As a Mikaelson, the world put so much pressure on him; he was born with his fatherâs enemies. Nobody knew the sacrifice he would make for his family, to reunite them once again.
While his twin sister was their familyâs last hope, he was the light. It destroyed Hope when their father left that their family was torn apart by The Hallow. A parasitical entity the resided in Klaus and his siblings, this creature that ended their parentâs relationship.
But Henrik would do anything for his sister if it meant to bring his family back together, even at the expense of someoneâs life.
â
He looked at the glowing screen of his phone and typed one last message to Josie, his final goodbye.
| Josie, Iâm sorry, please understand I had to do this. X | He dropped the phone to his bed, turning on his heel, leaving the room behind, the ingredients for the spell stored away in his bag.
He skidded to a stop in the music room when he came face to face with his sister. She stared at him with impossibly wide eyes; her voice broke as she held up his hastily written note. âWhat is this?â He felt the blood drain from his face, âItâs not what it looks like,â he meekly offered.
As if Hope would believe his transparent lie, âNot- Itâs not what it looks like?â she spewed at him. âHenrik it looks like a fucking suicide note.â Hope gasped, appalled at his idea. Henrik faced her with a grim determination, and he tilted his chin forwards âPlease Hope, understand we almost lost Mom!â
âIf I take this thing in, it wasnât me who it possessed last time, and may- Maybe we can find a way to get our family back and purge it for good.â He stammered tears freely welling in his eyes. Henrik watched as Hope started to pace in front of him, âAnd, and what you thought I would be fine with this? That Iâd roll over and accept this as a final goodbye!â She waved the now crumpled note in the air. âI canât lose you.â She choked.
âYou wonâtâ he promised, it was written across her face as if she knew this would be the last time, she would look at his face. He was disgusted with himself at devastating hope like this, but he was out of options.
âDonât go.â The words fell unbidden from her lips âPlease, donât leave me.â Her plea shattered his core to a million pieces. He clenched his fist "Ad Somnum.â Â He reached out and grabbed his sister, setting her down on the chair behind her. âForgive me, Hope.â
âWhen you wake, our family will be together again. Forever and always.â
-
Everything was set out before him, his aunt, and uncles; Rebekah, Kol, Elijah and his father Klaus laid out in front of him, the storm raged above him becoming worse by the second. He sighed heavily âItâs now, or Hope and every firstborn ever dies.â He trailed off mindlessly.
His breath was coming faster with every second that ticked away from him, sweat dripping from his temples. With each shallow breath, anxiety spread through his body like a piece of imposing ice.
Henrik closed his eyes the tip of the dagger pressed over his own heart, his aunt, uncles, and father on the floor a few paces in front of himself. They would wake any moment now. Someone could try to stop him at any moment; tears rolled down his freckled cheeks.
The dagger was brought to his chest, the chill of the blade added to the ice invading his veins. The point was carefully hovering over his heart; he pressed down slowly the small pinprick left behind a tiny well of blood. He drew the dagger away once more before plunging it into his chest.
He completed the spell, absorbing the Hallow into himself. Hot blood escapes the new wound spilling over his hands, down his chest.
Blood started to bubble past his lips, an agonised scream echoed around the open room as he dropped to his knees. The agonised scream ripped from his throat on its own accord, it felt as if he were being torn apart atom by atom, ripped apart limb by limb. His head exploded with a destructive, fiery pain that spread to his chest down his limbs.
He cast his cerulean blue eyes up, to see the church doors fly open. He took one last look at his mother and sister before slumping lifelessly towards the floor. He felt his mothers arms around him the sob that tore from her throat was unbearable; he shuddered to take his very last breaths. Hopeâs echoing footfalls growing louder as she ran towards him.
Hope ripped the weapon from his chest as all he could manage was to drown in his blood gasping for clean air that would never come. âWhat did you do?â was all his mother could ask as she held her spasming dying son in her arms âPlease donât leave my sweet boy.â She kissed his cheek softly, the last thing Henrik felt was his sisterâs arms wrapping around him too.
authorâs note: i havenât proofread this one so..
Tara liked control.
She always had. Even as a child, she found comfort in order. It wasn't just about neatness or routineâit was about knowing.
Knowing that things were in their right place, that nothing unexpected would throw her off balance. Her toys had to be arranged a certain way. If someone moved them, she'd notice instantly. Her bookshelves had gone through endless reorganizationsânot because she couldn't decide on a system, but because she needed to find the best one.
Genre made sense, but what if she wanted all her favorite books together? What if she needed to sort them by spine height so they looked even? What if, what if, what if?
She liked puzzles. Not because she enjoyed the picture at the end, but because she liked solving something that had a clear answer. She liked math for the same reason. Two plus two would always be four, no matter what. There was no uncertainty. No surprises. Just rules that made sense, that she could rely on.
She learned early that people weren't like that.
At school, group projects were a nightmare. The moment the teacher assigned one, Tara's jaw would clench, already anticipating the frustration. No one ever did what they were supposed to. No one ever cared as much as she did. So she took over. Not because she wanted to, but because if she didn't, things would fall apart.
People didn't appreciate that.
They called her bossy. Controlling. Too serious.
But what was wrong with wanting things done right? What was wrong with making sure things were finished on time instead of hoping someone else would magically pull through at the last second?
She stopped caring what people thought of her.
By the time she was a teenager, she had already accepted that if she wanted something done properly, she had to do it herself. And that suited her just fine. She didn't need anyone else. She had her plans, and she followed through on them, no matter what.
Tara never half-assed anything. If she committed to something, she owned it.
It was how she got through college at the top of her class. While other students partied, Tara studied. While others procrastinated, she finished assignments weeks in advance. Not because she was a genius, but because she refused to let herself fail. She didn't do 'good enough.' She did more.
And when it came time to enter the workforce, she carried that same mindset with her.
The first job she landed was nothing special. Just a stepping stone. She knew that the moment she walked in. But while others treated it like just another paycheck, Tara treated it like an opportunity. She learned fast, adapted even faster. She memorized company policies inside and out. She figured out what made people listen, what made them respect her.
She wasn't the boss. Not yet. But she knew she would be.
So she worked. And worked.
Late nights, early mornings, weekends sacrificed in the name of something bigger. It wasn't enough to be good at her jobâshe had to be the best. She studied the people above her, watched how they operated, learned from their mistakes. She climbed the ladder so quickly it made people's heads spin.
By the time she got to the top, no one could say she didn't deserve it.
Now, she was the one in charge. The one who gave orders instead of taking them.
Her office ran exactly the way she wanted it toâstrict, efficient, with no room for distractions.
Or at least, that's how it was supposed to be.
But then there was you.
Tara didn't notice you at first. Not in the way she would later. You were just another name on a new hire list, another employee she expected to follow orders and do their job. You weren't the first person to work under her, and you wouldn't be the last.
But you were different.
She saw it almost immediately. While others hesitated around her, unsure whether to tiptoe or challenge her authority, you never wavered. You didn't shrink under her sharp tone or the weight of her expectations. You never sighed when she gave you extra work, never rolled your eyes when you thought she wasn't looking.
The others tried to hide their exasperation, their thinly veiled frustration whenever she demanded precision. It was in the subtle way they hesitated before saying yes, ma'am, in the tight-lipped expressions they wore when she sent them back to redo a report that wasn't up to her standards. They obeyed, but with reluctance. Even the best among them still carried that underlying sense of just let it go, it's not that serious.
But not you.
You followed every instruction to the letter, not just meeting her standards but exceeding them. If she asked for paperwork, it was on her desk before she even had to remind you. If she wanted reports sorted in a specific way, you did it without question. Not once did she have to send something back because it wasn't done right.
You did everything her way. Everything she wanted.
And you never complained.
At first, she told herself that was all it wasâjust appreciation for competence. Respect for someone who took their job as seriously as she did. But then she started to watch you.
She noticed things she had no business noticing.
The way your fingers tapped lightly against your desk when you were deep in concentration. The way you chewed on the end of your pen absentmindedly during meetings. The way you bit your lip when you read over a document, eyes narrowing just slightly as if you were committing every word to memory.
It was ridiculous. Inappropriate. Unprofessional.
And yet, sometimesâonly sometimesâshe would catch herself looking lower.
It wasn't intentional. At least, that's what she told herself. But her gaze would flicker downward, lingering for a second too long. It didn't matter that you never dressed revealingly. You could be wearing the most modest blouse imaginable, and still, her eyes would betray her. The way the fabric hugged you just enough, the way it shifted when you movedâit was infuriating how easily her mind wandered.
She scolded herself for it. She was better than this. Smarter than this.
You worked for her.
And yet, no matter how many times she told herself it was nothing, that it didn't mean anything, the thought was always there. Looking isn't doing anything wrong. Thinking isn't acting.
As long as she never did anything about it, there wasn't a problem.
Right?
...Right?
Tara told herself it would pass.
That it was just a phaseâan overactive mind, too many late nights, nothing more.
But the longer it went on, the worse it got.
Because you made it hard.
She had control over everything. Everything. Her schedule. Her business. The way people spoke to her, the way they listened when she gave orders. Control was what she did. It was what she was.
And yet, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't control this.
Couldn't control the way her eyes lingered on you when you weren't looking. The way she caught herself anticipating your presence, your voice, the way you carried yourself so effortlessly through the office. Couldn't control the way her mind drifted at night, replaying insignificant moments as if they meant something.
But youâyou were controlled.
You followed the rules. You knew how to navigate her world, how to move within the strict lines she had drawn. You did everything right. Everything she wanted.
And it infuriated her.
Because no matter how much power she held over you in that officeâno matter how much control she had over everything elseâshe couldn't control what you were doing to her.
She tried to push it down. Buried it beneath long hours and stricter expectations, forced herself to focus on anything but the way her breath caught when you got too close.
It didn't work.
Because eventually, there was that night.
It was late. The office was empty, save for the low hum of the air conditioning and the faint glow of computer screens still in sleep mode. She hadn't planned to stay so late, but neither had you.
And she hadn't planned on letting her control slip.
But it did.
And once it happened the first timeâonce that line was crossedâthere was no going back.
The headache had settled in hours ago, a dull ache at the base of Tara's skull that no amount of pinching at the bridge of her nose had managed to fix. The office had been silent by thenâjust the faint buzz of a light she had kept meaning to replace, the occasional creak of the building settling.
She should have gone home.
But the end of the day had always felt like a void, like the moment she stepped outside, she would have nothing but timeâtime to think, time to dwell, time to let her mind wander places it shouldnât.
So she had stayed.
A few reports had still needed reviewing, a contract had been waiting for her signatureâexcuses, really, but enough to justify the extra hours. She had skimmed through the papers in front of her, rubbing at her forehead as she had tried to focus.
Then, a soft knock against the doorframe.
Tara had looked up sharply, her thoughts scattering like glass.
And there you had been.
You had smiled, the same polite, professional smile she had seen a hundred times before. The kind of smile you had always given her when you had stepped into her office with a file in hand or a question on your lips.
But that night, it had felt different.
Or maybe that had just been her.
Because it had been after hours. Because she had been tired. Because her body had been tense and restless in ways she hadn't been proud of, and now you had been standing there, looking at her like you always did, and for the first time, she had felt like she couldn't look away.
"Ms. Carpenter..." Your voice had been soft in the quiet space, hesitant but not nervous.
You had shifted slightly, holding up a folder with one hand. "I was finishing up the reports from the vendors, but there were a few inconsistencies in the invoices. I thought you might want to go over them before I send them back."
Tara had swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.
Of course. Work. That had been why you had still been there. Why you had approached her. Why you had spoken her name so softly it had sent a shiver down her spine.
She had nodded, forcing herself to look at the folder instead of at you. "Right. Leave them on my desk."
But you hadn't moved right away.
And Tara had realized, in that small pause, that this had been the moment where it all had started to go wrong.
You had nodded at her words and stepped forward, placing the folder neatly onto her desk before turning to leave.
And Tara had watched you go.
It had been instinct, at first. A passing glance that had lasted a second too long.
The way you had walkedâunhurried, confident but not cocky. The way your skirt had hugged your hips just enough to make her grip tighten around her pen. She had never let herself stare before, but she had been exhausted, her thoughts already slipping past her usual restraint, and for a brief, fleeting moment, she had let herself want.
Just as quickly, she had forced herself to look away.
Of course she hadn't said anything. Of course she had stayed silent, eyes snapping back to the papers in front of her, pen dragging across the page as if that could erase the fact that, for one split second, she had almost wished you had stayed.
But the knowledge that you were still somewhere in the buildingâthat it was just the two of you, alone in the dimly lit officeâwas enough to make her pulse thrum a little too fast.
She had tried to push it down. To ignore the sudden heat simmering beneath her skin, the restless energy that made it impossible to focus on the words she was supposed to be reading.
But her hands had felt unsteady.
Her grip on the pen had been too tight, her skin too warm, her breathing a little too uneven. She had even flexed her fingers, pressing her palms flat against the desk as if she could ground herself, but nothing had helped.
And it had been infuriating.
Because this wasn't what control felt like.
Control was certainty. Control was discipline. Control was her thing.
This? This had been something else entirely.
Tara had exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down her face before glancing at the clock. It was late. Too late.
She had decided thenâbefore her thoughts could spiral any furtherâthat it was best to go home. If she was feeling this off, this hot and restless, she was probably coming down with something. Maybe a fever. That would explain everything.
With that excuse firmly in place, she had snapped her laptop shut and started gathering the scattered papers on her desk.
And that had been the exact moment you had walked in again.
She had frozen, just for a split second, fingers still curled around a loose stack of documents, before forcing herself to relax.
The same soft smile. The same perfectly put-together demeanor. A thinner folder in your hands.
"Ma'am," you had said, voice smooth, effortless, sending something sharp and electric straight through her spine.
She had swallowed, gripping the papers a little tighter.
You had stepped closer, holding out the folder. "I finalized the edits on the quarterly report, but I wanted to double-check if you wanted me to send it to the board as is, or if you'd prefer another review first."
Tara had barely heard a word you had said.
She had tried to listenâto focusâbut she had still been picking up the last of her things, still forcing herself to act normal, and that had already taken every ounce of willpower she had left.
You had glanced at her desk then, at the way she had been straightening up. Something in your expression had shifted, a flicker of hesitation before you had spoken again.
"Did you want me to close up?"
Your voice had been softer that time, more casual.
And it had been a simple question. A normal one. But for some reason, the sound of it had made something deep in Tara's stomach tighten painfully.
She had nodded, too quickly. "Yeah, that would be great."
Her voice had been neutral. Measured. Like she had barely been paying attention.
But she had been paying attention.
Too much.
Because she had still been pretending to organize the papers in front of her, still trying to do something so she wouldn't have to think about the fact that her whole body had felt wound too tight.
And then you had said it again.
"Yes, ma'am."
And that had been the last drop.
Tara had never let herself indulge. Never let herself do more than lookâand even that had been rare, controlled, brief.
But suddenly, none of that had felt like enough.
Suddenly, control hadn't mattered at all.
Tara hadn't planned it.
She hadn't thought about itânot really, not in a way that acknowledged what she was actually doing.
She had just moved.
One second, she had been standing there, still gripping the edges of her desk like it could somehow ground her, still trying to will away the heat in her chest, the tightness in her stomach. And then, suddenly, her hands had been on you, her lips pressing hard against yours.
It hadn't been careful. It hadn't been slow or thoughtful or rationalâit had been instant. A desperate attempt to make it all stop.
Because if she kissed you, maybe the thoughts would go away.
If she kissed you, maybe the tightness in her chest would finally ease, maybe the heat in her stomach would stop twisting itself into unbearable knots, maybe she could get her control back.
And for one agonizing second, as she had felt your breath hitch against her lips, she had been terrified that she had ruined everything.
That you would push her away. That you would look at her like she had crossed a line. That you would pull back, storm out, and cost her everythingâher reputation, her position, everything she had worked for.
But then you had leaned in.
Not quickly, not in a way that screamed urgency or recklessness.
You had just looked at herâwide-eyed, surprised, the soft glow of the office lights making your lips look even more kissable than they already were.
And then you had kissed her back.
Tara had barely registered the sound of a sharp inhale, barely processed the way her pulse had thundered so hard it almost hurt, because suddenly, her back was hitting the desk, and her legs were wrapping around your waist like she needed you closer.
She had needed you closer.
Everything had been fastâdesperate.
The sound of her desk chair scraping back, the crash of a stapler and loose papers hitting the floor as she grabbed at you, pulled at you, let herself want.
She had never been this desperate before.
But she had clung to you like she needed you to breathe, grinding up against your hips with reckless urgency, tilting her head to deepen the kiss, lips parting against yours as her fingers tangled in your hair.
She had felt electric.
Like her whole body was on fire, like every part of her was wired too tight, coiled up with months of restraint she hadn't even realized she had been holding.
And then your hands had slid down.
Slow. Intentional.
You had pushed up her skirt, fingers grazing along the inside of her thigh.
Tara had gaspedâactually gaspedâher nails digging into your shoulders, her body arching up into your touch, her mind blanking completely when your fingers pressed against her.
She had never let go like this before.
But with you, she hadn't wanted to hold back.
She remembered everything.
Every sound. Every touch. Every second she had let go.
She remembered the way her legs had trembled when your fingers pushed inside her, how she had gripped at your shoulders, nails digging in like she needed something to anchor herself, to keep herself from completely falling apart.
She remembered how wet she had been, how embarrassing it should have been, how it only made you move faster, made your touch rougher, made her hips chase the pressure.
She remembered the way she had moanedâloud, desperate, shameless. How she hadn't even thought about keeping it down, about the fact that anyone could have still been in the building, about anything except the way your fingers curled just right inside her.
She remembered your mouth.
How it had found the skin of her neck, her jaw, the shell of her ear. How you had sucked at her pulse, kissed down her throat, whispered things against her skin that made her throb.
She remembered the burn of her desk against her back, the way her blouse had ridden up as she squirmed against the wood, the way her thighs had ached from being spread so wide around your hips.
She remembered how her own voice had soundedâbreathless, high-pitched, needy.
She had never sounded like that before.
She had never let herself sound like that before.
But she had wanted it. She had needed it.
And when she cameâlegs shaking, mouth open in a silent cry, forehead pressing into your shoulderâshe had realized something that terrified her.
For the first time in her life, she had lost control.
And it had felt so fucking good.
After, there had been silence.
No awkwardness, no words, no need to fill the space with anything but the sound of hurried breaths and rustling clothes. Tara had smoothed down her skirt, fixed the buttons on her blouse with slightly unsteady hands, and watched as you did the same. Neither of you spoke about what had just happened.
And maybe that was for the best.
When you left the office, you didn't look at her any differently. You didn't linger in the doorway, didn't hesitate, didn't ask what it meant. You just said Goodnight, Ms. Carpenterâlike you always didâand walked away.
Tara didn't say anything back. She had just sat there, perched on the edge of her desk, feeling HOT all over, feeling something that wasn't quite regret but wasn't satisfaction either.
That night, she couldn't sleep.
She had tried. She had needed to, but every time she closed her eyes, all she could see was the way your lips had parted against hers, the way your body had pressed against her own, the way you had taken without hesitation, without letting her control a single moment of it.
And that was what stuck with her the most.
She had never let that happen before. She had never let anyone else dictate HER. Not at work, not in life, and definitely not in bed.
But she had.
And the worst partâthe best partâwas that she had liked it.
She wanted it again. She knew that much.
But if it happened again, it had to be her way. Her rules. Her control.
Because this wasn't who she was. She wasn't reckless, she wasn't impulsive, and she wasn't someone who let her own employee bend her over a desk without thinking.
If she was going to do this again, it would be different. It had to be.
And it happened again.
It shouldn't have. Tara had told herself that. She had laid in bed the night after that first time, forcing herself to believe it had been a mistakeâone she wouldn't repeat, one she couldnât repeat.
But then, not even a full day later, she had found herself alone with you again. And just like before, she hadn't thought. She hadn't stopped herself.
It kept happening after that.
At first, there had still been some semblance of restraint. A tension she tried to hold onto, an unspoken boundary she convinced herself still existed. But then it became a routine.
She didn't call you into her office for work anymore.
There were no excuses, no flimsy justificationsâjust a glance, just a moment, just a shift in the air between you that made it clear what you were both there for.
It happened almost every day.
And if a day was missed? It was made up for the next.
Tara hadn't expected it to get that far. She had thought maybe it would be like some passing phase, some moment of insanity that would fade with time.
But it hadn't.
And what made it worseâwhat made it betterâwas that it didn't just happen after hours anymore.
It happened during the day. During work.
Behind a locked office door, when the sun was still high and the sounds of the office still filled the space beyond the walls, you would take everything she gave you. Let her be the one in charge. Let her have the control.
And maybe that was why she let herself keep going. Because even though this was the one thing she shouldnât be doing, at least in this, she still had control.
Most of the time.
Because there were still momentsârare ones, fleeting onesâwhere you took it back. Where you reminded her of that first time, of what it had felt like to be completely at someone else's mercy. And when that happened, she told herself she hated it.
But that was a lie.
It always started the same way.
A glance. A shift in the air. A moment where the tension between you sharpened, like a wire pulled too tight, waiting to snap. And then it did.
Tara would push you up against the door, lips crashing into yours before the lock had even clicked into place. She was always desperate in those first moments, always acting like she had spent the entire day trying not to think about thisâabout you.
Her hands would be on you immediately, slipping under your blazer, shoving it from your shoulders. Your blouse was next. She had learned how to work the buttons quickly, how to get you bare in seconds. She never wasted time.
Her mouth would trail down your neck, your collarbone, as she backed you toward the desk. She had done it enough times to know the perfect angle to sit you on the edge, to stand between your legs, to push your skirt up just enough to let her fingers tease along the inside of your thigh.
She liked teasing at first, watching you shift against the desk, watching your body react before she even really touched you. But she never made you wait long.
Because she couldn't.
Because the second she slipped her fingers inside, she always realized just how wet you already were. For her. From nothing but the anticipation. And that drove her insane.
Tara knew exactly what you liked by now. She knew the pace, the rhythm, the angle that made your body tighten, that made your fingers grip the edge of the desk like you'd fall apart otherwise. She knew when to slow down, when to speed up, when to press her thumb against your clit just right. She knew how to get you to say her name exactly the way she liked it.
But it was never enough.
Not for her.
Because by the time she felt you clenching around her fingers, by the time she felt you coming undone, her own body was aching for more.
And you always gave it to her.
She barely had time to catch her breath before you were tugging her blazer off, pulling at the buttons of her blouse, pushing it off her shoulders. Your hands always moved differently than hersâslower, more deliberate, making her feel seen in a way that made her shiver.
When you pushed her onto the desk, when you kissed your way down her stomach, she never stopped you.
She couldn't.
Because by then, she was gone. The moment your mouth was on her, the second she felt your tongue against her, she lost everything elseâher control, her thoughts, her pride.
All that was left was this.
Your mouth, your tongue, your fingers pressing into her hips, holding her there as she gasped and writhed and tried so fucking hard to keep quiet even though she never fully could.
And it was in those momentsâwhen you were on your knees between her legs, when she was unraveling, moaning, shudderingâthat she knew the truth.
She could tell herself whatever she wanted. That she had the control. That this was just another thing she handled the way she handled everything else.
But it was a lie.
Because the truth was, when you had her like thisâwhen you had her completelyâyou could do whatever you wanted to her.
And she'd let you.
Only until she decided she was done letting.
Because no matter how good it felt to give in to you, to let herself forget, to let herself be takenâTara never forgot for too long who was really in charge.
Like now when she had you right where she wanted you.
You were on her desk, legs spread around her hips, your back arched slightly from the cool surface beneath you. The usual casualties of your encountersâa few scattered papers, a pen rolling off the edge, the ever-present risk of knocking over her coffeeâwere long forgotten. The only thing that mattered was the way Tara was inside you, her fingers buried deep, her palm pressing against your clit with every slow, deliberate thrust.
She watched you, dark eyes fixed on the way your body moved against her hand, on the way you clenched around her fingers with every roll of your hips. It wasn't enough for her to just have you like this. She needed to see what she was doing to you. To feel it in the way your breath hitched, in the way your fingers dug into the edge of the desk like you needed somethingâanythingâto hold onto.
You were grinding down against her hand, chasing the friction she was only half-giving you, and that alone made her smirk. It was always like this. Always you getting so desperate for more, even when she was the one giving it to you.
Her free hand skimmed up your thigh, fingers pressing into the soft flesh before sliding higher. She tugged at your blouse, pushing it further up your stomach, exposing more of you to her. Not that she needed toâshe had already seen you like this more times than she could countâbut she liked it. Liked having you spread out for her, flushed and desperate and completely at her mercy.
Her pace didn't change, even though she knew you wanted her to move faster, to push you over the edge. But that wasn't how this worked.
Not with her.
It had started the way it always did. With Tara deciding she wanted you and making sure she got you.
She had been restless the night before, shifting beneath her sheets, unable to sleep because every time she closed her eyes, all she could see was you. The way you looked when you dropped to your knees for her. The way your lips parted when she pushed her fingers deep inside you. The way you whimpered her name when you were closeâbreathless, desperate, completely hers.
By the time morning came, she knew she wouldn't be able to make it through the day without doing something about it.
So she did.
She had barely been in the office an hour before she made sure you'd end up exactly where she wanted you. She didn't call you herselfâshe never did. That would've been too obvious. Instead, she had one of her employees, someone whose name she barely remembered, find you and let you know that she needed to see you in her office.
It was routine. Expected. If Tara Carpenter called someone to her office, it was for a reason, and when she was finished, they'd leave.
No one ever suspected that when you went in, you didn't come back out right away.
That by the time you did, your blouse was just a little more wrinkled, your legs just a little shakier, your lipstick just a little smudged.
Now, Tara had you exactly where she wanted you.
You were gasping beneath her, moaning into her mouth, your forehead pressed to hers as her fingers fucked you, deep and slow, the way she knew drove you crazy. Your breaths mingledâhot, shaky, desperate. She could feel the tension in your body, the way your thighs clenched around her, the way you needed her to move faster, to give you more.
And fuck, she loved this.
Loved the way you looked right nowâeyes hazy, lips parted, skin flushed. Loved the way you soundedâsoft moans mixing with shaky breaths, filling the space between you.
Loved knowing she had done this to you. That she could have you like this whenever she wanted.
Your hand fumbled for her tie, fingers curling around the silky fabric she had chosen that morningâthe one she only wore on certain days, for reasons only she knew.
It was loose around her neck, slightly loosened from the heat between you, but not enough to ruin the sharp, put-together look that drove you crazy. You wrapped the material around your fingers and tugged, not hard enough to choke her, just enough to make her feel itâto pull her closer, to make her fingers push deeper inside you, dragging a desperate whimper from your lips.
Tara exhaled through her nose, slow and heavy, her lips parting just slightly as your mouths hovered against each other. Your breath tangled together, hot and uneven, your gasps mixing in the small space between you.
You felt burningâall over, inside and out. Every brush of her fingers, every shift of her wrist, every slow, torturous drag of her touch sent another wave of pleasure coursing through you, tightening in your stomach, making your thighs tremble around her hips.
Your lips barely moved against hers when you whispered, "I love when you wear a tie."
Tara let out a slow, shuddering breath, like she was feeling your words as much as she was hearing them.
And fuck, she was.
Because the second you said it, she felt itâlow in her stomach, pulsing between her legs, sinking into her chest like an intoxicating warmth that she never quite knew how to handle. Your voice, the way you said it, the way you looked at her as you didâit sent a fresh spark of heat through her veins, made her fingers curl inside you on instinct.
You gasped at the sensation, a choked sound escaping your lips as your thighs tensed around her waist.
Tara smirked, just a little, her confidence spiking at the reaction she pulled from you. "Oh yeah?"
Her voice was lower now, thick with satisfaction, teasing but darkâlike she already knew the answer. Like she just wanted to hear you say it, wanted to watch the way your face twisted with pleasure when you admitted it.
Your stomach tightened, and you pressed down against her hand, chasing the pressure, the friction, the pleasure.
Her fingers curled deeper.
Your breath caught.
"Yes, ma'am."
Tara sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth, her entire body reacting.
Her fingers stilled inside you for half a second, but only because she felt itâreally felt it. Like the words sent a jolt of electricity through her veins, like they cracked something open inside her.
Her stomach clenched. Her thighs pressed together involuntarily. A deep, primal kind of satisfaction settled low in her gut, making her pulse throb in the worst, most intoxicating way.
You saw it happen. You felt it happen. The way her muscles tensed, the way her throat bobbed with a quiet swallow, the way her eyes darkenedâheat flickering in them like a barely restrained fire.
And then she exhaled, slow and heavy, before letting out a quiet, dangerous laugh.
Her smirk returnedâwider, more dangerous, dripping with the kind of power she knew she had over you.
Her fingers moved again.
And this time, she was ruthless.
Tara's eyes roamed over you, taking in every detailâevery messy, undone, wrecked part of you.
Your hair, which had started the day in a neat ponytail, was loose and disheveled now, strands falling around your face and sticking slightly to your skin from the heat between you. It framed your features perfectly, making you look even more ruined, even more gone under her touch.
Your shirtâcrisp and professional when you arrivedâwas a mess. The top buttons had been carelessly undone, either by you in desperation or by her when she pulled at the fabric to get her mouth on your neck earlier. The soft lace of your bra peeked through the open collar, teasing her, taunting her. And fuck, if she wasn't already losing her mind, that definitely would have done it.
She dragged her eyes back up to your face, breathing heavily, watching the way your lips parted, the way your lashes fluttered, the way your forehead pressed against hers like you needed the contact to stay grounded.
And fuck, she wanted to ruin you even more.
Her fingers moved again, curling deeper, pressing harderâjust to see the way your body jerked in response, just to hear the way your breath hitched in your throat.
But thenâ
A sharp knock at the door.
The handle rattled.
You both froze.
A voiceâmuffled through the wood but clear enough to snap you both back to reality.
"Ms. Carpenter?"
Your stomach dropped.
Tara's body tensed between your legs, her fingers still buried deep inside you. Your breath hitched in your throat, your entire body humming with the worst kind of anticipationâstuck somewhere between panic and overwhelming need.
Tara didn't move. Didn't pull away. Didn't stop.
She turned her head slightly toward the door, her expression unreadable, her breathing slow and controlled. And thenâvery deliberatelyâher fingers curled again.
You gasped.
Tara smirked, her fingers still moving inside you, slow but deliberate, as she turned her head slightly toward the door. Of course she knew who it was. She always knew.
"Yes, Derek?" she called, her voice perfectly even, professionalâlike she wasn't currently fucking you on her desk.
And thenâ
She pressed deeper, her fingers curling inside you, her palm pressing firmly against you as she quickened her pace. The sharp, overwhelming pleasure sent a jolt through your body, making your legs tighten around her waist, your breath stuttering.
The moan slipped out before you could stop itâloud, desperate.
Tara reacted instantly.
Her hand clamped over your mouth, the warmth of her palm pressing firmly against your lips, muffling the sound. Her grip was just tight enough to be controlling, just enough to make it clearâyou had to stay quiet. Her dark eyes locked onto yours, a silent command flashing in them. Behave.
On the other side of the door, Derek kept talking, oblivious.
"I just sent over the reports you requested, Ms. Carpenter. I wanted to go over the projections for next quarterâ"
Tara's fingers dragged inside you, slow and deep, pressing against the spot that made you tremble. Your whole body clenched around her, your hands gripping at her arms, nails digging into the fabric of her blazer. Your muffled whimper barely escaped against her hand.
She leaned in, her breath hot against your ear. Her voice was impossibly soft, teasing.
"Be quiet."
Your thighs twitched against her hips, your entire body working against you, betraying how desperate you were for more.
Derek continued, still unaware. "There were a few discrepancies I thought you should look at before we move forward withâ"
Tara's fingers curled, pressing deeper, her wrist flexing as she fucked into you with slow, devastating precision.
Your entire body shook. Your head tipped back slightly, your lashes fluttering, your breath coming out in sharp, stifled gasps against her palm.
Tara's smirk deepened, her lips ghosting over the corner of your mouth. She felt every little movement, every twitch, every uncontrollable reaction you had to her.
"And?" she prompted smoothly, as if she weren't currently ruining you.
Derek hesitated on the other side of the door, then cleared his throat. "Uhâactually, may I come in and show you?"
Tara exhaled a soft, knowing laugh, like she found the idea ridiculous. Because it was.
She didn't stop. She didn't slow down. If anything, she only pushed harder, deeperâtesting you, taunting you.
"I'm currently speaking with Ms. L/N," she said, her voice steady, unshaken, the perfect contrast to how wrecked you were against her.
She knew what she was doing to you. She knew how close you were. And she knew you couldn't do a thing about it.
Her fingers curled again, sharper this time, hitting just right, and your entire body shuddered. Your nails dug into her arms, your hips jerking forward, desperate for more.
Tara pressed her forehead to yours, her eyes locked on yours, watching you come undone in her hands.
Her smirk widened.
"I'll be ready in just a second."
Her voice was steadyâcontrolled, composedâbut you could feel the way her breath hitched against your lips, the way her fingers pushed just a little deeper, chasing something she wasn't even sure of.
And then, just as you hit that peak, just as your body clenched around her fingers, she pulled them out.
Not slow. Not gentle. A calculated retreat, leaving you trembling, gasping, still teetering on the edge.
She brought her fingers to her lips, holding your gaze as she sucked them clean, and something about the way she did itâjust a little slower than usual, just a little less smugâmade your stomach twist.
Then it was gone.
She smirked as she straightened your skirt, smoothing it down over your thighs like she hadn't just had her fingers buried inside you. Like you weren't still sitting there, trying to catch your breath.
"Fix your shirt," she murmured, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
It was normal. The same teasing aftercare she always gave.
And yet.
There was something in the way she stepped back too quickly. The way she turned away before you could see her face. The way she ran a hand through her hair like she was trying to shake something off.
It wasn't obvious.
But it was enough.
And later, when everything changed, you'd realize that maybe it had started here.
___
Tara had been acting weird.
At first, it wasn't anything obvious. Nothing anyone else would notice. But you did.
Because she hadn't called you into her office.
Not once.
Days passed. The longest you'd ever gone without her pulling you aside, without the press of her lips against your skin, without her hands gripping your waist, pulling you close, taking what she wanted. The silence stretched between you, thick and unspoken, but you felt it every time you glanced toward her office door and saw it closed. Locked away. Off-limits.
Still, everything else seemed normal. Or at least, it should have.
Tara walked the halls like she always did, head held high, voice sharp and sure when she spoke. In meetings, she still nodded at your input, still approved your reports with the same efficient flick of her pen. But the moments in betweenâwhere her gaze should have lingered, where her fingers should have trailed along your wrist as she passed byâwere gone.
It didn't make sense.
You saw her in the break room, standing by the coffee machine like usual, but she didn't acknowledge you beyond a brief glance. Not a smirk. Not a word.
In the hall, you brushed past her, felt the heat of her presence right there, but she didn't stop you. Didn't pull you aside. Didn't so much as glance over her shoulder.
And yet, sometimes, when she thought you weren't lookingâyou swore she was watching.
But it wasn't the same.
Because before, when her gaze had lingered, it was heavy with intent. With want. Now, when your eyes met, something unreadable flickered across her face before she quickly looked away.
Something wasn't right.
Something had changed.
And it wasn't like you could just ask her.
That wasn't how it worked.
You didn't get to knock on her office door and ask if you could come in. Didn't get to slip her a note or send an email saying, Why don't you fuck me on your desk anymore?
That wasn't your place.
That wasn't the deal.
Tara called the shotsâliterally. She decided when, where, if. And for weeks, that had been fine. More than fine. She wanted, she took, and you let her, because it worked. Because she always wanted. Because there was never a reason to question it.
Until now.
Now, the days dragged on in silence, and you didn't understand.
How do you go from every dayâevery single dayâto nothing?
At first, you told yourself she was busy. Of course she was. She was the boss. She had a company to run, responsibilities, meetings, deadlines. She couldn't always make time for you. That was reasonable. That made sense.
But thenâshouldn't she have at least acknowledged it?
Even if she couldn't pull you into her office, couldn't press you against the door, couldn't have you falling apart beneath her handsâshouldn't there have been something? A glance, a smirk, a comment under her breath when no one else was around?
Anything?
But there was nothing.
Just silence.
And it didn't make sense.
Tara had stopped calling you in.
That much had been obvious from the start.
That was the first thing you noticedâthe first thing that made no sense.
It happened so suddenly that, at first, you didn't even realize it. Maybe it was because you were busy with your own work, caught up in the never-ending tasks that came with the job. Or maybe, deep down, you just hadn't wanted to notice.
But the absence of it became impossible to ignore.
Days passed. Then a full week. Then another.
And still, nothing.
No glance in your direction when you walked by her office. No subtle nod, no small, barely-there smirk that told you to close the door behind you. No teasing remarks under her breath as you followed her inside. No whispered orders. No lingering looks.
You had told yourself it was fine.
Tara was the boss. She had responsibilities. She wasn't exactly available every second of the day, and it wasn't like the two of you had some set scheduleâthis was never something you had planned in advance. It had always been unpredictable, sporadic. Sometimes you'd see her multiple times in a week. Sometimes you'd go days without so much as a touch.
That was normal.
That was how it worked.
But this...this was different.
Because it wasn't just that she didn't have the time.
It was like she had chosen not to.
And then, there were the other things.
The moments that should have been insignificant, the ones you would have ignored completely if they hadn't felt so off.
Like the way she suddenly couldn't look at you.
You noticed it one afternoon, passing by her office at the exact time she would normally call you in. It was almost muscle memory at this pointâthe way your body tensed slightly, the way your pace slowed just enough to see if she would give you a look, if she would signal for you to step inside.
But she didn't.
Instead, she kept her eyes locked onto her computer screen, her fingers tapping against the desk in an anxious rhythm.
And it wasn't just that she didn't see you.
It was that she wouldnât.
She had seen you from the corner of her eyeâthere was no way she hadn't. But instead of even acknowledging you, her shoulders went stiff, her expression blank, like she was forcing herself to focus on anything else.
You almost stopped walking.
Almost said something.
But what the fuck were you supposed to say?
And then, a few days later, you tested it.
You had found a reasonâsomething small, something professional, something completely work-related. It wasn't an excuse, not really. You had needed the information. She had to answer.
So, you had gone up to her desk, waited for her to glance up at you, and asked.
And she had answered.
But only in the shortest way possible, her voice clipped, her tone completely detached, like she had no interest in having the conversation at all. She gave you just enough to satisfy your question, nothing more, then immediately turned back to her computer as if you weren't even there.
There was nothing playful in it. No teasing, no lingering glances, no flicker of amusement in her eyes. Just a sharp, calculated disinterest.
And then there was the break room.
Late at night. The office almost empty.
You had been standing by the coffee machine, half-expectingâno, half-hopingâfor her to say something when she walked in.
A tease. A smirk.
Something.
But she didn't.
She didn't even acknowledge you.
She walked past you like you weren't even there, went straight for the cabinet, grabbed a mug, poured herself coffee, and left.
No glance in your direction. No hesitation. No reaction.
And you had just stood there, fingers wrapped too tightly around your cup, heart pounding in a way you didn't understand.
You had thought, for a while, that the worst part was the silence. How quickly she had slipped out of your reachâlike all those nights, all those moments, had meant nothing at all. Like she had just...moved on, and you were the only one still stuck in place.
At first, you had tried to reason with it. Maybe this was just how things were now. Maybe it had always been inevitable. You weren't entitled to her attention, after all. You weren't owed anything.
But knowing that didn't make it any easier.
And lately, it had started to feel heavierâthe quiet, the distance. Like you were walking on a fault line, waiting for it to crack beneath your feet.
But it never did.
Not yesterday. Not today.
Today had passed like all the others. You had come in, sat at your desk, gone through emails and reports, answered questions, filled out formsâplayed your part, just like always. But it wasn't just another day, not to you. It had been a week now. A full week of nothing.
No call into her office. No lingering glances. No accidental touches.
You had still looked for it, though. Every time you heard footsteps, every time your phone buzzed, every time you passed by her door, you felt that flicker of somethingâhope, desperation, whatever it wasâonly for it to be ripped away just as fast.
And it wasn't just about the sex. It wasn't about the heat of her hands or the way she used to look at you like she needed you. It was the absence of it all. The absence of her.
The office had started to empty now, the low murmur of voices fading as people packed their things and headed home. Someone laughed a few desks over, lighthearted, easy. The scent of coffee had gone stale in the air. Phones still rang in the background, but fewer now. The usual hum of the placeâthe life of itâwas winding down.
But you were still here. Still waiting.
And she still hadn't called for you.
Until she did.
It was just as you were reaching for your phone, pretending to check something that didn't matter, that you heard the soft click of a door closing down the hall. You barely had time to register it before footsteps approachedâheels tapping against the tile with a steady, unhurried rhythm.
You glanced up just as the sound reached your desk, and there she wasâSophie, from marketing.
She was around your age, maybe a little older, with sharp, dark eyes and a practiced kind of friendliness that never felt too forced. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail, her makeup was still intact despite the long day, and she carried herself with the kind of effortless confidence that made her good at her job.
She had just come from her office.
You knew it before she even said anythingâbefore she stopped beside your desk, before she tucked her phone into the pocket of her blazer, before she shot you a look that was neither warm nor cold, just neutral. Indifferent.
Then, with no warning, no weight behind it, she said, "Ms. Carpenter wants to see you."
No glance in your direction. No hesitation. No reaction.
Your grip tightened around your pen.
For a secondâjust a secondâit felt like the air had been sucked out of the room.
Your heartbeat, slow and dull all day, suddenly jumped in your chest, rattling against your ribs like it had been waiting for something. Waiting for this.
It was automatic, the way you straightened up. The way your breath caught. The way you felt yourself reacting before you could stop it.
Because finally.
Finally.
She wanted you.
It should have been obvious what this was. It should have been clear that this wasn't an invitation, that it wasn't some whispered promise of relief. But you had gone days without hearing her say your name, without feeling the weight of her attention, without even knowing where you stood.
And now, she was calling you in.
You weren't expecting an apology. You shouldn't have expected it to begin with.
But thisâthis was something.
You swallowed hard, nodding stiffly as you grabbed your notebookâan instinct, an excuse, something to holdâand stood. Sophie was already gone, her heels clicking away, already moving on with her day.
But you were stuck there for a moment, standing beside your desk, fingers pressing into the cover of your notebook, heart pounding so hard it almost made you dizzy.
This was it.
You had been waiting.
And now, she wanted you again.
You moved without thinking.
The path was familiarâdown the hall, past the break room, past the framed awards and corporate slogans lining the walls. It was the same walk you had made so many times before, the same quiet stretch of polished floors and low conversation, the same flicker of overhead lights casting everything in that soft, sterile glow.
It felt like routine. Like muscle memory. Like something ingrained in you, something you had done over and over until it no longer required thought.
But todayâtoday, something about it felt different.
Maybe it was the way your pulse hadn't settled, the way each step felt just a little too careful, like you were trying not to let yourself get ahead of anything. Or maybe it was the fact that, for once, you had no real idea what was waiting for you when you got there.
Not that it stopped you.
You reached the door too quickly, or maybe not quickly enough.
It was closed.
Of course, it was.
You hesitated only for a secondâjust long enough to take a slow breath, to steady the way your fingers twitched at your sideâbefore lifting your hand and knocking, light but deliberate.
The response came almost immediately.
"Come in."
Her voice.
It sent something through you, something automatic and unshakable, something that made your stomach tighten in a way you shouldnât have let it.
You exhaled, turned the handle, and stepped inside.
The door clicked shut behind you, and the first thing you noticed was that she wasn't standing.
She wasn't waiting for you. She wasn't already crossing the room, wasn't reaching for you, wasn't closing the space between you before you could even get your bearings.
She was sitting.
She was perched at her desk, one leg crossed over the other, pen in hand as she finished writing something in the notebook before her. There was a chair in front of her desk, positioned deliberatelyâwaiting for you.
That was new.
Your gaze dragged over her, slow, searchingâlike you were trying to find something familiar, something that would make this feel normal again.
Her blazer was still on, though it looked slightly looser, like she had been tugging at the collar absentmindedly. Her hair was the same, dark and perfect, framing her face in a way that made her unreadable.
And then, finally, she looked up.
Her eyes met yours, and for a second, she just held your gaze, expression unreadable. Then, she offered a polite nod, her voice measured.
"Welcome."
Her tone sent something uneasy down your spine.
You barely had time to process it before she added, smoothly, "Ms. L/N, would you mind closing the door for a second?"
For a moment, you just stood there.
Closing the door wasn't unusual. It was something that had happened plenty of times before.
But not like this.
Not like this, where your fingers curled around the handle, where you turned and pushed it shut yourself. Normally, it wouldn't be you closing it at all. Normally, the weight of it against your back would come from her, from the way she would back you up against it, from the way she would kiss you like she needed to.
Thisâthis didn't feel like that.
Nothing about this felt right.
You turned back to face her, but you could already tell.
There was something in the way she was sitting, something that made your stomach tighten. She wasn't relaxed. She wasn't leaning back in that easy way she sometimes did, wasn't watching you like she already knew what she wanted from you.
Instead, she looked... uneasy.
Her hand twitched slightly before she brought it up to adjust the sleeve of her blazer, fingers brushing over the fabric like the motion would somehow steady her. Her lips pressed together, and then, finally, she lifted a handâgesturing to the chair in front of her.
"Would you please sit down?"
Polite. Too polite.
The words landed in your stomach like a stone.
You hesitated, but only for a secondâthen, with a quick nod, you muttered, Yes, ma'am, before lowering yourself onto the chair.
She was watching you.
Or, at least, she had been.
As soon as you met her gaze, she looked awayâeyes dropping down to the desk, hands shifting against the surface like she wasn't quite sure what to do with them.
Something about it sent a sharp, uneasy feeling through you.
Tara Carpenter didn't fidget. She didn't look away.
And yet, here she wasâsitting in front of you, fingers pressed against her desk, avoiding your eyes like she couldnât meet them.
Something was wrong.
You sat there, watching her, trying to piece together what this was.
It couldn't be anything serious.
At least, that's what you told yourself.
Maybe it was just a minor issue with some paperwork you had sent inâsomething from last week, or maybe even three days ago. Maybe there had been an error somewhere, some formatting issue, something that had made its way up to her desk. It wouldn't be the first time. She might just be calling you in to correct it, to give you that sharp little look, to let you know in that dry, amused way of hers that she expected better.
Or maybeâmaybe it was about this.
About you. About her.
Maybe she was going to say it had to stop.
Maybe she was going to tell you that she couldn't do this anymore, that she had been thinking about it for a while now and it was too risky, too complicated. Maybe she was going to sit there, all composed and professional, and tell you that this thingâthis thing that had felt so effortless, so natural, so rightâhad to end.
Your throat felt tight.
But even that didn't explain the way she looked.
Tara Carpenter wasn't a nervous person.
You had seen her in meetings, handling high-stakes deals with nothing but a smirk and a raised brow. You had seen her walking the floor, speaking in that firm, confident tone that made people straighten up when she passed.
And beyond thatâbeyond the person she was in the office, beyond the way she commanded attention in a roomâthere was you.
You had seen her in ways no one else had.
You had seen her with her head thrown back, her lips parted, her hands fisting, You had seen her hair messy, tangled from fingers pulling through it. You had seen the smooth glide of her bra slipping from her shoulders, the slow reveal of bare skin beneath dim office lights.
You had seen her unravel.
So why, why, was she looking like this?
Like she was trying to hold herself together.
Like she was the vulnerable one.
Tara inhaled sharply.
She started to speak, then stoppedâlips pressing together like the words weren't quite right.
Then, after another second, she tried again.
"It has been brought to my attentionâ"
But she cut herself off, exhaling through her nose, shaking her head slightly.
That wasn't it.
She tried again.
"I wanted to discussâ"
Another pause.
Her fingers tapped against the desk. She let out a short breath, dropped her gaze for a moment, then lifted it again.
You just sat there, waiting.
Feeling the weight of it, the heaviness in your chest growing stronger with every second she spent not saying it.
Tara let out a slow, unsteady breath.
You weren't sure you had ever seen her like this before.
She had always been so sure of herselfâwhether it was in the office or when she was pressing you against the door, her mouth on yours, her hands sliding beneath your clothes. There was never hesitation, never DOUBT. And yet now, sitting across from you at her desk, she looked...unsteady. Like she was losing her grip on something she had been trying so hard to hold onto.
She tried again.
She parted her lips, inhaled like she was about to speak, but no words came out.
Another pause. Another exhale, shakier this time.
You just sat there, silent, watching her.
Afraid to say anything. Afraid to move.
And then, finally, she spoke.
Her voice was measured, like she was trying too hard to keep it even.
"There have beenâ" She stopped, her jaw tightening. Then, after a beat, she continued, forcing the words out this time. "There have been concerns regardingâ"
Another pause.
Her fingers twitched against the desk.
You could tell she was frustratedâfrustrated with herself, frustrated with whatever this was, frustrated with how impossible it was for her to just say it.
And then she did.
Sort of.
She started talkingânot stopping herself this time, not cutting herself offâbut none of it made sense.
"I have to consider the overall professionalism of this workplace," she said, her hands fidgeting slightly, like she didn't know what to do with them. "And it has come to my attention that... certain dynamics could be viewed as compromising to that environment. As a leader, I have to ensure that all professional relationships remain, well, professional, and given the circumstances, it has been deemed necessary to take appropriate action in order to maintain the integrity of this organization and uphold the standards expected within a corporate setting."
The words kept coming, all strung together, tangled and stiff and unnatural.
Like she had put together a bunch of professional-sounding phrases and hoped they would add up to something real.
But they didn't.
Because none of it explained why she was looking at you like that.
Like she was barely keeping it together.
Like this wasn't just business to her.
But Tara kept going.
She kept talking, even as her voice wavered slightly, even as her fingers twitched against the surface of her desk, even as her eyes darted around the room, landing anywhere but on you.
"I've had to take into account the... potential risks of certain workplace interactions and the possible implications of, um... interpersonal relationships that couldâ" She cut herself off, her jaw tightening, like she was annoyed with herself. Then, a quick inhale, a forced recalibration, and she tried again. "There are expectations that need to be upheld, and I can't allowâ" Another pause. Another shift in posture. "It's important to set clear boundaries in order to ensure that the workplace remains an environment ofâ"
She was stringing together words that, on their own, might've sounded reasonable.
But put together like this?
Like a desperate attempt to say something that justified this?
It was ridiculous.
Your brow furrowed slightly as you just stared at her, struggling to follow along, struggling to even comprehend what the hell she was getting at.
And she wouldn't look at you.
Her fingers tapped against the desk. Her posture was tense, rigid. Her eyes flicked toward the papers in front of her, then the window, then the floorâanywhere but at you.
And then, finally, she finished it.
Her voice was quiet but firm, like she had to force herself to say it.
"...Which is why I've decided that I'm going to let you go."
You blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Your brain stalled, like you had misheard her, like maybe she had just said it wrong, like maybe if she tried again it would make sense.
But she didn't.
She just sat there.
And all you could do was stare.
The second the words left her mouth, you saw it happen.
Something in her cracked.
Her expression wavered, that firm, professional look she had been trying so hard to maintain slipping away the moment she heard herself say it out loud. And for a secondâjust a secondâher face was bare. No control, no composure. Just guilt.
It was in the way her fingers twitched against the desk, the way her throat bobbed as she swallowed, the way she tried to get that same firm expression back, but it was already too late.
It was already slipping.
And she knew it.
You didn't react right away.
The words hit you like a slow-moving trainâimpacting in pieces, each one slamming into you harder than the last.
Your breath came out unsteady, like your body didn't quite know what to do with this.
She had justâ
No.
She didn't just say that.
She didnât.
"What?"
The word spat from your mouth before you could stop it, sharp and incredulous, like your body rejected the very sound of it.
Tara flinched just slightlyâso slight you might've missed it if you weren't looking so closely. But you were.
And you saw how her eyes immediately dropped to her hands, suddenly fascinated with her own fingers, as if you weren't sitting right in front of her, burning holes into her skull.
She didn't respond.
She didn't say a single word.
Your pulse slammed against your ribs, a roaring sound filling your ears as you sat there, waiting. Waiting for her to say something, anything, to fix whatever the fuck this was supposed to be.
But she didn't.
And the silence only made your anger grow, burning through your veins, pressing hot against your chest.
Your chair scraped back just slightly as you leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "Are you fucking kidding me right now?"
Still nothing.
She wouldn't even look at you.
She just kept staring down at her hands like she wanted to disappear into the desk, like she already regretted everything she had just said, everything she had done.
Your breath came out sharp, clipped. "So that's it?"
No reaction.
Nothing but the sound of the office clock ticking in the distance.
The bitterness came creeping up your throat before you could stop it, before you could even try to swallow it down.
"You called me in here just to sit there and ramble a bunch of shit that doesn't even make fucking senseâ"
Your voice faltered, not because you doubted what you were saying, but because you didnât doubt it.
You had been sitting here for minutes, minutes, trying to decipher whatever the hell she had been saying, and yet, none of itânot a single fucking thingâhad led to this.
This wasn't a warning. This wasn't an adjustment.
This was you're fired.
This was get out.
And you didn't even get the decency of a real explanation.
Your voice came back stronger, rougher, laced with disbelief.
"âjust to fucking fire me?"
You let the words hang there, hopingâdaringâher to look at you again, to at least own what she was doing.
But she didn't.
She just sat there, barely moving, barely breathing, guilt written all over her face.
Her head hung low, her hands stiff on the desk, her shoulders tight with something that almost resembled shame.
She didn't have to look at you to know what she'd see. She heard the anger in your voice, felt it in the way the air shifted between you, thick with disbelief.
And for a second, she looked like she might say somethingâher lips parted slightly, like she was searching for the words, but then she hesitated.
Her mouth closed.
She figured it wouldn't do any good.
Your voice came next, clipped and sharp. "On what basis?"
Tara flinched at the formality, the sheer professionalism of your tone despite everything.
Unprofessionally enough, she still didn't answer.
She looked up at you briefly, just a fleeting glanceâbut regretted it immediately when she saw the way you were looking at her.
Like you knew.
Like you weren't fucking stupid.
Your voice cut through the silence.
"I didn't fuck you well enough, is that it?"
Tara's whole body went rigid.
Her breath caught in her throat, fingers twitching slightly against the desk, but she didn't move, didn't react, just sat there, stiff.
"Not hard enough?"
Her eyes flicked to the door as if she were checkingâprayingâthat nobody was standing just outside.
But you weren't done.
"You chose somebody else to do my work instead?"
The meaning was clear.
Your tone was clear.
And Tara panicked.
Not outwardly, not obviously, but you saw the way her lips parted like she wanted to object, to say something, only for nothing to come out.
The way her hands clenched just slightly in her lap.
The way her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard, barely, almost shaking her headâbut it was so light, so small, it wasn't even convincing.
Then why was it?
Why was she doing this?
Your patience snapped.
"Then what is it, Tara?"
Her name came out like venom, spat from your lips like an insult, like it wasnât supposed to be spoken by you at all.
And she felt it.
She felt the way it burned coming from you.
She felt the way it stripped away every ounce of authority she had left.
And for the first time since she started thisâsince she said those wordsâTara felt small.
Tara still didn't answer.
Instead, she took a slow breath, trying to steady herself, before straightening her posture like it would somehow make her seem more in control. But the way she held herself was stiff, unnaturalâlike she had to FORCE herself to sit upright, to look like she was handling this professionally when she so clearly wasn't.
Then, without meeting your eyes, she started shifting through the papers on her desk, her fingers slightly unsteady as they flipped through each one. It was like she was buying herself time, like if she just focused on the paperwork, she could pretend this wasn't happening.
"I understand this might come as a shock," she said finally, her voice careful, like she had to pick each word as she went. "And I know it's short notice. But I want you to know that I appreciate everything you've done for this company."
Your stomach twisted.
The way she was talking, like she was trying to soften the blow without actually explaining anything, only made you feel worse.
Tara didn't acknowledge the fact that she was skipping over the real issue. She kept her eyes down, finally finding the paper she had been searching for and sliding it across the desk toward you.
Then, after the briefest hesitation, she reached for a pen and set it carefully on top.
"I just need your signature on this."
Her voice was quiet, hesitant.
It was the first time she had said something direct in the entire conversation, but even then, it wasn't an answer. It wasn't an explanation.
It was just a demand.
It was real.
This was real.
You were being fired.
And she wasn't even going to tell you why.
Your fingers twitched slightly as they rested against your thigh, the weight of the realization crashing over you like a slow, suffocating tide. All you had gotten was a mess of words strung together, words that barely made sense next to each other but had been forced into sentences anyway, as if saying somethingâeven if it was nothingâwould make this feel more justified.
You let your gaze drop to the paper in front of you, your eyes skimming over the fine print, the legal jargon meant to make this look official. Termination of employment. Effective immediately. Company policy compliance. You could barely process any of it. The words blurred together, shifting in and out of focus, and you weren't sure if it was because you weren't trying HARD enough to read them or if it was because your eyes were beginning to sting.
Tara was actually doing this.
You were actually losing your job.
A dull, empty ache settled in your chest, something worse than anger. Something heavier. Because now that the initial shock was starting to wear off, now that the confusion and disbelief had settled into something more solid, you felt... sad. Not just because of what was happening but because of who was doing it.
It didn't make sense. It didn't feel real. But it was.
You could feel Tara watching you, her eyes fixed on you like she was waiting for some kind of reactionâmaybe bracing herself for it. And when you finally forced yourself to look up, meeting her gaze, you could tell immediately that she felt it.
She looked guilty.
Gut-wrenchingly guilty.
For the first time since this conversation started, she didn't immediately look away. Maybe it was because she saw the water in your eyes. Maybe it was because she realized what she was actually doing. Maybe it was because, deep down, she regretted it.
Her lips parted slightly, but she didn't speak.
Her throat bobbed with a hard swallow.
And you didn't care anymore.
Clearly, she had made up her mind. Begging wasn't going to change anything.
So you clenched your jaw and spat, "Fine."
Tara's face shifted, something flickering behind her eyesâsomething almost soft, almost surprised. Like she had expected you to fight harder. Like she had wanted you to give her some kind of reason to stop this, to take it back.
But you didn't.
Instead, you reached for the pen, flipping it between your fingers once before pressing it to the paper, signing your name in sharp, deliberate strokes. You didn't bother reading any of it. You didn't care what it said. It didn't matter anymore.
The second you were done, you slid the paper back toward her side of the desk. Tara's eyes never left you, not for a single second, even as she reached for the document. She was gripping it too tightly, her fingers pressing into the paper like she was trying to keep them steady. She looked like she was trying not to cry.
She glanced down at your signature, lips parting like she wanted to say something elseâsomething more. But instead, all she said was, "Thank you for your cooperation."
The words sounded hollow.
Your stomach twisted at how easily she said it.
A humorless laugh slipped past your lips, sharp with sarcasm as you leaned back in your chair, tilting your head slightly. "You're really good at this, huh?" you mused, voice laced with venom. "I'm guessing I'm not the first person to sit in this chair while you use words like compliance and company policy to make it sound like you actually know what you're doing."
Tara's expression faltered.
You could tell she knew you were lying, could tell she knew just as well as you did that she sucked at this.
But she didn't acknowledge it.
She straightened her posture, smoothing her hands over her desk before speaking again, voice carefully composed. "You'll be expected to vacate your position by the end of the day," she said, slipping right back into that stiff professionalism. "You'll have until tomorrow morning to collect any remaining personal belongings from your office space before your company access is revoked."
Her words meant to sound formal, meant to sound like she had control. But the slight shake in her voice, the way she hesitated before certain words, made it painfully obvious that she didn't.
You just stared at her.
And Tara swore she saw your eyes darken.
Then, suddenly, you stood, the legs of your chair scraping loudly against the floor as it nearly tipped over behind you.
Tara flinched slightly at the sudden movement, her fingers curling against her desk.
You met her gaze one last time, your expression unreadable.
And then, with a voice cold as steel, you spat, "Fuck you, Tara."
The words felt heavier than anything else you could have said.
And then you turned and walked out, leaving her sitting there, hands still gripping the desk, face still stuck in that tense, guilty expressionâwatching you go.
Tara didn't call after you.
She didn't try to stop you.
She just sat there, frozen in place, watching as you disappeared through the doorway like you had never been there to begin with.
The silence in the office was suffocating.
She let out a slow, shaky breath, fingers twitching as she reached for the document you had just signed. Your name stared back at her, bold and unforgiving, ink still fresh against the stark white paper. Her grip tightened around it, knuckles paling, and for a moment, she just stared.
You hadn't even looked at her before walking out. Hadn't hesitated. Hadn't faltered.
It was done.
And yet, as the echo of your footsteps faded down the hallway, leaving her completely, utterly aloneâTara had never felt less in control.
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Summary: Tara meets some of your family during your fatherâs birthday
Words: 3.4k
A/n: i havenât written fanfiction since 2020 so please proceed with a little caution đ
Warnings(?): fluff, mentions of sex, very tiny hurt/comfort
You had a big family
Like a really big family
Tara didnât have the pleasure of having a family like yours. You were close with your cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents, and everyone else in between. While Tara on the other hand can barely remember her dadâs face, she tries to forget her momâs, and her sister left due to personal issues. Granted, her sister did come back
Shaking her head, she had to push these thoughts to the back of her mind. Instead Tara had to focus on her rapidly beating heart and the internal screaming at the fact your entire family was only about 5 minutes away
Tara wanted to make a good impression. An amazing impression, that is. But what if your family knew she was related to the Woodsboro killings? What if they knew her sister was related to the very cause of the Ghostface killings? Would they kick her out? Deem her not good enough for you? What if they called her a liability and then kicked her out? This really was a bad idea, why did she agree to doing this?
âTara, I love you with all my heart. I promise my family wonât throw you out of the house.â You rested a hand on her thigh, rubbing soothing circles with your thumb just how she liked it
Perhaps her internal screaming hadnât been so internal
âOh, but what if they do, babe? What then? Theyâre gonna hate me.â the shorter girl groaned, throwing her head back and covering her face in annoyance
âTara Iâm literally so madly in love with you. Theyâre going to love you, baby. Thereâs not a universe out there where they donât absolutely adore you like I do.â you say seriously, taking her left hand in yours and bringing it up to your face to give her knuckles a feather-light kiss
Tara pouts. A very childish pout, that is
âWhen you realize Iâm right, I will happily say I told you so tomorrow.â
ââŚYou promise theyâll like me?â
âI pinky promise, baby.â
Tara loved that about you. Only do you swear by your pinky during very serious times, almost as if you were swearing upon the river Styx. Never once have you broken one of your pinky promises, and Tara found it utterly adorable. You turned something kids would do under the playground slide into a life-bound oath that youâd never imagine breaking. The thought was endearing enough to help relax Tara just the tiniest bit. She was still scared as fuck, though
âIf you get overwhelmed at any time, we can always go back home or to my room, baby. How about we come up with a safe word?â
âI can last all night, babe. This mama doesnât need any safe wordâ she says proudly. Your girlfriend was an absolute dork under all those layers of trauma
âTara.â you playfully cock an eyebrow at her
âSorryâŚâ she mumbled âhow about black licorice? I hate black licorice.â
âBlack licorice, it is!â you beam, starting to pull into the driveway of your childhood house
It was your fathers 55th birthday. Youâd been with Tara for about 2 years now, which you heavily insisted was enough to consider her a part of your family. Tara ignored how her heartbeat quickened at the implications of being in your family
Tara had still been in her thoughts when you parked the car and rounded the front to the passenger side. Opening the door, you made sure to make a big display, as if you were ushering the queen of England herself
âMy liege.â you say in a faux British accent while holding out your hand as you bow, awaiting her response
âAnd society dares say chivalry is dead.â she laughs at your antics, intertwining your hands as you help her out of your car. There was cars upon cars parked on the road. Tara wouldâve guessed this was a frat party and not a birthday party with how many cars were present. Birthday gift in hand, Tara was now worrying if it was enough
When you rang the doorbell, Taraâs heart quickened again. A week prior, you two went shopping, looking for the perfect casual dress Tara was going to wear. You were persistent that it didnât matter what she wore. Tara ultimately won that argument when she pulled up an entire slideshow on her laptop and presented it to you sitting 5 inches away from your face. You tell yourself you let her win that time
Before she could say this was a bad idea for the umpteenth time, the door opened with your father behind it
âWell, Iâll be dammed! If it isnât my favorite child!â he pulls you into a bone-crushing hug, a wide grin on his face
âDad!â you smile âYou donât look a day over 80â
âOh hush, you.â he laughs, turning to Tara
âAnd you must be Tara!â he reaches out to shake her hand, Tara reciprocating the action.
âWeâre all excited to meet you. Our Y/N likes to brag about you quite a lot! Welcome to the family, Tara. Itâs a pleasure to have you hereâ the older man pats her shoulder, his grin bright enough to be seen by astronauts on the Moon
âThank you, Mr. (L/N). Please, the pleasure is all mineâ Tara smiles, and you interlace your hands once again
âOh, hush with all that formal crap. Youâre making me feel old! Frank or Frankie is perfectly fine, darlinâ. Come on in!â
You give Taraâs hand a supportive squeeze, offering a smile. Youâre proud she didnât pass out while talking to your dad. He could definitely be overbearing at times, but the older man only had good intentions
Setting down you and Taraâs gift on a nearby table, she was hit with an immediate sense of home when she entered the living room. Tara felt nostalgia that didnât exist. Perhaps it was a sense of longing. Tara could definitely imagine a small you running around and tracking mud all over the floors. Maybe sheâd be lucky enough to see your baby pictures. The shorter girl felt something brush up against her legs, snapping her out of her thoughts
âAres!â you say excitedly, reaching down to pick up the orange cat. Part of his left ear was missing, but it added to his charm
âHe always takes a while to warm up to people. I wonder why he came up to you?â now you were holding the cat in such a way that invited Tara to pet him â which she happily did. Ares quickly started to purr
âMaybe itâs âcause I smell like you?â
âI like to think itâs âcause youâre the chosen oneâ you shrug, noticing how Taraâs cheeks redden the tiniest bit
âWhyâs his name Ares? Thatâs a greek god, isnât it?â Tara didnât know much about greek mythology when she first met you, but after long rants (in which she happily listened to), she now knew some surface-level facts
âMom let me name him when I was 13, and I mightâve been going through a really bad Percy Jackson phase at the time. Ares was a real ass when he was younger. Always messing shit up, and I guess it just fit at the time.â you smiled at him. Tara noticed the look in your eyes. You were recalling all your past memories of Ares, getting ready to talk about the orange cat if she asked. Tara liked observing you
âCâmon, how about we say hi to my Mom? Are you ready for another parent?â You asked, setting down Ares on his cat post as he stretched and let out a big yawn.
âYeah, definitely ready.â
âYou sound uncertain. I know youâll fuck shit up out there, babeâ you press a kiss to the bridge of her nose, making her subconsciously scrunch it up in the way you found sickeningly adorable
âYâknow, you should really be a professional motivational speaker, baby. I feel better alreadyâ she says in a sarcastic tone, but she fully means her words
Making your way to the backyard doors, Tara is starting to feel a little better about meeting your family. Your Mom was seated on the patio deck with a few of her sisters â your aunts. Before you could say hello, the three of them were already up
âMom, Auntie Rosie, Aunt Amelia, meet my girlfriend. This is Taraâ you smile at her, and she returns your smile
âTara! Youâre even prettier in real life!â youâre lovingly shoved out of the way as all the attention is now drawn to your girlfriend
A slew of praise bombard her, compliment after compliment meeting her ears. You come up behind her and place your hand on the brunetteâs shoulder, offering a little comfort. Instead of being met with her eyes of discomfort, all you can see is happiness behind her smile. She happily engages in conversation. Answering questions about your relationship, her education, and plans for the future. Tears prick at your eyes, but you didnât let them fall. You loved seeing Tara happy.
âWell, it was wonderful meeting you, Tara. Donât be a stranger, sweetheart. How about you two enjoy the party, now?â your mom smiled
âLikewise. It was wonderful meeting you too, Mrs. (L/N)â
Before you can turn around, thereâs a sudden weight on your back that makes you topple onto the grass. You can hear the faint giggling of Tara as youâre causally making out with the floor
âLilith (M/N) (L/N). I swear to god if you donât get off of me, Iâll make sure to-â you never finished your sentence as more weight was put on your back. Not as heavy as your sister, but the weight was still there. By the sound of high-pitched giggles, you could only assume your nieces â your older brotherâs daughters â were now on top of you as well
âAuntie Y/N! Auntie Y/N! Whoâs that over there?â Your nieces say in union. Lily gets off your back, but the other two decide to stay and bombard you with questions
Tara canât help but laugh at your state
âYouâre Tara, right?â your sister was now at your girlfriendâs side as you struggled to bribe your nieces with candy (they were surprisingly resilient)
âMhm, youâre her sister, arenât you? Lilith is what Y/N said?â
âLilith is my real name, but family and friends call me Lilyâ she winks at Tara with a smirk on her face
âDid you know Y/N had a crush on you in high school? She said sheâd kill me if I told anyone, but every single day sheâd tell me about her fat crush on youâ Lily playfully bumped her and Taraâs shoulders together. âEven more than Elizabeth Olsen is what sheâd say to meâ
âOh? Please continue, I insist.â Tara canât contain her smile as she learns about your crush on her. Now fueled by not getting embarrassed more than you already have, you practically wrestle your nieces to get back up on your feet
âLily I swear to everything holy, if you donât shut up, I will make sure you never see another sunrise.â youâd probably be scarier if there werenât two little girls hanging off your arms with some dirt and grass smudged on you face when you got up. Tara and Lily doubled down laughing, and you could feel your cheeks redden in embarrassment
âCâmon you two troublemakers, donât give Auntie Y/N back problems just yetâ your brother calls out from behind Tara. You two were the absolute splitting images of each other. Youâve already shown pictures and videos of him, but now sheâs actually seeing him. Face shape, hair texture, you and him may as well be conjoined twins
âTara, is it? Y/N hasnât stopped talking about you since you two have met. Iâm Joshuaâ he gracefully picks up his daughters, finally giving you breathing room to mutter something about âworking outâ and âbodied by toddlersâ
âYou donât know how many times iâve heard that todayâ Taraâs teasing grin was so wide, her name may as well be the Cheshire Cat. She looks over Joshuaâs shoulder, meeting your flushed cheeks and embarrassed look
âI donât appreciate this slander, thank you. Iâd like to take my girlfriend away, now!â you say in a sing-song tone. Your siblings and nieces wave you two a goodbye before starting a conversation of their own
âEmbarrassed, much?â
âHush, you get embarrassed when Mindy tells me about your âlonging looksâ as sheâd call itâ
âAll the more reason for me to hear about how much you liked me~â Tara pokes the side of your ribs, and you pinch her cheek in retaliation
Before you know it, youâre inside your house again. This time, way more family and family friends occupy the main area. Tara could handle smaller interactions with your immediate family, but this stressed her out. She never liked admitting it, but crowded places freaked her the fuck out. More chances of Ghostfa-
âBlack licorice?â
âBlack licorice.â she nods, looking at you. Tara liked how well you knew her.
âHow about my room? I have a record player in thereâ You guided her up the stairs, your hand not leaving Taraâs for a second
Entering your room, she noticed how you it was. Band and movie posters were all across the walls, and she could clearly picture a middle school Y/N in their Hot-Topic phase. Vinyl records and a multitude of books sat on shelves all over your room. Above your bed, under your bed, you name it, there wasnât a shelf that was empty
âLana, Arctic Monkeys, Taylor, Slipknot for some reasonâŚâ You listed off artists you had records for, and they were all so you. She could practically feel your entire soul in this room, just wafting around
âLana. Definitely, Lanaâ Tara makes her way to your bed, feeling the soft sheets on her thighs
âWhatâs on your mind, baby?â You sit next to her, letting Tara rest her head on your shoulder
âDo you think iâll ever stop being scared? I donât like feeling scared around your family. I donât like how theyâre all still affecting meâ
âItâll take time, Tara. Months, Years, you name it. But however long it takes, I promise Iâll be there with you.â Tara fidgets with your hands, and you press a kiss to the side of her head
Before you can fully move away, Tara pulls you into another kiss. She feels soft against your lips, and smells like absolute heaven. She kisses you like youâre her last meal, and youâd happily be devoured. She straddles your waist as your back hits the headboard. You kiss until air is required, and pull away with a small smile on your face. Itâs not long until you do it again. And again. And again. Until your lips are cherry red from Taraâs biting, and her dress a little crinkled from your urge to always be close
âWe can stay up here if you want? Iâll tell my parents you arenât feeling well.â
âNo, thatâd be bad manners. Can we just⌠stay like this a little longer?â
âWhatever you want, baby.â You shimmy out of her straddle, and opt to lay on your bed
âLay down with me?â
âY/N, i donât want my hair to get all messyâ
âSo what? Youâd look pretty either wayâ
âYour family is gonna think we had sex, babyâ
âI hate to break it to you, babe, but they probably already think weâre on our third position right nowâ
Tara sighs.
âMoments like these are when I question why I said yes to dating youâ She groans, laying down on her back next to you
âIâm irresistibleâ you say with a smug grin on your face
âIf it helps you sleep at night, babyâ
â
âWhere did Tara and Y/N go?â your mother questioned
âY/N whispered something in Taraâs ear, and they went upstairs. Ten dollars theyâre gonna fuckâ
âLily! Language!â your sister laughed as your mom lightly slapped her shoulder
âYou should probably wait 10 minutes before calling them down hereâ
âIâm grounding you.â
â
Ten minutes of laying on your bed and a few kisses later, a knock is heard at your door
âAre you two decent over there?â
âWe arenât fucking, Lilyâ this time, itâs your turn to groan
âJust make sure to air out your room before our nieces and nephews get up hereâ
âI hate being related to youâ Tara laughs behind you, trying to suppress a smile. âIâd wrestle you if I wasnât so strongâ you open your door
âWe both know youâre all talk. Iâm the real winner, arenât I, Tara?â
âAs long as itâs not Y/Nâ Tara shrugs while walking down the stairs, and she can practically feel the betrayed look on your face
âIâm the real winner, arenât I, Tara?â You say in a higher pitch, mocking Lily. âCâmon, we both know I have more experience.â
âSex isnât the same as wrestling, Y/Nâ
âYouâd be agreeing with me if you actually got some, Lilyâ
âAlright, I think thatâs enough about sex. Iâm gonna have this on my conscience while we sing happy birthday to your fatherâ Tara just couldnât stop thinking about how you two bantering was so similar to her family bantering with Mindy and Chad. The shorter girlâs family was maybe definitely more complicated than yours, but you never made her feel bad about it. Tara liked that about you
âYour girlfriend is coolâ Lily whispers, but Tara can hear her
âYouâre saying that like I donât already knowâ You smile, swinging an arm around Taraâs shoulders. Finally making it to the bottom floor, your family is around your father, getting ready to sing happy birthday. He requested two simple five and five candles, but it seems he lost that battle as 55 regular candles sat on his sheet cake
A few of your nieces and nephews of different ages swarm to your side like bees following their queen. Tara has to push away her baby thoughts when she sees you take one of your nieces into your arms and smile all the way up to your eyes. This barbie is having baby fever
Someone dims the lights, and a happy birthday is sung to your father. She joins in the makeshift choir, meeting his eyes and smiling. The man looked a little awkward, but honestly who didnât while being sung happy birthday. When the crowd was finished singing, the older man closed his eyes in thought of a wish. As quickly as they closed, his wish was made
A spew of cheers and congratulations erupted as he was handed a knife to cut his cake. Kids rushed to grab a slice, and Tara had to actively try and not get her toes stepped on. The shorter girl felt someone lean onto her from behind, and she could tell it was you from how your chin rested on her head
âHowâre you feeling?â A slice of cake was now in her hands as of your delivery. âLetâs sit outside and you can talk me through itâ
âThis is all so new to me, but iâm enjoying it. Iâm still scared and nervous, but youâre making it easierâ she bumps your shoulders together. âYour siblings are also pretty fun to be aroundâ
âThanks for coming today, babyâ you kiss the side of her head. âIâm really proud of you for agreeing to come with me.â
Tara lays her head on your shoulder, and you two stay like that for a little while, appreciating each others presence to take a small breather.
âThank you for being patient with meâ The shorter girl says softly after a while
âAs long as Atlas is holding up the sky, I promise Iâll wait for youâ
âBaby, youâre so lucky I love you. I wouldâve cringed if you were anyone else, but somehow you make it endearingâ
âI always told my siblings Iâd get a girlfriend that appreciates my Greek Mythology referencesâ
âYouâre a dork.â Tara smiles before leaning in to kiss you. She was looking forward for another day like this.
â
Bonus:
You and Tara are cuddling on her bed when the clock turns to 12am
Summary: when you die, Tara struggles living without you
Words: 2k
A/n: thanks for all the love on âbirthdays and stressâ :D
Warnings: scream 6 spoilers, major character death, angst, hurt/comfort (but mostly hurt), blood, crying, mention of sex
Tara swears she can hear angels sing when you catch her eye. She looks at you, and her heart soars. It mightâve been the booze, it mightâve been the second-hand weed, but something came over her when you looked at her with the utmost adoration. Tara canât control her body when she starts to lean in closer, and you end up closing the gap.
Your lips fit together like youâd done this hundreds of times before. You pull the smaller girl on top you, and Tara sighs like sheâs just been accepted into heaven. Her hands tangle into your hair, and itâs your turn to sigh as she starts to massage the back of your head.
Unfortunately youâre both humans that need air to breathe, but that doesnât stop you two from diving back into each other when youâre both ready for more.
Tara made sure she had the first pleasure of saying âI love youâ only seconds after you asked her to be your girlfriend.
âLittle miss eager, are we?â
âIâd come up with a witty remark, but iâd much rather have incredibly soft sex with youâ
âGod, youâre such a dork. Iâm surprised we havenât done this soonerâ
âGod canât help you anymore, baby. Youâre all mine, and iâm not letting you go~â
âYouâre saying that like itâs a problemâ
âI remember the night i realized i was in love with you. Whenever i miss you, i always think about that night. I know iâm always telling you about it, but you were just so⌠ethereal. I donât think iâd ever be able to forget how you smiled at me.â
On particularly bad nights when Tara had nightmares about Amber and the Ghostface attacks, you were always there to tell her itâll be okay. At first Sam wasnât too approving, but you reminded her of herself. You gained Samâs trust when you showed up at their front door in the middle of the night looking like youâd just woken up (which you did) and proceeded to let Tara cry into your neck until the sun came up.
Youâd rub circles into her back and massage the back of her head until your hands were numb, and the circulation of blood has long since left your fingers. Even before you two were official, youâd give Tara the most tender kisses you could offer her.
When you kissed her nose, sheâd scrunch it up and give you the tiniest smile. When you kissed her cheek, sheâd giggle and mumble âThat ticklesâ in a barely audible whisper. Finally, when you kissed her forehead, her wrinkles would disappear like they were never there. Only then would you start to lay Tara back down on her bed and let the smaller girl sleep until the afternoon
Tara found your smell intoxicating like a drug. She needed it to sleep, go outside, or do anything. She just need you around her at all times. Tara would steal your clothes just for the days you couldnât be in her apartment.
âI havenât washed any of your clothes. Sam tells me theyâll grow mold, but iâd keep them either way. Your mom let me take home most of your clothes. Sometimes i wish youâd bought more so i wouldnât have to use the same ones every night.â
Itâs been 3 weeks since youâve died, and Tara hasnât gotten used to the idea of you not being home. After long nights under the sheets with her, youâd make Tara something to eat every single morning after. Your aftercare didnât stop until you decided your girlfriend was well taken care of.
Breakfast in bed, relaxing baths, Tara may as well be the queen of England with how much you spoiled her. More often than not, youâre up and awake hours before Tara. You use this time to clean up and tidy until your next round of fun times.
Youâd wash her clothes, prepare her bag for classes, and clean up the strewn about clothes from the night before. When Tara woke up, sheâd be able to hear the sizzling of bacon on a pan, and your less-than-ideal-singing. Tara found it adorable when youâd mess up a lyric or try and hit a high note.
Tara still woke up to bacon sizzling and music in the background, but your voice was no longer there. Maybe you just got tired from singing? Yeah. Definitely that. Tara waited for you to arrive in her room. You usually came in around 9:30 am, but the clock quickly turned into 10:00 am, 11:00 am, 12:00 pm and even 1:00 pm. Before she knew it, Sam was spoon feeding her at 10:00 pm and you still werenât there.
âWhenever i smell breakfast and youâre not in bed with me, i always assume youâll come bursting through the door with a smile on your face with a tray of my favorite food. Iâve spent hours waiting for you to show up, but you never do.â
Itâs been 2 months since you died, and Tara hadnât left her room in days. Sam was growing more and more concerned as time passed. She didnât want to admit it, but Sam was scared. What was she supposed to do in this situation? Her baby sister was hurting, and she wasnât able to take away her pain. Sam wasnât dumb. She saw how you two looked at each other. There was nothing but love.
Sam didnât want to admit it, but youâd won her over long before she showed it. You were a good friend as well. Always offering to be a shoulder to cry on or an ear to listen. Now you were gone, and Sam didnât know how to help Tara heal.
After a particularly long night at work, Sam wasnât met with the silence of an apartment, but the crying of her sister. Sam wanted to do something, but she didnât know what. So for now sheâd be the shoulder to cry on, just as you had been for the Carpenter sisters.
A nervous Sam opened Taraâs door, and she was met with her younger sister curled in a ball while wearing your shorts and shirt. Sam felt tears prick at her eyes from the sight, but she had to be strong. She had to be there for her baby sister. Slowly walking toward Taraâs bed, Sam leaned down to meet her eyes.
ââŚSammy?â Tara croaked, and Sam could feel her heart shatter. Taraâs eyes were bloodshot red and her eye bags were such a dark color they rivaled her freckles. Tears were a constant stream on her face, leaving a damp spot on her bedsheets.
âOh, TaraâŚâ was all Sam could manage before she got into bed with her younger sister. Sam felt like a mother rocking her baby to sleep after a bad dream. God, Sam wished this was a bad dream. The older sister didnât believe in any deity or god, but that night she prayed. Sam prayed to whoever out there would listen. She prayed her sister would be alright. She prayed her sister would be able to heal. She prayed for this to be a nightmare, and that youâd be alive and breathing the next day. Her last prayer never came true.
âOn really bad days, i wear your clothes and put a heat pad on my stomach and pretend itâs you holding me. Sometimes in the middle of the night i can feel a warmth around me. I used to think it was you, but it ended up being Sam trying to comfort me.â
Itâs been a year since you died, and Sam has been urging Tara to go outside more. It started off as easy and simple things. Getting groceries, going to the movies, and checking out books at the library. Tara actually got the number of a very pretty librarian. She was beautiful, kind, and sweet. Tara wouldâve said she was the one before sheâd met you. The librarian â whose name was Katie â asked Tara for her number.
Sam said this could be good for Tara, but they both knew this could only end in one way. Despite this, Tara agreed to a first date. Then a second date. And then a third date at Katieâs apartment.
But Taraâs heart was never in in. Tara felt bad she was wasting such an amazing girlâs time. Her wake up call was when Katie kissed her, and she didnât feel your lips on hers. Tara cried, and Katie understood she wasnât the right one. The brunette apologized and apologized, but Katie knew her heart was elsewhere after the first date.
âWhen other people kiss me, it doesnât feel right. It feels like iâm cheating on you. I think about the disappointed look youâd have on your face when i come home, but youâre not there to give it to me. I know youâd want me to move on, but i donât think i can.â
You died ferociously protecting Tara. Punches, kicks, and bites were exchanged. You fought, and you fought hard. But ultimately, protecting Tara was always bound to be your demise. You were battered and bruised when Ethan took the bag off your head.
âY/N!â
âNot a step closer, Tara.â He pointed the gun at your head. âOr your precious girlfriend over here gets itâ
âFuck you.â
âA lover for a lover. If Richie canât be alive, neither can she.â He pushes the gun closer to your head, and you have to suppress a shiver at how itâs covered in blood. âYou sisters donât deserve to be happyâ
You look up at Tara, and both of you know one person between you two is going to come out of this alive. You decide itâs going to be Tara.
âI love youâ are the last words you mouth to your girlfriend before you use all your body weight to knock down Officer Bailey and Quinn. A bullet is in your skull less than a second later.
âI still have nightmares, but theyâre mostly about you. Theyâve gone down with time, but some nights i have to see your face. I canât tell whether itâs a curse or a blessing most timesâ
You died when you were only 22. Young and bright-eyed, you were still able to change the lives around you. Mindy shared many of your interests, Anika was your best friend, Chad learned about his love of football through you, and Sam was the sister you never had. But most importantly, you were the love of Taraâs life.
Tara wished she photographed every single moment she had with you. she knows better now. After your death, Tara spent more time with her family â which Chad named âThe Core Fourâ. There were sleepovers, game nights, and movie nights way more often now, as per Taraâs request.
Moments with you were only in memory, and she vowed to never let your name leave her mind. So, Tara started to write. At first it was memories and fun moments with you, but it quickly turned into her experiences with Ghostface, and the story of her life. This was only meant for herself, though. Tara saw firsthand how media affects real life.
âI know how much you loved red velvet, so i got you a cupcake. Itâs from a new bakery i know youâd likeâ The brunette sets down a red velvet cupcake with cream cheese frosting and a candle at the base of your headstone.
The shorter girl looks up at the sky, and is met with a rapidly setting sun. âWell itâs getting dark, and i have to leave soon. I donât want to worry Sam.â
Tara opens a heart-shaped locket around her neck with a picture of you and her in it. Bringing it to her lips, a few stray tears run down her face. âHappy 24th birthday, my loveâ
disclaimer: this blog is 18+ and contains adult/dark themes in some instances. please proceed with this in mind.Â
ao3 wattpadÂ
Ghostface!TaraÂ
all hers:Â âIâd kill everybody in this town before theyâd take you away from me.â Tara says, eyes wild. âIâd kill everybody in the world. You belong to me.â Ghost face!Tara. Smut. Dark themes. 18+
part i
part ii
part iii
part iv
part v
part vi
part vii
part viii
part ix
part x
part xi
part xii
part xiii
part xiv
part xv
part xvi
part xvii
part xviii
part xix
part xx
part xxi
part xxii
part xxiii
part xxiv
part xxv
part xxvi
epilogue
drabble 1 (anal sex), drabble 2 (R is sick), drabble 3 (clingy!Tara), drabble 4 (jealous reader), drabble 5 (R Dad trying to set R up), drabble 6 (Samâs and Râs girls day)
The drabble files: Loosely connected drabbles from the all hers universe.
P1 | P2 | P3
Quinn Bailey Must Die: Quinn Bailey is yours and Taraâs, sexed up, horndog roommate. Sheâs cool at first, you think. Until she sets her sights on Tara. All hers universe, set after the main story. GF!Tara
P1 | P2 | P3
Vada Cavell
secrets that you keep Vada tells her Mom a little too much. Again. An argument ensues. Smut 18+
falling all in you Vada makes a purchase for the two of you. 18+ smut.
captivated Vadaâs first time seeing Râs boobs. Sheâs a little gobsmacked. 18+ smut.
in the name of taylor swift you have to break up with Vada. In the name of Taylor Swift. Fluff
drabble: Vadaâs obsession with Râs boobs.
Wednesday Addams
in the interest of spontaneity  Wednesday invites you up for a âstudy sessionâ. Of course, being Wednesday, the invite is literal. Smut, 18+
trust me Reader learns a new spell and decides to test it on Wednesday. Â Specifically: Wednesdayâs strap-on. Smut, 18+
say my name While in bed with Wednesday, you accidentally moan Enidâs name. Smut, 18+
drabble: jealous Wednesday
Jenna Ortega / Emma Myers
threeâs a crowd:Â You hadnât expected this. to fall in love. with not one girl, but two. you hadnât expected to ruin their friendship. love triangle au.
Playlist
part one
part two
part three
part four
part five
part six
part seven
part eight
part nine
part ten (epilogue)
Florence Pugh
Love Scenes  Florence gets jealous after you film a love scene. Smut. 18+
lights, camera, action You catch Florenceâs eye on the set of her latest movie. Smut. 18+
Florence Pugh x Harry Styles x reader
Third wheel Florence gets tired of being the third wheel. Angst.
Friendly Competition Harry and Florence are competitive. A little too competitive, when it comes to you. Smut. 18+
âAh,â you put your coffee cup on a coaster before resuming, âThat is a valid reason not to stay.â
âYeah,â Kate took a quick sip of water, âYou only need Yelena, not Natasha, not Wanda, just you and Yelena.â
You nodded in agreement, âWelp, should we, uh, call her first?â
âMhm!â She purses her lips, âLena, donât be mad at me for springing this on you.â
Kate drowsily fishes around in her pockets for her cell phone. From the sound of it, she has wads of paper, change, for some reason, and plastic wrapping. Why was she carrying these things in her pocket, to begin with? Your fellow Omega seems slightly distressed at the absence of her phone, âLemme guess, you forgot it at homeâŚagain?â
She gives you a blank stare, her lips still pursed with annoyance at herself for being so forgetful, âMay I, please?â She frowns with puppy eyes sparkling underneath the lights.
âFine,â you drawled, âYou really need to have it on you; Yelenaâll be pissed this time.â
âProtective,â Kate corrects, âSheâs very protective of her Omegaâ She blushes while searching for Yelenaâs name in your contacts, âOoh, I bet sheâs gonna be cranky and growl into the phone; thatâd be so hot!â
âWhere are you?â Her tone radiated irritation; she probably woke up without Kate in bed next to her, âKate Romanoff," Thereâs the growl Kate had been anticipating.
Kate nearly squealed like a kid on Christmas; she could barely contain her excitement at Yelenaâs possessiveness over her mate, âAt the coffee shop with Y/N, she and I were wonderingâŚ.â
âKate.â The blonde groaned.
âHear me out, okay?â
âFine,â Lena dragged out.
âI figured she might benefit from hanging out with you alone, you know, to glean a better understanding of Alphas âcause sheâs kinda afraid of being with one?â
âWait, she actually agreed to that? That's surprising."
âShe trusts you, Lena, and only youâŚcurrently, please. I think this could really help her.â
âOkay, you got me because I owe her a favor. Make it quick; Natasha and Wanda are on their way and will be here in two hours or less.â
âThank you, thank you! I promise tonight, Iâll let you-â Kate turns away from you and whispers into your phone, âKnot me tonight.â and then immediately hangs up, leaving Yelena a flustered, babbling mess. Kate turns to you and hands your phone back, âAlright, itâs signed and sealed; letâs get going.â
You and Kate throw away your garbage and leave the secluded room, heading back to the apartments for your visit with Yelena. Anxiety wells up within you with each step you take, âItâs just Yelena; sheâs a trusted friend, remember?â you say to yourself to ease your nerves. It doesnât help in the slightest. Kate listens to your shallow, shaky breathing and clenches your hand, âItâs gonna be okay, I promise - itâs Yelena; she will not hurt you, Y/N/N.â
âI know, thereâs still the possibility that Natasha might show up earlier than expected and-â
âY/N, I promise you will be gone before they arrive. If anything, should they arrive sooner than later, you can always make an exit, no feelings hurt.â Kate opens the door for you, and you both return home.
â
âKate Romanoff,â the blonde answers the door upon the first knock, âY/N, come on in! I have some snacks for usâŚand my sister and her wife, when they get here in like an hour and a half, make yourself comfy. And KateâŚwhat will you be doing?â
Kate immediately makes a beeline for the bedroom. You recall she hasnât slept because Yelena kept her up all night with strenuous physical activity, and her exhaustion showed in her posture and face, âI knew it.â You laughed.
âOof, alright, take a seat with me, Y/N,â Yelena shrugs off Kateâs exit, clearly more interested in talking with you.
âSooo, how do we go about this?â you wondered, twirling your hair nervously.
âHmm, well, I know why you think what you think. Your mom was a big factor, especially since all her paranoia passed to you. What about us Alphas scares you, though? Never talked about it much.â Yelena eats cheese and crackers while you explain everything you told her Omega.
âI always hear things on the news about how Alphas mistreat or abuse my kind, and Iâve read many articles telling me how awful Alphas really are and why they shouldnât be trusted.â
âIt made your fear worse,â Yelena observed, âMost of those articles are written because they loathe them. You do not hate Alphas, right?â
You sighed heavily, crossing your arms and looking down at the snack table, taking a few grapes and noshing on them before continuing, âRight. Iâm justâŚscared of them.â
âWhat about Alphas scare you? Is itâŚ,â Yelena pauses, âHow our personalities can be when our hormones act up or is it like a general thing?â
âEverything. Iâm afraid of them hurting and rejecting me; what if they reject me and beat me to death? That happened a few weeks ago with an omega man; what if that happens to me?â
âY/N, the âwhat ifsâ are breaking your mind. There are always bad apples in every group, even Omegas, betas, and of course, Alphas; thatâs how people are sometimes.â Yelena explains calmly, telling you there isnât much to fear except the bad apples.
âHow would I ever know which one would hurt me? People can easily hide that dark part of themselves, and they lure me to their home and kill me or something.â You sulked, frowning as you ate another grape with some cheese.
âWellâŚthatâs where I would go with you,â Yelena sipped some water from her hydro flask and set it down, âIâm not gonna let anybody touch you with their gross ass hands - that right is reserved for your mate alone.â
âThank you, Lena.â you breathed out slowly, debating whether or not to tell the truth. You can trust Yelena - thatâs for sure. âI say a lot that I donât want my mate because Iâd rather be independent and work on my art, unbothered by the world and away from the Alphas.â You pause to take a swig of water poured into a glass. âThe truth is, I want to find them and have somebody love me.â You confessed what had been truly lying underneath the surface. All the deflecting and misdirection were useless, and it had no benefit in the end. You didnât want to tell her, yet you had to - to escape your momâs shadow. âIâm afraid of my mom being right about my future, about how my mate would reject me on the spot and fuck another Omega afterward. About the pain theyâd inflict.â
Yelena nods in understanding, a half-smile forms on her lips, âThat took a lot to admit, and I thank you for your honesty, Y/N.â
âI felt comfortable enough with you to share; besides, it needed to be shared,â you replied with a yawn, âStruggling with my momâs darkness cannot be done alone; I need people in my life who can help me overcome this.â
âWeâll be with you, even when you move away with your mate.â Yelena slightly frowns at the thought of you leaving; sheâs grown to like you throughout your time here, and so had Kate, even more so. Itâs hard to imagine not being close to them anymore: just three floors down and five doors on your right.
âI donât know what to do if I found my mate now.â You ate some more snack foods as Yelena began to speak.
âItâs up to you. A lot of Omegas tend to rush into their mateâs arms, but some are casual about it, and others take their time to fully accept their mate.â Itâs good to know thereâs no rush or fuss about it going too fast. What a foreign concept for you: taking time to adjust yourself to your mate instead of going head-over-heels for them, blindly rushing into something you don't know.
âIâd rather take my time and go with the flow, you know?â
Ring ring!
Yelenaâs phone starts ringing. âThe blonde picks up her cellular device, and her eyes widen when seeing whoâs calling. You see it too, âWandaâŚ.â
âWandaâŚyou almost here? Yeah? Okay, the doorâs unlocked. Whereâs Natasha? On a mission? Fuck. Okay, whateverâŚ.â Yelena grumbles at the end and hangs up, âSooo, would you like to meet Wanda? Sheâs my sisterâs mate - theyâre Alphas, just to clarify. If you donât, thatâs totally fine.â
Youâve always wanted to meet one of the Avengers; you werenât gonna walk out on an opportunity like this, âIâve always wanted to meet one of the Avengers! Wanda is super cool!â
âOkayâŚshe said she was in the elevator, so she should be here in a second. Forewarning, she is an unmated Alpha, so she might beâŚon you.â
You turn to her, trying to understand what she means. Yelena said Wanda was mated to Natasha, right? Itâs not a terribly rare occurrence for two Alphas to be coupled together, but by the sounds of it, they havenât eloped yet? What a strange thing to do, but hey, no judgment here. Maybe theyâre waiting for their honeymoon? No, itâs implied they have been together for quite some time.
âI thought you said-â A turning of a door handle interrupts you from asking. The door swings open to reveal a redheaded woman huddled in an oversized fluffy hoodie with a Yeti cup of iced coffee.
âAh, Wanda, have a seat. I made us some snacks.â Yelena offered.
âOooh, I love snacks!â Wanda chirps as she excitedly waddles to the loveseat adjacent to the couch and promptly grabs a paper plate with a few pieces of cheese and crackers to go with each slice.
Once Wanda eats a few, cleans herself off, and notices you out of the corner of her eyes, she then looks up at you, inquisitively narrowing her eyes and pursing her lips, âI didnât see you there.â She puts the paper plate she was eating off of on the coffee table, âWhoâre you? Iâm sorry if that sounded rude.â
Thereâs a sickly floral scent hanging in the air; it wasnât there before - Yelenaâs apartment smells like a cold garage most times, and you know Yelena dislikes air fresheners because it makes Kateâs scent smell off, her words. Why now are thereâŚroses permeating the air? Unless Wanda has a snazzy and expensive perfume? No, itâs too strong - itâs practically radiating off her like sunlight.Â
âUm, no, itâs okay, Iâm Y/N. Iâm her neighbor from three floors up.â
Wanda sits in silence to take in the heavenly scent you were giving, âCharmed to meet you!â Wanda bites her bottom lip and licks her upper, âWhat brings you here? Just hanging out and chatting orâŚ?â
âYeah, sheâs helping me through some stuff,â you answered truthfully.
You and Wanda lock eyes for a moment, allowing you to admire her gorgeous green eyes illuminated by the sunlight peaking through the curtains. Her strawberry-blonde hair dazzles in the sunshine, giving her the radiance of an angel. To top it all off, she smells of roses and vanilla.
Your heart is racing, though you donât know why. âYou look beautiful when the sun shines on you,â you compliment her ethereal beauty at last.
âThank you, hot stuff.â Wanda winks, and a gentle smile graces her pink and plump lips.
You sit there with an agape mouth, âIâm hot?â
Wandaâs eyes are noticeably dilated when she looks at you, âDefinitely the prettiest girl Iâve seen all dayâŚyou out beat my Alpha by a longshot.â
What is her game here? You were simply complimenting how she glowed underneath the sun. Is she planning to cheat on her Alpha with a lowly Omega? Why do such a thing? Her mate is Natasha, Yelenaâs sister and fellow member of the Avengers - why go so low for the apple closest to the bottom? Throwing it all away for some hermit Omega, but why?
You decide to get a clearer answer, somehow, âWhat? I thought you were mated to your other Alpha, Natasha? Whyâre you-â
âY/N, itâs okay, itâs okay!â Yelena places a comforting hand on your shoulder.
âWhat? Sheâs flirting with me while sheâs mated to her other half; thatâs not right. Thatâs cheating!â you explained, not wanting to be a part of an affair.
There it is again, the smell of roses with a hint of vanilla hitting your sinuses though this time, it is noticeably stronger than before. Your body feels warmer because of it, and tingly too. The reassuring warmth washes away some of your worries as if it were magic. Wanda gets up from her seat and sits next to you; the lovely aroma becomes intoxicating. Yelena is watching on with curiosity, intently observing what Wanda plans on doing with you.
âDetka,â Wanda says breathily. Her hot breath hits the shell of your ear, causing your hair to stand up on end, âIâd never cheat on my Alpha, not with anyone, ever. However,â Wanda snakes an arm around your waist, âHave you noticed my scent? How calming it is?â She seductively whispers. Yelena has left, figuring Wanda has it from here but is nearby should things go south.
âI feel warm; itâs nice.â Wanda cranes her head and rubs against your scent gland, then pulls away, hoping you would get the hint. You begin understanding what everything means: the flirting, the use of her scent and pheromones, and the rubbing of your scent gland with her face; it could only mean one thing, âW-wait, are you, my mate?!â Fear starts overriding your brain with whispers of your momâs heinous words.
âYes, I am! Natasha is your mate too; thatâs why I was flirting with you, silly!â Wandaâs hand slithers over yours and clasps it. Electricity shoots through you when her skin touches yours, âAll ours, our precious Omega,â Wanda growled lowly and hotly into your ear.
Startled, you hop off the couch, âOh no, no, no! I canât, I- I canât!â you cried, trembling as you stood. Your momâs words echoed in your mind, âYour mate is gonna hurt you. Worthless, good for nothing. They wonât love you; theyâll pretend to and leave you in the dust and to rot.â
Wanda slowly stands up to not scare you. She hears echoes of your mindâs anguish and sadness, only small fragments of sentences such as âYou deserve to die alone and afraid,â With fearful tears forming in your eyes, your knees threaten to buckle underneath you. You continue repeating, âI canât,â until Wanda speaks, âShhhh, detka. Iâm not going to hurt youâŚ. May I hold you, detka?â
âNo, no, please get away from me. I- I canât be here!â you begged, and your breathing became panicked and heavy. All thatâs on your mind is your mother yelling at you, screaming obscenities until her voice gives out.
âOkay, okay. I hear youâŚtell me, whatâs wrong âmega?â Wanda spoke softly, backing away two feet to not tip you over the edge.
âMY MIND IS KILLING ME!â you sobbed; everything had become blurry, and your body flushed with heat. You began wobbling, nearly falling backward. Wanda is quick to wrap her arms around you.
âOh, my OmegaâŚIâm right here,â Wanda cooed as she placed you and herself on the couch, preparing for when you inevitably drop.Â
Thereâs nothing but grievances swirling in the vortex of your frightened mind as you succumb to your bodyâs emergency shutdown. You were feeling good moments ago, then the panic of finding your mate so soon sent your mind into a maddening spiral that brought out your motherâs harshest words. This was going to be quite the complicated path you would travel: learning to accept your past and learning to love again.
ID: Katara and sokka in swimgear. in the first image, sokka is searching for something in the water. his hair getting wet. katara leans over to him saying "don't you think, its time for a haircut?" in the second image sokka rose form the water, a dog-shark creature in hand, swinging his hair in Katara face splashing her. smugly he says "no <3". End ID
i know its winter! i know it likley snowed by now on the northern hemilsphere! but... on the southern side is summer time right???
so... its fine.... this is fine!!!
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!!! please do not use or repost this artwork without permission!!!
