A/N: This is my first fanfic ever! I love Glee, and I'm really glad that my first fic is Santana/ Brittany. They're pretty much the best couple ever.

Santana rescues Brittany from some jocks.

Brittany's POV

"Carpetmuncher!"

I turned around to see who had said that to me, although I wasn't really sure what it meant. I usually ate dinner at a table, or sometimes, on the nights when my parents were out on a date, I would eat off a tray in front of the TV. But I had never eaten off of the carpet. Maybe the football players had mistaken me for somebody else. Some other girl on the Cheerios squad with blond hair, holding a My Little Pony backpack. I'm sure I wasn't the only one.

"Hi Dave!" I said cheerfully to one of the hockey players.

His face contorted in irritation, "Hey retard."

I took a step back, a gasp of air rushing through my lungs. I knew what he meant by that. "Please don't call me that-"

"Why not? It's what you are, right? You're a retard, bitch." The other jock, Greg, said.

"No… I just-"

"Hey, shut up! I wasn't done talking!" Greg yelled. He slid forward, grabbing my upper arms and shoving me up against the lockers. My head slammed against the cold metal and I saw stars for a second. Not the gold, shiny, five-pointed ones that Rachel always puts next to her name, but sort of white blobs, like the ones I see when I sleep outside on the trampoline with Santana.

I felt my lower lip tremble as I tried to pull away from Greg's grip, "Let go," I whined.

Dave smirked from over Greg's shoulder. He reached out one arm, running his hand through my hair. He suddenly pulled hard, ripping the rubber band from my hair.

I shrieked in pain as my hair tumbled down over my shoulders. I shoved at Greg, my fingers tangling in his hockey jersey, but he was as unmoving as a brick wall, not that I can imagine anyone actually trying to move a brick wall. Isn't that what construction workers are for? "Let go!" I shrieked again as he pushed me harder against the lockers.

He lowered his face closer to mine, his stale breath lingering in my nose and throat, "Hey, Karofsky," he said, turning to look at Dave, "I heard that the stupid chicks are the best in bed."

I wasn't really sure what he meant. I mean, I knew I got enough sleep at night, but I didn't always sleep on the bed. Sometimes I slept on the couch. I also didn't know that people could be the best at sleeping. But then, I realized what they meant. They meant sex. I remember once Santana told me that Puck was good in bed, and then she had to explain what that meant. But how would Dave and Greg know that I was good in bed? Santana had told me I was, but she was the only person I had even had sex with.

I felt Greg's hands tighten around my arms, holding me closer to the hard metal. Dave's hand ran through my hair again, pulling the long, blond locks up to his nose. He breathed in, keeping his eyes on mine the whole time.

I squirmed, trying to get out from under Greg's hold, "Let go!" I repeated, feeling faint.

"Shut up, retard!" Greg snapped.

That's when I heard rapid footsteps, saw a blur of black, red and white, and watched as Dave fell, screaming in pain, clutching at his nose, blood pouring onto the floor. I slammed my eyes shut, scared. I felt Greg's hands leave my arms, then heard him yell in pain. I fell forward and was pulled into a warm, soft embrace.

I felt the soft, durable fabric of a Cheerio's uniform under my cheek, and my eyes snapped open. I straightened up, seeing Santana standing in front of me, her tan, slender arms still supporting me, concern and anger in her dark eyes. "Are you okay?" She asked.

I nodded once, my eyes wide.

She gave a small smile, the lip-gloss coating her mouth glittering in the florescent lights, "Wait here for a second, okay?"

I nodded again, taking a small step back.

Santana turned to face Greg and Dave, who were just climbing to their feet. "Listen up, jockstraps," She said, clapping her hands together, her eyes narrowing, "I'm feeling generous today, so I won't hurt you anymore than I already have, but if either of you lay a hand on my Brittany, I swear to god I'll cut your balls off. I will make you worthless lives even more miserable than they already are, understand?"

Both of them nodded, looking mildly nervous.

"Now get the hell out of here, before I change my mind and kick your asses!" She yelled, her dark ponytail swinging over her shoulder as she took a step forward, one tense arm pointing down the hallway.

Dave and Greg scampered off as fast as they could without making it look like they were running away. They looked a little bit like rabbits, but I knew that rabbits didn't wear hockey jerseys.

Santana turned to me, her eyes blazing, "You aren't a retard, you know that, right B?"

I nodded, holding up one pinkie, "I know, S."

She grinned, her real smile, not the fake smirk she used around everyone else, and linked her pinkie with mine.

I smiled to myself as we walked down the hall to Glee practice, our linked hands swinging in between us. I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye, "San?" I said, my voice squeaking a little.

She looked up at me, her head tilting slightly on her slim neck, "Yeah B?"

"You called me your Brittany… when you were yelling at Dave and Greg…. Why?"

Santana blushed a little, "Because I love you B. You're mine and I'm yours."

I thought for a second, then grinned. "I love you too, San. I'm glad to be yours."