V-DAY EXCHANGE FIC! Some Girls Wander By Mistake, for summerstorm
Title: Some Girls Wander By Mistake
Rating: R
Pairings/Characters: Santana/Tina, Artie/Tina
Word count: 4,400
Recipient: summerstorm
Disclaimer: Nothing Glee-related is mine!
Summary: Santana has a lot to teach Tina.
A/N: This would’ve sucked hardcore without my beta readers, B1 and B2. They know who they are. For come-to-Jesus MSN jam sessions and brutal honesty re: flatirons, they have my love and thanks. Dear summerstorm: I like your writing, and it was intimidating to write this for you. I hope you enjoy it!
By the end of the rehearsal, Tina was ready to slip away unnoticed, and had picked up her bag to do just that. Kurt quickly blocked her way.
“Do you have a white dress?” He rubbed his fingertips together, full of nervous energy. “Something virginal, but not too boring?”
“I’ve got, uh, no dresses.” Tina bit the inside of her cheek. “Except for the ones I’ve bought for performances already. Wait. I have some in black and purple?”
Kurt paled.
“You don’t own any other dresses?” he squeaked. “Oh, sweet and merciful Jesus. I’d let you borrow one from my collection, but I don’t think you’d fit with your, ah-“ he made a quick, sweeping motion at his chest. “I don’t wear them, but they’re all couture pieces. Not really meant for the backs of high school girls.”
“Why do I need a white dress?” She made a face. (And clutched her bag a little closer.)
“For ‘Tonight.’” Kurt said, all business. “I’m taking my role as the club’s elected costume chair quite seriously. The spring invitational will be my debut performance. And the duet between you and Finn is the only number I can’t figure out.”
“I didn’t realize this was such a big deal,” Tina said.
“A big deal!” Kurt looked offended. “Vocal Adrenaline will almost definitely have spies there. And they have a wardrobe budget on a par with a Hollywood blockbuster. We have to look good, and I won’t have you… sullying our image.”
“I don’t want to sully anything,” she quickly asserted, embarrassed. “This weekend. I can buy something” She was trying to keep her voice down. Artie rolled by, giving her a tense smile and a quick wave. All but dying on the inside, Tina weakly waved back.
“You most certainly cannot. Not by yourself. You need help.”
“I could take my mom?”
Kurt rolled his eyes to the heavens.
“Okay.” Tina held her hand out, like a peace offering. “I’ll ask Mercedes to come. She’s always asking me to go shopping. She’ll love it.”
“No. No, no, no.” Kurt was being obstinate. “You know that Mercedes is my soul sister. But Technicolor zebra stripes aren’t the goal here. Have you seen ‘West Side Story’? I want delicate. Romantic. Subtle…” His voice trailed off. “You. Santana. Come here.”
“What?” In typical Santana fashion, she entered the conversation with her arms crossed.
“Wednesday Addams here needs a white dress.” Kurt tilted his chin. “You’re neither delicate, romantic, nor subtle, but you can take instructions. Think you can handle the task?”
“I’d have to reschedule my Brazilian.” That wasn’t a no, which was surprising. Santana squinted at Tina, long and hard. “What do you have in mind?”
“Something Natalie Wood. A little sexy, but not slutty. Nothing too J. Lo, in other words.”
“Was that a racial thing?” she snarled, instantly defensive.
“No.” Kurt snapped his neck at her. “It’s a you dress like a ho thing.”
“Fine, Perez Hilton.” Her smile was venomous. “Never mind, then. You can take her to find a dress.”
“Or not,” he sniffed. “Suburban malls give me hives. On top of which, I’ll be checking into a day spa on Saturday so I’m glowing for the show.”
“Oh, what-the-fuck-ever.”
“Which might not be a bad idea for you to consider, too. My esthetician could probably do something with those crater-pores of yours.”
“Listen, you little bitch…”
Tina cleared her throat anxiously.
“That’s really nice of you to offer, Santana.”
“I didn’t offer.” Santana glared acidly at Kurt. “But I’ll do it. Just because I don’t feel like losing to a squad of foreign Gleeks. I prefer the hometown losers, you know?”
“I’m allowed to borrow my parents’ car on the weekends,” Tina offered. “I could pick you up.”
“I’ll meet you there,” Santana said tersely. “One o’clock.”
Kurt made a nasty comment about thunder thighs as Santana stalked off, but Tina was suddenly overcome by an overwhelming combined feeling of what the hell just happened, and why am I doing this?
_
Tina was running late. As usual. Santana had obviously come on time for their meetup, as she’d had time to buy a drink at Starbucks. The barista stared at Santana retreating like he wanted to eat her up.
“That guy was totally checking you out,” Tina said by way of greeting.
“Yeah, right?” Santana wrinkled her nose. “As if I’d consider a guy like that.”
“Why not?” Tina couldn’t help looking back herself. “He was gorgeous.”
“Eh. Hot guys are a dime a dozen.” She handed the drink to Tina without asking, and stuck the cell phone she’d wedged under her arm into her purse. “It’s March. He’s working here, which means either full-time high school grad, or student at Lima Loser CC.” Hands free, Santana took back her cup and stirred it with the straw. “Either way, total undesirable.”
Tina hadn’t considered anything like that before. She stuck her hands deep into the pockets of her gray flannel skirt, and followed Santana down the main corridor of the mall. It was really busy, with bunches of kids their age stopped in front of stores, and moms with strollers pushing whiny toddlers everywhere. Santana walked really fast.
“Thank you for coming with me,” Tina said. “I didn’t think that you’d, you know. Agree to that.”
The other girl didn’t break her stride. “Why not?”
“Well - don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re kind of mean.”
“Not to you,” Santana said flatly.
Tina opened her mouth to contest that statement, and had to close it.
“You’re invisible,” Santana told her. It wasn’t bitchy, the way she said it. It was more like a fact. “That’s way better than being a loser. We don’t socialize, but I’ve never mocked you - although, on close consideration, you probably deserve it. Is that a Hello Kitty backpack?”
The answer to that was quite obvious, so Tina kept her mouth shut.
“What’s your budget?”
“For the dress? Twenty-five dollars. I have my mom’s credit card.”
“Well, isn’t that nice.” Out of nowhere, Santana grabbed Tina’s hand, and started to haul her through the dizzying rush of Saturday shoppers. “God. I hate slow people! Follow me.”
Tina didn’t have much of a choice.
“Wheelchair Kid ask you to Spring Fling yet?” Santana called back, suddenly changing the topic. She was referring to McKinley’s annual formal.
“Umm, no.” Tina held on tight, and tried not to look at the comparison between her nails and Santana’s. She’d tried to pull off a fancy job with purple polish and black tips, but she hadn’t waited long enough for them to dry. The edges were all smudged. “We’re just friends. It’s not like that.”
“Sure,” Santana replied. It didn’t really sound affirmative at all. “If he knows you’re willing to settle for that, then yeah.”
They came to a stop outside a store Tina had never been in. It was bright and huge, with two long window displays of mannequins posed in bright, brief summer outfits. Santana dropped Tina’s hand, and Tina tried to play it cool.
“Is this a good store?” she asked.
“It’s Forever 21.” Santana rolled her eyes. “Necessary evil, since it sells twenty-dollar dresses. Gross, mostly. But still better than a twenty dollar dress from Target or Wal-Mart.”
Twenty dollars was more than Tina’d spend on any one item of clothing since she’d been shopping for herself, but she didn’t tell Santana that. She also didn’t tell her that nothing in the store looked especially gross. Way too colorful and girly for Tina, yes. But there was a big accessories display right by the entrance, and some black headbands with bows and bits of netting that were actually not terrible-
“Focus,” Santana snapped. “We are on a mission here, and Corpse Bride cosplay is not on the list.”
“Okay,” Tina said, disliking how meek her voice sounded. Then, as if she needed to erase its sound in her head: “Should we split up?”
“You’ll stay right here.” Santana was gazing critically at a straight, short white dress with a spray of embroidered flowers up the side and down across the skirt. “I can’t trust you. What size are you?”
“Medium,” Tina said automatically, just as Santana said “small.” And looked Tina up and down with one of those long, slow looks again.
“It’ll be too tight,” Tina said blankly.
“No. It’ll be just tight enough.” Santana rolled her eyes. “You need to quit wearing shit that’s two sizes too big.”
She just kept choosing dresses, more than Tina could ever imagine picking from. Some of them weren’t even white, which made her cringe imagining what Kurt would say. It seemed like they were in the store for a really long time. She had an eye on the line at the cash register, which was pretty long. From different points around the store, she watched someone walk up, wind through the queuing area, and finally check out. At that point, she’d pick another interesting person to watch. This happened six or seven times, while Tina tried not to get caught staring and made up crazy biographies for them in her head. Every time she thought that Santana had to have seen every dress in the store, she would pick through another rack. By the time she announced that it was time to try them on, they’d been shopping for over an hour.
The fitting rooms were unlike any that Tina had ever seen before. Instead of walls dividing up the stalls, there were floaty white curtains from floor to ceiling. The curtains sectioned off little squares, like a hospital ward, all along three walls. Each space had a little lime green shag throw rug and a huge framed mirror propped against the wall. The attendant gave them each a room, since the limit was six items apiece, but as soon as her back was turned Santana appeared inside Tina’s curtain and shoved all the dresses on one peg.
“Someone might see us,” Tina whispered.
“Can you see anyone else?” Santana replied. “No, because that would be totally creepy. The curtains aren’t see-through. And besides, that chick is making seven dollars an hour. It’s not worth her time to play policewoman.” She took the first dress down, and smoothed a hand across it. “Try this on.”
“I don’t think that’s what Kurt was talking about,” Tina ventured. She was eyeballing the low-cut neckline.
“You don’t need to think. You can’t even be trusted to dress yourself like a normal human. This is a good example of what I was talking about.” Santana pinched the ruffle of Tina’s blouse disdainfully. “What the hell is that?”
“It’s G-g-gothic L-lolita.” Years of faking a stutter had occasionally caused Tina to do it for real when she got nervous.
“It’s u-u-ugly.” Santana bobbed her ponytail back and forth mockingly. “This isn’t a Gwen Stefani video. Take it off.”
Tina couldn’t meet her eyes as she unbuttoned her shirt and shouldered it off. She folded the shirt over the black cube, taking a little longer than necessary.
“And the skirt, and those horrible tights.” Santana’s voice was impatient. “Would you consider burning them? You really should.”
Tina didn’t answer - she loved those tights; it had taken forever to get the runs in the right places and keep the rest intact - but stood facing Santana with her arms crossed. And steeled herself for the drag of Santana’s eyes down her body.
“Not bad,” Santana said appraisingly. “Go figure, Emo Barbie. You aren’t built like a dude under all that Hot Topic shit.”
Barefoot, Tina shifted her weight.
“All right. I’m ready.” (Her voice was betraying her again, squeaky and too high.)
“Chill out.” Santana rattled the hangers, picking through the dresses. “It’s just a compliment. I like your bra. You buy that one for Wheels?”
“No.” Tina started to say, his name is Artie. But Santana passed her an armful of frothy tulle, and put the other dress back. The new dress looked like a powderpuff.
“I’ve decided that one is definitely too slutty. This one is the best. Try it first.”
When Tina held it up the powderpuff herself, it took shape. A satiny bodice emerged, and a wide pink sash sparkling with rhinestones. What made it look so fluffy were the multiple layers of tulle forming the skirt, layered one over another so that they floated up like a cloud.
She unzipped the dress down the side, and stepped into it. The dress was shorter than it seemed, coming about two inches above her knee when she pulled it up over her chest. (She wished she had shaved her legs today.) Santana swept Tina’s hair over her opposite shoulder so she could do up the zipper.
“It fits,” she said. The I told you so was implied.
“Yeah,” Tina said. She turned one way, and then the other. The dress moved as if it had a mind of its own, the skirt swishing around her. Santana was right. It was just tight enough, tight enough to cling to Tina’s body in all the right places. The top clung to her like a second skin.
“Bra off,” Santana insisted. “You can’t tell how it looks.”
Tina obliged, unsnapping her black bra and sliding it out of the dress’s top.
“I don’t have a strapless bra,” she said. “For the performance.”
“You have enough to hold it up.” Santana zipped the dress efficiently, and slid her fingers inside the top of the dress to straighten the hem. (It looked straight already.) They were cool against Tina’s skin. And then she shocked Tina completed by cupping Tina’s breasts through the fabric. Her touch was impersonal. “You’re sixteen years old. Your boobs will never look this great again. See?”
Tina’s nipples got hard, a fact that was shamefully obvious with nothing under the dress. It wasn’t something she could control, obviously, but she was mortally embarrassed. She could feel her face turning red. Her mind went blank, hot and panicked. Santana’s hands were smoothing nonexistent wrinkles out of the sash, her hands careful and slow. Her gaze appeared to be fixed on the dress. Tina watched it all in the mirror, and therefore didn’t miss the moment when Santana’s eyes flickered up to hers, and down again. The hand on her stomach came up, grazing the line where the satin met Tina’s skin. A thumb traced the swell of Tina’s nipple. It had to be an accident. It had to be.
“Santana…” Tina started, that little piece of a name just a wisp.
“Relax.” Santana leaned close. Her breath was warm on the curve of Tina’s neck, but Tina shivered anyway. Santana’s skin was golden, and her hand was warm when she plucked a lock of hair off Tina’s bare shoulder. She twirled it in her fingers absently, her lips close enough to brush Tina’s shoulder. “You look seriously awesome. That dress is perfect.”
Tina looked in the mirror, willing herself to see what Santana did. What she saw were the two month old pink streaks in her hair, faded to the hue of a Kool-Aid rinse, and her lousy manicure and bare feet. She saw split ends and no makeup, pierced earrings that hadn’t seen anything pretty in forever, and a face wrinkled in confusion and embarrassment. Meanwhile, Santana twisted Tina’s hair up her neck in a formless chignon, and traced her collarbone with a finger.
“You could do a necklace, if you kept it simple.” It was like she was thinking out loud. “Or leave it plain. You have great bone structure.”
“Thank you,” Tina said. Her palms were sweating. By her sides, she squeezed her fingers together.
The hand up by her shoulder trailed down her side. Santana fingered the tiny pull of the zipper, meeting the reflection of Tina’s eyes. “Can I?”
It seemed suddenly like the little room was too warm, too confined. Tina’s mouth was very dry, but she managed a yeah.
Santana unzipped the top of the dress, and let it fall to Tina’s waist. The fluffy skirt stayed aloft, held up by Tina’s hips, but she was naked on top.
Tina looked up into the mirror, as if in slow motion. With the dress undone, she could see herself, topless. She was winter-pale, breasts and arms ghostly. When Santana cupped Tina’s upper arms, and rested her chin on her shoulder, the caramel smoothness of the other girl’s skin was almost startling.
“Artie wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he could see you like this.” Hot as she felt on the inside, Tina’s arms were all broken out in goosebumps. Santana’s touch feathered down towards Tina’s elbows, absently. Tina burned all over, but Santana didn’t touch her. “None of the guys at school would. Wouldn’t you like that?” She wasn’t exactly whispering, but her voice was low. Husky, furtive, and kind of dirty.
Her head was reeling, but a dim part of Tina’s brain knew that she was being tested. Scattered, amorphous thoughts flitted through her head - innuendos (there’s that crazy Asian lesbo chick!), and rumors. Santana! Something connected, and she forced her eyes open.
“Aren’t you and Brittany…” she started. “I mean, don’t you guys-”
“Britt and I are very good friends.” Santana brushed her nose against Tina’s shoulder blade, back and forth. “I don’t know what you’ve heard.”
Without Santana looking at her, it was like this was a complete secret. The fingers that ran over Tina’s sternum, grazing the underside of her breasts, could have been anyone’s. The other hand, the one picking at the tulle layers over her hips, could almost be her own. When that hand rustled under the dress, tracing hot lines up her thigh with a fingernail, a yielding wave broke over Tina, and the illusion evaporated.
“Santana,” she breathed.
Her fingers brushed the front of Tina’s underwear. Tina’s hips ground into her hand, and Santana hooked two fingers under the cloth, through the tangle of curls between Tina’s legs. She nuzzled the back of Tina’s neck until her hair parted, and mouthed the knob of skin at her nape. Tina hissed, and her body curled back against Santana’s. But Santana was strong, she was amused, she was smiling and standing firm and holding Tina up.
“You need to buy this dress.” There was the faintest catch to her voice, one that Tina would have never noticed if every molecule in her body wasn’t hyper-alert at that moment. “Trust me.”
Just then, shadows moved past the curtain as two giggling girls and what sounded like their mom took the stall next to Santana and Tina. Tina gasped, sharp and loud, and Santana laughed a little under her breath, and withdrew her fingers. She ruffled a hand in the skirt of the dress, making the fabric fly.
“Here’s the hanger. It’s thirty-five dollars, but it’s worth getting in trouble for. Don’t bother with the rest.”
She traced a finger down Tina’s back, meaningfully (like she wanted to say something). Santana took a step back, smiling in the mirror. And then she was gone, swishing around the curtain with exactly six of the rejected items and leaving Tina to gather her clothes with hands that she couldn’t get to stop shaking.
They parted ways the same way they’d met up, Santana clicking away at her Droid once they circled back by the foot court. A plastic garment bag was folded over Tina’s arm.
“I’ll, um, see you at school,” Tina said shyly.
“Yeah,” Santana looked up briefly. “Bye.”
It wasn’t awkward at school, or anything. They never interacted, so there was never the opportunity for it to get weird. On Monday, Tina’s baggy black pants and t-shirt felt like armor, like something she needed to cover herself up. It felt like there was something under her skin, a maybe something itching to escape.
When she said hello to Artie and sat by him at lunch, talking and eating her sandwich, it felt almost ready to burst.
_
Friday night arrived quickly, between school and practice.
Standing in the girls’ changing room in front of the long mirror, Tina frowned at the array of cosmetics in front of her. She struggled to recall Rachel’s instructions for the proper application of stage makeup - remember, ladies: the lights wash us out - and considered sneaking into the boys’ room to have Kurt help her out. Outside the room, the excited buzz of the rest of the glee club was a nerve-wracking hum. Why was she always running late?
Zipped into her dress and wearing a shining pair of silver slingbacks, she felt humid and underprepared. Her hair, pin-straight from the flatiron Mercedes had let her borrow, was dyed over a uniform shade of black. Little wisps stuck to her hairline, over her naked face.
She must have been giving a dumbfounded look at the mascara wand she picked up, because Santana swooped right in (as if from nowhere - Tina hadn’t even heard her come in) and plucked it out of her hand.
“Absolutely not. You don’t do eyes first - are you kidding me? You need foundation.”
Tina pursed her lip.
“…Which one is that, again?”
“I should have known that you wouldn’t be able to find anything that wasn’t, like, panda bear eyeliner.” But Santana reached around Tina, and cleared a spot on the counter. “Hop up. I’m not going to have my hard work go to shit.”
“I can-“ Tina started, but Santana cut her off with a disgruntled look and a wedge-shaped sponge.
“No. You can’t. God, why are you sweating?”
Tina squinted her eyes closed, preparing to be attacked. But Santana’s touch was light as a feather, patient as she grabbed a tissue and blotted Tina’s forehead and nose. Then, she smoothed a cool gunk all over her face and blended it with the wedge.
“If you think this is intimidating, you should try performing at Nationals when your teammates have hidden your spank pants. Where’s your shirt?” Santana asked, distractedly.
“Huh? Um, the chair behind you. Why?”
“Powder. Keeping it off the dress.” Then: “Gross. Is that a transvestite on this thing?”
Tina had to close her eyes against the fury of Santana’s huge powder brush (and against laughing at the description of her Tokio Hotel shirt). Once for something called a translucent veil, and again for blush. She couldn’t see Santana’s face so close to hers, but she could feel it. A huff escaped Santana’s lips.
“This concealer is the wrong shade,” she muttered. “And no brow pencil. I foresee a trip to Sephora in your future.”
Out came the eyelash curler. Tina must have visibly recoiled.
“Oh, stop. If I wanted to gouge out your eyeballs, I would have done it by now.”
Next, a plum eyeshadow up past the crease of Tina’s eyelid, with a lighter pink above it. Dark eyeliner, and the brush-brush-brush of the mascara spoolie.
It took a moment for Tina to realize that maybe it was done, because nothing was touching her face. She cautiously edged open one eyelid. Santana was critically appraising her work.
“One hundred percent less hideous?” Tina asked sarcastically. She was learning how this was going to be, and that she could hold her own in it.
“Shut up.”
Heart pounding, hair falling down around her face when she leaned in, Tina softly said:
“Make me.”
Santana smirked, and kissed her.
They were the only ones left in the room. Rachel had already corralled the other girls in the wings for a pep talk, undoubtedly running a head count. Tina had heard her. It was quiet outside the dressing room, but anyone could miss them and come in at any time.
Girlish and soft, Santana’s mouth was nothing like the things that tended to come out of it. Her tongue was slippery, hot, wet against Tina’s. On either side of the fluffy, white skirt, Santana’s fingernails were painted the opaque red of fresh blood. Tina had to remind herself to close her eyes, to stop staring at the fluttering of Santana’s long eyelashes. She tasted like sweet gum, the pink blocks that blew the hugest bubbles.
Tina’s lips were still hanging open when Santana pulled away, which was apparently perfect for her to slick them with a coral-colored gloss. It was in a little pot, and Santana used her fingertip to apply it. She smoothed the gloss over Tina’s mouth, her own lips parted, using the side of her thumb to edge off the excess.
“Showtime,” she whispered.
Tina walked out on spindly legs, her high heels clicking on the wooden floorboards backstage. Artie zipped by, and she almost didn’t notice him until he stopped in front of her.
“Wow,” he said softly. “Tina. You look, uh, totally glamorous.”
“Huh?” She was still dazed.
“It’s a good look for you. Not that you don’t usually - uh. Yeah. You look beautiful.”
“Thank you,” she replied. Her mind was still tangled in a waft of Santana’s perfume, and she wasn’t really thinking. “I know.”
She couldn’t believe that’s she said that, even as the second syllable fell from her shiny, lacquered mouth. But Artie was staring at her in a way that he never had. And she reflected that it was probably the least-thought out, most fearless thing she had ever said to him. (And maybe that wasn’t so bad.)
When she finally found Kurt, he clasped his hands and raised them to the ceiling fervently, as if thanking God for something. And told her: okay, fine. I totally owe Santana for this one.
Me too, Tina had said.
_
On stage (hair flat and shiny, face plucked and painted), Tina felt like a new person. The dress gave her more confidence, and she wasn’t even nervous when the music started and she faced Finn to sing only you, you're the only thing I'll see forever. The skirt swirled and floated when she spun, and glittered under the bright lights. (Worth getting in trouble for after all.) It was like it moved by itself, and Tina wasn’t even the one dancing or singing.
Halfway through the song, she glanced into the wings. Artie was parked between the curtains on stage left, watching with something like wonder. Behind him, her hands resting lightly on the handles of his chair, he couldn’t see that Santana was watching too. But she didn’t look amazed or overcome. A secret smile broke over her face, slow-blooming and tricky enough that Tina almost didn’t get the full shine of it before she had to turn away.
(And she liked pretty much all of it.)
end.
About the fic you request
Rating(s) requested: Any! Porn is all well and good, but I'd rather it not be shoehorned into a story that just doesn't ask for it.
Character(s) or pairing(s): Tina, Tina + Mercedes gen, Tina/any girl (preferred pairings would be Tina/Santana and Tina/Quinn, but won't say no to Tina/Rachel or Tina/Brittany), Kurt/Mike, non-explicit Mercedes/Quinn
Prompts (minimum of 3, no maximum!): In honestly no particular order:
1. The Prince & Me AU. Girl A is a princess from an European country of your choosing who moves to Ohio undercover to have a movie college experience; her parents don't approve of this stunt at all. Girl B is her lab partner and works at the college cafeteria where Girl A tries to get a job after her parents cut her off. Quinn/Tina would be lovely for this one, with Quinn as the princess. OR: The Prince & Me NON-AU: Girl A IS an undercover princess, and girl B finds out. Still think Quinn/Tina would be awesome for this one.
2. Anything involving make-up or girls doing each other's hair, makeovers, etc. Gen involving bonding in the mall with possibly Kurt around would be great. Femslashy dressing room porn would also be great. Anything in between? You guessed it-also awesome.
3. For Mercedes/Quinn, I was thinking the reason Mercedes was so set on keeping Puck away from Quinn was that Mercedes had a crush on Quinn and had talked herself out of it by making herself believe Quinn and Finn were MFEO. After Finn and Quinn break up, she doesn't have it so easy. Could be Mercedes and Kurt getting over their respective crushes together, actual femslash, Mercedes and Quinn bonding because Quinn has somehow grown as a person and feels bad, anything. Not really into the porn for this one, but won't be squicked if you go there.
4. An AU where Brittany is a thief like Parker from Leverage would make my LIFE. And if the fic involves Brittany having Tina as her mark without being aware of it until Tina comes back to her office because she forgot something and stumbles across Brittany during the thievery, and then them reconnecting in a dark office with Brittany still wearing camouflage or climbing gear? OMG.
5. Character A showing their love for character B through candy hearts stuck in weird places, and most of Glee being in on it with character B completely oblivious as to who their secret admirer is. :D?
6. Santana/Tina, AU, Tina's a substitute teacher and Santana tries her very best to make her really uncomfortable.
7. ...something else entirely that you want to write.
Things you DON’T want in your story (squicks, triggers, genres you dislike, characters you hate, etc.): Not much for heavy angst and unhappy endings, let alone character death, major illness, mental disease. Super kinky porn isn't really something that calls out to me in this fandom, especially because I'm mostly into high-school-setting first-time pairings (as opposed to future fic or established relationship). I'm really not into any threesome/moresome pairings in this fandom either. And I have a phobia of the end of the world, so apocalyptic stuff--please refrain?
Rating: R
Pairings/Characters: Santana/Tina, Artie/Tina
Word count: 4,400
Recipient: summerstorm
Disclaimer: Nothing Glee-related is mine!
Summary: Santana has a lot to teach Tina.
A/N: This would’ve sucked hardcore without my beta readers, B1 and B2. They know who they are. For come-to-Jesus MSN jam sessions and brutal honesty re: flatirons, they have my love and thanks. Dear summerstorm: I like your writing, and it was intimidating to write this for you. I hope you enjoy it!
By the end of the rehearsal, Tina was ready to slip away unnoticed, and had picked up her bag to do just that. Kurt quickly blocked her way.
“Do you have a white dress?” He rubbed his fingertips together, full of nervous energy. “Something virginal, but not too boring?”
“I’ve got, uh, no dresses.” Tina bit the inside of her cheek. “Except for the ones I’ve bought for performances already. Wait. I have some in black and purple?”
Kurt paled.
“You don’t own any other dresses?” he squeaked. “Oh, sweet and merciful Jesus. I’d let you borrow one from my collection, but I don’t think you’d fit with your, ah-“ he made a quick, sweeping motion at his chest. “I don’t wear them, but they’re all couture pieces. Not really meant for the backs of high school girls.”
“Why do I need a white dress?” She made a face. (And clutched her bag a little closer.)
“For ‘Tonight.’” Kurt said, all business. “I’m taking my role as the club’s elected costume chair quite seriously. The spring invitational will be my debut performance. And the duet between you and Finn is the only number I can’t figure out.”
“I didn’t realize this was such a big deal,” Tina said.
“A big deal!” Kurt looked offended. “Vocal Adrenaline will almost definitely have spies there. And they have a wardrobe budget on a par with a Hollywood blockbuster. We have to look good, and I won’t have you… sullying our image.”
“I don’t want to sully anything,” she quickly asserted, embarrassed. “This weekend. I can buy something” She was trying to keep her voice down. Artie rolled by, giving her a tense smile and a quick wave. All but dying on the inside, Tina weakly waved back.
“You most certainly cannot. Not by yourself. You need help.”
“I could take my mom?”
Kurt rolled his eyes to the heavens.
“Okay.” Tina held her hand out, like a peace offering. “I’ll ask Mercedes to come. She’s always asking me to go shopping. She’ll love it.”
“No. No, no, no.” Kurt was being obstinate. “You know that Mercedes is my soul sister. But Technicolor zebra stripes aren’t the goal here. Have you seen ‘West Side Story’? I want delicate. Romantic. Subtle…” His voice trailed off. “You. Santana. Come here.”
“What?” In typical Santana fashion, she entered the conversation with her arms crossed.
“Wednesday Addams here needs a white dress.” Kurt tilted his chin. “You’re neither delicate, romantic, nor subtle, but you can take instructions. Think you can handle the task?”
“I’d have to reschedule my Brazilian.” That wasn’t a no, which was surprising. Santana squinted at Tina, long and hard. “What do you have in mind?”
“Something Natalie Wood. A little sexy, but not slutty. Nothing too J. Lo, in other words.”
“Was that a racial thing?” she snarled, instantly defensive.
“No.” Kurt snapped his neck at her. “It’s a you dress like a ho thing.”
“Fine, Perez Hilton.” Her smile was venomous. “Never mind, then. You can take her to find a dress.”
“Or not,” he sniffed. “Suburban malls give me hives. On top of which, I’ll be checking into a day spa on Saturday so I’m glowing for the show.”
“Oh, what-the-fuck-ever.”
“Which might not be a bad idea for you to consider, too. My esthetician could probably do something with those crater-pores of yours.”
“Listen, you little bitch…”
Tina cleared her throat anxiously.
“That’s really nice of you to offer, Santana.”
“I didn’t offer.” Santana glared acidly at Kurt. “But I’ll do it. Just because I don’t feel like losing to a squad of foreign Gleeks. I prefer the hometown losers, you know?”
“I’m allowed to borrow my parents’ car on the weekends,” Tina offered. “I could pick you up.”
“I’ll meet you there,” Santana said tersely. “One o’clock.”
Kurt made a nasty comment about thunder thighs as Santana stalked off, but Tina was suddenly overcome by an overwhelming combined feeling of what the hell just happened, and why am I doing this?
_
Tina was running late. As usual. Santana had obviously come on time for their meetup, as she’d had time to buy a drink at Starbucks. The barista stared at Santana retreating like he wanted to eat her up.
“That guy was totally checking you out,” Tina said by way of greeting.
“Yeah, right?” Santana wrinkled her nose. “As if I’d consider a guy like that.”
“Why not?” Tina couldn’t help looking back herself. “He was gorgeous.”
“Eh. Hot guys are a dime a dozen.” She handed the drink to Tina without asking, and stuck the cell phone she’d wedged under her arm into her purse. “It’s March. He’s working here, which means either full-time high school grad, or student at Lima Loser CC.” Hands free, Santana took back her cup and stirred it with the straw. “Either way, total undesirable.”
Tina hadn’t considered anything like that before. She stuck her hands deep into the pockets of her gray flannel skirt, and followed Santana down the main corridor of the mall. It was really busy, with bunches of kids their age stopped in front of stores, and moms with strollers pushing whiny toddlers everywhere. Santana walked really fast.
“Thank you for coming with me,” Tina said. “I didn’t think that you’d, you know. Agree to that.”
The other girl didn’t break her stride. “Why not?”
“Well - don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re kind of mean.”
“Not to you,” Santana said flatly.
Tina opened her mouth to contest that statement, and had to close it.
“You’re invisible,” Santana told her. It wasn’t bitchy, the way she said it. It was more like a fact. “That’s way better than being a loser. We don’t socialize, but I’ve never mocked you - although, on close consideration, you probably deserve it. Is that a Hello Kitty backpack?”
The answer to that was quite obvious, so Tina kept her mouth shut.
“What’s your budget?”
“For the dress? Twenty-five dollars. I have my mom’s credit card.”
“Well, isn’t that nice.” Out of nowhere, Santana grabbed Tina’s hand, and started to haul her through the dizzying rush of Saturday shoppers. “God. I hate slow people! Follow me.”
Tina didn’t have much of a choice.
“Wheelchair Kid ask you to Spring Fling yet?” Santana called back, suddenly changing the topic. She was referring to McKinley’s annual formal.
“Umm, no.” Tina held on tight, and tried not to look at the comparison between her nails and Santana’s. She’d tried to pull off a fancy job with purple polish and black tips, but she hadn’t waited long enough for them to dry. The edges were all smudged. “We’re just friends. It’s not like that.”
“Sure,” Santana replied. It didn’t really sound affirmative at all. “If he knows you’re willing to settle for that, then yeah.”
They came to a stop outside a store Tina had never been in. It was bright and huge, with two long window displays of mannequins posed in bright, brief summer outfits. Santana dropped Tina’s hand, and Tina tried to play it cool.
“Is this a good store?” she asked.
“It’s Forever 21.” Santana rolled her eyes. “Necessary evil, since it sells twenty-dollar dresses. Gross, mostly. But still better than a twenty dollar dress from Target or Wal-Mart.”
Twenty dollars was more than Tina’d spend on any one item of clothing since she’d been shopping for herself, but she didn’t tell Santana that. She also didn’t tell her that nothing in the store looked especially gross. Way too colorful and girly for Tina, yes. But there was a big accessories display right by the entrance, and some black headbands with bows and bits of netting that were actually not terrible-
“Focus,” Santana snapped. “We are on a mission here, and Corpse Bride cosplay is not on the list.”
“Okay,” Tina said, disliking how meek her voice sounded. Then, as if she needed to erase its sound in her head: “Should we split up?”
“You’ll stay right here.” Santana was gazing critically at a straight, short white dress with a spray of embroidered flowers up the side and down across the skirt. “I can’t trust you. What size are you?”
“Medium,” Tina said automatically, just as Santana said “small.” And looked Tina up and down with one of those long, slow looks again.
“It’ll be too tight,” Tina said blankly.
“No. It’ll be just tight enough.” Santana rolled her eyes. “You need to quit wearing shit that’s two sizes too big.”
She just kept choosing dresses, more than Tina could ever imagine picking from. Some of them weren’t even white, which made her cringe imagining what Kurt would say. It seemed like they were in the store for a really long time. She had an eye on the line at the cash register, which was pretty long. From different points around the store, she watched someone walk up, wind through the queuing area, and finally check out. At that point, she’d pick another interesting person to watch. This happened six or seven times, while Tina tried not to get caught staring and made up crazy biographies for them in her head. Every time she thought that Santana had to have seen every dress in the store, she would pick through another rack. By the time she announced that it was time to try them on, they’d been shopping for over an hour.
The fitting rooms were unlike any that Tina had ever seen before. Instead of walls dividing up the stalls, there were floaty white curtains from floor to ceiling. The curtains sectioned off little squares, like a hospital ward, all along three walls. Each space had a little lime green shag throw rug and a huge framed mirror propped against the wall. The attendant gave them each a room, since the limit was six items apiece, but as soon as her back was turned Santana appeared inside Tina’s curtain and shoved all the dresses on one peg.
“Someone might see us,” Tina whispered.
“Can you see anyone else?” Santana replied. “No, because that would be totally creepy. The curtains aren’t see-through. And besides, that chick is making seven dollars an hour. It’s not worth her time to play policewoman.” She took the first dress down, and smoothed a hand across it. “Try this on.”
“I don’t think that’s what Kurt was talking about,” Tina ventured. She was eyeballing the low-cut neckline.
“You don’t need to think. You can’t even be trusted to dress yourself like a normal human. This is a good example of what I was talking about.” Santana pinched the ruffle of Tina’s blouse disdainfully. “What the hell is that?”
“It’s G-g-gothic L-lolita.” Years of faking a stutter had occasionally caused Tina to do it for real when she got nervous.
“It’s u-u-ugly.” Santana bobbed her ponytail back and forth mockingly. “This isn’t a Gwen Stefani video. Take it off.”
Tina couldn’t meet her eyes as she unbuttoned her shirt and shouldered it off. She folded the shirt over the black cube, taking a little longer than necessary.
“And the skirt, and those horrible tights.” Santana’s voice was impatient. “Would you consider burning them? You really should.”
Tina didn’t answer - she loved those tights; it had taken forever to get the runs in the right places and keep the rest intact - but stood facing Santana with her arms crossed. And steeled herself for the drag of Santana’s eyes down her body.
“Not bad,” Santana said appraisingly. “Go figure, Emo Barbie. You aren’t built like a dude under all that Hot Topic shit.”
Barefoot, Tina shifted her weight.
“All right. I’m ready.” (Her voice was betraying her again, squeaky and too high.)
“Chill out.” Santana rattled the hangers, picking through the dresses. “It’s just a compliment. I like your bra. You buy that one for Wheels?”
“No.” Tina started to say, his name is Artie. But Santana passed her an armful of frothy tulle, and put the other dress back. The new dress looked like a powderpuff.
“I’ve decided that one is definitely too slutty. This one is the best. Try it first.”
When Tina held it up the powderpuff herself, it took shape. A satiny bodice emerged, and a wide pink sash sparkling with rhinestones. What made it look so fluffy were the multiple layers of tulle forming the skirt, layered one over another so that they floated up like a cloud.
She unzipped the dress down the side, and stepped into it. The dress was shorter than it seemed, coming about two inches above her knee when she pulled it up over her chest. (She wished she had shaved her legs today.) Santana swept Tina’s hair over her opposite shoulder so she could do up the zipper.
“It fits,” she said. The I told you so was implied.
“Yeah,” Tina said. She turned one way, and then the other. The dress moved as if it had a mind of its own, the skirt swishing around her. Santana was right. It was just tight enough, tight enough to cling to Tina’s body in all the right places. The top clung to her like a second skin.
“Bra off,” Santana insisted. “You can’t tell how it looks.”
Tina obliged, unsnapping her black bra and sliding it out of the dress’s top.
“I don’t have a strapless bra,” she said. “For the performance.”
“You have enough to hold it up.” Santana zipped the dress efficiently, and slid her fingers inside the top of the dress to straighten the hem. (It looked straight already.) They were cool against Tina’s skin. And then she shocked Tina completed by cupping Tina’s breasts through the fabric. Her touch was impersonal. “You’re sixteen years old. Your boobs will never look this great again. See?”
Tina’s nipples got hard, a fact that was shamefully obvious with nothing under the dress. It wasn’t something she could control, obviously, but she was mortally embarrassed. She could feel her face turning red. Her mind went blank, hot and panicked. Santana’s hands were smoothing nonexistent wrinkles out of the sash, her hands careful and slow. Her gaze appeared to be fixed on the dress. Tina watched it all in the mirror, and therefore didn’t miss the moment when Santana’s eyes flickered up to hers, and down again. The hand on her stomach came up, grazing the line where the satin met Tina’s skin. A thumb traced the swell of Tina’s nipple. It had to be an accident. It had to be.
“Santana…” Tina started, that little piece of a name just a wisp.
“Relax.” Santana leaned close. Her breath was warm on the curve of Tina’s neck, but Tina shivered anyway. Santana’s skin was golden, and her hand was warm when she plucked a lock of hair off Tina’s bare shoulder. She twirled it in her fingers absently, her lips close enough to brush Tina’s shoulder. “You look seriously awesome. That dress is perfect.”
Tina looked in the mirror, willing herself to see what Santana did. What she saw were the two month old pink streaks in her hair, faded to the hue of a Kool-Aid rinse, and her lousy manicure and bare feet. She saw split ends and no makeup, pierced earrings that hadn’t seen anything pretty in forever, and a face wrinkled in confusion and embarrassment. Meanwhile, Santana twisted Tina’s hair up her neck in a formless chignon, and traced her collarbone with a finger.
“You could do a necklace, if you kept it simple.” It was like she was thinking out loud. “Or leave it plain. You have great bone structure.”
“Thank you,” Tina said. Her palms were sweating. By her sides, she squeezed her fingers together.
The hand up by her shoulder trailed down her side. Santana fingered the tiny pull of the zipper, meeting the reflection of Tina’s eyes. “Can I?”
It seemed suddenly like the little room was too warm, too confined. Tina’s mouth was very dry, but she managed a yeah.
Santana unzipped the top of the dress, and let it fall to Tina’s waist. The fluffy skirt stayed aloft, held up by Tina’s hips, but she was naked on top.
Tina looked up into the mirror, as if in slow motion. With the dress undone, she could see herself, topless. She was winter-pale, breasts and arms ghostly. When Santana cupped Tina’s upper arms, and rested her chin on her shoulder, the caramel smoothness of the other girl’s skin was almost startling.
“Artie wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he could see you like this.” Hot as she felt on the inside, Tina’s arms were all broken out in goosebumps. Santana’s touch feathered down towards Tina’s elbows, absently. Tina burned all over, but Santana didn’t touch her. “None of the guys at school would. Wouldn’t you like that?” She wasn’t exactly whispering, but her voice was low. Husky, furtive, and kind of dirty.
Her head was reeling, but a dim part of Tina’s brain knew that she was being tested. Scattered, amorphous thoughts flitted through her head - innuendos (there’s that crazy Asian lesbo chick!), and rumors. Santana! Something connected, and she forced her eyes open.
“Aren’t you and Brittany…” she started. “I mean, don’t you guys-”
“Britt and I are very good friends.” Santana brushed her nose against Tina’s shoulder blade, back and forth. “I don’t know what you’ve heard.”
Without Santana looking at her, it was like this was a complete secret. The fingers that ran over Tina’s sternum, grazing the underside of her breasts, could have been anyone’s. The other hand, the one picking at the tulle layers over her hips, could almost be her own. When that hand rustled under the dress, tracing hot lines up her thigh with a fingernail, a yielding wave broke over Tina, and the illusion evaporated.
“Santana,” she breathed.
Her fingers brushed the front of Tina’s underwear. Tina’s hips ground into her hand, and Santana hooked two fingers under the cloth, through the tangle of curls between Tina’s legs. She nuzzled the back of Tina’s neck until her hair parted, and mouthed the knob of skin at her nape. Tina hissed, and her body curled back against Santana’s. But Santana was strong, she was amused, she was smiling and standing firm and holding Tina up.
“You need to buy this dress.” There was the faintest catch to her voice, one that Tina would have never noticed if every molecule in her body wasn’t hyper-alert at that moment. “Trust me.”
Just then, shadows moved past the curtain as two giggling girls and what sounded like their mom took the stall next to Santana and Tina. Tina gasped, sharp and loud, and Santana laughed a little under her breath, and withdrew her fingers. She ruffled a hand in the skirt of the dress, making the fabric fly.
“Here’s the hanger. It’s thirty-five dollars, but it’s worth getting in trouble for. Don’t bother with the rest.”
She traced a finger down Tina’s back, meaningfully (like she wanted to say something). Santana took a step back, smiling in the mirror. And then she was gone, swishing around the curtain with exactly six of the rejected items and leaving Tina to gather her clothes with hands that she couldn’t get to stop shaking.
They parted ways the same way they’d met up, Santana clicking away at her Droid once they circled back by the foot court. A plastic garment bag was folded over Tina’s arm.
“I’ll, um, see you at school,” Tina said shyly.
“Yeah,” Santana looked up briefly. “Bye.”
It wasn’t awkward at school, or anything. They never interacted, so there was never the opportunity for it to get weird. On Monday, Tina’s baggy black pants and t-shirt felt like armor, like something she needed to cover herself up. It felt like there was something under her skin, a maybe something itching to escape.
When she said hello to Artie and sat by him at lunch, talking and eating her sandwich, it felt almost ready to burst.
_
Friday night arrived quickly, between school and practice.
Standing in the girls’ changing room in front of the long mirror, Tina frowned at the array of cosmetics in front of her. She struggled to recall Rachel’s instructions for the proper application of stage makeup - remember, ladies: the lights wash us out - and considered sneaking into the boys’ room to have Kurt help her out. Outside the room, the excited buzz of the rest of the glee club was a nerve-wracking hum. Why was she always running late?
Zipped into her dress and wearing a shining pair of silver slingbacks, she felt humid and underprepared. Her hair, pin-straight from the flatiron Mercedes had let her borrow, was dyed over a uniform shade of black. Little wisps stuck to her hairline, over her naked face.
She must have been giving a dumbfounded look at the mascara wand she picked up, because Santana swooped right in (as if from nowhere - Tina hadn’t even heard her come in) and plucked it out of her hand.
“Absolutely not. You don’t do eyes first - are you kidding me? You need foundation.”
Tina pursed her lip.
“…Which one is that, again?”
“I should have known that you wouldn’t be able to find anything that wasn’t, like, panda bear eyeliner.” But Santana reached around Tina, and cleared a spot on the counter. “Hop up. I’m not going to have my hard work go to shit.”
“I can-“ Tina started, but Santana cut her off with a disgruntled look and a wedge-shaped sponge.
“No. You can’t. God, why are you sweating?”
Tina squinted her eyes closed, preparing to be attacked. But Santana’s touch was light as a feather, patient as she grabbed a tissue and blotted Tina’s forehead and nose. Then, she smoothed a cool gunk all over her face and blended it with the wedge.
“If you think this is intimidating, you should try performing at Nationals when your teammates have hidden your spank pants. Where’s your shirt?” Santana asked, distractedly.
“Huh? Um, the chair behind you. Why?”
“Powder. Keeping it off the dress.” Then: “Gross. Is that a transvestite on this thing?”
Tina had to close her eyes against the fury of Santana’s huge powder brush (and against laughing at the description of her Tokio Hotel shirt). Once for something called a translucent veil, and again for blush. She couldn’t see Santana’s face so close to hers, but she could feel it. A huff escaped Santana’s lips.
“This concealer is the wrong shade,” she muttered. “And no brow pencil. I foresee a trip to Sephora in your future.”
Out came the eyelash curler. Tina must have visibly recoiled.
“Oh, stop. If I wanted to gouge out your eyeballs, I would have done it by now.”
Next, a plum eyeshadow up past the crease of Tina’s eyelid, with a lighter pink above it. Dark eyeliner, and the brush-brush-brush of the mascara spoolie.
It took a moment for Tina to realize that maybe it was done, because nothing was touching her face. She cautiously edged open one eyelid. Santana was critically appraising her work.
“One hundred percent less hideous?” Tina asked sarcastically. She was learning how this was going to be, and that she could hold her own in it.
“Shut up.”
Heart pounding, hair falling down around her face when she leaned in, Tina softly said:
“Make me.”
Santana smirked, and kissed her.
They were the only ones left in the room. Rachel had already corralled the other girls in the wings for a pep talk, undoubtedly running a head count. Tina had heard her. It was quiet outside the dressing room, but anyone could miss them and come in at any time.
Girlish and soft, Santana’s mouth was nothing like the things that tended to come out of it. Her tongue was slippery, hot, wet against Tina’s. On either side of the fluffy, white skirt, Santana’s fingernails were painted the opaque red of fresh blood. Tina had to remind herself to close her eyes, to stop staring at the fluttering of Santana’s long eyelashes. She tasted like sweet gum, the pink blocks that blew the hugest bubbles.
Tina’s lips were still hanging open when Santana pulled away, which was apparently perfect for her to slick them with a coral-colored gloss. It was in a little pot, and Santana used her fingertip to apply it. She smoothed the gloss over Tina’s mouth, her own lips parted, using the side of her thumb to edge off the excess.
“Showtime,” she whispered.
Tina walked out on spindly legs, her high heels clicking on the wooden floorboards backstage. Artie zipped by, and she almost didn’t notice him until he stopped in front of her.
“Wow,” he said softly. “Tina. You look, uh, totally glamorous.”
“Huh?” She was still dazed.
“It’s a good look for you. Not that you don’t usually - uh. Yeah. You look beautiful.”
“Thank you,” she replied. Her mind was still tangled in a waft of Santana’s perfume, and she wasn’t really thinking. “I know.”
She couldn’t believe that’s she said that, even as the second syllable fell from her shiny, lacquered mouth. But Artie was staring at her in a way that he never had. And she reflected that it was probably the least-thought out, most fearless thing she had ever said to him. (And maybe that wasn’t so bad.)
When she finally found Kurt, he clasped his hands and raised them to the ceiling fervently, as if thanking God for something. And told her: okay, fine. I totally owe Santana for this one.
Me too, Tina had said.
_
On stage (hair flat and shiny, face plucked and painted), Tina felt like a new person. The dress gave her more confidence, and she wasn’t even nervous when the music started and she faced Finn to sing only you, you're the only thing I'll see forever. The skirt swirled and floated when she spun, and glittered under the bright lights. (Worth getting in trouble for after all.) It was like it moved by itself, and Tina wasn’t even the one dancing or singing.
Halfway through the song, she glanced into the wings. Artie was parked between the curtains on stage left, watching with something like wonder. Behind him, her hands resting lightly on the handles of his chair, he couldn’t see that Santana was watching too. But she didn’t look amazed or overcome. A secret smile broke over her face, slow-blooming and tricky enough that Tina almost didn’t get the full shine of it before she had to turn away.
(And she liked pretty much all of it.)
end.
About the fic you request
Rating(s) requested: Any! Porn is all well and good, but I'd rather it not be shoehorned into a story that just doesn't ask for it.
Character(s) or pairing(s): Tina, Tina + Mercedes gen, Tina/any girl (preferred pairings would be Tina/Santana and Tina/Quinn, but won't say no to Tina/Rachel or Tina/Brittany), Kurt/Mike, non-explicit Mercedes/Quinn
Prompts (minimum of 3, no maximum!): In honestly no particular order:
1. The Prince & Me AU. Girl A is a princess from an European country of your choosing who moves to Ohio undercover to have a movie college experience; her parents don't approve of this stunt at all. Girl B is her lab partner and works at the college cafeteria where Girl A tries to get a job after her parents cut her off. Quinn/Tina would be lovely for this one, with Quinn as the princess. OR: The Prince & Me NON-AU: Girl A IS an undercover princess, and girl B finds out. Still think Quinn/Tina would be awesome for this one.
2. Anything involving make-up or girls doing each other's hair, makeovers, etc. Gen involving bonding in the mall with possibly Kurt around would be great. Femslashy dressing room porn would also be great. Anything in between? You guessed it-also awesome.
3. For Mercedes/Quinn, I was thinking the reason Mercedes was so set on keeping Puck away from Quinn was that Mercedes had a crush on Quinn and had talked herself out of it by making herself believe Quinn and Finn were MFEO. After Finn and Quinn break up, she doesn't have it so easy. Could be Mercedes and Kurt getting over their respective crushes together, actual femslash, Mercedes and Quinn bonding because Quinn has somehow grown as a person and feels bad, anything. Not really into the porn for this one, but won't be squicked if you go there.
4. An AU where Brittany is a thief like Parker from Leverage would make my LIFE. And if the fic involves Brittany having Tina as her mark without being aware of it until Tina comes back to her office because she forgot something and stumbles across Brittany during the thievery, and then them reconnecting in a dark office with Brittany still wearing camouflage or climbing gear? OMG.
5. Character A showing their love for character B through candy hearts stuck in weird places, and most of Glee being in on it with character B completely oblivious as to who their secret admirer is. :D?
6. Santana/Tina, AU, Tina's a substitute teacher and Santana tries her very best to make her really uncomfortable.
7. ...something else entirely that you want to write.
Things you DON’T want in your story (squicks, triggers, genres you dislike, characters you hate, etc.): Not much for heavy angst and unhappy endings, let alone character death, major illness, mental disease. Super kinky porn isn't really something that calls out to me in this fandom, especially because I'm mostly into high-school-setting first-time pairings (as opposed to future fic or established relationship). I'm really not into any threesome/moresome pairings in this fandom either. And I have a phobia of the end of the world, so apocalyptic stuff--please refrain?