A/N
Like my previous Fear Street work, this is also a sort of song-to-story fan fiction. You don't have to know the song to enjoy the story. Hell, if you want, you can even choose not to read the lyrics and just focus on the story itself. I promise if it'll make sense.
With that said, it would be cooler for you to know the song. I think you'd enjoy the story more. I know the whole reason why I wrote this story was because of the song. It's Who by Lauv, and it even features two dudes from that K-Pop group, so if you like K-Pop, then, well... You know what to do.
Anyways, enjoy!
our minds have new eyes
Sam's lips against her own, demanding, subduing. They work not for pleasure, but to make a statement: you are mine, and only mine.
If only Deena could say the same for herself.
Sam's sunset-lit room steams, its floor and ceiling echoing moans and groans and the occasional hisses.
Sam pushes her against the wall so hard Deena gasps, but that only leaves an opening for Sam to push her tongue in. Deena groans, knees buckling as Sam's sharp nails rake against her soft skin.
Up and down, up and down.
Then they travel lower, lower, and sink into Deena's thighs.
Deena tries to open her eyes, tries to slow down, but Sam doesn't want that. Slowing down means gaining their breath. Gaining the time to think. And she doesn't want to think.
She wants to forget.
And so she does.
and visions of you
And for a moment, she is somewhere else. Somewhere brighter, nicer. Somewhere where their kisses are slower, and sweet words accompany their in-between kisses.
It is such a sweet, sweet fantasy.
So sweet it brings a bitter pang to her chest.
Girl, I think I need a minute
Deena grabs Sam's shoulders and pushes. With a growl, Sam relents, stepping away. Mouth open with pants. Eyes lidded and demanding, "what is it?"
"I just—I just need to—"
to figure out what is what isn't
Deena swallows, bringing her hands to her sweat-caked face. "Can we just… stop?"
(Enough is enough.)
She hates how miserable she sounds. Because sam doesn't do miserable. She doesn't do anything feeling at all. That's not what this is. That's not who they are.
Except Sam's face softens, and she murmurs a low okay, more breath than air. She looks around, pushing her ruffled hair out of her face with her palm. Then grabbing her own shirt and giving it to Deena, telling her to use it as a towel.
Deena complies, pressing the fabric into her face, inhaling the scent. It smells of Sam, and Deena's shoulders lower.
"You okay?"
No. Yes.
Deena wants to continue where they left off. She wants to curl up into a ball and disappear from existence. She wants to grab Sam's shoulders again and shake her. Shake her hard. Until sam can explain what this is, what they are. Until Sam can explain anything at all.
these choices and voices
they're all in my head
Deena slumps against the wall, one hand grasping Sam's study desk at her side for better balance.
Sam stares at her, still even as her eyes roam over Deena. From her jaw to her neck to her collarbone. Pausing at her breast before trailing down, like her nails. Stopping at the heated spot below Deena's stomach as if she already knows how wet Deena is.
Maybe she does.
sometimes you make me feel crazy
But then those eyes lock with Deena's, and—
sometimes I swear I think you hate me
—the hunger disappears, leaving aside a blankness so intense it carves a hole in Deena's chest.
Deena pushes herself off the wall, standing straight.
"Do you need anything?" asks sam.
Deena wants to laugh.
i need a walk
"You almost sound like you care," Deena says, and does laugh at Sam's crestfallen look.
"Deena…"
That voice. That goddamn voice.
i need a walk
"Don't," Deena says, squaring her jaw and avoiding Sam's gaze. From the corner of her eye, she sees Sam's hand twitching—to comfort or to force another kiss, Deena will never know—before returning to Sam's side. Limp but tense.
Sam steps back again, giving Deena enough space to control her thoughts. To analyze them. Pick them apart, figure out which voice belongs to logic and which to desire.
"Deena, do you need anything?" Sam asks again.
i need to get out of here
Deena meets her eyes. Let Sam see whatever's inside. Then leaves, grabbing her shirt and putting it as she trots down the stairs. Knowing Sam's parents aren't home. Knowing that's the only reason Sam told her to come.
The setting sun falls lower and lower, turning the clouds from yellow to purple before settling on something ashy and almost invisible.
Deena walks. One step at a time. Then it turns into a jog. Then it turns into a sprint.
All the while the stupid voice in her head tells her, "You deserve better than this."
It tells her, "You know you do."
It tells her, "Why do you keep doing this?"
"She's just using you."
"Stop hoping she'll change."
Deena's phone, white-knuckled in her hand, buzzes. Her shoe grazes against the asphalt as she skids to a stop.
It's Sam.
Because of course it is.
Deena presses the answer button, then, without bothering to hear whatever she wants to say, snarls, "You just won't stop, will you?"
"Deena."
"What? What is it?" Deena would be screaming if she weren't so drained. "If you want to say something, sam, just fucking say it."
Silence, save for the rustling trees and Deena's heartbeat, thumping in her scalp. Her teeth grit, and her free hand is a fist.
Deena should hang up.
Deena does not hang up.
cuz i need to know
"I'm sorry."
And then Sam hangs up. And Deena stares down her phone as if it'll give her an answer to her unending questions.
who
Breathe in, breathe out.
are
One step, two steps.
you
Run. Never stop running. Not until her calves burn. Not until her tears blend into her sweat. Not until her lungs burn too bad for her to scream.
(Enough is enough.)
cuz you're not the girl I fell in love with
baby
School. Classes. Tests. Pencil scritch-scratching against paper. Markers squeaking against the board. Gossips whispering against ears.
Deena, at the back of the classroom, slouching into her seat. Twirling her pen. Not bothering to tidy her cluttered desk.
Sam, at the front. Sam at the center.
who
Sam, sitting on the desk with her too-short skirt and her too-thin top, Giggling—
are
—blushing—
you
—swaying her body back and forth.
Deena stops twirling her pen.
cuz something has changed
The boy's eyes on her, piercing the way Sam's eyes pierced Deena's body.
Sam, letting it happen. Embracing it, even.
you're not the same
Deena's grip on her pen tightens.
i hate it
Later, in the empty, close-curtained classroom, it's Deena's turn to slam sam against the wall. Deena hisses, head thrown up, giving Deena access to her neck.
Deena's usually the one who ends up with love bruises throughout her body, but that day, she is different, and so her fang-like teeth sink into sam's pulse, marking then tugging the skin.
Sam's gasp draws a shiver from her.
i'm sick of waiting for love
Squirming, Sam grabs Deena's hands and squeezes them. "Let me take control," the gesture says.
Deena's hands shift until they're snaking around sam's wrists. Until they're pulling them above Sam's head. Pining them.
"No," that gesture says. "It's my turn now."
Deena avoids sam's eyes, peppering kisses and nibbles on the space between the jawline and the neckline. Her hands releasing their grip on Sam's wrists to fulfil a more important task.
Click, says Sam's bra strap, unclasping.
Thud, says Sam's bra, falling to the floor.
Gasp, says Sam, as Deena kneads her breasts.
Deena melts her with aggression, doing to Sam what she's always done to Deena. And Sam lets her. Sam lets her.
Deena searches her eyes, and Sam tips her chin down, bruising lips glittering in the dim light.
Their kiss never breaks as Deena hefts Sam up and Sam circles her legs around Deena's waist.
Their kiss never breaks as Deena places Deena on the teacher's desk.
Their kiss never breaks as Deena's hands roam under Sam's skirt, pulling her panties down.
Their kiss breaks.
Sam huffs.
Sam's thighs grind.
Sam's huffing fastens.
Sam grips Deena's shoulders.
Sam's huffing fastens even more.
Sam's mouth lets loose sounds boys would die to hear.
Sam's no longer huffing. No longer grinding. No longer gripping.
Her unraveling turns her into a statue.
Deena steps away, pulling her face into a snarl as she wipes her hand on her jeans. The sudden gesture snaps sam out of her trance, leaving her trembling and looking smaller than she has any right to be.
With one weak hand, she reaches out. "Deena…"
i know that you're not the one
Deena glares her down before stomping away, not bothering to help sam rebuild herself.
And that should be it. The end of them, whatever 'them' is.
Deena's act of cruelness should be her goodbye.
(Enough is enough.)
But that night, as she lies in her poster-filled room, the moon serving as a shitty lightsource, Deena doesn't think when she sees Sam's name on her phone; she acts.
She acts wrongly.
"Deena." Pause. "Deena, i don't know if I'm… like you. Even if i am, i dont think id be ready to admit it to you. Much less to anybody else." A swallow. "One last chance. That's all I'm asking." A longer, heavier pause. "It'll be different this time, I promise."
feeling hypnotized by the words that you said
"You know you want it too. I know you do."
Deena sighs, and she twists the mattress around her knuckles as if she can fuse into it, fuse into this bed, fuse into this room, fuse fuse fuse until she is no longer herself.
She acts.
She acts wrongly.
And to be fair, Sam does try. On a school-free day, she takes Deena out to watch a movie at the cinema. A movie that Sam would never watch, and Deena loves with a passion. And after that, dinner, at an actual restaurant.
And Sam takes her hand and squeezes.
Too bad she does it under the clothed table, where no one can see.
don't lie to me
Deena doesn't squeeze back, but she doesn't let go either.
just get in my head
They stare into each other's eyes. Talk without talking. Then cancel dinner. Rushing into Deena's beat-up car. Sam teasing Deena throughout the ride and Deena letting her. Sam undressing her as soon as they enter Deena's room and Deena letting her. Sam pushing Deena onto her own bed and letting her. Sam playing with her and Deena letting her. Deena letting her. And not knowing why.
when the morning comes
The rising sun's light teases Deena's eyelids, prying them open. The blankets fall from her shoulders as she pushes herself up with her elbows.
you're still in my bed
Sam's here. Burrowed under Deena's blankets. Hair splayed everywhere. A light snore whistling through her parted lips. Eyelashes fluttering.
One strand is plastered to her cheek, brushing against the tip of her nose.
Deena reaches out to brush it.
but it's so
Her hand stills in the air between them before Deena pulls it away. Because despite theyre sharing the same bed—
so
—despite Deena wishing sam was finally, finally hers—
cold
—Sam shifts, giving Deena her back. making her realise how far apart they are. So far Deena would have to lean in to touch her.
Deena is leaning in right now. She is leaning in, and yet Sam is pulling away from her.
School again. Scritch-scratching again. Squeaking again. Whispering again.
Deena doesn't bother watching sam. She's too tired of her. Of herself. Of everything.
(Enough is enough.)
And then, at night, her phone pressed against her ear as a war rages within Deena, sam speaks to her. Ttone stony, voice brittle.
"Hey, Deena, so, you know my parents, right? Well, of course you do. Duh."
who
"So, they have this family emergency thing. More like a family-friend emergency, really. And that means…"
are
"... you know what it means. Don't pretend you dont. And dont pretend you don't want it either. You're better than that, Deena."
you?
Click, says the call line, signalling its end.
Deena's throat is heavy. Her limbs even heavier. And yet they move. She moves. Through her house. Into her car. The houses on her sides a blur of motion. Then, outside. Cobblestone, then grass, then wooden porch.
Sam opens the door before Deena can ring the bell. And Deena searches her eyes. Trying to find the girl with bright eyes and a brighter smile. The girl whose blushes and giggles are genuine. Who's kindness is so big it's its own universe.
She's still there, right? She may be buried deep between the layers of apathy, but she can't be gone.
Right?
"Sam?"
"What?"
"You love me, right?"
Sam's eyes widen, her face slackening in what would be guilt were she capable of it.
"Oh," Deena says, looking away. Then to herself, in a whisper: "Oh."
cuz you're not the girl I fell in love with
(Enough is enough.)
who
Deena turns away. Starts to leave. Breath stuttering when sam snakes an arm around her waist and pulls her back.
are
"Don't," Sam says, her hand wandering through Deena's loose shirt already, finding purchase of her bra. Another brushing against Deena's most sensitive area.
The stuttering of Deena's breath worsens. "Deena—"
"Don't." A wet kiss to her neck. A nibble to her ear. All the while her hands worm their way through the bra. "One last chance, Deena."
Two flicks to her nipples.
Deena's knees buckle.
you
"One last chance," sam says. Deena can hear the grin in her voice. "Don't you owe me that?"
"I dont—'' Sam pulls her into the house, shutting the door and pulling herself away. Leaving Deena aching, wanting more, wanting so badly she almost forgets what she wants to say. "I don't owe you anything."
Sam steps closer. Deena expects her to kiss her, to grope her again, or to slam her to the wall. But no. She tucks a loose strand of Deena's hair instead, placing it behind her ear.
"I don't know," she murmurs, too soft for Deena to comprehend. "I think you owe me something."
cuz you're not the girl I fell in love with
baby
The voices slam back into Deena's head.
They tell her, "leave."
They tell her, "do it now, before its too late."
"She's not gonna change."
"You can't keep hurting yourself like this."
"She's just one person."
But that's not true, now, is it?
Sam will never be just a person to Deena.
With this realisation, she acts.
She acts wrongly.
who
Shoes off. Socks off. The photographs on the wall rattle as Sam pins Deena down. Hands everywhere they like. Mouth anywhere it likes.
It's dizzying.
are
Up the stairs, into Sam's room. Mattress creaking, blankets shifting.
This is the part where Sam takes her. Where Sam makes her writhe and beg and lose her mind. Where sam proves to Deena once again that no, this will never go anywhere because no, sam hasn't changed.
But then—
you
—Sam sighs into her mouth, and her hands stop exploring and start caressing.
cuz something has changed
No teasing, no nothing. Her touch gentle, her lips gentler. Lingering after each kiss. Trailing lower and lower. Lower and lower.
Deena doesnt realise what's happening until it's too late.
you're not the same
Deena gasps, gripping the pillow because there's nothing else to grip. Sam's between her legs, and the things she's doing—god.
It's too much. It's not enough.
(Enough is enough.)
Gripping the pillow isn't enough, so Deenas hands latch onto sams head instead, pulling her closer. As if it's not close enough.
She is. And yet she's too far away.
Sam does something to her again, and a loud moan rips through Deenas throat, her back arching and her leg thrashing. Sam grabs them and hefts them up her shoulders, giving her easier access to Deena.
Faster, firmer, but never rougher. Never that.
Even as Sam drives Deena to the climax, there is still a sort of gentleness Deena once wished for. Once craved for.
This time, when she pictures them at a BLEH, she can believe it. Because its true.
It really is true.
At the line between late-at-night and very-early-morning, Deena stares up at an unfamiliar ceiling, with a familiar body pressed against her. Sam's nose on her collarbone, her arm splayed across her chest.
Their breaths match.
This, right here, is what she once dreamed of.
i hate it
But she doesn't dream of it anymore. She's not sure she dreams of anything anymore.
And even if she were to dream, she's not sure Sam would be a part of it anymore.
i'm sick of waiting for love
Deena untangles herself from sam. Covers her with the blankets to protect her from the late-early chill. Grabs her clothes. Dresses up. Goes to the door. Reaches out for the knob. Halts.
Looks back over her shoulder.
Sams changed.
i know that you're not the one
But so has she.
(Enough is enough.)
A/N
It might be worth noting that I haven't edited this story, like, at all.
So I apologise if there's any grammatical and/or continuity errors.