God Save the Prom Queen - V X Reader -

Prom Queen

WARNING: THIS STORY CONTAINS SOME SENSITIVE CONTENT. IF YOU ARE TRIGGERED BY ALCOHOLISM, ABUSE, NEGLECT, DEPRESSION, ETC. PLEASE DON'T READ THIS.

*If you or anyone else has some issues with anything of the aforementioned and wants to talk about it, feel free to private message me. I will try to respond as soon as possible.*

This one-shot is based off of the song Prom Queen by Molly Kate Kesner. I had a burst of inspiration from this song and thought it'd be a good source to create a story. Hopefully you like it!

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God save the prom queen
Teenage daydream
Just another dressed up heartbreak
God save the prom queen
Only eighteen
Turned her tears to diamonds in her crown

It's been the same thing every day since she was fifteen. Get up at an ungodly hour, exercise until she was dripping with sweat, take a shower, put on makeup, do her hair, get dressed, eat a small breakfast, and go to school.

It's safe to say that she absolutely hated it, but the popularity made up for what her family couldn't. She was getting praised, so she didn't want it to end; her father never said anything nice to her — hell, he was never home.

When he was home, he was either passed out on the couch, completely wasted, or working himself to pure exhaustion in his private office. It was usually working, followed by drinking, followed by passing out in a drunken state.

It was hell for her. Yet, after all of that, she still tried to appease him. Since she couldn't do that, she decided to appease her classmates and teachers instead.

She's the first in line at the party
She's the first in line at the club
And she's got that body, always gotta flaunt it
Everybody's looking up

Throwing on a short, black and (f/c) cocktail dress with a faded paisley pattern, she took a look at herself in her full-length mirror. Flat stomach, thin arms and legs, clear skin, perfect white teeth, everything any girl could've dreamed of.

Now all she needed was the perfect life. But that wasn't gonna happen anytime soon, and she knew it.

She made a sharp turn into her closet and found a pair of her favorite — or best-looking — (f/c) heels before slipping them onto her feet and strutting out and into her bedroom. She hated the fact that heels determined part of her social status, — excluding the immense pain that came with wearing the death traps — yet she'd still put them on to feel welcomed.

She had just been invited to a party at a private club that one of her "friends" parents owned. She didn't like it by any means — she loathed having to go to these outrageous events every other day. It was comparable to torture in her book.

Also, despite the fact that she felt extremely uncomfortable and fake in her attire, she knew that her actual clothing choices would get her ridiculed and humiliated by the population of her fellow classmates.

Shaking off her insecurities with aggression, (Y/N) sighed and started to walk outside of her house — house, not home! — with all of her appropriate items (phone, money, etc.).

When she walks by you want to be her
And your boyfriend pretends not to see her
'Cause she's got that fire, doesn't even try
Her booty has its own zip code.

On the way to the dreaded club, people stared at her as she passed by them. The girls stared at her beauty, the boys stared at her ass. It's safe to say it made her incredibly uncomfortable.