fic: maid of honor
Title: Maid of Honor
Pairing: Santana/Brittany (and you can easily read Puck/Kurt into it if you want)
Rating: PG-13 for swearing
Summary: “So... you want me to be like… your best man?”
Spoilers: Not really.
Notes: I really want Santana and Puck to be BFFs... I think this fic is evidence of that.
Santana is sitting at her desk chair, working on her very last paper of undergrad (thank God), when she feels a weight on her shoulder and then Brittany’s arms around her. “Are you done yet?” Brittany asks into the side of her head, and Santana smiles because Brittany’s breath tickles her ear a little.
“No, not yet, babe.” Santana can’t see it, but she knows the pout is there, so she adds, “I might be done in another hour, though. If this paper doesn’t kill me first.”
“Oh.” Brittany stands up straight, and then starts massaging Santana’s shoulders. “Would this help you finish faster?”
“Mmm…” Santana tilts her head back to look up at her fiancé. “Couldn’t hurt.”
Brittany leans down to give Santana a kiss. “Have you asked him yet?”
Santana furrows her eyebrows in confusion. It takes her a minute to figure out what exactly she was supposed to be asking and who she was supposed to be asking it to, but when she does figure it out she leans forward so she’s facing her laptop again and groans.
“Britt, you said I could wait until after finals.”
“Only because I didn’t think you’d actually wait this long to do it.” Brittany spins Santana’s desk chair around to take full advantage of Santana’s weakness to her pouts. “Our wedding’s in July. You need to ask him now.”
Santana frowns, and Brittany smiles on the inside because she thinks Santana’s about to give in. It comes as a complete surprise, therefore, when Santana pulls her down onto her lap instead. “Why don’t we just get eloped? We can go to Vegas, hit a few clubs, get married by the Easter bunny at some shitty wedding chapel, and then have sex in our hotel room until we pass out.”
“That sounds fun.” Brittany kisses Santana on the nose and grins. “Maybe we can get eloped after our wedding.”
This time Santana is the one to pout.
She never really mastered the art of pouting, however, so Brittany’s grin barely falters as she grabs the cell phone from Santana’s desk and hands it to her. “You should call him now.”
“The Easter bunny?”
Brittany pouts.
“Fine,” Santana groans, defeated. She spins them around on her chair (to get Brittany to giggle, which she does) and starts mock typing with Brittany trapped between her arms. “I’ll call him after I finish my paper.”
“Yay.” Brittany smiles, and she somehow manages to slip gracefully under Santana’s arms and off her fiancé, leaving the almost-graduate to her work (after a quick peck on the cheek).
………
“So… you want me to be like… your best man?”
Santana looks up from her (third) cup of (horrible) coffee, and despite her nerves, she manages to smirk. “Maid of honor.”
Puck frowns, and with a shrug responds, “Actually, I don’t know.” He leans back casually in the corner of his side of the booth they’re in, and takes a long sip of his Mountain Dew. “I might be busy that weekend. There’s this party, you see, grand opening of this new club, and it’s gonna be fucking awesome. I heard there’s gonna be-”
“Yeah.” Santana’s eyes dart back to her coffee, and she feels like a complete idiot. “That’s… fine, whatever.” God, what was she thinking asking him? Puck. Of course he’d blow off their wedding because of some stupid party. He might be her best friend (besides Brittany), but that doesn’t mean he’s not a total douche bag most of the time. But… really it shouldn’t even be a big deal that he’s blowing it off, because she doesn’t even really want to go to her wedding, but still he-
“Hey.” Santana looks back up, and there’s a guilty smile on Puck’s face. “I was kidding.” It takes a few moments, but the scowl eventually comes, and Puck laughs. “And there’s the Santana we know and love.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“Yeah, well, you’re not usually this easy to mess with.” Puck raises an eyebrow and clears his throat. “Are you… like… nervous about the wedding or something?” He’s careful to avoid eye contact as he asks.
“No.” Her tone is enough to make him drop the subject.
“Right.”
They each take a sip of their respective drinks. Their waitress, Ethel, comes over to top off Santana’s coffee and give Puck a third glass of Mountain Dew and snappily ask them if they’re actually going to order any food (“This isn’t a young people’s club, you know”). Santana grits out a “No, thanks” and Puck gives the sixty-something waitress a wink because he figures it can’t hurt and, hey, he’s an equal opportunities type of guy.
“So, you’ll be my maid of honor?” Santana asks once Ethel (now with a broad smile on her face) leaves.
“Sure. As long as I don’t have to wear a dress or anything.” Puck frowns slightly. “Most cuts don’t flatter my figure.”
Santana snickers. “You’ve got to stop hanging around Kurt so much.”
“Oh! How about this? I’ll be your: man of honor.” He does a gesture that looks suspiciously like jazz hands when he says the title and Santana shakes her head.
“You’ve got to stop hanging around Berry so much, too.”
After that, they talk for another hour or so (catching up and a little wedding talk, “Does this mean I get to throw your bachelorette party? There’s so gonna be strippers”) before getting kicked out by the diner’s owner (a sixty-something man who Santana suspects is Ethel’s husband, and who doesn’t react well to Puck winking at him). Before they head their respective ways, Puck leans in for a hug and tells Santana not to be nervous.
And he makes a quick dash to his car after that, because Santana’s giving him an “I’m not nervous and I might kill you” glare and he’s not in the mood for a hospital visit.
………
Santana stands in front of the mirror and smoothes down her dress. Strapless, hitting just past the knees, black. When she had taken a suspiciously non-reluctant Puck along with her to go dress shopping, he had snorted when she first stepped out of the dressing room with it on. “Of course you wouldn’t wear white,” he had said with a sleazy grin, which Santana made disappear with a quick punch to the stomach.
Santana smoothes the fabric of her dress down again, and let’s out some of her nerves with a long, calming exhale. She gives her reflection a smirk. You look hot, she thinks.
“You look hot,” she hears.
Santana’s eyes dart to the left, and she sees Puck’s reflection in the mirror beside hers. He’s leaning against the doorframe, all ready in his tux, smiling. And it’s not a smirk, or a leer. It’s an actual smile. “You ready, Lopez?” he says, the genuine smile still on his lips.
And that’s when her nerves kick in full force.
“Shit,” she curses under her breath. She feels her hands starting to shake and her eyes begin to heat up, and she’s totally pissed at her body for betraying her.
“Hey, uh…” Puck takes a step forward, into the room, but not quite in arm’s reach of his friend (because Santana can punch like a professional boxer and he’s not going to take that risk if he doesn’t have to). “Are you okay?” he asks.
Santana wants to say “yes”. She wants to tell him to go fuck off, because she’s not quite finished with her makeup and she doesn’t want him breathing down her neck. She wants to push him out of the room so she can let out all of this emotional bullshit she’s feeling without an audience.
However, all she manages to do is cover her face with her hands and mumble “fuck” into her palms. So, a second later, she feels strong arms wrap around her and hears Puck’s voice stumbling through a list of calming phrases. And not long after that, she wraps her arms around him and buries her face in his chest because, whatever, he’s already witnessed the break down, she might as well let him stay for the rest of the show.
Santana cries against Puck’s chest for what feels like ages, but probably isn’t more than a few minutes in actuality. He rubs her back and talks to her like she’s two (soothingly and using short, reassuring phrases) the whole time, and this is exactly why she didn’t want Puck to be her “man of honor” (or whatever he likes to call himself) and why she would’ve rather just eloped. Because no one except Brittany is allowed to see her cry like this.
Santana feels like a complete idiot, and says as much when she finally regains the ability to talk like a normal person.
“Hey, it’s no big.” He turns them around so they’re both facing the mirror, and Santana wipes the running mascara (which she’ll now have to reapply) off her cheeks. She’s sniffling and smiling at the same time and, yeah, she feels like a complete idiot.
“I don’t like crying in front of people,” Santana mutters.
“Yeah,” Puck snorts (because it’s one of the biggest understatements he’s heard in a while).
Santana tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear and frowns at her reflection, disappointed in herself for not being able to keep it together. Puck slings an arm around the girl and does his best to make his smile contagious (he makes a mental note to ask Brittany for lessons later).
“Hey, it’s okay, you know, crying on your wedding day and all,” he says, doing his best not to cross the fine line Santana has between what she considers comforting, and what she considers condescending. “Hell, I bet I’d cry like a baby if it were my wedding day.”
The comment earns Puck a small grin from Santana, and he feels pretty damn proud of himself for it.
“You’d only be crying because there’d be a gun aimed at your head,” Santana jokes.
“Hey!” Puck takes a step back in indignation, placing his hand over his heart. “I resent that. I happen to be a really sensitive guy, thank you.”
“Whatever, man whore.” Santana rolls her eyes and links his arm with hers, pulling him back over to the mirror. She reapplies her make-up, straightens Puck’s tie, and gets a wet paper towel when she realizes that “Oh, God, there’s snot on your jacket.” When they’re both presentable again, she gives herself and Puck a once over and nods in approval. “We look good.”
“Damn good,” Puck agrees, giving their reflections a wink. “I dunno though…” Puck does a half turn to check out his backside. “I still think I should’ve gone with the coral sweetheart gown.”
“Yeah,” Santana snorts, “Definitely.”
“I can’t believe the bitch shop-owner made us leave before I had a chance to make my mind up on it.”
“And before I had a chance to take a picture for Kurt,” Santana smirks. “He was so disappointed.”
Puck waggles his eyebrows. “I guess I’ll just have to give him a private fashion show to-“
A frustrated blonde cuts Puck off mid-sentence. “Santana, Puck, what the hell are you doing?” Quinn stands at the door in a highlighter yellow dress, arms crossed over her chest, looking at the pair expectantly.
Beside her, Rachel is standing (in a matching highlighter yellow dress) with a schedule and what looks like a stopwatch in her hands. “You should’ve been ready at 4:37 and it’s now… 4:41. Why are you still in here?”
Puck just rolls his eyes and shrugs, slipping himself between the two bridesmaids and snaking an arm around each. “Well, you two sure are looking sexy today.”
“How does Brittany look?” Santana asks immediately afterwards, and Quinn’s retort to Puck gets caught in her throat, her frown immediately softening into a… well… confused frown, because until that moment Quinn didn’t know Santana could look so pathetically in love.
Quinn has to admit it’s kind of adorable though, and she can’t resist giving this new lovesick puppy version of Santana a hug. “She looks gorgeous, honey,” she whispers into Santana’s ear.
And then Rachel’s pushing them all out the door because “it’s 4:42!”
………
Their wedding was supposed to be a small one -as a sort of compromise, since Santana would’ve rather just gotten married at a registrar’s office (or in Vegas) and Brittany really wanted a huge wedding, with everyone she ever knew invited, complete with balloon animals and a petting zoo.
It was supposed to be a small wedding.
However, their original list of forty invites quickly mutated into a list of 150 invites because Brittany can’t say no to anybody and Santana can’t say no to Brittany. So, standing at the alter on their wedding day, Santana should be mortified -because there’s over a hundred pairs of eyes on her just waiting for her to break down (which she’s definitely going to do).
But Quinn was right and Brittany is gorgeous, and her dress is gorgeous and white (with just a hint of glitter), and Brittany is gorgeous, and standing beside her, shamelessly grinning like an idiot, and Santana internally tells their little audience to all go fuck themselves, because this is their wedding day.
Less than halfway through the ceremony the tears start falling, but Santana's smile never falters because it’s just her and Brittany in the room, and Brittany is holding her hand, biting her lip and smiling back at her like no one else exists.
………
………
After the ceremony, at the reception, the brides are nowhere to be found.
“Have you seen them anywhere?” Kurt asks Puck, whose eyes are still fixated on the hot blonde he’d been dancing with before Kurt cut in. Of course, Kurt won’t stand for that, and he reaches up to grab Puck by the chin and turn his head. “Brittany’s cousin. She doesn’t speak a word of English.”
“And that’s a problem?”
Kurt’s mouth falls open in indignation, so Puck grabs Kurt by the hips and pulls them closer together to avoid a rant. “You were saying, babe?”
Puck smirks when it takes Kurt a few seconds to get his bearing back (and lose the flush in his cheeks). “I was just asking if you knew where Britt and Santana went? They’ve been M.I.A. all night.”
Puck shrugs, and answers “I don’t know”, and has to spin Kurt around so he doesn’t see Puck’s grin.
(Because Puck knows exactly where they are -he got them to two tickets to Vegas as their wedding present.)
Pairing: Santana/Brittany (and you can easily read Puck/Kurt into it if you want)
Rating: PG-13 for swearing
Summary: “So... you want me to be like… your best man?”
Spoilers: Not really.
Notes: I really want Santana and Puck to be BFFs... I think this fic is evidence of that.
Santana is sitting at her desk chair, working on her very last paper of undergrad (thank God), when she feels a weight on her shoulder and then Brittany’s arms around her. “Are you done yet?” Brittany asks into the side of her head, and Santana smiles because Brittany’s breath tickles her ear a little.
“No, not yet, babe.” Santana can’t see it, but she knows the pout is there, so she adds, “I might be done in another hour, though. If this paper doesn’t kill me first.”
“Oh.” Brittany stands up straight, and then starts massaging Santana’s shoulders. “Would this help you finish faster?”
“Mmm…” Santana tilts her head back to look up at her fiancé. “Couldn’t hurt.”
Brittany leans down to give Santana a kiss. “Have you asked him yet?”
Santana furrows her eyebrows in confusion. It takes her a minute to figure out what exactly she was supposed to be asking and who she was supposed to be asking it to, but when she does figure it out she leans forward so she’s facing her laptop again and groans.
“Britt, you said I could wait until after finals.”
“Only because I didn’t think you’d actually wait this long to do it.” Brittany spins Santana’s desk chair around to take full advantage of Santana’s weakness to her pouts. “Our wedding’s in July. You need to ask him now.”
Santana frowns, and Brittany smiles on the inside because she thinks Santana’s about to give in. It comes as a complete surprise, therefore, when Santana pulls her down onto her lap instead. “Why don’t we just get eloped? We can go to Vegas, hit a few clubs, get married by the Easter bunny at some shitty wedding chapel, and then have sex in our hotel room until we pass out.”
“That sounds fun.” Brittany kisses Santana on the nose and grins. “Maybe we can get eloped after our wedding.”
This time Santana is the one to pout.
She never really mastered the art of pouting, however, so Brittany’s grin barely falters as she grabs the cell phone from Santana’s desk and hands it to her. “You should call him now.”
“The Easter bunny?”
Brittany pouts.
“Fine,” Santana groans, defeated. She spins them around on her chair (to get Brittany to giggle, which she does) and starts mock typing with Brittany trapped between her arms. “I’ll call him after I finish my paper.”
“Yay.” Brittany smiles, and she somehow manages to slip gracefully under Santana’s arms and off her fiancé, leaving the almost-graduate to her work (after a quick peck on the cheek).
………
“So… you want me to be like… your best man?”
Santana looks up from her (third) cup of (horrible) coffee, and despite her nerves, she manages to smirk. “Maid of honor.”
Puck frowns, and with a shrug responds, “Actually, I don’t know.” He leans back casually in the corner of his side of the booth they’re in, and takes a long sip of his Mountain Dew. “I might be busy that weekend. There’s this party, you see, grand opening of this new club, and it’s gonna be fucking awesome. I heard there’s gonna be-”
“Yeah.” Santana’s eyes dart back to her coffee, and she feels like a complete idiot. “That’s… fine, whatever.” God, what was she thinking asking him? Puck. Of course he’d blow off their wedding because of some stupid party. He might be her best friend (besides Brittany), but that doesn’t mean he’s not a total douche bag most of the time. But… really it shouldn’t even be a big deal that he’s blowing it off, because she doesn’t even really want to go to her wedding, but still he-
“Hey.” Santana looks back up, and there’s a guilty smile on Puck’s face. “I was kidding.” It takes a few moments, but the scowl eventually comes, and Puck laughs. “And there’s the Santana we know and love.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“Yeah, well, you’re not usually this easy to mess with.” Puck raises an eyebrow and clears his throat. “Are you… like… nervous about the wedding or something?” He’s careful to avoid eye contact as he asks.
“No.” Her tone is enough to make him drop the subject.
“Right.”
They each take a sip of their respective drinks. Their waitress, Ethel, comes over to top off Santana’s coffee and give Puck a third glass of Mountain Dew and snappily ask them if they’re actually going to order any food (“This isn’t a young people’s club, you know”). Santana grits out a “No, thanks” and Puck gives the sixty-something waitress a wink because he figures it can’t hurt and, hey, he’s an equal opportunities type of guy.
“So, you’ll be my maid of honor?” Santana asks once Ethel (now with a broad smile on her face) leaves.
“Sure. As long as I don’t have to wear a dress or anything.” Puck frowns slightly. “Most cuts don’t flatter my figure.”
Santana snickers. “You’ve got to stop hanging around Kurt so much.”
“Oh! How about this? I’ll be your: man of honor.” He does a gesture that looks suspiciously like jazz hands when he says the title and Santana shakes her head.
“You’ve got to stop hanging around Berry so much, too.”
After that, they talk for another hour or so (catching up and a little wedding talk, “Does this mean I get to throw your bachelorette party? There’s so gonna be strippers”) before getting kicked out by the diner’s owner (a sixty-something man who Santana suspects is Ethel’s husband, and who doesn’t react well to Puck winking at him). Before they head their respective ways, Puck leans in for a hug and tells Santana not to be nervous.
And he makes a quick dash to his car after that, because Santana’s giving him an “I’m not nervous and I might kill you” glare and he’s not in the mood for a hospital visit.
………
Santana stands in front of the mirror and smoothes down her dress. Strapless, hitting just past the knees, black. When she had taken a suspiciously non-reluctant Puck along with her to go dress shopping, he had snorted when she first stepped out of the dressing room with it on. “Of course you wouldn’t wear white,” he had said with a sleazy grin, which Santana made disappear with a quick punch to the stomach.
Santana smoothes the fabric of her dress down again, and let’s out some of her nerves with a long, calming exhale. She gives her reflection a smirk. You look hot, she thinks.
“You look hot,” she hears.
Santana’s eyes dart to the left, and she sees Puck’s reflection in the mirror beside hers. He’s leaning against the doorframe, all ready in his tux, smiling. And it’s not a smirk, or a leer. It’s an actual smile. “You ready, Lopez?” he says, the genuine smile still on his lips.
And that’s when her nerves kick in full force.
“Shit,” she curses under her breath. She feels her hands starting to shake and her eyes begin to heat up, and she’s totally pissed at her body for betraying her.
“Hey, uh…” Puck takes a step forward, into the room, but not quite in arm’s reach of his friend (because Santana can punch like a professional boxer and he’s not going to take that risk if he doesn’t have to). “Are you okay?” he asks.
Santana wants to say “yes”. She wants to tell him to go fuck off, because she’s not quite finished with her makeup and she doesn’t want him breathing down her neck. She wants to push him out of the room so she can let out all of this emotional bullshit she’s feeling without an audience.
However, all she manages to do is cover her face with her hands and mumble “fuck” into her palms. So, a second later, she feels strong arms wrap around her and hears Puck’s voice stumbling through a list of calming phrases. And not long after that, she wraps her arms around him and buries her face in his chest because, whatever, he’s already witnessed the break down, she might as well let him stay for the rest of the show.
Santana cries against Puck’s chest for what feels like ages, but probably isn’t more than a few minutes in actuality. He rubs her back and talks to her like she’s two (soothingly and using short, reassuring phrases) the whole time, and this is exactly why she didn’t want Puck to be her “man of honor” (or whatever he likes to call himself) and why she would’ve rather just eloped. Because no one except Brittany is allowed to see her cry like this.
Santana feels like a complete idiot, and says as much when she finally regains the ability to talk like a normal person.
“Hey, it’s no big.” He turns them around so they’re both facing the mirror, and Santana wipes the running mascara (which she’ll now have to reapply) off her cheeks. She’s sniffling and smiling at the same time and, yeah, she feels like a complete idiot.
“I don’t like crying in front of people,” Santana mutters.
“Yeah,” Puck snorts (because it’s one of the biggest understatements he’s heard in a while).
Santana tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear and frowns at her reflection, disappointed in herself for not being able to keep it together. Puck slings an arm around the girl and does his best to make his smile contagious (he makes a mental note to ask Brittany for lessons later).
“Hey, it’s okay, you know, crying on your wedding day and all,” he says, doing his best not to cross the fine line Santana has between what she considers comforting, and what she considers condescending. “Hell, I bet I’d cry like a baby if it were my wedding day.”
The comment earns Puck a small grin from Santana, and he feels pretty damn proud of himself for it.
“You’d only be crying because there’d be a gun aimed at your head,” Santana jokes.
“Hey!” Puck takes a step back in indignation, placing his hand over his heart. “I resent that. I happen to be a really sensitive guy, thank you.”
“Whatever, man whore.” Santana rolls her eyes and links his arm with hers, pulling him back over to the mirror. She reapplies her make-up, straightens Puck’s tie, and gets a wet paper towel when she realizes that “Oh, God, there’s snot on your jacket.” When they’re both presentable again, she gives herself and Puck a once over and nods in approval. “We look good.”
“Damn good,” Puck agrees, giving their reflections a wink. “I dunno though…” Puck does a half turn to check out his backside. “I still think I should’ve gone with the coral sweetheart gown.”
“Yeah,” Santana snorts, “Definitely.”
“I can’t believe the bitch shop-owner made us leave before I had a chance to make my mind up on it.”
“And before I had a chance to take a picture for Kurt,” Santana smirks. “He was so disappointed.”
Puck waggles his eyebrows. “I guess I’ll just have to give him a private fashion show to-“
A frustrated blonde cuts Puck off mid-sentence. “Santana, Puck, what the hell are you doing?” Quinn stands at the door in a highlighter yellow dress, arms crossed over her chest, looking at the pair expectantly.
Beside her, Rachel is standing (in a matching highlighter yellow dress) with a schedule and what looks like a stopwatch in her hands. “You should’ve been ready at 4:37 and it’s now… 4:41. Why are you still in here?”
Puck just rolls his eyes and shrugs, slipping himself between the two bridesmaids and snaking an arm around each. “Well, you two sure are looking sexy today.”
“How does Brittany look?” Santana asks immediately afterwards, and Quinn’s retort to Puck gets caught in her throat, her frown immediately softening into a… well… confused frown, because until that moment Quinn didn’t know Santana could look so pathetically in love.
Quinn has to admit it’s kind of adorable though, and she can’t resist giving this new lovesick puppy version of Santana a hug. “She looks gorgeous, honey,” she whispers into Santana’s ear.
And then Rachel’s pushing them all out the door because “it’s 4:42!”
………
Their wedding was supposed to be a small one -as a sort of compromise, since Santana would’ve rather just gotten married at a registrar’s office (or in Vegas) and Brittany really wanted a huge wedding, with everyone she ever knew invited, complete with balloon animals and a petting zoo.
It was supposed to be a small wedding.
However, their original list of forty invites quickly mutated into a list of 150 invites because Brittany can’t say no to anybody and Santana can’t say no to Brittany. So, standing at the alter on their wedding day, Santana should be mortified -because there’s over a hundred pairs of eyes on her just waiting for her to break down (which she’s definitely going to do).
But Quinn was right and Brittany is gorgeous, and her dress is gorgeous and white (with just a hint of glitter), and Brittany is gorgeous, and standing beside her, shamelessly grinning like an idiot, and Santana internally tells their little audience to all go fuck themselves, because this is their wedding day.
Less than halfway through the ceremony the tears start falling, but Santana's smile never falters because it’s just her and Brittany in the room, and Brittany is holding her hand, biting her lip and smiling back at her like no one else exists.
………
………
After the ceremony, at the reception, the brides are nowhere to be found.
“Have you seen them anywhere?” Kurt asks Puck, whose eyes are still fixated on the hot blonde he’d been dancing with before Kurt cut in. Of course, Kurt won’t stand for that, and he reaches up to grab Puck by the chin and turn his head. “Brittany’s cousin. She doesn’t speak a word of English.”
“And that’s a problem?”
Kurt’s mouth falls open in indignation, so Puck grabs Kurt by the hips and pulls them closer together to avoid a rant. “You were saying, babe?”
Puck smirks when it takes Kurt a few seconds to get his bearing back (and lose the flush in his cheeks). “I was just asking if you knew where Britt and Santana went? They’ve been M.I.A. all night.”
Puck shrugs, and answers “I don’t know”, and has to spin Kurt around so he doesn’t see Puck’s grin.
(Because Puck knows exactly where they are -he got them to two tickets to Vegas as their wedding present.)