My name is Y/N. I'm just your average girl. plain brown hair. blue, green eyes, with gold around the pupil. I put my pants on one leg at a time. Yeah I have a perfect body but I still think I'm ugly.
Today I woke up and I looked different. Felt different. I had this funny feeling in the pit of my stomach, like something in my life was going to change today. maybe it was daylight savings. or maybe I would meet my... soulmate. if that's even a real thing.
I woke up and had two pieces of toast with butter, the same breakfast I have everyday. that shit slaps. it's the only thing I know how to cook.
"Bussin,'" I say to myself as I lick the butter of my sexy fingers.
I grab my sparkly pink backpack that I've had since I was a little girl. I'm really sentimental and I have a soft spot for keeping old things.
"Bye Mom!" I yell from the kitchen. That's my dog's name.
My real mom's away on a business trip but she doesn't really like me. Anyway, I don't mind having the house all to myself. I would throw a party or something cool but I don't have any friends. Everyone's jealous of me for some reason I don't understand. It's weird.
I walk to the bus stop. Jk I have a car because my mom is rich and I'm not a loser.
I drive to school but I don't have my license yet so I accidentally crash into this ugly ass 2002 Ford Focus in front of me.
"Hey! Watch where you're going, fucker!" I yell and roll down my window to flip off the person I hit.
I watch the person get out of the car, slamming the door in a rage.
The person is tall, male- kind of sexy. Curly brown hair, stylish clothing, smoking a cigarette. He stalks over to me as I sulk in the front seat of my hot pink Tesla.
"You really should watch where your going next time. I would hate if anything happened to that pretty face of yours."
I roll my eyes and roll up my window. I get these kinds of comments all the time.
He runs his fingers through his hair as I drive away, not caring about the damage I've done to his car. I'll make up for it in another way.
He follows me in his damaged car as I drive away and pull onto the woodland path.
Once we're far enough away from other people, I get out of the car and sit on the trunk, chewing bubblegum sexily.
He pulls up behind me.
"So, who are you anyway?" I ask as he gets out of the car.
"You don't know who I am, Princess?"
I roll my eyes at his annoying cockiness. "Not a clue. You're full of yourself, aren't you?"
"I'm Timothée Chalamet, but you can call me your new boyfriend."
"I'm a feminist. I don't fly with that kind of talk."
He raises his hands guiltily, slowly walking over to me. "Sorry, Princess."
I stare him down as he continues to walk over me. I pull off my shirt, too turned on to wait.
He leaps over the few feet keeping us apart and I immediate wrap my legs around his hips, digging my hair into his silky, sexy curls. He smells like pine trees and the ocean breeze. Yum.
His mouth collided with mine as I pull him close, his lips opening immediately. I can feel his eyelashes against my cheek. He's already hard. Typical. But he's in my control now.
I bite at his bottom lip, licking at the pink skin with my tongue. He moans sexily, the sound like music to my ears. He lifts me up and carries me into the car, laying me down on the leather seat.
"I love you," he moans into my ear.
"Shut up and kiss me," I whisper.
I rip off his shirt with my muscles that I gained from going to the gym everyday. He's impressed.
His abs are so sexy and his body is so skinny. I could break him in half but I like the powerful feel I have when I'm with him.
"What's your name?" He pants as he leaves a trail of kisses against my neck, my skin hot where he touches me.
"It's Y/N"
"That's the most beautiful name I've ever heard."
All of a sudden, our passionate make out session is interrupted by the sound of my ex-boyfriend, Armie Hammer.
"You fucking slut, Y/N! I knew you were a whore from the moment I laid eyes on you!"
I gasp, and Timothée (my new boyfriend) gives me his shirt to cover up. It's too big for me, and it falls to my thighs, covering up my lacey cheetah print thong.
"Who's that?" Timothée looks panicked. I stare deeply into his eyes, telepathically telling him not to worry. Our connection has already become something more than just strangers, I know he's the one.
"Don't worry about him. I'll handle this," I say.
"Armie Hammer," I yell, getting out of the car wearing only Timothée's t-shirt. "How dare you call me a slut when you were the one who had sex with my dad in my own house."
I place my hands on my hips, staring him in the eyes.
Something in his expression changes, and he starts to whimper like a little dog.
"That's what I thought. Now go run home to your mommy."
Armie Hammer turns and runs away on all fours.
I crawl back into the car and start kissing Timothée Chalamet enthusiastically.
"What just happened?" He says.
"Don't worry about it, babe." I say and then continue to kiss him. He likes it and submits to me immediately. I already have him wrapped around my finger.
"Do you want to get married?" He asks.
"Okay let's go."
THE END.
