Unavodiable
Brittany&Santana! I've been wanting to write something for them for the longest time and I finally came up with something. Albeit, a cheesy, totally out of my normal style something, but nonetheless.
It wasn’t Santana’s fault.
It wasn’t like she was gay or anything- obviously, ask any good looking guy in school and he’d back her sexuality without a second thought. It was glue and fireworks and hormones and everybody else’s fault.
Santana couldn’t control that in Kindergarten (the prime plucking ground for best friends) Brittany had wondered about the effects of super glue and stuck herself to Santana, quite literally. Nor could Santana help that she was a sucker for compliments and that Brittany reasoning of ‘Because she’s prettier than everyone else’ when asked why she’d stick herself to Santana had cooled her anger like an extinguisher. The fates (and Elmer’s Glue) were obviously against Santana.
And, please, it was obvious that Santana could do nothing about being dared to kiss the blonde at their eighth grade fourth of July party (selective to only the cool kids). Santana had never backed down from a dare her whole life and she certainly wasn’t going to cash in that title over a simple girl-kiss. And Puck, Quinn and Finn could all testify that Santana couldn’t control that at the exact moment their lips met, fireworks shot into the sky. And, well, Santana was a church going girl and there was no way she could deny that was an omen (even though, as a church going girl she saw the implications of that).
Also, last time Santana checked, her name wasn’t in any textbooks which meant she had nothing to do with the fact that every time a racy scene came on TV she found herself heating up like an oven. And, come on, they were both girls, and Santana had never heard Quinn freaking chastity queen say anything about thou shall not work out their sexual frustration with a girl. It almost, basically didn’t even count in the holy books (or, whatever, Santana wasn’t that godly).
Santana also couldn’t help that a guy could sleep with every girl in school and still have a good reputation but if a girl slept with anyone (other than a long-term boyfriend) she was an insta-slut. Honestly, it was completely out of her hands that no one suspected anything out of context when two girls ditched class to meet in the broom closet.
Most of all though, it wasn’t Santana’s fault that it had become more than just sex. Wasn’t it like an unwritten rule that ’just sex’ eventually turned into ’something more’? She didn’t have to the power to break the girl-code so, really, it was unavoidable.
Santana couldn’t help it that when she was with Puck she closed her eyes and pictured someone else. Couldn’t help that she was half the reason Brittany was failing, forcing her to cut classes for time in any empty room they could find. Couldn’t help it that she made every guy (or girl, in that man-handed Rachel Berry’s case) that looked Brittany’s way life a living hell. She couldn’t help it that she felt happy when Brittany had slipped up and told everyone, couldn’t help but feel like it made everything they were (everything they weren’t) real.
The list went on and on, and Santana could spend hours thinking off all the things that were out of her control, but it didn’t matter. Because at the end of the day she was still going to be screwing the blonde cheerleader (the non-preggers one) with a little more than her libido lying on the line.
The language also wasn’t her fault (but that was a whole other story).
It wasn’t Santana’s fault.
It wasn’t like she was gay or anything- obviously, ask any good looking guy in school and he’d back her sexuality without a second thought. It was glue and fireworks and hormones and everybody else’s fault.
Santana couldn’t control that in Kindergarten (the prime plucking ground for best friends) Brittany had wondered about the effects of super glue and stuck herself to Santana, quite literally. Nor could Santana help that she was a sucker for compliments and that Brittany reasoning of ‘Because she’s prettier than everyone else’ when asked why she’d stick herself to Santana had cooled her anger like an extinguisher. The fates (and Elmer’s Glue) were obviously against Santana.
And, please, it was obvious that Santana could do nothing about being dared to kiss the blonde at their eighth grade fourth of July party (selective to only the cool kids). Santana had never backed down from a dare her whole life and she certainly wasn’t going to cash in that title over a simple girl-kiss. And Puck, Quinn and Finn could all testify that Santana couldn’t control that at the exact moment their lips met, fireworks shot into the sky. And, well, Santana was a church going girl and there was no way she could deny that was an omen (even though, as a church going girl she saw the implications of that).
Also, last time Santana checked, her name wasn’t in any textbooks which meant she had nothing to do with the fact that every time a racy scene came on TV she found herself heating up like an oven. And, come on, they were both girls, and Santana had never heard Quinn freaking chastity queen say anything about thou shall not work out their sexual frustration with a girl. It almost, basically didn’t even count in the holy books (or, whatever, Santana wasn’t that godly).
Santana also couldn’t help that a guy could sleep with every girl in school and still have a good reputation but if a girl slept with anyone (other than a long-term boyfriend) she was an insta-slut. Honestly, it was completely out of her hands that no one suspected anything out of context when two girls ditched class to meet in the broom closet.
Most of all though, it wasn’t Santana’s fault that it had become more than just sex. Wasn’t it like an unwritten rule that ’just sex’ eventually turned into ’something more’? She didn’t have to the power to break the girl-code so, really, it was unavoidable.
Santana couldn’t help it that when she was with Puck she closed her eyes and pictured someone else. Couldn’t help that she was half the reason Brittany was failing, forcing her to cut classes for time in any empty room they could find. Couldn’t help it that she made every guy (or girl, in that man-handed Rachel Berry’s case) that looked Brittany’s way life a living hell. She couldn’t help it that she felt happy when Brittany had slipped up and told everyone, couldn’t help but feel like it made everything they were (everything they weren’t) real.
The list went on and on, and Santana could spend hours thinking off all the things that were out of her control, but it didn’t matter. Because at the end of the day she was still going to be screwing the blonde cheerleader (the non-preggers one) with a little more than her libido lying on the line.
The language also wasn’t her fault (but that was a whole other story).