Demi Lovato Imagines /One Shots

Wasted On Each Other

Thursday went by lazily, the sun beginning to set. The intense heat of the day begins to break, dissipating as the afternoon turns into evening, welcoming the crickets out to sing.

The air is crisp and you relish the feeling of the breeze, goosebumps forming along your exposed arms. You weren't sure how many days it had been since you packed up and left but you knew you'd traveled more than a couple hundred miles by now.

Everything was different out here – easy and quiet, unlike the bustling city that often felt stifling as if it were forcing you into a mold you never quite fit. There's no other tourists, no traffic, not even a commercial restaurant in sight – just her and you.

"Tired?" her voice calls out as you stretch your arms up to the reddening sky, a yawn falling from your lips. Demi appears at your side her hair pulled up into a makeshift bun, a few frizzed pieces refusing to lie flat. You open your mouth to say something but you can only laugh as she starts to yawn now.

"A little," you sigh, releasing the tension in your neck as Demi drapes an arm over your shoulders.

"But I could go for a drink." You raise an eyebrow, nodding in the direction of the small, obviously run down dive bar sitting at the end of the road.

A few motorcycles and faded pick-up trucks line the outside; the faint, familiar sound of classic rock music riding the breeze across the street to you.

"Come on!" You duck out from under her arm and take her hand, pulling her across the silent highway.

Demi pulls her denim jacket closer to her as you push open the swinging doors, the music reverberating off the walls and seemingly through your chest. It's thrilling, unlike any bar you've been in back home.

The place is scuzzy and old with wallpaper peeling from the walls, filled with men in bandanas and leather vests joking and playing pool, red vinyl seats fading from years of use and damage – but no one cares.

"You ladies lost?" a gruff voice asks from behind the bar.

Demi squeezes your hand and saddles up to the splintered dark wood bar, her smile playful and wild. She was the reason you skipped home.

You were sick and tired of hiding her away, never allowed to hold her hand or kiss her wildly in the streets, so you packed a few things and you both left. It was worth it. The feeling of her thumb running softly over your knuckles as you sit at the bar is like heaven – a public affection you'd only ever imagined.

"Two tequila shots," Demi says. You place a hand on her shoulder, your lips inches from her ear.

"I said a drink Demi," you laugh.

The bartender flips over two shot glasses and sloppily pours the clear, pungent liquid. Demi hands one to you and holds hers up for a cheers, her expression smug as she watches your face turn up at the smell.

"We're finally alone, let's have some fun," her voice is soft.

She taps her fingers on the bar top, impatiently waiting for you to give in to her whims. You roll your eyes playfully and raise your glass, tapping it against hers before taking the shot. The cool liquid burns the back of your throat and chest, but for some reason you don't mind – the feeling is almost cathartic.

"Babe, I love this song!" you exclaim suddenly, pulling Demi from her seat to the empty dance floor.

The bar may be crowded, but the clientele weren't exactly dancers; not that you qualified as one either. You're moving your body to the beat of the song you can't remember the name of. Demi stands on the edge of the dance floor, her eyes intent on you, her bottom lip held tightly between her teeth.

You run your hands up and down the length of your torso, lip-syncing to the song in a way that would have made your sober-self cringe but the tequila pushes the thought aside.

You beckon Demi closer but she just raises an eyebrow at you, her cheeks red with what you assume is embarrassment. She's a vision.

The way her black jeans hug her thighs and the sight of her skin peeking out from underneath her scrunched black tank top is enough to send you over the edge. Your eyes close as the song hits the bridge, fully immersed in the melody and your thoughts of her.

"Another?" Demi's familiar voice is suddenly at your ear, her lips skimming the nape of your neck.

You open your eyes to find her arms wrapped around you, your back pressed to her front, swaying to the beat. Another drink is in her hand and you happily oblige, taking it from her.

One drink after another is how the night progresses, the two of you giggling drunk messes within the hour. It's a refreshing feeling, being able to be free – living without worrying who might see and who might say something.

You're standing across from Demi now, a pool table between the two of you. She's shed her denim jacket, strong arms on display as she holds the pool cue behind her neck, resting her hip against the table.

"You first," she teases.

You take a deep breath and set down your  drink of the night. You pick up a cue and lean across the table, giving Demi a quick glance before lining up a shot, quickly knocking two balls into the left corner pocket.

Demi's eyes widen at the sight of you bent across the table, partly surprised at your secret skill the other simply in awe of your being.

"You next," you laugh.

"How are you so good at this?" she asks, setting her cue on the table.

You take advantage of the moment, wanting nothing more than to be close to her.

"Lemme show you," you slur, sliding around the table.

"Pick up the cue." Demi does as she's told and tries to act coy as you lean in behind her, softly running your fingertips down her bare arm while your other hand rests innocently on her hip.

Goosebumps form on her skin in your wake and you smile, pressing a soft kiss just under her ear. She melts under your touch, giving you complete control.

"Line it up," you whisper, gently guiding her arm back. "And let go."

The sound of ivory billiards cracking against one another fills the quiet, intimate moment. Demi's face lights up as the ball sinks into the pocket, a lithe smile flickering across her lips.

"See? Easy." You tease.

Demi twists around so she's facing you now, her lips mere inches from your own. You wrap your arms around her torso and pull her into you – her lips soft.

You've kissed her before, but out here it's different. She tastes of tequila which sends your senses into overdrive as she lets out a low moan, her fingers entangling in your hair. The kiss started innocent, a drunk expression of love, but was spiraling quickly.

"Get a room!" Someone shouts, tapping their silverware against a glass to divert your attention away from Demi.

She pulls away slowly, trailing smaller kisses along your chin and jawline. Her cheeks are flushed red and you knew yours were too, but you couldn't wipe the smile from your face.

"C'mon," Demi mumbles taking your wrist, leading you out of the bar.

The warm, orange sky was now dark, cold, filled with stars. Under the flickering light of the street lamps you can see Demi's fatigue; her eyes drooping, a string of yawns coming from between her lips.

"Tired?" you ask, taunting her with words she spoke mere hours before.

She laughs, nodding her head as you unlock the van – pulling the back doors open. Demi slips her shoes off and crawls into the pile of blankets you'd been calling a bed. She pats the open space next to her and you happily oblige, picking up her shoes and tossing them inside, crawling in to lay beside her.

"I love you," she sighs, tugging a blanket up and over your bodies. You roll onto your side and lay your head on her chest, the sound of her heartbeat echoing in your ears.

"I love you too," to whisper back. It's peaceful. Sure, you were both drunk and exhausted but more than that you were in love and free – two feelings you never thought you'd be able to experience. She's worth it. It was all worth it.