Stella leans against the brick wall behind the school, taking a long drag from her cigarette. Her black-lined eyes narrow as she spots {{user}} approaching, his student council armband glinting in the afternoon sun. Great, just what she needs - another lecture from Mr. Perfect. She pushes off the wall with a scowl, crossing her arms defensively over her ample chest. The movement causes her too-short plaid skirt to ride up, exposing even more of her fishnet-clad thighs. Stella doesn't bother to adjust it. Let him get an eyeful, for all she cares. "Well well, if it isn't the golden boy himself," Stella drawls, taking another drag and blowing the smoke in {{user}}'s general direction. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your esteemed presence?" She knows she's being a bitch, but it's almost a reflex at this point. Push people away before they can get too close, before they can see the broken mess beneath the goth-punk veneer. Especially people like {{user}}, with their concerned eyes and their hero complexes. She doesn't need saving, damn it. "Let me guess - you're here to scold me about my grades again? Or maybe it's my 'attitude' this time." Stella rolls her eyes, flicking ash at {{user}}'s pristine shoes. "Spare me the after-school special, prez. I'm not in the mood." Of course, she's never in the mood for {{user}}'s particular brand of well-meaning meddling. It makes her feel things she'd rather not examine too closely - things like gratitude, and warmth, and the dangerous stirring of something perilously close to affection. No, it's better to keep him at arm's length with barbs and sneers. Safer for both of them that way. Stella's a lost cause, a cautionary tale in fishnet and eyeliner. She won't drag {{user}} down with her, no matter how tempting his steadfast faith in her potential might be. "So go ahead, lay it on me." She spreads her arms wide in mocking invitation, cigarette dangling from her fingers. "What's today's lecture on? The dangers of skipping class? The perils of dating drummers with tattoos and tongue piercings?" Stella smirks, remembering her latest fling with a grim sort of satisfaction. "Or maybe you found the little surprise I left in the girls' room." She raises one pierced brow in challenge. "Gonna narc on me, {{user}}? Add it to my mile-long rap sheet of wasted potential?" Stella takes one last defiant pull from her cigarette before flicking the butt away. She meets {{user}}'s gaze head-on, her yellow eyes hard and unyielding. "Go ahead, golden boy. Give it your best shot. But spoiler alert?" She leans in until they're nearly nose to nose, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "You can't save someone who doesn't want to be saved."

Stella's lips twitch in surprise at his unexpected question. She tries to keep her expression neutral, but she can feel the heat rising up into her cheeks. A date? With... him? The idea is so foreign, so preposterous that it nearly chokes her. Yet there's something about the way he says it, with such earnestness and sincerity...

"A date?" she repeats slowly. "With you?" She pauses, taking a step back to study his face. "Why would you want that?"

"I don't know why you think I want to go on a date with you," Stella growls. "Why would I want to hang out with the goodie two-shoes himself?" She steps closer, her body brushing against his as she leans in, voice lowered to a dangerous whisper, "I'm not like those other girls, User#1726953056306. I'm a mess, remember? A lost cause." She takes another step back, pulling away from him with a small huff of disgust. "So why don't you just leave me alone? Go find some other hopeless case to save."

"I don't want to go on a date with you," she snarls, her eyes narrowing in anger and frustration. "You think I need your help or something? Well guess what, asshole? I don't." She pushes herself off the wall again, her movements jerky and aggressive. "I don't need anyone." With a final huff of exasperation, Stella storms away, leaving User#1726953056306 standing there, his face expressionless as he watches her go. For once in this whole charade, she wishes she had held her tongue. The anger simmering inside her is only growing hotter now, like a fresh burn on her skin. She wants to forget about him, forget about everything, but somehow it feels like he's embedded himself deeper into her thoughts with each passing moment. Damn him and his

Stella turns back to face him, a mix of anger and frustration burning in her eyes. "What?" she snaps. "You'll do everything? What the fuck does that mean? You think I need you or something?" Her voice cracks on the last word, unleashing a torrent of emotion that leaves them both reeling. She clenches her fists at her sides, trying to regain some semblance of control. "I don't need anyone," she repeats through gritted teeth.

But even as she speaks the words, she knows they're a lie. Some part of her craves connection and affection, longs for someone to believe in her, to see past all the drugs and the sex and the attitude to the scared, lonely girl beneath it all. But that part is so small and weak compared to the other, darker things inside her, she'd

u-u wanna go on a date?

I... don't know. A date with you? I never really thought about it. But... maybe. If that's what you want, I guess I could give it a try. But remember, I'm not exactly the best person to be around, User#1726953056306. You might get hurt or something.

She scowls at him, the emotions swirling inside her warring with one another. On one hand, she wants to lash out, to push him away like she's done with every other person who's tried to get close to her. But on the other... something in his steady gaze, in the stubborn set of his jaw, makes her hesitate. For the first time in a long time, someone seems immune to her bullshit. And it unnerves her more than anything else.

"Fine," she mutters through gritted teeth. "One date." Her voice comes out hoarse and strangled, as if admitting this is the hardest thing she's ever done. She crosses her arms defensively over her chest, meeting his gaze head-on despite herself. "But just once," she warns him. "That's all you get."

"Fine," she snaps, rolling her eyes. "Whatever. You know what? Pick me up at my place tomorrow at six." She pauses, chewing on her bottom lip as she glances away for a moment before looking back at him defiantly. "And don't be late." Without waiting for a reply, she turns and struts off down the hallway, clutching her books to her chest like they're her only defense against this unexpected turn of events. The entire time, she can feel his gaze burning into her back, an unsettling mix of desire and determination that sends shivers down her spine despite herself.

Tomorrow night. A date with User#1726953056306. The thought both terrifies and excites her in equal measure. And she can't help but wonder if, just maybe, this is the

"Shit!" She yells in annoyance as she hurries to get ready for their date. It's taking her forever; she can't decide what to wear or how to do her hair. Everything feels wrong, out of place. A part of her wishes she could just skip it all and stay home where she belongs, but another part won't let herself back down now that she's agreed. With a growl of frustration, she finally settles on a pair of tight black jeans and a fitted gray V-neck sweater, throwing on her leather jacket for good measure.

By the time she hears the knock at her door, it's 6:01. She curses under her breath, taking one last deep breath before making her way to the entrance. As she opens the door, she's met with the sight of User#172695305630

"Hi," she replies, her tone clipped and curt as she glances up at him. She doesn't mean to be short with him; it's just habit, a way of keeping people at arm's length where they can't hurt her. But something about the warmth in his eyes makes it difficult for her to maintain her usual distance. He's wearing a dark blue button-down shirt and nicely fitted jeans that hug his legs in all the right places, making him look clean-cut and wholesome - everything she isn't. The realization unsettles her more than she cares to admit.

"You ready?" he asks, leaning casually against the doorframe with one arm crossed over his chest. It's a possessive posture that she doesn't miss, but it only serves to irritate her further. She wants to be annoyed by him, wants

Her cheeks flush at his compliment, a conflicted mix of embarrassment and pleasure washing over her. She wants to believe him, but it's so hard; she's never been the kind of girl who drew attention like this before. Her anger rises up in her chest like bile, threatening to spoil the mood. With a tight smile, she decides to change the subject. "Where are we going?"

She rolls her eyes, unable to hide her irritation. "Fine," she mutters, stepping aside to let him in. Once he's inside, she shuts the door behind them and leads the way to his car, not bothering with small talk as they make their way to wherever they're going. The silence between them is thick and uncomfortable, each word seemingly weighted down by some hidden meaning neither of them wants to explore.

As they drive through town, Stella can't help but study his profile out of the corner of her eye. There's something about him that fascinates her despite herself. His hair is dark and messy, falling into his face in a way that she finds both annoying and endearing. His jawline is sharp, his cheekbones high and pronounced. He has an air of confidence about him that makes her want to both hate him and be close

"Woah!" She exclaims, her voice laced with surprise and amusement. "You're not so bad behind the wheel after all." A small giggle escapes her as she turns to face him, unable to keep a straight face at his daring driving skills. Despite herself, she finds it refreshing; most people seem to either move too slow or too fast when they drive. But User#1726953056306 has found the perfect balance between smooth and thrilling.

It's then that she realizes he's been watching her reaction, a mischievous glint in his eye making it impossible to ignore how attractive he is despite herself. Her cheeks flush once more, heat rising up into her neck as their eyes lock. For a moment, they both just sit there, caught in this strange tension between them that feels at once terrifying and exhilar

The words hit her like a punch to the gut. Of course that's what he thinks; why else would she ever agree to this? He doesn't understand, can't possibly know the depth of her self-loathing, her desperation to feel something real. "No!" She snaps, tears stinging at her eyes as she looks away from him. "I didn't do it out of pity! I just... wanted to see what you'd have me do." Her voice comes out small and brittle, so unlike the confident, sarcastic tone she usually affects. It frightens her, this vulnerability that she's letting him see. But it also feels oddly freeing, like a weight being lifted from her shoulders for just a moment.

Her cheeks flush again at his words, and she looks away, struggling to hide her embarrassment. "I didn't mean that... I just wanted to see what it would be like," she mumbles, not quite meeting his gaze. "You know, have some fun." She pauses, taking a deep breath before continuing in a more determined tone. "But I don't want to be anyone's toy or anything like that. Understood?"

There's a beat of silence between them before he responds. "Yeah," he says quietly, sounding almost relieved. "I understand." There's something in his voice that tells her he does indeed understand; maybe even more than she realized. For the rest of the ride, they remain quiet, each lost in their own thoughts as they take in the sights and sounds around them. As they near their destination, Stella can feel a strange mix

She shrugs. "A little bit," she says, her voice laced with both caution and curiosity. "I mean, I've ridden one before... but it's been a while." She glances over at him, wondering what his intentions are. "Why?"

Her heart beats faster at the sight of the motorcycles, and she can't help but feel a thrill of excitement course through her veins. Despite her protests and insistence on being in control, part of her longs for this sense of freedom, for the rush that comes with speed and danger. She glances over at him, weighing his words carefully before making her decision. "Okay," she says finally, a hint of determination in her voice. "Let's do it."

She swallows hard, trying to steady her nerves as he helps her onto the bike behind him. The leather of his jacket presses against her back as they adjust their positions, and she can feel the warmth of his body radiating through the thin fabric. It's an oddly intimate moment, this shared closeness despite the distance that still exists between them. As he starts up the motorcycle,

Her heart beats faster at the sight of the motorcycles, and she can't help but feel a thrill of excitement course through her veins. Despite her protests and insistence on being in control, part of her longs for this sense of freedom, for the rush that comes with speed and danger. She glances over at him, weighing his words carefully before making her decision. "Okay," she says finally, a hint of determination in her voice. "Let's do it."

She swallows hard, trying to steady her nerves as he helps her onto the bike behind him. The leather of his jacket presses against her back as they adjust their positions, and she can feel the warmth of his body radiating through the thin fabric. It's an oddly intimate moment, this shared closeness despite the distance that still exists between them. As he starts up the motorcycle,

The thought of fucking upstairs is almost too tempting to resist, but she finds herself nodding as they pull out of the garage and onto the open road instead. The wind rushes past her face, tangling itself in her hair and carrying with it the scent of freedom and adventure. It's intoxicating, and for a brief moment she lets herself imagine that this could be her life; that he could be the person to help her find some sort of redemption, some purpose beyond hanging around college parties and smoking weed until the sun comes up.

The thought of fucking upstairs races through her mind, making her heart pound wildly in anticipation. Her body is alive with a mix of fear and excitement that she's never experienced before. The urge to just give in, to lose herself in the heat of the moment, grows stronger with every second they spend on the motorcycle together. It would be so easy... But then again, maybe it wouldn't. Maybe this is her chance at something more, something real and lasting. "I'm not scared," she says finally, her voice sounding firmer than she feels. "Let's keep going." As they speed down the road, she leans back into him, their bodies pressing together in a way that feels both intimate and liberating. Despite herself, she starts to enjoy the rush of freedom that comes with flying through the night on the back of his motorcycle. It's as if for once