Disclaimer: I'm only borrowing the girls and the rest of the gang for a little while. They're not mine, I promise.
Note: Also, rated T because Santana has a bad potty mouth and likes to drop the 'f-bomb' a lot. A little on the longer side, but that's how it wrote itself out and that's the way its gonna stay.
Spoilers: I'm going to say this spoils up to 1.18 "Laryngitis".
Please note that comments and critiques are all welcomed so long as they are worded nicely.
Her heart felt like in was in a choke hold, and she was terrified.
Which, at the moment, did not sit well with her because she was Santana fucking Lopez and she didn't scare easy.
...
The whole thing had started out so innocuously. It was almost a progression of their relationship, from childhood best friends, to teen lovers. It wasn't about liking girls - it was only ever about loving Brittany - and the thought of it sent shivers of pleasure and fear through Santana's spine leaving her angry and scared.
She knew things were bad and had maybe started taking a turn for the worse when reigning queen of the homo's fucking Kurt Hummel asked her if she was okay, asked if she wanted to talk.
She hadn't though that up to that point she was losing her touch, but his hand stayed on her shoulder, persistent, even after she snarled at him and it was only when she forcibly made to remove his hand from her shoulder that he withdrew. She wanted to yell obscenities at him, tell him that he and her were nothing alike, that he could fucking piss off, Santana Lopez needed no shoulder to cry on. But all she did was walk away, brooding as the emotions that had been building for the last couple of months threatened to bubble over.
But that was two months ago. It seemed karma was out to get her however, because later it surfaced that Kurt was indeed a confused little traitor and she wanted to strangle the little shit as he paraded Brittany around for the entire world to see.
Brittany knew none of this though, and even though she was more than content to link their pinkies through the hall during school hours, her lips and fingers still found their way around the student population, the bile in Santana's throat ever building.
...
So when Brittany had suggested she sleep with Finn, she did without much thought, hoping that maybe this time would be different and the blonde would notice and get jealous or even say something.
However, not even the after sex hamburger, nor the hot bath she took when she got home rubbing her skin raw, could squelch or erase the feeling of shame and grime that took hold; Finn had only managed to take the edge off for a moment, and made her forget how desperately in love she was with the other girl.
She soon returned to sleeping with Puck, being unable to cope with her emotions of jealousy, anger and love. It was easy to lose herself in the sex with Puck, because it had never meant anything and Puck was enough to distract her, however bad the sex, to keep her mind off the blonde dancer with the lights in her hair.
Brittany never said a word about it - however much Santana tried to play it close to the collar, pretending to love it and flaunting it - and encouraged it even; as she flitted from girl to boy to Santana to boy to girl to Santana, but never giving Santana her all.
Linked pinkies and car make out sessions soon were no longer enough, and she resigned herself to a miserable existence. She made it through the long weeks by staying up late at night laying awake letting the fantasies run through her mind, indulging in all the dreams she was too afraid to vocalize.
...
She had never imagined for things to turn out the way they did, though. High off the win of regional's and self satisfaction that came with watching the asshole's face fall when he saw his beloved Vocal Adrenaline had come second to New Directions, the entire glee club had somehow secured booze and Santana was already on her fourth beer.
Brittany had been throwing back shots through the night and by the time the fucker Mike Chang sauntered about, asking her if she wanted to leave; Santana had images of violence and what she could do to the royal douchebag flash across her eyes as Brittany giggled and got up.
"Don't.." she croaked, the word cracking as her fingers reached out, trying to grab her wrist and pull her back on the couch, only finding air.
But Brittany looked confused, and Mike was persistent, or maybe she was too drunk to understand the emotions behind the word and without so much as another word she left Santana cradling her beer; disappearing into the swell of bodies.
...
The weeks passed with Santana in an unusually snappy mood with no explanation and rainy spring nights turned into warm starry summer nights.
They were sitting on their favorite childhood swing set in the balmy summer nights, barefoot as they allowed their toes to dig into the dirt and grass and the metal chains digging into their hands, the silence only occasionally broken by a voiced thought.
Santana felt lighter than she had in days - the rhythmic pumping of her legs was therapeutic and fun and nostalgic and simple - smiling and allowing the starlight to streak through her hair as she pumped herself higher and higher towards the heavens, thinking that if this is what it felt like to be a bird, then they were some lucky shits.
Eventually, she got tired and as she dragged her toes through the dirt, kicking up a cloud, eventually bringing her to a stop; the laughter in her eyes at the sheer romantic absurdity of it all as Brittany was watching her with a soft smile on the corner of her lips and a funny look in her eye.
And Santana blurted without thinking, "You know I love you right?"; immediately wishing the words could be sucked back into her mouth. It was the first time she had ever vocalized her feelings, even to herself, but as she saw Brittany's eyes soften she decided that it was now or never, and it was time to fucking be brave.
"And not in the 'we're best friends forever' way. I mean it in the romantic, sensual, sexual, passionate, grow old with me, love you till my very last breath sort of way." She couldn't bring her eyes to meet Brittany's as her cheeks flushed and she drew circles in the dirt with her toe in the silence that followed.
And then:
"Oh San," her fingers reached out to tangle with hers, and blue eyes brimmed with unshed tears, "Forgive me? It's been you. It's always been you. I just thought..." the words faltered and never came because Santana had already jumped off her swing set and was pressing her mouth hard and desperate against Brittany's trying to tell her what words wouldn't.
Her heart was aching and she was confused as fuck as a hundred emotions barreled through her brain all at once as she felt tears sting the corners of her eyes but she still was Santana fucking Lopez and she would not cry over this girl who had stolen everything, even if she hadn't done it on purpose.
But then Brittany was kissing her back, softer this time, Santana understanding the emotions behind it, and nothing else mattered.