Ghost Shorts | Fem!Reader

MINI | YOU'RE ALONE AT A HOUSE PARTY

The dense crowd didn't shield you from his gaze. Rugged, blonde, that wide Anglo-Saxon-type chin. It strobed in and out as lights flashed.

He was drinking you in—the low cut trousers, the sparkling top, the obvious lack of bra, the loose hair and looser attitude.

Like a stop animation, he approached.

Something about time slowed, maybe it was the little tab which had dissolved on your tongue a half hour earlier.

You were already leaning against a wall, streamers tangled in your hair, glitter all over your skin.

Head rolled back, spine arching as he slammed a palm against the bricks beside your ear. Suddenly, he was your height and those dark eyes were piercing your soul, laying it bare.

Everything was alight.

All sounds and figures faded into the abyss as you stared at him until it felt like no one else was there.

You knew this man, you worked with this man.

He raised the glass bottle of cheap beer to his scarred lips—condensation dripping off it and onto you.

Your pupils couldn't get any larger, couldn't let anymore of him in.

What was he doing here? At a house party?

He stretched an index finger off the bottle, stroking down the bridge of your nose gently. Your skin felt like it glowed beneath his touch, teeth dragging your lower lip under them in response.

"Simon."

Alcohol stained the breath his reply was carried upon. He gaze softening, that hard exterior melted away with his inhibitions.

"God, you're fucking gorgeous."