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echoes-of-realities · 5 years

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be my fire in the cold (and I'll be waiting by the mistletoe) - 25/25

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[From the Start] // [Fanfiction] // [ao3]

[Previous Chapter]

Chapter Summary: Santana wakes up happier than she’s ever been; Brittany asks a very important question and learns how to make cinnamon buns in the process.

Notes: I?? Made?? It?? All the way?? Omg I’m exhausted but also !!!!! lmao

In a lot of ways this was the hardest chapter to write, because trying to craft an ending that was satisfying to me was a Long process but I eventually got there. This was the first time I ever did anything like this and I’m actually pretty proud of myself for doing it! Thank you to everyone who commented or reviewed or tagged because they all mean the world to me!! I didn’t have time to respond to them all because December and end of term is always Insane for me, but I definitely read all of them and appreciated them all so much!!

So Merry Christmas and thanks for reading!!!

Chapter 25: how have we missed out on all of these years?

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I wrote a note. Saying that when two people fall in love, they do so at the same speed. There’s no need to factor in the physics. Explanations are something we can make no use of. Einstein once wrote, “Gravity will not be held responsible for people falling in love.” I wrote a note saying “If I fall in love with you, no one will ever be able to explain it, and I think that’s beautiful.” — “Tomatoes” by Shane Koyczan

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Santana wakes up slowly, warm and comfortable with a beam of sunlight inches from her nose, turning blonde hair to gold. They haven’t moved much from last night, Brittany still sprawled on her back with both arms wrapped loosely but securely around Santana, and Santana nuzzled into the space between Brittany’s neck and shoulder, one arm curled beneath Brittany’s back and more than a little numb and her other thrown over Brittany’s waist, their legs hopelessly tangled under the blankets.

She has no clue what time it is other than that fact that it’s morning, the sunlight shining in through the cracks in the blinds and slanting across the bedding, brightening the pale yellow of Brittany’s sheets. Santana shifts around a little, pulling herself up onto the pillow, her skin buzzing where it presses to Brittany’s, until she can lay her head beside Brittany; she’s bed-warm and smiling a little in her sleep, her lips parted and blushed pink. Santana props herself up on her elbow—ignoring the faint sensation of pins and needles as her arm wakes up—and lifts her other hand to trail her fingers over Brittany’s face with a featherlight touch, barely enough to cause Brittany to even stir.

She draws constellations with the spattering of faint freckles on Brittany’s nose and tucked in the corners of her eyes, she admires how the amber-coloured roots of Brittany’s lashes turn almost honey in the sunbeam stretching across her face, she carefully brushes tangled blonde hair back behind Brittany’s ears and ghosts her fingers along the shell them, she runs her thumb over the peak of Brittany’s pale cheek just to watch her brows furrow; and then, when she can’t resist anymore, she leans down to kiss away the furrow. She trails butterfly kisses down the length of a nose, across a cheek, and then down the line of a jaw. She presses a kiss to that tiny freckle tucked at the corner of her mouth, the one that always hides in Brittany’s smiles during the day, before she shifts a little to the side to press her lips fully to Brittany’s.

Brittany doesn’t move for a moment, but she starts to stir as Santana’s lips move against hers, humming into the kiss until it buzzes against Santana’s lips. Fingers start to scratch lazily at the sensitive skin of Santana’s waist and she shivers as Brittany’s electric touch wracks her body.

She only pulls away when she realizes that she should probably breathe soon, and Brittany whines at the loss of contact. Santana giggles and presses a close-mouthed kiss to her lips to pacify her, lingering a little when Brittany sighs against her.

“Merry Christmas,” Santana whispers as she pulls back, propped up on her elbows so she can cup Brittany’s face in her palms, running her thumbs along Brittany’s cheeks and marvelling at how soft and smooth her skin is, delighting in how her eyelashes flutter at the sensation.

“Mur’ Chris’ma,” Brittany mumbles, blindly tilting her chin up and searching for Santana’s lips again, not even bothering to crack her eyes open. Santana giggles and watches Brittany search for long moments before finally leaning down and kissing her pout away; Brittany is about as much as a morning person as Santana herself is, but Santana’s constant grumpiness before her morning coffee dissipated as soon as she felt Brittany’s heartbeat against her cheek, steady puffs of breath tickling the top of her head, bare skin warm and soft against her own.

Santana leans her forehead against Brittany’s and smiles softly, waiting until her eyes flutter open, just soaking in the feeling of falling in love with Brittany all over again as blue eyes meet hers, sleepy and warm, the tiniest flecks of gold surrounding her pupils, cobalt streaking through cerulean like forks of lightning.

Santana’s never seen anything more beautiful in her life, and she can do little more than tilt her chin down to rain kisses on thin pink lips that curl up into a wide smile under her ministrations.

Santana sighs and nuzzles her nose into Brittany’s, just breathing her in for long moments; the air around them smells of honeysuckle and vanilla and citrus and jasmine and something sharp and heady and warm. Brittany’s lips purse to press a kiss against her cheek and Santana smiles, sliding her arms under Brittany until she can wrap even more tightly around her and sink into her embrace.

“I love you,” Brittany breathes against her cheek, and Santana’s heart thuds heavily as she cuddles closer, nuzzling her nose against Brittany’s and sighing into her mouth as their lips find each other.

Brittany kisses her, long and deep and open, not even giving her a chance to respond. Santana just sinks into the feeling, one of Brittany’s hands drawing slow patterns across her back and the other one cupping her jaw and guiding Santana’s mouth against hers until every thought in Santana’s mind has disappeared and she falls into Brittany.

Brittany keeps making these airy little sighs against Santana’s lips and her spine melts at the sound until she’s bonelessly draped over Brittany, molding their bodies together. Lips trail from her mouth across her chin and up her cheek to scatter butterfly pecks across her nose to her other cheek. “I love you too,” Santana finally manages to gasp in answer, now that Brittany’s stopped her welcome assault on her lips and she can string two thoughts together again.

Brittany pulls back a little and stares, wide-eyed and hopeful, up at Santana. “Really?” she asks breathlessly.

Santana giggles and shakes her head, kissing Brittany until she can’t breathe any more, drawing back to press lingering kisses along Brittany’s jaw instead until she locates her ear. “I love you,” she whispers before planting a sucking kiss behind Brittany’s earlobe, just to feel her shiver, her hands stuttering as they trail along Santana’s back.

Brittany sucks in an unsteady breath as Santana trails her lips down Brittany’s neck and across to her collarbone, dipping her tongue into the hollow and moving onto the other one, repeating her motions back up Brittany’s neck until she finds her other ear. “I love you,” she whispers again, trailing her kisses back to Brittany’s mouth.

Brittany’s breathing is unsteady and her hands tremble a little as they reach up to keep Santana’s lips pressed against hers until Santana’s own breathing come in little pants and she’s shivering in Brittany’s arms.

“I love you too,” Brittany breathes, and as good as it felt to say it, it feels even better to hear it.

She feels like everything good in the world is sprawled on the bed beneath her, like everything she’s ever wanted is right at her fingertips, and she doesn’t want to ever lose it, so she just kisses her love into Brittany’s mouth, knowing that Brittany’s doing the exact same thing.

Brittany hums against her lips and smiles into the kiss, her hands roaming Santana’s back with increasing intent and decreasing innocence, and they don’t bother with the outside world for a long time.

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They eventually crawl out of bed and into some shirts Brittany finds, hers an old button up she’s repurposed as a sleep shirt for years and Santana in festively red plaid. They find clean underwear, Brittany from her dresser and Santana from her overnight bag, and when Santana sees that Brittany’s panties are bright red with little nutcrackers all over them she has no option but to push her up against the dresser and kiss her hard.

Eventually they make it to the bathroom to brush their teeth side by side, both of them smiling so wide at each other in the mirror that foam drips to their chin, and then they’re giggling too hard to do anything more than clumsily wipe toothpaste from the other’s chin.

They wander into the kitchen and Santana rifles through cupboards until she finds mugs for coffee while Brittany fiddles around with the bluetooth on her phone and the speaker on the kitchen island until whatever Spotify Christmas playlist that’s first in the results is crooning through the apartment.

Santana yawns as she waits for the coffee to finish, smiling and sinking back into Brittany’s embrace as two arms wrap around her waist and a pair of soft lips find the apple of her cheek, lingering there for a long moment while Santana quickly switches the mugs and starts the next coffee.

“So,” Brittany drawls once the next coffee is brewing, and Santana can tell she has a question on the tip of her tongue, so she just waits patiently and brings her hands to tangle with Brittany’s against her stomach. “I was wondering something.”

Santana just hums in acknowledgement, and in the silence she can feel Brittany’s heart pound quick and heavy against her back.

“I love you,” Brittany starts, and Santana doesn’t even bother to try and hide the wide grin that curls her lips at the words, and she earns a kiss directly on her right dimple for her trouble, “And you love me, so— Are we— You know?”

Santana thinks she might know what Brittany’s asking but she can’t help to smile and tease her a little bit. “In love with each other? Yep, that just about sums it up.”

“No,” Brittany whines, knowing she’s being teased but not really upset about it, which Santana knows because she giggles and feels a smile against her jaw. Brittany’s lips purse to kiss the skin before she drops her chin to Santana’s shoulder.

Santana gasps. “No?” she asks with mock incredulity.

“No,” Brittany pouts, and Santana finally grins and lets up on her teasing, turning to press a kiss to Brittany’s cheek until she feels it bunch with a smile under her lips. “I meant, are you my girlfriend now?”

Despite expecting the question, nothing prepares Santana for the wave of pure happiness and love that floods her at that question, that idea, that concept, the idea of being Brittany’s girlfriend is more than she could ever hope for. “I would be disappointed if I wasn’t,” she says, and the smile in her voice is obvious even to her.

“So we’re girlfriends then?” Brittany clarifies, unable to stop herself from bouncing in place a little, jolting their bodies.

Santana’s heart melts right out of her chest and she can do nothing more than sigh her “Yes.”

“Score!” Brittany cheers right before she spins Santana around and pins her against the counter to seal their lips together, Brittany’s tongue immediately slipping into Santana’s mouth.

Their coffee is cold by the time they break apart, but they just giggle and kiss again and again and—

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Brittany microwaves both of their coffees while Santana hunts for the creamer in the fridge, passing it to Brittany before she starts pulling out all kinds of ingredients for breakfast—or more like brunch, she realizes after a quick glance at the clock on the stove—and setting them on the kitchen island while Brittany finishes off making their coffees.

They had decided to make cinnamon buns last night at the grocery store; the last time Santana made them was with her mom, but she remembers the recipe like the back of her hand. Baking had always been something just for her and her mom, something they could do together that no one could take away, and every Christmas morning Santana remembers her mom waking her up—carrying her down to the kitchen when she was really young and poking and prodding her out of bed when she was a teenager—so they could bake cinnamon buns together.

Brittany takes her usual position as an assistant chief and hands Santana bowls and ingredients, and if Santana closes her eyes it almost feels like her mom is standing on her other side and guiding her movements like she used. It aches sharply and deeply in her chest but Brittany’s warmth against her side replaces it with a soft nostalgia as she thinks of all the Christmas mornings she had with her mom instead of the ones she lost.

Brittany’s patient and tender and attentive while Santana narrates the recipe as they make the cinnamon buns, equally curious about what the yeast does as she is about the year Santana put a tablespoon of salt in to the bowl instead of a teaspoon. She treats each story about Santana’s mom like a gift, tucking every single one carefully away and kissing Santana’s cheek whenever Santana’s chest starts to ache with pain, somehow just knowing when Santana needs to feel Brittany’s comforting warmth against her.

Santana’s sadness starts to fade as they clean up, the dough rising on the counter and the filling already mixed together. They stand side by side at the sink, Santana washing and Brittany drying, and before long Santana has bubbles in her hair and Brittany has them trailing down her arm and into the sleeve of her shirt and they’re wrapped up in each other again, ignoring the bubbles and water on the floor from their impromptu bubble fight.

Santana knows that while she has so many Christmases ahead of her without her mom and that it will probably always ache a little, she also has so many Christmases ahead of her with the goofy, sweet, brilliant, snarky, loving blonde in her arms, and that makes her heart bloom with so much love and hope that she kisses Brittany just to release it before she combusts; instead it just makes the feeling bloom even more.

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While the cinnamon buns rise, they cuddle on the couch with their coffees and watch awful and cheesy Hallmark movies with essentially all the same plot, giggling as they’re able to predict every single plot point before it happens. Brittany answers some texts from her mom—telling them to call her in a couple hours after they’ve managed to get her sister out of bed and opened their presents—and sending a couple Merry Christmases to Mercedes and Sam while Santana does the same to Tina and Mike.

It’s the Facebook messenger notification that catches Santana’s attention, and she frowns at her phone for a second before opening the app and gasping at the message there. Brittany startles a little and turns to look at Santana, her eyes dropping to Santana’s phone and her arm tightening around Santana’s shoulders, tugging her into her body.

Santana stares at the message preview before finally clicking on the message. There's more than one message, all sent within a couple minutes of each other and she smiles tearily at the thought of her abuela's slow, halting typing; her arthritic fingers never could work a keyboard too well.

She knows Brittany's reading over her shoulder but trying to be subtle about it, so Santana just adjusts herself a little and holds up her phone so they can both read, turning her head to press a soothing kiss to Brittany's bicep as she feels her hesitate again, waiting until Brittany finally tucks her head in against Santana's as they read her abuela's words.

Santana rereads the messages about four times before they finally start to sink in, before she realizes that this is why her abuela sent that friend request after all these years of silence. The first message reads Merry Christmas, followed a couple minutes later by I know I hurt you so long ago but by the time I realized my mistake it was far too late and your mother’s number no longer worked. Gabriel helped me find you on Facebook a couple months ago but I only worked up the nerve to send this today.

“Gabriel?” Brittany asks softly.

“My cousin— The one that was cool with me being gay,” Santana explains.

Brittany makes a small sound of acknowledgement and kisses Santana on the forehead before turning back to the phone. Family is the most important thing in the world, the next message reads, and I have not acted like one to you. I was wrong but I was scared and narrow-minded and I am sorry for how I treated you. Brittany nuzzles her nose against Santana’s temple as Santana takes a shaky breath. She smiles up at Brittany and kisses the underside of Brittany’s jaw; she’s okay, she thinks, because this is more than she could ever ask for, it’s just a lot to take in after so many years of bitterness and sadness and she’s a little overwhelmed, only calming as Brittany’s fingers trail over her arm. If you do not respond I understand but I love you Santana and I know I do not deserve it but I do not want to miss out on anything else in your life. I have missed you so much.

Santana sighs and sinks back into Brittany’s arms, reading the messages one last time before exiting out of the app. Brittany nuzzles against Santana’s ear and kisses her cheek. “So,” she says quietly, “What do you want to do?”

Santana smiles a little and opens her Facebook app, clicking on the friend request tab and only hesitating a moment before accepting her abuela’s request.

Brittany smiles and kisses Santana's cheek again and something in Santana's chest starts to heal, the double ache of her abuela's estrangement and her mom's death starting to ease. She smiles and turns in Brittany's arms so their stomachs are pressed together, propping her hands on Brittany's chest and resting her chin on top of them. "Hey," she says.

Brittany's smile widens and she reaches up to tuck dark hair behind Santana's ear. "Hi," she giggles.

“I love you,” Santana says, simple and honest. Apparently having said it once opened a floodgate and she finds that she’s addicted to the way the words feel in her mouth, to the way Brittany’s eyes soften and light up all at the same time whenever she says them, to the way she can’t stop smiling when Brittany says them in return.

“I love you too,” Brittany whispers, and Santana leans up to kiss her until they’re both breathless and warm and the timer on Santana’s phone is going off. They reluctantly untangle themselves and head back to the kitchen to shape cinnamon buns on baking sheets and shove them in the oven to bake, crouching down to watch them for a moment.

“I haven’t made these in a really long time,” Santana warns as they peer into the oven.

Brittany leans over, just a little wobbly from where she’s crouched, and kisses Santana on the cheek. “I’ll still eat them even if they’re burnt to a crisp,” she says earnestly.

Santana giggles and reaches up to tug on the collar of Brittany’s shirt until she falls forwards onto her knees and her lips end up on Santana’s mouth. She gasps at the move and Santana takes the opportunity to slip her tongue into Brittany’s mouth, humming as Brittany presses even closer. She ends up flat on her ass, Brittany hovering over her and smothering her giggles against Santana’s lips. Santana nips at Brittany’s bottom lip and slips her fingers under the collar of Brittany’s shirt and Brittany’s laughter turns into a muffled moan.

Santana smirks against Brittany’s lips and kisses her harder.

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They’re just finishing off eating their cinnamon buns, Brittany leaning against the arm of the couch and Santana leaning against her, sharing one plate balanced on Santana’s knees, when Brittany’s phone rings. She quickly shoves the last bite in her mouth and snags her phone off the coffee table, hitting the speakerphone button as she answers and mumbling her “Hello?” around the mouthful of food she’s still chewing on.

“Sweetie! Merry Christmas!” Whitney Pierce cheers loudly, sounding a little bit like she’s actually in the living room with them, her husband and other daughter’s voices faintly chiming in too. One thing Santana learned about Brittany’s mom over the last week is that Whitney really does not understand the meaning of an inside voice.

Brittany mumbles her greeting back, but her incoherence due to her still chewing on her mouthful of cinnamon bun is lost to Whitney’s rambling. Brittany mumbles something in answer to one of her mom’s questions and Whitney finally clues in and asks Brittany what she’s eating.

Brittany responds with something that Santana only knows means cinnamon buns because she watched her shove it in her mouth.

“Sorry, we don’t speak mumbling dork,” Brittany’s sister teases. Santana smirks and quickly sits up to place the empty plate on the coffee table before she drops her head back to Brittany’s shoulder, shifting around until she can actually watch Brittany as she talks.

“Sorry,” Brittany says once she’s finally swallowed her food, “Cinnamon buns.”

“Ooh,” Whitney coos, “Treating yourself today?”

“Something like that,” Brittany agrees before winking at Santana, who rolls her eyes and acts like she’s not completely charmed by Brittany at any and all times. Brittany laughs quietly, absently agreeing to whatever her mom is saying and instead tucking her phone against her other shoulder so she can wrap both arms tightly around Santana.

They talk about the presents Brittany’s parents and sister got, exchanging thank yous and you’re welcomes. Brittany’s family had brought their presents for her to New York with them for her to open, but Brittany’s presents for them had been completely forgotten at the top of Whitney and Pierce’s closet, which they only realized after they boarded the plane. They’re just about to go help Brittany’s grandma with supper now that gifts are all opened, Brittany’s huge collection of aunts and uncles and cousins and whatever other strays they find means that cooking Christmas Supper is an endeavour that starts before seven in the morning and continues throughout the day as family members wander in and out of the kitchen, sources of assistance and hinderance in equal measure.

“I wish you were here, sweetheart,” Whitney says and Santana can hear the pout in her voice, “instead of all the way across the country all alone.”

“I wish I was there too,” Brittany says, and then takes a deep breath and tightens her arms around Santana, who is still reclining back against her chest, her hips tucked securely between Brittany’s thighs, “But I’m not actually alone.” Santana smiles softly and Brittany quickly presses a kiss to her nose, grinning and pressing another one there when it scrunches up at the feeling.

“Oh?” Whitney says, “Did Mercedes not go up to see her parents last night then?”

“Nope,” Brittany singsongs, smiling softly at Santana and Santana feels her heart swell at the open look of love and adoration on her face, “My girlfriend’s with me.”

There’s a long beat of silence, and then all Santana can hear over the phone is shrieking and laughing and I knew its! as the Pierces all talk at once and Brittany’s phone speaker briefly screeches at all the loud input.

Brittany and Santana just smile at each other and start answering questions.

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They spend the rest of the day lounging around the house and cuddling, kissing to a backdrop of cheesy Christmas movies and Christmas tree lights, hands wandering and learning each other’s bodies—both innocently and not so innocently—on the couch and in Brittany’s bed and in the shower as the sun starts to sink back behind the tall buildings around the apartment and then, eventually, behind the horizon. They find a place still open for delivery and order supper, reluctantly getting dressed in more than sleep shirts and underwear just long enough to answer the door. They eat sitting on the floor of the living room, their backs against the couch, and watch another cheesy Hallmark movie and bet on who can best guess the next plot point, using kisses as bargaining chips, so they actually both end up winning anyways.

They cuddle on the couch until they fall asleep and wake up in the middle of a different movie with no idea how many hours have passed. Santana turns off the television while Brittany checks that the door is locked and turns lights off as they stumble back down the hallway to Brittany’s bedroom, only stopping on the way to brush their teeth.

Santana crawls into bed and Brittany closes her blinds and shuts off the lamp on her bedside table before crawling under the covers too. Santana immediately cuddles close, their arms draping over each other and their legs tangling together.

“Merry Christmas,” Brittany says and presses her lips softly to Santana’s, smiling into the kiss until she draws back a little, “I love you.”

Santana sighs and chases after Brittany’s lips, mumbling her “I love you too” and “Merry Christmas” into Brittany’s mouth.

They keep kissing until they’re relaxed and sleepy, and finally Brittany pulls back a little to yawn. “Do you have anywhere to be tomorrow?” she asks quietly.

“Nope,” Santana smiles and shakes her head, nuzzling herself further into Brittany’s embrace until there’s no space between them, their foreheads pressed against each other and their noses squashed together, Santana’s lips brushing against Brittany’s and their arms tightening around each other, “Just right here, with you.”

#brittana #brittany pierce #santana lopez #glee #brittana fanfiction #glee fanfiction #my writing #story: be my fire in the cold (and I'll be waiting by the mistletoe)#we did it fam #we made it All the Way to the 25th of december and all the way to the 25th chapter #I'm so exhausted lmao

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