Love is Worth the Wait - Puck/Rachel
Title: Love Is Worth The Wait
Author: Yours truly
Fandom: Glee
Prompt: Memory
Character/Pairing: Puck/Rachel
Rating: PG-13/T
Word Count: 1108
Summary: Continuing on from Do We Need To Change The World?, Progression From What We Are Yet To Become, We Are Sure of What We Know & Back Before We Didn't See
Authors Notes/Disclaimer: I own nothing of Glee, evidenced by the fact that Puck and Rachel aren't a) together and b) having sex on the regular on HBO or Skinemax.
You’re not sure how it happened. Well you know exactly how it happened, but you’re not sure how you let it happen. You remember it having a lot to do with a certain good looking Jew and his lovely arms, worming his way under your skin and into your heart. You quite like him there though, and you smile when you think about him.
You think back over the 8 months leading up to that day, or rather any one of the days of the previous 6 weeks, because his appetite for all things sexual has been matched by yours in the 5 months since you were devirginised. Who would have thought that particular game of spin the bottle (the one where the bottle landed on him and you wasted no time in launching yourself, quite literally, into his lap) would lead to a relationship with one of McKinley's hottest, sweetest guys?
And then you remember that day itself, standing over the bathroom sink, hands clutching at the counter top as you try to steady your breathing. When you hear the front door close, your stomach lurches.
“Rach?” he calls out to you. You squeak in response, voice appearing to have failed you. Noah knocks, but doesn't wait for a reply before pushing the bathroom door open. You jump, startled, as you put on your time-practised show face, but he sees through it. He knows you too well. “Baby, what’s wrong?”
A lone tear makes its way down your cheek before you bury yourself in his arms. Instinctively he strokes your hair to comfort you as you cry into his shirt.
“I’m pregnant” you mumble.
"I'm sorry, what?" He says, or rather chokes, and he certainly isn't helping here but you bite your tongue, opting instead to repeat yourself more clearly, albeit not lifting your head from where it's pressed to his chest.
"I'm pregnant." You can't tell what he's thinking, and you can always tell what he's thinking so this is freaking you out.
"Rach, I...." He unwraps his arms from you, hold you at arm’s length and apologises in a voice so quiet and scared.
"Noah, please don't say you're sorry because that sounds like you regret me. Please don't regret me, us, please. I couldn't bear it."
"Shit, Baby, I don't regret you or us. I'm sorry I knocked you up. Fuck my mom's gonna cut my dick off for sure." You can see something in his eyes which doesn't reflect the careful, sensitive words he's saying.
You tell him to leave, not because you want him to but because you know him. You know from the look in his eye that he needs time to himself. Time to get his head round what you've just told him and you could use that time too, to weigh up your options. You may be pregnant but you're still methodical and a planner and you like to have everything researched to within an inch of its life (if, you know, it had a life).
Which all leads you to where you are now, sweating and crying and in more pain than you'd care to be in (but surprisingly less than you'd been led to believe) and about to snap if one more person tells you to push. What do they think you're doing?
"Fuck!" You didn't mean to say that out loud, but every pair of eyes in that room are now trained on you so you give them all a smile (although it feel like more of a grimace, maybe a sneer - you're not in a position to care).
And then the pain hits you.
Again.
And here come the cries of "push, Rachel" and for once you're glad Noah's not joining them, instead holding your hand and placing sweet kisses to your knuckles every so often.
"What the fuck do you honestly think I'm doing?! I'm not painting my nails!" You want to punch everyone in the delivery room at any given moment, because do they really think you’re not pushing? Really? They don’t need to tell you to do just that every five seconds.
You cry. Literally, because you don't want to do this anymore. You turn your head to your boyfriend - you want to say 'the idiot that got you in this state', but he's not an idiot and it wasn't entirely his fault - and sob, "Noah, I can't. No more. I can't."
"Baby, I know you're tired," he says soothingly and you smile through your tears, contraction and pushing, "I know, but it won't be long now. And you want to meet 'Lilah, don't you?"
You nod, because honestly you'd love nothing more right now than to have your daughter cradled in your arms while Noah cradles you in his, "then you have to, Rach, please?" He wipes sweat of your forehead, cups your face with his hand, "Because I wanna hold my little girl."
He looks like he's on the verge of tears himself so you whisper "okay."
It doesn't take long until the pinkest, wrinkliest, most beautiful thing you've ever seen is placed in your arms, yawning and stretching before snuggling into your embrace. Her hair is ridiculous - sticking up in all directions - but she's perfect, worth the exhaustion and pain.
Your dads, before they head out, say she looks like you did when you were first born, but you're adamant she most resembles Noah. Either way she's amazing.
You look up at Noah. His eyes are fixed on Delilah, wet with tears that haven't yet fallen and you have to say his name three times before he finally realises you're talking to him.
"She's perfect, Rach." He kisses the top of your head, whispers 'thank you' and holds her like a natural when you hand her to him.
"Hey Baby Girl." He coos, and even though she can't focus on anything yet, you'd swear she was looking at him, "waited a long time to meet you, Lilah. S'worth it though. Even if your hair is kinda crazy. You get that from your mom."
He must notice your frown because he chuckles before saying "have you seen you right now, B-Mama? She gets it from you."
"Are you forgetting what I've just gone through? And stop calling me B-Mama,” you yawn. Noah perches on the edge of your bed and smoothing a hand over your hair asks, "tired Baby?" You nod "get some sleep, we're not going anywhere,” and leans down to kiss you full on the mouth, before you close your eyes and drift off, safe in the knowledge that he means for good.
Author: Yours truly
Fandom: Glee
Prompt: Memory
Character/Pairing: Puck/Rachel
Rating: PG-13/T
Word Count: 1108
Summary: Continuing on from Do We Need To Change The World?, Progression From What We Are Yet To Become, We Are Sure of What We Know & Back Before We Didn't See
Authors Notes/Disclaimer: I own nothing of Glee, evidenced by the fact that Puck and Rachel aren't a) together and b) having sex on the regular on HBO or Skinemax.
You’re not sure how it happened. Well you know exactly how it happened, but you’re not sure how you let it happen. You remember it having a lot to do with a certain good looking Jew and his lovely arms, worming his way under your skin and into your heart. You quite like him there though, and you smile when you think about him.
You think back over the 8 months leading up to that day, or rather any one of the days of the previous 6 weeks, because his appetite for all things sexual has been matched by yours in the 5 months since you were devirginised. Who would have thought that particular game of spin the bottle (the one where the bottle landed on him and you wasted no time in launching yourself, quite literally, into his lap) would lead to a relationship with one of McKinley's hottest, sweetest guys?
And then you remember that day itself, standing over the bathroom sink, hands clutching at the counter top as you try to steady your breathing. When you hear the front door close, your stomach lurches.
“Rach?” he calls out to you. You squeak in response, voice appearing to have failed you. Noah knocks, but doesn't wait for a reply before pushing the bathroom door open. You jump, startled, as you put on your time-practised show face, but he sees through it. He knows you too well. “Baby, what’s wrong?”
A lone tear makes its way down your cheek before you bury yourself in his arms. Instinctively he strokes your hair to comfort you as you cry into his shirt.
“I’m pregnant” you mumble.
"I'm sorry, what?" He says, or rather chokes, and he certainly isn't helping here but you bite your tongue, opting instead to repeat yourself more clearly, albeit not lifting your head from where it's pressed to his chest.
"I'm pregnant." You can't tell what he's thinking, and you can always tell what he's thinking so this is freaking you out.
"Rach, I...." He unwraps his arms from you, hold you at arm’s length and apologises in a voice so quiet and scared.
"Noah, please don't say you're sorry because that sounds like you regret me. Please don't regret me, us, please. I couldn't bear it."
"Shit, Baby, I don't regret you or us. I'm sorry I knocked you up. Fuck my mom's gonna cut my dick off for sure." You can see something in his eyes which doesn't reflect the careful, sensitive words he's saying.
You tell him to leave, not because you want him to but because you know him. You know from the look in his eye that he needs time to himself. Time to get his head round what you've just told him and you could use that time too, to weigh up your options. You may be pregnant but you're still methodical and a planner and you like to have everything researched to within an inch of its life (if, you know, it had a life).
Which all leads you to where you are now, sweating and crying and in more pain than you'd care to be in (but surprisingly less than you'd been led to believe) and about to snap if one more person tells you to push. What do they think you're doing?
"Fuck!" You didn't mean to say that out loud, but every pair of eyes in that room are now trained on you so you give them all a smile (although it feel like more of a grimace, maybe a sneer - you're not in a position to care).
And then the pain hits you.
Again.
And here come the cries of "push, Rachel" and for once you're glad Noah's not joining them, instead holding your hand and placing sweet kisses to your knuckles every so often.
"What the fuck do you honestly think I'm doing?! I'm not painting my nails!" You want to punch everyone in the delivery room at any given moment, because do they really think you’re not pushing? Really? They don’t need to tell you to do just that every five seconds.
You cry. Literally, because you don't want to do this anymore. You turn your head to your boyfriend - you want to say 'the idiot that got you in this state', but he's not an idiot and it wasn't entirely his fault - and sob, "Noah, I can't. No more. I can't."
"Baby, I know you're tired," he says soothingly and you smile through your tears, contraction and pushing, "I know, but it won't be long now. And you want to meet 'Lilah, don't you?"
You nod, because honestly you'd love nothing more right now than to have your daughter cradled in your arms while Noah cradles you in his, "then you have to, Rach, please?" He wipes sweat of your forehead, cups your face with his hand, "Because I wanna hold my little girl."
He looks like he's on the verge of tears himself so you whisper "okay."
It doesn't take long until the pinkest, wrinkliest, most beautiful thing you've ever seen is placed in your arms, yawning and stretching before snuggling into your embrace. Her hair is ridiculous - sticking up in all directions - but she's perfect, worth the exhaustion and pain.
Your dads, before they head out, say she looks like you did when you were first born, but you're adamant she most resembles Noah. Either way she's amazing.
You look up at Noah. His eyes are fixed on Delilah, wet with tears that haven't yet fallen and you have to say his name three times before he finally realises you're talking to him.
"She's perfect, Rach." He kisses the top of your head, whispers 'thank you' and holds her like a natural when you hand her to him.
"Hey Baby Girl." He coos, and even though she can't focus on anything yet, you'd swear she was looking at him, "waited a long time to meet you, Lilah. S'worth it though. Even if your hair is kinda crazy. You get that from your mom."
He must notice your frown because he chuckles before saying "have you seen you right now, B-Mama? She gets it from you."
"Are you forgetting what I've just gone through? And stop calling me B-Mama,” you yawn. Noah perches on the edge of your bed and smoothing a hand over your hair asks, "tired Baby?" You nod "get some sleep, we're not going anywhere,” and leans down to kiss you full on the mouth, before you close your eyes and drift off, safe in the knowledge that he means for good.