Fic: A Memory
Title: A Memory
Author: mallardeer
Pairing: Brittany/Santana
Rating: G
Spoilers: None, future fic
Summary: Brittany had never been any good at taking pictures.
Author's Notes: I've had this image in my brain for a while now, and since I can't draw, I decided to try to create it with words. Totally plotless, flufftastic bananas I wrote to try to cheer myself up out of a bad mood.
Brittany had never been any good at taking pictures-that had been Santana’s job, and Brittany was content to let her capture all the moments of their life together-but when she came home from an afternoon dance class to find Santana asleep on the couch with their four-month old son asleep on her stomach, she knew she had to figure out a way to become a master photographer-and fast. This was not something Santana would ever be able to capture her for her. So Brittany quietly pulled out Santana’s camera from the drawer in the table by the door and crept to the couch, trying to figure out how to best capture this moment.
It was August, and the apartment was warm, so Santana was in nothing more than a black pair of boy shorts and a white tank top, which had ridden halfway up her stomach, and Henry was in just his diaper. Her hand rested lightly on his back, and the fingers of one of his tiny fists were clutching her shirt. After Brittany snapped her first picture, Henry made a small noise, and she worried he’d wake, but Santana’s hand moved up and down his back, soothing him back to deeper sleep, neither one actually waking up.
That was enough to melt Brittany’s heart.
She frowned at the picture she’d just taken and shifted to a different position to try again. She wanted the picture to show how peaceful they both were-her wife, often so fierce, and their son, who had been a fussy newborn but was now finally starting to settle down. As quietly as she could, she took another shot, and neither Henry nor Santana stirred, but the picture still wasn’t right. It didn’t look at all like what she was seeing right in front of her, Henry so utterly secure with his mother, Santana so tender with their son.
After four more pictures, she was about to give up, beginning to realize no photographer could manage to get all of the things Brittany could see into one small rectangle. But then she snapped one that came pretty close, and she sat on the coffee table, looking from the couch to the camera and smiling.
Then Santana woke up, blinking owlishly and smiling sleepily at her wife. “Hey, you,” she said, and Brittany beamed at her. “What’re you doin’?” she asked, noticing the camera.
“Making a memory,” Brittany said with a goofy smile, and she leaned down to kiss Santana and then Henry.
“I love you,” Santana said softly, and Brittany grinned, reveling in this perfect moment.
“I love you,” she replied, reaching for her wife’s hand, and Santana hooked her pinky finger around Brittany’s.
Author: mallardeer
Pairing: Brittany/Santana
Rating: G
Spoilers: None, future fic
Summary: Brittany had never been any good at taking pictures.
Author's Notes: I've had this image in my brain for a while now, and since I can't draw, I decided to try to create it with words. Totally plotless, flufftastic bananas I wrote to try to cheer myself up out of a bad mood.
Brittany had never been any good at taking pictures-that had been Santana’s job, and Brittany was content to let her capture all the moments of their life together-but when she came home from an afternoon dance class to find Santana asleep on the couch with their four-month old son asleep on her stomach, she knew she had to figure out a way to become a master photographer-and fast. This was not something Santana would ever be able to capture her for her. So Brittany quietly pulled out Santana’s camera from the drawer in the table by the door and crept to the couch, trying to figure out how to best capture this moment.
It was August, and the apartment was warm, so Santana was in nothing more than a black pair of boy shorts and a white tank top, which had ridden halfway up her stomach, and Henry was in just his diaper. Her hand rested lightly on his back, and the fingers of one of his tiny fists were clutching her shirt. After Brittany snapped her first picture, Henry made a small noise, and she worried he’d wake, but Santana’s hand moved up and down his back, soothing him back to deeper sleep, neither one actually waking up.
That was enough to melt Brittany’s heart.
She frowned at the picture she’d just taken and shifted to a different position to try again. She wanted the picture to show how peaceful they both were-her wife, often so fierce, and their son, who had been a fussy newborn but was now finally starting to settle down. As quietly as she could, she took another shot, and neither Henry nor Santana stirred, but the picture still wasn’t right. It didn’t look at all like what she was seeing right in front of her, Henry so utterly secure with his mother, Santana so tender with their son.
After four more pictures, she was about to give up, beginning to realize no photographer could manage to get all of the things Brittany could see into one small rectangle. But then she snapped one that came pretty close, and she sat on the coffee table, looking from the couch to the camera and smiling.
Then Santana woke up, blinking owlishly and smiling sleepily at her wife. “Hey, you,” she said, and Brittany beamed at her. “What’re you doin’?” she asked, noticing the camera.
“Making a memory,” Brittany said with a goofy smile, and she leaned down to kiss Santana and then Henry.
“I love you,” Santana said softly, and Brittany grinned, reveling in this perfect moment.
“I love you,” she replied, reaching for her wife’s hand, and Santana hooked her pinky finger around Brittany’s.