A/N
This is based off of the movie trilogy, not the books. So, erm, don't get mad at me, because there's no available option for the movie trilogy in this site. Yet. When FFnet does make a slot for the movie trilogy version, I'll be sure to change it.
Also, this story is loosely based off of the lyrics from this Bridgerton Musical song called—you guessed it—Alone Together. It's from TikTok, and I think it's fanmade. You don't have to listen to the song to understand the story, but the lyrics for that song will appear in the story itself. If you don't like songs very much, then you can just pretend they're poetry. Or you can choose not to read them at all. The story will still make sense, I promise.
Please enjoy!
Sam is used to bullies. She's dealt with them her entire eight years of life. She doesn't know why they do the things they do to her, but she knows there's nothing she can do to stop them.
They hurt her with their words—"crybaby!" "weirdo!" "dummy!"—before they actually hurt her, shoving her down. Her arm scrapes against the cobblestoned-ground, and she yells, even though she tries not to.
It doesn't matter whether she's in pain or not. Showing them any discomfort means they'll win in this mean, mean game.
They point at her, and they say more mean things about her, and Sam is used to this. She knows what'll happen next, so she curls into herself, biting her bottom lip to keep herself from making anymore stupid noises.
They'll stop when they're bored, and bullies don't get bored easily.
Except this time, they do stop. And not because they're bored.
"Hey!"
Sam flinches from the noise—it doesn't belong to the bullies, but it's loud, and Sam doesn't like loud.
The bullies yell something back. Sam's not sure they're directing it at her, but she hugs her knees to her chest, and hides her face underneath. More yelling. More scraping sounds. She's pretty sure punching is involved. The yelling quietens, before pairs of footsteps run away.
"Hey." It's the same voice as before, but it sounds softer than before. "Hey, it's okay. They're gone." Sam peeks out from her arms, and finds gentle eyes staring back at her. "Those meanies won't come for you again."
Sam tries to search into those eyes, wondering if this is a prank of sorts. The eyes watch, patient and unblinking. "Really?"
The gentle eyes grow gentler. "I promise."
Sam blinks, and realises that those eyes belong to a girl. A familiar-looking girl. "You're… Deena, right?"
The girl—Deena—beams. "That's right," she says, offering her hand to Sam. Sam takes it, and stands up, patting her dust-covered palms on her skirt. "And you are…?"
"Sam. Short for Samantha." Sam starts to smile, then gasps. "Your lip!"
Deena blinks, then presses a finger to the small cut before wincing. "Ah, yeah. I'll be okay."
"We have to take you to the infirmary!"
"We do?"
"Yes!"
Without thinking, Sam grabs Deena's wrist. Their bags jiggling on their back, they go back to school, through the empty hallways and into the nurse's office. Only, the nurse isn't there.
alone together
"Don't worry," Sam says, giving Deena what she hopes is a reassuring nod, "I know what to do."
"Cool."
Deena sits down on one of the big infirmary beds, her legs dangling off of it. Sam rummages through the first aid kit before finding what she's looking for; a cotton. She stands on her tippy toes as she douses it with water, then walks towards Deena. "My mom's a nurse, so I know what I'm doing."
Deena tilts her head to the side, her short curls bouncing with the motion. "Okay," she says with a smile.
The smile falters when Sam dabs the cotton against the cut.
"I'm sorry."
"S'okay." Deena's tense, watching as Sam tries to clean the wound. Once Sam declares that she's done, Deena lets out a large sigh, her shoulders slumping. "Okay, thanks."
"Wait, hold on," Sam says, as Deena hops down from the bed. "You should press ice against it."
Deena blinks, grabbing her bag on the floor. "What if I don't have ice?"
Sam blinks too, doing the same thing with her bag. "Uh, do you have Coke?"
"Yeah?"
"Then use that."
Deena beams. "Cool. Thanks a lot." Then, she's out of the room, leaving Sam by herself. Wondering why her cheeks are warm. And why she and Deena aren't friends.
Little does she know, Deena is wondering the same thing.
Years pass. Bullying takes on a new form—one with less shoving and pointing, but nonetheless still cruel. Her peers now call themselves teenagers, even if their bodies are twiggly and noodly. She doesn't know what to call herself, other than strange.
The school comes up with what they must think is a terrific plan; take all of the students to a museum, full of art and history and science. Everyone goes because who would pass up the chance to not learn something? Deena goes because her friends are going, and because it's not cool to be the only one who doesn't go.
Their supposed "adult guidance", or whatever, tries to shepherd them, but there's no taming them. Not after five days worth of pent-up energy from sitting in class. They all split into their own groups. Some of them even run away from the museum to go have some real fun.
Deena debates doing the same thing, but decides not to. She's not in a mood for real fun. So she wanders around the building, dinosaur bones and super rare rocks disappearing, and old timey art appearing.
None of her peers have any interest in them. She has no interest in it too, but she dives deep into the section, relishing the quietness. The way each step she makes, small as it may be, produces an echo. It's almost like the building is acknowledging her, greeting her.
Then, Deena finds her. Sam.
alone together
She sits on a bench, on the corner of the too-big space.
Their eyes meet, and all Deena can think of is how pretty Sam has gotten. She smiles, which Sam returns shyly.
Deena steps further into the painting-covered room, the high walls and marble floor making it look castle-like.
in the gallery
Sam's looking up at these paintings, so Deena does the same thing, even though she's too dumb to get any of this sophisticated stuff. They're on the opposite corners of the room, with no one to bug them.
Should Deena say something? It's the obvious choice, right? Otherwise, they'll be tortured with this awkward silence.
Only, the silence isn't awkward. Strange, sure, but not awkward. Something about Sam makes it not awkward.
Deena doesn't know what to make of it.
Sam. The girl Deena tried to help. The girl who ended up helping Deena instead.
They may not interact at all, but Deena watches her. In the hallways, as Sam tries to go to her next class. In the classroom, as Sam tries to understand what the teacher is saying. In the cafeteria, as Sam tries to blend in with the other kids.
Try, try, try. That's all she seems to do.
Again: Deena doesn't know what to make of it. What to make of her. So she sits down on her own bench, and watches.
Even now, Sam tries. Tries to understand the paintings and what they mean. Her brows pulled together so tight she'll have wrinkles. Tilting her chin this way and that, as if a different angle will give her a different meaning. Jaw taught, spine straight. Brushing her hair when it gets in her way.
Looking at her exhausts Deena, so she slings her backpack over to her, and pulls out a bag of cheetos.
The ripping sound as she opens the package might as well be a gunshot with how loud it is. If the building was greeting her before, now it's yelling at her.
Sam stares at her, eyes wide, lips parted open.
Deena arches an eyebrow in her direction, and holds up the cheeto bag. "Want some?"
"Is it allowed?"
Of course that's the first thing she asks. "Nope," Deena says, grinning at the way Sam blinks. She wiggles the cheeto bag, too-loud in the too-empty place. "So?"
"Um, no thanks," says Sam, biting the inside of her cheek and shuffling in her seat. After a beat, she adds, "Thanks, though."
and she's just out of reach
And so they sit, with each other as company, Sam trying and Deena watching her trying while devouring her delicious cheetos. Sam's eyes are so intense Deena's chewing slows. She fears that if she eats too loud, she'll break Sam's concentration.
Eating the last of her cheeto, and dumping her cheeto bag into her actual bag, Deena clears her throat. "So. Maths."
It's hard to tell the expression on Sam's face from this far. "What?"
Deena pops her fingers into her mouth, licking away the orange remnants of her cheetos. "Maths. Good at them?"
"Uh, I guess?"
"Great! Because I suck at them!" Silence. "This is me attempting to ask you to teach me, by the way."
"Oh!" Sam shifts to face Deena better, and she smiles with her teeth. "Why didn't you say so? I'd love to help!"
And so Sam does help—not that she's the best at maths, either. They meet up after school in Deena's room, which, like Deena herself, is cozy and full of personality.
alone together
To her surprise, Deena pays attention. Sure, she may not always get x right, but she puts in the effort. That's more than she can say with her other friends, on the rare chance they do have study sessions.
More than that, Deena brings a fun air to something as tedious as algebra. "It's sort of like a game," she tells Sam, lying on her back. Her book lying on her stomach.
Sam, sitting cross-legged opposite her, cocks her head to the side. "This is nothing like a game. Games are fun."
"Yeah, well—" Deena grabs her upside-down textbook and extends it in Sam's direction "—this can be fun too. If you do it right."
Sam scrunches up her nose. "I am doing it right."
Deena rolls her eyes, and lies on her stomach, her elbows propping her up. "Come on, Sam. Have some fun once in a while, will ya?" She pushes herself up, and shoves her book in Sam's face. "The numbers are beckoning youuuu," she says in a spooky voice. "They want you to have more fuuuuun."
Sam giggles, giving Deena a half-hearted shove. "S-stop it—"
"They will not take no for an answer, Samantha."
"Deena—"
"Do you or do you not accept their comma— ack!" Deena loses her balance and falls onto Sam's chest, the force sending Sam onto the carpeted floor. "Shit!" Deena says, pushing herself up, staring down at Sam's face. "Sorry about that, Sam."
and just for a moment
Every sound but Sam's heartbeat is muted, leaving her to hear the too-intense badump-badump from her chest. One of Deena's curls brush against the tip of Sam's nose, and neither of them moves it away.
Something shifts in the air. This room isn't a room anymore; it's a fort, protecting them from real life.
And all Sam can focus on are her inviting lips.
Deena's throat bobs. She lowers herself closer into Sam's face, stopping for a moment to ask, "Tell me to pull away, and I will."
Sam's breath hitches at the thought. Deena watches her, erasing more distance between them. Their lips brush, for one hour-like second.
feels like I'll never be alone again
Sam pushes herself up, trying to deepen the kiss.
i'll never be alone again
She hums at the little squeak from Deena, and tangles her fingers in those beautiful curls. Deena kisses back, her lips working slow against Sam's desperation, steady against her greed.
Deena pushes herself up, away from Sam, panting. Eyes wide. A blush peppering her cheeks. One that highlights her faded freckles. Curls swaying side-to-side.
And then Sam comes to her senses. She scoots back, and Deena gives her space. "Hey, are you—"
Sam's already out of Deena's room before she can finish her sentence.
Deena can't stop replaying that day. The kiss itself, and the expression etched into Sam's face afterwards. It was like a horror movie. One moment, the guy and the girl are making out. Next, the girl is screaming bloody murder because the guy is murdered. Bloodily.
But this has nothing to do with bloody murders.
Deena isn't sure what this is about. What she is sure about is how much she misses Sam. It's even harder when they share the same class, and she watches as Sam tries to pretend Deena doesn't exist.
It hurts. Probably more than she should.
Alright, fine. A lot more than she should.
And time, as always, moves forward, until kids don't call themselves teenagers. Until they actually are teenagers.
whenever she's close
Today, she has the displeasure of sitting behind Sam. Watching as Sam gnaws the nub of her pen. Readjusts her ponytail, searching for a balance between not-getting-in-the-way and making-it-comfortable. Turning her page back and forth, her nose scrunching up as she focuses on the teacher's words.
It's agony.
The bell rings, and her peers switch from Good Student mode to Who Cares mode. Everyone except Sam, who sits even as everyone else bustles out of the class, reviewing her notes.
Deena knows the moment Sam realises who else is in the room with her, because her shoulders stiffen and her hand stops turning the pages.
wherever she goes
There's one moment, one sliver of a moment, where Deena believes Sam would turn around, face her, and apologise, or at least give her the explanation she deserves.
Instead, Sam gets up and walks out the door, leaving Deena by herself.
i wanna be near
Deena slumps back in her seat. Spreading her legs wide. Pressing her hands to her face and rubbing her eyes. Hating how her heart won't stop hoping.
More days pass. Everything changes. They're at that age when they can lie and say they're adults. Where their fake IDs don't look fake at all.
Periods. Pimples. Waxing. Deena has to get used to her changes. The way boys—and even teachers—look at her sometimes. The way she'd get a warm pulse below her stomach when she thinks of extremely pretty girls. The way she can't tell anyone about it because girls liking girls is the same as girls liking murder.
Everything changes. Everything but Deena's stupid feelings. Because, like everything, Sam changes. She's taller, her features more defined, her hair silk-like long.
Deena doesn't know what to make of it. What to make of her.
(She never did.)
She doesn't get it—why Sam would kiss her and like it then run out of the room like she's been burned. In the back of her mind, the answer reaches out to her with a gentle knock, but she never opens the door. Never lets herself consider the possibility.
And then she catches Sam's friends talking about a guy they think wants to be a woman, their faces pulled into a sneer and their words a hurried whisper.
Everything clicks.
When Sam finds Deena climbing her way into her bedroom window in the middle of the night, she should be many things; surprised, horrified, scandalised. Instead, she has to put her hands to her mouth to keep anyone from seeing the stupid smile that blooms in her face.
She rushes to help Deena navigate her body, but Deena ends up falling onto her floor with an "oomph!" anyway. Sam extends her hands towards Deena, but Deena shrugs them off, standing up with such speed that she sways.
"How can you stand to be around them?" she asks, jaw squared. "Those—those assholes you call friends."
Sam swallows. "Deena—"
"I've always known they were jerks, but I didn't know they hated people like us." Sam flinches at the word us, looking away. Deena notices. "Why do you still hang out with them, huh?"
Why? Because she's been with them her entire lives, and she knows what they'll do if she separates herself from them. Thinking about it makes her suffocate, so Sam forces herself to clear her throat and meet Deena's eyes. "It's late. You should go home."
Deena's eyes widen before narrowing with newfound conviction. She marches towards Sam, stopping a hair breath away. Close enough for her to crash her lips against Sam. But all she does is tower over Sam (despite them having the same height.) Nose scrunched, veins popping on her scalp. The dim murky yellow of Sam's nightlight serving to accentuate her sharp features.
Sam should step back.
Sam does not step back.
Deena places a hand on Sam's cheek, sharp nails grazing against soft skin. Sam shudders. "Deena—"
"You can pull away, if you want to," Deena murmurs. "But you won't, will you?"
Sam waits for Deena to kiss her, but she never does. So Sam—like before—takes the initiative. And her restraint unshackles. Her fingers roam around Deena's body, from her shoulders to her hips to her backs. She should be embarrassed, but she can't bring herself to care. Not with the noises Deena makes.
They pull away, pressing their foreheads together.
"Be my girlfriend," Deena says, and reality reintroduces itself to Sam.
"I—I can't." Sam wants to pull away, but instead she grips Deena's shirt. "What if people see?"
"Let them."
"Deena…" This time, Sam does pull away, but her grip on Deena's shirt stays. "I'm not like you."
"You're not," Deena says with a frown. "You're Sam."
Sam should end this, before this dissolves into something (better) worse. Tell Deena she is a lovely girl who deserves better.
But then she looks at Deena. And her knees grow weak and her voice turns fragile. "Would you be okay if… we do this in private?"
the deal was proposed
But of course, Deena will say no, because Deena is smart, and she will not waste herself on someone who can't even admit—
"Sure."
Sam's jaw loosens. "Sure?"
Deena's looking down, messing with her messy hair. "I mean, yeah, why not? If you're cool with it."
"Are you sure?"
This can't be right. What Sam's asking her is not right. And yet Deena looks up. Wearing a smile Sam's never seen before—shy and crooked. And she shrugs. "I just said 'sure', didn't I?"
"Yeah," Sam says, breathless, "you did."
This time, it's Sam who steps forward and towers over Deena's form. Sam snakes a hand on the back of her neck, then kisses her, slower than before.
but i didn't know just how i'd feel
Sam doesn't smile at her in school anymore. She doesn't even look at her.
Deena should be angry, or sad, but she isn't. Because as cruel as Sam can be when they're with others, she becomes a different person when it's only them. A person so beautiful she's worth worshipping.
It starts off as kisses as soft as the flap of a butterfly's wings. Then it turns into something that makes her shiver and sweat. Fingers grab hair, legs tangle into one another, and—
alone together
—it's enough.
It has to be. Even if Sam refuses to talk to her in-between moans and pants. Even if Sam always leaves too quickly. Even if Sam continues to be friends with those homophobes and never calls them out.
It's enough.
(Oh, who is she kidding?)
She settles into this new normalcy. Burrows into it like a well-worn blanket. Makes herself at home, even if her heart cracks and cracks.
Sam is eager to push things further. Into something more serious than kisses. Something that neither of them can take back.
Deena never lets herself go that far. She doesn't know why. She pulls away whenever things get heated, and Sam complies, annoyance in her hungry eyes. Blowing a strand of hair from her sweaty face. Her hand refusing to part from Deena's thigh. Nails digging through her jeans in a fine balance between pain and pleasure.
But Deena is only human. She thought before that she could never want Sam more than she already did, but the more they do it, the more her heart molds itself until it beats for Sam and Sam only. Until Deena is willing to drop anything to get a taste of Sam, as small as it may be. Because how can she not do so? To call Sam beautiful would be to call the galaxy big. The galaxy is more than big; it's infinite. And Sam is more than beautiful; she's…
She's Sam .
(It's not right.)
(None of this is right.)
Deena always stops herself before things get too far. Then one day—
something is different than it was before
—too far becomes not far enough.
Everything slows down. Down to a level higher than lust. Sam's pants grow heavier as Deena kisses her everywhere—her lips, her neck, her collarbone. Groaning, Sam pushes Deena, kissing her with more vigority. And Deena takes it, and lets her back hit the wall. The impact echoing against the walls of the empty classroom.
it was so innocent
More kisses. Rougher yet slower than before. Sam yanks Deena's shirt off of her in a way that makes Deena gasp, then does the same with her own shirt. Their bras follow soon after with a faint rustle.
With no more barriers, Sam's hands wander through Deena's shoulder, down to her spine, enjoying the shivers each touch causes. One hand pulls Deena closer to her by the waist, and the other toys with Deena's breast.
Deena's breaths break into a sigh, melting into Sam's shoulder, but Sam pushes her to give herself better access to Deena's body, ignoring Deena's small whine.
Then, she lets out a growl, and as she peppers kisses throughout Deena's neck, she sinks her teeth in, and applies pressure.
Deena's knees buckle, and Sam muffles her moan with another biting kiss to her mouth, pining Deena's wrists above her.
More kisses. Hasty and feverishly warm.
Sam tries to muffle her own noises, and Deena watches her do it, her heavy-lidded eyes sparkling in the dim classroom.
now that it's intimate
Deena's hip brushes against Sam's core, and Sam lets out a whimper. Their eyes lock.
Deena swallows. Sam nods, grabs Deena's hand, then pushes it lower to where she needs to be taken care of.
Deena's throat goes dry, and she swallows again. Not that it helps.
She attacks Sam with a kiss so strong Sam's grip on her wrists loosen, then reverses their position. The wall thuds again as Sam leans against it, too dizzy with need to do anything about it.
Deena's dizzy with need too. But a different kind of need. And yet her hands refuse to travel lower, and Sam has to guide them again. Deena looks up to her, and watches as Sam tries to nod her consent through the heat.
i want more
The zipper unzips. The button unbuttons.
The jeans fall down, the panties following.
Deena freezes, her heart beating too fast and her blood roaring too loud in her ears.
Then, Sam grips her hair, and, with a gentleness Deena doesn't know she possesses, tugs her closer to Sam's entrance.
It's a better encouragement than any words or nods.
Deena's thumb strokes Sam's entrance, and her mouth peppers soft kisses on her inner thigh. Sam squirms, her pants growing hot, so hot she's surprised she's not breathing fire. She should be embarrassed to be coming undone so fast, but she's not. She's not sure she can be. Not with Deena's constant change between finger-stroking to tongue-licking.
Sam's grip on Deena's curl tightens. She needs this. She really, really needs this.
Deena needs this too.
in the perfect version of us
Deena's work is soft and hesitant, but the more Sam unravels, the less she holds back. She strokes, and she presses, and she brings herself closer. Because this is Sam. This is Sam.
And for a moment, Deena forgets to watch, and Sam forgets to try.
Deena braces Sam to keep her from falling with one hand, knowing Sam will need it. Then, her fingers slip into Sam's wet entrance, slow as to not startle her.
Sam's breath stops with anticipation.
Deena's finger pushes, then pulls. Pushes, then pulls.
i'd be the artist
Sam's hips ride along with the movement, her nails digging into Deena's shoulder—her only anchor. Noises come out of her mouth. Noises she's not sure she's ever made before. And Deena makes her make more of these noises. Deena makes her do whatever she pleases.
and i'd be the brush
Sam can't do anything about it.
She's not sure she wants to.
we could escape
Pushes, then pulls. Pushes, then pulls.
Faster.
into the painting
Deena inserts another finger, and a choking sound tears out of Sam's throat, her elbow brushing against the curtain of the classroom.
colored in green
No more pushes or pulls; only pumps. The setting sun's light hits her, adding to the warmth.
gilded in gold
Faster, faster.
Sam writhes, unaware of whatever words are coming out of her mouth—if those are words at all. Deena's unaware as well. Her attention is too focused on Sam, and the way each little touch makes all the more difference.
The pressure builds. Higher, hotter. Better, worse.
Faster, faster, faster—
when we're alone together
—then stopping, as goosebump-like sensation travels across Sam's entire being. It's an explosion, it's the ripple of electricity, it's the universe coiling in around her like a snake. Her eyes roll back, and she sighs, slumping forward.
Deena slows her pumping, riding out Sam's aftershocks and keeping Sam standing.
Slower, slower.
Then, stop.
The heated room is full of sweats, pants, and the occasional shuffle.
Deena watches as Sam tries to regain her bearings, wiping her slicked mouth with the back of her hand. Sam pushes her hair back, as the little jolts in her body fade away.
She looks down. Locks gaze with Deena. Who looks so perfect down there, staring up at Sam.
Something clicks.
Then, Sam is pulling Deena up with her shoulders, and crashing their lips together, and deepening their kiss at Deena's moan.
i lose control whenever
She pours all of her strength into Deena. Pushing and pushing until Deena's perched on the teacher's desk. And Sam is looming over her. Raking her nails across Deena's spine. Toying with her nipples. Doing anything in her power to break Deena apart.
And Deena takes it.
our feelings unfold
Touches, again. Kisses, again.
Moans, again.
Neither of them talks. They know each other too well for that.
It's Sam's turn to be down on her knees, and Deena's turn to take instead of give.
stories we told
Sam can't help herself. After pulling down Deena's pants and underwear, Sam brings her nose in to inhale the smell. It's so Deena, and Sam is addicted to it.
when we're alone together
Sam isn't like Deena. She's too impatient to take her time. She brings one finger in and pumps. Fast. Her other hand navigates Deena's legs until they rest on her shoulder for better access.
when we're alone together
Deena isn't like Sam. She's close to the brink already. And she grips the edge of the table so hard she must've broken her nails. Wiring her jaw shut to keep herself from making any more noises.
It's Deena's turn to try, and it's Sam's turn to watch.
Hotter, faster. Closer, closer.
Then, Sam inserts one more finger, and curls them at just the right angle, and—
i wish you were mine
—Deena unravels with a cry, throwing her head up and screwing her eyes shut.
Slower. Cooler. But still there. Not yet gone.
Not yet done.
Sam pulls away, then stands, grabbing her haphazardly-thrown clothes on the floor. (Well, most of them. Her bra is dangling off the armrest of a chair.)
Deena leaps down from the desk, but keeps her hands on it. She's not sure she can trust her knees not to buckle.
"Sam," Deena says. Sam tilts her head, clad in her bra and jeans, cheeks flushed. "Come here."
Sam obliges, and Deena pulls her into a kiss.
Things are different now.
It's in the way they melt into each other. The way Sam sighs and grabs the back of Deena's neck to deepen it. The softness in her eyes when they pull away.
Things are different now. Better. Because of what they've shared.
It's obvious, isn't it? They're meant to be. Whatever this is between them is too special to be a secret. No more hiding. No more fear. Sam must know it too. She feels it. Deena knows she does.
But then Sam says, "We should go."
Sam tries not to look at Deena, and Deena watches, realisation settling in. Because Sam's words mean, "I don't want anyone to catch us like this." They mean, "I still want to keep this a secret."
When Sam does glance at Deena, Deena can't find any softness anymore. Only the trembling of her bottom lip, the hunching of her shoulders. All of which means, "I feel it too, but I'm willing to toss it aside."
(Sam is used to bullies. She's just not used to being one.)
Deena squares her jaw. Looks away. Hopes her shattered heart isn't obvious to the naked eye. "Right."
A/N
Alternative title for this story: Local Virgin Writes Porn.
But, err, yeah. So, that's that.
The style I'm going for with their... erm... their sex scene is to show that Deena cares about Sam way more than Sam cares about Deena, and that their relationship is unhealthy. Deena worships Sam, but Sam conquers Deena.
... Then again, who knows? Maybe this is just plain ol' smut and I'm reading far too much into it.