The Big V
At a glance, Santana Lopez had settled nicely into her role at the top of the school and as Q's replacement during Babygate. All the stereotypes were thrown around, her bitchy Latina status well-established (she wasn't even fully Latina, but that didn't seem to matter). All she had to do was trounce along the hallways and the crowds would part. And whatever boyfriend she would latch onto seemed more than happy to go along with her usual routine of free food in exchange for hot Cheerio make out sessions. Them watching, she didn't touch just any loser.
Life wasn't perfect, of course, but it wasn't crappy anymore; she had suffered through being a total nobody in elementary school alongside Puck. He had been her best friend for life ever since they were six and she moved in a few houses down (shut the fuck up, you don't even know, bitch). She had been made fun of, ridiculed and exiled for having darker skin and hair, not to mention being called a boy on a regular basis. It only made her laugh (secretly) when Puck did it; everyone else made her cry (also secretly) whenever they'd ask when she'd just pay for boobs. She didn't need surgery to be hot. Something that Puck also reassured her of, ever since he was old enough to know what 'hot' was.
With this previous experience of anonymity in mind, she trained; gymnastics, aerobics, pilates… She trained like an Olympian. And all that earned her was second-place to the bitch who decided that it was okay to call her a Mexican labourer (not that there was anything wrong with that, but like… hello, she wasn't fucking Mexican. She was a quarter German, a quarter African-American and then half-Puerto Rican… and she wasn't going to be a maid!).
Another thing? She was super smart. She wanted to be an orthopaedic surgeon and she was safely on the Honor Roll (just beneath Quinn). That was actually important to her, seeing as she didn't want to end up like her mother. Not that she had mommy issues; she just didn't need to depend on some loser guy for money. That wasn't her style. Besides, she and Puck knew that he'd wind up her trophy husband. He wasn't going to get into anything else, except maybe some band… But even then, Santana had her realistic doubts after the Quinn thing...
In her first year of middle school, she managed to get out of her ugly duckling phase, and since that day she's been the apple of all the boys' eyes… Except for the boys who liked angelic blondes they couldn't have. Compared to Q, she was just some brunette with a bitch face. Puck never spared any effort to make her feel better about herself of course, telling her he wanted her, and that he thought Q looked like an albino stoner.
Where the fuck did that go?
All of her problems seemed to begin with a word from Q, and end with a hug from Puck… Now, she was left openly crying in front of Brittany when everything got to her. She missed clutching to Puck when she was overwhelmed, or excited, or tired, or even if she felt like it. She missed him being on her arm. Every time she would see Q tugging him along in the hallway or getting indignant when he'd talk to other girls… Santana wanted to slap her in the face so hard, but she was afraid she might knock the baby out of Q. Then Puck would blame her for the baby being screwed up, even if it was already damned to be half-Quinn spawn…
…
Santana watched attentively as each girl waddled onto the scales and tried their hardest to hold their breath. Most lost weight (or maintained, which was semi-acceptable). They each openly thanked whatever God they believed in as they exited the office. She was exempt from this particular test because she'd actually not been eating this week (protein shakes only). Coach Sylvester allowed her to miss this dreary routine for the week because of it.
The last girl, Tiffany, seemed eager and boastful about some amazing weight-loss routine that she'd been on. Apparently it burned all your water weight off, and Santana couldn't help but recall Mean Girls with the weight loss bars... And how she used to watch it with Puck…
Santana felt herself brought back at the squeak the senior girl tittered out. "T-This can't be right…" Tiffany meekly protested, almost crying as the scales climbed all the way up to 115lbs.
"Look Tiffany, I know your boyfriend broke up with you because he finally saw you when you weren't on your back, but gaining like 10 pounds? Are you purposefully trying to sabotage the Cheerios or just trying to imitate Q?" Santana scoffed, her hands tightly clasped at her hips. When Tiffany could do nothing but scowl and cry Santana felt her lips curl up into an amused smirk. A subtle roll of her shoulders signalled her personal dismissal of Tiffany.
"Lopez, I can't help but feel a little sickened and intrigued by your total lack of empathy for girls on the squad," Sue sighed with admiration, her expression softening for a moment, "Tiffany, get out of my sight."
The petite blonde calmly walked out of the room, managing to hold herself together. Once she thought she was far enough away from the open door, the unmistakable sound of heartbroken tears overwhelmed the hallways of McKinley. Sue seemed to appraise Santana briefly, her eyes skimming across the wall of trophies, "I think you are on your way to becoming my new Quinn. You may go," Sue beamed, a gesture kept only for her prized Cheerios.
Santana managed to keep it together as well, not really wanting Coach Sylvester to know how much those words had hurt. The new Quinn, she repeated gingerly in her head, her eyes averted to the floor. She didn't want to be Quinn's replacement, or Quinn's fill-in, or anything to do with that skanky fucking bimbo. Not since she got pregnant with Puck's spawn. But there was a hell of a lot of issues Santana did not want to think of right now. Or ever, actually.
Tonight was the night she had to sleep with Finn to secure her younger man and get her credit for the Madonna thing. Although it seemed to be some great common knowledge she 'slept around', she had only had sex with three guys other than Puck (anything up to third base didn't count). And she had dated all those guys for at least a month. The only reason she told Rachel to 'never say no' was because it'd be fun to see Berry turn into one of those girls; payback for dating her man.
Santana wandered along the hallway, occasionally smiling and waving to friends. All except one; it was hard to miss that sexy hunk of man. Even if she was really angry at him…
"Sup skank?" Puck chuckled from his leaning position against a wall. He was talking with several of the football jocks, all of which seemed to chuckle along with Puck's nickname. He was a moron sometimes; he wasn't supposed to call her stupid names like that at school. It did nothing for her reputation. She wanted to be an ice queen, not a pregnant queen.
Because of this (and the Babygate thing), Santana didn't even turn her attention to him as she passed. She felt that even a total brush-off was more than he deserved right now (although it was funny to hear him tell the guys he would see them later). She was stuck rolling and jumping for Sylverster's favour while he was sticking it to Quinn; if he was even that lucky. Or unlucky, stupid fucking blonde bitch. She didn't even turn to look him in the eye when she was unlocking her locker. Or even when his arms wrapped around her waist and his lips brushed against her ear.
"Why'd you blow me off just then, in a not-sexy way?"
"Don't touch me, you might knock me up by accident," Santana spat angrily, grabbing her letterman jacket and slamming the locker door. Puck took the hint, releasing the small brunette without a hint of hesitation. She was more than thankful for this, her eyes still refusing to turn to Puck as she pulled on the jacket.
"Low blow, Lopez."
"Ex-cuse me?" Santana frowned, turning to look Puck in the eye, "I think you sleeping with my best friend," (she chose this very carefully, noticing the flicker of hurt in Puck's eyes), "and knocking her up? That was a low blow. I can't believe I even have to tell you again, but you and me? We're so through. Like flare jeans over. You're good for sex, and that's all."
Puck said nothing, looking too much like a child who was being scolded. Santana didn't trust herself looking at him for long, her eyes averting to a poster on a nearby wall. The bell for class rang, but Santana didn't care; she was doing amazing enough in Math she was permitted to study in the library on her own. That's what being on the Honor Roll got you, so it was pretty much worth it (even if she actually did study in that time – she used to have sex with Puck in his truck, but y'know… Quinn).
"Does your girlfriend even know about us?"
No reply.
"That's what I thought, Puckerman," Santana swished her ponytail over her shoulder needlessly. In a quick gesture, she sashayed her hips from side to side before strutting off down the hallway. Each click of her heels reminded her he wasn't even bothering to follow her. After a decent distance was put between them, Santana rounded on him, "oh, bee-tee-double-u, don't call me 'skank'. You lost your rights to even speak to me, so nicknames like that? Save them for your precious, pregnant, perfect little Q," Santana managed before heading directly to the girls' bathroom.
A quick text to Brittany got her a friendly cuddle til the next class started; despite the rumor that Brittany thought the square root of four was rainbow… that was only because she copied off of Quinn (who wasn't even writing answers, just doodling sickening little pictures of hearts). Now that she was getting tutored by Santana, she was going a lot better.
And even if B didn't really understand why she was so upset, B cuddled her and reminded her that Santana was always first to her. It didn't make her feel any better about the stupid situation with her ex-boyfriend, ex-best friend, but it made her smile the slightest.
…
The night had started pretty standard for her, with homework, Cheerios practice and chores. At around five that evening, she slid comfortably into her cute little red sports car and sped down to the nearby motel (near the downtown district of Lima). She didn't want to have the memories of this in her room, mostly because she was afraid that it would taint her precious soft plushies and her mattress. So (smartly) she organized some cheap motel room. If she was paying, he didn't deserve classy and refined. She didn't care. She didn't even comment on the stupidly tacky lighting the place used on the neon sign out the front as she pulled up.
After receiving accusing looks from just about everyone (the negative Latina stereotypes really were starting to piss her off. No, she wasn't a call girl), Santana just stormed her way into the room. There wasn't much more to do than wait for Finn. She had told him five-thirty, and he arrived at six. Jerk.
When he arrived he seemed less enthusiastic about it all than her (as if that were even possible). The way he avoided eye-contact with her worsened her mood. And the fact he instantly excused himself to the bathroom when she suggested they just get it over with? Bastard.
After a long while of napping on the bed (at about seven), she welcomed the sight of the awkwardly tall football player. He didn't have the muscle that she liked, he was really pale, and he was so goofy looking. She was hot, amazing, pretty, picture-perfect, and here he was acting like he'd scraped her off the bottom of his shoe. He should be worshipping her, treating her to a back massage, or even a compliment on her efforts. But, nothing. Ungrateful.
Santana decided that with more foreplay and less actual penetration she might be able to get him off without too much disgust on her part. It was a smart plan, her hips grinding against his and her lips skilfully working at the pulse points on his neck. All she received in return were shy gooses and awkward moans.
"Just – put your fingers here."
"Here?"
"W – No! Ow! Fuck, no."
"Sorry!"
"It's fine," Santana cringed. "God, you're an idiot, just… here," Santana moved his hand carefully, trying her hardest to teach him a few things. She could at least try and make it not suck too much for him. All he managed to do was shove two fingers into her rather suddenly, her back instantly arching in angry rejection (and her teeth to angrily sink into his neck).
"Finn! God, stop doing that, what the fuck do you think I am?" Santana hissed, easing the pace of his hand to a less excruciatingly forceful rate. It was passable, and it felt good, but she shouldn't have to explain so much – seriously, Puck didn't have this much trouble their first time. She figured Finn was failing at an attempt to something he'd read in a stupid men's health magazine, but all he was doing was hurting her. Loser.
"Ow, just stop!"
"Sorry!"
"Just – for the love of God, stop talking!"
"Sorry," Finn mumbled in an awkwardly hoarse voice.
Santana tried her best to just close her eyes and grit her teeth. The boy honestly made her feel sorry for future girlfriends. Although it wasn't like he was intentionally trying to hurt her, she just felt like she was being used. Like some stupid skank who he picked up off the street, dressed in tacky lingerie in a tacky hotel room… Oh, wait.
It wasn't before long she decided that taking it semi-slow was too much effort, Santana just shoved his pants off and straddled him. The boy had no idea what he was doing, so she wasn't even going to pretend he was even slightly in charge. He only lasted long enough for Santana to get comfortable, his hands clutching tightly to her hips.
One thing to be thankful for was the fact it only lasted about as long as a commercial on TV; like, you just sort of sit there numb and by the time it's over, you realize what you were watching in the first place (and that the show sucked anyway). This wasn't supposed to feel so hollow; she had just slept with Q's boyfriend (the one Q still wanted) and Puck's best male friend… It was like, triple revenge. But she simply slid off him, angrily flopped beside him. It was all she could do to keep herself from cringing at the sight of Finn's confused orgasm face.
Santana thought that not even scrubbing for hours would get rid of this feeling. She felt too disgusted with herself for words. Wasn't revenge supposed to be sweet? Especially when the revenge was so ice cold she was almost shivering. Also? Berry could have Finn. She never wanted to be near that stupid, ugly, gross, jerkish loser ever again.
This was the most simultaneously the most shameful, disgusting and repress-worthy moment of her entire life, and she had walked in on her parents having sex. Well, her mom and her boyfriend at the time – whatever. Way to make it worse for yourself, Lopez.
She was Santana Iphingea Lopez, soon-to-be head Cheerio, the head bitch in charge at school, and soon-to-be most talked about girl in school...
Win-win, for me. She thought bitterly. Yeah fucking right.
…
The phone crackled in her hand, the sounds of beeps offering her little more than painful reminders that he might not pick up. She had been nothing but horrible to him. Why would he even want her, anyway? She was always going to be second to Quinn. Each beep was a reminder.
Beep. Quinn was the head of the Cheerio.
Beep. Quinn was the head of the celibacy club.
Beep. Quinn was the head of the choir at church.
Beep. Quinn was the mother of Puck's first child.
Beep. Quinn was the first choice, Santana was the second choice.
"Sup, Tana?"
Santana felt her lip unintentionally quiver. Even just hearing his voice made her want to cry right now. She could hear Quinn babbling in the background and laughing with Puck's mom and sister. Only then did she realize that she hadn't actually said anything. In a small, mumbled voice she said a few unintelligible things.
"Santana?" Puck sounded a lot more serious now, the sound of Quinn and the laughter fading into the distance. "Seriously, what? Are you okay? Who do I have to kill?"
"Come get me."
Puck seemed to mull over things for a second; she could hear a few yells before Puck assured her he was coming to get her. Right now, she didn't care that she had actually driven. Right now, she didn't feel up to driving. Finn had just left when she asked him to get her a burger. After he'd –
"Where are you?"
"Aces' Motel."
"What the fuck, why are you there? Santana," Puck cut himself off, the phone switching to loudspeaker. She could tell because she could hear the sound of music echoing in Puck's truck. Even though she knew she was supposed to say something right now, she couldn't. She didn't want to admit she'd just slept with Finn, seeing as she barely wanted to admit it to herself. "Who?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Just – stay right there, I'm close. Love you."
Santana hung up the phone and sat blankly on the bed, frowning angrily at the floor. Finn had just left her there. After refusing to get her a burger, he went on some fucked up ramble about how he was in love with Manhands and how amazing she was. It was the story of her life; every guy wanted someone else. She watched Puck throw himself at Berry with disgust, and now Finn was doing the same stupid thing.
It was her own fault for actually listening to Brittany.
Actually, no. This was Q's fault. She slept with Santana's boyfriend, got pregnant and made Sue look for a new head cheerleader. She was the reason Santana broke up with her boyfriend (the credit rating had been a lie – she knew Puck was the dad before most people even knew Quinn was pregnant). It was her fault for making fun of Santana in elementary school, her fault for everything.
Santana mechanically replied to the text asking what room, her shoulders slumped angrily downward.
"Open up," a voice called through the door, Santana continued to sit. "Don't make me break down the door. 'Cause I could do that, I know how -" Puck pointed out proudly, only mildly disappointed when Santana opened the door for him. All he needed to see was the look on her face (a blank, emotionless expression of emptiness) to know shit had gone down.
Santana quickly began explaining the situation (not that Puck caught any of it). When she realized she could barely speak, she threw herself into his chest. In all honesty, when they were alone, it was different. They had been friends for ten years. Lovers for two or so... she loved being comfortably shoved up against his abs. He was perfect, the bastard. He had amazing arms, a cute smile, and this lovely tanned glow about him.
"Seriously, who did what? I'm confused and angry and I punched five walls. Two of them were brick ones!" Puck whined, flashing a reddened hand to Santana.
With a deep breath, Santana scrubbed her eyes with the heel of her palm (carefully, so as to not rip off her fake eyelashes). "Coach Sylvester set us this assignment to – to get a younger boyfriend… And…" Santana took another breath, surprised she had kept herself from crying. "I asked Finn to – we…" Santana's bottom lip jutted out, "I can't even call it having sex."
Puck seemed to handle this admittance too well, a calm expression coming over his features. "What?"
Santana gulped a sob down, blinking at Puck for a moment. She couldn't work out why he was so mad. She was confused more than anything else; he was dating Quinn and they were busy playing happy house… Why would he give a shit that she was sleeping with other guys?
"What the fuck did he do to you? Do I have to set him on fire?" he prodded, warily eyeing Santana, "goddamnit, I really don't want to have to beat the crap out of Finn. Not again. It's pretty pathetic to see him flailing around like that - "
"No, just shut up for a second..." Santana sadly dismissed, wriggling out of Puck's arms, "he was just really - rushed. Like, I wasn't even worth the time. And – his fingers – God, I don't even want to think about it. He got off and ran, leaving me… It wasn't his fault," she whined, her hands now raking through her hair. Each time Puck would reach out for her, she would swiftly dodge him, "Please… don't touch me, Puck," Santana sucked in a breath, her tone becoming sarcastic and bitter, "I'm just here for the quick fuck-and-toss, apparently. I don't mean anything to anyone, not even you. I'm just some pathetic, annoying, ugly bitch that people just – just throw away whenever Quinn skips into the room… He said I didn't make him feeling anything, but Manhands got him all hard and hot. What the hell does that say about me!" Santana couldn't hold back her tears anymore, her arms tightly crossed in front of her.
Puck had never been able to deal with crying girls very well. He attempted a few sentences, but most of them began and ended with 'stop crying'. After a resolute sigh through his nose, he pulled Santana into a forceful yet caring hug, not really caring that she was trying to wriggle away.
"I shouldn't have asked you to come here. I mean, Quinn is probably worrying that you're cheating on her with me. Oh, wait…" Santana gently snapped. Her hands now latched onto either one of his biceps, perfectly manicured nails digging into the toned flesh.
"Santana, you know I -"
"Don't even try to say you love me more than you love her."
Puck frowned, rolling his eyes to the ceiling.
"I hate Q."
"I know you do."
"I've hated her ever since she used to tell everyone at church that I was there to clean the carpets," Santana recalled bitterly.
"I know…"
"And that time she told everyone I was - "
"Santana, seriously, thisisn't my fault." Puck angrily pointed out, tilting her chin up so she'd look him in the eyes. He actually regretted this, especially with the angry, possessive glint that made him forget there was another girl for a thousand miles. Even when she was teary-eyed with makeup smeared across her face she was hot.
"You slept with her, you got her pregnant! You cheated on me! You – You fucking did what my dad did to my mom…" Santana harshly breathed, her eyes averting to the ground. In a brief, bitter memory she recalled the fact her parents divorced due to difference of opinions; and the fact her dad had fallen in love with someone else. She loved her daddy, though…
"Can we not go there right now? Please?"
"Then what? You want to have sex with me and then just skip off to your pregnant girlfriend like you always do? Pretend it never happened, act like you hate me, pretend I don't exist - "
"That's you, not me. You broke up with me, you told me not to talk to you unless I wanted sex or hugs… I never pretend you don't exist – you'd kick me in the nuts if I did. I love you."
"I – I'm just…"
"Pissed I knocked up the stupid blonde girl we both hate?"
"Basically."
"I'm sorry."
"I miss you…" Santana frowned, standing on her tippy toes to kiss Puck on the lips. In amongst all the stupid fighting and pointless finger pointing, Santana had settled. She realized that Puck had just run across town late at night for the sake of beating up someone for her. And he was putting up with her psychotic episode…
"We don't have to have sex…" Puck pointed out, leading a scatter of kissing from her lips to her ear, nuzzling her ear with his nose. "We can just, y'know, make a pillow fort and you can give me a manicure, like you used to. Just, don't tell anyone, okay?"
"Well it wouldn't be like we used to then, would it?" Santana wondered softly, her cheeks still tinged red from her tears and the embarrassment of crying so openly in front of anyone. Even at her worst, she usually refused to let anyone see her so upset. Puck was just lucky – or unlucky. "But, actually… sex would kind of be good right now. I'm still on edge from trying to finish on my own. Just… be gentle, okay?"
The look Puck gave her caused her knees to actually knock – smarmy jerk.
"I'm never gonna let you forget that you asked me to be gentle. You're going soft, Lopez."
"Not as soft as you, Noki," Santana smirked, her hand unabashedly snaking into his pants, "and I love you too."
"It's cause no one can hate me. I'm too adorable," Puck practically gasped, his eyes flicking shut.
"Uhuh, so adorable. Not."
…
As far as Santana was concerned, she didn't need the status as head cheerleader. She didn't need to be the stupid blonde preppy cheerleader girl… because that wasn't the girl that Puck loved. She wasn't Quinn's replacement. Quinn was just some usurping bitch – hell, maybe someone should just stab Caesar.
…
A/N; Written as a one-shot for my friends. They're avid Pucktana fans, and I felt there wasn't enough Puck and Santana fics out there. While yes, I ship it, I still love my Puck/Rachel. And Jesse/Rachel.