IDEK - fic fill
Another prompt fill for the prompt: Glee girls are playing a drunk game of Marry Fuck Kill (or Kiss). Somehow, Rachel says she'd marry Noah. And the glee girls will stop at nothing to make it happen. Not entirely sure this is what you wanted, but I couldn't not have a play. I'm also sort of eh about it to the point where I'm like IDEK... but oh well. Haha. I'm tired, it's almost 2am, so I'm going to bed.
It’s sort of unexpected, hanging out with three girls you now consider to be your best friends, the ones that once deemed you unworthy and tried to make your life absolutely miserable, and now you’d be lost without as they convince you time and time again to live life a little on the wild side.
They’re at some football party that Santana deems lame from the moment they walk in. It’s the first one they’ve been to in a while, and Santana says about five times that they should have known better than to settle. She commandeers the dining room, kicks anyone out who she thinks is beneath them, and as she pours shots of vodka for the girls, she proposes a game.
And that’s when Rachel panics.
Because Santana’s games? Always end with some girl crying or some boyfriend swearing angrily or someone getting their heart broken or someone doing laps around a neighbourhood barely dressed.
They always start fun and entertaining and a little intriguing, but next thing you know, you’re sitting in your underwear that unfortunately doesn’t match, praying to God that no one takes a photo that will come back to haunt you in later life when you’ve conquered Broadway and your name is in lights as Noah Puckerman leers at you and tries to convince you yet again that you should really just give in to temptation and go home with him already.
Or learning that once upon a time when Finn was telling you he loved you, he’d also slept with Santana and lied about it.
So yes. Rachel is a little panicked at the idea of a game, a little scared, and she knew when her daddies offered to watch a movie with her instead, her choice, that she should have taken them up on the opportunity.
“Marry, Fuck or Kill.” Santana proposes, and this one seems relatively harmless in the grand scheme of things.
Ultimately, all that can come out of this is the fact that Rachel has always dreamed of marrying Joaquin Pheonix, and that maybe Jacob Ben Israel should sleep with one eye open, just in case one day she wakes up in a particularly violent mood.
“Glee boys.” Quinn quickly throws in.
“Rachel. Kurt - marry, fuck, or kill.” Santana’s snickering. She’s heard many a rant in regards to Rachel’s feelings (or lack of) for Kurt.
“Kill. But only if there was a valid reason because obviously I do not aspire to spend the majority of my life in jail. And only because I think he is a horrible person who possesses no tact or care or regard for others feelings as he stomps all over them with his nose in the air.”
The list goes on. Quinn blushes as soon as Matt’s name comes up and mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like marriage that cause all the girls to giggle and oo and ahh, because it’s kind of cute, if you think about it.
The game begins to get awkward when Finn’s name is thrown into the circle, and he’s slept with three out of the four girls at the table, and neither of them particularly want to do anything with him.
Santana takes “kill” and Rachel can’t exactly blame her.
“Rachel. What about Puck? Marry, fuck, or kill.” If she could, if she was a strong and possibly violent person, she’d slap the smirk right off of Santana’s face.
She doesn’t exactly want to go into what she’s been hiding from her best friends, the fact that sometimes all he has to do is look at her and she feels like her body is on fire in the best ways. That when she’s lonely, she lets herself think of the feeling of his lips on her body, the way they were that night she got drunk after her and Finn broke up and couldn’t resist him any longer.
“It’s definitely not kill.” She admits.
“Well which is it? Fuck or marry?” Santana asks, and Rachel has to think some more. It would be all too easy to admit she desires to feel his body pressed up against hers in the most intimate of ways, because there’s probably not many females at McKinley who don’t want that from him in some capacity.
And then she thinks of the nights she’s spent in his room, looking at photos of him as a little boy, all bright green eyes and brown hair going a million different directions and a cheeky grin that tugs at her heart strings, of nights spent curled up in his arms in his slightly too small bed, where she can honestly see a million more nights spent this exact way, sometimes with children in the mix, sometimes just a dog, as they listen to the sounds of New York City on the other side of their window.
She thinks of the mornings she’s woken up beside him, felt his fingers brush against her skin, all rough from guitar playing that always makes her heart beat so much faster than can possibly be healthy, his smile and his tired eyes as he looks at her from across the pillow that always smells like him, no matter how long she lies on it.
And then she realises, as she sits in some dining room at some second string football player’s house with awful trance music blasting from a room in the distance, if that’s what her forever could be like, she’d be more than happy to have it and share it with him.
Brown haired and musically talented children from Jewish backgrounds and waking up to his face and his laughter and the low rumble of his voice as he whispers something dirty in her ear when he thinks no one else is looking and he wants to distract her from whatever she was trying to say. Walking off stage to a bouquet of flowers and him in the tuxedo he was born to wear, because there’s a romantic side to him that has yet to be uncovered.
“Marry.” She whispers, and she hopes no one’s heard her, but the cackle that leaves the throat of her very best friend lets her know that she’s not that lucky.
“You want to marry Puck? The guy who refers to himself as “Puckasaurus” in regular conversations?” Apparently this is hilariously funny, as if Rachel has just told the best joke in the history of jokes.
She’s not impressed, and wants to leave right now.
This is why you don’t play games with Santana. Because even though Santana’s her very best friend, she sometimes forgets that some people have hearts that are capable of being hurt, and usually, its Rachel’s.
“I mean, shit, B, I knew you guys were hooking up on a regular basis, or whatever, but marriage? You want to marry him? He’s the guy that pretty much breaks out in rash at the thought of commitment.”
Rachel’s fighting back tears. She knows all this. It haunts her every night at 11:11 when she wishes for Broadway fame and Noah Puckerman to ask her on a proper date.
She just wants to be different, more to him.
She sort of wants to be the Quinn Fabray he thought he loved sophomore year.
“I think they’d be cute together.” Brittany offers, but the damage has already been done to Rachel’s hopes and dreams.
(She’s not dramatic, not in the slightest.)
Quinn’s nodding as if she agrees, but it’s easy for her to agree, when Noah made her promises long ago that Rachel secretly longs to hear.
Rachel gets up and says her goodbyes, tries not to be blatantly obvious about the fact that this is indeed a diva storm out, and weaves her way through drunken football players and drunken members of McKinley’s elite as she searches through her bag for her cellphone.
And when her eyes meet Puck’s across the room and he holds up his keys, wordlessly offering her a ride home, she shakes her head and moves that much faster, because she knows how those rides end.
She’s never playing another one of Santana’s fucking games ever again.
--
“I think we need to make it happen.” Quinn says after Rachel has gone and Puck’s approaching looking a million kinds of pissed off and scary.
“I thought rainbows could only happen when it was raining?” Brittany says, and they look at her in confusion.
“I was talking about Rachel and Puck.”
“What the fuck did you say to Rachel this time, San?” Puck barks out.
“Oh I’m sorry, did I interrupt some grand scheme of yours to get laid tonight? I’m sure you’ll find some desperate Cheerio willing to give you a shot.”
“Fuck you, you know it’s not about that. I’m not gonna go screw some freshman Cheerio, no matter how lame this party gets. What the fuck did you do?” He says, and Santana only shrugs.
“It was marry, fuck or kill. Nothing major, nothing harmful, so calm your farm. She was just hit with the realisation that some dreams of hers may be unattainable because we were surprised at her answer to one of them. That’s all.”
He storms back out of the room, pulling his keys from his pocket.
Quinn leans towards Santana. “Puck’s going home alone, the night is young, and there’s probably a number of willing girls who would’ve accompanied him. Obviously Rachel’s not alone in her feelings.”
“You really think he likes her?” Santana asks.
“I think they’d be cute together.” Brittany says again.
“He’s never turned down young, willing and eager before.” Quinn says, and Santana nods.
“They sort of make sense, anyway. I think it’s been building for a while, over a year at least, and they both needed to realise that this could be so much more than what they’re currently doing. She’s always sort of been different for him, don’t you think?”
Santana pauses, and then has to concede. “Just don’t want that fucker hurting her, ya know? After Finn lying about everything under the sun…”
“Santana showing she has a heart, Rachel wanting to marry Puck, Puck showing he cares… I feel like I should be expecting the apocalypse at any given moment.” Quinn teases, and Santana leans across the table to give her a slap.
“Let’s get down to business, bitch.” Santana says, and they start with a plan.
--
The next day, Quinn cautiously taps on Puck’s doorway after making sure there is no sign of Mrs Puckerman’s car in the driveway.
He appears shirtless and still looking grumpy. He shrugs on a shirt as he pulls his front door closed to sit on his porch alongside Quinn.
“’Sup?” He asks.
“Did you catch up with Rachel last night?” Quinn asks, and looks at his face to gauge his reaction.
“Nah, she wouldn’t even fuckin’ answer her phone, so whatever.”
“We didn’t know you liked her like that.” Quinn says, and he shrugs beside her.
“If you want her, you should go for it. I think you’d make her really happy.” She says, offering him a smile.
“What the fuck did San say to her last night, legit?”
“We were just talking about relationships and marriage and it got a bit out of hand. It’s easy to see how feelings could have been hurt, but things will be okay.”
“You chicks need to stop thinking so far into the future and just start thinkin’ bout the present. You’re not even with Rutherford yet and you’re already namin’ babies. Legit, you guys are psycho.”
“Maybe that’s what we were talking about last night. Telling Rachel not to get too far ahead of herself when it came to planning a future with you. But none of us can predict the future.”
Puck doesn’t say anything, but Quinn knows the seed of thought has been planted.
And that afternoon, Santana calls Puck and asks him to come pick her up from the dance studio where Rachel also works.
He stands in the doorway and watches as Rachel encourages the little children in their miniature tutu’s to do their little toe points or whateverthefuck they’re called, and Santana knows no matter how hard he denies it, there was definitely a smile on his face as he watches them.
She thinks there’s a chance he might be seeing a similar future to the one Rachel’s started planning.
He shoves her pretty fucking hard though when she suggests it, but the fact that he’s silent most of the way home and doesn’t even try to look up her skirt when she jumps down from his truck tells her that he’s definitely changing, definitely thinking about something, and it undoubtedly involves Rachel.
“Hope you’re watching your romantic movies, getting your perfect movie scene proposal planned out.” She laughs and he swears at her as he peels away from the curb.
A week later, things are still noticeably weird between Rachel and Puck, and Santana is actually starting to feel very guilty indeed, and both her and Quinn are beyond frustrated with the slow progression of the situation.
Turns out neither of them are particularly patient people.
There’s a secret Glee meeting excluding Puck, Rachel, and Finn and Brittany who wouldn’t be able to keep secrets if their lives depended on it.
A new plan is hatched, and they think this one might be it.
The following Monday at Glee, everyone arrives early, talking about impending college applications and goals and dreams and ambitions.
It’s Rachel’s favourite topic, but she’s not as lively and active in participation as usual.
“I can see you marrying some Jewish guy who’s going to be unexpected but perfect for you.” Mercedes offers Rachel with a smile. “Undoubtedly musical, but not of the classical variety.” Kurt adds, and they all sneak stealth glances towards Puck to see him determinedly not looking at Rachel’s face, but smiling softly at the ground.
“Can’t you just picture Rachel with all these noisy, musical, brown haired children getting into all kinds of trouble but easily talking their way out of it?” Mike adds with a laugh. “Sort of like Puck’s future kids.” He continues, and they all laugh, but Rachel glances at Puck with a smile when she thinks he’s not looking, and he most definitely smiles a little back, and it means something, whether they want to admit it, or not.
Two days later, Santana and Quinn watch as Tina approaches Rachel in the auditorium with a book the three of them, plus Mercedes and Kurt had put together with an idea ripped right out of a movie.
“I just wanted you to remember that if you dream it, you can do it.” Tina says with a soft voice and a smile, and Rachel smiles back at her, opening the book with a dramatic gasp.
In it there are pictures of a wedding of two people that could easily be Puck and Rachel, a picture of them getting engaged on stage like something right out of Walk the Line, and children on holiday in various locations. It’s hilarious and a little creepy, but the wistful smile that appears on Rachel’s face makes them smile a little bit more.
Quinn knows for sure that Rachel goes home to hide it under her bed where she’ll look at it more often than she’d ever admit to, but Puck will never be able to find it.
Puck’s leaning against his truck one day after a Glee rehearsal, waiting for god knows what.
Santana quickly abandons Rachel in the car park so she’ll have no choice but to get a ride home from Puck. It’s simple and crafty and easy, but it’ll work.
Fuck, if she was a hopeless romantic, she’d think it was almost cute the way they were nervously dancing around each other.
But god, couldn’t they just get it together and like, fuck already? This was getting beyond ridiculous.
They’re still talking when Santana drives past. She can’t resist.
“She wants to marry you and have babies with you. Definitely no harm in practicing!” She hollers out the window and Rachel looks mortified.
She’s the best kind of best friend you can have, really.
--
The girls have no idea that the night this whole conversation began, Puck had given up calling Rachel and just gone over to her house.
She’d sat in his McKinley sweatshirt and pyjama shorts and she’d confessed that she wanted a future with him she knew he wasn’t going to offer.
He asked her what made her so sure he’d never offer a future.
“I fuckin’ commit to what I want. God, I don’t even remember the last time I chased a girl half way around the fuckin’ town just to get her to talk to me. I sure as shit don’t sit through tears while she wipes snot on the sleeve of my McKinley hoodie.”
“Ew, Noah.” He laughs and nudges her with his shoulder, and she smiles.
“That’s a fuckin’ commitment, Rach. We’ve been commited since you broke up with Hudson and this whole thing started again.”
“Really?”
“I thought so.” He says with a shrug. “Girlfriend’s not an easy word to just throw in a sentence, ya know.”
She leans over and kisses him on the lips.
“No promises about rings and marriage and shit though, k? I’m not an old man yet, fuckin’ a.”
She nods.
“But maybe one day?” She asks all cute and sweet and nervous, hiding her hands in the sleeves of his sweatshirt.
“Maybe one day it wouldn’t be so bad to be calling you Mrs and having crazy musical kids running around. Let’s just keep that from my mom though, okay, because she’ll start planning our future before it’s even begun.”
She laughs.
So they’re kinda actually practicing the whole baby makin’ business long before Santana tells them they should start practicing.
But when they’re busted in Santana’s bedroom at a party a few weeks later, they tell her it was all her advice that led them to this. She’s all to blame.
It’s sort of unexpected, hanging out with three girls you now consider to be your best friends, the ones that once deemed you unworthy and tried to make your life absolutely miserable, and now you’d be lost without as they convince you time and time again to live life a little on the wild side.
They’re at some football party that Santana deems lame from the moment they walk in. It’s the first one they’ve been to in a while, and Santana says about five times that they should have known better than to settle. She commandeers the dining room, kicks anyone out who she thinks is beneath them, and as she pours shots of vodka for the girls, she proposes a game.
And that’s when Rachel panics.
Because Santana’s games? Always end with some girl crying or some boyfriend swearing angrily or someone getting their heart broken or someone doing laps around a neighbourhood barely dressed.
They always start fun and entertaining and a little intriguing, but next thing you know, you’re sitting in your underwear that unfortunately doesn’t match, praying to God that no one takes a photo that will come back to haunt you in later life when you’ve conquered Broadway and your name is in lights as Noah Puckerman leers at you and tries to convince you yet again that you should really just give in to temptation and go home with him already.
Or learning that once upon a time when Finn was telling you he loved you, he’d also slept with Santana and lied about it.
So yes. Rachel is a little panicked at the idea of a game, a little scared, and she knew when her daddies offered to watch a movie with her instead, her choice, that she should have taken them up on the opportunity.
“Marry, Fuck or Kill.” Santana proposes, and this one seems relatively harmless in the grand scheme of things.
Ultimately, all that can come out of this is the fact that Rachel has always dreamed of marrying Joaquin Pheonix, and that maybe Jacob Ben Israel should sleep with one eye open, just in case one day she wakes up in a particularly violent mood.
“Glee boys.” Quinn quickly throws in.
“Rachel. Kurt - marry, fuck, or kill.” Santana’s snickering. She’s heard many a rant in regards to Rachel’s feelings (or lack of) for Kurt.
“Kill. But only if there was a valid reason because obviously I do not aspire to spend the majority of my life in jail. And only because I think he is a horrible person who possesses no tact or care or regard for others feelings as he stomps all over them with his nose in the air.”
The list goes on. Quinn blushes as soon as Matt’s name comes up and mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like marriage that cause all the girls to giggle and oo and ahh, because it’s kind of cute, if you think about it.
The game begins to get awkward when Finn’s name is thrown into the circle, and he’s slept with three out of the four girls at the table, and neither of them particularly want to do anything with him.
Santana takes “kill” and Rachel can’t exactly blame her.
“Rachel. What about Puck? Marry, fuck, or kill.” If she could, if she was a strong and possibly violent person, she’d slap the smirk right off of Santana’s face.
She doesn’t exactly want to go into what she’s been hiding from her best friends, the fact that sometimes all he has to do is look at her and she feels like her body is on fire in the best ways. That when she’s lonely, she lets herself think of the feeling of his lips on her body, the way they were that night she got drunk after her and Finn broke up and couldn’t resist him any longer.
“It’s definitely not kill.” She admits.
“Well which is it? Fuck or marry?” Santana asks, and Rachel has to think some more. It would be all too easy to admit she desires to feel his body pressed up against hers in the most intimate of ways, because there’s probably not many females at McKinley who don’t want that from him in some capacity.
And then she thinks of the nights she’s spent in his room, looking at photos of him as a little boy, all bright green eyes and brown hair going a million different directions and a cheeky grin that tugs at her heart strings, of nights spent curled up in his arms in his slightly too small bed, where she can honestly see a million more nights spent this exact way, sometimes with children in the mix, sometimes just a dog, as they listen to the sounds of New York City on the other side of their window.
She thinks of the mornings she’s woken up beside him, felt his fingers brush against her skin, all rough from guitar playing that always makes her heart beat so much faster than can possibly be healthy, his smile and his tired eyes as he looks at her from across the pillow that always smells like him, no matter how long she lies on it.
And then she realises, as she sits in some dining room at some second string football player’s house with awful trance music blasting from a room in the distance, if that’s what her forever could be like, she’d be more than happy to have it and share it with him.
Brown haired and musically talented children from Jewish backgrounds and waking up to his face and his laughter and the low rumble of his voice as he whispers something dirty in her ear when he thinks no one else is looking and he wants to distract her from whatever she was trying to say. Walking off stage to a bouquet of flowers and him in the tuxedo he was born to wear, because there’s a romantic side to him that has yet to be uncovered.
“Marry.” She whispers, and she hopes no one’s heard her, but the cackle that leaves the throat of her very best friend lets her know that she’s not that lucky.
“You want to marry Puck? The guy who refers to himself as “Puckasaurus” in regular conversations?” Apparently this is hilariously funny, as if Rachel has just told the best joke in the history of jokes.
She’s not impressed, and wants to leave right now.
This is why you don’t play games with Santana. Because even though Santana’s her very best friend, she sometimes forgets that some people have hearts that are capable of being hurt, and usually, its Rachel’s.
“I mean, shit, B, I knew you guys were hooking up on a regular basis, or whatever, but marriage? You want to marry him? He’s the guy that pretty much breaks out in rash at the thought of commitment.”
Rachel’s fighting back tears. She knows all this. It haunts her every night at 11:11 when she wishes for Broadway fame and Noah Puckerman to ask her on a proper date.
She just wants to be different, more to him.
She sort of wants to be the Quinn Fabray he thought he loved sophomore year.
“I think they’d be cute together.” Brittany offers, but the damage has already been done to Rachel’s hopes and dreams.
(She’s not dramatic, not in the slightest.)
Quinn’s nodding as if she agrees, but it’s easy for her to agree, when Noah made her promises long ago that Rachel secretly longs to hear.
Rachel gets up and says her goodbyes, tries not to be blatantly obvious about the fact that this is indeed a diva storm out, and weaves her way through drunken football players and drunken members of McKinley’s elite as she searches through her bag for her cellphone.
And when her eyes meet Puck’s across the room and he holds up his keys, wordlessly offering her a ride home, she shakes her head and moves that much faster, because she knows how those rides end.
She’s never playing another one of Santana’s fucking games ever again.
--
“I think we need to make it happen.” Quinn says after Rachel has gone and Puck’s approaching looking a million kinds of pissed off and scary.
“I thought rainbows could only happen when it was raining?” Brittany says, and they look at her in confusion.
“I was talking about Rachel and Puck.”
“What the fuck did you say to Rachel this time, San?” Puck barks out.
“Oh I’m sorry, did I interrupt some grand scheme of yours to get laid tonight? I’m sure you’ll find some desperate Cheerio willing to give you a shot.”
“Fuck you, you know it’s not about that. I’m not gonna go screw some freshman Cheerio, no matter how lame this party gets. What the fuck did you do?” He says, and Santana only shrugs.
“It was marry, fuck or kill. Nothing major, nothing harmful, so calm your farm. She was just hit with the realisation that some dreams of hers may be unattainable because we were surprised at her answer to one of them. That’s all.”
He storms back out of the room, pulling his keys from his pocket.
Quinn leans towards Santana. “Puck’s going home alone, the night is young, and there’s probably a number of willing girls who would’ve accompanied him. Obviously Rachel’s not alone in her feelings.”
“You really think he likes her?” Santana asks.
“I think they’d be cute together.” Brittany says again.
“He’s never turned down young, willing and eager before.” Quinn says, and Santana nods.
“They sort of make sense, anyway. I think it’s been building for a while, over a year at least, and they both needed to realise that this could be so much more than what they’re currently doing. She’s always sort of been different for him, don’t you think?”
Santana pauses, and then has to concede. “Just don’t want that fucker hurting her, ya know? After Finn lying about everything under the sun…”
“Santana showing she has a heart, Rachel wanting to marry Puck, Puck showing he cares… I feel like I should be expecting the apocalypse at any given moment.” Quinn teases, and Santana leans across the table to give her a slap.
“Let’s get down to business, bitch.” Santana says, and they start with a plan.
--
The next day, Quinn cautiously taps on Puck’s doorway after making sure there is no sign of Mrs Puckerman’s car in the driveway.
He appears shirtless and still looking grumpy. He shrugs on a shirt as he pulls his front door closed to sit on his porch alongside Quinn.
“’Sup?” He asks.
“Did you catch up with Rachel last night?” Quinn asks, and looks at his face to gauge his reaction.
“Nah, she wouldn’t even fuckin’ answer her phone, so whatever.”
“We didn’t know you liked her like that.” Quinn says, and he shrugs beside her.
“If you want her, you should go for it. I think you’d make her really happy.” She says, offering him a smile.
“What the fuck did San say to her last night, legit?”
“We were just talking about relationships and marriage and it got a bit out of hand. It’s easy to see how feelings could have been hurt, but things will be okay.”
“You chicks need to stop thinking so far into the future and just start thinkin’ bout the present. You’re not even with Rutherford yet and you’re already namin’ babies. Legit, you guys are psycho.”
“Maybe that’s what we were talking about last night. Telling Rachel not to get too far ahead of herself when it came to planning a future with you. But none of us can predict the future.”
Puck doesn’t say anything, but Quinn knows the seed of thought has been planted.
And that afternoon, Santana calls Puck and asks him to come pick her up from the dance studio where Rachel also works.
He stands in the doorway and watches as Rachel encourages the little children in their miniature tutu’s to do their little toe points or whateverthefuck they’re called, and Santana knows no matter how hard he denies it, there was definitely a smile on his face as he watches them.
She thinks there’s a chance he might be seeing a similar future to the one Rachel’s started planning.
He shoves her pretty fucking hard though when she suggests it, but the fact that he’s silent most of the way home and doesn’t even try to look up her skirt when she jumps down from his truck tells her that he’s definitely changing, definitely thinking about something, and it undoubtedly involves Rachel.
“Hope you’re watching your romantic movies, getting your perfect movie scene proposal planned out.” She laughs and he swears at her as he peels away from the curb.
A week later, things are still noticeably weird between Rachel and Puck, and Santana is actually starting to feel very guilty indeed, and both her and Quinn are beyond frustrated with the slow progression of the situation.
Turns out neither of them are particularly patient people.
There’s a secret Glee meeting excluding Puck, Rachel, and Finn and Brittany who wouldn’t be able to keep secrets if their lives depended on it.
A new plan is hatched, and they think this one might be it.
The following Monday at Glee, everyone arrives early, talking about impending college applications and goals and dreams and ambitions.
It’s Rachel’s favourite topic, but she’s not as lively and active in participation as usual.
“I can see you marrying some Jewish guy who’s going to be unexpected but perfect for you.” Mercedes offers Rachel with a smile. “Undoubtedly musical, but not of the classical variety.” Kurt adds, and they all sneak stealth glances towards Puck to see him determinedly not looking at Rachel’s face, but smiling softly at the ground.
“Can’t you just picture Rachel with all these noisy, musical, brown haired children getting into all kinds of trouble but easily talking their way out of it?” Mike adds with a laugh. “Sort of like Puck’s future kids.” He continues, and they all laugh, but Rachel glances at Puck with a smile when she thinks he’s not looking, and he most definitely smiles a little back, and it means something, whether they want to admit it, or not.
Two days later, Santana and Quinn watch as Tina approaches Rachel in the auditorium with a book the three of them, plus Mercedes and Kurt had put together with an idea ripped right out of a movie.
“I just wanted you to remember that if you dream it, you can do it.” Tina says with a soft voice and a smile, and Rachel smiles back at her, opening the book with a dramatic gasp.
In it there are pictures of a wedding of two people that could easily be Puck and Rachel, a picture of them getting engaged on stage like something right out of Walk the Line, and children on holiday in various locations. It’s hilarious and a little creepy, but the wistful smile that appears on Rachel’s face makes them smile a little bit more.
Quinn knows for sure that Rachel goes home to hide it under her bed where she’ll look at it more often than she’d ever admit to, but Puck will never be able to find it.
Puck’s leaning against his truck one day after a Glee rehearsal, waiting for god knows what.
Santana quickly abandons Rachel in the car park so she’ll have no choice but to get a ride home from Puck. It’s simple and crafty and easy, but it’ll work.
Fuck, if she was a hopeless romantic, she’d think it was almost cute the way they were nervously dancing around each other.
But god, couldn’t they just get it together and like, fuck already? This was getting beyond ridiculous.
They’re still talking when Santana drives past. She can’t resist.
“She wants to marry you and have babies with you. Definitely no harm in practicing!” She hollers out the window and Rachel looks mortified.
She’s the best kind of best friend you can have, really.
--
The girls have no idea that the night this whole conversation began, Puck had given up calling Rachel and just gone over to her house.
She’d sat in his McKinley sweatshirt and pyjama shorts and she’d confessed that she wanted a future with him she knew he wasn’t going to offer.
He asked her what made her so sure he’d never offer a future.
“I fuckin’ commit to what I want. God, I don’t even remember the last time I chased a girl half way around the fuckin’ town just to get her to talk to me. I sure as shit don’t sit through tears while she wipes snot on the sleeve of my McKinley hoodie.”
“Ew, Noah.” He laughs and nudges her with his shoulder, and she smiles.
“That’s a fuckin’ commitment, Rach. We’ve been commited since you broke up with Hudson and this whole thing started again.”
“Really?”
“I thought so.” He says with a shrug. “Girlfriend’s not an easy word to just throw in a sentence, ya know.”
She leans over and kisses him on the lips.
“No promises about rings and marriage and shit though, k? I’m not an old man yet, fuckin’ a.”
She nods.
“But maybe one day?” She asks all cute and sweet and nervous, hiding her hands in the sleeves of his sweatshirt.
“Maybe one day it wouldn’t be so bad to be calling you Mrs and having crazy musical kids running around. Let’s just keep that from my mom though, okay, because she’ll start planning our future before it’s even begun.”
She laughs.
So they’re kinda actually practicing the whole baby makin’ business long before Santana tells them they should start practicing.
But when they’re busted in Santana’s bedroom at a party a few weeks later, they tell her it was all her advice that led them to this. She’s all to blame.