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.
There’s an uneven number of people in Santana’s class, and she’s really tired of going over to Mrs French’s house because no one else wants to be her doubles partner. (Really, fuck those NYADA student wannabes, just because she lays it down real.)
They’re doing tango in class and sitting out every other lesson is kicking Santana’s ass. After a full week she still has no idea how to cross-walk without tripping over her own feet. It’s embarrassing enough that she wants to do something about it before they’re tested on it.
Title: The Loneliest Number.
Word Count: 8,232 words.
Notes: GGSM prompt fill for the lovely @rockinrye. I hope I did your girls justice. Follows canon. Set somewhere between 4x16 – 4x18. My first foray into Pezberry, be kind! Thank you, as ever, to @cargoes for her beta skills and cheerleading.
Summary: Restless and struggling to adjust to life as a single girl in New York, Santana finds an unlikely ally in Rachel.
“Sleeping in Rachel Berry’s bed is a temporary thing.”
She doesn’t understand her unwillingness to let this be, to go back to pretending her existence began in freshman year of college (six years, almost to the day). But then she hasn’t understood for months—why now, why Rachel—so she doesn’t give it much thought. It’s enough that this feels like the first time in forever (seven years, almost to the day) that she’s not trying to wrestle the parts of her life into a place they don’t want to be.
Just a short drabble inspired in part by Ashleigh’s prompt of ‘Kurtana, shared wall in the Bushwick apartment when it’s still just the bookshelf’ and a tag I wrote yesterday.
Pezberry (from Kurt’s POV). PG-13. 750 words.
THIS IS ROOD.
livinginrhythm replied to your post: lbr. that time logan accidentally stole a headband…
ohg od. adlfkjhgsldj (ps write more logan)
Logan’s birthday is in three weeks. Her kid is turning fucking five and she’s freaking out a little. They decided H&M would be a good place to look for an outfit for the skate party she requested. Santana likes their stuff. Especially their little people stuff. Her kid can look not lame and still have heart-shaped pockets to satisfy Rachel so it works out.
She’s a summer baby and they have this cute as hell pair of overalls that she knows Rachel’s going to gush over. The little chest section is heart shaped and she found a cute little sleeveless blouse with a lace collar to go with it. It’ll all go well with the Fire Berry 7s Mike sent over that Logan doesn’t know about.
Of course she picks out a few other things just because. Logan helps. The kids got a nice little eye for fashion and it doesn’t include bunny sweaters, so they’re like aces on that front.
She does that kid thing where she has to have everything and Santana and Rachel do spoil her — it’s kind of impossible not to — but there’s a line and Logan knows it. So she really does mean ‘no’ when Logan asks for this random polka dot headband. She has like, two buckets full of hair accessories at home (the kids got more hair than Santana did as a kid and that says a lot) and Santana has zero intention of buying anything more.
Logan does this pouting thing where she tries to hide the eye roll she shoots Santana’s way, but Santana invented that, so. She gets a warning for it and drags her little feet behind Santana while she browses a rack of tops for something to wear to dinner with Blaine and Mercedes later. She’s trying to be lowkey because she’s certainly not unknown, but her kid throwing a tantrum will probably blow that.
When she glances at Logan, the girl’s wearing the headband she already told her she wasn’t getting and quietly singing along with the Beyonce that’s playing over the store’s system. Tantrum free. Great.
She tells her to take it off and there’s some grumbling but she just raises her brow like her mom used to do with her and then Logan’s taking her hand and walking with her to the register.
Lowkey means she’s wearing a top knot and Ray Ban’s with a Nike windbreaker. This apparently isn’t as lowkey as she though because by the time they move up in the long line and things are being rung up, the college-aged kid sliding her a receipt kind of whispers, “You’re Santana Lopez …” like they’re sure and unsure at the same time. She tries to do the thing where she’s nice, but she’s spending the day with her kid and isn’t interested in any photos that don’t involve the peace sign or like smirking next to her Wolverine.
She just nods a bit and smiles. Thanks the guy for his help and slips out the store with Logan in tow.
It’s not until they’re setting down their bags and throwing away the cups from their milkshakes that she notices what’s on Logan’s head.
“Did you steal that?” She asks.
Logan’s eyes get all wide and her little hand slaps the band on top of her head. She shakes it rapidly but, “Yeah,” comes out of her mouth then a really quick, “Mommy, I didn’t mean to.”
“Mija,” she says putting extra emphasis on the ‘i’ and covering her own mouth with her hand.
Okay so she’s kind of a jerk, but that’s a given. It’s just that she has the most dramatic child of all time. (Rachel Berry is her wife, so. There’s that.) And like, she does not want to create a baby klepto or anything.
Logan just stares, fingers clinching the headband and her mouth wide.
“You know I have to call the cops, right?”
And, okay, she’s got a sensitive kid — shut it, no need to discuss the origin of that particular trait — but she does not expect her to start bawling.
“B-but I’m your kid. Your mija! I can’t go to jail!”
Of course her wife walks in at the exact moment and like, her sticky finger having kid should be getting in trouble for grand theft hair accessory, but no, she has to explain to her wife why their kid is hyperventilating and begging her to “please take it back!”
Somehow this is all her fault …
This is just something I was gonna submit for Nique, but I needed fluff asap. It’s a bit rushed and I’ve never been to the Bronx Zoo, but whatever. It’s based on this picture:
Santana mentally focuses all her pent-up anger at having work two separate shifts on a Sunday at her boss, not at the 187 transfers she has to make to get to the Bronx Zoo to meet Rachel.
It’s like the first day of spring, but not. That’s still a few weeks off, but it’s the first really, really nice day of warm weather. Sue her for pulling out the smallest pair of cut-offs she could find but she got excited. She just fucking loves spring. The city is super pretty, but not too hot and everyone’s outside and the block parties start happening and happy hour is best served outdoors and … it’s just perfect, okay?
She pulled on her favorite pair of “spring” boots, which are pretty much for the winter but the ones she wears when a chill is still likely to takeover in the evening. They don’t get her all overheated when the sun’s shining, so it all works out. Then there’s this button-up that makes her look like a hot ass fuck farmer’s daughter and the bag she paid too much for. She feels as good as it does outside and that’s awesome. Especially with how shitty the weather had been during the winter.
As soon as she’d seen the forecast, she’d shot a text to Sam and Puck and told them to meet her at Blockheads. She kind of isn’t in love with their food so much as she needs a Bulldog. It’s one part delicious margarita, topped with an extra shot of tequila and an inverted Corona. It’s like someone said let’s turn Santana Lopez into a drink and boom there it was.
She’s just stepped off the stairs to her brownstone and pushed her shades over her eyes when she hears this sound. It’s this crazy raucous laughter that’s equal parts annoying and adorable and she’s curious to see where it’s coming from. When she turns her head … well, her mouth does that thing where here lips are still stuck parted. She’s trying not to stare but the thing is, the chick is like fucking gorgeous.
Santana does not think that about too many people too often. She’s kind of judgmental and perfectly okay with that. But seriously, the girl is hot. She’s got these long ass legs even though she’s like, tiny and her hair is shining in the sun, falling around her face in these pretty loose waves. She’s giggling at this lanky guy who is kind of wiggling down the block just ahead of her. She’s in one of those floral dresses that Santana hates but still seems to dig on her and she’s just super fucking pretty with bright eyes and pink lips.
She feels like such a creep for staring so she like shifts her focus to the building across the street while she fucks around with her phone. Besides, the girl’s probably (or definitely) with Mr. Wiggles. He’s cute and Santana can see beneath the tank top he’s chiseled. Still, when she looks back that way the girl’s looking in her direction but not necessarily at her.
She smiles anyway. Mostly because she can’t help it and — oh, maybe she is looking at Santana because she smiles back, then dips her head a bit. Santana can still see the way her cheeks get all pink though.
If that’s not an in, she’s crazy.
The girl’s getting closer and her friend has started awkwardly digging around in his pocket. He pulls out his phone and puts it right to his ear, points to it and mouths that he has to take a call. Santana is kind of not fooled at all, but whatever at least he’s polite enough not to lurk while they just kind of keep looking at each other, the tease of a smile on both faces.
“Hey,” Santana says because someone’s got to start this conversation.
The girl giggles a bit and like, extends her hand, says, “Hi, I’m Rachel.”
Santana’s pretty much sold.