AN: Hello hello my dear readers. How are you, my lovely little Sebana/Sebtana fans? You guys are growing rapidly, and I look forward to being apart of this fandom. Anywho, here is my new fic.
It basically takes off where instead of having the Michael Jackson episode and Santana and Sebastian doing their amazingly fantastic duel to "Smooth Criminal", the Warblers and New Directions decide to call it draw and become friends. Sebastian, captain of the Wablers, throws a party in his huge house, and everything drinks, has fun, and dance's the night away. But of, because it's Glee, there's always a bunch of drama lurking in the shadows. Things happen, one thing leads to another, and the next thing you know... You'll have to read to find out! Feel free to comment and tell me what you think!
P.s, I was originally going to write it ending as a Brittana/Karbastian fic, but seeing how the fandom is growing and how much I truly love Sebana (I don't like calling them "Sebtana", it just sounds weird to me), we'll have to wait and see. Without further adue, here is the prologue to my fic!
I OWN NOTHING, BUT THE PLOT. NO CHARACHTERS ARE MINE, NONE OF THE SONGS ARE MINE, NOTHING!
Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.
The booming, overly loud sound of the ticking lock kept Santana on edge as she waited the four minutes the instructions told her to. They were, of course, the longest four minutes of her entire life. She ran over everything in her head once, twice, three times, and again after that. She was sure she had done everything right. She took her pill, he had the condom on, and even if they didn't have either, it wasn't the right time anyway.
Tick, tock. Tick, tock. The mouse ran up the clock.
Santana silently wished her brother was still at home, so she could barrow his glock and shoot down that bastard clock. One of the perks of having a police officer brother. She watched at the big hand slowly, but surely, made it's way back to twelve. Four minutes had passed and Santana, caught between a strange, not a pounce, but not a stroll movement either, made her way to the bathroom.
Lifting the long white stick, she looked at the very end - the part that held her fate. Sucking in a breathe, she nearly dropped the plastic little item as it flashed the thick blue line. Taking the box, she reread the instructions before tossing it to the floor angrily.
Wanting to be sure, Santana had gotten a second one. You never know with those things, after all. They could result in a false positive! After drinking about five cups of water, she did her thing and waited another long, agonizing four minutes.
"Mierda poco molesto!" She shouted up at the clock, throwing one of the bathroom towels at it.
When it was time, Santana went back to the bathroom, picked up the little plastic stick, and sighed. She shook it roughly, as if it were a Etch A Sketch and the little blue line was the design she was trying to erase.
When it wouldn't, Santana shouted aloud, throwing the stick aimlessly across the room and she plopped down onto the toilet seat. Despite everything she had been through, regardless of always to carrying protection and always being safe, Santana had slipped up, and now she was paying the price. Without warning, the air thickened in her throat and the tears began to fall.
She was seventeen years old, a senior in High school, co-captain of the Cheerios . . . and pregnant.