This Love Of Mine Goes On And On: Brittany/Santana, PG-13
Title: This Love Of Mine Goes On And On
Author: Kelsey / marliskelsey
Pairing,Character(s): Brittany/Santana
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 881
Spoilers: Through 1x22, Journey
Disclaimer: I do not own Glee. I can only dream.
Summary: Santana’s aware Brittany wants to get married. Brittany and subtle just aren’t two things that go together.
A/N: Written for this prompt on the glee_fluff_meme. Another Brittana drabble, because I'm not ready to leave this universe just yet. Hope you enjoy!
Santana knows Brittany like the back of her hand.
This is the simple truth. Santana has always known Brittany, since they were little kids on the playground. Santana has studied Brittany almost her entire life, the only thing she’s found worth studying, and she can finish Brittany’s sentences without a thought. It’s pathetic, she knows, and their friends are always quick to point it out, but Santana doesn’t really mind.
Santana’s aware Brittany wants to get married. Brittany and subtle just aren’t two things that go together.
It’s not hard to figure out when all your girlfriend is reading is bridal magazines.
She giggles at the spread on the kitchen table - red and white checked tablecloth, skinny flickering candles even though light is pouring in the window, the good plates, a breadbasket, and cutlery on the wrong side - and how distinctly Brittany it all is.
The blonde stands in the doorway in her underwear and one of Santana’s college t-shirts, an apron wrapped around her waist. “Do not move from that seat,” she warns, wagging a finger.
Santana nods and Brittany disappears into the kitchen.
She listens to the distinct sound of plates and glasses being moved around. When it goes absolutely silent - something almost unheard of when Brittany is in the kitchen because she likes to whistle as she cooks - Santana furrows her brow and calls out. “B, are you okay?”
“No. This is not what it looks like in the picture.”
Santana makes to get up from her chair, the legs screeching loudly against the hardwood and Brittany darts into the doorway. She points at Santana. “I said stay there, S.” Santana obediently drops back down.
When Brittany emerges from the kitchen, she’s pouting and holding two plates of what Santana thinks is chicken.
Brittany puts the plate in front of Santana and drops into the chair across from her, defeated. Santana stares at the blackened meat in front of her. “It was supposed to be your mom’s garlic chicken, but I think I did it wrong,” Brittany sighs, resting her head on her palm.
“Oh,” is all Santana can say.
“I got the recipe from your mom and tried to make it, but I think I used too much garlic, and I didn’t know what a mortar was, so I just made the pasty stuff in a water glass with a spoon. I also think I cooked it too long.”
Santana pokes it with her fork. Brittany huffs. “You don’t have to eat it,” she concedes.
“No, no, I want to! Thanks, B!” Santana saws a bite off with her knife and puts it in her mouth. She smiles and crunches and nods her head but Brittany just sighs again and drops her forehead onto the table with a clunk.
Santana has to bite her lip to keep from laughing because it’s probably the cutest thing she’s ever seen.
Santana stares at the plate and then looks towards the kitchen, wondering idly if ketchup would make it better when Brittany jumps from the table abruptly. Brittany grins, all happiness returning to her face and speeds into the other room. Santana just stares after her, confused. When she returns, she throws herself onto the ground on one knee.
Santana sucks in a breath. Oh shit, oh shit, this is not what Santana thinks it is.
Except it is, because Brittany takes her hand in two of her own and takes a deep breath.
“Santana,” she begins formally, “my love for you is mul - multitu - multitudinous and im - immeasureable. Both of which are real words - I used a thesaurus. We’ve known each other since we were babies. You’re super hot.”
Santana snickers and Brittany looks at her seriously.
“And I love you a lot. It’s always been easy with us. So I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind being my wife. And then I’d be your wife, too, obviously. So, do you want to get married? I have a ring.”
Brittany pulls a hand from behind her back to reveal a little velvet box, cracking it open.
Inside are two rings with thin silver bands, and mounted on them are tiny little suns. “They’re topaz because both of our birthdays are in November,” Brittany whispers, still holding out the box.
Santana stares at the rings. For anything else, they’d be ridiculous. Who would possibly want to wear a little sun engagement ring? The rings Santana has always imagined are huge, flashy things with a gigantic diamond and worth a little more than her car. But for her and Brittany, for whatever they have, it’s absolutely perfect. It’s like Brittany in ring form and Santana gets to have her every day.
In fact, this entire proposal is so Brittany that Santana just loves her even more.
“So?” Brittany smiles encouragingly.
Santana can only nod slowly before Brittany’s jumping into her arms, sending the chair careening backwards and throwing them onto the floor. It should hurt, but Santana is too busy with Brittany’s lips to really care.
When they finally come up for air, tangled on the ground, Brittany reaches for the rings and pulls one out.
Brittany slides it onto Santana’s finger. Santana chooses not to mention that it’s the wrong one.
“Love you, S.”
“Love you too, B.”
Author: Kelsey / marliskelsey
Pairing,Character(s): Brittany/Santana
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 881
Spoilers: Through 1x22, Journey
Disclaimer: I do not own Glee. I can only dream.
Summary: Santana’s aware Brittany wants to get married. Brittany and subtle just aren’t two things that go together.
A/N: Written for this prompt on the glee_fluff_meme. Another Brittana drabble, because I'm not ready to leave this universe just yet. Hope you enjoy!
Santana knows Brittany like the back of her hand.
This is the simple truth. Santana has always known Brittany, since they were little kids on the playground. Santana has studied Brittany almost her entire life, the only thing she’s found worth studying, and she can finish Brittany’s sentences without a thought. It’s pathetic, she knows, and their friends are always quick to point it out, but Santana doesn’t really mind.
Santana’s aware Brittany wants to get married. Brittany and subtle just aren’t two things that go together.
It’s not hard to figure out when all your girlfriend is reading is bridal magazines.
She giggles at the spread on the kitchen table - red and white checked tablecloth, skinny flickering candles even though light is pouring in the window, the good plates, a breadbasket, and cutlery on the wrong side - and how distinctly Brittany it all is.
The blonde stands in the doorway in her underwear and one of Santana’s college t-shirts, an apron wrapped around her waist. “Do not move from that seat,” she warns, wagging a finger.
Santana nods and Brittany disappears into the kitchen.
She listens to the distinct sound of plates and glasses being moved around. When it goes absolutely silent - something almost unheard of when Brittany is in the kitchen because she likes to whistle as she cooks - Santana furrows her brow and calls out. “B, are you okay?”
“No. This is not what it looks like in the picture.”
Santana makes to get up from her chair, the legs screeching loudly against the hardwood and Brittany darts into the doorway. She points at Santana. “I said stay there, S.” Santana obediently drops back down.
When Brittany emerges from the kitchen, she’s pouting and holding two plates of what Santana thinks is chicken.
Brittany puts the plate in front of Santana and drops into the chair across from her, defeated. Santana stares at the blackened meat in front of her. “It was supposed to be your mom’s garlic chicken, but I think I did it wrong,” Brittany sighs, resting her head on her palm.
“Oh,” is all Santana can say.
“I got the recipe from your mom and tried to make it, but I think I used too much garlic, and I didn’t know what a mortar was, so I just made the pasty stuff in a water glass with a spoon. I also think I cooked it too long.”
Santana pokes it with her fork. Brittany huffs. “You don’t have to eat it,” she concedes.
“No, no, I want to! Thanks, B!” Santana saws a bite off with her knife and puts it in her mouth. She smiles and crunches and nods her head but Brittany just sighs again and drops her forehead onto the table with a clunk.
Santana has to bite her lip to keep from laughing because it’s probably the cutest thing she’s ever seen.
Santana stares at the plate and then looks towards the kitchen, wondering idly if ketchup would make it better when Brittany jumps from the table abruptly. Brittany grins, all happiness returning to her face and speeds into the other room. Santana just stares after her, confused. When she returns, she throws herself onto the ground on one knee.
Santana sucks in a breath. Oh shit, oh shit, this is not what Santana thinks it is.
Except it is, because Brittany takes her hand in two of her own and takes a deep breath.
“Santana,” she begins formally, “my love for you is mul - multitu - multitudinous and im - immeasureable. Both of which are real words - I used a thesaurus. We’ve known each other since we were babies. You’re super hot.”
Santana snickers and Brittany looks at her seriously.
“And I love you a lot. It’s always been easy with us. So I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind being my wife. And then I’d be your wife, too, obviously. So, do you want to get married? I have a ring.”
Brittany pulls a hand from behind her back to reveal a little velvet box, cracking it open.
Inside are two rings with thin silver bands, and mounted on them are tiny little suns. “They’re topaz because both of our birthdays are in November,” Brittany whispers, still holding out the box.
Santana stares at the rings. For anything else, they’d be ridiculous. Who would possibly want to wear a little sun engagement ring? The rings Santana has always imagined are huge, flashy things with a gigantic diamond and worth a little more than her car. But for her and Brittany, for whatever they have, it’s absolutely perfect. It’s like Brittany in ring form and Santana gets to have her every day.
In fact, this entire proposal is so Brittany that Santana just loves her even more.
“So?” Brittany smiles encouragingly.
Santana can only nod slowly before Brittany’s jumping into her arms, sending the chair careening backwards and throwing them onto the floor. It should hurt, but Santana is too busy with Brittany’s lips to really care.
When they finally come up for air, tangled on the ground, Brittany reaches for the rings and pulls one out.
Brittany slides it onto Santana’s finger. Santana chooses not to mention that it’s the wrong one.
“Love you, S.”
“Love you too, B.”