she can tell by the short responses in their text exchanges that rachel’s having a shit day, even if she won’t actually say so. auditioning has been kind of a drag for her lately. lots of asshole casting directors, not enough callbacks. it’s the usual lull after a great high, but rachel seems to be taking this stream of losses pretty hard.
santana’s favorite bodega in all of new york is on the corner two blocks from their apartment building. she pops in and grabs an assortment of snacks and two personal pints of ice cream.
the beauty and the beast platinum edition dvd is loaded and ready by the time rachel appears, freshly showered and wrapping her hair in a top knot, the slightest hint of a pout on her face.
"i got snacks and belle is waiting for us," she says, patting the space on the couch next to her. rachel smiles and does that little run in place thing where she taps her fingers against each other before plopping right onto santana’s lap. "i patted an entire space and still…" she starts before shaking her head and pressing play.
where’s the first place they have sex?
god, she can’t get the fucking door open. of course. rachel doesn’t seem to care, anyway. her arms are wrapped low around santana’s waist and one of those teeny tiny hands of hers is slowly running over santana’s abs. she scratches just lightly below santana’s belly button and kisses the back of her neck innocently. it’s all so much and not enough and why can’t she open her own goddamn door?
"can you not?" she says, voice totally betraying her.
rachel’s response is this sound somewhere between a giggle and a growl and it shouldn’t be hot, but it is.
(that’s basically rachel in a nutshell, really.)
the button on her jeans pops open just as the door finally clicks and the hand that slips into her boyshorts surprises her enough to make her trip over the welcome mat, taking rachel and the bag of leftover thai down with her.
she’d be seriously embarrassed, but rachel’s laughing and kissing her eagerly. she can’t help but laugh herself, right there, on the hardwood floor in the narrow hallway that leads to spaces with soft furniture and pillows.
she sends the sole of her hightop dunk into the door. it doesn’t close all the way, but she doesn’t care. there’s an insanely hot, tiny person straddling her waist asking why it took them so long to do this.
what does santana want to name their first child?
"look here, tinytator," santana says. rachel looks up with the kind of frown that says she doesn’t want to be amused by the nickname but definitely is. she’s lying on their bed, turned on her side with a light, but protective hand on her belly. it’s just starting to round out and her tank stretches from the growth just so. santana hates how cute it is. rachel pretends to hate how much santana likes to kiss and touch and talk to it.
"before you start suggesting names from playbills," she continues, rolling her eyes at the indignant look her super cute wife gives her. "clear your browser history, okay? i’m not naming our kid milly or elphaba or annie."
"i shouldn’t have to clear my browser history. you should just not be a sneak," rachel pouts.
santana just waves that off. “i was thinking … well, i always kind of liked the name isabel. it has pretty cool nickname options and there’s only six letters. so, that’ll help solidify her learning to write and spell it by age two. besides, izzy sort of sounds like a good nickname for a small monster and i’m pretty sure that’s what we’re creating here.”
when do they finally get married?
she’s twenty-nine, three months and fifteen days old when they do it. it’s not as small as either of them pretended it would be, but that’s fine because it’s absolutely beautiful.
she cries. of course she cries, but it’s the kind of unexpected overwhelming kind of crying that she’s not used to. she just feels this rush of cool over her scalp and then her legs are shaking and her cheeks are home to a stream of tears.
she’s really happy and really in love with this girl — this woman who has surprised her in the best (and worst) ways since she was fifteen.
she absolutely refuses to spout off sappy vows — mostly because she can’t really talk — but rachel’s always tells her she says so much without ever opening her mouth that she doesn’t know why she won’t shut up.
she’s certain that the fact that she cannot stop looking at her in awe says more than any attempted poetry ever could. for safe measure, she speaks with her hands in the limo on the way to the reception because she honestly can’t help herself.
how many times does one of them end up singing something ~meaningful in public once they’re famous?
if i think about it, i’ll cry.
how many different ways does santana love rachel’s legs and hair and everything?
kaldfajdlfjaldfa. my favorite santana thing is how she doesn’t understand how she didn’t let herself enjoy these things sooner. ;_____;
[1/2; M; rachel/dani, santana/dani, santana/rachel/dani]
"You’re ridiculous," Dani says when she catches her breath, "but it’s cute. I can see why Rachel thought I’d like you."
"Rachel thought you’d— what?"
TITLE: it’s a shame you don’t know.
CHARACTERS: santana lopez / noah puckerman / rachel berry.
DISCLAIMER: I don’t owns the Glee.
SUMMARY: AU. If there’s royalty in Westbrook, Santana Lopez is it. Archbishop McKinley Prep is her kingdom; and, the grand house on the hill of Xavier Road, her castle.
Title: I Don’t Want to Jump In (Unless This Music’s Thumping) (3/4)
Author: Misty Flores
Pairing: Rachel/Santana, implied Quinn/Santana
Teaser: Years after they were roommates in a cold loft in New York, Broadway Actress Rachel Berry and Superstar DJ Santana Lopez…
Warning: Major character death
Word count: 2.7k~
Summary: There is not much I can say. Only that this part of my dreams is coming true, I have the best woman in the world and I am dying tonight. I shall enter immortality at 8:25 this evening.
Alt. link: ffnet (which has been completely disconfigured, so read the AO3 link instead, pls)
Title: The End Depends Upon the Beginning.
Word Count: 5,036 words.
Notes: Prompt fill for the GGSM. AU. This was a lot of fun to write, not least because I got to write new backstory for Santana and Rachel both, and incorporate other characters in different ways than we ordinarily see in canon. The title of the story is a translation of Phillips Academy’s motto: ‘Finis Origine Pendet.’ Phillips is also referenced throughout. Thank you, as ever, to @cargoes for her beta skills and cheerleading.
Summary: Rachel Berry, newly arrived in New York from Massachusetts, has a neat, fixed idea of what her college experience will be. That idea, and her world, is turned on its head when she crosses paths with her new roommate, Santana Lopez.
“It wasn’t that she didn’t have friends in high school, but those friends were nothing like Santana Lopez.”
kissing-a-stranger asked: fear, change, open, tender. Rachel has landed an incredible new role and she propositions Santana “Teach me how to make love to a woman”, things change forever.
As Rachel, laid back on the pillows, slowly parts her legs, Santana holds the bare expanse of thighs between the hem of Rachel’s sweater and her dark grey thigh highs. For a moment, her eyes grow wide and say so much about how scared she is and how literally she’s taking everything.
jakeverse mother’s day 2014 and 2020.
I JUST WAILED OUT LOUD AND CLAWED AT MY FACE AND NOW MY EYES ARE MOIST.
interlude part one of three
6,400k; february-april 2012
The comforter swallows her as she sinks back onto the bed, and she stretches lazily in the low light painting her room. “Next year’s gonna be awesome.”
It’s something she thinks about a lot now, ever since the accident. The future’s rolled out before them like a blank sheet of paper, but each day she fills in patches with all the things she can’t wait to do.
A hand drawn brick road, with magic marker bricks.
Brittany loses her shorts, flings her layers of shirts around the room to mix with Santana’s clothes already carpeting the floor, and crawls across the bed to straddle Santana’s thighs.
“California’s going to be awesome.”
They haven’t decided yet. It’s another patch to fill in.
“Wherever,” Brittany shrugs, trailing her hands up and under Santana’s dress, fingers curling to press into the skin they find. “It’s going to be awesome.”
She sits up, letting Brittany lift her dress over her head to discard into the mess, and presses a kiss to her sternum. “Wherever,” she sighs, letting Brittany surround her.