Until junior year, Rachel had no intention of going to college.

What did she need to go to college for, waste all that money and time, just to learn things she already knew? She was Broadway-ready the day she was born.

Or so she thought.

(They’d only just scraped through to Nationals.)

Of course, all this means is that she’s incredibly unprepared. And Rachel Berry doesn’t do unprepared.

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have some really random law school!santana pezberry porn. written straight into a tumblr post, so.

…

The smell of mac and cheese makes her want to puke. Red Bull no longer tastes like anything. Her sweats have some kind of juice spilt on them and she’s still wearing them outside.

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okay, so. people appear to be able to deal with OCs. maybe it’s just me that sighs eternally at their existence. or maybe i just have awesome readers.

it started out as prep for trolling nique (ps. toni is played by special guest kerry washington), but then i accidentally had feelings. this is just some backstory i wrote to get my head around the idea of santana and anyone in this universe, because single twenty year old lesbian mother? yikes. (at that point i freaked out because WHAT IS THIS RIDICULOUS UNIVERSE I HAVE CREATED?)

anyway.

…

This is the third time she’s been out since Jake was born.

The first two times lasted twenty and sixty-five minutes respectively, before she just couldn’t deal. This time Mike’s staying with Jake, instead of the one taking her out, and she’s made it to eighty-seven minutes.

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“I’d just like to go over that one more time, please”

Oh god, give her strength, she’s actually going to strangle the girl.

They don’t share any of the same classes and they’re not in any workshops together, and for both of these things Santana was as grateful as she was for microwavable mac’n’cheese and her awesome tits.

But the spring musical had seen them up against each other; not for the lead, because they’re freshmen, but for one of the three supporting roles which required a significant amount of singing. Rachel was cast in the part they had both auditioned for, but Santana found herself in a supporting part that was almost entirely acting.

It’s different, and it’s stretching her in ways she finds she enjoyed, but mostly it just means that she spends far too many hours with Rachel politely requesting they redo a scene over and over and over again.

Eventually the director calls a 10 minute break and Santana grabs her water then slips out the door after the body she just saw escape.

She follows Rachel into the bathroom, pushes the door closed and grabs at her wrist, pulls her around and backs her into the tiled wall.

“You,” she says, using her two inches of height over Rachel to stare her down, “need to chill the fuck out, Babs.”

Rachel huffs and shakes her wrist loose. “You know I hate it when you call me that.”

Santana chuckles, tilts Rachel’s head up to meet her eyes. “Only because you think I’m jinxing things, Stevie Wonder.”

Rachel leans back into the wall and lets her eyes close. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I’m just nervous and it’s making me unnecessarily neurotic.”

“Excuse me, was that Rachel Berry not only admitting that someone else was right, but apologizing as well?”

“Shut up, Santana.” Rachel pulls Santana into her and Santana goes, leans down to slant her mouth an breath from Rachel’s.

“Make me,” she says, and Rachel pulls her the rest of the way.

Rachel only requests they repeat a number once during the rest of rehersal.

(not part of any story, in progress or otherwise. sometimes i just like to write about them doing stuff.)

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It’s been twenty minutes when Rachel gets home. She’s hauling two bags of groceries, her scarf has unwound from her neck and her key is doing that thing it always does where it refuses to come out of the lock, so she does the good girlfriend thing and jumps up to help.

Shut up, she’s not whipped, she’s just not an asshole.

Santana kisses Rachel on the temple, her mouth currently occupied with the mail - and ew, gross. New York postal workers have been touching that - and jams the phone she’s holding between her ear and shoulder she she can take one of the bags.

“Hi,” Rachel stage whispers, not actually quiet at all. Not that it matters, because she’s going to die of old age before she gets to talk to anyone.

“Twenty-five fucking minutes I’ve been on hold,” she grumbles. She dumps the groceries in their tiny nook of a kitchen, then goes back to the desk in the living room where all the shit she needs is neatly arranged so she can just get this done.

She can hear Rachel putting things away over the annoying classical music coming from where her phone sits on speaker - and no, not all classical music is annoying, she’s not a philistine, but this is hold music, not the London Symphony Orchestra.

It’s probably been an hour, or maybe just a a handful of minutes, she has no concept of time or space anymore because this is taking forever, when Rachel comes in, two bottles of Snapple and a granola bar in hand. She perches on the edge of the desk and sets her things beside her, resting her hand on Santana’s ankle where her feet are resting on the desk.

“How was your day,” she asks, her fingers running up and down Santana’s shin. She’d just shaved her legs this morning, so Rachel’s fingers feel extra awesome.

“On a scale of one to ten, this is Spider Man the Musical,” she says (because she’s learnt to speak Rachel), but it has no snap because there are fingers inching higher, past her knee, and then her leg is being lifted up so Rachel is between her legs.

It’s the middle of winter, but the heat in their apartment building is set to sub-Sahara, so she’s been sitting around in a wifebeater and these lounge short things because seriously, she has a bunch of clothes now just for winter because regular clothes are too fucking hot in their place and she’s not just gonna sit around naked alone in her apartment while she pays bills, okay.

But the point is, tiny shorts. Tiny shorts in stretchy material that fingers are now creeping around. And okay, maybe it’s weird that she’s already wet, but she’s been sitting on the phone for a while now, and thinking about interesting ways to fuck her girlfriend has always been her favorite pastime.

Rachel doesn’t think it’s weird, anyway, just smirks as she sinks to her knees and pushes the shorts to the side and nips at the inside of her thigh with Santana’s hands sink into her hair and try to pull her closer.

She comes what feels like two seconds later, but it might have been a bit longer because when she’s no longer focusing on just sucking in air, there isn’t any music coming from the phone anymore, just the beep indicating she’s been hung up on.

Still. Now it’s more like the time then got Bernadette Peters’s understudy instead of the real thing that one time. Especially when Rachel just leans back down and like, what was she even on the hold for?

ratherembarrassing:

Santana gets spotted in a college talent night her residence hall is having. She isn’t supposed to even be in it, but her girlfriend at the time is organizing it and they had a singer pull out at the last minute and the line-up was getting too heavy on the amateur magician side of things. She can’t say no to her girlfriend now, can she.

J.Lo made it big playing Selena in a movie. Santana makes it big playing J.Lo in a movie.

A year later Rachel Berry sends her a note, written by hand on actual paper, wishing her luck in this cesspool of an industry. ‘You’re going to need it,’ it says.

Five years later they are both at the Grammys, and when some bitch from E! pulls Santana into an in-progress interview with Rachel, she smiles and acts completely surprised to see her, as if Santana hadn’t been painfully aware Rachel would be there. Rachel smiles, too, and lies about how friendly they had been in high school.

They fuck in the bathroom at the VMAs later that year. It’s fast and rough, and Rachel slaps her for almost ripping her dress. But then Santana is knuckle deep with three fingers and Rachel forgets how to breathe let alone maintain any anger she may feel that Santana was just in the right place at the right time.

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It’s really hot. That’s the only thought she’s been capable of since she woke up, and that was so many hours ago now she can’t even count them.

She can’t count them because it’s too hot, not because she’s too stupid.

There is sand in some uncomfortable places, but they are supposedly going to some temporary swimming pool that someone has filled with ice they shipped in from Las Vegas, so she’s holding her complaints for the moment.

Rachel knows it’s a terrible waste of resources to go to all that effort, but at this point she’s willing to donate some money to a tree planting foundation to assuage her guilt. Donate more than she has already mentally assigned to make up running an RV with air conditioning for eight days straight. What she’s going to do about the way these people are clearly influencing her, she doesn’t know.

…

Somehow, she is standing in a fairly large tent, dotted with holes that let the fire and moonlight in like tiny points of starlight, singing show tunes to people who look like they have spent their entire lives living in caves.

…

It was only five days before that Brittany had showed up at her door, banging on her door excitedly. Although a naturally excitable person in general, Rachel nearly slammed the door in her face because Brittany was basically vibrating, and the only times Rachel had ever witnessed this was the time Brittany had been awarded best physical performance they year they took out Nationals, the time they had spotted Bill Clinton on Sixth Avenue one afternoon, and whenever Santana comes to visit.

“We’re going to Burning Man!”

Rachel had no idea what that was.

“Karl’s friend Maurice knows someone who does something for, I don’t know, someone. Anyway, Melissa and Scott just broke up and neither of them want to go, so you’re coming and that tiny guy who wears a lot of fur is coming.”

Rachel thinks she means Peter Dinklage.

“Do you own a cowboy hat?”

…

Someone had handed her something cold and fruity about two hours ago and it was still full somehow, people everyone was still having an awesome time so she saw no reason to stop singing just yet.

Brittany had shown up at some point and had sat on the edge of the platform she was standing on for a while, kicking her legs about to the music. As the tempo had picked up, and Rachel found herself singing Whitney Houston’s ‘I Wanna Dance with Somebody’, Brittany couldn’t be contained any longer.

It was at about this time that Rachel realised it was likely no one had actually hear any music that wasn’t either completely lacking in or was made entirely of a beat for almost a week now.

But an adoring crowd was an adoring crowd, and who was she to disappoint.