Tarot Challenge Drabbles #5-#9
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Brittany/Santana
Rating: PG through to NC-17
Summary: Brittany/Santana drabbles for Tarot Card Challenge ( Link to table)
Warning: Buffy spoilers, kinda not really.
Tarot Card Challenge
Prompt: #5 The Heirophant
Rating: PG
Word Count: 250
Santana had never been a religious person, and neither had her family. But they were Catholic. Her father had been deeply religious and her mother had been brought up Catholic, but she denounced it around the same time she ran away from home. Even though her mother had at least five rants on the subject (one of Santana’s favourite memories of her parents together was their almost nightly religious debates), she still went to church and lit a candle every year on the day Santana’s father died. Because despite the fact that neither Santana, her brother, or her mother believed in God, they were Catholic, and sometimes it was hard to forget. Mostly it was when things got hard that Santana would send a quick guilt ridden thought up to the sky, like when her brother broke his arm. She’d seen him lying in hospital, white even against the sheets, and thought he was going to die too. Or when she (don’t tell anyone) nearly hadn’t been chosen for the Cheerio squad in her freshman year because she didn’t quite land her double handspring. But the moments she believed in God the most devoutly were always easy peaceful ones, with Brittany’s head pillowed up on her shoulder, her breath blowing a cool even rhythm across Santana’s bare chest as she sent a brief but fervent thankyou up at the ceiling. She just didn’t know how it could be possible for her to have made it here without some outside help.
Tarot Card Challenge
Prompt: #6 The Lovers
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 250
Brittany had an uncanny ability to always smell like peach schnapps. Santana was pretty sure she hadn’t had any, because hello, it was Puck’s party, they were lucky if he bothered to get anything but beer, but she hesitated, her fingers poised, and licked her lips. No. Definitely peach schnapps.
“What are you doing?” Brittany hissed, her hips bucking to get those fingers back, and Santana smirked, holding them precariously just inside her.
“Let’s play,” Santana said, her smirk widening when Brittany groaned, her hands tightening around fistfuls of sheet.
“Let’s not and say we did.”
“I don’t think you’re in any…position to be suggesting anything,” Santana said, admiring exactly what position Brittany was in, knees up and spread achingly wide.
“Payback will be a bitch,” Brittany reminded her.
“Looking forward to it. But you won’t get the chance for…oh, a good long while.”
“I hate you,” Brittany groaned, whining when Santana took her fingers away. “No, no, take it back, love you, love you lots.”
Santana would have laughed, but it didn’t seem funny anymore, so before Brittany could put words to her widening eyes, Santana pushed all three fingers inside, hard, curling the fingertips and pressing upwards. Brittany’s breath was a squeak going in and a moan going out, and she rolled her hips towards Santana’s hand, matching the fierce rhythm she set. Santana dipped her head and hummed if I had my little way, I’d eat peaches every day against her clit, and watched her come undone.
Tarot Card Challenge
Prompt: #7 The Chariot
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 250
Sue Sylvester was a conniving sonofabitch at the top of her game, your game, and everyone else’s game. She’d never lost the game. She’d given so little thought to winning the game that she’d been awarded the winning title in a small ceremony near Honolulu, accompanied by the groans of the audience as they continuously lost. Sue Sylvester did not get to be this way without the ability to see what was going on under her nose. Sue Sylvester knew that there was only one reason why two teenagers with far too many hormones would stay back in the changing rooms for twenty minutes after the last of their teammates left. Sue Sylvester knew that friendship bracelets usually weren’t from Tiffany’s, and nor did they usually have engraved heart pendants. Sue Sylvester knew what that softening in Santana’s eyes meant, just as she knew what was meant by that brightening of an already far too bright grin. To be frank, it sickened her. Fondness was frowned upon in her Cheerios, but that L-word? That was banished. But Sue Sylvester allowed it, because Santana Lopez was fairly crafty herself and when she called them both into her office after their freshman year was over all she had to do was pointedly look at their joined hands for Santana to sink lower in her seat. Brittany was an easy way of keeping her Cheerio in line, and besides. Santana and Brittany? They were far from sneaky with their gay for each other.
Tarot Card Challenge
Prompt: #8 Justice & #9 The Hermit
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 250 & 250
"Hey Spike. Drusilla," Quinn said, nodding at Santana and Brittany in turn.
"Stop that," Santana hissed, sitting down and smiling at Brittany.
"Wha-"
"Don't worry about Q," Santana told her, her face gentle. “Go get me one of those ice-creams, babe?"
"Change your mind?" Brittany asked, standing back up again, letting her fingers untangle from Santana's when she was a step away, both their arms outstretched towards each other.
She turned without waiting for a reply and when she was out of earshot, Santana said, "Seriously, Q, what's your deal? If you've got a problem with me, fine, but leave B out of it."
"Brittany is my problem. You've gone soft.”
“I have not! I’m allowed to fuck people up whilst fucking someone, the two aren’t mutually exclusive.”
“Oh, don’t lie to yourself. This…thing you and B have, it isn’t about sex anymore. You broke up with Puck."
"He had a bad credit rating," Santana mumbled, tracing a finger around the rim of her cup.
"You're not thinking ahead here. What're you going to do, move to Canada? Grow up, S.”
“Are we seriously having this conversation right now? Fuck, Q, it’s not like I’m planning to elope and live in a goddamn treehouse with her.”
“You love her.”
“So?” Santana said defensively.
“Look, just…have you even thought about it? Spike and Dru didn’t end well, that’s all I’m saying.”
“Oh, for…would you stop with that! Geek.”
“Tramp.”
“Buffy.”
Quinn’s mouth widened into a horrified ‘o’ and Santana nodded smugly.
**
Still, Quinn had a point. Not about the Drusilla thing. Maybe the Spike thing. She could totally be Spike, so long as she didn’t have to have that hair; she wasn’t sure she could pull that look off. Santana’s arms were folded under her head as she lay on her bed, Brittany’s head resting on the swell of her breast. It was a very familiar position, but Santana’s eyes were wide at the ceiling. She really hadn’t thought about what would happen, after school was done. Brittany zig-zagged a finger across Santana’s stomach and sighed. “What’s up, S?”
“Q said something…” Santana trailed off and Brittany rolled her eyes. She never felt more like hitting something than when she was trying to make Santana talk about feelings.
“Q says a lot of somethings.”
“Have you thought about what’s going to happen? After we graduate?”
Brittany sucked in a breath and lifted her head, nearly nose to nose with her. She put a finger on Santana’s lips. “You’re thinking too much,” she said, lifting the finger to kiss her softly. Santana’s throat tightened.
“So you have.”
“Don’t, San. We’ve got two more years.” It went unsaid that after that, Santana would be at college and Brittany wouldn’t be. It went unsaid that after that, this thing that they did, sleep with each other and sleep with everyone else, it probably wouldn’t work in the real world. So Santana let Brittany kiss her into distraction, because there wasn’t anything left to say.
Pairing: Brittany/Santana
Rating: PG through to NC-17
Summary: Brittany/Santana drabbles for Tarot Card Challenge ( Link to table)
Warning: Buffy spoilers, kinda not really.
Tarot Card Challenge
Prompt: #5 The Heirophant
Rating: PG
Word Count: 250
Santana had never been a religious person, and neither had her family. But they were Catholic. Her father had been deeply religious and her mother had been brought up Catholic, but she denounced it around the same time she ran away from home. Even though her mother had at least five rants on the subject (one of Santana’s favourite memories of her parents together was their almost nightly religious debates), she still went to church and lit a candle every year on the day Santana’s father died. Because despite the fact that neither Santana, her brother, or her mother believed in God, they were Catholic, and sometimes it was hard to forget. Mostly it was when things got hard that Santana would send a quick guilt ridden thought up to the sky, like when her brother broke his arm. She’d seen him lying in hospital, white even against the sheets, and thought he was going to die too. Or when she (don’t tell anyone) nearly hadn’t been chosen for the Cheerio squad in her freshman year because she didn’t quite land her double handspring. But the moments she believed in God the most devoutly were always easy peaceful ones, with Brittany’s head pillowed up on her shoulder, her breath blowing a cool even rhythm across Santana’s bare chest as she sent a brief but fervent thankyou up at the ceiling. She just didn’t know how it could be possible for her to have made it here without some outside help.
Tarot Card Challenge
Prompt: #6 The Lovers
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 250
Brittany had an uncanny ability to always smell like peach schnapps. Santana was pretty sure she hadn’t had any, because hello, it was Puck’s party, they were lucky if he bothered to get anything but beer, but she hesitated, her fingers poised, and licked her lips. No. Definitely peach schnapps.
“What are you doing?” Brittany hissed, her hips bucking to get those fingers back, and Santana smirked, holding them precariously just inside her.
“Let’s play,” Santana said, her smirk widening when Brittany groaned, her hands tightening around fistfuls of sheet.
“Let’s not and say we did.”
“I don’t think you’re in any…position to be suggesting anything,” Santana said, admiring exactly what position Brittany was in, knees up and spread achingly wide.
“Payback will be a bitch,” Brittany reminded her.
“Looking forward to it. But you won’t get the chance for…oh, a good long while.”
“I hate you,” Brittany groaned, whining when Santana took her fingers away. “No, no, take it back, love you, love you lots.”
Santana would have laughed, but it didn’t seem funny anymore, so before Brittany could put words to her widening eyes, Santana pushed all three fingers inside, hard, curling the fingertips and pressing upwards. Brittany’s breath was a squeak going in and a moan going out, and she rolled her hips towards Santana’s hand, matching the fierce rhythm she set. Santana dipped her head and hummed if I had my little way, I’d eat peaches every day against her clit, and watched her come undone.
Tarot Card Challenge
Prompt: #7 The Chariot
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 250
Sue Sylvester was a conniving sonofabitch at the top of her game, your game, and everyone else’s game. She’d never lost the game. She’d given so little thought to winning the game that she’d been awarded the winning title in a small ceremony near Honolulu, accompanied by the groans of the audience as they continuously lost. Sue Sylvester did not get to be this way without the ability to see what was going on under her nose. Sue Sylvester knew that there was only one reason why two teenagers with far too many hormones would stay back in the changing rooms for twenty minutes after the last of their teammates left. Sue Sylvester knew that friendship bracelets usually weren’t from Tiffany’s, and nor did they usually have engraved heart pendants. Sue Sylvester knew what that softening in Santana’s eyes meant, just as she knew what was meant by that brightening of an already far too bright grin. To be frank, it sickened her. Fondness was frowned upon in her Cheerios, but that L-word? That was banished. But Sue Sylvester allowed it, because Santana Lopez was fairly crafty herself and when she called them both into her office after their freshman year was over all she had to do was pointedly look at their joined hands for Santana to sink lower in her seat. Brittany was an easy way of keeping her Cheerio in line, and besides. Santana and Brittany? They were far from sneaky with their gay for each other.
Tarot Card Challenge
Prompt: #8 Justice & #9 The Hermit
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 250 & 250
"Hey Spike. Drusilla," Quinn said, nodding at Santana and Brittany in turn.
"Stop that," Santana hissed, sitting down and smiling at Brittany.
"Wha-"
"Don't worry about Q," Santana told her, her face gentle. “Go get me one of those ice-creams, babe?"
"Change your mind?" Brittany asked, standing back up again, letting her fingers untangle from Santana's when she was a step away, both their arms outstretched towards each other.
She turned without waiting for a reply and when she was out of earshot, Santana said, "Seriously, Q, what's your deal? If you've got a problem with me, fine, but leave B out of it."
"Brittany is my problem. You've gone soft.”
“I have not! I’m allowed to fuck people up whilst fucking someone, the two aren’t mutually exclusive.”
“Oh, don’t lie to yourself. This…thing you and B have, it isn’t about sex anymore. You broke up with Puck."
"He had a bad credit rating," Santana mumbled, tracing a finger around the rim of her cup.
"You're not thinking ahead here. What're you going to do, move to Canada? Grow up, S.”
“Are we seriously having this conversation right now? Fuck, Q, it’s not like I’m planning to elope and live in a goddamn treehouse with her.”
“You love her.”
“So?” Santana said defensively.
“Look, just…have you even thought about it? Spike and Dru didn’t end well, that’s all I’m saying.”
“Oh, for…would you stop with that! Geek.”
“Tramp.”
“Buffy.”
Quinn’s mouth widened into a horrified ‘o’ and Santana nodded smugly.
**
Still, Quinn had a point. Not about the Drusilla thing. Maybe the Spike thing. She could totally be Spike, so long as she didn’t have to have that hair; she wasn’t sure she could pull that look off. Santana’s arms were folded under her head as she lay on her bed, Brittany’s head resting on the swell of her breast. It was a very familiar position, but Santana’s eyes were wide at the ceiling. She really hadn’t thought about what would happen, after school was done. Brittany zig-zagged a finger across Santana’s stomach and sighed. “What’s up, S?”
“Q said something…” Santana trailed off and Brittany rolled her eyes. She never felt more like hitting something than when she was trying to make Santana talk about feelings.
“Q says a lot of somethings.”
“Have you thought about what’s going to happen? After we graduate?”
Brittany sucked in a breath and lifted her head, nearly nose to nose with her. She put a finger on Santana’s lips. “You’re thinking too much,” she said, lifting the finger to kiss her softly. Santana’s throat tightened.
“So you have.”
“Don’t, San. We’ve got two more years.” It went unsaid that after that, Santana would be at college and Brittany wouldn’t be. It went unsaid that after that, this thing that they did, sleep with each other and sleep with everyone else, it probably wouldn’t work in the real world. So Santana let Brittany kiss her into distraction, because there wasn’t anything left to say.