Another update is here!
Also, I completely forgot to mention it last chapter, but the song used was "What About Now" by Daughtry—give it a listen...you won't regret it! On that note, would y'all like more songs incorporated into the story? I have a few I can use, but not totally sure how everyone feels about it. Let me know!
As always, I love reading what you think of the story, so if you can review, I'd love to read your feedback!
Enjoy! :)
"No, no, no. You're telling the story all wrong."
Santana's speech is cut off by a firm hand covering her mouth, preventing her from finishing her sentence. Brittany grins, her fingers warm against Santana's skin as she shakes her head. Santana raises an eyebrow at the blonde, looking down at her hand, before shrugging with defeat. "Fine," she says once Brittany's no longer obstructing her ability to speak, "tell your exaggerated version."
"It's not exaggerated," she defends. "It's accurate."
Santana rolls her eyes and leans back in her chair, sipping a glass of wine. She watches with fond eyes as Kurt, Rachel, and Mercedes all lean forward, nearly tipping out of their seats, as they listen to Brittany recount the night she and Santana got together. Brittany's version goes into much more detail—excruciatingly so. But, she can tell how much they love listening to it.
Santana sighs, deciding just to let it happen. So what if Brittany portrays her as some sap who got all teary-eyed and mushy at the prospect of confessing love? She spent years building up this tough facade, but maybe it'll be nice for her friends to know she's capable of being human. And honestly, she can act like she's annoyed at the storytelling, but everyone knows the truth—she wouldn't change anything about it.
"Santana, I honestly never pictured you in a loving, committed relationship, but I'm so happy to see that you've exceeded my expectations!" Rachel exclaims, flourishing her hands out dramatically.
Quinn points to Rachel and nods in agreement, causing Santana's jaw to slack in unbelief.
"You say that like I was destined to die alone," she bites.
"Well, you were quite emotionally stunted in high school," Rachel reasons.
Santana sits up abruptly, prepared to rip the brunette a new one, when she feels a warm hand grip her upper arm. Brittany peers down at her with a soft smile, slightly shaking her head, and all the anger dissipates from Santana's body nearly instantly. Brittany slides her hand down to interlock her fingers with Santana's, and Santana sighs as she calms down.
Quinn flicks her wrist and makes a whipping sound, smirking in Santana's direction. Santana glares at her friend, narrowing her eyes, but can't help the quiet laugh that escapes her lips. She turns to Brittany and squeezes her hand gently, grateful for the effect she has on her.
"How'd your parents react?" Quinn asks. "They've been trying to marry you off for years."
"I'm well aware." Santana smiles sarcastically. "But after I called Mami to help with dinner that night, she knew something was up—I haven't ever called her for cooking tips." Santana shrugs. "But they're glad." She doesn't go into more detail—especially not the part where Maribel stalked Brittany's social media accounts to "paint a better mental picture" of the girl who stole Santana's heart.
"My two gay dads are very excited for you as well, Santana." Rachel beams, trying to relate to the conversation in any way.
Brittany's eyebrows scrunch in confusion and she looks at Santana quizzically. "Your—?" she begins to ask, pointing at Rachel, but Santana interrupts.
"Just…don't," Santana softly instructs, laughing as she shakes her head. "She makes it her whole personality." The blonde still looks slightly perplexed but lets it go, finding no one else even acknowledging her statement.
"What about you, Britt?" Quinn shifts focus to the blonde.
Kurt snaps his gaze over to Brittany, his eyes slightly wide with panic, as the girl stutters. "Um," she mutters, sipping her wine as she attempts to avoid the gazes directed her way from around the room.
Santana leans back and looks at her carefully, noticing how tightly her fingers grip the glass. There's something hesitant in her posture, the usual ease in her body language replaced by something more guarded, insecure.
Brittany closes one eye and winces. "I…haven't told them yet."
Santana stills, her fingers loosening around Brittany's as she processes the words. Brittany's quick to squeeze her hand reassuringly, trying to convey the message to Santana through her eyes as she looks into deep brown ones. It's meant to be comforting, but all it does is make Santana aware of the increasing tightness in her chest.
"You haven't told them?" Quinn reiterates, her eyebrows lifting in surprise.
Brittany softly shakes her head, sucking her lips into her mouth timidly.
"Britt, it's been almost a month," Santana chimes in with a slight chuckle, trying to mask her concern.
Brittany takes a deep breath and looks to the ceiling for a moment before setting her glass down carefully. "It's just a lot," she says vaguely. She looks over to Santana, who keeps her facial expression neutral despite the unsettling feeling creeping up her spine. As far as she knows, Brittany's parents are supportive—so why's she holding back? "They're a lot. And I really don't know how to tell them."
"Oh, well if you need practice, Brittany, I'm more than happy to role-play as your parents so you can rehearse the conversation," Rachel offers. "Now, tell me a little bit about them so I have something to work on. Are they," she raises her hand to count as she lists attributes, "loving, overbearing, passive-aggressive, homophobic—"
"Rachel!" Quinn interrupts, looking at the girl sternly.
Rachel holds up her hands defensively and leans back in her seat. "I'm just trying to help."
"Now's not the time for improv," Kurt whispers, patting her knee in understanding.
"It's not like that," Brittany clarifies. "They're not bad…just a lot." She fiddles with Santana's fingers, still loosely laced with her own, and looks down, clearly wishing to drop the subject.
Santana regards the girl carefully, noticing her small figure. She so badly wants to know what's making Brittany so hesitant to tell her parents about them, but the last thing she wants to do is push her to speak about it, especially in front of their friends. Brittany makes eye contact with Kurt, and he gives her a small smile, understanding, before he changes the subject.
"I'm in a mood for a little karaoke!" he exclaims, patting his hands on his thighs as he stands. The energy in the room shifts at his idea, Rachel immediately perking up, already muttering a list of various songs she could sing.
With everyone in the room in collective agreement at Kurt's idea, Santana decides to drop the matter for now, instead trying to focus on the chaos sure to unfold. Brittany doesn't make eye contact with her as she stands, but she can see the hesitation in the blonde's body language as she smooths down her sweater and runs a hand through her, brushing off the weight of the previous conversation.
But Santana can't get the words to stop replaying in her mind. She hasn't told them yet. The words sit heavy in her chest, tangled up with emotions that she's not sure she's in the mood to sort through. She's not mad—she knows if Brittany's keeping something to herself, it's never out of malice. But there's something about it that unsettles her, makes her breath hitch and nerves flutter through her system.
Santana steals a glance at Brittany as they sit in the cab, watching as her girlfriend tugs her sleeves over her hands and stares forward, blankly. She's as deep in thought as Santana is.
Maybe she just needs time.
Santana can give her that. It's not like she doesn't empathize—hell, she spent years hiding who she was out of fear of disappointment and insecurity. She knows what it's like to hold something close to your chest because you're afraid of letting it go, letting everyone bear witness to something you hold so dearly. But Brittany's never been anything less than confident. Open in a way that used to terrify Santana, but now is one of the things she loves most about her. Seeing her hesitate like this…it's unfamiliar.
By the time they reach the karaoke bar, the weight in her chest hasn't fully disappeared, but the loud music and energizing atmosphere are enough to pull her out of her thoughts and get lost in the buzz around her. Rachel makes an immediate beeline to the DJ, placing her name on the list of participants with Kurt and Mercedes in tow. Santana smiles as she watches them, amused, and bumps Brittany's hip with her own. "Bet you five bucks Rachel tries to do a full Broadway number."
Brittany snorts, looking at her fully. "That's not a bet—that's a guarantee."
Santana grins, the easy banter settling something inside her. "Fine. Make it ten bucks if she drags Kurt into it."
Brittany hums, tilting her head. "Fifteen if she tries to rope in a stranger, too."
And just like that, the tension fades. Maybe only temporarily, but Santana lets herself have this for the time being.
As various singer-wannabes take the stage, Santana finds herself in a state of relaxation rather than judgment, allowing the music to wrap around her as she sways to the beat. Brittany's body is leaning closely into hers, a soft hum coming from her lips as she recognizes the song. For a while, nothing else matters—they're simply enjoying the melodies that fill the bar…they should've known the peace would be short-lived.
Rachel returns from the bathroom to find Kurt next in line at the karaoke booth, her eyes staring daggers into his backside. Quinn cocks her eyebrow in amusement, waiting for the inevitable explosion of dramatics about to come from the shorter brunette.
"You good?" Mercedes asks, sipping her drink with a curious glance in Rachel's direction.
"No!" Rachel shouts, slumping into a chair with a heavy huff. "Kurt stole my place in line!" She dramatically points to the man in question, her face turning red as she speaks. "They called my name when I was in the bathroom, and he just took it! He told the DJ his song, and when I tried to correct the mistake, the guy told me I had to put my name at the bottom of the list!"
Santana lets out a low whistle, leaning back in her seat with a smirk. "Damn. That's cold," she eggs on.
"I was gone for two minutes!" Rachel exclaims.
"Rachel, you should know by now—karaoke is a cutthroat industry," Quinn says, sharing a look with Mercedes.
Rachel groans dramatically, dropping her head onto the table with a dull thud. "It's not fair," she whines. "I had the perfect song lined up. Now I have to wait again."
"Maybe it's a sign…" Brittany chimes in, rubbing Rachel's back soothingly. "The universe might want you to pick a better song."
Rachel snaps her head up, looking at Brittany with wide, offended eyes. "There is nothing wrong with my song choice!"
"Just saying." Brittany shrugs. "Maybe the universe knows best."
"Well, I, for one, would like to thank the universe for this moment," Santana laughs, resting her chin on her hand. "It's been very entertaining."
Rachel sends her a hard glare, but gets distracted when the host calls out Kurt's name. She watches with envy as Kurt takes the stage, fixing his hair as he raises the microphone to his lips. "Prepare to be dazzled!" he says to the crowd.
"I refuse to be dazzled on principle!" Rachel comments, folding her arms in a pout.
Kurt flashes a bright smile and bobs his head as the opening beat of Madonna's "Into the Groove" begins. His performance elicits loud applause from the crowd, the place happy there's finally a participant with talent. He dances dramatically across the stage, as if it were his own private concert with fans. Santana can't help but laugh at his antics, the confidence radiating off him in waves—he's in his element. Rachel crosses her arms tighter, trying to keep the frown steady on her face as she watches their friend.
"He's showing off," she says to the group.
Mercedes leans in, placing a hand on the brunette's shoulder. "You don't want to jump in and show him how it's done?"
Rachel's eyes narrow. "I'll take the high road and wait for my turn." She directs a pointed glare at Kurt. "Besides, no one can pull off a Madonna song like him." She waves her hand dismissively and sips her drink, defeated.
Kurt finishes his performance with a flourish and a grandiose bow as the crowd cheers. He makes his way back to the table, his cheeks flushed, looking ridiculously pleased. "Well?" he asks, holding his hands out to the side, asking for everyone's thoughts.
Everyone nods in response, sending half-hearted congratulations and love for the performance his way, boosting his ego. Rachel turns her head to the side, avoiding eye contact with him, as he responds to Mercedes's comment.
"Rachel?" he asks after a moment, poking the brunette in the shoulder. The girl closes her eyes and purses her lips, her breathing turning ragged as he continues prodding her. "Rachel," he drawls out, singing her name lightly.
The brunette purses her lips, shaking her head in defiance. "Fine. I'll admit—you weren't terrible."
"Wasn't terrible? That's it?" he prods, smirking.
Rachel's breathing picks up, and she closes her eyes for a moment. She looks at everyone around the table, their anxious glances directed at her for approval, until she finally relents. "You were amazing!" she exhales, all anger leaving her body with the words. She turns to face him with a bright smile, waving her hands around as she dotes on him. "I can't even pretend to be mad after that—incredible."
"Thank you," he mouths, gesturing to himself as he sits beside her, their conversation continuing at a whisper.
The room fills with a blend of chatter and laughter, the energy from Kurt's performance still radiating through the air. Santana glances around, watching as a group of girls take the stage, drunkenly giggling as they share the microphone. There's no shame in their being as they stumble over the lyrics—something that would be embarrassing in any other place. But there's a collective warmth in the room, everyone cheering the girls on. Santana feels a weird sense of belonging here—a certain gentleness that fills her heart.
Brittany leans further into Santana's side, her fingers absentmindedly tracing small circles on the inside of her wrist where it rests on the table. It's grounding, her touch—maybe that's why she's so comfortable. She watches Brittany as the blonde looks at everyone else—breaking into a round of applause at the end of a performance, smiling as Kurt shoots her a wink, and twirling the straw in her drink around as she watches strangers interact near the bar. Her eyes narrow when she spots Rachel, sitting straight in her seat and looking around the room in an air of analysis. Her eyes reflect the neon lights, and there's a small smile on her parted lips as she surveys the environment.
"Rachel?" Brittany asks, craning her neck to make eye contact with the girl.
The brunette taps her fingers on the table with conviction, nodding in confidence. "I've had an epiphany," she says.
Quinn audibly exhales, barely glancing up from her drink, and closes her eyes. "Oh no."
"This should be our place," Rachel reveals, looking at each of them around the table.
"What do you mean?" Mercedes asks.
"Our place," she says again, gesturing grandly around the bar. "Friends had Central Perk, How I Met Your Mother had McLaren's, Gilmore Girls and Luke's Diner. This karaoke bar is our place."
Kurt raises a skeptical brow. "Rachel, last week you said the Spotlight Diner was our place."
"And the week before was that coffee shop near your apartment," Santana adds.
"Okay, yes. But," Rachel holds a finger up, "this is different. Can't you feel it? The atmosphere, the music, the sense of community…" she trails off, waving to her friends. "There's an energy here—it's inspiring! It fosters creativity!"
"It fosters inebriated people singing off-key," Santana quips.
Rachel waves her hand dismissively, not looking at the girl. "Details."
Brittany hums in agreement, sliding her fingers along the surface of the table. "I like it," she says simply. "It's fun—good vibes."
"Thank you Brittany." Rachel smiles sweetly at the blonde. "We could make this a thing! Friday nights, karaoke, drinks—it could be our tradition!"
Santana smirks, eyeing the brunette suspiciously. "You just want a guaranteed audience, don't you?"
"That's beside the point," Rachel huffs.
Santana purses her lips in thought, unbelieving that she's actually considering Rachel's proposition. The place is fun—it's energetic. And while she prefers staying home most of the time, it doesn't sound like torture to get out once a week with her friends. Brittany giggles and pokes Santana's arm, smiling at her—she already knows Santana's caved. Santana glances at her, softening a little despite herself. "Fine," she relents, her eyes still trained on Brittany's.
Rachel claps her hands together excitedly. "Great, it's settled!" she exclaims. "This is our spot!"
"Do we get a say in this?" Mercedes asks, her voice holding no real protest to Rachel's statement.
"Santana agreed…" Quinn states, shrugging. "Practically a done deal."
The DJ calls Rachel's name a moment later, and Rachel jumps up from the table, waving her arm in the air as she rushes to the stage. The previous conversation is effectively dropped, all attention moving to Rachel with quiet anticipation as she bounds to the front of the room and grabs the microphone. Her confidence fills the room as she stands center stage, beaming at the crowd.
"Hello! I'm Rachel Berry, and I'll be singing 'Hopelessly Devoted to You' from the timeless masterpiece that is Grease." She turns to the DJ, who queues the song with an aggravated sigh, letting the opening notes ring through the bar.
Santana leans back in her seat, sharing a smirk with Brittany as Rachel's voice fills the space.
/
As soon as the door closes behind Santana, Brittany turns sharply, holding her hand out toward the brunette. Santana groans and rolls her eyes, stomping past Brittany to enter her bedroom.
"You said you'd have it when we got home," Brittany says, following her, her hand still outstretched and waiting.
Santana grabs her wallet off the dresser and pulls out two crisp bills, plopping them in Brittany's hand. "There…fifteen."
Brittany smiles, satisfied, and places a quick kiss on Santana's cheek before spinning around to walk down the hall.
"Hey, wait a minute," Santana guffaws, "you owe me ten!"
"Santana, their duet at the end does not count," Brittany giggles. "It was Kurt's idea."
Santana crosses her arms defiantly, huffing as she sits on the couch, slightly pouting. She should've known better than to place a bet against Berry making a fool of herself, inevitably dragging some poor, unsuspecting man into it as well. The memory of the guy's face when Rachel swiftly intercepted him on his way back to his table swirls through her mind, eliciting a smile and slight chuckle from her lips.
"Thinking about that disaster? I told Kurt he shouldn't take the lower harmony, but he wouldn't listen to me," Brittany jokes, sitting beside Santana and offering her a bottle of water. "His voice cannot go low enough to capture the beautiful baritone that is Bradley Cooper in 'Shallow.'"
Santana laughs, shaking her head. "He tried…" she trails off, sipping her water. She relaxes into the couch, glancing warmly at Brittany with a soft smile, basking in the post-chaotic glow that was their night. "You know, tonight was actually kinda fun. I almost forgot how ridiculous karaoke can be."
"Karaoke? Or our friends?" Brittany challenges with a laugh, resting her head on Santana's shoulder. "It's refreshing to just…let loose, you know?"
Santana nods, clearing her throat. "Yeah. It's nice to have a break—not be on all the time." Now that they're alone, Santana's thoughts flicker back to earlier that evening—the awkwardness that led to Kurt suggesting karaoke in the first place. She feels the weight of it settle in her chest, but she doesn't want to disrupt the easy, relaxed moment they're sharing now.
"Are you okay?" Brittany asks, sitting up to search Santana's face. She reaches out, her fingers tracing small circles on Santana's arm. "You've got that look."
"What look?"
"Your overthinking look."
"I don't have an overthinking look," Santana scoffs, but she can feel tension creeping back into her shoulders.
"Yes, you do," Brittany insists, sitting up fully. She takes her pointer fingers and traces Santana's face, starting at the top of her forehead, moving them down her face, around her jaw, and coming to a stop at the point of her chin. "It looks like this." She tilts her head, studying Santana with warm curiosity and comfort in her eyes.
Santana's gaze drifts from Brittany to her hands, her fingers idly tracing the label of the water bottle as her thoughts swim. She can feel the weight of their unspoken conversation laying heavy on her chest, and when she looks back into Brittany's eyes, she can tell the blonde already knows where the conversation's going. She's just waiting for Santana to make the first move. "Can I ask you something?" Santana questions softly.
"Of course," Brittany whispers, maneuvering so she's sitting more comfortably on the couch to face Santana.
"Why haven't you told your parents?" Santana pauses, letting the question hang in the air.
Brittany waits a moment to respond, searching for the right words. "I don't know," she exhales. "They're—"
"A lot…yeah, I know," Santana interrupts, repeating Brittany's earlier response. "But I think I deserve a little more of an explanation than that." Her voice has no bite to it, no hostility—just quiet curiosity tinged with a little hurt.
Brittany's gaze casts downward, focusing on the cushions settled below them. The silence feels heavy as Santana's words linger between them.
"Brittany," Santana whispers the girl's name, "I'm not mad; I just want to understand."
Brittany takes a deep breath, slightly shifting in her position as she finally looks up, her eyes filled with a mixture of hesitation and vulnerability. "They're…just a lot, okay?" she laughs nervously, earning a stern glance from Santana. "I mean…they're loud and always in everyone's business—they do not have filters, Santana. They constantly overshare, my mom doesn't believe in texting, so she just calls all the time. And there's the farm…God, the farm," she groans, covering her face with her hands. "The second you step on the property, you're basically signing up to help with something—feeding animals, stacking hay, chasing Chicken."
Santana blinks. "Chasing…chicken?" she asks, confused.
"The rogue goat."
Santana sucks her lips into her mouth to stifle a laugh, her mouth twitching as she tries to keep her composure. She clears her throat. "You have a goat…named Chicken?"
"And a dog named Duck," Brittany deadpans. "Dognald Duck, actually, but that's beside the point."
Santana sputters out a laugh, quickly covering her mouth with her hand to stop the sound from escaping. Brittany shoots her an unamused glare, and she shakes her head, regaining her composure. "Sorry," she apologizes. "I just can't decide whether that's ridiculous or kind of amazing."
"See, you're already judging," Brittany huffs, crossing her arms over her chest.
"I'm not judging!" Santana defends, reaching to uncross Brittany's arms, holding her hands tightly in her own. "I just can't help but picture you running after a goat."
"It's not as funny as it sounds," Brittany sighs. "It's a lot to handle…and frankly, I don't know how either of you will react."
Santana softens, her laughter fading and expression turning serious, though a warm glint still lingers in her gaze. "You don't think they'll like me?"
"It's not that." Brittany bites her lip, nervousness creeping back into her features. "I just don't want to deal with the whole thing. They'll ask a million questions, be completely overwhelming," she pauses, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment. "I just don't want that for you. I don't want you to feel like you have to be roped into all the chaos."
Santana feels her heart soften at the worry in Brittany's voice, and she gently raises their hands to place a kiss on the back of Brittany's. "Babe," she starts, her tone serious but comforting. "I can handle chaos…have you met Rachel?" she jokes, smiling to ease the tension. "I'll be fine. I just need you to be okay with me being a part of it."
Brittany looks up at her, her eyes wide with uncertainty. "You're sure you're okay with it?"
Santana smiles reassuringly. "Britt, these people raised you…how bad could they be? Besides…if it means being with you, I'll take my chances."
Brittany bites her lip, still unsure, but she can see the sincerity in Santana's eyes. Slowly, her shoulders relax, and a small smile tugs at the corners of her lips. "Okay…I'll tell them."
Santana's smile widens, and she leans in to kiss Brittany's forehead. "I'm proud of you." She wraps her arms around the blonde and settles into her lap, nuzzling her nose into the crook of Brittany's neck, the scent of vanilla clouding her senses.
"Thank you…but when a rooster wakes you up at the ass crack of dawn, I don't want to hear it."
"Deal."