Summary: After a fight over silly accusations, Rachel just wants her boyfriend back. He's ignoring her calls and she hates the sinking feeling that she gets when she sees him in the halls. So, using her wit, she takes matters into her own hands. Her plan involves her, his football jersey, knee high socks, and a very messy ponytail. It's his fantasy, and she has every intention of fulfilling it.

Warning: This is what I consider a smut fic. Yes, it is drenched in plot and angst, but the main focus of this fanfiction is smut. If you are not okay with Angst or Smut, I suggest you leave while you still can and get the hell outta dodge.

Now if you want to continue reading about my favorite hot Jews, be my guest:)

Rachel didn't mean to make him mad when she accused him of cheating, she just wanted to make sure that whatever relationship he had with the blonde, freshman Cheerio was strictly platonic and nothing more. But Rachel did make her boyfriend mad.

Noah Puckerman didn't say they were broken up, but he avoided her like the plague at school and didn't return her usual nightly phone calls. Her accusations had spurred a fight, a fight that could only be described as explosive. Words were uttered, comments about their past histories were flung like knifes, each one piercing something different inside her. She hurled Santana, Quinn, Brittany, and all of his previous sexual partners back into his face while he chucked her failures with Finn and Jesse back at her in the same manner.

Their fights were always vicious, the strong personalities crashing together. Yet, none seemed to top this one. The look in his eyes as he walked out the front door, the sound of her knees hitting the floor when she crumpled as the door slammed shut. It was nauseating to think about.

Which is why, when Mrs. Puckerman calls her on Tuesday night, asking her politely to help Noah prepare for his geometry test, she jumps at the opportunity, knowing that if his mother and sister are at his Nana Connie's, she can easily make it up to him. She knows that what she's thinking won't fix everything, but she wants to show him that she's willing to step out of her element for him. She is his, and he is hers.

So she calls Santana, her newfound friend, later that night and asks for her opinion. She isn't entirely sure when she and Santana became the new dynamic duo, but she's pretty sure it started out the day she and Noah became official and Santana congratulated her, knowing full and well that Puckleberry was it.

"Santana, it seems like such a terrible idea now that I consider it fully. Of course he won't be expecting me, so what if he completely reacts in a manner that I don't expects and throws me out without another glance?" she asked, a groan passing through her lips as the brunette flipped through her notebook while laying on her bed.

Santana let out a laugh, pressing the speaker button on her phone so she could walk around the room.

"You see, Berry, Puckerman's a guy. And he's hot for you. He wants to rip your clothes off all day, every fucking day in that shit that you wear to school. Imagine how he's going to react to you, sprawled out on his bed in his football jersey like a damn wet dream. You wearing his number, it's like you saying that you're his. Which you are, so it doesn't really matter. Got him hot all the time when I used to do it for laughs, but he's going to go crazy for you. And don't worry, he has a different jersey now, you know they get new ones every season, so don't worry about me wearing it before you and physic yourself out."

Rachel let out another groan, closing her notebook before rolling onto her back. Her friend has a point, although she doesn't really want to believe it. She knows Noah will go insane when he sees her dolled up in his jersey, but she's terrified of the aftermath. What if he says that it was a mistake? Breaks up with her for good afterward, saying that sleeping with her again was a mistake?

"I'm going to attempt to sleep, Santana. We'll discuss this topic further before Glee Club tomorrow," Rachel sighed, rubbing a hand over her face.

"Alright. See you tomorrow, Berry. Love you, even if you are a big bitch who worries about things that aren't going to be an issue because Puck is going to fuck you senseless when he sees you." Santana laughed as she heard Rachel mumble something about "not knowing what she was talking about."

"Okay, I'm hanging up now, Santana. Goodnight."

"Night Rach."

Rachel pressed the bright red "end" button on her phone and laid it on the bed next to her, pulling her knees to her chest. After a few minutes of staring hopelessly at her wall, her hand blindly reached for the lamp, flicking it off so the darkness could soothe her fears. Within moments she drifted off into a restless slumber, tossing and turning.

She dreamt of him. None of her dreams had happy endings.

"Rachel, dear, Noah is at football practice, but I'm quite sure you won't mind waiting. When I asked you originally to help him, I completely forgot that Coach Bieste scheduled a practice for today. Completely asinine if you ask me, seeing as 90% of the team has this exam, but they don't ask me for my opinions," the older woman laughed.

A little girl, Puck's sister Sarah, buzzed around the living room, collecting her belongings, getting reading to go see her Nana Connie. The child briefly said hello to Rachel, greeting her enthusiastically with a big hug and hurried words. If there was someone within the Puckerman family that loved Rachel more than Mrs. Puckerman, it was Sarah. She claimed that she always wanted a big sister and that Puck was nicer when he knew that he had Rachel to look forward to. As the young girl repeated those words as she did every time Rachel was present in the home, Rachel's heart hurt, her eyes swelling with tears that went unshed.

She always knew that Puck thought she made him a better person, but she thought it was talk. To hear his sister admit that Rachel had changed her brother was heartwarming and heartbreaking at the same time, seeing as she wasn't sure if the events that occurred in that fight would be fixable.

"Of course, Mrs. Puckerman. Noah's absence will allow me time to study as well. I'm completely set on helping him pass this exam, and I will not leave until I'm certain that he will," Rachel informed her boyfriend's mother.

The bag over her shoulder, however, proved otherwise. There were no geometry books in her bag, in fact, no learning material was present. Rachel had always been a terrible liar, so she should have expected Mrs. Puckerman to look at her with an all-knowing smile, teetering on the edge of a smirk that must run in the family.

"Sweetheart, I understand. Just make sure he goes into that exam knowing a little bit of what he's supposed to. I know my son, Rachel, and you hurt his pride a bit. He's trying to be good enough for you, and it hurt him to know that there's a part of you that doubts him. I shouldn't be the one to tell you this, but he really loves you. I watched the way he looked at Quinn, and he never looked at her the way he looks at you. He'll come around eventually. I didn't tell him you were coming over tonight, so hopefully you two will be able to talk about everything." The older woman smiled softly at her son's girlfriend.

Rachel's face heated up, most tears falling from her eyes. She set her bag on the floor, and in a moment of pure appreciation for Mrs. Puckerman's words, she hugged her. "I love him too, so much. I never meant to hurt him. I was worried that he found someone else."

Mrs. Puckerman returned the hug, understanding the girl's fears since she knew her son didn't have the best track record with women. "I know," she said quietly, pulling away to move the hair away from Rachel's eyes. Truth be told, Mrs. Puckerman always thought of Rachel as a second daughter as she spent so much time at the Puckerman home when she was little after Temple. Now that the same girl was dating her son, she couldn't be more thrilled, and not just because Rachel was Jewish. She, like everyone else, believed that the diva made her son a better person, and he in turn made her a better person.

"If you need anything, just call the hospital. Sarah should be okay at Nana Connie's, but she might call and talk to Noah for a while. She likes checking up on him. Everything will go alright, dear."

Sarah came bursting into the room a second later, wrapping her small arms around Rachel's waist. "Rachel, Rachel!" the little brunette exclaimed, looking up with eager eyes. "Do you think you can teach me how to sing 'Defying Gravity?'?"

"Of course, Sarah, but I think your mother wants to take you to your Nana Connie, and I need to go study so I can go help your brother when he gets home. I promise I'll sing with you soon, okay?" She taps the small girl's nose with her finger, laughing as a bright smile appears on her face, lighting up her small features.

"Okay!" Sarah replied cheerfully, giving the taller girl a final squeeze before grabbing her coat and informing her mother that they could leave.

"Remember what I said, Rachel. He'll come around," Mrs. Puckerman said, pulling the front door closed, leaving Rachel all alone in the silent house.

She picked her bag up off the floor and walked the familiar path to the stairs, blushing when she remembered the time that he had won the football game for McKinley and they didn't even make it to his room, so they had sex on the stairs. [And then in his room. Twice. But she doesn't mention that much.]

The petite brunette walked up the stairs slowly; almost afraid of what she would find when she entered his room. Would she find careless papers strewn across the room, all clad with numbers belonging to slutty Cheerios? Or would she find the pictures of her that he once had framed overturned? Or worse, would they be gone completely?

Her hand reached for the doorknob, turning it and pushing the door open. She rolled her eyes at the sight she was greeted with.

Her boyfriend had always been on the messy side, always just a bit unorganized, so she shouldn't have been surprised when she saw clothes scattered all over the floor, his favorite t-shirt sitting on his unmade bed. The typical condition of his room made her smile a bit, as if it was a form of reassurance that he hadn't changed much.

Stepping over a few articles of clothing, she moved to sit on the bed, glancing around the room. There was a half filled glass of water sitting on his bed side table, right next to a picture of her. He was never one to keep and frame pictures, but when he got together with Rachel Berry, he liked the idea. He had three. There was the one she was looking at now, which was her right after the championship game, dressed in her number 1 jersey. Another blush creeped up her cheeks as she remembered what happened right after the picture was taken. He immediately grabbed her and dragged her to the boy's locker room, proceeding to fuck her against the wall of the showers.

The second picture resided on his dresser. His mother took it when they weren't looking, but it quickly became their favorite because it was so them. The girl in the picture's head was thrown back in laughter as the boy playfully tickled her sides. They were outside in his yard, the spring breeze dancing around them. She remembers that day too. Then again, she remembers everything that has to do with him.

The third and final picture is another picture that his mom took. They're hugging each other as if nothing else in the world matters, and for the longest time it didn't. They were Puck and Rachel, Rachel and Puck, and nothing mattered. Then she screwed it up.

Rachel shakes her head, desperate to clear her mind before he comes home. The clock reads "8:07," meaning that she only has roughly an hour before he arrives back at his house.

She hopes her plan works, that Santana is right and for a moment he'll forget her doubts. With that in mind, she walks over to his closet, careful to avoid stepping on his personal belongings. She knows he has two jerseys; a practice jersey which he's probably wearing now, and a game jersey which should be sitting in his closet, waiting to be washed. In case it isn't there, she has a backup Cheerios uniform that Santana lent her for this very occasion. She figures that it's better than nothing.

She sees a flash of red peeking out from number a pair of jeans and a few discarded t-shirts, and her hands immediately go for it, smiling triumphantly as she held the jersey up and the number 20 smiled back at her. It smells of boy and sweat, but she likes it.

Rachel makes her way back over to the bed, peeling her shirt off so she could fold it before setting it neatly on the bed. Her skirt is taken off next, folded and set down in the same manner as her shirt. Her bra and panties followed suit before she put on the jersey, laughing lightly at the way it hit her mid-thigh.

The petite brunette reaches for her bag, pulling down the zipper with one hand as she gathers her clothes in the other. Her hands grab the white knee socks [with two red stripes across the top] and dig for the black hair tie as she shoves the articles of clothing into her bag.

Knee-high socks are his favorite. He's never hid that fact from her, always telling her how much hotter she is when she wears them. She hopes that wearing them now will add to her appear.

As she pulls her hair up into a messy ponytail, she mulls over her idea a final time. The diva still has thirty minutes to flee, but she knows that she has to face this, face her mistakes. She glanced down at the floor next to his bed as she runs her hand through her ponytail, instantly recognizing the magazine sitting there, a scantily-clad celebrity staring back at her.

She picked up the magazine, pushing her bag to the floor so she could lie on her stomach on the bed. She was so engrossed with the pictures of Michelle Trachtenberg that she didn't hear him pull up, walk inside, or curse when he saw her lying on his bed like a damn fantasy.

He knows he's fucked when he turns the corner and sees her car in the driveway. He actually debates turning around and going to Finn's house, but he figures she has some good excuse for being there, and despite their argument, he loves her and wants to know what she has to say. But it better be good.

So he turns off his truck and hops out, his feet hitting the ground with a soft thud. He makes his way to the front door and he's surprised that he doesn't hear the sound of a TV or something when he opens the door. In fact, he's shocked as hell when he discovers that she's not in the living room or the kitchen.

He figures she's in his bedroom, maybe cleaning because he knows she hates the mess. He climbs the stares with a frown on his face, fully prepared to kick her out the moment he sees her, because really, what part of him not answering her phone calls does she not understand?

He never expected to open the door and see that though. His girlfriend, his Rachel, on his bed in knee high socks, his football jersey, with her hair pulled up into a very messy ponytail. She's staring at a picture of some chick that was on "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" who's in her bra and underwear, a seductive smirk smiling up at the girl he's in love with.

It's clear she doesn't hear him because she just flips the pages. "Fucking hell," he whispers, his eyes tracing her body. They start at her legs, trailing over the knee socks. Then her ass, which even though she denies it, it's one of her best assets. Then her back, the gentle curve as she leans on her elbows. And then her face, her tongue poking the inside of her cheek as she intently studies the celebrity in the magazine.

And now he's angry. Angry because she has the nerve to do this. Angry that she makes it so damn hard to stay mad. He's supposed to be mad at her, to hate her for doubting him. He's supposed to make sure her doubts come true, just to piss her off. He's not supposed to want to grab her and kiss her, apologize for whatever shit he's done.

He clears his throat as his jeans become extremely tight, so he shifts his weight from foot to foot, discreetly trying to create a bit of space for his raging hard-on.

"What're you doing here?" he snaps as she turns to look at him.

"Noah, I thought…"

"Fucking answer me, Rachel."

"I wanted to surprise you, to apologize for our argument. I thought you'd appreciate the gesture, I'm sorry?" Her apology leaves her lips like a question, causing him to groan.

"You didn't get it through your thick skull that when I ignore your calls, it means I don't want to fucking talk to you?" He wanted to see her hurt, as terrible as it sounded. He wants to see her cry. He doesn't know why, but he needs to know he isn't the only one hurting by what they've become.

"You didn't get it through your thick skull that when I told you it was over it meant that we were over? Did you think I was joking or some shit?"

Then the tears hit her, and he instantly feels like shit even though he knows he did it on purpose. She's biting her lip to keep herself in line, her hands clutching the hem of his jersey.

"I'm sor-"

"It's a little fucking late for that," he snarls, pointing at the door.

She isn't sure where this anger is coming from, this downright hatred for her coming from him. She knows that she made him mad with her accusations; however she never expected something like this. It only makes her cry harder. This isn't her Noah.

"You can go now. And I need jersey back too. Like now."

"Noah stop, please listen to me. I didn't mean what I said! I was being worrisome. I thought that you didn't want me anymore. She had her hand on your chest! That doesn't scream platonic when your girlfriend is walking down the hall waiting to throw her arms around you and she sees this little harlot putting her hands all over your chest!" Her hands wipe at her eyes, trying to clear her vision so she can look at him.

"What the fuck do you think I say every time I see you gripping Finn's fucking arm like he's your god damned life line?" he shouts, and he swears he sees a tremble of fear wrack her body.

Rachel stood, a lock of hair failing from her ponytail and into her face. He wants to push it back, but he's frozen in place.

"I don't love Finn!" she screams. "I love you! I love you so much, Noah."

It's an internal battle that hits him. He wants to hate her still, for the things she said during that fight, but he isn't innocent either. He said some hurtful things, things that rivaled the slushies to the face in humiliation. He brought up her desperation, her need to be accepted. That wasn't fair of him and he knows it.

"Fuck Rach…" His long stride closes the distance between them, his fingers tangling into her brunette locks. "I love you too."

That's all it takes. Rachel managed to press her lips to his in a heated kiss, her tongue forcing its way between his lips, eager to battle with his for dominance. She's hardly ever the dominate one, instigating the passionate kisses, but she wants to show him just how sorry she is.

He runs his fingers through her hair, gently pulling the hair tie out so her chocolate waves fall free. While one hand plays with her hair, the other falls to the small of her back, pushing her closer against him. He guides her back so that the back of her knees hit the bed, breaking the kiss only to let her down gently and finally look at her.

Even though they've only been kissing for a few minutes, her lips are red and swollen, her eyes glazed over with lust and want. Her hair is fanned out behind her, her hand rests right above her breast, almost on her collar bone. His jersey is on her body, she's wearing his number. The look of her bruised and abused lips combined with his number on her body is enough to make him come in his pants.

"You don't know what you do to me," he grinds out, gesturing her to move, to lean back against the pillows so he can have his way with her. Much to his surprise, she does.

He's over her in a second, his lips kissing every inch of skin he can reach. His teeth dance along her neck, leaving little nips, his tongue darting out to soothe the marks. Her hands claw at his t-shirt, desperate to get the material off of him. She has to feel him, almost to assure herself that he's real and he might forgive her.

His larger hands take her smaller ones and drag them over her head, pinning them there as he continues his assault on her neck. It's almost as if there has been an unspoken agreement between them that this won't be sweet. There's plenty of time for soft caresses and light words, but they want to remind themselves that what's between them is real.

"Noah, please don't tease," she whispers, arching her hips towards his in hopes that she'll get the friction she craves. He can't deny her, not after their fight.

His hand leaves hers to trail down her body, stopping to appreciate her breasts over the thin material of his jersey. He's always said that she has great boobs, and he's not lying. He likes the way they fit in his hands perfectly and they way she shudders when his thumbs brush across her nipples. Then again, he's pretty sure that he adores everything about her.

His hands continue their journey downwards, slipping under the article of clothing. He expects to be met with the waistband of her panties, only to be met with the soft skin of her hip. It takes him a minute to comprehend what this means. Rachel Berry was wearing nothing under his jersey, sprawled out on his bed, just waiting for him to take her.

"Babe, I love this jersey, but it's really gotta go."

He leans back so she can slip it off, letting it fall to the floor before she realizes that she's completely naked and he's not. He's still fully clothed, smirking at her as she pouts. "Noah, you're wearing too much, please." Her voice takes on a whiny tone, her eyes pleading with him as she reaches for his shirt.

He complies with her wants, kicking off his shoes and socks, pulling his shirt off as he does so. Her hands work his belt buckle, finally getting it undone so she can pull the leather to the floor. His pants follow a few seconds after, but he stops her hands as she tries to pull his boxers down. He fully intends on making her fall about at least once [maybe twice] before he's actually inside her, just to remind her who she belongs to.

He sits on the bed next to her panting figure, his hand falling back to her breast as he kneads it softly, dragging a low whine from her lips. He chuckles as she glares impatiently at him when he rolls her nipple softly in between is thumb and index finger.

Puck lowers his head to her neck, licking the skin with the tip of his tongue. His head moves lower, teasing kisses placed along her collarbone, his lips descending upon her breasts, kissing the soft flesh before gently biting it. He takes a rosy bud into his mouth, flicking his tongue over it as he smirks at her reaction. Her hands grip his head, holding him close to her breast as he teases her mercilessly. He bites the little bud a bit harder than intended and she lets out a sharp gasp, but he doesn't miss the way she squirms, incredibly turned on by the accidental action.

Her hand, resting on her stomach, trails downward to the apex of her thighs when he's not looking. Her own fingers part her folds, her index finger sliding over her clit. She can't contain the moan that spills from her lips, seeing as she's desperate for release, fully prepared to make herself orgasm if he won't. Her loud noise causes him to pull back and he almost swallows his tongue when he looks down and sees Rachel stroking herself.

"Holy shit, Rach," he groans, transfixed by the sight of her hand between her thighs.

Her whines become more frantic as she applies more pressure, her thumb rubbing her bundle of nerves with purpose, two fingers delving inside of her, curling upwards in hopes that she can just hit that special spot. He knocks her thumb away, replacing it with his own, fingers splayed out on her pubic bone. She cries out, her hips bucking against his and her own hands.

She goes out the edge a second later, his name filling the air as her body shakes. It's only further proof that she belongs to him.

He wastes little time in settling himself between her thighs, his tongue replacing his hand. Rachel immediately thrashes about, the pleasure that she's feeling too much after a mind-blowing orgasm. He knows she's overly sensitive but he doesn't care. It's his form of payback for their fight. He's trying to convey that he's the only one that can make her feel like this.

He'll never get over the way she tastes, almost like honey, but still sort of musky. All he knows is that he'll never get tired of tasting her. His tongue dances over her clit, alternating between slow, languid licks and quick little flicks. His hands grip her hips in attempt to keep her on the bed, but she still manages to push her sex closer to his face, urging him silently to continue.

"Noah… Noah it's too… I'm going to…" she moans, her head thrown back and her words breathy.

He pulls back, a giant smirk on his face as she groans impatiently. "Are you gonna come, Rach?" he asks, placing a gentle kiss to the inside of her left thigh, leaving a wet trail of sloppy kisses up to her hipbone while she struggles for words.

"Yes! So close," she whines, the sheets gripped in her hands.

"Say it, Berry. Say it and I'll let you."

"Yours… I'm yours."

His lips attach themselves to the little nub, his thumb rubbing small circles on her hip. He sucks hard on her clit, her hips flying off the bed as her hands hold his head in place. He stays put, his eyes locking with hers as her second mind-blowing orgasm of the night takes over, shaking her body. He licks at her gently, careful to avoid her sensitive clit, just enjoying her taste and smell.

Once he's positive that the aftershocks have stopped, he kisses up her stomach, between the valley of her breasts, and captures her lips with his own. That's something she likes, tasting herself on his lips. She isn't entirely sure why she does, but she always has.

They stay like that for a few moments, connected at the lips while her hands run over his shoulders and chest, his tangled in her hair. There's unspoken forgiveness in that kiss, flipping the switch from rough to passionate. Forgiveness for doubts, for yelling and screaming, for everything that they've both done wrong. Sure, they're young, he's only the tender age of 18 while she's an innocent 17, but they're pretty sure they love each other with everything that they know how.

Her chest rises and falls softly, she's finally recovered from her high. She's completely content lying here with him, until she remembers that she's the one that's had two orgasms and he's been patiently waiting. Her tiny hands push him away, smiling softly as he gives her a look.

"Noah," she begins, her face growing red as she thinks of her next words. "Fuck me."

Her words are a whisper, but he hears them loud and clear. He didn't think it was possible to get even harder, but he's painfully so and her plan seems pretty damn decent. She knows he loves it when she swears, and she doesn't do it often, but when she does it's dynamite.

"Condom," he mumbles, reaching for the box on the bedside table. He used to keep them in his sock drawer until they found themselves in this position one too many times, only to have him torn away for too long because they needed a rubber shield of protection.

He presses the foil wrapper into her hand, using the time it takes her to get it open to shed his boxers, letting them fall to the floor with the rest of the clothes.

Her hands are soon wrapped around him, rolling the condom down before giving his length a soft squeeze, forcing him to let out a groan and push her hand away. "If you don't stop, we won't even start."

Puck positions himself between his girlfriend's thighs, caressing her cheek while sliding into her with a groan. Much like her taste, he'll never get over how hot and tight she is, how they fit together like a glove.

It's a mess of limbs from there; her hands clawing his back while his slide across her abdomen. Rachel's whines and whimpers fill the air, her body slick with sweat as she meets him thrust for thrust. A strangled groan leaves his lips, his head falling to the crook of her neck, his lips teasing the skin as they continue to move with each other.

He sucks on the skin rather hard in an attempt to leave a mark. He wants everyone to know that she belongs to him, and judging by the scratches being left on his arm, Rachel wants everyone to know that he is hers. He's the only one that will ever witness her this way, watch the intense waves of pleasure wash over her as her eyes snap shut and she cries out.

"Look at me, Rach," he grinds how, his hand dipping between her thighs, set on bringing her to climax before he himself reaches that point.

Her eyes flutter open, her gaze holding his. It's almost too intense, looking into his eyes as she feels her walls clench him.

"Noah!" And then she's gone. Her walls contract around him, milking him for all he's worth until he's following her over the edge as well.

"Fuck Rach," he groans, staying put for a moment to allow her time to catch his breath. He won't admit it, but he needs time to catch his own as well.

He rolls off of her a few minutes later, immediately pulling her flush against him, tangling his legs with hers before wrapping an arm around her waist. She's the one two laces their fingers together, her thumb running over his knuckles while he kisses her hair.

"'s fucking perfect. You're fucking perfect," he murmurs, suckling softly on the spot behind her ear that he discovered in their one-week romance.

"I'm sorry, Noah," she whispers, feeling tears actually flood her eyes once more. When she sniffs loudly, he knows she's in tears and he really hates it because he knows that he put them there.

"Relax, Rachel. We're okay. Shh… I know, baby, I know you're sorry. Fuck, I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have said what I did about you being desperate and I sure as hell shouldn't have brought up Finn. Yeah, that Cheerio was flirting with me, but I was tryin' to shut her down, Rach. She doesn't compare to you. No one does. Damn it, you're the first girl I've ever said 'I love you' to and actually sorta meant it. Sex that meant something. The first person who doesn't think I'll end up like my deadbeat dad. You had every fucking right to be mad and I'm sorry."

She's pretty sure she hears his voice crack a time or two, and for a second it warms her heart. He doesn't feel the need to hide behind his "Puck" persona. He's just her Noah in this moment, her Noah that's apologizing for hurting her.

"No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions." She turns over in his arms so that she's facing him, burying her face in his chest. "I think that the reason I'm so protective, and the reason that I care so much, is because I'm terrified of losing you."

"I'm not fucking going anywhere, Rach. You're gonna have to kill me to go away or something. I'm not leaving," he says, squeezing her hand for emphasis. She just smiles up at him, kissing the patch of skin right over his heart.

"Now go to sleep, because I fully intend on waking you up in a few hours for a few more rounds of make-up sex. I want my girl to be well rested so she can keep up."

Rachel snuggles closer to him, enjoying the feeling of being so close. It makes her feel safe, reassurance that yes, it'll always be a struggle with them, but they'll get through it. Because they're Puck and Rachel, the couple that the entire school gave a nickname. It's going to take a lot more than that to break them apart.

"Oh, and Rach?"

"Yes, Noah?"

"You know, you really fucking looked hot with my number on. And nothing underneath? Even better babe. It like… fulfilled my fantasy."

She just laughs, making a mental note to thank Santana and Mrs. Puckerman for all their help.

Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it as much as I enjoyed writing it.