Welcome. Below is a more detailed description of this fanfiction.

Pairing: Puck/Rachel

Rating: Rated a light R for nongraphic sexual encounters, language, and a great deal of Angst.

Prompt: A while back, I was asked to write an Angst story about the downfall of Puckleberry with it being Rachel's fault. Recently, a great friend of mine inspired me to write a Puckleberry story that coincides with "Lying Is The Most Fun A Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off" by Panic! At The Disco.

Summary: Is it still me that makes you sweat? Am I who you think about in bed when the lights are dim and your hands are shaking as you're sliding off your dress. Then think of what you did, and how I hope to God he was worth it, when the lights are dim and your heart is racing as your fingers touch his skin. I've got more wit, a better kiss, a hotter touch, a better fuck than any boy you'll ever meet, sweetie you had me. Had, as in past tense. This is what happens when Noah Puckerman becomes aware that his girlfriend, Rachel Berry, has cheated on him.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, nor do I wish to. These characters are not mine. I do not own the song either.

He's livid when he hears those words leave her mouth. She's visibly shaking as she practically watches the anger wash over him; hurt flashing in his eyes before they return to a state that resembles cold stone. Part of him knows that she didn't mean to do what she claimed to have done, but a larger part of him knows that he was stupid to think she'd want him and only him.

"I cheated."

He'd be the first to admit that he never pegged Rachel Berry for the cheater type, and he had pegged her for a lot of things. So yeah, he's shocked when his girlfriend of a year comes bursting through the door with tear stains on her cheeks, spouting off something about screwing up at the club she was at. He thinks she meant that she left her purse with the wrong person or that she gave the cab driver a twenty instead of the five. [His girlfriend is emotional; he's come to expect everything and anything with various reactions. She's batshit crazy.] But he can honestly say that he never expected her to drop that bomb.

So that's how he winds up glaring at her, not speaking a single word because he doesn't know what to say. He really just wants her to shut up, but she's sobbing hysterically, rambling about being sorry so he doesn't think that he's going to get that lucky.

He gathers what he can from her words, broken from her sobs. She tells him that she was drunk when it happened [she's stone cold sober now. Cheating on your boyfriend really does that to you.] And that it happened with Matt Rutherford and that he was drunk to. So it stings that his own boy would mack on his girl, but he really can't get over the fact that Rachel fucking Berry cheated on him. Even drunk, his girl has a good head on her shoulders, so he doesn't really understand.

Normally they go to parties and clubs together, but he'd had a tough as nails day at work and she was in the mood to party. So he let her go by herself, kissing her on the cheek before she left.

You see, Puck and Rachel got together when she visited him in Lima in her senior year of college. She was a senior in the theater program and New York University, and he was a senior at Ohio State. Rachel was in town to see her dads, but when she found out he was so close, she agreed to meet him at a frat party. She gave him her virginity in the cab of his truck that night, her moans filling the chilly Ohio air as they generated a bit of their own heat. They agreed that the long distant thing wasn't for them, but that there was something there that had to be given a proper chance.

He showed up at her college graduation and shocked the shit out of her. Her arms flew around him and she kissed him until he couldn't breathe. Three weeks later his stuff was at her apartment and they were living together. For a girl who claimed to have everything mapped out, Rachel Berry was quite impulsive.

They fell into a comfortable routine from there. He majored in vocal performance against his better judgment and wrote a few songs that were played on the radio every now and again. Rachel was auditioning for small roles here and there and was currently performing in an off Broadway production of "Spring Awakening." He's pretty sure he's going to marry this chick because she makes him a better person and he's the only one that can put up with her bat-shit crazy personality.

Well, he was going to ask her to marry him, until this happened.

It hurts his pride. It feels like he's losing her all over again, like the moment she rejected him on the bleachers in high school. [Yeah, he remembers that shit. It's not that easy to forget.]

Now he's angry. He wants to yell at her, tell her to get out even though it's her apartment and he just lives there because he's the loyal and faithful boyfriend. And he's the one who's supposed to cheat and he the worst person in the world even though he hasn't even looked at another girl that way since they got together.

She's stopped crying, and she just looks at him, waiting for him to do something. She seems scared when he walks towards her. Her back is against the wall as his hands grip her hips a little on the rough side. He wants to know what she was thinking, wants to know if she knows how much he's hurt.

"Did Rutherford get you hot like I do, Rach?" he asks sweetly, fakely. His hands dig into the soft flesh of her hips, hard enough to make her wince, but not nearly hard enough to leave a bruise.

She doesn't speak, just shakes her head and gazes up at him through her bangs. "Answer me," he snaps, increasing the pressure on her hips. "No," she breaths, trying to shift, trying to get him to loosen his grip because it's on the verge of hurting.

"He make you cream your panties just because he looks at you?"

"Stop being so crass, Noah!"

"Answer the fucking question. After all, I deserve some answers, don't I? I'm not the one that cheated."

Okay, so maybe that was taking a hit below the belt because she shakes her head and bites her bottom lip with a look that says she's close to tears. "No, he doesn't, and he never will!" she shouts. He's pretty surprised that she's shouting, and he thinks it's a smidge uncalled for, but he doesn't say anything.

"Take your panties off, Berry," he tells her, giving her just enough room to slip the article of clothing of. He isn't entirely sure why he's doing this, but he thinks it's because he's showing her that he's the only one that can light the fire burning at her skin, be the cause of the ache between her thighs, the delicious tightening sensation in her stomach every time he kisses her.

She slips the lace material off and sets it in his open hand, watching him intently as she does so. She knows what's about to come. Her. [If her boyfriend, well, possibly ex-boyfriend, heard that thought, he'd be proud.]

He feels the moisture on the fabric and laughs bitterly, shaking his head. "Was it Matt that made you wet? So fucking wet that your panties are damn near soaked? Or was it me? Does this turn you on? Of course it does."

She isn't going to lie; she's extremely turned on by the predatory look in his eye, the way he's asking her these questions when he already knows the answers. But that's the problem. He doesn't know the answers. He's never doubted someone more than Rachel in this moment. He's disgusted that she's turned on by something that hurts him so much. That's why he's making his questions short and aggressive, so she doesn't see how much he wants to punch the wall in irritation. His girlfriend cheated on him and she's turned on by his anger. That shit isn't normal.

Then again, neither is Rachel Berry.

"No," she whimpers, shaking her head furiously. "It was you. Always you."

That makes him sicker. If it was always him, she wouldn't have kissed Matt, drunk or not. He wants to yell at her, to actually fucking cry because he's never felt so hurt in his life, but he can't let her know. He's not a pussy. He has a dick and he likes using it. She'll never know what this is doing to him. Never.

"Really, Rach sweetheart? Is it? Is it me that makes you sweat, or is it Matt? Think about it, babe, it's not me you were kissing tonight." He has to dig, to get under her skin and pick at it because he can't leave it alone. It's his defense mechanism.

"It's you, Noah! I was intoxicated! I had no intentions of going to that club to become inebriated and kiss Matthew!" she cries, a groan of frustration slipping past her lips.

"Oh, so it's Matthew now? Have you two decided what you're going to name your kids too?"

"You know what I meant!"

"No, really, I don't," he snarls, pushing her hair away from her neck so he can lean in and bite the sensitive flesh roughly, marking her. He wants the red welt to be proof that she's his and belongs to no one else. She lets out a high-pitched whine and that sickening feeling comes back and hits him square in the chest.

"Is it me that you think about when you're lying in bed? When I'm not home because I'm working weird as fuck hours at the coffee house or studio? Do you touch yourself and think of me, babes? Or do you think about Matt? Do you fall apart and scream my name? Or is it 'Matt' that you whimper, sliding those fingers in and out of yourself like you wish he was doing?"

The comment wasn't supposed to make her whimper, her lower body searching out some form of friction. She reeks of remorse, but she doesn't understand the half of it. She doesn't know how he's feeling. She only knows that he's trying to prove a point, the point that she's his. She doesn't see how hurt he is, how it runs so much deeper than this, how it's like high school all over again because she picked someone over him. He's nothing but a second choice, even if it is unintentional.

"Who fucks you, Berry?"

"You."

"Who's the only person that can bend you over the table and take you from behind? Who's the only one that makes you scream when you cum all over his hand?"

"You. God, Noah, touch me, please touch me."

He's shocked, shocked that she's damn near throwing herself at him. Doesn't she see how wrong this is? How terrible she looks because he's broken and she's ignoring it? That she just believes that she can say she's sorry and they'll go back to being in love again? He wants that just as much as the next person, he wants things to be so damn simple, but they aren't.

He has to keep going on with this charade though, to show her that she's his. It's an internal battle. He wants to walk right out that front door so much that it hurts, but he's rooted right in front of her.

"Hold up the skirt," he commands, bunching up the material around her waist. Her hands clutch the fabric, holding it there just like he told her to.

His hand slips between her legs, applying pressure just where she wants it. The cry of pleasure she lets out is close to animalistic, her hips rolling as she craves more of the desired fiction. He wants so badly to call her a dirty slut for fucking his hand, but no matter how mad he is, he can't bring himself to insult her like that. If he says that, he's no better than she is. Even though she broke his heart, he still loves her, and he'd never do something like that to hurt her.

"You like that, Berry? You like it when I fuck you with my hand? Are you imagining that I'm Matt? That he's got his hand between your thighs, finger fucking that sweet pussy of yours?"

"Noah… Noah, I'm so close. It's you, oh, don't stop."

His fingers still and he glares at her. "Fucking face it, Berry. I've got more wit, a better kiss, a hotter touch, and a better fuck. You'll never meet anyone like me, Rach. I thought this meant more to you, I thought you cared about more than exchanging body heat in the passenger seat of my truck last year."

His fingers slip from inside her and he wipes them on her skirt with a disgusted look on his face. "This shit is unbelievable. You know what, go fuck yourself."

He backs away from her, grabbing his coat and keys from the kitchen table. He says nothing while he slips the jacket onto his body, turning and giving her a final look before he walks over to the door.

"You had me, Rachel, really, you fucking did. I was going to ask you to marry me next week. So I hope to fucking God that he was worth it."

His fist flies into the wall because he can't take it. He's so consumed with rage and hatred for her that he can't do anything but punch the wall. He opens the door and ignores the searing pain shooting through his knuckles. He also ignores the sound of her sobs as she falls to the floor after the door slams behind him.

He isn't sure how far he walks that night, but no matter how far he goes, he still hears her.

I hope I didn't disappoint. This is my first major attempt on Angst, so I hope it went smoothly.

There might be a follow up to this, or another chapter. I'm not sure.