#thread.all

Santana suited up in her sexy nurse outfit she wore a couple Halloween’s ago before driving over to Britney’s house. Top forty played to only be drowned out like adults in Charlie Brown cartoons, as her thoughts became the only mind consuming beat in her head. There was an anticipation that bordered on a well-deserved call to a real nurse on the account of tummy problems. It was like butterfly wings were unleashing a tickle warfare on the lining of her stomach - damn butterflies, damn Britney and her cuteness. 

It was a constant train of thought murmured in her mind as she got closer to Britt’s, than to Brittney’s, then suddenly, it was a trembling bass in her ears as she was opening the doors to Brittney’s room - and like that, it was gone when she saw the beauty queen curled up in the bed. The twisted grip of her mouth lapsed into a giddy grin, “I missed you,” she sighed happily, closing he door behind her, and crawling into it next to Brittney. “I brought all your faves in my handy dandy kit, including me dressed like this.” She rambled on giddily, stretching out her arms and waving her hand over the tight ensemble for Brittney to check her out in - hoping she would take the bait.

Comfy sexy was a whole color coded section in Santana’s walk-in closet. Silk, cotton, bright colors, classic red’s and pure white’s - something for every occasion. In this particular occasion, a blue silk bedtime set was perfect. The flimsy straps of the tank top ushered off her round shoulders with the most trivial pivot or stride of her lithe arms. The shorts had a slit on either side, so they didn’t suffocate her curves like some of her other attire, but it lay gently, while still inviting. After dressing, bitterly running a straightener through her roots that were crying out for a relaxer, and setting up the room for Quinn’s arrival, she pondered over her movie collection. 

Perfectly plucked eyebrows lie cinched, mouth wormed itself into a tight plot - concentration defined in every crevice of her face as she asked herself, “Star Wars, or Star Wrecked: The Clit Wars.” Finally, after a few more chants of the question, she decided, “Star Wars, it’s definitely a Star Wars kind of night.” 

While of course Santana never minded bringing the mood full-frontal (pun intended), tonight she was excited to hang out with Q before, between, and after the possibilities of whatever would happen. The blonde beauty had always been a rough light (think epileptic seizure causing flickers from a questionable truck stop bathroom) in her life. But, as Santana thought about it, it seemed like forever since she’d gotten to see Quinn in a private setting, or even in her usual settings; Friday night parties, morning mug reports, all of her usual spots. Santana had noticed, thought about it, and filed it away as her working too much, but now, she was re-opening the notes, and slightly concerned her friend might be working too much. 

Thigh high socks, a sinfully short skirt (she’s talking peek a boo cheeks), six inch heels, and a simple white tube top to finish off the sultry, but ‘innocent’ ensemble. Her was pinned upwards, a few perfectly placed strands of hair to frame her face. Lips nude, but a gloss with a tint of pink rolled onto the full, and certified DSL’s plumped and puckered on her exquisite facial features. While she practically oozed sex, it was her demeanor that enabled her to metaphorical halo to shine bright. While Santana was skilled in various topics, she excelled when it came to men. And her ‘purity’ with a heavy hint of sexual innuendos practically had them eating out of the palm of her hand, and Sam was no exception.  

Santana thought an Oscar or five could suffice for the amazing her acting was, and had been for the last few years. Even her walk; she didn’t pounce when she was being the ‘Marsha Fucking Brady’ of the UES, she was practically floating. The metaphorical wings were flapping, halo gleaming, and the choir singing. And as she walked into Sam’s building every pair of eyes were on her, wishing, waiting, and perving. Santana smiled, the one that had the slightest hint of her dimples. Pink cheeks high as she batted her eyelashes at the few people good enough for to even pretend to care about for half a second. Once Santana was on Sam’s floor she didn’t miss a beat when she got this door. Two knocks as she waited. Shoulders back, and the innocence oozing, instead of devilish connotations that is constantly a heavy haze over her aura.

Quinn was prepared to rear her stubborn head fueled by spite and jealousy when Finn arrived. She was aghast he had lied, again. She felt powerless in a situation she had come to be in control of; well usually. Perplexed why it was always her he was lying about. The fact he tried to some how dismay the argument to it being her fault was a toss between laughable and stupid to Quinn. Yes, stupid, or another momentum to add to her collection of why Finn was part - and sometimes all - idiot now a days. She rolled her green eyes in her socket, a humorless chuckle as she read over the text again. It was important to focus her attention on irritation and anger; it was comfortable and kept her in control. But fixating on the bundle of nerves doting along hurt, upset, and scared she was losing him made her feel weak, and she had more then enough of that pesky feeling.

Between near tears on the phone with Puck, and constantly tip toeing along the lines of frustrated tears or one coming from a place of sadness, she needed to buck up. That's exactly what intended to do. Slipping on a white summer dress that fell just past her butt, small straps upholding the top, but enabling an innocent amount of cleavage to bloom from the top. Her long blonde hair was straight, but whisked into a deep side part from the constant invasion of her fingers grabbing or tossing it around in stress. Her infamous cross hung from her neck and she spritz on Finn's favorite perfume on the key spots of her neck. She looked beautiful, even if her thighs were borderline horrendous big, arms seemed slightly flabby exposed in the small top and she swore the slightest Lucy chin was bubbling beneath her one chin; she had to stop eating, this was getting ridiculous. Hopefully Finn wouldn't noticed, hopefully he was still under the allusion of her angelic features being perfection; or maybe this is why he was pulling away. It had to be, it was because she was getting fat.