A/N: Felt like a while since I've wrote anything (well, completed anything I'm always writing and losing inspiration aha), so here we go. Another Puckleberry oneshot. I got the idea from "Texts from Last Night".
(203): Just because Aaron is a gender neutral name does not mean I am letting you name your baby after a drug dealer.
Hope you enjoy! Ps. Thanks for all the reviews and subscriptions to 'Photos from last night' :3
Sunday afternoon in the Puckerman household was usually relaxed. Noah would help Rachel with Lunch, then they would settle in front of the sofa to watch whatever was on; one Sunday it would be something Rach was interested in, the next something he was interested in, and so on and so on. This Sunday, however, was different. Rachel was out, and instead of spending all day in his undies on the couch like he had planned, he was joined by Santana. The girl, who was best friends with the couple for a few years, had rudely woken him at half 9; apparently she'd spent the night with someone who lived a few floors above them, and she didn't fancy going home. With narrow eyes he watched her from the breakfast bar, stretched out across the sofa, making herself at home.
Cracking open a can of beer from the fridge, he joined her on the brown leather seat, glancing at Santana who was glowering at him and his beverage in hand. Leaning forward he grabbed the bowl of chips sitting on the coffee table and offered them to his Latino friend. Looking at the bowl in his hand with distain, Santana clicked her tongue testily. Puck shrugged and returned it to the table, bringing the can to his lips and groaning in pleasure as the cool liquid hit the back of his throat. With a roll of her eyes, the heel of Santana's foot connected with his thigh sharply, causing him to choke a little on his drink, and rub his thigh to ease the pain. Shooting his 'friend' a belated glare.
'Asshole,' she mumbled, uncrossing her arms and swinging her legs off the couch to hobble towards the kitchen, only returning when she had her own drink. 'When's Rach home?'
'Dunno,' Puck shrugged then cleared his throat, 'Her dads and my ma have taken her shopping. She'll be a while,'
'God help her,' replied Santana, shaking her head empathetically. Of course Rachel adored her fathers, and Mrs. Puckerman treated her like her own, but spending an entire day with them, and alone? It could, and probably would be, torture for the girl. 'Come up with some names for the sprog yet?'
Puck turned his head to face her, a scowl gracing his face. He didn't really appreciate Santana calling his unborn child a sprog; it sounded too much like 'Frog' and that shits not cool, those things are creepy. Dropping his shoulders he shook his head,
'Nah, I had a few but Rach won't be keen on 'em,'
'Like what?'
Puck raised his eyebrow at the girl opposite, usually she wasn't interested in anything he had to say. Unless he was pointing out hot girls or spilling secrets of his sex life. The baby was probably a part of his sex life now, well a product of it anyway, so that counted he guessed,
'You're gonna laugh,' Santana rolled her eyes and folded her arms once again,
'Don't be a pussy, Puckerman. Just tell me,' Puck frowned to her, then rolled his eyes.
'Well there was this guy in college right? And he got us all this cool shit like, y'know,'
'Drugs?' Santana urged and Puck nodded,
'Yeah. Well, his girlfriend got him the stuff. Her name was cool,' he shrugged then turned back to the TV. Missing the confused expression she was sporting,
'Hey, douche bag,' she called, he turned to face her again with his brow furrowed, 'What was the name?'
'Aaron.' Santana stared at him, her bottom lip quivering and eyes bulging with glee. Puck pouted and smacked her arm gently, 'Shut up, I looked it up, it's gender neutral or whatever,' he mumbled, to which the ex-cheerleader scoffed, dropping her arms by her side,
'You name your kid that, she's gonna get bullied,'
'No she won't,'
'Yeah she would, I know what kids are like. I was one of them,'
'Still are sometimes,' Noah mumbled, copying Santana's earlier position by crossing his arms tightly over his chest in a sulk. Listening as Santana unmercifully teased him over the name he regretted bringing up.
Mere hours later, Rachel pushed through the doorway tiredly lead by her noticeable baby bump. Numerous bags that hung around her wrists slipped off and dropped to the floor, and her hand found its way to the small of her back, massaging herself where she ached.
'I'm home,' she called wearily, then heard two mumbled voices calling her into the living room. As she stood in the threshold of the living room she was met Santana, who's smile was as wide and terrifying as the Cheshire cats.
'Guess what dumb ass wants to name your baby,' Rachel wrinkled her nose at Santana's nickname for Noah, but turned her attention otherwise to him who was (still) sulking so it seemed on the sofa. After a few beats of silence Santana took it upon herself to announce the news, 'Aaron,'
Rachel looked at him thoughtfully, smirking somewhat as she thought of the name. It was a nice, Jewish name she was sure his mother would like, and Aaron Puckerman did have a nice ring to it. The diva was almost confused to what Santana found so funny, until, 'For a girl.'
Her face fell and she was back to wrinkling her nose at her husband,
'Aaron, for a girl?' She reiterated,
'It was his dealers name,' the Latina added, earning a scorching glower from the Mohawked man, (what? It's still cool.)
'It's gender neutral!' he argued again, throwing up his hands passionately. Rising to his feet and turning towards the two ladies; one who was giggling triumphantly in the corner and the other who's hands were now on her hips, staring at him with 'Are you an idiot' eyes,
'Just because Aaron is a gender neutral name does not mean I am letting you name our baby after a drug dealer!'
Santana snickered to herself, casually nabbing Pucks beer from the coffee table and taking it as her own. Puck huffed and shook is head, turning back to the television. If baby "Aaron" was anything like her mother, he was in for a rough 18 years.