(no subject)
Warnings: non-con, pregnancy, possible abortion, child of rape
Pairing: Santtany (I like how that sounds more than Brittana, okay?)
For this prompt at the Glee Angst Meme.
Title is from "Mean," by Taylor Swift. Yes, I do come up with titles at the spur of the moment based on what song I'm listening to.
Ironically enough, she was at Brittany’s house watching “Meet the Fockers” when the blonde brought up the subject of meeting her mother.
“Sure,” Santana replied agreeably, kissing Brittany’s forehead. They went back to watching the movie as if nothing had happened.
The calm before the storm.
The storm hits an hour before Santana’s to go over. Clothes are scattered haphazardly around her room, her hair was slick with nervous sweat and refusing to lie still, and the whole room was toohot, toohot, toohot.
“Are you ready?” Brittany asked from outside the room.
“What do I wear?” Santana hated how hysterical she sounded, but she had never met someone’s parents before, never mind the parents of somebody she actually cared about.
“Well, my first date was with Elmo, and Mom liked him. He didn’t wear anything. Maybe you shouldn’t wear anything.”
For some reason, Santana didn’t think that’s going to work very well.
“Let me in,” Brittany says again, and Santana does, despite her state of undress. It wasn’t as if they had never seen each other in the nude before. Brittany walked in and picked out a blue wrap skirt and a sunshine-colored tank top. “You would look nice in this,” Brittany said, handing them over to Santana.
“Thanks, Britt,” Santana replied, getting dressed. A once-over in the mirror left her groaning in frustration again, this time at her wild hair.
“Do you want me to brush it for you?” Brittany asked. Santana relaxed immediately. Brittany could act like she was on a different train of thought (if not a different mode of transportation altogether) from most people, but sometimes that train was more accurate than others.
“Sure,” Santana sat down gratefully, and let Brittany brush her hair. Each stroke brought her heart rate down incrementally, until she was ready to fall asleep. “Thanks, Britt,” she said again, much more quietly this time. Brittany didn’t pause in her humming Katy Perry’s “Peacock,” and she was going to strangle that hobbit for introducing her girl to that singer but she did start dancing slightly, swaying her hips in a way that kept Santana’s eyes on them, and slightly distracted even after her hair had been tied back in a ponytail.
“Ready to go?” Brittany asked, holding out her hand. She was wearing a light blue dress that stopped above her knees, with cotton-ball clouds all over it.
“Ready,” Santana took Brittany’s hand and they walked off together.
Dinner was the best spaghetti and meatballs Santana ever had, with a “You better treat my girl right” appetizer that would fuel Santana’s nightmares for days and Brittany’s peanut butter cookies for dessert. Other than the speech, however, Santana couldn’t have had a better time. She loved the way Brittany interacted with her mother and hoped that her (and Brittany’s?) future children could have as good of a relationship with her. After promising Ms. Pierce that they wouldn’t do anything inappropriate and coming up with ways to be quiet, they were both heading up to Brittany’s room.
“Your mom can be kind of scary, you know,” Santana said once they lied down. She flushed crimson. Trust her to ruin a perfectly wonderful night.
“She just wants to protect me,” Brittany said.
“Yeah, but isn’t that your dad’s job?” Santana asked.
“That’s why Mom wants to protect me. She didn’t like Dad. He made her make me,” Brittany replied.
Santana blinked. That sentence didn’t sound right. “Britt, could you…” she bit her lip. “What does that mean?”
“It means, Mom met Dad in at a party, he gave her lots of alcohol, and he had sex with her when she couldn’t say no.”
Okay, this was going to fuel Santana’s nightmares for days. “Are you serious? Your mother was raped?”
Brittany nodded. “Yeah,” her voice was different, subdued, as if she understood the magnitude of what she was saying. “She loves me,” she added, starting to sound a little upset.
“I know,” Santana said, automatically reaching out to pat Brittany’s hair soothingly. Watching the two interact made that obvious. “I know.”
Brittany started to tremble, and Santana stopped her hand. “Does this change us?” Brittany asked.
Santana was proud that her hesitation came only from shock. “No,” Santana promised. “I love you,” she said, kissing Brittany’s hair. And it really wouldn’t. If it didn’t change the relationship Ms. Pierce had with her daughter, it wouldn’t change the relationship Santana had with Ms. Pierce’s daughter.
Brittany stopped trembling and relaxed. “I love you, too,” Brittany said, falling into a deep sleep. Santana followed not long after.
Pairing: Santtany (I like how that sounds more than Brittana, okay?)
For this prompt at the Glee Angst Meme.
Title is from "Mean," by Taylor Swift. Yes, I do come up with titles at the spur of the moment based on what song I'm listening to.
Ironically enough, she was at Brittany’s house watching “Meet the Fockers” when the blonde brought up the subject of meeting her mother.
“Sure,” Santana replied agreeably, kissing Brittany’s forehead. They went back to watching the movie as if nothing had happened.
The calm before the storm.
The storm hits an hour before Santana’s to go over. Clothes are scattered haphazardly around her room, her hair was slick with nervous sweat and refusing to lie still, and the whole room was toohot, toohot, toohot.
“Are you ready?” Brittany asked from outside the room.
“What do I wear?” Santana hated how hysterical she sounded, but she had never met someone’s parents before, never mind the parents of somebody she actually cared about.
“Well, my first date was with Elmo, and Mom liked him. He didn’t wear anything. Maybe you shouldn’t wear anything.”
For some reason, Santana didn’t think that’s going to work very well.
“Let me in,” Brittany says again, and Santana does, despite her state of undress. It wasn’t as if they had never seen each other in the nude before. Brittany walked in and picked out a blue wrap skirt and a sunshine-colored tank top. “You would look nice in this,” Brittany said, handing them over to Santana.
“Thanks, Britt,” Santana replied, getting dressed. A once-over in the mirror left her groaning in frustration again, this time at her wild hair.
“Do you want me to brush it for you?” Brittany asked. Santana relaxed immediately. Brittany could act like she was on a different train of thought (if not a different mode of transportation altogether) from most people, but sometimes that train was more accurate than others.
“Sure,” Santana sat down gratefully, and let Brittany brush her hair. Each stroke brought her heart rate down incrementally, until she was ready to fall asleep. “Thanks, Britt,” she said again, much more quietly this time. Brittany didn’t pause in her humming Katy Perry’s “Peacock,” and she was going to strangle that hobbit for introducing her girl to that singer but she did start dancing slightly, swaying her hips in a way that kept Santana’s eyes on them, and slightly distracted even after her hair had been tied back in a ponytail.
“Ready to go?” Brittany asked, holding out her hand. She was wearing a light blue dress that stopped above her knees, with cotton-ball clouds all over it.
“Ready,” Santana took Brittany’s hand and they walked off together.
Dinner was the best spaghetti and meatballs Santana ever had, with a “You better treat my girl right” appetizer that would fuel Santana’s nightmares for days and Brittany’s peanut butter cookies for dessert. Other than the speech, however, Santana couldn’t have had a better time. She loved the way Brittany interacted with her mother and hoped that her (and Brittany’s?) future children could have as good of a relationship with her. After promising Ms. Pierce that they wouldn’t do anything inappropriate and coming up with ways to be quiet, they were both heading up to Brittany’s room.
“Your mom can be kind of scary, you know,” Santana said once they lied down. She flushed crimson. Trust her to ruin a perfectly wonderful night.
“She just wants to protect me,” Brittany said.
“Yeah, but isn’t that your dad’s job?” Santana asked.
“That’s why Mom wants to protect me. She didn’t like Dad. He made her make me,” Brittany replied.
Santana blinked. That sentence didn’t sound right. “Britt, could you…” she bit her lip. “What does that mean?”
“It means, Mom met Dad in at a party, he gave her lots of alcohol, and he had sex with her when she couldn’t say no.”
Okay, this was going to fuel Santana’s nightmares for days. “Are you serious? Your mother was raped?”
Brittany nodded. “Yeah,” her voice was different, subdued, as if she understood the magnitude of what she was saying. “She loves me,” she added, starting to sound a little upset.
“I know,” Santana said, automatically reaching out to pat Brittany’s hair soothingly. Watching the two interact made that obvious. “I know.”
Brittany started to tremble, and Santana stopped her hand. “Does this change us?” Brittany asked.
Santana was proud that her hesitation came only from shock. “No,” Santana promised. “I love you,” she said, kissing Brittany’s hair. And it really wouldn’t. If it didn’t change the relationship Ms. Pierce had with her daughter, it wouldn’t change the relationship Santana had with Ms. Pierce’s daughter.
Brittany stopped trembling and relaxed. “I love you, too,” Brittany said, falling into a deep sleep. Santana followed not long after.