*violently sobbing* I KNOW ITS FOR THE BETTER I KNOW ITS FOR THE BETTER KNOW ITS FOR THE BETTER KNOW ITS FOR THE BETTER KNOW ITS FOR THE BETTER KNOW ITS FOR THE BETTER KNOW ITS FOR THE BETTER KNOW ITS FOR THE BETTER KNOW ITS FOR THE BETTER KNOW ITS FOR THE BETTER KNOW ITS FOR THE BETTER KNOW ITS FOR THE BETTER KNOW ITS FOR THE BETTER KNOW ITS FOR THE BETTER
summary: the neighborhood serial killer has a soft spot for you. you didn’t realize how really close you were to him. after your best friend confesses his feelings for you, he confesses something else as well. something far more sinister.
MINORS DNI 18+
pov: 2nd
word count: 8.4k
notes:
dead dove do not eat
this piece features dark themes in honor of halloween. anakin based on sam monroe from life as a house. both in appearance and personality. (as giffed above). so it’s like a modern, college, no jedi au hehe
my kinktober fic for the month bcos i couldn’t participate in the full month 💀
i made a playlist & listened to it religiously while i wrote this piece :) i also imagine it’s the halloween party’s playlist
@6september was kind enough to make a pinterest board for the vibe!! also she proofread/edited this post for me!! <33 im a huge mel fan
tags: @banakinbabygirl
warnings: dead dove do not eat, explicit sex, dark themes, serial killer things, f pronouns + anatomy, breath play (choking + suffocation), features murder by blunt force trauma so blood (reader is unscathed btw), touching blood + blood consumption, size difference, slapping (f + m receiving), unprotected sex, exhibitionism, tit slapping, dirty talk/degradation, dom-esque i’d say, dub con (no specific ask for consent) + slight coercion, features drinking & smoking weed/nic. please don’t read if you’re sensitive to rough material like this.
“Can you imagine it? I just feel like our town isn’t the type to have a serial killer.”
“Oh, shut up, Jeremy, it’s not that big of a deal,” you replied. “It’s probably just some crime of passion blown out of proportion.” The plastic of your chip bag crackled when your fingers dug in for more.
Jeremy nudged you, his strong arm jostling you in a way you would’ve disliked if it wasn’t coming from him. “Aw, you’re just saying that ‘cause you have that nasty serial killer obsession,” he teased, grinning down at you from his seat above you on the concrete steps.
“It’s not like that! I just study the thought process because of purely scientific fascination.” You did not appreciate the way you could see Jeremy’s dimples when he smiled at you like that, unable to meet his gaze for longer than a couple seconds. “I major in psychology for a reason,” you muttered sheepishly, aware of how flushed you were getting.
Anakin, who’d remained quiet as he listened in, nursed his cigarette. When he spoke, the smoke blew from his lips, “Yeah, (y/n), I’d say you’ve got a pretty nasty affliction. You don’t remember when we watched Scream and you told me you thought Ghostface was hot?” That brooding look shifted in judgement, arching his brow at you.
“Don’t say that!” you leaned over to push him, making him snicker at you. It was too early to reveal that to someone like Jeremy.
As you expected, Jeremy reacted with an exclamation, eyeing you accusingly, “Oh, you do, do you?”
“Don’t you have class to get to, man? Head out,” you shoved your thumb over your shoulder, and he stood from the steps. You couldn’t help but notice how cute he looked in his jacket. He was a pretty big guy, broad and muscled. It was easy to deduce he played some football in high school. Tilting your head at him as he adjusted his clothes, both Jeremy and Anakin saw the way you were checking him out.
Jeremy moistened his lips. “I’ll see you later then?”
Before you could respond, Anakin chimed in, “Yeah, man, don’t forget. My place, eleven.” With Anakin’s good natured pat on Jeremy’s backpack, he got him to move on, hopping down the steps.
“Yeah, see you guys.”
While Jeremy traveled further out, yet another one of your opportunities to say goodbye was squandered when Anakin added another thing, “Don’t forget to dress up~!” he called in a cant, and you recognized it as his way of making fun of you.
“Ani,” you scolded through a clenched jaw, “can you stop?”
Anakin merely frowned, screwing the end of his cig into the concrete, staining it with ash to put it out. “Why do we hang out with that guy?” He repositioned himself, leaning back onto the concrete with his arms up, and legs spread.
“I think he’s cute, and I like him. I’m hanging out with him, nobody said you have to.”
Anakin pouted his lips, shrugging minutely, “These are my steps.”
“You can’t monopolize concrete stairs.”
“I can if I piss on them. Doubt you’d come near them then—”
“Anakin!” your scold dissolved into laughter.
You’d known Anakin for years. You were in college together now, but you met when you were children. Living next door most of your life, you spent a lot of time with the kid whose parents were never home. It became an effortless habit to invite him over, where the two of you would spend time together silently, whether it was to work on homework alongside one another or while he messed with his guitar, you listening to music in your earbuds, or movie nights. Your parents took pity on him, and you’d learned firsthand that Anakin wasn’t easy to love or get along with for the most part. However, they tried, and in no time he’d warmed up to them with enough family dinners.
He’d been your closest friend, and he was fiercely loyal. The memories of how reckless he’d been on your behalf were some of your least favorite: the bloody noses he’s gotten, the broken arm—one time he split your skateboard over someone’s back when they’d pushed you down as young teens. As you grew up alongside one another, you had a front row seat to watch how he altered himself. He dyed his hair, got all those piercings, and wore eyeliner for no other reason than dramatism.
Frightfully intense was another descriptor you’d use. Anakin felt your eyes on him as he drove you home from campus. “Sure are staring a lot for someone who can’t fight,” he muttered, and your lips curled in amusement at how he read your mind.
“You’re one to talk,” you replied, inclining in his direction to run your fingers through his hair. “You gonna keep the black and blue?”
Your nails sent chills down his spine, and he batted your hand away, “Quit touchin’ me. I’ll shave it off if you don’t stop grabbing at it like that.”
“I bet you’d still look good,” you said without thinking, turning your attention to your phone in your hand. Anakin lingered on that compliment, and pulled into his driveway.
“Alright, get out,” he ordered, gathering his stuff. The doors of this old, beat-up truck creaked as the two of you exited.
“You’re not gonna walk me to my door?” you teased, clutching your books to your chest. Rounding the car, he squinted at you.
“Don’t be a ninny.”
“You’re bossy today. What’s gotten your panties in a twist?”
Anakin’s large hands found your waist, pushing you in the direction of your house next door. You swallowed, but your mouth was dry, wide eyes staring at him. He didn’t seem to notice.
“Get your little ass inside, (y/n).”
“You stressed ‘cause of the party? Didn’t finish your engineering homework? I can help you, you know!”
“(y/n),” he said warningly, impatience setting in because of your idling. His expression was endearing to you, and you chuckled.
“Okay, okay.”
Since Anakin’s parents were never home, he had free range of the house, and in honor of Halloween, he wanted to trash the place with a party. Neither of you knew a lot of people, but once word got out of a Halloween party, it snowballed. As soon as you’d finished getting ready, you admired yourself in the mirror. You’d thrown together the costume out of anything you found in your closet, the subtle makeup holding the character together. Twirling, the white dress bore an uncanny resemblance to that one famous picture, not to mention flattered your figure.
“(y/n)!” your friend called you over from the porch, and your heels clicked against the pavement.
“Hey! So glad you could make it!”
“Of course! Anything for Anakin,” she responded so carelessly, your countenance flashed a furrowed brow. It dissolved into a smile, shaking your head at your reaction.
“Yeah… Yeah! Right?” You were surprised at how such a subtle comment caught you off guard, and your friend said nothing else as you entered. What could she want with your Anakin?
Compared to the cold weather outside, the inside was boiling. Bodies were pressed together, dancing to the pounding music. The bass shook the house, strobing lights confusing you. You identified that Anakin’s huge speakers from his studio had been moved from his room down to the living room, and it impressed you that he’d done it himself. It wasn’t like Anakin to accept help.
There was beer pong and a circle smoking a joint in the kitchen alongside a punch bowl that was mostly straight up vodka at this point. Since the girl on the porch, you didn’t see anybody you recognized. When two fingers poked into your sides, you jumped, startled. You whirled around, “Ani, I was looking for you—” you began to say, but cut yourself off at the sight.
A tall figure, dressed in black and a chest holster, long sleeves rolled up to the elbows, gloves, shirt tucked into pants… with a Ghostface mask. A fake knife twirling in his hand. Speechless, you stared, “Is that…?” you were about to ask Anakin if this was really his costume, when he reached up to take the mask off. Jeremy’s face met your gaze.
“It’s me!” He grinned at you, “What do you think?” Clearly, he wanted you to know he wore it for you, especially because of what Anakin had mentioned.
A disappointment hung in your chest at the fact he wasn’t Anakin. You mustered a weak smile. “Wow! You look great,” you responded, trying not to be rude. He did look hot, the outfit fit him great, the mask is a kink of yours, but something felt off. It was missing something. He sheathed the fake knife and took your hand in his free one.
“You too~” he purred, guiding you to twirl for him when he held your arm over your head. You did so, relaxing into it. “Marilyn Monroe?”
“Yes! Great guess.”
He inclined in your direction, “It’s the eye makeup that gave it away.”
“Thank you! I tried so hard.” Instinctively, you backed up a step.
It was hard to speak over the din of the room, but you two managed since he insisted on standing close to you.
That lingering unease was impossible to shake, and you questioned if you should be feeling this way about the guy you liked. Here he was, dressed better than you expected he could be, in this character no less, but Anakin occupied your thoughts. Part of you wanted Jeremy to put the mask back on.
“Have you seen Anakin? I can’t find him,”
Jeremy let you speak in his ear, and pulled back to shake his head. “No, I haven’t. Let’s look over here,” his hand stayed in yours, leading you through the crowd.
“Hold on, Jeremy, this is hard!” you referred to attempting to cut through the crowds. He merely shrugged at you.
“Dance through it!”
You had to admit, it was a smooth trick, because instead of looking for Anakin, you were now dancing with Jeremy.
It was packed tightly, and it was the perfect excuse for Jeremy to move in. Since it was fun, you allowed it. Within arm’s reach of each other, it quickly turned to pressing up against one another. The music took over, blaring, bleeding into your thoughts as you let it move your body for you, swaying with the beat. Effortlessly, Jeremy had your back to his chest, bunching up your skirt in his hands, guiding your hips to move against him. The act had butterflies erupting in your stomach, how he danced so fluidly betrayed the control he held over it, and it had your mind drifting to how else he could put it to use for you.
Much to your dismay, he’d discarded the Ghostface mask, but it’s not like you saw his face while you were grinding on him.
Anakin, who had been so wrapped up in getting his house ready for the onslaught of guests, didn’t have a costume, and didn’t care to buy one. It was one less thing on his to-do list. Jogging down his stairs with his guitar in hand, a stranger offered him a hit of a joint which he took, nodding to them in gratitude before continuing his search for you. You’d texted him you were here a while ago but he was occupied, knowing you’d busy yourself. He laid his guitar down onto the counter by the side door.
The people he’d asked hadn’t seen you or didn’t know who you were. Anakin wasn’t worried, but lit a cigarette anyway. It balanced in between his lips, and a random girl from the smoke circle offered a light, holding it up to him. He flashed her a quizzical look, but leaned in anyway, puffing to ignite the end, and pinching it in his fingers. On the table near her was a discarded Ghostface mask.
His chain rattled against his leg, striding through the crowds, gradually tightening together as he traveled further in. He looked over the bouncing heads, the music surging.
Jeremy was the first face he recognized, and then you, pressed up against him. His eyebrows pinched together, eyeing the two of you, noting how naturally you molded together. Anakin’s jaw clenched.
The instant Jeremy’s lips latched onto your neck, and you tilted your head to grant him the access, Anakin shot his hand up in the air. It was just his luck that Jeremy saw him before you did.
So Jeremy acknowledged him, having not realized what he’d just been caught doing, he muttered to you that he’ll be right back. He managed to squeeze through, leaving you to dance alone as he approached Anakin, who towered over everyone.
“Hey, what’s up, man? Lookin’ for (y/n)?” It was an expected question, considering Anakin and Jeremy never interacted outside of you.
Anakin pulled the cig from his mouth. “No, actually,” he replied over the music, slinging an arm around Jeremy’s shoulders to pull him further away from you. “Was looking for you. You’re strong, right?”
“I mean,” Jeremy gave himself a once over, “yeah. What do you need?”
“C’mere, man, someone passed out in the bushes, need you to help me carry him inside so I can sober him up.” As Anakin explained, he led Jeremy to the side door. To fill in the silences as they made their way through the sea of people, his curiosity got the better of him, “What’re you supposed to be, anyway?”
“Oh, uh, Ghostface. Can’t tell without the mask,” Jeremy answered with a chuckle in spite of himself, scratching the back of his head. “Total coincidence you mentioned him earlier.”
Yeah, total coincidence, Anakin thought, taking a drag from his cigarette as the wheels in his head turned. His lips held the cigarette as he grabbed hold of the Ghostface mask from the table as they passed by, stuffing it into his back pocket.
Awkward, Jeremy added, “‘Course, we just have to be quick ‘cause I wanna get back to—”
“To grinding on my friend?” Anakin finished for him, staring at him with raised brows while Jeremy sheepishly could not meet his intense gaze. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you back to the dance floor in no time,” He patted Jeremy’s chest once and detached from him. Eager to get this over with, Jeremy strode in front, heading out the side door.
Anakin lingered, puffing his cig to hear the crackle of paper. He held it in between his lips, and he flexed his hand to pop the joints. Deft fingers enclosed around the neck of his guitar he’d left on the counter, and followed Jeremy out.
“Hey, man, I think the guy left on his own,” Jeremy began to say, turning to face Anakin who had raised his electric guitar, and swung.
The body of the instrument shattered against Jeremy’s cheek, the sickening crack of bones sounding as the body slammed against the outside wall of the house, sliding down to streak the wood in red. Anakin, splattered with blood, tossed what was left of his guitar, held together by the wire strings, into the bushes.
No one was sober, and it was a Halloween party. Blood on the wall was not an uncommon decoration, nor was a seemingly dead body crumpled on the ground. Anakin knelt down, replacing the Ghostface mask back over Jeremy’s smashed-in head, the cowl concealing the deed.
Anakin blew smoke from his pursed lips, and put the cigarette out onto the mask’s forehead. He rejoined the party.
You’d gotten tired of waiting easily, and you escaped the dancing bodies. Not being much of a drinker didn’t stop you from making yourself a drink. Since the punch bowl was vodka, you rifled through Anakin’s fridge to grab cranberry juice, pouring it into your red solo cup to make the horrid taste of alcohol go down. Having been left alone, your nerves were getting to you, and you enlisted the help of liquid courage in order to face Jeremy again. Nothing was wrong, but since you were getting closer to him, that pit in your stomach grew at the thought of him asking to take you home. It wouldn’t be a stretch since the two of you danced so closely together, and it would’ve been in character from your experience with men. It wasn’t like you hadn't considered going home with Jeremy, you liked him, but you hoped he wouldn’t ask—you needed more time to get to know him.
Your brain had run away with you, guzzling down the drink to calm yourself. When a hand is wrapped around your waist to get your attention. Startled for a second time tonight, you assumed it was your dance partner, “Jeremy—!” Your hand braced yourself on his chest and came eye to chest with Anakin.
“John F. Kennedy,” he corrected like it was obvious. “I just had to keep my head on.”
Relieved to see your friend, you instantly relaxed, your expression softening to break into a grin. “So you just…” you gestured to him, his normal clothes splattered with red, “covered yourself in fake blood, Mr. President?”
Anakin shrugged, dragging you from the kitchen by your waist. “I wanted to match with you, Marilyn.”
“How so?”
“They boned.”
“John and Marilyn did not have an affair!” you replied incredulously, allowing him to lead you, not registering it when his large fingers splayed around the rim of the solo cup, plucking it from your hands to set it on the table that you passed by.
“Oh, c’mon,” he goaded, shaking his head with a frown. Heightening his voice to pitch light and airy, he sang the famous song, “Happy birthday~ Mr. President~” It made you giggle and hit his chest.
“Shut up!”
Anakin continued his trek, and you were grateful he kept his arm around you as the front door came into view. “Come on, I wanna go to your house for a second. It’s too much in here.”
“I shouldn’t leave,” you looked over his shoulder, finally remembering Jeremy who’d said he’d be back. An additional wave of anxiety washed over you, and you decided a break would be best. “Yeah, okay.”
Your hesitance followed by compliance was noted by your best friend, and when the two of you reached the porch, you were somewhat disappointed to not see your friend from earlier. An intrusive thought popped into your head that you wished she could’ve seen you and Anakin leaving together. The music leaked from his house, some remix of Katy Perry’s E.T.
“Did you make a playlist for this?”
“Yeah.”
“I showed you this song.”
“You want me to interrupt the music to tell everybody which songs you showed me?”
“It’d be nice to be credited.”
He scoffed. “It’s freezing out here, let’s just get inside.”
The alcohol kept you warm, however you hadn’t had enough to be too buzzed. “Is there a reason you’re avoiding your own Halloween party?”
Anakin had settled into your bed, tossing a ball up to catch it repeatedly. “It was too loud.”
You took this opportunity to fix your makeup in the mirror. “Where were you? When I got there I couldn’t find you.”
“Seemed like you found a way to occupy yourself.”
At the mention, you realized Jeremy must be looking for you. You’d only been here for a few minutes, but it was rude to keep him waiting. “Hey, we should get back soon.” Anakin’s expression shifted to something indecipherable, flashing furrowed brows when he cleared his throat. The makeup brush in your hand made a sound when you dropped your arm, frustrated with him. “Look, you don’t have to like him, I like him, and—”
“Where are your parents at?” Anakin interrupted you, and you lost your train of thought.
“Oh, they’re out tonight. Business trip somewhere on the east coast and gone for the weekend. I didn’t tell you?” The emotion that had coursed through you dissolved, and you went back to powdering subtle blush onto your cheeks. He tossed the ball up one last time, letting it fall and roll from his chest and he brought his fingers up to chew the sides of them. A single glance at him told you he was nervous about something. “What’s up, Ani? You wanna tell me what’s been getting you so worked up lately?” you spoke through your parted lips, focusing on re-applying your eyeliner.
He sighed hard through his nose. “Nothing, I’m just…” His hands came to grip his hair, tugging on it. It’s always been hard for Anakin to express himself verbally, and to make it easier you came over, kneeling at your bedside.
“What?” you encouraged, taking his hand in yours.
It was a quiet moment as he inhaled deeply, meeting your soft gaze.
He leaned in—you didn’t pull away—until his lips were on yours. It was tentative, and you felt his warm breath fan over you as you kissed him back, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. His palm cupped your cheek, tilting his head and intensifying the kiss.
It felt so good. So right. Your hand tangled in his black hair at the nape of his neck, and when his lips parted in surprise, on instinct your tongue invited itself in. It unlocked something within him because his tongue met yours with fervor, and his thick arm wrapped around your waist. Unable to get the contact he wanted, he pulled apart from you, cutting the string of saliva connecting you two. You panted as he ripped off his flannel, setting his boots down onto the ground to lean over and go for you again. Finally realizing what had just occurred, your hand shot out, halting him by his chest. Without heeding your warning, his hands handled your waist, pulling you to your feet as he stood. The action had you fluttering, but this was wrong.
“Wait, wait, Ani, wait—”
“See that’s the thing, I don’t want to wait anymore.” Since you would not give him your mouth, his lips latched onto your neck, rewriting whatever Jeremy had left there, sending tingles throughout your body. Weakly, you pressed your palm against him.
“Listen, Anakin, this isn’t right. I should get back because Jeremy’s waiting for me.”
That caught his attention, and he recoiled, hands squeezing your upper arms. “You wanna know what Jeremy’s doing right now? You wanna know?” he asked, anger shining through in his voice at being rejected, his firm grasp remaining on one of your arms to yank you along with him out of your room. Your bewildered countenance stained your face as he brought you to another window, showing you the side of his house. “Look out.” It didn’t make sense to you, his behavior. You faced him, attempting to put a calming hand on him but instead he jerked you in the direction of the window, jamming his finger against the glass. “Look. Now.”
Unappreciative of the way he treated you, you did as he requested to get this over with. At first, you saw nothing, “I don’t see anything…” until a body on the ground came into focus from behind some foliage, a Ghostface mask, and a sense of worry overtook you. “Oh, my God, he’s passed out,” you exhaled, moving to leave the house, “I have to go help him.”
Anakin stepped in front of you.
Your frown hardened, “What?”
“I can’t let you do that, (y/n).”
“You’re being weird, he could be hurt. I need to go see him. There’s…” You pivoted your head, hair falling over your shoulder from the motion, and once your gaze settled onto the streak of red on the wall, panic replaced worry. “Blood on the wall… Anakin! There’s blood on the wall!” You turned to him, pushing at his shoulders when your fingers came into contact with something cold and wet.
Your friend was silent.
You pulled your hands from him, examining the blood on your trembling hands.
Stomach dropping, you stepped back from him. Your head spinning so fast you dizzied, you braced yourself on the window behind you. He knew and he didn’t tell you that Jeremy was hurt. Was he the one that did that to Jeremy? He couldn’t have. Could he? He’d always been protective. Did he knock him out? What reason could he have?
It was not the fact it was plausible that scared you. What scared you was the fact there was blood on your hands from touching him.
It was not fake.
It had to be Jeremy’s.
You could be next for knowing.
He didn’t take his eyes off of you, and you crept against the wall slowly, staying as far away from him as possible.
“(y/n),” he said warningly, trained on the route you could be taking.
“I need to go.” You watched his tongue poke out to moisten his lips, and you went for the exit.
“(y/n)!” His arms wrapped around your torso, lifting you from the floor as you thrashed in his grip.
“Let me go! Let me go!”
“Let me explain!”
“No!” Your body was moving for you out of fear, and when he set you down you tried to elbow him. Anakin was much larger than you, and much stronger. He maneuvered you to face him, and allowed you to bang your hands against his chest. “You—! I can’t believe you!”
“I know, I know, just stop. Stop!”
“No!” Your heel came down hard on the top of his foot, and he cried out, grabbing hold of it while you fled. Unfortunately more athletically inclined, Anakin swooped in, cutting your path off to the stairs. You screamed, passing him before he could clutch you.
“(y/n)! Come here!” His heavy steps thundered after you as you dove for your room, whirling around to slam the door when his hand shot out to catch it before it closed. You shoved as hard as you could but he kept it open, wedging it open. “Don’t run away from me, sweetheart, you know how much I like it.”
You knit your eyebrows together, incredulously questioning, “You’re joking at a time like this?” Taking advantage of your guard down, he grabbed your wrist, and like a little doll, he tugged you over to lock the other one in his harsh hold. “Hey!”
“I can’t let you leave,” Anakin told you, a solemn lilt to his voice and your first thought was how he was going to hurt you too.
Somehow, you still believed he wouldn’t be capable of that.
“Ani, Ani, please,” you pleaded. “Before you do anything or say anything, please hear me when I say I love you, I love you and I mean it, and I can help you, please just don’t—”
“I know, I know,” Anakin rolled his eyes as he backed you up, your knees hitting the side of your bed, tripping over it and he pinned you there. A much more sinister assumption replaced your old one. Your wide eyes stared up at him as he straddled you and locked your hands over your head. “God, (y/n), do you have any idea how fucking sexy it is when you beg like that?”
Your mouth fell open at how he spoke to you, “What are you talking about?”
“Fuck, baby,” he leaned down, lips connecting to your jaw and you jerked away. It only gave him more access to your neck, peppering kisses along the column.
“Stop, stop, Anakin, don’t do this.”
“Would you rather I keep chasing you?” he reproached and that familiar heat pooled in between your legs. It was like your body recognized this as some sort of sexual act, whereas your brain was in a frenzy at the unsafety.
“Did you hurt Jeremy? You can tell me,” you told him, lips quivering as you fought tears. You couldn’t cry right now. Not in front of him.
“Aw, I got blood all over your pretty dress,” he cooed, eyeing you up generously. One of the sleeves had fallen off your shoulders. “You know a white dress like this makes you look like a little virgin,” he mused, a crooked grin adorning his lips.
“I know you defend me. Did Jeremy do something? Tell me, Anakin!”
“Jeremy didn’t do a damn thing,” he told you, meeting your gaze as you were silenced. “Except think he could put his hands on you.”
“You’re—!” you wiggled underneath him, attempting to worm your way out of his hold, “— crazy!” He dodged your head from butting him, and you managed to roll the two of you to the side and off your bed. Landing on top of him, knocking the wind from him, you scrambled up. Somehow, you were able to slip your hands from his frantic latchings and beelined for the stairs. You skipped some, and landing funny on the floor, you regained your footing as he called after you. He wasn’t far behind, and you weren’t going to get to the front door in time. You opted to hide. In a dark room, you slid behind a door, and your heavy breathing would give you away if you didn’t calm it.
His voice raised to ensure you’d hear him. “You don’t feel safe, angel? Not even with me?” he grinned sinisterly as he searched his surroundings.
You prayed.
Squeezing your eyes shut, you forced yourself to draw in a slow deep inhale.
Heavy boots echoed.
“Got to admit, this is turning me on a little bit,” he mused, that familiar playful tone controlling you like always, gasping to speak before you realized you were giving away your position. Frozen in place, you couldn’t bring your feet to move. Silence from him indicated he hadn’t heard you, and you thanked your lucky stars.
Anakin’s head snapped in your direction at the noise of your breath, and picked up a stray item from the kitchen table. He’d pinpointed you were somewhere in corridor that connected rooms, and he pressed himself against the wall by that doorway. Glancing inside, he tossed the item across and hid.
The sound told you he’d passed by the open door you were concealed behind. Gently, you removed your heels, your feet against the tile as quiet as a field mouse as you crept around to see he wasn’t in the room where the noise was made. You dashed for the front door, and when you passed the doorway, a large hand clapped around your mouth, muffling your scream as he locked you in his embrace.
“Hey, shh, shh,” he soothed, slamming your back against the wall with his palm at your upper chest and shoulder. Fighting for oxygen, you clawed at his fingers. “Listen to me, baby, listen,” Anakin could see how dilated your pupils were in your wide eyes, pleading to him to release you as you futilely fought against him for air. The way he stalked you, caught you, and stared at you like you were his prey had your heart beating so fast you could pass out. The notion distracted you from doing anything effective against him. “I’m not going to hurt you, (y/n), and I’ll let go if you promise to behave.”
Lashes fluttered as you neared your end, vision blurring, driving you to nod furiously at him. You were released and you fell against him, his towering frame supporting you as you gasped for air. As you recovered, Anakin tongued the inside of his cheek, pinching your jaw to force you to look at him. Lazily, you allowed him, lightheaded. “Now that I’ve got your attention, pretty girl, I need you to hear this. Did you mean it back there? When you said you loved me?”
He clenched his teeth, and you lingered on his lips, reminiscing on the kiss you’d shared with him and the influence it had over you. It was no secret you were attracted to him, you loved him as a friend, and you got jealous when the girl on the porch talked about him.
Impatience got the better of him, and he jostled you to wake you from your trance, “Answer me, princess.”
The way he was speaking to you, the thrill of the chase you’d just endured—it had the hairs at the back of your neck standing as a chill ran up your spine. “Mhm,” you nodded at him.
“You liked kissing me.” It was a statement.
You nodded anyway.
“You kissed me back.”
You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him, shame setting in at the truth he made you face.
“What else did you want to do?”
Why were there tears pricking the corner of your eyes?
“None of that, (y/n), I’d like the waterworks later.”
“I wanted to keep kissing you,” you replied reluctantly, knowing he’d sense it if you lied.
“Yeah, I know,” he slumped in place, rolling his eyes. When he straightened, his hands slammed at the sides of your head, startling you. “I don’t always like it when you play hard-to-get,” he warned.
Opening your mouth to ask what he meant by that, you listened to your better judgement. “I wanted you to touch me.”
This pleased him, perking up with interest. “Where?”
Apprehension claimed you, eyebrows knitted together in worry. “I don’t know,” you told him with a hint of incredulousness, afraid of the point he was traveling towards.
“You wanted me to touch your pussy, right?”
His harsh words and lack of romance made you flinch, but hearing him say it at all sent heat pooling in between your legs.
“Say it, (y/n), and I might just give it to you.”
“I don’t want it!”
He grabbed hold of your upper arms, circling you around him, and you arched away. “You’re lying.” You were never good at lying to Anakin.
Shying away, you cried, “Fine! Yes! I wanted you to touch me like that!” You squeezed your eyes shut as your words grew bolder, “I wanted your hands on me, Anakin, I always have. I like it when you touch my waist,” you looked at him, “and I liked it the one time you smacked my ass even though I threatened you afterwards!” The backs of your hands swept his off your arms. “And I liked your tongue in my mouth,” you stepped to him, backing him up, “and I’ve touched myself imagining it was your hands and your mouth and your dick getting me off!”
That was all Anakin needed to hear because with lust-blown eyes he clutched onto you, drawing you back to his lips, reconnecting to finish what you two started earlier. You accepted it, accepted him, fisting his shirt to press him nearer. He backed you against the kitchen table, parting your lips with his to explore your mouth with his tongue again. This kiss was different. It was hard, demanding, and unapologetic. His writhing tongue inside of you was desperate, and you matched his enthusiasm. When you sucked on it, he slowed out of curiosity, and you bobbed your head as if you were giving him oral. The moan that emitted from him shot straight down to your cunt. His hand came to tangle in your hair, tugging you off him with a sting of your scalp.
“It’s hot when you fight back, you know. I wouldn’t mind a little challenge.” A breathless chuckle escaped him as he spoke, and you hit his chest at the suggestion. “Go on,” panting, he stepped back, gesturing to the stairs. “Be a good girl and run along now.” When you stared him down in disbelief, he spun you to face the steps, smacking your ass to get his sincerity across.
You jumped on the opportunity, dashing for the stairs. You were not granted a head start when he came barreling after you, a hair’s width away from you up the steps. Squealing in excitement from the thrill he put in your belly, he laughed at you, chasing you up, “It’s so hot when you run from me.” Inexplicably, it worsened the desire for him, facing him when you reached your bedroom doorway. Anakin didn’t slow, practically running into you and scooping you up. Your back hit the wall, and his hands bunched up in the skirt of your dress, riding it up as he settled it around your waist. When you gasped, he dove in, swallowing your surprised sounds as he lapped at your open mouth.
You cupped the nape of his neck, fingers tangling in the soft hair there and tugging when his tongue slid against yours in a way you liked. He moaned for you, senses heightened from the excitement. Breaking the kiss, he stooped to be eye level, his fingers rifling underneath your skirt, and ignoring your squirm, he asked, “You think I didn’t notice you whoring yourself out to everyone but me?” He bit his plump bottom lip as he wrapped his digits in the strings of your panties. On instinct your mouth fell open, scrambling to grab at his arms. “Huh?” He wanted you to answer, goading you, “You wore these for someone else, right?” he provoked, tugging until you heard the thin strap snap apart. It made him scoff. “Yeah, I know you did. You wanted precious little Jeremy to get in your pants tonight, isn’t that right?” he mocked the name, and he got on his knees in front of you, hiking up your dress around your waist again. “I’ll get you ready for him,” he told you as your hands braced on his shoulders. There was an undertone in his voice that conveyed something more sinister. You didn’t have time to contemplate it when his mouth latched onto the folds of your pussy. Warm spit coated your insides that he greedily pet with his desperate tongue.
In your experience, it wasn’t often that a man just dove in headfirst, but you’d had plenty of anticipation that built a need up within you. Anakin was quick to comment on it after he moaned into you and vibrated you with his voice, “Fuck, baby, fuck. Already so wet for me, huh? I can’t believe what a freak you are.”
You keened in response, desperately grasping onto the windowsill next to you for purchase as he made your legs shake, the tip of his nose poking into your clit as he devoured you. There was no doubt in your mind you were a freak, getting turned on by the chase, and now the predator was on his knees for you. The eye contact he made over your mound drove you crazy, your hand now finding a place at the back of his head, stroking through his hair to grip it which earned you his hum of approval. As if to shut him up, you pressed him further into you. A flash of mischief in his eyes told you he was into your actions.
He flattened his tongue, drawing from the bottom to the top, wiggling it against your clit and you trembled. You’ve never had your pussy eaten out like this before, and it made you wonder where he picked this up… How long had he been waiting to do this to you?
Anakin noted how your gaze grew hazy, his large hand—panties hanging from the webbing—came to grip your chin to warn you, and patted your cheek hard. “Pay attention to me, princess,” he spoke against you, sucking hard on your sensitive bud. The motion had your face stinging slightly, but it was the shock of it that widened your eyes. “Don’t look so surprised,” your gaze trailed from his fingers to the panties that hung from them. “I want everything from you.”
Your face twisted in pleasure as he returned to eating you out like his life depended on it. The way his tongue swirled and jabbed inside of you had your back arching and the coil in your belly wound tight. Both hands came to your thighs, gripping hard to indent the porcelain flesh, sensing your proximity to your release. Your fist in his hair clenched, and he stuck his tongue as far as he could inside, nuzzling your bud with his nose again. “I’m-I’m going to… if you keep—” Your sentences couldn’t form, and you cried out in frustration when he pulled away from you completely, your slick shining on his face.
“Oh, no, you’re not,” he replied so derisively, straightening up, ripping your chances of an orgasm away from you. “First time I’m gonna make you cum, I’m gonna make you cum on my cock. I’ve waited too damn long for this,” His strong hands slid up to squeeze your hips, and he pressed your wet heat against his erection in his jeans, the denim dampening with your secretion. It was easier to grind into you that way. “You were so scared earlier, what happened?”
The reminder had your hands bunching up in his shirt, weakly pushing at him. He pressed on. “C’mon, baby, feel it. Feel what you’ve done to me. Such a tease, making me chase after you like that.” You pivoted your head away, gasping when the ache inside you dulled with a splendid swipe of your clit against his hard cock.
You’d seen Anakin naked before, but you’d never seen him hard. The thought had you wiggling your hips against him, anxious to egg him on.
“That’s my girl,” he praised. “I’m desperate to hear that pretty voice of yours. Tell me what you want. You want my cock?”
You, desperate for anything, nodded your head. Again, he forced you to look at him, another firm pat on your cheek. “Answer me, brat.”
“Yes!”
“Yes, what?”
“What? Am I supposed to say ‘please’?”
His rut slowed, snatching up your wrists to direct your hands to his jeans. “Go on.”
Obediently, despite glaring at him, you undid his button and zipper. You were angry at him for prolonging your release, for causing you such distress, and for refusing to fix it for you until you begged for it. You tugged down his pants and boxers until just his member was free. Seeing it in it’s erected glory had a pain shoot through you from the mere anticipation of it burying inside of you, your eyes widened at the sight, a demand emitting from you, “Just fuck me already!” You’d barely finished speaking before he ripped the front of your dress down, freeing your tits. He spun you to the side, pressing your bare chest against the cold of the window. “What are you—?” The temperature perked your nipples up painfully, and when he slid his cock inside, your head bumped against the glass.
At first he’d rocked about half of himself in, gradually adding more until he bottomed out, and your eyes rolled into the back of your head. “You’re so big, Ani,” you purred, hot breath fogging up the window.
“I know. A shame you didn’t hop on my dick sooner, yeah?”
The cockiness had you breathlessly scoffing, but when his pace increased, things were suddenly not so funny anymore. Your mind was bursting with things more important than the fact you were against a window where anyone could see you if they simply looked up. You could still hear the music from Anakin’s house, the multicolored lights pouring through and staining the pavement. You were called back to the present by the way your pussy slurped him up. “Fuck, Anakin!”
“Yeah, that’s it, baby. I like my name on your lips,” he purred, snapping his hips against your ass. His shirt got in the way so he picked up the hem to tuck in between his teeth, watching how his member was swallowed up by your greedy cunt.
Cock drunk, you couldn’t stay up, leaning into the window until what was left of your red lipstick stained the glass. A familiar face exited the house from the porch, and you recognized it to be your friend that had made you realize your jealousy earlier. At the risk someone would see you like this, you reached back weakly. “Ani! Ani, wait, someone could see!”
He merely continued, railing into you harder. You cried out, enraptured with how he filled you completely. As if she could hear you, the girl looked up and locked eyes with your lust blown gaze. She was suspended in disbelief, seeing Anakin fucking into you. Anakin, who took notice of this, merely grinned biting his t-shirt, and waved flirtatiously at her. The interaction had your wet heat dripping. He spat out the fabric, and clapped a hand over your throat to bring you away from the window, redirecting you. He pulled out to spin you, pinning your back to your bed and picking up your legs to hover as he re-entered you. The new position made your eyes roll into the back of your head, his hand coming to wrap around your neck again. “Did you like that? Huh? Could feel you clenching down on me like a vice.”
You whined, begging for a release.
“I’m so into you, (y/n), I’ve always been into you. You’re so fucking hot,” His fingers dug into your hip painfully, watching your tits bounce with his thrusts. You lazily reached out to him, running your claws down his abdomen taught with his movements. “I’ve gotta tell you another secret.”
He was taking advantage of how silent you were, unable to form words like a dumb whore speared on his cock. “You were right, they were crimes of passion. All of them.” You furrowed your brows at him quizzically, mouth having fallen open to emit any sinful sounds he dragged from you with the scrape of his dick petting your insides. “Every single one. Passion. Passion for you.”
“What are you talking about, Ani?” Finally you’d sobered up enough to say something.
“I took Jeremy out back, and I bashed his fucking head in.” An evil glint flashed in Anakin’s eyes, thrill shooting through him as you stuttered. “You’ve got shit taste in friends, you know that?” Did he mean in Jeremy or in him?
He killed him. Had he really just admitted that to you?
“If this is,” Anakin adjusted his hips, the new angle causing your voice to crack, “is one of your jokes… Anakin… it’s not funny.”
“No joke, sweet girl, it’s me.” I’m the killer, the unsaid words hung in the air for a moment before you threw your head back, unable to respond appropriately when he increased his pace, fucking you like a little toy after he’d just confessed his darkest secret.
“Anakin!” you cried out, and he kept you pinned down by your throat, squeezing while his other covered your mouth again so he could speak.
“I never did like Jeremy, I’m surprised you didn’t see it coming. How I’ve been protecting you.” Wide eyes met gaze over his hand, your body was not one with your mind because it still reacted to Anakin positively, your orgasm building and nearing. “Don’t tell me you don’t like it. I do it for you, you know.”
Your fingers clutched onto the sheets, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes again from the overwhelming emotions. You shouldn’t like this, but you do.
“I can feel how wet you are for me. So fucking filthy, I can’t believe you’re into this. I was right about you being a little whore.”
Futilely, you moaned against his hand, so his fingers brushed over your lips, dipping into your mouth. Obediently, you sucked on them, swirling your tongue around them to taste something metallic. His hazy gaze on you told you he’d had blood on his hands, and you’d done something to him by cleaning them off for him. “How’s he taste, baby?” he cooed. Once he was satisfied you wouldn’t talk back, he removed them for you, running down your chest to squeeze at your breast, smacking it. It moved downwards until it reached in between you two, rubbing circles into your clit. “Leading me on the way you did. Touching me, letting me touch you. All those late night conversations about kinks and who or what you were into. You had to know I watched you change. Why else would you change in front of your stupid bedroom window?”
At the mention, your hand grew a mind of its own, coming up to slap him across the face for spying—as if that was the worst thing he’s done. “You’re so gross!” He moistened his lips, coming to look back at you with a newfound vigor.
“Feisty…” he groaned, rolling into you to hit that spongy spot inside of you with his tip.
You writhed, jerking your head to the side to squeeze your eyes shut.
“You’re close, huh? I can feel you fluttering. You feel better than I ever imagined,” he breathed, groaning low in his throat after he let himself really cherish you. “These hands have done unspeakable things. Strangled the life out of people, and here you are, letting them wrap around you so trustingly.” His finger came from your neck to your jaw, guiding you to look at him. “You trust me, right? Baby?”
“Just let me come, please, Ani, please just let me cum…”
You felt it in your legs first, how they trembled when your high crashed through you. It traveled throughout your whole body, seeing stars as you thrashed involuntarily, clenching down on him hard without warning. It felt so damn good, Anakin fucked you through it, tipping over the edge himself and spilling inside of you while you were panting underneath him. You threw your arm over your eyes, lip quivering from the overstimulation. He leaned over, chest to chest as he rocked into you lazily, his finish oozing from your entrance.
His face buried into your neck, hands caressing your body, massaging you as the last remnants of your organs passed through you. Pleasant tingles calmed you as his kisses pressed against your jawline and temple. “You wanna go again?”
“Go again?” you parroted.
He stayed sheathed inside you, the feeling bringing you both comfort, humming in confirmation to your question.
STAY SAFE!! [ID: the Gilbert Baker pride flag with the words “Happy pride to all those who are unable to celebrate openly and safely. You are loved and seen!” in all-caps black text over it. /end ID]
Warnings: language, angst, pure heartbreak, spoilers for season 2 if you still haven't watched
Pairings: Rafe Cameron x Reader
A/N: this was inspired by Phoebe Bridgers version of The Gold if you want to listen to it here https://youtu.be/KmmlKdyoF-c so i hope you all enjoy <3
You knew your relationship with Rafe had come to a standstill when you began to feel like he was a ceiling waiting to collapse on you at any moment. You spent 4 years with each other and it all came crashing down in one month, it's funny how things work out sometimes. All the love you once felt for him was replaced by estranged thoughts and tears over what once was. You knew it wasn't all his fault, his father had a stronghold on him and he was desperate for his love and validation, but it still hurt you in the end.
“I love you and I miss you Rafe.” silence before he spoke up.
“Love you, I've gotta go cause dad needs me. I'll see you soon.” lies, his voice distant.
“Okay.” this is how your phone calls had been for weeks now, it hurt more now to pretend you two were fine than not speaking at all but neither one of you wanted to admit to the other it was over.
When news broke of Ward's death you ran to the Cameron residence to see how Rafe was doing. He looked horrible, he had been crying and smelled of whiskey. He broke down in your arms and he didn't know if it was from losing his father or having your touch after so long. He didn't mean you neglect you but he was so worried about his father going back to hating him that that's all he thought about.
“I'm so sorry Rafe,” you said while trying to hold it together, Ward wasn't a very good man but you knew how much he meant to Rafe.
“He's gone Y/N, he's really gone. I'm alone again.” the last part hurt you but you tried to ignore it, he gripped onto you harder than before as he began to cry.
“I'm right here Rafe, it'll be okay” trying to reassure him but you were only met with silence. The only thing you could do was be there for him hold onto like a lifeline.
That was a few weeks back and things seemed to be getting back to what they once were until Rafe had come to you saying he and his family had to leave in a few days. It was like a knife had give into your chest and that's when you knew, no matter what happened or how much you were there, it would always be his dad that he chose. This wild hunt for gold had changed him completely and his kisses didn't taste like the mint gum and whiskey they used to, they tasted like poison.
“Rafe we need to talk.” ushering towards the couch for him to sit.
“Sure what's wrong? Are you okay?” concern suddenly lacing his voice when he saw your face laced with sadness and defeat.
“This isn't working, I don't think I love you anymore.” there it was, the words you both knew were coming but too scared to say out loud. Maybe that's why it didn't come as a shock to either of you when you said it.
“What? Won't be crazy Y/N, of course you do.” he was just trying to fool himself but he knew that wasn't true anymore. He had pushed you to the side and stopped caring about the relationship.
“No Rafe and you don't love me anymore either so please, can we stop playing this game. It hurts to pretend and I don't want to do it anymore.” tears streaming down your face as your voice broke.
Rafe hated to see you cry but it was the truth. Pretending to still love each other was taking its toll on you and he knew it. He wanted to be selfish and keep you around when things got worse after his dad but knew it had to end before he left.
“I still love you, I've always loved you. That was always real.” was the only thing he could say sincerely.
“I think that you believe you loved me but I don't think you did. You don't do what you did to people you love. I think you've gone crazy searching for this stupid gold and I can't keep pretending otherwise. You don't have to hold me anymore Rafe so let me go.” you hated to be so cold towards him but it was the only way this conversation could end the way it needed to.
“You're right. I'm sorry, I've got to go and prepare to leave. I did love you in the beginning though, regardless of whether you believe me or not. I'll see you around Y/N/N.” tears forming in his eyes as he spoke to you for the last time without looking at you before walking out the front door for the last time.
That was the final straw as you burst into tears of both relief and heartbreak. The relief of being free and not having to pretend to love him anymore and the heartbreak of losing what you thought was your person forever to gold. It was over now and the only thing left to do now was heal from the damage he caused.
— Summary: Living in the shadows of your classmates served you well to keep you alive until college. High school could be dangerous, and toxic, and hectic. The only problem about being a wallflower is the missed opportunities, and he is the biggest chance you never took.
That’s alright, though. It’s not like you ever had a chance with Fezco. Right?
— Word count: 5.2k
— A/n: Reader meets Rue through Ali in this scenario, so she has no connections to the group. She went to school with Fezco. Takes place right after the NYE party. This is also my first Euphoria/Fezco scenario so feedback is extra important and it’d make me really happy. Here we go!
The thing about being an addict who meets another addict was that they could bring out the worst in you.
It might happen without meaning to, and they'd do it without any notion of the effects it might cause on your life. With one request from them, or maybe getting stuck in the same room as another one who's a little like you and bam—five years of sobriety would go down the drain.
Rue could be that for you.
Thanks to Ali and your last two years in therapy, she won't be. Not tonight.
“Are you sure you don’t wanna come?” Rue asks. Her eyes are dropping low and she pouts in an adorable manner. She’s high. Very high.
You shake your head. “Thanks.” Her new friend Elliot gives a sharp nod before he and Rue leave together, and you take a second to send a prayer in secret that Rue makes it tonight.
You didn't come back to this damn city to get attached to someone and just watch them die.
After a sad chuckle, you turn around to see what else is there to do in this party she brought you which is not one-third as lame as you imagined it’d be, and that’s when you see him. It takes a second for your brain to understand why it stopped dead in its track at the sight across from you, but when the light flicks just right in his freckled face, you recognize him even with the beard.
You freeze.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck—is that Fezco?
You look away for a second, then back at him. Across from the glass wall that leads to the pool patio there's a gazebo, and he's sitting in the steps talking to someone. The place is crowded and illuminated mostly by colorful lights, but you'd recognize those eyes and cheeks anywhere.
It is him.
Looking good. Looking five times more handsome than he ever did before dropping out of school, and by the looks of it, doing the same thing he did while he was still in the halls of East Highland.
He's smoking and staring with a blank expression to the bodies dancing and walking in front of him, and after catching a second person not subtly slipping him money for a handshake of something, you realize that yup—he's dealing.
And he looks ridiculously good doing so.
A glass of whatever the hell Rue mixed is downed in a second, and you go to the kitchen in search of more.
Fuck your entire life.
Who would've thought Fezco O'Neill would still be living in this shitty town?
Studying with Fezco all those years ago could've been one of the many things your years of substance abuse took out of your early memories hasn't it been for how much you thought of him back then. Even though you two were never friends, never passed beyond the stage of awkward small talks, you enjoyed him. His presence.
One could say you had a crush.
You loved the short and brief interactions you shared with Fezco back then—he came to school often until a certain point, and given the nature of his job, talking to Fez was almost impossible since he talked to everybody, all of the time.
People gravitated towards him in groups, alone, in couples; either because of the drugs or just because he was one of the few people who you could sit beside and not feel anxious, or like you need to try too hard.
The party Rue brought you to has many more teenagers than you expected. It was granted, and you ignored it. The music is decent enough, but you can almost feel the small web strings of drama tying the entire party together. You'd like to blame Rue for you being here, but you can't.
She's still seventeen.
When you were seventeen, you were... well. Doing the same she is now.
Sadly.
You'll blame Ali for being invited over to his daughter's house and dropping the Bennet Bomb on your lap. He pays in food, and that's always nice.
Navigating the party to try and find something to do or a conversation pit that is nice proves to be worthless, and you start worrying that this night will be a bust.
You may be sober from all the pills that one day fucked you over, but your fuck ups still happened every once in a while because of the other things you still fell back on when shit got hard, which, considering the world and its state—it's often.
At least alcohol and weed make you less of a mess. This party had both. The night could be fun.
You promised Ali you'd keep an eye on Rue—she's doing poorly and a trainwreck tends to crash and leave traces if you don't see to it soon. But if you're staying, you need at least a joint.
Or two.
Fuck.
You stop the first teenager you see, "Hey, is there any other dealer in the party other than Fez?" You ask.
The boy scoffs. "'Course not," he says, then walks away.
Fair enough. No one would be stupid to try and deal at a party in an area where people even drive to meet Fez; he covers the crowd of this (and a few other) high schools for years now. Of course it's only him.
There's no reason you shouldn't go to him. He's not even gonna recognize you, your brain tells you.
It's a bitter reminder, but the taste leads your legs outside to the gazebo in hopes Fezco is still there.
And even if he does remember you, the same voice says. It's not like you two ever had a lot to talk about.
As you walk, you remember Rue mentioning to Ali a few days earlier about how her friend who is a drug dealer had beaten Nate Jacobs into a pulp. She told Ali the reason why and even though you had no idea who Nate Jacobs was, he sounded like a fucking cunt.
You kinda hated to have missed the show.
Part of you is wondering what will happen if Fezco does remember who you are, but it's not like that is a big deal either. He'd say hi, make small talk and then what? Reminisce about the days when he sold you Codeine or Demerol and you lived through the stages of a fucked up household while high out of your fucking mind?
Right.
Your palms are sweating. You check the bills inside your dress's bust again and fix the edge of your glitter sleeve, stepping close enough to see the pool and—there he is.
Fezco is talking to a guy when you step outside and to your happiness, Rue and Elliott can be found with Kat in the garden close by. You can do this.
You walk until your platforms are knocking on the edge of the first step, and Fezco only turns around when the guy leaves his side. He turns taking out the joint that's behind his ear, fishing for the lighter that must be on his front pocket, but then he sees the legs standing right in front of him and lifts his head to look at your face.
"Hi," you wave your hand at him. "Please tell me you still got weed." I might have to drink tequila like a frat boy if you don't.
It's the frown that tells you Fezco's mind must be trying to connect the dots, and before you can offer him any hint on why he sort of recognizes you, a smile breaks out in his face and surprises you into stunned silence when he follows with, "Oh, shit. You're Y/n," he points at you.
"I'm—yeah?" You know your crush used to be big, but you fight down a knot at trying to recall if his smile had always been this charming. "Yeah, it's me," you try again, not wanting to sound like a question. "You're Fezco. Hi again," you wave a hand again.
This boy always left you tongue-tied, but you'd be damned if he got you looking stupid this early into a conversation.
"Wow." Fezco's smiling dopely, and the way he looks you up and down have your skin running a little hotter. "Been a long time. Hi, little ma."
Fuck. He's sitting down, but Fezco chill raspy voice still makes him feel inches taller.
"Hey, Fezco."
"You said you wanted weed?" He asks, finally lighting up his joint.
You look at the orange smoke illuminating his face and nod. "Yes, please." This is still as awkward as it was back then. "I'm not mentally ready to be this surrounded by teenagers," you add without thinking.
Fezco laughs at that, taking his blunt between his fingers. "Word." He fishes for something inside his jacket's pocket. "You want the flower or you want a pre-rolled?"
You pout. "That depends. Who rolled it?"
Fezco smiles. "I did."
"Your joints looked like tiny spaceships, man. No offense." Back in school together, you never bought weed from Fezco because you hated how smoke made you cough, but you saw the pre-rolled he sold to your classmates, and he rolled like shit.
He surprises you by laughing again, and then he gets up. "Damn, ma—your memory's good, huh?" Fezco looms over you for a second before leaning against the handrail, and he takes out a pack from a pocket. "I got better at it. Look. Looking like they came from a factory, see? I ain't selling shit I wouldn't be smoking too."
His joints really are looking professional, and you laugh again, this time with him.
"Cool—they look good," you nod in approval.
Fezco who's had a smile on his face since he put a name to your face nods too, looking even more pleased with himself. "Cool. One's $3. Three's ten. Five's fifteen. How many you looking for?"
"Gimme five."
"Five?" He blinks in surprise, but starts picking them one by one.
"I'm looking out for a friend of a friend and I have a feeling she's not going home anytime soon." You give him the money, and in exchange take the blunts. "I'm not taking chances."
"You don't have a purse, where you gonna put 'em?" Fez asks, taking another look at your outfit.
You pull on the fabric of your renovated shirt and show him the pocket you sewed on the inside. You make a show of opening it, putting four of the joints inside, then close the button.
Fezco chuckles. "Aight. You're prepared." He looks you up and down again, and you fidget in response, organizing your corset underneath the shirt. "What brought you back? Wait—why did you leave in the first place?"
When Fezco left school in seventh grade, you still saw him for a few years. Whenever the pills ran out at your place, you ran to his and Ash's place for more.
You shrug your shoulder, and light the one joint you kept in your hand. "I left to go live with my Aunt."
He doesn't need to know the why, nor does he care. Whatever it is Fezco remembers of you or thinks of your person, you can bet it isn't that your mother preferred you living in another state than keeping the junkie her neglect created at home.
"Really?" Fezco asks, and he sounds just as genuine as ever. He looks behind your shoulder out of nowhere and you notice another boy hovering your conversation, most likely wanting something out of him and you're about to say you'll leave him alone when Fezco shrugs a hand in the air for him. "Ain't available. Find Ash," and without even looking for his response, his eyes are back on you. "Was your aunt nice?"
His voice drags out, the same way as it did before.
It's still distracting. "Yeah." Auntie, unlike Mother, lived a real life. Had real problems and, as consequence, helped you with yours. Fez probably didn't care about that either, so you exhaled the smoke and changed the topic. "And you? Last I remember you quit to help your G Ma with business and your little bother. How's Ash?"
Fezco smiles, and you feel your heart skipping a stupid beat at it.
Even his smile has gotten cuter.
"You remember that?" His words drag out, and he smacks his lips on his teeth.
You frown. "Course I do." I always had trouble forgetting anything related to the cute and funny ginger boy who always has a kind gesture or word to offer if you need.
Fezco nods, looking at you through his eyelashes and this time, he keeps his eyes there. "Yeah. Stuff's been good, you know."
His careless demeanor never hid from you the small things, like the way he narrows his eyes when he's lying through his teeth. You hope whatever 'good' he's been getting, it gets a little better.
Before you can ask something else, Fezco goes on. "It's weird that you remember that. About Ma G and Ash."
That comment leaves you even more confused. "How come?"
Fezco shrugs his shoulders again. "Dunno. It was a while ago, lil' mama." You two laugh at that, because word. "'s the reason I knew I could trust you, too."
Fezco trusts you? "You trusted me?"
"Trust. Ain't gone away just 'cause you left," his smile is so nonchalant that it makes you smile in return. "No one ever found out why I dropped—just assumed 's for what I do. Lots of rumors 'n that's it."
He's right about that.
Through hazy memories, you recall people trying to create the most dramatic reason for Fezco's drop out in the cafeteria as well as in the streets. "Yeah... I remember that." You hum. "Always found that strange."
How was that a twelve-year-old Fezco managed to keep his grandmother's sickness all to himself was beyond you.
"Exactly." The way he says the word makes you leave Eastland high of all those years ago and focus on him again. He said it as a confirmation, and when you frown, he elaborates through a chuckle because he notices you're already high and just as lost as before. "You're the only one I told, Y/n."
"Wait. Really?" That couldn't be. Fezco had friends. Good ones and not-so-good ones, you imagined. "Why?"
"Yeah, lil' ma. You the only one who asked," he shrugs it off, speaking through the clouds of smoke.
You're the only one who asked.
"Oh." That made the flutter inside of you get worse. So much worse.
Sure, Fez always answered when you asked him things, whether it was about his brother, or his grandma Marie, or even himself, but picturing a world where people never even ask him about those stuff seems foreign to you.
Maybe that's because you always wanted to know.
The silence stretches out for a few seconds between you both, only the smoke of your blunts creating a thick fog around, almost like a bubble.
Fezco still stares at you and your clothes, and you try to move only your shoulders to the beat of the song because his eyes are as sharp as they were before.
"What brings you back, then?" Fezco asks. Someone else pops up right behind you and he exhales his smoke a little annoyed. "Not now. Find Ash."
That's the second time he blows off a customer to keep talking to you and—yup. Just as you feared the first time it happened, this one leaves your cheeks burning bright.
You clear your throat and look away from him in search of Rue as an excuse, hoping he doesn't see it. "My sponsor is kinda like a dad to me. And he sponsors... that one." Rue's still sitting underneath the same tree with Elliott, and you release anxiety you forgot you were holding on to at the sight of her. "So I guess you can say it's babysitting duties." You shrug. "If you're asking why I'm in town specifically, it's 'cause my Aunt moved in business for a year so," you shrug, as if saying this is where I gotta be, I guess. I have nowhere else to go.
Instead of asking about the sponsor as most people do, Fezco's still looking in the direction your finger pointed.
"You babysitting Rue?"
"Yeah."
"Word?" You nod at him, giggling a little at how happy he got out of the sudden. "Fuck, man, that's kinda good to hear, I ain't gonna lie to you," Fezco laughs at that, really laughs like he's happy in his most genuine form. "She's my friend. Rue. She's kinda like family—I know she a mess, but." He takes another drag, looking between you and Rue this time. "I ain't selling to her hard stuff anymore, but..." Fezco sighs. "I'm scared if I don't give her what she want, she'll just find it with someone else, ya feel me?"
Double fuck. "Damn." Fezco dealt for Rue. Who ODed. Who's relapsed for the second time. Damn it. Knowing Fezco the little you did, you knew he felt a silent ocean of guilt over it. "She's good, Fez."
You reach out with your free hand, knocking your knuckles gently against his forearm. "She got a good sponsor, 'kay?" You lift the joint in your hands. "This? The only reason I still got a grip in shit's because Ali takes none of my bullshit and still manages to give me good advice between all the crap I try to sell 'im. She's not in a good place, but she is a good kid. Stuff takes time, that's all. Plus—she's still young. Surrounded by drama, all the fucking time. She needs to get to a place where she wants to be alive for real, and she will. Eventually."
Even though it had been only two pancake visits since you and Rue met, the kid got her vines in you, somehow.
Just like Ali, you believed in her.
"Yeah." Fezco nods along with every word you say, and when you're done, he's smiling again. "Yeah, okay." Has he always looked this fucking breathtaking while smiling? You might have a heart attack. It's a good thing you're not swimming in opiates anymore. "She got a good sponsor and apparently a guardian fucking angel, so I'll believe in ya."
The blush worsens at that, and this time, Fezco catches it. He laughs at you, and you knock your fake Versace Medusa platforms against his chin.
"I am not an angel," you laugh.
"I dunno, it might be the lights or sumn', but you lookin' like one," Fezco looks from the soft pink light that's casting a shadow on the pool area and you, and you wished it was red so it masked your reaction to him instead of highlighting it.
"You always been this sweet talker?" You try, laughing it off.
Fezco's just being nice, you tell yourself.
"My bad, ma." He must notice you're getting a little too flustered, and changes the topic, too. "So how was it with yo Auntie?"
You push away any thoughts of school behind and try it.
Having a conversation with Fezco turns out to be much easier than 11-year-old you imagined. Maybe it was because he was in a year above, or because he's always had those sweet eyes and smiled so rarely, but his intimidating persona fought a valiant battle and lost every time his personality entered the ring.
Eventually, though, Rue gets lost from your sight and, as you promised, you have to go find her.
"Fucking hell," you mutter to yourself, getting up from the steps. "Uh—I'll be back?"
Fezco looks up at you. "Really? 'Cause if you say you'll be back, I'll wait."
You smile down at him. "Then, I will be back."
Finding Rue while high and happy out of your mind feels almost hypocritical.
The sea of teenagers and the smell of alcohol, weed and sweat does nothing for you when all your brain can focus on is Rue Rue Rue Where Is Rue as well as Fez Fez Fez, As Sweet as Ever, Fez Fez Fez.
He looks so pretty.
He pulls off the beard, too. His voice is lower, much lower than you remember—puberty hit that boy in the chest, and all the smoking can't help, either. And if he—oh shit, that's Rue.
"Rue Fucking Bennett!" Your scream is met with the sight of Rue looking like a parakeet. "Yeah, you."
"Oh, shit." Rue looks behind her, and, of course, there's Elliot. Is that a bathroom behind them?
"Oh, fuck nah." You stride to them, anything that isn't Rue and that bathroom momentarily forgotten. "You are high enough." You push past Elliot and stand in front of the bathroom door. "I ain't watching you snort too many lines for your already high-ass brain to keep up with. Go fucking find something else to do."
"Shit, Rue. You never told me you brought your mom," Elliot teases.
You point a finger right on his face. "You better learn when to shut the fuck up, Elliot." I don't fucking like you, Elliot. "Did she tell you I'm here 'cause I caught her almost passed out in a bathroom? Did she?"
From the sight on his face, she obviously hadn't. Called it.
"Exactly. Why don't you stick to your fucking lane and go roll the two of you a joint or something and I'll stick to my lane of not letting the addict decide how much coke is enough coke for her, huh?" Your blood is boiling already, and Elliot's right. You sound like her mother, and yet, you can't bring yourself to care. Turning your face to Rue, you see her looking sheepish between you both. "Trust me. You can find other shit to do."
Rue sighs, but you caught the fleeting fear in her eyes when you mentioned the bathroom. "It's not gonna help," she tells you with what it's supposed to be a mindless shrug, but—there it is.
The sadness underneath the addiction.
You take a deep breath and step closer. "Why not?"
Rue shrugs her shoulders, avoiding eye contact at all costs. "'Cause this party fucking sucks."
That was debatable, but she looked to believe it, so. "Why does it suck?"
Rue finally pins you with a look, and you watch her struggle. Feel her feelings, or burn them to the ground?
When her eyes start swimming with water, you let out an exhale, happy that she chose the feelings. "'Cause Jules' not talking to me."
Oh, young love.
"Fine." She was not gonna get what she wants from this party, and she's the one reason you're here. "Why don't we leave, then?"
"What?! No! It doesn't suck that bad," Rue defends.
She's not ready to leave yet, but it'll be soon. She probably wants to martyr herself, staring at her girlfriend dancing with people and not her, and fine, you can sympathize with that. "Okay. I'll be with Fezco outside, then. When you decide this party does suck, find us and we'll go, okay?"
Rue stares at you. She licks her lips, looking right into your eyes in search of something, and whatever it is, she must find it. "Okay. Okay, yeah. I'll look for you." She turns to Elliot, who's been leaning on the corridor wall in silence since you told him off. "Let's goooo Elli, bro."
Ugh. From the look on his face at her 'bro', this bro of hers wants something more than her company and her fellow addict nose to keep him from being lonely while he uses it.
Trying to convince yourself that is not your problem, you go back outside in search of Fezco.
Catching Rue walking her death row made you almost sober, or at least, your mind feels that way.
When you get outside, though, Fezco's not there.
The absence of his presence makes you wonder if you left for too long, or if he had something better to do. The next problem is that with no Fezco, you're back to square zero.
Liquor.
You're gonna need alcohol if Rue is off being a masochist and the only other person you knew at the party is gone.
The silver lining comes when after downing a glass of surprisingly good scotch, the music gets good. Losing yourself to the beat and the sea of bodies is easier than thinking. Easier than letting your mind wander, or focusing on the interactions you shared with him that night.
Throwing your head back and closing your eyes to feel the drums in the song instead of the emptiness inside you or the need for something more is one of the many coping mechanisms you found while living in New York.
It's also what keeps you busy until you feel someone trying to get your attention.
It's Elliott. He looks no better or good than when you left him and Rue a while ago, which means they stuck to your advice and found something other than lines to do.
He gestures to the outside and, catching his message, you realize with a sad pang in your chest that it's time to go.
"Where's Rue?" You ask.
"Talking to him." Elliott points to one of the empty corridors, and right in the end, you see them.
Rue and Fezco, talking to one another. Before you can stop yourself, you're taking steps in their direction, but you never get close enough to interrupt the conversation.
Eventually, she notices you standing there and waves a hand at you. She says something else to Fezco, then walks to you.
"Can we light one up before we go?" She asks you as soon as she's in front of you. Rue looks worse.
Fuck.
She did something without Elliot. That stupid, one-brain-celled, fake blond asshole.
"'Course, babes."
Rue nods with a happy smile that looks sad to you, then leaves.
Across the corridor, Fezco is looking at you. Staring, and you're pinned under his gaze until he walks to you, too.
"You weren't there," you tell him as soon as he's in earshot.
Fezco's eyes widen a little, like he's surprised you noticed. "Yeah. My bad, ma." He looks sad too, and fucking hell, is everyone in this city miserable? "My ex dropped by wanting to talk 'n I didn't wanna talk."
That makes you widen your eyes, but in sympathy.
"Ah—I'm the one who should say 'my bad', then," you shrug.
He smiles at you. "'s fine. I was an idiot—she's Rue's age and..." Fezco rubs both hands over his buzzcut, and you groan out loud at the implications of Fezco and his high-school-year-old ex-girlfriend. "Fuck. I gotta stop puttin' myself in trouble, man."
"If it was that easy, huh?" You ask with a bitter laugh.
Fezco looks down at you, laughing along. "Yeah. If only."
"I gotta go—I'm gonna drive Rue—" where? You have no idea where, but she needs to get out and she was the reason you're here. Not the pretty boy, you remind yourself. "Somewhere?"
"Sounds like you don't know either," Fezco tilts his head. "I can recommend a few places."
"Really?!"
"Yeah, really," Fezco smiles and stretches out his head. "Gimme yo phone."
You take your phone out of your pocket and he types something, slowly. Then after a few clicks, he looks up at you. "You mind if I got your number?"
Your heart does. "I was gonna ask for it, anyway." Bless the scotch and heavens guard your heart, because your sudden boldness pays off.
The smile on Fezco's face opens slowly, different than the other ones he gave you that night. It's like watching the animation of a pair of eyes suddenly becoming a wolf, and inside the house, there's nowhere to escape the blue lights.
The color on your cheeks must be noticeable now that he's this close.
Fezco only looks away from you to type away something else on your phone and when the ping of message arrives in his pocket, your stomach does a cartwheel. "There. Now I got yours, too."
The fact that you want something else, something more from him before leaving seems to hover in the air.
Fezco's fingers brush on yours when he hands your phone back, and you swallow thickly with your eyes on his hands.
They're big hands—the notion makes your brain a little dizzy, painted with images of that hand everywhere. Around your throat, holding onto your chin, on your body—fuck.
You look up, and he's still watching you. "Never thought I'd see you again, lil' ma." The hoarseness on his voice is making you a little delirious and—is that perfume? In the tiny and narrow corridor, with him standing only a foot away from you, you can smell Fezco now. "But I'm glad I did."
Fezco's cologne is a strong, wood scent underneath the smell of pot and frankly, you need to get out of here before it cogs your whole brain and you do something stupid, like kissing his pretty pink lips before you go.
"I'm glad, too." Your voice sounds distant, and Fezco chuckles.
"Take good care of Rue, yeah?" You can visibly see him swallow, and then he takes a step back, taking his good scent and his freckles away from your eye level. "I'll text ya some places you can take her."
That's a door he's opening for you, and you take it before you lose control.
"Thanks, Fez." You bite on your bottom lip, trying to hold in the desire to get at least a hug. "Send Ash a hi from me? I'm—it was really good seeing you. Thanks for making my night a lil' happy."
Fezco finally looks away now, chuckling to himself. He looks embarrassed, and the way he ducks his head laughing makes you feel even more desperate, if that makes any sense. "I ain't gonna let you go if you keep being this nice."
"What?! I'm saying bye!" You laugh.
"Yeah, lookin' all cute and shit." Fezco drags one hand over his buzzcut again, and takes one more deliberate step back. "You made my night happier, too. Now please go before Rue fucks off somewhere 'n I have to pretend to be sad that I gotchu for a few more hours."
Hghgn. You swallow thickly around that, trying in vain to convince yourself that Fezco isn't flirting.
It's harder to do that when he's standing only two feet away, looking like you're in a Red Hood and he might eat you alive if one gave him the chance.
For the first time in years, you feel... pretty.
And sexy.
Blinking at him from under your eyelashes, you send him a smile and a siren look that purposely tells him what your last words can't. "See you around, Fez."
He nods at you, sharp and losing his smile—he's staring with intent, and when he licks his lips, you know you have to go before it's your turn to be embarrassed that he makes you whimper without even touching you.
"See ya, angel."
Oh, fuck.
Rue owes you so many joints and, at the same time, you owe her so much more.
You can feel his eyes on your back as you walk outside, and it takes you pinning Rue under your vision and following her like one follows a saving light for you to not turn around and give him one last hand wave.
If you see Fez one more time this evening, you might get high on the way his eyes look at you alone.
(Spoiler alert! I’m planning a part 2 for this, and they are definitely seeing each other that night. It’ll be posted until next week.)
If you’d like to be part of my Fezco 🏷, let me know.
I've been saying this since season 1, but FEZCO CAN GET IT THO. That ginger can beat it up on ANY DAY. Damn, I need a sweet, but protective drug dealer in my life.
Manifesting that the fanfiction girlies on here will write some new Fez stuff.