A/N: I didn't really believe the fact that Quinn would rather accept herself as Lucy, so I rewrote it.
[-]
She stands there holier than thou, all blonde waves down her back, pink seersucker woven across her bodice. Ivy eyes sparked with mischief and that all knowing queen bitch smirk on her mouth. And he thinks that Jewish Jesus, how could I ever have fucking loved that?
And then he watches as her wrist flicks the locker combo and the door flies open and he sees her frown out the corner of her tart cherry mouth at Finn talking to Rachel down the hallway a bit. Rachel's skirt so short that it is criminal, and her eyes shift downcast.
Then he remembers.
[-]
Puck knew he was never fit to be King to her Queen. That was always reserved for a boy that didn't break her heart and knock her up at sixteen. First, it was Finn. And then it was Sam. Then it was Finn again.
He never stood a chance.
[-]
When Lauren ropes him into her Prom Take-over (though he wishes she could think of a more badass name for the whole crazy fucking operation), he almost says no with so much conviction and repulsion because prom used to mean corn silk hair and alabaster skin flecked with glow and promise like they are seventeen and on top of the world.
He instantly hates the idea of breaking into the school and he is Noah fucking Puckerman, but he knows why he hates it. And it has everything to do with that blessed poster of Q and Finn all high and mighty looking down on him once again.
So he smashes the window behind Schue's office and never looks back.
[-]
When the new posters are hung in the dead of night, tiny lies flutter through his mouth to his now-girlfriend. Everything sounds like something out of Finn's mind the moment it leaves his sin stained lips and all he can imagine is her perfect face falling, crumbling in defeat. He used to think that was what he wanted. The fallen Queen and her King. As it turns out, pushing her off the pedestal doesn't feel good, and it's not like he can knock her down when she is already so far above.
(He spends the next forty five minutes hanging the modified posters in inconspicuous spots where no one will find them, like the choir room or Beiste's office.)
[-]
Like a blur, she races past him, tears cutting ridges in her cheeks, and he knows she has forgotten how to be strong because she hasn't had to be in a while. There is no reason to be when you're seventeen and fucking gorgeous and control the world with the rise and dip of your middle finger. For a second she stops in her tracks, looks right through him and he nods with a grimace on his face.
He gives her credit, she doesn't falter before him. Maybe it's not that she forgot how to be strong, maybe it's that she only has to be for him.
[-]
He sees her and Finn locked together by her locker, remains of the day cemented into her dress and cardigan and heels. And across the hallway, he leans against a doorway with Rachel staring uncomfortably at the golden pair. Unlike him, Rachel's face is not a mask of terror or shame or disgust. It's somewhat indifferent, and he kind of fucking hates her for it.
It would be easy to be with her or Lauren or any other girl in the damn school, but that's not what he wants. It's never really what he's wanted. He wants to be King and he wants her to be his Queen.
(He spends the day taking down all the campaign posters for every single candidate. They don't need a contest to decide what he already knows.)
[-]
The next day she accosts him in the parking lot before school, hands wrapped around her waist, blue sweater bringing out the ivy of her eyes.
"Why?"
It's a loaded question at any rate (Why did you betray your best friend? Why did you sleep with me? Why did you let me let her go? Why did you love me?) And he just stares at her, leering down the V of her neck, watching the blush color rise in her cheeks. He can see her fighting the twitching smile at the top of her lip, hands wringing nervously as she waits, shifting on her left boot heel.
Leaning dangerously close to her face, olive meeting alabaster, heat from his mouth tickling her ear, sending frays of golden locks swishing in the breeze. "Yes, especially now." And he watches her eyes widen in disbelief, lips set in a thin straight line as she looks up at him. Turning on her heel, she stalks away, not once looking over her shoulder.
[-]
They do Gaga again that afternoon in the auditorium, everyone's shirt bearing a different slogan. Quinn never takes off her cardigan during the number, just spins messy circles, one step out of tune the entire time. He corners her back stage after everyone else is leaving. She's picking up her bag and shoving things inside.
"Q." He breathes her name like a curse and motions one hand to her cardigan. She opens it with an audible gulp and he sees the word mother splayed out on her chest like some large gaping wound. Underneath it, in tinier font, are the words queen B. And he almost laughs.
She smirks and flips her hair, heading out the doorway. He remembers why he loves her.
[-]
She wins by a landslide even though there were no posters and she took her name off of the ballot. She wears a yellow dress and golden heels and looks like some dream that isn't even real as she floats to the stage, crown resting on her head like it was fucking made to sit there. Finn is her king, and Puck watches from the doorway, chuckling with mirth as Lauren and Santana bitch it out the corner.
"How did she even win? Her name wasn't even on the ballot!"
(He never tells anyone that he stuffed the box with thousands of sheets of paper that said Quinn Fabray on them.)
[-]
(And she never tells that she voted for him instead of Finn even if his names wasn't on the ballot. Just this once.)