Raven

New to writing

[avanzinimoon]

Warning: May cause chronic screen-staring and heart palpitations.

[the-oblivious-writer]

I’d like a Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader (not that it's important but R is taller and on the masculine side) story filled with angst, guilt, and miscommunication.

Tara cheated once during all the chaos (you decide who she cheated with) and when she admits it to R, she expects anger, but R just says, “It’s okay.” Tara is crushed—she wants R to fight, to show how much she hurt her, but instead, R forgives her quietly, which makes Tara feel even worse.

They pull away after that. There’s silence between them for weeks, even though R lives with the Carpenters. R feels abandoned, while Tara is drowning in guilt, thinking she’s lost R for good. Tara wants to make things right, but she’s scared it’s too late.

Then, Ghostface returns. The chaos forces them to hide together, bleeding and terrified. In the heat of the moment, they argue, scream, cry, and finally kiss—desperate for some release from the pain.

When they pull apart, Tara whispers, “I never stopped being yours.”

The confession hangs in the air, raw and vulnerable. The story should show Tara’s guilt, R’s hurt, and all the emotions they’ve been hiding. They’re both broken, but they’re still there, still holding on, with a chance to rebuild what they had.

Feel free to change anything! Take your time.

Thank you so much!!

-🥝

Heart in a Helmet

Tara Carpenter x Implied Female Reader

one-shot

summary: When Tara Carpenter confesses to a moment of betrayal, she expects rage, screaming, anything but the quiet "It's okay" that falls from your lips. That deafening forgiveness creates a chasm between you both, with silence filling your shared apartment as you orbit each other like wounded stars. It's not until death stalks just beyond the door that secrets and resentments finally shatter to the surface.

warnings: angst, infidelity, blood/injury, violence/horror (typical gf stuff), emotional distress, and brief mention of self-destructive behavior (implied in y/n's emotional state), and conflict within a relationship.

note(s): yous can't blame me for this one, i'm simply fulfilling a request that happens to be angst.

The silence in the apartment has weight, substance. You can feel it pressing against your skin as you move through the shared spaces, careful to avoid her. Three weeks since Tara's confession. Three weeks of existing as ghosts in your own home.

You remember her words with perfect clarity. "I slept with Chad." Four syllables that demolished everything you thought you knew. The way her voice shook, how she stood there waiting for the explosion, for your rage to match the magnitude of her betrayal.

But you couldn't give her that. Instead, you heard yourself say, "It's okay," the words hollow, automatic. A lie neither of you believed.

The hurt sits beneath your ribs now, a constant companion. You think of how she looked at you afterward—confusion, then something like disappointment twisting her features. What did she want? For you to scream? To break things? To match the chaos outside with chaos of your own?

Sam moves between you both like a diplomat in hostile territory, carrying messages neither of you will speak directly. "Tara's working late." "You left your book in the kitchen." The three of you orbit each other in the small apartment, a broken system struggling to maintain equilibrium.

At night, you lie awake on the couch, listening to the sounds of the apartment settling, wondering if she's awake too. If she's thinking of you. If she regrets more than just the betrayal—if she regrets you entirely.

The morning brings another day of careful avoidance. You're pouring coffee when Tara enters the kitchen, freezing at the threshold like a startled animal. Her eyes, usually so bright, look dulled by exhaustion. Hair unwashed, wearing one of Sam's oversized hoodies. She's lost weight.

"Morning," you manage, voice rough from disuse.

"Hi." She hovers, uncertain, watching you with the wariness of someone approaching a wounded creature. "I was just—" She gestures vaguely toward the refrigerator.

You step aside. "Go ahead."

The silence stretches between you as she moves around the kitchen. You notice how her hands shake slightly as she pours herself juice. The urge to reach for her is almost overwhelming—muscle memory from a life that no longer exists.

"Have you been sleeping?" The question escapes before you can stop it.

She glances up, surprise flashing across her face at the direct address. "Not really." A pause. "You?"

"No."

Something like relief crosses her features—this small acknowledgment that you're both suffering. She opens her mouth as if to say more, but her phone buzzes with a text. She checks it, and the color drains from her face.

"What is it?" you ask, alarm cutting through the emotional fog.

Wordlessly, she hands you the phone.

Did you miss me? Ready for another SCREAM, Tara?

Your blood runs cold. "Does Sam know?"

"I just got it." Her voice is thin with fear. "It has to be a sick joke, right? It can't be—"

The crash of breaking glass from the living room answers her question.

Everything happens at once. You grab Tara's wrist, pulling her toward the back door. But you're too late—a figure in the familiar Ghostface mask appears in the kitchen doorway. You feel Tara's scream more than hear it, reverberating through your joined hands.

You push her behind you as the knife arcs through the air. Pain blooms across your arm as you stumble backward, knocking into the kitchen table. Tara grabs a chair, swinging it wildly at the attacker, buying precious seconds.

"Run!" she screams, and you're both moving, down the hallway toward your shared bedroom—the one you haven't entered in weeks.

The door slams behind you, lock clicking into place. Blood seeps through your sleeve as you frantically push a dresser against the door.

"The window," Tara gasps, already moving toward it. But before she can reach it, something heavy slams against the door. The dresser slides an inch.

"Fuck," she whispers. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

You scan the room desperately. "The closet. We can hide until Sam gets back."

Another slam against the door. The dresser moves again.

You pull Tara into the walk-in closet, yanking clothes off hangers to bury yourselves beneath. The small space forces you together, her back pressed against your chest in the darkness. You can feel her heart hammering, or maybe it's yours.

Your arm throbs where the knife caught you. Warm blood seeps between your fingers as you press against the wound.

"You're hurt," Tara whispers, turning in the confined space. Her fingers find the wound in the darkness, gentle despite the urgency.

"It's just a cut."

Her breath catches. "God, this is my fault. Everything is my fucking fault."

The sound of splintering wood from the bedroom makes you both freeze. Heavy footsteps. Drawers being yanked open, contents scattering.

Tara's body trembles against yours. You hold her tighter, your bleeding arm forgotten. If this is how it ends, at least she's here. At least you're not still pretending to be strangers.

Seconds stretch into minutes. The footsteps retreat. A distant door slams.

Still, neither of you moves, breath held in the suffocating darkness of the closet.

"I'm sorry," Tara finally whispers, so quiet you almost miss it. "I'm so fucking sorry."

"Not now," you mutter. "We need to—"

"No, now. If we die, I need you to know—" Her voice breaks. "What I did... there's no excuse. But it wasn't because I didn't love you. It was because I was terrified of how much I did."

The confession hangs between you in the darkness, raw and unexpected.

"Then why pull away afterward?" you ask, the words burning your throat. "If you loved me so much, why make me feel like I was nothing?"

"Because you forgave me," she says, and you can hear the tears in her voice. "You just said 'it's okay' like what I'd done was nothing. Like I was nothing to you."

"What did you want me to do? Scream at you? Hit you?"

"Yes!" Her voice rises dangerously before she catches herself. "Yes," she repeats, softer now. "Fight for me. For us. Show me it mattered."

"Of course it mattered," you hiss. "It fucking destroyed me, Tara. But what was I supposed to say when you're standing there looking like the world was ending? That I wanted to break things? That I couldn't breathe thinking about you with him?"

Her hand finds yours in the darkness. "Yes. Anything but 'it's okay.'"

A sob tears from your throat, surprising you both. "Nothing about this is okay."

Her fingers tighten around yours. "I know. I know, and I'm so sorry. I thought—" She sucks in a breath. "I thought you'd given up on us."

"And I thought you had."

Another crash from elsewhere in the apartment makes you both flinch. Tara presses closer, her face buried against your neck. You can feel her tears, hot against your skin.

"If we get out of this," she whispers, "I need you to know that I never stopped being yours. Even when I fucked up. Even when I pushed you away. It was always you."

The words unlock something in your chest—grief and hope tangled together so tightly you can't separate them. You turn your face toward hers in the darkness, finding her lips with yours. The kiss is desperate, tasting of salt and fear and something like possibility.

When you break apart, you're both gasping. "We're getting out of this," you say with a conviction that surprises you. "And then we're fixing this. Us."

For the first time in weeks, Tara's eyes hold something other than guilt. "Promise?"

Outside, sirens wail, growing closer. Sam must have called the police. Relief floods through you.

"I promise," you whisper, pressing your forehead against hers. "But you have to fight for us too."

"I will," she says, voice steady despite the tears streaking her face. "I never stopped."

The closet door is suddenly yanked open, and you both scream—but it's Sam standing there, wild-eyed and breathless.

"Police are here," she gasps. "He's gone."

You help Tara to her feet, neither of you letting go of the other's hand. Your arm is still bleeding, throbbing with each pulse of your racing heart. But for the first time in weeks, the pain feels like part of being alive rather than evidence of dying inside.

Outside, lights flash blue and red through the broken windows of your apartment. Evidence markers dot the floor like strange constellations. Paramedics clean and bandage your arm while detectives take statements.

Through it all, Tara stays beside you. When the police finally leave, promising extra patrols and a manhunt for the attacker, she helps you clean the blood from your skin with gentle, shaking hands.

"Stay with me tonight," she whispers as Sam makes calls in the other room. "Not—I don't mean... Just stay. Please."

You follow her to the bedroom you once shared, both of you moving carefully around the chaos left by the intruder. Neither of you bothers to clean up. Instead, you fall onto the bed fully clothed, exhaustion claiming you both.

In the darkness, her hand finds yours again. "We're broken," she whispers.

"Yes," you agree, because there's no use denying it. "But we're still here."

Her fingers tighten around yours. "Still yours," she repeats, like a promise.

You turn to face her, tracing the outline of her face in the darkness. There's so much to unpack, to heal, to rebuild. But tonight, survival is enough. Tonight, this fragile thread reconnecting you is enough.

"And I'm still yours," you whisper back, the words no longer feeling like surrender but like claiming something worth fighting for. "We'll figure out the rest tomorrow."

For the first time in weeks, you fall asleep with Tara's heartbeat under your palm, the rhythm steady despite everything broken between you. Not fixed, not forgiven—but present. Alive. Possible.

[halfmoonaria]

what we’ve been holding back

pairing: vada cavell & female reader

summary: for the first time, it’s just you, vada, and everything you’ve both been holding back.

warnings: smut (18+) oral (v receiving) fingering (r receiving) explicit sexual content.

author’s note: i hate this more than tongue can say but hope yall enjoy it anyway.

Vada never got the house to herself.

Not really, anyway. There was always someone around—her parents, of course, but more than anything, Amelia. Her little sister was like a permanent shadow, always appearing at the worst times, always needing something.

If she wasn't barging into Vada's room without knocking, she was hogging the TV remote or loudly FaceTiming her friends right outside Vada's door. And if she wasn’t being actively annoying, it was only because she was looking for new ways to be.

There were nights when Vada would be stretched out on the couch, half-asleep and watching some movie with you, only for Amelia to come crashing in, demanding to know exactly what you were watching before declaring it boring and switching the lights on. Then there were mornings when she'd blast music from the bathroom, knowing full well that Vada was still trying to sleep. Even on the rare occasions when she wasn't in the way, she was still there, existing in the background, always within earshot, ready to interrupt.

So when Vada found out that, for the first time in forever, she would actually have the house completely to herself, she barely knew what to do with the information at first. It didn't feel real.

It had started as a normal enough evening—her mom mentioning something about dinner plans as she moved around the kitchen, her dad chiming in with something about not waiting up. None of it really registered with Vada until her mom casually added that Amelia was already gone for the night, off at a sleepover.

That was what made Vada sit up.

The realization hit her all at once. No parents. No Amelia. No interruptions. Just her. Just you, if she got you to come over.

Excitement bubbled up fast, making her reach for her phone before she even fully processed what she was doing. She barely thought about what she was going to say—just that she had to tell you, and she had to tell you now.

The second you picked up, she was already talking, rushing through the words like she was afraid she'd lose the moment if she didn't get them out fast enough. You didn't even have time to say hello before she was telling you about the miraculous turn of events—how her parents had made last-minute plans, how Amelia was staying at a friend's house, how, for the first time in what felt like forever, she had the house to herself.

And more importantly, how that meant she had you to herself.

She barely gave you time to react before she was asking if you'd come over. It wasn't really a question—more of a demand disguised as one, her voice all hurried excitement as she told you to bring something nice to wear, even if she didn't know what for yet. She wanted tonight to be different, she told you. Not just another hangout, not just another "date" in name only, but something that actually felt like one.

Because most of the time, your "dates" weren't really dates at all. They were sitting on her bed watching bad movies while Amelia threw popcorn at you from the doorway. They were laying in the grass at the park, pretending the $3 slushies in your hands were expensive cocktails. They were long drives with no destination, no plan, just a vague hope that you'd end up somewhere interesting.

It wasn't that she minded. She loved that time with you—loved that it didn't take some grand gesture for you to want to be with her. But part of her still wished she could give you more than that.

She wished she could take you out somewhere nice, somewhere that didn't have sticky floors or fluorescent lights. She wished she could take you to a real restaurant, one with candlelit tables and expensive wine lists, where she could pull out your chair and hold your hand across the table without worrying about her little sister making gagging noises in the background.

But neither of you had the money for that, and even if you did, her parents were always home, Amelia was always home—there was always someone home. So your time together had to fit into the spaces left between.

Not tonight, though. Tonight was just yours.

So she'd cooked.

She wasn't a great cook—not even a good one, really—but she wanted to make something herself, something that at least resembled an actual date-night meal. Something better than the usual microwave dinners or takeout containers you two shared on her bed. So, she kept it simple: pasta. She figured it was hard to mess up, but even then, she still managed to overcook the noodles a little.

It wasn't fancy. It wasn't even that impressive. But it was hers.

And that had to count for something.

She'd even gone as far as lighting candles, the only ones she could find being the old, half-melted ones her mom kept under the sink. They smelled like vanilla and something vaguely floral, and the flames flickered unevenly, casting wobbly shadows across the table. It was probably stupid—it felt stupid. She could already hear Amelia's voice in her head, making fun of her for trying so hard.

And honestly, Vada would've made fun of herself too, a few months ago.

This was the kind of thing you two used to laugh at when you watched rom-coms together—how cheesy and soggy it all was, how ridiculous it was that anyone actually took the whole candlelit-dinner thing seriously.

But now? Now, she was starting to get it.

And that was enough to make her feel like maybe, just maybe, all of this wasn't as ridiculous as she thought.

Then the doorbell had rung.

Vada had barely had time to shake herself out of her thoughts before she had rushed to answer it, almost tripping over the corner of the rug in her hurry. She had stopped just short of yanking the door open too fast—because cool, she had needed to be cool—but all her effort at playing it smooth had gone straight out the window the second she had seen you.

You had stood there on her front porch, bathed in the dim glow of the porchlight, a bottle of wine in your hand. You had lifted it slightly, eyebrows raising as you had teased, "Thought this could make our very serious, very fancy dinner even fancier."

Vada had huffed out a laugh, eyes flicking from the bottle back to your face. Your face. Soft in the low light, lips curved in that easy way that had always made her heart trip over itself. The way your hair had framed your face, the way your eyes had flickered with amusement, the way you had looked at her—it had all been enough to make her forget her own name for a second.

She had recovered just enough to snatch the bottle from your grip, fingers brushing against yours for half a second longer than necessary. "You stole this, didn't you?"

You had grinned, tilting your head. "Define 'stole.'"

Vada had rolled her eyes but had still taken a step back, letting you in. And the second you had crossed the threshold, setting your hands on her waist, any and all of her previous self-consciousness had melted away.

You had kissed her before she could make some smartass remark, before she could even think about saying something stupid. It had been soft—slow, even—but warm in a way that had settled deep into her bones, making her feel weightless and anchored all at once.

And God, she had been able to taste the trouble on your lips already.

When you had pulled back, she had barely had a second to process before you had been taking in the dining setup behind her, eyes flicking over the candles, the plates, the pasta. Your smile had stretched a little wider, amusement clear in your gaze as you had turned back to her. "You really went all out, huh?"

She had felt her face heat, but she had just shrugged, trying to downplay it. "You're welcome."

You had hummed, clearly unimpressed by her attempt at being casual. Then, tilting your head, you had smirked. "So... which cooking tutorial did you follow?"

Vada had groaned, tipping her head back dramatically. "I hate you so much."

You had just laughed, nudging your shoulder against hers before stepping further into the house. And even as you had poked fun at her, even as you had made some offhanded comment about how the noodles had looked a little overcooked, she had been able to tell—you had liked it.

You had liked this.

Dinner itself had been a blur of easy conversation and laughter, of stolen bites and exaggerated reactions to how terrible her cooking had been. It hadn't been fancy. It hadn't been perfect. But it had been something.

You had liked this.

Vada had been able to tell by the way your smile had lingered as you ate, how you had stretched your legs out beneath the table, nudging your foot against hers like it was second nature. And maybe it had been. Maybe it had always been this easy for you—to just exist like this, to fit into every space you were given and make it your own.

She hadn't been able to take her eyes off of you.

Not while you had spoken, hands moving as if they could shape your words in the air. Not while you had twirled your fork through the pasta, the candlelight catching on the rim of your glass as you had lifted it to your lips. And definitely not when you had picked up the wine bottle, turning it between your fingers before tilting your chin up slightly.

"Some more wine, ma'am?" you had asked, your voice lilting in a way that had made her groan.

Vada hadn't even bothered to respond, just shaking her head as you had poured more into her glass anyway.

And now, even with the food long gone and the plates abandoned in the kitchen, she still couldn't take her eyes off of you.

The movie playing on the TV was one she had seen a hundred times, something you had both agreed on without really thinking about it, but she wasn't paying attention. Not to that, at least.

Because the way you were curled up against her, legs tucked over hers, fingers tracing lazy patterns against the back of her hand—that was more interesting than anything on the screen.

The movie had been playing for a while, the glow from the screen flickering across your face, catching in your eyes as you stared at it. Vada was supposed to be watching too, but her focus had started to slip long ago.

She had barely touched her glass of wine, her fingers curled loosely around the stem, more preoccupied with the way you had sunk further into her side, your body relaxed against hers. Every so often, you would shift slightly—reaching for more wine, adjusting your position, stretching out more against her. And every single time, she had to fight the urge to look down, to get distracted all over again.

She only snapped back to reality when you suddenly let out a breath, shaking your head a little before speaking.

"Okay, but why do people pretend this is the best movie ever? Like, it's fine, but it's not that good."

Vada had hummed in vague agreement, even though she had no idea what part you were talking about.

But then, a moment later, you turned your head toward her. Your brows furrowed slightly, like you were studying her, before your lips quirked up in a knowing smile.

"Are you even watching?"

She had barely caught herself in time, blinking and shifting her focus back toward the screen like she hadn't just been completely lost in staring at you.

"No, I am," she had said quickly, smiling through the lie.

And then she had forced herself to look back at the screen, even though it took everything in her not to glance at you again.

Vada had tried—really tried—to keep her eyes on the screen. But it was impossible when you were sitting right there, barely a breath away, looking the way you did.

Maybe it was the wine. You hadn't had much, just enough to feel the edges of everything blur, to make the warmth in her chest settle a little deeper. But still, it was enough to make her wonder if that was why she couldn't seem to look away from you. If it was the reason why, for the past ten minutes, she hadn't absorbed a single thing from the movie playing in front of her.

The glow from the TV flickered over your skin, soft and golden, mixing with the dim light from the streetlamp outside that slipped in through the window. It caught in your hair, traced over the curve of your cheek, reflected in your eyes when you blinked. You weren't even doing anything—you were just watching the movie, completely unaware of the way Vada was looking at you.

But she was looking.

And she couldn't stop.

Her gaze drifted over every little detail of your face—the faintest crease between your brows when you concentrated, the slight part of your lips when something caught your attention, the way your lashes brushed against your skin when you blinked. She felt your fingers move absentmindedly over the back of her hand, tracing slow, barely-there patterns against her skin, and the way it made her stomach tighten was almost embarrassing.

It was all so effortless. So you.

And she couldn't believe she got to have this. That she got to sit here in this moment, surrounded by nothing but the warmth of the house and the flickering light of the candles she had been embarrassed to set up, and just watch you.

She should have looked away.

She didn't.

And of course, you noticed.

You let out a quiet, breathy chuckle before turning toward her, amused. "What?"

Vada felt her stomach twist, her face warming under your gaze. She hesitated, just for a second, before letting out a soft breath.

"You're beautiful."

The way you blinked, like you hadn't expected her to say that, made her heart lurch in her chest. And then you smiled—really smiled—something small and teasing but still so genuine. Your fingers slowed against her hand, resting there, your touch lingering.

Vada's gaze flickered down before she could stop it.

Your lips.

She felt something settle low in her stomach, spreading through her chest, making her breath come just a little shorter. She didn't even think before she spoke again, voice quieter this time, rougher, like the words were forming before she had the chance to second-guess them.

"And I want to kiss you."

You tilted your head slightly, your smile deepening at the edges, the teasing glint in your eyes making her pulse quicken.

"Is that so?”

You didn't pull away.

Instead, you shifted, leaning in just a little, just enough that your knees brushed against hers, your fingers tightening slightly over the back of her hand.

And God, she must have looked ridiculous. Because she could feel it—could feel the way her lips parted slightly, could feel the way her eyes were stuck on your mouth, could feel the way she must have looked at you, like she was desperate, like she was starving.

She barely managed to nod.

And then you leaned in, closing the space between you.

Your lips met hers, soft and warm and slow, and for a second, Vada forgot how to breathe.

The kiss started slow, soft, just like it always did. But it never stayed that way for long.

Because Vada loved kissing you.

You had made out more times than either of you could count—on her bed, on your bed, in the backseat of your car, pressed up against the wall by your front door when neither of you wanted to say goodbye. It was something she would never get tired of, the feeling of your lips against hers, the way your hands always found their way to her waist, the way your fingers would tangle in her hair when you got impatient. She loved all of it.

But this? This felt different.

Hotter.

The kind of different that made her ache.

Your fingers curled at the hem of her shirt, not pushing, not pulling, just holding. She felt the way your touch lingered there, like you were thinking about doing something with it. And God, she wanted you to. But she didn't have time to dwell on it before your lips parted against hers, before your tongue flicked against hers, slow and teasing and just enough to make her stomach twist.

Vada let out a quiet hum, barely even a sound, before her hands found their way to your face, fingers brushing over the heat of your skin, thumbs smoothing over your jaw as she deepened the kiss.

It still wasn't enough.

So, without even thinking, she shifted.

Her hands slipped down to your shoulders, pressing against them lightly for balance as she adjusted her position, swinging a leg over your lap. Her knee sank into the couch next to your hip, then the other, her weight settling over you as she straddled you properly.

And still, her lips never left yours.

She felt the way you reacted instantly—the way your hands gripped her waist a little tighter, the way your fingers curled slightly into the fabric of her shirt, the way your breath hitched, barely noticeable, but she noticed.

Of course she did.

Because she noticed everything when it came to you.

It deepened fast, all sense of restraint unraveling the second Vada settled on top of you.

And maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was just you—the way you felt underneath her, the way your hands kept fidgeting, like you couldn't figure out where to hold her. Whatever it was, it had something twisting tight in her stomach, making her push closer, kiss harder, until she wasn't even sure if she was kissing you anymore or just trying to devour you whole.

She barely realized what she was doing—how desperate, how messy she had gotten—until she felt you chuckle against her lips. And God, that should have slowed her down, should have made her think, but instead, it only made her worse. Because the second you smiled, the second you mumbled something about her being so needy, Vada groaned against your mouth and kissed you even harder, hands threading into your hair to keep you right there.

And your hands?

God, your hands.

They moved constantly, like you couldn't decide where you wanted them most. First, your fingers tangled in her hair, threading through the strands, tugging just enough to make her whimper. Then they slid lower, pressing against the thin fabric of her shirt as they smoothed down her back. And then—fuck—then they landed on her ass, barely a pause before your fingers squeezed, firm and possessive, making heat shoot straight through her.

Vada gasped against your lips, the sound half a moan, and she swore she felt you smirk.

But just as quickly as your hands had gotten there, they moved again, fingers skimming up over the curve of her hips, finally settling there, thumbs pressing lightly into her skin through the fabric.

And then—oh God, then—you guided her.

The touch was loose, barely even forceful, but she felt it. The way your fingers flexed, the way your grip tightened just enough to encourage her to move. And before she even thought about what she was doing, her body responded.

Her hips rocked against yours, slow and experimental, sending a sharp, warm shiver straight up her spine.

Oh.

Oh.

This was new.

Your hands had wandered before, gotten a little bold when you made out, but this? This had never happened before. And the realization, the fact that you were doing this, that you wanted her to do this, sent a rush of excitement straight through her, making her stomach flip.

So she did it again.

And again.

Each movement growing a little more confident, a little more sure, until she didn't even have to think about it anymore. Until her hands were gripping your shoulders just to keep her balance, until she was pressing herself against you exactly the way she wanted to, the way you were leading her to.

And Vada had never been more excited in her life.

Because she had noticed.

The second she opened the door and saw you standing there, she had noticed. The black off-shoulder top clinging to you, the delicate curve of your collarbone on display, the way the fabric settled so perfectly against your skin. And she hadn't thought much of it at first, just that you looked really fucking good. But then, when you leaned over the table to pour more wine, when the neckline of your top shifted just slightly, the realization hit her—

You weren't wearing a bra.

And now, as she pressed against you, her hands skimming over the soft fabric of your shirt, the thought was making her dizzy.

She wanted to see you.

Her fingers curled at the hem of your shirt, and she hesitated for only a second before pulling away just enough to look at you. You understood immediately, a slow smile playing at your lips as you raised your arms, giving her permission, encouragement, and—fuck—Vada could barely breathe as she pushed the fabric up, over your ribs, over your chest, finally tugging it over your head and tossing it somewhere.

She didn't care where it landed.

Because—

Oh.

Oh.

She froze.

Her hands, still mid-motion from discarding your shirt, stilled. Her breath caught somewhere between her chest and her throat, and her brain completely short-circuited.

She was fucking gone.

She had imagined this before—of course she had, she was only human—but nothing, nothing, compared to the reality of it. The way the candlelight flickered over your bare skin, painting you in soft golds and shadows, the way the warm glow from the TV barely illuminated the curves of your chest, making them look almost unreal.

God.

Vada just stared, mouth slightly open, eyes wide with something between disbelief and absolute, stunned awe.

She wanted to touch. Wanted to feel.

But all she could do was look, completely mesmerized, completely wrecked, because holy shit.

Vada barely realized the word had left her mouth until she heard it. "Wow."

It wasn't intentional—just something that slipped out, breathless, awed, like her brain hadn't caught up with her mouth.

She hovered her hands over you, close enough to feel the warmth of your skin but not quite touching. She wasn't sure why she was hesitating. Maybe because she didn't want to ruin the moment, or maybe because she didn't know if she could handle it.

But you didn't seem embarrassed.

Didn't shift under her gaze, didn't cross your arms over yourself or make any move to cover up. You only smirked, a soft, amused chuckle slipping past your lips, and somehow, somehow, that made everything even sexier.

Vada swallowed hard.

And then, finally, finally, she touched you.

Her hands settled on your breasts, hesitant at first, just feeling, getting used to the weight of them in her palms. Her thumbs brushed over your nipples, and when she felt them harden beneath her touch, something in her snapped.

She grew bolder, kneading them more firmly, watching your expression shift as your lips parted just slightly, as your breath hitched.

God, she loved this. Loved how soft you felt, how warm, how responsive.

Then she leaned in, capturing your lips again without stopping her movements, her hands still exploring, still touching. She felt the way you sighed into her mouth, how your fingers slid into her hair, tugging her closer, deepening the kiss.

But it wasn't enough.

Vada needed more.

So she let her hands drift down, gripping your waist as she shifted lower, trailing her lips from your mouth to your jaw, then lower still, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the side of your neck.

And then she kept going.

She slid down your body, slowly, adjusting herself as she moved lower, her knees sinking further into the couch cushions, her body stretching out across yours so she could reach. Her lips trailed past your collarbone, over the slope of your shoulder, and then—

Lower.

Her mouth hovered over your chest now, and she hesitated for just a second, looking up at you.

Your head had tilted back against the couch, your eyes fluttering shut, your lips parted just slightly as the softest moan slipped out.

And fuck, that was all she needed.

Vada pressed soft, lingering kisses along the curves of your breasts, giving them both equal attention, her lips parting slightly to suck at the delicate skin. She took her time, savoring the way you reacted, the way your body tensed and relaxed beneath her touch.

And when her tongue flicked over your nipple, circling it in slow, deliberate motions, she swore she felt the way your breath caught.

It should have felt new. It was new. She had never done this before, never been in this position with anyone. But somehow, it didn't feel unfamiliar.

It was like second nature, like her body knew exactly what to do without her having to think about it.

Maybe it was because she'd watched people do this before—had spent more time than she'd ever admit scrolling through videos, studying the way hands moved, the way mouths teased, the way lips wrapped around sensitive skin just like hers were doing now.

Or maybe it was just you.

Maybe it was the way you made everything feel so easy, so natural, like she was supposed to be here, like she was supposed to be doing this.

Your hands found their way into her hair, fingers threading through the strands, gripping just enough to make her feel it, to make her shiver.

And then—

"Fuck, Vada."

Hearing you say her name like that, breathless, desperate—God, it wrecked her.

Vada barely had time to process the effect it had on her before she felt your hands on her sides, fingertips pressing lightly, almost hesitantly, before they trailed up. The warmth of your touch sent a shiver through her, and when your fingers slipped under the hem of her hoodie, she swore her heart skipped a beat.

You didn't need to say anything. The way your hands lingered there, the way your thumbs brushed over the bare skin just above her waistband—it was enough. And she wanted it too.

She hesitated for just a second, her breath catching in her throat, before she pulled away just enough to reach for the fabric herself. In one smooth motion, she lifted the hoodie over her head, her hair falling messily around her shoulders as she tossed it somewhere—she didn't know, didn't care. Not when your hands were already reaching again, already touching her.

You started slow, fingertips grazing her shoulders, sliding under the straps of her bra. The touch was light, teasing, and yet it set every nerve in her body on fire.

She felt your fingers pause at the clasp.

Her breath hitched.

And then, slowly, so slowly, you worked it open.

The straps slipped down her arms, the fabric falling away, and then it was gone.

Vada wasn't sure what she expected—if she expected anything—but when she finally gathered the courage to meet your gaze, what she saw made her feel like her whole body had just been set ablaze.

You were staring.

Not just looking. Not just seeing. You were taking her in, eyes dark and hungry as you admired every inch of her.

Vada had never been in this position before—half-naked in someone's lap, completely exposed—but somehow, she didn't feel nervous. She should have, maybe. But the way you were looking at her... it was like you wanted her, like you needed her, like this moment had been building up for so long that neither of you could hold back anymore.

And when your hands found their way to her waist, gripping just a little tighter than before, pulling her back in like you had to, like you couldn't stand even a second apart—she swore she could have melted.

You pulled her back in, your lips meeting hers again, slow at first—like you were savoring her, like you wanted to take your time. Your hands traced gentle paths along her waist, your fingers spreading out over her bare skin, warm and steady, grounding her in a way that made her dizzy.

Vada let herself sink into it, let herself melt against you, let herself feel everything. The softness of your lips, the way your breath mixed with hers, the way her whole body felt like it was burning from just this.

And then, between kisses, your voice came, soft but certain, against her lips.

"You're beautiful."

It was so simple, yet it sent a rush through her that she hadn't expected.

She hadn't realized she needed to hear it—not until you said it.

A smile pulled at her lips, small at first, then wider as she let her forehead rest against yours for just a second, breathing you in. She knew she was beautiful, she'd been told before—but hearing it here, Now, from you? With your hands on her, your lips brushing against hers, your gaze still lingering like you meant it?

She didn't feel shy anymore.

She pressed another kiss to your lips, slower, deeper.

"I can't believe we're doing this," she murmured against your mouth, the words slipping out before she even realized she was saying them. But she didn't regret them. Because she couldn't believe it. Couldn't believe that after all the teasing, all the stolen kisses, all the almosts—this was happening.

And God, she never wanted to stop.

Vada pulled back just enough to look at you, her breath warm against your lips, her eyes dark and heavy-lidded with something deeper than just desire. It was hunger—real, undeniable hunger—but beneath that, something softer, something nervous. Not because she didn't want this, but because she did—so much that it made her hands tremble slightly as they brushed over your bare sides.

Her gaze flickered over your face, searching, memorizing, as if she were trying to commit every second to memory. Because this was happening. Finally.

She swallowed hard, blinking down at you before her lips twitched into the smallest, almost shy smile. And then, she kissed you again—deeper, slower, savoring it. But it wasn't just that. It was purposeful. Like she had already made up her mind about something.

You felt it when she shifted, her hands smoothing over your sides, then lower, gripping your hips as she carefully slid back, slipping off of your lap and sinking to the floor between your legs.

Your breath hitched.

She kissed her way down as she moved, lingering at your jaw, your collarbone, your chest—her lips pressing reverent, open-mouthed kisses to the soft skin there. Then lower, down your stomach, her nose brushing against your skin, her breath warm, making you shiver as she went.

And then she stopped. Right at the waistband of your jeans.

Her fingers hovered there for a second, hesitating, before she glanced up at you.

Her lips were slightly parted, her pupils blown wide, and yet—her eyes searched yours, questioning, asking without words. She wasn't unsure about what she wanted, but she needed you to tell her. To say it.

You held her gaze, your chest rising and falling a little too fast, your skin still tingling from the way she had kissed her way down your body.

Then, finally, you nodded. And when you spoke, your voice was barely above a whisper—soft, but certain.

"Please."

That was all it took.

Vada let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, and then—her fingers moved. The button of your jeans came undone, the zipper following soon after, and then—she was tugging them down, her hands warm, her touch careful but eager, as she pulled them off of you.

With your jeans gone, the only thing left on you was your underwear, a thin barrier between you and her. And Vada—she just stared.

Her breath was uneven as she reached for them, her fingers hesitating against the waistband, her nerves flickering back to life despite the overwhelming heat between you. But it wasn't uncertainty. It was something deeper.

Because this was it.

She was really about to see you. All of you.

Her lips parted slightly, her eyes flicking up to meet yours again, searching, almost like she was waiting for permission all over again. And you—God, you looked so good like this, half-naked on the couch, skin flushed, chest rising and falling just a little quicker than before. You weren't hesitant.

You weren't second-guessing anything. If anything, the way your lips curled into a soft, expectant smile—the way you lifted your hips slightly, giving her silent permission—only made Vada's heart hammer even harder against her ribs.

So she tugged them down.

Slowly. Carefully.

And then she saw it.

Her breath hitched, her fingers freezing against your thighs as she took you in.

Fuck.

She didn't know what she was expecting. It wasn't like she hadn't thought about this before, wasn't like she hadn't imagined it in the back of her mind on nights when she was alone, when the teasing had been too much, when she could still feel the ghost of your hands on her skin.

But seeing you—like this, bare and spread out before her—was something else entirely.

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard, her wide, dark eyes flickering between your thighs, drinking in every detail, her hands still resting against the tops of them. She could feel the heat radiating from you, could see how wet you were, and it sent a dizzying rush straight through her.

God.

She almost laughed—half out of disbelief, half because she suddenly felt so overwhelmed, like her brain was short-circuiting, like she was having a hard time processing just how fucking gorgeous you were.

But all that slipped past her lips was a soft, breathless—

"Wow."

Her voice was barely above a whisper, filled with something almost reverent, almost awestruck.

You let out a quiet chuckle, your head tilting slightly, watching her, waiting for her to do something, say something more. But you didn't look embarrassed. You didn't try to shy away or cover yourself, didn't shift under her gaze like you were self-conscious about the way she was staring.

And that only made this even hotter.

Vada hovered her hands over your thighs, fingers twitching, like she wanted to touch you but wasn't sure if she was allowed to yet.

You reached down, running your fingers through her hair, tugging her closer, a silent encouragement. And when she finally touched you, sliding her hands up your legs, gripping your thighs and spreading them just a little wider—she swore she felt herself ache with need.

Because fuck—she wanted you.

All of you.

And now she was finally about to have you.

But just before she dove in, she looked up at you again, her lips slightly parted, brows furrowing as if she was only now realizing what she was about to do.

"Should I...? Do you want me to—"

The nervous energy crackled in her voice, a sharp contrast to the hunger in her eyes, and God, it would've been adorable if you weren't already aching for her.

You cut her off, your fingers still tangled in her hair, tugging just enough to get her attention.

"Vada, baby, please."

That was all she needed to hear.

"Right."

And then she did it.

She started slow. Tentative. Like she was testing the waters, figuring out what made you gasp, what made your fingers tighten in her hair. But she wasn't unsure. Far from it. She licked a slow stripe up your center, tasting you for the first time, and Jesus Christ, she nearly moaned.

You were so wet.

For her.

Her hands flexed against your thighs, gripping them as she let herself sink deeper into it, flattening her tongue, pressing in closer, wanting more.

And the sounds—God, the sounds you made.

The quiet gasps, the breathy little moans that slipped past your lips, the way you exhaled her name, voice shaky and wrecked—fuck.

She had never done this before. But somehow, she knew exactly what to do.

Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was the way you reacted to her—your body arching, your breath hitching, the way your thighs tensed when she flicked her tongue just right. Or maybe it was the fact that she had definitely watched people do this before, studied the way they moved, imagined what it would be like.

Either way, she wasn't stopping.

Not when she had you like this—breathless, desperate, falling apart under her tongue.

And God, she loved this.

So she should've felt confident. The way you gasped, the way your body tensed, the way your fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her closer—it all should've been enough to tell her she was doing this right.

But still, she couldn't help the doubt creeping in, the slight hesitation in her movements as she pulled back just enough to look up at you.

"Does it feel good?" Her voice was soft, uncertain, lips glistening as she spoke.

You barely managed to open your eyes, your head still tipped back against the couch, breath coming in short, uneven pants. And God, Vada loved how wrecked you already looked.

Your fingers twitched in her hair, tightening just a little. Keeping her there.

"Mhm." You nodded, voice barely above a whisper. "Baby, it's great."

That should've been enough for her.

But she still watched you, eyes flickering between your face and the way your chest rose and fell, like she was waiting for more.

And you could feel it—the slight hesitation, the way she was still holding back. Still unsure.

So you tugged her in closer, your voice coming out rushed, almost pleading.

"Please, continue."

And fuck, that flipped something in her.

Any hesitation she had before—gone.

She dove back in with renewed hunger, her hands gripping your thighs tighter as she flattened her tongue, moving with more confidence this time. More intent.

And when she felt your fingers tighten in her hair again, pushing her down just the slightest bit, guiding her to exactly where you needed her most—God, she nearly groaned against you.

Because that told her everything she needed to know.

You wanted more.

And she was more than happy to give it to you.

Vada never considered herself patient, but she took her time now—partly because she wanted to savor this, and partly because she was still figuring it out. But she knew one thing for certain: she wanted this. Wanted you. And judging by the way your body tensed beneath her, the way your breath hitched every time she moved, she was doing something right.

Her hands gripped your thighs, thumbs tracing slow circles against your skin, grounding herself as she let her mouth explore. She started off careful, tentative, trying to gauge your reactions. But the second she heard your sharp inhale, the quiet, breathy "Oh—" that slipped out before you could stop it, something in her ignited.

She pressed in deeper, her movements growing more confident, more eager, and she felt the way you responded instantly. Your fingers curled into her hair, not pulling, just holding, tugging her closer. And fuck, that did something to her. The idea that you wanted her right there, wanted more of her.

And God, she wanted to give you everything.

Your head tipped back against the couch, a shaky breath escaping as you murmured, "Oh yeah, that's good." Your voice was unsteady, like you were barely able to get the words out, and that was all the encouragement Vada needed.

Her grip on your thighs tightened, holding you still as she settled into a rhythm, pushing past her nerves, following nothing but instinct now. The more she gave, the more she wanted—you were warm, soft, intoxicating beneath her, and hearing those quiet sounds fall from your lips only made her more determined.

She could feel your breath coming quicker, the rise and fall of your chest growing uneven, and when your fingers in her hair tightened—really tightened—she felt another rush of pride surge through her.

And when she heard you whimper her name, that was it.

Vada swore she could've stayed like this forever.

But it was clear you couldn't.

The way your thighs started to tremble, the way your breath hitched on every exhale, coming out in these ragged little gasps—it told her everything. You were unraveling, slipping closer and closer to the edge, and fuck, she could feel it. The heat of you, the way your body arched into her touch, desperate, pleading without words.

And then there was the way your hands had tightened in her hair, no longer just holding but gripping, like you were keeping yourself grounded. Like the pleasure was so overwhelming you needed something—someone—to hold onto. The realization made something deep inside her clench, a rush of pride, excitement, maybe even disbelief washing over her all at once.

She was the one making you feel this good.

She was the one drawing out these breathy little moans, these broken gasps, the soft, helpless whimpers that sent a shiver down her spine.

You rocked against her, chasing the feeling, chasing more, and she let you, gripping your thighs as she worked her tongue in slow, deliberate motions.

Vada never wanted to stop.

But then your hips stuttered—just slightly, just enough for her to notice. Your breath hitched sharply, and the hand buried in her hair tugged before you let out a shaky, "Fuck, I'm close."

Your voice, wrecked and desperate, sent a bolt of heat straight through her, but she didn't dare slow down. Instead, she gripped your thighs, keeping you in place, letting herself sink even deeper into the moment.

You needed this.

And God, she needed it too.

Vada didn't let up.

If anything, hearing you say that only spurred her on. She flattened her tongue against you, dragging it slowly before flicking the tip against your most sensitive spot. She could feel the way your body reacted, the way your thighs tensed beneath her palms, your hips jerking up ever so slightly like you couldn't help it.

She did it again—slow, teasing, before switching back to those quick, precise flicks, alternating between the two until she felt you start to tremble. The way you whimpered, the way your fingers tightened in her hair, almost pulling her closer, told her you needed more, needed her to keep going just like this.

So she did.

She wrapped her lips around you, sucking gently, adding just the slightest pressure as her tongue moved against you in tight, perfect circles. You let out this soft, strangled moan, your thighs twitching against her, and fuck, that sound—Vada swore she could feel it, deep in her chest, in her stomach, everywhere.

She didn't know how she was doing this so well, didn't know how she knew exactly what you needed—but she wasn't questioning it. Not when you sounded like this.

And then you broke.

Your body tensed, thighs clamping around Vada's head as a sharp, breathless moan escaped you. Your fingers tightened in her hair, pulling just enough to make her whimper against you, but she didn't stop—not yet. She kept her tongue moving, guiding you through it, slow and deliberate, savoring every second as you came undone beneath her.

She could feel it—the way your stomach clenched, the way your hips stuttered before finally stilling, the way your breath came in short, uneven gasps. She didn't stop until she felt you physically twitch from the sensitivity, until you exhaled a shaky, "Vada—" that sounded so sweet, so wrecked, that she had to listen.

Only then did she finally pull away, lips glistening, pupils blown wide as she looked up at you. And God, she had never seen anything more beautiful.

You were still trying to catch your breath, chest rising and falling unevenly, body still warm and buzzing from the aftermath. Your head was tilted back against the couch, lips slightly parted, eyes half-lidded as you blinked down at her. You looked completely wrecked in the best way, and Vada could not stop staring.

She stayed between your legs, grinning softly, her own breath still uneven. There was something so intoxicating about seeing you like this, knowing she had been the one to get you there. It made her stomach twist in the best way.

After a moment, she tilted her head, eyes flickering up to yours, and asked, almost shyly, "Was that good?"

You let out a breathy chuckle, still dazed. "Amazing, baby."

And God, Vada swore she could've melted.

But then you spoke.

"My turn."

Vada's grin faltered for just a second at your words, her breath hitching as realization settled in. Your turn.

You had finally caught your breath, but she lost hers.

She stayed between your legs for a moment longer, her hands resting on your thighs, but now there was a shift—something in the air that made her shiver. You reached for her, fingers curling around her wrist as you guided her up, and she followed without hesitation.

You kissed her again, slow and deep, before gently maneuvering her until she was straddling your thigh, her knees pressing into the couch on either side of you. She was already breathing heavier, already so affected by just the idea of what was coming next.

Her hands found your shoulders for balance, and you smoothed yours down her sides, over the curve of her waist, before sliding them lower. Your voice was soft, but certain—confident—when you said, "I want to make you feel good too."

And just like that, Vada felt like she could combust.

Your hands dipped lower, fingers working at the button of her jeans. It wasn't the easiest thing to do with the way she was straddling you, but you didn't seem to mind the challenge. Neither did she. If anything, it made her pulse race faster.

She bit her lip as you popped the button open, then dragged the zipper down. But when you tried to push them down her hips, the angle made it impossible. She huffed a soft laugh, already desperate to get them off.

"I should probably—" she mumbled, already moving before she could finish the thought.

You let her go, watching as she stood, hurriedly shoving her jeans down her legs. They pooled at her ankles, and she kicked them off, nearly stumbling in her rush. A breathless giggle escaped her lips as she caught her balance.

Her hands were already at the waistband of her underwear, but before she could do it herself, you reached forward, hooking your fingers there.

"Let me."

She swallowed hard, nodding, letting you pull them down in one slow, smooth motion.

And now she was bare for you. Just as you had been for her.

She was already moving back toward you before she even thought about it, climbing into your lap again, her breathing uneven as she settled against you—closer than before, warmer than before.

And God, she needed you.

The moment she settled back onto your lap, you pulled her in for a kiss—deep, slow, intoxicating. Your tongue brushed against hers, and she whimpered softly into your mouth, her hands gripping your shoulders for stability.

Your hands didn't stay still for long. They traced their way up her sides, fingertips ghosting over her waist, her stomach—warm, soft, nervous. She shivered under your touch, but she didn't pull away. If anything, she pressed in closer.

And then your hands cupped her breasts.

Her breath hitched—sharp, surprised, new. No one had ever touched her like this before. Not anyone else. Not even close. The only hands that had ever roamed this part of her body were her own, and this was so different. This was you.

Her lips parted against yours, a soft, shuddering exhale slipping free.

You parted from the kiss, your breath mingling with hers as your hands settled on her hips, thumbs smoothing over her warm skin. Your eyes met hers—dark, wanting, hungry, but underneath it all, there was something else. Something softer.

Love.

And then, in one fluid motion, you shifted, guiding her onto her back against the couch, your body hovering over hers. Her breath hitched again, eyes wide for only a second before a grin tugged at her lips—God, she loved this. She loved you.

Her legs instinctively wrapped around your waist, pulling you in as her hands slid up your arms. But when your hand moved down between her legs, she shuddered, her grip faltering as her thighs loosened slightly around you, just enough to give you the access you wanted.

Your fingers trailed down, brushing over the heat of her, feeling how warm, how wet she was for you. The slightest touch had Vada sucking in a breath, her stomach tensing as her hips shifted instinctively toward you. Her eyes fluttered shut for a second, like she was trying to process it, to hold onto the feeling, but she forced them back open, locking onto yours. She needed to see you. Needed to watch you.

You kept your touch light, teasing, dragging your fingertips along her inner thigh before moving back to where she was desperate for you. Her body reacted instantly—another sharp breath, the way her fingers dug into your arms, holding on like she needed something to ground herself. And maybe she did.

"Is this okay?" you murmured, your voice softer than ever, filled with nothing but care. The way you looked at her, the way you asked—like she was something delicate, something that mattered more than anything else in the world—it made her dizzy.

Vada swore she could've come just from that. Just from you.

She tried to answer, but her throat felt too tight, the words tangled somewhere inside her. So she just nodded, quick, almost frantic, because yes, yes, she wanted this, needed this.

And then you pushed in.

Two fingers, slow but certain, sinking into her with ease. The air left her lungs in a sharp, broken gasp, her head tipping back against the pillow as a sound she'd never made before slipped out of her mouth. Her body clenched around you, hot and tight, and she couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but feel.

Couldn't do anything but feel.

Your fingers moved with purpose, slow at first, letting her adjust, letting her take it all in. The way you filled her, the way your touch sent warmth spiraling through her body—it was overwhelming, almost too much, but she didn't want it to stop.

A sharp, breathless sound escaped her as you curled your fingers, pressing against something deep inside her that made her entire body jolt. Her hands clutched at your arms, her nails digging into your skin, as she let out something between a gasp and a moan.

Your face was so close to hers, your breath ghosting over her lips, hot and unsteady. She could feel you, all of you—your hands, your mouth, the way your body pressed into hers, keeping her grounded even as everything inside her felt like it was unraveling.

Her mouth fell open, but no words came, only the broken sounds of pleasure slipping past her lips. It was nothing like she imagined—no idle fantasy could have prepared her for the way you touched her, the way you knew exactly what she needed.

You whispered something to her, voice low and soothing, and she barely processed the words. All she knew was that she wanted more. That she never wanted this moment to end.

A shuddering breath left her lips before she could stop it, her whole body tightening as your fingers pressed deeper. "Fuck." The word slipped out before she even realized she was saying it, half-whispered, half-moan, raw with desperation.

She didn't know what to grab. Her hands twitched, searching for something, anything to hold onto, but the couch beneath her wasn't enough. Her fingers curled into the fabric, gripping tight, but it didn't ground her—it only made her more aware of how good this felt.

Her hips moved instinctively, chasing the pressure, grinding against your fingers as heat curled low in her stomach. It was intoxicating, the way you touched her, the way you watched her. She could barely keep her eyes open, barely form a coherent thought, but that didn't stop the words from spilling out of her mouth, breathless and unfiltered.

"Jesus—God—that's—fuck, you're so—" A strangled whimper cut her off as you curled your fingers again, hitting that spot that made her body jolt. "So good."

Her voice was shaking, her breath uneven, and she couldn't stop herself, couldn't stop the way she was moving against you, couldn't stop the way she needed more.

Her fingers clawed weakly at the couch cushion behind her, nails dragging against the fabric as her hips moved in rhythm with your hand. Her head tilted back, lips parted, breaths choppy and uneven. She kept trying to say something, kept opening her mouth like the words were there—right there—but all that came out were broken sounds, strangled moans that cracked in her throat.

And then, between gasps, she finally said it—barely audible, like it slipped out without permission.

"I've thought about this," she breathed, voice hoarse and raw. "So many times."

You didn't stop, just kept your pace steady, fingers dragging in and out of her with that perfect angle, that perfect pressure that made her thighs tense around you. Her stomach flexed with every wave that built, and her eyes fluttered open—just barely—to find yours.

There was a flicker of something deeper behind her dazed expression. Lust, obviously. But also disbelief. Awe.

"Not like this though," she managed, her voice catching in her throat. "Not this good."

Her gaze dropped to where your hand was moving between her legs, the slick sounds of it only making everything more intense. She looked at your fingers like she couldn't believe what they were doing to her—how deep they were, how wet they were. Her jaw trembled, and her eyes rolled back again as another moan tore from her.

Vada's legs were starting to shake around your waist, but her hips kept moving anyway—needy and uncoordinated, like her body didn't care how far gone she already was. Her head lolled to the side, teeth catching her bottom lip, but she couldn't bite back the moan that spilled out next. Her hand slid from the couch to your arm, gripping like she needed something to anchor her.

"I used to think about this so much," she panted, eyes blinking slowly, trying to keep them open. "Like... I'd imagine you touching me, sometimes when I couldn't sleep, or when I was just—" She broke off for a second, the pleasure crashing over her words. "I never thought it'd feel like this. I thought I'd be nervous, or too in my head—"

"Baby," you murmured, your voice low and uneven, but she kept talking, trying to push through it even as her body clenched tighter around your fingers.

"—but it's just you, and it feels—fuck—it feels so—"

"Vada."

Her name landed like a spark on her skin. Her voice died out, breath catching in her throat, and the sound that left her was more of a moan than a response.

"Yes?" she whispered, almost a whine, her eyes fluttering shut and then open again like she couldn't decide if she wanted to look at you or just fall apart.

Your lips hovered close to hers—so close she could feel your breath in her mouth, warm and shallow. The only thing separating a kiss was your restraint. Your nose grazed hers. And she could feel how breathless you were too, though not quite as wrecked as she was. Not yet.

"Please shut up," you said, barely more than a breath, but you were smirking—hot and slow—like it was a warning and a tease at the same time.

Vada didn't argue. Her breath caught again. She went quiet instantly, and the look in her eyes made it clear she liked that. Liked how wrecked she felt under you. Liked that you could still manage control even when she couldn't.

And you didn't stop.

Your fingers curled up inside her with practiced pressure, the pads dragging against that one spot that had her breath catching every time. You didn't let her hips escape you either—your free hand slid up her side to hold her in place, your palm splayed flat just under her ribs as she squirmed.

Vada let out a choked moan, her nails digging into your bicep now, trying to hold on to something as her thighs tensed around your waist again. Her body was too responsive to hide anything—every time your fingers thrust in, slow but deep, her whole chest jolted forward, her back arching off the couch in little jerks she couldn't control. Her head tipped back hard against the cushion, exposing her throat, her mouth slack with whimpers that kept slipping out between her gasps.

You dipped your head, lips grazing along her jaw, your breath brushing her ear as your fingers pumped faster. You didn't need to look to know how wet she was—you could feel it, slick and warm, coating your fingers and dripping down over your knuckles.

And her face—god, her face. She looked like she was losing it.

Her brows were furrowed, cheeks flushed, lips trembling as she tried to breathe through it. But she couldn't keep still. Her hips were chasing every motion of your hand, grinding into your palm like she needed more, needed it harder, deeper, anything. Her thighs clenched around you again, tighter this time, and a broken curse left her mouth.

"F-fuck—"

Her voice cracked halfway through it. Her whole body stuttered, trembling under your weight, and her hands flew to your shoulders now, clutching at you, nails scraping lightly down your skin like she couldn't hold herself back anymore. And that's when you knew—she was right at the edge.

So you stayed right there, fingers moving with purpose now, pushing in just a little deeper, curling up just right. You let her ride it out, your face still so close to hers that you could feel every unsteady breath against your lips. Your name tumbled out of her mouth like a plea, broken and urgent, over and over again.

And then her whole body seized—legs locking, mouth falling open in a silent moan before the sound finally caught in her throat.

She came hard.

You felt it all—every twitch, every clench around your fingers as her orgasm tore through her. Her whole body arched beneath you, thighs trembling, her chest rising fast as her moans broke apart into gasps she couldn't catch. It hit her so suddenly and so deep that she was left stunned, lips parted like she was still trying to speak, but nothing came out.

You didn't pull away, not right away. You kept your fingers buried inside her, letting her ride out the aftershocks as her body spasmed beneath you. Slower now, gentler, your touch shifted—fingertips stroking her from the inside, coaxing every last ripple of pleasure until she was too sensitive to take it.

Only then did you ease your hand away, and her legs fell open, limp and trembling. Her hands slipped down from your shoulders, dragging weakly across your back as her body sagged into the couch like she had no bones left to hold her up.

Her chest was still heaving.

Her skin was flushed.

And her eyes—when she finally blinked them open—were glassy, dazed, and somehow still locked on you. You leaned down, brushing your lips against her jaw before you settled over her again, your hands gentle now as they smoothed up her sides.

Vada was smiling.

Barely, lazily, breathlessly.

She looked wrecked. And it was maybe the hottest thing you'd ever seen.

Still catching her breath, she gave a quiet laugh, lips twitching like she couldn't quite form real words yet. But she tried.

"Holy shit."

You kissed the side of her mouth, slow and warm, and when you pulled back, she finally looked at you fully—eyes wide, cheeks flushed, hair messy against the cushions.

And then, with a small smirk and a husky voice, she whispered, "I can't feel my legs."

You didn't say anything right away. Just let yourself look at her, really look—at the way her lashes stuck together at the corners from the wetness in her eyes, at the little flush still lingering across her cheeks and chest. Your hand moved without thinking, gently brushing sweaty strands of hair back from her face. She leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering closed for a second like even that soft contact was too much.

Still breathing heavily, Vada shifted slightly beneath you, her thighs twitching in aftershocks as she tried to get comfortable again. She winced a little, laughing under her breath as her body reminded her just how hard she'd come. You whispered something close to her ear—some soft murmur that made her smile—but mostly, you stayed quiet. Let the silence settle around you both.

Eventually, you started to move. Carefully. Slowly pulling her underwear back up her legs, tucking her in again like you were scared she'd break. She watched you, dazed but glowing, her fingers brushing against your arm as you helped her. When you sat back down beside her, she immediately curled into your side, her head resting against your shoulder like it belonged there. Her breathing was steadier now, but you could still feel the occasional hitch in her chest when your fingertips moved over her bare skin.

You let your hand rest on her stomach, your thumb tracing idle little circles as you both just... lay there. Warm. Spent. Close.

And then she tilted her face up toward yours again, eyes half-lidded and mouth pink from all the kissing and gasping and biting down on moans. Her voice was rough, still catching on the tail end of her own breathlessness.

"Can we do that again?"

[idkdudethisisntpermanent]

Can’t Break Tradition

cairo sweet x female reader

summary: You and Cairo are rivals in the workplace. What’s with all the tension at your holiday party?

word count: 3k

a/n: office life au. Merry Christmas!

————

“So I hear you’re still gunning for that promotion huh?”

You shrug, “Mhmm yeah” you say uninterested as your eyes dart around the lavish ballroom your company rented for the holiday party. The massive chandeliers, fancy ice sculptures, and bustling crowd do little to distract from your real focus tonight.

The rando from the IT department that you managed to find yourself in a conversation with responds. “Is that why you and Cairo have this whole thing going on?”

That gets your attention. Your gaze snaps to him, your brows furrowing slightly. “Whole thing?”

“You know what I mean,” he laughs waving his arm off like you said a joke. “Everyone knows," he says leaning in like he's about to share some juicy gossip. "I heard from Iris, who heard from Janice, who heard Winnie talking to Glenn, that apparently Cairo sabotaged your presentation last week so she could take over your clients." He finished cautiously.

Of course you knew what he meant by whole thing. Everyone in your department—Writing and Communications, knew that you and Cairo Sweet were both sworn enemies. Joining the company at the same time, in the same position, had practically set the stage for it—like fate had decided you were destined to clash.

What surprised you is that the tale of you and her had reached other departments. And considering the fact that this was the third person tonight to bring up Cairo to you, it was clear your dislike for each other hadn't gone unnoticed by anyone in the company.

As the IT guy rambled on about something, your eyes finally found what you were looking for. There she was: Cairo Sweet, standing at the top of the grand staircase. Draped in a perfectly tailored red dress that hugged her figure just right, she descended the steps with an effortless grace, completely aware to the sea of male coworkers now openly gawking at her.

You tugged at your red tie, the fabric suddenly feeling too tight against your collar, and scoffed under your breath. “Someone clearly mistook ‘holiday party’ for the Met Gala. Totally unprofessional,” you muttered, the sneer in your voice unmistakable.

“I think she looks incredible,” the IT guy said, glancing at you with a grin.

You shot him a sharp side-eye and rolled your eyes for good measure before scanning the room again. Cairo had disappeared from view, and you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of irritation as you tried to pinpoint where she’d gone.

Knowing where she was meant knowing where to avoid.

“Seriously, though,” the IT guy continued, oblivious to your distraction. “You two really know how to keep everyone entertained. I mean, the banter, the glares—it’s like you’re living in a rom-com, only without the romance part.”

You snorted, finally tearing your gaze away from the crowd. “You sure are right about that. There’s nothing romantic about Sweet. She’s all ego and sabotage wrapped in a designer dress.”

The IT guy just shrugged, clearly amused. “If you say so. Anyways, good luck with that promotion. Looks like she’s already working the room.” He pointed toward the bar, where Cairo was now standing, chatting animatedly with a group of senior managers.

You clenched your jaw, the sight of her effortless charm setting you on edge. Of course, she was already playing the game. Cairo Sweet didn’t just show up—she made sure everyone noticed her.

Determined not to let her get under your skin, you grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing server and made your way across the room. You weren’t about to let her win tonight.

But just as you reached the edge of the bar, Cairo turned, her sharp gaze locking onto yours like a heat-seeking missile. Her lips curved into a smirk, and for a moment, the air between you crackled with tension.

“Y/n,” she greeted smoothly, her tone dripping with mock sweetness. “Enjoying the party?”

“Trying to,” you shot back, your voice laced with sarcasm. “Though it’s hard to relax when certain people keep making everything about them.”

Her smirk widened, and she leaned in slightly, her voice dropping just enough for only you to hear. “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, you know.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could, your colleague and best friend Glenn’s voice cut in.

“Whoa, whoa, easy there, you two,” he said, stepping between you with a grin. “Can’t you at least pretend to get along for one night? It’s the holidays.”

“Tell that to her,” you said, jerking your thumb toward Cairo.

“Please,” Cairo scoffed, crossing her arms. “If anyone needs a lesson in playing nice, it’s you.”

Glenn laughed, clearly unfazed by the tension. “Classic you two. Anyway, don’t let me interrupt. Just thought I’d enjoy the show while it lasts.”

As Glenn stepped away, Cairo leaned in again, her eyes glinting with something you’ve seen countless times. “Careful, Y/n. Keep glaring at me like that, and people might think you actually care.”

With that, she turned on her heel and disappeared into the crowd, leaving you standing there, your champagne untouched and your pulse racing.

“You know, for someone who claims to hate her, you sure spend a lot of time looking for her,” Glenn says turning around and rejoining the conversation, holding a drink in one hand and his trademark grin on full display.

You groaned internally. Of course, Glenn had to watch that interaction. Your best friend always had a knack for sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. “Don’t start,” you muttered, shooting him a warning look.

“What? I’m just saying,” He teased, leaning casually against the nearby bar. “First thing you do when you walk into a room is look for her. It’s like clockwork.”

“I wasn’t looking for her,” you lied, adjusting your tie again.

Glenn barked out a laugh. “Right. And I’m next in line for CEO. Come on, admit it—you love the drama. You and Cairo going at it is like some kind of soap opera for this office. My sister says even her team takes bets on who’s gonna snap first.”

You rolled your eyes, though your stomach twisted at the mention of Winnie. Of course, Glenn’s sister would be involved— Cairo and Winnie were practically inseparable. And if Winnie was anything—she was observant. If Winnie was running her mouth about you and Cairo, then there was no telling what kind of nonsense the office was spinning.

“Winnie doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” you said firmly.

Glenn raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Sure she doesn’t. Look, I get it. Cairo can be... intense. But you’ve gotta admit, she keeps you on your toes. Maybe that’s why you’re so obsessed with hating her.”

“Obsessed?” you repeated, incredulous. “I’m not obsessed. She’s just—”

“Here we go,” Glenn interrupted with a grin, gesturing for you to continue. “Let me guess. She’s arrogant, competitive, impossible to work with—did I miss anything?”

You scowled, crossing your arms. “She’s all of that and more. Trust me, if I could avoid her, I would.”

Your friend smirked, clearly enjoying himself. “Uh-huh. Sure. But you’d be bored out of your mind without her around. Admit it, she makes things interesting.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words caught in your throat as your eyes found Cairo again. She was across the room now, laughing at something Winnie said, her smile lighting up the space around her.

Glenn followed your gaze and let out a low whistle. “Man, if that’s what hatred looks like, then sign me up.”

You tore your eyes away, glaring at him. “Shut up, G.”

He just laughed, clapping you on the shoulder. “Whatever you say, buddy. But if there's something else going on,” he winks, "Then feel free to confide in me."

You shook your head, as he walked off looking to network with someone that could probably make him the next CEO. You gave up on the champagne and flag the bartender down to make you something stronger.

The bartender, a sharp-eyed woman with a no-nonsense air, approached with a towel slung over her shoulder. She tilted her head, her lips quirking in an amused smile as she set a tumbler in front of you. "Let me guess—bad night already?"

You sighed, resting your elbows on the bar. "You have no idea."

As she mixed your drink, she glanced at you, her brow lifting. "You’re Y/n, right?"

You froze. "Uh, yeah. Why?"

She leaned closer, dropping her voice conspiratorially. "I’ve heard the whispers. You and Sweet." Her lips pulled into a smirk. "You guys really hate each other that much, or is it just for show?"

You groaned, rubbing a hand over your face. "Seriously? Even the bartender knows?"

She laughed, sliding your drink across the bar. "Hey, I’ve got ears. And let me tell you, office gossip is way more entertaining than the soap operas my grandma used to watch. People are saying it’s like the ultimate rivalry. You know, ‘will they or won’t they.’"

"It’s a ‘won’t they,’" you muttered, taking a sip of your drink. "Definitely a ‘won’t they.’"

The bartender shrugged, unconvinced. "If you say so. But honestly, you two sound like you’re either gonna kill each other or..." She trailed off, her smirk widening.

"Don’t even finish that sentence," you warned, pointing at her with your glass, looking around you for prying ears.

She chuckled, holding her hands up in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. I’ll drop it. For now."

As you took another sip, you glanced down the bar and froze. There she was—Cairo—leaning casually against the counter, her red dress shimmering under the dim lights. Beside her, some overly confident guy was clearly trying his luck, gesturing animatedly as he spoke. Cairo’s smile didn’t falter, but you could tell from the way her body angled slightly away from him that she wasn’t interested.

Your grip on the glass tightened.

The bartender, noticing your shift in attention, followed your gaze. "Ah, there she is. The infamous Cairo. Gotta admit, she’s got style."

The bartender then noticed her pushy company. "Looks like someone’s got her hands full."

You rolled your eyes, downing the rest of your drink in one gulp. "Yeah, well, she can handle it."

"Sure she can," the bartender said with a smirk. "But you’re still watching, aren’t you?"

You ignored the comment, setting the empty glass on the counter. "Thanks for the drink," you said curtly before standing and adjusting your tie.

Your focus already zeroed in on the scene unfolding at the other end of the bar. You knew more than anything that Cairo could handle this situation herself, but your legs had a mind of their own.

By the time you reached her, just as you’d predicted, the guy was already retreating, his shoulders slumping with dejection. Cairo’s sharp gaze followed him for a second before shifting to you. Her expression softened, ever so slightly, but her voice remained crisp.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Y/l/n?" she asked, tilting her head.

You slid into the space the guy had just vacated, leaning casually against the bar. "Just doing my civic duty. Looked like you were stuck with a walking HR complaint."

Cairo smirked, a flicker of amusement crossing her face. "And here I thought you were avoiding me tonight. How uncharacteristic of you."

You shrugged, signaling to the bartender for another drink. "Not everything’s about you, Sweet. I was thirsty."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, a playful glint hidden beneath her usual sharpness. "Right. And yet, here you are, conveniently stationed right next to me."

The bartender slides you another drink.

You met her gaze, holding it for a beat longer than necessary. "If you want to believe the universe keeps throwing us together, who am I to argue?"

"Well," she said, her voice quieter but no less cutting, "the universe must have a cruel sense of humor."

You smirked, setting your glass down. "Or it just knows how much fun we have hating each other."

She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "You have no idea."

Before you could respond, someone from your team called her name from across the room. Cairo straightened, her professional mask sliding back into place with ease.

"Looks like I’m needed," she said, her tone light but her eyes lingering on yours for just a moment too long.

"Don’t let me keep you," you said, stepping aside.

As she walked away, you couldn’t help but watch her go, the familiar mix of emotions churning in your chest.

————

The evening progressed with a blur of polite conversation and forced laughs as you navigated the crowd. Glenn eventually found you again, dragging you toward a smaller room just off the main ballroom where some of the younger employees, including Winnie, had apparently decided to congregate.

“Come on, Y/n, this is where the real party’s happening,” Glenn said, grinning as he pulled you along.

The room was cozier than the grand ballroom, with dim lighting and a more relaxed vibe. People were sprawled on couches, perched on armrests, or standing in clusters, laughing and chatting over drinks. The hum of conversation was punctuated by bursts of laughter as someone commanded the group with an animated story.

You scanned the room, and your stomach flipped when you spotted Cairo sitting comfortably on the armrest of a couch, a drink in hand and a look of mild amusement on her face as she listened to whatever Winnie was telling. Great. Of course she was here.

“Y/n!” Winnie called out, spotting you and immediately waving you over. “Come join us. We were just talking about your legendary showdown with Cairo last month.”

You rolled your eyes as Glenn shoved you toward the group. “Can we not?” you muttered, but it was too late.

Cairo’s gaze flicked to you, her expression unreadable, but you swore there was a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

The evening wore on, and the atmosphere grew increasingly relaxed as more drinks flowed. Someone turned on music, and a few people started dancing in the center of the room. Glenn, ever the life of the party, was in his element, cracking jokes and keeping everyone entertained.

Then, out of nowhere, someone shouted, “Mistletoe!”

The room fell silent as heads turned, eyes scanning for the culprits. You froze, your gaze darting up instinctively. There it was—dangling innocently from the ceiling above you. And of course when you turn to see who had occupied the space behind you—Cairo.

“Oh, this is too good,” Glenn said, his grin so wide it practically split his face. “Y/n and Cairo, under the mistletoe? This is golden.”

Winnie’s laughter rang out, and someone else whistled. “Rules are rules, you two!”

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks as the room erupted into cheers and chants of, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

Cairo, ever composed, arched an eyebrow at you, her lips quirking into a half-smile that only you could see.

You swallowed, your heart hammering in your chest as every eye in the room bore into you. There was no escape, no snarky comment that could deflect this situation.

“Oh, come on, guys. I’m not trying to deal with HR on Monday,” you said with a dry laugh, taking a small step back from Cairo and the mistletoe.

From the crowd, Glenn’s voice rang out, loud and clear, “Boo! Loser! HR’s not invited to this party!”

The room erupted into laughter and cheers, with someone else shouting, “Yeah, live a little, Y/n!”

Before you could respond, Cairo rolls her eyes, and sighs dramatically like what she's about to do will take the life out of her. "I guess we can't break tradition."

And then her lips brushed yours in a soft, little more than corporate friendly, fleeting, yet enough to send a spark through your entire body kiss. The room erupted into cheers and whoops as she pulled back, her expression unreadable.

You immediately wiped your lips as Cairo turned on her heel and walked away into the crowd, leaving you standing there, dazed and entirely unsure of what the hell just happened.

You blinked, still rooted to the spot, before your feet carried you instinctively toward Glenn and Winnie. Glenn’s face lit up the moment he saw you, his mouth opening to unleash whatever snarky comment was brewing.

“Don’t,” you snapped sharply, holding up a hand, your voice laced with a warning edge that made him laugh even harder.

Winnie raised her glass in mock salute, biting back a grin. “What? No post-mistletoe debrief?”

You groaned, rubbing a hand down your face. “I hate both of you.”

Glenn smirked. “Sure you do, buddy. Sure you do.”

————

Moments later in a dimly lit private room in the venue, the faint thrum of the music from the party outside is barely audible through the thick walls. Cairo’s hands are tangled in your hair, her touch possessive and demanding as her back presses against the edge of a table. Her lips are on yours, urgent and searing, leaving no space for hesitation.

You gasp softly, breaking away just long enough to catch your breath, your chest rising and falling rapidly. Cairo’s dark eyes lock onto yours, her flushed face illuminated by the faint glow of fairy lights strung along the walls.

“You didn’t have to look that disgusted when you kissed me,” she breathes, her voice low but edged with challenge.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you tease, lips quirking into a smirk. “Did I hurt your feelings?”

Her expression hardens playfully, and before you can react, she grabs your red tie—the one you deliberately wore to match with her dress. She tightens it just enough around her fist to make you stumble closer—and pulls you into a kiss that obliterates any thought of teasing. It’s heated, raw, and dripping with hours of pent-up tension. Her nails rake lightly against the back of your neck as her other hand fists the fabric of your shirt, holding you close like she can’t bear to let go.

Your hands find her waist, fingers digging into the silky fabric of her dress as you kiss her back with equal fervor, pouring every ounce of your secret into the moment. The world outside could have been burning to the ground, and neither of you would have noticed.

When you finally pull away for air, your forehead rests against hers, both of you panting. A grin spreads across your face as you take in her disheveled hair and swollen lips. “Think anyone suspects us after that kiss under the mistletoe?”

Cairo shakes her head slightly, her lips barely an inch from yours. “Not a chance,” she murmurs, her voice a mix of satisfaction and mischief. “They’re too busy thinking we hate each other.”

“Good,” you reply, your grin turning sly as you capture her lips again. This time, the kiss is slower but no less passionate, a promise that this secret, this fire between you, is yours alone.

For now.

Taglist: @cobaltperun @machyishere @freakshow2501 @nwestra @mcchicken88 @101rizzlrr @snowdrop1026 @ilovesneezing069 @btay3115 @burntoutghost

[lilbitdepressed27]

Tara Carpenter/Fem!Reader All of Us Are Dead AU

Warnings: death angst blood

WC: 8.9k

Author's Note: no one asked, but I did it anyway. Sorry for any mistakes. Hope you guys enjoy, it's kinda long :)

"Oh come on!"

"Ah ha, I thought you said it was easy?"

"Ugh get off me."

You laughed at your best friend as you got off him and helped him up. You were on the football team along with your best friends and some of your other friends. You were the quarterback and a pretty damn good one for the university. It was your first year playing and you had already made such a great start, you started off as a sub. But when the starting quarterback started getting cocky and just being a jackass during the second game of the season. He was benched. And then you were sent in and since then Frankie had been benched. And he was not happy about it.

"Damn you move fast. You sure you wanna stay as a quarterback cause you'd be great on the defensive line." Chad said as smoothed out his sore bottom.

"It only helps when the quarterback doesn't know what he's doing." You nudged him with a smile on your face. "Now come on. Practice is over and we have to get cleaned up before we're late for class."

*

You and Chad had made your own way to the cafeteria where all your friends were at to get breakfast.

"Hey did you hear about the professors kid. You know the science professor." Chad said fixing his tie on his uniform.

"Huh? Oh yea. Apparently he committed suicide. Poor kid." You have seen the kid in question around. How he mostly kept to him self. Never bothering anyone. But there was always a group of boys who tormented the kid. You and Chad tried to put a stop to it. But it never worked.

"Don't even think that this is your or our fault Y/n. I mean, we did what we could. There's only so much someone can do. At the end of the day the person being bullied has to stand up for themselves. Cause if they don't, they become the easy target." Chad patted your back bringing you into a side hug. He knew how much you cared about people. He knew you since you two were in diapers. You had always had the protective mama bear in you. He and all your friends had always teased you about it.

Both of you arrived in the cafeteria seeing your group of friends sitting at the table in the corner. Your frown turned into a smile as soon you saw the small brunette. Tara Carpenter. You had met Tara when you were in middle school and have been in love ever since.

"Come on. I'm hungry you can ogle at Tara from up close." He teased pushing your towards the line. Seeing as breakfast hour was almost over there was hardly anything good. You would usually grab a fruit cup, apple and a protein bar with some apple juice on the side. "Damn. There's no more pop tarts."

You grabbed the last protein bar before Chad could get it and laughed when he was stuck with a banana.

"Whatever come on."

Tara looked up from her work, seeing you walking towards her. Her face brighten, her hand reaching for you as you grew closer, your much larger hand covered hers. It was a feeling Tara loved. How warm your hands were. They were always so warm, even in the winter.

"Hey. I got you your fruit cup and an apple." She handed you the food as you sat down next to her. Her heart racing as you directed a smile towards her. She knew that smile. The smile reserved only for her. Her face warming when you leaned into her and lightly kissed her cheek.

"Thanks Tar."

"You're welcome." She leaned into your side, embracing your warmth.

"Hey did anyone hear that the girl from home room went missing." Amber spoke from across the table.

"Which one Amber. There's like-"

Tara tuned out the conversation. Her focus was on you. How you silently ate your food but yet still paid attention to everyone else. How your hand stayed in hers. Your thumb softly creasing the back of her hand. She's never felt this deep about someone. The deep affection for you was something that scared her. It terrified her so much but yet she loved the feeling.

She loved you.

*

You had been trying to focus for a while now. But three classes already had you feeling so sleepy. It was just one more class before the lunch hour began. In this class you didn't share it with any of your friends. So you were alone.

You heard rumors about the girl that went missing was found in the science professors lab. You heard that he had been arrested and was taken away by police. You didn't take his class but Tara and most of your friends did. You would have never expected it from a teacher like him.

Right when the bell rang you were out of your seat and headed to the cafeteria.

"Run!!"

Students ran passed you, leaving you confused on what they were running from.

"Y/n run!!" Wes grabbed your hand as he ran passed you. Your eyes widen in shook when you saw what he was running from. Zombies?! You ran after him only to be tackled by one of the zombies.

"Y/N!"

The zombie was one of your teammates, was on top of you. Trying to bite you. You held him by his neck doing your best to keep him away from you but his arms swung wildly hitting you in the face. You tried to use your legs but it was like he was dead weight on you. His teeth grew closer to your neck making you scream in desperation.

Then the weight was off you, you gasped in relief as Wes helped you up. "Come on!"

The two of you ran dodging students and zombies.

"Wait where are the others?!" You yelled. He looked back at you with a remorseful look. "Wesley where are the others."

"I don't know. I think they were in the cafeteria. I don't know. I didn't get a chance to get there before they attacked. Come on."

You had no choice but to follow him. Passing students that were being attacked. Rushing up the stairs only to get hit with what felt like a ton of bricks. Falling hard to the floor your vision going a little blurry. You felt yourself being picked up and lead into a classroom. The door shut behind you as you leaned on the wall. You touched you head and felt something wet. Pulling your hand down and seeing blood on your finger tips.

You barely had a chance to gather yourself when a shorter body slammed into you.

"Thank god you're okay. Everything happened so quickly. I tried to go find you but Chad wouldn't let me go. I was so scared something happened to you." Tara mumbled into your neck as her arms tighten around your waist. The moment that chaos started she along with her friend had been in cafeteria. If it weren't for Amber, she probably would have died when she had frozen in fear when she fell.

"It's okay Tara I'm fine. Chad did the right thing. It's too crazy out there. Let me see you." Cupping her cheeks in your palms you pulled her away enough where you could look down at her and make sure she was okay. You caught the moment she saw the cut on your temple. Her eyes widen as she reached up her hand taking a hold of your chin as she turned your head to the side.

"Come on. I think there's a first aid kit in the professors desk."

Sitting down on the professors chair she got to work on cleaning your cut up and covering it with a bandaid. As she was cleaning you up you saw a small bandage around her wrist that wasn't there in the morning. You took a hold of her hand to take a better look.

"What happened to your wrist?" You looked up at her, she had stood between your legs as she cleaned you up.

"The girl that went missing was in professor Smiths class. She had been attacked by him and had escaped this morning. And wondered in to professor Prescott's class. She seemed confused and erratic when we took her to the nurses office. She attacked the nurse and scratched me. But I'm okay." She reassured you hoping to ease your worries.

"Okay." You nodded trying to calm your racing heart. You could still hear the screaming coming from outside the classroom. You looked around the room seeing most of your friends. Chad, Mindy, Amber, Anika, Wes, Ethan, Quinn, and Liv. Also two other students, Jason and Greg.

"Sam?" You knew she had gone away with her archery team. They had a competition today but she had said that they'd be back by lunch. Her boyfriend Danny was with her, he was on the team as well.

"No. I haven't seen her. But she's Sam. I'm sure she's fine. Right? She's got to be." She started breathing heavily and you had to calm her down before she had an asthma attack. You always had an inhaler with you.

"Hey, Tara look at me. I'm sure she's okay. I mean your sister is a badass. Don't tell her I said that though, her ego is big enough." The shorter brunette let out a small laugh knowing it was very true. "She's okay. I promise you that."

"So what are we going to do? I mean we all saw the same thing right? Those were zombies. I mean they remind me of the zombies from the movie Train to Busan." Mindy said from standing next to the window that looked out to the track and field. Her girlfriend Anika was standing right next to her. Still shaking in fear.

"Zombies? Seriously Mindy. You watch way too many movies." Quinn moved towards the window to see the caos that was happening outside.

"She's not wrong. They act like zombies. I saw Richie get bit and he turned in like a few seconds." Wes said from his spot next to the door. He had pushed a small cabinet up against the door. Hoping to make sure that no one would get in.

"So what do we do. Wait for help to arrive? We don't know how long that'll take." Ethan stood up from sitting next to Wes. He walked up to you, giving you a once over. "Glad you're okay." He patted your shoulder. You offered him a small smile and nod. Ethan had also been a close friend of yours. Him, Chad, Wes and yourself were on the team and great friends.

"We could wait it out. It won't be long till the cops show up. I mean it's basically a riot on school grounds. Anyone have their phones? I left mine in my bag in the cafeteria." Anika asked as she searched for her phone only to come up empty handed.

"I dropped mine when I got tackled. Tar do you have your phone." You turned your attention to short brunette still standing between your legs. She dug in her pocket and took it out. You looked down at her phone to see a picture of you. You were in your football uniform except the helmet. You were smiling big in the picture holding a bouquet of flowers and a small teddy bear close to your chest. You remember that day clearly. You had won your first game that you played as the starting quarterback. Tara had bought the gifts knowing very well you were going to win. She had captured your cheesy smile that she loved so much and made it her locksceen.

You smiled up at her, she tried to hide her blush but smiled regardless. She dialed 911, bringing the phone up to her ear. You watched as she spoke to the dispatcher. The officer seemed not to believe her but never the less said they'd send officers to the school.

"I'm going to call Sam. Hopefully she answers." It was quiet, well as quiet as a zombie filled university could be. You stood up from the chair and let Tara sit in it. "Nothing. She's not answering." She bit her bottom lip, a nervous habit she had. Her hands playing with her phone. You took the phone from her hands putting it on the desk, then taking her hands in yours. Bringing her down on your lap.

"Hey, she'll be okay. She's with Danny and she's strong. She'll be alright." You spoke softly to her, gently squeezing her hands. "Look at me." When her eyes met yours, you smiled softly she returned the small smile. Eyes still filled with worry. "She'll be alright. I need you to focus on yourself right now. Okay? Take a deep breath for me baby." Even though you had her spare inhaler with you. You didn't want her to over work herself.

She followed your directions with no complaints. Once she had her breathing in check she looked down at you and leaned down. Softly kissing your lips. She didn't know what she'd do if she lost you.

*

"Well how crazy was it in the cafeteria?" You asked Chad. Tara, Liv Mindy, Anika, Amber and Quinn were sitting at the corner furthest away from the door. The door was blocked but to be on the safer side. Chad, Wes, Ethan and yourself stood by the window of the second floor building.

"Got too crazy way too fast. How the hell did this even happen? I mean, the girl that went missing was-" The group of teenagers were stoped at the sudden noise of the door being pushed open. The small cabinet moved from the force of the door opening. The girls scrambled to their feet at the sight of the P.E teacher who was also your coach breathing heavily as he closed the door. He looked frantically around the room eyes landing at the group of kids.

"Coach were you bit?" You asked as you took a step forward a hand shooting out and grabbing the back of your shirt. Wes stood behind you, holding your jacket, once he realized that you wouldn't get closer to the coach he let your jacket go.

"No I wasn't bit. Let's let's block the door. We need to secure it. Make sure they don't get in. Come on."

Everyone moved to block the door, as you moved to do what the coach said when a hand held your wrist. You turned back to see Tara. "What's wrong?" Asking as you turned to be directly in front of her.

"Look at his arm. There."

You turned back to look at the teacher. The sleeve of his jacket was rolled up. But there, you saw blood on his wrist. The teeth marks. You knew he'd be turning at any moment know.

"Coach your arm-What are you on about Y/ln come and help. Or I'll bench you and let Frankie back in." He spoke angrily but his eyes filled with fear and denial.

"Y/n what are you doing he said he wasn't bit." Jason said as he stopped his movements from barricading the door.

"He has a bite mark on his arm." You argued with your coach. You felt bad but he was putting your friends, Tara in danger. You knew it wouldn't be long once he turned. "You need to leave."

He scoffed, "You want me to go out there? After all I did to get here."

"Get out, right now. You were bitten and it's putting all of us in danger." Tara fired back, your arm reaching for her and pushing her behind you.

"Listen here you fucking-" He gasped at the feeling of blood coming out of his nose. The coach looked at you as he fell to the ground, his body convulsing.

You stepped back pulling Tara with you. You could only watch as your coach turned into a zombie.

"Get him out of here!" Greg yelped, the zombie looked his way and launched towards him.

The second they were all frozen in fear, it was all it took for the zombie to go for the bite. You reacted first, running forward.

"Y/n no!"

You pulled the coach off Greg, throwing him to side. You picked up a book and hit him with it, making him fall back. "We need to get outta here!"

"Come on!" Chad ran towards the door pulling the desks and cabinets out of the way with the help of Ethan and Wes. The girls followed close behind them. Tara grabbing you by the hand, pulling you behind her as you and your friends ran down the hall. Leaving the coach and Greg behind.

"Where are we going?!" Amber yelled as she swung the handle of a paper guillotine she broke off.

"The science lab!" Chad yelled back. He had a leg of a wooden chair swinging the stick pushing the zombie off Ethan.

You had been thrusted a chair leg by Chad as you were pulled down the hall. Amber and Mindy had pulled Tara from you as you helped the boys push back the zombies from getting to them. They all ran upstairs trying to get to the science lab.

"Y/n hurry!" You heard Tara yell from behind you. You looked behind you to see her, her arm being held by Amber.

"Go! Open the door for the science lab! I'll be right behind you!" You grunted at the force from the pushing. You spared a glance back at Tara, she was being pulled by Amber and Mindy. You swung the chair leg at one of the zombies. Feeling your heart beating in your ears when you realized the way to your friends was being blocked by zombies. There was no way for you to get through them.

Having no choice but to hide in another room.

*

The door was slammed shut. All the guys moving to push something in order to make sure the zombies didn't push through. The brunette looking frantically around for you. But you were hard to miss. In any crowded room she'd always find you. Like her eyes were magnets, always connecting with yours.

"Where's Y/n?"

Wes snapped his head up. You were right behind him. He heard you shout that you were right behind them.

Tara didn't think, didn't wait for anyone to say anything before she was at the door trying to move the stuff blocking the door. She needed to get to you. Make sure you were okay.

"Tara, Tara you can't go out there." Amber was the one to stop her. Feeling the shorter girls shoulder shaking.

"Please Amber, I have to make sure she's okay. She has to be okay. I can't lose her." Tara let the sob out, you were right behind her. Telling her that you were right behind her. She knew she should have stayed with you. Feeling like the walls were closing in on her as she cried into Amber's shoulder.

Amber swallowed the lump in her throat. Seeing what her best friend and you had was something she could only wish for. Seeing the relationship blossom from such a young age was something everyone wanted. That true love. Knowing that if something were to happen to either of you, the other would be lost with out them.

"Come on Tara. Breath. Y/n is one of the strongest and most athletic person I know. Not to mention she's too stubborn when it comes to getting to you." Amber spoke gently to the shorter girl, leading Tara away from the door towards the window.

Everyone else looked back out the small window on the door, afraid that they'd see their friend as one of the zombies

*

You had ran into the art room, running straight to the desk with the little seconds you had before the zombies came running in. Staying at quiet as you could as you heard the footsteps and groaning coming closer. You needed to find a way out of the class and back to Tara.

*

"She'll be okay, you have to believe that she will." Amber looked out the window, looking at what was once a field filled with joy now filled with groans of students that she once knew. She felt Tara's warm hand taking hers. Tara had been her friend for the longest time. She felt tears build up in her eyes as she failed to look at Tara. She knew what was going to happen. She could feel it inside her. And she was scared.

"Amber, your hand, it's co-" Tara felt the dread wash over her like a cold bucket of water being poured over her head at what it meant. Amber was cold to the touch, her best friend always had cold hands. It was nothing new. But this type of coldness was new. Her eyes connecting to the eyes that were once brown. Were now red.

"Amber?" Quinn stood up, looking at the shorter girl. She stepped closer, her eyes also filling with tears. She couldn't lose another friend. Especially not Amber. Not when she hasn't told her how she felt. She looked at Tara who was yet to look away from Amber. When Amber turned around she felt her heart shatter at the sight of the nose bleed. She knew what that meant.

"It's okay Quinn. It's okay." Amber looked at the taller girl. She hated herself for not telling the girl how she felt. For waiting too long. From the moment she first saw Quinn. She shouldn't have let the chance go. But now. Now it was too late. She didn't want to do this to Quinn but she knew she had no control of what was going to happen next. Her gaze turned to the Quinn's brother.

Ethan stood behind Quinn, ready to protect Quinn and Tara when it came down to it. He knew it was only a matter of seconds before the Amber they knew was gone. He looked into Amber's eyes. The unspoken words in her eyes. He nodded. He knew what that look meant. He saw the small glimpse of relief in her eyes and her shoulders before the look was gone replaced with pain.

"I love you Quinn."

Quinn let out a sob, she was losing Amber. The smart witted girl that had stolen her heart with snarky remarks. Moving forward to get closer to Amber. Only to be held back by her brother.

"Get her the fuck outta here. Do something!"

Everyone ignored Jason as they watched Amber fall to the floor. The cocky, witty, Amber was gone. Replaced by a raging, flesh eating monster.

*

You peaked from the corner of the desk. There was a few zombies in the class. All gathered around the entrance of the class. There was no way you were getting out through that. You weren't sure what to do. Or how to do it. You looked around hoping to find a way back to Tara and your friends. The only way out would be through the windows, you had no other choice.

You were quick to move, throwing what you can to keep, the zombies away from you. You tried not to look down, the science lab was a level up. You weren't so sure if you'd be able to climb up.

Your foot slipping on the ledge making your heart jump to your throat "Oh shit."

You shuffled on the side, trying to figure out, how you could climb up. When you saw Wesley on what you assumed to be a water hose. You watched as he struggled to kick off the zombie off his foot. "Holy shit Wes, hold on I'm coming to you."

"Y/n? You're alive!" He smiled momentarily forgetting the situation he was in. The happiness he felt was quick to wash away at the pull of his leg. He couldn't get a good grip on the hose.

"I'm going to you. Just hold on." You weren't sure how you'd get to Wes.

"Y/n, look up."

You looked up, eyes widening at seeing a bloody face of a zombie, this time without a moment of hesitation. You leaped towards Wesley. Your heart jumping towards your throat as you free fell for a second before your arms wrapped themselves around Wes.

You were quick to kick off the zombie that held on to Wesley's foot.

"Ugh thanks. Now get off me, go down to the broadcasting room."

"What? I thought you liked my hugs." You smiled as you moved further down on the hose. Carefully going through the window.

"Y/n? Holy shit dude I thought you were dead." Ethan was quick to pull you in a tight hug. You hugged him back. He was quick to pull away, right when a familiar sob rang through the room. You looked ahead seeing Tara, her eyes red filled with tears.

You felt her body shaking as she fell into your arms. Her arms had wrapped around your waist in a tight hold as she cried into your chest. You held her closer looking at everyone around the room. You knew she was most likely worried about you. But hearing her cry like this was concerning. The more you looked around, you realized someone was missing.

Amber. Amber wasn't in the room.

With a regretful nod, Wes confirmed your thoughts. Your eyes falling to Quinn who was also crying. Your heart ached at the look on her face. You had tried hard to get Amber and Quinn together but they both were too scared of rejection.

Your eyes filled with tears. Tara had lost her best friend, your friend. Amber had been the first one to know about your feelings towards Tara. Amber had been the one to push the both of you together.

And Quinn lost someone who could have been the love of her life.

Amber was gone.

*

"Hey, talk to me." You whispered, you were sat at the corner of the room with Tara sitting in between your legs. She was leaned back into your chest. Her head resting in your neck. You could hear her faint whizzing. She had cried herself into an asthma attack.

"I-I thought you were gone. Her...Amber's- her hands were so cold. Her hands have always been cold. But they were freezing...She's gone. Amber's gone."

She began to cry softly, you brought her closer softly rubbing her back. Hoping to give her a bit comfort. But you knew you could only do so much. Amber was like another sister to Tara.

"I'm sorry Tara." It was all you could say. There was nothing that could comfort Tara at the moment. She had just lost someone that was like a sister to her. You hated thinking what Amber could have felt. How scared she must of felt. For Amber to go through that it made you want to cry.

"He's bleeding, he's infected. We have to throw him out."

You were brought out of your thoughts to see Jason pointing a finger at Wes. You and Tara both stood up looking at Wes to see his nose was bleeding.

"Oh I slammed my face on the wall when I had to jump out the science lab window." He wiped his nose with his vest, that he had taken off.

"No. You're going to turn into one of those things. He's putting all of us in danger. Greg, Coach Loomis, Amber. They all started showing signs of infection with a nose bleed." Jason argued. "Look at his fucking hand-"

"Stop." You pushed Jason away from Wes. You did not want to believe your best friend was going to change into one of those things. You stood in-front of Wes taking his hand in yours. You saw the scratches on his fist. They didn't look too deep. But you weren't sure if he'd turn. Everyone you saw turn, they had been bitten.

"It's just a scratch." You stepped beside him looking back at your friends. "He'll be fine."

"Oh you're one to talk. Profesor Prescott. You have to do something about it." Jason argued, he wasn't going to let this infected be in the room. Putting him in danger.

"Wesley. How about you go into the soundproof room and wait it out. Make sure you're not infected. Just a safety precaution." Sidney truly still couldn't wrap her head around what was happening. The fear she felt was something she has never felt. But she knew she had to stay control and hopefully keep her kids safe.

"But Profesor Prescott-Please Wesley. We can't be too careful."

With a huff he walked into the soundproof room. The door shutting behind him. You watched as he sat down on a chair. You really hoped he didn't turn. You couldn't lose any more friends.

*

"Well times up. I think Jason here owes Wes an apology." Chad spoke his arms crossed as he stood straight looking down at the boy in question.

"What? Yea right. I'm not apologizing to him. Why the fuck would I?" Jason crossed his arms in anger. Hating the way everyone in the room was looking at him.

"Dude, just own up that you were wrong." Ethan said from his spot, he had been trying to comfort his sister. There was times he had thought that Quinn would have gotten together with Amber. He had high hopes for his sister. But now she looked heartbroken and he couldn't blame her. Amber was a big part of the group.

"Yes Jason please go apologize to Wesley."

With even the teacher gaining up him. He had no choice but to go into the room. A dark thought crossing his mind. Once he would follow through. The consequences not being enough to stop him.

Everything happened so quickly. He was fine. Then the next his nose was bleeding with her being blood red. Tara stood behind you, knowing very well what you were going through. You were losing your best friend and there was absolutely nothing you could do about it. Only being able to watch as Wesley changed into one of the monsters as well.

*

The group was losing more friends than they had been prepared for. First Amber and now Wesley. You had stood next to the window for the longest time. You Chad and Ethan had to push Wesley out of the window. Trying hard to avoid getting bit by your once called best friend. He had been your first friend, back in preschool. He had been the one to name you his best friend.

And now he was gone.

"We have to find a way outta of here." Your gaze was on the world outside. You had lost sight of Wes the moment he got up from falling from the third floor window. Tara stood by your side her grip on your hand never wavering.

"How? Out there, it's too crazy and too risky." Chad spoke from his spot in the floor. He knew that help would take too long for it to arrive. With how dark and chaotic it looked from the room window. He knew that help could take up to hours if not days.

"The front is not an option. But the through the back. The construction sight we could use that route and head through the woods." You needed to get your friends out of this school. Staying here was clearly not an option.

"Okay, how do we get through those zombies?" Ethan spoke from his spot between his sister and Chad. He saw the familiar crinkle form in between your eyebrows as you thought of something. He watched you, the sadness and the complete refusal of acceptance of Wes being gone was still in your eyes.

"Zombie guts?"

"What?" Everyone turned their gaze to Mindy.

Mindy shrugged, "don't look at me like that. Haven't you guys watched the Walking Dead or any other zombie related movie. We all established that these things are zombies. So there for we use zombie guts to hide are humanly odor with flesh and get the fuck outta here." She stood up, her hand held out to help Anika up.

"Alright, it's not like we have other options. how do we get one of those things in here?" Anika asked, she was scared. Scared for what was going come. Especially if this idea became something they actually did. They already lost Amber and now Wes.

The professor in the room stayed quiet, what had just happened was something she was surely she'd never forget. Wes, Judy's son. He had been the sweet boy one second and replaced by a flesh eating monster. The change had been quick. She didn't know what or how she'd tell Judy. Judy loved her boy, he had always been her pride and joy. To have that taken from her, Sidney couldn't even imagine what that felt like.

"There's plenty of st-bodies in the hall." Sidney finally found her voice. She felt guilty for even saying it but if it meant saving at least these kids, well she had to try.

*

It took a day of no rescue for the others to actually go through with the plan. The day had been spent going back up to the tech room. Retrieving a drone to look for any survivors. With no luck on the drone it had made the original plan more cemented in everyone's mind.

"We should still use something to distract those things." Sidney said as they had successfully dragged two dead zombie student bodies into the room. She could see how your bloody hand shook as you put down the blade. Ethan and Chad had helped you drag the two unrecognizable kids into the room.

"The intercoms you use for morning announcements?"

"Okay Anika come and help me."

While Anika and professor Prescott worked on that. You stayed looking down at the blood on your hands. You had just killed two students. Two students that were no longer themselves but yet you did it. The parents of said kids would never get the chance to see them again. And now, now you were planning to cut them open. Like pigs, all in the name of survival. What you were about to do, you weren't even sure if it'd work. But it had to. You and your friends couldn't last another day in this school.

Soft hands cupped your cheeks, lifting your gaze away from your hands. "Hey, look at me." Dark brown eyes looked back into yours. "Stay with me." Her words rang in your ears. Your racing thoughts come to a halt, you need to get Tara out of this school. Some where safe.

"It's ready." 

Now all that was to be done was to butcher these kids, before you could even pick up the blade someone else took picked it up.

"You've done enough, I got this." Ethan said giving you no chance before he took a deep breath and you flinched at the sound of bones breaking. You looked away, your eyes finding Tara who was by the window. You knew she was worried for her sister.

"Wait, Professor? How do I use the intercom's?" You asked while Ethan helped cover the others in blood.

"Just push down on this button to speak, okay go ahead."

"Sam if you can hear this, it's Y/n, we are going towards the construction sight. Please try to meet us there."

*

The walk was tense. Everyone in the group falling in a close line. Tara standing right behind you. The halls had a few stragglers, but they paid no mind to you or the others. Those things, too occupied with the morning positive announcements. From what you could see the plan was working. Thing that worried you was that said announcements were only thirty minutes long. And it's been twenty at most minutes that have passed since you all stepped out of the broadcasting room.

"We have to hurry."

Your head snapped back at Jason. The look was harsh, as the deal was to not talk and make unnecessary noise. But the damage was already done. The zombie that was closest to him had growled in his direction, it was enough for him to get out of line stumbling on a dead body, making him crash on to the floor. The yells of the zombies as the scream that left his lips was enough to draw in more.

Some bumped into you but paid you no mind you had taken Tara in your arms the moment he had fallen out of line. You couldn't do anything without putting the others at risk. So you took a quiet step back. Leading the others away.

It was too late for him anyway.

*

The plan was going too smoothly. You were only minutes away from entering the construction site. When the rain came followed by loud thunder. You breath hitched at the meaning. The smell of dead would wash away. Leaving you and your friends exposed.

"Run."

The panic washed over everybody, the pace picked up and the rain fell harder. The sound of infected roared as the picked up the scent of human flesh. The group cutting through the open field to get to the closest construction area. Running into the building.

"Get down!"

The group of teens didn't hesitate as they dropped to the floor. The faint noise of arrows flying by. The sound of the dead dropping and staying down. You had covered Tara with your body. When the only thing that could now be heard was the sound of rain and thunder. You looked up eyes connecting with familiar brown eyes.

With a chocked laugh you got up, helping Tara up. Tara only had a second until she realized who was in front of her. "Sam." The hug between the two sisters was a moment you felt like you needed. The relief in Tara's shoulder was noticeable. Sam looked at you and the group. Eyes furrowing, you felt like you knew what she was thinking. Shaking your head slightly, her eyes filled with remorse and slight tears.

"We have to get off school grounds. It's too crazy here." Danny said after retrieving the arrows. "I was able to talk with my dad before the phone lines stopped working. People were able to evacuate to the town over. The city is blocked by the military, so we have to go to one those checkpoints and hope they don't shoot first."

If the military was able to evacuate some people you knew that if the school grounds were crazy, the city was most likely worse. With a sigh of what you and the others will most likely go through. Getting to the construction sight had been hard and almost seemed too difficult. But now having to just go into the city, now that was impossible.

*

"Okay guys just stay close okay. Everyone has a weapon right?" Danny asked as he loaded his own bow with an arrow. His gaze falling on you. He could see how much it hurt to lose Wes. He had been more like brother to you and he knew how much you cherished the friendship with Wes. He also knew that Tara was hurting. Amber was also like sister to Tara. Being there when Sam couldn't.

"Okay. I'll be in the front, arrows in the front clearing a path. Y/n, Chad, Ethan think you two can handle the back?" Danny asked getting nods in response. "Everyone else try to stay in the middle don't get separated. Alright let's go."

*

He felt cold, confused, hungry? He felt really hungry. The hall floor was hard and wet, but the more he became aware the more he realized that it was blood on his clothes. His blood.

The memories came flooding back in, the feeling of being eaten alive. He remembered all those bites, he felt those bites before his world went black.

You.

You had left him there to die. Not even moving to help.

He'd make you pay.

*

Tara kept looking back at your direction, she didn't like that you were in the back. She was thankful to know that her sister was alive and not one of those things. Yet she still feared what could happen. They had successfully made it out of the school. Cutting through the back woods. The woods had been thankfully deserted with no infected in sight.

With Sam in front of her along side Danny, the walk was quiet, tense. She was afraid that the smallest noise would bring those things down on them.

She had to believe, or at least hope that everything would be okay.

*

You breathed heavily as you pushed your back onto the door. The dead pushing their own weight to get the door to open. "Fuck! Get something to block the door!" Chad and Ethan helped you with the door. While the rest helped with pushing a big cabinet. Your body pushed forward from the force of the door trying to he pushed open.

"Guys hurry up!" "Move!" The big cabinet fell in front of the door blocking the infected from getting in.

"Man that was intense, everyone okay?" You slumped back into a wall, everyone responded with a confirmation. "Come let's get away from the doors and windows."

Once everyone was in a more secluded area with less windows, you turned and checked over Tara. "You okay? No bites? Do you need your inhaler?" Hands stopping their movements on her cheeks.

"I'm fine. Come on let's rest." The day had been a long one. From moving discreetly and not so discreetly the group had to take refuge in a restaurant. The moment you had a chance you took Tara into your arms. Thankful to have her safely in your embrace.

With most of the electricity being out in the city the streets were dark and if not almost impossible to see in the dark. So you had to find shelter and having to move when the sun was out. The rest was well deserved, with everyone running low on energy. The group had taken shelter in a room furthest from the front door. But it had a window just in case of needed to get out of there quickly.

~

Tara had been asleep on your chest, she felt so exhausted, hungry. It was still dark out, so she wasn't sure what woke her up. You were still asleep, your chest rising and falling in a calming way. Your face was relaxed for the first time since this whole thing started. As she traced your facial features with her eyes, the glow of the moon was enough for her to see your face. She heard a noise. A noise that she was certain was what woke her up.

The door leading down to the empty hall way was closed and barricaded with a desk. Everyone had fallen asleep. As she moved to get up your arm wrapped around her waist tightened.

"Where are you going?" Your voice came out as a whisper. You had always been a light sleeper.

"I heard something." She whispered back. You were now wide awake as you sat up with her. She watched as you stepped silently towards the door, she moved behind you, refusing to let you go alone.

You only moved the desk a few inches. Enough to only crack open the door, only to get a peak outside. The noise was heard again. But you couldn't see anything, the halls were dark. The moon light only casted so much light. The noise got closer and closer until you saw two eyes looking up you. The breath you didn't even know you were holding was let out.

Meow.

The cat used the small gab you left open. To get in. The black cat rubbing against your leg.

"Oh it's a kitty." Tara gushed as she pointed the light from her phone on the cat. You chuckled and quietly moved to shut the door.

You didn't see it coming. You had been so focused on Tara's smile as she the cat in her arms. The force of the push had been so unexpected, the force throwing you back. Your eyes widen in disbelief at who stood there. Covered in blood and bloody snarl on his lips.

"You left me. You left me to die."

"Jason."

Everyone was now awake. You could feel the tension, and the guilt you felt washed in.

"Feeling guilty?" His twitching was noticeable. You couldn't wrap your mind around that fact that he was still alive.

"Yeah, I felt guilty too...when I infected Wesley. But then I remembered what he did to me. Then it went away."

Your ears felt like they were ringing, his word repeating in your mind. Wes was fine till Jason went in that room to apologize. Jason killed Wes. He killed your best friend. You acted before really thinking.

"Y/n!"

Your fists connected with his face. The rage and fury you felt washed over. It angered you further that he was laughing. The rage grew and the punches became more intense.

Arms wrapped around you as they tried to pull you off. The arms of Ethan and Chad pulling you off there hold on you tight.

"You'll all die."

The sounds of groaning and screams filled the hall. Everyone sharing a look as they all moved to shut the door. Jason laid on the floor as he continued to laugh loudly. Drawing the attention of the infected. You wasted no time to grab him once again throwing him out the window.

"Fuck, out the window." Anika moved towards the broken window. Seeing Jason no longer where he landed. She was scared. Scared on what that could mean. He had turned but he wasn't like the rest. He was still conscious of his actions.

The sun just barely coming out casting a light into the room. Your hands still shook, the anger you still had was still there just now accompanied by some overwhelming regret.

"We have to move!! They're breaking through the door!" Danny yelled as he along with Chad, Ethan, Mindy and Sam tried to hold the desk in place.

Tara was quick to cup your cheeks breaking you out of your spiral. "Baby come on we have to go. Stay with me." Your eyes held so much and she couldn't even comprehend what you were thinking.

"Go with Anika, Sam go down with them. Make sure the way is clear for the rest of us to go down." Taking Tara's hands in your giving them a what you could only hope was a comforting squeeze. "Go with them. I'll be right behind you."

Tara heard you say that once and she lost you for second. This time she didn't listen. She moved to help you with the desk. "Ta-No, I'm not leaving you again. Mindy go. Then Ethan and Chad. I'll go with you. The window is big enough for the both of to jump out of."

Quickly they cleared the room. The door giving out the moment you and Tara rushed forward. The quickness of how you both went out the window falling into a dumpster.

"We have to move! Come on." You took Tara's hand and rushed down the alley. The same alley that was once mostly empty of infected was now filled with them. In the center was Jason. A smug smirk on his face.

"RUN!!"

*

Tara had always been light, with your work outs and constant sports you played you were in great shape. So when you felt Tara slowing down. You didn't even need to look at her when you picked her up. Her arms and legs wrapping around you tightly. Her shortness in breath had you worried and you knew she needed her inhaler.

"The bus! Get on the bus!" Sam yelled her pace picking up as she reached the bus getting the door open, thanking what ever god was up there that the keys were in the key was in the ignition.

You had been the last one to reach the bus. Only a step in when you felt a sharp pain on your forearm looking behind you to see Jason before an arrow was shot right in between his eyes. His limp body falling to the floor, unmoving.

The bus moved forward as the doors closed. The infected crashing into the side of the bus.

You focused on tara whose breathing was becoming more dangerously labored. You sat her down on one of the seats digging in your pocket to take out the inhaler. "Come baby, use this. Breathe in. I got you." You spoke softly in her ear. The inhaler brought up to her lips. "Nice and easy. That's my girl." It took a few more minutes for her breathing to return to a somewhat normal rhythm.

*

"Okay I think we lost them." Mindy spoke up as stood by Sam who had been driving. The roads were empty of infected, abandoned cars were on the streets but the bus was strong enough to move the cars out of the way.

Everything was a bit muffled for you. All you could think about now was the bite on your forearm that was covered by your long sleeve shirt. You weren't sure at first if you were going to turn seeing as Jason was still, alive? But as the minutes passed and the hour grew closer. You felt yourself growing lighter, weaker. You had to tell them.

Tara was resting her head on your chest as you leaned your back on the window. The cat on her lap also resting. Everyone was so unaware of what was happening.

"Sam stop the bus."

"What?" She looked back at you and then back at the road. It was an open field now the city behind as you were the check point wouldn't be too far now.

"What's wrong?" Tara pulled away from your chest to look at you. Her eyes searching for why you would want Sam to stop the bus. But you didn't meet her eyes. Instead you stood up as the bus stopped. Her hand reaching to take a hold of yours.  Her breath hitching and the chill rolling down her body at the feeling of your cold hands.

"No." It came out so small, denying what it meant. You were probably just cold. Your hands got cold sometimes.

Your eyes filled with tears. You pulled back afraid of what was to come. You didn't want to hurt anyone. Especially not Tara.

Chad moved to stand behind Tara, confused what was wrong. "What's going on?"

You took another step back towards the doors. Tara refused to look away from you as her eyes filled with more tears, her lip quivering as she refused to believe what was happening.

"Y/n?" Ethan asked standing by Chad. His hand reaching for Chad's.

The lump in your grew bigger as everyone's eyes were now on you. your eyes finally meeting Tara's, the pure anguish and refusal to accept what was to come.

"Jason bit me, I wasn't sure if it was going to happen. But I am turning. I—I can fe—el it." The tears that blurred your vision finally fell. The feeling of you losing the control of your mind was a lot more, than you had expected.

"Da—nny shoot me."

"What?" Danny's voice cracked as he took you in. Your hands were shaking blood starting to roll down your noise.

"No!" The whizzing got worse as Tara rushed to get to you but was stopped by Sam. She tried hard to get out of her sisters hold but Sam had always been strong.

"D—on't want to....be one of th—ose things." You could feel the blood rolling down your noise. Your vision coming and going. Your knees growing weaker as you crumbled down to the floor. "Da—nny please."

Danny looked at Sam who was also crying trying to comfort her younger sister. Her brown eyes filled with uncertainty.

You tried to get back up wanting to get out of the bus.

Tara couldn't let you go. She couldn't, seeing your once y/ec eyes were now covered in a bloody red color. She cried out your name, desperately trying to get to you. "Sam please. There could be a cure. We just have to get her to one of the camps." Ignoring all the signs of the infection taking over.

"D—anny!" Your voice came out once more. More desperately. You had stood back up red veins noticeable on your face. Danny loaded his arrow hands shaking as he aimed it at you. You were no longer you.

"I'm sorry." The arrow went fast, and you dropped even faster. Your body laying thee no longer twitching, no longer moving. The arrow went directly into your left eye. He let his arrow drop his ears felt like they were ringing, muffling picking up the cry of Tara.

The world was coming to an end. And in a zombie apocalypse, everyone's survival was not guaranteed.

:(

[idkdudethisisntpermanent]

Over the Limit - pt.ii

jenna ortega x female reader

part i | part ii | part iii |

summary: While performing your latest heist, you unexpectedly cross paths with Jenna again.

word count: 4.6k

————

You seriously considered getting a job at the warehouse. Ever since the race three weeks ago, your confusion had only deepened. For starters, those brown eyes still haunted you, lingering in your thoughts more than you'd like to admit. And then there was Anton—if you thought he was relentless before, now he was downright impossible. Constant messages about everything going on at the race club, endless invites to group meetups, even asking for your measurements so he could get you a custom jacket. He was acting like you were already one of them.

You finally do something you should've done a long time ago, and put his messages on mute as you make your way to Summer Valley. One of your contacts tipped you off about a luxury car ripe for the taking, with security that could easily be bypassed and minimal risk of trouble. It was too good of an opportunity to pass up.

Glancing down at your watch, you take notice of the time: 3:24a.m. Everyone in this neighbourhood should be asleep by now.

"Twenty-four, twenty-six, twenty-eight..." you mutter under your breath, eyes scanning the street for the address with the Aston Martin. As you take in the houses, you can't help but feel a sense of awe. Each one is a mansion, towering at least three stories high—your own place barely scrapes one. The bricks alone on these estates probably cost more than your entire home. For a moment, you let yourself imagine what it'd be like to own something like this one day, a life so far from what you're used to. You can't help but wonder if your mystery girl lived in a place like this, hidden behind grand gates and perfect lawns.

"—ah! Thirty Oakmont Boulevard."

You look up at the house, tugging the hood on your head down. This house put all the others to shame, just who owned this house? You quickly shut down your curiosity, you were about to steal the owner's car. Curiosity only means guilt that will eat you up later.

You glance up at the cameras, fully aware you've already taken care of them. The only thing standing between you and that car is the garage door—and you just happen to have the code. With measured steps, you walk up the driveway, eyes locked on the garage door opener mounted to the brick wall just a few feet away. Almost too easy.

"Greaser?"

Shit—wait...Greaser?

You turn around fast and you see her. Walking down the side walk towards you with a confused look. "What are you doing here?" she asks, her voice a mix of surprise and curiosity.

You scramble for an excuse, your mind racing. "Uh, just... taking a walk," you manage to stammer, trying to sound casual while your heart pounds, not knowing if it was because you got caught or because of the girl standing before you. You glance nervously toward the garage door, knowing you shouldn't be lingering here.

"Right," she says, crossing her arms. "You just happen to be out here in the middle of nowhere, staring at houses?" She takes a step closer, a teasing smile playing on her lips. "You looking to steal a car or something?"

Your cheeks heat up, and you can't help but chuckle nervously. "Actually, I'm just... uh, admiring the architecture." You try to sound nonchalant, but the look in her eyes tells you she sees right through you.

She narrows her gaze playfully. "Architecture, huh? I'm sure that's what everyone does at three in the morning when it's pitch dark." Her eyes squint, dripping with sarcasm, and you can't help but admire her wit.

"Let me help!" she suddenly says, walking past you to the garage opener. "Tell me the code," she turns around looking at you expectantly.

Just who is this girl? You consider all the things you can say to get her to leave, but you find yourself saying something else, "0926."

She turns back around, and you finally take a look at her. She's wearing a simple, cute white dress that flows just above her knees, its fabric light and airy, with delicate lace trim along the sleeves and hem. A stark difference to the red viper jacket. This softer look reveals another side of her—one that feels almost disarming and invites you to know more.  You were surprised that she seemed happy to see you.  With the way you just left her in the alleyway at the race, you expected her to grimace at the sight of you.

Suddenly you hear the garage door open, and you're met with the beauty of the Aston Martin, its sleek curves glinting under the soft glow of the automatic garage lights. The car looks almost regal, standing there like a prize waiting to be claimed. Your heart races at the sight, but the girl's presence beside you adds an unexpected layer of excitement.

She glances at the car, then back at you, a playful grin spreading across her face. "Well, I suppose you didn't just come here to admire the architecture after all." Her eyes sparkle with mischief, and you can't help but feel the thrill of the moment pulse between you.

"Are you really going to steal it?" she asks with genuine curiosity. The question hangs in the air, and you decide to show her rather than answer.

You walk into the garage and approach the car, every instinct telling you to be cautious. You've done this before but this is the first time you had an audience, making you nervous. Taking a deep breath, you kneel beside the driver's side door, your fingers dancing over the sleek frame as you check for any security features.

After a moment, you spot the lock mechanism and pull out your slim jim—a 24 inch long thin metal tool.

"What the fuck, you just had that in your pants?"

You laugh at her question, and with precision you carefully slide it into the gap between the door and the frame, wiggling it just right until you hear a satisfying click.

You fought the urge to turn back and see if she was impressed with your abilities. Opening the car door, you slide inside, the plush leather seat enveloping you like a warm embrace.

Like it's muscle memory, you fumble with the ignition as you reach for the steering column. With a bit of twisting and pulling, you manage to bypass the ignition system. The engine starts, a deep growl that sends a thrill down your spine.  The excitement gets to you and you start fiddling with all the foreign buttons.

You accidentally hit something, and suddenly the entire car unlocks with a soft click.  Without missing a beat, the passenger door swings open, and before you can even react, the gorgeous Viper slides into the seat beside you.

"Uhm—absolutely not. You can't come," you blurt out, shaking your head immediately.

She turns to you with a slight frown, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.  "What? Why not?"

Why not? Is this girl serious?  You two are far from being friends—hell, you're from completely different sides of the track.  You're not about to start committing crimes with a Viper riding shotgun.  Getting buddy-buddy with someone like her? Yeah, that's not happening.

"Are you insane?  We talked for maybe ten minutes three weeks ago, and now you want to be my accomplice?" you snap, frustration bubbling over.  If it weren't for her, you'd already be on the highway by now.

Her demeanor shifts instantly, and you see an attitude rise to the surface that you hadn't seen before.  Her eyes narrow, and her voice takes on a sharp edge.  "I don't want to be your anything," she snaps, her tone dripping with sass.  "But you better get this car moving, Greaser." Her words cut through the tension like a challenge, and for a split second, you see just how serious she is.

You grit your teeth, gripping the steering wheel tightly.  This wasn't part of the plan—none of it was—but you're losing time, and every second she's sitting there, you're closer to getting caught.  You weigh your options, but her fiery gaze tells you she's not getting out without a fight.

"Fine," you mutter under your breath, throwing the car into gear.  You pull out of the driveway, you feel the adrenaline starting to kick in.  You shoot her a quick glare as you hit the gas, tires squealing as you tear down the street.  Your mind is racing just as fast as the car, trying to figure out who this girl really is and what she wants. This whole thing just got a lot more complicated.

Twenty minutes pass in tense silence, the kind that feels heavier with every kilometre. It's then you realize—you're heading straight for the Sinner's garage. And there's no way you can take her there.

"Hey," you murmur, quieter than intended, breaking the awkward stillness between you.

From the corner of your eye, you see her glance over at you. "I can't take you to the Sinner's garage. Tell me where I can drop you off," you say, keeping your voice as even as possible, hoping to avoid another argument.

"I'm not getting out."

Oh. My. God. Any calm you had vanishes in an instant, replaced with a fresh wave of frustration. "Why are you even here? Do you want the car for yourself?"

She raises a brow, clearly unimpressed. "Did you forget I'm from Summer Valley? We Vipers can actually afford our cars—we don't have to steal them."

That struck a nerve. "Then why are you torturing me like this?"

Instead of answering, she shoots back a question of her own. "Why did you freak out on me at the race?" You stay quiet, but she presses on. "I thought we had something going on," she says, her voice softening slightly. "And then you just ditched me."

Her eyes flicker with something like hurt, but you refuse to get drawn in.

"There was nothing going on between us," you lie smoothly.

"Oh bullshit!" she scoffs. "What changed your mind?"

"It's a long story," you respond, making it sound boring.

"We've got time," she retorts.

"Look I'm not telling a stranger my life story."

"I'm not giving you a choice."

"What?" you say confused.

"0927," she says randomly.

You take your attention off the road for a second and glance at her. You raise a brow, urging her to explain herself.

"The code for the garage wasn't 0926—you had the last number wrong."

Huh. "Why do you know that?" you say cautiously, your heart starting to race.

"Because the code was my birthday," she reveals, a satisfied smirk spreading across her face.

"Why would the code be your birthday?" you murmur, almost to yourself. Then it hits you, and your eyes widen as your heart stops. "Is this your car?!"

"My dad's," she corrects you quickly.  "It'd be weird if I didn't know the code to my own house right?" she starts laughing to herself, studying your reaction.

You should've listened to the warning bells blaring in your ears as soon as you laid your sights on the girl. She was different, there was something about her you found intriguing about her immediately. But you didn't know intriguing meant insane until this very moment.

Deciding it's not the best idea to drive in shock, you exit the highway, now in your territory, Brimstone, and park alongside a lowkey street.

You put the car in park and turn your entire body to face her. "So if I don't tell you my life story, you're going to snitch?" you ask looking deep into her brown eyes, trying to find any sign of a bluff. "I took care of the cameras," you suddenly say, remembering that she didn't have any tangible proof of you stealing this car if you returned it. "It's your word against mine," you smirked feeling as though you got the upper hand.

"All of them?" she questioned. "Even that one?" she smiled, pointing to the horn on the steering wheel.

You turn to look at what she's pointing to and see absolutely nothing. You turn back to her, you catch her glancing at an app on her phone displaying multiple surveillance feeds. One of them showing your face live, in perfect view from the steering wheel.

What kind of rich people technology is this? You look back to the wheel and still couldn't see the camera. You were trapped and this stranger had the upper hand on you.

You sigh, your mind running through millions of different possibilities on how to leave this situation unharmed. "Okay I'm sorry. Let me return the car then. I can't afford to get arrested," you plead, embarrassed to be caught in such a ridiculous situation.

"Greaser, I don't care about the car. I want to know why you ditched me. I want to know you."

Your heart flutters at her declaration. She wants to know you? All of this is just to get to know you? You may be a little twisted, but you're intrigued by the lengths she's gone to for answers.

"Okay. I'll answer. But can you please turn the camera off now. I don't want this to be documented."

She nods, tapping on her phone to disable the camera. She then turns to you, looking at you expectantly, waiting for your response.

So you begin.  You open up for the first time in your life—not entirely by choice, but because you feel like you have to.  You verbalize the inner turmoil, the impending doom that clouds your mind when you think of the life you've been dealt.  The choices you make—the choices you must make.

You tell her about Anton. How your father's founded the Sinners. How your cousin's the leader and you're not a member, but rather a mechanic who makes her living off of stealing, working and selling cars. How Anton's been trying to make you join the crew, fulfill your legacy.  How you're conflicted because you don't know if that's what you want.  How your father died during a race, and that's deterred you from joining the crew and driving in general. How you don't agree with the illegal activity the group partakes in. How your mom has also conditioned you to hate and avoid anything racing related.  How you feel trapped in the confines of Brimstone and stuck in the narrative of another poor Brimstoner who has to work themselves to the bone for the rest of their life.

When you finally finish, you realize you've been rambling, but you don't apologize.  She asked the question, and the entire time, she listened intently, nodding and showing understanding.

"And here I thought you were more than just a pretty face," she shakes her head disapprovingly.

You're shocked. You open up to someone for the first time and they're calling you stupid?  You narrow your eyes at her, not knowing what resulted in this response from her.

"So from what you've told me I've gathered that, you hate doing illegal shit, yet you steal cars. You hate racing, but you speed away from cops. You hate Brimstone, yet you're still here? You do realize you're the reason why you're playing the typical narrative."

You narrow your eyes, your blood beginning to boil. How dare she? After everything you just laid bare, she's making it sound like it's all black and white, like you're choosing this life.

"You think it's that simple?" you snap, your voice dripping with frustration. "You think I haven't tried to get out? I'm stuck here because I don't have a choice. My whole life has been about surviving—making sure I don't end up like my father. You think I want to be in this mess?"

She doesn't flinch. In fact, she barely reacts, just keeps looking at you with that infuriating calmness.

"Survival's one thing," she says calm, "but you're not just surviving—you're making excuses. You let the people around you make choices for you because it's easier than standing up to them."

You grit your teeth. "You don't know me."

"Maybe not," she admits, leaning back in her seat, eyes flickering with something like challenge. "But I know enough to see that you're scared. Scared of breaking away. Scared of what happens if you do. So you settle, and teeter on the edge, never crossing the lines—never pushing the limits."

The truth of her words stings, more than you care to admit. But you've never had anyone call you out like this before, and you don't know whether to be furious or impressed.

"You think I can just walk away from everything?" you ask, voice low but trembling with barely contained anger.

She tilts her head, considering you. "Maybe not. But you could try. Stop running from yourself and start making decisions for your own damn life."

The silence that follows is thick with tension.

You pull out your phone, scrolling through the flood of texts from Anton. From the string of messages, you piece together that the crew is busy on the opposite side of town, partying it up. The garage should be empty. You clench your jaw, too frustrated with the girl sitting beside you to even ask her to leave. You don't have the patience right now, and you need to make sure no one sees you bringing her to the garage. If anyone caught wind of this, it'd be a mess you couldn't afford.

Putting the car into drive, you embark on the ten minute journey to the garage where you mod your cars. Neither of you two say a word the entire way.

The garage comes into view, glancing over your shoulder, you double-check the coast is clear—no crew, no unwanted eyes.

As you cut the engine, the weight of the silence emerges again. You exhale sharply, gripping the steering wheel for a second longer than necessary before turning to her.

"End of the line. You can get out now," you say, trying to sound firm, though your frustration is laced with exhaustion.

She doesn't budge. Instead, she leans back in the seat, crossing her arms casually, like she's not about to leave anytime soon.

You roll your eyes. Instead, you decide to step out of the car first, feeling her gaze follow you as you make your way to the tool bench.

You hear the car door opening softly behind you, and shut a second after.

"Why are you still here?" you ask tiredly, turning around leaning against the tool bench. "I've told you my story."

She doesn't answer immediately, just watches you with those damn unreadable eyes of hers, arms still crossed leaning against the car you just stole, like she's perfectly comfortable in your world. After a moment, she tilts her head slightly, studying you.

"And yet, you still don't get it," she finally says, her voice low, but firm. "I'm not here for your story. I'm here for you."

Her words hit you harder than you expected, and you blink, thrown off guard.

"For me?" you scoff, shaking your head like it's the most ridiculous thing you've heard all day. "You don't even know me." You say again for the second time today.

"But I want to," she admits, pushing off the car and taking a step closer, "And I think you want me to, too."

Your heart skips a beat, but you try to ignore it, turning away to focus on anything but the intensity in her gaze. You're not about to let her see how much that statement rattled you.

That smirk is dangerous. You feel yourself slipping for a moment but catch yourself before you fall. She steps closer, her attention shifting to the workbench in front of you both. She picks up a wrench, but you can tell right away—it's too heavy for her. Her grip is awkward, and the strain on her flimsy wrists is almost comical.

You chuckle at her struggle. "That's not how you hold it."

Before you think twice, your hand moves over hers, guiding her fingers into the right position around the wrench. The touch lingers just a second too long, and you catch the faintest hitch in her breath.

You notice the brief flicker in her eyes. You quickly pull your hand away, pretending it didn't happen, and step back. "There. Now you won't drop it," you say, clearing your throat, trying to steer the moment back to neutral.

You swear you saw the faintest tinge of red on her cheeks, but she quickly looks away, trying to play it off. The sight of it sends a ripple of satisfaction through you, knowing you've managed to chip away at that confident exterior, if only for a moment.

"What's your name?" you suddenly ask, realizing you couldn't even address the girl who's been the bane of your existence.

"Jenna."

"Jenna," you repeat back softly, testing the name out on your lips. "It suits you."

"And what about you Greaser?" she asks with a smile, the rouge tint still on her face.

"Y/n," you reply, a hint of a smile creeping onto your lips as you say it. You know the weight of a name. It was the very reason you ditched Jenna at the race. Now that she's given her name and she's got yours, you know that means connection, connection means vulnerability and vulnerability means complications.

"Well, I'm calling it a night," you yawn, stretching your arms wide. You notice her gaze trailing over you, your shirt lifting just enough to expose a sliver of skin at your waistband.

"How are you getting home?" you ask, catching a glimpse of the playful spark in her darkened eyes.

"Uber? Or I could just crash at yours," she muses, wiggling her brows teasingly.

You know she's half-joking, but the idea lingers in your mind longer than you'd like. Honestly, it wouldn't be the worst thing. But you're relieved she's not serious; the last thing you want is for her to see how you really live.

It suddenly dawns on you that the home you were just at is hers, along with that stunning car. She leads a lavish life, one you can barely fathom. You can only imagine what she'd think of your own living conditions—a stark contrast to her world of luxury.

You sigh, cursing yourself for what you're about to do. Grabbing a key off the table, you walk towards another car in the garage. "Come on, I'll take you home," you call out.

Jenna tried her hardest to hold the smile on her face in. You cared about her, that's what that had to mean right? You didn't want her getting in the car of a stranger, and would rather have to drive her all the way back to Summer Valley, then potentially have her at harm's way.

Before you knew it you were back on the highway to Summer Valley. In the silence, you realized that the girl knew so much about you, yet you knew little to nothing.

"So why didn't your boyfriend drop you home?" you ask her, shifting the conversation you two were having about which crew had the better jackets.

The question catches her off guard, and she does a double take. You remember how she startled you earlier when you were about to steal the car—she was walking home. "Boyfriend?" she repeats, a hint of surprise in her voice.

"Yeah Percy," you say looking straight ahead.

"Oh my god ew! He's not my boyfriend," she retorts, shuddering at the thought.

You can't help but chuckle at her reaction. "That hug you shared with him at the race says otherwise."

"You saw that?" she asks, her voice softening with a hint of embarrassment.

You nod. "So, you're not into him, then?"

"Not even close," she replies, crossing her arms defiantly. "He thinks he's so cool, but I can't stand him. It's all just an act."

An act? Posturing?

You fall silent for a few moments, weighing whether to voice the thought swirling in your head. Something tells you that asking this question could open a door between you two, or perhaps it already has.

"Okay," you sigh, glancing over at her. "What do you need my help with?"

Jenna's expression shifts, seriousness replacing the playful glint in her eyes. She realized that you finally picked up on the tension and underlying problem under her words.

"I need to get some dirt on Percy," she reveals getting right to the point.

You didn't know what to expect, but it certainly wasn't this. But for some reason it does make sense to you that this asshole's crew member did not like him. You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. "Why?"

"Because he has some serious leverage over me," she explains, her tone steady. "If I can find something on Percy, maybe I can turn the tables and protect me and my family."

Your heart races at the revelation. You want to press for details, want to know what exactly does Percy have on her, but you decide better against it. She'll tell you with time. "So you're with the Vipers because of him?"

Frustration flashes across her face. "Yeah, something like that," she sighs not elaborating. "He thinks he can control me. And he has been all this time," she frowns. "But I want to show him he's wrong!"

You can't help but admire her determination. "Why me? You couldn't find someone else to help you?" you ask, genuinely curious about her choice.

Jenna meets your gaze, her expression resolute. "Because you're not like the others in the crew—you're different. I can't turn to any of the other Vipers incase they rat me out. I can't ask any of the Sinners for obvious reasons, but I had a feeling about you. And its perfect now that I know you aren't a Sinner. You're close enough to the race world but not too close. Plus, I saw how resourceful you are when you stole that car. If anyone can help me, it's you."

Her faith in you feels like a heavy weight and a warm glow all at once.  You take a moment to process her words. "And you trust me?"

She bites her lip, contemplating her response. "Trust is a strong word, but I believe you understand what it's like to feel trapped.  I need someone who gets it, someone who wants to fight back against the odds."

"I know I'm throwing a lot at you right now. Just... talk to me about it later, okay? It's 4am and I get that this is a lot to take in."

All you can do is nod. You can't believe you're even considering this for even a second. Why would you help a Viper? Especially one who's been so disrespectful and always seems to challenge you.

She grabs your phone which isn't password protected, and starts putting her number in it. "I really hope you help me Y/n. I need you."

You don't respond. As you approach her street you see a swarm of cops in front of her home. Knowing exactly why, you pull over about 12 houses away from hers.

"Wait won't your dad also have the camera footage of me—"

"Don't worry, I already took care of it," she smiles, proud of herself. "Consider that car a friendly offering for our potential alliance."

A four-hundred thousand dollar car, as an offering is baffling. But maybe this is how the rich operate.

While you're lost in thought about everything that's happened tonight, you suddenly feel a soft brush of lips against your cheek.

It's gone as quickly as it came, and you're left stunned.

"Thanks for the ride, Greaser. I'll be waiting for your text."

With that, she steps out of the car and strides toward her home, toward the police, her distraught father, and a world so different from your own.

You already knew your answer to her request. You could've told her right then and there, but you wanted her number and kept silent. You also didn't want to seem too eager.

As you watch her walk off, you realize you never answered her question.

I want to know why you ditched me.

"Because I think you're the answer to all my problems. I need you too."

next chapter

[avanzinimoon]

I need this too.

[yamysunmoon]

Princess's reward

Summary: You've been Jenna's lover for a few months now. You meet in hotel rooms whenever you can. Jenna is promoting her latest projects in Venice when you decide to pay her a visit.

Words count: 5-6k

Warnings: MDNI +18, d/s dynamic, sub! Jenna, stone top Y/N, choking, clothed sex, dirty talk, crying during sex (a little tear), praise kink, kinda bratty.

n/a: Verbal consent. First one shot in tumblr and english is not my first language :) hope you enjoy!

You were scrolling distractedly through social media when a notification popped on your screen. Jenna had posted photos.

More than Jenna herself, her team, you thought. Even so, you clicked immediately with a slight tension of anticipation growing in the lower part of your belly.

You watched each photograph closely. Jenna posing on that red carpet in that red dress. Her lips, also bright red, the wavy lines that traced her hair, her bangs forming a beautiful arc over her forehead. Her smooth and delicate skin, her mouth displaying that perfect and relaxed smile, those adorable dimples. You kept zooming in on each photograph when a new notification arrived. She had posted another update.

A smile was now forming on your lips. Jenna drinking coffee with those sunglasses and that t-shirt and that pose and those jeans. You remembered those photos perfectly. She had sent them to you the day before.

You sighed, looking out the airplane window. Glacing at your vintage silver wristwatch you noticed there were only 20 minutes left to reach Venice. Unable to resist the temptation, you opened your messaging app.

Hey my dear, barely 20 minutes to get to the airport.

Saw the instagram pictures btw. That dress suits you perfectly, you look beautiful.

She should still be at the interview she had told you about hours earlier, you guessed. She had sent you her full schedule as soon as she got to Venice, days ago. You loved it when she gave you all the information you needed to know where she was, and when, without even have to ask for it. Her complience made you go nuts sometimes.

You could imagine how tired she must already be, with it barely being 10 in the morning. She had been going back and forth for days promoting her new projects, attending interviews and public events of various kinds. You recalled in your mind her voice over the phone the night before, the way her raspy voice spoke to you, whispering how much she missed you and how little she could bear it. You had been waiting for this moment for weeks.

You were surprised when a vibration on your cell phone snapped you out of your thoughts.

Jenna: hey my love. Charlize will pick you up as we agreed. I think I'll be able to make it to the hotel on time. I can't wait to see you.

A sly smile graced your face. The first few times you two started texting, you were insecure about Jenna's style of writing. No emoticons, dry expressions and full stops. You soon learned a lot of things about her tho.

When she's at work and finds a few minutes to be able to text you -she makes that time to text you-, she doesn't even realize she sounds so "serious".

But then, when the nighttime comes and after taking a long bath, with her bathrobe still covering her body, she calls you, asks you animatedly how your day has been and reminds you how much she wants you, all doubts dissipate.

You decided not to reply to that message to heighten the anticipation. However, even though you were able to control yourself in action, your mind could not do the same and began to recall your previous encounters. The first time you met in that private area of one of the most exclusive clubs in L. A., when Charlize, her most trusted bodyguard, picked you up a few streets over and took you to her. How she waited for you with her legs crossed and those black stilettos, and one of her irresistible black suits.

Memories of that first night began to play out in your head without any censorship. Her sideways smiles as she teased you, the way her cheeks took on a light pale pink with the hints you murmured near her ear so she could hear you over the music. The way her nails grazed your arm for the first time, to, hours later, scratch you all over.

Her eyes, oh, her coffee brown eyes. Steaming, hot brown coffee. Chocolate eyes melting, dripping all over your body, ogling every nook and cranny and every detail they could absorb. She was looking at you in a way that you had never been looked at before.

"I'm starting to want you more than I can handle" she had whispered to you, after a couple of cocktails and too many leers. She had moved dangerously close to your ear to utter those words, then pulled away just enough to look deep into your eyes, raising her eyebrows slightly, looking down at you. A gaze that suggested some desperation and a lot of willingness to be blown away.

You then realized she was handing the power over to you. She was letting you decide if you were ready to commit to this madness with her. Things had changed since that night, but back then she was proposing that night. That's all you had: one night.

You plopped down on the headrest of your comfortable seat in the VIP area of the plane in the same way you had settled that night, months ago, on the pillows of her bed. The sensation of her warm body on yours invaded all your senses. Her legs around your torso, her hands on the back of your neck. Your hands caressing her tummy, then going from her upper back to her shoulder blades. One hand going up to her nape, pushing her to your lips. The other groping the elastic of her suit pants, asking for permission. You remembered perfectly her whisper, barely a strand of voice leaving her red, maroon lips.

"You can do whatever you want to me".

You smiled mischievously and opened your eyes, shaking your head. It wasn't really "whatever you wanted," but rather what the two of you had agreed upon in endless conversations before you started seeing eachother.

Meeting people backstage in the celebrity world had never suited you as well as when you got to meet her. A few minutes backstage at a random event, which led to following each other on Instagram, which led to getting her number, which led to intimate messages late at night.

Conversations about power, control, and seduction. You told her about submission. She started by joking about it, saying that she could never let anyone have that kind of dominance over her. She went on to say that maybe you could. She ended by asking you to accept hers.

You continued to learn about the d/s dynamic together, and agreed on initial boundaries and desires. Promises of what you could do to her, and be for her. Of the way you could put her mind and body at ease. Of the way you could set her free. And that night, in that LA hotel, you put them into practice. And boy, did you both like it.

Now you looked out the window and noticed that the hard concrete of the landing zone was getting closer and closer. You couldn't suppress a shiver that ran through your whole body, you didn't know if it was caused by the imminent landing or the imminent encounter with your precious submissive. Deep down you knew.

You walked through the front door of the hotel without any problem. The few people who should know you could pass knew that. Everything was handled as subtly as possible, protecting the privacy of the person they worked for, following her orders.

You were presented with stairs covered with a beautifully red carpeted floor. You climbed them on your way to the elevators that could be seen at the back of the entrance. One of them opened and Winona Ryder stepped out. You crossed paths but only dared to give her a brief smile, without looking directly at her. Had Jenna told her about you? You weren't used to running into celebrities from time to time. Charlize stood next to you.

“Surprised, huh?”

“She's a legend,” you said in a whisper of restrained excitement. She chuckled under her breath. She walked you to the open elevator and pressed buttons 4 and 5.

“You get off at 5. Room 513. She arrived about 15 minutes ago” she reported looking at her wristwatch. You nodded. There wasn't much more to say.

You could have engaged her in friendly conversation, but you could only watch the elevator screen indicating how you were getting on. Silently. This always happened to you; you were in that moment before you saw her in which your thoughts, actions and behavior were all directed towards her.

The doors opened on the fourth floor and Charlize said goodbye to you with a brief bow, you nodded in farewell. The doors closed and you felt yourself ascending a few more feet. Ascending towards your personal Heaven.

You stepped out of the elevator at a steady pace. You felt the weight of your whole body on your black military boots, you felt the skin rubbing against each garment you were wearing. You readjusted your watch, the one she had given you, and repositioned the necklace you were wearing, also a gift from her. Maybe she was your submissive, but you were her property.

“513” the plaque read. You gulped and touched up your hair, which you wore loose. One more shaky breath before you knocked softly on the door. Two sure knocks, as always.

“Come in” you heard from inside. Oh, that voice. You turned the doorknob without any hesitation.

You found yourself in a spacious room. The floor was covered with the same red carpet that protected the entire floor of the hotel. To your right, large windows lit up the room, but someone had already covered them with thick, translucent white curtains. In front was the king sized bed with an ornate wooden headboard. The room was chaste and classically decorated, in the most typical Viennese style.

It didn't take you long to notice that just before the bed someone had placed a low table that probably wasn't meant to be there. On it various plates with fresh fruit, freshly baked croissants and macarons in various pastel shades.

From your left you heard the sound of water running. You approached. To the right was a dressing room, and to the left was the door leading to the bathroom. A half-open door separated you from your girl.

“Babe, can i come in?”

“No!” she reacted instantly. “Give me a few minutes” the sound water running ceased. ”Go eat something, I got it for you.”

“Okay milady” you replied teasingly, earning a short sardonic laugh from her. She would always need to be fully prepared before seeing you, everytime to met. You found it really cute, yet kinda incomprehensible.

You would remind her that you had already seen her without all of that, without being THE Jenna Ortega, but simply Jenna, she would just smile shyly and confess that she wanted to be perfect for you. “At least before you ruin me completely” she used to add.

You went back to the master bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. You smiled as you realized that Jenna had wanted to place the table as close to the bed as possible. You both knew brunch wouldn't last long.

You had caught quite a few planes for her lately, and she always greeted you with a big feast of her own preparation. You decided to grab a fresh strawberry from the fruit platter, feeling its juices expand in your mouth. You wanted to have the perfect taste when Jenna came out of that bathroom.

Strolling your gaze around the suite, you noticed a scarlet red suit folded on a chair, along with underwear and black platform heels resting next to it. You didn't have time to discover much more before you heard the door open. A broad smile appeared on your lips as soon as you saw her.

She was wearing a black and red plaid corset and matching skirt. Her hair fell straight and shiny over her shoulders, and a deep red lipstick highlighted her lips. She looked at you with those dark eyes, adorned with a subtle touch of eyeliner and mascara.

“Sorry babe, you know i don't usually keep you waiting”. Finally, her voice came directly to your ears, without having to go miles from cell phone to cell phone.

Your eyes sparkled. "This time I'll give it to you," you conceded, assuming that slightly permissive role she liked so much on occasions like that. Your rules were strict but you both got a kick out of cheating from time to time.

You remained motionless as he approached you. Only a small twinkle in her eyes gave her away. She came closer until she was standing in front of you and your hands were resting on the bed. You looked down at her. She looked back at you and smiled showing those beautiful teeth.

An almost imperceptible nod from her gave you permission to wrap your arms around her waist in a needy embrace. You rested your head on her abdomen and it wasn't long before you noticed her hands stroking your silky hair.

“Ugh... how I've missed you” you confessed against the fabric. Your choked voice rumbling against her gut. She breathed in deeply in a way you interpreted as relief. You heard the air rush into her body.

“You're finally here” she sounded calm, peaceful. At ease.

You lifted your head and rested your chin on her belly. With your hands you caressed her lower back. She looked down at you from above and smiled. “You look incredible” you spoke softly, as if you wanted to prevent anyone from overhearing you.

Everyone, literally the whole universe knows that Jenna Ortega is gorgeous and looks amazing, but no one was lucky enough to contemplate her as you were at that moment.

“That's why I like to get ready before seeing you,” she said insightfully. You smiled slightly and your hands descended to her ass, which you squeezed gently. She gasped and closed her eyes. Involuntarily she moved her hips towards you. You rested your forehead on her skirt and breathed in her scent. That expensive and elegant perfume mixed with her own scent emanating from her skin....

“Let's eat something” she proposed pulling away from you abruptly and sitting down next to you. You blinked several times and looked at her. She was smiling flirtatiously. She loved to keep you waiting.

She decided on one of the freshly made croissants and that's when she saw the bitten strawberry on the table. She rose her gaze back at you. “Are they yummy?” she then noticed your lips, reddened by the juice of the fruit.

“Try it yourself” you challenged her. She raised her eyebrows. She seemed to hesitate for a few seconds during which she alternated looking into your eyes and at your lips. She half-opened her own, surely imagining your taste in those moments. Finally, she took a bite of her croissant and chewed slowly. Then she offered you a piece. “Try this and I'll try the strawberries” she resolved. Captivated by her charm, you laughed at her joke and agreed.

You switched the sour taste of the red fruit and the enveloping sweetness of the croissants with a relaxed conversation. She asked how your flight went and wanted to know more about everything that had happened to you in the previous days. Every evening you talked on the phone but she was usually too tired to pick up specifics. Then you asked her about the interview, which had been with Winona and you also talked a bit about her.

You loved the way her eyes sparkled in admiration of her partner. She kept yapping about her co-workers and the movies they both liked, smiling sideways when she remembered funny anecdotes on set, frowned adorably when reminiscing about confusing and amusing moments and she giggled softly when you blurted out wry and witty remarks.

You were drawn towards her. Everything she did seemed appealing to you. Every move, every gaze, every smile. The way she gestured with her hands, how she crossed and uncrossed her legs, how she tilted her head, and how she scrunched her nose. The freckles that dotted her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose called to you, it was urgent to kiss them. She kept talking but your attention had reached its limit.

Suddenly she stopped and looked at you. A teasing smile decorated her appetizing lips. “What are you doing so close?” she inquired curiously, looking you up and down. You then realized how close you have got without even thinking it through. It was quite literally that you were drawn towards her. Like the Earth is drawn towards the Sun.

You let out an airy laugh. “I didn't even realized” you confessed amused, running your gaze over her torso. That damn corset was distracting you. She smiled sideways, revealing a lovely dimple. God, Jenna and her dimples.

You watched every detail of her face closely before finally looking into her eyes. You were getting closer and closer. Yet she wasn't moving an inch. There was nothing she liked more than to tease you until you took the initiative. There was nothing she liked more than to show herself completely ready for you. Waiting for you.

After a few torturous seconds that felt like forever, Jenna looked at your lips. She licked her lower lip lightly, and the warm pink of her tongue contrasted with the maroon of her lips. Her gaze returned to yours, locked together.

And finally, a slight, very slight nod subtly ruffled the strands of her bangs. You gasped. You had permission. You couldn't wait any longer.

You ended the distance between the both of you and drew her closer by resting your hand on the back of her neck and pulling her in a demanding gesture until your lips met at last. You made a superhuman effort to stifle a moan of satisfaction. She, however, did not hold back and let it out, free, from between her teeth, as her lips parted allowing your tongue to conquer her mouth.

You engaged in a wet, perfectly pulsating kiss. Your kiss swayed between a sweet, rhythmic softness and an anxious, slightly desperate depth. Jenna pulled her body closer to yours and placed her hands on your abdomen, pulling your shirt towards her. She needed you, she needed you badly, but you wouldn't touch her until she begged.

You kept kissing her, wanting to express the latter with your lips, and she was quick to get the message. You could feel the trembling in her hands gripping your shirt, and your bodies were so close that you could feel her thighs coming together and parting just enough, in an urgent gesture.

Your breaths were quickening, so you slowed down the kiss. Your tongues caressed each other and she relaxed her whole body, welcoming you into her mouth, letting you take control. Your hand was still on the back of her neck, guiding her and turning her head slightly at your whim. She kept tugging at your shirt, tugging at you. She wanted you all over her.

Her breathing kept quickening even though your gestures were slow. You kept each other at bay. She would decide the starting gun, but nothing else would happen unless you dictated it. You were kissing her lips carefully when she parted only a few millimeters.

The look she gave you seemed even sad. “Y/N. Please. I beg of you. I want you so much i'm about to cry.”

Her eyebrows rose through the thickest area in an almost pathetic gesture of desperation. Her eyes were watery, dulling her already smoldering brown gaze. The brown of her iris was actually darker at that moment, like a beautiful pyrope stone.

You were lost in her gaze as she alternated looking at you in one eye and the other, in silent questioning. Her lower lip trembled with frustration. You almost felt sorry for her, how much she wanted you.

“Can I take you, then?” you asked at last, controlling the tremor in your voice admirably. You were dying for her too, but you had to show temperance for both your sakes. You were the one who held you both as you fell into the void. You had to be. She had to be able to fall into you. And there was nothing you longed for more.

She nodded fervently. You raised an eyebrow and lowered your head slightly in a serious gesture. “Are you capable of handling me?” you inquired insistently. Her hands, which had remained loyally attached to your shirt, ascended to your shoulders. You glanced sideways at them before looking at her again.

“I am ready to have you” she assured in a sentencing tone.

You looked into each other's eyes and found it. That look in her iris. That way in which, paradoxical as it seemed, she was able to demand that you possess her. Her way of offering you her submission, in the most dominant way.

It was as if time stopped for a few seconds before you pounced on her like a predator on its prey. Your hands traveled to her waist lifting her up and carrying her to the bed as your tongues met again.

You held her firmly and carefully, but dropped her onto the mattress allowing her body to crash against it. Her eyes widened in a gesture somewhere between surprise and excitement. In the process of the fall she was forced to release her grip on your shoulders, and now her hands held her on her palms. You watched her as you kneeled on the bed. She placed her legs on the sides of your body, tilted her head and raised an eyebrow delightfully. She smiled showing her teeth a little.

There was something so romantic about her submission to you. The way she surrendered not just her body but her whole being to you. The way her eyes looked at you, through you, not just with lust but with complete trust.

You would do anything for her.

You crawled up to her and kissed her again, slowly. She lifted her hips toward your body. You put a hand on her waist and pushed her back on the mattress, firmly. She stifled a moan into your mouth. She finally agreed to lie down and you directed both hands to the belt of her skirt. She put a hand on your chest, you stopped instantly in anticipation of some boundary. Instead, she parted just enough to look at you. “Maybe that's not necessary” she suggested in a seductive smile.

You scrutinized explanation in her gaze with a frown, confused. She lowered her gaze to her skirt in response. Could it be...?

With your hands you descended to her thighs, which you squeezed, and went upwards. She raised her knees, bent her legs, and spread them. You looked at her as your hands slipped under her skirt. You stifled a deep sigh as you found her luscious wetness already bathing her labia majora and even a bit of her groin. No panties. You pulled one hand out to grab her neck in a passionate kiss, while the other yielded to her charms and began to give her exactly what she needed.

“Baby, how wet you are...” you praised between kisses. You kept holding her neck in a solid gesture and she placed her hand over yours. You squeezed lightly, fulfilling her silent wish. The cold metal of your watch contrasted with her warm skin.

“All because of you. Its-for y-you. My beloved” she admitted worshipping you with that hard, wet look. Your massage on her cunt deepened.

“Do you respect me so much? Are you so obedient?"

She nodded and pressed your hand. You squeezed a little tighter, testing her limits. You weren't kissing her now, she needed to breathe. You both knew that if you kissed her the air could barely cross her throat, and yet she raised her head, longing for your lips on her.

You kept looking at her, waiting for something more. Your hand was still working under her skirt and her hips followed your rhythm with gusto. Was there anything she wouldn't do for you?

“I want...” you began, and your thumb ran along her cheekbone, her smooth skin. She watched your lips listening to every word you uttered. “I want you to touch yourself. I want to see how much you want me in you. You have to earn it.”

Her lips opened slightly, letting in air. She was breathing through her mouth, and as you loosened your grip thinking maybe it was too much, her hand squeezed yours again.

“I can do it” she assured referring to both your command and your grip. She then released your hand and began to roam her own body with it, descending to under her skirt. Her gaze descended with it and you could appreciate the length of her thick eyelashes. She began to stroke her clit while you focused on massaging her entrance in circles. “I can do this and much more, as long as I have you...” she breathed ‘in me" she looked up into your eyes.

You finally broke the distance that separated the both of you so you could kiss her face. She closed her eyes tightly trying to manage your caresses, your kisses and your strong grip on her neck. She closed them so tightly that a furtive tear escaped from her tear duct. You kissed her, her salty desire made liquid reaching your lips.

“Precious princess...” you whispered, and kissed her chin. She lifted it a little so you could continue touching it with your lips, and in those she slightly moved her whole body as well. She unintentionally brushed a knee against your crotch. You jumped with a start and opened your eyes instantly.

“S-sorry, didn't mean to-”

“It's okay. You may touch me” your voice was hoarse and your eyes had probably darkened, the way she was looking at you. Her free hand ascended to the nape of your neck and caressed under your jaw. You nodded to underline your conviction, so she moved her leg again without taking her eyes off you. You adjusted yourself against her knee until the friction was perfect. You raised your eyebrows in surprise.

Jenna knew she couldn't stimulate your cunt directly. You had always been very clear about this, and she had always respected it. On occasions like that, however, even a girl like you would welcome a touch like that, over your clothes.

You needed no more to feel yourself melting over her. You released your hand from her neck, much to her disgrace, and kissed her deeply. You lowered your kisses to her neck and noticed that there was a shallow reddish imprint of your fingers. You stopped your kisses. “It can be hidden with makeup, Y/N” she resolved, reading your thoughts. “Please don't stop” she whispered. You smiled and drew a line of saliva down her neck, the muscles of which ticked as she lifted her head to receive you.

Underneath her skirt, your fingers were still massaging her without entering her yet.

She was rubbing urgently. “Slow down” you commanded. “You are not coming till I say so” you reminded her.

She gave you an annoyed, almost hateful look, drawing a sly laugh from you. “Damn you...” she muttered coming closer to your mouth. You pulled away a little preventing her from kissing you.

“Uh?” you stopped your touch on her cunt and with your fingertips you traced her labia minora at a torturous slowness. “What did you say?” you lifted your hips pulling your own crotch away from her knee.

You could see how much of an effort she had to make in order to stay still . She gulped, alarmed.

“I apologize,” she said instantly. “Damn me. Ruin me, Y/N.”

“Are you going to behave?” you asked somewhat angrily. A mixture of indignation and disapproval permeated your words.

“Yes” she granted instantly. “I can prove it to you” she added, willingly. She was trying to convince you. "Please, forgive me".

You moved closer to her and she looked at your lips. You rested your crotch on her knee again and she let out a sigh of relief over you.

“I know you can do it. But are you going to?” you inquired feigning skepticism. Now that you were close, you noticed she had stopped masturbating. You knew then that she wouldn't continue until you told her to.

“Yes, my beloved. I am going to do whatever it takes to fulfill your desires” she pledged complacently.

You granted her a laddish smile at last and resumed your massage on her body. “That's how I like it, my princess... You look so gorgeous when you are this obedient” you reaffirmed satisfied, indeed.

You continued your touch whispering praises, massaging her tits with your free hand, over the corset. She removed her hand from your neck and grabbed the fabric of her corset. She looked up at you, “Pull it a little down for me” you whispered. She managed to pull it back just enough for her dark areolas and erect nipples to show themselves to you.

You contemplated her for a few seconds, she moved her fingers over her chest in a distracted gesture. She adored being admired by you.

“Beautiful creature... Show yourself to me” you demanded in a hoot. She lifted her head almost instinctively, as if it were possible to expose herself further.

You attacked her skin with restrained excitement, it was hard to hold back when she got like this. Her collarbone ready to be bitten by you, her breasts exposed and her clothes still covering her body, but with nothing to hide. You ran all over her chest drawing incomprehensible strokes with your lips to anyone but the two of you. You whispered praises incessantly, and she answered with moans of pleasure and choked moans.

“Don't hold it back. Don't hold yourself back, princess. Give it all to me” you encouraged her. “Gorgeous girl...” you continued, and this was the only time she allowed herself to interrupt you.

“Your gorgeous girl” she shamelesly corrected you in a desperate whine. “Your gorgeous girl. As you are my beloved, i'm yours. Im enterely yours.”

She dared to look at you shyly suddenly, for she knew she was bordering on the limits of your agreement. “My beloved lover” she said anyway. She was submitting to you in the most vulnerable way. And oh, she was getting rewarded.

You smiled softly and entered her in response. She closed her eyes and threw her head back moaning your name. She kept whispering that she was yours as you kissed her and she rode you, wiggling her hips deliciously against your fingers.

As she wiggled she massaged your cunt with her knee. You also moved against her, slowly feeling the consciousness leave your body. You attacked her tits, her chest and her neck in equal parts. You caressed her whole body and the cold metal of your watch caressed her curves. Your silver pendant brushed against her skin. She trembled beneath you, closer and closer to the precipice.

Your hand ascended to her collarbone and she caressed your palm, closing her eyes and sighing completely transfixed.

She opened her eyes slightly and looked at you. She was watching you in a way that only she could see you.

“Time stops when we are together” she confided to you in a tone of secrecy. At that moment she was caressing your watch. “I bought you this watch so you could count minutes while we are appart. But it all dissapear when we meet”.

Your fingers were deep in her, you moved in and out slowly and carefully, just as her words were coming out of her mouth. She let out a moan from the effort, she was having a hard time holding on, she wouldn't last much longer.

She looked at you again and it was all it took for her to take the watch from you in a single gesture. In a mocking fit, she held it between her teeth smiling at you. She raised an eyebrow. Irresistible.

“My gorgeous girl. Mine” you dared to say. She half opened her mouth in wonder, and the watch fell to her neck. You brushed your nose against hers in a barely perceptible caress. A delicate display of affection as, under her skirt, your fingers moved in and out of her inner lips at their whim, at just the right speed and pressure. You swayed against her knee and her hand rubbed her clitoris eagerly.

“Am i touching myself how you want me to?” she asked as she realized you noticed her speed.

You nodded and penetrated her as deep as you could. “Yes, princess. You're behaving so well for me. You're making me feel so good... Are you gonna cum?"

“I'm so close” she assured closing her eyes. You took her chin and she opened her eyes. “I'm gonna stop if you quit looking at me. Don't stop looking at me.” She bit her lower lip, looked at your lips and stifled a moan of frustration.

“I don't want to lose detail of your expression when you cum” you admitted in a whisper. She agreed with a look.

“Please, please Y/N... Kiss me afterwards” was all she asked.

“Of course, my dear” you granted instantly. She was your spoiled princess.

Her body trembled barely a minute later and she let herself be carried away by you as she drenched your fingers in a glorious orgasm. You rubbed against her until you released yourself, and continued to wiggle against her as you kissed her, as she requested. You slowly pulled out of her and interrupted your kiss to take your fingers into your mouth. You sucked them down their full length under her watchful and satisfied gaze.

“Hm... So Delicious” you praised, once again.

She gave you one of her irrisistible smiles.

"Just for you".

[ravencharms]

🤌🏻

[shdysders]

a cold table

pairing: vada cavell & reader

summary: in which your anniversary with vada didn't turn out like it was supposed to.

word count: 4.8k

author’s note: proof reading this honestly just makes me throw a tantrum bc it’s ridiculously bad in my view. but i’m posting this in hopes of you liking it.

You and Vada were the epitome of "opposites attract."

On the surface, it seemed almost impossible that you two would end up together, let alone be the type of couple that made people smile just by looking at you.

Vada was the kind of girl who looked like she just grabbed her dad's clothes from the laundry basket and made it work. Putting together outfits that made no sense to anyone but her.

Oversized flannel shirts, baggy jeans and sneakers that had seen better days—she wore it all with an air of confidence that dared anyone to question her choices.

She didn't care about trends, and you couldn't imagine her spending more than five minutes deciding what to wear.

You however, were the opposite—always put together, wearing clothes that you knew looked good on you because you liked feeling confident and in control.

When it came to school, Vada was effortlessly good at everything she tried.

She could ace a test without studying, participate in class debates with barely any preparation, and somehow still find time to be the laid-back, carefree person everyone admired.

She had a mind that worked faster than most, but she didn't flaunt it.

You, on the other hand, had to work hard for your grades. School didn't come easily to you, but you cared enough to put in the effort.

You stayed up late studying, agonized over assignments, and took pride in every hard-earned B+ you received. Your determination was something Vada admired, even if she never said it out loud.

Although she would tease you about how seriously you took school, but when it came down to it, she'd show up for study sessions, sometimes even surprising you by actually helping.

And even though you weren't a natural at school, you made sure she didn't slack off too much, reminding her about deadlines and sometimes dragging her to the library when she'd rather be anywhere else.

Everyone at school saw how different you and Vada were. Some people were surprised when you first started dating, while others seemed to have seen it coming from a mile away.

Vada had a way of making you feel like you were the only person in the room, even when you were surrounded by people.

She listened to you, really listened, like your thoughts were the most important thing in the world. When you talked about your day, no matter how mundane, she would look at you with those deep, thoughtful eyes and nod along.

And you were always there for her, too. Vada might have been the laid-back one, but she had her moments of doubt, and you were the first person she'd turn to.

People noticed how you two balanced each other out. You didn't try to change one another, but you definitely influenced each other in subtle ways.

You brought some structure into Vada's life, and she taught you how to loosen up a bit. You didn't make a show of your relationship, but the way you naturally gravitated toward each other said a lot.

Everyone could see that, even if you didn't make a big deal out of it, you were good for each other.

And even though people didn't really talk about you and Vada much—there wasn't any drama, no on-again, off-again stuff.

You were just there, solid and steady, the kind of couple everyone figured would last. It was easy to imagine you two growing old together, the high school sweethearts who actually made it.

You thought so, too. For the longest time, it just felt like you and Vada were meant to be, that nothing could really shake what you had.

But that was before you started to doubt everything the two of you had.

Before the incident.

You were in the library that day, tucked away in a corner with your books spread out in front of you. Vada had class, and you were trying to focus on an assignment due the next day. It was just another ordinary afternoon, where everything felt routine and predictable.

Then, out of nowhere, you heard it—a loud, sharp sound that made you freeze.

At first, you couldn't quite place it, but then it happened again, and suddenly the room around you shifted.

The quiet murmur of students working turned into panicked whispers, and then, in what felt like seconds, chaos erupted.

Gunshots.

The next thing you knew, people were scrambling, and you were being pulled down to the floor by someone you didn't even know. Your heart was pounding so hard you thought it might burst. You could barely think, your mind racing with fear and confusion.

Meanwhile, Vada had been in the bathroom, just down the hall from where the first shots were fired. She wasn't alone—Mia, the popular girl everyone knew but no one really knew anything about, was there too.

When the first gunshot echoed through the halls, they both froze, their eyes wide with terror. Without a word, they rushed into the nearest stall together, instinctively pulling their feet up onto the toilet seat to stay hidden.

In the days that followed, everything felt like a blur.

The school was closed, news crews swarmed the area, and you were left trying to process what had happened. You tried to be there for Vada, but it was hard to know how.

She was different—quieter, more withdrawn, like she was lost in her own head. You wanted to help, to say something that would make it better, but nothing felt right. It was like a wall had gone up between you, and no matter what you did, you couldn't get through to her.

Vada barely talked about what happened in the bathroom with Mia.

When she did, her voice was flat, detached, like she was telling a story that had happened to someone else. She wouldn't look you in the eye, and that scared you more than anything.

You could see the fear and anger simmering under the surface, but she wouldn't let it out. She tried to act like everything was fine, but you could see the cracks forming.

You knew she was probably feeling a million things—guilt, fear, anger, maybe even shame for surviving when others hadn't. But she didn't talk about it, and you didn't know how to bring it up without making her shut down more.

Every time you reached out, it felt like she was slipping further away, retreating into a place you couldn't follow.

The carefree attitude that used to define her was gone, replaced by a tension that never seemed to leave. You noticed how she avoided certain hallways, how she liked to be alone now, and how she wouldn't talk about it. It was like she was trying to hold it all together, to not fall apart, but you could see how much it was costing her.

Vada didn't go back to school for a long time.

But eventually, you did go back due your parents forcing you. It wasn't easy, and you felt guilty every day.

The hallways felt different, quieter, like everyone was holding their breath. You went through the motions, trying to keep up with classes and pretending things were normal, but they weren't.

Not for you, and definitely not for Vada. It was hard walking into school every day, knowing she was at home, struggling with things you couldn't fully understand.

You tried to keep things normal, to talk about school, or movies, or anything that wasn't about what happened. But even then, you could feel the distance growing.

At first, the way Vada acted—or didn't act—around you didn't really matter. You understood she was going through something unimaginable.

You were patient, giving her the space she seemed to need, even when she seemed distant or didn't respond much.

What really caught you off guard wasn't the silence or the way she sometimes snapped at you, which you could understand given everything she was dealing with.

What hurt more was when Vada started disappearing.

You'd try to check in on her, but she was often unreachable, and you had this sinking feeling she wasn't just avoiding you—she was spending time with someone else.

You'd seen Mia post something on social media, little hints that made it clear Vada had been with her. It wasn't like you blamed her for needing someone who understood what she'd been through, but it stung all the same.

The fact that she was turning to Mia instead of you made the distance between you feel even wider, and that's when the doubt started to creep in. You knew she was hurting, but you couldn't help but wonder if this was the beginning of something you weren't prepared to face.

And as the days went on, Vada started staying out late, not telling you where she was or who she was with. The first time it happened, you tried not to worry too much, but it kept happening.

You wanted to talk to her, to see how she was really doing, but every time you tried, she seemed to slip further away.

Then, one night, you decided to go over to her house, hoping to finally have that conversation.

When she opened the door, you could immediately tell something was off. She was unsteady on her feet, her eyes a little glazed over, and you could smell the alcohol on her breath.

She was drunk, and it had shook you more than you expected. This wasn't like her at all.

You tried to ask her what was going on, why she was drinking, but she just brushed you off, slurring something about needing to forget for a while.

It worried you, seeing her like this, knowing that she was hurting so much that she felt the need to numb it with alcohol. You wanted to help her, to pull her back before she fell too deep, but she wasn't letting you in.

Even with everything going on, you held onto the hope that Vada wouldn't forget about your three-year anniversary. It was the one thing you thought might still matter, even with all the changes and distance between you.

Every year, you and Vada had always done something special to mark the day. It was your tradition—whether it was a simple picnic in the park or watching the stars from the roof of your house, it was always something that brought you closer together.

You thought that this anniversary might be a turning point, a chance for both of you to reconnect and maybe find some of what had been lost in the chaos.

You knew things weren't the same as before, but you hoped that this day would remind Vada of what you had, of how much you meant to each other.

You spent weeks planning something small but meaningful. Nothing too extravagant, just something that would show her you still cared deeply and that you wanted to make this work.

You spent weeks planning something small but meaningful. Nothing too extravagant, just something that would show her you still cared deeply and that you wanted to make this work.

You had arranged everything perfectly. After some careful planning, you talked to Vada's parents about your idea, suggesting that they and her little sister Amelia spend the night at Vada's grandmother's house.

You knew your own parents would never approve of the two of you having the house to yourselves on a school night, but Vada's parents were different.

They saw how much you meant to each other and, more importantly, how much Vada needed something to remind her of the good things in her life. They agreed without hesitation, eager to give you both the space you needed.

With the house to yourselves, you planned to cook dinner for her—nothing fancy, just her favorite comfort foods, something that would make her feel safe and loved.

You'd set the table in the dining room with candles, making it feel cozy and intimate.

After dinner, you were going to to watch the movie you saw on your first date. It was your way of trying to bring things back to the beginning, to remind her of who you both were before everything got so complicated.

You wanted the night to be perfect, not in some grand, over-the-top way, but in a way that would show Vada that you still believed in what you had together. This was your chance to reconnect, to pull her back from the distance that had grown between you, and you were determined to make it happen.

As the day got closer, you tried not to let your anxiety get the best of you. Vada had been distant, but you convinced yourself that she wouldn't let this day slip by.

This was your day, after all—the one day you could both take a break from everything else and just focus on each other. You were counting on it, needing it to bring you back together, at least for a little while.

The day finally came, and you had everything set up just the way you imagined.

You spent hours in the kitchen, carefully preparing all of Vada's favorite dishes. The table was set with candles, the lights dimmed just right to create that warm, intimate atmosphere. Everything was perfect, down to the last detail.

The whole thing was meant to be a surprise—you hadn't told Vada anything, just that she should come straight home after whatever she had planned for the day. You imagined her walking through the door, seeing the setup, and maybe, just maybe, something in her would shift back to how it used to be.

But as the minutes turned into hours, the excitement started to fade, replaced by a growing sense of worry.

Vada wasn't coming home.

You waited and waited, watching the food grow cold on the table. You tried calling her, messaging her, hoping for some kind of response, but there was nothing. Each time your phone stayed silent, your heart sank a little deeper.

You knew deep down that just waiting around probably wasn't the smartest idea. Maybe you should've told her, given her a heads-up so she could be sure to come home.

The hours passed and the house stayed empty, you couldn't ignore the sinking feeling in your chest. The night you'd planned so carefully, the night that was supposed to bring you closer, was slipping away, and with it, the hope you'd been clinging to.

You kept glancing at the clock, the numbers glowing dimly in the quiet room. It was nearly 11, and you were clinging to the hope that she'd come through the door any minute.

If she did, you'd just reheat the food, relight the candles, and try to salvage the night. It wasn't ideal, but you were ready to make the best of it.

Then, the front door creaked open, and Vada walked in. You jumped up immediately, eager to greet her.

When she saw you, her expression was a mix of surprise and something else you couldn't quite place. She looked at you weirdly, as if you were weird for being there.

She seemed off—her steps were unsteady, and there was a distant look in her eyes that made you worry.

"What... What are you doing here, Y/N?" she mumbled, her voice slurring slightly. She seemed distant, making you worry even more.

You tried to smile, but it felt stiff and uncertain. "Today's our three-year anniversary," you said, your voice filled with hesitation. "I was hoping we could spend some time together. You know, like we always do."

Vada let out a scoff and began to walk toward her room, her steps slow and uneven. She glanced at you with a weariness in her eyes, as if the effort to respond was too much. Her shoulders were slightly hunched, and she seemed to be struggling to focus on you.

"Do we really still care about this?"

It hit you harder than you expected. You tried to hold onto your initial excitement and positivity, but her tone made it hard to ignore the distance growing between you.

As she took those two steps toward her room, you felt a mix of disappointment and confusion, unsure how to reach out or fix what seemed to be slipping away.

Vada walked closer, and you could smell the strong scent of alcohol on her breath.

As she moved into the light, you noticed her eyes were red and puffy, and it was hard to tell if it was from crying or something else.

You hoped it was tears—something you could understand and help with. The thought of it being anything worse made your heart sink. You stood there, struggling to reconcile the image of her pain with the reality of what was happening.

You took a hesitant step forward and asked, "Are you drunk?"

Vada's face reddened with anger. "Are you seriously judging me right now?" she snapped.

You were taken aback by her reaction, and a wave of nervousness washed over you.

The fact that she was drunk only seemed to make everything worse.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady, said, "No, I was just wondering where you've been. Have you been drinking alone?" Your words trailed off, unsure how to continue as you watched her closely, hoping she'd open up.

Vada's anger seemed to wane as she noticed your genuine concern. "I was with Mia," she said simply, her voice a bit softer.

You hesitated for a moment before asking, "Have you done drugs?"

Vada's face flushed with anger as she spun around, muttering, "Oh my god." She shot you a fierce look, clearly irritated.

You quickly followed her, trying to explain yourself. "I was just worried because you've been spending a lot of time with Mia, and I was just wondering what you two were up to. I didn't mean to... I just wanted to know." You felt yourself rambling, hoping she'd understand your concern.

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your emotions in check. "I just need to know if there's something more going on between you and Mia."

You knew the question was direct and might come off as rude, but you were desperate to understand what was happening.

You needed to know if this was the end for you both, if there was something significant you were missing.

Vada's eyes widened in surprise, her face flushing with a mix of anger and guilt. For a moment, she looked taken aback, as if the question had cut through a fog of confusion. Her response was immediate but hesitant,

"What are you talking about? There's nothing between us." But her tone betrayed a hint of uncertainty, leaving you more unsettled than before.

Your curiosity was driven by the fear that everything you had might be unraveling, and you were grasping at any answers that could provide clarity.

You were grasping for understanding, your voice trembling. "I don't know. It feels like you've just—"

Vada cut you off, voice loud enough to make you flinch. "Why do you always have to question everything?" she slurred, her speech thick and unsteady. "Just because we're dating doesn't mean you need to know everything I'm doing or feeling! I'm so fucking tired of you prying into every little thing!"

Her movements were uncoordinated; she stumbled slightly as she spoke, her balance wavering.

The alcohol and possibly drugs made her seem disconnected, her eyes glassy and unfocused. She swayed slightly as she continued, her anger barely masking the haze of her intoxication.

You struggled to keep calm, knowing her anger was intensified by the substances she'd consumed. "I didn't mean to pry," you said, your voice trembling. "I just wanted to understand what's happening with us."

Vada glared at you, her frustration still evident. "What, do you expect me to lay out every detail of my life for you?" she snapped, her voice laced with bitterness.

"Do you want me to explain my feelings all the time, like it's some kind of control?"

You shook your head, your voice trembling as you quietly replied, "No, that's not what I meant." Her words and actions seemed disjointed from what you were trying to address. Vada's gaze remained fixed on you, her anger unyielding and her eyes burning with frustration.

Her words and actions seemed disjointed from what you were trying to address.

You had only been seeking clarity about your relationship, not demanding control or constant explanations. Her response felt out of touch with your intentions, leaving you confused and hurt as you tried to make sense of her accusations.

You took a deep breath, your heart pounding in your chest, and asked, "What did you guys do?"

You didn't expect anything shocking or out of the ordinary. You just hoped she'd tell you they hung out, talked, maybe drank a little—nothing more.

You weren't trying to accuse her of anything; you just wanted to make sure they hadn't done something reckless or dangerous.

The thought of her putting herself in a risky situation was what really worried you.

That's why you asked—to ease the growing unease in your chest, to hear something that would put your mind at rest, and to reassure yourself that everything was still okay.

Vada's eyes flashed with irritation as she responded, "Nothing."

Her tone was dismissive, but you couldn't ignore the gnawing doubt inside you. You glanced at the clock on the wall, noting the time. "Vada, it's almost 11 a.m. You've been with her all night. Of course, you did something."

The air was thick with tension, almost suffocating. Vada's posture stiffened, her shoulders tensing as she tried to process your words. You could see her face flush, her mind clearly racing as she grappled with the confrontation.

She had always hated these kinds of direct confrontations, and it was evident she was struggling to come up with a believable excuse.

For a moment, there was a charged silence. You watched as Vada's gaze darted around, her eyes betraying her panic.

She opened her mouth, closed it, and then opened it again, her face a mixture of frustration and fear as she searched for a way to deflect or minimize the situation.

Her hands fidgeted at her sides, clenching and unclenching in a futile attempt to steady herself.

The silence dragged on, and you could almost see her internal struggle as she failed to come up with a satisfactory answer.

Her frustration began to bubble over, and her composure started to crack under the pressure. Finally, with a sharp intake of breath, she snapped.

"Fuck it," she burst out, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation.

"I smoked weed with Mia, got high and I slept with her, alright? Is that what you'd like to hear?"

Her admission was blunt and raw, a revelation that she hadn't intended to make but couldn't hold back any longer. The anger in her eyes and the way her voice wavered revealed the depth of her frustration and the extent of her emotional turmoil.

Her voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a knife.

Her confession hit you like a punch to the gut. The words hung in the air, heavy and unyielding, and you could feel the room closing in around you.

The shock made it hard to breathe. You tried to stay calm but struggled to process what she'd just admitted. "You slept with her?" you repeated quietly, your voice trembling.

For a split second, you saw a flash of regret in Vada's eyes, as if she realized the weight of what she'd said.

Although that look quickly faded, replaced by her defensive stance.

The moment of vulnerability was brief, almost as if she was trying to erase it before you could fully grasp it. You were left reeling, trying to make sense of her sudden, raw honesty and what it meant for both of you.

Did she actually sleep with her? Or did she just say it out of anger or because she was under influence?

Mia had always been someone you thought was a friend to Vada, someone who was there for her in ways you couldn't be after everything that happened.

You never saw her as a threat, never imagined that Vada's connection with her could be something more than just two people sharing their trauma.

But after every late night that Vada seemed to spend with her,  the doubt had tightened its grip.

You thought you had tried so hard to be there for Vada, to break through the walls she had built up, but now it felt like those walls were never meant to let you in. They were meant to keep you out, while Mia was welcomed in.

The realization that Mia, the girl Vada used to mock for her obsession with popularity and appearances, could have become something more to her, stung.

Vada had always rolled her eyes at the way Mia cared about what people thought, about how she looked. It was something that made you believe Vada and Mia could never be more than friends.

But now, you couldn't help but wonder if all that bashing was just a cover, a way to hide the truth even from herself.

Had Vada's complaints been a way to deflect from feelings she didn't want to admit?

You could feel the tears welling up, your lips trembling uncontrollably. You didn't try to hide it, but it felt irrelevant since Vada seemed to look right through you.

Her gaze was unfocused, her pupils dilated, wide and glassy, as if she was barely seeing you. Her mouth was twisted into a slight, almost mocking smile that made your heart sink even further.

You hoped and prayed that she didn't actually found this funny.

You tried to convince yourself that she would regret this later, that she'd understand the pain she was causing, and that the real Vada—without the haze of alcohol and anger—would recognize how deeply she had hurt you.

But not even your hopes seemed to be on your side as Vada let out a heavy sigh, the anger seeming to drain from her as she suddenly looked exhausted.

"I'm going to bed," she mumbled, her voice still slurred, but now quieter, almost as if the fight had taken all the energy she had left.

She turned on her heel, swaying slightly as she started to walk away.

But then she paused, her hand gripping the edge of the wall for balance, and looked back at you with a cold, detached expression.

"And clean this shit up before my parents get home," she snapped, her voice filled with disgust as she gestured vaguely at the table where the dinner you had so carefully prepared now sat untouched, cold.

"It looks fucking ridiculous." She spat out, her words like shards of glass cutting through you.

You bit your lip hard enough to draw blood, feeling the sting as you glanced back at the table.

Her words echoed in your mind, and as you looked at the half-heartedly arranged candles and the untouched dinner, you had to admit—maybe she was right.

It did look ridiculous.

Without waiting for a response, Vada turned away, her frustration palpable as she stormed off toward her room. The silence that followed was heavy, the flickering candles casting long shadows that seemed to mock the effort you had put in.

You stood there, feeling like a stranger in a house you had once felt so welcomed in, like an outsider in a place you had imagined as your second home.

As you cleaned up like she told you to, the weight of what had just transpired settled heavily on your shoulders.

You packed the leftover food into containers, trying to salvage what you could for Vada's parents. Each movement felt mechanical, your hands moving on autopilot while your mind was consumed by a torrent of thoughts.

You sobbed quietly, tears falling onto the remnants of a dinner that was meant to celebrate love and commitment, that was meant to fix what you guys had.

It wasn't a formal breakup, but the reality was clear.

Vada's behavior, whether from being drunk or high, had made it clear that things between you were over, even if no formal words had been spoken.

There was so much left unsaid, so many questions swirling in your mind.

Although as you walked out the door of the Cavell house, you knew the answers no longer mattered.

[ravencharms]

I'm speechless. Perfect. The best Vada story I've ever read! ❤

[honorarysimp]

Chapter 5: Joyride

series masterlist

Mabel always finds herself in the most bizarre situations.

Which is why, currently, Mabel is scrambling to get through the crowded party house. Glancing over her shoulder at her pursuers.

It was suppose to be a simple drop, according to her mom, but the guys were being shitty about paying. So, naturally, she took it and ran.

Could she have kissed their asses and got it? Yes, but is that how Mabel is wired? No.

She makes a sharp turn down a hallway, but in the process, slams into a group of drunk teenagers. Mabel quickly recovers and continues to run, now mindfully dodging the other partygoers.

Mabel barrels into the kitchen, ducking under the island counter in order to escape the vision of her pursuers. Mabel forces herself to take deep breaths, struggling to calm her racing heart as the drunken people in the kitchen chat and joke around.

Peaking around, she spots the guys looking about, giving her an opportunity to slip out and make for the back door.

She beelines for her exit, but then accidentally gets bumped into a nearby wall. Mabel curses under her breath, glancing from the wall to her pursuers, before rushing out the door and into the backyard.

They spot her, shouting, and the foot race begins again. Mabel goes around the house, not so elegantly scaling the fence.

Mabel lands on the ground with a harsh thump. Her adrenaline is still rushing through her body as she sprints down the street. Mabel is used to these types of situations, but she can feel herself getting dizzy from the lack of oxygen from overexertion.

An engine roaring followed by tire rubber can be heard cutting against the ground behind her, indicating her pursuers are now in a vehicle. Mabel will never make it to her own car in time, but that’s when she notices one idle at the stop sign up ahead.

She knows that car, or at least, she’s seen it around. Mabel knows who drives it, someone who‘s been causing trouble since moving to town two months ago, someone she knows acts now and asks questions later.

Given, a proper introduction would be preferred, but what better moment than now?

Mabel quickly breaks into a sprint towards the car, glancing over her shoulder: her pursuers aren’t too far behind in their car. Mabel’s legs pump as she dashes towards the car’s passanger side, panting and breathing heavily as she reaches the car, yanking open the door and tossing herself inside.

The moment you hear the car door open, and a stranger - albeit a beautiful one - throws herself into your passenger seat.

You can’t help but wonder two things: has God given you your own angel, or has he sent the devil wearing a heavenly face.

“What the fuck-“

Mabel quickly closes the door, she glances at the driver, meeting a pair of deep eyes that make her mouth go dry.

“Sorry!” Mabel quickly blurts out. “Just drive!”

“What?” you ask with a dumb smile, brow furrowed, glancing around and only just now noticing the car speeding towards you both in your rear view mirror.

Mabel quickly glances behind her seat, watching as the car gets closer through the back window.

“Just drive!” Mabel urges, buckling in and holding her bag in her lap tightly.

You look from the car to Mabel, and grin wickedly as your hand drops to the gear shift.

“Oh hell yeah dude, let’s GO” you shout gleefully, expertly ripping the car into gear and slamming the gas just as you cut the wheel a hard right.

Mabel’s breath catches in her throat, the force of the car going into a sharp turn making her grab onto the nearest handle on the car. Mabel can feel her heart in her ears as she attempts to slow her breathing and calm her beating heart.

Your driving skills, although reckless but experienced, jostle Mabel around in the passenger seat as you cut through the streets. Hands gripping the wheel tightly, eyes focused in.

Mabel is holding onto the car handle tightly, the other on your dash, forcing her body not to fly around too much as the car speeds through the streets. Mabel has gone through these type of situations before, but never with somebody else, somebody that she doesn’t even know.

And clearly, you have no problem aiding her.

The adrenaline rush from the experience is making Mabel feel light headed, and it’s an ungodly level of exhilarating.

“Do you even know where you’re-“ Mabel suddenly says, but the rest of her words get caught in her throat as the car speeds up again, turning another sharp corner.

You howl into the wind, reaching forward to turn up the radio “fuck me, I love a good car chase” you say as you glance to her, grinning far too widely for someone going over 100mph down a backroad.

Suddenly, Mabel finally snaps out of her state of disorientation from how quickly things have escalated, as she catches the song playing over the speakers.

She let out an incredulous scoff, her eyes widening as she looked at you. "What the hell even is this?" she asked loudly, perplexed.

You briefly take your eyes off the road to look at her, a mixture of surprise and confusion in your expression as you navigate the car, expertly maneuvering around another vehicle in your way.

"What do you mean, you don't know Bach?" you retort, voice carrying a hint of disbelief. "How do you not know Bach?!"

The pursuing car slammed into your bumper from behind, causing yours to swerve violently. You quickly regained control, keeping your focus fixated on the road, gritting your teeth as the muscles in your arms straining to keep the vehicle stable.

Mabel takes a quick glance in the rearview mirror before responding, her voice tinged with incredulity as she shouts, "that’s your biggest fucking concern right now?!"

You glance at her, eyes flashing with irritation. "NO, SUNSHINE, CLEARLY THAT'S NOT MY BIGGEST CONCERN RIGHT NOW!" you yelled back, still maintaining your composure as you weave down the backroad.

Despite the predicament, you can’t help but chuckle at the situation you’ve found yourself in. The adrenaline coursing through your veins giving you a sense of intoxication, grinning as you turn to her.

"By the way, what's your name?" you asks, voice filled with a mix of playful charm from the rush of the chase.

Mabel feels her heart flutter in her throat at the sight of the blurred streetlight overhead catching your eyes for a brief second, but she quickly recovers.

“Mabel” she says, suddenly feeling the urge to make a joke, anything to distract from the fact that you’re going way over the speed limit.

“You make it a habit to pick up women being chased by drug dealers?” Mabel grins, casting another glance to the rear view mirror, the pursuers still hot on your tail.

“Oh is that what we’re doing? Glad you clarified after getting in a stranger’s car” you say as you cut the wheel, skidding off road and on to a dirt one, the pursuing car’s breaks can be heard shrieking as they try to slow enough to follow.

“It’s not my fault you had your doors unlocked-“

Mabel can feel her stomach lurch as the car turns, her whole body getting tossed from one side to the other.

“-it’s either drug dealers or the people that buy from them, you know, another day in the life of yours truly” Mabel says casually as she quickly looks out the back window.

A gunshot rings out, and then another, you reach over and grab the back of her jacket to shove her down into a ducking position.

“Watch your head-“ your sentence gets cut off by another bullet being shot, this one shattering the back window. Spraying the backseat with glass.

Mabel lets out a string of curse words as she ducks into a crouching position, she feels the adrenaline coursing through her body as she moves, forcing her heart to beat fast in her ears.

“Please tell me you have an actual plan or destination, and that you’re not going to get us killed” Mabel says in an urgent voice.

“Relax, we’re headed towards the railroad tracks” you say as if it makes sense, ducking yourself as another shot rings out, you swerve the car back and forth in an attempt to outmaneuver the rain of lead.

Mabel lets out a huff, ducking as the car is constantly swerving.

“Yeah, I’m real relaxed right now” Mabel says sarcastically, glancing behind them out the back window.

“Are you absolutely sure you know what you’re doing?”

“You got in my car, didn’t you? I haven’t killed us yet have I?” you say as you keep your focus ahead in the road, the engine can be heard revving as you apply more force down on to the gas pedal.

Mabel lets out a laugh, unconsciously leaning into your arm as you continue to press your hand to her back, “you’re real good at reassuring women” Mabel says sarcastically.

Mabel glances behind them and she sees that the other car is still following “they’re gaining on us, can’t you go any fucking faster?!”

You shoot her a look, removing your hand off her back where she’s remained in the ducking position, grabbing the gear shift and giving it a sharp tug. The car lurches forward and you let out another gleeful howl.

Mabel is suddenly thrown backwards forcibly, her back hitting the seat rest painfully. But even then, her eyes go to you, how just… wild and free you look. How easy you make it look, how Mabel can’t decide if she wants to be you or fuck you.

”Holy fuck” Mabel mutters, clutching the handle overhead tighter as the car gains more speed, “I need you to teach me”.

“If we live- shit, hang on!” you exclaim, gripping the wheel tightly as you lock your eyes ahead. It’s only then when Mabel notices the train tracks ahead.

And the train currently speeding its way closer just ahead.

Mabel stares ahead in horror, watching the train speeding straight towards you both. She can feel her heart rate increasing again, the adrenaline rushing back into her body, forcing her to tighten her grip on the handle.

“No” Mabel blurts out “No no nononono-“

The train horn blares, you shift the car into the next gear just as you swerve another onslaught of bullets.

Your eyes cut between the headlights in your rear view, and the spotlight on the front of the barreling tunnel of death. The train speeds horizontally in front of you, horn blaring as the car rapidly approaching the hill going up to the train tracks.

Mabel can’t speak anymore, the fear that’s coursing through her body has rendered her frozen as the car goes flying over the train track barriers. For a moment, time pauses as you’re suspended in the air, but starts again at the rough landing and being pushed hard against the car seat.

The disoriented horn of the train warps as it flies by behind the vehicle. You cut the wheel and pull the emergency break, swiveling the car in a full one eighty so you now face the tracks you’d just jumped.

And on the other side, the pursuing car’s headlights can be seen flickering between each window of space as the train cars blur by.

“Holy shit,” Mabel blurts out. It wasn’t exactly a prayer, but Mabel’s mind has gone blank, still processing how you’d both managed to survive that.

Mabel is still frozen, but she manages to turn her head towards you. She’s panting heavily, her body feels tense and rigid as she tries to process the events that just occurred in the last few minutes.

“How- how are you so calm right now?” Mabel asks, her voice is raspy and breathless.

“I’m lucky” you say with a small smile, shifting around in your seat to look at her, finally having a moment to take in the beauty who miraculously ended up in your passenger seat.

“My name- it’s Lucky, for clarification” you add when Mabel has yet to comment, your gaze remaining on her.

Mabel doesn’t notice the eyes that linger on her as she gazes out the windshield, only hearing the sound of her own breathing in the car. In fact, Mabel feels like she’s ready to just collapse from the adrenaline coursing through her body.

However, once she registers your words, Mabel lets out a mocking scoff “Lucky? You just jumped your car in front of a freight train and you call yourself lucky?”

You look at her with a mock expression of offense, hand coming up to rest on your chest “not even a thank you? That’s harsh”.

Mabel lets out a breathless laugh, it’s a shaky a sound, but it’s a laugh nonetheless.

“Thank you for not getting us killed, or having us make the news as train crash victims. Happy?”

That makes you burst into hysterical laughter, which should terrify her, because you’re still a stranger and you’re practically insane considering what you just pulled off.

But… Mabel can’t look away, she’s drawn to those deep and intense eyes she’s finding herself having the pleasure of looking into, the way they crinkle at the edges from how you’re smiling and laughing.

“You know this makes us friends now right?” you say once you’ve calmed, crooked grin spread across your face as you release the parking break and shift the car back into drive.

The air feels thick and Mabel feels like she can’t breathe. Her body is still rigid from shock, but now Mabel realizes it’s something else, and she can feel the heat rushing to her face as she glances away from you to avert her gaze and break the moment.

Mabel always finds herself in the most bizarre situations.

Only now, there’s a slight sliver, yet very distinct and real possibility that, she may be completely and utterly fucked.

____________________________________________

Sleep hasn’t been kind to you lately.

One eye half open, the other eye fully closed, you stumble your way into the kitchen. Groggy as all can be, your body moves on autopilot as you rummage through the cabinets.

It's a miracle you haven't knocked anything over quite yet, your stiff movements are uncoordinated, lacking any control, precision, or speed.

Not to mention your body is still feeling it just from the other day. But as of right now, it seems you're in desperate need of something to eat.

With each cabinet door you open and find nothing, you give up and turn to the fridge next. As you swing the door open, the sudden brightness of the light causes you to recoil.

Your eyes squint in discomfort, hissing through your teeth in a pained grimace. Clearly, this does not feel good on your eyes right now.

You dig around the fridge carelessly, your hand blindly searching for something to eat. Your fingers brush across something, only to grip around the cold neck of a beer.

With an almost instinctual response you pull the beer from the fridge, when suddenly a clattering outside your house catches your attention. Your head whips around towards the origin of the sound, your brain slowly starting to wake from the grogginess as adrenaline floods your system.

Something doesn’t feel right.

Your body shifts into a fight or flight state, your movements becoming mechanical and precise. With caution, you slowly lower yourself into a crouch, keeping your eyes trained on the front door. Your hand, almost as if of its own accord, moves towards the cabinet under the sink, slow and deliberate.

With a precise and careful movement, you open the cabinet, its creaking echoing in the otherwise still air. Your fingers curl around the handle of your gun, drawing it out from its concealed hiding spot. The cold touch of metal against your skin feeds your senses, grounding you.

Your footsteps are silent and calculated, keeping your body low to minimize any noise as you move towards the front door, even when your aching bones protest. The gun, held tight in your grasp, points directly forward. Its barrel trained on the wood, ready to react at a moment's notice.

The familiar sound of a car engine starting outside catches your attention, and a moment later, you hear a voice calling out your name, muffled by the door. Your body is still in a heightened state of alertness, and you instinctively lower your gun. Pushing open the door, you step outside, your mind still processing the sudden events unfolding.

The door clatters loudly against the frame behind you, taking a breath to call out, but as your foot crosses past the threshold you freeze in place. Whatever you were about to say gets lodged in your throat, your body coming to an abrupt halt on the porch.

Your mind struggles to catch up with the rapid unfolding events. One moment, you're seeing Paulie on your lawn. And the next, your attention zeroes in on the makeshift Molotov cocktail in his hand, raising the lit lighter in his other hand to the fuel-soaked rag at the top.

Paulie, with a smirk on his face, holds up the now lit Molotov and says coolly, "Weeks sends his regards." He then turns his attention to your car parked on the street, the fire engulfing the soaked cloth at the top. Seeing him aim at your car, panic shoots through your body, and you leap off the porch in a desperate attempt to prevent the imminent disaster.

Your voice rings out, a desperate plea of "PAULIE NO!" tearing from your lips. But your words are cut short as the bottle hits your car, the glass shattering and gasoline igniting in a burst of fire. The scent of burning gas fills the air, its acrid stench mixing with the growing heat from the flames.

Your knees buckle, and you fall to the ground, the heat of the flames washing over your body, searing the air around you. The fire licks at the car with a voracious appetite, its fierce, yellow-orange tendrils rising high into the air as they consume the metal frame. The once-sleek exterior of your vehicle is now warped and blackened by the all-consuming inferno. Smoke wafts into the air, choking the air with its grey wisps.

Your focus shifts as the screeching sound of tires speeding away fills the air. Fury courses through your veins, and you rise to your feet, raising your gun with a steady hand. Without hesitation, you fire off multiple shots at the fleeing vehicle, the resounding pops of gunfire filling the air around you.

You watch as the car jerks and swerves, seemingly hit by your shots. It turns abruptly and speeds down the street, vanishing out of sight. Your chest rises and falls with the force of your labored breaths, the adrenaline still coursing through you. The reality of the situation sinks in, and you are left standing there, your car now a flaming wreck, with no means to be saved.

You stare at the burning car, the firelight reflecting in your eyes. A myriad of emotions swirl within you, but you hold them in check as you watch your prized possession go up in flames.

The memories associated with it, good and bad dance through your mind, their significance magnified by the loss. The dent on your back bumper you never had the heart to fix, the worn leather seats, the not-so-subtle bullet holes, the sun sticker Mabel put on your dash to permanently claim shotgun as hers. The heat of the fire warms your skin, but it doesn't compare to the ache in your chest.

Your thoughts race, trying to process everything that's happened. But then, a sudden realization hits you like a ton of bricks.

Your mind zeroes in on a single, terrifying thought: if they're coming after you, then that means they're after the others, too. The realization sends a chill down your spine, igniting a fierce sense of protectiveness within you.

"Mabel”.

Without hesitation, you turn and bolt towards the garage, swiftly tucking your gun into the waistband of your jeans. With a determined swipe, you tear the tarp off your old motor bike, your heart pounding in your chest. You know it's been years since you've ridden it, but right now, that's the only hope you've got. As you hop on the bike, you silently pray that it will still work despite its long retirement.

Your heart beats wildly in your chest, each thump reverberating through your body. Your hands clutch the hand bars with a vice-like grip, their trembling betraying your state of panic.

Your eyes are fixed on the dirtbike as you kickstart it again and again, your mind racing and filled with mounting fear. It hurts, your body still hurts, but adrenaline shocks you like a live wire. You can feel your anxiety building, each failed attempt feeding into the growing sense of despair and desperation.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck COME ON, WORK YOU STUPID PIECE OF-“

The sound of the bike sputtering to life is music to your ears, but the relief is short lived as the reality of the situation crashes back on to you. Without a second thought, you kick the gearshift forward and speed out of the garage, jolting onto the road in a burst of motion. The air whips past you as you accelerate, the wind almost mirroring the chaos in your mind.

The road blazes beneath you as you fly down the street, the sense of urgency propelling you forward. You navigate the twists and turns with practiced ease, the hum of the bike's engine the only sound filling your ears. Every second feels like an eternity as you focus on the road ahead, your mind fixated on one thing only: getting to Mabel as fast as possible.

The bike's engine continues to rev underneath you until you reach Mabel's place, spotting that red car in the drive. You hop off the bike without hesitation, the engine fading to a distant hum as you move towards the stairs. With single-minded determination, you take the steps two at a time, each thud of your foot against the ground fueling your drive to reach Mabel.

Your voice rings out, calling her name in desperation as you ascend the stairs two at a time. Without pausing, you shove open her door, the force of your entry sending it crashing against the wall. You stand there panting, chest heaving with each ragged breath, your eyes darting around the room in search of her.

You spot her in the dim light, sitting on the edge of the bed, her form barely visible. Relief threatens to flood your system, but the sight of her stillness arrests you. There's something off about the way she's perfectly motionless, her silence more intimidating than reassuring.

“Mabel” your voice comes out as a hoarse whisper, her name barely leaving your lips as you look at her shadowy form. The room is mostly dark, the soft glow of the light filtering in through the cardboard-covered windows, casting a faint, hazy light on her figure. The shadows paint an ominous aura around her, only enhancing the tense silence of the room.

You take a tentative step forward, and as you do, you notice a subtle but significant change in her. She starts to turn away from you, her head slowly angling away from your approaching form.

It's as if she's deliberately trying to shield her face from your gaze, her body language sending off alarm bells in your mind. With every step you take closer to her, she turns further away, her movements deliberate and evasive.

Her voice, so small and fragile, barely audible when it reaches your ears. She whispers, "don't look, it's ugly," her words tinged with a pain so out of character of her.

Your heart lurches in your chest at the sound of her voice, raw and broken. Without a second thought, you lower yourself onto one knee in front of her, your mind racing with concern and confusion.

Your voice is gentle, coaxing her to turn her gaze back towards you. You murmur to her, “hey, it’s me, it’s me. You’re the only one I’ll ever look at".

Slowly, ever so slowly, her head rotates back towards you, eyes locking onto yours. Despite the tears, her gaze holds a desperate vulnerability, like she's fighting to keep her emotions in check.

Your heart plummets as your gaze falls upon her face, taking in each and every bruise and mark. Your eyes linger on the side of her face, bruised and battered, before dropping to her lip, split and swollen. A wave of nausea and anger washes over you as you see the extent of her injuries.

There's a feeling building in your stomach, a coiling, almost primal anger that you've never felt before. It threatens to consume you, your rage fueled by the sight of her battered face.

Mabel. Your Mabel. Hurt. Hurting.

Your chest constricts tightly, your breaths coming in shallow exhales as you struggle to maintain your composure. Your hand trembles, tremors of anger reverberating through your body as you lift it towards her face.

But despite the storm of emotions swirling within you, your touch is tender, fingers gently caressing her cheek, pushing away the errant strands of hair that block her face.

Her body trembles with the effort of holding back a sob, and she presses her uninjured cheek into your palm, seeking comfort. You can feel her warm skin against yours, the heat almost searing as your emotions boil just beneath the surface.

Your face twists with a potent mixture of fury and pain, the guilt hitting you like a punch in the gut. You know, deep down, that this is your fault, that your choices have led her to this moment.

All you ever wanted to was to protect her, from the world, from everyone, from you.

You don’t even need to ask her who, because you already know, it hits you hard that this was all it took for you to cut every single tie you have in regards to obligation and loyalty to anyone that isn’t her.

The fact that it’s come to this, that you allowed it to come to this.

You pause, taking in a labored breath to steady yourself. You say, your voice ragged and rough, "I need you to call Charlie”.

But she replies, her voice quivering and wavering, "I already did, he’s on his way”.

The information hits you like a blow, your stomach dropping at the realization that Charlie already knows about the situation.

Your heart wrenches as you process the information, understanding that she called Charlie first. The realization hits you hard, stabbing at your ego.

It stings, the thought that she didn't come to you first, turned to someone else instead. The hurt is a sharp pang in your chest, and it only feeds into your anger and guilt.

You stand, the movement quick and filled with restless energy. Her eyes follow suit, tracking your every move.

But before you can withdraw your hand from her face, she catches your wrist, her fingers wrapping around it with a surprising firmness.

Mabel’s whisper, so fragile and broken, pleading a quiet "don't." Her eyes implore you, the fear and desperation obvious in her gaze.

You both know what will happen if you leave now, the storm of rage and anger propelling you to seek revenge. She holds onto your wrist like a lifeline, her fingers applying a slight pressure, silently begging you to stay.

In this moment, as her eyes implore you to stay, you become aware of the gravity of the situation. You perceive the possibility that staying with her could alter everything, that there's a small chance you both could try and mend what's been broken. How effortlessly you could fall back into each other, the familiarity and comfort tempting.

But then, the relentless pull of vengeance returns, the darkness within you rearing its ugly head. The thought of him getting away with injuring her fuels your anger, igniting a fire within.

You did learn this trait from him, after all, it should die with him.

The knowledge that he hurt her, that he caused the marks on her face, strengthens your resolve. You conclude that letting him go unpunished will haunt you to your core, and the thought sickens you.

No wonder she called Charlie first, she probably already knew this is how you’d react when you found out. It’s one thing for him to lay his hands on you, but Mabel?

Your gaze holds determination, the fire of revenge burning bright in your eyes. The reality of what you’re choosing hits Mabel as her eyes fix on yours, her bottom lip quivering as her hopes slowly die a silent death. The heartache is evident in her expression, the knowledge that she has lost you to your anger and need for justice written all over her face.

She's on the brink of lashing out, wanting to scream, cry, hit you, anything that might express the pain she’s feeling.

But instead, a deep hurt seeps into her being, her eyes reflecting a quiet resignation. She doesn’t protest as you pull your hand away, a hushed “I’m sorry” coming from you only adds to her pain.

You turn on your heel, heading for the door, and Mabel can’t even find it in herself to feel the loss.

She understands that she can't feel the loss so deeply anymore, because she'd already lost you a year ago.

That realization, stark and poignant, cuts through her, leaving her feeling hollow and defeated.

It hits Mabel that no amount of fighting, pleading, or making up can undo the distance that has grown between you over time.

And from the looks of it, you aren’t ready to change, maybe you never will.

____________________________________________

You sit outside the Supreme Donut shop, your gaze fixed on the building from a distance. Your body is rigid with determination, the decision firmly made. But beneath the surface, your mind churns, a storm of guilt and anger swirling within.

You shouldn’t have left.

There's a sense of resignation, an acknowledgment that this cannot be deviated from, not anymore.

Or maybe, this was exactly where you were meant to end up all along. Right here, right now.

It was as if the moment you saw the bruises on her face, you snapped, years and years of unresolved trauma crashing down on to you at once.

He’s never done anything but lead you down the wrong path, Mabel has said that from the get go. And yet you’ve stayed loyal to him, and for what?

You reach down, pulling out your gun. With a swift, practiced motion, you eject the clip, counting the bullets quickly. Your brow furrows as you realize how few bullets you have left. Feeling a pang of disappointment, you slip the clip back in, guess you’ll have to make the shot count.

Meaningless sex. The hate, the drugs. The pain, the lies. Tainted. Poisoned.

Your features contort with a grimace, disgust at your own thoughts mingling with a sense of shame. You cut off the engine of the bike and swing your leg over, the movement abrupt and filled with tension. Your heart pounds in your chest as you tuck your gun away once more, the self-disgust clawing at your insides.

It was time you cleansed yourself of your sins, starting with Weeks.

As you make your way towards the shop, your gaze falls on another figure walking in the same direction. It's Ray Eldridge, Tom's father. His slow, steady steps bring him closer, and you can't help but wonder what business he might have at the shop.

You take a quick mental assessment, observing Mr. Eldridge's demeanor. He seems composed despite the tension in the air, his movements measured and unhurried.

The sight of the brown sack in his arms strikes you as odd, its presence adding to the uneasiness gnawing at the back of your mind. You shift your gaze between him and the shop, suspicion rising with each passing moment.

You force yourself to set aside the cravings for revenge, at least momentarily. You swiftly alter your path, purposefully heading towards Mr.Eldridge. You're acutely aware that his presence could complicate your plan. As you approach, you mentally brace yourself for whatever the interaction might ensue.

Your lips curve into a charming smile, the feigned friendliness a stark contrast to the storm within you. You step in front of him, your voice polite and composed as you ask, "Mr. Eldritch! Crazy to run into you like this. How are you?" The question is innocent enough, a basic greeting to camouflage your true intentions.

He stops in his tracks, his blank expression turning towards you. Though his age has weathered his features, his demeanor remains stoic. His gravelly voice responds to your question, “oh… hey kid, I’m uh… well, I’m uh…” his brow furrows as he looks at you.

“Just gonna go have a chat with those acquaintances of yours, is all”.

You glance between him and the brown bag, a nagging suspicion growing inside you. The words he chose, “acquaintances” stands out, causing a flicker of unease to ripple through you. Your mind remain fixated on the bag, its contents a mystery that only fuels your suspicion further.

You respond to him, the forced smile still plastered on your face. "I'm actually headed to talk to them too," you say, your words measured. "They're a bit on edge right now. Might be better if you come back later." The veiled hint is delivered with subtle urgency, a plea for him to avoid getting in your way.

His gaze locks onto you, piercing and intense, and for a moment, it feels like he’s not just looking at you but peering straight into your soul. The depth of his stare makes your skin tingle, as if he can see through your facade and read the turmoil within.

He begins with a gentle "you know," a soft preface to his words. His aged hand pats your shoulder, his touch surprisingly firm yet comforting. “Just because you were dealt a rough lot,” he continues, his voice low and knowing, “doesn’t make you a bad kid for doing your best with what you were given”.

You freeze, your eyes widening in surprise. You find yourself speechless at his words, struck by the unexpectedness of his knowledge.

Before you can respond, he adds, "I know you've been tryin' to help get my boys outta trouble with your people."

The revelation hits you like a punch to the gut, the way he so casually mentions this fact leaves you reeling.

His words continue, his gravelly voice laced with sympathy and understanding. "I can't imagine the sacrifices you've had to make," he says, his grip on your shoulder tightening ever so slightly.

“You remind me of Tom. You're a good kid, one who deserves better”.

The sincerity in his tone resonates deep within you, the acknowledgment of your struggles and sacrifices both touching and unnerving.

You stand there, speechless still, as Mr.Eldridge’s words ring in your ears. The unexpected sympathy and understanding in his voice throw you off balance, leaving you feeling vulnerable and exposed.

Just as you’re about to say something, he releases his grip on your shoulder, his gaze holding a depth of calm that feels almost unsettling.

Your voice is barely above a whisper, shaky and filled with a desperate honesty. “Let me go talk to them first, come back another time,” you say, the word catching in your throat, “please.”

The plea isn’t just a request, it’s a plea for his safety. You know the danger he could be in if he walked into the shop right now. The thought of something happening to him because of you, because of your actions, makes your stomach twist in knots.

He stands there, watching you in silence, his expression a mixture of concern and resignation. For a moment, he seems to be contemplating something, his eyes boring into yours. Then, without a word, he nods, a subtle acknowledgement of your request. The gesture sends a wave of relief through you, mixed with a pang of guilt for why you’re doing it.

You force yourself to nod back, your resolve returning as quickly as it left. You turn away from him, your shoulders squaring as you face the building again.

It’s time to make things right, end this, wash your hands clean.

The thought rings in your head like a tolling bell, the knowledge that there's no turning back now.

As you walk in, the sight of Marky and Weeks at their usual table sends a burst of anger through you. They laugh and chat like nothing has happened, their carefree attitude igniting a fury in your gut. You can feel your temper rising, the memories and pain rushing back in.

The moment Marky and Weeks notice you, everything seems to slow down. They straighten up in surprise as you pull out your gun, the cold metal suddenly the center of attention. Their eyes widen, realization dawning on them as they register what’s happening. The room seems to hold its breath, an eerie silence descending.

Your gaze is hard, relentless as you aim the gun with no remorse, the weight of it in your hand steady and sure.

You speak in a deadly calm tone, your voice low and dangerous. "Hey guys, in case you’re wondering, I’m pretty fucking pissed."

Marky and Weeks sit frozen, their eyes glued to the gun pointed at them. The tension in the air is palpable, a thick, electric energy that crackles between the three of you.

Marky suddenly moves, his hand darting towards where you know he holsters his own weapon on his belt. Weeks notices and barks a warning, "Stop!"

You’re quicker, not even batting an eye as you squeeze the trigger, the impact of the bullet to his shoulder making the metal chair shriek in protest against the tile floor as he falls back and out of it.

Weeks flinches, his body poised to act, but he freezes as your aim shifts to him. The shaking of your hand betrays the storm of emotions within you- anger, determination, pain.

“Jesus Christ, you fucking shot him-“

Your eyes stay fixed on him, your finger on the trigger, a single twitch away from pulling it.

He raises his hands in a gesture of surrender, a nervous laugh escaping him. "Whoa, hold on, if this is about the car-" he starts, his eyes darting between you and Marky who’s quietly groaning on the ground in pain.

You hate that you feel a little relieved Marky’s okay, you shouldn’t feel bad, but you know why you do.

His shock at the situation is evident on his face, his words trembling at the realization of what's unfolding.

"You know damn well this has nothing to do with the car” you say, your voice steady and cold. You step forward, kicking him forcefully in the chest, sending him stumbling back and out of the chair. His eyes widen at the impact, pain and surprise etched in his features.

"You’re fucking dead-" he starts to say, a flash of anger igniting in his eyes. But he stops short as your gun trains on him once more, conceding as his hands shooting back in the air. His face is a mix of frustration and ambivalence, his chest heaving as he looks up at you from the ground.

The tense silence in the room is deafening, the only sound being the labored breathing of the men. Then, Weeks suddenly speaks up, his voice filled with disbelief. "You use to say you’d kill for me, are you seriously going to let some second hand pussy switch up your loyalty?"

The question hangs in the air, his words both a taunt and an attempt to sow doubt in you.

The question doesn’t have the effect he intended. Instead, it only fuels your anger, pushing you over the edge. You snap, your hand moving in a swift, brutal motion, bringing the butt of the gun down hard against the side of his head. There's a sickening crack as the metal makes contact with his skull.

It feels good, getting a good hit back in after all the ones you’ve taken from him.

Weeks slumps back against the ground, groaning in pain and shock. You stand over him, your chest heaving as adrenaline and anger course through you.

"The woman you’re disrespecting," you say through clenched teeth, "got me clean, taught me that life offers more than just surviving. She put my head on straight. My life had no purpose until she saved me."

He grits his teeth as he responds, his hand thumping against his chest. "I gave you purpose," he says, his voice a mixture of anger and denial. "You're my lucky charm. You belong with us, you’re one of us” his words sound desperate, grasping at straws to hold onto the connection he once had with you.

You shake your head, your resolve unwavering. "No, I never really was," you say with a quiet intensity, “if there’s anything you did, it was fucking brainwash me”.

“Don’t do this! Think of my boys and Rachel, you love them, they’re your family-“

"I don’t want this anymore. I deserve better” your voice is firm and steady, the words a clear declaration of your intent. Your aim returns to him, your finger on the trigger, a clear message that you're not backing down.

He begins to panic, his anger taking over as he spits out hurtful words. "You'll never be able to give her the life she wants," he says, a sneer on his face. "She'll never love you the way you want. You're pathetic, delusional. You're better off with us-"

His words sting, but they don’t waver your resolve. You cut him off mid-sentence saying a simple, resolute, "Goodbye Pete."

Your voice is cold and unrepentant, the finality of the moment settling over you. You squeeze the trigger, a silent message more than words could say.

A beat of silence passes, a moment of tense anticipation.

Then the gun clicks, empty.

Weeks’ face transforms into one of horror, the realization that he's not dead setting in.

You however, look at him with a coolness, a knowing in your eyes, as if you'd already known that there were no bullets left.

You look at the blood trickling down from his brow, a mixture of fatigue and resignation on your face. “Guess I miscounted," you say, your tone flat.

"Looks like you’re lucky now, but it’s the only time. Because now? You’re fucking dead to me.”

The words sink in, and Weeks realizes the significance of your statement. He suddenly realizes that despite everything, you’ve granted him mercy, more than he deserves.

You drop the gun at his feet, a symbolic act that signals the end of everything that once bound you to him, everything you once were to him.

Your loyalty, your obligation- it all ends there, on the cold, unforgiving tile floor. There's a finality in the gesture that cuts deep, the weight of what you're walking away from settling heavily on your shoulders.

It's gut wrenching to turn away from all that, to leave a part of yourself behind. But as you step away, each step feels like another step towards freedom, even as the gravity of walking away hits you with full force.

Why didn’t you kill him? Because you can’t, leaving him here like this on rock bottom tastes better than putting a bullet between his eyes.

And of course, you aren’t finished yet, oh not even close.

You turn, your mind already set on the path you’ve chosen. There’s a steely determination in your eyes, along with a hint of satisfaction.

The thought that you’re going to bring his empire crashing down around him is a powerful one, a promise you vow to keep.

For the crew, for Tom and Charlie, for Mr. Eldridge, your family, yourself.

For Mabel.

previous, next

[ravencharms]

🔥🔥🔥

[chicken1sworld]

In another world Pt. 10

Rhaenyra x reader

Warning: violence!

The North was not for the weak minded. Tales of winter in the North were thought to be over exaggerated, simply just a jest.

Here the small group of men wearing green colors sat around a fire, holding themselves back from jumping in to seek warmth. The journey had been treacherous from the start, their bodies and clothes not adapted to any of the weather north from their home.

It was a miracle that they were all still alive, their lord had not warned them of the hardships they would face.

After being sent up to the North a few moons ago by Otto Hightower, the men set up camp near Winterfell. He instructed them to spy on House Stark as he knew you would end up returning soon with winter ending. Before they could even tell him of your arrival, they received a letter from a crow learning that Otto had already found out himself.

It was perfect timing for Lord Otto Hightower, his men's loyalty had been wavering the past few weeks. The soldiers began to question their wisdom of their lord's plan, the weather making their faith falter as they began to wish they had just stayed home. They were days away from packing up and heading home.

Once they had received the letter, they would do what they could to carry out their mission and get home as quickly as possible. They no longer had the energy to tread carefully.

It was the hour of the wolf in Winterfell, the starks all being abed. No one was aware of the horrors about to take place within the walls of the great castle.

The guards on watch duty were swiftly getting taken out by silent arrows skimming through the air, allowing for the traitors to silently enter your home.

You were in a deep sleep. Your mind had been so clouded throughout the whole day yesterday, that your body had instantly shut down once you hit your bed. Beside you was Nora, who currently had just woken up to the sound of noise from outside.

The dire wolf had gently jumped down from your bed, trotting her way over to the window in your room and scanning the area outside. She saw men running across the hallways and she instantly could sense the danger unfolding. Quickly backing up, the wolf made her way over to you and shoved her snout into your chest.

The growls of your wolf were enough to bring you out of your slumber, your eyes slowly opening. "Nora?" You groggily questioned, looking over to the rather frazzled wolf. You looked around your room and wondered what has gotten her so worked up, not seeing any danger.

The crash outside was enough to fully bring you to your senses, your head turning to the window in concern. You quickly rose from your bed and looked out the window, your eyes immediately noticing the men on watch with arrows stuck in their chest.

You were under attack.

You quickly tossed on your clothes, not bothering to throw on your furs. Grabbing the freshly sharpened axe and dagger, you descended down the stairs, making your way outside.

You looked around, your chest heaving out of anxiety. Twisting around in a circle as you looked for any sign of the people that had broken in.

Your eyes widened as you heard footsteps behind you. With a gasp you turned around to meet a man holding a knife up to your handmaiden's throat. Your heart dropped and you tightened your grip on your weapon, looking into the man's eyes.

You quickly noticed the Hightower patch on his clothes, and you clenched your jaw.

"Let her go." You warned, your voice filled with growing anger and warning. He let out a disgusting chuckle and held the knife in his hand closer to Arryelyn's throat, the older woman trembling in fear.

"Drop your weapon and come with us and none of this needs to happen." He yelled as the woman twisted in his arms.

"I'll kill you." You muttered, taking a step closer to the man. He blinked and stepped back, scowling at your actions.

"You have one last chance Y/n Stark." You looked to Arryelyn who had a sorrowful look in her eyes. She couldn't help but painfully smile at you softly, her lip already stained with blood. You assumed they had used force to bring her out to you.

You knew what you had to do, your life was not worth the death of your family's. You had no idea if there were more men or where they were in the castle right now. With a shaky sigh, you looked into Arryelyn's eyes as you began to place down your axe.

The courtyard of Winterfell was quiet, no sound could be heard but your breath and your heartbeat in your chest. The sacrifice you would make would be for your people, you swore your loyalty to them.

Just as you were about to place your weapon down in the snow, you heard the footsteps. The quick crunches in the snow behind you was enough to tell you that you needed to react quickly. You looked up to see the old woman calling out your name and in one motion you picked up your axe and swung.

The man behind you quickly dropped onto the snow, his hands coming up to his neck as you quickly sliced through him. You let out a breath and turned around, hoping to throw the dagger that had made its way in your hand towards the man holding Arryelyn.

Time slowed down as your body shifted, and you looked back towards the pair. Your arm dropped to your side as you watched the older womans eyes lose the light in them. The red liquid slid down her throat in streams and you slowly blinked, your body freezing at the sight in front of you.

You held back the bile in your throat and tried to hold up your legs from dropping to the ground. The sounds of her choking were enough to quickly snap you out of your state of shock.

It was as if you were no longer yourself. Your mind had disconnected from your body and your feet began to move without your command. Your face dropping and the tears freely flowing down your face. Your hand retwisted around the axe and your feet sped up.

The green soldier felt his heart drop, the look of pure rage on your face was enough for him to drop the woman on the ground and quickly prepare himself. You had not blinked since he had sliced her throat, and your gaze was set on him.

Before he could even swing his sword, his head was already rolling onto the snow next to him. You brought it back to your side and took deep breaths, looking over to the woman next to you. You quickly kneeled down, pulling her head up and holding it in your hands. Your lip quivered as you were brought back into your thoughts.

"A-arryelyn." You whimpered, wiping off the blood on her cheeks. She looked at you with wide eyes, barely holding on and you knew she was going to be gone soon. She shakily brought a hand up to your face and cupped your cheek. Your eyes closed at the contact, and you leaned into what was left of her touch. You heard her try to murmur a sentence and you furrowed your brows. Moving your head closer, you felt the wind of her voice touch your ears.

"B-be a dragon." She croaked out and you pulled back, your eyes clouded with tears. You looked at her in shock and watched as her eyes slowly shut.

She knew.

You clenched your jaw and cried out, pulling the woman to your chest and holding her close for the last time. Sobs left your mouth as you recalled all of the moments you had with her in your head. She was with you since you were a baby, you had spent your whole life with her by your side.

Suddenly the shock was back, and you felt your sadness be replaced with anger. Adrenaline flowing through your veins as your mind shut down once again.

You carefully placed her on the ground and trembled as you stood up. The axe now in your hand once again as you turned around and made your way to the door of the castle.

You were going to kill every last one of them.

Kicking open the door, you raised your axe at the multiple men running down the hallway. You lifted up your arm and swung, the blade cutting through one of them instantly. Since it was double sided you swung it back around and took out another one.

Blood coated your face, and you continued towards the last man down the hall. The weapon in your hand dragging against the stone floor, small sparks flying into the air from the friction of the metal. Ragged breaths escaped your lips as you looked at the trembling man. He grabbed his sword but faltered as you came closer.

Just as he was about to surrender and drop his sword on the ground you had already raised your arm. The sword cut through the air and his body dropped to the ground.

The sound of your axe scraping the ground was enough to bring fear into the bodies of the remaining men. They all shuddered as you turned the corner, your face remaining blank, but the state of your appearance made them realize that they weren't leaving alive.

The corpses of the Hightower men laid in the hallways of the castle as you continued to make your way until you knew every last one was gone.

Cregan had watched you walk by, eyes furrowing at your lack of reaction. You had quickly looked over at him before turning your head back and continuing. Following behind you, he couldn't help but turn around and look back at the hallway. He swallowed at the amount of fallen men and turned back to look at you, your figure already gone.

Outside the walls, a small group of men kept watch. They slowly made their way around and looked for any lingering guards. A small shake in the earth made them draw their swords, their bodies backing up to the walls of Winterfell. They all let out shaky breaths, looking at each other with confusion. It was too dark to tell what was out in the woods, fear creeping into their heads.

Just as they thought they were safe a low grumbling came from the large snowbank besides them. They all turned their heads in horror as the alleged mountain of snow raised up from the ground and a large blue eye looked at them with fury.

"Gods." One of them breathed, turning to run away into the woods. All of the men began to shake like a leaf in the wind. Their faces dropping as the giant creature opened its mouth and heat emerged out from its jaws.

In a matter of seconds all of the men had flailed around in pain, screams leaving their mouths as they met their fate with fire. Your dragon let out a deep roar from his chest, his wings raising up as the sound vibrated throughout the land.

He quickly took off towards the sky, noticing scattered groups of men beginning to linger towards the town just outside the walls.

The people of Winterfell had all woken up from their sleep when they heard the mighty screech of the dragon. Men assured their wives and children and grabbed their swords, running out of their houses and meeting in the streets.

They all spoke with confusion, wondering what was going on this early in the morning. From edge of the woods, they noticed a group of men lurking towards them. They wondered where the guards were but nonetheless were ready to defend Winterfell. As they grew closer, the Stark men gripped their swords and huddled into a small group on the outskirts of their houses.

"Who are you?! Why are you here?!" One of the men shouted, looking at the green knights.

"We are from House Hightower, sent here for Y/n Stark." All of the men widened their eyes at the soldier's response, shortly their gaze hardened after. They dare threaten their queen.

Just as they were about to charge, they felt the air pick up and they watched as your white dragon swooped in, unleashing a wave of flames onto the group of traitors. They stood there in awe, looking up at the dragon who circled around and made its way back around. The men jumping back when he had landed.

Malyx made his way towards the men who stood outside of the town.

The man who seemed to take leadership, the same man who was the first to kneel to you, slowly walked up to the dragon. Malyx lowered his head and pushed it towards the man. The smith let out breathy laugh and reached out his gloved hand towards the dragon, running his hand across his snout.

Those who were weary of your new companion had now grown rather fond, if not loyal, to Malyx.

Your dragon quickly soared back up to the sky, flying over Winterfell and looking for any other groups of men.

Back in the halls of the castle, you turned your head when you heard your mother scream. The heart wrenching sound cut through your chest like a sharp blade. Your pulse quickened along with the pace you were moving.

You started to sprint through the castle, your boots pounding off the stone floor. The breaths leaving your mouth were ragged and your pace grew faster with each step.

You quickly ran up the stairs of your family's quarters, running down the hall to where your mother and father slept. You heard the sound of furniture crashing against the walls and your mother's cries, your blood running cold. With the door already being open, you ran inside, your feet stopping as you watched the scene in front of you.

Your father was in combat with one of the Hightower men, his sword clashing against the other mans. You looked over to your mother, her eyes widening at the state of you. Blood coated your face and your hair, to her you were almost unrecognizable. Your chest heaved up and down, reaching your hand out to pull your mother to your corner of the room.

Just as you were about to help your father fight, you watched as the other man kicked your father across the room, his sword sliding to the other side of the room. You immediately raised your axe and went to take out the traitor, but you stopped in your tracks. He quickly grabbed the Stark man and held him up to the window, holding him outside.

Yet again you were put in position where all you could do was watch. Though this time the soldier didn't say anything and gave you no choice, watching you with a menacing smirk as he pushed your father out the window.

Cregan flew through the doorway, watching as his father let out a gasp and disappeared in front of all of them. The sound of his body hitting the ground making all of them flinch. He quickly wrapped his arms around his mother and looked towards his sister who was looking at the green soldier with an unpredictable look.

"Oops." Your eye twitched at his response and your hand instantly moved, your dagger piercing into his stomach within seconds. He let out a sound of pain and grasped onto the blade, trying to pull it out of him. You made your way over to him and picked him up by his collar, taking him over to the table next to you and slamming his head on it. You repeated your actions until you felt your brother come up from behind you, pulling you into his arms.

You felt his body shake from sobs but all you did was stand stiffly. With a shaky breath, you pulled away from him and looked into his eyes. "Secure the castle." Returning to the corpse of the Hightower man, you pulled out your dagger and replaced back into its holder.

With that, you began to walk out of the room, one name echoing throughout your mind. You gave a quick glance to your mother before fully leaving and made your way down the hall.

Checking each floor for any attackers that could still be wandering around, you went outside once you believed it was clear. Your feet brought you over to where your father had landed, much to your surprise you saw him cough and turn his head over to you.

You quickly ran over to him, kneeling down and gripping his hand. He heaved, letting out a few heavy coughs. His hand squeezed yours and he looked into your eyes.

"Father." You breathed, inspecting his body and seeing his legs twisted in a way they weren't supposed to be. "My daughter." He shakily replied and you painfully swallowed, bringing his hand up to your mouth and placing a gentle peck on it.

"I'm sorry." You whispered, your voice cracking at the end. He shook his head and looked at you with loving eyes. "I'm okay, I will be okay." He reassured and you looked up when you saw the Grand Maester come running out of the castle. He quickly ran over and got onto the ground with your father, inspecting his injuries. His limbs were broken but with a miracle he survived.

You went to go stand up but felt a tug at your hand, your attention turning back to your father.

"I love you Y/n." After that his eyes slowly shut, his body passing out from the amount of pain he was in. Your lip quivered and you looked over to the maester, the man explaining that he was going to be okay. Clenching your jaw you turned away, standing up and brushing the snow off your clothes.

Suddenly you had one idea in mind after looking around at all your fallen men and Arryelyns body who had laid in the snow. The remnants of the destruction caused by a man, the one man who dared to bring a battle to your very home.

You were bloodied and your body had ached, but he could never break your spirit. That was his mistake.

Your brother came outside, sword in hand as he inspected the scene in front of him. He sighed when he saw his father being carried away inside by the Grand Maester and other guards who had survived. The man's heart dropped when he noticed his mother's handmaiden on the snowy floor, her eyes closed as she silently laid.

Cregan carefully walked up to you, standing next to you and looking down at his feet.

"Winterfell is in your hands now, keep watch while until I return." His brows furrowed at your words, and he turned to look at you with concern. "Where are you going?" You didn't answer his question, walking away and heading towards the direction of the gate.

Your eyes trailed over Arryelyns body, and her last words repeated in your mind.

Be a dragon.

Your brother called out from behind you but you kept your steps sharp, continuing to the gates and pushing them open. Outside of the walls, your dragon was waiting, his wing already turned down for you. You gripped onto the rope that hung off his neck and pulled yourself up, swinging your legs over his back. He fluttered his wing's, and you grabbed the spikes along his back, preparing yourself to take off into the air.

"Sōvēs."

The residents of Winterfell watched as your dragon took off into the dark sky, a loud roar leaving its mouth. Everyone had finally figured out what had taken place within the wall of the castle. All of the citizens in the town coming out untouched, but the Stark family had taken all consequences from the attack. With your father injured, and your beloved handmaiden dead, everyone knew where you were going.

The horrific events had ignited a fire in you, the dragon that everyone has yet to see was breaking out from its years of being held back. The fire that could only be put out from the action of getting justice. The attack on your home, the terrors inflicted on you and your family, this was unforgivable, and you demanded retribution. Even if it killed you, you would die trying.

Malyx flew as fast has he could, the wind crashed into you and flowed through your hair. Your body only being able to stay upright and conscious from the adrenaline still coursing through your veins.

The flashing images of your mother screaming and Arryelyns pleads, your father's sword clashing with the attacker, Cregan's eyes as he looked over at you, the sound of your axe making contact with nearly three dozen bodies. The blood that coated you was everyone's but your own.

You were coming for Otto Hightower, a head for a head.

Brown eyes fluttered open, soft ringing filling the girl's ears as she groggily pushed herself off of the ground.

Alicent suddenly looked around, standing up with her hand coming up to her head. She felt the remanence of dried blood and suddenly the flashes from the night before replayed. The girl immediately felt sick as she knew the attack on your family had taken place, she was too late. She had gotten knocked out and now the light shinned through her balcony.

She needed to get to the king, or Rhaenyra. At this rate it didn't matter who, but she knew her father was currently making his escape. If she didn't find a way to get out, he would walk away a free man.

The girl looked around for an escape, hearing the sound of metal outside her door. The knight still stood outside her door, so she knew it was impossible to try to make a run for it.

The breeze from her open balcony door flew into her room, her hair flying up at the gust of wind. She whipped her head over and slowly walked over to the balcony. The drop was not terrible, but she wouldn't get up without a few injuries. With a deep breath, not even bothering to find a different way, she climbed over the railing. The bushes below her moved with the wind and would help break her impact towards the ground.

With one look up to the sky, she prayed to the God of the seven and pushed herself off. "Shit." She cursed, her body filled with pain from the impact and the sticks that pricked her side. All she knew was that she was alive and for her that was enough. Taking a quick look around, she looked for anyone that could help her.

The Lord Commander turned his head towards her and looked at her with concern, flying over to the girl.

"Lady Alicent! Are you okay?" He questioned, picking her up by her arms and placing her on the ground next to the bush. She nodded, wincing at the new pain in her ankle when her feet touched the grass. "I'm fine Lord Commander, I need you to help me." She breathed, looking up to him with urgency. He quickly nodded, scared and confused as to why the girl had just fallen from her balcony.

"My father had sent out word to attack the Starks last night. It has already happened. I had figured out and went to go tell the king, but he had Criston Cole take me to my room, I had been knocked out and only just awoke. My father should be on a ship right now in the bay. You need to get to the king!" Alicent quickly spit out, her chest heaving up and down. The knight gulped at her words and looked around, catching Maester Orwyle coming down the hall. He called out to the man and instructed him to take Alicent somewhere safe.

"I will get to him Lady Alicent." He replied, looking down at the shaking girl. She gave him a grateful smile and allowed Orwyle to lead her down the hall and into his own quarters.

Ser Harrold turned his attention back to the other side of the hallway and quickly began moving towards the council room, having just been talking with the king he knew where his whereabouts were.

He knew he shouldn’t have trusted that Cole boy. The way he held himself was enough to convince Harrold that he was not as reliable as he once believed.

The knight briskly walked, throwing open the council door and making the people in the room jump from the loud noise. The king looked up at him in confusion, standing up from his seat. Rhaenyra turned her eyes to the door and felt her stomach drop. Harrold looked at her with an unreadable look, but it was enough for her to get up from her seat as well.

"What is it, Lord Commander?" Viserys asked, walking over to him and looking at him nervously. The knight took a deep breath before answering his question. "Lord Otto Hightower has carried out an attack in Winterfell, according to Lady Alicent, she had found out but was locked in her room." Rhaenyra's heart began to race after she heard the words, her mind drawing blank. The news hit her like a heavy brick, and it slowly started to sink into her.

The air in the room grew cold, all of the members of the council looking rather grim at the news the knight brought.

"Where is Otto?" The princess mumbled out, her fists were clenched into fists on top of the table. Her gaze was turned to the knight, Harrold's heart breaking at the pale coloration of her face. "Alicent claimed that he had already boarded a ship, he shouldn't be too far in the bay." The king turned around and nearly ran to the window, looking out into the ocean.

Sure enough, a single ship sat on top of the waves. The Hightower sigil sewed onto the sails. Viserys gripped the windowsill and turned around, anger and betrayal swirling in his eyes. "We must act swiftly, this treachery will not be swept under the rug. Gather a group of men and send them after his ship. Return him to me...dead or alive!" Everyone's eyes widened at his outburst, the rather tame king completely switching into another personality that no one had seen before.

"I'm going to Winterfell on Syrax." She muttered, harshly shoving her seat into the table and making her way towards the door. "You will not!" Her father yelled, his eyes training on his daughters.

She whipped her head around with an incredulous look in her eyes. The king felt his posture soften at the his daughter’s reaction, tears were welled up in her eyes and her breathing was shallow. He went to go respond but decided against it, keeping his mouth shut and giving her a small nod.

The king knew of the anger surging through his daughter's body right now, it was similar to his but hers was much more personal. This was no political maneuver... this was a direct attack onto the Targaryen family and those they loved. Rhaenyra's gaze hardened at her father's unspoken answer and continued her way outside of the room, storming down the hall and bursting through the doors. As soon as her feet hit the dirt of the ground, she was running towards the horses.

Back in the council room, Viserys was pacing back in forth, watching as the ship began to grow smaller and smaller.

"Your Grace, I must go find Criston Cole. He was working with Otto, he could be a growing threat." The commander explained, opening up the door and stepping outside.

"Be safe Lord Commander."

The knight carefully made his way through the hall, turning each corner with caution as he searched for the man. His sword was in his hand as he looked around, his head turning in every direction.

All of his sudden, his eyes found those of the man he was looking for. Standing outside of Alicents quarters was Criston Cole, still oblivious to the fact that Lady Alicent was no longer in her room.

Criston instantly knew that his partnership with Otto Hightower had been revealed and he threw open the door behind him. Scowling as he noticed the lack of the girl's presence in the room.

"Give it up Ser Criston." The commander called from across the hall, making his way towards the man. "Fuck." The younger knight cursed, turning around and drawing his sword.

In a split second the two engaged into battle, swords clashing as they fought for dominance. Criston was a skilled knight, but the Lord Commander had more experience, and the rage in him was enough to give him extra strength. They went back and forth, both of them getting good hits on each other.

The older man felt his arm begin to grow tired and he started to focus on his defense. Criston took this as an opportunity and kicked out his leg from underneath him, the knight dropping onto his knees.

Ser Harrold's eyes widened, and he went to reach for his sword but stopped as he felt a sharp pain in his side. He looked down and watched as Criston pulled out his blade, a smirk on his face. The commander brought his hands up to his stomach and applied pressure, noticing that the other man held up his sword and was going to finish the job.

Just before he could swing, Criston Cole felt his body bounce off the wall behind him. The sword in his hands was flung across the hall and his knees were kicked out from underneath him, arms holding him back as two individuals detained him. He twisted around in their grip, snarling at them with curses and threats. One of the knights backhanded him and his head twisted to the side, dropping down to rest on his chest as he lost consciousness.

Ser Harrold painfully stood up, his hand still holding onto his wound. He looked at the young men holding up Criston and gave them short nods, silently thanking them for their loyalty.

"We are at your service Lord Commander, what shall we do with the traitor." The tall one asked, shifting his arm and getting a firmer grip on the man that was out cold. "Take him to the dungeon, do not leave until I come send for you." They gave him small bows and dragged the man down the hall.

Ser Harrold felt himself start to get lightheaded and he limped down the hallway, knocking at the door of the Grand Maester. Orwyle carefully opened the door, his eyes widening at the injured man. He ushered him in, looking outside the door to see if anyone saw him before closing it and locking the hatch.

Rhaenyra jumped off her horse, instructing the guards outside the dragon pit to tie it up. She quickly dusted herself off and ran inside, instructing the dragonkeepers to hurry and get Syrax outside.

She looked around, her legs shaking and her palms growing sweaty. The girl felt frustrated that she wasn't there for you, she had no idea the state of you right now. Was your family safe?

She couldn't imagine the emotions swirling around in your head. The uncertainty of your safety was gnawing at her, she needed to know that you were okay.

The worries she had when you were fighting the free folk were nothing compared to the ones she had now. She knew of your bravery and your fierceness, but this time you weren't protecting the North, you were protecting your family from a direct attack.

The princess turned her body when she heard her yellow dragon let out high pitched growls from her throat. Syrax could sense the distress in her rider and ruffled her wings, walking over to Rhaenyra without the guidance of the dragonkeepers.

Rhaenyra quickly climbed up onto her dragon, settling herself into the saddle and making sure she was secure. With a quick command Syrax took off into the sky and let out a short roar, her voice echoing throughout the land of Kindslanding.

Before the princess could direct her dragon north, she remembered how there was possibly more working with Otto. She needed to get to her father quickly to tell him to work carefully.

With one quick motion, she pulled on the reins and turned Syrax in the direction of the Redkeep. She would land on the beach and run up from the back stairs, letting the guards outside bring the message to her father.

Syrax flew with a steady rhythm, her wings producing much more powerful strokes as she felt the urgency of her rider's purpose.

"Tegot Syrax!" The princess commanded, gripping on the reins as her dragon swooped down towards the ground. The feet of the creature dug into the sand, the force sending particles flying as the ground shook. She heard her dragon grumble from beside her and looked at the direction her head was pointing in.

A small boat with a group of men, the green coloring on their clothes giving off whose side they were on. The men that were pushing it into the water stopped when they saw the dragon hit the ground. Now that their swords were all out, Rhaenyra couldn't help but feel worried for her safety.

She watched as they talked amongst themselves, wondering what they were to do with the princess. It seems that they had made up their minds and they started walked towards Rhaenyra. Syrax let out a loud screech as an arrow soared into her neck. The dragon was not used to any pain, she was not one to fight in a battle. The princess looked up to her dragon in terror, backing up behind her and watching as they came closer.

"Dracarys." The words left her mouth in a whisper, but the dragon heard, her mouth opening with a screech as she unleashed the flames among the group of men. The princess watched in fear and tucked her head into her dragon's head, trying to drown out the voices that were calling for help.

Once the sound of only fire crackling could be heard, she pried her head away from Syrax and ran up the hill. She made her way up the stairs and called over the guards. They all ushered to her in a panic, wondering why the Princess was outside during these dangerous times. She instructed them to tell her father immediately of possible traitors in the keep, though she assumed that most if not all of them had just been burnt to a crisp by her dragon.

They nodded at her words and ran into the castle. She let out a breath and went down the stairs again, returning to her dragon. Syrax was trying to turn her head back far enough to pry the arrow sticking out from her skin, baring her teeth in frustration.

"Let me help." The princess spoke, running her hands along her dragon in hopes to calm her down. She grabbed the arrow and gently pulled it out of the dragon, Syrax letting out a small growl. The size of the arrow was a mere thorn to the dragon, which Rhaenyra felt grateful for.

"Let's jikagon naejot Y/n." She muttered, climbing back onto the creature once again. Syrax pushed off the ground and circled herself around, heading north. (Let's go to y/n).

Suddenly, from the sky the princess heard the call of a dragon. It's deafening screech cutting through the silence of the bay like a blade. The sound being so primal, sent alarm throughout her and Syrax, the two of them landing on the beach once more.

No other dragon riders were currently in Kingslanding, her uncle's dragon was with him. She spent enough time with the dragon to know that the piercing sound was not from him. She instinctively pulled on Syrax's reigns, holding on tight as they watched from the shoreline.

There was no sign of a dragon, the white clouds above had created a large blanket over the blue skies making it impossible to tell. She looked around for the dark colors of the dragon, not seeing any movement in the sky.

Further into the ocean, Otto Hightower sat smugly on a large ship. A group of twenty men alongside him, smuggling him back to Oldtown. He knew that the king has most likely found out by now, his traitorous daughter would have found a way to betray her father's commands. It would be too late for the king to send ships after him, and there is no way he would send his only child to fight on dragon back. She would be a fool to think she could take out a group of men, she had no battle skills and certainly no military tactics. She was a pampered brat, according to Otto Hightower.

Attacking the Starks was a risky move, though he had only hoped you learned your lesson. How dare you threaten him.

By the time you would even get to Kingslanding by horseback, Otto would be safely in Oldtown preparing an army to withstand any attacks from you.

The man was knocked out of his thoughts when he heard the blood curdling scream of a dragon. His face blanked and he stood up from his seat on the deck, looking up towards the sky. The crew on the ship began to murmur concerns, all of their hands coming to sit on the handle of their swords resting on their hips. There was no way Rhaenyra Targaryen was going to fight, and much to his annoyance he has heard the many calls of Syrax. The low pitch of the roar made him believe this wasn't a dragon from the keep.

Both Otto and Rhaenyra watched, eyes darting around their surroundings.

Back in the Redkeep, all of the council members, including the king and queen watched from the balcony. Having heard the mighty call of a dragon they moved outside, the couple wondering if their daughter was in danger.

Everyone had waited, all of them looking for an answer but there were no shadows giving them a sign.

From the castle, Otto's ship was slowly disappearing. The king's ships had just left and it would be a while before they could even reach the man.

The eyes of everyone widened as they saw wings flapping in the sky, another haunting scream cutting through the air. This time, it was one from a human.

A white dragon fell from the sky, its body cutting through the clouds and straight towards the Hightower ship. It swirled through the air; another loud roar left its mouth as it neared the vessel. The dark spot on its back allowed everyone to believe it had a rider, the large unknown dragon had already been claimed.

"It has a rider." The queen muttered to her husband next to her, looking at him with worry. He looked down at her and nodded, his heart pounding at his chest of what possibly could happen now.

Rhaenyra watched in awe, as she has never seen a dragon that quick yet alone with that coloration. It was white as snow, a beautiful creature. This was going to bring justice towards your attack in the North, she could care less who was on the dragon.

The dragon continued to spiral down, everyone wondering if it was going to crash in the ship due to the rate of its speed. Gasps filled the room, and the dragon just barely missed the ship, corkscrewing over midair and continuing to shoot back up into the direction of clouds.

Everyone watching the scene unfold in front of them with confusion, why had the dragon missed the ship. Before it ascended back into the clouds, they couldn't help but notice the lack of coloration on its back. The rider was gone.

Otto Hightower ducked as the large beast had flown over him, he stumbled and gripped the side of the ship. The vessel rocked back in forth in the choppy waters, the waves created from the power of the dragon's wings. He watched as his crew ran to respond to this sudden movement, preparing to abandon ship. The escape he had been so smug about was far away, it was no longer guaranteed. He cursed under his breath, looking up towards the dragon and seeing the riderless back.

He looked around with fearful eyes, wondering where this person could have gone. He quickly checked over the walls of the ship and inspected the waters, but below him was nothing but waves.

The gasps of his men were enough to make him not want to turn around. He heard the drawing of their swords he grimly turned around, his heart nearly exploding at the sight in front of him.

There, on the top of the deck, stood Y/n Stark. Your presence was almost nightmarish. Your hair was slicked back and coated with dried blood and sweat, your clothes torn and covered with grime and more bodily fluids. But what truly unsettled Otto was the look in your eyes.

You looked like a dragon.

Your eyes were slits, the prominent bags under your eyes and the snarl of your mouth showed Otto that he was not leaving this ship. The aura radiating from only your eyes could be taken as a warning, the smell of death falling over the ship.

Otto stumbled back as you tightened your grip on your weapon.

"You are outnumbered Y/n." He gritted, backing up into the wall behind him. You lowered your gaze, your lip twitching in fury. The man was absolutely petrified from your lack of words, and rightfully so.

Numbers had never stopped you.

[ravencharms]

OH MY.... YOU ARE KILLING US. IT'S SO GOOD!!🔥

[chicken1sworld]

In another world Pt. 9

Rhaenyra x reader

The princess let out a soft hum as one of her handmaidens was brushing out her silver locks. With her feet kicked up on the sofa and a cup of wine in hand, she couldn't help but feel completely relaxed.

Alicent sat across from her with a book, indulging herself in the tales of ancient history.

"Do you want me to braid it for you princess?" Elinda, her newest helper, questioned with a gentle voice. Rhaenyra pondered for a moment before softly shaking her head. "It is alright Elinda. You can have a break now, help yourself to any of the food in the kitchen." The young girl nodded and politely excused herself from the room.

"I hear your uncle is coming back to the keep soon, along with his wife Laena." Alicent spoke, breaking the comfortable silence. The princess grinned and nodded her head. "Yes, they are. I'm excited to see Lady Laena, I have not seen her in years." Rhaenyra replied, picking some grapes up from the fruit platter in front of them. "I'm sure my beloved uncle has been driving her crazy." They both chuckled and continued to converse about the Velaryons.

"Has there been any news of your father? Your brother as well?" Rhaenyra asked and Alicent let out a breath, closing her book and placing it beside her.

"Not lately I'm afraid. Gwayne has been rather silent back in Oldtown. I assume it's out of guilt." The Hightower explained, folding her hands in her lap, slightly picking at her nails. "My father...he has barely said words to me these past few years. Honestly, it has been rather freeing." Rhaenyra's eyes widened at her friend's words, a smile growing on her face.

"I'm glad you are free from that man's grasp Alicent." She replied truthfully, coming over and sitting next to her friend. The brown-haired girl only smiled and conjoined their hands together. "I owe you and your family a great debt." The princess furrowed her brows, giving a soft squeeze to Alicent's hands.

"How so?" She questioned and Alicent looked down at their conjoined hands. "All of you have welcomed me into your arms. Rhaenyra, you have been a true sister to me. The king and queen see me as a daughter, they see me as an equal." She admitted and Rhaenyra softly smiled, tears welling up in her eyes. "With the whole situation with my father I had felt lost, alone even. But because of you and your family I have felt...acceptance, a sense of belonging. I have spent years yearning to just be seen, not to be used. Thank you, Rhaenyra."

The princess pulled her into her arms and they both sat there. They both sniffled as they were brought to tears from the heartwarming confession. Rhaenyra slowly pulled away, moving her hands to once again embrace Alicent's.

"I have always been fortunate to have you by my side Alicent. We have been able to support each other, and I have had the honor to watch you grow into an amazing woman. I don't know how well of a Princess I would be without your guidance. I have not dwelled on the fact that I share no siblings because truthfully Alicent....I have always seen you as my true sister."

The two girls sat in Rhaenyra's quarters, once again embracing each other. This moment of raw truth had deepened the connection between the two, both of them understanding the sisterly love they both shared for each other.

Rhaenyra could not imagine a world without Alicent by her side. It would be foolish to even assume anything could ever tear them apart.

"Princess-" Ayleen started, walking through Rhaenyra's doors but quickly halting her steps. Rhaenyra and Alicent looked over to the woman with swollen eyes and tears streaming down their faces. "O-oh, I can come back later." They both watched as the woman panicked and gave them a quick bow before running out the door.

Turning their heads back to each other, they launched out into a fit of laughter. Wiping away their tears with chuckles slipping through their mouths.

"I must get back to my duties, I promised your mother that I would accompany her to the sept today. Why don't you join us?" Alicent asked, raising up from her seat and flattening out her dress.

Rhaenyra followed her actions and walked her way over to her desk, leaning her hand on the table. "I would love to but I'm afraid I have a few letters to send to our most loyal houses. Father urged me to find out if they need support building back their supplies as winter is coming to an end." Alicent nodded her head and gave the princess a smile and a small curtsy.

"Have so much fun princess." She giggled and made her way out the door. Rhaenyra playfully rolled her eyes and watched as the door shut behind her.

The silver haired girl begrudgingly sat down and sighed, looking through all the papers on her desk. Writing letters was the last thing she wanted to do right now but she knew that she was getting older, her role as heir was getting more serious. So, with a huff she grabbed a fresh sheet of paper and dipped her quill in the dark ink, hovering her hand over the letter.

Just as she was about to drop her hand and start her work, she heard the noise she’s been dreaming of.

The rhythmic flapping of a bird's wings, growing closer to her balcony window. Her heart skipped a beat when she realized the significance of a crow showing up in her presence. She immediately rose from her chair, the furniture toppling over in the process. The smile on her face was enough to hurt her cheeks, her heart was beating against her ribcage.

The dark bird landed on the railing, a loud squawk leaving its mouth. She quickly made her way over, her hands coming up to carefully untie the letter strapped to the creature's leg. The princess couldn't help but thank the raven and held herself back from pulling the creature into her chest and giving it a well-deserved embrace. She gently shooed it and watched as its wings fluttered before taking off north.

With a deep breath she inspected the message in her hand, her eyes twinkling as she recognized the stark emblem. She broke the seal with trembling hands and her feet subconsciously led her to the couch. She felt her legs hit the edge and she sat down, unraveling the letter.

My silver dragon,

She closed her eyes in relief and brought the letter up to her heart, inhaling with relief. You had made it back safe.

She had spent so many days and nights dreaming, praying, for this moment to finally come. Now as it finally came true, she couldn't help but feel overwhelmed with excitement and love.

Tears formed in the corner of her eyes as she read the rest of your words. She felt your tenderness and the passion through the paper, and she wanted to be in your arms once again. To hear that you were still just as devoted to her as she was to you, eased all of her worries that she had throughout these long years.

She traced the edge of the paper with her finger, her lip being trapped between her teeth as she read your threat to Otto. Instantly her stomach was filled with anxiety, she knew your words weren't for theatrics.

Once she had reached the end, she couldn't help but feel a whirlwind of emotions. She was beyond ecstatic to hear of your return, her heart had never yearned harder for your touch. Now that you were free from your duties, she now would count down the days until you would finally reunite.

Rhaenyra decided she has had enough and could not stand to wait any longer. She would threaten you with Syrax if she had to, she was definitely getting her wedding.

On the other hand, she knew how serious you were about her and her family's safety. After all, you were a wolf.

She knew she had to write to you, to reassure you that the situation was being controlled. The princess was not going to allow you to start a war with the least important man in all of Westeros. He was simply not worth your time.

She quickly wrote you a response, not caring if she misspelled anything wrong. She wanted you to know as soon as possible that she was so grateful you made it home.

Grabbing the candle from her desk, she melted the wax over the flame and carefully dripped it onto the letter. She grabbed the stamp and placed it on the circle of wax, softly blowing on it to make it dry faster.

She smiled when it finally had hardened and quickly arose from her seat, running out her door. Criston Cole, one of the many knights that served for the king, had looked at the princess in confusion. Much to Rhaenyra's surprise, her father had picked him to serve on the city watch, though he spent most of his time outside the Princess's doors on guard.

"No need to follow me Ser Criston, I will return in a few moments." He gave her a curt nod and fixed his stance.

Nearly jogging down the hallway, she turned around the corner but felt her body fly back as she bumped into a large metal object. The princess stumbled back slightly, her hand reaching out to rest against the wall next to her.

"My apologies princess!" The voice she recognized as to be Ser Harrold, the commander of the kingsguard. His hand moved to her shoulder and he quickly inspected her for any injuries. "It's quite alright Ser Harrold. It's my fault for running around in the hallways." She responded with a smile, flattening out her dress.

The man straightened his posture and gave her a small bow, apologizing once more before excusing himself. Before he could reach the end of the hallway the princess called out to him.

"Do you happen to know where Maester Orwyle is?" The knight turned around once more and nodded his head. "He is with your father in the council room." She gave him a grateful smile and continued down the hall.

The Lord Commander continued his travels, though he couldn't help but wonder what has gotten the princess so thrilled. Hopefully some good news, he knew that she was very down lately. He only wished the very best for the girl, he had watch her grown up from a stubborn little girl to a mature and well-rounded heir to the iron throne. There is nothing he wouldn't do for the princess.

"Lord Commander." The voice swiftly walking by him greeted, shaking him out of his thoughts.

"Ser Criston."

Rhaenyra made her way to her father, greeting the workers in the Redkeep as she walked by. They all watched as the princess basically floated down the long hallways, a permanent smile molded onto her face.

Viserys looked up when he heard the sound of the council doors opening, smiling as he saw his daughter walk in.

"Rhaenyra, my dear." He greeted, folding his hands on the table and watching as she made her way over to him. The princess placed a quick peck on his cheek and maneuvered her way over to the man sitting beside him.

"Father, Maester Orwyle." She politely spoke, giving both of them a grin. "I was wondering if you would be able to send this to House Stark, my beloved has returned from her long battle in the North." The king beamed at his daughter's words, happy that you had finally come home safely.

"Absolutely princess." Orwyle responded, carefully taking the letter from her hands and excusing himself. They both watched as he exited the room, Rhaenyra immediately turning her attention to her father. She sat in the seat the other man had just been in and brought it closer to the king.

"Father." She began, turning her head and looking around for any guards in the room. She let out a breath when she noticed it was empty and it was just them. "I told Y/n about the whole otto situation, I'm afraid that.... she might do something. Shes very protective." The king nodded at her words and sighed, pulling the girls hand into his.

"I'm sure it will all work out my dragon, Otto has been rather quiet. Though that may not be for the best but at least he is out of our way for now." Rhaenyra frowned and sighed, cupping her father's hands. "She said that she would give him a battle if he really desired one." Viserys couldn't help but chuckle, shaking his head with a growing smirk.

"Well, I'm glad to see that my daughter is in good hands." Rhaenyra groaned and pulled her hands away, crossing them over her chest. Her face grew red, and she looked at him with a playful glare. "I'm serious father! We need to make sure Otto doesn't try anything, she'd burn Oldtown into ruins." She whispered the last part, watching as her father softly nodded, finally agreeing for once. "I'll look into it." Rhaenyra stood up and gave her father another kiss on the cheek.

"Thank you, father." She smiled and made her way out of the room, pushing open the already unclasped door and making her way down the hall again. She hummed to herself and smiled at the guards walking back to the council room.

Her mother was going to be so happy to hear of your return. She knew she would probably want to throw a dinner or at least a ball for your brave actions in the North.

Just as she was about to descend down the stairs, a light went off in her head and she stopped in her tracks. She turned around slowly and looked back at the door down the hallway, the guards that had just walked by her were standing outside the door once again.

Why were the guards not standing guard just moments before?

The princess backed up the stairs and cautiously went up to the knights, suspicion written all over her features. She recognized them but had forgotten their names. She knew that they were fairly new and young, they had only been part of the city watch for a few moons now.

"Why have you left your position outside of the council's doors?" She questioned, folding her hands in front of her and looking at the two men skeptically. They both gulped and looked towards each other, fairly intimidated by the princess's presence. "U-uh some knight had told us the Lord Commander wanted to speak with us princess." The taller one explained, looking anywhere but her watchful eyes. The other man nodded along and politely bowed towards the girl. She looked between them and crossed her arms.

"And what did the Lord Commander have to say? I'm sure there is a good explanation as to why you left the king unguarded." The princess spoke, turning her chin up high and watching as they both tilted their heads down.

"Nothing, princess. He told us that it must have been a misunderstanding." She nodded at the knight's words, reminding them to only leave if it's truly necessary. She thanked them for their cooperation before heading back to the direction of her room.

Rhaenyra walked back with furrowed eyebrows and complete confusion. She came down the hall of her quarters and noticed the lack of her guards attendance, pushing open her room doors herself.

Gods, why has everyone gone missing?

Sounds of metal echoed throughout the walls of the Winterfell castle. You grinded the sharpening stone against your axe, the edge of the two blades growing more pointed with each stroke.

It was the day after the whole.... situation. You woke up feeling less emotional than the night before, but you were still rather shaken up. It felt like a small blur in your life, your brain was having a hard time processing it.

Hearing that you were not what you thought you were was a dagger to the heart. You avoided the family breakfast, simply indulging yourself in other activities with a plate of food by your side.

You found out that Cregan had no idea, which you were thankful for as you didn't want to feel anymore betrayal. All that was left was your father, the man who created this disaster.

You've been in the shed were all your personal weapons were stored for a few hours now, finding any weapon that needed to be sharpened. Nora was at your side, she seemed to be sulking, but you knew she could feel your emotions. You had sent all the knights guarding you away and bunkered yourself in here, only being approached by Arryelyn but you politely wished for your privacy.

You heard a knock on the door, and you sighed, looking up but choosing to ignore it. Grabbing a rag, you dusted off any of the excess metal that had been scraped off.

The heavy wooden door slowly opened, your head staying down while you continued to focus on the axe. You heard the heavy footsteps of boots come closer and you instantly knew who it was. Your father watched as you clenched your jaw, your movements halting for only a second before you carried on.

"May I sit?" Rickon's voice came out much softer than usual, his more gruffy tone completely gone. You closed your eyes, feeling tears instantly begin to well up. Mentally cursing yourself for getting worked up again, you couldn't help but give him a short nod.

The man took a seat beside you, the bench softly creaking at his actions. Your hands started to softly shake as you placed your axe to the space next to you, taking a deep breath before looking over to the man. The look on his face was enough to twist your stomach and you felt a wave of subtle nausea fall over you.

Guilt.

Regret.

"I know that you know Y/n." You scoffed at his words but let him continue, his head falling down at your reaction. "It's the truth...a difficult truth, one I never would have wished upon you. I know there is nothing I can do to change the past, but I need to explain myself." You looked at him with a blank stare, holding back from allowing your lip to quiver from the emotions swirling in your head. You nodded and let him continue.

"It was during a battle long ago. I had just lost one of my greatest friends, and I guess I sought out the comfort of someone outside my marriage. It was a moment of weakness. I was lost and desperate and I betrayed my family and stained the Stark name." His voice faltered at the end and this time your tears were flowing, but you kept a straight face and continued to look into his eyes.

"Is that all you have to say....father." He flinched at the venom in your tone, your fingers gripping at the edge of the bench and your knuckles turned white.

"Y-you'll always be my daughter. I know it is hard to take in, but I do not see you as anything but. I understand the hurt you must feel-"

"You don't! You don't get to tell me you understand." You snapped, your voice sharp as you shook your head in disbelief. "You can sit here and tell me I'm still a Stark, but nothing will ever change the fact that you had betrayed my mother and lied to me for years!" You watched as he stayed silent, tears filling in his eyes but no words leaving his mouth. "I've lived my whole life thinking that I was truly apart of this family, that the gentle and kind woman who raised me was my mother by blood. And suddenly you decide to tell me that I am not who I thought I was, but no, I'm still a Stark because you say so!" All the acceptance you had about the situation flew out the door as you took in his lack of response.

You stood up abruptly and looked down at him, your lip trembling as you silently begged him to say something, anything.

"You don't get to smooth over your mistakes father, everything I knew has been completely destroyed. So, you can sit here and say nothing, but I will not allow myself to live in confusion any longer." With a scoff you walked to the door, your hand gripping the handle tightly. Pulling the door open, the cold draft flew into the once warm room, both of you feeling a chill course through your body.

"Who was she?" You muttered, looking over your shoulder for one last time but not meeting his eyes. The man gulped and looked up at you, his face glistening from his tears.

"A Targaryen woman, she....she died after having you." You let out a shaky breath, closing your eyes as a new emotion flooded through your body. You inhaled through your nose and walked out, slamming the door behind you and leaving your guilty father to sit alone.

In your mind you felt a whirlwind of emotions, imagining how your birth mother had suffered alone to bring you into this world. You tried to shake of the feeling, but it was now imprinted in your mind. The snow underneath you crunched as you made your way to the kitchen, figuring you'd rather take your mind off this interaction and cook with the handmaidens.

To say you were disappointed is an understatement, your father was never good with words. Though this was the only time that had really mattered to you, and he failed to follow through.

"So, when are you guys going to see each other next?" Aemma questioned, her focus currently being on her latest embroidery project.

"I'm not sure yet mother. Hopefully soon! I know she's getting adjusted to being back at Winterfell. I can't imagine the things she had seen while fighting the freefolk." The princess spoke from the couch, she was currently getting her hair braided by her handmaiden Ayleen.

Her mother hummed at her words, smiling at the warm tone in her daughter's voice.

"We would love to have her here for a dinner, why don't you write the Starks and invite them down here." Rhaenyra grinned and nodded, looking over to her mother. "It also seemed like a wedding is not too far away with the words she wrote in her letter." The queen added, once again bringing up the event. Her daughter giggled and fiddled with her hands, the woman behind her letting out a hum in agreement.

"Sometimes I feel like you want this union more than me mother." Rhaenyra responded and her mother smiled warmly. "Is it wrong of me to wish for my daughter to be happy?" Her daughter shook her head and took a sip from the wine on the table. "I'm not going to be around forever my dragon, I wish to see you wed and happy before I pass on."

Rhaenyra groaned, a part of her knowing that her mother was right. She was nearly twenty now, her mother had already had her at her age. Not that she desired to be with children currently, but it would be nice to wipe the worries from her parent's minds about her future.

"We will." She stated, picking at her nails as her mother just hummed, threading the red yarn through the cloth.

The three ladies sat in comfortable silence, the sun slowly beginning to set behind them. It had been a day since Rhaenyra had found out about your return, meaning you have been home for two days now. Her conversation with her father yesterday was still playing in her mind, more convinced that Otto would come out of the shadows and start back up with his scheming.

Now that she knew of your presence back in the North, it was taking everything to not saddle up on Syrax and meet with you. She wanted to see your face, feel your touch, and finally feel your heart beat along with hers.

The Redkeep was fairly silent at night, sounds of fire crackling and the bugs from outside chirping relentlessly. The hallways were empty, no longer filled with servants and nobles strolling through them.

Alicent Hightower woke up that evening during the middle of the night, her room dark and filled with emptiness. She laid awake for quite some time, her body not being able to return itself back to sleep. The girl tried to close her eyes, snuggling further into her bed in hopes the drowsiness will return.

After a few long minutes, she threw off her covers with a huff and tossed on her robe, quietly walking out of her quarters with a book in hand. This happened often, she had trouble sleeping most nights. It was something she had ever since she was a little girl, and she never got used to it. She would often go to the Godswood. There she would read until her body finally decided it had enough.

The Hightower girl trailed down the hallway, making sure to keep her footsteps light as she didn't want to wake anyone up. The next turn was her father's quarters, which she dreaded to pass by every time.

As she walked by, she couldn't help but notice that the door was slightly ajar, deep voices slipping out of the room. Alicent was never one to pry, seeing that she was taught that it was un-lady like to do so. Ever since her father had destroyed their relationship, she no longer cared to live up to his standards.

The brown-haired girl carefully padded along the floor and made her way up to the doorway, slowly pushing herself up against the wall to listen in. Her heart dropped when she recognized one of the voices besides her fathers.

Criston Cole.

She felt her eyes widen and she completely turned her attention to the conversation.

"The raven was sent earlier my lord. Your men should be carrying out the attack during the hour of the wolf." Criston spoke, the metal of his armor clanking as he placed his hands on top of his sword.

"That is pleasing to hear. Hopefully this will get the point across." Otto responded and Alicent felt her body grow cold.

What attack?

"If I may my lord? What is it that you are trying to do? Provoking the Starks can be quite.... dangerous." The knight spoke and Otto nodded at his words, moving around the room to pour more wine into his glass.

"If Y/n Stark wants a battle, who am I to not grant that wish. This is merely a threat, I will leave in the morrow and sail back home." The girl watched in horror as her father began to talk like a mad man. "The Starks will be caught off guard, their daughter has just returned home and most of their men are still out in the North. If things were to go wrong, they cannot simply defend themselves during the surprise."

The girls heart pounded in her chest, and she clutched the book in her hands close to her. The words echoed in her mind, and she knew what she had to do.

With her head racing with thoughts, she knew she must prepare to silently move away from the door and get to the king. It would be too late to send a raven, but she must warn him of what's to come.

She needed to tell Rhaenyra.

As Alicent turned to leave the area, she felt her body grow numb when her foot got caught in her nightgown and she slightly tripped. The sound of her foot scraping the ground was enough to draw both of the men's attention to outside the door.

Her heart leaped in her throat, and she quickly spun around, meeting the eyes of her father in the doorway. Criston Cole was seen behind him with a terrified look in his eyes, he had been caught.

"F-father." She began, her voice trembling with fear as her hands gripped the book tightly. Otto looked at her with narrowed eyes and looked around, quickly grabbing her arm and tossing her into the room.

"Why aren't you in your room?" He seethed, shutting the door behind him and walking up to his daughter who was getting up from the ground. Alicent's lip quivered as she has never feared for her life more than right now. "I couldn't sleep father." She answered, shaking in terror as she quickly looked over to the knight.

"She cannot be allowed to interfere." The knight spoke in a low tone. "She could jeopardize everything my lord."

Alicent quickly shook her head and backed herself away, her legs hitting the table behind her. Otto looked between the two and slowly nodded, looking at his daughter with a dark expression.

"Lock her in her room." The girl's eyes widened, and she quickly ran to the other side of the room.

"You're making a mistake father! You're starting an unnecessary war, this will destroy your life!" She protested, shoving away the knight that approached her. Before she had the chance of running, Criston grabbed her arm with a firm grip, her face twisting up in pain.

"Let go of me!" She cried while trying to pull her arm away. The knight grunted at her attempts but finally managed to wrap his arms around the girl. His overpowering strength made it impossible for the girl to wriggle out of his grip. With his hand over her mouth, she carried out the only idea she could think of.

In a split second the girl bit into his hand with all her might, her eyes closing as she felt the metallic taste invade her mouth. The knight hissed, pulling his hand away and without thinking throwing the girl into the table next to them.

Alicent felt her head pound as she made contact with the wooden furniture. Her forehead had bounced off of it and she fell to the ground.

She tried to keep her eyes open, the overbearing pressure in her head becoming too much and she gave in. Her world had gone black.

Quick note: Hope you guys like this, I swear you will be reuniting with Rhaenyra soon! Double drop tmr so be ready🙏😇

[honorarysimp]

Chapter 4: Strangers in the Night

series masterlist

The Northern Edge: 1 Mile into Canadian Waters

The salty breeze of the sea blew over the deck of the sea-worn vessel, carrying with it the smell of salt water, fish, and hard labor.

The crew of the sea-vessel scurry about the deck, hauling ropes and supplies, calling to eachother as the ship rocks on the choppy waters of the open sea.

The waves splashed against the sides of the boat, spraying the salty water on the crew, causing a few of them to swear and grumble as they were spattered.

The crew haul up another load of scallops, the net on the end of the rope heaving as it was pulled up. Once the scallop-filled net was on the deck, Nunes rushes over to pull the release lever, dropping its load of scallops across the deck.

Shells covered the wooden deck in a sea of white foam, Skeemo cursing as he accidentally stumbles and kicks shells across the deck with his boots.

“I don’t know guys, I think she really likes me” Charlie continues to argue his case, tugging his gloves more securely on to his hands as the other two men begin shoveling the scallops into buckets.

“You’re delusional, my friend, black label doesn’t like anyone in the way you’re dreaming up” Skeemo says as he shoots Charlie a smirk, which he only rolls his eyes to in response as he joins them on scooping up the scallops off the deck floor.

“You’re better off focusing on choosing between law school and being a deckhand, Charlie” Costa can be heard chiming in as he crosses the deck to head into the Captain’s quarters, most likely to rejoin Tom in discussing their next spot to hit.

“What? You don’t think I have a chance?”

“You have to be lucky to have a chance with Mabel, that’s all I’m gonna say” Nunes adds in which only makes Skeemo bellow with laughter, sharing a fist bump like they have an inside joke Charlie is clearly missing.

He straightens up, a confused boyish smile on his face, “I don’t know I think I’m lucky, I mean she drove like a goddamn NASCAR driver to get me to the dock in time”.

“Finest kind” Nunes shouts in agreement, thumping his fist to his chest and pointing it over at Charlie, making his smile widen.

Skeemo shrugs, “look all we’re saying is you’re gonna get in a lot of trouble with that, Mabel is as good as they come but…”

Nunes gives him a look, subtly shaking his head. Charlie catches this and almost asks what it is they know and he doesn’t.

But then Tom is yelling from the Captain’s quarters, telling them to get a move on, how they don’t have all day.

The crew rushes to finish clearing the deck of scallop shells as quickly as possible, kicking the shells to the side of the ship and tossing the rotten ones overboard. They work with practiced efficiency, moving quickly to clear the deck and readying the net for another drop.

As they go about working, Charlie finds himself thinking over the conversation with the guys, and how their choice of words as well as their aloofness to the situation made him feel some type of way.

Charlie didn’t know it then, but lucky won’t be a stroke of fate in his favor, it would be a person.

____________________________________________

Despite knowing you should just leave it be, you find yourself on your way to Mabel’s place, a need to apologize burning deep in your chest.

You’d tossed and turned all night, your mind replaying your last conversation with Mabel over and over again. The words left unsaid, the tension between you, all of it swims through your head and keeping you restlessly wired.

That, and you couldn’t get comfortable, it’s like trying to lay with pins and needles. Everything fucking hurts.

The words and the tension between you two keep replaying in your head like a broken record, keeping you from finding any sort of peace.

It's early morning now and you find yourself on your way to her place, driven by a need to apologize, to bridge the gap that has grown between you. Lack of sleep isn't the only thing you blame for this unexpected visit - there's a heavy guilt gnawing at you.

You have no problem admitting on your own when you’re in the wrong, however, you do tend to do the exact opposite whenever you’re being called out.

You pull up outside her place, your heart pounding in your chest. A whirlwind of emotions threatens to drown you - guilt, regret, worry. You know deep down that you shouldn't be here this early, that she will definitely be angry with you for showing up unannounced at the crack of dawn. But the pull to see her, to apologize, to fix things, is stronger than your logical thinking.

Just as you cut the engine, your heart sinks as you hear the front door slams against the wall, the sound jolting you from your thoughts and pulling your gaze.

And then your stomach drops as you realize it’s Charlie, his expression twisted and his eyes rimmed, as if he hasn’t slept at all. His gaze then finds your car, and in that moment all thoughts of apologizing to Mabel vanish, replaced by a deep sense of dread.

“Shit” you mutter, tugging at the doorhandle and being quick about slipping out of the vehicle. You’d rather him take it out on you than your car.

You walk around the hood of your car, raising your hands in an attempt to calm him. "Charlie," you call out, your heart pounding in your chest “come on man take it easy we can talk about whatever this is-“

“YOU MOTHERFUCKER! This is YOUR fault!” he roars, now barreling towards you with vendetta.

A second later, you spot Mabel bursting out of her apartment, her face filled with confusion and worry at the sound of shouting. She stops at the sight of the two of you, her eyes darting between you and Charlie.

Just as Charlie swings at you, Mabel yells "Charlie, stop!", her voice echoes through the early morning air, laced with concern and a hint of anger.

Even busted up, you manage to sidestep his punch effortlessly, years of experience kicking in. You grab his arm and twist it behind his back, pinning him face down against the hood of your car with a firm grip.

You lean in close to him, your voice firm but calm as you say, "Charlie, I need you to chill the fuck out. I'm not trying to hurt you, but don’t think I won’t." You keep him in place, your grip unyielding despite his attempts to break free.

“LET ME GO, YOU PSYCHO!” You can feel the tension coursing through his body, the coiled energy of a fight or flight response, but you remain calm, your attention focused on keeping him still.

Mabel steps in, her voice raised in anger as she roughly pulls you away from Charlie. "What the hell is wrong with you two?" she scolds, pushing you back, eyes narrowing with a mix of anger and disappointment. "You're attracting attention and acting like idiots!"

As you're pulled away from Charlie, he instantly stands upright, rubbing at his twisted arm with a sullen expression. He pins you with a glare over Mabel’s shoulder, and it makes something that taunts the line between possessive and protective stir within you.

You start to open your mouth to protest that he started it but Mabel cuts you off before you can say anything. “I don’t care what bullshit you have to say!” she says, her voice raised and authoritative. “I don’t care who threw the first punch. You’re both acting like fucking idiots right now! Why are you even here, in the first place?”

You open your mouth to answer, but the words catch in your throat. You weren't expecting this confrontation, and the intensity of her questions has you uncharacteristically taken aback. "I..." you start, searching for the right words as you wet your lips.

"I came here to talk to you."

Charlie can't help but scoff in disbelief, throwing his arms up in the air and shaking his head at you. "This is exactly what I was talking about, Mabel!" he exclaims, his voice sharp and angry. "Lucky just shows up at your place, like it's not a big deal! This asshole is playing you, and you just eat it up!"

You feel a pang of confusion and a small sting of hurt at Charlie's words. You had come here with the best intentions, but his anger and suspicion make you feel like maybe you've made a mistake.

Mabel on the other hand, whirls on Charlie and snaps at him, her voice filled with anger. "I meant it when I said this conversation is over! So fucking drop it" she says firmly.

Charlie starts to protest again, his voice loud and agitated. "You're my girlfriend! How you’re going about this is deflective and complete bullshit-" he insists, his face reddening with anger.

But Mabel cuts him off with a mirthless laugh, her eyes narrowing as she retorts, "Since when? You haven't exactly been acting like it lately, have you?"

Mabel steps closer to him, her voice rising as her pent-up emotions finally boil over. "You haven't been supportive of me wanting to go to community college, or did you forget about that in the midst of your self righteous quest to be the hero?!" she lists out, her voice growing more heated as she continues.

"This actually your fault, you know that right? I did YOU a favor, put myself in a compromising position. Now I’m fucked, I was gonna go to community college. Jesus, Charlie, you’re barely present in the conversations when I’m trying to talk to you about it!”

Charlie throws his hands up in frustration, his own emotions finally bubbling over. "I don't know what you want!" he explodes, his voice rising.

“What do you expect me to say, huh? Look where you come from and look where I come from, I don’t know what you want me to say to you! I have no place to do that!”

Mabel looks at him in disbelief, a humorless laugh escaping her lips. "The point isn't about giving me exactly what I want," she says firmly, stepping back and pinning Charlie with a steely gaze.

"The point is about you showing that you care, that you care about my dreams and ambitions. And clearly" she continues, her words stinging, "you don't."

You glance anxiously back and forth between Mabel and Charlie, feeling increasingly out of place as their argument continues. It's clear that their conversation is spiraling, with Charlie saying all the wrong things and Mabel's frustration and anger growing by the minute.

In your defense, you hadn't intended to witness this blowup. Charlie had brought their argument outside and kept on pushing all the wrong buttons.

You know Mabel can handle her own, but if he doesn’t check it, you’ll easily knock his teeth down his throat.

“I do care-“Charlie begins to protest, but Mabel cuts him off before he can say more, her voice laced with bitter sarcasm.

"Oh, you care? Really?" she retorts. "How exactly have you shown me that you care? Because from where I'm standing, you’ve been no where when I’ve needed you the last few days".

You step up, interjecting into their argument with a tentative murmur of her name, trying to defend Charlie. "Mabel," you murmur, feeling a pang of empathy for Charlie, despite your… reservations about him "don’t-"

Mabel pivots her attention to you, her anger now directed your way. She punctuates her words with a warning jab of her finger in your direction, her voice sharp and biting. "Stay the fuck out of this," she snaps, her eyes flashing with a mix of anger and frustration. "This has nothing to do with you-"

Charlie cuts in abruptly, his attention shifting to you as he points at you, his tone accusatory. "It has everything to do with Lucky! What's with you always being there whenever something bad happens to her, huh?!” he accuses, his voice laced with suspicion. "You always happen to show up and play the hero, don't you? You’re fake as shit, I mean Lucky isn’t even your real name, does anyone know it?!-“

Wow, okay, so much for trying to defend him. This is why you’re never the bigger person.

Mabel pushes against Charlie's chest, her frustration and anger causing her to lose control. Her voice is a mixture of anger and desperation as she snaps at him, her words laced with a mix of hurt and anger.

"Lucky is the only person I've ever been able to count on! My whole life!" she exclaims, her voice rising on each word. "You're always late, or you blow me off, or you make me feel like my dreams don't even matter. But-" she gestures towards you, something a bit softer involuntarily slipping into her gaze.

"-Y/N has always been here for me, before you, and now clearly after you”.

It’s been so long since anyone hasn’t referred to you by your legal name, rather than the nickname you chose to start going by back in your adolescence. And the fact that it’s coming from her mouth makes it all the more meaningful.

The revelation lingers in the air for a charged few seconds, and as Charlie glances between the two of you with an unreadable expression. It’s almost like he knows he’ll never be able to compare to the history you two share.

Still, Charlie retorts, his voice strained with stress and responsibility as he defends his actions. "I have my brother to think about," he says, his expression earnest. "I'm doing everything I can to keep us both safe. You have no idea what I'm dealing with”.

The silence that follows his words is heavy and deafening, hanging in the air like a thick veil.

You and Mabel exchange a knowing look, both of you thinking the same thing. His excuse, no matter how genuine his feelings for his brother are, comes off as selfish and self-centered. It's as if he's using his brother as a shield to deflect criticism and avoid taking responsibility.

And considering the situation, where you stand, the danger you’ve put yourself in for her safety, this seems to be chipping the headstone of whatever is going on between Charlie and Mabel. Because as her face shifts to something venomous, a look you’ve had directed at you once before, you know he’s fucked.

Mabel's tone is cold and unforgiving as she utters her biting words, her voice laced with a biting sarcasm. "Unbelievable," she says, her eyes hardening as she looks at Charlie. "I should've known an entitled, rich jackass like you would be this selfish. Honestly, I called it. What a waste of my time."

The moment hangs heavy in the air, thick with tension and raw emotions. The slowly rising sun, its soft light bathing the scene in an early-morning glow, seems to do little to soften the heated confrontation. Mabel and Charlie stand facing each other, engaged in a tense standoff, each unwilling to back down or concede.

So, you take it upon yourself to try and help.

In an attempt to diffuse the tension, your arms raised in a mockingly serious gesture as you glance up at the sky.

"Excuse me, oh wise clouds above," you declaim, "is the elephant in the room with us tonight?" Your words hang in the air, the sarcastic question adding a touch of levity to the otherwise heavy atmosphere.

Mabel shoots you a sharp glare, clearly not amused by your attempt at injecting some humor into the situation. "I want you both to leave, I can’t think with all the bitching" she instructs firmly, her voice leaving no room for argument. Without another word, she turns and heads towards the stairs leading up to her place, her footsteps heavy with the weight of her anger and frustration.

The tension between you and Charlie is palpable, neither of you willing to meet each other's gaze. The silence is thick with unspoken words and lingering resentment. After a few moments, Charlie breaks the stillness, his movements stiff and tense as he turns and walks away without a glance back.

The sound of a truck starting up fills the clearing, tires pushing along pavement fades into the distance, leaving you standing alone in the heavy atmosphere.

You turn towards your car, preparing to follow Mabel's demands and leave. But then you pause, your hand on the door handle, torn. There's something nagging at you, an itch you can't quite scratch.

Your mind begins to race, thoughts flickering through your mind like a slideshow of memories. You think back on all the other times Mabel has told you to leave, the heated arguments, the strained moments, the harsh words exchanged. The weight of each memory hits you like a punch to the gut.

The thought of Mabel being alone, feeling isolated and abandoned, cuts through your thoughts. You know her better than that. You can picture her up in her apartment now, still angry and upset, struggling to cope with the fallout of her fight with Charlie.

This realization hits you like a wave, and with it comes a sudden realization that you shouldn’t have listened to her when she told you to leave.

Not now, not a year ago, never again.

Against your better judgement, you let go of the door handle, steeling yourself for what lies ahead. You take a deep breath and turn away from your car, facing the stairs leading up to Mabel's apartment.

It's a risky move, going against her wishes and potentially angering her even further. But the thought of leaving her alone, hurting and vulnerable, doesn't sit right with you.

This time, you'll stay, despite the potential consequences.

Personal growth? Perhaps. Or maybe you’re just done using her chasing you off as an excuse for not fighting hard enough for her.

You don't even knock. It's an unspoken agreement between you, your oldest routine. She never knocks either, because a door means nothing when a person is your home.

So, you open the door without making a sound, gently pushing it open and stepping into Mabel's apartment.

You step around the changing divider, your footsteps almost inaudible on the rug. Mabel glances in your direction, noticing movement from the corner of her eye. She pivots quickly, turning her head to look at you with a mix of surprise, anger, and resignation.

The atmosphere is heavy with unspoken emotions, a thick tension hanging in the air. Frustration, hurt, anger - they all churn within you, blending together in a bittersweet cocktail of feelings. Both of you are aware of the lack of communication that has led to this point. So many moments left unexplained, all the opportunities wasted.

It's a familiar dance. One you've both participated in before, each one taking turns in the lead. The silence between you is deafening.

Mabel surges forward, her anger and frustration bubbling over. She tries to push at you, her movements weakened by the maelstrom of emotions raging inside of her.

The words she means to muster up, words meant to tell you to leave, lodge in her throat, unable to escape. Instead, they come out as a strangled sob.

You catch her wrists as she lashes out at you, holding them firmly but gently. Wordlessly and without a second thought, you pull her into a tight embrace, feeling her body relax and sink into your arms.

For the first time in over a year, Mabel crumbles, her emotional walls finally crumbling as the weight of the past week crashes down on her. Her body trembles as she muffles her sobs into your chest, letting go and surrendering to the overwhelming emotions.

The feeling of holding her is both familiar and new at the same time. Your heart aches for her, each muffled shudder feeling like a stab to your chest.

But you swallow your own emotions, smothering them in order to be there for her in this moment. Your grip is firm, reassuring, even though your own eyes sting with unshed tears.

Mabel suddenly pulls away, sniffling and wiping at her eyes, trying to compose herself. Her voice is soft, a mix of irritation and vulnerability as she utters the question, "God, why do you always do this?"

The question hangs heavily in the air, loaded with the complexities of your relationship.

You stand there, stunned, your confusion evident on your face. You utter a soft and puzzled, "I don't understand."

The words betray your own emotions - confusion, hurt, guilt - all swirling together in a chaotic storm within you.

Mabel stands with her back to you, her arms crossed tightly over her chest in a defensive, closed-off stance. She gnaws nervously on her thumbnail, a nervous habit that surfaces in moments of stress.

After taking a shaky breath, she answers, her tone defensive. "You always show up, even now a year later, even after what happened" Mabel says tremulously.

"Whenever I'm upset, whenever I'm hurt, you're always there. You always show up when it matters, and you're always so fucking good to me in those moments," she adds, her voice catching. "And it just... it pisses me off, you know? You piss me off."

You listen as Mabel speaks, her back still turned to you. The mix of emotions in her voice is palpable, each word she says is laced with pain and confusion, a complex maelstrom of feelings that reflect the history between you two. You listen in silence, absorbing everything she says, feeling the weight of it in your chest.

She continues, her voice a mix of anger and hurt, "You’ve always had to be the one to save the day. What's your deal, huh? Why can't you just leave me alone? Why do you always have to do this?"

As you step forward, shaking your head, you utter a pleading, "don't do this."

But Mabel's emotions are already boiling over, and your words seem to only stoke the fire, rather than quell it.

She turns to face you, her eyes blazing with an intensity that matches the whirlwind inside of her.

"You know what, let’s fucking do this, it’s long overdue!" she practically snarls back, her voice sharp and defiant.

The flashback hits you forcefully, transporting you back to a time when similar words were exchanged, when the same argument erupted between you.

Your anger flares in your chest, mirroring the intensity of that moment in the past. You straighten up, challenging her with your own declaration, "fine! You wanna do this now? Wanna let it out on me again? Go ahead! It's about time!"

Mabel surges forward, her frustration flaring as she pushes at you with surprising force. You feel this one, body still aching from the other day, but you bite your tongue and swallow it down.

The last thing you need is to let her see you weak, or make her feel worse than she already does.

Her voice is sharp and filled with accusiation as she demands, "why didn't you tell me the truth about Weeks?"

You push her hands away, your own voice taut with frustration. "You already know the answer to that," you retort, your own emotions bubbling to the surface "I already told you why."

Mabel steps forward to push you again, only this time you step back, the motion forgotten as her voice rises, "in the four years we’ve known each other you never once told me, so don’t give me that same bullshit excuse about how you were ashamed." The hurt and betrayal in her tone is palpable, reflecting the weight of the secret you carried.

“I am ashamed, why the fuck do you think I stopped running with him after everything that happened?!” You retort back, running your fingers through your hair.

“You still had every opportunity to tell me, and you didn’t! I had to find out FROM HIM!”

Tears stream down Mabel's cheeks, raw and exposed. The disappointment in her eyes cuts deep as she shakes her head at you.

"I hate you," she whispers, her voice thick with hurt, "because you made me fall for you, knowing what you knew, along with the fact Weeks is the reason my mom got into drug dealing. Which you also conveniently forgot to mention”.

The anger roars to life inside of you as you throw your hands up and ask pointedly, "so is that why you ratted me out to him? To get even? Even after I torched his stash? I only did that because of your vendetta against him!"

Mabel points a threatening finger at you, "I never asked you to do that for me," she snaps, her words heavy with anger and guilt. "Even now after all this time, do you really still think I set you up? That I wanted to watch him beat the shit out of you?!"

“I don’t know what to think, you cut me out and disappeared before I could make you talk to me! I only know what he told me, he’s family Mabel-“

Your protest is cut off abruptly as Mabel's voice cuts through the air, her words filled with pain. "Yeah, well, I'm your family too!" she says, her voice rising in volume. "And the truth is, I didn't have a choice! My hands were tied!"

Your voice rises to a near shout as you insist, "everyone has a choice!”

But before you can continue your protests, Mabel drops a revelation that cuts through your need to be heard.

"He threatened me," she utters in a shaky voice, "if I ever told you the truth."

The anger that flared within you simmers down into a state of confusion. Your chest rises and falls with each heavy breath as a moment of silence descends upon you both, the weight of her confession hanging in the air.

There's a visible shift in Mabel's demeanor as the initial acrimony of the argument begins to subside. The fire in her eyes dulls slightly, replaced by a flicker of regret.

It's as if the impact of her words in the heat of the moment is starting to sink in, and she begins to feel the weight of the things she said.

You take a step forward, your face contorted from the tangle of emotions inside you. Your voice is quieter now, the anger softening into a mixture of hurt and a need to understand. "Mabel," you murmur, voice strained, "what truth?”

Mabel hesitates, her head shaking in a reflexive defensive motion. She tries to turn away, her body angling away from you. But you reach out, catching her arm gently, your touch light but firm, silently insisting for her to face you and tell you the truth.

Your eyes meet, and that's the moment when Mabel's defenses crumble. The weight of the secret she's been carrying for the past year comes crashing down as she finally utters the confession. "I told my mom," she whispers, her voice thick with guilt and pain. "I told her what you did and… she sold you out to Weeks”.

Mabel continues, her voice shaky and her eyes filled with a mix of emotions. She wets her lips, her mouth working nervously as she struggles to get the words out.

"I... wanted to get back at her, have her know the drugs she cares about more than her kids was gone" she confesses, her voice laced with a strange blend of guilt and bitterness.

"For everything she put me through, for the years of pain and neglect. It was a moment of weakness, the words just came out on impulse. I didn’t think it would spiral out of control like it did."

Mabel's eyes harden as they meet yours, a cold expression settling on her face. Her voice takes on a matter-of-fact tone as she continues. "Weeks found me the day before he confronted you," she says, her words cool and detached. "He threatened me, told me if I wanted my ‘bitch of a mother’ to still have his business then I needed to keep my mouth shut, and if I didn’t…”

Your stomach twists as the gravity of her confession sinks in, the hurt and betrayal from that day welling up inside of you once again. But this time, a hint of understanding begins to surface, a piece of the shattered puzzle slotting into place.

Even with the truth now laid bare in front of you, your mind races with question after question.

But the only coherent words that escape your lips are simple: "Why? Why didn't you tell me?" your voice cracks, a mixture of hurt, confusion, and desperation.

Mabel's frustration flares as she pulls away from your grasp, her voice sharpening. "Because you think you're invincible," she retorts, words laced with anger yet again.

"He knows I'm the one thing that makes you weak. That's why I couldn't tell you, because you would have barreled in, with no care for your safety, and gotten yourself killed”.

The words cut deep, like a sharp jab to your chest. Your own emotions rise to the surface, and you snap back, raw with hurt and betrayal.

“So you just clocked out and chose money over us? Over me?!" The disbelief in your voice is mirrored by the hurt in your eyes, the reality of her choice ripping through you once again.

Mabel throws her hands up, “it was never about the money!" she asserts, her voice sharp with emotion.

"I don't want to be the one who’s in love with you when you inevitably get yourself killed!" the words escape her lips in a pain-filled outburst, and the way she freezes right after only tells you it was an admission she didn’t mean to confess.

The tension in the room evaporates suddenly, leaving a heavy silence in its wake. You and Mabel stand there, facing each other, the weight of the truth now laid bare between you.

The air is dense with the enormity of everything that had gone unsaid for so long, all of it sitting wide like a gaping reopen wound.

Mabel's voice is soft and raw as she speaks, her words heavy with pain and weariness. "I can't keep doing this, with you," she says, her voice trembling just slightly. "I can't keep worrying about you, knowing that one wrong move could get you killed. I can't keep reliving the fear every time I think you're in danger."

Your jaw tightens, your gaze fixed on the floor as you mutter softly, the words a quiet confession filled with determination. "I can defy him and screw him over, Mabel, but… I can't abandon him after everything he’s done for me."

You’ve felt this weight for years now, heavy on your shoulders is obligation, loyalty, and a deeply ingrained sense of responsibility.

Your eyes meet Mabel's, and in that moment, you see the pain and hurt etched on her face.

Her voice is a broken whisper as she asks, "But you can abandon me, and that's okay?"

The question hang heavily in the air, a raw and vulnerable plea that cuts deep.

Your head shakes in vehement denial. The words are strained, a mixture of hurt and frustration twists your features as you retort, "I never abandoned you. You were the one who shut me out and told me to go".

Both of you stand there, the realization of your own shortcomings and those of the other dragging heavily on you.

However, with emotions running so high, it's clear that this conversation has reached a temporary stalemate.

Mabel turns away from you, her voice hoarse from all the shouting, uttering "just leave."

Her body language betraying hesitation, there's a hint of something in her voice that suggests she might not entirely mean it. There's a strained, reluctant look in her eyes, a flicker of conflict warring within her.

Which is exactly why she turned away from you, because she knows you’ll see it, you always see right through her eventually.

For the first time, you stand your ground, refusing to be pushed away. The hard part is over, the truth and lies laid out in full view. You're done letting her keep you at arm's length, done with the secrets that have torn you apart.

You’ve both made mistakes, even if they were with the right intentions.

With determination in your eyes, you decide that you won't let it continue, that you won't let the lies keep you apart any longer.

“No, not this time. We've spent too long dancing around each other, hiding behind lies and half-truths”.

Mabel glances back at you, her expression torn between surprise and a hint of stubborn resistance. But it's her eyes that speak volumes – there's a flicker of something there, a mixture of exasperation and something deeper, something more like hope.

She doesn't respond right away, the internal struggle playing out on her face.

Eventually, Mabel mutters something under her breath, finality in her voice.

"I guess you'll just have to stay then”.

previous, next

[ravencharms]

Can't wait for more!😭🙏🏻

[chicken1sworld]

In another world

Masterlist!

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

[ravencharms]

AMAZING!👏🏻

[honorarysimp]

Chapter 3: Focus

series masterlist

You probably shouldn’t be drinking with fucked up lungs, but the cold beer soothes your throat.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

Rasputin’s is a typical neighborhood spot: dark and dimly lit, populated mainly by a few local regulars. A pool table and a couple of dart boards occupy the back of the room, and a long bar with stools stretches along one side smack in the middle of the building.

The place is relatively quiet, Rocky wiping down the sleek wood with a dirty rag from behind the bartop.

You sit down your empty beer bottle, a frown growing on your face. Your lungs still sting from the smoke from two nights before, the sensation dulled only slightly by the alcohol. You take a deep breath, feeling the roughness in your chest start to make itself known again.

“Alcohol isn’t the answer” a familiar voice says from behind you, but the owner of it takes the seat at the bar next to you nonetheless. Rocky sets two new beers on the bartop in front of you both, you ignore the subtle surprise in his brow at the sight of you two sat at the bar together.

An old routine, an echo of the past, forgotten but familiar.

“No you see, that’s where you’re wrong” you start, grabbing the neck of the beer bottle and settling the cap just along the counter edge.

“Alcohol is the question, and the answer is yes” you say cheekily as you snap your hand down against the top of the bottle, the cap popping off and clattering to the ground.

“Rocky could’ve done that, you know” Mabel says flatly, even as she nudges her bottle towards you. You slide yours over to her in trade, repeating the action to the second bottle before shooting her a smug look.

“You’re just mad you could never get it down”.

“Our two days are up”, Mabel says, picking up the cold beer and taking a long, satisfying, gulp.

You hum, sipping your own beer as you keep your eyes forward, admiring the wall of liquor bottles behind the counter.

Mabel glances over at you as you hum in response, your relaxed demeanor sending a tiny thrill of irritation up her spine. She narrows her eyes at your profile, the small cut on your cheek catching her eye and making her heart clench involuntarily.

“You’ve got a cut on your cheek,” she deadpans, sipping her beer again.

“Accidentally ran into Paulie, Weeks is looking for me, go figure” you say without any concern, shrugging as you sip your beer again.

Mabel’s eyes flicker to your face at the mention of Paulie. She frowns, feeling a pang of nervousness shoot through her stomach.

“Weeks is hunting you, and he sent Paulie?” she asks, taking another swig from the bottle.

You laugh in amusement, setting your beer down as you finally turn your gaze to her “that slippery motherfucker ain’t good for anything other than being told what to do, don’t mean he’s good act executing it”.

Mabel can’t help the small chuckle she releases at your comment, taking a moment to marvel at how nonchalant you’re acting. But then again, that’s nothing new.

You both know the inevitable beat down you’ll get for what you did, but you’ll never go without giving them the slip a good few times. Which only ever seems to infuriate Weeks further, Mabel wonders when the day will come that he fully loses his patience with you.

That is a day Mabel prays she isn’t around to see.

She sips her beer once more, the alcohol causing a pleasant, warm feeling to settle in her chest and her limbs. She scoots back a little on the stool, resting her arms on the bartop.

“You’re not just the slightest bit worried?” she asks, analyzing you with a subtle flicker of her eyes.

“I’ll deal with Weeks once he’s had some time to cool down,” you say as you pick up your beer to drink from it, only pausing with the lip of it an inch from your mouth, “Charlie know you’re here?”

Mabel stiffens and almost chokes on her beer at the sudden question. Of course you would ask that, and of course she has been expecting it. She takes a moment to collect herself, trying to appear as natural as possible.

“Why does it matter?” She asks with a slight edge to her voice.

You lower the beer, a small laugh coming from you as you look at her almost knowingly. This is proven correct with your next statement, “he doesn’t know about us, you didn’t tell him we’ve got history”.

Mabel bristles, she hates, absolutely hates the way you look at her sometimes, like you can see straight through her bullshit and her walls and into her mind.

“History is all it is, and you seriously need to let that go” she scoffs, taking another large gulp of beer.

You hum, placing the beer back down before turning towards her slightly, amusement mixed with curiosity in your eyes.

“Why’d you come find me, sunshine”.

Mabel glances up at you, taken slightly off guard by the question. For a moment, she is distracted by her gaze settling on the small cut across your cheek. But then she catches herself and pushes that thought to the back of her mind.

“I just wanted to… make sure you were still alive after that reckless bullshit you pulled” she says after a moment. It’s a lie and she knows it, but like hell she’d ever admit it.

You look at her for a long moment, eyes flickering between hers, “why’d you let Charlie talk you into this? You were suppose to stay out of this shit, start community college”.

Mabel bristles again, her cheeks heating up under your gaze. She looks away, avoiding that intense eye contact as she takes another gulp of beer. Her jaw clenches and the warm feeling in her chest suddenly feels like a hot iron, the alcohol feeling like it’s slowly burning through her veins.

“Tom’s dad Ray has stomach cancer. The boat’s income pays for his treatment, so we have to get that boat back” she mutters, giving a half-hearted shrug as she keeps her gaze on the wall of liquor bottles.

You soften as you watch her, this new little sliver of information rolling around in your head as you process it. Mabel has always had the biggest heart, so easy to coax into doing the wrong thing for the right reasons. It’s one of the many qualities she has that made you fall for her what feels like just yesterday.

Two abnormal, wild teenagers, pushing each other through life with empty threats and endless late night therapy talks in the back seat of your car. A safe haven.

Mabel can feel your gaze on her, the heat of your eyes burning a hole through the side of her face. She tries to keep an unaffected, unbothered composure, but she’s itching to get out of this stupid bar. She feels claustrophobic being this close to you, and she can’t understand why the hell it’s pissing her off so much.

Or maybe she does, but she refuses to acknowledge it. And god, does that take her back.

She takes another large gulp of beer, almost finishing the entire thing, “I came to see if you were alive, clearly you are, so I’m going to go”.

Mabel quickly slides over the stool, placing a couple of bills on the counter as she grabs her car keys from her jacket pocket. She pushes through the door before you even have a chance to react, the cold night air stinging her still recovering lungs, but the ache helps to clear her mind.

It’s instinct, when she glances over her shoulder to see if you’d follow her out, but you don’t. Mabel knows you would, and she also knows why you won’t, it’s one of the many tallies to her board of regrets she has.

Mabel grips her keys tightly, her knuckles going white as thoughts of comparison between you and Charlie dance around inside her head. She can’t figure out why she thought it was a good idea to seek you for help in the first place.

Sure, she trusts you more than she trusts anyone else. You’ve had her back every time she’s ever needed it, even now when you shouldn’t give it to her. You’re reliable.

But you’re reckless and impulsive, you never listen, a core root to the downfall between you two. Charlie is safe and secure. He’s practically become her best friend, and he’s got something good going for himself. That she knows for certain.

All you two have is history, good and bad.

So why the hell did she feel this way? She can’t figure it out. But deep down, a tiny part of her knows exactly why.

Mabel jumps slightly as her phone in her jacket pocket starts to ring. She pulls the cold device from her pocket, Charlie’s name on the screen, and then answers it.

Only, she doesn’t even get to mutter out a ‘hello’ before a van cuts her off, the familiar faces of Paulie and Marky climbing out of the vehicle.

Mabel is taken completely off guard, her heart rate instantly doubling. Her phone falls from her grasp and clatters to the ground as Paulie and Marky grab her. Mabel lets out an alarmed shout as she struggles in their grasp, desperately trying to tug herself free.

“What the HELL?! LET ME GO!”

The world spins momentarily as she’s forced towards the van, head still dizzy from the previous night's events. Before she can even speak or protest, she’s shoved into the back of the idling vehicle, the door slammed behind her, effectively trapping her inside.

Mabel lands with a loud thump as she’s shoved into the back of the van. Her heart is practically drumming out of her chest due to a mixture of fear and adrenaline. Her eyes dart around the empty vehicle, trying to think of an escape plan.

Marky and Paulie join her in the back, and it’s making the fear twist up even tighter in her stomach. She swallows hard and slowly sits up, looking back at the now closed door with a mixture of trepidation and dread.

“We just wanna chat” Paulie says, always the shit talker. Marky sits by the door, large arms crossed over his chest with that signature brooding expression on his face.

Mabel’s eyes narrow at Paulie, her body bristling at the sound of his nasally voice. Her eyes flicker over to Marky, his intimidating presence almost overshadowing Paulie. She’s scared, terrified really. But she’s also pissed off and determined not to let them see her fear.

“Really. And kidnapping was the best fucking way to do it?” she says through gritted teeth.

“Tell us where Lucky is” Marky barks, his voice carrying authority, and the use of your nickname coming from his mouth specifically strikes fear through Mabel. It almost causes her to choke on the air in her lungs, her throat constricting and heart racing. But she can’t let that show. She cannot let them see her fear.

“How the hell should I know? We broke up a year ago, you know goddamn well it’s not my job to keep tabs on that pyro anymore”.

“Don’t bullshit us, we got people watching. Rumor has it Lucky was the one who burned the warehouse down” Paulie says just as Marky thumps his large fist against the wall separating the front of the van from the back, and not a moment later the vehicle starts moving.

Mabel swallows hard for a third time, cursing under her breath at Paulie’s comment. There’s no point pretending anymore, they know you had something to do with it.

Which means they know you did it because of her, and now she understands why she’s here. You use to worry about this happening back when you were together, them using her well being to lure you, which is why you never did anything too drastic.

Turns out your theory in believing Weeks wouldn’t make the connection you two were somewhat on speaking terms, civilly, was not a plausible theory. In fact, it merely was a stupid fucking idea.

Which is exactly why Mabel tries to stop you in the first place.

A new wave of fear washes over her again as she finally registers the van is moving, quickly realizing that she has no idea where they are taking her. She swallows hard again and tries to keep the fear and panic out of her voice, “where the hell are we going?”

They exchange a look, Marky with his more subtle flicker of amusement in his eyes, whereas Paulie has a wicked smile grow across his face.

“We got a rat to catch” he says, eyes locking on hers, “and you’re the bait”.

____________________________________________

The frantic, loud pounding on your front door is incessant, jarring you fully awake in an instant. You groggily sit up, slowly coming out of a deep sleep.

Rubbing your eyes, you stumble out of bed and make your way to the front door, cursing under your breath. The banging continues, growing even louder and more persistent. You reach the door and squint through the peephole.

Peering through, you see Charlie. His face is a mixture of frantic and angry, his mouth moving frenetically as he yells your name over and over. His voice is muffled by the door, but the panicked tone is evident enough.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself before unlocking and opening the door, revealing Charlie on the other side. He’s disheveled and panting, looking at you with a mix of anger and desperation.

You scowl at him, your voice laced with irritation. "What the hell are you doing at my house?" you glance towards the horizon, the sky a mix of dark blue and grey. It's barely dawn.

Charlie looks at you, his voice demanding and almost accusatory. "Is Mabel here?" he asks, his eyes searching behind you as if hoping she'll magically appear.

You make a face at the question, confusion mixing with irritation. "No, Mabel isn't here. Why the hell would she be here?"

Charlie's panic visibly increases, his voice rising in pitch as he speaks. "I was on the phone with her last night," he says urgently, his words tumbling out rapidly. "I was just checking in, and the call just cut out, I’ve been calling her back but it just keeps going to voicemail."

You feel a pang of concern at his words, but you try to play it off, scoffing slightly. "I still don’t understand why you thought she would be here?" you reply, feigning nonchalance.

Charlie shoots you a deadpan look, his voice firm and even. "I'm not an idiot," he states, a hint of annoyance in his voice. "Anyone with eyes can see you two have history. I'm not here to play games or deny that, but the point is Mabel is missing, I need you to help me find her”.

You straighten your stance, the guilt and respect for him building up inside you. You ask, your voice a mixture of concern and irritation, "Have you checked all of her regular spots?"

Charlie nods, listing off all the places he's already checked. "I've already been to her place, her mom's place, the bar, and I asked around with some of her friends, but no one's seen her or heard from her since last night."

You let her walk out alone, you should’ve gone after her, you did actually. Even after she told you not to ever again, after what happened months ago.

"I saw her last night at the bar," you tell him, your voice a mixture of worry and defensiveness. You feel a knot form in your stomach as Charlie's confusion deepens.

But she was already gone by the time you got outside, her car was still there, you figured she caught a ride from someone. Wouldn’t be the first time, you should’ve followed up anyways.

Charlie's expression hardens a bit as he looks at you, a tinge of hurt in his eyes. He asks you with a hint of resignation, "Did she come to see you, or did you ask to see her?"

You should’ve known better, you let your emotions get the best of you like always. How could you be so thoughtless?

You frown at him, your thoughts continuing to spiral as frustration rises in your voice. "That's not what matters right now," you snap back, before ducking back inside to fetch your shoes, hastily pulling them on.

Charlie follows you inside, his voice insistent as he repeats his question. "Just answer the goddamn question," he insists, his eyes still on you.

You rise to your full height, your voice lowering and growing more dangerous. "What’s important right now is finding Mabel," you say, your gaze locking with his as you face off against each other.

You maintain eye contact, your expression unwavering. Even if Mabel did slip off to come see you behind Charlie's back, you're not about to tell him that.

You look at him seriously and say, your voice urgent, "If she's missing, that means she's in danger. The longer she's gone, the harder it'll be for us to find her, does that make sense to you?"

Charlie nods, still looking a little upset in the moment but seeming to put it aside. His expression hardens into determination, and he looks at you. "So what are we going to do?" he asks.

You stride out the door, determined and focused, this time he’s right on your heels. You instruct Charlie as you walk, your voice firm. "Go check at her Aunt and Uncle's. Sometimes she hangs out there, it’s two houses down from Nunes, it’s got a pelican painted on the mailbox”.

Charlie nods, his expression still somber but focused. "Alright, where are you going?" he asks, following you closely.

Your expression is steely as you reply, your tone a bit menacing. "I'm going to pay a visit to a few people," you say, your meaning clear. Charlie's unease increases as he catches your implication.

Charlie's questioning continues as you approach your car. "You think they took her?" he asks, his uneasiness now bordering on concern.

The atmosphere is thick with tension, the air stifling with the humidity. The sun is slowly rising, casting long shadows along the ground. The silence is punctuated only by the chirping of cicadas and the occasional rustling of leaves.

You meet Charlie's gaze, the fire and danger evident in your eyes. Your voice is sharp and cold, the next words pushed through your clenched teeth.

"If they did? For their sake, they better not hurt her”.

____________________________________________

Tires screech to a halt as you pull up at the docks, the sound of the engine dying abruptly.

You forcefully open the door and step out of the vehicle, your movements sharp and purposeful.

As you approach Weeks' boathouse, your steps are quick and brisk, your fists clenched at your sides. The docks are mostly empty at this early hour, the only sounds the creaking of the boats and the distant cry of seagulls.

You spot Marky standing guard outside the front door of Weeks' boathouse. He looks at you as you approach, a familiar expression of disappointment on his face.

Nothing new there, he never did understand what Weeks sees in you. Not that you cared, you never liked Marky that much anyways.

You stride up to Marky, your worry and anger mounting. The atmosphere is tense, almost electric. You ask him tersely, "is Mabel here?"

He just steps aside, silently granting you entry, which should’ve been a red flag. But your desperation is boiling over.

You barge past him, shouldering him aside as you enter the boathouse. Your eyes scan the area urgently, searching for any signs of trouble, however you simply spot Weeks sitting at the dining table with Mabel.

Another red flag, if you were thinking rational.

“Mabel” you mutter, relief beginning to wash over you as your eyes meet. However, just as you move towards her, strong hands grab you from behind.

At the same time, Paulie materializes behind Mabel, forcefully pushing her back into her chair as she stands to go to you.

You struggle against the hands that restrain you, trying to wrest yourself free from the iron grip as you’re forced to your knees. You turn your gaze back up to Mabel, your voice filled with concern.

"Mabel, are you okay? Did they hurt you?" you somehow manage to keep your tone even, and despite your own predicament, your primary concern is for her safety.

Paulie tightens his grip on her, holding her firmly to the chair as she resists his restraining grasp. Mabel shoots Paulie a look of disgust before responding to your question. "Physically, I'm okay," she says, her voice strained yet defiant.

Your mind is racing, trying to think of every possible move to make, every option to take, but everything you come up with has its own risks and potential consequences. Time seems to slow as your heart pounds in your chest, each beat like a drumbeat of trepidation.

Weeks rises to his feet and starts a slow clap, his eyes flickering between you and Mabel.

His tone is laced with mock amusement as he speaks, “well, well, well. I guess history truly does repeat itself”.

The atmosphere is thick with tension, the air practically crackling with anticipation. Your eyes are fixed firmly on Mabel, your mind racing as you try to find a way out of this situation that doesn't end with her getting hurt. Every nerve in your body is taut, every muscle coiled tight. Panic and dread well up in your chest, the realization that Mabel's safety is directly tied to how you play this only adding to the suffocating feeling of helplessness.

She shouldn’t be here for this, you should’ve just faced the reaper when you’d done what you’d done, and now her safety is on the line.

“Lucky for you, we’ll consider this Mabel’s immunity finally reaching its end” Weeks says, grabbing her chin forcefully and trying to turn her face towards him. But she resists, jerking her head out of his grasp. She glares at him defiantly, refusing to be manhandled.

You react in an instant, lunging forward in an attempt to get to Mabel. But Marky's grip is firm, holding you down on your knees. You snarl at Weeks, your voice filled with anger and panic “don't you dare fucking touch her!"

Weeks strolls over to you, his smile slowly fading as he reaches you. With a cruel twist of his face, he roughly grabs a fistful of your hair, yanking your head up and forcing you to look him in the eye.

Don’t fight it, don’t make it worse. Don’t. Calm.

Weeks stands towering above you, his grip on your hair holding you tightly in place. He sneers down at you, his eyes cold and calculating. "I haven't forgotten what you've done," he says, his voice low and dangerous.

"And as punishment for both of you, I’m going to have her watch as you receive your consequences for defying me, since you so clearly enjoyed having her watch last time you pulled this shit”.

Before you can utter a word in protest, Weeks’ fist comes down hard on your jaw, the firm grip on your shoulders releasing and sending you dropping to your hands and knees. The force of the impact jars through your body, leaving you momentarily stunned. The pain only fuel your anger, your eyes narrowing as you glare up at him defiantly.

Despite the humiliation, you force a smile, looking up at Mabel. Through clenched teeth, you manage a witty retort, "this wasn't exactly how I imagined being on my knees in front of you again”.

Mabel lets out a reluctant laugh, her eyes welling up with tears as she watches Marky yank you back to your feet. Weeks casually rolls up the sleeves of his shirt, a cruel gleam in his eyes as he prepares to deal out your punishment.

Just take it. Take it for her. They won’t hurt her because of you if you just take it.

You meet Mabel's gaze and give her a reassuring nod, your voice filled with determination as you speak. "It's gonna be okay," you reassure her, your voice firm despite the precarious situation “you know I've been through worse than this. I'll be fine."

Mabel tries to look away, her expression twisted with anguish and helplessness. But Paulie roughly grabs her face, forcing her head back around to watch as Weeks lands a heavy blow to your gut. The impact sends shockwave through your body, doubling you over in pain.

Weeks gives you a rough pat on the cheek, a mocking smirk on his face. Your head is spinning as Marky pulls you back to a standing position. You're struggling to catch your breath, gasping for air, the force of the blow having left you dazed and disoriented.

It’s not like your lungs have had much time to fully recover from inhaling so much smoke from the fire, and it’s in this moment you realize this time might not be as tolerable as the times before.

Weeks sneers at you, his eyes filled with a chilling anger. "Did we not learn our lesson the first time you burned my shit?" he sneers. You, in spite of the pain and the dangerous situation, defiantly respond by spitting in his face, a mixture of defiance and rage fueling your actions.

“It was pretty fucking easy considering you were the idiot that left it all unguarded”.

Weeks wipes your spit off his face with an air of cool detachment, “or maybe, you’re predictable, and I pulled the guys to test your loyalty”. Then, in a swift move, he cracks the backside of his hand across your face. The impact would’ve sent your world spinning, but Marky's firm grip on you prevents you from falling.

Mabel screams at them to stop, fighting to break free from Paulie's grip. "Please, stop! Stop it!" she cries out, desperation and anger filling her voice as she struggles against Paulie's hold.

Weeks ignores her pleas, his focus entirely on you. He smirks at your pain, clearly enjoying seeing you in such a vulnerable position. "Not so tough now, are you?" he taunts, his voice dripping with condescension.

Weeks grabs your throbbing face, his grip harsh and unyielding. He roughly jerks your head up, forcing your dazed eyes to lock with his. He sneers at you, his voice cold and mocking as he asks, "do you need more enlightenment on who you're supposed to be loyal to?"

Your eyes dart to Mabel, seeing her shaking her head at you desperately, silently pleading with you to comply with their demands and avoid further punishment. But your defiant nature wins over, and you refuse to submit, your expression hardening with determination.

You meet his gaze defiantly, spitting out your response. "Go fuck yourself, Pete," you hiss through gritted teeth. A cruel smile forms on Weeks' face as he hears your response.

"Wrong answer," he says with mock regret, then lands another heavy blow to your gut.

Weeks' voice drips with malice as he sneers, "Looks like your luck has run out."

With that, he lands another brutal blow, your world going black as Mabel's desperate cry of your name is the last thing you hear before losing consciousness.

____________________________________________

The atmosphere is thick with tension, the only sounds being the soft rustling of the damp towel and your shallow breaths.

Neither of you have spoken a word since Mabel began cleaning the blood off you. Your eyes are glued to her face, your chest filled with a cocktail of pain, anger, and helplessness. She’s also angry, frustrated, the sight of your injuries clearly affecting her deeply.

Your gaze wanders after it’s established nothing will be said until she’s done, taking in her little loft apartment. Not much has changed since the last time you were here over a year ago.

The changing divider that blocks off the door from the rest of the room. One queen bed which you’re both currently sat on, the body mirror leaned against the wall across from it, two windows covered by curtains and cardboard on the adjacent wall. Small bookshelf in the corner- some of your books you left still rest within. The nightstand with that small lamp, a desk just to the right of the windows, photos on the wall-

Your head movement is halted as she gently catches your face, her touch borderline tender. "Keep still," she murmurs, her voice soft and filled with concern. Despite the tenseness of the situation, her touch is careful, underlining her worry for you.

Her thumb gently dabs ointment at the blood on your lip, the coolness of the damp towel providing some relief. Her eyes remain fixed on your face, studying the bruises and cuts that mar your skin. You can see the concern etched in her features, despite her attempts to hide it.

Your mind drifts back to the last time you were here, in this very room, sitting on her bed while she tended to your wounds after yet another beating from Weeks. The memory of the argument that broke out between you two echoes in your mind, the heated words and the bitter year of silence that followed.

In a way, you had a right to be upset with her back then for what she did, the betrayal. It hurt, more than anything you’ve ever felt, those deeper wounds aching as you gaze into those soft brown eyes.

But then again maybe she is right, you hadn’t been honest about your past back then, you tip toed around it. Ashamed. Even when she showed you everything down to her very soul, her roots to her branches, her dreams to her fears.

How did you ever walk away? How did you ever let her walk away?

A gentle finger taps your uninjured cheek, jolting you out of your thoughts, bringing your focus back to the present moment. You turn your gaze to meet hers, your expression a mix of fatigue and guilt.

Mabel looks at you, her voice soft and full of both concern and familiarity. "Stop it," she says, almost as if she can read your mind. She continues wiping the blood from your face with the damp towel, her touch gentle yet confident.

Her actions betray years of knowing each other, years of tending to each other's injuries. Despite the tenseness of the situation, the two of you share a small smile, which grows on both your faces even when you try not to.

"Sorry”, your eyes dropping down to your lap, voice low and filled with regret. Mabel responds with an apology of her own, her tone just as soft as she continues to clean your face. "Me too," she murmurs just loud enough for you to hear, one corner of her mouth quirking in the smallest sign of regret.

Silence falls again, the weight of your mistakes and the current predicament hanging heavily in the air.

You try to lighten the mood, attempting to pivot the conversation to a safer topic. You glance around her room and say, "nice place you got” as if you’d never been here before.

Mabel responds by gently swatting your chest and rolling her eyes, a slight smirk on her lips. "Shut up," she mutters, her tone laced with a mixture of exhaustion and affection.

Your eyes lock, and in that moment, a flicker of intimacy passes between the two of you. The chemistry, the connection, is undeniable, an invisible tether that still ties you together despite the past and the mistakes you've both made. It's not something that changed or faded over time; it's a bond that persists, a testament to the strength of your relationship and the unspoken understanding between you.

You feel a sudden rush of boldness, a recklessness that prompts you to test the line that has been so firmly drawn the last year. Your heart races as you take a mental step forward, wondering how far you can push this, how much you can get away with before the boundaries solidify again.

Your eyes never leave hers as you subtly lean toward her, your hand slowly inches towards hers. Your index finger hooks around hers, the one that still loosely holds the damp towel, stained red with your blood. The touch is small, barely there, but it feels like a step across the chasm that has separated you for so long.

Her hand doesn't pull away immediately, the familiar warmth of her skin sending a jolt through you. But then, she shakes her head, her eyes giving you a look that is both pleading and threatening. 'Don't you dare' is written all over her face, a warning that speaks volumes, the burning in your throat this time isn’t from being poisoned with smoke.

You play it off, forcing another small smile as you take the towel from her hand. "Thank you," you murmur, pretending as if that was what you were actually aiming for all along.

The tension between you is palpable, the air practically crackling with unspoken words and unresolved feelings. But then again, when isn’t it with you two?

You stand up from the bed, your movements almost mechanical as you start picking up the blood-soaked towels she’d discarded on the floor. You can feel her gaze on you, heavy and intense, but you don't acknowledge it. Your eyes are fixed on the task at hand, your mind trying to distract itself from the weight of her stare.

Mabel watches you, her mind conflicted as a pang of contradicting emotions hits her hard in the chest. On one hand, she can't deny how good it feels to have you here again, in her space.

The familiarity of your presence brings a strange sense of comfort, a sense of belonging that she has missed so dearly. On the other hand, she hates it. She hates that you still have this effect on her after everything that's happened.

She stands up, her hands absently rubbing against her legs as if to wipe away the feelings that threaten to surface. Her voice is soft as she looks at you, a mix of concern and tension in her tone.

"Will you- are you gonna be okay?" she asks, her eyes searching your face when you turn to her at the sound of her voice.

You glance back at her, your expression carefully neutral as you respond. "Yeah, I'll be fine." The words leave your lips, but neither of you are convinced.

As you head for the door, an inexplicable need to stay claws at your chest, a desperate urge to turn around and stay forever.

The air is charged with a tension that is almost deafening, a silent battle taking place between the two of you. Mabel can feel the same struggle within her, the burning urge to ask you to stay, to not let you go this time.

But there’s Charlie, and not to mention, how nuclear you two are together.

You turn back to face her, your hand on the doorknob. Your voice is soft but firm as you remind her of the urgency of the situation.

"There's a clock ticking, you know," you say. "The guys need to find that product soon, or Weeks will be coming for heads."

Her expression falters slightly, a look of worry and resignation crossing her face. She knows that you're right, knows the danger you all face. But there's something in the way you say it, a sense of finality, that has her heart clenching in her chest.

There are words are on the tip of your tongue, but you don't say them. Instead, you do just what you did last time, leaving without a backwards glance.

The sound of the door closing behind you feels like another nail being driven into the coffin of what is, and what was.

And Mabel? She doesn’t go after you. Why would she?

It never made a difference before.

previous, next

[ravencharms]

I'M OBSESSED!!!

[honorarysimp]

Chapter 2: Mount Everest

series masterlist

The drive to Charlie’s place is painfully silent, the radio is turned down low and the only thing that can be heard is the sound of the pavement beneath the tires and the engine rumbling.

The tension is still thick in the air. Mabel’s mind is racing, thinking of a million different things she wants to say, and probably a million things that she shouldn’t say. She just watches as the familiar streets pass by, feeling like there’s a storm brewing inside of her mind until finally, the car comes to a stop in front of Charlie’s house.

You shift the car into park, staring out the windshield with an unreadable expression. White knuckle grip on the steering wheel yet again, taking a deep breath.

The neighborhood seems lifeless, even with the houses worth millions lined down the street, it puts a bitter taste in your mouth. You hate this part of town, how much money these kinds of people have, how people like you have to get their hands dirty to even get a quarter of what these people are handed.

Mabel can feel your irritation. It’s like a hot, stifling heat that’s radiating off of you in waves. Mabel can’t blame you, these people are completely unlike you, with their big houses, flashy cars, and never having to worry about whether they’ll survive the month.

Mabel lets a small sigh leave her mouth, and she finally turns her head to look over at you. Her voice is soft when she finally breaks the silence.

“Are we just going to keep ignore all of this?”

“You’ve got more important things to worry about” you say without looking at her, one hand releasing the wheel to run through your hair, exhaling a slow breath in an attempt to ease the swirl of emotions in your chest.

Mabel’s eyes don’t leave you as her lips form a thin, tense line when you say that. An almost angry fire rises up in her chest that makes her feel like she’s slowly burning from the inside out. Her hands curl into tight fists and she turns more towards you in her seat, her gaze hardening as she responds.

“That’s a shitty answer and you know it”.

“Yeah well, you live and you die”, you don’t have to look to see the familiar figure come out of the house just a bit up the way, you know he saw your car pull up. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know he’s coming to check on her, coax her from your car, and things will go right back to radio silence as they had been for months.

“Your boy is coming”.

Mabel’s chest tightens when you say that and her body straightens out. Her eyes automatically dart towards the house, watching as Charlie steps off the porch. The thought of having to deal with him right now on top of your bullshit makes her feel a pang of irritation and frustration. Mabel turns to give you one last glance.

"I hate you right now, I need you to know that".

That makes a small smile tug at your lips, your eyes cutting over to find hers.

“I think I miss hearing you say that” you mutter quietly, just as Charlie reaches the car and knocks on the glass of the passenger window.

Mabel’s chest clenches when she hears you say that and her eyes go momentarily soft when they find yours. Her gaze quickly hardens and her eyes narrow as her sort of boyfriend knocks on the window again. Mabel pushes the door open and slips out, offering him a smile to let him know she’s okay.

“Hey, how’d it go? What did Weeks say?” Charlie asks Mabel just as you roll down the front windows, pulling yourself up to sit on the frame of the drivers side one. Arms resting crossed on the roof of your car, watching the two of them over the top of it.

Mabel sighs and runs a hand through her tousled hair, her mouth forming a small frown “he gave us a few days, roughly, which is better than nothing”.

Charlie nods and wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her into him. Mabel lets herself melt into his touch, but she’s still somewhat tense from the conversation in the car. She feels your eyes burning a hole into them as she’s engulfed in his embrace.

“Right. I’m gonna go now, goodluck… or whatever” you mutter as you make a sour face, slipping back into the vehicle and dropping into the drivers seat.

Mabel looks up as you speak, her eyes connecting with yours, feeling a pang of something run through her body as she hears the bitterness in your voice. It hurts. Mabel wants to say something, but she can’t, so she just gives you a small, almost grateful smile as she watches you sink back into your car.

“You should consider yourself lucky he heard you out, the guy is a psycho” Charlie calls to you as you start up the engine. You pause, turning your just enough to meet his gaze through the rolled down passenger window.

“What was that?” you say with a half smile, eyes narrowed with that familiar gleam in your eyes.

Mabel rolls her eyes, but the corners of her lips twitch, struggling to maintain a neutral expression. Because of course that has to be his choice of words.

“I said you should consider yourself lucky” Charlie says again, not quite getting why you’re asking him to repeat himself.

You smile wide at that, shifting the car into drive, “so you have heard of me, good to know”.

And with that you slam the gas, speeding off down the road, leaving the two of them to deal with the problem at hand.

Mabel stares after the receding car with wide eyes, her heart feeling like it’s in her throat as the vehicle disappears into the distance.

Charlie makes a scoff and shakes his head, turning to look at her “you have a weird taste in friends”.

Charlie has no idea the history the two of you share, he probably just thinks you’re some brash lowlife who can’t control your temper.

Better that than the alternative, which is the truth.

Mabel just rolls her eyes at his words, slipping out from under his arm, crossing her own over her chest in a defensive stance. Her voice is harsh when she responds.

“It’s complicated, leave it alone”.

Charlie makes a frustrated noise and starts leading her back towards the house. “You say that a lot” he complains.

Mabel gives Charlie a withering look, walking right beside him as he leads the way. Her eyes narrow as she responds to his observation, muttering it more so to herself.

“It’s a fucking wonder why”.

She doesn’t expect him to understand, and to be frank, Mabel isn’t sure she wants him to.

____________________________________________

Mabel feels like her head is going to explode.

Weeks is riding her ass and she’s not making any progress because the guys have done little to none.

Then she heard about Costa, how Weeks and his men showed up at his house threatening him and Anne Marie, who’d gone into labor from all the stress.

It’s not looking good, to say the least, and Weeks patience is running thin. That much is for sure, considering he shot Costa in the arm to send a message, according to Charlie.

She’s desperate and at her wit’s end, just the tension and stress of the whole situation is eating away at her. Mabel sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose in frustration.

So, Mabel does the only thing she knows to do even if it’s a last resort: she goes to you.

Mabel drives down the familiar route to reach your house, her head and thoughts racing with the situation that she’s in. She parks her car in front of your house, the sight of which makes Mabel’s chest tense up more and her fingers tighten around the wheel. She doesn’t know why she thinks that coming to you again is a good idea, but she does it anyway.

Mabel cuts the engine and pauses for a moment as the thoughts and memories rush through her mind. It’s only been three days but it feels like an eternity. Her fingers loosen their grip on the wheel, and she can feel her heart rate slowly rise again. She knows that you’ll probably chew her out, say ‘no’. Especially with the way things were left the last time you saw each other.

But Mabel is in desperate need of an immediate solution for this situation, she doesn't have the luxury of time for other ideas to form. She knows that you're the only one she can turn to, the only one who will understand and maybe know what to do. She finally shoves all of the thoughts of doubt and hesitation out of her head and reaches for the car door to push it open.

Mabel slips out of the driver's seat and makes her way up to the front door of the house, her footsteps heavy on the walkway. She raises a hand to knock and hesitates for a moment, her heart racing. She wonders if you’ll even open the door for her, but she shoves that thought aside and raps on the door anyway.

She waits for a moment, holding her breath as she listens for the sound of footsteps coming up to the door. There’s a slight flutter of nervous anticipation in her chest, making her fidget in place maybe she should’ve told Charlie she was coming here. Will he be mad? No, he doesn’t know your history so he has no reason to, probably best to keep it that way.

The sound of the door clicking open snaps Mabel out of her thoughts. She looks up to find you standing in the doorway, your eyes connecting with hers. Mabel’s breath gets stuck in her throat as she takes in the sight of you, your face illuminated by light of the setting sun just off in the distance.

“Hey sunshine, didn’t expect to see you here again” you say softly, much more gentle than the last time you two spoke, your eyes scanning her face with a hint of concern. You know. Of course you know, why else would Mabel be here three days after seeing you last?

The use of the old pet name and the soft tone of your voice instantly washes over Mabel. Her chest aches at the sound of it. She missed it, but she can’t. Mabel won’t let herself, not after everything. Her fingers start to fidget at her sides again, searching for something to do.

“Yeah, well… I need your help”.

Your gaze wanders off to the side, watching the sun dipping below the horizon, a beautiful combination of colors painted the sky in a stunning display. The warm hues of orange, yellow, and red blended together in a beautiful palette, casting an almost ethereal glow across the landscape.

You nudge the door open more as if to invite her inside. But when Mabel doesn’t move, you resettle yourself against the doorframe, leaning against it.

“Weeks?”

Mabel swallows, hard. The look in your eyes is all too knowing, and it causes her heart to skip just a few beats. She’s never been able to hide anything from you, not really. Mabel gives a small nod and her fingers start fidgeting even more as her nervousness rises.

“He shot Costa, at his house just earlier-“

You instantly go into a panic, darting inside to quickly gather your things, which she expected. You’d gotten close to the guys when you two were together, Mabel only knows them through Skeemo. But that doesn’t mean you don’t care, she knows you well enough to know you do.

“That fucking liar! Why didn’t you start with that!? Is Anne Marie okay? Is his boy alright, is he-“

Mabel panics a bit when your reaction goes further than she expected it to go. It only makes the tension bubbling in her chest even more intense. She steps inside of the house and raises a hand, trying to stop you in your tracks.

“No, no, stop-“

You have your keys dangling from your mouth, hooked between your teeth as you hastily pull your boots on. “Is he alive or not, Mabel?!” you say as you reach up and pull the key ring free from your mouth, chest heaving with panic.

Mabel feels her chest tighten further at your words. She steps forward, reaching out and pressing her hands to your chest in an attempt to keep you from taking another step further.

“He’s alive, okay? He’s fine, the guys were all there when it happened, but that’s not the problem right now”.

Your eyes flicker between hers, confusion etched in your brow as you shake your head slightly “then what is? I don’t-“

Mabel swallows hard, the words in her throat refusing to come out. She knows you’re already pissed at her for being in this situation in the first place, and yet here she was, turning to you for help again. The thought and knowledge of this only adds to the mixture of anxiety and anticipation bubbling in her chest from being so close to you again.

Mabel takes in a deep breath, steadying herself before speaking, staring up at you with a mixture of nerves and guilt. Her next words are quiet, almost mumbled.

“Weeks is pissed because the guys haven’t made any progress on the product, he shot Costa because he’s getting impatient. We’ve got two days to get it back”.

You are eerily silent, your eyes glazed over slightly as you stare off at nothing specific. Mabel knows that look, she made herself learn how to spot it a long time ago, because that exact look is the telltale sign you’re about to do something completely reckless and idiotic.

And when you start moving again, stepping around her to get to the door, your mind has been made.

Mabel’s heart stops, her blood going cold at your silence. That look, she’s seen it many times before, and she knows where it leads. Mabel grabs your wrist and spins you back around to face her, her eyes burning into yours as she says your name.

“Stop Lucky, don’t”.

You turn, that fiery burn in your eyes, it use to send a shiver down her spine. The adrenaline junkie in her use to get high off it, that sliver in her is still drawn to that look, but that was then and this is now. Mabel feels something in her stirring, but she doesn’t want to feel it, especially after everything that’s happened.

“Whatever you’re thinking about doing, don’t”.

“You came to me for help, didn’t you?” you say slowly, the muscle in your jaw flexing as your eyes flicker between her dark brown ones.

“Tell me what the fuck you expected”.

Mabel bristles at your biting words. Her grip tightens on your wrist as every muscle in her body tenses. She clenches her jaw, and her eyes take on a steely gaze, meeting yours equally.

“I sure as hell don’t need you to jump into something dangerous, like you always fucking do!”

“Let me handle it, it’s why you came to me. Hmm?” You say pointedly, tugging your wrist free from her grasp, but then your eyes soften just the slightest as you take in how she’s trying with everything she’s got to not show how worried she is.

“Let me handle it” you repeat softly.

Mabel’s breath hitches in her throat as your words sink in. She wants more than anything to protest, to deny your offer. But she knows that your mind is made up, and that you’ll end up doing it whether she wants you to or not. She hates you for being right, she hates you for knowing her so damn well.

Mabel swallows the protest sitting on the tip of her tongue and nods.

Mabel’s eyes stay on you as a mixture of emotions flutter through her head. One of the most prominent being irritation, both towards you and herself. She wants nothing more than to punch you in the face for your smartassery, but she also wants nothing more than to ask you to take her with you. If anything, so that you’ll possibly be less reckless with her present. Mabel swallows the mix of urges and words bubbling in her chest.

Instead, she rolls her eyes, hoping in some universe, that gets her point across. The hint of a smile tugs at her lips, she can’t help it.

"At least reconsider before you get yourself killed," Mabel deadpans.

“Feel free to stick around if you want, unless you have other places you wanna be” you say with a more knowing look, purposefully poking at old wounds and acting as if that were even an option for her.

Mabel’s expression falters, the guilt and hurt bubbling in her chest again as your words make it all come rushing back up to the surface. A pang echoes in her stomach when you mention other places, making her chest tighten.

She then steels herself, head tilting daringly as she gives your chest a hard shove, making you stumble back into the screen door. “I’ll be at my boyfriend’s if you decide to grow the fuck up, but we both know that’s unlikely”.

You grunt as you topple back, steadying yourself by catching the doorframe. You grin ear to ear and push through the door after her, getting the smallest prickle of deja vú within the depths of your mind.

“Yeah I’m sure he’d love it if I pulled up to his place to pick you up this time instead of drop you off” you call after her, taking the porch steps down two at a time.

Mabel clenches her jaw, the anger and hurt bubbling over as she whirls around to face you. She stomps up to you, standing in front of the hood of her car and pointing a finger in your face.

"You are an insensitive ass, you know that?"

You shove your hands into the pockets of your jeans, a wide charming smile plastered across your face as you gaze down at her.

“Anything else that’s obvious you’d like to point out?” You hum, narrowing your eyes as you press your lips into a thin mocking line.

Mabel bristles, her fists shaking at her side. She is not in the mood to deal with your bullshit, not that mischievous glint in your eyes, the infuriatingly charming smirk, the mocking tone in your words.

Without thinking, she shoves you hard again and steps closer, her eyes burning with anger and something you can’t quite read. “Actually, yes. You’re pissing me off you selfish mother-“

“Good. Now go home to your rich bitch boyfriend, he’s the one on the clock, not me anymore” you say strongly, gesturing towards her car as your entire exterior shifts into something a bit more pressuring.

Mabel nearly sputters as you speak, the mention of Charlie in that way making her blood boil even more. She is about to open her mouth to give a biting response, but the harshness in your voice causes her to snap it shut. Her fists are clenched at her sides, her eyes burning as she glares up at you, standing her ground and standing a little too close for comfort.

Mabel wants desperately to yell at you, to shove you again, to strangle you. She wants to scream in your face until her lungs are empty and her voice is hoarse.

That fire is burning in her chest, but the way you’re looking at her, the pressure in your voice and the tone of your words only stokes the heat higher and tighter in her chest. So instead, she turns and heads to her car without another word.

“Wow look at that, you do know how to fucking listen” you call after her, flashing her a double thumbs up, but it’s not genuine. Not with that stupid fucking look on your face.

Mabel grips the handle of the car door, but your mocking voice stops her in her tracks. All the anger that’s bubbling and churning in her chest suddenly rushes up to the surface. Her gaze snaps away from the door, her head whipping back towards yours and her eyes practically burning into yours.

“Go fuck yourself”, and with a middle finger in your direction, she slips into her car.

Mabel starts up her car, the sound of the engine rumbling to life breaking some of the tension. She grips the steering wheel tightly, her knuckles turning white. A large portion of her wants to run you over, another just wants to stay sitting here, and an even smaller part of her wants you to chase after her.

She puts the car in drive, forcing that last thought from her mind as she peels off the gravel and heads home, determined to keep you out of her mind for the rest of the night.

It’s only until about half way back to town when realization dawns on her, having had enough time to sit and replay the entire interaction over in her head. How she’d shown up for your help, told you want happened, how angry and protective you got. How she tried to talk you out of it and then suddenly you two were fighting-

Oh my god, that sneaky little shit played her.

Mabel grits her teeth and stomps on the brake, whipping the car in a full three sixty at the intersection. As she speeds back down the road towards your house, she feels twice as foolish than she did before.

She can’t believe that she fell for it so easily. She should’ve known. She should’ve been able to see through your plan. But of course, she hadn’t. Mabel blames it on being out of practice with your manipulation.

“You stupid motherfucker” Mabel mutters to herself, “if you’re gonna do what I think you’re about to do, I’ll kill you myself”.

____________________________________________

The sleek muscle car tears down the backroad, engine roaring as it cuts through the darkness of night.

The trees that flank the sides of the road blur together into masses of shadows, with only the beams from the car's head lights cutting through the void and illuminating the winding path.

The night sky above is a blanket of inky black, the only light seen being the small glimmer of stars visible above the treeline.

Your fingers beat a mindless rhythm against the steering wheel, mind racing with a storm of thoughts. The quiet roar of the engine vibrates through the car, filling the air with a low hum.

With the back road devoid of life, the night seems almost eerily silent as you cut down the lonely road. The atmosphere inside the car feels heavy, with a sense of tension hanging over you, knowing what you’re about to do won’t be forgiving.

The thought of Mabel and the history you’ve shared swirls in your mind, and your stomach churns thinking about everything at stake. You try to push it all down, to keep your cool, but the emotions are overwhelming.

The weight of the situation hits you hard, how everything has changed, and how you feel about all of it. Despite your efforts to stay focused, your chest tightens and a lump forms in your throat, making it hard to keep yourself balanced.

You fight it all down regardless, taking a deep breath and forcing yourself to focus on the task at hand. You grip the steering wheel tighter, mashing down on the gas pedal and pushing the engine harder, determined to see this through.

No matter what’s happened in the past, and what’s coming next, you won’t let anything threaten Mabel. Especially not him. Your resolve keeps you focused, knowing you’ll do whatever it takes to protect her.

The familiar sight of the warehouse comes into view, a dark silhouette against the dark of the night. It’s one of many, a smaller one out of all the locations you know of, but it’ll still get the point across. You pull the car to a stop, cutting the engine and climb out, walking to the trunk and lifting a gas container out.

The weight of the container feels heavy in your hands as you close the truck with a little more force than necessary and start walking towards the warehouse.

Muttering to yourself about how it’s time for a “little humbling”, you get to work.

Within ten minutes, the outer parameter of the warehouse is practically doused in gasoline, the smell of the liquid potent in the air. Your mind reels, puzzled by the absence of guards. You'd expect them to have doubled security after the destruction you caused just a year ago. You pause for a moment, your gaze wandering to the main door to the building.

Curiosity outweighs caution, so you adjust your grip on the handle of the container and stride forward.

Entering through the unlocked door, you’re met with an empty warehouse, the vast space devoid of life. Confusion washes over you as you scan the room, the absence of anyone there leaving you dumbfounded.

The warehouse is vast and mostly empty, but its purpose is immediately clear. Rows of shelving units line the walls, holding various analgesics and narcotics, sorted neatly into separate sections and packed away in clear plastic baggies. The entire area reeks of the chemicals, the scent almost dizzying.

You glance up at the rafters and spot the security cameras, recording every move. A small smile creeps across your face as you wave at them, before giving them a defiant middle finger. Your expression turns stoic as you then return to the task at hand: soaking everything in gasoline.

Once you’re satisfied, you take a gander around and nod, a little too proud of your work.

With a mocking salute to the cameras, you toss the gas canister to the side, declaring out loud “this is for Tony and Anne Marie Costa, and everyone else you bully into submission you sadistic piece of shit”.

Taking out a lighter from your pocket as you make your way back to the door- you flick it, igniting a small flame, then you toss it through the back door into the warehouse. The fire immediately catches, and you quickly close the door behind you.

The fire slowly begins to spread inside, the warehouse and all its contents sealed with an unavoidable fate. You take a few steps back, watching the spectacle. The heat from the flames can be felt as they grow, the crackle of the fire mixing with the smell of burning chemicals, filling the night air.

You dust your hands off mockingly with a satisfied smirk, turning to round the burning building, and head back towards your car. You know what the consequences will be, but you don't care.

Let them come, they won't stop you.

A swell of confidence fills your chest, it’s a high knowing you’ve executed overdue justice, it makes you feel on top of the world.

The headlights of your car reflect the glow of the flames dancing behind you. Only as you approach the vehicle, you pause mid-step, noticing a second car, parked discreetly behind yours. Clearly it had been hidden and out of sight until you got closer. Your mind races as you take another few steps closer, realizing someone was here.

Your heart drops as you realize whose red car it is.

Mabel. And she’s not in it.

In that horrible moment, a feeling of dread grips you. Your gaze returns to the burning warehouse, the fire still blazing. That’s when it fully registers: Mabel must be inside.

You bolt towards the front of the building, panic seizing you as you shout her name over and over. The night air is hot and thick with smoke and the dance of the flames.

You cough, eyes watering from the smoke and heat. With a quick jab, you test the door handle– it's warm but not hot enough to burn. Gritting your teeth, you slowly crack open the door, and when the flames don’t rush out immediately, you plunge inwards.

Inside, the heat is intense, the building blaze consuming all in its path. The air is thick and difficult to breathe, your lungs protesting at every gasp. But you push on, searching desperately for any sign of Mabel.

Every step into the warehouse is a struggle. The heat and smoke are overwhelming, your chest tight and lungs protesting for fresh air. You shout for Mabel, the sound of your voice is hoarse, fighting against the flames that grow larger by the minute.

“MABEL!? MABEL!?”

As the fire roars around you, threatening to overcome you. You look up, and the rafters creak and groan, the wood and ceiling around you beginning to give way under the immense heat. The flames continue to spread, and your panic rises – you need to find Mabel, and fast.

You push forward, fighting against the burning waves, frantically searching the warehouse for any sign of her. The fire is closing in, the flames licking at the walls and ceiling. With every second that passes, the danger increases, and time is running out.

In that moment, you hear her voice, faint but distinct. You feel a surge of adrenaline, and with what little energy you have left, you take off towards the sound, ignoring the heat and smoke.

“Mabel!?”

Your lungs burn and your vision swims as you push forward, desperate to reach her as the sound of her voice guides you through the inferno. You make it through the blaze and finally spot her, stumbling as she tries to make her way to you, shirt collar pulled up over her mouth.

You quickly reach her, wrapping one of her arms around your shoulders to help steady her. "I'm here," you assure her, voice hoarse, but determined. "Lean on me. Let's get out of here."

Supporting her, you begin to make your way back towards the exit, the fire still consuming everything in its path. The heat is intense, the smoke thick and disorienting. You can hear the building creak and groan, the beams slowly starting to give under the strain.

You stumble forward, practically carrying Mabel now as her legs give out beneath her. You both collapse to the ground once you're at a safe distance from the fire, the warehouse now completely consumed by the flames, the structure starting to collapse. Both of you are gasping for breath, eyes bloodshot and clothes singed.

You cough and wheeze, inhaling the fresh air as you lie next to Mabel, watching the warehouse completely collapse in on itself. The heat from the fire still radiates over you, but now you're safely removed from the immediate threat, your lungs might live to see another day.

You both sit in silence for a moment, slowly regaining your breath and strength. You watch the warehouse as the fire continues to consume it with an almost fascinated intensity. The night air is still thick with smoke and tension, but there's a strange sense of relief as you sit side by side, safe but shaken.

It doesn’t last long.

Mabel turns to you, her face a mixture of anger and exhaustion. "Are you insane?!” she demands as she shoves you, anger and frustration clearly visible in her eyes, voice unsteady. “What were you thinking, almost getting yourself killed like that? Did you not learn your fucking lesson the first time!?”

You respond defiantly, a hint of irritation in your raspy voice. "And why the hell did you decide it was a good idea to charge into a burning building?!”

She glares at you, her voice harsh and reprimanding. "I knew what you were up to, and I followed you. I got here right before the fire started, and of course, your impulsive ass couldn't wait."

You soften instantly, the anger giving way to worry. Impulsively, you gently take her face into your hands, studying her features closely. Your touch is tender and almost loving as you check her over, your voice filled with concern. "Are you okay? Does anything hurt?" Your eyes scan her face, searching for any sign of injury or harm.

Mabel's own anger melts away at the sight of your vulnerability, replaced with a mixture of exhaustion and worry. "I'm fine," she mutters, her voice a little shaky. "Just a lung full of burnt drugs and the fact I’ll never get the smell of smoke out of my jacket, nothing major." She looks at your face, studying you in return.

Your thumb delicately trace along her cheek, tilting her chin to check for any cuts or burns. "That's hardly minor, Mabel," you respond quietly, your own voice a mixture of relief and fondness. "You shouldn't have followed me in there. It was stupid and dangerous."

She swats your hand away, a stubborn look in her eyes. "Oh, yeah, like setting the fucking building on fire in the first place was some kind of brilliant idea!" Mabel retorts, her voice rising. "That's like saying it's worse for me to try to stop you, than for you to actually light the damn thing ablaze!"

You exhale, the fight gone from your voice. "I had to do something," you mutter, slowly pushing yourself to your feet. "The way things were going, it was only a matter of time before someone died." You offer your hand down to her, a sort of surrender and ceasefire in your gesture.

Mabel hesitates for a moment before taking your hand. Once upright, she whispers to you, her voice low and full of worry. "You know he's not going to be happy about this, right? He won’t be forgiving this time".

You give Mabel one final once over, satisfied that she's physically unharmed. Once assured, you respond with a shrug, a hint of resignation in your tone. "He'll come around eventually, and I’ll take it when it comes" you assure her. "But for now, it should take the heat off of you guys. Or at least buy you some more time."

Mabel studies you intently, her eyes flickering with a mix of worry and something else. "You could've gotten yourself killed," she mutters, her voice a mix of scolding and concern. "You can’t keep doing this, one day you won’t be lucky”.

You laugh weakly, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins. "I’ll always be lucky," you insist, a touch of a smirk on your face. Mabel rolls her eyes, familiar with your penchant for overconfidence.

Your gaze doesn’t leave her as you smile at her. In the light of the flames, her brown eyes seemed to come alive, almost glowing like amber. The fire flickered across her features, making her look wild and untamed. Looking at her in that moment, you felt a surge of adrenaline, like you were invincible.

Mabel meets your gaze, an unspoken communication passing between you both. She speaks up, breaking the silence. "Does this make us even?" The question is pointed and a bit teasing.

A laugh escapes you, the sound a mixture of amusement and truth. You shake your head slightly, the fondness you feel for her teetering on a dangerous edge. "Not even close, sunshine" you reply, your voice laced with both playfulness and honesty.

"All our bullshit aside, I owe you everything."

previous, next

[ravencharms]

THIS IS INCREDIBLE 👏🏻

[ravencharms]

BITTERSUITE

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Unfulfilled love, little angst

Word count: 1.0k

---------------‐----------------------------------------

In the dim light of the New York City skyline, Tara Carpenter sat alone on her apartment balcony, her thoughts tangled in a web of emotions she couldn't quite shake off. The city buzzed with life below, but up here, it was just her, the stars, and the quiet torment of unspoken feelings. She clutched her phone, the message drafts untouched, each one a silent confession she could never send.

Tara’s mind wandered back to the first time she had met Y/n. It was at a friend’s party, one of those casual gatherings where everyone was a stranger until they weren't. Y/n had been standing by the foyer, a radiant smile on her face, a lightness about her that drew Tara in like a moth to a flame. They had talked for hours that night, sharing stories and dreams, laughing until their sides hurt. Tara felt a connection she hadn’t felt in years, a spark that scared her with its intensity.

As weeks turned into months, their friendship blossomed into something deeper. They spent almost every day together, exploring the city, sharing their favorite spots, and staying up late into the night talking about everything and nothing. Y/n was kind, genuine, and had a way of making Tara feel seen and understood in a way no one else ever had. Tara's heart ached with the desire to be more than friends, but she kept those feelings locked away, terrified of ruining what they had.

One night, while lying in bed, Tara had a dream so vivid it felt more like a memory. She was standing in her apartment's foyer, and there was Y/n, kneeling before her, eyes filled with the same longing that mirrored her own. Tara had watched the scene unfold from above, an out-of-body experience that left her breathless. The dream was a haunting reminder of the love she craved but could never have.

The truth was, Tara couldn't fall in love with Y/n. She had been overseas, chasing dreams and leaving behind a trail of broken hearts. She knew the pain of unfulfilled promises, the weight of expectations that could never be met. Tara didn’t want to be another source of heartache for Y/n, didn’t want to risk their friendship on the fragile hope of something more. She had to be careful, had to watch what she said, and more importantly, what she did.

Tara sighed, looking out at the city lights. “God, I hope it all goes away,” she whispered to the night, a silent prayer for her feelings to dissipate, for the ache in her heart to subside. But even as she said it, she knew the truth: no matter how badly she wanted to, she couldn’t fall in love with Y/n. The stakes were too high, the risk too great. She would rather suffer in silence than lose Y/n altogether.

That evening, Y/n knocked on Tara's door, her smile as bright as ever. Tara opened the door, her heart skipping a beat at the sight of her. “Hey,” Y/n greeted, stepping inside. “I brought us some wine. Thought we could have a chill night in.”

Tara smiled, though it felt forced. “That sounds perfect.”

They settled on the couch, glasses of wine in hand, a movie playing in the background. But Tara’s mind was elsewhere, lost in the swirling sea of her emotions. She couldn’t focus on the movie, couldn’t even enjoy Y/n’s company the way she used to. Her heart was too heavy, her thoughts too loud.

“Hey, are you okay?” Y/n asked, her brow furrowed with concern. “You’ve been really quiet tonight.”

Tara forced a smile, shaking her head. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired, I guess.”

Y/n didn’t look convinced but didn’t press further. They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the city lights casting a soft glow through the windows.

Finally, unable to keep it in any longer, Tara turned to Y/n, her eyes filled with unshed tears. “Y/n, there’s something I need to tell you.”

Y/n’s expression shifted to one of worry. “What is it?”

Tara took a deep breath, her heart pounding in her chest. “I… I can’t fall in love with you.”

The room fell silent, the words hanging heavy in the air. Y/n looked at Tara, confusion and hurt etched on her face. “What do you mean?”

Tara struggled to find the right words. “I’ve been overseas, chasing dreams, running from things. I’ve seen how fragile love can be, how easily it can break. I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to risk what we have for something that might not work out.”

Y/n’s eyes filled with tears, her voice barely above a whisper. “Tara, I…”

Tara cut her off, unable to bear the pain in Y/n’s eyes. “Please, don’t say it. I know you might feel the same way, but I can’t. I can’t do this to you, to us.”

Y/n reached out, taking Tara’s hand in hers. “But what if we’re missing out on something beautiful?”

Tara’s heart broke at the softness in Y/n’s voice, the hope that lingered despite the pain. She wanted to say yes, to take the risk, but the fear was too strong. “I’m sorry, Y/n. I just can’t.”

Y/n nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Okay. I understand.”

They sat in silence, the weight of unspoken words and unfulfilled dreams pressing down on them. Tara knew she had made the right decision, but it didn’t make it hurt any less. She squeezed Y/n’s hand, a silent promise that their friendship would endure, even if it meant suppressing the love that burned within her.

As the night wore on, they stayed there, side by side, two hearts aching in unison. The city lights continued to shimmer, oblivious to the silent heartbreak happening within that small apartment. Tara looked at Y/n, her heart filled with a bittersweet mix of love and regret, knowing that some things were just too precious to risk, even if it meant living with the pain of what could have been.

In the quiet moments that followed, Tara whispered to herself, a mantra to keep her grounded. “I can’t fall in love with you, no matter how bad I want to.” And as the words settled into the night, she hoped that, one day, the ache would fade, and she could look at Y/n without the weight of unspoken love hanging between them.

---------------‐----------------------------------------

[ravencharms]

Whispered Heartaches

Pairing: Cairo Sweet x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Sad, angsty

---------------‐----------------------------------------

In the heart of Tennessee, where whispers of secrets danced among the swaying fields of wheat, Y/n wandered the winding country roads at night, her thoughts consumed by the girl who had stolen her heart: Cairo Sweet.

Cairo was a tempest of contradictions, her presence both a beacon of light and a shadow of uncertainty in Y/n's life. From the moment they met, Y/n felt drawn to Cairo's enigmatic charm, her laughter like a melody that echoed in the depths of her soul.

But as their friendship blossomed into something deeper, Y/n couldn't help but feel the weight of Cairo's unspoken words, the distance that lingered between them like an unbreakable barrier.

She tried to bury her feelings beneath layers of friendship, to pretend that her heart didn't ache with every passing moment. But the truth remained: she loved Cairo with a fierceness that burned brighter than the stars themselves, and no amount of denial could extinguish the flame that danced in her soul.

As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, Y/n found herself standing at the precipice of a decision. She could continue to pine for Cairo from afar, forever trapped in the prison of unrequited love. Or she could muster the courage to lay her heart on the line, to risk everything for the chance at something more.

And so, with trembling hands and a heart full of hope, Y/n took a leap of faith. She poured her heart out to Cairo, laying bare her deepest desires and fears, her words a serenade to the love that burned within her.

But love, as Y/n soon discovered, is a fickle thing, a fragile flower that wilts in the absence of reciprocity. And when Cairo finally spoke the words Y/n had feared most, her heart shattered into a million pieces.

"I'm sorry, Y/n," Cairo said softly, her voice tinged with sadness. "I don't feel the same way."

Y/n felt the sting of Cairo's rejection like a physical blow, her chest tightening with each word spoken. Anguish washed over her in waves, threatening to drown her in a sea of despair.

"Why?" Y/n choked out, her voice raw with emotion. "Why did you lead me on if you never felt anything for me?"

Cairo's expression softened, her eyes filled with a mixture of sympathy and regret. "I care about you, I really do. But I can't force myself to feel something that isn't there." she whispered, her voice barely above a whisper. "I never meant to hurt you, Y/n,"

The words cut Y/n to the core, leaving her feeling hollow and broken. She had laid her heart bare for Cairo, had risked everything for the chance at something more, only to be met with rejection.

With only a nod and a whisper of "You still did.." She left.

As she walked home alone, the weight of Cairo's words heavy on her shoulders, Y/n looked up at the night sky. The stars twinkled like distant memories, their light a reminder of the love she had lost.

Y/n's footsteps echoed in the empty streets as she made her way home, each step a painful reminder of the love she had lost. She couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness that consumed her, the ache in her chest a constant companion.

As she reached her doorstep, Y/n paused, her hand hovering over the doorknob. She wasn't ready to face the solitude that awaited her inside, the silence that would only serve to amplify her pain.

Instead, she turned away from the familiarity of home and continued to walk, her feet carrying her aimlessly through the night. The town around her was alive with activity, but to Y/n, it all felt like a blur, a meaningless backdrop to her own personal tragedy.

She found herself drawn to the river that flowed through the heart of the town, its waters shimmering in the moonlight like liquid silver. The sound of rushing water soothed her frayed nerves, offering a brief respite from the storm raging inside her.

Y/n sank to her knees at the water's edge, her fingers trailing through the cool, gentle current. Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision as she struggled to make sense of the pain that threatened to consume her.

"I loved her," she whispered to the night, her voice choked with emotion. "I loved her with everything I had, and it still wasn't enough."

But even as the words left her lips, Y/n knew that love alone couldn't mend the shattered pieces of her heart. She had pinned her hopes on a love that was never meant to be, had poured her soul into a relationship doomed from the start.

And now, as she gazed out at the river stretching before her, Y/n couldn't help but feel a sense of resignation wash over her. She had given Cairo her all, had laid her heart on the line for the chance at something more, and had been left with nothing but heartache in return.

But even in her darkest hour, Y/n knew that she was stronger than the pain that threatened to consume her. She would pick herself up, dust herself off, and learn to live again in a world where love had betrayed her.

As the first light of dawn painted the sky in shades of pink and gold, Y/n rose to her feet, her gaze fixed on the horizon. The road ahead would be long and difficult, but she would face it with courage and determination, knowing that she had survived the greatest heartbreak of all.

And as she turned away from the river and began to walk, Y/n whispered a silent promise to herself: to never again let love define her worth, to find happiness in the quiet moments of solitude, and to cherish the love she had for herself above all else.

For in the end, Y/n knew that true strength came not from the love of another, but from the love she held for herself. And with that knowledge guiding her, she stepped bravely into the unknown, ready to embrace whatever the future held in store.

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Well... I hope you guys liked it!

Stay safe and take care!

-Raven