A/N: So this is hella late; I meant to have this up like two weeks ago, but I s2g, the way the fandom throws a damn pity party every time something MIGHT happen really kills my mood to write; the way they react to things on Glee is worse than anything that actually happens on Glee, lmao. I suspect my other author friends have similar predicaments…

But anyways, this is my contribution to The 50 Shades of Sand Brittana Vacation Fic Spectacular, hashtag Lesbowaii on tumblr. Thanks to all my author friends who've participated so far, and thanks to all my author friends who are going to eventually post once they get their shit together, hahah.

I'd also like to thank you, the readers! Keep on keepin' on!

Also- apparently, I'm psychic? I came up with the idea for this vacation fic right after 101, and then Santana mentioned The Notebook in canon a few weeks ago, did ya'll catch that?

Anyways, that should be proof enough that this fic fits with canon. Prepare for fluff!

Brittany has always believed in happy endings.

There's a certain kind of magic to them, and maybe it's the fairytale quality of her own life experiences and those around her that supports her belief- or maybe it's the fact that she spends a lot of time watching movies, and Disney movies especially- but she's never really doubted that things in her life would turn out exactly how she dreamed them.

Still- it's hard to believe that she's spent the last several weeks with the girl of her dreams in a tropical paradise, endlessly making love without any responsibilities or cares in the world. Even that seems too fantastical after everything that's happened- her fairy godmother really outdid herself. Brittany's never seen herself as a Cinderella, though; maybe a Tramp, footloose and fancy-free, living a life filled with adventure and endless dames- that is, until a classy Lady comes along and makes him want to settle down, makes him want to roll meatballs across plates of spaghetti. She looks fondly over at Santana, who's sitting demurely across from her, the flame from the small tealight on the table combined with the tiki torches scattered around the area flicking shadows across her dark features.

Yeah, she's definitely found her Lady.

She takes a long sip of her Mai-Tai, smiling behind her straw as the sweet, tangy citrus and spiced rum burns her throat a little. She traces her eyes over Santana, who's digging through a pile of authentic luau food on the plate in front of her, and feels her chest aching at how beautiful she looks with the sun casting its final dying rays across her tanned, sun-kissed skin. She's got just the barest smear of pink across her cheeks and nose and shoulders from their first week in Lesbos, over a month ago, and they'd spent so much time outside or on the beach in the sun that they'd both maintained a constant, slight sunburn since. Brittany adores the effect, and she commits it to memory, to always remember the way Santana looks right now, in these weeks of reconnecting. They've been through a lot in the past year- rather, the past years, because they'd had to go through so much just to be together.

But if this is how her fairytale ends, Brittany would go through it all again and wouldn't change a thing.

Santana looks up from the pork she's digging into and smiles bashfully at her, noticing her intent staring. She reaches up to tuck her dark hair behind her ear, and Brittany can't help noticing the large white flower that's fastened there, standing out sharply against the silky black locks. Her heart pounds as her eyes fall lower, to the necklace of matching white flowers hanging around Santana's neck. They contrast beautifully with her tan skin, and Brittany's lost for a moment remembering earlier in the day, when they'd gone to a fun lei-making seminar their cabana had highly recommended and spent the entire afternoon weaving flowers into leis.

Pikake, the instructor had explained cheerfully, is one of the most popular flowers native to Hawaii, and is frequently worn by brides.

Brittany's heart had nearly stopped, her eyes meeting Santana's from their various spots sprawled mere inches away from each other on the floor, flowers and scissors and fishing line scattered in a mess around them. They held each other's gazes for what seemed like a short, intense eternity, and then Brittany looked down at the white flower blossoms she'd been stringing together- pikake. Suddenly the lei she'd been making for Santana seemed a lot more significant; Santana casually continued stringing flowers together, but Brittany didn't miss the blush that spread across her cheeks, or the way she handled the flowers a lot more carefully, as if they were made of glass.

Brittany couldn't take her eyes off her, her heart thumping with adoration at Santana's actions; sometimes Santana was so transparent to her, it baffled her how anyone could not understand her. She watched, unable to help the flood of warmth that passed through her body as she wistfully imagined Santana as her bride, her thoughts carrying her away into some certain future and keeping her there as she'd continued to craft. When they'd completed their leis, they shyly exchanged them, their eyes meeting; the ever-present heat, the intense current that always comes from the knowledge that they know each other so intimately- so deeply- passed between them, and the gesture all at once felt like something so much bigger than exchanging flower necklaces. Santana's eyes were dark, and the way she swallowed thickly made Brittany feel like she was drowning, consumed by the intensity of the emotions reverberating through her as she slipped the lei Santana had made for her over her head.

Even now, Brittany feels breathless at the memory.

(Part of her wants to just go for it- they're here, aren't they? It's legal, and she knows, with absolute certainty, what lies in her future- Santana. It's always been Santana, and it will always be Santana. She has no doubt that Santana is hers, that they belong together. She knows her happy ending-

-but she also knows she wants to do it right. She doesn't want to rush- she wants to take her time, plan it out, prolong the experience, revel in it, send out cheesy invitations on fancy stationary. She wants to see Santana in a white dress, with flowers in her hair (maybe even pikake) and even though she's not thrilled about having Rachel in her wedding, she wants to give Santana the opportunity to choose a Maid of Honor, and let Dr. Lopez give her to Brittany to cherish and keep, forever. She wants to smash cake in her face and kiss the frosting from her lips, wants to dance the night away surrounded by all their friends, listening to the same old tired songs played at every wedding reception ever, but feel so thrilled to be doing the Electric Slide with Santana, and then she wants to load up into a limo spray-painted with Just Married by their friends and carry Santana across the threshold of their hotel room in some exotic location they've spent weeks or months planning and looking forward to, and then do a completely different type of dancing the night away.

Tonight she just wants to enjoy Santana, without all the pressure. They have their whole lives ahead of them to get married- and many more impromptu romantic vacations to take, before and after.)

She smiles.

"You're staring," Santana says casually, but with none of the teasing edge she normally has. Brittany can't ever remember Santana being so soft. As much as she loves the Glee Club, and their friends, she knows Santana could never truly let her guard down completely around them; her recent fight with Rachel only proves that nobody- besides Brittany- has ever really taken the time to understand her. But now, with only Brittany as company, Santana's laid her armor down, exposing the sweet, tender parts of her- the parts that Brittany has always known and loved- for an extended period of time. Brittany wonders- hopes- that it will be like this, always, but she knows eventually they'll go back to New York, and Santana's walls will rebuild.

Still, Brittany will always have these moments. (And her heart races with the knowledge that she will be in New York with Santana, to take care of her and help remind her to take her armor off, sometimes.)

"I am," she answers, unapologetic as she finds Santana's soft gaze, and she wonders if she'll ever reach a point where Santana's eyes don't make her heart pound in her chest. She doesn't think she ever will. She's known Santana for years, been close to her for years, been intimate with her for years, and they'd been separated for only a few months; yet everything feels so new and exciting, but familiar in a way Brittany can't describe. She'll never tire of the way Santana makes her feel.

A loud yell from the direction of the stage interrupts their moment, but it's not unwelcome. The man by the stage announces that the show is about to start, and Brittany can't help the smile that sneaks onto her face. They'd only been in Maui for a couple of days; they'd been making it a point to see a luau or a show on each island they visited. Santana's words from weeks ago flit fleetingly through her brain as the show starts.

You need to be having a life. You need to be out in the world, going to restaurants and concerts and- dating.

She absently slides her left hand across the table, smiling wider when Santana slips her right hand into hers. This is the life she wanted. Because restaurants and concerts are great, but-

Her happy ending is with Santana.

The show is fantastic. They feast on salmon, rice, sweet potato, coconut custard and stuff they don't even recognize in between watching hula dancers, flame-throwers, fire-knife dancers, and impressive acrobatics. Brittany notes that Santana's face remains bright and awed the entire time, and it reminds Brittany of her soft- that Santana's not afraid of being judged for enjoying something, that she's not worried about maintaining any sort of bitch image. She's just Santana, just Santana with Brittany.

Brittany squeezes her hand.

She's impressed, herself, with the dancing. She was only at MIT for a short time, but it was long enough to make her appreciate how much she loves dance, and how much she appreciates the way Santana makes her feel alive. Somehow, everything always comes back to Santana, Santana, Santana, and as a small burst of fireworks blazes into the night sky to accentuate the flaming torches being juggled on stage for the show finale, Brittany feels her throat constricting, overwhelmed with emotion.

As if sensing Brittany's change in mood, Santana turns to look at her, and the soft of her eyes says you're everything and the hint of a smile on her lips says you make me so happy and the gentle squeeze of her hand says I love you. They lean across the small table, closer, closer, and then the loud pop! pop! of the final fireworks signifies the end of the show and a cheer goes up.

Politely- reluctantly- they release each other's hands (each other's gazes) and clap dutifully; the hula dancers shimmy themselves off the stage, sure-footed and graceful, and lead the way to the dance floor in front of the small tiki hut to continue the party. The music changes to something more energetic, and people around them begin to stand, moving to the dance floor. Finished with their meals, they rise and make their way to the bar as well, and Santana moves to sit on a stool while Brittany flags the bartender down beside her.

"Piña Colada," she tells him smoothly once she has his attention, "and-" she looks at Santana, who's smirking at her typical tourist drink choice, and shrugs. "Why not?"

She's about to order Santana's staple drink instead, but then Santana offers her a bashful smile. "Make it two," she agrees, and Brittany's heart flutters again. The bartender nods with a knowing smile before moving to fix their drinks, and Brittany's glad he heard Santana, because she can't be bothered to take her eyes from the beautiful girl in front of her long enough to notice anything else.

Brittany had spent months seeing Santana in everything around her- Glee Club, Cheerios, even her bedroom. The park across the way from her neighborhood, the halls of McKinley, her locker, Breadstix- everything was Santana, and all the old, familiar places all at once felt foreign to her without her there. Her heart ached constantly with missing her- an ache she thought she could quash by leaving the familiarity, by moving to Boston and starting a new school and forcing herself to accept that Santana would always be her best friend, but-

But it didn't work. Some things would always be familiar- like the memory of the way Santana looks in the morning sun, or the way she looks under the moonlight. Some things Brittany would never escape, and she's glad she's since realized it's better not to try.

She sips on her Piña Colada and enjoys the refreshing cold. It's a warm night, and despite her barely-dressed state in tight, blue-and-gray surfboard shorts settled low on her hips with a matching bikini top- and of course, the lei Santana had made for her earlier- her close proximity to Santana's heated skin does little to cool her. She drags her eyes down Santana's body, enjoying the expanse of tanned skin she finds. Santana's wearing a white bikini with a brightly-colored, thin beach wrap covered with an obnoxious flower pattern, but Brittany adores that she's wearing it because she had picked it out for her.

The sound of laughter and clapping and cheering rings out over the lounge area as the dance floor becomes occupied with clumsy, tipsy people, natives and tourists alike. Santana watches them with interest, sucking on her straw, and Brittany smiles sappily, feeling a good buzz. She'll have to be sure to tip the bartender extra. Nostalgically, she gazes up at the moon, marveling in the brightness, marveling at the stars. The vast clearness of the open, deep sky fills her with an immense feeling of luck and content, and combined with the slow burn of the alcohol she wonders if she's dreaming. She so hopes she's not going to wake up and find herself back in Boston, something she's worried about fleetingly these past weeks-

"Come!" the sound of a laughing hula dancer commands Brittany's attention, and she returns her focus to find several of the native girls surrounding Santana's stool, tugging at her wrist.

Santana tries to protest, but Brittany touches her forearm, reassuring silently in their understood language, and Santana finally relents, laughing, her cheeks pink from the sun and the alcohol as she allows the girls to tug her onto the dance floor. Brittany grins proudly, glad she wasn't the only one who noticed Santana's interest in the style of hula dancing, and she watches in amusement as Santana tries- rather successfully- to imitate the native dancers, her heart nearly full to bursting with adoration. Santana's always been an amazing dancer, and Brittany likes dancing with Santana best- not only because they synchronize perfectly, but because Santana can actually keep up with her.

The dancers demonstrate a few basic moves, and Brittany's impressed with the way Santana keeps the fast beat of the song and easily picks up the footwork, mimicking the gentle arm waves. She shakes her ass; the hula dancers shriek and clap encouragingly, and Brittany bites her lip at the way the moonlight and the torchlight gleam on Santana's tanned skin. The way Santana rolls her hips makes heat flash low in Brittany's gut, and she can't believe how badly she wants Santana despite having her repeatedly- constantly- for weeks now. Maybe she's making up for lost time. She'll never have enough.

Santana's beach wrap and the bikini underneath are both riding low, exposing the V of her hips and stopping just short of showing too much. Brittany licks her lips, her throat suddenly feeling dry, and sucks ravenously on her straw, the cool, white slush feeling good in her hot mouth. As Santana continues to move her hips, Brittany can't help but remember sex with Santana this morning- how she'd arched up beneath her, the muscles in her stomach taut and quivering, how Brittany had spent long minutes licking along that defined V, biting on her hip, sucking before kissing lower-

She's suddenly moving from her stool, stalking across the sandy deck beneath her feet to wrap possessive arms around Santana's waist, splaying firm hands on her hips. Santana doesn't slow, simply sways against her, warm skin to warm skin, and Brittany finds her rhythm, allowing Santana's arms to reach up behind her and wrap around her neck, pulling her achingly close.

The beat changes and they don't break stride as they change with it, their bodies keeping perfect rhythm together, generating heat, skin beginning to slick with sweat from the proximity, exertion, and lingering heat from the sun. Santana's ass pushes back into Brittany just enough to tease, and Brittany tightens her grip, inhaling the scent of Santana's hair. She presses a wet kiss beneath Santana's ear, smiling at the resulting shiver that passes through her, and then Santana grinds back against her and Brittany's already throbbing everywhere and ready to take this dance to their cabana. She's just about to turn Santana around when the music changes again, and a loud cry goes up.

"Everybody LIMBO!"

Brittany blinks in disbelief as she recognizes the slow beat of the song. She waits for the inevitable snarky comment from Santana about the cheesy lameness of it all, but it never comes. Again Brittany's reminded of the soft, and as everyone begins to make a limbo line, the hula dancers from before snatch Santana's wrist and she doesn't resist, pausing only to grab Brittany's hand and pull her along, too.

If someone had asked Brittany six months ago if she ever thought she'd be in Maui with Santana doing the limbo, she would've had to say no.

But as Santana laughs, carefree, with Hawaiian bridal flowers wreathing her neck, at the guy who faceplants in the sand while attempting to limbo his way under the bamboo stick, Brittany knows that there's no better place to be.

They both do surprisingly well, despite having never limbo-ed before. Brittany even made it into the final two, beaten only by a freakishly limber native.

"I'm not even certain that man has bones," Santana tells her as she finishes off her third Piña Colada, and Brittany's overcome with the impulse to kiss her. She leans close with the intent to do just that, but Santana slides off her stool and grabs her hand, tugging her back out onto the dance floor, giddy. Brittany doesn't resist as she returns them to their earlier position, and they dance until they're sweaty again, until Brittany can feel her pulse everywhere, until every slight brush of their skin feels electric.

Santana's dancing becomes increasingly dirtier, but the lights have burned low and the dance floor is crowded, so no one notices, and if they do, no one cares. She grinds back into Brittany with purpose, and if Brittany was throbbing before, she's aching now, burning for Santana despite having had her hours before. She kisses Santana's bare shoulder, drags her teeth across the sensitive skin and feels Santana shake in her arms and push back into her.

She rocks her hips, groaning at the friction, and breathes over her skin, "I want you so much…"

Santana reaches back to bury fingers in Brittany's blonde hair, turning her head to find Brittany's ear. "Take it, Britt."

Brittany sucks in a sharp breath- they can't do this here, can they?- and instead rocks her hips again. She debates with herself for only a second, her judgment still completely impaired because of the three- four? Or was it five?- Piña Coladas she's had, then makes her decision. She reaches into Santana's bikini from behind, sliding a hand over her firm ass cheek and down. She bites at Santana's shoulder, still grinding into her, as she finds slick heat and her heartbeat accelerates. "Fuck, San- you're so ready for me."

"Always, B," Santana says with a shaky breath, her hips pushing back against Brittany's hand insistently, and Brittany can't resist; she slides two fingers into Santana from behind, enjoying the way Santana immediately clenches around them, and the way her body shakes when she reaches as deep as she can go. She's spent plenty of time reacquainting herself with every inch of Santana, every spot inside her that makes her whimper and tremble, and Brittany smiles against Santana's shoulder as her fingers easily find that spot now. Santana sucks in an unsteady breath, her hips pushing back into Brittany more desperately, keeping the rhythm of the song and Brittany's fingers.

They dance that way for a while, Brittany's hand partially concealed both by the angle of their bodies and the obnoxiously-patterned beach wrap. The rhythm of their hips is slow and steady, and Santana tilts her head back as Brittany fucks her the same. Brittany keeps her left hand pressed low on Santana's stomach, keeping her close and guiding her into her movements. She rocks her hips on Santana's ass, feeling the pressure building inside her, dizzying her. A particularly rough grind of Santana's hips has Brittany growling, reaching her breaking point; she pulls out of Santana to grab at her hips with both hands- the fingers of her right still slick- and she spins her around to face her, finally claiming her lips with a bruising kiss.

Santana immediately parts her lips and Brittany's tongue dominates the space, licking into her mouth and stealing her breath. Santana tastes like coconut rum and sweet tang from the pineapple of her drink as Brittany's tongue explores, chasing the flavor. They kiss, their bodies still rocking, arms wrapped possessively- safely- around each other as everything else fades away. They kiss and kiss, and they're still kissing when the first warm drop of water hits Brittany's bare shoulder.

It only takes a few more moments before the sky opens up with a summer shower, and not just a drizzle- it's a downpour, and despite already being dressed in mostly beach attire, the majority of the crowd disperses, shrieking drunkenly about getting wet. Brittany can't really sympathize, as she's already pretty soaked from more than just the rain, and she's not complaining at all.

The warm rain drenches her and Santana in minutes, but Brittany can't find it in her to care. Not when Santana's lips are pressed to hers, not when she's sucking on her tongue, not when Santana's squeezing her ass and grinding into her, rocking against her thigh. Their kiss picks up in intensity, and soon they break apart for a breath, resting their foreheads together.

"I feel like we're in The Notebook," Brittany laughs breathlessly.

Santana cups Brittany's cheeks, cradling her face, and presses a slow, lingering kiss to her lips. When she pulls back, she grins. "So where's my house?"

"Still building it."

Santana's dark eyes sparkle beneath the starlight, and Brittany's heart leaps. "Mmhm."

The moment grows suddenly heavy as Brittany thinks about the implications of her lighthearted joke, and then she's surging forward, kissing Santana fiercely, tightening her arms and crushing Santana to her. The rain stays steady, and Brittany blindly backs Santana up to a nearby tiki hut; it houses the second bar, which had shut down hours ago, and as she presses Santana against it and Santana grips the edge of the bartop with her right hand and the back of Brittany's neck with her left, Brittany lets her mouth find Santana's pulse point. She sucks there, leaving a mark for the first time in two weeks- on her neck, anyway- and without any more stalling, Brittany's right hand creeps back beneath her bikini.

She drives two fingers back into Santana's tight heat, enjoying the delicious way she arches her back as she curls her fingers. She goes slow; she knows Santana is sore- Brittany fucked her into oblivion the night before, taking her over and over. This morning she licked her until she came in gentle waves, so now she moves slow and deep and hard, giving it to Santana the way she likes it while being hyperaware of every breathy gasp and low, shaky whimper that flies past Santana's lips.

Santana tightens around her fingers, and her thighs tense, trembling, and Brittany pulls her closer, kissing her and swallowing her loud moan of release. She moans at the way Santana's hips buck involuntarily against her hand. She'll never tire of this feeling, never tire of the way Santana falls apart for her.

When they break apart, Santana hugs her close, leaning heavily against the bar for long moments, catching her breath. The rain has slowed, but still pounds around them, and their hair and clothes are still drenched. Brittany kisses Santana's neck, and when Santana kisses her cheek, they lace their fingers together and carefully walk, hand-in-hand, down the beach and back to their cabana.

It's far too late- or early- to order any kind of room service, but they have some leftover sliced fruit in their mini fridge that they take turns feeding each other in between peeling off their wet clothes and kissing. They hum at the sweet taste of the fruit and how it tastes on each other's lips and tongues, and then, inevitably they wind up on the bed, naked and feeding each other fruit, naked and touching each other, naked and making out, naked and grinding their bodies together.

Santana ends up beneath Brittany, who pins her hands to the bed and rocks against her, letting their centers meet. It's sticky and hot and so not enough, even as worked up as she is from dancing earlier and then fucking Santana. It's never enough, but Brittany loves the filthy intimacy of it, the slippery warmth of Santana against her, the way their bodies slide, the tiny jolt that shoots through her whenever their clits meet.

Santana writhes, begs- "Please, Britt-" and Brittany loves how desperate she gets, but she's feeling desperate herself without knowing why. She's overwhelmed with how badly she craves Santana- a constant craving- and she wonders how she can love- need- someone so much as her heart pounds so hard she fleetingly worries her ribs might splinter.

"Fuck," Brittany pants, releasing Santana's hands, and they immediately fly to wrap around her, one burying in her blonde hair, the other sliding over her ass, pulling her hips down harder. Brittany shifts, sliding her left hand under Santana's shoulder, cradling her close and moving her right hand down to drive two fingers into Santana's tight heat.

Santana moans when Brittany enters her, her body arching up. "You feel incredible, Britt," she breathes, and Brittany kisses her chin, her cheeks, her nose, keeping her movements slow, addicted to the way Santana feels inside.

"You're everything, Santana," she murmurs in her ear before kissing her there, twisting her fingers as she pushes in and slides out. Santana's so smooth and warm and tight, and Brittany touches her everywhere, loving the way her fingers fit perfectly and the way Santana responds to each subtle movement.

Santana's fingers dig into Brittany's shoulders when Brittany hits that spot, slow and steady, and she shakes. "Britt- Brittany-"

Brittany kisses her neck. "What is it, honey? Tell me."

Santana tenses tighter, tighter, so taut she feels like maybe she'll snap, like her bones will shatter. "Fuck," she gasps, breathless, as she climbs even higher, building up powerfully from Brittany's relentless thrusts. "Oh, god. I can't-"

"Shhh; take it."

Gasping, Santana devolves into muttering, feeling herself getting closer and closer, and Brittany loves the way she loses control of what she's saying.

"So good, you fuck me so good- Britt- fuck- Britt, I'm gonna-"

Brittany groan, her hips rutting against Santana's thigh, and she's already on the edge just from hearing and feeling and smelling. "Shit, Santana."

Warm hands cup her chin, cradling her face, and tug. "Look at me," Santana whispers, and their eyes meet; Brittany's heart skips about ten beats, and her stomach clenches, and she's suddenly right there.

For so long, eye contact was something rare between them because Santana refused to admit her feelings- but now she never misses an opportunity to let Brittany in. During these past few glorious weeks, Santana had done nothing but show Brittany her soft; show Brittany her everything; show Brittany that Brittany is everything, and the intensity of the passion they share for each other threatens to break her completely.

It's overwhelming how much Brittany loves- needs- Santana sometimes- how can someone love another person the way she loves Santana? She doesn't think she can ever love someone else this way, doesn't think it's possible, that she's capable of the depths of feelings she has for Santana, but she's so thankful she doesn't ever have to worry about that.

She'll never have to try and recreate what she and Santana have.

Santana holds the eye contact even as she falls apart, and the way her eyes shine- with tears, with emotion- pushes Brittany over the edge; she comes with a low whimper, body strung tight, refusing to look away, even as they both gasp for breath, even as Santana strangles her fingers, their bodies rocking together with the waves of their release. Trembling, Brittany presses the full length of her naked body against Santana, aching to be closer. She feels like she needs to be inside Santana's body with her, that even that won't be close enough. Her chest aches with longing and love, even as Santana wraps arms around her tightly and their lips find each other, slipping together clumsily.

Santana strokes gentle fingers through Brittany's blonde hair, and they wrap themselves around each other, naked, sweaty limps tangled together. Brittany drifts off to sleep with a tired, satisfied smile, knowing that she has another perfect day in paradise with Santana to look forward to tomorrow, and the next day, and the next; an endless number of perfect days, all with Santana by her side. Her last thought as she lazily traces her sticky fingertips along Santana's bare arm is that the moon's shining in through the window and highlighting the room in silver, but all she sees is Santana in the beams.

Brittany wakes up the next morning, warm and still wrapped around Santana. The moon has traded places with the morning sun, and the radiant beams light up the white sheets and Santana's skin, making Brittany smile.

Another lovely summer's day.

She watches Santana sleep for long minutes, wondering if she's still dreaming but knowing she's not. When she traces her hand along Santana's cheek ever-so-gently, Santana's eyes flutter and open, and the dark sleepiness of them sends Brittany's heart racing all over again.

They stare at each other, silently, effectively communicating with just their eyes, just with the subtle way their lips curve into a smile, just with the way Santana reaches to drag fingertips along Brittany's neck.

"What're you thinking?" Santana asks at last, her voice sleep-soft and endearing. It makes Brittany smile wider, slow and adoring.

"Just hoping I'm not going to wake up and discover this is all a dream," Brittany says, and her voice wavers a little as she adds, "I'm not sure I could handle it if-" she trails off, swallowing thickly, and Santana brings her hand to her lips, kissing across her knuckles.

Her voice is low, full of conviction as she says, "We may not be in The Notebook, Britt- but we will always- always- find our way back to each other."

And Brittany's heart feels like it might break in the best way. She smiles, shaking her head slightly, amazed at how lucky she is, at how everything has worked out for them- will continue to work out for them.

But she always knew that, didn't she?

Brittany has always believed in happy endings.

:')

Thanks for reading, everyone! And don't forget to check out the other stories in the Lesbowaii tag. :D

Review if you have some feels.

If not, catch you next time!

**title obviously from the song of the same name, as sung by many great artists but most notably the fantastic and wickedly talented Billie Holiday, whose version was popularized most recently by the movie The Notebook.

****for those of you waiting for a Savage! update, it will be the very next thing I write! It's coming, I promise!