Prom and Popcorn (Trenderman X Fem!Reader) Ch. 1

A/N: Okay, here's the thing. I wrote this story a while ago, when I was just getting into Creepypasta. Looking back now, I realize a lot of the characters are way OOC, and that Trendy likes guys (mainly). For the sake of the story, just assume he's bi, okay? I don't feel like editing the whole series, so you have my apologies.

You glare at Micheal, not believing your ears. How could he stoop to something so low? Choosing not to retaliate, you stomp off to your room, making sure to slam the door. You can hear him snicker. You pace agitatedly for a moment before flopping down carelessly on your bed, willing the tears away.

Sure, you and Stephany, his newest girlfriend, had been friends a while ago. Well, up until last year. But seriously? Saying that she'd only ever hung out with you to make you feel better about yourself? To make you more popular? That hurt.

You prop yourself up on your elbows and stare at the mirror that hangs on the back of your door, opposite your bed. Your (h/l) (h/c) hair hangs limply after a long shower, and your (e/c) eyes are considered your best feature. You regard your body as a bit too (thick/thin) to be the hottest one in your school.

You groan and let yourself fall back onto your (f/c) bedsheets. If only you could go back to a year and a half ago, when everything was seemingly perfect. You had the hottest clothes, the perfect boyfriend, and the most popular group of friends at your school. The year old Hollister dress hangs raggedly on a hanger in your half-open closet, mocking you silently. Your make-off Prada bag on the back of your chair does the same. If only there was a way to get even...

Your eyes fly open a moment later, and a small smile graces your lips. You fly up and grab your purse and keys quickly. Practically falling down the stairs, you ignore your brother who is sprawled out over the couch and dash out the door.

The slightly rusty (f/c) bug sits in the driveway innocently, looking slightly deflated on its tires. You yank on the driver's side door handle. It stuck, like always. After a few good tugs, it pops open dejectedly. You slam the key into the ignition somewhat roughly, impatient to start. Thankfully it was Friday, meaning you had this weekend, the next, and the two weeks between for your little project.

***Downtown***

Huffing, you step out of the VW Beetle from its sad parallel park job along the curb. The little old lady you'd been following had been going nearly twenty under the speed limit. You slam the door, impatient to scout out the store.

Slinging your purse over your shoulder, you march up to the glass double-doors and swing one open, letting a blast of warm air chase off the cool autumn air.

Immediately, colorful racks of clothing fill you view, as well as several faceless mannequins dressed in the hottest fashion statements. A greeter stands by the door, staring at his phone blankly. You stride past him smoothly, acting like you'd never give him the time of day. Soft jazz fills the air, giving off a relaxing environment. Only a few other people meander through the building, all of which ignore you. You give them the same treatment.

Obviously even the tiles on the floor here are more expensive than anything you'd ever buy, but you want your plan to be carried out flawlessly, and a designer dress would create the perfect image.

Bypassing the racks that carry this season's latest trends, you begin to head for the clearance room in the back. A bright gleam catches your eye, and you pause, turning your head. A strapless, asymmetrical gown in pure silver hangs on a rack, partially hidden by a lady's business suit. You tentatively pull it off of the rack and take in the dress.

The end of the back of the dress would barely brush the ground if you were to put it on, and the front would stop somewhere by your knees. Its sweetheart neckline adds to the look, and a sparkly, light (f/c) belt hugs the waistline snugly.

Your breath catches in your throat. The only word that could describe it is beautiful. Then the price tag catches your eye. You suck in a breath of air. There's no way you'd ever be able to afford it. Of course, it wouldn't really fit in with your plan, but all the same, you have a strange desire to try it on.

You sigh and gently place it back on the rack. You spare it one more glance before your goal takes over your priorities. You set a trail for the clearance room and take off once more, your vans lightly tapping the linoleum tiles.

The clearance room is dimly lit compares to the rest of the store, as if to ward off lighthearted customers from last-season's trends. Undaunted, you step inside, immediately going to a rack of dresses that don't look too ugly, but wouldn't be completely ruined by your plan.

Immediately, you classify several as either too prep-y or too flashy. One is so-so, and would work if nothing else did. The purple is a little too bright in your opinion. Then your eyes land on a strange looking dress that has a base color of forest green. Vine-like cloth winds around the waste and goes up to form one of the straps. The other shoulder is flat fabric, the same color as the rest of the dress. A simple pattern of small white flowers decorate the whole thing, with the calf-length bottom hemmed by rather obnoxious medium-sized white blossoms.

It's rather ugly, but it could be considered somewhat pretty if it had a bit of work done to it.

Checking the price tag, you make up your mind and turn around to head to the cashier, staring down at your find. A figure at the edge of your vision makes you stop suddenly and glance up. You stopped just in time. If you'd walked another step forward you'd have run into the chest of what looked suspiciously like one of the mannequins, only it wasn't on a pedestal, and had one hand balled into a fist and placed on its hip.