Title: Shut the fuck up, you're beautiful
Pairing: Puck/Rachel.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1317

Puck is used to dealing with girls who have issues. Quinn thought she was fat, Santana didn't like her hair, Brittany hated her nose, etc. He's been through the Cheerio roster more than once and they have enough problems to make Oprah start a charity. But he didn't give enough of a fuck about them to, like, make them feel better or anything. He gives a fuck about Rachel, though.

She makes the entire female population of Ohio seem well adjusted. Just getting her out of the house means telling her that, "her skirt is fine, the colors match, her legs aren't chunky and her hair is shiny," Or some version of that. He does all this because he can't stand the way she bites her lip and looks down, when she asks if she looks okay. Like he'll say no or be ashamed of her all of a sudden.

Rachel is supposed to be all confidant and stuff, and at first Puck thought she was doing it for attention, just another way to get compliments. Then he really started paying attention and realized how much time she spends looking in the mirror with that 'not good enough' expression, on her face.

She spends a lot of time watching Santana too. Which would be hot and totally spank bank worthy, if Rachel wasn't staring because she thought he was going to leave her for the cheerio. Yeah, he isn't stupid; he knows the Berry 'resigned to losing' look. She wore it enough around Finn the year before, for it to be burned into his memory.

And he hates how she whispers 'thank you' and gives him the Bambi eyes, when he holds her hand in the hall, or walks her to her class. Because he knows its not her just being polite, she actually thinks he's doing her some sort of favor by being around her at school.

She really doesn't get that she's got the most insane body and that she is the only girl, aside from his ma and sister that he's ever thought was REALLY beautiful. Not an, 'I'd just like to bang you' beautiful. But like gorgeous enough that her just looking at him makes him lose his train of thought and forget where he is. Its like a mini Berry induced coma, and she doesn't even fucking realize she makes him stop functioning (well, parts of him).

Problem is he doesn't know how to fix her, or where to even start. With other girls he never really put in more effort than a quick compliment to get some boob action. He already tried his old material, telling Rachel her skirt was crunchy toast, but she just stared at him like he was drinking the cool aide, or something. Beating people up who insulted her? No go. And its not like he could bitch slap a bunch of Cheerios, for making her cry.

Not that she lets him see her cry, but he knows, that's what she does every once and a while in the choir room during her free period. He always ditches History to get her a slushie on those days.

And maybe a tiny, really fucking tiny part of him (huge), feels like shit because he helped make her this way. Slushies and egging her house and calling her man hands, kind of broke her. The problem is he's not the nice guy; he used to be the king of getting sex with a backhanded compliment. But this girl, her being sad even the littlest bit? Does not fucking fly and Karofsky can't take anymore of his re-channeled aggression, or he'll be permanently brain damaged.

So he asks for help

"What do you when a chick is being all insecure and shit?"

Finn gives him a shrug, "don't you usually go all sex shark on them?" Well yeah but obviously that shit isn't going to work. Once he told Santana going down on him would make her feel better. Berry wouldn't appreciate that suggestion.

Mike and Matt don't have much to say since their girls are into girls now.

Quinn just laughs and suggests some wine coolers and unprotected sex. Her being a bitch hasn't changed.

Santana won't even answer because she knows its about Rachel and that's a no go zone for her pride. He thinks she mumbles something about sending Rachel back to the holy land, so they can deal with her.

Hummel's offer is, "a nicer wardrobe. Although that's more for our retinal health than Rachel."

Puck gives up on them, their shit at helping and he doesn't want to actually have to hit someone. Rachel doesn't like when he does that.

#

Puck's sitting in her room watching her try and color coordinate skirts and sweaters for the week, when he realizes two things, one, he's on his own with this. And two, fuck Hummel, he likes her clothes. She's always warm and soft.

Rachel keeps muttering to herself as she flits through her clothes, basically listing the reasons/body parts that mean it won't work. He thinks she could actually cry as the pile thins. And fuck this is starting to hurt even more than before.

So the next time she walks past him, he traps her with his legs and pulls her onto his lap. Rachel sort of sputters out a, "what on earth Noah?" but he doesn't answer.

He takes one of her hands in his own, placing his palm flat against hers. He can feel her watching him, her brow furrowing in confusion.

"You have cute hands." Rachel shakes her head. "Santana and Quinn would beg to differ," She says softly, looking away. He's so not having that, so he bounces the leg that's beneath her, to get her attention again.

"They're bitches. You're hands are fucking tiny Rach, perfectly midget sized like the rest of you." She's just sort of looking at him through a curtain of hair that's fallen over her shoulder. He brushes it back, running his fingers through it, "I fucking love your hair too. It's all shiny and stuff, like those Disney chicks you go all chick crazy over, with Sarah."

"Noah, what-" He shakes his head, looking her in the eyes. "You have no clue how fucking beautiful you are." He thinks she stops breathing, her body goes completely still and she just blinks. " S'true, baby. I'm a stud, you think I'd be a pansy-ing it up for just anyone? I watched Fucking, Moulin Rouge for you."

The smile she's wearing right now, that full on 'he hung the moon' one? Might be enough to make him feel like he isn't a complete fuck up. It may also be one he wants to see way more often.

He bounces his leg again and she giggles, leaning forward to bury her face in his neck. He rests his chin on the top of her head, stroking her hip with his thumb. "And I don't want to bone Santana. Just you." (Like all the fucking time.)

She mumbles, "Thank you," against his skin and he smiles a little, "anytime, babe." He makes a mental note to let her know she tastes like vanilla and kisses like a champ.

He doesn't expect her to be magically fixed. She stops with the constant nit picking and he can pick her up ten minutes later in the morning because he doesn't have to face the Spanish inquisition, but she still has epic melt downs once and a while.

When she does, he just grabs her by the hips and pulls her close, leaning down until they're at eye level. He whispers, "Shut the fuck up, you're beautiful," in her ear. And he makes sure to kiss her hard enough that she goes all soft and her eyes get all glazed over.

"Now go make me a sandwich, woman."

What? He's still a dude.