PUCKLEBERRY. Slightly AU. Puck and Rachel are together. Done.

"Noah? I'm your official girlfriend, right?" Rachel asked me, her doe eyes looking up at me.

I wanted to die on the spot. You do not ask a BAMF that question. Hell, you don't ask any guy that question. That question is for pussies. Pussies who are wussies. God, why am I even thinking about this?

"Yeah." I answered casually, gently grabbing her hand.

I know what you guys are thinking- "OMG! Puck the stud and Rachel the crazy-ass midget are together?" Yup. We are. But don't act so surprised. You all knew it was coming. I mean, look at me. I'm hot. And she's kind of hot. It's inevitable.

(Okay, so fine. I never stopped liking her but my feelings weren't butterfly shit and stuff, it was just attraction- then I started having *gag* real feelings for her later on. I asked her out, she said no, she broke up with Finn, we went out, etc.)

"You never asked me." She mentioned off-handedly, removing her hand from mine.

I could sense a confrontation coming along. Act cool, Puck. Don't piss off the midget.

"Okay?" I answered, trying my best to act calm.

"You should ask me." She tried again.

"No." I immediately replied.

What? As I said, I'm a badass- I don't ask these shitty questions. In fact, she should be the one to ask me to be her boy friend. I try to be all chivalrous and crap but I can't. It's impossible. I'm simply way too awesome to carry books and open doors for women.

"It's just a question." She said calmly, but her eyes were all getting big (which means she's about to explode).

"Look, babe- we're kind of together, whether you like it or not. I'm not gonna ask some shi-"she gave me a look. "Crappy question just to make you happy."

"Are you that much of a pussy?" she dared to ask.

I cringed. Pussy? I hated that word. That word should be erased from the English language. It should be beaten up, peed on, crumpled, eaten, whatever, and just die. Pussy should die and go to hell. And she knew that. My crazy midget girlfriend knew that I hated that word, so she's using it against me! Ah, I've taught her well. But still? Me? Puckzilla is not a pussy. I'm a BAMF. Die, pussy, die.

"I am not a-" I whispered the word. "pussy!"

"You are if you can't ask me to be your girlfriend." She replied smugly.

Damn her manipulative skills.

It's not like I'm some creep who beats her up. I may not be the typical "good" boyfriend, but hell, I'm a pretty damn good boyfriend. I pick her up, I drop her home, I don't pressure her to go all the way, and I sometimes carry her stuff. What else does she want, right?

I mean, I just dropped her home! Does she want me to throw a pebble on her window at midnight and serenade her? Do I honestly need to ask her to be my girlfriend? Boyfriends do this shit. It's the rules.

Leaning back on my car seat (I could've walked her to her door, but what's the point? I dropped her home anyway and we're in the driveway, isn't that close enough?), I turned on the radio and closed my eyes.

Usually Berry would've turned the radio off and rant about how insensitive I am, but this time she didn't. She simply shrugged and made a move to get out of my car.

Crap. I admit I'm a bit insensitive, but I knew something was wrong if she didn't wanna talk about it (she always wants to talk about her feelings and shit).

She just opened the door when I grabbed her arm. She looked at me with annoyed eyes and tried to struggle out of my grasp. I didn't let go.

"Let. Me. Go. Noah!" she ordered

"Never." She frowned. "Let's just talk, okay?" She stopped wriggling.

With my hand still clutching her arm, I pulled her closer.

"What do you want me to do? Bring you on real dates and give you monthsary gifts? You know I can't be that guy. It doesn't mean I like you any less."

It was true. Rachel was (probably) my closest friend at the moment. I really liked her but damn it, I'm not going to hold hands with her in public and declare my everlasting love. It's just not me. And dear Lord, if she expected me to share a milkshake with her, my manhood would disappear.

"I don't want you do those ridiculous things." She huffed. "I would never ask you to do that!"

"Then what do you want me to do?" I pleaded, but I secretly breathed a sigh of relief. No serenading, no holding hands in the park, no feeding ducks, and no milkshakes!

"Just ask me. To make it official."

"No."

"Then goodbye." She said dramatically, wriggled her arm free, walked to her porch, and slammed the door.

Huh. Maybe I should've asked her.

Author's Note:

I'm a Finchel girl, but bitter Puck was just too funny to write. Hope you guys enjoyed it! :)

P.S. It's a two-part story.