Supersonic| Zayn Malik |AU

// "Death is inevitable, it's a promise made to us at birth." // Arielle is a regular university student, until she meets Zayn. Zayn’s an illegal street racer, and he wants her, but he’s dangerous and that scares Arielle. What happens when one of Arielle’s friends falls for her? What happens when Zayn gets twisted up with the wrong people? It’s a story about lust, lies, and a love that develops at supersonic speeds, but suffers dire consequences. // in which he loves nothing more than cars and winning, until he meets her // ||| WARNING: This story has scenes of violence, drug use, mature content, sexual content, and foul language. ||| CAN BE FOUND ON WATTPAD WHERE IT'S UPDATED REGULARLY


3. Two

Chapter Two


“Here,” Zoe grabs my hand, pulling me out of the store we’d just spent ten minutes browsing through, only to leave empty handed. 

“Jesus,” I pant. “Where are you taking me now?” My voice coming out ten times more whiney than I ever intended it to be.

“Let’s go get coffee,” she stops in her tracks and beams at me. Her hands are filled with three shopping bags with assorted accessories and articles of clothing.

Zoe had insisted on this shopping day. I really didn’t know why, but every time a guy would walk by us on the street she would immediately bite her lip and turn in my direction. Then she’d do the last thing I had wanted her to do – she’d bring up that mystery cheesy pickup line guy from the night before. 

Internally I sing Obsessed by Mariah Carey. It causes me to smile a little externally and Zoe picks up on it.

She cocks her head at me for a moment, before her lips curl into a sly smile. “You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?” Zoe turns back around and continues walking.

I roll my eyes, knowing that she doesn’t have eyes in the back of her head. “For the last time, no. I don’t know even him, and . . . ugh . . . just no. He really didn’t turn me on . . . he was adorable in the way that I'd never date him.”

She waves her hand in the air, and I instantly know she’s not listening to a word I'm saying. “Sure, sure, whatever you say. What do you think his name is?” She rapidly twists around to look at me. How in the hell did she not just suffer from whiplash? Zoe continues walking at a speed much too fast for me. “Chuck? Kyle? Curtis? Jesse? Aaron?  How about Jake?” She’s rambling off names and I can barely keep up with her. “Wait . . . he’s English . . . what are some English names? Harry? Oliver? Ryan? Jayd–“

“Okay, seriously Zoe . . . enough already.”

“He had so many tattoos . . . so dreamy,” she’s ignoring me.

“Why don’t you date him then? God, you're already in love with the poor boy . . .” I realize that I sound really bitchy, but Zoe doesn’t catch onto it, instead she turns again to face me.

“But he was so into you and so . . . not into me,” she bites her lip.

“That’s because you didn’t introduce yourself. He probably just didn't see you. I mean, there was a lot of people there . . .” I’m trying my best to push this over onto her so she stops trying to set me up with creepy cheesy pickup line guy. God, I wish I knew his name so we could stop calling him that.

“Yeah, I guess. Maybe next time we see him you could introduce me?” Her spirits seem to be lifted as she opens the door to the large building. The smell of coffee fills my nostrils and I immediately want to leave the building. The smell of coffee has always made me sick, but Zoe – like so many others out there – has her usual four or five cups a day. This girl seriously doesn't need coffee.

“Sure,” I say to her and we take our place in line behind this woman. I take in her appearance – it’s very provocative for a woman getting her early afternoon coffee. Her hair was dyed this dreadful bleach blonde – the kind I would associate with a stripper, or a pornstar. She was wearing this shirt, but it wasn’t exactly a top, and it wasn’t exactly a sports bra, or a bra, but there was so little fabric, and she clearly wasn’t wearing a bra so her nipples were completely on display. Her face was covered in a dark shade of foundation – a shade much darker than her actual skin, and her nose . . . well let's just say that it was so pointy it’d put birds of prey to shame. When my eyes scanned down to her velvety pink track pants I couldn’t help but stifle a giggle when I read the word JUICY spread across her half-acre ass in bright white capitalized font. 

By the time I was done judging the poor woman she was at the front of the line, and she walked forward to the counter. The woman behind the counter immediately greeted her, “hey Kit! The usual?”

Kit giggled and batted her eyelashes, “yes, one for him, one for me.”

The woman behind the counter went to making two coffees for her. “So, how has it been going with him?” She asks Kit.

“It’s been going really good. He’s such a wonderful guy,” she beams. I hear a loud snap when she obnoxiously pops the gum within her mouth while twirling her bleach blonde locks.

“He sounds like he is. What does he do again?”

Kit shuffles awkwardly as the woman finishes filling up the coffee cups, “he’s . . . he’s in the car business.”

“Oh, right I remember you telling me that.” The employee places the two cups down on the countertop. “That’ll be two forty-nine.”

Kit shuffles in her little purse and pulls out the exact change and hands it off to the employee before she grabs the cups and begins walking out of the store. As she passes by me, she’s rolling her eyes – I assume it’s at the slightly too nosey employee, although I believe she was just trying to be friendly.



I walk out the coffee shop doors and begin my walk down the block – his house isn’t far, and I’m sure he’ll be happy to see me. The coffee’s a little too hot in my hands, and I regret not grabbing one of those cup holders before exiting the shop. However, that damn Emily is always so nosey whenever I go to get coffee, and I just wanted to get out. 

After a block my feet already hurt in these damn heels, but my ass needed to look good, and that’s what I get. Besides, I was sort of committing a faux pas by wearing track pants and heels, but nobody had seemed to notice and I’d been walking around like this all day. I was pretty sure people were distracted by my nipples, my tits, or my ass. Whichever is fine with me . . . eat your hearts out. That was the entire reason I wore shit like this . . . with a body like mine, why wouldn't I want to show it off?

I round the corner and I can finally see his quaint little home in my view. Thank god, I was worried I’d have to take these beautiful shoes off to savour my feet. I hurry my pace up a little bit, excited to see him. I saw him last night after his big race, but still. It was always exciting to see him.

When I reach his front door, I don’t even bother knocking. His mother won’t be home, and I know he won’t mind. Maybe I could wake him with a morning quickie. When I enter the home I hear noises coming from his bedroom. I carefully walk into the home as quiet as these stupid heels will let me. What the hell is he doing? Is he talking on the phone? Masturbating? Watching a movie? I hear a few soft moans.

Eventually my feet carry me to his door, which is slightly open. I step forward and peek through the crack. I nearly drop my coffee cup onto their old hardwood floors when I see Zayn laying there, his head thrown back. On top of him, barely covered in a sheet is a woman. Zayn’s head is thrown back in pleasure and his hands roughly grope at her breasts. I can see the woman’s back, covered in a large dream catcher tattoo – the top of her rear is showing. She’s bouncing harshly on top of him, while she speaks dirty words to him, and it nearly throws me over the edge.

I don’t even hear the sound that escapes my lips, but suddenly the stranger’s bouncing stops and Zayn’s head jerks towards the door. “What are you doing here?” He yells. The woman quickly recovers from her state of shock to cover her exposed breasts, and the rest of her naked flesh. The sheet is furiously taken and wrapped around her body.

“Who the hell are you?” She spits venomously at me, giving me a dirty look.

Zayn quickly grabs another sheet from the bed to cover himself before stepping towards the door, “I’ll be with you in a minute,” he spits before closing the door. I’m left standing there with two now warm coffees in my hands, my mouth agape, waiting for him. After a few seconds I need to set the coffees down because my hands won’t stop shaking. I quickly place them on Zayn’s counter in the kitchen and sit myself down, waiting patiently for him to appear from his bedroom and the whore.  My hands won’t stop shaking, and I need to place them between my thighs to stop from picking something fragile up and smashing it within my small hands. 

I take a few deep breaths and begin tapping one of my trembling hands on my chest – an anger trick my mother once taught me. After another minute or so, Zayn appears from the bedroom with his jeans on and his boxers sitting slightly higher on his waistline. He quickly slips a loose muscle shirt over his dishevelled hair and approaches me. 

“So, I’ll ask it again . . . what the hell are you doing here? Why’d you just walk into my house?” He places his hand on the counter and stands before me, “better yet, how do you even remember where I live?” I admire the curve of his knuckles, which are still slightly stained with blood, and have small gashes scattered on them. 

I ignore all of his questions. I can tell he’s mad, but I need answers because I’m just as mad . . . if not madder. “Who the hell was she?”

He shrugs his shoulders, “I dunno. Some girl I picked up at Rennie’s.” I flinch at the name of the bar where we first met. “Why are you acting like this?” I don’t answer his question and he takes a look around his home, and then his eye catches the sight of the coffee cups. “You brought me coffee?” He laughs at me, “I mean, why? We fucked once. A really long time ago. That’s never gonna happen again Kathy.” Zayn’s face wrinkles up in disgust and he sticks his tongue out, “ever.”

The tears are streaming down my face, and he doesn’t even notice. Instead, he’s walking away from me, and laughing. Laughing at me. Laughing at how stupid I am. How he doesn’t even remember my name.

But before he walks back into his bedroom he turns around, “get out of my house yeah? And next time, knock.” He begins walking into the bedroom before he turns around again, “better yet, never come back.”





 . . . AND I LOVE IT

kit is played by the beautiful sara paxton



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