachel’s clavicle and down between the valley of her breasts. She pulled back just to look down at her. “Touch them,” she finds herself saying even though she had every intention of using her mouth on them. It’s just, Rachel’s skin is so flushed and she can smell the heady scent of how turned on she is and she just really wants to taste her.

She pauses long enough to watch her girlfriend’s hands come up and do as she asked, the fingers tugging at her nipples in a way that has Santana clenching. “Fuck,” she mumbles under her breath and moves off the side of the bed. She pulls at Rachel’s body until her legs are hanging off of the bed and pushes them apart.

To say that Rachel’s wet seems like an understatement given how visible the stickiness is and Santana moans at the view. She’s probably not faring much better if the insistent ache between her thighs is anything to go by.

“Santana...” Her name is a broken sob from Rachel’s lips and when she looks up, she can see the desperation on the girl’s face. And she’s helpless to deny her.

Leaning forward, she flattens her tongue against the red, swollen flesh and lifts long legs over her shoulders. She pushes up, forcing them to bend to give her a better angle. She takes her time, sucking the bare lips into her mouth before circling Rachel’s clit purposefully. Rachel can only handle so much direct contact to the tiny bundle of nerves before it’s uncomfortable. So, Santana licks just above it and hears her girlfriend groan in response.

Her pattern is lazy and random just the way she knows Rachel hates that she loves so much, but she’s already taken her nearly to the brink twice, drawing it out for as long as she thinks Rachel can stand. Which isn’t much longer if the way Rachel’s fingers are pulling at her hair are any indication. She’ll be lucky if she doesn’t lose a piece of track before the night is over.

She sucks Rachel’s clit into her mouth and bites down with just enough pressure that her hips shoot from the bed. Her tongue traces over it as gently as possible and she brings her hand forward. Two fingers push into the girl’s tight passage and muscles grip at them. She hears Rachel hiss out a curse and smiles against her just when her fingers manage to find that spot deep inside of her. It takes about five thrusts before Rachel’s screaming her name like a mantra, her whole body writhing with the force of her orgasm.

Santana climbs up Rachel’s body and presses a dirty kiss to her lips while she comes down. The feel of Rachel licking the taste of herself from her lips send a fresh wave of want over Santana and she presses herself against Rachel desperately. How Rachel has the strength to flip them over, Santana doesn’t know and doesn’t care because Rachel’s lips are on her neck and her hands are traveling south.

She completely forgets about the camera being there when she moans wantonly as Rachel’s lips close around her nipple. So what if occasionally Rachel tops her. She doesn’t. Not when there’s a promise of an orgasm. She loves orgasms. Rachel loves being right. Santana’s always been about a win-win situation.

fic: silently falling apart (2/8)

grdnofevrythng — Wed, 03 Apr 2013 14:32:13 GMT

Title: Silently Falling Apart (2/8)
Rating: NC-17 (eventually)
Pairing: Quinn/Santana
Prompts: Historical Time Period for Quinntana Week 2013
Summary: Quinn's life is forever changed when she enters Oberlin in the late 60's.
Disclaimer: I don't own them. If I did, they'd probably go at it like bunnies.
A/N: Thanks for all of the wonderful feedback. I'm still working on all of the fics. It's insane. I'm back home now. So that means I can get back to writing. Thanks again for the support. :)

March 1967

Rachel spoke animatedly about the upcoming spring musical as they walked across the campus. Her spring semester of classes weren’t nearly as hard or perhaps she’d just adjusted to the amount of work. Quinn wasn’t certain, but it felt like she had more time to just enjoy taking walks. Rachel sometimes joined her, like today, but usually it was done alone and she used it as a time to reflect. She felt like she had a new level of consciousness and found herself a lot more pensive than before, which was saying something for her.

“Hey, Quinn,” Sam greeted, cutting through the tale Rachel had been sharing. There was another guy with him, one Quinn had never seen before. He was older than them all by at least a year or two. He had stubble along his angular jaw and he was looking directly at her with these intense hazel eyes. “-and this is my friend Noah, but everyone just calls him-”

“Puck,” the other boy said, answering before Sam could and smirking at the blonde in a way that made her cheeks warm. His hair was a brown mess of shaggy waves that curled into a sort of afro that Quinn found utterly ridiculous, but somehow suited him.

“Puck?” Quinn repeated and looked away from him. She blinked a few times and glared at the knowing smile on Rachel’s face.

The brunette held her hand out to him. “It’s nice to meet you, Noah.” She smiled even brighter and stood a little straighter next to her roommate.

“Hey, cool it with the Noah stuff. It’s Puck...short for Puckerman, got it?” Puck corrected, looking around as if someone was trying to snake him.

“Puckerman? Are you Jewish?” Rachel asked, her excitement barely contained.

“Yeah, what’s it to you?” He asked defensively and crossed his arms over his chest.

Rachel looked taken aback. “I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just...so am I and I haven’t met very many on campus.”

Puck let his hands drop and smiled. “Gee, I shoulda known. You’ve definitely got the looks.” He offered his arm to her in an exaggerated fashion. “Allow me to escort my fellow Jew to the cafeteria?”

With wide brown eyes, Rachel looked back at Quinn and then Sam, stammering. “Um...sure?” She took his arm and they began walking in the other direction. “I’ll see you later, Quinn.” Rachel gave her one last look and then turned away.

The blonde had a moment of panic as she watched her roommate walking away. “Be careful, Rachel!” She called back, glancing at Sam. “Is she going to be safe?”

“Yeah, Puck’s totally safe. I mean mostly safe. I mean well girls like him a whole lot, if you know what I mean.” Sam’s face flushed and he scratched at the back of his neck. “I’m sure Rachel will be fine.”

“Sam! Go with them and keep her from...being one of those girls that likes him a whole lot.” Quinn frowned at those words. It wasn’t the job of males to keep women safe. Hadn’t she just been reading about that? Women were capable of taking care of themselves. They were as strong and competent as men. She glanced in the direction Rachel and Puck had just taken and sighed. “Or just...go with them and keep an eye on her.”

Nodding, Sam waved and gave chase after them. He was a really good guy and Quinn was happy they were friends.

---

Later that evening when Rachel returned from her rehearsal, she was all smiles and talking about how amazing Noah was. Quinn worried the other girl was definitely going to become one of those girls. She tried not to cringe, tried to remind herself that it was Rachel’s life. It just made her a little uneasy.

“Noah invited me to a St. Patrick’s Day party. Well, he told me to bring you as well.” Rachel smirked over at her and readied for bed. “I think he likes you.”

Quinn ignored the feeling in her stomach at those words. She made a noncommittal noise of acknowledgement but didn’t look up from her textbook.

---

The party was already in full swing by the time she and Rachel arrived. Puck had given them the address to an apartment that was about a fifteen minute walk from campus. It was just as well since she and Rachel didn’t have access to a car and the buses into town stopped running after seven.

The apartment was larger than any Quinn had seen, which admittedly weren’t many. There weren’t any near where she lived in Findlay proper. But even with all of the people milling about she could tell it was a massive space. There was also a pungent odor wafting through the entire place and she coughed a little at the cloud of smoke that gave the entire place a kind of haze.

She looked to her right and Rachel was already shedding her coat, revealing a lime green dress with white flowers and fell, what Quinn thought was a dangerously short length, mid-thigh and wasn’t at all like anything Rachel usually wore.

Sam came over and greeted them, shouting over the loud music. He leaned in and whispered something to Rachel and she handed him her coat. He looked over at Quinn expectantly and she quickly unbuttoned her own, handing it to him. Her green dress was pressed and the appropriate length, but she felt like she stuck out like a sore thumb among the others in their modern fare. Even Rachel, with her thick eye makeup, was blending in. She followed behind Sam and Quinn behind her until a train of people broke between them and she lost sight.

Quinn moved to what she guessed was the living room given the two couches and the people dancing in the middle of the floor. Though, it was more like bodies writhing together than actual moving. The odor was stronger in here and she watched people passing around what looked like a homemade cigarette, but it definitely didn’t smell like that. Frannie used to sneak cigarettes in their room when she’d been in high school. Quinn knew the difference.

She found a spot on the couch and sat down, smoothing her dress. She watched the crowd moving, body upon body. Guys next to girls next to other girls and guys kissing in the middle of the floor. Despite living with Rachel and being friends with Kurt, she’d yet to see anything like that. How could they just do this in the open without a care? What if someone they knew saw?

“Peace offering, sister,” a tall man with dark brown skin and a big afro said, holding out a “cigarette” to Quinn.

The blonde shook her head. “I don’t smoke. No thank you.”

The man looked surprised. “This right here is the finest sweet lucy around. It’ll open up your mind.” His tone was mellow and he kind of swayed as he spoke.

Quinn wondered if it was how he naturally was or if it was whatever he was smoking. She shook her head again and gave him a nice smile for good measure. With a shrug he wandered away and Quinn let out a sigh of relief. Her head was starting to feel a little cloudy as she continued to sit there and when someone handed her a brownie, she happily took it. She finished it quickly, ignoring the somewhat odd taste.

“I was five and he was six. We rode on the horses made of sticks. He wore black and I wore white. He would always win the fight. Bang, bang...he shot me down. Bang, bang I hit the ground...bang, bang that awful sound. Bang, bang...my baby shot me down.”

The music slowed and someone brought out a guitar. The bodies in front of her sat down and she realized it was Puck strumming along, but the voice was what caught her attention. It was unlike any she’d ever heard. So different, smokey and silky at the same time. It was a stark contrast to spending months listening to Rachel’s voice. A girl with long blonde hair sat in a guys lap and Quinn could see who was singing. She was unlike any girl Quinn had ever seen.

Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders in thick waves was held back by a thick white headband. Her skin was a warm, caramel color and her thin body was barely covered by a shirt that revealed a bit of her midriff and a skirt that was shorter than Rachel’s dress. It was both appalling and intriguing and Quinn couldn’t look away.

The girl’s eyes opened and found Quinn’s across the room. Her head swam and she felt surrounded by the sound of the girl’s voice. She had a smug look about her that made Quinn bristle even in the sight of her tiny smile. The people around them seemed enraptured, but Quinn barely noticed them. It felt like the girl was singing only to her and the words drifted through her ears and over her body, making her feel calm and dizzy, like she needed to lay down, but she was already sitting.The blonde forced her eyes away and didn’t clap along with the rest of the group when the song ended.

“Hey, why’re you sitting here all alone?” Puck asked as the group moved back to dancing. She hadn’t even noticed his approach. Had he been standing there long? It was as if she no longer had a concept of time. She felt so odd. She looked up at him, relieved to see a familiar face even if it was Puck’s.

“I don’t know where Rachel’s gone,” she admitted but her voice sounded foreign to her own ears and she frowned. “Who was that girl?”

Puck looked around then back at her. “What? You mean the girl that was singing?” Quinn nodded and tilted her head to the side to see if she could catch sight of the girl. “That’s Santana,” he answered as if Quinn should know who that was. But before she could ask him anything further he held out his hand. “Dance with me.”

Quinn shook her head. “I don’t dance like that.”

“That’s okay. I’ll show you.” Puck reached down and tugged her hand until she was standing. He led her to the middle and gripped her hips.

Leaning in, Quinn spoke into his ear. “I can’t dance with you like this. I have a boyfriend.”

She could feel Puck’s laughter as he pulled her body even closer. “They always do. And where is this boyfriend?” He questioned, his hips sort of rocking against her in a hypnotic fashion.

“He’s fighting in the war.” Quinn couldn’t find whatever rhythm he was dancing, but she found comfort in the pattern.

“Of course he is,” Puck mumbled against the skin of her neck. She wanted to pull away, but her body felt heavy with movement. She managed to spot Rachel and Sam and frowned at the sight of them kissing like she’d seen the boys on the floor doing earlier. She didn’t know Rachel and Sam kissed like that and why didn’t Rachel tell her?

She didn’t have time to dwell because Puck spun her around and she caught sight of the girl, Santana, standing there. She looked mad, glaring directly at Quinn and Puck as they moved along the floor.

---

Quinn woke with a start, shooting straight up from where she’d fallen asleep. Had she fallen asleep on a couch? Why was she on a couch?

“Oh good, you’re not actually dead,” a voice to her right deadpanned. She looked over and saw the singer from last night.

Had that been a dream? What she still dreaming? “Where am I? Where’s Puck?”

The girl, Quinn tried to remember her name, rolled her eyes and set her bowl of cereal down on the end table. She stood up from the arm of the couch she’d been occupying and stretched. Her legs seemed long in the shorts she was wearing and her top was one of those flowy ones Quinn had seen some of the girls on campus wearing. “Right. Well, you’re in my apartment and the lady killer is passed out in my bed. Sorry,” she said, though the smile on her face was anything but.

“Oh!” Quinn said with frown. She didn’t know what to make of that. She couldn’t remember much the night after dancing with Puck. She looked down at herself and saw she was still fully clothed. That was good. She’d heard the stories of the not so nice things that sometimes happened to girls at parties.

“Yeah, that tends to happen sometimes.” The girl shrugged and reached for her bowl again.

The door to the apartment swung open and Rachel and Sam tumbled in laughing. Rachel’s eyes went wide and she raced over to the couch and sat down. “Oh good you’re up finally.’

“Finally? And why did you leave me alone here?” Quinn hissed her annoyance rising when she saw Sam’s guilty look.

“Well gosh, Quinn, you just looked so peaceful sleeping and Santana told us where to get some breakfast items. So, we just ran down the street to the store. I didn’t think you’d want to be woken up.” Rachel sighed, looking contrite.

Rachel was a good roommate like that, always looking out for her and Quinn felt guilty for snapping at her. “Thanks for not waking me, but next time don’t leave me alone with strangers,” she mumbled and smiled so that the other girl knew she wasn’t actually mad.

“I brought you back a bagel with cream cheese, just the way you like it.” Rachel motioned for Sam to bring her the bag. He walked over with a goofy grin on his face and Quinn remembered seeing them kiss the night before. She cocked an eyebrow at Rachel, who blushed and looked away. She smiled, truly happy for the girl, but she was definitely going to be asking her a lot of questions when they got back to their room.

“Do I smell bagels?” Puck asked, walking into the room in nothing but his jeans which were unbuttoned. He smirked over at Quinn winking and the blonde felt her own cheeks flush.

“No ya pendejo, how can you smell a bagel?” Santana questioned, her hand smacking his arm.

“It’s a heightened sense of smell. That’s why Jews got such big noses,” he called back at her when she headed into what Quinn assumed was the kitchen.

Rachel looked up at Sam and frowned, touching her nose. “Do you think my nose is big?”

---
“No way, man! Ben Cartwright would totally win in a gunfight. He’d have his out of his sling before Matt Dillon could even reach for his.” Sam was lounging across the couch, his head in Rachel’s lap as she played with his hair.

“The show is called Gunsmoke. Lay off the grass, my brother. You have don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Quinn rolled her eyes and went back to reading this book one of the girls at the rally had given her. SCUM Manifesto was underground literature and a lot more radical than anything she’d read prior to it. It was a little extreme for her taste, but it had some interesting points, Quinn thought. And it beat listening to the guys arguing over who would win in a Western brawl.

“Quinn, who do you think would win?”

The question ripped right through her thoughts and she glanced up at them, trying not to be annoyed. “I’m sorry, I don’t watch much television.” It was politer than what she wanted to say, but she didn’t want to start a fight. She just wanted to read her book.

“Boys, remember Quinn doesn’t have time. When else is she going to find the time to learn to bake pies and so on buttons?” Santana chimed in from where she was sitting on the floor. She met Quinn’s eyes with a defiant smirk.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I think you talk a good game and you sit there reading all of the books, but I don’t think you’re actually fighting for the cause.” Santana leaned back on her hands, her unrestrained breasts stretching the material of her shirt.

“I am too,” Quinn said back childishly, averting her gaze. “Just because we fight differently doesn’t mean we’re not on the same team.”

Santana’s smile grew at that and she glanced over at Puck. The two shared some kind of look and Quinn didn’t really understand. “Oh honey, believe me when I say we are definitely not on the same kind of team.”

Puck snickered and, annoyed, Quinn stood from her place on the opposite couch and walked to the door. “I’m going back to campus. Rachel, I’ll see you later.”

She was out of the door before the even had a chance to protest. Santana thought she was so smart. Just because she dressed like that and didn’t wear a bra didn’t mean she was better than Quinn.

Still she had to wonder at what team Santana was even referring to.

---

A week later, Quinn figured it out when she caught Santana in a rather heated embrace with girl she’d seen at a few rallies named Marley Rose, she figured out that was at least half of what she’d meant.

---
May 1966
April passed quickly. She spent most of her time with her new group of friends, well her new group of friends and Santana, and reading and going to rallies with every free moment she had from studying. She was going to finish the year with high honors, much to the delight of her parents, but Quinn consoled herself with the fact that she was becoming a highly educated young woman. She took comfort in the fact that she would be leaving a greater mark for her future children. She was more than her mother’s legacy already.

But as she packed up her belongings, hiding the feminist literature between her freshly laundered shirts, she grew worried. She would have to wait almost four months before returning to school and how would she make it through the summer? Being at home during holidays had almost been unbearable. What would she do for all of that time? Maybe she would squeeze a visit or two in with Rachel, but not too many or her parents would forbid her to go.

It dawned on her that she had spent months pretending to be a grown woman, but in all honesty, she wasn’t her own woman at all. She was still so dependent on her parents and that settled in her stomach like a lump of the stale bread in the cafeteria. She felt distraught and uncertain of what the summer would bring. How was she to go back to serving her father’s every whim? She’d go crazy.

She glanced up at Rachel’s poster of Barbra Streisand and tried to pull strength from it. It didn’t work as well as it did for Rachel, but eventually a plan started to form and she felt something within her ease. She would bide her time this summer and come fall, she’d start working on becoming less dependent.

---

“Promise me you’ll write!” Rachel begged as they took the last few moments to say goodbye. Rachel’s father was downstairs waiting. Quinn’s parents would be there later that evening.

“At least once a week,” Quinn promised yet again. Rachel was prone to dramatics, but the blonde had to admit she didn’t want to leave this place either.

Rachel wrapped her arms around her roommate and squeezed tightly. “Oh I don’t know why I’m so sad. This isn’t goodbye. It’s I’ll see you later. I’m just going to miss you so much.”

Quinn’s eyes fluttered shut. “I’m going to miss you too, Rachel. Now go before you father comes looking for you.”

They shared one last hug and then Rachel was off, her worn saddle shoes a reminder of how far they’d come.

---

June 1966

Being at home was exactly as it had always been. It was just that Quinn felt as if she no longer belonged here.

---

Quinn lay on her back when the knock at the front door came. She frowned because she was the only one home and her mother hadn’t mentioned expecting company. She slid her feminist magazine beneath her mattress again and flipped over to stand up. She needed to straighten her appearance before she actually answered the door. So she hoped whomever it was would just be patient with her.

She tucked her blouse back into her skirt neatly, and slipped her loafers back onto her feet. She combed her fingers through her hair and frowned a little. It was getting long. She should probably cut it, but she’d been thinking about letting it grow out. All of the girls in her new group wore their hair longer than this and it was beautiful.

The knock sounded again and she turned away from the mirror and raced out of the door. She hurried down the stairs and paused right before the knob, taking a moment to calm her breathing. She didn’t think there was anything wrong with still having manners, but her brain reasoned that maybe manners were yet another thing that the patriarchal establishment had put on women to ensure they behaved in a certain way. She’d have to find out.

The door opened and she let out a gasp when she found out who was on the other side of it. Finn smiled down at her, looking a lot older than he had before he left.

“Hi Quinnie, it’s so great to see you.” They were hugging before she managed to get out a single word and she wondered why she suddenly felt like she couldn’t breathe.

---

“Yeah, the war is something. You should see it over there, Q. I mean the whole place is green and the people look so different from Americans, but I think we’re making a change. You know, we’re really showing them how great life could be.” Finn sat back on the porch swing. His mother had retired to bed a while ago.

Quinn listened to him speak. It was all so different from what she’d been hearing at the rallies at school. Maybe people were just confused. It was a very scary time in the world and she felt happy that guys like Finn were out there trying to make it safe. He was such a good guy, but there was something niggling at the back of her mind and she couldn’t place it. Something just felt wrong about fighting a war to ensure peace.

“How long will you be home?” She asked instead, leaning her head on his shoulder.

He wrapped her arm around her’s. “I’m only here until July. Then I’m going back. They promised me a great job when I get back and I can get you a nice ring. Then we can be married in another year, two tops.”

The air rushed out of Quinn’s lungs at just the thought.

---

Three weeks passed and everything was back to normal between her and Finn. They spent all of their free time together and she was epitome of the perfect girlfriend. A part of her loathed the role she was playing, but the other part wondered if she wasn’t playing a role at all. Was this really who she was?

---

July 1966

Late one July afternoon, a huge car pulled up in front of Quinn’s house. She and Finn had been out in the yard, joking around and she paused, wondering who was visiting. The passenger door opened first and Rachel popped out, a huge smile on her face.

“Quinn!” Rachel was already running to her before the shock at seeing her roommate wore off. She smiled brightly as Rachel came through the gate and hurled herself into Quinn’s arms.

The two laughed and hugged tightly and Quinn heard the sound of the car doors opening and closing. She was surprised to see Kurt, Puck, and Sam walking towards her. She’d missed them almost as much as she’d missed Rachel. They all hugged her too, Puck spinning her around in the air as if she weighed nothing.

“Quinn, who are all of these people?”

She’d almost forgotten that Finn was standing there. Quinn stepped away from Puck quickly and walked back over to her boyfriend. “Finn, these are my friend from school. That’s Puck, Kurt, and Sam. And Rachel’s my roommate.”

They all extended pleasantries, but she could tell Finn was uncomfortable. All of the guys were dressed in flared denims and flowing shirts. Kurt’s hair had grown out to a semi-shaggy look and Sam’s hair was now past his shoulders. And Rachel was wearing orange and white one-piece that reminded Quinn a little of a bathing suit and showed off almost all of her leg. Something Finn was clearly not used to seeing.

“What are you guys doing here?” She asked when a silence fell between the group awkwardly.

“Oh, we’re taking a car trip to New York City for Independence Day. There’s going to be a rally and fireworks,” Sam answered, slinging his arm over Rachel’s shoulders.

Her roommate nodded and practically bounced at his side. “Yeah, we were hoping you’d come with us. I haven’t seen you in so long. It feels like practically forever.”

Quinn knew how she felt. She’d been going stir-crazy at home before Finn had come back.”I’d love to go! I just...Finn’s not going to be here for much longer and what would I tell my folks?”

“Tell them that you’re finally breaking the chains of oppression.”

Spinning around, Quinn felt her heart trip a beat at seeing Santana. What was she doing there? Quinn looked down at her shirt that stopped just below her breasts and exposed her midriff completely and her shorts that were sinfully short. Why did she always have to dress like that? Quinn thought with a frown.

“Or you could tell them that you’re going on a trip with your real friend.” The girl looked up at Finn and then back at Quinn with that little smirk the blonde had always hated. And since when was Santana her friend?

“It’s not that simple, Santana. I have responsibilities here and my mother would worry. I’ve never been to New York before.”

Santana rolled her eyes and then looked up at Finn. “How do you put up with this, man? You want to come don’t you?”

Finn had been almost oddly quiet during the whole exchange and Quinn couldn’t bring herself to look up at his face. What he must think of her friends and her by extension.

“Sure, it sounds like a lot of fun.”

Quinn’s eyes shot to his face and her brow wrinkled in confusion. “What?”

Smiling down at her, Finn patted her shoulder, pulling her into his side. “Sounds like fun. I don’t have a lot of time left and I think we could have a great time.” He glanced back up at Santana and gave her a little nod. “Count us in.”

---

“How can you defend it? We’re basically over there killing innocent people because they don’t have ‘freedom.’ That doesn’t make any sense!” Puck’s voice raised and he shook his head.

“That isn’t how it is. You don’t know. You’re not there. We are helping South Vietnam because they want their freedom. How can that be bad?” Finn questioned and grimaced, setting down his empty beer bottle.

Sam was huddled next to Rachel, looking up at the stars and didn’t bother joining. Quinn could tell he wanted to, but Rachel was whispering into his ear. Puck and Finn had been arguing since the anti-war rally three hours before. Quinn had known it was a bad idea for him to go, but he’d insisted.

Puck took a drag of his joint and held it in, blowing the smoke out after a few moments. “You’ve been brainwashed by the man. You need to read, study what this war is really about. Showing the world who has the biggest gun.”

Finn laughed humorlessly. “Is that what they’re teaching you at that fancy school of yours? The truth? Why don’t you do what real men do and enlist? Fight for your country.”

“You think signing up to go over there and fight in this war is what it means to be a real man?” Puck sat up and laughed. The group they’d met up with at the rally were sitting next to him, watching it like a ping pong match. Quinn sighed. She didn’t want to be around this fighting. She was starting to wish Finn hadn’t come along.

She stood up, intending to walk away for some fresh air, but Finn’s hand on her arm stopped her. “Can you get me another beer? Thanks, Quinnie.” He barely looked at her when he spoke and she flashed back to Thanksgiving and Christmas. She gritted her teeth and nodded, walking over to the cooler.

“Is there some reason he couldn’t get that himself? Are his hands broken?” Santana was in front of her seemingly out of nowhere. She’s almost forgotten about the other girl. She’d been unusually quiet since they’d gotten to New York, mostly spending her time with Puck or Rachel.

Quinn started, nearly dropping the beer back into the ice cold water. “What?”

“I didn’t think you did that anymore. Served men.”

Hazel eyes glanced back over at Finn and shook her head. She felt guilt settle in her stomach and glared at Santana for making her feel it. “It’s not like that. He’s just in the middle of something and I was getting up. I really don’t mind.”

Santana stared at her for a long time, her expression disbelieving and disappointed. “Whatever you say.”

Quinn stalked away. Who did Santana think she was anyway? Quinn wasn’t serving Finn. She wasn’t. Santana could go take a long walk off of a short pier.

---

The air was sticky humid as the fireworks started going off over the park. Quinn had stepped away from the group again, needing a break from it all. She’d promised to call her parents in the morning and she hoped she’d remember. She was pretty stoned right now and there was be a good chance she wouldn’t.

“You copasetic?”

She didn’t have to look over to see that Puck was standing next to her, but she didn’t mind. “Yep, I’m feeling really good, kind of mellow.”

Puck smiled when she looked over at him. “I told you. I only get the best.”

Another firework went off and Quinn let it distract her. Being near Puck always gave her a funny feeling in her stomach. She did her best to ignore it, but the way he smiled at her just made her feel things she didn’t with Finn. That was so very dangerous.

“So that’s the boyfriend, then.” It wasn’t a question and Quinn didn’t bother to reply. “That guy is a total meathead.”

“Well, he’s a meathead I love. So watch what you say.” She knew what he was trying to do, but she knew Finn was a good man. He’d be a great husband too. Puck would never be someone’s husband. He didn’t even like having girlfriends.

Puck sighed like he was annoyed with her, but she didn’t care. “You’re smarter than that. You’re bigger than him and just being some guy’s wife.”

She knew he was right. She’d been thinking it a lot since Finn came home, but she really did love him and being his wife wouldn’t be that bad. He loved her and he’d take care of her and their family. Didn’t mean she liked the idea that maybe he thought she wasn’t able to take care of herself.

“Looks like your boyfriend is enjoying the show as well.” Quinn looked at him in confusion and then in the direction of his eyes.

Finn was dancing around with Santana kind of draped over him. Quinn wasn’t sure who she was angrier with.

---

“I’m having a good time. I didn’t think I would with all of these peace-loving what do they call them? Hippies? I don’t know. They’re kind of fun.”

Quinn knew Finn wasn’t talking about Puck and Sam and she rolled onto her side, looking over at him. He was so handsome and she loved him so much, no matter what Puck said, she knew it to be true. Watching him with Santana just made her realize she’d give all of this up to be his wife. She didn’t want to lose him.

He didn’t question when she shifted in their joined sleeping bags and pressed her lips to his. No, there wasn’t a single word uttered until he was nestled between her thighs and his light brown eyes bore into her’s, the concern etched into his brow.

“Are you sure?” He whispered, looking around as if to be sure that no one would notice this single act of intimacy. She’d always pictured this would happen on her wedding night, on their marital bed, her last name Hudson instead of Fabray.

But things were different and she was learning the world was different than she’d ever imagined and after this, she knew she would never be the same. She’d be giving him a piece of her to take back to Vietnam. Something to ensure he’d always come back. So, she nodded and bit her lip to keep from crying out at the quick pain she felt when he entered her.

It was only for a moment and then she lost herself.

---

The morning brought fresh dew upon their skin and the harsh realities of what she’d done. There was a small part of her that wanted to take it back immediately, but she knew she couldn’t. Besides she was a woman now. She felt somehow older, more mature and she was owning her own body, deciding not to let society dictate to her when it was “the right time” to grow in her own truth. Rings meant ownership and Quinn wanted her equality.

She sat up, wanting to pull on her shirt again before anyone noticed what had happened. There was a movement out of the corner of her eye and she looked, locking eyes with Santana who just shook her head before turning away.

---

fic: silently falling apart (1/8)

grdnofevrythng — Thu, 28 Mar 2013 16:02:50 GMT

Title: Silently Falling Apart (1/8)
Rating: NC-17 (eventually)
Pairing: Quinn/Santana
Prompts: Historical Time Period for Quinntana Week 2013
Summary: Quinn's life is forever changed when she enters Oberlin in the late 60's.
Disclaimer: I don't own them. If I did, they'd probably go at it like bunnies.
A/N: First and foremost, a big thank you to Laura and my girlfriend for pushing me to finish this. This fic is longer than the rest and is part of the reason I haven't updated Love Fool yet (which will be finished and soon, I promise.) It's a gradual progression in Quinn and Santana's relationship, especially given the period of time I'll be dealing with. It's also told entirely from Quinn's POV which means it'll deal a lot with what's going on with her. So, please be patient with me. Special thanks to gleek23 for the beta services. Enjoy!

September 1966

Her parents had fought the whole drive to Oberlin and now her mother stood by the car, practically sobbing about her youngest child leaving the nest. She pulled Quinn into a tight hug and the girl sent her father a panicked look. Chuckling, Russell Fabray set his hands on his wife’s shoulders and tugged. “Now, now Judy, there’s no need to make a scene. Quinn will be home for Thanksgiving in no time. Isn’t that right, Quinnie?” Her father looked over at her with a wink and Quinn smiled.

“Right Mother, I’ll be home in a few short weeks. You needn’t be so worried. I’m sure I’ll be bored out of my mind in a matter of hours. Thank Heavens I have Finn to write to.” Quinn’s smile faltered at the mention of her boyfriend. Finn had been gone for three months, but he wasn’t overseas just yet. No, he was stationed someplace in Nebraska and chronically complained about not being someplace warmer. She wished he were here with her now because her nerves were all jumbled and he always made her feel so calm, unlike her parents.

In fact, Quinn was kind of anxious for them to leave. She’d never been on her own before, but there was an odd sense of freedom that had started to settle over her, one that spoke of new adventures and an exciting life. So, with one last kiss pressed to her mother’s pale cheek and hug for her father, Quinn lifted her two suitcases and headed towards her dorm.

The campus was huge, a lot bigger than her high school, and the weather was unseasonably warm even for September. Quinn was starting to regret the decision to wear her new overcoat instead of packing it, but her mother had insisted. Luckily her building wasn’t very far and there were bright balloons and a welcome banner outside.
Girls close to her age milled about outside with their parents and Quinn was happy her parents had left. She managed to get her suitcases inside of the door and paused at the desk.

“Name?” A girl with curly red hair and unfortunate pale skin asked.

“Um, Quinn Fabray,” the blonde replied, clearing her throat. She glanced at the girl’s name tag and saw that she was called “Betty.” Quinn snottily thought it was a name that suited her. She’d never once met a Betty that she liked.

“Oh there you are,” Betty answered, handing Quinn a key with a giant number seven and a letter “B” on it. “You live on the second floor, ‘B’ side in number seven. Think you can remember that?”

Quinn forced herself to smile brightly. “I have no problems with my memory. I managed to make it to college, haven’t I?”

Betty’s smile turned tight and she looked back down at her paper. “Good. Go on then.”

Girls moved up and down the stairs quickly as Quinn made her way down the hall to room number seven. There was a yellow star cut out of construction paper on the door and the name “Rachel” was handwritten on it. It seemed her roommate was already there.

Quinn dropped the bag in her right hand and used the key Betty had given her to open the door. She stepped inside, immediately moving to the bed on the right because it was the only free space available.

Hazel eyes scanned the mess of boxes and personal effects strewn about. She and Frannie had shared a room before Frannie had married Bill. So, Quinn wasn’t a stranger to sharing. She’d just never imagined her roommate wouldn’t be...well...neat.

“Oh!” A voice exclaimed, causing Quinn to glance over to the open closet doors. A girl shorter than herself with shiny dark brown hair and olive skin emerged. She was wearing a dark cardigan over a white blouse and a tartan skirt. Her knee highs were pristine white and she had worn saddle shoes. “Hi! You’re my roommate. I’m sorry for the mess, but I thought I’d have more time to unpack. You must think me uncouth.”

The blonde stood and shed her jacket, the warmth finally getting to her. She wasn’t certain what to make of this new person. She already talked more than Quinn cared for and she was messy. “Yes well, I’m here now.”

A blush crept the girl’s face and she nodded, taking a step forward. “I’m Rachel Berry.” She stuck out her hand and looked at Quinn expectantly.

“I’m Quinn Fabray,” the blonde replied, taking the proffered hand. She looked around at the girl’s mess again and then back at the girl.

“Oh yes, if you will just give me a moment, I will have all of this out of your way. Then you can bring in your things.” Rachel kicked at one of the boxes with her foot, pushing it out of the way.

Quinn turned back to the two suitcases. “Those are my things.” She hadn’t seen the point in packing everything up when it was much safer at her home.

Rachel’s dark eyes followed the same path and she looked surprised. “Is that all you brought? Doesn’t seem like much.”

“Well, I have plenty of clothing and there’s a laundry facility. Plus my two favorite books. What more do I need?” Quinn countered, crossing her arms.

“I don’t know. What about pictures and posters and things that remind you of home?” Rachel didn’t seem intimidated by the question or Quinn herself, something the blonde was not used to at all.

Quinn rolled her eyes and moved back to her bed. She lifted her suitcase onto it and started to unpack. “I have pictures with me, but I have to admit I don’t watch many television programs and my things will always remind me of home. So, why should I bring clutter?”

Rachel’s quick answers seemed to have petered out and as Quinn turned to her with a smirk. The other girl was standing on her bed, taping a huge poster of a woman Quinn thought looked vaguely familiar.

“What in Heaven’s name is that?” Quinn asked, mildly startled by the sheer size of it.

The brunette’s eyes grew wide and her mouth fell open. “It’s Barbra Streisand. How can you even ask such a question?”

---

October 1966

It wasn’t hard to settle into life at university Quinn found. It had been a culture shock, being surrounded by so many different people. Women and men of all races and backgrounds. Her own roommate was Jewish, something her mother and father found scandalous. She’d had to promise her mother she was indeed still attending services at the campus chapel during their weekly phone calls.

“Quinn!” The sound of her voice shouted across the room caused her to look up. She watched a slightly disheveled Rachel running, towards the table, bumping into a group of boys that’d been standing around passing a tiny ball between them with their feet and bodies. She paused a moment to apologize, Quinn had no doubt, and then made her way over to the table where her blonde roommate sat. “I’m sorry I’m so late. Professor Anders kept us longer than anticipated. She was teaching us the art of movement.” Rachel shed her woolen coat, placing it on the seat she was standing behind and then pulled out the chair, plopping down.

Quinn often wondered how Rachel could be so wild. Quinn and her sister had never been permitted to run indoors and their hair was to be perfectly groomed and their clothing in pristine condition. Years of charm school had prepared Quinn to be the perfect wife and mother. She wondered at what kind of mother Rachel had. Perhaps she found Rachel as exasperating as Quinn did at times.

“It’s okay, Rachel. Just, do you have to shout my name across the room like that? And didn’t anyone ever teach you not to run indoors?” Quinn hissed, looking around to see if anyone had noticed them.

Rachel frowned a little, some of the joy leaving her expression. “Gee Quinn, I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just excited to see that you hadn’t left without me.” She brushed her hair back from her face and sat up straight.

“Yes, but proper young ladies do not shout across the room. They certainly don’t run indoors.” Really, Rachel should know these things by now. They were practically mature women.

“No offense, Quinn, but I think you’re idea of a proper woman is quite boring. Professor Anders says to truly act, we must become who we are. We can’t let society tell us who we are meant to be. We should decide for ourselves,” Rachel countered in a defensive manner.

Quinn made a face. She knew that Oberlin was a very liberal school, but surely women didn’t really believe that. They had a role to play in life. Wife and mother and for those women who couldn’t be either, a workforce job as a secretary or librarian. “She sounds like one of those women my mother and the ladies from her bridge game talk about. The ones that don’t wear bras or shave.”

Rachel shook her head. “Professor Anders isn’t like that at all. She’s just spirited. That’s what my father calls it. You know, it’s okay to have different ideas, Quinn. It’s what makes us special.”

“Hey Quinn,” the voice interrupted her before she had a chance to respond to Rachel. She glanced up and smiled when she saw a blond boy with his hands shoved into his pockets.

“Hi Sam,” she greeted with a bright smile. Sam Evans was in her English class. He wasn’t very good as far as she could tell, but he sat close to her any time he could and smiled whenever they passed each other on campus. He was very handsome, even if his hair was a tad too long and he wore the loose shirts of the other guys on campus.
“A few friends and I are going to go play guitars out on the quad. I was wondering if you’d like to join us.” He glanced over at Rachel as if noticing her sitting there as well. “Oh you can come too. The more the merrier.”

Rachel smiled shyly at that, ducking her head as she tucked her hair behind her ear. Quinn didn’t know what to make of that, but she didn’t dwell on the action. “That’s a really sweet offer, Sam, but I just don’t have the time. I have to finish four different chapters for my classes. I was planning to head back right after dinner.”

Sam looked disappointed, but he nodded all the same. “Perhaps some other time,” he said to both of them, quickly turning on his heels and walking away.

“You’re so lucky,” Rachel bemoaned, leaning on her hand as she watched Sam walk off with his friends. .

“I am? What’s got you so blue all of a sudden?” Quinn asked, taking a bit of her apple.

Rachel sighed and shifted in her seat. “You have a handsome guy off in some exotic place and the guys here can’t keep their eyes off of you.” She looked down at herself. “Standing next to you, I can’t compete.”

“It’s not a competition. My mother said some girls are just late bloomers. Of course, I’m sure Professor Anders would disagree, but if you insist on believing the foolishness she’s feeding you then you should take your own advice. You’re destined to be the next Barbra Streisand, right? That’s what you’re always telling me.” Quinn wasn’t sure what to make of Rachel’s aspirations to be an actress, but the girl seemed determined enough. “Though I can assure you she does not shout across the room nor run inside. I’m also certain she isn’t waiting around on a Friday night. She can have any leading man she wants.” The blonde actually had no idea if that was true, but it seemed to get Rachel out of her rut. “So how does she get a guy she likes to notice her?”

“You’re right! Quinn, you’re the best friend a girl could have. I just have to be like Barbra.” Rachel sat her hands down on the table and looked up at the blonde.

Quinn didn’t think that was quite what she’d said, but she was content for the topic of conversation to be over. She turned back to her to her tray and cut into her salisbury steak. It wasn’t as good as her mother’s, but it was pretty good.

Rachel eventually stood and retrieved her own dinner. She returned moments later with her kosher meal that she insisted on every night. Quinn wasn’t really certain what made a meal kosher or not kosher, but she also wasn’t Jewish. So, she didn’t think she needed to worry. The meals never looked all that appetizing anyway. “So, there’s a new club on campus. It’s supposed to be for women only. Emily Sabrego from my acting class said it’s going to be a lot of fun.”

Quinn hadn’t been expecting Rachel to speak. Usually supper time was the only part of the day in which she didn’t talk a mile a minute. “Well, if you want to go Rachel, I don’t see why you shouldn’t.” The blonde replied primly, more out of habit than anything else, scooped applesauce onto her spoon and brought it to her lips. The room was buzzing with people and she glanced around distractedly.

Rachel nodded slowly and let out a breath. “I was thinking we could maybe join together. We’re basically each other’s only friends and it would be good to get out and meet people. Be like Barbra.”

Quinn had a feeling those words were going to haunt her. “Barbra isn’t my inspiration,” she countered, feeling slight apprehension at the growing determination on Rachel’s face.

“Barbra is everyone’s inspiration, Quinn.”

---

”Is THAT ALL?”

The crowd of some twenty women cheered as a woman wearing jeans that flared out drastically at the bottom and a long flowing white blouse spoke loudly. Her arms moved excitedly and her blonde hair was curly and wild.

“How long will we be content to not be seen as equals just because God put us in these beautiful bodies? Are we not as capable as men?”

“YES!” The girls shouted.

“While our men are off fighting the white man’s war, who fills in their jobs? Who takes care of their homes? We do!” There was another round of applause and Quinn had to fight back rolling her eyes. “Women have stepped up for years and do they thank us? Do they pay us the same wages? Do they give us equal rights?” The blonde questioned, her eyes sweeping the room of women.

“NO!”

Quinn glanced over with wide eyes as Rachel chimed in with the rest of the girls. Surely her roommate didn’t believe this rubbish. A woman’s place was at home with the children. Quinn had been taught that her whole life. The only acceptable reasons for women to be in the workplace were spinsterhood and being a widow.

She flicked at an invisible piece of lint on her skirt and bit back her disdain. These women were delusional. She turned over the flyer she held in her hand and frowned. This was nothing more than propaganda meant to attack strong family values. She needed to leave. This wasn’t the place for her. She bent down to retrieve her books, tuning out the rest of what was being said. She didn’t need to hear anymore.

“You’re going?” Rachel asked, her dark eyes wide in surprise. She touched Quinn’s arm as if she meant to make her stay, but Quinn brushed her off.

“I am and so should you before they...brainwash you,” Quinn whispered loudly, throwing her hands up in the air. Her mary janes scuffed the floor as she moved to stand, nearly tripping over a girl sitting nearby.

Rachel looked affronted. There was a protest in her eyes even before she began to speak. “This isn’t brainwashing. This is...it’s truth, Quinn. It’s what society, which is run primarily by men, I might add, doesn’t want us to know. Don’t you want to know the truth?”

Quinn rolled her eyes and stood. She looked down at Rachel, her disappointment and disapproval clear on her face. “This isn’t truth, Rachel. This is...it’s just blatant disrespect. It’s an attack against God and families. If God wanted these things for us, he wouldn’t have made marriage!”

“Yes, well God made man and man is imperfect. You don’t think that maybe man got this part wrong? As far as I knew, God made both man and woman in His image. If God thinks we’re equal, don’t you think we should too?” Rachel’s eyes were bright, glittering with anger.

“There is just no reasoning with you is there, Rachel Berry? You can stay if you want, but I am leaving.” Quinn didn’t like the way Rachel’s words made her mind race with questions she had no answers for. She huffed, shrugging into her jacket and headed towards the door.

A book appeared before her and she skidded to a stop looking down at it. She glanced to her left and saw and girl with hair as dark as Rachel but skin pale as the moonlight. Her eyes were an unusual shade of gray and Quinn found herself unable to look anywhere else. “Sister, take this book. It will change your life. No longer will you be cast in the shadows of night. Here you will find truth in the sun.”

Quinn took the proffered book and looked down at it. It had a simple red cover, it’s title embossed gold letters. The Feminine Mystique. It seemed strange and heavy in her hand, and she glanced back up at the girl. She smiled reassuringly and Quinn mumbled a quick word of thanks before rushing off.

---

November 1966

Freud’s mother was the pretty, docile bride of a man twice her age; his father ruled the family with an autocratic authority traditional in Jewish families during those centuries of persecution when the fathers were seldom able to establish authority in the outside world. His mother adored the young Sigmund, her first son, and thought him mystically destined for greatness; she seemed to exist only to gratify his every wish. His own memories of the sexual jealousy he felt for his father, whose wishes she also gratified, were the basis of his theory of the Oedipus complex. With his wife, as with his mother and sisters, his needs, his desires, his wishes, were the sun around which the household revolved. When the noise of his sisters’ practising the piano interrupted his studies, ‘the piano disappeared,’ Anna Freud recalled years later, ‘and with it all opportunities for his sisters to become musicians.’

Freud did not see this attitude as a problem, or cause for any problem, in women. It was woman’s nature to be ruled by man and her sickness to envy him. Freud’s letters to Martha, his future wife, written during the four years of their engagement (1882-6) have the fond, patronising sound of Torvald in A Doll’s House, scolding Nora for her pretenses at being human. Freud was beginning to probe the secrets of the human brain in the laboratory at Vienna; Martha was to wait, his ‘sweet child’, in her mother’s custody for four years, until he could come and fetch her. From these letters one can see that to him her identity was defined as child-housewife, even when she was no longer a child and not yet a housewife.

Quinn looked up from the book, her mind reeling with thoughts of her own household. Her mother’s sole purpose in life was to please her father. She only made meals that he enjoyed and if she tried something new, and he didn’t like it, she never made it again. She wanted to cut her hair and he told her no. So she didn’t. Frannie and Quinn were also expected to cater to their father. He had to approve of every single aspect of their lives. Quinn’s mind screamed ”why?”

The only answer she could come up with was “because that’s how things were supposed to be.”

---

Quinn felt like she was walking around with her head in the clouds for weeks. She still went to classes dutifully and got good grades on her tests, but she was beginning to wonder why. The next time there was a rally on campus, (she knew because of Rachel’s calendar that hung up across the room) she came in late and stood at the very back. Only this time she listened, taking to heart what the enthusiastic girl on stage said.

Did all she want for her life to reflect when she died was that she was a good wife and mother?

---

“You can’t hurry love, no you just have to wait. They say love don’t come easy. It’s a game of give and take.”

Quinn sat her book aside and regarded her roommate as she had been all week. She wondered what Rachel’s childhood had been like. What was her mother like? It was strange because Rachel was open about everything else, but she never spoke about home outside of mentioning her father and an uncle occasionally.

The girl was spinning around and dancing, singing into a hairbrush as she was prone to do. Though, Quinn didn’t mind because Rachel’s voice was one of the best that Quinn had ever heard. She also really loved this song. “Negro music” was banned from her house, but it was one of the few rules her mother actually disobeyed. When her father was at work or out playing golf with his colleagues, Judy would crank up the Supremes or any number of the other Motown artists and she and the girls would sing along.

But this wasn’t the time for singing and Quinn cleared her throat, tilting her head to the side. “Rachel?” She said loud enough to be heard over the music. The girl whipped around and looked at her, a sheepish grin on her face.

“I’m sorry, Quinn. Did I disturb your reading? My father says sometimes I’m up in the stars when I sing. I guess that’s true.” Rachel rushed to the radio and turned it down, holding up her hand in apology.

“No, no, it’s not that. I was just wondering...why you never talk about your mother.” Quinn shifted on her bed and recrossed her legs at the ankle. Her right bobby sock slid down, but she didn’t bother with it.

A strange expression crossed the brunette’s usually open expression and she sat down on her bed. She fiddled with her hands nervously, something Quinn was also not used to seeing. It piqued her interest. “I suppose,” Rachel started, still not looking at the blonde. “I suppose it’s because I never knew my mother. She died while in childbirth with me.”

Quinn held in her gasp. She knew those types of things happened, but she’d never known anyone personally. “I’m so sorry, Rachel. Do you know what happened?”

Rachel nodded and looked away towards the window. It was just starting to get dark and she shivered as if she were outside. “They-they wouldn’t let my father in the hospital. It was whites only and he is a colored man. So even though she was in labor and even though I was practically coming out of her, they had to drive thirty minutes across town to the colored hospital.” The girl paused and took a shuddered breath. “There was an infection and the colored hospitals they didn’t...they didn’t have the same sorts of medicines and equipment that other hospitals do.”

Nodding, Quinn looked down at her lap. She’d never realized Rachel was colored. She’d just thought it was her Jewish complexion. Her father had always warned her against getting too close to colored people, but she couldn’t look at Rachel and see any differences between them besides their parentage.

“My mother was a beautiful singer. She wanted to be an actress just like me, but she fell in love and well...it’s funny how life works out, you know?” Rachel said softly.

Quinn glanced over at the picture beside Rachel’s bed. She’d always assumed the handsome man with the brown skin was just another one of the actors Rachel liked, but now she could see the resemblance. “Is that your father?” She asked, standing and moving towards Rachel’s pictures. She had them lined up on a shelf.

Rachel gave her a tearful smile and nodded. “Yes, he’s handsome isn’t he?”

He was handsome indeed, Quinn agreed. She picked up a few other pictures and lingered on the one of her father and another man leaning in towards one another. The man was white and taller. He kind of looked like Rachel as well, but it was somehow different. “Who is this man with your father, Rachel?”

There was another strange look on Rachel’s face, a fearful one that gave Quinn pause. “That’s my father’s...companion, Uncle Hiram. He’s my mother’s brother and he came to live with us when I was two-years-old. He was only supposed to stay until I was old enough to go to school, but he and Daddy fell in love.”

Quinn’s eyes went impossibly wide and she looked down at Rachel. “In love? Your father is a...he’s one of those men?” She hastily sat the picture down and moved away from Rachel, putting some distance between them.

She could see the defiant light in Rachel’s eyes was back and she folded her arms. “My father said love is love. That love is never wrong.”

“The Bible said that man shall not lay with man as he does a woman,” Quinn quoted, feeling sick to her stomach at just the idea of it. “God said that sort of love is...it’s an abomination.”

Rachel stood and held her fists down at her sides. “The Bible also said that it is okay to sell your daughter into slavery and that it’s not okay to grow two crops in the same fields. And the last time I checked, you eat bacon nearly everyday, Quinn. That is also an abomination. So is mixing meat and dairy. Do not throw my people’s laws in my face.” She spun on the heels of her saddle shoes and stormed out of the room.

Quinn watched after her, any argument she had dying in the her throat.

---

Thanksgiving was always a big affair at the Fabray house. Relatives from all over Ohio came to eat and Quinn and her mother and sister would spend all day in the kitchen while her father sat in his chair and spoke to the men in her family. This year that fact upset Quinn.

Why did her father get to sit around while the women were expected to make a grand dinner? This year, Frannie’s husband was also in attendance and she bristled at the way her sister practically babied him. He never had to lift a single finger, not even to get his own scotch. Would this be like that when Quinn married Finn? He was off fighting in the war now. So, his letters had all but stopped in the last few weeks.

It was just as well because her feelings were a jumbled mess most of the time and she didn’t know how to talk to him about them. He wouldn’t understand. He’d tell her she was being silly the way her mother had when she’d questioned why she wouldn’t cut her hair simply because her father wouldn’t like it.

Her family members politely asked her about college, but she knew they weren’t interested. They expected she would be in college until Finn returned from the war. They thought he was brave and that she would be lucky when he was home and they were married. College would be just a memory of something she did to pass the time, like knitting a blanket or learning how to make a new souffle.

All of those expectations that Quinn had even once had for herself now angered her and she stopped listening once they’d started poking at Frannie about having children. The turkey was brought to the table and her father made a big speech about carving it. Quinn had heard the speech nearly every year of her life. So, she didn’t bother listening to that either. There was just one thought that seemed to plague her mind.

Who carved the turkey at Rachel’s house?

---

December 1966

December brought more snow than November and though they were cozy inside, the radiator did nothing to thaw the iciness of Rachel demeanor. She was cordial to Quinn, almost too polite, the very definition of a proper young lady. And Quinn hated it.

She missed Rachel’s incessant chatter and singing. Her random thoughts on philosophical dilemmas and which Beatle Quinn thought was the dreamiest (Rachel said John. Quinn liked Paul). She missed having someone to share meals with. Sure she’d started dining with her new friends, but dinner had kind of always been her and Rachel’s. And now the girl sat with her theater friends and didn’t come back to the dorms until curfew, where she promptly went to sleep with a brusque “goodnight” and her back to the other side of the room.

She missed her friend and with all of the confusing thoughts swirling around her brain, she missed having someone to share ideas with. Rachel, she had no doubt, would really understand how much she felt like she was changing, but Rachel wasn’t speaking to her.

Quinn felt terrible and she didn’t know how fix it. She wondered if a simple apology would do the trick. All of the books she’d ever read about proper decorum said that a sincere, heartfelt apology for one’s social faux pas would do the trick.

She’d just never been particularly good at apologizing.

---

Finals forced Rachel to remain in their room to study. She hated the quiet of the library she’d once said and every other place was far too distracting. Quinn had no such problem, but she decided she’d had enough of the silence.

The brunette lay on her stomach on her pink comforter, twirling her pen. She was humming quietly to the song on the radio and everytime Quinn would shift, her shoulders would stiffen. Quinn sighed and looked back down at her science book.

“What are you studying?” She inquired casually.

Rachel’s pen froze, but she didn’t look over. “Math.”

“Is that a new sweater?”

“No,” Rachel replied evenly.

“Who’s the boy you’ve been sitting with everyday at lunch?”

“His name is Kurt.” The other girl rolled to a sitting position and frowned when she looked over at Quinn. “Is there something you really need, Quinn? I’m trying to study for a very important test.”

The blonde sighed. Rachel wasn’t going to make this easy. “I just-” The words lodged in her throat, but she needed to force them out. “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry I said those awful things to you before break. I feel just terrible about it.”

Curious brown eyes met hers, but her expression was unreadable. “Do you still think my father is loathsome?”

It was a test. Quinn knew it was and something in her fought to say that she did still think it was wrong. But she’d thought about it a lot over the last few weeks and she’d even read a few books about it in the library late one night when no one else was around. It had made her think, just like everything else lately. Maybe her parents had been completely wrong. Maybe they’d lied to her all along. “No, I don’t.”

Rachel seemed relieved almost and she smiled a little, rising her feet. Her shoes squeaked the floor as she crossed the room and she hugged Quinn tightly. “Apology accepted. I was starting to believe I’d been wrong about us being lifelong friends.”

Quinn did her best not to stiffen at the embrace. It wasn’t that she didn’t welcome it. She just struggled a lot with physical contact. She patted Rachel’s back lightly and then pulled away. She felt like a burden had been lifted and she was grateful.

“Now, are you going to tell me about the new guy in your life?” Quinn had been admittedly curious about the boy with the pale skin and perfect hair. “I’ve been dying to ask about your new boyfriend.”

Her roommate looked a little amused and shrugged her shoulders. “Kurt’s not my boyfriend, Quinn. He’d very much like a boyfriend of his own someday.”

Blinking, Quinn digested the information. “Oh...well please tell him I wish him luck on his endeavor.”

---

Christmas was a lot like Thanksgiving for Quinn. She and Rachel had exchanged addresses so that they could write each other over the break, but Quinn missed her and their tiny room almost as soon as she stepped into the foyer of her home.

All of the traditions that were once her favorite part of the season now made her question how they even came about in the first place. Did her mother really enjoy having to wrap all of the presents by herself. And why did she have to cancel her bridge game just because her father didn’t wish to have company that evening?

Finn’s letter arrived her second day home. He wished her a Merry Christmas and sent her a picture of flower he’d bought from a local merchant. He spoke of Vietnam being unlike any other place they’d ever seen and said that he loved her and thought of her everyday. The last part made Quinn feel guilty. She missed him terribly, but she’d been thinking about him less and less as she made new friends and was seeing the real truth for the first time. It was starting to feel more and more like Finn didn’t have a place in her new world.

When her father made a joke during Christmas dinner about women being dumber than men, Quinn stood up and left the table.

---

February 1966

Sam asked Quinn out for Valentine’s Day. It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen it coming. She knew when a boy liked her. She just had never thought of her answer.

She gave him a sympathetic smile and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Sam. I have a boyfriend.” He took it well and said he understood. She was grateful he wasn’t upset, but she felt something strange in the pit of her stomach. When had those words stopped feeling true?

fic: silently falling apart (prologue)

grdnofevrythng — Thu, 28 Mar 2013 15:51:49 GMT

Title: Silently Falling Apart (prologue)
Rating: NC-17 (eventually)
Pairing: Quinn/Santana
Prompts: Historical Time Period for Quinntana Week 2013
Summary: Quinn's life is forever changed when she enters Oberlin in the late 60's.
Disclaimer: I don't own them. If I did, they'd probably go at it like bunnies.
A/N: First and foremost, a big thank you to Laura and my girlfriend for pushing me to finish this. This fic is longer than the rest and is part of the reason I haven't updated Love Fool yet (which will be finished and soon, I promise.) It's a gradual progression in Quinn and Santana's relationship, especially given the period of time I'll be dealing with. It's also told entirely from Quinn's POV which means it'll deal a lot with what's going on with her. So, please be patient with me. Special thanks to gleek23 for the beta services. Enjoy!

May 1966

“Quinn, did you hear me?”

The question posed brought the blonde up short. She’d been listening to Finn. Of course she had. It was just that the words didn’t make any sense and she felt an overwhelming sense of panic like that time she’d been locked in Frannie’s closet. The walls had felt like they were closing in and this wasn’t unlike that. She gulped in a deep breath, discreetly and glanced up into expectant light brown eyes.

Finn had kind eyes. The kindest she’d ever seen. She remembered the first time she’d seen him in Mrs. Franklin’s biology class. He’d asked to borrow a pencil because the tip of his had splintered. She’d been caught off guard by the sincerity and had breathlessly handed over her spare yellow pencil. And the smile he’d given her in appreciation had caused her heart to flutter.

Her heart wasn’t fluttering now. No, she was sure it’d stopped altogether and as much as she wanted to respond, she couldn’t. The words stuck in her throat and she felt the need to do something silly and drastic like flee. She glanced around quickly, looking for an escape but found none. She was trapped.

The warm, gentle hand on her shoulder drew her attention and Quinn glanced up at her boyfriend, the man she was supposed to be spending the rest of her life with, and she felt like she was seeing him for the first time. What had he just been saying?

“Are you all right?” He asked, his brow furrowed in concern. Quinn forced herself to nodded, gulping in another breath. He seemed almost relieved as he smiled back at her. “Did you hear what I said?”

“Yes, you’ve enlisted in the United States Air Force and have the intentions of flying half across the world to fight in a war, leaving me alone here when we were supposed to get married.” Now that the words were sinking in, her shock was replaced with anger.

Finn withdrew his hand and scratched at the back of his neck. He ducked his head and looked away in remorse and Quinn felt vindicated. He should feel remorse. They’d had a plan and now he’d gone and changed it. “Quinn, don’t be like that.”

Quinn’s eyes widened and she pulled her cardigan tightly around her body defensively. “How else am I meant to feel, Finn Hudson? You promised me a ring and a wedding in a little white chapel where my grandfather would preside. Now you’re going off to fight in a war for God knows how long.” She threw her hands up in exasperation. It was the only thing she could do to keep from striking his face.

“And we’ll still have all of those things. It will just be when I come back.” Finn turned his body towards her and reached out, tilting her chin until she had no choice but to look at him. “I’ll come back and we’ll get married and I’ll buy us a house down the street from my ma and we’ll have a house full of babies,” he said, giving her that boyish grin that always made her melt. He shifted closer to her and wrapped his arms around her carefully as if he was still a little afraid she’d hit him. “What do you say to that? I’ll come back and get us a house...”

Her resolve was already crumbling, much to her chagrin. She didn’t want him to leave, but there was an appeal to the picture he so clearly painted. A house with a nice white fence and children with his hair and her smile. They’d have the perfect life. “And what am I supposed to do in the meantime?” She questioned, ignoring the way his eyes lit up.

“Well, you’ve been talking about wanting to go to college, right?”

fic: watching your world from afar

grdnofevrythng — Tue, 26 Mar 2013 01:48:04 GMT

Title: Watching Your World From Afar
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Quinn/Santana
Prompts: Nerd/Popular girl for Quinntana Week 2013
Summary: Quinn isn't going to survive doing this project with Santana Lopez.
Disclaimer: I don't own them. If I did, they'd probably go at it like bunnies.
A/N: A special thanks to Laura for the beta.

It has to be some cruel twist of fate when Mrs. Baufuss calls her name and says she’s paired with Santana Lopez of all people. A quiet settles over the room and Quinn doesn’t dare look back at the other girl. Mrs. Blaufuss is looking at her expectantly and she sighs and nods. What else is she supposed to do? She needs to do well on this project if she wants to make it into AP English next year.

The thing is, Quinn doesn’t want to be stuck doing all of the work. She’s had that happen one too many times. Popular kids just expect her to pick up the slack when they’re too lazy to put forth the effort because they know she cares about her grades. She’s not really expecting Santana to be any different, if she’s honest. The girl barely makes it to class on time and she certainly seems woefully unprepared most days. But Quinn’s also seen her slushie a number of students and so far, she’s been lucky to fly under the radar. She’d like to keep it that way.

She takes copious notes for the remainder of the class and is the first out of her seat when the bell rings. She needs to get to her locker. She feels close to a panic attack. She might have shed the pounds and the glasses and dyed her hair, but she’s still carrying around all Lucy’s anxiety.

“Quinn?” Mrs. Blaufuss erases the whiteboard as the other students leave. “Can you stick around for a moment?”

The blonde looks longingly at the door and Santana Lopez catches her eye. She has this strange expression on her face but smirks before heading out of the door. Quinn isn’t sure what to make of that, but she doesn’t have time to process because Mrs. Blaufuss is talking to her.

“I know this partnership is...not ideal, but you’re one of my best students. I think Santana could really benefit from your example.” Gray eyes gaze upon her, full of meaning and Quinn bites back a sigh.

She nods and clutches her books to her chest. “I’ll try my best.”

---

The end of the day finds Santana standing at her locker. Normally, there’s about five other Cheerios beside her and Quinn would never approach if that was the case today. Crowds, even small groups of people, make her incredibly nervous. It’s akin to being claustrophobic, but she actually prefers solitude to being with others. Only that just serves to make everyone else think she’s some sort of freak.

But this is for an assignment and it has to be done. She squares her shoulders and walks to Santana’s locker. She clears her throat and waits for the girl to acknowledge her presence.

Dark eyes flit across her face with disinterest and then turn back to the books that are being pulled from the open locker. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Yep, me...we need to set up some sort of schedule for getting together. We only have a week to get the project done and I’d rather not wait until the last minute.” Quinn’s words come out in a rush and have an edge to them. It can’t really be helped because her hands are starting to shake. She hates confrontation.

Santana slams her locker shut and regards Quinn silently for a moment. “Yeah well, I’m pretty busy because I actually have a life. So...”

Quinn bristles. She doesn’t mean to, but she can already sense where this is going. Her eyes narrow and she hitches her bag up on her shoulder. “So, you have social obligations. That’s fine, but I’m not going to do the work for you.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t going to say that you had to. So put your bitch away. I was just going to say I have some free time after practices, and Saturday after the game. Does that work for you?”

The surprise must be written on Quinn’s face because Santana gives her a smug grin. She nods and clears her throat. “I’m free those times.”

Santana’s smile just grows. “I’m sure you are.” She holds out her hand and Quinn just looks down at it, confused. “Give me your phone.”

“Why?”

Quinn’s already taking a step back when Santana rolls her eyes. “So I can program my number into your phone. Duh. God, you really are a little martian, aren’t you?” She hands her phone over, frowning at Santana as she does.

Santana’s thumb swipes across the screen of her phone and keys her number in. It’s hard for Quinn not to think this is some sort of trick. She wouldn’t put it past Santana. She has a reputation and Quinn would really hate to be the butt of one of the pranks pulled by the jocks and cheerleaders. After what happened to Rachel Berry last week, she can’t even imagine coming to school.

She takes her phone back and immediately looks at the new contact information. It looks like a real phone number. She turns off the screen and sticks the phone back into her bag. Santana’s already picking up her red and white backpack.

“Text me your address and I’ll be over after practice,” she calls over her shoulder as she heads down the hall to the locker room.

---

Quinn isn’t really expecting Santana to show up at all, let alone that very same night. The doorbell rings just as she’s finishing up the dishes. Her parents look over at her and then each other. It’s seven on a Tuesday evening. They rarely have visitors this late. Her mother answers the door and then calls to her and she’s surprised to see the other girl standing there.

She’s changed out of her uniform and is dressed more respectfully than Quinn’s ever seen her, in a pair of skinny jeans, heeled boots, and a floral-printed shirt that could stand to be cut a little higher. Her mother looks at her curiously.

“Oh...hey,” she says, trying to sound more casual than she’s feeling. On the one hand, she’s happy it wasn’t some sort of trap set up to humiliate her, though the night is still early, but this is also Santana Lopez at her house. She doesn’t really know what to do with that.

“Quinnie, aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend?” Her mother asks as her father comes to stand beside her.

Quinn really hates that nickname and she doesn’t like that now Santana knows it. It was just the easiest way for her parents to remember not to call her Lucy anymore. She shoots them a look, but her mother’s very adept at ignoring those. “This is Santana. We have a project to do for English.”

“Oh of course, do come in, Santana.” Her mother opens the door wider and Santana steps inside gracefully. “I’m Judy and this is Russell. We’re Quinn’s parents.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Fabray. I’m sorry to stop by so late. I had cheerleading practice and we were running behind.” Santana’s voice is syrupy sweet and Quinn just stares at her. This is the politest that Quinn’s ever seen the girl be with any sort of authority figure.

She can practically see her mother gush. They probably think Quinn’s making new friends and are thrilled that it’s cheerleader. If they only knew. “That’s quite alright. Can we get you anything? I made brownies today.”

Quinn wants to ask her mother if Santana looks like the type of girl that eats brownies, but she thinks the inquiry will be lost on her mother. So she refrains. “Mom...”

“That would be awesome, Mrs. Fabray. Thank you.”

Her mother beams and nods. “You girls go on up and get started on your project. I’ll bring them up and glasses of milk.”

Quinn covers her face with her hand. This couldn’t be any more embarrassing.

---

“Your mom is like the ultimate Stepford Wife, you know that right?”

Quinn glances up from where she’s sitting at her desk and watches as Santana munches on brownies, sprawled across Quinn’s full-sized bed. It’s been two days and she’s still not used to seeing Santana in her room, among her things. That would be true of anyone, but it’s especially true for Santana. She just seems so out of place with her dark clothing and her smooth skin and perfect hair among all of Quinn’s antique furniture and floral quilt.

“These would be so much better with pot in them,” she comments and sits up. She pushes the rest into her mouth and licks at her fingers. Quinn finds herself distracted by the movement until Santana smirks at her.

The blonde clears her throat and looks away. “We’re going to have to discuss how our project relates to the book.”

Santana kicks her foot out and shrugs. “That would be easier if I actually understood the book. Brave New World kind of sucks.” Her expression is petulant and Quinn is amused.

“I’ll agree it’s not my favorite piece of literature either, but it is what we’re assigned. So...” She lets the word trail in the same way Santana always does. It feels foreign in her mouth, but it also feels nice.

“Yeah, well explain to me what exactly is happening. I just get really confused by it all. People were sorted into classes. I get that, but there’s pills and people not taking the pills and all that other crap.” Santana’s hands move wildly as she speaks. The only person Quinn knows that does that is Rachel and she kind of wonders what Santana would say to having things in common with the other girl.

“Well, they were sorted in order to build a utopian society. The pills help maintain the illusion of that, but the problem is, you can’t have happy without sadness.”

“That is the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard.” Santana stands and walks around Quinn’s room, opening drawers and looking through notebooks.

Quinn’s skin itches in annoyance. She hates when people touch her stuff and it feels like a complete invasion of privacy. She opens her mouth to say as much when Santana holds up a picture of her...well of Lucy.

“Who’s this?”

Swallowing hard, Quinn stands and snatches the picture out of the girl’s hand, standing it back on her bookshelf.

“Me.”
---

“I have an idea of what we can do as a project.”

It’s a Thursday afternoon and the hallway is full of students eager to leave for the day. Quinn is standing at her locker, packing her bag to head to the bus. Rachel was supposed to be meeting her, but that voice, with its smooth alto quality, does not belong to her smaller friend. She turns around and Santana’s behind her, an excited expression on her face.

“I’m sorry?”

Santana rolls her eyes. She sighs and raises an eyebrow. “I said I have an idea for our project. I’d have said it in your mother language, but I don’t speak geek.”

The words are spoken without malice, but they still annoy Quinn. “Yet, you’re here talking to me in plain view. Aren’t you worried about your friends?”

Just then, Brittany Pierce walks by and shoots them a weird look, her eyes lingering on Santana. Quinn wonders if the rumors about the two of them are true. She just doesn’t feel like she knows Santana well enough to ask.

Santana shrugs. “Why? We’re doing an assignment together. What do I care what they think about that? Why should they even have an opinion?”

Quinn doesn’t actually have an answer for that. It just reminds her that she and Santana aren’t actually becoming friends. Next week, they’ll go back to not speaking when they see each other in the hallway.

“I don’t know. I guess they shouldn’t. Whatever. What’s your idea?”

The other girl looks confused for a moment and then smiles. “Oh, I was thinking we could somehow build our own version of a utopian society or whatever. My cousin, Marco, just got this miniature set last night and it gave me the idea. Blowfish will probably cream her panties.”

She has to admit that Santana’s idea isn’t a bad one and it certainly beats having to do something lame like make a poster board. Rachel had suggested a powerpoint presentation, but Quinn hadn’t been bowled over by that idea either.

“That’s actually a great idea, Santana.”

All smiles, Santana brushes off her shoulders. “Yeah, you’re not the only smart one, but shit, if you help me get an A on this, I’ll owe you. My parents have been breathing down my neck lately.”

It feels weird that Santana knows so much about her family, but she rarely talks about her own. Then again, Quinn never volunteers much information, save for Santana asking incredibly invasive questions that she sometimes declines to answer.

“I like the idea of you owing me,” Quinn admits quietly. She thinks she’s smiling and it happens so rarely nowadays that she doesn’t know how to feel.

But then Santana’s smiling back and she’s even more confused. “Deal. I’ll...I don’t know, give you a makeover or something,” Santana offers.

Quinn wants to say she doesn’t really want or need one, but Puck’s calling to Santana and she sees Rachel trying to sneak past him before he notices her. She frowns, hates that Rachel has to be afraid to walk down the hall.

No, she and Santana aren’t friends and Quinn knows they’ll never be. So when the girl says she has to go, Quinn just waves her off. She finishes grabbing her books and closes her locker. And as she and Rachel walk past the sea of red and white letterman jackets and short skirts, Quinn puts herself boldly between them.
---

It’s Saturday afternoon before they’re able to go to the store. Quinn wonders what Santana would be doing if they weren’t heading to Hobby Lobby for miniatures. Probably hanging out with her friends. Quinn, herself, would be holed up in her room, re-reading the Harry Potter books. (She likes to do that every few months, catching the foreshadowing she didn’t catch the last time she read it.)

She doesn’t go shopping often, she actually hates it. She doesn’t have a fear of crowds in stores the same way she does in school. Strangers aren’t generally looking to interact with her too often, but it does raise her anxiety level to about a four. She just doesn’t want Santana to know. So, she takes deep breaths quietly as the pull up and then unbuckles her seatbelt.

Santana’s already walking towards the store by the time Quinn’s closing her door. She hurries to catch up and misses whatever Santana said. The girl gives her a look and she realizes she was supposed to reply. So she just shrugs. Santana shakes her head and chuckles.

“You’re such a weido, Quinnie.”

“It’s Quinn,” she corrects because it’s definitely not at all okay that Santana calls her that.

Santana’s smirk transforms into a wicked one. “Why not, Quinnie?”

Quinn glares at her and tries to stroll past the girl into the store, but Santana steps into her way, managing to walk backwards without even tripping. “What’s wrong, Quinnie?”

“Stop,” Quinn says quietly, but Santana won’t. She laughs and keeps going until they’re in the store. Quinn tries to calm her agitation, but it’s getting to the point where she won’t be able to. She tries to distract herself looking at the merchandise, but Santana just lifts items and asks, “do you like this, Quinnie?”

They move down the aisles and Santana won’t stop saying that stupid nickname. Every question she asks has it tacked on in some way. Quinn’s chest starts to heave and she feels hand tremble when she lifts the first miniature. She’s angry and annoyed and Santana won’t stop. It’s too much of a sensory overload when she thinks about how if she doesn’t get the girl to quit it soon, quietly, she’ll have to confront her and demand it.

Her stomach twists painfully and she gulps in a sharp breath. It doesn’t work to stop the panic from rising. She sets the package down and all but runs down the aisle and out of the store. She nearly gets hit twice and rips through a group for teenage boys, but she doesn’t stop running until she reaches Santana’s car and leans against it.

It takes her a few moments to be calm again. She hates this, hates that she can’t just control it. She hates that she knows after this she’s going to have the worst headache and her body will just feel heavy and lethargic. She’s just want to curl up somewhere and fall asleep.

A hand grips her shoulder and she jumps away, spinning around her. Her eyes are wild as they land on Santana and she brushes her hair back from her face. Santana looks at her, face frowned in concern as she slowly drops her hand back to her side.

“Are you okay?”

She’s not, but Quinn nods anyway. She doesn’t really want to talk about. “I hate that name. Don’t use it.” She sounds angry, a lot angrier than she probably should be over a stupid nickname, but she’s just angry at herself. And at Santana for not just dropping it in a first place.

The thing is, she also wouldn’t dare speak to Santana like this if she weren’t coming down from a mild panic attack. Santana’s all right hooks and slushies, but she also has a vicious tongue. It cuts through people just as well as any blade and Quinn really doesn’t want to put herself in the line of fire.

“Sorry, okay? I won’t use it. I didn’t think it would make you spaz out.” Santana sounds bored and when Quinn looks up at her, she’s filing her nails. She’s surprised, not just because she doesn’t know how this situation even slightly makes it acceptable for her to do this mid-apology, but also because she wasn’t expecting one in the first place.

Quinn doesn’t really know what else to say. The anxiety is wearing off and she’s starting to feel a slight pounding at the base of her skull. “Thank you,” she says curtly.

An awkward silence falls over them and Quinn looks everywhere else but at Santana. The parking lot has gotten a little busier and she’s feeling even less like she wants to go back into the store, but they only have two more days to finish this project.

“Whatever, can we like go back in the store and get what we need without you acting like a total nutjob?” Santana sounds irritated and that just irritates her. She’s not going to be blamed for this.

“That depends. Can you go back in there and not act like a seven-year-old?”

Santana’s annoyance quickly gives way to a smirk. “Noted.”

---

They’ve spent the past two hours working on their utopian society model. “They” really means that she does the actual work and Santana sits across from her munching on brownies. She occasionally offers suggestions or comments on what kinds of things are actually in their perfect world. Which is just fine for Quinn because the only person who’s more OCD than her is probably Rachel or maybe Kurt. So things are put in just the perfect place.

“Man, Coach is totally going to kill me, but I can’t stop eating these,” Santana says in between bites. “Are you sure there isn’t weed already in them?”

Quinn’s lips quirk. Since they started this project, her mother has made brownies nearly everyday. It’s like she’s trying to win Santana’s friendship. “I assure you my mother doesn’t even know where to acquire such illegal substances, but maybe if I tell her how much you seem to want to have it added as an ingredient, she’ll go find some.”

Santana looks over at her like she’s trying to gauge if Quinn’s being serious or not. “Legit? Because that would make your mother about twenty times more dope than she already is.”

It’s weird that Santana seems to enjoy her mother so much. It makes Quinn wonder what Santana’s mother is like. All she can imagine is some fiery Latina woman who’d eat her mother for breakfast. The idea holds some appeal.

She starts gluing the trees down and Santana’s switching songs on the iPod. Today they’re listening to some playlist that’s mainly hip-hop and r&b, two genres Quinn isn’t familiar with, because Santana thinks she has weird taste in music. She just refrained from telling Santana that there was more to music than songs that told you to “fuck bitches and get money.”

“Can I ask what happened at the store today?” Santana’s sitting in the same spot again and her eyes are focused on Quinn. It makes her shift uncomfortably. She doesn’t want to talk about it and when the girl didn’t bring it up for the remainder of the trip, she didn’t think she’d have to.

“I had a panic attack,” Quinn answers quietly. She gets up and starts to look for a sheet of stickers on her desk.

“Okay...but like why?”

She doesn’t face Santana as she answers. She doesn’t like feeling this vulnerable, but she supposes Santana has a right to know exactly what triggered Quinn. At least so maybe she’ll think twice before doing it again.

“Normal people hate confrontation, but I can’t really handle it at all.” Her voice is quiet and she keeps looking for the sheet, trying to distract herself. “When I feel like I might have to be forceful in expressing my desires or when I think something might lead to an altercation, my anxiety level raises. I start to panic and feel like I can’t breathe.” She’s over simplifying a lot of it, but she doesn’t feel like doing any more explaining that she already has.

There’s a pause followed by another mumbled apology, but Quinn just ignores it. She locates the stickers and sits back down. She grabs one of the buildings and places one of the flag stickers on its front.

“What’s that?” Santana’s leaning forward, peering down at the building curiously. Quinn can see right down her shirt and she doesn’t mean for her gaze to linger. It’s just she can’t help but look.

Santana catches her and smirks, sitting back. Quinn’s face flushes bright, but she’s just going to ignore it. “It’s a GLBTQ community center.”

“Oh...” Something in Santana’s expression grows guarded.

“What? You don’t think in a perfect world people that at sexual minorities don’t need a safe space?” Maybe the rumors were wrong.

Santana’s eyes bore into herself and Quinn feels it click into place. “No, that’s really important to me...” the girl says softly.

Quinn nods. She gets what’s being said and feels compelled to admit the same. “It’s important to me too.”

Santana’s the first to break the contact, looking down at the utopia again. “But don’t you think in a perfect world, we wouldn’t even need one? I mean it wouldn’t make people stand out as different.”

“In my version of a perfect world you’d never even have to ask that question.”

---

Tuesday arrives faster than Quinn’s expecting it to. She hasn’t seen Santana since Saturday and the past two days have felt a little weird. It’s like she’s going to miss her or something. And the closer it gets to fifth period, the more anxious she feels. She chalks it up to nerves about their presentation.

Santana smiles at her when she walks in. She’d already dropped the model off at the beginning of the day because there was no way she was carrying it around to her classes. As far as she can tell, everyone else has done poster boards or other benign forms of media. Their model looks amazing among the boring crap.

She rolls her eyes at Sugar and Tina’s project. She knows, from the look on Tina’s face, who did all of the work. Sugar is barely making any sense and some of the other students are giggling. Quinn wonders how Sugar even got into Honors English II. She figures it has something to do with the amount of cash Sugar’s always throwing around.

They have to listen to two more presentations before it’s their turn, but when Mrs. Blaufuss calls them up, Quinn practically jumps out her seat. Santana strolls casually to the front, but her eyes meet Quinn’s and she can Santana’s just as proud of the work they did.

She drafted index cards for each of them before Santana left her house on Saturday, but it looks like the girl doesn’t even need them. Their presentation goes smoother than Quinn had ever dreamed of. She finds it strange that it was only a week ago that day that she was dreading even working with Santana. It somehow feels like a lifetime ago.

Mrs. Blaufuss says how impressed she is with their hardwork and gives Santana a pointed look when she speaks about people working to their full potential. Santana just rolls her eyes and walks back to her seat. Quinn finds herself watching and quickly does the same before someone can catch her doing it.

---

The end of the day comes and Quinn’s feeling a type of melancholy she hates. She knew they weren’t friends and really what’s roughly seven days out of four years? She and Santana will never have things in common enough for them to be friends. Quinn hates most of the girl’s friends and she’s sure Santana won’t be making any rounds to her lunch table of “rejects.” She just needs to make peace with this.

“Hey, Fabray,” the smooth alto voice is right next to her ear and she jumps.

“Santana, what are you doing?” she hisses, looking around. She’s not entirely sure what she’s expecting to see, but it’s like a reflex.

The girl just chuckles. “Sometimes I think you’re more worried about being seen talking to me.” She makes a big show of looking around too. “The coast is clear. No one from the nerd parade is going to see you breaking rank.” There’s about twenty things wrong with that statement and Quinn’s glare tells Santana just that. “Look. I just wanted to say thanks. Blowfish told me we aced the project.”

“You sound surprised. I told you, I like the idea of you owing me.” The words feel heavy with meaning. She can tell Santana thinks so too because there’s a slight change in her breathing.

“Yeah...about that. My schedule’s pretty busy this week...”

It’s such a let down. She knew this would happen. She just didn’t expect it to hurt this much. “It’s okay, Santana. You don’t really owe me anything.”

Confusion flashes across the girl’s face and she stare at Quinn. “I was just going to say that this weekend I can’t hang, but I’m free the next.”

“I-Oh.”

Santana flashes her a smile. “Yeah weirdo, calm down. You now have two weeks to get rid of all of those ugly dresses you love so much afores I do it for you.”

“I like my dresses. There’s nothing wrong with them,” Quinn says defensively.

“Yeah, I know. That’s the problem.” Someone calls Santana’s name from down the hall and she looks away. “I’m coming. Jesus Christ, I’m in the middle of something.” She turns back to Quinn and smirks. “I’ll see you next weekend?”

Something about the look she’s giving Quinn makes her heart beat a little faster and she nods mutely. “Yeah, I think I can manage that.”

“Good, see you later, Quinnie...” She waves and winks as she walks down the hall. She turns just before rounding the corner and shouts, “tell your mom to make those brownies.”

Quinn smiles back despite herself and shakes her head. She has no idea what to make of any of this. Rachel thinks Quinn’s being seduced by Santana’s ironic bad girl image, but Quinn thinks it’s more than that. And that’s enough for her.

fic: here i go again

grdnofevrythng — Fri, 22 Mar 2013 14:27:39 GMT

Title: Here I Go Again
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Santana/Rachel
Spoilers: Guilty Pleasures
Summary: Santana's tired of Rachel's moping.
Disclaimer: I don't own them. If I did, they'd probably go at it like bunnies.
A/N: I have no excuse for this really except, I had a lot of feelings after last night's episode.

Working in a bar gives Santana really weird hours, but she’s slowly starting to get used it. It really means that she was off randomly on Mondays and Tuesdays, you know, the normal nights where there is fuck all to do because it’s the beginning of the week and who wants to hang out at a bar when you work at a bar? Not her. She’s finding she’s too tired to even consider doing it by the time she stumbles in at the wee hours of Monday morning and collapses on the bed she managed to buy the week before because tips at CU are bangin’ just like she’d thought they would be.

It also means that she and Rachel share a day off on Tuesdays and she was certain that Rachel would completely ruin her time for relaxation by being, well, Rachel, but so far that hasn’t been the case. If anything, it’s nice to have the company and she’s not forced to watch a bunch of shows she doesn’t really like but humors Kurt for because he’s actually been playing nice and not making as much noise as he possibly can like he used to when she’s trying to sleep off a ten-hour shift when he has class. She is, however, really obsessed with The Facts of Life and Lady Hummel is all to blame for that. She’s almost through half of the episodes he dvr’d and thinks he’s crazy if he believes Jo and Blair aren’t up there in that room when Natalie and Tootie are off helping Mrs. Garrett going at it like the lesbian fantasy of a teenage boy.

Hello, she’s been there. She was that fantasy in high school.

Rachel’s beside her, practically folded in on herself. She’s moping again and Santana’s been trying to ignore it because Rachel’s reasoning for being all Lifetime Movie pathetic is over some guy that wasn’t even hot enough for her. And Santana’s all out of “told you so’s” because that’s getting redundant even to her and Kurt’s been trying to teach her “impulse control,” whatever the fuck that means.

Anyway, Jo and Blair are going at it again and it’s fucking hysterical in a way, but Rachel just sighs when she laughs. And yeah, Santana’s really over this pity party table for one. She pauses the episode and turns to Rachel. She reaches across and pats the knee Rachel has bent beneath her blanket and musters up her sweetest smile. “Okay, time for some more tough love, Berry. You’re weepy, sad clown face is starting to bear a striking resemblance to Grumpy Cat and that’s just not okay. Last night I actually had a bad dream that you expected me to change your litterbox.” Santana shudders at just the idea of that and ignores the roll of Rachel’s eyes.

“I’m not weepy.” Rachel’s defensive, but it’s in a way that lets Santana know that she knows she’s lying, not that she needs to be told that even a little bit.

“Oh no? Then what do you call it? You told me and Kurt that you were getting over two-buck Ken, but that was a week ago. I’m waiting to see this big talk put to action.”

Rachel flips onto her side, dislodging Santana’s hand and stares forward to the television. “Not that I expect you to actually understand this, but sometimes it takes more than four nights of binge drinking to get past your feelings.”

It’s a dig, but Santana’s not going to take the bait. But Rachel better watch it because Santana can only keep Snixx at bay for so long. “I’m not suggesting that it’s easy, but Christ Rachel, you can’t get hung up on every guy you date. If you’re going to be that clingy, which gotta say the most disgusting thing you could ever do outside of that lump of an ex-boyfriend of yours, then no one will ever date you again.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” Rachel mumbles under her breath, throwing herself against the cushions of the couch as if she’s trying to get comfortable.

“And why would that be a good thing?” See? Santana’s capable of being a good friend. Two years ago, she’d have never asked that question. She would’ve simply agreed, threw in a witty little barb and walked away. This was progress.

“Don’t worry about it, Santana. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

She isn’t sure if it’s that Rachel believe she’s actually interested or just really wants to get it off of her chest, but she sort of exhales slowly. She doesn’t turn towards Santana, she just tucks her arm under her head and keeps looking straight ahead.

“It’s not that I’m not over Brody. It’s just...what’s the point? You’re always telling me Finn isn’t good enough for me. Jesse wasn’t good enough. Brody wasn’t...what is in me that makes me settle for less than the best? I’ve never done that in any other aspect of my life, but I keep attracting these guys. And...I don’t want to be alone forever. Brody was supposed to be my fresh start, you know?” She’s looking at Santana with those big, sad brown eyes and there’s a panic that bubbles up in her chest. She thinks it has something to do with the fact that she just wants to wrap her arms around Rachel and hold her. She wants to tell her that there are people in this world that will accept her and cherish her and prove to her that she deserves more than she’s allowing, but she can’t do that. The impulse to even want to do it is already foreign enough, but she can’t make heads or tails of her feelings around Rachel lately.

So she can’t just do that. At least not yet.

And she gets wanting a fresh start. New York seems to be that for all of them. The survivors of Lima, Ohio, refugees in their loft in Brooklyn. This is supposed to be their freedom from the demons that haunt them. And it’s strange that on the other side of the war that is high school, she ended up allies with Kurt and Rachel, but there’s gotta be a reason for that, she’s starting to think. There’s gotta be a reason that Quinn’s off on her own and Brittany’s been left behind and she’s here in this moment. Psychic or not, she gets that. Rachel used to know that too. Rachel was already a survivor. She wants to know what the fuck happened. This can’t be the same girl who took daily slushies to the face and kept smiling and singing like she was going to make something of herself.

“That’s the dumbest thing I think you’ve ever said to me. Seriously Rachel, I think my I.Q. just dropped like a hundred points.”

Rachel’s face contorts instantly and she curling back into herself. “I knew you wouldn’t understand.”

Santana’s on her feet then, throwing her girlfriend pillow on the couch. “No, I understand. I just think you’re being an idiot. Okay, why the hell do you have to be in any relationship at all? You’ve spent what, three years chasing Finn and that ended in such a disaster that you wanted to cling to a guy that probably would’ve given you some kind of weird, plastic STD.” They both make a face at that, but Santana shakes her head. “You know I’m right. You’re too good for this shit and you know you were too good for Brody otherwise you’d still be with him. You just have to stop letting yourself believe the bullshit. Rachel Berry from sophomore year that told us to get our shit together when we were hung up on boys and pregnancies and scandals would probably kick your ass right now. And I’d support that because this is just pathetic. High school is supposed to be the best four years of your life and if that’s true, then I want God to give me my money back. That place sucked for all of us.”

Rachel kind of laughs at that and sits up. Santana smiles down at her and ignores the way her heart skips a beat the moment their eyes catch. “I think the best time starts now and someone’s going to appreciate the crap out of you someday,” she says a little softer than she means to because it just make the moment pregnant with emotions she doesn’t want to share. She shakes her head and holds out her hand. “Come on. Get up and go and get dressed.”

“What? Why? I’m not really in the mood to go out.” Rachel’s protesting even as she stands from the couch. She doesn’t make a move, however, so they’re just kind of standing there holding hands.

Santana looks down at their joined hands and then back at the other girl. “I’m taking you out on a date. I’m can almost wager my last week’s pay that Gigolo Joe never took you on a real one of those.”

Rachel’s eying her skeptically, as if she’s trying to gauge is Santana’s being sincere. “And you’re going to take me on a real date? You?”

“Yeah? Why not? I’ve been on a few of them in my day. I know how they work. Besides it’s time you learn how to casually date without getting giant cartoon eyes with hearts in them anytime someone smiles and calls you pretty.” There’s an implication here that she had not idea what to do with. Santana’s not even completely sure what she’s playing at here, but she’s hoping Rachel will just play along because it’s suddenly really important to her to do this.

“Yes but I...” The words trail off and this look passes over Rachel’s face that Santana can’t read.

She drops Rachel’s hand and shrugs. “You wanted a fresh start and so did I. So, let’s go have one.”

Rachel’s face lights up in this way that makes Santana feel like she’s been kicked in the gut and she nods. “Yeah, okay.”

---

Brooklyn isn’t the most romantic place on face of the planet, but Santana’s actually not even sure she wants to be romantic. Only the fact that the thought is even crossing her mind makes her lean more towards yes than no, but whatever. She’s not going to have a freakout right now no matter what her mind is screaming. She can self-analyze later.

There’s this Indian place a few blocks from where they live and she’s not really one for ethnic foods that aren’t her own. But she’s heard Rachel and Kurt mention wanting to try it and she thinks “why not?” It proves to be a smart move because Rachel’s excited as soon as she figures out where they’re going. There’s a guy standing outside selling two-dollar roses and Santana buy three. Somewhere in her mind it’s to lament the three year it’s taken her to actually get to know Rachel willingly, but she just hands them over, mortified by her own inner cheesiness. Rachel calls her sweet and lifts the flowers to her nose and it’s really kind of adorable. So, Santana feels less lame.

As they walk in, Rachel sheds her coat and it garners her a few looks. Santana’s included. She didn’t get to see Rachel’s dress before they left because she was already in her coat, but if this is what Rachel Berry wears, this short, tight black skirt and low cut top that doesn’t even reveal that much, just gives a hint of rounded flesh, when she’s on a casual date then Santana’s not sure the men in New York are ready for Rachel, not the other way around. Santana’s mouth goes dry for a moment and the first thing she orders is a glass of water.

They make small talk over dinner and it starts to hit Santana that she actually cares about the shit Rachel says. In fact, since she’s moved there, the only thing that’s really annoyed her about Rachel was Brody. She doesn’t care when Rachel hogs the couch or when she practices her singing in the shower. She actually enjoys that shit, watching Rachel be in her natural habitat. And now that Brody’s gone, Rachel’s been a lot more fun, when she isn’t moping that is.

The walking around in tiny towels doesn’t exactly hurt either, but hey, she’s only human.

Dinner actually isn’t bad (She let Rachel order for her which should earn her mucho brownie points in the whatever they are department of their friendship/roommate situation) and Santana settles the check and stands. She even helps Rachel into her coat before leading the way out. She decides to take the long way back to the apartment and doesn’t protest when Rachel takes her hand. Rachel starts telling her about her upcoming showcase and how she’ll, no doubt, be missing for about three weeks because it’s a freshman showcase, but there’s only ten spots open so Rachel’s got to pick what song to audition with. It all sounds boring as hell, but Santana doesn’t mind it, listening to Rachel talk. She’s just silently realizing she’ll be missing Rachel being around and she’s been in this place before, with Brittany, but that’s a little heavy for her right now. So, she pushes the thoughts away.

There’s a moment of hesitation on both of their parts when they reach their building. Santana turns to Rachel and offers her a tiny smile because this is actually starting to feel like the end of a date. Rachel returns the smile and ducks her head a little in a way Santana’s only seen her do when she’s flirting with some guy. It makes her stomach flip and when deep brown eyes return to her face, Rachel’s cheeks are tinged pink.

“Thanks for the date, Santana. It was...probably the most fun I’ve had on a date in a while. It’s weird not to have the pressure of worrying about what to say or what my date is thinking. It was just...nice to get to do this with someone who let me be myself.” She does that half-nod thing Rachel does when she talks and steps closer. There’s a pause and Santana thinks she can hear her own heart pounding in her ears, then Rachel’s hugging her tightly.

Santana must be getting used to this because she’s hugging back almost immediately, running her hands over Rachel’s back and teasing the ends of her hair. It lingers, is longer than their usual hugs, but she doesn’t really mind that. It’s only when Rachel’s pulling back, her eyes flitting across Santana’s face before she leans up and brushes their lips together, that Santana realizes she isn’t actually breathing.

The kiss is barely that, but it clouds her brain and Rachel’s already heading into the building before Santana realizes she’s even moved. There’s this tiny smile on the other girl’s face as she gives Santana one last glance and heads inside. She lifts her fingers to her lips and tries to figure out what the hell just happened to her life in the last twenty seconds.

The only thing that seems to register is that she is totally screwed.

fic: ticking in my heart

grdnofevrythng — Sun, 17 Mar 2013 02:03:57 GMT

Title: Ticking In My Heart
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Quinn/Santana
Prompts: From random_flores This time Quinn's the jealous one
Summary: The “date” hadn’t really meant anything, she knows, but things felt like they crossed some sort of line that night.
Disclaimer: I don't own them. If I did, they'd probably go at it like bunnies.
A/N: This is set in the same verse as "You Are My Something," but I wouldn't necessarily call it a sequel. Maybe a continuation of sorts. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

The bar is busy when Quinn walks in. It’s not nearly as glamorous as the movie makes it, but it’s still fuller than any up near Yale. She still manages to spot Santana behind the bar and her heart kind of trips when she sees her grin as she leans forward, listening to whatever the request is that a customer is making. She moves with such ease for someone who’s never tended bar before and Quinn is really enjoying the way she looks in that tank top that’s a tad too short and exposes her abdomen when she reaches high on the shelf for a glass.

Santana isn’t expecting her because she kind of came to New York on a whim. She has a random long weekend and she should really be in her dorm studying, but she’s not. It’s been about two weeks since Santana barged into her room over the whole mess with Rachel and Kurt. Things seem to have calmed down, but outside of a few skype calls and daily text conversations that seem to end abruptly, she hasn’t really spoken to Santana. And she misses her.

The “date” hadn’t really meant anything, she knows, but things felt like they crossed some sort of line that night. Nothing even happened, but since then sometimes it feels like Santana’s flirting with her and sometimes she thinks she flirts back. And yes, she’s been making out with girls since the whole wedding thing, she just still isn’t sure that’s her thing. But she still smiles every time she sees Santana’s name flash across her phone. So maybe it’s her thing at least a little. It would just be nice to know if Santana was on the same page because Quinn isn’t a fan of just putting herself out there.

She walks up to the bar and this trashy girl with a short, ripped plaid skirt and what looks like a glorified bra walks over and asks for her I.D. She hands over her fake and the girl arches her dark eyebrow skeptically, but just asks her what she wants to drink. She orders a Jack and diet figuring they’ll probably be fairly cheap and watches as girl walks off, smacking Santana’s ass on the way back.

Santana doesn’t even flinch and maybe that has something to do with the tall blonde that’s currently wrapping her arms around Santana’s neck and whispering something into her ear. The jealousy rolls through Quinn’s body full force, making her stomach ache and her eyes narrow. She has to remind herself that Santana doesn’t actually belong to her. But that doesn't exactly stop the feeling. The girl comes back with her drink and Quinn drains it quickly, motioning for another.

The drink comes back even quicker this time and there’s suddenly an alarm going off and all but two of the bartenders are up on the bar. They do some sort of elaborate routine that, for some reason, requires Santana’s ass to be directly in blonde chick’s face. And when the other woman slips money into the back pocket of Santana’s skin-tight jeans, Quinn wants to smash her glass in the bitch’s face.

Quinn’s own bartender is pulling Santana up by her collar and pushing Santana’s face into her cleavage. The crowd goes nuts and they start chanting “Rosario” and it takes Quinn a moment to realize they’re actually talking about Santana, whose lips are currently all over the other bartender’s neck. They travel upward until they hover just over her lips and the crowds egging them on, all but begging for a kiss. Santana looks over her shoulder and offers them a grin and a wink before planting a big kiss on the other girl’s lips and people are practically throwing money up at her. Quinn’s equal parts disgusted and turned on because even she can’t deny how hot Santana looks. She just hates that she’s watching her do this with someone else.

Yep, she decides, there’s no denying that this is definitely her thing at least a little. And why, of all people, does she feel this way about Santana? It’s so inconvenient and Santana outside of high school isn’t her second. She doesn’t have to bow down to the chain of command. No, she’s just Santana Lopez, Miss Sex on Legs. And she could clearly have anyone.

But Quinn’s not just anyone, she reminds herself, and she’s not going to be outdone by some bleach-blonde tramp or a slutty bartender. She drinks down her drink and stands up when Santana’s making her way down the bar in her direction. She sees the girl’s eyes widen in surprise, but she just smirks.

“How much for a kiss?” She kind of shouts over the music and it draws the attention of a few people behind her.

Santana’s brow wrinkles in confusion and she looks around before pointing to herself. Quinn’s grin grows at that she nods, and just like that, it seems like Santana remembers where she is. “Nothing you can afford,” she says back with that cocky grin that makes Quinn’s panties just a little wet.

“Try me, Rosario,” Quinn all but purrs her name and the crowd’s definitely paying attention because there’s a chorus of “ooo’s.”

“Hundred bucks.” She knows Santana thinks she has her because she doesn’t think there’s anyway that Quinn would pay that much for a kiss.

But Quinn’s got a point to prove and a crisp hundred in her wallet that her father gave her last month, in case of emergencies. She reaches into her purse and pulls it out, setting it onto the bar confidently.

The crowd that’s gathered around them is like waiting with baited breath to see what’s going to happen, but the manager is stepping between them, pushing the money back at Quinn. “Alright, break it up. I run a bar, not a brothel.”

The girls climb down from the bar and Santana’s just standing there, looking at her with this unreadable expression on her face. Quinn doesn’t want to have the conversation they’re now undoubtedly going to have in a crowded bar. So, she takes a cocktail napkin and scribbles her number under the name “Emily” and pushes it towards Santana.

She hands a few dollars to her bartender to settle her tab and picks up her stuff to leave. Santana’s being far too quiet for her liking and she doesn’t want to need to brace herself, but she is.

“Quinn...” Santana starts, but the blonde just shakes her head.

“Call me after work, Rosario,” she says quietly and Santana nods in understanding. She’ll be waiting for her when she gets home, but she’ll know what Santana picks if she calls first. She grabs her bag and heads towards the door, shooting the other girl one last look before heading into the cold night.

fic: you are my something

grdnofevrythng — Sat, 16 Mar 2013 02:15:09 GMT

Title: You Are My Something
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Quinn/Santana
Prompts: Santana goes to New Haven after the events in "Feud" so...spoilers.
Summary: If Quinn’s not there she’ll be so pissed
Disclaimer: I don't own them. If I did, they'd probably go at it like bunnies.
A/N: This is what happens when my gf and I are sitting on the couch discussing Quinntana. I hope you'll enjoy. As always, any mistakes are mine.

Santana fumes the whole train ride up to New Haven. It was late when she left Brooklyn, but whatever, where is she going to go? She knows zero people in New York and she wasn’t about to grovel and beg Kurt and Rachel to let her stay. She doesn’t need them. They need her. She’s just trying to do them a favor. Next time, she just won’t be nice. She’s just lucky Quinn sent her that Metro North pass and she has the extra cash to take a cab directly to Yale. She has to pull up an old email to find out which dorm Quinn’s in, but Yale’s still pretty easy to get onto and when she arrives in front of Quinn’s building, she lucks up. There’s a drunk frat guy sitting outside, and he’s all up on her before she even attempts to flirt with him to get inside.

She casually drops that she’s a lesbian and he has no shot at getting any, after he signs her in, and heads on up the stairs. She asks around until someone tells her that Quinn’s room is on the third floor and the fourth door from the left. Really Yale’s security is even more lax than Nyada’s, but maybe things are just safer here at an Ivy or something. She tries the knob and is annoyed that it’s locked and fuck if Quinn’s not there she’ll be so pissed. She knocks loudly and then crosses her arms, glaring at people as they walk by, nearly tripping over her suitcase.

The door opens and Quinn’s looking at her in surprise. “Santana? What are you doing here?” She asks and Santana’s just going to ignore that the girl’s hair is a total wreck and that she’s wiping at her mouth like she’s just been caught drooling on her pillow. It’s not even ten yet and it’s a fucking Thursday night, but Quinn’s really that lame sometimes.

Without bothering to answer, Santana pushes inside and she hears Quinn’s protests, but not before she sees a girl, dark hair and tan skin, Quinn clearly has a type, scrambling to button up her shirt. She isn’t even going to comment because right now she doesn’t really care. She just looks at the girl and narrows her eyes when the girl stares back. “Don’t just stare; get the fuck out.”

The girl scrambles past her and Santana shakes her head when she views the shaggy cut and plaid of her shirt. Just gross. The door closes and she hears Quinn let out that annoyed sigh she seems to reserve only for Santana. Only it’s like the dam is finally starting to break and before Santana can even stop it, her body is shaking and tears are rolling down her cheeks. She tries to take a deep breath, but she can only hiccup out a sob.

Quinn’s at her side instantly, moving her to the bed and sitting down. She pulls Santana into her arms, and somehow they end up with her sitting across Quinn’s lap. “S, what happened? You’re kind of freaking me out,” she says softly.

“They threw me out!” She’s still pretty shocked about it, but she’s been too mad to process it. Now she’s so mad she can’t stop crying. “They fucking threw me out because Rachel’s stupid boyfriend is shady as fuck, but she’s too stubborn to listen to reason.”

The room is silent for a moment save for Santana’s sobs. Quinn rocks her a little and normally she’d hate that. Only it’s really comforting and she’s not going to question it. She just lets Quinn stroke her hair and rub her back. “So, did you calmly tell Rachel that you didn’t like Brody or did you do that thing you always do where you go in, guns blazing and full of insults?”

Her sobs have quieted somewhat. So when she fixes Quinn with a glare, it’s somewhat effective, but Quinn just rolls her eyes and glares back. “Don’t look at me like that. You know what I’m talking about. I wondered how long it would take before something like this happened.”

“Oh don’t tell me you’re on Rachel’s side. I really don-”

“Oh God, Santana, will you calm down? I’m not taking a side because I only know yours and I’m sure there’s a lot of truth to what you’re saying, but don’t forget that I also know you.” Yeah, Santana’s still not liking where this is going, but she’d have to stand up to kick Quinn’s ass and she’s kind of comfortable. “I didn’t like Brody either, but you know Rachel. She’s not going to listen to reason without blatant evidence. Which...do you even have any? Or are you relying on that Latina third eye bullshit you’ve been spouting lately?”

“It’s a Mexican third eye and I don’t need a lecture from you, Quinn. So, just save it.” Comfortable or not, Quinn can go fuck herself if she thinks Santana’s going to sit here and listen to this crap.

Quinn just presses her lips together like she’s trying to be patient and looks at her. “Are you finished?” When Santana just stays silent, she nods. “I’m not going to lecture you, but if you’re going to show up every time you fight with Kurt and Rachel, I’d at least like some notice. I mean your train ride wasn’t exactly short.”

Santana relaxes and actually manages a watery smile, as she sniffles. She reaches across Quinn’s bed and grabs a napkin to start wiping her face. “Yeah, because if you’re going to have ugly bitches like that in your bed, you’re going to want to hide them.”

“Yeah, we’re not going to do this. You can stay, but we’re not going to talk about...her.” She can see the flush on Quinn’s face and she just smiles even wider.

“We totally are, but first you’re going to buy me ice cream.” She stands and helps Quinn to her feet. “So get dressed, preferably not in one of those Laura Ingall’s numbers. Butch it up.”

Quinn looks at her quizzically. “Wait is this some sort of date? Because I’m pretty sure if you’re doing the asking, you should be the one paying.”

The normalcy of this conversation isn’t lost on Santana, but the vibe is a nice one. So, she’s not going to ruin it by calling attention to it. She just places her hand on her hips and eyes Quinn in her boy shorts and some t-shirt with a band on it that she’s sure Quinn has never actually heard of but is wearing because of her little date.

“You can keep on that ridiculous shirt, but you’re definitely paying. Just put on some jeans and come on.” She already moving to Quinn’s mirror and fixing her make-up.

Quinn mumbles something under her breath and opens a drawer, actually pulling out a pair of jeans that still have the tags on them. “Hey, I’ll shoot Rachel an email tomorrow,” she says when another silence falls between them.

Santana pauses at that, her expression drawn. “You don’t have to do that.”

There’s a nod and Quinn’s buttoning up her jeans. “I’m not. I’m just going to...check in with her. I’ve been ignoring her emails again is all.”

They both know it’s kind of a lie, but it’s one Santana needs to hear right now. “Yeah...thanks.” She turns back to the mirror again and studies her reflection. Her eyes are still red and puffy, but they aren’t nearly as bad as they were.

“You look perfect,” Quinn says, stepping into the mirror behind her. She’s messing with her own hair and Santana has to admit she looks really hot dressed like this. She just doesn’t say it out loud. “Let’s get this date over with.”

Santana smirks. “Bitch please, you know it’s a privilege to take me out. Don’t act like you’re above it.” She meets Quinn’s eyes in the mirror and the blonde’s just smirking back.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

fics: bored with sin

grdnofevrythng — Sun, 10 Mar 2013 14:42:57 GMT

Title: Bored with Sin
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Santana/Rachel
Prompts: from smc_27 AU: Meeting at Mardi Gras (or for some other reason in New Orleans.)
Summary: Sometimes all you need is some drunken logic and the perfect song to eye-fuck a person to.
Disclaimer: I don't own them. If I did, they'd probably go at it like bunnies.
A/N: I'm super nervous about this prompt for very many reasons, but it was super fun to write and I hope it is enjoyed by you all.

The humidity is thick in the air as they stumble into the bar. There’s loud music blaring everywhere in the French Quarter, a sure sign that Mardi Gras is in full swing. The locals say it’s unseasonably warm, but Santana will take it over the arctic chill of Ohio anyday. They don’t even bother to flash their I.D. at the bartender as they stumble up to the bar. No one really cards down here to her surprise. Besides, Quinn’s is a pretty shitty fake anyway and it’s got a fucking picture of a rainbow on it. Like really, Quinn? That’s super gay and Santana isn’t convinced otherwise no matter how many guys Quinn tongues down in exchange for the plastic beads she could easily buy for a dollar at one of the many souvenir shops they’ve been passing. Besides she totally saw Quinn looking this morning when she stepped out of her room naked because she’d left the bag with her new underwear in it in the living room area and she’d thought Quinn was still asleep’. She can deny it all she wants, but Santana knows when bitches want her. And that bitch wants her. It’s just so not happening because she really doesn’t want to deal with any sort of straight girl panic come the next morning. This is her vacation away from her shitty school that she hates and the shitty relationship she was just in for five fucking years. She’s not bitter or anything. Like fuck Brittany and her whole “I need to fly like a butterfly.” Whatever the fuck that means. High school sweethearts, her ass. She should’ve just taken the scholarship in New York instead of going to OSU and waiting around for Brittany to decide what she wanted. It bit her in the ass because in the end, Brittany clearly didn’t want her. But that was four months ago and she’s done being bitter or something.

Anyway, she’s here to have a good time and just forget about it all. Which means no fucking friends with whom she’ll have return home and awkwardly pretend it didn’t happen. Besides, she wants something new. A fresh start of sorts. She hasn’t screwed anyone on this vacation yet, but it’s only been like a day and a half, and okay, she isn’t really looking forward to hooking up with a different girl everyday this week. As hot as that sounds in theory, she isn’t trying to take anything home with her in her lady parts either. Just...no. But if someone is up to being a fling, she’s down with that, like a thousand percent.

There’s someone speaking loudly into a mic behind her and Quinn bumps into her as the voice announces that they’ll be doing karaoke in about five minutes if anyone is interested. Quinn’s screaming like they’re asking her to audition for “Girls Gone Wild” or something and that shit is super annoying. So Santana moves away from her to a table some other chicks vacate. Quinn grabs her drink and sits at the table as well, but there’s already some blonde guy with a goofy grin and lips the size of Santana’s head eying her up. Quinn isn’t fucking subtle at all and maybe it’s because they’ve been drinking since nine and didn’t really sleep the night before, but Quinn’s practically eye-fucking this kid. Whatever the guy is with a bunch of other guys and normally Santana would wingman, but she’s so not interested in getting dick this drip. So Quinn’s on her own.

A few people make it onto the stage and they’re just fucking awful. Seriously, they’re worse than the auditions for American Idol and Santana’s so happy she’s drunk because it just makes everything funny as hell. She gives each of them a standing ovation like they were the best thing on the planet and the DJ even calls her out on it, but she just shrugs and goes back to sipping on her vodka sour, which at this point just tastes like lemonade. There’s this tiny little brunette making her way to the stage, but Santana didn’t catch her name because Quinn was talking loud as fuck beside her and she’s annoyed because this chick is hotter than anyone she’s seen since she arrived at the airport. She’s got long dark hair and this awesome tan that looks too natural to be a spray on. Santana can’t really tell because she’s a little far away, but it really doesn’t matter to her. The girl’s wearing these shorts that are just asking to be on her bedroom floor and she’s got legs for days though Santana’s pretty sure she’s at least got a couple inches on this girl.

She has to adjust the microphone when gets center stage and for whatever reason, Santana thinks that’s the cutest fucking thing she’s ever seen. The first Muzak beats of an Aretha Franklin song start and Santana groans inwardly. God, why do people pick Aretha? Don’t fuck with the classics. Britney Spears she could take, but not Aretha. This chick is totally going to ruin this and with it, Santana’s lady boner.

“Looking out on the morning rain...I used to feel so uninspired...and when I knew I had to face another day...Lord, it made me feel so tired...Before the day I met you...life was so unkind...”

That voice wasn’t something Santana had been expecting and she sat up in rapt attention, her drink momentarily forgotten as this girl sings the hell out of some Aretha. The lady wood was going stronger than ever and in Santana’s drunk mind, there was a moment where she thought “this could be the next Mrs. Lopez.” Of course, this isn’t shit she’d actually think sober, but maybe if the way the girl was practically making love to the room with her voice was any indication, she fucking might.

The guys in the room whistle and catcall and Santana’s like so there with them. She isn’t one that goes for straight girls usually because what’s the point? And the girl is kind of pinging the dar, but Santana can’t be sure if that’s legit or just her own libido deciding to trick. That would suck because straight girls are just...not impossible, but she already went through the straight-girl experimental phase in high school. She’s over it. But hey, she might have to try it again because this girl is just practically oozing sex and Santana wants up on that. She sits completely enthralled throughout the performance, her dark eyes scanning every sway of the girl’s body as she sings.

By the end, everyone is on their feet, clapping wildly and hollering. She takes this cute little curtsy, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and blushing as she makes her way back to her seat. The DJ says her name once again and this time, Santana catches it. Rachel. Santana watches as Rachel moves back to the table where two guys are sitting. She’s waiting to see which of them is her boyfriend. She doesn’t really care because she’s hotter than either guy, but she wants to size up her competition. When the two guys lean forward and kiss each other, Santana reasons that she’s at least gay-friendly. That’s a start. Gay-friendly is good. She can work with that.

She’s no slouch in the singing department herself and decides, with her superior drunken logic, that she needs to see if she actually stands a chance. She grabs one of the slips of paper and the large binder of songs and picks the one that will tell Rachel exactly what her intentions are and she plans to eye-fuck the crap out of her on the stage while she does. This is an awesome plan, she thinks and Quinn agrees when she runs it past her. Later she’ll think that perhaps she shouldn’t rely on the logic of two wasted college sophomores, but right now, she’s feeling pretty fucking invincible.

It takes an entire rotation of songs after she hands the DJ her slip before it’s actually her turn to sing and when they call her name, she practically jumps out of her seat and runs to the stage as people clap for her. She’s happy to see Rachel’s eyes on her as she takes the stage. She smirks back at her and adds a little wink, but that just seems to confuse the girl, who shifts in her seat uncomfortably. However, Santana is unfazed.

There’s a beat count on the screen before the song starts, but Santana doesn’t need the words. She doesn’t even bother to look at the monitor as the first beat that cues her in starts and she lets the timber of her voice drop just a little as she starts to sing, her eyes locked on Rachel’s.

"In the thunder and rain you stare into my eyes...I can feel your hands moving up my thighs...skirt around my waist...wall against my face...I can feel your lips...” She pauses and winks and the crowd goes crazy. Santana watches the blush crawl to Rachel’s cheeks and smirks, feeling encouraged. "I don’t want to stop just because...people walking by are watching us...I don’t give a damn what they think...I want you now...” She walks down off the stage, all drunken courage mixed with her usual high level of confidence and stands in front of Rachel’s table, singing directly to her. “I don’t want to stop just because...you feel so good inside, oh my love...I not gonna stop, no, no, no...I want you...all I want to say is...” She leans forward and strokes Rachel’s cheek, grinning when she hears the sharp inhalation of breath and the guys at the table laugh hysterically. Her voice takes on this breathy tone and she makes as if it’s whisper. "Anytime...and anyplace...I don’t care who’s around...”

She continues to sing to Rachel, even sitting in her lap at one point much to the crowds delight and by the time she’s done the song, everyone’s chanting that they should kiss. She’s still sitting across the girl’s legs, her arms wrapped around her neck. She laughs a little at the shy expression on Rachel’s face and shrugs when their eyes meet. She’s not actually going to do this without some kind of consent. It’s one thing to sing a song, but she’s not about to be rejected in a room full of people, strangers or not. Still everyone seems to be waiting with baited breath and there’s the tiniest nod from Rachel. It’s really all she needs before her lips are brushing over soft full ones.

It’s not much of a kiss, but there’s a bit of a spark as Rachel’s lips move against her’s slowly and without hesitation. There’s cheering around her, but it sounds far away. She pulls back, meeting Rachel’s eyes and there’s this sexy little grin on her lips that makes Santana’s stomach flip. The DJ comments on how the next performer will have a hell of a job following up that act, but Santana’s not really paying attention to all of that.

“You know, I don’t usually go around kissing strange women whose names I don’t know,” Rachel says, amusement dancing in her dark brown eyes.

“There’s a first time for everything.”

“Yes, but now that you’ve sang to me, very publicly I might add, that you’d like to have sex with me regardless of who’s playing audience, I think the least you could do is tell me your name.”

This girl is smart which is...a step up from Brittany, if she’s honest and it’s a huge turn on. “It’s Santana.”

“I’m Rachel.”

“Yeah, I know.” The guys at the table introduce themselves, but Santana isn’t really listening. She and Rachel are just kind of watching one another, the smiles never leaving their faces. She thinks she hears the names “Kurt” and “Blaine,” but she can’t be certain.”Do you want to get out of here?” She asks, instead of acknowledging the other occupants at the table.

“I don’t think I should.” Rachel’s saying this, but she has yet to push Santana out of her lap and they just kissed. So, Santana’s failing to see the problem here.

“Are you straight?”

“Isn’t it a little late to ask me that after that little performance? And for the sake of argument, why would you kiss a girl without knowing if she’s straight? That seems risky. Though I did kiss you back.”

“That could’ve been for show,” Santana counters. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“True, I’ve heard straight girls do that from time to time. There’s a whole song about it.”

This girl is frustrating, but something about it is hot instead of annoying. Maybe it’s the way she’s smiling up at Santana and not just straight up saying no. “Yeah there is, but I don’t care about it. So, unless you were trying to impress someone with that kiss, you totally should just come with me.”

“I’m not looking to impress anybody here, but I still don’t know you.”

“Are you from around here?”

Rachel frowns at the question. “No, I’m from New York, but I fail to see how that is pertinent to-”

“Ohmygod, chill out. I’m not asking you to marry me. I just want to get out of here so that we can go someplace and...talk.”

Rachel seems skeptical of that. “Talk?”

“Yep, talk...you’ll say my name and...it’ll be totally clothing optional.” Santana hasn’t had to work this hard for it in a while and she’s not loving it. But Rachel’s seriously the hottest girl in this room and that song has her all keyed up. “You’re on vacation. Have a little fun.”

“What makes you think I’m not already having fun?”

Santana just looks at her dubiously. Rachel couldn’t be having more fun than she would be with Santana if they left right now and got horizontal. She knows it and so does Rachel. She’s just trying to not come off as easy. Santana totally gets that.

“I’ll admit that your argument is compelling and, I mean, you took a huge risk singing that song to me.”

She can see the victory line just ahead. So she stands and offers Rachel her hand. She has six blocks to justify this to herself all she wants as they make their way to the house Santana and Quinn are renting. Rachel wants this or she would’ve just said no and when she takes Santana’s hand, there’s no more conversation about it.

Her friends tell her to have fun and she promises to call them later. Santana doesn’t bother to mention that it probably won’t be until much later and she definitely doesn’t bother to stop and tell Quinn she’s leaving when she sees the other girl going at it with fish lips.

She and Rachel walk silently up the streets back to her villa and she takes the most direct route, even though it’s longer, because she doesn’t want to seem completely sketchy. She’s in a hurry, sure, her body is wound super tight and she wants to get Rachel out that tank and those shorts, but she’s not going to be creepy about it.

There’s people everywhere and she narrowly misses bumping into this girl that’s a complete drunken mess. She doesn’t have time for all of that. Not with this hot girl lacing their fingers together and running her thumb along Santana’s palm. It’s driving her nuts, making her goosebumps spring to her arms and her skin prickle and tingle with awareness.

There’s only about eight steps up to her unit, but they’ve never felt this excessive before. But they make it and she manages not to fumble her key as she opens the door. The air is thicker than the humidity outside after they close the door and Santana locks it. Rachel’s looking at her expectantly, a hint of amusement dancing in her eyes. it’s like she’s wondering “now what?”

For an awkward moment Santana wonders if she should she offer Rachel a drink but decides that pleasantries were left at that bar. She crosses the room to where Rachel’s standing and grips her jaw, kissing her hungrily. Rachel makes a surprised squeak but kind of sinks into the kiss with a sigh. Santana softens after a moment and just nibbles at Rachel’s bottom lip, pillowing it between her own.

It starts off gentle, the teasing of one lip to another, but it escalates quickly and Santana’s backing Rachel into a wall and kissing the breath from her lungs. Her tongue sweeps past parted swelling lips, tasting the faint taste of alcohol and something fruity. Rachel’s fingers kind of do this slow crawl up the middle of her back, which is just shy of tickling, and grips the back of her neck. They massage gently as her tongue’s being sucked into the other girl’s mouth.

She’s so distracted by the slow burn starting in her stomach that she doesn’t feel herself being flipped around until the cool plaster hits the little bits of exposed skin on her back. Rachel’s body is pressing against her’s and the fingers of her right hand are twisting in Santana’s shirt, pulling at it until it can slip beneath the fabric. Teeth sink into her bottom lip and she moans just as she feels fingers brushing at the underside of her breast. She’s not wearing a bra. She couldn’t underneath of this top, and when Rachel plucks at her nipple, she thanks god she chose to wear it.

“Which one’s your room?” The words are mumbled against the column of her neck and she loses the ability to think for a moment when teeth scrape along the same path and nip at her collarbone.

Santana hisses out a breath and tries to regain her composure. “Second door on the right.” The master suite because she did all of the planning and most of the paying on this trip. Quinn’s lazy ass is just along for the ride and she can take the second rate room without the awesome ensuite and balcony.

Rachel tugs her hand, pulling her free from the wall, and leads the way to her room. It strikes Santana that they both seem to have forgotten who was seducing whom. She closes the door behind them and pulls Rachel to a stop. The girl looks over at her curiously, the question in her eyes clear. Santana only says one word. “Strip.”

Dark eyes never leave hers as Rachel takes off every single article of clothing she’s wearing. She straightens, standing proudly before Santana and it’s even sexier that she’s so confident. Not that she shouldn’t be. Her breasts are small, but rounded with tiny dusky nipples that stand at attention and beg for Santana’s mouth. Her skin is smooth and evenly tanned all over. She’s kind of perfect all over in a completely natural way. Her eyes rake over Rachel’s body and there’s a steady hunger that builds within her. She’s not even sure where she wants to start.

“Like what you see?” It’s a rhetorical question, but Santana nods anyway because who wouldn’t like this? “Good, but how about we make this a little more even? I’d like a chance to...see if you’re body is a hot as I’ve been imagining it since you walked on that stage or if it’s better.” Her voice has dropped a little and Santana practically shivers at the husky tone.

How the fuck is this girl even real? She doesn’t know and doesn’t care, but she’s happy she fucking sang that song now for more reasons than one. Santana isn’t shy, not by any means and she sheds her clothes quickly, a smug grin on her lips as Rachel inhales noisily. “Well?” She doesn’t need to ask. She’s almost obsessed with taking care of her body. She hits the gym four times a week and is mindful of what she eats on a regular basis. Living with a dancer for a year made her less lazy and she’s never been happier than she is right now about it.

Rachel nods and seems to have trouble forcing her eyes away from Santana’s breasts. “Definitely better.”

Santana closes the distance between them, walking Rachel backwards until her knees are hitting the bed. “Yeah, so is yours.” Rachel sits down on the side of the mattress and like immediately, her tongue is mapping its way over Santana’s taut abs. The heat shoots up Santana’s spine sharply. She hadn’t exactly been expecting that. She tries to regain control, placing her knee on the bed outside of Rachel’s thigh, but the girl just grips her hips tightly.

“You smell so good,” Rachel murmurs into her skin. Her tongue is circling Santana’s nipple and then darting across it and she’s pretty much helpless to do anything other than take it. There are definitely worse fucking things in the world, but Rachel’s driving her crazy. She’s taking her dear sweet time, licking and teasing, blowing and sucking, and Santana’s overstimulated as fuck by the time Rachel releases her hips and pulls her down onto the bed.

This girl is stronger than she looks and Santana’s not usually one for being dominated. Only Rachel doesn’t seem to be giving her a choice in the matter. She straddles Santana’s thigh and they both moan as the wetness at her center coats it. Rachel kisses her hotly, her tongue pushing into Santana mouth. And Santana starts to care a whole lot less about who’s doing the topping here. She’s kind of aching for it anyway and there’s fingers teasing at the inside of her thighs. She spreads her legs a little wider and a shiver makes its way through her when she feels them dip between her folds.

The words that leave Rachel’s lips as her fingers circle Santana’s clit are some of the filthiest she’s ever heard. She’s actually fucking impressed or she would be if her body wasn’t practically twitching to orgasm. Two fingers enter her roughly just as Rachel’s telling her how wet the idea of Santana coming on her fingers makes her and she almost does because god, it’s been so long since she’s had sex this good. Plus Rachel’s kind of riding her thigh and she can feel just how much fucking Santana is turning her on.

The fingers drum lightly against her spot and Rachel uses her thumb to press down right just to the right of her clit and Santana’s so close it’s embarrassing. “Shit...gonna come.”

Rachel makes this sexy little growl noise in the back of her throat and leans forward until her lips are brushing against Santana’s ear. Her fingers work faster and she’s just whispering about how sexy Santana sounds and how good it feels to be this deep inside of her. And like that she just shatters, Rachel’s name a fucking mantra on her lips.

It actually takes her a moment to catch her breath and she’s just staring at the ceiling feeling a little like maybe she got hustled. Like Rachel was some kind of sex shark and she just got fucking hustled. Which is ridiculous because it’s not like Rachel told her she hadn’t done this before. She definitely hadn’t asked, but fuck she feels like she just got her world rocked. She looks over at Rachel and the girl is practically preening.

Yeah, but fuck that because two can play that game and Rachel’s so wet against her thigh she’s practically slipping. So, there’s no way she’s not aching for it too. And paybacks are definitely a bitch.

Where Rachel explored her slowly, Santana’s got this shit at a torturous pace. She spends a good twenty minutes on Rachel’s breasts alone, learning what things make her shiver or gasp or tug at Santana’s hair. Her hips keep bucking up like they’re trying to get friction, but Santana is having none of that. She licks a path down Rachel’s stomach and sucks at the skin over her hip, which makes Rachel’s legs tremble. She can smell her and god her mouth’s practically watering to taste her. But she’s not done teasing the fuck out of her and she starts and Rachel’s right knee and trails little kisses up the inside of her thigh and repeats the same on the left, skipping the center all together.

It’s not until Rachel’s writhing and growls out, “Goddammit Santana, fuck me,” that she thinks the girl’s probably had enough. She settles between Rachel’s thighs and parts her, flattening her tongue against the hot, red flesh and licks a stripe up the middle. This isn’t something she ever does with random hook-ups because that’s just not smart ever, but as she’s moaning at the taste, she’s definitely happy she broke her own rule this time.

Her tongue circles the little nub and she takes it between her teeth carefully, flicking it back and forth. There’s a litany of curse words that leave Rachel’s mouth and she does it again. She releases it moments later, letting her tongue dip below and tease at Rachel’s opening. Hips buck and Santana reaches up to hold them steady as she stiffens her tongue and pushes it inside. She swirls it, licking at the inner walls. She can feel Rachel start to tighten around her and she curls her tongue upward and sort of drags it back and forth over this little ridge just inside of her. Rachel’s whole body sort of freezes and then she’s shuddering, crying out.

Santana sort of lazily licks at her clit as she’s coasting on her orgasm, but she pushes two fingers inside of Rachel just as she’s coming down, working her up again quickly. Her fingers are are curled against her spot and Rachel’s moans are crescendoing and she comes again, moments later, screaming Santana’s name.

The room is quiet for long moments after that, save for panting breaths, but it’s not awkward or anything. This is the part she usually hates because girls seem to think this means you’re ready for them to like show up with a U-Haul and head down to the SPCA to pick out some mutt who’s like named “Buddy” or “Shane” or some shit. But she doesn’t find herself eager for Rachel to leave. At least not yet. In fact, she’d hoping this is just a temporary break before they do it all over again.

Rachel rolls to her side and covers her mouth to stifle a laugh. “I have never done that before.”

“That as in with a stranger or that as in with another female?” Because one of those is definitely a lie.

“Which do you think it is?” Rachel looks at her curiously, but there’s a challenge there.

Santana trails her fingers along the length of Rachel’s arm and smiles when the other girl giggles. “You’re definitely not straight. Like that I know for certain.”

There’s this little smirk and a devilish glint in Rachel’s eye and she tries to shrug, making as if it’s out of nonchalance. It’s totally cocky, but Santana’s feeling that. She should be cocky. She’s totally hot. “What if I am? You are awfully fixated on it. Besides, do you often serenade straight girls with provocative songs in the middle of strange bars?”

“You’re not straight. So...”

Rachel sighs, rolling her eyes at Santana. “That’s not the point here. For all you knew I was.” She holds her finger up at Santana’s grin. “That is not me confirming or denying my sexuality in any way. I just want to know if this is the sort of thing you do often.” It’s not an accusation. Santana doesn’t feel trapped in the way other girls try to.

Her grin turns to get cocky because Rachel’s totally not straight, but fuck if she is then there’s a sort of victory there because she definitely won’t still be by the end of today, if Santana has her way. Her index finger traces along Rachel’s cheek and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t totally love the looks she gets on her face when she leans into the touch. Their eyes are locked and she hears Rachel’s breathing kind of stutter when she murmurs, “no, just you.”

There’s this pretty little blush that colors her cheeks even as she clears her throat and shifts a little to hide her face. Santana thinks her giggles are both adorable and incredibly sexy and she’s not sure how that even works, but Rachel’s totally pulling it off. “I think you’re just saying that so that I don’t leave this bed.”

“I don’t believe in fake flattery,” Santana says, nudging Rachel until she’s on her back and rolls over her, tangling their legs together. The little whimper that she makes in the back of her throat shouts a spike of arousal through her gut and she leans down until their lips are inches apart. “But you’re right. I’m not quite done with you yet,” she whispers just as she closes the distance.

fic: love fool (5/?)

grdnofevrythng — Wed, 06 Mar 2013 21:04:59 GMT

Title: Love Fool (5/?)
Rating: NC-17
Couple: Quinn/Santana
Summary: So, really last night isn’t a big deal. Quinn was just curious and lonely and drunk. Santana was probably the same. So, she shouldn’t be freaking out.
Prompt: none
Disclaimer: I don't own them, but I certainly wish I did. They'd hump like bunnies on viagra.
A/N: Again thanks for all of the reviews and to everyone who's still reading it. I'm sorry this update took a little long. I wasn't happy with what I'd originally written. So, I had to rewrite a lot of it. So, I hope you'll enjoy it.

The music is loud when Quinn arrives at Puck’s new house and she’s grateful she has a plan. It took her most of the day to decide to even go, but it’s ridiculous for her to keep hiding from Santana because it’s her last night there and after tomorrow, she basically never has to see the other girl again if she doesn’t want to. They live in two very large and very different cities and there’s about a million reasons for them to never cross paths. So, really, this ball is in her court and she isn’t exactly sure why she’s been trying to pass it off to Santana in the first place.

It had been her decision, long before her flight to Lima, to seduce Santana and she’d succeeded far easier than she’d ever imagined. It’s not that Santana is easy. Quinn would be a fool to believe half the shit Puck and Santana have said about bedding so many people. In fact, she has it on good authority that the whole rep had started with some guy during freshman year saying Santana had let him get to third base and that was a lie because she’d been there the whole time and the most they ever did was make out on one couch while Quinn and Finn were doing it on another. Santana just chose to not correct the assumption and thus the whole rep was born.

That isn’t to say she isn’t experienced. She is. Far more than Quinn is, but it’s just not to the level that she’d like everyone to think. It helps Quinn feel less like a notch on Santana’s belt and she can and does take great comfort in knowing that. So even if Santana wants to brush it off and act as if Quinn was nothing more than an opportunity, and that might even be true for her, Quinn knows that when Santana looked into her eyes right as her fingers danced where they were needed most and Quinn was almost begging for it and asked if she was okay, if this was all okay, Santana cared.

With that knowledge fixed in her mind, Quinn feels ready. She can do this, face Santana one last time. But it’s more than that. She feels something else, a new confidence of sorts. She told the other girl that it was just an experiment, a one-time thing and Santana seemed content to allow Quinn the opportunity. So, she’s going to make the most of this. She doesn’t want everyone to know, that would be a disaster, but this is Puck’s party and everyone will probably be too drunk to notice anything she’s doing. She isn’t certain anything will happen, but if she can manage to slip away with Santana into a room, she’s going to take it.

She reaches out and hits the bell, rocking on her heels. There’s a muffled “I’ll get it” and then the door is opening.

Rachel’s eyes are brights and there’s a blue colored drink in her hand as she answers. “Quinn! I’m so happy you came,” she greets, pulling the blonde into a tight hug.

She smells of coconut and alcohol and Quinn pulls back with an amused grin. “I can see that.” They stand there for a moment and Quinn looks past her. “Do you think I could come in?”

Dark eyes go wide, and Rachel’s head bobs up and down. “I’m so sorry. Come in.” She steps aside and Quinn walks past her. The house is nice and definitely a step up from the apartment she once lived in when she was pregnant. “Everyone’s out back. There’s this thing Noah’s using keep everyone warm. Plus, there’s a hot tub!” The last sentence is said in this sing-song voice that makes Quinn laugh. “I hope you brought your suit.”

Quinn holds up her bag and nods. “Just like Puck told me.” She looks around, seeing more than just their little group. There’s other football players and a Cheerio or two she recognizes. She just has no desire to talk to any of them. It’s weird, but she wonders when she started preferring the Glee Club over them. She sees Rachel nearly stumble before her and reaches out to steady her. “How many have you had?” She says close to Rachel’s ear. The music is loud as they move through the house and she wants to be sure she’s heard.

“Only a couple. Santana says we have to match drink for drink...hey did you know she could drink so much? She doesn’t even seem drunk.” Rachel’s words are slurring. She doesn’t see the way Quinn’s cheek tinge pink and her nostrils flare. She’s relieved because she’s sure she didn’t hide her little reaction at hearing Santana’s name.

“Yeah, you should be really careful when it comes to Puck and Santana. They’re like professional drinkers.”

“I know, right?” Rachel smiles up at her and grabs her arm, dragging her towards the kitchen. “It’s so much fun. Hey look everyone, Quinn’s here!” Sugar and Brittany cheer and Mercedes waves from where she’s sitting at the table.

Brittany’s arms settle tight around Quinn, pressing her into her side crushingly. She should be used to this by now, Brittany’s pretty affectionate, especially after a few drinks, but it still catches Quinn a little off guard. She manages to get her arms around her friend and hug back, laughing when Brittany giggles against her cheek.

“Okay, I’m back with the tequila, who wants margaritas?” She hears Santana before she sees her, practically dancing into the kitchen. It’s obvious she’s had a few and Quinn’s light eyes take in the way the muscles of her bare abdomen ripple as she rolls her hips. Clearly whatever Puck is using to heat the small backyard has made it okay to wear a barely there bikini in the middle of February in Ohio. God, how did she never notice just how hot Santana was?

Their eyes lock and Quinn’s breath catches before she looks away, distracted by the way Brittany is pulling her hand. “Come on, Quinn. Let’s get in the hot tub.”

“Wait. I need to put my suit on,” Quinn reminds her, looking around for the bathroom. She also needs a moment because she can’t take looking at Santana in that...barely there thing anymore.

“Okay, the bathroom’s right over there.” Brittany reaches across her face as she points to the white wooden door just off of the kitchen. “Come out when you’re done. Me and Sugar will save you a spot.”

With a nod, Quinn heads in the direction of the bathroom. She leans against the door once she’s in there, taking a few deep breaths and trying to clear her head. Her body’s reaction is stronger than it had been the other night and she needs to get a grip. Obviously, she still wants the other girl if the tingle at the base of her spine is anything to go by, but she can’t exactly go out there and drag Santana away. She needs to be subtle.

There’s a knock at the door and she thinks it’s probably Brittany or Rachel coming to ask what’s taking so long. She pulls the door open and actually gasps when she sees Santana standing there. There’s an awkward moment of silence where they just stare at one another before Santana’s handing her a glass with bright red slush and shifting on her feet awkwardly.

“Thanks,” Quinn mumbles and takes the drink. Maybe she needs subtlety and a little liquid courage. She brings it to her lips and sips, savoring the strong taste of tequila. She wonders if Santana just guessed she needed a drink or if it’s sheer coincidence. There’s a silence that’s stretched between them and her skin prickles with awareness.

“Quinn, are we cool?” Santana asks suddenly and it looks like she’s forcing herself to maintain eye contact, which amuses the blonde slightly because she knows how much that kind of things pains Santana.

She’s not going to pretend she doesn’t know what Santana is talking about. Even as she takes another sip she knows that’s true. She just hadn’t actually expected her to bring it up. Avoidance is a game they’re both pros at, but here Santana was, practically shuffling her feet nervously. It would just be worse to drag this out for any longer than she already has in the first place. She just kind of wishes she’d been the one to do it because now Santana’s reduced it to this simple question and it kind of pisses her off.

“Yep, we’re good.” Her answer is quick and nonchalant and Santana looks almost relieved when she offers her small smile. It’s kind of adorable and shouldn’t make Quinn want to slap her, but it does anyway. She won’t, but she guesses no amount of feelings will ever really quell the urge to strike her beautiful face. Sex really complicated that aspect of their relationship, didn’t it?

“Good, I thought you were avoiding me.”

“Well, I’m not. Why would I avoid you?” Quinn takes another long drink and tries to take her time because brain freeze on top of what Santana’s obvious relief seems to be doing to her. Her heart feels suddenly heavy, but it steels her resolve. She was expecting this, she reminds herself. She knew that Santana was going to want to forget. It just still feels a little like someone’s standing on her chest.

Santana kind of shrugs and her grin turns shy. “I don’t know, but I’m glad you’re not.” She straightens and runs a hand over her messy bun. She’s silent for another moment and she just watches Quinn, her dark eyes seemingly searching for something in her expression. Her smile turns into that familiar smirk of hers and she reaches out, tugging on a lock of Quinn’s hair. “Now, hurry up and change. There’s prime real estate in the hot tub reserved only for the hottest girls at this party and that’s clearly us.”

That easy smile manages to calm Quinn’s anguish, and as she closes the door, she studies her reflection in the mirror. She’s here to have fun, right? And the ball is in her court, she reminds herself. She slips into her suit and folds her dress, putting it into her bag. The ball is in her court and she’s going to make the most of tonight because she’s not really sure what tomorrow will bring or the day after that, but for now, she’s just going to enjoy her fucking night.

She drinks the rest of her drink before leaving the bathroom and then does two shots of 99 bananas with Finn before heading out to the back. If she’s going to do this, she’s definitely not going to be sober.

---

Sugar and Brittany are discussing something that Quinn really doesn’t understand, but she’s laughing a lot because she’s pretty drunk and everything is a lot funnier than it should be. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Sam and Tina discussing some new manga (whatever that is) and there’s a few other people milling about. Things are going pretty smoothly, she thinks.

Except, it’s distracting the way Santana’s body sort of floats next to her in the tub. She’s having a conversation with Rachel and seems to be completely oblivious to it, which irritates Quinn all the more. The heat is just making her feel drunker than the rum in her glass. She tries to ignore the arousal that’s starting low in her stomach because it’s inconvenient and she can’t exactly pull Santana out of the tub with her, no matter how much her brain is screaming to do just that.. Rum’s always made her horny and having Santana next to her, moving against her, is just making it worst.

She shifts away slightly, her fingers grazing Santana’s thigh under the water accidentally in an attempt to put some distance between them. She feels more than hears the slight intake of breath in the body next to hers and spares a glance towards Santana. She’s still engrossed in her conversation with Rachel, but Quinn’s sure she felt Santana move. So, she tries again, this time moving her finger more purposefully against the smooth skin.

Santana sort of freezes and she doesn’t look at Quinn, but the blonde’s still sure that she reacted. She withdraws her hand and feels Santana relax beside her. She finally turns her head, eyes narrowed in Quinn’s direction, but she’s already feigning ignorance and turns back to Brittany and Sugar.

There’s a thought worming its way into her brain and she’s just drunk enough to think it’s a good idea. This was meant for much later, but it just won’t go away. Maybe it’s that Santana wants to pretend like things are just the way they were before. Maybe it’s that Quinn has never really been one for being ignored. Maybe it’s that she’ll never be able to not want to see how far she can push Santana, but it seems like the perfect thing to do. And before she can rationalize why this is definitely on the list of taking things a step too far, her fingers are grazing the inside of Santana’s thigh.

She keeps her attention on her friends, but she can hear the way Santana’s breathing changes with every gentle scrap of her manicured nails. It’s kind of thrilling in the way it had always been to pull a prank or sneak out with a boy or when she’d sleep over at Santana’s and they’d watch Cinemax after Dark. She’s always wondered who’d get off on being watched or having sex in a public, always figured it would be someone like Rachel. But now she’s starting to find merit, can now understand the why with every little shiver that makes its way through Santana’s body.

Sipping at her drink, her fingers move higher and she’s somehow managing to actually listen to Sugar’s story about the dream she had where Mr. Schue was chased by a bunch of 20’s mobsters. Stronger fingers wrap around her’s when they find the edge of Santana’s bikini bottoms. She didn’t have to look to know that wide brown eyes were staring at the back of her head in shock, but turns her head anyway, giving Santana a little grin and wiggling her fingers free to tease her over the spandex material separating her from the moist heat she has no doubt is just beneath.

She presses her index finger down and Santana’s teeth sink into her bottom lip. Quinn has no intentions of stopping. She loves that she has strong, thin thighs quivering from her touch. Besides, no one else seems to notice and she drains the rest of her glass and hands it to Brittany to set away from the tub. There’s a gentle slosh of water behind her and she can feel the way Santana’s hips roll slowly, completely undetectable, and, feeling bold, Quinn pushes the fabric aside and lets her finger dip inside.

The water makes friction nearly impossible and it’s hard to rotate her wrist when she can’t bend her elbow to the right angle, but this isn’t about comfort. This is about some fucked conquest her mind says she needs to have. Santana groans next to her as her fingers work and covers it by clearing her throat.

It’s that little action the seems to catch Brittany’s attention. Quinn almost misses the way her head tilts curiously and she frowns a little. “Santana, are you okay? You look kind of-”

The rest of whatever she’s going to say is cut off when Puck calls out to Sam. “Look at Evans, stud of the century. How did you manage to be the only guy in that tub, dude? I mean you look like a total pimp!” Mike and Finn are standing next to him as he raises his phone and snaps a picture. “This should be your new profile pic.”

Brittany crosses the tub and manages to settle onto Sam’s lap, pressing a kiss to his lips. Quinn spares a glance at Santana because that’s probably a total mood killer, but she doesn’t seem to be looking and she realizes it’s because her fingers have started moving faster. Long lashes hide Santana’s eyes and her head is bowed. Quinn can see the way her chest is rising and falling rapidly and she’s grateful that Finn has come over to talk to Rachel. Her fingers twist and pinch and she presses down and Santana’s whole body goes rigid. Quinn’s not sure how she’s managing to not move a single muscles until her climax subsides, but she does it, her body relaxing inch by inch slowly.

Quinn quickly extracts her hand and slides closer to Sugar, partly to give Santana room and partly because she’s not sure what will happen now. Impulse has never really worked in her favor, but she’s finding it hard to regret what just happened. That might have something to do with the throbbing between her own legs, but she’s also feeling oddly victorious. Dark eyes fix on her and they look pissed, but there’s something else to them.

“Quinn, can I have a word with you...alone?” The tone of Santana’s voice leaves no room for anything but an affirmative answer. Everyone else seems surprised and as she climbs out of the tub. But Quinn follows quietly behind her.

“Good luck,” she hears Brittany whisper at her and she sends a worried glance over her shoulder.

Once she’s back inside of the house, Santana grabs her by the wrist and drags her up the stairs and into what Quinn assumes is Puck’s sister’s bedroom and slams the door. “What the fuck was that?” She demands, her face inches from Quinn’s.

It’s hard to think with Santana this close and the only thing Quinn can seem to look at is her mouth. Her brain struggles to find words. She’s not even sure how to begin to explain why she did what she did. “I just...I wanted,” she stammers out. She bites her lip to stop the words. Lucy stuttered. Quinn doesn’t.

“You wanted what?” Santana’s eyes are wild as they scan her face.

Quinn remembers her decision to never be afraid of Santana and just like that, her mask slips down and her eyes boldly meet Santana’s. “You. I wanted you.”

The kiss is bruising her plush lips before she’s even seen Santana move. She pulls Quinn from the door and pushes her down onto the full-size bed, straddling her waist.

It isn’t until Santana’s fingers are reaching deep inside of her that she remembers why this was only supposed to be a two-time thing.

---

fic: love fool (4/?)

grdnofevrythng — Sat, 23 Feb 2013 23:56:45 GMT

Title: Love Fool (4/?)
Rating: NC-17
Couple: Quinn/Santana
Summary: So, really last night isn’t a big deal. Quinn was just curious and lonely and drunk. Santana was probably the same. So, she shouldn’t be freaking out.
Prompt: none
Disclaimer: I don't own them, but I certainly wish I did. They'd hump like bunnies on viagra.
A/N: Thanks for everyone who takes the time to read this even if you don't comment. I appreciate your patronage all the same. :)

Santana rubs at the bridge of her nose to keep from snapping at Rachel. Usually her tolerance for the incessant rambling is a lot higher, but she’s been in a pissy mood since breakfast. And this, her whining over shit that Santana could care less about, is doing nothing to help it. Still, she’s keeping her bitch in check because sometimes being with Rachel is a little like being with Brittany. Her feelings are easily hurt and Santana doesn’t feel like apologizing.

There are a few of the newbies in the pool. Marley’s on Jake’s shoulders and Brittany’s on Sam’s and they’re playing a game of chicken. She rolls her eyes when she watches her two exes and thinks awful things like how stupid their kids would be if they ever had them. Only that’s insulting to Brittany and she feels really bad for thinking it. Brittany isn’t stupid and she’s still in love with her or something. She’s not entirely sure anymore. The feeling she gets in her chest whenever she looks at her is foreign, not quite the jealousy she’s used to feeling.

“Santana, are you listening to me?” Rachel huffs beside her, drawing her attention back.

Frowning, she shrugs. “Yeah.” It’s a total lie because she hasn’t been listening since about five minutes after Rachel sat down and started talking in the first place.

“Then what should I do?” There’s this look in her eyes that tells Santana she’s actually expected to give some sort of answer, but she doesn’t know what to even say.

“About what?”

“Finn! We slept together and I came here promising myself I wouldn’t do that. I don’t understand it, but he is my weakness. One look into his eyes when I’m singing and it’s like this fire inside of me just-”

Santana holds up her hand, head already shaking despite the remainder of her headache that still won’t go away. “No, I’m not...if you want my advice you will not talk about how Finn The Giant Manchild Hudson gets your panties wet. I don’t want to know.”

“Santana!”

“Yeah, no, I’m being serious. I don’t need that kind of visual when I’m trying to hold down my breakfast, okay?” She slides her glasses down her nose enough to look Rachel in the eyes. “Look. I know you’re supposed to be with Nyada’s version of if Finn and Puck had some sort of unnaturally donkey-faced child together, but if you didn’t think you were going to fuck Finn on this trip, then I can’t help you because you’re clearly lying to yourself.”

Rachel’s quiet for a moment like she’s letting the words sink in and settle over her. She bites her bottom lip and glances over to where Finn’s sitting with Mike talking and then back at Santana. “We’re supposed to be broken up.”

Santana rolls her eyes and pushes her glasses back up her nose. “You know how many times Brittany and I were ‘broken up’ and still got it in? Or Puck for that matter...” Okay, maybe she’s not the example she should be using, but it’s all she’s got. “When you have feelings for someone which, even as gross as it is, you obviously still have, then I don’t know how you’re surprised. I mean Jesus fuck, Rachel, you were going to marry him like months ago.”

There’s a movement to her right and Santana looks over, catching sight of Quinn. She doesn’t hear whatever it is that Rachel says next because she can’t stop looking. It’s not all that surprising that she’s at the pool and Quinn loves to swim. No, it’s what she’s wearing when she sheds her blue cover up. It’s totally sexy even though it’s nothing risque by any stretch of the imagination. Santana’s seen her in the standard issued Cheerios bikini before, which was far more revealing, and hell she saw her naked the night before. It’s just that her breasts look kind of amazing in the halter top half and she’s wearing these sort of shorts that make her ass look even better.

She knows she’s not the only one that notices because she hears Puck whistle and yell some sort of assholish thing from the other side of the pool. Santana can’t even like be offended on Quinn’s behalf because she’s definitely still staring at her ass when she walks to the other side and jumps in. As she resurfaces, there’s a moment where Santana feels like she’s in some cheesy 80’s teen movie because the water actually kind of sexily washes over Quinn’s head and it feels like everything slows down around her. She thinks there’s a moment where their eyes lock and there’s this intense feeling that makes her stomach flip. Only she can’t be sure if it’s real or if she’s just hallucinating from the chemical smell of the pool.

“I guess some things never change,” she hears Rachel mumble next to her and chances a look over at the other girl. How long had she just checked out? She wonders if Rachel noticed, but decides she didn’t when Rachel isn’t even looking at her. She seems more amused than anything else by it all, which is good because she didn’t catch Santana practically drooling over someone she’s definitely not supposed to be even noticing anymore.

She sits back in her lounger and forces herself to pay attention to Rachel. Luckily, she doesn’t seem to want to spend much more time talking about Finn. Though, there was probably merit in that. Now that she doesn’t sleep with guys anymore, she doesn’t find Finn, or Puck for that matter, particularly attractive and talking about them would keep her inappropriate thoughts from straying to the previous night.

It doesn’t seem like that will matter anyway because when Rachel casually asks where she disappeared to after the reception, Quinn’s name is out of her mouth before she can catch it. “I mean Quinn and I got bored and went to hang out in my room.” She wills her voice to not waiver and thinks it works when Rachel just nods.

“I should’ve come with you. I probably wouldn’t have ended up...in the predicament I’m currently in,” she says more to herself.

Santana doesn’t mention how last night Rachel was the furthest thing from her mind with about a million other things that weren’t getting Quinn naked and on her back in the quickest way possible. “I think you’re being dramatic and it’s getting annoying,” she says instead. “I’m giving you another five minutes to get this little act out of your system or I will straight cut you.”

It’s Rachel’s turn to roll her eyes, but she smiles. Santana isn’t joking however and gives the other girl a pointed look which is decided less effective since she’s wearing sunglasses. “I think I’ll be okay. I just need to make it through the party tonight and then I’ll be back in New York.”

“Party? There’s a party tonight?” Santana perks up at that because she wasn’t about to spend her Saturday night sitting in a hotel room watching HBO.

“Didn’t Noah tell you? Oh I told him to do it about eight times. I guess he forgot. Never the less, he’s hosting a party. He keeps calling it a reunion, but I don’t think it quite qualifies.” Rachel reaches for her phone and holds it up for her to see. “Everyone’s going, but the new kids aren’t allowed.”

The last thing Santana needs to do is spend another night drinking. She’s barely over her hangover as it is, but it’s that or sit around in her hotel room and try not to think about Quinn, specifically Quinn naked and making those little gasping breaths. But it’ll probably be more than that because she’s been pushing thoughts of Quinn out of her mind all day. She’s kind of mad at herself because this isn’t her first one night stand. It’s not even her tenth one night stand, but she can’t seem to let it go and she wants to. It’s just not going to end well if she doesn’t.

She’s already planning her outfit out in her mind. She just needs to not get completely sloppy. It will stop her from making any more terrible mistakes. Though, as she thinks that, there’s a big commotion near the pool and she turns just in time to see Sugar and Quinn pushing Joe into the pool. The girls laugh loudly when Joe resurfaces, wiping at his face and sputtering. Quinn’s whole face is lit up and Santana finds herself chuckling fondly because God, has Quinn always looked like that when she smiles?

The blonde looks over at her and there’s this little grin playing at Quinn’s lips that makes Santana have to look away. She should just forget about the party and stay in. Something tells her if she doesn’t, she’ll definitely be make many more bad decisions.

fic: love fool (3/?)

grdnofevrythng — Mon, 18 Feb 2013 16:04:48 GMT

Title: Love Fool (3/?)
Rating: NC-17
Couple: Quinn/Santana
Summary: So, really last night isn’t a big deal. Quinn was just curious and lonely and drunk. Santana was probably the same. So, she shouldn’t be freaking out.
Prompt: none
Disclaimer: I don't own them, but I certainly wish I did. They'd hump like bunnies on viagra.
A/N: These first couple of chapters are going to be short and I apologize. I just end them when they feel done. This story took an unexpected turn this weekend and the chapters will be longer as the story progresses. Thanks for sticking it out with me.

Santana’s lips ghost across her jaw and she hears the way her breathing is labored. She’s just as excited, wants this just much as Quinn does. That thought alone has Quinn even wetter and her legs spread wider when she feels fingers teasing the inside of her left thigh. They find her center and she lets out this choked off moan, her hips jumping.

“You might actually be too wet,” Santana breathes into her ear and her fingers slide up, running over Quinn’s clit. “I’m mean I’m not complaining because God, you’re...” She doesn’t finish the sentence, but Quinn can feel the gentle rumble of her soft chuckle all over her body.

Her arousal is acute, licking up her spine sharply and she feels like she’s drowning in Santana. The girl is everywhere. Their hot, sweat-slicked skin moves together and her free hand is in Quinn’s hair. Her lips swallow the blonde’s moans hungrily and those fingers are pushing inside so deep that her breath catches. And she’s just drowning.

There is banging at her door and it jolts Quinn out of her sleep. Her eyes flutter open and all she can think is she will murder whomever is on the other side of it. She’s spent the better part of her day sleeping off her hangover and truthfully that dream has her wanting to touch herself. Only she can’t because the knocking is becoming persistent.

Standing up, Quinn charges towards the door and stops short when her fingers reach the knob. She hesitates as it occurs to her that it could very well be Santana on the other side. That makes her heart beat faster and she feels frozen. She’s so not ready to do deal this this and she knows she’s just being a coward, but she’s just can’t have it ruined. Not yet.

“Quinn, are you in there?”

Instantly annoyed, Quinn opens the door and tries not to growl at Kitty standing on the other side. She tamps down on the disappointment at not finding Santana and looks at the younger girl expectantly.

“Were you asleep? You look...rough,” Kitty says, strolling inside as if she were invited. Quinn has always admired the girl’s confidence, seen parts of herself in the blonde, but there’s something about Kitty that sets her on edge. It’s probably that Quinn sees all of the nasty qualities she used to relish shining through just beneath that icy, good girl Christian exterior Kitty wears proudly like her Cheerios uniform.

“Um yes, I’m a little hungover,” she says quickly, her irritation growing as Kitty starts to make herself at home. “Was there something you wanted?”

Kitty’s blue eyes study her, making her feel like she’s on exhibit. “Damage control. You, more than anyone, should know that I can’t afford for anyone to know I did the horizontal Tarzan and Jane with a Puckerman, specifically Noah Puckerman. It’s one thing to be with a mulatto because everyone knows his mom is still a Jesus-loving good Baptist woman. But Puck is all Jew and all moron and I can’t have that getting around.”

Quinn rolls her eyes. She really doesn’t have time for this drama that she left behind when she said goodbye to her mother her first day in New Haven. “I don’t know. Maybe you shouldn’t have done it in the first place. For someone who claims to have admired my Phoenix-like triumph in high school, you seem pretty eager to be following in my footsteps.”

Something flashes across the other girl’s face and it’s so quick that Quinn almost doesn’t see it. But it’s there, like some sort of visible turning point in their relationship and her skin tingles with awareness. “Please, I hardly call letting him treat me to a few casual dining restaurants of my choosing in exchange for a few moments of pleasure following in your footsteps. I mean at least I’m using protection other than prayer and it’s taking more than a six pack and few sweet nothings to get into this promised land.” Kitty’s grin is smug and It’s taking all of Quinn’s might not to cross the room and slap her in her face.

“Don’t kid yourself, honey. You want to be me so hard you’re even gobbling up my sloppy seconds, but like any great film critic will tell you, the sequel is never as good as the original. I’m Grease and you’re Grease 2. You don’t even compare. And you might think you’re in control, but you’re chasing after him like a puppy practically wetting herself for a prized bone.” Somewhere in the back of her mind, she hears Santana’s patented “wanky” and feels herself smirk. “Everyone already sees it whether you want to believe it or not. And I never chased him. I never needed to because he respected me at the end of the day and you’re just another piece of ass to him. And when he gets tired of you, and make no mistake he will, all you’ll have is what is left of your reputation. So, I think you have some decisions to make and I’m not your babysitter, sweetie. Clean up your own mess.” She pulls the door open and looks at Kitty expectantly.

“Well, it looks like we can add bitch to your resume as a washed up, has-been that will probably peak in high school.” Kitty’s eyes are cold as she heads towards the door, glaring at Quinn.

“Well this has-been goes to Yale, and you’re probably going to be stuck in Lima living off of the money Puck makes cleaning pools in a state where there’s a winter. Enjoy being prom queen because that’s all you’ll ever get.” Quinn watches the other girl cross the threshold and her grip tightens on the door. “Oh and Kitty, don’t ever try to outbitch me. You are hardly at my level and it’s just really embarrassing.” Her smile is sickeningly sweet as she slams the door behind her and leans against it.

Santana would be proud of her. She’d high five her and give her that smile she always gave whenever Quinn would verbally destroy anyone they didn’t like. The thought causes an ache in her chest and she feels some of her hollow victory fade away. She wonders when she started needing that, Santana’s silent approval.

She remembers her first day in high school, her first real day as Quinn. The part of her that was still the chubby little nobody with no friends had been terrified. She’d seen Santana, standing by her locker, glaring at anyone who brushed against her accidentally. Puck and a few of the other guys that were standing around had been all over her and she’d smiled seductively at them so completely confident. It had attracted Quinn’s attention, made her want to befriend the girl. She wanted that kind of power for herself because she’d never had it as the girl that no one wanted to even be seen talking to. So, she’d studied Santana from afar for about a week after that. Boys followed her wherever she went and it seemed like most girls either wanted to be her or feared her. Quinn’s sister had been a lot like that, but it was a far more attractive attitude on this girl who Quinn was almost positive could back up every idle threat she issued.

Later she’d seen Santana in the line to tryout for the Cheerios. Quinn had seen the girls in their uniforms walking around and had debated joining. Everyone wanted to be them and she’d figured with her dance and gymnastics training she’d at least have a fighting chance. She’d also figured that this, if nothing else would offer the best possibility of being friends with Santana. Only, she couldn’t be afraid of her. She’d learned that from watching the girl. The moment she sensed even the slightest quiver in your voice, she went in for the kill. Quinn was smarter than that. The first time Puck had checked her out in the hallway two days ago had served to remind Quinn she had just as much to offer if not more. She was a Fabray and she’d worked to become this girl that no longer resembled her past. She shouldn’t be wasting her time wanting Santana to be her friend. She should be the one Santana was seeking out.

Quinn walks over to the line and spots Santana standing there, leaning against the wall and looking very bored as she files her nails. She’s third in line and just as she’s about to step up and sign her name, Quinn steps in front of her. She smiles nonchalantly and steals the pen from the girl’s hand, writing her name smoothly. Inside her heart is practically pounding out of her chest because she doesn’t want Santana to actually attack her.

“Excuse you. Do you have some kind of death wish? I was here first. You need to take your ass to the back of the line with the rest of the losers,” Santana says loudly, her fist clenching at her side.

For a moment, Quinn wants to shrink away, but maybe it’s that word “loser” that has her standing her ground. Lucy heard that word a lot, took it to heart. Quinn isn’t going to do that. She’s not that girl anymore. She gives Santana this condescending smile she’s spent all summer perfecting that she stole from her sister and shakes her head. “Now is that any way to talk to your future captain? I mean, that is if you even make the squad. You look a little scrawny and weak.” It’s a risky thing to say, but Quinn’s feeling bold.

She sees this fire in Santana’s eyes even as the girl looks like she might deck Quinn right where they stand. She reaches up and Quinn has to work not to flinch, but she doesn’t. Santana snatches the pen from her hand and moves right into Quinn’s space, writing her name in big, bold letters with her left hand. She turns back to Quinn and smirks. “You see that name right there? That’s the name of your captain, Fabray is it? I can’t wait to own your ass.”

Of course she didn’t actually win the spot, Quinn did, but they were sort of friends after that. Well until Brittany came mid-year and their duo became a trio. Quinn didn’t mind so much. It was easier to have somebody else do the dirty work when she couldn’t seem to get Santana under control. Brittany calmed Santana and made her less of a ticking time bomb ready to explode at the slightest prompting.

Still there's a pang of something at the memories, like maybe all of this had been some sort of inevitable conclusion that neither of them has had any sort of foresight to predict. She’s not crazy enough to believe that she’s been harboring some sort of crush on Santana since high school because that’s not true. She might not have been as straight as she once thought, but it wasn’t like she scribbled Santana’s name in hearts in her notebook and in hindsight, doing so with Rachel’s name was probably a clear sign that perhaps she had some leanings. It’s just she doesn’t want to go there in her mind either. That’s a therapist’s wet dream, of that she’s certain. Plus Rachel never made her feel like that.

She feels pathetic. She’s actually pining...over Santana and it’s just actually grossing her out. She probably just needs some fresh air. There’s an indoor pool downstairs and she can just go swimming and clear her mind. She promised herself she’d be over this by now. She’s just not working hard enough.

fic: love fool (2/?)

grdnofevrythng — Fri, 15 Feb 2013 22:33:03 GMT

Title: Love Fool (2/?)
Rating: NC-17
Couple: Quinn/Santana
Summary: So, really last night isn’t a big deal. Quinn was just curious and lonely and drunk. Santana was probably the same. So, she shouldn’t be freaking out.
Prompt: none
Disclaimer: I don't own them, but I certainly wish I did. They'd hump like bunnies on viagra.
A/N: This fic is the result of a late night conversation with a friend who was having overwhelming Quinntana feelings. I hope I do this story justice.

Santana wakes up with a start. Karmin’s “Too Many Fish” fills the otherwise quiet room and she reaches over and grabs her phone, silencing it before her brain exploded out of her head. She sits up and rubs her temples. What the hell had even happened last night? There had been a wedding and champagne and then some tequila and a lot of wine. She and Quinn had...Her dark eyes shot over to the other side of the bed, but she was alone.

“No...no...no, no, no, no...” Santana mumbles to herself, throwing back her covers and jumping out of the bed. She looks down at herself and groans. "Yep, naked...motherfucker.” She runs her hand over her face and turns, trying to find any trace of the other girl. Only there isn’t any. None at all. Great, just great, this was all she needed.

She grabs her phone and sighs when she sees she had ten text messages and four missed calls and not a single one of them is from Quinn. She tosses the phone onto the bed and reaches for her discarded dress. It’s rolled into a ball. She vaguely remembers balling it in her fist once she’d pulled it over her head whilst straddling Quinn’s waist. She’d kind of just thrown it to the floor and she remembers thinking she should maybe drape it across the chair. She also remembers that Quinn had scratched her nails down her abs and she’d thought “fuck it” about the dress.

The sudden rush of wetness between her legs reminds her that she was, in fact, an idiot. Why had she slept with Quinn? That is probably the dumbest thing she ever could have done. And the thing is, she can’t exactly blame it on all of the booze because she remembers clearly thinking that if she got Quinn drunk enough, they’d probably end up having sex. Just something about Quinn’s whole “I’m done with men,” had sounded like a beacon to Santana’s lady parts and she really needs to learn how to say no to them because they always get her into trouble.

Another text message comes through and she reaches for her phone, looking down. She rolls her eyes when she reads the text from Rachel asking her to please join everyone down in the restaurant for a late lunch. Puck texts her two minutes later, requesting the same thing and she sighs again. She shoots back that she’ll be there after she showered and dressed and then heads off to the bathroom.

There is a bruise on the inside of her right thigh that smarts like a mother when she runs her loofa over it and it just reminds her of Quinn’s lips on her thigh while she rubbed her fingers against Santana’s spot and God, she’d girl would just slide a hand between her legs right here and now if she wasn’t actually sore.

Last night had been...eye opening. It was nothing at all like she’d been expecting. Quinn had been bold and hungry. She’d given as good as she got and if she were any other person, Santana would be hunting her down for round three. But it isn’t. It’s Quinn and last night can never happen again. It is too...complicated and the last the last thing she needs is more complications.

She turns off the taps and steps out of the stall, grabbing a towel. It feels rough against her skin and toughens her resolve. She’s not going to make the same mistakes that she has been since freshman year of high school. New York is supposed to be her brand new start. And this momentary lapse in judgement aside, she’s doing well on that path. So no more mistakes like this and maybe she can salvage her friendship with Quinn before things have a chance to get fucked up. It’s already bad enough she has one best friend she can’t be in the same room with without cringing. She doesn’t want another one.

Everyone at the table is wearing glasses besides Rachel who’s like unnaturally lucky in that she rarely has a hangover. Santana takes a seat between Puck and Mike and she grunts when they greet her because their low voices sound like she’s underwater. Rachel and Finn are whispering towards each other and yeah, they also probably made wonderful decisions last night that ended up with Rachel crawling him like Jack climbed the beanstalk and for some reason that really pisses her off.

“Someone pass me the damn coffee,” she says suddenly, her voice a decibel louder than necessary. The new kids look startled, but her fucks cup is definitely empty. So, she fills it with coffee instead.

“Guess some of us didn’t get lucky last night. I’m disappointed, Lopez,” Puck says, nudging her shoulder. “I mean there was plenty of tail to get at.”

“Mhm...truth,” Artie agrees from somewhere off to Santana’s right and she’d toss this hot coffee into his face, but it’s already bad enough he’s in a wheelchair.

She considers pulling off her sunglasses so that Puck knows to lay off, but she doesn’t have time before he’s speaking again. “There’s gotta be something wrong in the world when Q’s getting ass and you’re not.”

It feels like the whole table is quiet at that and she spares a glance in the direction that everyone’s looking, some of them with mild interest, the others intrigued. Quinn’s green eyes are hidden behind her own pair of Wayfarers, but Santana knows the exact moment when their eyes meet. Her heart starts to pound, but she never lets on. Instead she looks away, her hand smacking the back of Puck’s head. “Some of us don’t want to scam on high school trade, Puck.”

Kitty’s face turns bright red at that and Sugar and Tina sort of gasp dramatically. There’s a buzz at the table now for a completely different reason and Jake looks kind of pissed. So, mission accomplished, Santana thinks and risks a glance at Quinn again. The other girl isn’t looking anymore and three minutes later, when Santana looks for her again, she’s gone.

“Christ, what is wrong with you chicks this weekend?” Puck says under his breath, clearly annoyed.

Good, she thinks. Serves him right for being an asshole and she smiles to herself as Rachel starts to grill him about dating girls that are definitely under the age of eighteen. Santana doesn’t even feel bad when she adds that he’s probably not dating her because sexual contact doesn’t equate dating.

fic: love fool (1/?)

grdnofevrythng — Thu, 14 Feb 2013 04:30:29 GMT

Title: Love Fool (1/?)
Rating: NC-17
Couple: Quinn/Santana
Summary: So, really last night isn’t a big deal. Quinn was just curious and lonely and drunk. Santana was probably the same. So, she shouldn’t be freaking out.
Prompt: none
Disclaimer: I don't own them, but I certainly wish I did. They'd hump like bunnies on viagra.
A/N: This fic is the result of a late night conversation with a friend who was having overwhelming Quinntana feelings. I hope I do this story justice.

Everything is bright when hazel eyes flutter open and her hand flies to her face, trying to block out the light that is doing nothing to help the throbbing pain in the back of her head. Her skull actually feels swollen and she wishes she could turn the sun down about eight thousand notches in the brightness department. Her eyes snap shut immediately and she hisses out a curse under her breath. How had she forgotten to close the blinds? Oh that’s right. It probably has something to do with the way that even the sound of her own breathing is making the pounding in her head worse and the heaviness in her body.

Her fingers scramble to grasp the thick hotel comforter and she tosses off of her body, noticing two things. The first is her own nakedness, which is definitely unusual because she rarely sleeps naked, and the second that there’s a slender, brown arm around her waist making her hasty escape to the window an impossibility. She looks down at the arm with resentment and tries to ignore the memories that make her want to close her eyes, and just let herself revel. Which is all the more reason why she should get up go. She’s been fighting this for months. Months. She’s been telling herself that it’s completely normal to be curious when someone you’ve known for a significant amount of time has a complete lifestyle change. In high school, she’d been too busy to really dwell on anything going on with anyone else. Now she’s in college and meeting new people and learning new things. So, how could she not be curious? And look at Santana. She’s gorgeous and she finally understands why everyone in high school seemed to be obsessed with her.

So, really last night isn’t a big deal. Quinn was just curious and lonely and drunk. Santana was probably the same. So, she shouldn’t be freaking out. Only she is because she remembers last night vividly. The way Santana’s lips had tasted, the feel of her fingers against her skin, the way her breath had felt on the nape of her neck all comes flooding back and intermingle with the feelings Quinn is having and has been having for months now. Probably since she saw Santana standing in the auditorium in that green dress during Thanksgiving break.

And it wouldn’t be so bad if this was just about having her curiosity sated, but no she has to be fucking Alice following the White Rabbit down the hole into an unknown world. She is Lucy through the wardrobe and the part of them that carried them off in search of adventure is the same part of her that wants to keep laying here. It’s the part of her that makes her want to bury her face into the side of Santana’s neck and inhale the scent of musk and sweat and a hint of the True Religion perfume she’s been obsessed with since high school. But that would be such a bad idea and she’s made enough of those to last her a lifetime.

And of course she's awake before Santana. A look at the nearby clock reveals that it's a quarter past ten and a sober Santana sleeps until noon. No telling when hungover Santana will wake up. Quinn's always been an early riser and she's never hated herself more for that fact than now, because she’s being forced to deal with this all alone. It would be so much easier if Santana had just gotten up and slipped away in the early morning or if she just hadn’t wrapped herself around Quinn’s body and fallen asleep in the first place. Because Quinn thinks she could handle the silence of the rejection. It’s the idea of Santana waking up and confirming that this didn’t mean anything and blaming it on the alcohol and loneliness and seeing Brittany cuddling next to Sam was just too much for her.

It’s not hard to slip free from under Santana’s arm. She weighs practically nothing and sleeps like the dead once she’s gone. Still Quinn lingers a moment or two longer than she should before sliding free. A part of her wonders, just for the briefest of seconds, if it would be so bad if Santana woke up and it’s that thought, the brief hesitation, that has her out of the bed. She locates her panties near the bottom of the bed and she finds her dress crumpled on Santana’s “side” of the bed. She doesn’t have a clue where her bra is, but she doesn’t want to waste the time to find it in case Santana surprises them both and wakes up. She pulls on her heels and hurries to the door. She takes one last look at the girl sleeping in the bed and then walks about before she can do something stupid, like wait around for Santana to get up.

There’s no one in the hallway thankfully and she berates herself repeatedly on the way to her room. She should’ve learned her lesson about drunkenly hooking up with people the first time, but no she still makes poor decision while “under the influence.” At least this one can’t get her pregnant and kicked out of her house. Yet, this one feels almost as devastating. It causes this strange ache in her chest and makes her throat thick with a sob.

She’s just rolling her eyes at her own dramatics when she hears a low whistle behind her. She turns and sees Puck leaning against the door of a room she just passed. He’s eying her slowly and there’s this smirk on his face that has her narrowing her eyes and gritting her teeth.

“Well, well Fabray, I never thought I’d see you doing the walk of shame. Thought you were too good for that.” His tone is amused and he pushes away from the wall, strolling towards her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says casually and looks past him to a spot on the wall. It’s a trick she’s been employing since freshman year of high school, the mask of cool indifference, like she can’t see you. She prays it works because she really doesn’t need this right now.

Puck chuckles and shakes his head. “Yeah, sure you don’t. You’re just walking down the hall in a dress that looks like it spent a night crumpled on some dude’s floor and you just look plain fucked yourself.” He’s enjoying this far too much for her liking and she kinds of wants to slap that look right off of his face, but instead she just keeps staring at the wall, willing herself not to react even as his words conjure up memories of Santana peeling her dress off of her body. “Who was it, Q? I’m not mad. I kinda want to go congratulate the guy on getting into Fort Knox.”

Quinn’s eyes flicker to his face and she just stares at him, unimpressed and incredulous. “Are you done? Because I swear to God if you say one more asinine thing out of you mouth, I will make sure they can’t identify the body, Puckerman. Just because little girls find you charming doesn’t mean you actually are.” It’s her turn to fix him with a knowing look because of course she and Kitty have kept in touch and she knows all about the night of Sadie Hawkin’s Dance. “I just hope you were smarter with her than you were with me.” She spins on her heels and starts back in the direction she was going.

“I think getting laid was supposed to make you less of a bitch,” Puck calls after her, but she lets it roll off of her back and heads into her room at the end of the hall. She heads into the bathroom and turns on the shower to as hot as she can. She pushes all thoughts of Puck and Kitty and high school out of her mind completely. She steps inside of the shower and, for the first time, allows the tears to flow freely from her eyes. Let’s all the pain and anguish spill from her and wash down the drain with the water because once she’s out of there, once the water runs cold, she’s going to have to pick herself up and get over this. Get over the fact that she had sex with Santana Lopez and it meant everything in the world to her. And it probably meant nothing at all to the other girl.

fic: all the roads

grdnofevrythng — Tue, 12 Feb 2013 04:27:08 GMT

Title: All the Roads
Rating: NC-17
Couple: Quinn/Santana
Summary: It’s a throw away statement made while they’re all sitting around playing cards and getting high.
Prompt: none
Disclaimer: I don't own them, but I certainly wish I did. They'd hump like bunnies on viagra.
A/N: Still testing the waters so yeah, hope you like it. Unbeta'd as I still am betaless. So mistakes are mine.

“You’re really just one drink away from letting a girl go down you, you know that right?”

It’s a throw away statement made while they’re all sitting around playing cards and getting high. Puck came for a visit claiming it wasn’t right that all of the hot girls from Lima were now on the East Coast and he was stuck in Bumfuck East. For whatever reason that meant that Quinn had an “excuse” to come into Brooklyn.

“Whatever Santana, I bet you haven’t had any since you got to New York,” Puck started, flipping a card down onto the table.

Santana had glared and insisted that she most definitely had gotten some. Which of course led to Rachel and Kurt drilling her on when and where and why hadn’t she invited the girl over to dinner because they really don’t understand how hookups work. And after Brittany, yeah, that’s all she’s really looking for.

But it’s Quinn’s quiet, “But how do you even approach girls in the first place? I’ve always wondered that,” is what catches Santana’s attention

It’s not the easiest thing in the world to explain because it’s not like she can just walk up to any girl on the street and just ask for their number. Even as hot as she is, she’s not quite that lesbian and she’s in a new place and it wasn’t like Lima prepared her for meeting girls that were not her best friend who had kissed her the first time because she wanted a “perfect record.”

Still she’s been both out of the closet and out to gay bars since the summer after senior year of high school. So, she’s getting there and since moving to New York, she’s definitely improved her game. So she fixes Quinn with a look and watches the other girl kind of freeze. Then she offers her this smile that has yet to fail her when she thinks a girl is interested and beckons Quinn with her fingers.

Quinn ducks her head but not before Santana notices her flushed cheeks and grins to herself. “And that actually works for you?” Quinn asks like she doesn’t believe it, but like Santana just got a reaction out of her even if she’s trying to pretend that she didn’t.

So, Santana laughs and brushes off her shoulders as Puck slaps her on the back. “I taught you well, Lopez.”

Rolling her eyes, Santana punches him hard in the arm. “Please, I’ve never needed to crotch thrust in a girl’s direction to get her to notice me.”

Rachel giggles and Kurt shakes his head. They’re both total light weights and they were far past gone about twenty minutes in. So, Santana’s pretty much ignoring them. She’s just grateful Brody isn’t around, but she’s pretty sure Rachel sent him away because Puck was coming into town. She hasn’t mentioned it, but she’ll call Rachel on that another time.

Quinn makes this disgusted noise and Santana’s eyes snap back to her. “Please, even you weren’t immune to his charms,” she points out and flips a card down. She notes the way Quinn still won’t meet her eye and smirks to herself. “And, you’re really just one drink away from letting a girl go down you, you know that right?”

Puck’s expression perks up at that and Rachel and Kurt just stare at Quinn, who’s glaring back at Santana. “Please, not everyone’s obsessed with sex like you are, Santana.”

Maybe not, but Quinn didn’t deny what she said. So, Santana doesn’t think she’s wrong.

---

Santana never thinks anything more about it until two months later, on a random Thursday night, her phone buzzes. She’s laying in her bed just listening to music because she has the night off from that little hipster record store she managed to get a job at and for once Kurt and Rachel are gone. She picks it up and frowns a little as she reads the text before sliding her finger across the screen.

Remember that time we got drunk at Kyle Becker’s party and made out?

The text is from Quinn and yeah she remembers that they got drunk and kissed because Puck dared them to. But Quinn’s never brought that shit up before and Santana doesn’t get why she’s doing it now.

Yeah, what about it?

She doesn’t get another text for ten minutes and by then, she’s blasting Little Dragon and doesn’t see the text for another fifteen. She glances over and reads the message, wondering what the hell is going on with Quinn.

Nothing. It’s jsut your lips were so soft. Some times I look at them and just think wo w Santana has soft lips.

Santana rolls her eyes because clearly Quinn is drunk, but why isn’t she texting her old man boyfriend instead of texting Santana?

Um o...k... where’s Prof McBalding? Aren’t his lips something you should be talking about?

This time the text is much quicker and Santana’s more intrigued now.

No I just...are all girls lips that soft or just yours? Did you think my lips were soft tooo?

In truth, Santana doesn’t really remember kissing Quinn, like not in great detail because she’s kissed a lot of people and it wasn’t like the most mind blowing kiss because Quinn’s mouth was practically glued shut when they kissed. Plus, it was maybe five seconds long, but she decides to lie just to see what Quinn will say.

Yeah, they were really soft, Q. And I guess girls lips are soft. It’s better than kissing dudes and like they don’t use too much tongue.

Yeah, sometimes guys are so gross and I have to think about other stuff to keep kissing them. You’re lucky you like girls. THey hare soft lips.

Santana reads the text several times, unsure of how to respond and amused as fuck. It dawns on her that maybe she wasn’t wrong. If Quinn got drunk enough, it wouldn’t take much to get those church dresses off.

What do you think about instead?

She never gets a reply, but the question stays with her until the next morning when Quinn texts her and apologizes for the drunk texts. She still refuses to answer the question and stops answering her texts altogether until Santana promises to stop asking.

---

It doesn’t stop the drunk texts from happening and Santana learns that if she doesn’t bring them up the next day, Quinn’s far less pissy about it.

Then one night she’s closing the store and her phone buzzes. It sucks that she’s stuck there on a Friday night because they’re dead and she just has to sit there until eleven o’clock and pray a rapist doesn’t come in and take advantage of the situation. She picks it up and is already amused when she sees the message on the screen.

I have a secret, but you scan’ts tell anyway

She’s gotten good at deciphering the drunk speak and leans against the counter as she types.

What’s your secret?

I keep thinking about sskissing girls and you and I want to do that.

Yeah, she’s seen this coming for a while, specifically after about two weeks ago when Quinn was whining about how long it’s been since she had a date. She was sober for that conversation and had broken up with the Slutty Professor when he dared give her a “C-” on a paper and called her uninspired.

Do what? Kiss me or kiss a girl?

She knows she’s playing with fire, but she’d be lying to herself if she didn’t admit that she was starting to get just as affected by these little conversations as Quinn was.

Both.

The word makes her stomach drop and she almost laughs as The Vaccines “Post Break-Up Sex” starts playing in the store.

Too bad I’m hours away.

You need to come visit. I got you a ticket. Use it.

Santana’s already trying to figure out when she’ll be able to get some time off before she sends the text back that she will.

Neither of them acknowledge it, but after that, their relationship is different.

---

They spend the next month texting. They don’t talk about it, but Santana tells Quinn she can visit in about six weeks and the blonde promises to clear her schedule. They make idle chitchat on skype and Quinn gets Santana watching Dr. Who because people keep telling her it’s a good show and she needs someone to talk to that isn’t Rachel who can’t seem to stop giving away spoilers.

But then at night, their texts were turning from drunken, wistful longings to sexting. One night, while Santana was at work, Quinn sent her a picture that was tamer than most pictures she’d received even from Brittany, but the image of Quinn’s thighs and her hand slipped into this almost virginal pair of pink panties with little strawberries on them had Santana wetter than she’d been in a long time.

Wish it was my hand

She shot back. She hated that she was at work because she’d give anything to be home in her empty apartment right now.

Me too. Now I can’t stop thinking about it.

For someone who hadn’t even known what sexting was four years ago, Quinn was definitely catching on quick.

Fuck Q, are you wet? Tell me you’re wet.

Her breath caught and a customer sat a vinyl on the counter in front of her, shooting her a weird look. Santana just glared back and rang him out before grabbing her phone again.

Definitely. I usually am nowadays when I think about you.

Yeah? What do you think about?

You touching me and kissing me.

Okay, Quinn’s dirty talk could use a lot of work, but Santana figured she probably just needed a little coaxing.

Like how do I touch you? Where am I kissing you?

Idk. Everywhere?

Santana supposes that sometimes she forgets that Quinn is...well Quinn. The girl was sneaking Harlequin romance novels while Santana was spending her time under the bleachers with guys freshman year of high school.

If I were there right now, I’d watch you just until you got to the point where you were about to come and then I’d take over. I’d replace your hand with mine and slip my fingers inside of you because I’d want to watch your face as you came and know it was because of me.

Oh God.

Santana’s phone buzzes and she’s dying to check it, but she has another customer and really don’t they know she’s trying to get her...Quinn all riled up? She all but rushes the little hipster Asian girl with the shaggy haircut out of the store and grabs her phone.

And I wouldn’t stop until I didn’t think you could come anymore. Then I’d let you catch your breath before I licked you clean.

Not her most creative work, but she was working with a novice here and didn’t want to scare her away. There’s about a ten minute break where she doesn’t receive any texts at all and she thinks she might have done that anyway, but then her phone vibrates against the counter.

Fuck. I’ve been trying that for a week and it finally worked.

Santana knows without asking that Quinn means masturbating. She’d been completely against it in high school, but lately Santana had been trying to talk her into it. So she accepted the small victory for what it was because she’d just gotten Quinn Fabray to come and she hadn’t even touched her.

---

The pictures come regularly after that and though Quinn will never send anything too risque, Santana has no such problem. She’s already got a sextape out there that will haunt her for the rest of her life, what’s a few pictures of her breasts?

---

Santana debates phone sex for about a week. On the one hand she really wants to hear Quinn come and there’s like two weeks before she’ll be in New Haven, but a part of her wants to wait until she can hear it in person. But Quinn kind of takes the decision out of her hands the night she goes out with her sorority sisters and proceeds to get completely wasted. Santana’s already asleep, but that doesn’t stop Quinn from leaving a voicemail that is nothing but her drunkenly telling Santana how horny she is and then totally getting off before hanging up.

She’s not ashamed that she listens to that message every day for the next week. At least most of the time she’s using it to get herself off as well.

---

Santana’s nervous the entire train ride to New Haven and she doesn’t know why. It’s not that Quinn hasn’t ever been with a girl. It’s not even just that they’ve never had sex with each other. It’s more like there’s all been all this build up for months and she doesn’t know what she’ll do if it doesn’t live up to either of their expectations. Plus, the closer she gets there, the more she realizes she has no idea how to interact with Quinn anymore. She can’t exactly resort to her usual bitchy self. That just seems counterproductive to what she’s hoping the next four days will be.

Quinn’s standing just at the front of the station when Santana makes it through the crowd of people. The blonde hasn’t spotted her yet and Santana takes a moment to just watch her. She doesn’t notice, but almost every person that passes her practically does a double take and for all of the shit they’ve always given each other, Santana’s never really realized just how hot Quinn actually is.

She’s smiling as she walks up to her, her nerves momentarily forgotten. Quinn spots her about a half of foot away and smiles brightly at seeing her. Santana stops just in front of her and there’s a moment of hesitation where they just look at each other. The air around them is charged and it’s like they don’t know if they should embrace or not, but Quinn makes the first move, wrapping her arms around Santana and pulling her close.

“Finally,” is all that she says, her breath caressing the shell of the brunette’s ear and Santana can’t hide the little shudder that moves through her.

They’re going to dinner with the girl who Quinn got to drive her to the station and then they’re just going to hang in Quinn’s dorm room because her roommate is staying with her boyfriend in town for the week. So, they’ll have the place to themselves which is why Santana’s visiting in the first place. Quinn knew it when she set the date. So, Santana has no doubt that Quinn wants this as much as she does.

---

Dinner’s a pretty boring affair. Quinn’s friend Chelsea is pretentious and obnoxious just like Santana figured people at Yale were, but sometimes she says funny things. So, she doesn’t have too bad of a time. But before she knows it, Quinn’s signing her into the visitor’s log in her dorm and leading the way up the stairs to her room.

The dorms at Yale are a lot different than the one she had in Kentucky. They’re darker and older and the rooms are smaller, but it feels cozy somehow. She sets her duffle bag on the roommate’s bed and then sits down on Quinn’s, watching as the blonde walks over to her computer and turns on some music. It’s kind of weird that Santana recognizes the Breakbot song now.

Quinn sits next to her and she keeps folding and unfolding her hands. Santana reaches out and takes the left one into her own hands, smiling up at her. “Don’t start over thinking it now, Fabray,” she jokes quietly. Quinn smiles at that, but there’s still nervousness clouding her hazel eyes.

Santana leans closer to her, invading her space and inhaling the light fragrance of Dolce and Gabana’s Light Blue. Her fingers massage Quinn’s palms and she uses her free hand to brush the hair back from her face. Their lips are inches apart and Santana’s dark eyes search for any sign of hesitation from Quinn. There isn’t any, but she can hear how the other girl’s breathing has started to speed up and feels, more than hears the sharp intake of air when she brushes their lips together.

It’s Quinn that grows impatient with Santana’s light touches and before she can really take control, she’s undressed down to her purple lace thong and her bra’s on the floor somewhere next to the dress she was wearing. She moans as Quinn’s hand finds her breast and palms it almost roughly, making the dull ache between her legs roar.

When she feels fingers tugging at her underwear, she pushes Quinn back. No way is she getting “topped” by a practically virgin. She pulls Quinn’s dress over her head and doesn’t stop until there’s not anything left on her smooth, pale skin. Her lips attach to Quinn’s neck, teeth nipping and scraping as she maps a course down her body, stopping to lap hungrily at dusty rose nipples and dip into her navel. She’s not going to go down on Quinn, at least not right away because she wants to feel how wet Quinn is, how hot she’s gotten her. So, she doubles back, kissing the path back upward, and finds Quinn’s lips as her fingers slip between her folds.

Quinn, who’d been quietly writhing save for the tiny whimpers that couldn’t seem to be contained, cries out at the first contact and Santana lets out her own moan because she’s so wet that Santana’s fingers can’t seem to find purchase. They slip and slide against the hardened nub but she manages to work it between her fingers, swallowing the sounds Quinn makes with her tongue.

Hips roll and buck against her hand, but she’s taking her time. She wants to make sure she erases any doubts Quinn might still be having because they’ve only just begun and it’s already good. She already doesn’t want to stop touching her.

Her fingers move lower and thrust deeply into the blonde, making this sexy wet noise that just serves to make Santana even wetter than she was and she’s not even sure how it’s possible. Quinn’s already teetering on the edge if the way she’s whining over and over again in the back of her throat is any indication. Santana watches her face because she’s been waiting to see this for at least two months if not years. Her cheeks are flushed and she’s biting her lip as she squeezes her eyes shut. One of her hands is gripping Santana’s forearm, nails digging as she starts to tighter around the brunette’s fingers. And when her fingers curl and she drums against the spot inside of Quinn that she probably doesn’t even know exists, she lets go in sort of a rush. Her body shakes and she swears under her breath.

Santana doesn’t stop thrusting until she’s started to settle. She pulls her fingers free and kind of smirks as she watches Quinn come back to herself. Hazel eyes blink blearily at her and she smiles shyly, but Santana is having none of that. “Oh don’t play coy now, Q. I’m pretty sure you’ve just used words that would get you banned from every church from here to Lima.”

Quinn, to her surprise, just laughs and runs a hand through her hair. “Well, I guess I can finally say I understand what all of the fuss over you is about,” she says, sitting up. “Thanks for living up to the reputation, Santana. I would’ve never let you live it down if you hadn’t.”

Rolling her eyes, Santana sat back. “Please, that wasn’t even my best work. You’re just that easy, Fabray.”

“If I’m that ‘easy,’ then what does that say about you?” Quinn ask and Santana opens her mouth to say something snarky back, but she’s already being pushed down onto her back.

Quinn sets about dismantling her in ways Santana never even knew her friend had knowledge of and it’s almost embarrassed how quickly she comes or the way she almost screams the blonde’s name. But then she remembers that they’ve had months of foreplay and God, there’s no discounting how full Quinn’s fingers made her feel or the way that she isn’t around to be a little rough.

After, she settles beside Santana and runs her fingers along her torso. They’re quiet for a moment and Santana worries it might get awkward, especially since she can practically see the wheels turning in Quinn’s head. But she just smiles down and shrugs. “So, I guess I can say I’m definitely not completely straight anymore.”

For some reason that makes Santana laugh loudly and shake her head. All worries of tomorrow are left for the future and instead she sets about telling Quinn in just how many ways she’s never ever been completely straight.

fic: i just want you to feel fine

grdnofevrythng — Sat, 09 Feb 2013 15:28:43 GMT

Title: I Just Want You to Feel Fine
Rating: R
Couple: Rachel/Santana
Summary: Santana wants Brody out.
Prompt: Given to me by Anne - Pezberry as roommates. How Santana gets Brody to move out so she can take her rightful spot in Rachel's bed.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, but I certainly wish I did. They'd hump like bunnies on viagra.
A/N: Still testing the waters so yeah, hope you like it. Unbeta'd as I still am betaless. So mistakes are mine.

This thing she has for Rachel has to stop. No seriously, it’s getting ridiculous. It happened during Britney week junior year and she’ll never forget the way Rachel had looked in that skirt. Sure, she’d denied it to herself long after that, but it was like every time she saw Rachel walk into a room after that, she couldn’t stop thinking about her legs and that always led to her thoughts of her legs wrapped around things, namely Santana’s head or over her shoulders or around her waist.

It wasn’t as if anyone couldn’t understand her leg fetish, like look at Brittany. She’s nothing but legs and maybe that’s where her obsession started and she should be mad at Brittany, but the problem was that being mad at Brittany was really like the equivalent of being annoyed at a baby crying in a movie theater. The baby can’t help that the loud noises scare him and that his idiot parents brought him in the environment without thinking about his tiny baby ears. And Brittany really just had no concept of action and consequence most of the time. But that was a story for a different day.

Santana was just grateful that most of eleventh grade found Rachel looking like she’d raided Quinn’s closet because it was all Little House on the Prairie dresses and those legs remained covered. Plus, there was the little fact that she’d fallen helplessly in love with her best friend and was kind of going through some shit that her little crush on Rachel sort of left her mind.

Only senior year the legs were back with a vengeance and fuck, how many pairs of knee highs did Rachel own? Jesus fuck did Lima have some sort of tribute to the 80’s store tucked away because where did you even buy those things? But that year didn’t stop with just the socks. They were forced to interact on a more consistent basis. First with Santana trying to get Rachel not to run against Brittany in the class presidency, let’s face it she was going to need a competent VP. And she wouldn’t have even thought about trying out for West Side Story if it hadn’t been for Brittany’s whole “you’re a lesbicorn” speech that had both confused and aroused Santana and by the time she was coming down from her second orgasm, she’d somehow agreed to tryout and suddenly she was Anita.

Singing “A Boy Like That” to Rachel on that age felt like it hit a lot closer to home than it should have and yeah she thought Rachel deserved to have a boy a lot better than Finn, who had no fucking clue how to open his locker most days and was dumb enough to publicly out her even accidentally. He still hadn’t learned the whole mouth to brain ratio. And Rachel was smart going to do things with her life. Even Santana could admit that along with everyone else.

They’d been forced to spend a lot of time together rehearsing scenes just the two of them and Santana was annoyed by the stupid schedule Rachel has posted on her locker, but it had helped and she was surprised that every now again, Rachel would cut loose and tell a joke, and not just those wholesome ones you’d expect, no dirty ones that even Santana had never heard. Plus her dads were two of the funniest guys Santana had ever met and finding out the Rachel’s room wasn’t a shrine to Finn had told Santana that maybe there was hope for the girl yet.

A friendship had formed without her knowledge and Santana hadn’t even had a chance to fight it because by the time they were helping Puckerman graduate, she was realizing Rachel’s dreams for Broadway and just New York in general actually seemed in the realm of possibilities and she wondered why she had wasted so much time not wanting bigger things for herself. That was just an unfortunate side effect of liking Rachel Berry. She got under your skin and infected your brain and you just couldn’t shake her.

Which was why she’d come a running almost as soon as Kurt called the first time and being out at school had come with it’s own sort of eye opening experiences. Santana supposed she’d always noticed girls, but now she was noticing girls. Even Quinn had given her pause during Thanksgiving, you know before the whole slapping thing. But nothing had prepared her for Rachel. Rachel who’d been gone for all of six months now looked like that and fuck if it didn’t have Santana wanting to be a little closer to her.

So here she was, in New York, in an apartment with no walls and where she has to fight for the bathroom with two people who are actually more vain than she is. It feels worth it though, when she sees Rachel walking around in barely any clothing and now that she’s not professing her love to stupid football players, her singing is actually both moving and sexy. It’s definitely helped Santana along a few times while she’s in the bed across the apartment and has to slip her fingers between her own legs.

This crush is actually kind of gross she thinks because Santana Lopez doesn’t pine, not anymore. Not since the Brittany-induced fog finally cleared her mind and she realized they were never going to get it right. Nope, her days of pining were over and she’d just go out and find someone else to be under if it weren’t for the fact that sometimes she catches Rachel looking at her. Like really looking at her, after showers and when it’s so hot in the apartment that Santana is in nothing but a sports bra and tiny shorts she catches her, eyes lingering on her midriff or openly ogling her breasts.

She’s no stranger to those looks. She’s been getting them since long before she knew what they meant and she did date Noah Puckerman once upon a time. And if nothing else, Kentucky had gotten her accustomed to female appreciation. The way their cheeks would flush and they’d give you a shy smile. Yeah, Rachel wanted up on this. But there was just one problem.

And he was strolling through the apartment without any clothes on.

“See? This what I was talking about,” Kurt hisses at her over his bowl of cereal as he pretends not to check out the other guy’s goods. Kurt might like to pretend to be a prude, but Santana knows the truth. He’s jealous that Rachel gets the god and he gets the Nyada loser. And hell, maybe he should’ve thought about improving on his look instead of focusing on Rachel’s. That plan backfired hard.

“Um excuse me,” Santana snarks, giving Brody a disgusted look. “Some of us like to eat without cock and balls greeting us as brightly as the sun.”

Brody’s steps falter, almost like he forgot she now lives there and Kurt says her name all scandalized and yeah, this guy has gotta go and not just because Santana wants up on his lady. She just doesn’t like him and she doesn’t really know why, but she’s not going to bother to figure it out because she doesn’t have that kind of time.

“I’m sorry, but I believe in walking around my home comfortably,” he answers, his dick in her face as he reaches for the milk carton on the table.

She glances down and lets herself really look. God, Rachel really? “It’s hard to believe you’d be so comfortable when you look like that,” she smiles sweetly at him and mouths “small” to Kurt who stifles his laughter as a sneeze.

“Santana! Brody is just confident and I have to say it’s something to be admired. I think we could all stand to be a little more like him,” Rachel all but sings and Santana waits for the cartoon birds to start flying around her head.

Santana hears a challenge Rachel probably wasn’t aware she was issuing and stands up, whipping off her bra, but leaves on her bottoms because she’s just trying to prove a point and not give away the whole show and she hears Kurt and Rachel gasps and Brody’s just staring at her in shock or rather her breasts in shock and she just smirks. “I think I’m pretty confident and I don’t need to walk around topless,” she points out, spooning her own cereal into her mouth.

Kurt mutters something about running a brothel and Santana’s not sure who stares at her longer, Brody or Rachel, but Operation: Get Rid of Brody or rather Operation: Get Into Rachel’s Bed forms and she stands from the table and carries her bowl over to her bed where she still doesn’t bother to put on a top.

After that morning, Rachel’s eyes always greet her boobs first and then her face and Santana pretends not to notice. The girl also seems to want to hang out a lot more and won’t leave Santana alone with Brody for even five seconds, which seems really fucking ridiculous because Santana hasn’t wanted cock since junior year and she’d bet anything that Brody is no fucking Puckerman in bed. But the new rule just lends itself to Santana’s cause and she proceeds to get them both completely wasted with her.

From there on it’s not too difficult to get them into a stupid game of “I’ve Never” where Santana all but spill the dirty details of things she’s done with other girls and she can see the wheels turning in Rachel’s mind. But that plan doesn’t quite work in her favor because Brody and Rachel proceed to have really loud sex and Santana’s left alone and unable to enjoy the way that Rachel’s moans sound almost melodic because of the grunts that follow behind them.

The next night, Santana changes tactics and it isn’t surprising that Brody’s all for getting drunk with them again because dude totally thinks he’s getting laid again, but Santana has other ideas. She gets them both even drunker and the name of the game is “Truth or Dare.” And either he’s too stupid or too drunk to notice that she’s only asking Rachel questions and they’re all about if she’d ever have sex with a girl and if she could do it with any girl who would it be? She answers yes to the first and refuses to answer the second one, but Santana catches the look the other girl gives her and it’s so heated she actually feels herself getting wet.

She declares that the “truth” part is boring and Brody is practically passing out at this point, but Rachel’s still game. So, Santana just smirks and dares Rachel take off her shirt and like lick whipped cream from her finger and shit like that. It’s Rachel who turns the tables this time, though and dares Santana to lick the whipped cream off of her. She doesn’t specify where. So, Santana sprays it on her neck and the inside of her thighs and Brody doesn’t even protest, just watches in rapt attention as Santana’s tongue makes it’s way down the curve of Rachel’s neck and she gasps and then kinds whimpers and sighs at the same time because yeah, Santana knows what the fuck she’s doing with her tongue.

By the time she’s licking the cream from Rachel’s thighs, she can smell the other girl’s arousal and she takes a peek under Rachel’s skirt and sees there’s definitely a wet spot. She grins against the smooth skin of her warm thigh and nips for good measure and is rewarded with a low moan. One she’s definitely never heard Rachel make with Mr. Confident over there.

Santana pulls away and licks at her lips, smirking up at the dazed look on Rachel’s face. Brody’s not faring much better and he’s probably half-hard in his pants, but there’s no way Santana’s listening to a repeat performance of last night. But it’s Brody’s deep voice that dares them to kiss each other and fuck he hadn’t even been playing in this game for the last ten minutes, but that doesn’t mean she’s not going to take an opportunity presented. Rachel beats her to the punch though and grabs her, catching her off guard.

Before she can even respond, her back is hitting the floor and the brunette is all but straddling her waist as she sloppily kisses Santana’s lips. It’s hungry and there’s teeth tugging and Rachel’s making this little noise that’s driving her crazy. So, Santana takes control and pushes her tongue into Rachel’s mouth and they both moan at the contact. And fuck this is way better than she’d ever imagined. Why weren’t they doing this like all of the time?

They don’t stop kissing until Brody shifts closer and by that point Rachel had full on moved over top of her and was sort of grinding down. Fuck him for ruining the moment, Santana thinks as her hands release Rachel’s hips and she forces herself to sit up. She can’t look at Rachel’s face, though. Her lips are swollen and her pupils are blown and if she looks for too long, she’ll just keep going and Rachel will be pissed come morning. So, she mumbles something about being too sleepy and remembers that once upon a time she was a weepy drunk. And fuck maybe she should go into acting because she could win an academy award from this performance. Predictably, Rachel comforts her in bed and Brody’s forced to the other side.

After that Rachel’s eyes greet her breasts and then her lips and then her eyes. Kurt notices it too, but her rolls his eyes and mutters that he doesn’t want to know and maybe he should think about rooming with people that aren’t female.

Santana, to her credit, doesn’t call attention to the action. Instead she has Rachel help her look for a job and in turns helps the other girl run lines. She keeps her up later than Brody with idle girl talk and even has the audacity to climb into bed between them claiming to have a nightmare. Rachel’s such a good friend that Santana actually starts to feel a little bad for manipulating her, but it’s not like she just wants to fuck her and leave. This would’ve gotten old a long time ago if that was the case, but it’s been weeks and she’s just spending more and more time with the Rachel and learning that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to see where this could lead.

But that just makes her think she needs to stop all together because she’s gotten to know Rachel and there’s really only two possible ways that this could turn out. Rachel will cheat with her and resent the hell out of her or hate herself for doing that to another person. And Santana wants neither of those to happen. She doesn’t want regret tied to anything that happens between them. She’s had enough of that to last a lifetime. So, she backs off and luckily for her that interview at that theatre Rachel helped her get comes through and she gets a job working for a box office. She forces herself to buy that stupid Metro North card Quinn’s been bugging her to get for the last month and actually uses it once because the blonde won’t stop harping on her to apologize for slapping her even though bitch slapped her first, but whatever. She keeps busy and makes friends and starts to feel a little bit like an actual adult for the first time in her life.

Turns out Rachel does the work for her and when she returns home from a late shift at work, she finds the girl sitting on the bed. She’s concerned immediately, but it doesn’t look like Rachel’s been crying, which isn’t really indicative of anything mind you because she cries over everything. She just looks sad and Santana feels something seize in her chest.

“What’s wrong?” Santana asks, sinking down on the mattress next to her.

“Brody and I broke up,” she says quietly and turns her head away.

It feels like something breaks inside of her and she’s almost mad at herself that she didn’t send him away before he could break Rachel’s heart. “What happened?”

Rachel takes a deep breath and looks back at Santana, something flickering in her eyes. “I ended it because I have feelings for someone else. I told him I owed it to myself to figure it out.”

Someone else? Had she been gone that long that she had missed a second person? Now Santana was even more mad at herself. “Oh, well I mean sure if you like some other guy, he’s probably better than Brody. Because seriously Rachel, that guy had douchbag written all over his Calvin Klein boxer brie-”

“It’s not a guy, Santana,” Rachel says softly and something about it stops Santana short. Her eyes widen and her heart starts to beat faster, but she can’t seem to rally her thoughts as they shoot through her mind and ricochet off of one another. “I have feelings for you.”

Rachel’s words stop all thought at all and Santana just stares at her because even though it’s what she wanted, she was unprepared to receive it so easily. “Oh,” she manages to squeak out then frowns at herself because she’s capable of saying more than that, but Rachel’s already launched into some diatribe and Santana missed a good portion of it it seems.

“-some sort of school girl crush, but Santana, you didn’t kiss me like you don’t want me. And you think I don’t see or hear, but I know you watch me and touch yourself thinking about me. The apartment’s large, but I have a keen sense of hearing and-”

Santana cuts her off with her lips and whatever else she was going to say is canceled out as Santana shows her exactly how much she wants her.

Fic: just a little bit's enough

grdnofevrythng — Sat, 09 Feb 2013 03:26:53 GMT

Title: Just a Little Bit's Enough
Rating: Light R
Couple: Quinn/Santana
Summary: Sometimes no matter how hard you try to be happy, you can't help but wait for the other shoe to drop.
Prompt: Given to me by random_flores - the P!nk song "Just Give Me a Reason" And the line "After six months in a relationship with Santana, Quinn discovers that Santana promised Brittany that she would always love her the most, and Brittany wants to make her prove it."
Disclaimer: I don't own them, but I certainly wish I did. Damn RyanMurphy and his unrivaled genius.
A/N: This is me testing the waters of writing fic again. So I hope you enjoy it and as always, feedback is welcome. Also this is unbeta'd because I'm in between betas. I own my mistakes.

There’s a shadow eclipsing this thing that Quinn’s got with Santana. It’s something that she can’t shake. It’s been there since the very beginning and it follows them like an ominous cloud, dampening everything thing they do. It stops her heart at times and she wakes up in a cold sweat. She’s mentioned it to Santana more than once, but the other girl just waves it off. She tells Quinn it’s just her insecurities as she presses into the mattress and slips her hand between Quinn’s legs. She tells her she’s too beautiful to be so miserable and Quinn lets herself forget.

They’ve been doing this since the first time Santana came to New Haven after moving in with Kurt and Rachel. Quinn’d finally had the courage to end things with her professor, had finally listened to that voice in her head (that always sounded suspiciously like Santana’s) that told her he’d never leave his wife, that he’d never pick her over his children who were nearly her age. And without asking, Santana showed up with a bottle of Southern Comfort and a single “I told you so,” before handing her a shot glass.

They got sloppy drunk and Santana held her as she cried. They didn’t touch that night, though. No, Santana waited until the next evening to make her move, slipping her fingers beneath the fabric of Quinn’s panties as they talk about everything but what’s happening. Quinn came just as Santana told her about how Kurt had broken Rachel’s favorite mug. Now the blonde can never look at mugs again without remembering the first time Santana touched her.

After that, it just became a thing. Quinn was Santana’s date to Mr. Schuester’s wedding and then she came down to see Kurt in some boring performance with his little acapella group. Santana popped up for a long weekend because she’s found work being an assistant Coach to a cheerleading squad at the local Brooklyn community center and as much as she complains about it, Quinn can’t remember a time she’d seen the girl so happy. They’d share a bed and each other’s bodies, but they’d never talk about it.

It isn’t until Quinn’s spring break when Santana goes along with her to the Hamptons with her sorority sisters and Quinn nearly rips off one of their heads for daring to hit on her...Santana that she finally asked what they were doing. Santana shrugs and tells her she didn’t think they needed a label since there was nobody else and that Quinn was stupid if she was worried about that given how often they spoke.

She admittedly felt a little stupid because she spoke to Santana nearly everyday. And even when the girl was dead exhausted, she’d sign onto Skype if only to say goodnight. And when she was drunk and horny, Santana would lock herself in the bathroom and call just to listen to Quinn as she got off. The old Santana would’ve just gone out and found someone else.

But still there is something that makes Quinn feel restless. She’s constantly looking over her shoulder. And she wants to believe Santana that it’s all for nothing, but she can’t seem to just let it go.

Then it’s there. One day after she and Santana have had this thing for six months. The other shoe drops just as they’re coming back from watching Rachel’s summer showcase. Brittany’s sitting in the stairs in front of the loft and the moment her blue eyes spot the two of them, she launches herself into Santana’s arms.

There’s a sick feeling in Quinn’s stomach and it only gets worse as she spots a large duffle bag next to where Brittany had been resting and she chatters excitedly about coming to New York to dance.

Turns out that Mike Chang is friends with someone who graduated from the Jaffrey and showed him one of Brittany’s tapes and now she’s here to dance with his company. Quinn sits quietly with the rest of the group and pretends not to hear the excitement in Santana’s voice at finally having her “best friend with her in the same city again.”

She also ignore that it’s completely fucked up when the three of them cram into Santana’s queen-sized bed and for the first time in six months, she turns her back to Quinn instead of it being the other way around.

Quinn knows she can’t be jealous. She never pushed, never insisted they have a label because like an idiot, she believed Santana when she said they didn’t need one. But she can’t ignore the bile that rises in her throat as she hears Brittany’s soft giggles and whispered words. She slips out of the bed unnoticed at the sound of Santana’s first gasp and slips into bed next to Rachel. The other girl says nothing, just slips her arm around Quinn’s waist and pretends not to notice as the blonde cries.

She’s on the earliest train back to New Haven the next day and doesn’t answer Santana’s calls for a month. They just stop after that and Quinn nurses her broken heart by going out and getting drunk and eventually she stops looking at her phone.

A week later, there’s a knock at her door and Quinn thinks it’s her lab partner, Shannon, dropping off her notes. She opens the door and doesn’t have the time to close it again before Santana’s pushing into the room and slamming the door shut. There’s another knock at the door and Santana pulls it up, eying up Shannon and the girl’s surprised look.

“Sorry, Quinn’s busy,” Santana snarls, ready to slam the door shut again.

“Santana!” Quinn protests, meeting Shannon’s worried look. “She has my notes. God, it’s like you were raised by wolves,” Quinn huffs. She’s annoyed that Santana barged in and is annoyed with herself that the girl still gets to her this much.

Shannon’s standing there, notes clutched in her hand as she watches them in a struggle of whatever war they’re in. Quinn turns back to her and takes the notes, smiling sweetly. “My friend has just shown up unexpectedly. Can we raincheck dinner, sweetie?” She’s laying it on thick she knows. Shannon is nothing more than a friend, but if Santana thinks otherwise, all the better.

The door slams with a loud thud before Quinn even sees Santana move or Shannon can reply. She can feel dark eyes burning into the side of her face, but she’s not going to back down. Santana doesn’t get to be angry. No, she doesn’t get to be the injured party here and she tells her as much.

“Injured party?” Santana repeats. “You’re the one that fucking left without so much as a word, Quinn and you’re the goddamn injured party?” She’s pacing, back and forth like some sort of caged animal and Quinn almost shrinks back, but she stands her ground.

“That’s right,” she shoots back, her hands balled into a fist next to her sides. “Was I supposed to stay there, continue to lay next to you while you proceeded to fuck your ex-girlfriend?” Santana’s eyes widen at the word because Quinn never uses it outside of playful banter or the thoroughs of passion.

Santana’s whole face changes at that. She looks shocked and then confused before her expression finally settles on angry. “Wow, Quinn...you know, I’m used to people calling me a slut because I like sex. I just never thought you of all people thought so fucking little of me.”

Quinn feels the words like a physical blow, but it actually makes her stomach roll to think that Santana was going to stand here and lie to her face. “I heard you, Santana. Maybe you two think that this is still like all of those years in high school, but I know what it sounds like when you two...fuck,” she spits out the word like it leaves a bad taste in her mouth, partly because it does.

She sees Santana’s own hand unfurl and then ball over and over again and for a moment, Quinn’s worried the other girl might actually slap her. It wouldn’t be the first time. Hell, it wouldn’t even be the fifth time.

“What you heard,” Santana says evenly, forcing her eyes to Quinn’s. “What you heard was Brittany trying and if you’d bothered to stick around, you would’ve heard me tell her no. If you’d have bothered to take a single one of my goddamn calls or listen to Berry, you’d know that Brittany and I haven’t spoken since that weekend.”

Quinn can barely believe the words, doesn’t want to think she’d been so wrong and caused herself so much pain for nothing. She shakes her head and looks away. “I have a hard time believing that. It’s always been about her. She’s always been the one.”

Santana stops pacing and looks at her like she’s an idiot. “Yeah Quinn, she’s always been my fucking everything, but somewhere along the lines of her Mayan wedding, I realized I’ve never once been hers. She will never put me first. She used me and when she threw in my face that she didn’t understand how I could love someone else because I promised her that I’d always love her the most, I realized that even now, she was only picking me out of convenience. And I’m better than that and I have better than that.” Santana’s words choke out and Quinn feels the tears sliding down her own cheeks. She sniffles and wipes her eyes quickly. “Well, I thought I did until you pulled a fucking Houdini.” She throws her hands up and looks away, shaking her head. “Maybe it’s just girls from Ohio. Maybe I need to find someone who isn’t completely fucking insane,” she grumbles heading towards the door.

Quinn feels panic bubble up inside of her and she’s moving before her brain has time to catch up to her actions. She grabs Santana’s arm, spinning her around and pressing her against the door. Her head makes a soft thud as Quinn’s lips crash against her in a bruising kiss. Santana whimpers and squirms beneath her, but Quinn doesn’t relent, not until her breath has completely left her lungs and she needs more.

“Fuck, you are the craziest person I’ve ever met,” Santana breathes, smiling that smile she’s only ever given Quinn.

And for the first time, Quinn doesn’t feel that shadow. She feels light and almost giddy. She pulls her body away and takes Santana’s hand, leading her to the bed. She pushes her down and straddles her waist. “Yeah, but I hear that’s your type,” she whispers and kisses Santana again.

Fic: The Day The Music Died

grdnofevrythng — Wed, 22 Feb 2012 02:56:53 GMT

Title: The Day The Music Died (~~prologue,maybe~~)
Rating: PG
Couple: Rachel/Quinn (Rachel/Finn too, kind of)
Summary: It was supposed to be the happiest day of her life.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, but I certainly wish I did. Damn Ryan
Murphy and his unrivaled genius.
A/N: This literally poured out of me. an_an0maly did a quick reading of this for me. I just had to get it out. I might continue this if people want me to.

She should’ve known something wasn’t right. The feeling had been gnawing at her all day in the pit of her stomach, but she’d ignored it. Figured she was just nervous about getting married. Who wouldn’t be nervous right? She knew all of the statistics. Teen marriages almost always failed, but she and Finn, they were going to beat the odds. They had to. So, she’d pushed the feelings away.

She’d been happy.

Her phone hadn’t stopped ringing. It was actually starting to be distracting and the judge had looked annoyed with her. So, she’d gone to turn off her phone, smiling apologetically at everyone in the room. But as she’d looked at the screen, a phone number she didn’t recognized appeared and something, some force compelled her to answer the phone.

The scene played in her mind over and over again. Hearing about the accident and Quinn’s crumpled broken car. She hadn’t been able to control her screams of horror. The tears that hadn’t even bothered to burn before spilling down her cheeks. She’d just collapsed into a heap. She’d felt like she was suffocating. She couldn’t catch her breath.

That feeling still hadn’t left her.

“Hey, we should probably go.” She looked up and saw Finn standing there. The concern on his face was genuine. She felt bad for being annoyed by his presence.

“No, I...I don’t-I’m not leaving.” She wasn’t going to. Even if she had to sleep in these uncomfortable chairs in the waiting room.

Finn sat next to her and awkwardly wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Rach, staying here...you can’t. You need to go home and change. Eat something. It won’t make her wake up any faster.”

Her eyes narrowed and she glared at him. “I said I’m going to wait,” she said in a firm tone. She shrugged his arm off of her and crossed her arms. “I...I should’ve just waited and maybe...I’m waiting.” Her voice cracked and her chest felt heavy as the emotions welled inside of her again. She’d cried for hours already today and her eyes were swollen and red, but she knew she wasn’t done.

He looked like he wanted to argue, but Mrs. Fabray was walking down the hall, smiling sadly at them as she followed behind the doctor. He nodded politely and stood again. “I’m going to make sure everyone gets home. I’ll bring you clothes and you call me if you need anything?”

She nodded, waving him off and not really seeing him. Her thoughts swam round and round. All she could think of was everything she would’ve done differently that day. A part of her was ashamed that it included not marrying him. Not even thinking about it. If she’d just not been in such a hurry. She could’ve prevented this. She could’ve seen what was staring her right in the face. But she hadn’t. She hadn’t realized until she’d entered that hospital room and seen Quinn’s bruised and broken body.

She was in love with Quinn Fabray.

Fic: Let's Be More Than This

grdnofevrythng — Wed, 08 Feb 2012 05:34:23 GMT

Title: Let's Be More Than This
Rating: Hard R
Pairing: Rachel/Santana
Prompt(s): Pezberry Week: AU of any kind
Summary: This game of foreplay has been going on for a year.
Disclaimer: haha...please. If I owned them, they'd so do it every chance they got.
A/N: A quick Pezberry fic for Pezberry Week. If you haven't been there, go check it out. Also, thanks to cranberry_pi for reading this over for me. All mistakes are mine. Enjoy.

The applause was thunderous as Santana took the stage. It always was when they played the Blackbox Sound Station. She flashed the crowd her signature smirk and adjusted the mic, making sure her guitar didn’t accidentally hit the stand. The audience settled down as she cleared her throat and moved forward to speak.

“What’s up Blackbox?!” She said loudly. There were mostly women before her and they cheered and catcalled, causing her to chuckle a little. She hadn’t been sure about coming out when their managers had suggested it four years ago, but it was seriously the best decision she’d ever made. Their shows had sold out with a vengeance wherever they went usually. Plus, there was never a shortage of hot women throwing themselves at her come the end of the night. So really, it was a win-win situation for all.

Only tonight she was looking for one woman in particular. Her eyes scanned faces as she introduced the rest of the band. It was old hat, the banter between her and Anya, the bassist, that she could repeat in her sleep. A little flirting and winking that seemed to drive the crowd crazy and no one seemed to notice that she wasn’t even completely paying attention.

Full lips wrapped around a thin black straw, causing a little tongue to peek out just as Santana’s eyes landed on them. She felt socked in the gut. She licked her own lips in response discreetly and dragged her eyes up to the familiar dark ones. They widened in surprise and seemed to soften just a little. And fuck it was messing with Santana’s insides. This little game had been going on for a while and Santana was done. She never got hung up on anyone, least of all someone she’d never actually fucked. So, whatever was happening here needed to get out of her system and with the quickness. And there was only one way to do it.

“All right, kids. Tonight we’re going to do something a little different,” she said, ignoring Anya’s confused expression. Fuck it, sometimes you had to shake things up and it had been a fucking year of waiting. Santana was going to make her move tonight. “I’d like to do a cover of an old classic. Shit, I don’t think we’ve done this in about two years, ladies.” She glanced at the rest of the band over her shoulder and shrugged. “It’s just...there’s a special young lady in the audience tonight...” Her words trailed off and Anya scoffed. Fuck her. So what if she knew what Santana was getting at? She brought her eyes back to the ones in the audience and smirked. She wanted there to be no mistake. “...And well, ladies, I know you all know what it’s like to have a little crush...” Shouts and cheers rang out again and the music behind her started. “So, if you could all help me out.”

She wouldn’t exactly call what she was feeling a crush. Extreme lust seemed to be a more apt name for it, but she’d needed to tie it into the set or their managers flipped a shit. Her smirk was seductive and her eyes, sultry as they fixed on their prey. The first note sprang from her lips, in a smooth alto that she knew had caused a shiver among many a girl in her day. It was pretty much the whole reason she’d gotten into music in the first place.

“I got a lot to say to you. Yeah, I got a lot to say... I notice your eyes are always glued to me...keeping them here and it makes no sense at all...”

The other joined in on the bridge and the audience cheered and sang along. Though Santana barely heard them. Her eyes were still fixated on the brunette who seemed to be just as enthralled with her. There was a connection there that she couldn’t really deny and it made arousal lick up her spine and her skin feel all tight and tingly. She felt hot, like on fire and knew it had nothing to do with the blazing stage lights. She was wearing practically nothing as it was, a short black mini, ankle boots with silver studs and this thin, black tank with black sequence on the bottom. She was actually kind of happy she’d opted for the skirt tonight. They didn’t call it easy access for nothing.

“Nothing compares to...quiet evening alone...Just the one, two...I was just counting on...that never happens...I guess I’m dreaming again...Let’s be more than...this...”

At the last word, Santana winked and looked away. She lifted her guitar and took the solo, moving around the stage. Very few things compared to performing for her and she lived for this shit. Yeah, it got her laid, but the rush she felt stepping on the stage was just a different kind of high. Tonight just seemed to heighten it as she basically eye fucked the brunette standing out among the sea of fans. And if Santana had had any doubts about her feelings being reciprocated, the heated glances she was receiving in return erased them.

---

Santana had barely made it through the second encore performance and now everyone wanted to talk to them, but she was anxious. She kept glancing out towards the front of the stage as fans went on and on. Monie, the drummer, leaned over and wrapped her arms around the singer’s shoulders. “Look. We all know you wanna bail. So, just go, but you fucking owe us,” she whispered with a knowing grin.

Rolling her eyes, Santana smirked back. “Just think of all the chicks that’ll be left over since I’m off the market tonight,” she boasted, grateful that they were gonna be cool about this. She was ten minutes from bailing on taking pictures and shit anyway, but it was nice to know they had her back.

She didn’t even bother to make excuses as she walked away. She hopped down from the little stage and looked around. A few patrons still milled about the club, but not the one she was looking for. She tried to keep it casual because it was just really fucking lame to look like you’d been ditched, not that she believed she was. It was how things usually went, but tonight was different. Tonight she’d been sure the girl would stay. She knew there was no way she’d been reading the signals wrong. There was no way you could look at someone like that and not have every intention of ripping their clothes off.

“Santana,” Jon called over to her from the bar and she turned. He waved his hand, beckoning her. She sauntered over and he held out a folded napkin. “The tiny chick in the red dress left this for you. Said something about needing to leave.”

She took the proffered napkin and unfolded it. The letters were slanted and a little rushed, but she could make out the words clearly.

If you meant what you said in the song then I’m definitely interested in being more than..this.

There was an address written at the bottom and Santana ran her thumb over the words again. She leaned over and pressed a kiss to Jon’s cheek. Then turned and walked out of the club. The air was cold, but she barely noticed as she stuck her hand out to hail a cab. The ride took about fifteen minutes. The longest fifteen minutes of her life, but she could feel her stomach tightening in anticipation with every mile they took closer to their destination. And by the time they pulled up in front of the row of townhomes, she was almost ready to puke from the anticipation.

There was another little note taped to the door when she arrived and she ripped it open eagerly, happy to be alone on the steps even if it was dark and this was a city she barely knew. Her eyes scanned quickly and she felt another jolt of arousal pool in her stomach.

Come inside. Don’t be shy. The bedroom is upstairs on the right. Don’t forget to lock the door behind you. I’d hate for us to be interrupted...

She didn’t really need any further invitation than that. She did as the note instructed, taking the stairs two at a time. She hesitated just outside of the bedroom door, chewing her bottom lip. This was by far the craziest thing she’d ever done before and she’d once fingered a girl while she ordered a meal in a Dairy Queen drive-thru. She didn’t know this woman and she could be sitting there, waiting to chop her up into little pieces. Or at the very least pull a total page from Misery and tie Santana to her bed and...well that wasn’t an entirely unpleasant thought.

Still, you only got one life, right? And Santana wasn’t about to waste anymore time standing out there when she could be fucking this girl out of her system for the rest of the night. She stepped through the threshold and leaned against the frame. A low moan escaped her throat and she licked her lips as she eyed the brunette laying on the bed in a pair of lacy pink panties and bow tied around her breasts, covering her nipples from Santana’s view. She’d question why a person would have a piece of ribbon that large if the sight wasn’t one of the hottest things she’d ever seen.

“Hi,” she said softly, her grin lazy as she slinked into the room.

“Hi,” the other woman whispered back just as Santana reached the bed.Their eyes held for a few moment and then Santana sank down onto the bed.

The next two hours moved on in a sort of blur. Clothes landed on the floor followed by the ribbon. Hands found warm skin and lips did what eyes had been doing for a year. At the first taste of the other woman. Santana moaned and she didn’t stop tasting until there was nothing beneath her fingers but a quivering mess of flesh. Whimpers and gasps and moans filled the air. Feverished pleas for release soon followed and Santana nearly came apart herself as she watched in rapt attention.

After that, it didn’t take much for her to find her purchase and her fingers fisted the sheets as surprisingly strong and nimble ones sank deep inside of her. She would’ve been embarrassed by her lack of stamina at the moment if they didn’t work her into another frenzy soon after.

---

As their ardor cooled and Santana caught her breath, she turned onto her side and found dark eyes studying her face. She was usually not the kind that stuck around for small talk, but things didn’t actually feel awkward this time.

“Hi,” she said, brushing the hair back from her face.

There was a tiny giggle and the shorter woman rolled her eyes. “Hi...” She bit her bottom lip, casting her eyes down for a moment before looking back up. “...I’m Rachel.”

Santana laughed harder than she should at that, her arm falling over her stomach. It wasn’t the first time she’d ever slept with someone whose name she didn’t know or couldn’t remember. It just seemed ridiculous that, after a year of foreplay, she hadn’t even thought to ask. She moved closer and ran her hand over Rachel’s side. “...I’m Santana.”

Fic: I Won't Disagree

grdnofevrythng — Thu, 02 Feb 2012 20:05:57 GMT

Title: I Won't Disagree
Author: grdnofevrythng
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Rachel/Santana
Prompts: This over on the Santana Lopez Meme
Summary: Who doesn't love sex in the library?
Disclaimer: I don't own them. If I did, they'd probably go at it like bunnies.
A/N: First, a special thanks to cranberry_pi for looking this over and fixing my typos. Anything I missed, I take full responsibility for. This is my first full on Pezberry fic. I've been shipping them for a while, but I haven't actually written fanfic in ages, probably over a year. I'm hoping to kind of kick start my muse again with this. I apologize for it being a little rough. Like I said, I'm way out of practice.

i want to find a corner of the library with you. push you against some shelves. and shake a few books off.

When Santana had sent that text to her a few weeks ago, Rachel hadn’t really taken it seriously. For one, it was grammatically incorrect and Santana knew how Rachel felt about that.Secondly, who did those sorts of things in a public library?

Apparently she did, if the fingers pushing into her were any sort of indication. She would’ve protested, but Santana cornered her in the non-fiction section of Lima’s very public library and swallowed her words before she even had a chance to utter them. All protests subsequently died on her lips the moment Santana’s thigh slid between her own, pressing up and against her core.

It wasn’t that Rachel was so easy that all it took was being accosted in the most uncouth manner she could ever imagine. It was simply that she loved the idea of someone wanting her so much that they couldn’t wait for what would be deemed as the proper setting by normal social standards. A fact that she was starting to regret telling Santana.

If only she could get the rest of her body to agree with what her brain was screaming. They could get caught. No, they would definitely get caught and then she’d be banned from the library. Banned!. And how would she ever explain that to her fathers or anyone. Then there was the whole issue of this not even being slightly legal and-

The first scissoring of Santana’s fingers inside of her had her whimpering obscenely. Arousal licked up her spine and her head fell back against the stacks.

“Shh...” Santana hissed, her lips traveling along Rachel’s collarbone. If it hadn’t been for the little smirk that seemed permanently etched on her lips, she’d look completely composed. Almost as if it were someone else’s fingers finding purchase between Rachel’s thighs.

The smaller girl’s eyes narrowed and she desperately tried to focus on the fact that not only had she just been shushed during sex, but that they shouldn’t be doing this in the first place. And she was sure she’d have succeeded if Santana wasn’t nipping at her clavicle and curling her fingers in the very way that always, always made Rachel’s toes curl. Her protests died on her lips and she rolled her hips against Santana’s hand, lifting to the balls of her feet to try and get a better angle.

She felt more than heard Santana’s breathless chuckle against her skin. “See? It’s like I’ve always told you,” she whispered in a smug tone. “It’s always much better when you don’t fight me.” Her fingers twisted ruthlessly, stealing Rachel’s breath and she used the heel of her palm to press down on Rachel’s clit. A keening noise escaped past Rachel’s lips and Santana leaned forward to take them in a bruising kiss. She worked her hand faster. “I said hush. Jesus Rachel, next time I’m stuffing panties into your mouth. I swear to God,” she hissed.
Rachel glared, stilling her hips though they protested. She was so close to the edge right now she could practically see it, but she wasn’t about to let Santana think she could say anything she wanted. “There won’t be a next time, Santana. There shouldn’t have even been a first time.”

“Babe, you words would be far more effective if your legs hadn’t spread like Jiffy and I wasn’t knuckle deep right now,” Santana gloated, pressing against Rachel’s spot as if to prove a point.

The words would have angered Rachel if they weren’t sadly true and she hadn’t let out a moan as she clenched just then. Oh she was pissed and she would continue to be as soon as this is all over, but the way Santana was driving her further and further into oblivion had her frightened of what would happen if they just stopped right now.

Besides, a week without sex would probably serve Santana better when reminding her of choosing her words carefully over pissing her off right now. She wouldn’t really listen and then there would, in fact, be a next time.

Her body was screaming for her to quit thinking of ways to punish Santana and seeking the sweet release that would be upon it soon. So, she pushed the thoughts away, deciding to let the other girl think she’d won, for now.

She felt wound tight and her hips rolled faster, and for a moment, she forgot about disapproving librarians catching them or girlfriends that seemed to never not say the wrong things during the most inopportune times. Pleasure pooled in her stomach, making everything inside of her tense. She heard a few books fall to the floor before everything seemed to snap.

Santana’s mouth covered hers quickly, her fingers still pumping as Rachel’s walls contracted almost painfully. Rachel was helpless to do much of anything else except hold on as the world seemed to spin out and she floated back down to earth.

“Fuck, that was hotter than I thought it would be,” she heard Santana mumbled as their lips parted.

Aftershocks rolled through her body as fingers slipped free from her. When she felt able to catch her breath again, she quickly readjusted her clothes. Her panties felt cold and damp and would certainly serve as a reminder of all that had transpired. She’d certainly never be able to look at Queen Elizabeth the same way again after she’d practically thrown her autobiography to the ground. She leaned forward to pull up on of her knee socks, straightening just in time to see Santana licking her fingers clean. She managed to bite back the whimper that sight would usually cause. Instead, she crossed her arms over her chest and glared.

Catching her expression, Santana rolled her eyes. “Don’t even, Berry. You fucking loved that shit.” She crossed her own arms and glared back at the shorter girl.

“That isn’t the issue at hand, Santana. First of all, keep your voice down. This is the library and there are children mulling about. Second of all, what we just did wasn’t just inappropriate but illegal!” Rachel’s fists balled at her sides on the last words, but she could see her points were lost on her girlfriend.

“Yeah, whatever, Rach. Look. That was the whole point. It was hot and you loved it. So don’t even try to pretend like you won’t be thinking about this very moment later on when you’re slipping your fingers into those strawberry-printed panties.” She was annoyed, Rachel could tell.

And before when the idea of even risking getting on Santana’s bad would have sent Rachel cowering in a corner, she simply stared her down now. “Regardless of how you will justify this in your own mind, I think a week of separation will give you plenty of time to see things my way,” Rachel countered before strolling past the other girl and storming out of the library in true Rachel Berry fashion. She didn’t even hesitate when Santana squawked incredulously about her lengthy punishment.

---

Later, however, she was loathe to admit, even to herself that perhaps there was some truth to what Santana had said. Especially when Rachel found herself unable to stop thinking about what had occurred to the point of arousal. Perhaps she had a hidden exhibitionist kink that she was suddenly discovering and really Santana had only been trying to give her what she’d admitted to liking. She grabbed her phone and bit her lip before typing out a text message.

In light of our parting words, I have had time to reflect and think that perhaps I was too harsh and too hasty in my reaction...

She set her phone down and lay back against her pillows, hoping Santana wasn’t still too upset with her to ignore her apology. Her phone buzz a few moments later and she eager slid the bar across the screen, taking in the message.

i’d say “lemme queue my surprised face” but i’m not really in the mood to fight. so yeah, it’s whatever. i’ll be over in 20.

I have a lot of feelings.

grdnofevrythng — Mon, 31 Oct 2011 02:14:55 GMT

Tumblr is the worst thing to happen to ships and fandoms. I miss the days when I used my lj and wasn't forced to watch "ship wars." They're just ridiculous.

She lives!

grdnofevrythng — Tue, 25 Oct 2011 15:55:04 GMT

Well sort of. I miss this place. I mostly use my tumblr, but I miss all of my friends on here. So, hi all of you that are still out there. I think I'm coming back. I want to. I miss it. How is everyone?

Oh also, I'm in this Glee RPG that could use some players. So, if anyone out there RPs, you should check it out!

Welcome to Archbishop William McKinley: An AU Glee RPG on Livejournal

characters needed | characters taken | about awm glee (faq) | application | the mod | the game community | have questions? ask them here

Welcome to Archbishop William McKinley College Prep and School for Girls. AWM is one of the top ranked schools in the nation, training today's best and brightest and tomorrow's future leaders. Our schools boast a challenging academic program, a nuturing environment, and exciting opportunities in the arts, athletics, and other extra-curricular activities. AWM is consistently ranked in the top ten for academics, arts, and athletics, making it the ideal environment for any highly motivated student.

Among these talented students, there are those that stand out above the rest. The Roses and the Thornes. These students are held to the highest academic standard, but also hold the position of student leaders on campus. Everyone wants to be them and everyone wants to go to their events. They are, in short, the campus celebrities. But the life of a celebrity comes with its own problems, and they still have all the pressures of the higher standards to contend with. The Roses and Thornes have it all, or do they?

The game needs canons. Like: Puck, Sam, Blaine, Matt and Lauren. (We actually have everyone else besides the adults, but people can play them if they want. We also need some OCs, but we're a fun group that loves to play. So check it out.

No one's gonna save you from the beast about to strike.

grdnofevrythng — Tue, 01 Mar 2011 18:16:56 GMT

I've been inspired to make icons lately. Let's see how long this lasts. Anyway, since I've loved the last few episodes of Glee, I'm going to be iconning them episodically and not in a huge dump. These are from the Super Bowls ep, "The Sue Sylvester Shuffle." I hope you enjoy.

[001- 039] Episode 02.11 - The Sue Sylvester Shuffle

.::Teasers::.

001 002 003 004

005 006 007 008

009 010 011 012

013 014 015 016

017 018 019 020

021 022 023 024

025 026 027 028

029 030 031 032

033 034 035 036

037 038 039

Rulez
[x]comment
[x]credit grdnofevrythng

x-posted like whoa in grdnofevrythng, brittana, thenicecheerio, madeofawesume, gleeslash, pezberry and ontd_glee

I want to be on the cover of Forbes Magazine ...

grdnofevrythng — Mon, 31 Jan 2011 18:35:46 GMT

Basically this is an icon dump. Some of these were made by request for anomalousalanna and kben. Others I've just made for various reasons over time. I decided to post these in hopes that some of you will put them to good use. Anyway enjoy!

[01- 102] glee cast and characters

.::Teasers::.

01 02 03 04

05 06 07 08

09 10 11 12

13 14 15 16

17 18 19 20

21 22 23 24

25 26 27 28

29 30 31 32

33 34 35 36

37 38 39 40

41 42 43 44

45 46 47 48

49 50 51 52

53 54 55 56

57 58 59 60

61 62 63 64

65 66 67 68

69 70 71 72

73 74 75 76

77 78 79 80

81 82 83 84

85 86 87 88

89 90 91 92

93 94 95 96

97 98 99 100

101 102

Rulez
[x]comment
[x]credit grdnofevrythng

x-posted like whoa in grdnofevrythng, brittana, nayaheather, thenicecheerio, madeofawesume, gleeslash, achele_loving and rachel_quinn, ontd_glee

Fic: Gleedazzled (Part 2)

grdnofevrythng — Mon, 20 Dec 2010 19:35:51 GMT

Title: Gleedazzled
Rating: R (for adult content, no smut here)
Pairing: Rachel/Quinn, Pezberry friendship sorta, mentions of Fabrevans and Brittana
Prompts:This is my Big Bang fic.
Summary: Rachel would do anything to be with Quinn. Anything.
Length: 16,0000
Disclaimer: I don't own them. If I did, they'd probably go at it like bunnies.
A/N: Well, I'd pretty much stopped writing fanfic before this endeavor, but gleek23 asked me to do this and I'm glad that I did. If you couldn't guess or didn't know from the title, this fic is based on the movie Bedazzled and was an idea I'd had a while back, but didn't know what to do with it. So, with the help of my sister, mirandyscrow, I was able to bring it to fruition. I hope you enjoy it. Special thanks to Meg and aroo4life for beta'ng this beast. And special dedications to gleek23, an_an0maly and gilligankane for the continued support and not allowing me to give up before I finished.

Rachel sped down the road along the coast. She’d never really understood the appeal of convertibles, but as she maneuvered the cherry red Lambourghini Diablo, wind in her hair, she felt something she’d never experienced before. She felt...cool.

She checked her reflection in the mirror, smiling when she saw her Christian Dior shades and her freshly cut, now ear-length locks. It was shorter than she’d have ever imagined going, but she had to admit she looked hot.

Pulling up in front of a bar just off the side of the rode, she parked near a gang of motorcyclists. They cat-called and whistled as she climbed out of the car, dusting off her formfitting jeans. She winked at them and headed into the building, walking directly up to the bar and taking a seat.

The air in the bar was thick and muggy. She was lucky that all she had on was a beater because she could feel a fine sheen of sweat break out on her skin. She turned to the bartender, offering her a charming smile. “The usual?” the bartender asked her.

“The usual,” Rachel repeated, she said eying the girl. She knew better than to just call her “Brittany” this time. “What’s your name?”

“Have there been so many that you’ve started to confuse me with them as well? I’m Heather,” she said patiently before smiling and pulling a beer out of the cooler.

“Heather, right.” Rachel repeated, grabbing the frosty beer as Heather set it on the bar. Spinning back around, Rachel took in the other patrons. There were couples dancing around on the floor. Both pool tables had intense games in progress and the few tables the bar had were packed. A few girls caught her eye, but when her dark gaze settled on the familiar blonde sitting at a table alone, she quickly discarded the other women.

“What’s the deal with the blonde?” She asked Heather casually.

“Who? Elly May Clampett over there?” Heather eyed Rachel skeptically for a moment. “I don’t know. This is the first time I’ve seen her in here.”

Fresh meat, Rachel thought as she took a sip of her beer. She watched as the girl bobbed along in time with the music. Though, as she saw the young man with a mohawk walk up to the table, she guessed she wasn’t the only one that’d had that idea.

“Hey, I’m Puck and I think I could show you I’m a good fuck,” He said to the girl with a grin. Rachel cringed from across the room.

She looked on, watching as the girl gave off clear signs that she was not interested. However, Puck didn’t seem to be taking the hint and when Rachel saw him grab the blonde’s arm, she was on her feet, striding to the table.

“Is everything okay over here?” She asked when she reached the pair.

Puck turned and looked at the source of the interruption. “Berry, back off. This doesn’t concern you.”

Rachel’s gaze flickered down the blonde who was silent, but whose eyes seemed to be begging the brunette not to leave. “I don’t think that’s true. The lady said no, Puckerman. Why don’t you leave?”

“You don’t get to speak for ‘the lady.’ I think she wants me to stay,” Puck sneered.

“Actually, I’d like you to go,” the blonde piped in.

The brunette smiled down at the blonde before giving him a smug look. “I guess I wasn’t speaking for her after all.”

Clenching his jaw, Puck looked between the two women and his eyes turned cold. “Whatever, Berry. You’ve stolen the last girl from me. This isn’t over.” He strolled away from the table and out of the bar.

“Thank you so much for doing that,” the blond said. “Sit down and at least let me buy you a drink.”

Rachel flipped the chair around before straddling it. “Hey, I’m Rachel Berry.”

“Quinn Fabray,” the blonde...Quinn said, flipping her long wavy blonde hair over her shoulder. Rachel smiled as she heard a slight Southern twang in the other woman’s voice. She motioned the waitress over and smiled at Rachel. “Give the lady whatever she’d like.”

“I did, but then she never called me again!” The waitress said before stomping off.

Frowning, Rachel turned to Quinn. “Um, I’m sorry. I don’t know what that was all about.”

Quinn shrugged. “It’s all right. We can just find someone else,” she said, looking around.

When similar things happened with the next three waitresses, Rachel started to feel embarrassed and Quinn looked at her strangely. “I really don’t know, but how about I go to the bar and just get the beers myself?” She stood quickly and moved back over to the bar. “Heather, do you have any idea why none of the waitresses will serve us?”

The bartender nodded. “Well, I think that when you sleep with a girl, but don’t call her again she gets pretty mad. When you do it to most of the girls in the bar you frequent, they form a pact.”

Rachel sighed. That so didn’t sound like her, but just as she was about to thank Heather for the beers a new waitress walked by. She had red hair and doe-like brown eyes. Rachel did a double take. “Who is that?”

Heather shook her head. “That is Emma. She’s the new girl and before you get any ideas, she’s straight. She’s even got a husband.”

“Most girls are straight and then they meet me.” The words flowed from Rachel’s lips before she could seem to stop herself.

“I thought you were into the blonde,” Heather countered, smiling at one of the nearby patrons.

“I’m just looking,” the brunette frowned again. Maybe her reputation was well earned.

“Uh huh...I’ve seen you just look before. Now, shoo, get back to your pretty lady and leave my employees alone.”

Rachel moved back to the table, stopping along the way to pick a song on the jukebox, and handed Quinn a beer. “I’m sorry about the wait. I wanted to buy you a song.”

“Well aren’t you a charmer, Rachel Berry?” Quinn said with a smirk before taking a sip of her drink.

Dark eyes traveled up the smooth column of the blonde’s neck as she swallowed. Rachel felt her mouth go dry and her pulse begin to race.

Quinn caught her gaze and grinned. “See something you like?”

“I definitely do,” Rachel said smoothly before tilting the beer bottle to her lips and letting the cold, malted liquid slide down her throat. The song she picked came over the speakers and Rachel set her beer down. “I hope you like this song. It made me think of you.” The blonde’s smile grew but faded away as soon as Rachel started to sing. ”Under a lover’s sky...wanna be with you and no one gonna be around...if you think that you won’t fall...well just wait until...the sun goes down...” She croaked out, completely out of tune. Her eyes snapped open and she felt panicked. My voice! What happened to my voice?

“Is this what you’ve been doing, Rachel Berry?” Came a voice from just off to the left. “You leave me home taking care of your three small children so that you can serenade cheap tramps all over town?”

The brunette reluctantly looked up to see an older, angry blonde. “Terri, what are you doing here?”

“Excuse me?” Quinn fumed. “Just who do you think you are?”

“Well, at least this one can string a sentence together,” Terri said to Rachel before turning back to Quinn. “I am Terri Berry, Rachel’s loving and very beautiful wife. I’m guessing she didn’t tell you about me.”

The younger blonde looked over at Rachel with wide eyes. “Your wife?”

“Quinn, I can explain...” Rachel began as the door flew open.

“Berry, you’ve stepped in my business for the last time!” Puck said, pulling out a gun and aiming in her direction.

“WAIT!” Rachel exclaimed, standing from the table and shoving a shaky hand into her back pocket to pull out her keypad. She typed the numbers fast and squeezed her eyes shut. “Okay.”

~*~*~*~

Rachel looked around until she spotted Santana just off to her left. The other girl was locked in a heated embrace with someone Rachel couldn’t see, but she didn’t care. She strolled over to the coupled and tapped Santana on the shoulder. “Excuse me, Santana. You and I have some business to attend to.” When the girl appeared to be ignoring her, Rachel nudged her.

Santana pulled away, leaving the boy pinned the metal of the underside of the bleachers. “It can wait,” she hissed. “I’m busy.” Turning back to the blond-haired boy, Santana pulled him against her and nipped his bottom lip.

This would not do, Rachel thought indignantly. She cleared her throat and tapped Santana again. “No, this cannot wait. What you did during that last wish was just inexcusable.You made me some sort of gigolo...a womanizer! And you took away my voice. Nobody messes with the voice! Who do you think you are? Ursala from The Little Mermaid?”

“Beat it,” Santana said to the boy as she moved away and turned to face Rachel. He nodded and scrambled to steady himself on is feet before running across the field.

“Ohmygod was that Jeremy from science?” Rachel asked in surprise once she realized exactly who it was she’d just seen.

The other girl shrugged and straightened her uniform. “In my many years of research, I’ve found that nerdy, teenage boys are the perfect minions. They’re much more reliable than bitchy cheerleaders who generally let a little power go to their head.” Santana stopped to smooth her skirt and then looked up at Rachel with a smirk. “Plus, they’re really eager to please and a girl never has to put out unless she wants to. They’re usually happy if you let them get to second base. Though none of this is helping you, I’m sure. You’re trying to get into Quinn Fabray’s panties and those things are locked up tighter than the Pentagon.”

“Believe it or not, there is more to life than sex, Santana.” Rachel crossed her arms and stepped away from the girl.

“Yeah, like greed and anger and gluttony and vanity and envy...” Santana rattled off each word seemed to bring her more delight than the last.

“No, like humility, compassion and helping out the less fortunate,” the shorter girl said patiently. “Not that I expect you to understand these things.” And she really didn’t. She’d been on the receiving end of Santana’s particular brand of bullying for years. She was pretty sure that Santana didn’t have a single caring bone in her body. No wonder she was the devil.

Santana’s dark eyes narrowed. “Are you saying I don’t now how to be compassionate and help others in need? I’m helping you, aren’t I? Though, given how ungrateful you’ve been throughout this entire process, I’m starting to wonder why.”

Rachel rolled her eyes. “Please, you’re not helping me out of the goodness of your heart. You’re helping me because there’s something in it for you. None of it matters because I’m starting to think that perhaps Quinn doesn’t have any clue what she wants and you just mess up everything I wish for anyhow. I shouldn’t be resorting to cheap tricks to win Quinn over. None of that will give me what I want. I’ll never know if she really loves me because I’m who she wants or if it’s just because I made a wish that she did.”

“Berry, save the sob story for Oprah. You’re starting to make me gag and that is no easy task. Just ask Jeremy from science.” Santana’s wink and Cheshire Cat-like smile turned Rachel’s stomach.

“I’d rather not if it’s all the same. I shouldn’t be saving my story for Oprah,” Rachel enthused, pacing as she struggled to gather her thoughts. “I should be living like Oprah. She’s generous and intelligent...self-sacrificing and people everywhere admire her. They love her. All I’ve been focusing on is myself. I should be helping others.”

“What about Quinn?” Santana stepped in front of her, forcing her to stop moving.

“I want to be someone she can respect. I want her to take me seriously. I want to do something that can help others. I want to change the world. I want to go down in history for doing something really important.” Maybe if she could that, stop focusing on herself for once, Quinn would love her for who she really was.

There was a gleam in Santana’s eyes that should have made Rachel apprehensive, but she was too caught up in her thoughts to notice.

“Is that another wish forming?”

With a determined grin, Rachel nodded. “I wish that I could be more like Oprah and change the world.”

~*~*~*~
Rachel looked out at her studio audience with tears in her eyes. “I want to send out a heartfelt thank you for all your letters and words of support. As most of the world knows, I’ve struggled with the disease of obesity for many years. And I’m just glad that I could use my sickness to shed some light on the growing epidemic in this country.” She could hear the sniffles from a few of the people in the audience and tried to stifle her own. “I’d like to hear from a few audience members.” She looked out at the crowd and pointed to the pretty blonde in the front. “Yes, you.”

“Hi, Miss Berry, my name is Quinn and I’d just like to say that because of your journey, it gave me the courage to face my own family’s struggles with obesity. We got my sister checked into your program recently and she’s already lost 120 pounds.” The blonde began to clap as did the rest of the audience.

Rachel smiled, her heart filling with insincere inspiration. “Would come up here? I’d like to give you a hug.” Quinn made her way down to the stage amidst the applause and Rachel struggled to stand from her seat. Suddenly her left arm had shooting pains and she couldn’t breathe. Her vision started to get a little fuzzy and she tumbled forward, landing on the stage with a loud thud.

When she came to, she was in the back of an ambulance. The blonde EMT smiled at her. “Welcome back, Miss Berry.”

“Brittany...” Rachel tried to say, but her voice was nothing more than a faint whisper.

“No, don’t try to talk. We’re going to get you to the hospital. Everything is going to be fine.”

Shaking her head slightly, Rachel reached up and pulled at the oxygen mask. “My pocket...can you...get the...keypad...please?”

Frowning slightly, the blonde nodded and wiggled her hand into the Rachel’s pocket, pulling out the slender, black device and held it up. “This?”

“Yes...” Rachel rasped. “Hit...6...6...6...please...”

The other woman pushed the buttons just as Rachel felt her breathing getting labored and the shooting pain return.

~*~*~*~

“Come se dice ‘Rose and Michael went to the store and bought three shirts?’ Clase, por favor?” Mr. Schuester asked, looking around the class. Rachel started at the sound of his voice, but exhaled in relief when she realized she was no longer in her wish.

“So, how did it feel to change the world?” Santana asked from the seat beside her.

She jumped, clutching her hand to her chest before looking over at the demon cheerleader. “That wasn’t quite what I had in mind and you made me so obese that I almost died of a heart attack. Now, if you could just leave me alone, I have work to do.”

“Hey, what’s with the tone?” Santana took a balled up piece of paper and threw it at Sam’s head, hitting him on the back of his neck. He turned around and glared at Rachel. The tiny girl shook her head and tilted it towards Santana. She saw his blue eyes shift, but then his brow furrowed in confusion. Well, no one ever accused him of being terribly smart.

“I will use whatever tone I choose,” Rachel hissed. “That last wish was just awful and now I need to get back to my work, though I will undoubtedly be spending the remainder of this period and the next, plotting out the details of my remaining two wishes meticulously.”

Drumming her fingers on the desk, Santana nodded along like she cared about what Rachel was saying. “Well, if that’s how you want to spend your time then don’t let me keep you from the fun, but there’s just one problem with that. You only have one more wish.”

Rachel turned to her, brows furrowed. “There’s no way I missed one of my wishes. I have been keeping track.”

“I have no reason to lie about this,” Santana said before catching Rachel’s dubious expression. “Okay, I have about a thousand reasons to lie about this, but I’m not. Count them off if you don’t believe me. There was the Oprah wish, your womanizer wish, the roller derby wish-”

“Where you gave me a giant penis!” Rachel exclaimed loudly, drawing the attention of the rest of her class. Dammit, they can hear me in this one too, she thought.

“Rachel, is everything okay back there?” Mr. Schuester gave her his best “concerned about my student’s face” mixed with an expression she couldn’t quite read.

“Yes, I’m just very enthusiastic about Spanish, Mr. Schuester. I’m sorry for the interruption.” Rachel forced a bright smile until he sighed and turned back around to the bored.

“Nice save, loser,” Santana mumbled next to her.

“Don’t!” Rachel’s dark eyes narrowed and she looked down at her notebook, pretending to take notes. “There was the wish where you made Quinn straight and the one where I was famous, but everyone hated me. So, that’s five wishes, see?”

“You forgot your first wish. The one where you asked for something new to wear.” Santana shifted to the left and crossed her legs, smirking over at Rachel.

“That doesn’t count! I hadn’t even agreed to this ridiculous deal yet.”

“It does count. You said, ‘I wish’ and I made it happen. Do you think I just go around handing out wishes for free or something? What kind of business do you think I’m in?” Santana scowled.

Rachel was affronted. “How can that possibly count? You took someone else’s sweater and then you slushied me again! That isn’t fair!”

“Fair? I’m sorry was there something in my job title that led you to believe that I would be fair? Because I’m pretty sure no one has ever accused the devil of being just or fair. I was the cause of original sin. I don’t know if you got that memo.” Santana stood and glared down at Rachel. “Now you listen to me, midget. You have only one wish left and according to the contract you have exactly one more day to take it or you forfeit it and your soul is mine. Well, your soul is mine regardless of whether you take the wish or not, but I would think you’d want one last parting gift. Think very carefully about just who you’re dealing with, Rachel Berry. If you think I was bad before, just wait until I make your life a real living hell.”

“I am well aware of who I’m dealing with!” Rachel yelled back, but it was too late, Santana had already disappeared. Panic began to set in slowly and she could feel herself starting to become hysterical. There had to be a way out of this. There just had to be.

“Rachel, I think you need to see the school nurse,” Mr. Schuester said, looking at her with wide eyes. “Quinn, will you please escort Rachel to Nurse Jennings, please?”

The blonde looked like it was the last thing she wanted to do, but she stood quickly and walked over to Rachel, reaching out her hand awkwardly to take hold to Rachel’s wrist. “Come on.”

Rachel followed behind her slowly, her mind still racing with half-formed ideas of what she could do. Who could she talk to about the devil? It wasn’t like she had a boss, but there had to be someone she could talk to. Someone like...God. That’s it! She needed to speak to God.

Pulling Quinn to a stop before they reached the nurse’s office, Rachel grabbed both of her shoulders. “Quinn, you’re super Christian aren’t you? I mean I know you kind of fell off the wagon last year, but I heard from a number of sources that you’ve decided to become some sort of recovering sinner or something. Is that true?”

Quinn’s eyes widened before narrowing in suspicion. “I have decided to put last year behind me and start working towards rebuilding my relationship with God, yes. I mean-” She stopped herself and looked down at the other girl. “Why? Are you like trying to recruit people to Judaism or something? Did Puck put you up to this because I’ve already told him once before that I’m not raising Bethany Jewish...”

“Well, that’s not a very enlightened approach to raising a child of two different faiths, but we can certainly discuss that at a later time. Right now, your faith is what I need to help me. This is going to sound crazy, but I think you, or at least your pastor, are the only one that can help me.” Rachel’s hold on Quinn tightened and the blonde looked down at her hands and then back at Rachel’s face before raising an eyebrow. She let her hands drop to her sides immediately. “I need to speak to God.”

“So pray,” Quinn answered bluntly.

“No, I don’t think that will be enough. I think...this is bigger than that. I need you to take me to your church like right now,” Rachel begged.

“First of all, I only agreed to take you as far as the nurse’s office. Second, you’re Jewish. Why would you need to go to my church?”

“I can’t tell you,” Rachel said, though she was beginning to think that maybe she wouldn’t have a choice.

“Well, then I don’t think I can help you. We should definitely get you to the nurse where you can lay down and maybe she can call your parents or something.” Quinn tugged at Rachel’s arm, pulling her towards the office again.

Rachel stood strong, shaking her head. “No, Quinn, the very matter of my soul is at stake. I really need your help.”

“Your soul is at stake?” Quinn asked slowly. “Just what kind of witchcraft are you trying to pull here? I’m sorry. I don’t mess with black magic. My parents wouldn’t even let me watch Harry Potter until I was in high school.”

“It’s not witchcraft! It’s...look you believe in the devil, right?” Rachel asked, deciding to try a different tactic.

“Devil worship? Really Rachel?” Quinn stepped away from the other girl as if she thought she might be struck down at any second.

“I do not worship the devil!” Rachel yelled before taking a calming breath. “I didn’t even believe in the Devil until just recently. There’s no time to explain this properly because I really only have until tomorrow. So, I’m just going to give you the facts here. I made a deal with the Devil. I give her my soul and she gives me seven wishes. Only she cheated me out of one of them and I’d like to argue that point with her, but she disappeared and I figured God could help me out.”

Quinn gaped at the other girl for a moment. “Let me get this straight. You think you sold your soul to the Devil for seven wishes and now you want God to help you renegotiate with the Devil for a wish you believe you’re entitled to?”

“It’s slightly more complicated than that, but essentially yes, this is why I need you to take me to your church.”

“O...kay...well, I think you definitely need to lay down in the nurse’s office and have her call your fathers and maybe an exorcist or something because you’re clearly more delusional than we all originally thought. Perhaps you’ve taken one too many slushy facials and the brain freeze has caused some sort of trauma.” Quinn went to reach for Rachel’s hand but seemed to think better of it.

“I’m not possessed or suffering head trauma, Quinn. I just really need your help.” Rachel dropped to her knees and grabbed Quinn’s hand. “Please, just take me to your church. I’ll do anything. I’ll pay you. I have money. How much do you want? I can give you fifty. I brought that much to school with me today.”

The blonde looked around the halls and then down at her. “Rachel, get up. Get up!” She said in a stage whisper. “Fine, for fifty bucks, I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

Rachel scrambled to her feet quickly, relief flooding her. “Oh thank you, Quinn. Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“Yeah, yeah...just come on before we get caught.”

~*~*~*~

The drive to Quinn’s church was quiet, save for the one time the blonde told Rachel not to say or touch anything. Rachel found her tone a little harsh, but she kept her thoughts to herself. After all, Quinn was sort of doing her a favor. They pulled up in front of the church and Quinn escorted her inside. She introduced Rachel to the older woman named Pastor Lucy and then left.

Pastor Lucy was a nice older woman that led Rachel to her office and gave her juice and shortbread cookies before sitting behind her desk and asking Rachel how she could help. Rachel relayed the whole story to Pastor Lucy, who listened intently, only interrupting once or twice for clarification. She kept the details of all of the wishes to a minimum. After all, this was a church, Quinn’s church, and she didn’t know how well her love of the blonde would be received. Once Rachel was finished telling the story, the pastor expressed that she thought she might be able to help Rachel and excused herself.

Rachel looked around the nicely decorated office. There was a nice couch and a wall where photographs and children’s artwork was displayed. It was warm and welcoming, albeit a lot smaller than Rabbi Greenburg’s office. She wondered if the two knew each other. Lima was pretty small and she had a cousin who’d married a Christian man. They’d had an interfaith ceremony and she knew for a fact the two officiants of that union had known each other for years prior to it.

The door to the office opened again and Pastor Lucy stepped inside, followed by a police officer. Rachel felt her heart sink. There was no way this was going to end well. Pastor Lucy plastered on a sweet although slightly patronizing smile and moved aside for the officer. “Rachel, this is Officer Brady. He’s going to take you to the hospital to get checked out before they call your parents”

“The hospital? I feel fine,” Rachel said with a frown.

“I’m sure you do, dear. It’s just a precaution. Officer Brady just wants to be sure. They’ll have your parents meet you there, okay?”

Great, there goes my one shot at fixing this mess, Rachel thought as she stood from her seat and followed the officer.

~*~*~*~

Sighing, Rachel sat up in her hospital bed. The doctor and her fathers had both agreed she was suffering some sort of mental breakdown due to stress. She supposed it wouldn’t matter. Tomorrow she’d become one of the Devil’s minions and wouldn’t have to worry about it anyhow.

Santana materialized in the room dressed like a demonic nurse, wearing a red and black skimpy nurse’s uniform and holding a clipboard. “Turn over. I want to take your temperature.”

“Very funny, Santana. It’s your fault I’m in here. I don’t really have anything else to say to you.” Rachel crossed her arms and looked away.

“Now, don’t be like that. I thought we were friends.” Santana moved to the bed and sat on the edge. “There’s a reason I picked you, Rachel. You could do really well down there. I’ll need to replace my second in command. Sue’s just getting too big for her britches lately. I thought that somebody could be you. I already own your soul there’s nothing you can do about that, but don’t you think you should be nicer to me? It couldn’t hurt to have me on your side.” She stood as there was a knock at the door. “I can’t wait to hear your final wish. Tick tock.”

The door opened and Brittany walked in wearing a candystriper’s uniform. She smiled at Santana as she walked out of the door before turning her smile to Rachel. “Her uniform looked really cool, kind of like the Devil dressed as a nurse.”

Rachel scoffed. “Well, you’d be surprised. What’s your name this time?” She asked.

“It’s Brittany, silly. We’ve like been in the same grade since the sixth grade, remember? Usually, I am surprised a lot. It’s nice that I got to surprise you this time.” Brittany moved over to the bed and pulled out a deck of Uno cards. “Do you want to play? This is one of the games I’m really good at. Besides Candyland.”

Rachel sighed and nodded. It was nice to see a friendly face and Brittany just had this calming presence. Rachel felt more serene around her than she’d been feeling in days. “Sure, I haven’t played Uno in a long time.”

The blonde sat on the bed, smoothing a space for them to set up the deck. “I heard you weren’t feeling very well. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t think you’d want to hear what’s wrong, Brittany,” Rachel said as she grabbed her hand and fanned it out.

“You should try me. I’m a really great listener. It’s just a lot of people only want to talk to me with then expect me to do something for them. They never seem to think that sometimes just talking about it will help them figure it out for themselves. Plus, I just like to hear what people have to say,” Brittany replied, putting down a card on the pile.

“This is going to make you think I’m crazy,” Rachel warned.

Brittany shook her head. “I promise that I’ve heard lots of stories you couldn’t even imagine. I won’t think you’re crazy.”

Rachel studied the blonde for a moment. Something about Brittany just made her want to tell her things and she guessed it couldn’t hurt. She was already in the hospital. “Well, you see I’m in love with Qu- this person and I sort of promised the Devil she could have my soul if she helped me get the person I’m in love with. Only every time I made a wish it would all get messed up.”

“Uno!” Brittany said excitedly before she tilted her head to the side and look at Rachel. “You must really love that person a lot. Giving your soul away sounds pretty serious.”

“I do love her. I love her a lot.” Rachel could think of at least twenty things she loved about Quinn right off the top of her head.

“That’s great, but maybe the reasons your wishes didn’t work is because you can’t make someone love you back. God made love to be unconditional, right? I don’t think you loved your someone special just because you thought she’d love you back, did you?”

“No, I fell in love with her because she’s just...I don’t know. She’s more amazing than she ever gives herself credit for. I mean she’s not perfect or anything, but she tries and I just love her for it.”

“She sounds really wonderful, like she deserves lots of love and happiness,” Brittany said softly.

“Yeah, she does. She deserves it all.” Rachel let the words trail as she considered what Brittany was saying.

“I win!” Brittany exclaimed, clapping happily.

Looking down in surprised, Rachel grinned back. “So you did.”

“I told you I was really good at this game.” The blonde stood from the bed and straightened her uniform. “Do you feel better?” Rachel nodded. She did feel a lot better. “Good. I have to go see some of the other patients now. You can keep the cards. I have a lot of decks.” She took her cart and wheeled it to the door before looking back over at Rachel. “I wouldn’t worry about your soul. No one can buy something from you that isn’t even really yours. Also, Santana isn’t as mean as she pretends to be.” With a wink, the blonde walked out of the room.

~*~*~*~

“Santana!” Rachel called out a few hours later. She’d needed time to figure out her last wish and make sure it would be worded correctly. It was very important.

The girl appeared suddenly by her bed and crossed her arms. “You bellowed?”

“Yes, I’ve decided on my last wish,” Rachel said resolutely.

The familiar gleam appeared in Santana’s eyes as she rubbed her hands together. “What will it be? Fortune? Fame? Unrivaled beauty?”

The shorter girl shook her head. “None of that. I just wish for Quinn to be happy. I want her to have everything she could ever want and be happy even if it is without me.” Rachel had been so selfish in her wishes and Brittany’s visit had served to remind her just why she’d fallen for Quinn in the first place.

Santana stared at her for a moment. “Dammit! Really?” Santana groaned and stepped away.

“What?” Rachel asked with a frown. “What is it?”

“Of course you didn’t read the contract. No one ever does. In the contract is a nullification clause. Selfless acts of redemption render the whole contract null and void. You just gave your last wish to Quinn. Dammit, Berry.” Santana punched Rachel in the arm lightly.

“Hey!” Rachel rubbed the spot on her arm and gave Santana a disgruntled look. “Wait. Does that mean I get to keep my soul?”

“Unfortunately,” Santana answered with a scowl. “You know, I’ve been doing this for like two billion years and not once has anyone ever given up their last wish. I really hope this isn’t going to become some sort of fad. Anyway, now I have to go do paper work. Congrats on keeping your soul or whatever.” And with that, she was gone.

The knock on the door drew Rachel’s attention. “Come in.”

The door opened and she was surprised to see Quinn walk in. “Hi...”

Rachel smiled softly. “Hey.”

“Well, I just came by to see how you were doing. They said you have to stay here for a few days. I’m not going to lie. You completely freaked me out earlier and I was sure that I would never want to come near you again, but Brittany called and said you were feeling better. She thought for some reason you’d want to see me.” Quinn walked towards her but stopped at the foot of the bed.

“I do feel better. I’ll have to tell Brittany thank you, later.” Rachel said quietly.

“I just...I’m not even sure why I came. I guess earlier when you came to me asking for help. It reminded me of last year when you were the only person that came up and reached out to me when I’d been so awful to you. I thought maybe it was my turn,” Quinn explained, biting her bottom lip.

“Well, you did help me earlier, but I won’t say it wouldn’t be nice to have you as a friend at least.” Rachel would always love Quinn, but if all she could have was friendship, she’d gladly take it.

Quinn nodded and moved a little closer, taking Rachel’s hand. “I think friends would be a good place to start. Maybe you could...teach me a few things about being Jewish so that I could teach them to Bethany?”

“I could definitely do that.” Rachel agreed, squeezing Quinn’s hand.

~*~*~*~

Somewhere up above two beings watched as the two girls spoke. “I think you’re going soft, S,” Brittany said with a knowing smirk.

Santana glared. “No, I think you’re just making them smarter.”

“Maybe I am or maybe you just recognized true love when you saw it. I’m not surprised. I’ve taught you a lot about it.” Brittany pressed a soft kiss to Santana’s lips and grinned.

The brunette pulled her closer and took another kiss before stepping away. “Yes, you definitely have.”