"I thought we were done." (Pucktana...duh)
Character: Noah Puckerman
[RANDOM PUCKTANA VERSE]
Her words are fair.
They’ve been doing this on and off and on again thing for nearly four years. It was at the point that even he’d had enough of it; enough of the random hookups, the fights, the backstabbing and attempts at jealousy. It was stupid and dumb and that was coming from him.
“Yeah, well, you also thought that getting a boob job in high school was also a good idea so you’re not exactly a reliable source of thought process,” he snaps, and then blinks in confusion at his own words. That had sounded so much better in his head. “I mean, I really like your boobs but they’re going to deflate before you’re even thirty so, you know, what do you know?”
Not how he planned to do this.
Not even close.
The offended look on Santana’s face tells him that she isn’t impressed at his attempts at romance either and he only just manages to shove his foot into the door before she slams it on him completely. They’ve played this game so many times in the past that Puck is practically an expert at this point; he’s pretty sure that even if he fails high school, he’ll always be able to pass anything Santana Lopez related.
“We’re not done, okay? I really don’t want us to be done and I’m getting real tired of pretending that I’m okay with you going around Lima with Sam or Mike or, freaking, whoever the hell you’ve decided you want on your arm,” he sighs because honestly having to watch her in school pretending to laugh at Sam Evans was the last straw.
(Who, by the way, isn’t even that funny. He can just make his mouth really weird and change his accent kind of.)
“Let me in. Let me try and show you I can be good at this because I’m really freaking bad at everything usually but when it comes to you it feels like I’m always doing it right and I’m not even talking about when I’m nailing you,” Puck tries and there’s a look in Santana’s eye that almost seems like she wants to hear him out. “Even though I am really good at that.”
He steps forward slowly, eyes pleading. “One chance, Lopez. This is the last one. We might as well make it count.”
