
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/428998.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Glee
  Relationship:
      Rachel_Berry/Noah_Puckerman
  Character:
      Rachel_Berry, Noah_Puckerman
  Additional Tags:
      Smuckleberry_Week
  Collections:
      SmuckleberryWeek_-_An_outpouring_of_Rachel/Puck_love
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-06-09 Words: 1582
****** Bully for you ******
by JaqofSpades
Summary
     “Puck, of the slushies, and the insults, and the harem of Cheerios,
     has her pushed up against the lockers, both hands set above her head,
     her world shrinking to his ridiculous haircut and his massive biceps
     and his hard, hard body. She moans, and tries to tell herself it's
     fear.”
Notes
     This was written for day 5 of Smuckleberry Week. Prompt at the end
     ...
     Warning: Ellipses. I like them. Also allusions to underage sex,
     traumatic bullying and dubious consent.
See the end of the work for more notes
Rachel is lingering by her locker, checking her class schedule and stacking up
the corresponding coloured binders. Black, for Physics and Calculus, green for
English and History, then pink, for Glee. She's always prepared for …
… ice, stinging her eyes, dripping off her eyelashes, and nose, and plastering
her shirt to her chest. Dammit, she thinks. White today. See through. She's
trying to remember what bra she's wearing when she feels the warmth of him,
looming next to her.
Puck. Her nemesis.
He's standing too close, licking his lips as he stares down at her. At her
nipples, to be precise. Dark and pebbling under his attention as they peek
through her brand new bra. Barely-there triangles of cream-coloured mesh. She
gulps in humiliation, and realises she should be trying to escape, should be
fleeing for the washroom, but …
… he has her trapped. Puck, of the slushies, and the insults, and the harem of
Cheerios, has her pushed up against the lockers, both hands set above her head,
her world shrinking to his ridiculous haircut and his massive biceps and his
hard, hard body. She moans, and tries to tell herself it's fear.
He leans down to whisper in her ear. “Glee freak,” he breathes, but it's not
hateful, like she would have expected. It's hungry.
She can feel the curves and planes of his body as he leans into her, and
something hard and blunt is pushing against her belly. Even she, the school's
most reviled virgin, is able to decode this message.
“I need to change,” she blurts in panic. “Thanks to you, you – delinquent! Let
me go.”
He steps back and sweeps an ostentatious bow. “This way, milady.”
Her eyes are stinging, and tiny shards of ice are working their way down under
her blouse, and dripping onto the floor. It feels wretched, so she follows him
blindly. Stupidly.
The door he'd beckoned her towards opens into a janitor's closet, and she is so
surprised that she fails to register his presence behind her until he has
pushed her inside and jammed a broom under the handle.
“I am cold, and sticky, and covered in purple dye! I need a washroom!” she
complains, but she's scared as well, and refusing to admit it. “Why on earth
...”
“Coz you've got pretty little tits,” Puck sneers, and stalks closer. “I wanna
see if they taste like grape, too.”
She's shaking now, unable to believe this.
“Cold, freak?” He reaches out as if to steady her in the half-dark, but
instead, his hands settle on her breasts, fingers and thumbs circling her
nipples in a slow, careful tease that leaves her shaking.
She's so shocked she nearly misses the rest of his sentence. “Don't worry – I'm
gonna warm you up.”
He has three buttons undone on her cheesecloth shirt before she thinks to say
'no'. And by that time, his mouth is on her breast, licking and sucking and
laving the tender buds with his tongue. Through her bra, but still. It's …
maddening, she thinks. Outrageous. Insane ...
… but all she's thinking is oh, thank Godwhen he drags the cups down to capture
a breast in each huge hand, pushing them high and together over the restrictive
nylon mesh, and dragging his tongue from one nipple to the next in a slippery
trail of sensation. They look obscene like that: dark and engorged, glistening
with his saliva, offerings on the altar of Puck, she thinks dazedly.
“Gorgeous fucking tits, baby. Taste so good,” he moans, or at least, she thinks
he does. It might have been her, though, because her knees are buckling as he
viciously sucks one nipple into his mouth, and flicks the other with his
fingernail. She's not sure whether it's painful or pleasurable, but whatever
he's doing, it leaves her hot and shivery, needful and wanton.
Then he drops to his knees.
She's wet, she realises suddenly. Her underwear is soaked, and it's a whole
different kind of sticky. This horrible, hateful boy has his hands under her
skirt, between her thighs. He's going to find out what looking at him does to
her, every single time. Find out just how much she wants the bad boy, her
tormentor, the bully.
The time for panic is past, though. His fingers are sliding in her wetness,
sliding over the naughty little thong that matches the mesh bra, nudging it
aside. Slicking his fingers in the moisture, and holding it up for her see.
“Oh, you're a hot little freak, aren't you Berry? Were you wet for me before I
threw that slushie over you? Or do you like being cold and sticky? Like the
humiliation? That's a little bit sick.”
Her mouth opens to protest, but then his fingers are back between her thighs,
dancing expertly over territory she's less than familiar with herself. She
should be saying “stop!” Rachel thinks, or simply screaming for help, but … but
…
… her vision is blurring and her spine arches into a bow, because his hands are
gone, now, and his tongue is there instead. He's pretty much holding her up
anyway, so it's an easy thing for him to persuade one leg to slide over his
shoulder, opening her up fully. Leaving her exposed. Vulnerable, she thinks, in
the moment of thought left to her.
But thought has vanished into the madness of long licks, from the very front of
her to the very back, the quiff of his mohawk tickling her thighs as he works.
Fear and shame have given way to awe, as he worries her clit with his teeth,
and soothes with his lips. He's mumbling, and only some of the words make it
through the filter of mindless pleasure – “sweet” and “dripping, baby, fucking
dripping” and “let go, baby, let it all go ...” and she does, surrenders it all
to the feel of his tongue lashing her clit, then stabbing her where she needs
it most, deep inside, where she aches for him. So familiar, that ache …
… “kinky little freak, coming all over my tongue; you wanted it so bad, wanted
me all along ...”
… she'd hated him, but ached anyway.
Her body is still heaving with contractions when he pushes himself to his feet
and spins her around, guiding her hands to the racking on the far wall.
“Gonna fuck you so hard you'll need to hold on,” he sneers, and she hates the
way her body shudders again, and liquifies once more. Hates him, and hates
herself, as she widens her legs to make it easy for him, and hollows her back,
ready for the hot slide of his cock. It's more slam than slide, though, when it
comes, and she screams with the force of it, the invasion …
… “ohgodohgodohgod, Puck, harder, fuck me harder, please, please.”
The racking is shaking and the tiny room is full of moans and groans and the
sound of flesh slapping together, and their words, harsh words, love words,
hate words… so hard inside of her, so deep, and he's swelling and she can feel
it, his orgasm building, and it feels so good, so fucking good ...
… wrong, but so, so right. What she always wanted, her pleasure-drugged brain
insists. Wanted for so long.
The knowledge of it rips from her chest, and she can't keep it inside a moment
longer. She is reduced to a string of sound, a single note litany as she begins
to come.
“Puck. Puck. Puck. Pu ...” but as her body convulses, truth is wrung free.
“Noooaaahhh!” she screams, and it's like a signal, his name.
“Rachel, baby. Rach …. fuck, babe, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry …” he shouts, and
she can feel him erupting inside of her, sperm and seed and life and future and
love, rushing into her with every jerk of his body. It doesn't vanish the past,
it doesn't but … his arms, steel bands around her waist as he anchors himself
through the intensity of the moment, and his face, wet with tears against her
back. Those things do. Those things make this place of pain, of torture,
survivable.
Her past, survivable.
She drags in a long breath and eases herself out of the uncomfortable bend,
even as he eases himself from her body. He slides down against the door, and
she climbs into the familiar circle of his arms. The “guns” are bigger now, she
thinks idly as she runs a finger up and down. Teenage Puck had been a gym
junkie, but his adult counterpart had spent ten years as a firefighter. Real
work wins, she thought with lascivious smirk. Growing up wins.
How did the song go? “Hold on to sixteen as long as you can,” she sang quietly,
while Noah chuckled into her hair and hummed along. “Pretty soon life's gonna
make you women and men.”
“It should really have a verse about needing to let go of highschool,” she
observed wryly.
“By fucking ourselves into oblivion after sneaking into school on a Saturday
morning? Yeah babe, Mellencamp would'a rocked that,” he teased, grabbing his
shirt to wipe the last remnants of slushie from her long hair. “Do you think it
worked?”
“Well, I certainly feel … exorcised,” she said, stretching luxuriantly and
rising to her feet on wobbly legs. “I doubt I'll be having too many nightmares
about slushies in the future.”
“Only good dreams, hey baby?”
“Mmm. I hope so.” She bit her lip, and leaned up to whisper into his ear.
“Might even start calling you Puck.”
fin
End Notes
     AN: Written for Day 5 of Smuckleberry Week on Tumblr, to the prompt
     “roleplay”.
     Disclaimer: This fanfiction was written for personal enjoyment rather
     than profit. No infringement on the rights of the intellectual
     property owners is intended.
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