#top 40 hit

[keystothecastlemusic]

The title says it all! These are Billboard Hot 100 top 40 Hits with the word "Who" in the title!

[thinkbolt]

The Nutty Squirrels Present (1960) Zoo Revolution

Created by a pair of jazz musicians in 1958, as a parody of Alvin & the Chipmunks (who had a #1 hit song the year before), the Nutty Squirrels surprisingly popped out a top 40 hit with the song "Uh Oh."

While the Chipmunks were working on licensing issues, the Nutty Squirrels rushed out an animated "series," which was actually a collection of 150 cheaply acquired eastern European and Russian cartoons with hastily-added English narration. They made it into American TV syndication by 1960, a year before the Chipmunks.

After the fall of the Iron Curtain in the late 1980s, Soviet animators were surprised to find their work had been on American TV for decades.

[thebreakfastgenie]

Some years ago Glenn Beck went to a Billy Joel concert and hated it and left early because he "didn't know any of the songs" and Billy was like "what did he want me to do, play Just the Way You Are thirty times?" but my thing is how can you be a white American male, born in 1964, let alone someone who chose to attend a Billy Joel concert, and not recognize a single song in the first half of the setlist?

[jennilah]

chrome was like "aw.... ublock origin doesnt work anymore.... aint that so sad..."

im stubborn but i saw the utterly unusable vanilla internet for all of 1 minute before i moved all my bookmarks to firefox and resumed there. go fuck yourself ♥

[musings-of-a-rose]

Happy 40th birthday Garrett! You're such a kind soul and I'll never get over the absolutely insane eye contact you have.

[noobsomeexagerjunk]

Updates on the lore on Forever's stream, about 15 hours in:

- Bad is explaning his experiences so far to Forever

- Bad and Forever heard a weird sound!

- Forever is curious about the eggs' origins and agreed with Bad that he should ask Richas questions about that

- Bad has now proposed the theory that the eggs may not be dragon eggs and was deliberately given to the members by the Feds for care. Another weird noise came up during this

- Forever is growing afraid after every new tidbit of info, especially for Richas's safety and the difficulty of fighting the Island's mobs

- "I've been live for 15 hours and have died...7 times,"

- Bad gives Forever advice on how to beef up and protect himself

- Bad discusses the "Nightmare" he had with Dapper to Forever

- Forever admits envy of Bad and Dapper's dynamic.

- Bad tried to work through the cinematic film machine in Maxo's place to show Forever the cinematics. He is showing the "6 Days/6 Dias" one. Forever was terrified and considered what Cellbit told him about his plans to help decipher the videos.

- Forever is now explaining Maxo's conspiracy board in Portugese for his viewers. He asked Bad about the morse code and Bad told him about the cinematic where that came from.

- Forever said that there are tapes in the ship he and the rest arrived in. He and Bad have agreed to look for them.

[mwagneto]

okay I've been going crazy trying to find what the nazi calls aziraphale after he says sissy but i finally found itttt it's this

[luluwquidprocrow]

oh if you knew what it meant to me

albert & diane

gen

2,128 words

It’s the wrong side of midnight, and he’d planned to leave the airport, stand in the parking lot for as long as it took to smoke out the memory of Leland Palmer’s scalp from his brain, and then get a cab. But he’s dead with exhaustion after the flight (and everything else) and Diane Evans and her fucking car are the best things he’s ever seen in his life.

my fic for @tildytwo for @countdowntotwinpeaks' wonderfulxstrange 2024 exchange!! albert coming home after the end of the palmer case.

title from daydreaming by dark dark dark

He sees Diane in the parking lot, smoking under a streetlight by her blinding red Mustang. She’d told him once it was vintage, and he said that vintage wasn’t going to help her out a bit if the car didn’t crumple when some beige sedan asshole t-boned her out on the highway. No airbags at all. He’s unsure about the seatbelts. The trunk is barely going to fit his suitcases, he knows, alongside the hideously pink tool kit he’s sure is still in there. It’s the wrong side of midnight, and he’d planned to leave the airport, stand in the parking lot for as long as it took to smoke out the memory of Leland Palmer’s scalp from his brain, and then get a cab. But he’s dead with exhaustion after the flight (and everything else) and Diane Evans and her fucking car are the best things he’s ever seen in his life.

Diane startles when he gets close, her cigarette smoldering between her fingers. “You look terrible,” she says, as if it’s a revelation.

“I didn’t ask for the opinion of the local peanut gallery,” Albert says. 

“You’re getting it anyway,” Diane says. “Sure you weren’t the one that took three bullets to the chest, Albert?”

“Oh, very funny, madam secretary.” Does he really look that bad, he wonders. He feels that bad, like he’s dragging himself six steps behind where his body really is. Three trips in two weeks to the Mayberry R.F.D. death trap in Washington state will do that to you. Or at least it should. Dale Cooper and all his charms aside, Albert had no plans to stay for a placatory funeral in a town that was getting a track record. 

Were they giving that girl a funeral too. Or were they only having one for the father of the year. Albert scrapes around in his brain for her name—she deserves that much. Madeline. What about Madeline Ferguson, her blood still stuck on Albert’s hands. His fingers flex around the handle of one of his suitcases. Coop had said she was from out of town. Did her parents come back for her? Or was she getting buried there too, in the same yawning grave Coop was staying behind in? The thought burrows inside his stomach, another knot of background concern adding to the rest of them. In a few years, if not already, he’ll have a nice shiny ulcer to show for all the nonsense the bureau’s put him through. Fuck, he is too tired for this.

Diane takes advantage of his dazed stupor and gets his suitcases away from him. Albert was right, the toolbox is still in the trunk and still pink; his suitcases barely fit but Diane works the same feat of magic she does on everything else and gets the trunk to close before pushing him into the passenger seat. Miracle of miracles, it does have seatbelts. 

He twists the radio dial back and forth until Diane gets in and smacks his hand away. She puts on a top 40s station, because her compassion is obviously limited, and reverses neatly out of the parking lot and navigates through the maze of airport traffic onto the highway. Albert keeps an eye out for sedans as a matter of principle. They’re the sort of car that creeps up on you this time of night, even with Philadelphia still alive around them, pricks of light burning like match heads. 

“Oh!” Diane twists an arm behind her around to the backseat, digging for something with a reckless abandon that has the Mustang veering sharply over the road. 

“Jesus, Diane, the road—”

“Keep your shirt on, Rosenfield,” Diane laughs. She shoves a thermos into Albert’s chest and then gets both hands back on the wheel. “There. I brought you coffee.”

“At what cost,” Albert mutters, but he unscrews the cup and the lid. The fact of the matter is that Diane makes coffee to die for, and he could use the warmth. 

“You’re welcome.”

Then she’s silent for a whole verse and chorus of twangy guitars as someone sings about standing, and Albert knows it’s coming. He downs a gulp of coffee like a shot and his jaw starts to tighten up.

“He didn’t come with you,” Diane says. 

“What gave it away,” Albert asks, “the lack of chipper humming in the overall ambience or the fact that I got your coffee?”

“I did make it for you, dipshit,” Diane insists. “I listen in on Gordon’s calls, I knew he wasn’t coming, and I thought you could use it. I just—” She takes a quick drag of the cigarette still tucked between her fingers. When she exhales, the smoke chases itself in circles. “—it didn’t sound good, why you went there again. And I thought, maybe he might’ve come back with you anyway.” 

“No such luck,” Albert says. “He wanted to stay for the funeral.”

The corner of Diane’s mouth pinches in. She doesn’t say it, but both of them are thinking it. They’re intimately acquainted with Coop’s—Albert has spent a long time trying to figure out how to put it. He takes another drink. It’s not sentimentality, per se. Attachment isn’t quite right either, although it wouldn’t be wrong. It’s a show of commitment, of a deep-seated determination that sits somewhere in Coop’s marrow. An unending desire to be the one that helps. 

Albert can’t begrudge him the idea, not all the way. You were supposed to feel something, otherwise you were in the wrong line of work if you did this without it being able to knock the breath out of you on occasion. But Albert has a different idea of what it means to respect a case and the people involved. And it hasn’t almost gotten Albert killed. Punched, sure, but like he said, he can take a punch and he’ll take one again if it means he can try and do his goddamn job like he’s supposed to. 

He wants to say, well, Coop will be back soon enough. Funerals don’t take forever. Coop has never known where to draw the line but even he has to admit one exists, even in a town like Twin Peaks. But fuck, Albert had encouraged him. Just catch this beast before he takes another bite. And Harry had asked later—Where’s Bob now? 

Albert lets his head hit back against the seat, the taste of the coffee sour in his mouth, the ache of a migraine starting behind his eyes. Blue roses never sat easy, but this—he’s been awake too long as it is. 

“He’s impossible, isn’t he,” Diane says quietly. 

“That’s one of the words for it, I guess,” Albert says. 

The two of them share a glance—Diane makes it blessedly quick and puts her eyes back on the road where they belong. Yeah, they both know about that, too. They have their own attachments. They wouldn’t be in this car if they didn’t. 

Diane drums her fingers on the steering wheel. “Are you hungry?”

“I had lunch.” Or something like it, probably a million years ago. He had the least offensive donut he could find in Harry’s office, which was an overly glazed monstrosity. It stuck on the way down. 

“Uh-huh,” Diane says. Her tone is not encouraging. “And?”

“And nothing. I had lunch, Diane, I’m fine.” 

“And, that was what, at noon? We’re getting something.”

“Diane—”

“You keep it up and I’ll get you a kids meal, Albert.”

“Excuse me, I am not a—”

“With a small french fry. With a fucking juice box.” 

“Fine!” he shouts, which definitely sounds like a fucking child. Diane grins in satisfaction, and she keeps it on her face all the way off the highway exit and to the nearest blindingly bright drive thru, cheerfully ordering two hamburgers from an acne-faced kid in the window who’s chewing gum loud enough to break the sound barrier of Albert’s patience. 

“Would you like fries with that?” the kid asks. 

Diane hesitates, drawing out the moment and Albert’s absolute last nerve until she says, “Yeah.” 

Albert manages to pull his wallet out when Diane gets her own, but she gives him such a look like she’s going to ram it down his throat if he even so much as opens his mouth to offer to pay. It rankles him, but then Diane’s flinging the bag of food at him and driving around to park facing the road. There’s a balancing act between the thermos and the hamburgers and the fries and Diane’s ginger ale and her cigarette, but they manage. Albert unwraps his hamburger, exchanges the onions for the saddest lone pickle slice from Diane’s, and sinks his teeth into the whole thing. It really is the greasiest thing in the world. He hates how good it tastes right now. 

The radio crackles with static, only bursts of some recent subpar Chicago song coming through. Cars shoot by, one another another with the lights starting to blur. Albert rubs his eyes and says it. “I feel like I left him there.” 

Diane picks at her french fries. “I don’t think either of us could’ve dragged him away,” she concedes. “Not if he didn’t want to leave.” 

“He’s got all the self-preservation skills of a deer in headlights,” Albert says. “And he’s not even going to notice if he gets hit. Next thing I know he’ll put down roots there.”

Diane shifts in her seat. 

Motherfucker. “Don’t tell me,” Albert says. “Don’t do it, Diane. I’m asking nicely.” 

“Too late. He wanted to know about his real estate opportunities in his pension,” Diane says. Then—“I told him it was misfiled and I couldn’t find it. I thought, even Dale couldn’t be serious about that. But—” 

Albert’s free hand curls in on itself against his knee. Son of a bitch, it stings. He should’ve stayed and sat through the most pointless funeral so he could pull the hooks out of Coop himself and take him home. He should’ve punched Harry back. He should’ve looked him in the eyes until he saw what Coop saw in there. He should’ve finished Laura Palmer’s autopsy. He should’ve taken them all back with him when he had the chance. 

He wonders what his own pension options are. Albert is by no means going to walk right after Coop into his hell du jour, but he’s got enough sense to know where it is and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t stay close enough to drag Coop back the next time. 

“You think he’d do it too,” Diane says, her voice low. She turns and faces him, and Albert can see the lights in the parking lot hit on the circles under her eyes. Her cigarette has burned out now. They’re the only ones left in the world for a second, two people waiting to see who loses it first.

So they make a choice, between the two of them. Next time. 

He has to get his head back on straight. Albert clears his throat a few times, unclenches his fist. “I think Dale Bartholomew Cooper is going to give me a goddamn coronary,” he says. “Unless this burger does first,” he continues, taking another bite. 

“Bartholomew?” Diane repeats, raising an eyebrow. “You’re not serious.”

“Oh, I am. As serious as the coronary.” 

“Bartholomew,” she says it again. “Oh, it’s so terrible I kind of love it.”

“You’ve been his secretary for how long and you didn’t know that?” 

Suddenly, a smile breaks over her face. She starts giggling. “Did you know—did you know he didn’t know my fucking last name until last year?” 

It startles a laugh out of Albert. It’s the sort of unbelievable thing that becomes believable, with Coop. They keep laughing to the end of the hamburgers. It’s a damn novelty to still be able to do it. Maybe there’s enough hope left for the three of them yet. Next time, by the piercing guitar coming through the radio, Diane dumping the rest of her fries into Albert’s container, Albert drinking Coop’s coffee, Coop’s tapes waiting in Albert’s suitcases in the trunk. 

“Thanks,” Albert says. 

Diane grins again. “Yeah, I thought you knew how to say it. Let’s get you home before you self-destruct from the strain of it.” 

Albert rolls his eyes. It’s a while yet to his place, and even longer back to Diane’s after. “You want me to drive?” he asks. It’s a pointless offer, since it’s her car and she came to get him, and it’s the Mustang, but he feels obligated. 

But Diane laughs. “Shut up, Rosenfield. You can get me back later.” 

Albert doesn’t think so. He lets her drive the rest of the way home, watching for sedans. None come close.

[t00thpasteface]

so traumatized by last semester that i saw the email from my campus that my meal plan just got confirmed and i got war flashbacks to the fucking Freebird Fiasco. i swear to god i'm gonna start a food fight if i have to hear freebird at any point the week i go back

[corpsentry]

black eyes

[hyumjim]

I have this little faggot friend who really pissed me off talking about “Olivia Rodrigo can’t sing have you seen that video of her singing vampire she can’t sing it.” First of all bitch no I haven’t because I don’t care. As a casual listener and music enjoyer I’m not like looking for live performances so I can engage in debates on this subject. But anyway. It is so unfair to say that a person “can’t sing” based on one single live show clip. Like imagine you’re a professional singer and you do one thousand shows and everybody passes around one clip of your voice cracking and now they use that as ammunition to say youre bad at your job forever, regardless of whether your in-ears werent working or you were sick or whatever. As if in order to be a good singer you have to be a superhuman who performs at exactly the same level every day of your life. Anyway even putting all of that aside, I think it’s okay for women to be bad at singing, and I celebrate them because I am a feminist. I mean that half seriously because actually like, historically and at present, men with janky arguably shitty voices have made it HUGE as singer-songwriters, i.e. Bob Dylan… The Mountain Goats for a more current example. Nobody gives a fuck, nobody is complaining about John Darnielle’s vocal range, only women are subject to this level of scrutiny, and if Olivia Rodrigo sounded like these men she would be dragged to death, but even then she would still be an incredibly talented songwriter so I still wouldn’t give a fuck

[spittingoutthebloodandscreaming]

God pop fucking sucks

[rimouskis]

>searching for character/ship playlists >finds one >opens it >first songs I see are by taylor swift, twenty one pilots, and melanie martinez >closes it >repeat ad infinitum

[angelhummel]

*throwing this at my followers and running away*

I Found Myself A Cheerleader

another pezberry fic by me :)

Rating: E

Word count: 8220

Summary: Santana catches Rachel in a compromising position.

Canon divergence, assuming Santana moved to NY and enrolled in classes at NYADA much sooner. Set around mid s4

(Kurt and Tina are mentioned by name but not shown. Brittany, Finn, Brody, Puck, Jesse, and Cassie are referenced but not by name)

read on ao3

~~~

Santana strode down the hallway to her apartment, slowly rolling her head, then her shoulders as she walked. These dance classes were kicking her ass worse than she’d imagined. It was just because she was out of practice, she told herself. A few more weeks and she’d be back to her old self. Things would get easier. Then she could start dancing circles around everyone else in class and make them even more jealous of her than they surely already were.

The thought made her smile as she reached her door. Both roomies were out at the moment and wouldn’t be home til later. She was trying to decide how to spend her few short peaceful hours as she fumbled through her dance bag for her keys.

Maybe do some cool down yoga to help her unwind. Take a nice hot bath afterwards. Hell, maybe even rub one out while thinking about her new dance instructor with the perfect hot older bitch attitude and the abs to die for.

Santana finally made contact with her keys, pulling them out and unlocking the door, letting herself inside. She turned to slide the door shut, freezing on the spot when she heard a noise from further inside the apartment.

“Hello?” she called out tentatively, quickly adjusting her keys so they were sticking out between her fingers, her hand clenched in a tight fist around them. Just in case. She forced herself to step forward, inching closer towards the curtains that made up their three bedrooms. “Kurt? Rach? Who’s there?” She cringed at herself for immediately turning into the dumb first kill girl in every horror movie ever.

She was overreacting, she thought. It was probably just some mutated subway rat the size of her arm that wandered its way in and decided to make a nest out of Berry’s homeschooled chic sweaters.

Actually, she wasn’t sure if that was the best or worst case scenario.

The curtain to Rachel’s room fluttered, and Santana steeled herself to face down whatever was in there. She crept over to it, reaching for the edge to yank it back.

“Hey, it’s just - ME!” Rachel shrieked the last part as the curtain flew open and all she could register was Santana’s fist at eye level before she flinched away and clenched her eyes shut.

“Jesus fuck, Berry, you nearly gave me a heart attack!” Santana groaned, dropping her bag to the ground and tossing her keys on top of it. “Why the fuck didn’t you answer me? I could’ve seriously mangled your face.”

“I - I was about to, I just…” Rachel trailed off, gesturing vaguely to her room behind her. “I, um, was busy with something… Didn’t want you barging in.”

“Right, yeah, glad we avoided that,” Santana shot back, rolling her eyes. “What are you even doing home?”

“My last class was canceled. What about you? I thought you were still taking those extra evening lessons?”

“No, all my instructors thought I was spreading my awesomeness too thin so I’m just taking the regular courses now,” she replied. She looked back at Rachel, actually taking in her appearance now that her little adrenaline rush had passed and her heart rate was returning to normal.

Rachel’s hair was pulled back into a messy bun - heavy emphasis on the mess. Her cheeks were noticeably flushed, she was avoiding eye contact with Santana. And she seemed to be clutching onto the edge of her robe for dear life, keeping it shut tight all the way up to her neck.

A lightbulb went off in Santana’s head.

“What?” Rachel asked, her voice small as she chanced a glance up to Santana’s face. Just to see a knowing smirk quirking at the corner of her lips.

“Oh, nothing…” Santana shrugged. “I just get it, okay? Empty apartment, you thought it would be the perfect time for a little self care. No shame in it.”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” Rachel replied with a puzzled frown.

“Jesus, fine, you need me to spell it out for you?” Santana asked, crossing her arms over her chest as she stared at Rachel. “Self care? Masturbation? Nothing to be ashamed of, seriously. A little self exploration is totally healthy. Especially for someone as sexually repressed as you.”

Rachel’s cheeks got redder and redder the more Santana spoke. “Okay, you’ve made it clear that you have completely misread this situation!”

“Really? Your hair is a mess, your face is red, you’ve got that robe wrapped around you so tight it’s probably cutting off your circulation… And there’s no guy in sight,” she added, craning her neck to get a better look into Rachel’s room like she had to be sure. “So unless you’ve got Invisi-Billy in your bed, it looks like you did this to yourself.”

“I -” Rachel shut her mouth as quickly as she’d opened it, biting her lip as she fidgeted on the spot. Santana arched an eyebrow, wondering if she was going to say anything else. “Fine, you know what? You’re right. You caught me,” Rachel finally conceded. “I thought I would have the apartment to myself for an hour or so, so I thought I’d engage in a little self pleasure. Are you happy?”

“No, not really.”

“Well that makes two of us!” Rachel snapped. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, you can go take your shower, or whatever it is you do after class, and I will get dressed, and we will pretend like none of this ever happened.”

“Heard that one before,” Santana muttered, letting out a noise of surprise as Rachel actually tried shoving her out of her room. “Jeez, Berry, it’s not worth manhandling me over. Seriously, it’s not that big a d-” Santana cut herself off, her gaze dropping down to where Rachel’s robe fell open. Not like she was trying to get a peek or anything. And even if she had been, she would’ve been out of luck. Because instead of bare skin, Santana caught a glimpse of an all too familiar red, black, and white fabric.

Her eyes went wide, and Rachel blushed impossibly darker as she scrambled to fully cover herself back up.

“Berry, please tell me that’s not what I think it is,” Santana said, reaching out to grab the collar of Rachel’s robe. Yanking it open to reveal the bright red WMHS logo across her chest. “What in the Invasion of the Body Snatchers is going on here?!” She took a step back, staring at Rachel in disbelief.

“Okay, listen, it’s not whatever jealousy or psychosexual reasoning I’m sure you think it is, okay?” she asked. She kept her head down, her gaze fixed firmly on the floor as she spoke. Far too embarrassed to even try and meet Santana’s eyes again.

“Well..?”

Rachel took a deep breath before continuing. “Tina sent me a picture earlier. Apparently she just joined the Cheerios,” she told Santana. “And I realized that meant I was the only glee girl that was never on the squad. And I remember you mentioning you brought your uniform with you, to have a reminder of your past life at McKinley. So I thought I’d try it on for a second and see how I would’ve looked, were I ever a member of the team. I was planning on putting it back before you ever even realized it was gone. It was just a little harmless dress up, that’s all.”

“Dress up? I mean if that’s your kink, fine, but you at least could’ve asked me first.”

“Santana!” Rachel whined, her head snapping up to look at her friend with wide, desperate eyes. “Is there any possible way we can move forward from this point without you making fun of me?”

“Hey, come on, who’s making fun of you? It’s just a little good natured ribbing. Friends do that, right?”

“Well it doesn’t feel good natured,” Rachel pouted. “I think I might actually die of embarrassment right now...”

“Oh, come on, me thinking you were finger blasting yourself in an empty apartment was way more embarrassing.” Rachel’s cheeks lit up again, and Santana just laughed when she turned on the spot to go back into her room. “Okay, okay, I won’t talk about that either! But seriously, it’s not that embarrassing. Either of those things. But especially not wanting to try on the uniform. I mean, the Cheerios were pretty much the only group you weren’t a part of in high school, right?”

Rachel stood in her room with her back to Santana, one hand on the curtain like she was ready to close it, but not moving to do so just yet. She nodded.

“Right, so, no big deal that you wanted to see what you’d look like on the squad,” Santana continued. “Seriously, Rach, it’s not a big deal, okay? This isn’t actually high school. I’m not gonna run off and tell all the cool kids what happened so we can laugh about it in a glee club meeting later. I mean, I guess I could go tell Humdrum Hummel, but he’d probably end up giving me a long speech about how I shouldn’t make you feel ashamed of your body or whatever the fuck.”

“That’s probably true…” Rachel replied, a barely there smile on her lips. She let go of the curtain, hesitating a moment before turning back around to face Santana. “Would you, um… Oh, it still feels so embarrassing. Wouldyoutakeapictureofme?” she asked in a rush, anxiously biting her lip again.

“Oh, uh, sure,” Santana replied, surprised at the request. She’d still been expecting Rachel to shoo her out so she could get changed. She didn’t even think she’d get to see the full getup on Rachel. Not that she was dying to or anything. No, obviously nothing like that. But she’d be lying to herself if she said she wasn’t at least a little curious to see how Rachel looked in her old uniform.

Rachel smiled when Santana agreed, pulling her into her bedroom and closing the curtain behind them. “We’ll take the pictures in front of the curtain - it makes a good neutral backdrop. Let’s see… Lighting, we need lighting,” Rachel muttered to herself, going around her room to set everything up.

Santana should’ve known that all Rachel’s embarrassment would melt away when it came to being photographed. But she let the other woman do her thing, until Rachel was handing Santana her phone, already in camera mode.

Rachel took her bun down, her hair cascading down over her shoulders as she walked back around in front of Santana. Santana’s gaze shifted to Rachel’s hands to watch her undo the tie on her robe, shedding it to reveal the full look.

Santana’s throat went dry. The uniform was custom made to fit her exact measurements, which made it the tiniest bit tight on Rachel. But that wasn’t something Santana was going to complain about. She glanced down, realizing Rachel had also put on sneakers to complete the ensemble.

Santana let herself indulge a little, her eyes slowly making their way up Rachel’s toned, tanned legs. It was always a mystery to Santana, how someone so short could have legs that seemed to go on for so long. Those schoolgirl skirts and flouncy little dresses Rachel always wore to school were bad enough. But the Cheerio skirt on her was positively lethal. Santana barely even glanced at the hints of skin peeking through the fabric slats of the skirt before she noticed Rachel’s hands clasped in front of her body, fidgeting together.

“So… What do you think?” she asked. Santana snapped herself out of her daze to realize Rachel was waiting for a verbal response. Seemingly nervous and… shy? That was a new one.

“You -” Santana started, her voice coming out breathier than she expected. She cleared her throat and tried again. “You look good.”

“Really?” Rachel asked, instantly relaxing at the compliment. “Thank you… I was worried I’d look silly. You really don’t think I look silly?”

“God, no, Rach. You look seriously hot right now.”

The blush from before came creeping back into Rachel’s cheeks as she smiled at Santana’s praise.

“Okay, okay, picture time!” Rachel clapped. She backed up to the curtain, facing Santana with her hands on her hips and a bright grin on her face.

Santana smiled to herself, snapping a couple of pictures of Rachel like that. “Very cute,” she commented. “But you have to give me a real cheerleader pose.” She watched as Rachel gave it some thought, then switched poses. Drawing a knee up and balancing on one foot, raising her arms up over her head in a big V. “Ooh, much better. Shake them pompoms, girl,” she teased.

“But we don’t have any - oh.” Rachel giggled, but held her position as Santana took more pictures. “You’re so bad…”

“You love me for it,” Santana said. She lowered the phone, so Rachel dropped her pose. “So, uh, who are the pictures for?” she asked curiously, feeling like she needed a distraction to keep herself from leering at Rachel any more than she already was. Talking about either of the two guys Rachel was somehow still juggling seemed like a good way to bring her down.

“No one,” Rachel replied quickly. “I mean, it isn’t like that. I just wanted them for my own benefit. And I suppose I’ll send one to Tina, since she inadvertently started this. Of course I’ll have to show Kurt - he’ll get a kick out of it.”

“You can send them to me,” Santana said with a slight shrug, hoping that would somehow make it seem like a casual and not at all weird thing to suggest.

“Really? You’d want me to send them to you?” Rachel asked. Her expression shifted from confusion to mischievous as a smirk slowly spread across her face. “Why? Something for your spank bank?” she asked, trying her hand at teasing Santana like Santana had just been doing to her.

Santana didn’t respond, feeling a lump forming in her throat with the way Rachel was staring at her right now.

“Oh my gosh, I was kidding!”

“Shut it, Berry,” was the only comeback Santana could muster.

“Santana, I had no idea you felt this way about me,” Rachel teased, twirling back and forth on the spot and making her borrowed skirt flare out with each move. “It’s nice to know you think I’m so attractive.”

“Berry, if you keep talking, I’m going to throw your phone out the window.”

“Aw, come on, San. What did you just tell me? Something about how this is all totally normal and it’s good to have a healthy sexual appetite -”

“Okay, I warned you.” Santana marched to the other side of the room, Rachel’s phone clutched tight in hand, heading over to the closest window.

“No!” Rachel exclaimed, chasing after Santana and snatching her phone back. “Those windows don’t even open, you know?”

“No, but I bet they break,” Santana replied flatly.

“God, Santana, is that really still how it is with you? You can dish it out but you still can’t take it?” Rachel asked, crossing her arms over her chest and arching an eyebrow at the other woman.

Santana didn’t answer at first, just looked Rachel up and down again to take in her full appearance. She let out a short laugh, shaking her head.

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing… You’re just really embodying the whole cheer captain HBIC thing right now. It’s impressive, really.”

“Well I am an actress. It’s what I do,” Rachel replied, distracted from tormenting Santana now that she was being complimented again.

“True… But you’re missing something.”

“What?”

Santana turned to Rachel’s vanity, grabbing a brush and hair tie and waving them in front of her face. “The high pony, duh. You went to all this trouble to try the uniform on, you might as well rock the whole look. Otherwise it won’t be as authentic or whatever.”

She sat back on Rachel’s bed, making herself comfortable against the pillows at the headboard and gesturing for Rachel to come sit in front of her.

“I suppose you make a good point,” Rachel said, joining her on the bed. She settled in between Santana’s legs, her back facing Santana’s front.

Santana took her time in gently brushing through Rachel’s hair and gathering it all up at the crown of her head. Thankful for the fact that Rachel’s back was to her at the moment. She just needed to calm herself down. Stop her mind from racing to dangerous places.

Really, she didn’t know what came over her all of a sudden. Santana was in college. In New York. Santana was a grown adult now.

So why was she feeling butterflies like this was some stupid high school crush?

It was just the uniform, Santana told herself. Obviously it dredged up feelings for her ex and memories of everything they got up to in high school. But even as Santana tried her damnedest to redirect her feelings to a more appropriate place, all she could think about was Rachel. All the times she subtly (or so she thought) checked her out during glee practice, or a group trip to Breadstix or the Lima Bean. She thought about when Rachel showed up to class in her Britney costume, and how it seemed to jumpstart Santana’s whole sexual identity crisis. Even before that, in sophomore year Santana would often find herself staring at Rachel’s legs in those ridiculously short skirts during dance rehearsals before she was even totally aware of what she was doing.

Okay, the little trip down memory lane certainly wasn’t helping. Suddenly all Santana wanted was to get away from Rachel and really calm down. Whatever was going on with her right now, she didn’t need to add it onto the already strained and beyond complicated relationship she had with Rachel.

She wrapped the elastic around the ponytail and tightened it - possibly a little too hard, given the way Rachel hummed in response - and sat back against the headboard. The most distance between them that Santana could manage right now, given the fact that Rachel was practically sitting in her lap.

Rachel turned halfway around to look at Santana, and Santana was sure by the look on her face that she didn’t have the same tumultuous thoughts swirling around in her own head.

Of course she didn’t.

“So… How do I look now?” Rachel asked with a hopeful smile.

“Awesome…” Santana whispered. And then, without thinking, reached up with one slightly trembling hand to try and sweep Rachel’s bangs to the side. “You should wear your hair like this more often… You always have so much hair in your face, like, all the time. Someone could start to think you’re hiding behind it.”

“Maybe I am…” Rachel murmured. “I always thought that pulling my hair back would only serve to highlight my… beak.”

Santana’s hand dropped back down to her side, as her stomach started to twist itself into knots. Of course while she was inappropriately thirsting over Rachel, Rachel was just going through every insult Santana had ever hurled at her in high school.

Because when were they ever on the same page?

“Well that’s rude. And it’s just not true… Who said that?” Santana asked quietly.

“Oh, just some mean girl I knew back in high school…”

“Yeah, well… she’s not here anymore,” Santana whispered. She took a deep breath, forcing herself not to break eye contact with Rachel as she spoke. “Look, Berry, if you tell anyone I said this, then I’m throwing you out the window instead. But you’re hot, okay? Like seriously hot. You’d have to be blind not to see that.”

Rachel blushed - they’d both been doing plenty of that this afternoon, Santana thought - and smiled at the praise.

“Thank you…” she replied softly, her gaze downcast as she played with a loose thread on the comforter. “I was being flippant earlier, but it really does mean a lot that you see me that way now…”

“Not just now…”

Rachel froze, looking up to meet Santana’s eyes again. “Santana…”

Santana shook her head slightly, needing to snap herself out of this little bubble she’d created for herself and come back to reality. “You, um - We can take some more pictures now that your hair is -”

Rachel lunged forward, cutting Santana off with a kiss. Eager but not forceful, almost like she was expecting Santana to push her away.

Santana didn’t push. But she was too stunned to react. Before she really processed what was happening, Rachel broke the kiss herself.

“Oh my gosh…” Rachel whispered, her hand coming up to gently touch over her own lips. Looking as stunned as Santana felt, like she couldn’t believe what she’d just done. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me… That was very impulsive and I know I should’ve asked for permission first or - or given you a warning but I -”

Santana interrupted her with a kiss of her own. Gentler this time, just a way to wordlessly tell her it was okay, that she didn’t have to work herself into a lather over this.

Trying to convince herself of the same thing.

Rachel looked much more calm when they broke apart this time. She turned around completely, sitting on her knees and facing Santana fully.

“Well… this is certainly new for us.”

“No shit,” Santana replied. Doing her best to hide just how affected she was by the kisses.

Rachel wasn’t thrown by her attitude.

“New is good,” Rachel continued softly, looking into Santana’s eyes. “I mean, if someone told me three years ago that not only would you and I be living together, we’d be genuine friends on top of that, I would’ve thought they were lying. But our relationship has progressed leaps and bounds over the years and, well, here we are now… Who knows? Maybe this was the obvious next step for us?”

Santana just stared at Rachel, her brain still struggling to process their kisses, never mind whatever monologue Rachel was busting out to try and justify what they’d done. All she could do was nod her head once she realized Rachel’s speech sort of required a response.

“Obvious” was the furthest thing from her mind right now.

“We don’t have to have it all figured out right now…” Rachel said softly. “I know it’s a lot, and you don’t seem to want to discuss it at the moment, which is completely fine by me… I don’t know what this means for us. All I know is that I really want to kiss you again…”

“Rach?”

“Yes?”

“Do you ever shut up?”

Rachel opened her mouth to answer, but Santana didn’t give her the chance. She pulled Rachel close again, taking whatever response she was formulating and turning it into a soft, muffled moan as their lips met once more.

No longer hesitant, no longer worried about being rejected, they let themselves indulge. Giving in to their desires, and letting the spark between them ignite into a full blown flame.

Santana’s arms wound tight around Rachel, and Rachel pressed closer against the other woman. Shifting so her legs were bracketing Santana’s, and she was sitting in her lap.

When Santana pulled away this time, it was to start trailing kisses along Rachel’s jawline instead. Her hand crept up Rachel’s back, up to the ponytail she’d styled just minutes earlier, getting a firm grip and using it to tilt Rachel’s head back, exposing her neck and giving Santana plenty of new territory to explore.

And explore she did.

Spurred on by Rachel’s soft little hums of pleasure, Santana let her lips wander over every exposed inch of Rachel’s skin she could reach. Paying special attention to each and every noise falling from Rachel’s lips, every shift of her body, making sure she knew what kind of reaction she got from every spot she kissed.

A kiss just below Rachel’s ear earned a sharp gasp in response.

Santana’s lips brushing over the curve between her neck and shoulder pulled a soft whine from Rachel.

An open mouthed kiss to Rachel’s pulse point - Rachel’s body jolted in Santana’s arms, a low moan escaping her lips.

“There we go…” Santana purred, a self-satisfied smirk on her face as she went back in for more. Kissing over the same spot, as Rachel’s grip tightened on Santana’s shoulders. Darting her tongue out to lick over it, making Rachel squirm in her lap. Sinking her teeth in and starting to suck at her skin, causing Rachel to cry out in pleasure.

“Santana…” Rachel breathed, her eyes clenched shut as Santana teased the oh so sensitive spot on her neck.

Santana just hummed in response, not wanting to let up until she knew she’d left her mark. She looped Rachel’s ponytail around her hand, getting a better grip and yanking her head back further, earning another moan from Rachel.

“Santana, please…”

That got Santana to stop. She kissed over the faint purple hickey she’d managed to leave, before looking up at Rachel through her lashes.

“Please what?”

Santana’s grip loosened on Rachel’s hair, so Rachel had enough room to tilt her head forward again. She just stared at Santana with heavy lidded eyes, her lips still parted but no more words coming out.

“Oh, now you’re speechless?” Santana asked, a teasing lilt to her voice. It was slight, but apparently enough to make Rachel blush. “Suddenly you’re shy about making demands?”

“Asking for a solo that I know I deserve isn’t exactly the same as… this,” Rachel whispered.

Santana chuckled at that, shaking her head as she looked up at Rachel. “Is that it? Think you haven’t done enough to deserve a little pleasure?”

Santana wrapped both arms securely around Rachel again, holding her tight as she sat up. Switching their positions, she laid Rachel back on the bed, their legs slotting together as Santana settled herself over Rachel. She leaned in closer, like she was going in for another kiss, but swerved at the last second and brought her lips up to Rachel’s ear instead.

“You want me to make you work for it, Berry?” she asked in a hushed whisper.

Rachel whined softly, shook her head.

“Well you have to tell me what you do want…”

“I - I want you…” she breathed. Santana tried to pull back enough to look down at Rachel, but the other woman tightened her arms around Santana’s body, keeping her in place. “I want you to - to stop teasing me, and kiss me, and - and touch me.”

“Better…” Santana whispered. Still attempting nonchalance to hide the way her heart jolted in her chest at the request from Rachel.

She rewarded Rachel’s bluntness with more kisses and nips to her neck, still making sure to focus on the spots that got the best reactions. Keeping herself balanced with one arm on the mattress, her other hand came up between them to touch Rachel. Running over the stiff material of the uniform, hesitating just a moment before cupping Rachel’s breast.

Santana knew from experience that it was difficult to get any real gratification from over-the-uniform touches, but Rachel still gasped at Santana’s actions. So she kept it at that for a few moments, sucking another mark into Rachel’s neck as she toyed with her. Squeezing gently, then a little harder, rubbing her thumb over her nipple, trying to see if any of it was working for her.

Just when she was about to ask if Rachel wanted to get the top out of the way, she had her answer.

Rachel’s hand came down to the wrong side of the uniform, fumbling for the zipper that wasn’t there.

“Please get this stupid thing off of me,” she said with a frustrated huff, pouting up at Santana.

“Fuck, you’re such a brat…” Santana muttered, reaching up to the right side and quickly tugging the zipper open. Easily ridding Rachel of the uniform top, and leaving her naked from the waist up.

Santana’s eyes roamed over Rachel’s half naked body, drinking in this new sight before glancing back up to meet Rachel’s eyes. Feeling like Rachel was waiting for her approval.

“Still hot, though,” Santana whispered. She moved down a little, kissing all over where she couldn’t reach before. Letting her lips lead the exploration over Rachel’s collarbones, her chest, the space between her breasts. Her hand slowly wandered up Rachel’s side, enjoying the bare skin underneath, but paused just short of groping her again.

“We can stop if you want to…” she told Rachel. Needing more than Rachel’s reserved silence before she was comfortable going further.

Rachel shook her head quickly. “Please don’t stop…”

Santana felt a sense of relief flood through her body, just knowing Rachel was into this. Into her.

She smiled, and leaned up to press a soft kiss to Rachel’s lips as her hand met her breast again. Repeating the same actions she’d done over the uniform top, for a much more enthusiastic Rachel this time around.

Santana kissed back down Rachel’s body, circling her nipple with her tongue before taking it into her mouth and sucking gently.

“Ohh…” Rachel moaned, reaching up to thread her fingers through Santana’s hair and hold her in place.

Not that Santana planned on moving any time soon.

She was enjoying Rachel’s reactions far too much. All the breathy moans, the little mewls of pleasure, the way her body trembled underneath her, how she tugged at Santana’s hair when Santana got the tiniest bit rough with a pinch or a nip.

And how, before long, Rachel started to weakly grind against Santana’s leg that was situated between both of hers. She thought she felt the slightest damp patch rubbing against her thigh.

“Have you soaked through two layers already?” she asked, licking her lips as she looked up at Rachel. “Or did you decide to go completely commando under my uniform, pervert?”

“Why don’t you see for yourself?” Rachel whispered, parting her legs in invitation.

Santana happily accepted.

She slid a hand down Rachel’s stomach, bypassing the skirt part of the uniform, and let it disappear beneath the waistband of the bright red spankies.

Rachel whimpered as Santana’s fingers brushed over her sensitive clit, and easily glided down lower over her slick folds.

“Fuck, how are you this wet already?” Santana asked in a low, husky voice, keeping her eyes on Rachel’s face as her fingers teased Rachel with practiced, expert movements.

She could tell Rachel was wearing her own underwear as well, because she wasn’t immediately met with the less comfortable fabric of the Cheerio panties. She could also feel a wet spot against the back of her hand letting her know that, yeah, Rachel had already soaked through two layers of clothing.

That was doing wonders for her confidence.

“Is this all from a few hickeys and a little second base action? Makes sense, it’s probably the most time anyone’s ever spent on your pleasure…” she murmured, kissing over one of the marks she’d left behind earlier.

Maybe it was the lingering mean streak in her that begged Santana to tease Rachel even in this situation. But the way Rachel was moaning and basically humping her hand, Santana was sure she could say anything right now and Rachel wouldn’t give a fuck, as long as Santana kept working her clit the way she was.

“Or maybe you started getting turned on when I was taking your picture…” she continued, biting over Rachel’s pulse point and making her cry out. “I know how much you love that…” She licked over the spot to soothe it, pressing a soft kiss there as well. “Too bad I can’t get to your phone now, or I’d have to take some pictures of you like this…”

Rachel let out another soft whimper, absently nodding her head along with Santana’s words.

Santana had thought Rachel didn’t care what she was saying, but maybe she was wrong.

She was starting to think Rachel was getting off on it.

“No, I know what it was…” she purred, slowing her movements down and just idly circling her index finger over Rachel’s clit to draw things out and keep teasing her. “I bet you started getting turned on because I walked in on you doing something risqué. Caught in the act, and all that. You seem like the type of person who needs a healthy little dose of humiliation to get themselves going. Fuck, if that’s the case, you must’ve been this soaked 24/7 in high school…” she chuckled. “That could explain a lot…”

Rachel whined, her face completely flushed pink again. Santana wondered if it was caused more by her words or her actions. Whichever it was, she wasn’t stopping either one.

“Mm, but honestly, I think I was right the very first time…” Santana said, her hand slipping a little lower as she started to sink two fingers into Rachel’s leaking entrance.

Rachel gasped, her legs involuntarily coming closer together. Santana had to nudge them apart again with her own leg to keep Rachel open for her.

“I think I walked in at the start of a very elaborate masturbation session. I think this game of dress up was just the first step.”

She thrust her fingers in with slow, shallow motions, just letting them fill Rachel a little at a time. Delving deeper and deeper, bit by bit, until they were buried as deep inside as they could get. She held still a moment, her thumb finding Rachel’s clit and working it as she started to pump her fingers in and out.

“I know how much you like to put on a show, Berry, even if you’re the only audience member,” she whispered in her ear, listening to the short, ragged breaths that Rachel took as she rode Santana’s fingers. “And the way your mirror and vanity are both facing the bed, well, you would’ve had the best seat in the house, wouldn’t you? Looking like Cheerio royalty, sitting on the edge of your bed with your legs spread, fingering yourself, with the best view from all angles… I bet you would’ve gotten yourself off in no time.”

“Shut… up!” was all Rachel could muster in response. She shoved a hand into her underwear alongside Santana’s, starting to rub her clit while Santana fingered her.

Rachel’s orgasm hit almost immediately, and her back arched off the bed as she came with a loud, lyrical moan.

Santana worked her through it, fingering Rachel until she was spent and stilled her own hand. She pressed a few soft kisses along Rachel’s neck and shoulder as she slowly pulled her fingers out, and pulled them free from the confines of Rachel’s underwear.

“Even your sex noises are annoyingly musical…” Santana muttered.

“I-” Rachel stopped, staring up at Santana as Santana popped her fingers into her mouth and sucked them clean.

“You..?” Santana asked, but Rachel didn’t respond. Just grabbed her by the hair and pulled her in for another heated kiss. Surprising Santana by immediately licking into her mouth, chasing the taste of herself on Santana’s tongue.

The kiss was as quick as it was dirty, and Rachel pulled back far too soon for Santana’s liking. She laid back on the bed, her eyes closed and her lips parted as she let out a content sigh.

Santana laid there as well, watching Rachel for a few moments as she awaited her next move. When she couldn’t be sure one was even coming, Santana started to feel awkward. She turned onto her back, staring blankly up at the ceiling.

Was that it? One and done? She honestly wasn’t expecting Rachel to pay her back, but at least acknowledging her presence post orgasm would be nice.

Santana rolled her eyes, resigning herself to her long overdue shower, and pretending like this never happened once she left the confines of Rachel’s room.

She sat up to leave, but a gentle hand on her arm made her pause.

“Where are you going?” Rachel asked, her brows knitted together ever so slightly as she looked up at Santana with those deep brown doe eyes of hers.

“Shower. Figured you’d want some privacy to change.”

“But I haven’t even - I mean, you didn’t let me…” Rachel trailed off, pouting a little as she pushed herself up onto her elbows. “Are we done?”

“You tell me,” Santana replied with a shrug. Her icy attitude creeping back in now that there was the slightest possibility of Rachel rejecting her again.

“I… I don’t want to be,” she whispered, sitting up fully now and frowning at Santana. “I just needed a moment to catch my breath. I’ve never - Well, it’s been - That was the best orgasm I’ve had in a while,” she admitted. “I didn’t know it was possible to have such a strong reaction from a little fondling and dirty talk.”

“Yeah, well, it’s safe to say I’m the hottest partner you’ve ever had,” Santana replied airily, flipping her hair back over her shoulder. “That probably helped.”

“I most definitely agree with you there…” Rachel said with a shy little smile. “Which would make it all the more disappointing if you were to leave without letting me reciprocate. I mean, you’re still fully dressed, and I was so caught up in what you were doing to me that I was barely in my right mind to do anything back.”

“Well I guess if this is where you want to start worrying about equality and fairness, you won’t hear me complaining,” Santana smirked.

Rachel reached out to tangle her fingers in Santana’s hair, pulling her into a kiss. She eased Santana back on the bed, and Santana went willingly, letting Rachel crawl on top of her and take the reins for a while.

Rachel made short work of Santana’s dancewear, getting her out of her tank top and shorts, then her sports bra, and finally her underwear. Leaving Santana completely naked, while Rachel still sported the remaining vestiges of the Cheerio uniform.

She sat back on her heels, slowly running her hands along Santana’s smooth, toned legs, admiring the view in front of her.

Whether in uniform, dancewear, street clothes, or nothing at all, Santana was every bit as gorgeous as Rachel always knew she was. She used to envy her for it - hate her for it - but those thoughts were so far away from Rachel’s mind at this moment that they might as well have belonged to someone else.

How could Rachel hate her now? How could she be jealous? When Santana was naked in her bed, baring herself completely for her, and her alone. It was everyone else that should be jealous of Rachel now. Because Santana was hers.

At least for the moment.

A slight smirk tugged at Rachel’s lips as her gaze settled on Santana’s opening, seeing her skin already glistening with wetness.

“And you were making fun of me earlier?” Rachel teased, reaching out to run a finger agonizingly slowly over Santana’s folds. Santana shuddered lightly at the touch, then watched in awe as Rachel immediately brought her finger up to her lips and swirled her tongue around it. “Mm, looks like somebody is a bit of a hypocrite…”

“Take it as a compliment, Berry…” Santana muttered, wrapping her legs around Rachel to try and pull her closer. Rachel giggled - actually fucking giggled - and gently pushed Santana’s legs back down to the bed.

“You took your sweet time earlier, I think it’s only fair you give me the same courtesy,” she murmured. She carefully settled herself over Santana, pecking her on the lips once before starting the journey lower, trailing kisses down the column of Santana’s throat.

She must’ve wanted to repay everything Santana did to her, Santana thought, because it wasn’t long before Rachel was latching onto her neck and sucking a mark, in almost the exact same spot Santana left one on her.

Santana reached up to grab onto Rachel’s ponytail again and hold her in place. Her other hand found Rachel’s, bringing it up to her breast so Rachel could give her a different kind of pleasure at the same time. Rachel didn’t protest being moved like this, no doubt too concerned with her budding hickey to say anything. She just let Santana guide her, and started teasing her nipple like she wanted.

Rachel didn’t pull away from her neck for what seemed like ages, and Santana knew there had to be a nasty looking mark left in her wake. But Rachel seemed proud of it judging by the self satisfied little smile on her face.

Rachel gently blew over the wet patch of skin, and Santana shivered.

“Felt like marking your territory, huh?”

“Maybe…” Rachel smiled, before kissing her way lower.

Santana figured none of Rachel’s past fucks were into nipple play, because when Rachel got to second base, she could tell Rachel was mimicking what Santana had done to her. Which wasn’t really a bad thing. Santana knew what she was doing, so Rachel copying her just made it seem like Rachel knew what she was doing.

So it was oh so upsetting when Rachel pulled away far too quickly for Santana’s liking, and started kissing lower down her body instead.

“Oh, you’re -” Santana cut herself off, licking her lips as she watched Rachel.

“Is that okay?” Rachel asked softly, stopping to look up at Santana with her mouth just a few inches shy of Santana’s pussy.

“Fuck, yeah, more than okay…” Santana replied with an eager nod. “I just - didn’t think you’d go for muff diving right away.”

Rachel wrinkled her nose up at the phrase, but pressed a soft kiss to Santana’s hipbone. “I’ll admit it’s something I’ve always been curious about…” she murmured. She dropped another kiss to Santana’s lower abdomen, then moved down to kiss along her inner thighs. “It’s an act that I certainly wouldn’t mind adding to my sexual repertoire…” she added in between kisses.

“Mm, you make it sound so sexy…” Santana purred, her words dripping with sarcasm.

“As sexy as ‘muff diving’?” Rachel shot back.

“Why don’t you put that mouth to good use and eat me already?” Santana asked, still holding onto Rachel’s ponytail and bucking her hips up slightly.

Rachel retaliated by grabbing onto Santana’s thighs, keeping her spread open and pressed down against the bed at the same time. She leaned in closer, hesitating at the last second like she had to steel her nerves, before just going for it.

Santana moaned at the initial contact, holding tight to Rachel’s hair but letting her go at her own pace. Which, Santana quickly found out, was much more erratic and scattershot now that she really didn’t know what she was doing.

“Fuck, Rach, it’s not a competition,” she breathed, gently tugging on Rachel’s hair to get her to back up a little. “It’s been a while for me, too. I just wanna enjoy the ride, okay?”

“I - Sorry…” Rachel whispered, licking over her lips and avoiding Santana’s gaze. “Do you, um… Any advice?” she asked sheepishly.

“You can start by taking your time…” she replied softly. “Just try to remember how it felt whenever you were on the receiving end of it, and try and mimic what felt good to you.”

Rachel remained quiet, still not looking up at Santana, or attempting to resume her oral work.

Fuck, Santana thought, getting enough information in Rachel’s silence to fill in the gaps of her sex life. Or at least enough to realize that Rachel’s sex life was nothing but gaps. With the guys she’d been with, Santana knew it couldn’t be good, but goddamn. It was way past the point of being even a little comical to her now.

Though Santana didn’t think she could be the best teacher. All her experience with guys was just lesson after lesson on what she definitely didn’t want. With her ex, they got to figure things out together. And in the limited hookups she’d had since moving to the city, there were only women who seemed way more experienced than her.

She took a deep breath, gently running her fingers through Rachel’s bangs to sweep them back out of her face.

“Just think about whatever feels good when you touch yourself, and turn it around on me. But with tongue,” she said. “I mean, use your fingers, too. Don’t let me limit your creativity. Just slow it down a little. And don’t just focus on the clit the whole time, either. That’s like, a total rookie mistake.”

“O-okay…” Rachel nodded. “Sorry for being such a drama queen about all this…” she added quietly, pressing a conciliatory kiss to Santana’s hip.

“Like I’d expect anything less…” Santana murmured. “But don’t worry, I plan on giving you lots of opportunities to practice until you’ve totally perfected your technique.”

Rachel cracked a smile at that, ducking her head bashfully and leaving a few more kisses in her wake as she traveled back to Santana’s center. She started again, working much more slowly this time, taking her time to just savor everything about the experience.

Santana let out a soft hum in satisfaction, going back to holding onto the base of Rachel’s ponytail, guiding her a little but mostly letting her explore on her own. She spread her legs wider for Rachel, folding her other arm behind her head so she could prop herself up and enjoy the view.

“Mm, better already, baby…” she breathed. “Just nice and slow for now. You can build up to more…”

Rachel hummed in response, sending a shiver up Santana’s spine.

Santana didn’t offer too many instructions after that, but wasn’t shy about praising Rachel either. She let her know what felt good, encouraged her to keep going, even told her how hot she looked.

Of course Rachel ate it all up.

But she had to back off after a while just to catch her breath. Feeling light headed, like she’d somehow been forgetting to breathe this entire time. “Still doing a good job?” she asked, tracing her index finger over Santana, following all the same paths her tongue had taken.

“Better than good…” Santana whispered, her hand sliding down to cradle Rachel’s jaw, her thumb brushing over her bottom lip that was slick and shiny from her juices. She raised her hand up to suck it clean and taste herself.

Rachel smiled proudly at that, her attention shifting downward again as she slowly started to push two fingers inside of Santana. Santana moaned, clenched tight around her, before relaxing into it. Rachel watched as Santana’s hips rolled with her movements, fucking herself deeper and deeper onto Rachel’s fingers.

She brought her other hand up to spread Santana open further, making it easier to get to her clit. She swirled her tongue around it, sucking gently, as her fingers started moving faster in and out of Santana.

“Fuck, baby, just like that…” Santana moaned, her hand tight in Rachel’s hair to keep her in place now. Rocking her hips up to press herself harder against Rachel’s tongue, and down again to fuck herself on her fingers. “I’m close…”

It only took a few more moments for Santana to chase down her orgasm, crying out as she came and spilled out all over Rachel.

Rachel didn’t stop. She just doubled down, working her fingers at a rapid pace inside Santana and eagerly lapping at her cunt until she got Santana to cum again.

“Fuck!” Santana cried, pulling Rachel in suffocatingly close and riding her tongue and fingers until her second orgasm subsided. She had to push Rachel back after that, her sensitive pussy desperate for a reprieve.

Rachel popped up from between her legs, a smile on her face as she crawled up the bed to lay down beside Santana. “Still good?” she asked.

Santana turned her head to look at Rachel, just to see most of the lower half of her face shining with her juices. She let out a breathless laugh, leaning closer to plant a sloppy kiss on Rachel’s lips - trying to taste herself more than she was actually trying to kiss Rachel. “You’re a fucking mess…” she mumbled, falling back against the pillows. “You must’ve really been dying to experiment like this.”

“I was. Eager, I mean…” Rachel whispered, keeping her eyes on Santana’s as she spoke. “But not just for an experiment, or experience points. That was nice, of course, but… Well, I couldn’t see myself doing this with just anyone. And you certainly aren’t just anyone.”

“Damn straight,” Santana smirked.

Rachel laughed.

“Imagine if we knew three years ago that we would end up here…” Rachel sighed. “We could’ve saved ourselves a lot of fighting.”

“Nah, I think we needed the build up,” Santana replied. “It was three years of very elaborate, drawn out foreplay.”

“Maybe you’re right…” Rachel chuckled. “Just promise me it won’t take three more years of arguments and insults before we have sex again.”

“Oh, I promise.”

“And hey, since you were so fond of the dress up idea, I’m sure I can dig up some old plaid skirts for you to wear next time…”

“Don’t push your luck, Berry.”

[ladyluscinia]

I really cannot make it clear enough that the only people who think Izzy Hands has a massively outsized following in the OFMD fandom are people who aren't paying attention and probably get annoyed by every positive mention of Izzy Hands.

Those of us who do post about him / read fics about him / enthusiastically ship him / whatever are far more likely to quip about how there are whole dozens of us in our corner because that's a hell of lot closer to the reality. But if plain statistics on fics or repeatedly pointing out that tumblr notes are the same people hitting that same reasonable average of double digit reblogs... Idk. Maybe a more descriptive exercise would make this clear?

I'm sorting AO3 by most kudos, looking at OFMD fics with Izzy's character tag (aka the one place he really outstrips the other side characters in numbers). A few observations:

Izzy's name appears in a fic summary for the first time on Fic 6, with "...and Izzy getting disrespected several times." Not much of a mention.

First Izzy/OC ship is Fic 7 (Hell or High Water - a title I recognize but have never read)

First Izzy/Other Character is Fic 17, with Izzy/Lucius, which also appears to be the first Izzy focused fic

Fic 22 is the first appearance of BlackHands as part of a SteddyHands fic

46 Fics in we get the first one Not Technically Ship Tagged with BlackBonnet (a Lucius/Izzy with a "background blackbonnet" tag), and at Fic 63 we get the first Actually Not Ship Tagged with BlackBonnet (a Stizzy fic about bonding over hating Calico Jack).

I think Fic 215 is the first mention of Sam Bellamy? I'm trying to find something specific and it's taking a while...

Oh wait there it is! 216 Fics by Kudos into the "Israel Hands" character tag (out of 7785 total) we have the first BlackHands fic that doesn't have Stede involved. Prior to this there were a lot of BlackBonnet fics, and notable numbers of SteddyHands and Izzy/Lucius. Hell we even hit Izzy/Frenchie and Izzy/Captain Flint before getting to this point.

I'm just really trying to illustrate here that for all the snide accusations and defensive worrying I see about all the sinister Izzy fans trying to make the whole show and fandom about him, "Izzy" content (which this ought to demonstrate is hardly all about Izzy) is just not that overwhelming. Izzy content that excludes or ignores the Revenge crew even less so. Like, run this exercise with any side character and you'll get pretty similar results - seeing as the dominance of BlackBonnet above all else is still ridiculous by fandom standards - but that's kinda the point.

Izzy is a popular side character, which is a thing that tends to happen when side characters get speaking time, characterization, camera focus, exploration of their current and potential relationships (conflict counts), etc. You know, things that Izzy gets a bunch of as an antagonist? Izzy having more content than Oluwande is not really more weird than Oluwande having more content than Buttons or Wee John? I'm not going to pretend that fandom spaces don't drop the ball on content for characters of color pretty often, but the tagged content breakdown in this fandom is not far off from what you would expect by character descriptions alone.

Like the list goes Cool Protagonist / Love Interest -> POV Protagonist -> Live-In Primary Antagonist -> Side Fun Guy with a Death Cliffhanger / Fanfic Gap Ending -> Side Pirate Assassin with a Subplot -> Assassin's Side Love Interest... I mean, maybe Lucius is a bit higher than Jim even for what "Lucius in the walls" fics can account for, or Lucius / Izzy have a bit bigger of a lead than they would without white identifying bias, but that's like? Unprovable speculation at best???

Not remotely comparable to, like, "Star Wars Sequel Trilogy" where Kylo Ren is 46.3% of fics while the two non-white protagonists are only in 35.7% (Poe) or 29% (Finn). Like Poe is technically behind Hux's 35.9%, which is absurd for a secondary antagonist no matter how fun I found his blatant evil. It's like if Chauncey Badminton was neck and neck with Jim or even Edward. That is a content percentage you should question, and the numbers might be worse in "Star Wars - All Media Types" (though Kylo does at least lose to Obi Wan).

[ssaalexblake]

that jodie got a top 40 hit when she was the doctor is still Hilarious and i laugh whenever i think abt it