Summary: The world seems to think you aren't enough for your breathtaking girlfriend, and the problem is, you're starting to believe them. ~ Word Count: 2.4k
A/N: I whipped this up real quick so it is not proof read but I do hope you enjoy xoxo <3
@y/ny/ln pretty places with my pretty girl x
comments
@ememyers can we pretty please be a throuple 🙏
@jennaortegafan Y/n doesn’t deserve her wtf 😭
@wednesdayishot FR FINALLY SOMEONE SAID IT
@jennaismybaby Not to be rude but… Jenna could do so much better 😬
@georgieebleu I still take ownership for you guys happening
@ortegacore WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?!
@jenloverszn Imagine thinking you’re good enough for JENNA ORTEGA
@wowgirlbye Girl you’re punching way above your weight ☠️
You sank deeper into the couch, the once-comforting embrace now replaced with a chill that seemed to seep into your bones as you scrolled. Hate wasn’t new; you’d seen it before, learned to brace for it. Dating someone as breathtaking as Jenna pretty much guaranteed it.
But the sting never dulled.
You could feel your chest tighten as the familiar sounds of your shared apartment faded into the background. Jenna’s records spun softly from the player in the corner, their gentle crackle and melody weaving into the silence like a cruel soundtrack to the heaviness settling over you.
From the kitchen came the faint clatter of dishes and the rhythmic hum of her moving about, noises that should have been comforting but instead only underscored the distance you felt. It was almost cinematic; her laughter and music carried on in another room while you sat anchored to the couch, drowning quietly under the weight of words she hadn’t even seen.
The sun had slipped away hours ago, leaving only the low hum of lamps to soften the shadows stretching across the room. After dinner, something you’d cooked in hopes of a quiet evening, you’d collapsed onto the couch, expecting to unwind. Instead, here you were staring at your phone screen as if you were frozen in time.
From the kitchen, Jenna’s voice carried over the faint crackle of her record, warm and melodic against the silence.
“Hey…” she tried again, softer this time, padding over toward you. “What’s with the long face?”
You blink slowly, snapping out of your haze, meeting her soft, concerned gaze. For a fleeting moment, it calmed you. “I’m fine,” you lie, the words tasting bitter on your tongue.
She tilts her head, a playful, incredulous smirk tugging at her lips. “Y/n… come on, baby. You know you can tell me.” She sinks onto the edge of the couch, laying her hand gently over yours, stroking the back with comforting ease.
Her calmness—so patient, so understanding—makes something twist inside you. Why was she always like this? Why was she always so good? The thought presses against the walls of your mind, stubborn and cruel: maybe they were right.
She was too good for you.
“I said I’m fine, okay! Just…”
Her hand flinches slightly at the edge in your tone, retreating a fraction. She hesitates, lips parting and closing again, as if unsure whether to push or stay silent. Her brow furrows, a shadow of worry passing across her face. “Did I… do something?” she whispers, voice almost breaking, eyes searching yours for the truth, for the mistake she’s afraid she might have made.
“No- just… I need to shower,” you mutter, your voice sharper than intended, pushing past her as you stride toward the bedroom. Your shoulders are tense, movements brisk, each step echoing the turmoil you’re trying to shake off.
Jenna sits on the edge of the couch, frozen in place, her hand lingering in the air where yours had been moments ago. Her heart hammers painfully against her ribs, a tight, anxious rhythm she can’t quiet. She’s never known you to snap, especially not at her, not with that edge, that sudden wall rising between you.
Her eyes follow you, a mixture of hurt and confusion pooling there. For a fleeting second, she wonders if she’s done something wrong, if somehow she missed a signal, a crack in the foundation she thought was unshakable. She swallows hard, her lips pressed together as she fights the urge to follow, to reach out, to pierce the wall you’ve suddenly erected.
The soft hum of the apartment feels heavier now, weighted with silence, with unsaid words, with the invisible tension settling like dust over everything.
The hot water sluiced over you, a steady rhythm meant to wash away more than just the grime of the day. Steam curled around you in thick, suffocating clouds, and for a moment, you let yourself lean into it, letting the heat and weight of it press against your shoulders. The water couldn’t wash away the gnawing ache in your chest, the sting of words from strangers echoing louder than any comfort Jenna had ever offered.
When you finally turned off the shower, you felt damp and heavy, every muscle slack with exhaustion rather than anger. You wrapped a towel around yourself, your reflection in the fogged mirror showing eyes rimmed with fatigue, a face drained of colour. Defeat settled over you like a second skin.
The bedroom door creaked as you entered. Jenna was there, sitting cross-legged on the bed, her posture relaxed but her gaze sharp, attentive. She didn’t speak immediately, simply letting you move around the room as you dried off, her presence a silent promise that she wasn’t going anywhere.
You wrapped the towel around your shoulders, then slipped into fresh clothes, a soft hoodie and sweatpants, the fabric comforting but doing little to ease the chill that had settled in your chest. You dropped onto the edge of the bed opposite her, shoulders slumped, eyes fixed somewhere on the floor.
Finally, she broke the silence, her voice soft, careful. “Hey… are you okay?”
You muttered back, flat and tired, “I said I’m fine.” The words carried none of the heat from before, drained of fight, hollow even to your own ears.
Jenna tilted her head, her gaze unwavering, sharp with concern. “You’re not… I’m not blind, baby. I can see when something’s bothering you. Just… if it’s something I did, please—”
“You didn’t do anything,” you cut her off quickly, the words coming out sharper than intended, and immediately, you regretted the bite.
Her eyes softened, but she didn’t back down. “Then what is it? We never go to sleep when we aren’t okay, you know that. You need to talk to me, love. Please.”
You sighed, running a hand through your damp hair, frustration and exhaustion warring for dominance. “Nothing’s wrong. Really. Just… tired, I guess.” The lie slipped out without thought, but it tasted sour in your mouth.
She let out a slow breath, the faintest shake of her head betraying both patience and exasperation. “Okay… but for the record? I don’t believe you.” Her tone was firm but gentle, a tether reaching for you across the unspoken wall you’d built. “You can’t hide this from me, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”
You swallowed, the weight of the day pressing down heavier now that she wouldn’t let you push her away. The room felt smaller, closer, every corner pressing against your fatigue and unease. You didn’t know how to begin, didn’t know how to untangle the knot in your chest without letting her see how much it had hurt.
Jenna, sensing the shift, reached out a hand, letting it hover near yours, offering a lifeline without forcing it. “I can handle it,” she murmured softly, “whatever it is. You don’t have to carry it alone.”
Your chest tightened. For a moment, the anger and defensiveness from earlier melted into something heavier, defeat, the quiet ache of vulnerability you didn’t often allow yourself to feel. Silently, you slipped under the covers, the fabric cool against your damp skin, and rolled onto your side so that you were facing her. The soft glow of the bedside lamp highlighted the concern and tenderness etched across her features, and for the first time all day, your expression softened, your eyes unclenching as you allowed yourself to be seen fully.
“I love you,” you whispered, your voice low and tentative. Jenna’s lips curved into a tired, affectionate smirk. “I love you more,” she smiled softly, her voice teasing but warm, trying to coax a small laugh from you despite the heaviness of the evening.
You let out a shaky laugh, the sound trembling against her shoulder. “We’ll see about that,” you nudged her. Jenna smiled, brushing a strand of damp hair from your face, letting you linger in the quiet intimacy of the moment. But the heaviness in your chest hadn’t fully lifted, just softened enough for you to rest beside her.
The next morning arrived slowly. Sunlight crept through the blinds, streaking the room with gold, but it did little to chase away the gloom clinging to your mind. Jenna stirred first, moving with her usual quiet efficiency.
She kissed your temple lightly before heading to work, the faint scent of her perfume lingering in the air. “Have a good day, love. Call me if you need me,” she whispered as she left, the click of the door behind her echoing ominously in the suddenly empty apartment.
The rest of the day dragged on like a storm with no end in sight. You spent the morning staring blankly at your phone, scrolling aimlessly, pausing only when a post or comment pricked at the edges of your thoughts. Every phrase seemed to magnify your self-doubt, whispering that maybe Jenna really did deserve someone better, someone less… flawed, less fragile, less you.
You eventually found the courage to move to the couch, where you stayed, curled and wrapped in your hoodie and sweatpants, moving little beyond what was necessary to survive the day. Sunlight slipped past the blinds, but it felt weak, insipid, failing to touch the heaviness pressing down on you.
Lunch passed with you picking at a sandwich you didn’t taste. You tried watching a show, but even the laughter on the screen sounded hollow, distant. Every little sound in the apartment, your own shallow breaths, the faint creak of the floorboards, the soft hum of the refrigerator, felt amplified, emphasising your loneliness.
By mid-afternoon, your stomach twisted into knots. You sat on the floor, back against the couch, knees pulled up to your chest, and buried your face in your hands. Quiet tears leaked down, slow and steady, soaking your palms. You didn’t even bother to check the mirror; you just let yourself feel the heaviness, the suffocating ache of inadequacy that had been creeping in all night.
Hours passed. The apartment grew dim, the fading sun leaving long shadows stretching across the floor. You stayed where you were, rocking slightly, letting the despair settle deeper. It wasn’t dramatic or loud, just quiet, relentless, like water slowly wearing away stone. You couldn’t even summon the energy to hide when Jenna came home.
The door clicked, and your body stiffened. You barely had time to lift your head before she crossed the room. “Oh, love…” she murmured, sinking to the floor beside you and gathering you into her embrace. Her warmth and steady heartbeat pressed against your side, a lifeline anchoring you in reality.
You clung to her, letting the sobs finally break free, trembling against the solid reassurance of her presence. The tears ran freely, unashamed, and she held you tighter, murmuring soft reassurances that wove around your ragged breathing like a shield.
“It’s… I see the way people… they talk. About us. About me,” you choked out, your voice breaking, every word trembling on the edge of vulnerability. “And I can’t help but… wonder if maybe they’re right. That I’m… I don’t know… not enough for you.”
Jenna’s hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing over your cheeks with tender insistence, forcing your eyes to meet hers. Her gaze, unwavering and full of warmth, penetrated through the fog of doubt clouding your mind. “Y/n, baby… look at me. Really look at me. You are perfect for me. In fact… most of the time, I think I’m not enough for you.”
“What?” you whispered, your voice barely audible, disbelief warring with the rush of emotions threatening to overwhelm you.
Her lips curved into a soft, exasperated smile, eyes glimmering with warmth and unwavering sincerity. “Is it so shocking to believe that I am so… so fucking in love with you?” she repeated, voice low but firm, each word resonating deep in your chest.
You stared at her, heart hammering, throat tight. Part of you wanted to shrink away, to retreat into the doubts that had plagued you all day, but the steadiness of her gaze held you in place. There was no judgment here, no pressure—only the quiet, unshakable truth that she loved you, all of you.
“I… I don’t know what to say,” you admitted, your voice cracking slightly, the weight of relief and lingering insecurity mingling together.
“Then don’t say anything,” she whispered, brushing a gentle thumb across your cheek. “Just feel it. Feel that I am yours, and you are mine. You are everything to me. Nothing else matters.”
Your breath hitched as the words sank in. Slowly, hesitantly, you leaned into her, pressing your forehead against hers. She mirrored you, hands resting lightly on your shoulders, grounding you in the moment.
“I’m scared… of losing you,” you confessed softly, letting the vulnerability spill out, unfiltered.
“You’re not losing me,” Jenna murmured, her voice a soothing balm. “Not ever. I’m right here. I chose you. I choose you every day, and I always will.”
Something inside you finally unclenched. You let go, wrapping your arms fully around her neck, and she leaned in closer. The space between you collapsed until your lips met in a gentle, lingering kiss.
It was a kiss that said everything: love, reassurance, devotion. A kiss that healed the doubts that had been gnawing at your chest, a kiss that anchored you in the certainty of each other. You pressed closer, letting yourself feel the warmth of her completely, the steady rhythm of her heartbeat syncing with your own.
When you finally pulled back slightly, you rested your forehead against hers, eyes half-closed, and whispered, “I love you.”
She smiled, brushing her lips against yours once more in a soft, playful peck. “I love you more,” she said, voice warm and teasing, yet full of the weight of truth.
For the first time, you let yourself truly believe it. All the doubts, the fear, the insecurities, they melted away in the quiet glow of the room, leaving only the two of you, together, safe, and undeniably in love.
What happens when you, a rising director, suddenly land your dream project and find yourself working alongside someone you never expected to matter so much?
Chapter 1:
You step into the whirlwind of your first major film festival, nerves on edge, applause echoing in your ears, and fleeting moments that hint at something (or someone) unexpected.
Chapter 2:
After a wild, disorienting night at the after-party, you wake to a world that feels entirely new. Offers fly in left and right, and your name is now amongst the biggest in Hollywood, but one unexpected name makes your chest tighten and your pulse race.
Summary: After a wild, disorienting night at the after-party, you wake to a world that feels entirely new. Offers fly in left and right, and your name is now amongst the biggest in Hollywood, but one unexpected name makes your chest tighten and your pulse race. ~ Word Count: 4.3k
A/N: well hello! chapter 2 is here my loves. the next chapter will include SIGNIFICANTLY more Jenna so please stay with me xx I hope you enjoy nonetheless <3
Chapter 1 - Chapter 2
Your ceiling fan wheezed in slow, uneven circles, squeaking on every third rotation while pushing the same stale air from one corner of your tiny room to the other. Dusty strips of sunlight leaked through the curtains you’d half-heartedly tugged shut last night, spotlighting the clutter scattered across your cramped and messy room. The distant chirps of birds echoed through the gaps of your windows. A nice, serene, and peaceful haze surrounded your sleeping figure.
Your peace only lasted so long.
As if personally summoned by Hades himself, your alarm erupted from the bedside table, its shrill wail ricocheting off the walls and drilling straight into your skull. With a groan worthy of a Shakespearean tragedy, you roll over, half-dead and fully enraged, cursing at the sound with the conviction of someone hexing someone for three generations.
You slapped around blindly on the nightstand, knocking over a pen, a half-empty glass of water, something else you couldn’t identify, but somehow not the alarm still shrieking like a banshee inches from your ear. Muttering a croaky ‘for fucks sake’, you cracked your eyes open, lids heavy and stinging like they’d been glued shut.
Propping yourself up on one elbow, your back let out a string of reluctant pops, a reminder that either you slept twisted like a pretzel or you were, in fact, eighty years old. You rolled your shoulders before fumbling for your phone.
The screen lit up far too bright, and you winced, squinting at the cruel little rectangle in your hand.
“Jesus…” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes vigorously.
Notifications stacked like bricks. Text after text from your agent Eve, people tagging you in posts, your friends sending you articles that even subtly mention you. The further you scrolled, the more it felt like you had fallen back asleep - except you didn’t know if it was a dream or a nightmare.
And then the memories started seeping back.
The afterparty.
What had started as a quick stop, one polite drink, a tentative shuffle through the room pretending to network, turned into a full-fledged social ambush. People were patting you on the back with the force of small earthquakes, sliding cocktails into your hand with the precision of a bartender who clearly had no idea you couldn't handle tequila, and bombarding you with questions so quickly that you thought your brain had applied for early retirement. Not that anyone meant harm, it was simply curiosity, but you were entirely unprepared.
Like a polite hostage, you had managed to acquiesce to every single offer of alcohol. Shots arrived uninvited, champagne flowed like tiny golden rivers, and at some point someone poured something in a glass that looked like juice, but clearly wasn’t. And of course, everyone was charming, charming, charming, like the entire room had been trained in subtle coercion and guilt-free flattery.
You didn’t remember leaving the bar area. You didn’t remember who introduced you to whom, or why someone thought it was appropriate to insist you dance to a song you’d never heard, while wearing shoes that actively plotted against your ankles. The last solid memory was a hand, someone’s, you think?, shoving a shot of tequila into your palms.
You took it.
You drank it.
After that, the night became… well, you don’t know. That’s kind of the problem.
The worst of it hit when you scrolled through a few articles and froze on a single image.
Jenna. Walking out of the same building as the party.
She had been there.
You hadn’t noticed her. At least, not while conscious.
But staring at the photo now, you couldn’t look away. Her jawline cut sharply, even in the grainy pixels, her dark hair falling in an effortless frame around her face. And her eyes, good god, those eyes. Even caught mid-step, not looking at the camera, they carried the same pull you remembered from across the room. You’d only held her gaze for seconds, but it had branded itself into you, and seeing her here, casual, untouchable, brought it rushing back.
It was maddening, the way someone could look so composed while you felt like your entire nervous system was short-circuiting just at the sight of them.
And now your stomach twisted in a way that made you want to gag, because not only had you been utterly wasted in front of nearly everyone you admired, but you had been utterly wasted in front of her.
You almost cried.
Mortified, you vaulted out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom. Catching your reflection in the mirror, you couldn’t help but snort. Your hair jutted in every conceivable direction, as if you’d been electrocuted. Mascara streaks smeared across your cheeks like tragic war paint, making it look as though you’d spent the night headbanging to Black Sabbath while crying through every chorus.
“Why am I like this?” you mumble to yourself as you make quick work of fixing your appearance. As you do, more texts light up your phone.
EVE
Surely you’re awake by now?
Check your emails ASAP!
Your heart stuttered as you read the messages on the screen. Your gaze flicked to the time. 11:48 am. Surely you hadn’t missed too much… right?
You had only been home for… 8 hours? That’s your best guess at least.
You pulled a hoodie over your head and shuffled out of the bedroom, the floor cool against your bare feet. The apartment smelled faintly of stale coffee and the basil plant on your windowsill that was somehow still alive despite your best attempts to neglect it. The air was a little stuffy, warm enough to make you wish you’d opened a window the night before, but the hoodie stayed on; you needed the comfort more than the fresh air.
The space was small, but every corner bore your fingerprints. Posters and postcards covered the brick walls, some curling at the edges, others tacked over old paint stains you never bothered to fix. A handful of photos, friends, film sets, blurry moments you couldn’t part with, filled your shelves, next to festival lanyards you’d never thrown away. Even the kitchen, barely more than a strip of counter, carried that same lived-in touch: your collection of chipped mugs stacked unevenly, an empty glass left by the sink, the hum of the fridge louder than it should be in such a quiet room.
When you drew the curtains open, sunlight poured in, soft but unforgiving. It caught the dust in the air and made the hardwood floor look warmer than it felt under your feet. You squinted, rubbing your temples as the pounding in your head reminded you of just how little sleep you’d managed.
You scooped your laptop off the coffee table and collapsed onto the couch, exhaling sharply as the cushions sagged beneath you. The screen blinked awake, flooding your tired eyes with an unforgiving glow.
Dozens of emails stacked one after the other, the unread count climbing like a slot machine gone feral. The top half of the page was Eve’s name over and over again, each subject line louder than the last.
SCRIPT – Read ASAP
Big opportunity – URGENT
CALL ME
Script (don’t sit on this one!!!)
You frowned. What the fuck? You opened one.
The body of the email was short, frantic, almost tripping over itself:
Producers are asking for you by name. I’ve attached the script. Open it. NOW.
Attached is a PDF titled Untitled Draft – Studio Confidential. You didn’t even open it. You just blinked at the words, throat tight.
Curiosity prickled at you, so you scrolled. Another email, this one from a name you recognised, hell, everyone recognised it. A production company whose logo you’d grown up seeing before films you thought you’d never belong near. They wanted to discuss potential collaboration.
Another email: an actor you’d admired since high school. Someone whose face was on a poster still tacked above your desk. They’d love to meet after watching your short.
You slammed the laptop shut for a second, like it might bite you. Your pulse was suddenly too fast, your skin prickling with a sweat that had nothing to do with the hangover.
“This can’t be real,” you whispered to no one, heart racing. “There’s no way this is real.”
But the laptop was still humming on your knees, the weight of it undeniable. You opened it again, skimmed another subject line, then another. Each one felt heavier than the last, a strange cocktail of exhilaration and dread settling in your stomach.
Finally, you reopened your laptop and dug out your phone, thumb hovering for a moment before you hit call on Eve’s contact.
It rang once. Twice.
“Well, if it isn’t my favourite new star director! Morning, sleepyhead” Her voice was so bright it almost hurt.
“Morning," you groaned ", How the hell are you this functional right now? I’m staring at the emails that you sent at two in the morning”
“That's the magic of caffeine, darling, and maybe adrenaline. You should try it sometime instead of… I don’t know, tequila?”
You groaned, flopping sideways into the couch cushions. “Low blow.”
“Not wrong though,” she singsonged. “Speaking of which, have you actually looked through them?”
“Kind of.”
“‘Kind of’?” Her voice sharpened. “What does that mean? Did you open them? Read them? Skimmed?”
You chewed your lip, staring at the laptop still glowing on the coffee table. “…As in, I read the first few, had what I think was a minor heart attack, slammed my laptop shut, and then called you.”
There was a pause, then Eve laughed so hard you had to hold the phone away from your ear.
You sat up, pulse skipping. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Of course I am,” she replied smoothly.
You exhaled sharply, pressing the phone against your ear, willing your heartbeat to slow.
“Okay, focus,” Eve said, her tone softening slightly. “You’ve got a lot in there. Scripts, pitches, some of them really want you to look at them. You need to go through them and tell me which ones you actually like.”
You blinked at your laptop, blinking again, as if sheer will could somehow make the emails disappear. “…Read through all of them?”
“Well, not all at once, genius. Pick a handful. The ones that make you actually want to wake up in the morning instead of hiding under your bed are the ones you’re looking for.”
“Right. That sounds… manageable,” you muttered, trying not to laugh at how utterly unmanageable it actually felt.
Eve chuckled. “Anyway, you go through the scripts. Take your time. Pick out the ones you can actually see yourself working on. Then call me. We’ll talk through it, figure out what’s viable, what’s ridiculous, and what might be your next project.”
You laughed despite yourself, feeling some of the tension ease. “…Alright. I’ll start. I’ll figure it out.”
“Good. I’ll hold you to that. Now, go. Start reading.”
You hung up, the quiet click of the call ending echoing around your tiny apartment. Your laptop glared at you like an impatient teacher. With a deep breath, you clicked open the first email.
The contents made your stomach do somersaults: Horror Feature… Director Needed… WLW Characters… Pre-Production Ready.
You froze.
Your fingers hovered over the trackpad. Then another exhale. And another. And finally, slowly, cautiously, you opened the PDF and started reading.
Echoes from the Hollow
You type the title into your message to Eve, fingers trembling from hours of scrolling, clicking, and rereading. After hitting send, you let the laptop slip from your lap, sinking into the cushions of the couch with a soft thud. The sudden relief of standing makes your legs protest; you stretch, arching your back and groaning like a cat that’s been napping too long, muscles tight from sitting frozen for hours. You’re gaze drifts to the clock on the wall.
3:27 pm.
For a moment, you just stand there, letting the stretch reach your shoulders, your neck, your back. The adrenaline from the emails and the scripts still buzzes faintly in your chest. Your mind replays the titles, the lines from the horror script that made your stomach flip, the idea that someone actually wants you to direct this film.
You drifted lazily into the kitchen, opening the fridge with a soft hum. It was scarcely populated, but your eyes landed on an energy drink and a protein bar. You grab both of them, deciding the gym was the only way to burn off the lingering jitters and force your racing thoughts into something resembling calm.
You fished an outfit out of your wardrobe, throwing it on quickly and ignoring the small pile of clean-but-crumpled clothes on the floor. You slung your hoodie over your shoulders and stepped into the hallway. The apartment door clicked shut behind you.
Outside, the afternoon sun hit the street in harsh strips, warming the pavement unevenly. You adjusted your hoodie, took a deep breath, and started walking.
The world outside your apartment hummed with life: the distant honk of a car, the scrape of a garbage bin being wheeled down the alley, the smell of freshly baked bread wafting from the café two doors down. You let it wash over you, trying to shake the jittery energy still clinging to your chest.
By the time you reached the gym, your hoodie was sticking lightly to your back, your sneakers squeaked against the polished floor, and the faint metallic tang of the gym air filled your nose. You signed in with a flick of your key card, dropped your bag in the locker, and stretched one more time before the machines, the weights, and the rhythmic pounding of your heart took over.
Busy climbing Everest, or at least that’s how it felt with your legs burning and sweat soaking through your top, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You fished it out, expecting another trivial notification or a reminder you’d promptly ignore. Instead, the screen lit up with Eve’s name.
“Hey,” you muttered, voice rough from exertion and lingering fatigue, fumbling to get the earbuds in so you could actually hear her over the whirring StairMaster.
“Well, hello there, busybody!” Eve’s voice came through, impossibly bright and full of energy. “I figured you’d still be shaking off the hangover from last night.”
You let out a short, half-laugh, half-groan, adjusting the earbuds. “You could say that. And apparently, I’ve been reading scripts for… what… five hours straight?”
“Something like that,” she said, her tone brisk but tinged with excitement. “Anyway… about that horror script you liked, Echoes from the Hollow.” Her voice sharpened suddenly, like she was leaning closer even though you couldn’t see her. “They’ve been following up. They really want you to direct. Shooting starts in two months.”
Your heart stuttered. The steps beneath your feet suddenly felt a fraction faster. “Two months? Wait, I know you said they were pre-production ready, but I figured there was still something for me to do?”
“Most of pre-production is done,” Eve replied matter-of-factly. “Cast is locked, locations booked, most sets designed. All they need is for you to step in and… make it yours, I guess. They said you’re free to adjust whatever you want.”
You tried to steady your breath, gripping the handles a little tighter. “Right… I mean, as long as I actually get creative input. I don’t want just to make someone else’s vision for free.”
“Oh, absolutely. They sounded very on board when I spoke to them. But,” she added, her voice lowering into a conspiratorial purr, “I also have some very exciting news for you.”
“Oh?” Your pulse skipped, legs almost forgetting the rhythm of the machine.
“You’ll never guess who’s in the cast…” She let it hang, as if enjoying the suspense.
“Who?” you asked, breath catching.
“Jenna Ortega.”
The StairMaster betrayed you. One foot slipped slightly, sending a jolt through your legs, your heart skipping a beat. Your chest tightened, a cold surge of panic crawling up your spine. “Sorry?!” you blurted, voice cracking, garnering you a few strange looks from bystanders.
“Oh yeah,” Eve said, laughing like she’d just told you the punchline of a cruel joke. “You’re going full Hollywood with this one.”
Sweat dripped into your eyes, but it wasn’t the workout making your hands shake; it was the thought of Jenna on set, in the same room, sharing the same creative space. Your mind spun with scenarios you had no control over. What if she hates your directing style? What if you freeze in front of her?
Lord help us all.
You pressed your palms into the handles and tried to focus, but every pulse in your body screamed at you.
“Okay… okay,” you muttered, heart hammering, forcing your voice to sound steady. “I… I’ll do it. I’m in.”
“Perfect,” Eve said. “I’ll send over the contract, you just sign it, and it’s official. But seriously, don’t fall off that machine, alright? Try to finish your workout alive.”
You exhaled sharply, gripping the handles like a lifeline, heart hammering in sync with the machine. Jenna. On set. With you. It wasn’t just exciting, it was fucking terrifying. Every part of you wanted to celebrate, but another part screamed that this was suddenly very real in a way your brain wasn’t ready for.
You forced your legs to keep moving, sweat mixing with the sudden chill of dread creeping down your spine. Every stride felt heavier, each step carrying the weight of what you had just agreed to. For the first time in hours, the noise of the gym, the clatter of weights, the hum of treadmills, the grunts and shouts around you, faded into a blur.
Because right now, nothing existed except the idea of Jenna Ortega, two months from now, waiting for you to show up and direct a film you hadn’t dared to dream could happen.
You were gonna need more than just a workout to calm you down
Your keys jingled in the lock before you pushed the door open with your shoulder, juggling the weight of a grocery bag in one arm and a bottle of wine clutched protectively in the other.
The wine wasn’t the healthiest coping mechanism, you knew that. Still, tonight, it felt like the only one. A little red to cut through the restless energy buzzing under your skin. A way to remind yourself that this moment, this job, this chance, was worth celebrating, even if no one else was around to toast it with you.
You dropped the groceries onto the kitchen counter with a dull thud, promising yourself you’d unpack them later, and drifted straight into the living room. The vinyl collection sat waiting, neatly lined up in its crate. You crouched down, fingers brushing over the spines until they landed on Rumours. Classic, timeless, familiar.
Nothing paired with a bottle of wine quite like Fleetwood Mac.
You set the record on the player, the needle crackling softly before those first golden notes filled the room. The sound swelled in the still air, chasing away some of the emptiness that clung to the walls. You poured the first glass, the rich red catching the glow of the lamp, and took a long, drawling sip.
For the first time since signing the contract, the excitement began to settle into something tangible, something you could actually hold. This was real. You’d landed your first big directing gig. The panic, the adrenaline, the exhaustion, it all softened at the edges, replaced with a quieter kind of pride. Tonight wasn’t about the pressure or the deadlines. Tonight was yours. A small, private celebration, wrapped in music and wine.
But the truth lingered in the gaps between songs, in the shadows pooling at the corners of your apartment, in the meal you were cooking for one. If you let yourself think too hard, it wasn’t difficult to admit: you were lonely.
Most of your friends were still back in Australia, their lives rolling on without you. And here you were, glass in hand, trying to convince yourself that this solitary toast was enough.
You had Eve, sure, but that line between business and friendship was always there, firm and unspoken. She was your agent, and no matter how much you bantered or how well you got along, you knew you couldn’t lean on her the way you would a real friend.
Every connection you had here was tied to work, transactional at its core. And when the gigs you’d managed to land in America barely stretched beyond three months at a time, those connections fizzled out as quickly as they formed, leaving you to start from scratch all over again.
“I should really get a dog,” you muttered under your breath, plating up the simple dinner you had made and topping off your second glass of wine. The words sounded half like a joke, half like a plea. At least then, the apartment wouldn’t feel so silent all the time.
Carrying your plate to the small dining table, you set it down with a soft clink, the wine glass following. Just as you lowered yourself into the chair, your phone buzzed across the wood. You dragged it closer, thumb swiping lazily over the screen, until Eve’s name flashed at the top of the notification.
It was a link. You tapped it open, the headline appearing in bold black letters:
Y/n Y/l/n Set to Direct New Horror Feature with Jenna Ortega and Sophie Thatcher.
It was refreshing, strange, even, for a sense of pride to wash over you instead of the usual dread that accompanied anything career-related.
For once, the thought of people knowing your name didn’t send your stomach lurching. Still, your eyes lingered on the headline longer than you meant them to. The addition of Sophie’s name wasn’t something you could just skim past. As if handling one rising powerhouse actress wasn’t enough, now you had two.
Just what you needed.
The weight of it pressed against your chest. On one hand, it was exhilarating, validation that you were stepping into something real, something that mattered in the industry. On the other hand, it was terrifying. Two actresses with reputations that carried entire projects on their shoulders, and you, the newcomer, expected to hold it all together.
You let out a short laugh, though it didn’t sound entirely amused. “No pressure at all,” you muttered to yourself, taking a long sip of wine that barely took the edge off.
You speared a bite of dinner and chewed absently, your eyes fixed on the glow of your phone screen. The article stared back at you with unflinching certainty. You scrolled up and down, reread the headline, reread the names. Again. And again. As if repetition might dull the edges, make the words lose their weight, make them feel… normal. But each glance only seemed to sharpen the reality instead: this was happening, and there was no hiding from it now.
Then, a small banner slid across the top of your phone.
@jennaortega started following you.
For a split second, you froze, blinking at the notification to make sure you hadn’t imagined it.
Your stomach dipped, the wine in your glass suddenly tasting sharper in your throat. You tapped the banner with hesitant fingers, your Instagram springing open. There it was, her name, her profile picture, the little blue tick. The words Follows you sat neatly under her bio, like it was the most casual thing in the world.
You froze. The words didn’t compute at first, like they were in a different language. Then your pulse spiked, sharp and fast, and you nearly fumbled the phone into your dinner plate.
“Oh no… oh no no no,” you whispered under your breath, voice tight, barely audible over the soft vinyl hum in the background.
Panic set in in slow, creeping waves. You flipped instinctively to your Instagram profile, scrolling frantically, like you could somehow erase or rearrange your own history before she saw it. Each tap made your heartbeat jump.
Your opinion skewed by fear, you were now overwhelmed by cringy selfies, bad lighting, and your tongue-in-cheek jokes that now looked painfully juvenile.
Your thumb hovered over the Follow Back button, heavy with indecision. Was it too eager? Too casual? Too obviously fan-girling?
You scrolled up and down your feed again, hyper-focusing on every post, every comment, every tag. Your mind refused to let you stop. Did you post something dumb? Something embarrassing? Is this a trap?
Your hand shook slightly as you adjusted the phone in your grip, wine glass forgotten on the table beside you. You took a shallow breath and tried to calm the frantic pulse in your chest, but the room felt suddenly smaller, warmer, too loud with your own thoughts.
Minutes passed, or maybe only seconds, but it felt like hours. You scrolled again, double-checked every post, hovered over the button once more, debating with yourself as though your life depended on it.
Finally, after three long, torturous minutes and several shaky exhalations, you followed her.
The small confirmation animation popped up on your screen, and for a fraction of a second, you almost regretted it. But the panic didn’t fade. No, it only intensified. Your mind raced with possibilities and what-ifs, hands clenching the edges of the table.
You set, or more accurately, threw your phone down, taking a deep, shuddering breath, and tried to distract yourself by sipping wine. It did little to slow the buzzing in your chest. Your thoughts were already looping: She’s following me. She knows I exist. I’m supposed to be professional. I can’t freak out.
Then, barely minutes later, the phone buzzed again. You froze mid-sip, staring at the screen as though willing it to stay quiet.
@jennaortega sent you a message
Your pulse hit your throat. Your stomach flipped. The warmth of the apartment felt oppressive now, the soft vinyl hum and the clinking of your wine glass against the plate suddenly deafening. You picked up the phone, fingers trembling like they’d forgotten how to hold anything steady.
You stared at the notification, blinking at it. Slowly, almost cautiously, you swiped to open it.
Summary: You step into the whirlwind of your first major film festival, nerves on edge, applause echoing in your ears, and fleeting moments that hint at something (or someone) unexpected. ~ Word Count: 2.1k
A/N: well well well... here is my promised new series for Jenna!! I haven't decided on a name yet but I felt the need to get this first chapter out to you asap so here she is. This is mainly an introductory chapter into the world but either way I hope you enjoy and I'll see you very soon <3
Chapter 1
“What the fuck am I doing here?”
A question you found yourself asking repeatedly.
Studying film was never supposed to take you anywhere. When you were younger, sure, you had the usual starry-eyed dreams: standing on the Oscars stage, lights blinding, applause crashing down as you thanked your wife, your parents, maybe even you’re Year 9 English Teacher for “believing in you”, and dedicating it all to the kids you didn’t even want yet.
You pictured yourself shoulder to shoulder with Hollywood’s biggest names, hardly batting an eye as they praised you for your “incredible talent,” like that sort of thing happened all the time. In your head, you’d perfected the casual wave, the tearful-yet-dignified acceptance speech, even the modest shrug you’d give when Spielberg inevitably called you a genius.
Of course, those fantasies always skipped over the fact that your savings account could barely cover a bus fare, your “signature look” was just whatever wasn’t wrinkled on the floor, and the only spotlight you’d ever stood under was the flickering fluorescent bulb in your kitchen. Reality wasn’t champagne and golden statuettes; it was Aldi wine, unpaid internships, and watching your emails get ghosted harder than your last Tinder date.
And deep down, you knew better. You weren’t stupid. The dream didn’t magically appear just because you wanted it badly enough. You were a woman in an industry still run by ego-driven men and padded by nepo babies. No connections. No famous surname. No trust fund waiting to swoop in and cover the artistic risks. Just you, your stubborn streak, and the hope that sheer talent might be enough.
So the fact you’re here now feels like a miracle.
You’d been making films for years, but submitting your latest film, Stillwater, to Cannes began as a half-joke - a why-not click on the application form, per se. You shot it in two frantic months with a skeleton crew and a budget that barely covered coffee, and yet somehow, against all odds, the film picked up momentum, popping up at festivals wherever you could afford the entry fee. But Cannes? This was a different universe.
You were in way over your head.
The car pulls up, and you immediately regret everything. The suit you splurged on feels more like a chokehold than clothing, and the shoes (a last-minute purchase) appear to have been engineered by someone with a grudge against feet. When you step out, there's no roar of approval or camera flashes chasing you. If anything, the noise dips, the crowd clocking instantly that you’re no one worth knowing.
That sting hits deeper than you’d like to admit.
You tug on your jacket, as if rearranging the fabric will magically transform you into someone who belongs here, because the only thing worse than being ignored is having this disaster immortalised in unflattering paparazzi photos.
The thought of hundreds of cameras flashing in unison made your stomach flip, and you briefly considered sprinting back to the car, and hiding under the seat like a nervous raccoon.
You walk tentatively towards the carpet, running through your agent's instructions in your head like a mantra.
That’s right, you had an agent. You still weren’t sure if they’d confused you with someone else, but you weren’t about to correct them.
Smile convincingly, not creepily; look engaged, but not desperate; shake hands firmly, but don't hurt anyone; answer questions briefly, but sound interesting; keep your jacket straight, and under no circumstances, for the love of all that is holy, trip. Simple, right?
Impossible.
Everywhere you looked, someone you’d idolised for years floated past, gliding through the chaos with an ease that made your knees wobble. Your brain shrieked holy shit, that’s them! on a loop, your jaw threatening to unhinge itself in awe. You tried to breathe normally, but your chest felt like it had been replaced with a jackhammer. And just to really twist the knife, every single one of these people was here to watch your film. Your stomach lurched violently at the thought—part excitement, part terror, part pure, unadulterated panic.
Stepping onto the carpet, the photographers piled behind the barricades like caged animals, cameras firing so violently it felt like your retinas might combust on the spot. You flinched at each flash, wondering if this was what a seizure felt like.
A worker appeared out of nowhere, scribbled your name onto a whiteboard, and held it up like a lifeline in the madness. You gave a tight, awkward smile and shuffled forward, trying to convince yourself you weren’t about to keel over.
Then your eyes caught a figure ahead. Suddenly, all the noise made sense.
Jenna Ortega.
The Jenna Ortega.
She was in front of you.
Right now.
Your brain short-circuited. You had to remind yourself to keep moving, keep smiling, keep breathing, because yes, you were standing here, and yes, the paparazzi were still trying to eat your soul, and yes… she was right there, just a few steps ahead of you.
Cheeks burning and eyes probably still glazed from sensory overload, you posed as best you could. Did you look like you had a stick up your ass? Almost certainly. Were you going to Google “how to pose on a red carpet” the second you got home? Absolutely. And yet, somehow, amid the flashing lights and hushed murmurs of recognition from nearby press, you managed to give the impression, however fleeting, that you belonged here.
Even if most of the attention was stolen by the generational talent next to you.
By the time your soul had been drained dry by photographers shouting questions you didn’t understand and clicking with reckless abandon, Jenna had already melted into the crowd. Someone swooped in to guide you forward, and you practically limped along, desperate for a pause from the relentless sensory assault.
You shuffled through the crowd, funnelled toward the theatre like some reluctant migratory animal, your shoes threatening mutiny with every step.
A photographer leaned a little too far over the barricade for a close-up of your panic-stricken face, and you almost considered throwing yourself to the floor just to escape.
Finally, you rounded a corner and the noise shifted; less screaming, more murmurs, the soft shuffle of expensive shoes on polished floors. The smell of popcorn and expensive perfume hit your nostrils simultaneously, and for a moment, you felt like a human pinball bouncing between sensory overload and awe. A line of attendants motioned you forward with polite urgency, and you followed like a nervous, slightly perplexed robot.
The theatre doors opened, revealing a cavernous space of plush red seats stretching into the darkness. You paused, blinking like a deer caught in headlights, realising just how small you felt in comparison. Distinguished faces were already settling in, murmuring and laughing as if they’d done this a thousand times, as if they owned the place.
You bit your lip a little harder, tripping over your own feet once or twice as you walked down the aisle, muttering silent apologies to anyone who noticed. The weight of the moment pressed on you: this was not your typical indie screening at home, where the audience was forgiving and sleepy. All of these people were expecting something. And you were... well, you.
Your seat finally came into view, perfectly centred, giving you a commanding view of the screen but also placing you in the most exposed position imaginable. You sighed, adjusting your jacket like a suit of armour. Somewhere, a whisper of movement caught your eye, and your gaze lifted to find Jenna taking her seat a few rows ahead.
Calm, collected, untouchable.
She made it all look absurdly easy.
This was going to be a long evening.
The lights were dimmed, and the screen flickered with the final moments of the previous film. Over the last hour, the theatre had hosted a parade of festival favourites: sweeping period dramas, taut thrillers that left hands gripping armrests, and quirky experimental pieces that elicited polite, confused looks.
Each film concluded with applause, some tentative, some thunderous. Standing ovations rolled down the rows in waves, echoing off the high ceilings. You tried to breathe normally, but every cheer twisted your stomach. You shifted in your seat, tugging on your jacket as if the fabric could boost your confidence.
The nerves were never about execution.
Stillwater was meticulously crafted. Every frame and camera angle had been carefully considered. The fear came from the risk you'd taken: unusual narrative jumps, long, uncomfortable silences, and a scene where the protagonist does something morally ambiguous that you knew would divide the audience.
As the lights went completely dark, the applause from the previous film continued to echo. The screen flashed to life. The opening scene played, your carefully chosen music swelling beneath the dialogue, each sound bite perfectly placed.
You sat rigidly, hands folded, your gaze darting subtly between the screen and the audience. Every murmur, rustle of a program, and subtle nod or frown made your stomach twitch. This wasn't a casual viewing. This was Cannes, and your film, your small, risky, audacious film, was on display.
You reminded yourself to breathe. Sit up straight. Maintain your composure. Smile politely when necessary.
These people were here to observe your work, not to judge your character.
Still, each daring shot and quiet pause that defied convention felt like a tightrope walk. You had trained for this moment for years, but it didn't stop your heart from pounding.
And then it began: the scenes you were proud of and the ones that made you nervous. Your cast delivered flawlessly, your edits created the tension you desired, and the riskier choices paid off in ways you could only hope for.
You noticed subtle reactions from the audience: a held breath here, a quiet shift forward there. A few heads cocked thoughtfully, some people's eyes flickering with curiosity, others narrowing in intrigue. You allowed yourself to relax slightly; you could still see that your gamble was working.
The first credits rolled, and there was a moment of silence. The entire room appeared to hold its collective breath. Then, like a wave breaking against the shore, applause erupted throughout the theatre.
You froze, caught between relief and disbelief as the applause erupted around you.
It was loud.
It was authentic.
People were clapping, standing, cheering, and perhaps even whooping. You weren't sure if anyone shouted your name; you hoped not, but the sound, the sheer volume, made your stomach lurch violently.
You rose slowly and awkwardly from your seat. Hands hovering as if you didn't know where to put them, you gave a stiff bow, a small wave, anything that suggested you appreciated the love without appearing completely insane. The theatre continued to roar, a tidal wave of recognition that made your brain stammer: This is happening. This is real. And, yes, you are indeed here.
Somewhere in the haze of clapping, you caught her gaze.
Her lips lifted in the faintest curve, barely there, but enough. Enough to make you straighten, to feel the air shift without a sound. You held her gaze, a reflexive smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.
She didn’t look away. Her eyes lingered for a heartbeat longer than seemed polite, curious perhaps, the kind of hold that made it feel like the theatre had shrunk to just the two of you. The clapping washed around you, chaotic, unstoppable, but for a moment, it became background noise.
You responded with a nod, almost imperceptible, and the faintest tilt of your head. She mirrored it. No words. No other movement.
Your stomach fluttered. A photographer’s flash illuminated the rows of seats, but she remained a steady point in the chaos, the only line of calm in the storm. The audience cheered, heads turned, someone coughed, and yet you stayed locked in that quiet exchange.
The final applause rolled on, and still she held it for a breath longer. Then, as if finally remembering the room existed, she glanced toward the stage again. But the faint curve of her smile lingered in your mind.
The standing ovation began to ebb, people slowly settling back into their seats. You followed, sliding down into your chair with a careful, measured motion, hands folding in your lap. The theatre had returned to its quieter rhythm, murmurs and shuffles replacing the roar of clapping.
Exhaling a breath you hadn't realised you were holding, you sank into the seat fully this time. Somewhere, a subtle excitement hummed in your chest, buried under the weight of the moment, tucked neatly away for now. You looked toward the screen, at the fading glow of the credits, and let yourself sit there, still, quietly, letting the applause’s echo linger around you.
The night was far from over, but for this one small, suspended moment, you were simply sitting, breathing, and feeling like maybe, just maybe, you belonged.
Requested: Yes/No ~ Hello, I have a request for Reneè Rapp. Reneè is an interview and is asked about her relationship with former co-star, Reader. (An aussie artist and actress) The two have been spotted by paparazzi and have been all over each other's instagram and tik tok together.
Pairing: Renee Rapp x Reader
Summary: Renee joins Drew Barrymore for NY92, where Renee's Australian girlfriend unknowingly becomes the centre of the conversation. ~ Word Count: 1.8k ~ Warnings: legit none
A/N: HI!! I am so obsessed with Renee atm, writing for her is EVERYTHING. Pls enjoy my lovelies! For those of you who get what I'm referencing in the title, I love you <3
The dim glow of ambient lighting cast a soft haze throughout the auditorium. Conversations hummed through the air as you made your way to your seat, a few rows back from the front, as the excitement in the room grew. In an attempt to blend in with the sea of eager spectators, you carefully adjusted Renee's cap, which you wore, pulling it low over your eyes.
Once settled in your seat, you couldn't help but fidget with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. As the minutes ticked away, you kept your head down, the brim of the cap casting a shadow over your features as you eagerly awaited your girlfriend to arrive on stage.
Renee had been looking forward to this night all week, eager to see and talk to Drew again, even if it was in front of a few hundred people. The two of you had met Drew on her show about a year ago when you were doing press together for The Sex Lifes of College Girls, in which you played Renee's on-screen girlfriend.
Unbeknownst to everyone else, you had actually become each other's off-screen girlfriends around 6 months ago when Renee invited you to collaborate on a song with her for her debut album, and your relationship grew from there.
You had been inseparable since.
Hence why you were currently sitting in the quietening crowd as the lights above you began to dim and the stage became illuminated with spotlights.
The crowd erupted with cheers as Renee and Drew walked onto the stage, waving enthusiastically and smiling infectiously at the audience as the applause echoed throughout the auditorium. You couldn't help but be in awe of your girlfriend as she gracefully walked across the stage. Your eyes scanned her gorgeous figure, causing a rush of warmth to flood your cheeks as she looked out into the audience, eagerly looking for you.
As her eyes met yours, her smile grew even wider when she noticed the hat you had on. With a playful wink and a finger pressed against your lips, a blush crept onto her cheeks as she giggled, shifting her focus back to Drew as she settled into her seat.
Once they had taken their seats and the cheers from the crowd began to fade, Drew gazed out at the audience with a wide grin, "I'm proud to say that Renee and I were texting this morning and that we both showed up in pinstripes.". Cheers filled your ears as you couldn't help but be captivated by Renee's infectious laughter and radiant smile, which always managed to make your heart skip a beat. "We did, and not planned either," she said with a joyful laugh.
"Thank you, everybody, for coming tonight. I heard the bar was packed, so I like that action. That just made me so happy. I'm like, that sets a tone, let's do this." Drew enthusiastically addressed the audience, yet your focus remained on Renee. The smile she wore filled you with familiar warmth, and you couldn't help but smile giddily just looking at her.
As the conversation between the two of them began to flow, covering deep yet incredibly entertaining topics, your attention remained undivided as you proudly listened and watched your girlfriend, admiring every tiny detail.
"So the show... I've read that you are going to come back for season 3 sporadically," Your ears perked up at the mention of the show. It had been a watershed moment for you and Renee alike in your professional and personal lives. Not only was the show itself a massive accomplishment for you, but the exposure you and Renee received from it helped propel your music careers to new heights.
"Yeah. It was obviously a tough decision to make." Renee spoke thoughtfully, her teeth lightly grazing her bottom lip. "The show has given me so much, but singing was always, like, my main goal in life, so." She continued as Drew nodded along understandably.
"I feel as though, if you have multiple talents, it becomes a challenge of, like, how do you fit them all in, how do you make them work cohesively, how do you go in certain directions," Drew spoke as you listened carefully, her words striking familiar chords as Renee nodded along.
"And I think that kind of idea and way of living is very reflective of you and also of your amazing Australian co-star Y/n, who is also a singer and someone who you actually collaborated with on your album." Your eyebrows immediately raised at the mention of your name. You noticed Renee glance at you briefly as Drew spoke, a slight smirk gracing her lips as she did so.
Renee flushed slightly as she returned her gaze to Drew, "Yeah, without a doubt. Y/n and I are very similar in how we function, which I think definitely contributes to why we get along so well and why we love being around each other so much." Her nose scrunched adorably as the audience awwed at her words, a familiar red spreading across your cheeks as you melted into your seat.
"So you won't mind me asking how you and Y/n's on-screen relationship is going to go? Because, oh my god, the chemistry!" The crowd laughed as Drew fell back into her chair, her mouth agape in faux shock. You laughed along as you watched Renee hide her face behind her hands.
"If anything, being in more scenes with her is going to be what I miss most." It was your turn to hide behind your hands as Renee spoke, her eyes briefly glancing towards you. She laughed giddily as the crowd once again awwed at her comments. "That being said, though, I am really excited to continue exploring it. I love Leighton and only want what's best for her."
"Well, I'd say they're perfect for each other!" Renee laughed and thanked her as the crowd cheered in agreement. It was always heartwarming to see how much people enjoyed your work, especially when it was with your girlfriend - and even more so when it was about the two of you being in a relationship.
"I also presume that the chemistry comes off so authentic because, from what I've seen at least, you guys spend so much time together off set." The audience erupted in laughter as memories of you and Renee flashed through your mind, a big smile spreading across your lips as you admired your girlfriend on stage.
Her adorable giggles fill the air as she raises the microphone to her lips. "We do, yeah," she manages to speak from her laughter. Once her giggles had calmed down, she continued. "I am madly in love with that woman." your cheeks glow red even in the dimly lit crowd as she talks, your breathing deepening as your eyes raked over the love of your life.
"We spend basically every day we can with each other, and if we're not together, we're either texting or calling. It's great." Her cheeks flush a deep scarlet, and her grin grows wider by the second as you watch her.
"The paparazzi are certainly loving it," Drew commented, her eyebrows raising slightly. "Yeah, they are," Renee replied, a wry smile playing on her lips. "How do you feel about that?" She had grown somewhat accustomed to the constant presence of the media with their flashing cameras and relentless pursuit, but she still didn't love it, to say the least.
"I'm not a big fan of how intrusive they are and how they, like, force the whole 'public relationship' thing on people," Renee confessed, her words laced with frustration. The never-ending attention and gossip surrounding her love life had proven to be the most difficult part of her experience in the public spotlight.
Your heart skipped a beat when Renee mentioned the public relationship. Although no one had initially caught on, you knew someone would put it together in a matter of seconds, and whilst that thought scared you, it also brought a giddy smile to your lips.
You watched as the revelation hung in the air, a brief silence falling over the crowd before one of the audience members screamed excitedly, followed by several others as the realisation swept through the crowd.
"Wait… Are you guys dating?!" Drew burst out happily, unable to control her excitement as she, too, realised what Renee had alluded to.
A fierce blush spread its way across Renee's cheeks as she quickly moved to cover her wide smile and red cheeks with her hands. The crowd roared with excitement as she began giggling uncontrollably. You smiled proudly as her eyes met yours, shyly nodding for her to continue.
"Yeah,"
Screams and cheers erupted from the audience as Drew bounced in her seat. "Oh my God! You're kidding! "Tell me everything." Renee continued to laugh briefly before it faded: "We've basically been together since we worked on my song together."
The revelation hit the crowd like a wave, and your heart raced amid the uproar. The secret you and Renee had kept hidden for months was now revealed on a public stage, and you felt a mix of excitement and nervousness in the pit of your stomach. The spotlight had shifted not only to Renee but also to the secret love story that, until now, had played out behind closed doors.
Drew's exclamation mirrored the audience's sentiments, but your attention was drawn to Renee at that point. She sat there, bathed in the light from the stage lights, her eyes sparkling with a mix of vulnerability and joy. Your heart swelled with pride as she openly shared your relationship with the world, and you couldn't help but admire her.
"That's amazing! Did you like her before that?" Drew inquired, her eagerness palpable, echoing the curiosity that resonated throughout the auditorium. You held your breath, waiting to hear Renee's response.
"Of course I did. I had like the biggest crush on her the second we met." Renee confessed, her words hanging in the air like a melody that resonated with the audience as they collectively awwed. "Plus, her accent is like the cutest thing you will ever hear."
Drew leant slightly forward, her gaze fixed on Renee. "Is she here tonight?" she inquired curiously. Renee's lips curled into a mysterious smile, the stage lights reflecting the contours of her features. "She might be," she said, a small laugh escaping her lips afterwards. Her affectionate gaze moved across the dimly lit room, briefly meeting your tender gaze. She smiled softly as she spoke.
"And, to my girlfriend, who may or may not be here tonight, I love you so much, baby."
Requested: Yes/No ~ How about Regina having a crush on the reader but not saying anything bc she thinks the reader won't like her, but when the reader starts talking to her and everything, Regina is suddenly possessive ykwis
Pairing: Regina George x Reader
Summary: Shocked when a face she doesn't recognise shows up in her class, Regina makes it her goal to learn everything about them, even if it leads to her gaining a massive crush. ~ Word Count: 4.1k ~ Warnings: lotta swearing, one slur, otherwise mainly fluff
A/N: HI!!! FIRST RENEE/REGINA FIC!!! she is criminally underwritten, so I thought I would do my part (other people pls do right for her I need stuff to read). I love her so so much, and I had a blast writing this, so pls enjoy <3 + I will be creating a Renee rapp taglist so comment or message me if you wanna be on it :)
The halls of North Shore High were like a second home to Regina. Some would call it her hunting ground. Each year, she relished her opportunity to prowl the hallways, hunting the new freshman as she committed every new face and name to mind, with the intention of digging up all the dirt she possibly could. With thanks to Gretchen, she knew everything about everyone.
But then there was you.
"Alright, we have a new student joining us today."
Regina's eyes widened in pure shock as you walked into the room. With your bag casually slung over your shoulder, you make a beeline for the empty tables surrounding Regina. Ignoring the intensity of her gaze, you drop your bag and settle into the chair next to her. The faint strains of music emanated from the headphones hanging from your ears as you began organizing your belongings, only to be interrupted by the teacher.
"Y/n, if you could please stand and introduce yourself."
Your eyes flicked nervously towards the teacher, and the entire class turned to look at you. The intensity of Regina's gaze made your cheeks glow with a faint red before you sighed dejectedly and reluctantly stood up, pulling out your headphones.
"Um... Hi, I'm Y/n... not really much else to say."
The teacher nodded at you before turning around to start the lesson. Watching as you sat down, Regina's focus shifted entirely to you.
She couldn't tell whether it was because she knew nothing about you, or that you were just so damn hot.
Maybe it was both.
As soon as the bell rang, signalling the end of the class, Regina wasted no time storming off to find Gretchen. Having watched you for the entirety of the class, she was desperate to find out everything about you.
Strutting through the packed hallway, everyone staring at her in fear, Regina locked onto her target as she came into her view. "Gretchen!" she called irritatedly. The small girl quickly turned around as her eyes widened in fear. "Tell me... How is it that I don't know anything about this new Junior, Y/n? Why wasn't I informed? I need all the details now!"
Gretchen, scrambling to keep up with Regina's relentless pace, stammered out an apology. "I-I'm sorry, Regina! I didn't even know they were coming."
"God, you are useless!"
In only a week, not only had watching you become her routine, but she had even started to develop a crush on you, as painful as that was for her to admit.
She was supposed to be chased, not the one chasing.
Seeing you had become the favourite part of her day, even above having the whole school bow at her feet. She hadn't even talked to you. She just watched.
She meticulously studied your every move, subconsciously committing all of your subtle mannerisms to memory. Like the way you would take notes, or the way you would nibble at your fingers when you were focused. Or her personal favourite, when you knawed at the end of your pencil when you were nervous or stressed.
Fuck, she wishes she was that pencil.
She hated to admit it, but the thought of talking to you terrified her. Her usually overbearing confidence drained away whenever you sat in the chair next to her, your mysterious yet comforting presence causing her to malfunction.
And yet, as she sat at lunch with Gretchen and Karen, she refused to mutter a word about you to them. The furthest they pushed was when Gretchen asked about you after catching Regina staring at you, and the look Regina gave the poor girl made her shut up immediately.
The lunch tables were packed as usual, but Regina's eyes scanned the hallway beside them. She was well aware that you never sat at any of the tables, so she patiently waited for you to return to your locker, which was conveniently placed within sight of her table.
Karen and Gretchen's incessant babbling went unnoticed as you finally appeared. She couldn't help but notice your slouched posture and sluggish movements. You looked exhausted. Your headphones, which you always had on you, dangled from one ear as you forcefully opened your locker.
As if she wasn't already concerned, the table of varsity jocks had also noticed you, taking your clearly irritated mood as a green light to push even more of your buttons. From across the room, Regina watched with a clenched jaw as three of them stood from the table and made their way towards you.
Her body ached with anger as she watched them grab you by the shoulder and throw you against the lockers. Your exhausted expression turned to one of fear as they held you up against the cold metal doors. The guy forcefully snatched your headphones away, callously tossing them to the ground and obliterating them with a single forceful step.
Regina choked on a gasp. She knew how much you loved those headphones.
She was annoyingly out of earshot as she watched them continue to laugh at and berate you whilst shaking you against the lockers. Her blood was boiling. The others had noticed her expression and cast confused glances towards the commotion, which only confused them more.
The Regina they knew would be laughing.
After Regina's next victims finally let you go, your body shook as you realised that the whole school had just watched you get shamelessly belittled. As soon as your gaze locked with Regina's, your embarrassment grew unbearable, triggering you to hastily get your belongings before moving to make a swift escape.
The last Regina saw of you, you were frantically running away, desperately trying to hide your state as tears streamed down your face.
Those jocks had no idea what was coming for them.
The next time she laid eyes on you was the week after. She had already exacted her revenge on the jocks, having called their parents and telling them they all had STDs, yet when she caught sight of your weary expression as you entered the classroom, the familiar sense of triumph eluded her.
As the lesson passed and the teacher blabbered about a new group project, Regina's eyes never left you as you buried yourself in your notebook.
"Ok, listening, please." the teacher announced, garnering both of your attention. "The groups are as follows," you patiently waited for your name to be read out so you could go back to absentmindedly doodling in the margins of your book, whilst Regina similarly waited to hear the name of the poor soul who would be stuck with her. Yet, to her surprise, she wasn't disgusted by the name read beside hers.
"Y/n and Regina,"
With eyes wide and fixed on the teacher, Regina failed to notice the sudden blush that crept onto your cheeks, causing you to quickly lower your head. "You have the rest of the lesson to plan." the teacher mumbled before returning to their desk, where they sat silently.
Neither of you moved. After a second of secretly hoping Regina would make her move, you figured she wasn't interested in you or the project. Opening your computer and immediately diving into research, Regina sat at her desk, trying to build the courage to talk to you.
God, she hated being a coward.
After a few minutes and a few internal pep talks, she decided to take her one excuse to talk to you as she finally scooted her desk towards yours and turned to face you. As she inched closer, your heart began to race, sensing her gaze fixed on you. With a bashful smile, you diverted your attention from your screen and finally made eye contact with her.
She was breathtaking.
Clearing your throat, you quickly turned back to your computer as you scratched the back of your neck. "I-I'll just do it all when I get home," you spoke nervously, presuming THE Regina George would want nothing to do with you or the project.
"What makes you think I'd make you do it alone," she retorts, her tone more flirtatious than she had intended, but she wasn't mad about it. You looked back at her, lost for words for a second as you tried to scramble together a response.
"Well... I-I just presumed you wouldn't want to help." A small smile formed on her lips as you briefly glanced at her, "I mean, you hardly pay attention, so I just... figured." She softly giggles at your words, her laughter sending a flutter of excitement through your body.
Little did you know she was distracted by you.
"Come to mine later. We can do it together." Regina's unexpected display of confidence caught both of you off guard as her usual flirtatious demeanour made a comeback. Meanwhile, you stared at her in disbelief, trying to process what had just happened. "Ugh... Yeah, sure, if that's ok?"
"I wouldn't have asked if it wasn't"
As the school bell rang through the corridors, you were overwhelmed with both relief and anxiety. After enduring a tedious day at school, you were now faced with the terrifying task of not only talking to Regina but also spending hours alone with her at her house.
Walking out the doors and towards the car park, the sound of the bustling school fading into the background, your eyes catch a familiar blonde leaning up against her Jeep. Your heart began to race faster as you approached her, your bag feeling heavier with each step.
Her expression softened as she noticed you approaching, a warm smile gracing her lips, and she pushed herself off her car. "Hey," she greets softly, a soft shade of pink painting her cheeks as you both smile at each other. "Hi," you said breathlessly with a small chuckle.
Without another word, Regina moves to get in, and you follow suit, chucking your bag into the backseat next to hers before climbing into the passenger seat.
The breeze gently tousled your hair as you drove to her house, the soothing tunes of music filling the air, matching the nervous excitement between you both. Your heart beat along with the music as you snuck glances at the girl sitting next to you. With her eyes focused on the road and the wind softly brushing her skin, you were utterly mesmerised by her.
Of course, you had heard of Regina George's horror stories, but this girl was different.
Sure, you hadn't spoken till this morning, but there was something about her you couldn't quite describe. Something that brought you to school every day, comforting you as you sat in undoubtedly one of the most boring classes, and that gave life at North Shore High purpose.
Frankly, you rejected any idea of her being a heartless bitch.
When you eventually turned into her driveway, your gaze was forced away from her as you caught sight of her house, or should you say mansion. The house was almost cinematic in grandeur, your eyes growing wider by the second as you drove closer before eventually stopping at the door.
"Wow," you mumbled under your breath as you exited her car, your eyes not leaving the building as you reached for your bag. You heard Regina chuckle lightly as she led the way to her door. "My mum's not home, thank god, so we have the place to ourselves."
You nod mindlessly as you follow her through the front door. As you trailed behind her, the pristine marble floors beneath your feet echoed with each step, a stark contrast to the scuffed linoleum of the school corridors.
Just when you thought you had gotten used to it, Regina led you to her room. Stepping inside, you find yourself mesmerised by everything around you. "This is your bedroom?" you asked, clearly taken aback. Regina glanced back at you, a shy smile on her face.
"Yeah, It was my parents, but I asked them to trade me." "Right...". You couldn't help but be captivated by the array of decorations adorning the walls, taking in the posters and photos that offered a rare glimpse into her life beyond her reign as the queen of North Shore.
Sitting on her bed and removing her shoes, she motions for you to do the same. Dropping your bag next to her massive bed and grabbing everything you need, you carefully sit down next to her, leaving enough room between the two of you so you don't seem invasive.
Opening your laptop and notebook, you place them on the bed as you pull up the project materials. You can feel Regina's gaze on you even though she's trying to be subtle, and the thought instantly makes your cheeks glow softly.
"So, uh, where do you want to start?"
The next few hours flew by as you worked on the project together. Regina was surprisingly helpful, the two of you moving closer as your work drew to a close. Now that the project was over, the familiar awkwardness lingered in the air as you searched for something to talk about that wouldn't embarrass you.
"You're really good at drawing, you know." Regina compliments softly, pointing at your notebook margins before you can say anything as you blush at her words. "Thanks... I've been doing it more since-" "Your headphones broke." Regina cuts you off as you look at her surprised.
"Yeah... How did you know that?" It was Regina's turn to blush as she realised that she had just revealed herself. Stammering to find an excuse, she looks away for a second, embarrassed. "I-I'm just a very observant person."
You look at her suspiciously with a small smile gracing your lips, the thought of Regina watching you making your heart flutter.
"You're different." you find yourself blurting out, "from how everyone else describes you, I mean." you finish quickly. Regina chuckles as she smiles at you softly. "You're different too. Good different. I like it."
The tension between you grew as you stared into each other's eyes. A softness behind her pale blue eyes drew you in, and before you knew it, you were slowly leaning in. Your heart was beating out of your chest as you caught Regina glancing down at your lips, her own caught between her teeth as your faces grew closer.
"Regina, honey!" You scramble backwards as Regina's bedroom door flies open, revealing who you believe to be her mum. "Oh. Hi there!" "Mum, seriously!?" Regina yells in disbelief. Your ears begin to ring as your head pounds, thinking about what would have happened if you had not been interrupted.
"I'm sorry, honey, I didn't realise you had anyone over." While Regina's mother was apologising, you could hear Regina sighing in frustration next to you. "I'll just go to the kitchen." Her mum suggests as she begins to leave the room, but you beat her to it. "No, Ms George, it's okay. I was on my way out anyway." You offer her a smile you hope appears as genuine as you quickly throw everything into your bag.
Trying to ignore Regina's pained gaze, you threw your bag over your shoulder, grabbed your shoes, and quickly exited her bedroom, making your way out the front door. You had no plan on how to get home, but you would rather walk than have to sit in that room after what had happened.
Walking into school the next day was like walking straight into a nightmare. You already weren't fond of the school, having been called slurs and made fun of constantly, but adding to that, your usual excitement of seeing Regina had been replaced with pure fear.
In just one night, you managed to spin every interaction you ever had with the girl, leaving you incredibly embarrassed about how you had let it all happen. Who were you to think Regina might actually like you? You were probably just a pawn in some big game.
Unlocking your locker and throwing it open, already fed up with the day before it had even begun, you began to unpack your stuff, completely ignorant of the approaching jock.
Walking into school with a similarly distraught look, Regina's mind was stuck reeling over the events from last night. The question of why you ran away was all she could think about until she heard a sharp bang.
Before you could react, you were once again thrown against the lockers, an irritated grunt leaving your lips. Your eyes met the same bastard who had made bullying you their new hobby. "Back for more, dyke?" he taunted you, your fists clenching involuntarily as you awaited the verbal abuse he was undoubtedly about to unleash on you.
Regina's head immediately whipped in its direction, a new sense of anger rushing through her body as she saw your saddened figure being pinned up against the lockers. Without hesitation, she storms towards the jock holding you against the wall with a fire burning behind her eyes.
"Fuck off, asshole!"
The boy's expression quickly shifted, causing him to release his grip on you and hastily retreat in terror. You sighed in relief as you observed Regina approaching you, her face contorted with unmistakable rage.
You found it quite amusing how scary everyone found her, causing the boy who had just been full of confidence to shrink into insignificance, like a tiny ant that she was about to step on.
"Look in her direction again, and it won't just be STDs next time."
The boy's face flashed in realisation before hurriedly scrambling off. All eyes were fixed on you as Regina directed her gaze towards you, her expression instantly softening with a hint of concern in her eyes. "Are you ok?" you managed a nod as the softness of her voice filled you with a comforting warmth.
"Yeah… Thanks," you replied softly, your familiar awkward energy filling the air. She watched you momentarily as you remained silent, hopeful that you would acknowledge her. Yet, as you continued to avert your gaze away from her, she gave you a soft nod before turning to leave. Her stomach sank as the failing state of your relationship grew more and more obvious.
With an unfamiliar burn of tears behind her eyes, her pace quickened as she tried to get as far away from you as she possibly could.
But you stopped her.
"Regina, wait!"
Looking over her shoulder and meeting your sorry gaze, her heart can't help but flutter as she watches you slowly jog after her. "Sorry, I-" you hesitated, feeling a surge of nerves as you came the closest you had been to Regina since yesterday. "Did you want to maybe... hang out at yours after school again?"
"Didn't we finish the project?" She seems confused, completely missing that you wanted to spend time together outside what was needed. "No, we did. I just thought we could, you know, just watch a movie or something, but if you're not into that-"
"I would love to." She interrupts your anxious babbling with a gentle laugh, her gaze filled with admiration as you stare at her in a state of surprise and joy. "Meet me at the same place, ok?" "Yeah". Regina walks away from you with a smirk as you stand there frozen.
Holy shit, you just asked Regina George out.
The trip to Regina's after the bell finally rang was much like the day before.
She waited for you by her car, dismissing her other friends when she spotted you. Greeting each other warmly before jumping in the car, you once again listened to music whilst the wind swept through your hair, a nervous yet warm sense of anticipation falling between you.
Pulling up to her house, which you were still in awe of, you jumped out of the car and walked towards the front door behind Regina. "This time, my mum actually isn't home and won't be. I made sure of it. So we really do have the place all to ourselves."
You both laughed at her words as a small blush crept onto your cheeks. You walked behind Regina as she entered her bedroom, studying the now familiar walls as she set up everything you needed to watch a movie.
After sitting on her bed with the TV switched on and Netflix loaded up, you still remained standing in her doorway, nibbling on your pencil, which you always kept stowed away in your pocket, causing her to glance at you with a puzzled expression. "You seem distracted. Everything okay?" she asked, her voice soft yet discerning.
Snapping back into reality, offering her a sheepish smile, you replied, "Yeah, just lost in thought, I guess." taking the pencil from your lips, you slowly moved towards her bed, your eyes subconsciously scanning every inch of her body, your mind going wild seeing her so comfortable.
Her gaze fixated on you, her piercing blue eyes captivating in the sunlight pouring through the window. She laughed softly, the sound filling the room with a pleasant melody. "Lost in thought or thoughts of me?"
The comment caught you off guard, and your cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "I… um, what makes you say that?". Regina, who reclined into her bed, gestured towards your hand, occupied by a chewed-up pencil.
"You always chew on that when you're nervous," she spoke softly. Your eyes widened in astonishment as the familiar burn returned to your cheeks. "How do you know that?" She smirked, "I notice everything." Regina's gaze never wavered as she continued watching you, a playful glint in her eyes.
"So, what's got you so nervous, Y/n?"
You felt a lump form in your throat as Regina's question hung in the air, filling the lavish room with tension. You couldn't help but fidget with your pencil, trying to find the right words to capture the overwhelming mix of emotions that Regina's presence constantly stirred within you.
"I, uh… it's just… everything, I guess. School, people, this…" You gestured vaguely between the two of you, unable to articulate the chaotic mess of feelings inside. Regina leaned up, her voice softening. "Well, you don't have to be nervous around me." Her eyes locked onto yours, a sincerity beneath the confident facade. "Now sit."
Slipping your shoes off and sitting on the bed, you move closer to Regina, who is lying against her pillows, her gaze unwavering. Eventually settling next to her, you turn to look at her, your heart fluttering as her soft eyes meet yours.
The room seemed to buzz with an unspoken energy, and all you could hear was the sound of your shared breaths. You caught your bottom lip between your teeth, watching Regina's eyes analyse your face. A blush painted her cheeks, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still.
Regina seemed hesitant, her mouth opening as if searching for the right words. "You know, I've been infatuated with you ever since you first walked into class." Your heart did a somersault at her words. A dreamy smile spread across your face, and you couldn't help but feel a rush of joy and disbelief.
"Regina George. Infatuated with me?" you teased playfully, her confession coursing adrenaline through your veins. With a gentle laugh, she hides her face briefly behind her hand before looking back at you, matching your wide smile.
"Shut up."
Leaning towards you, Regina's hands delicately wrapped around your neck, a slight shiver travelling down your spine. The room appeared to tighten as Regina held you, her touch confident and gentle. You caught your bottom lip between your teeth, your eyes never leaving Regina's as she closed the distance.
Time seemed to stand still as her lips met yours.
The touch of her lips against yours was gentle, her hands brushing your neck with a mix of desire and passion. Everything else faded away as you fell into the kiss.
Her breath mingled with yours, and you could feel the rapid beat of her heart echoing your own. The room seemed to buzz with an electrifying charge, and the only sounds that reached your ears were the shared breaths between you two.
As Regina pulled away, a shared moment of breathless silence hung in the air. Once buzzing with unspoken energy, the room was now filled with the soft sounds of your intertwined breaths. Regina's cheeks were tinted with a deeper blush, and a subtle smirk played on her lips.
Your mind still reeling from the feeling of her lips on hers, you speak with a breathless chuckle, "What's everyone else gonna think?". Regina smirked at your question, a glint of defiance in her eyes as she pulled you back in, mumbling her response on your lips.
Summary: Despite dating Jenna for the past two years, and even getting married, no one knew until your most recent appearance on Jimmy Fallon ~ Word Count: 1.5k ~ Warnings: None just pure fluff
A/N: Hello there!! I haven't written a Jenna fic in so long as it was so fun to write I stg. Please feel free to give feedback, but I love you all, and I hope you enjoy <3
The cheers from the audience echoed through the backstage corridors as you made your way towards the cheers from your dressing room. With your recent clean sweep of the Grammys, winning every award you were nominated for, numerous talk shows and interviewers begged you for your time. Whilst the prospect of going on almost every talk show excited you beyond belief, you couldn't help but be more excited for this one.
Jimmy Fallon.
You had been on his show once before, just before the Grammys when all of your nominations were flying in, and to say you enjoyed it would be an understatement. That being said, as you made your way to the curtains, waiting for your name to be announced, you felt the familiar buzz of your phone in your jacket pocket. Quickly grabbing it, a smile instantly grew on your lips as you saw who had texted you.
Jenna: "Good luck my love!"
Jenna: "You're going to absolutely kill it."
Jenna: "Also I can't wait to see your outfit again, you look soooooo good."
Your smile grew larger as you read her messages. Unbeknownst to the public, you and Jenna had been dating for over 2 years and even married for over a month. Ever since you had gotten engaged, the rules you two had set for your relationship in public had loosened.
You started going in public more, holding hands when walking down the street, and even occasionally sharing gentle kisses. Despite doing all of this, whilst the speculation around your relationship grew exponentially, neither of you had ever confirmed anything. The most the public had to go off were pictures of you holding hands and attending dinners.
If anything, you were shocked they hadn't figured it out yet.
Before you can reply to Jenna, you hear Jimmy start to introduce you. Swiftly turning your phone off and throwing it back in your pocket, you fix your posture and take a deep breath before you hear your cue.
"Please welcome the talented and always entertaining, Y/n L/n!"
With his words, the curtains before you open, and you take confident steps onto the brightly lit stage. The crowd roars with applause as you look at them with a warm smile, waving at them before your eyes meet a familiar face.
Looking at you with a matching smile and her bottom lip gently caught between her teeth is Jenna. Winking at her, you redirect your attention to Jimmy, who helps you get to your seat.
Taking a seat in the chair, the cheers from the crowd continue as you duck your face slightly, overwhelmed by the welcome, whilst Jimmy's contagious laugh can be heard in the background.
With the noise finally settling down, you send a grateful look to the audience before finally facing Jimmy. "Y/n! Welcome back. I feel like we saw each other just the other day." You chuckle slightly as you nod along, "Yeah, well, it has only been a few weeks.".
"But so much has happened since I last saw you. I mean, you now have five Grammys!" The crowd once again erupted with cheers as your cheeks ached with the amount you were smiling. "I do, yeah. It still doesn't feel real at all, like... I don't know. I'm still speechless about the whole thing, to be honest."
Jimmy laughs at your words with his familiar smile. "I mean, you took down the likes of Billie Eilish and Olivia Rodrigo. That's insane!" "I know! Trust me, I know. They're my idols," you respond with a giggle. The warmth that Jimmy always brought to his interviews made this so much easier for you, especially with Jenna watching you from the audience.
That being said, Jimmy's face changed to something more curious as he reached behind him to grab a board that you figured would have a photo on it. "Speaking of idols, It seems you have been getting close to someone I'm sure most of us see as an idol."
Oh, you knew where this was going.
Turning the board around, Jimmy reveals several paparazzi photos of you and Jenna outside a restaurant. The two of you can be seen holding hands and hugging on a memorable cold New York night, your anniversary, actually. A myriad of "oo's" fall from the crowd as you briefly cast a glance at Jenna, her cheeks possessing a new rosy hue. With a slight giggle, you looked back at Jimmy, who looked at you with a smirk.
"So... Tell me if I'm wrong, but it looks like someone is dating Jenna Ortega." Licking your lips in thought, the idea of revealing that she was actually your wife grew more potent by the second. With a final glance at Jenna, you smile at Jimmy with a mischievous grin. "She's my wife, actually."
Jimmy laughs, thinking it was a joke, before seeing the look on your face, to which his eyes go wide. "Wait, actually?!" It was your turn to laugh as the crowd grew louder at your revelation. "Yeah, we got married about a month ago," you spoke through your fit of laughter.
Jimmy stood up, screaming, "Oh my god!" as the crowd joined. Looking back towards your wife, who remained hidden in the audience, your eyes met as she looked at you adoringly, her cheeks redder than ever.
"You're not joking, right?" Jimmy asks as he finally moves to sit down again, out of breath from his excited rampage. "No. No, I'm not joking," you laugh at Jimmy's face, "My wife is actually in the crowd right now." pointing your hand towards the love of your life, the smile that adorns your face could easily be compared to the one you wore on your wedding day.
You finally got to show off your gorgeous wife and couldn't be happier.
Everyone gasps as they spot Jenna, and a light quickly moves in her direction. Embracing it like she does everything, she stands up and waves at everyone before blowing you a kiss. "What the... come down here, oh my god." You hear Jimmy yell excitedly as he gestures for her to walk down onto the stage.
As she starts to make her way down the steps, you get up from your chair and approach her. Offering her your arm as you meet her, she kisses your cheek softly as you lead her onto the stage, where Jimmy awaits in shock. The sound of the crowd was deafening as the two of you sat down on the chairs, your hands intertwined as Jimmy sat down behind his desk.
Laughing at the flabbergasted look on his face, his attempts to refocus don't seem to be doing much. "In shock?" you ask him with a smile, to which he quickly nods. Regaining some of his composure, he picks up the photos and points them back towards the crowd. "So then, in this photo, how long had you guys been dating?"
"Funny story actually," you start with a smile, "That was actually us going out for the first time after we got married.". The crowd 'aw'd as Jimmy smiled warmly at the two of you. "The best part is that you can actually see our rings in the photo," Jenna chimes in, which makes Jimmy quickly turn the photo around and look as closely as he can.
You laughed as his jaw dropped, "You're telling me no one noticed?". Turning the board back around so the cameras could zoom in on it, you shrugged your shoulders with a smirk, "We were just as surprised, trust me."
"Can we see the rings?". Looking at Jenna, she pulled your wedding ring from her pocket and handed it to you. As you slipped it back onto your finger, she held her hand out where her wedding and engagement ring could be seen. The crowd cheered as you matched her and held your hand out.
"I know it's early, but this has to be the best moment of 2024." Jimmy gasps as he looks at your hands. Both you and Jenna simultaneously laugh and blush at his comment, your eyes looking towards your wife in adoration.
"Well, thank you so much, Y/n and Jenna, for coming today. This has been absolutely amazing." Jimmy rounds up the interview, presumably running out of time with the unexpected addition of your wife. "Thank you so much for having us." With that, you and Jenna stand up and start making your way back to the curtains, waving to the audience as their cheers once again deafened you.
When the two of you finally made it backstage again, you had no time to think before Jenna jumped on you and tightly wrapped her arms around your neck. You giggled as you wrapped your arms around her waist and buried your face in her neck. "I can't believe we just did that," she mumbled happily into your shoulder.
Pulling back from the embrace slightly, you look into her eyes before kissing her lips tenderly. "I don't know how I managed to marry you, but I did, and there is no way I'm not showing you off," you spoke softly as you pulled away from her kiss.
Her cheeks ignited fiery red as she smiled warmly at you before pulling you in for another kiss, this time for passion. You had completely forgotten that you were still backstage as she took over your senses. Hesitantly pulling back out of breath, she mumbles against your lips.
In my attempt to get back into writing and talking to you all, I am reopening my requests!!
ALSO I will now be taking requests for Renee Rapp and any of her characters because I LOVE HER SO MUCH
So feel free to send any Jenna or Renee requests through to me, and as always feel free to send any messages you want I always love talking to you guys <3
Summary:With Ghostface closing in on them, Act 3 finally begins as everyone teams up to hopefully once and for all take them down. ~ Word Count: 9.8k ~ Warnings: descriptions of gory injuries, blood, and anything that comes with Scream, Scream VI spoliers!!, hella swearing
A/N: OMG HEY!!!! IM BACK!!! It has been such a ridiculously long time since I have written, and I'M SO SORRY. Life really got in the way for a while, but I am back. This fic is so damn long it took me ages, but I hope it's everything you guys wanted. I love you all! COME ON MOTHERF*CKER!!
Pt1 ~ Pt2 ~ Pt3 ~ Pt4 ~ Pt5
Stepping onto the brisk streets of New York, a cool breeze brushed against your skin, painting a rosy hue on your nose and cheeks. The gentle breeze caressed your scar, providing needed relief to its subtle throbbing as you walked hand-in-hand with Tara, who was engrossed in conversation with her sister, while the rest of the group led the way to the station. Eyes scanning your surroundings hastily, your brain attempted to adjust to your new vision as you watched people walk past, utterly oblivious to the psycho that was tormenting their city.
You had never been more jealous.
While meeting Tara was undoubtedly the best part of your life, walking nonchalantly down a busy street at night without checking your shoulder regularly sounded pretty nice. Was it worth throwing your love for Tara away for? Absolutely not, yet you would be lying if you said there wasn't a little voice in the back of your mind that liked to remind you how every day your life could've been - especially after everything you've suffered, as if Woodsboro wasn't enough.
As if sensing your discomfort, Tara paused her conversation with her sister to glance at you worriedly, her eyes scanning your rigid posture and distant eyes moving too fast for her to track. She squeezes your hand to grab your attention as your eyes finally meet hers, your lone e/c eye standing out against its pale white counterpart. "You okay?" she whispers softly, her eyebrows creasing slightly. "Yeah," you sighed dejectedly, "just kinda wishing I had a normal life... you know, without all this Ghostface shit".
You watched as Tara's face fell slightly at your words, causing you to panic, "It's not your fault! I love you and everyone here. I just hate worrying about who will be alive in the morning." Her expression was slightly lifted as a small smile formed on her lips, but guilt continued to gnaw at her eyes. You could hear her whisper, "Yeah, I get it", as she briefly looked away to look at others a few metres ahead of you. She lets go of your hand with a comforting squeeze as she quickens with each step. "I'll be right back."
Watching as she walked off, a gentle hand on your shoulder pulled your attention from the small girl now talking to Mindy. "Did I say something?" you ask, knowing it was Sam standing next to you. "No, she just likes to run off sometimes," she jokes lightheartedly, a slight chuckle falling from your lips. "Tell me about it.". Mindy glances back at you as Tara approaches Chad and Danny. "She's a difficult girl to understand, but if there's one thing I know for sure, it's that she loves you. It's a little obsessive, honestly." Your cheeks flush as you look at Sam questionably, "Sam being sentimental? Never thought I'd live to see that." "Oh shut up" she shoves your shoulder playfully as a comfortable silence falls between the two of you.
Curious, you gaze at Tara as she returns to her position beside you, intertwining your hands without hesitation. You enquire softly, "What was that all about?" while she keeps her gaze fixed on the approaching station stairs. "Nothing. I just needed to talk to them about something.". Despite feeling it was about you, as said friends kept looking over their shoulders at you, you stopped yourself from pushing it.
As soon as you stepped foot in the station, you were greeted by an overwhelming influx of people, many of whom were dressed in Halloween costumes. Mindy steps back from the group in front to stand by your side as you take in your surroundings for the first time. Like you, she looks through the crowds, her expression more serious than you're used to on her. You excused her unusual behaviour until you both walked into someone who stared at you wide-eyed, horrified by your scar.
"What the fuck are you looking at?! Fuck off! Jeez... some people."
Now, you were the one who had to look at Mindy with wide eyes. This type of aggression was uncommon for the typically gentle and humorous girl, so the fact that she even displayed it, especially to defend you, it shocked you, to say the least. "Damn, Mindy… thanks," you muttered under your breath as Mindy returned your timid smile, "They deserved it."
Walking further onto the platform, the group waited momentarily whilst the train came to a stop and the doors opened. With tons of people trying to squeeze through the small doors to fit in the tiny space left on the packed train, it became a free-for-all. It happened in a blur; your hand separated from Tara's as Danny dragged her onto the train, leaving you and Mindy amongst the wave of people.
Amidst the chaos of people jostling your shoulders, your attention shifted away from Mindy's presence and focused solely on reaching a concerned Tara. Mindy's frustration became evident through the curse words she hurled at those around you. As you pushed your way towards your girlfriend, an obnoxious person dressed as Ghostface forcefully pushed you from behind, causing you to stumble onto the train and into Tara's embrace, the girl grunting softly at the impact. The echo of Mindy's furious tirade filled the air as you finally turned to witness her forcefully pulling off their mask.
Tucked in Tara's embrace, a soft chuckle escaped your lips at the scene before you. That was until the doors of the train started to close. "Shit… Mindy!" you exclaim, feeling a surge of guilt wash over you as you desperately try to reach the door, only to be held back by Tara. You watch Mindy's sudden realisation of the closing doors, a loud 'fuck' escapes her lips as she tries to navigate through the remaining crowd in her path.
The doors shut just as she's about to reach them.
You pound your fist against the door in frustration, mirroring the same exasperated look on Mindy's face. Grabbing your phone, you motioned for her to do the same through the glass as you texted her. The whine of the train starting to move fills your ears as Tara pulls you closer, her body wrapped around your free arm.
In the midst of all the chaos, it escaped your attention that Ethan had also managed to miss the train, although you couldn't quite fathom how. Your phone dings with a text from Mindy. "She's taking the train right after us with Ethan," you inform the group, slipping your phone into your back pocket and releasing a quiet sigh.
"She'll be okay. She's Mindy." Tara comforts you softly, gently stroking your arm as you gaze down at her, nodding in response. You embraced your girlfriend in a tender and heartfelt hug. You were burdened with guilt. You're not sure where this sudden protective nature had come from, and although your heart felt some relief knowing that she cared, you couldn't help but feel responsible for it.
She was protecting you, and look where that got her.
Letting go of Tara, you gently kissed her forehead and intertwined your hand with hers. Until now, you were completely absorbed in your thoughts, oblivious to the tension brewing within the group. Taking your gaze off your girlfriend, the source of said discomfort became obvious.
Ghostface.
Everywhere.
"Oh, what the fuck" you cursed as Tara's grip on your hand tightened. Everywhere you looked, there were individuals wearing the costume that perpetually plagued your nightmares, and their unwavering gazes seemed to be fixated on you. "Why are there so many of them?" Chad asked, his frustration evident in his voice as he, too, grew tired of encountering the same pale mask wherever he went.
Everyone's faces are ridden with anxiety. "How many stops do we have?" Tara inquired with a heightened sense of urgency, eager to get off the train just like the rest of you. Sam gazes at the map, undoubtedly internally pleading that it's not too many. Looking back at the group, she hesitates slightly, revealing the news couldn't be good. "Ten", she speaks solemnly. Tara's eyes are filled with concern as you exchange worried glances, causing your heart to race at an abnormal speed.
The subway lights start flickering, intensifying the eerie atmosphere inside the train. Your vision, already impaired, struggled to follow every Ghostface amidst the flickering lights. It became nearly impossible for you to keep track of them, adding to the waves of anxiety that were rushing over you.
As the train came to a halt, the lights flickered into a steady glow, and a voice over the intercom announced your arrival at 79th Street. In a matter of seconds, as you glanced down the carriage, your gaze met that of one of the masked individuals. Your face fell. A sense of fear filled the air, your breath catching in your throat as both of you remained motionless, captivated by the piercing gaze of those intense black eyes.
As if they had never been there, your intense gaze was interrupted when they vanished behind someone getting on the train. You felt a sinking feeling in your stomach as you scanned the area, desperately searching for any sign of them, but your efforts proved futile. The others remained clueless about what you just saw as the train started to move again, the lights resuming their irritating flickering.
You pulled Tara closer to you as the carriage grew dim, the silhouettes of your friends becoming the only discernible shapes in the darkness. With a tender embrace, she places her hand on your back, tracing soothing circles that bring you a sense of calm. You locked your gaze on the floor as the cabin continued to flicker around you.
"This is 72nd Street", the announcer speaks monotonously, the train coming to a stop as you look up from the floor, noticing your girlfriend's concerned gaze directed towards you. Attempting to avoid her gaze, your sight lands back on the Ghostface from before, again staring daggers at you. You try to maintain an equally stern gaze, which you manage until they start moving towards you at pace.
"Guys", you quickly inform the others about the imminent danger. The atmosphere instantly tense up as all eyes fixate on the approaching figure. Tara and Chad both step forward to protect you. The Ghostface suddenly stops right in front of you, causing your friends to freeze in an effort to avoid giving away any reaction, just in case it's not the real killer.
Attacking a perfectly innocent person on a New York subway was the last thing you needed, especially with the rumours surrounding Sam.
With a sudden and effortless motion, the person in front of you removes their mask, making Chad flinch. Instead of those frightening black eyes, a teenage girl's soft brown eyes fixated on you, brimming with a curious intensity that seemed almost unhinged.
"Holy shit, your makeup is so good! I saw it from across the train, but, oh my god, it looks so much better up close. How did you do it?" she chirps out in excitement. You freeze, immediately recognising she is talking about your scar.
Your perfectly real scar.
You find yourself speechless, unable to form a response as the unexpected question catches you off guard. Without hesitation, the girl extends her hand towards your face, her fingers inching closer to your scarred face. Taken aback, you witness Chad's hand swiftly grasping the girl's wrist with a firm grip. The expression on the girl's face is filled with surprise, whilst Chad displays determination.
"Get away from her before I make you." Your eyebrows raise slightly at his words, your lips quirked into a small smile as you revelled in your friends' newfound sense of protectiveness.
It made you feel human again.
You softly thank Chad, who gives you a curt nod and a smile as your face lights up with a smile that hadn't adorned your lips for many days. Since Ghostface's return, your life has been completely turned upside down. Your friends began to turn against you as the blame game singled you out as its victim, tearing apart the very essence of your being.
However, at this moment, as you bear the marks of your past and the lasting impact it has had on you, a newfound determination surges through your veins as you observe the individuals surrounding you.
These were your people. Your family.
You were determined to go to any lengths to protect them, even if it meant sacrificing yourself for their sake.
With your hands still interlocked, you finally emerge from the sweaty train and lead the way up the stairs, closely followed by Tara and the others. You quicken your pace up the weathered stairs, your gaze searching for a blonde who had agreed to meet you here. A voice you recognise calls to you as you reach the peak of the staircase. "Hey," you hear her say, your eyes meeting Kirby's as you shift your gaze towards the woman.
As she approaches, she effortlessly inserts herself into the group, seamlessly blending in as you all make your way towards the theatre. "I've talked to Bailey. I've got everything set up," she explains before noticing the lack of numbers in the group. "Where are Mindy and Ethan?" she asks, her voice tinged with a mixture of worry and suspicion. Clenching your jaw slightly at the reminder of the people you left behind, Tara jumps in to respond, "They're five minutes behind us."
"Let's get you all inside.", Kirby speaks, nodding in response before she redirects her attention to the theatre, which is now just a few steps in front of you. As the dilapidated structure looms before you, its imposing presence casts a shadow over the group. Everyone's steps come to a halt as Sam directs her attention towards Danny. "Not you."
Turning towards them, you watch as shock comes over Danny's face, "What?" he says, his voice tinged with disbelief. "Don't trust anyone, remember?" Sam speaks softly yet assertively. "We don't know you. Not really.". His face contorted with hurt as he leaned towards Sam. "You know me," he said, trying to convince her to let him protect her.
"You're not Woodsboro. I'm sorry." Whilst you felt bad for Danny, despite knowing that Sam would never willingly let anyone protect her, the revelation that being part of Woodsboro meant you were trusted filled a small part in your heart that you weren't aware was missing.
Releasing Tara's hand, you gently wrap your arm around her shoulder, pulling her close as you watch the interaction. Unbeknownst to you, a small smile graces Tara's lips, a sign that she's starting to see the return of the girl she loves after the emotional and physical turmoil you've both endured over the past few days.
"It's okay. It's okay, I get it." Danny finally speaks up. "Be safe, okay?" he pleads Sam, leaning in and kissing her cheek tenderly while delicately caressing her arms. Sam's face reveals a hint of guilt as she replies, "You too." before swiftly turning around and continuing walking. The rest of you cast sympathetic glances at Danny before joining the girl on the way to the theatre.
"Good call."
As Kirby unlocks the doors with a reverberating clank, a surge of nervousness courses through you as the doors swing open, revealing the dimly lit theatre. With Tara clinging tightly to your side, a sense of unease washes over you as you cautiously enter the room, fully aware of the gravity of the situation. "I cleared the whole place before you got here. This is the only way in or out." Despite your best efforts to pay attention, Kirby's words seemed to go unnoticed as you surveyed the familiar surroundings, a sense of unease growing within you.
"So, this is the only way in or out. He steps in through the first door, both doors lock automatically, trapping him inside. We turn it into a kill box." Kirby continues to explain enthusiastically, clearly entertained by the fact that this is finally her chance to bring one of these psychos to justice. "Weapons?" Sam questions. "One gun and I hold onto it." Sam gives Kirby a disapproving look, but before she can say anything, Kirby interrupts her, "I'm the only one with a badge here. That's the way it's going to be. We're safe here."
As much as you want to believe what she says, this was Ghostface you were dealing with. Despite the lingering uncertainty, you made an honest attempt to maintain trust in the plan's success, not only for your own sake but also for the sake of the others, particularly Tara.
"I'm gonna check in with Mindy. See if they're close." Sam interrupts, breaking the suspenseful silence that had fallen amongst the group. As Sam walks away and Chad follows, Tara squeezes your hand for your attention. "Come with me?" "Of course", you reply softly. She guided you to the old confectionary stand, a room that had unexpectedly become an escape for the two of you, as it felt like the only safe spot in the entire building.
Besides, it was Tara. You would follow her wherever she went.
"When was the last time anybody used this place? It's so old," Tara comments as you walk through the door. Although not well-maintained, the room decor still manages to evoke a strange sense of comfort as you softly chuckle at her words. "Yeah," you respond softly as you both make your way to the counter, gently letting go of Tara's hand and resting your elbows on it.
As you spot an old box of Milk Duds across the counter, your hand instinctively reaches out to grab them, only for your hands to collide with the girls next to you. A faint blush tinges on your cheeks as her hand pulls back, causing a soft chuckle to escape your lips, "I-I'm sorry, you can have them". You apologise, holding the box towards her, a hint of nervousness evident as you gently bite your lower lip. She pushes your hand back towards you with a slight smirk. "Take them."
"No, I mean…" you stuttered, her touch sending a shiver down your spine as you savoured the rare moment alone you'd shared with her for a while. "If you want them, you have them," you eventually finish. "You think I want these?" she chuckles, prompting a shared embarrassed laughter between the two of you. Your eyes lock, smiles forming on your faces, entirely captivated by each other. "Kind of", you joke, raising your eyebrows at her. "They're like a hundred years old. Maybe that's your thing."
Your soft laughter trails off into a comfortable silence as you look down at your hands, your heart racing, but this time from a much more pleasant catalyst. "I really missed you. I don't know why I told you to back off." You smiled gently at her, tears starting to well in your eyes. "I was so stupid. This whole time, all I really needed was you."
The more she spoke, the more flustered you got. Instead of enjoying the sentiment, you couldn't help but let your mind destroy it.
You're different from the person she is talking about.
She fell in love with the girl whose face wasn't mutilated and would probably scare off young kids. Whilst Tara and your friends could look past it, understanding the trauma you had gone through, you would never be able to walk down the Street without being met with horrified gazes from every direction. And even though Tara would undoubtedly try to protect you from it, you were convinced that her efforts would be futile.
"I'm not the same anymore," you said dimly. Tara frowned at you, gently taking hold of your trembling hand. "What do you mean?" "I just... someone mistook me for a Halloween costume for fucks sake... I'm not the same, and I never will be." You speak, deliberately avoiding eye contact with your girlfriend, as if her reaction would confirm the truth behind your words.
She could never see you the same.
Instead, her delicate touch caressed your cheeks, mindful of your scar, as she tenderly lifted your gaze towards her. Your teary eyes met hers as she looked at you with a tender smile. "Y/n... scar or no scar, you are still the same girl I fell in love with. Nothing will ever take you away from me, especially a scar that makes you look pretty badass if you ask me." you chuckle at her words, a few stray tears escaping, which she gently wipes away.
"I love you," she says, her gaze locked with yours, ensuring her words reach you. "I love you too," you speak with a chuckle, leaning closer to her as she wraps her hands around your neck and draws you in. The moment your lips connect, it feels like heaven. The taste of her lips is a sweet revelation, and you plan to savour every moment. The room seems to blur as the outside world dissolves, leaving only the two of you. The warmth between you intensifies, and a current of desire courses through your veins. Sinking deeper into the kiss, you wrap your arms around her waist, squeezing her tightly as your lips begin to move.
As you tried to deepen the kiss, a sudden jolt of pain shot through your scar, causing you to pull back. Closing your eyes and taking a deep breath to suppress the pain, you eventually look towards your girlfriend apologetically as she looks at you worried. "Sorry," you chuckle lightly, "It's... still a little tender." You offer the girl a gentle smile as her hands glide down to your hips. "Don't say sorry. We'll just take it slow." Her seductive gaze locks with yours, setting your senses ablaze and causing a familiar blush to creep onto your cheeks. Briefly taking your bottom lip between your teeth, you lean in again. Nothing else mattered at this moment.
Or so you thought.
As your lips are seconds away from colliding, Tara's body is slammed into you as a scream erupts from her throat. Your eyes go wide in panic as you scream her name, only to see Ghostface standing behind her with a knife in her back. She is ripped from your grip as she is thrown to the ground. Although your instincts told you to help her, the masked individual who was now staring straight at you told you otherwise.
Without warning, their knife comes swinging towards you. Taking a swift step back, you barely dodge the blade as they go to swing again, their arm colliding with you. With a grunt, you harshly grip their arm before pulling them around you and throwing them into the wall. The shattering of glass from the poster frame intensifies the chilling encounter as another swing of the knife inches dangerously close to your face. Dodging the swing, you swiftly regained your footing and delivered a powerful punch to the psycho's face. As your fist made contact with their chin, they crumpled to the ground. As the cries of Tara echo in your ear, in a fit of anger, you direct your attention towards their fallen form and deliver a forceful kick to their stomach.
Frantically realising that there was little time they would be on the ground, you swiftly pivoted and rushed to your girlfriend's side, urgently helping her to her feet and guiding her towards the door. With a sudden burst, the door swings open, startling you as Sam and Chad's faces, filled with terror, appear on the other side, their expressions clearly reflecting the echoes of Tara's bone-chilling scream. They quickly notice your dire situation and urgently drag you from the room.
"Come on, go, go, go!" Sam screams as you run out of the room, and Chad slams the door behind you. "It's Kirby! She's the killer!" Sam yells at you, "No shit!" you scream back, desperate to get out of this place. Running towards the caged exit, you grip its rusted bars and pull at it desperately. "That's locked. Come on". Your face falls further, "Are we trapped?" you yell in disbelief. "She made the whole theatre the kill box. For us."
"Hey, what about that? There's an exit door." Tara directs everyone's attention to an opening on the roof, positioned just above a set of scaffolding. "Maybe it leads to the roof or something," you suggest, looking at your girlfriend, who nods in agreement. "There's only one way to find out. Let's go." Chad quickly takes the lead, leading the group towards your potential escape route.
"Bailey's on the way, but-" Sam's words are abruptly interrupted as Ghostface unexpectedly pounces on you from the shadows of the stage. Tara frantically tries to evade the swinging knife, ending up on the floor in an attempt to do so. Unfortunately, you are unable to do the same as the blade slices the side of your arm. You firmly grasp the wound on your arm as you clench your jaw in pain. You watch as the Ghostface continues to swing at Chad and Sam before Chad manages to tackle them onto the floor.
"Y/n! Come on." you hear your girlfriend exclaim, her voice filled with urgency, as you catch sight of her and Sam moving towards the stage. You swiftly move as Chad forcefully slams an old movie camera into their masked face, causing their head to snap back and hit the ground with a resounding thud.
Chad follows you with the camera in hand as you join the girls backstage, both of them looking around frantically for an exit. "This way! Come on!" Tara's voice echoes through the air as she swiftly dashes towards a small tunnel backstage. You eagerly trail behind her along the narrow path, acutely aware of the ominous footsteps of Ghostface closing in from behind. Until now, your lack of vision in one eye hadn't posed much of a problem. Yet, as you sprinted through the narrow pathway, you kept crashing into the walls while Chad struggled to guide you in the right direction.
As you cast a quick glance over your shoulder, a chilling realisation washes over you - Ghostface is steadily closing in. "Fuck, they're fast," you exclaimed, as Chad also realised their proximity. "Get fucked", he shouted as he made the quick decision to hurl the bulky camera at them, immediately slowing them down.
With the additional advantage, you all made it back into the confectionary area as Chad threw the popcorn machine behind you. They quickly push it out of the way as you all turn around to face them. With a slight tilt of their head, they launch a series of aggressive swings towards you and Chad.
The knife narrowly misses both of you as you attempt to position yourselves for some kind of counterattack. Swinging down at Chad, he manages to grab their arm as you grab their shoulders, throwing them back onto the counter. Sam and Tara swiftly seize their arms, desperately trying to subdue them, while you deliver a decisive blow to their face, sending them crashing to the ground once more. As they fall to the ground, Tara quickly runs up to them and boots them in the face.
You couldn't help but think how hot it was.
"Go! Go!" Chad exclaims, swiftly grabbing the old bubblegum dispenser from the counter. With a determined gaze, he raises it above his head, preparing to deliver a decisive blow to Ghostface. Tara and Sam guide you away from him, leading you towards the door, expecting him to join you momentarily.
His piercing screams quickly disrupt the plan, causing everyone to turn their heads in disbelief. Your jaws hang open in shock as you see another Ghostface standing beside him, clutching a knife pierced in his side. "No! Chad!" Tara screams, sending a shiver down your spine. With Sam holding her back, you watch in suspense as the two masked figures surround Chad and lift him up to his knees.
They absolutely butchered him.
Tears welled up in your eyes as you witnessed the relentless onslaught. You watched him get stabbed over and over and over again as if it was never going to end. You were frozen to your spot. He somehow mustered up the strength to tell you to run, but no one could move. "Go," he sputters out, his determination to save the rest of you clear. In a swift and chilling motion, the Ghostfaces allow his lifeless form to crumple to the ground. With synchronised precision, they wipe their blades clean, sending a shiver down your spine.
Finally getting over your shock, you immediately grabbed the two sisters and dragged them out of the door. "This way. Up here. Come on." Sam directs your pointless running as she tries to get you both backstage. Before you can make it, one of the Ghostfaces pounces from behind the screen. Instinctively turning around, you are stopped immediately as the second Ghostface traps you, waving their knife mockingly.
You're surrounded. Whipping your head back and forth, you watch as they both close in on you, the tension in the air palpable. Thinking quickly, Sam assesses the situation with a determined glint in her eyes. Without hesitation, she swiftly grabs some bricks from the debris-laden floor, handing one to you and another to Tara. In that instant, a silent understanding passes between you - do anything to survive.
As Sam moves the two of you so that you find yourselves back to back, forming an impromptu defensive triangle, the weight of the brick in your hand provides an unexpected but reassuring comfort. The cold surface of the brick grounds you, grounding your resolve as you prepare to face whatever unfolds.
"Ready?" Sam asks, and you swiftly reply, although Tara's distressed cries hinder her ability to respond, overwhelmed by panic and fear. "I need you to be ready. Ready?" With your free hand, you firmly grasp Tara's, offering a comforting squeeze while she inhales deeply. Her hesitation overwhelms Sam, prompting her to urge Tara to look at her. As Tara meets her gaze, a newfound determination fills her voice as she declares, "I'm ready."
"Come on motherfucker!"
Just as the fight was about to begin, the deafening echoes of gunshots reverberated through the vast theatre, prompting an instinctive duck for cover. The ominous figures of the two Ghostfaces hastily retreat into the shadows, leaving an unsettling silence shattered only by your heavy breathing. In the dimly lit ambience, a figure emerges from the stage, and a collective gasp escapes the group as the familiar face of Kirby comes into focus, blood streaming down from a fresh wound on her temple.
"It's okay!" Kirby's voice rings out, a desperate attempt to reassure, though her pained expression reveals the gravity of the situation. The vivid red streams on her face contrast with her pale complexion, creating a chilling scene that leaves everyone motionless.
"Stay the fuck back!" Sam's voice pierces the tension, laced with a mix of fear and anger, earning a confused glance from Kirby, disoriented yet resolute. "We know it's you, Kirby," Tara adds, her tone unwavering as Kirby hesitantly approaches the group. "One of them knocked me out," Kirby pleads, her expression changing to one of desperation. Her eyes are genuine, making you want to trust her more, but your trust issues weren't easy to overcome.
"Kirby, stop!" A deep voice slices through the air, redirecting attention to Bailey, who strides into the theatre with a drawn gun, his gaze fixed on Kirby. "Get away from the girls!". The urgency in Bailey's command prompts an instinctive protective response as you push Tara behind you, eyes fixed on the unfolding standoff.
"What are you doing?" Kirby pleads desperately, the air thick with accusation and uncertainty. "Did you kill Quinn!? Did you kill my daughter!?" Bailey's vengeful glare intensifies, scaring the shit out of you.
He clearly wasn't afraid to kill for his kids.
"Jesus Christ!" Kirby exclaims, her eyes darting between you and the detective in disbelief. With her focus back on you, she pleads again, "Whatever he's been saying to you, don't listen to him." The desperation in her gaze transforms into one of resolve as she turns back to the man threatening her. "He's probably the killer," she speaks assertively.
Your gaze remains fixed on Bailey, his expression unwavering even as the damning accusation hangs in the air. Suddenly, the figure of Ghostface appears behind Bailey, and Kirby's frantic scream fills the space, warning him of the imminent threat, "Behind you!" she screams. Disregarding her desperate plea, Bailey swiftly pivots and unleashes three deafening gunshots that pierce through the air, each shot finding its mark, striking Kirby in the chest, and causing her to crumple to the ground.
The aftermath is a haunting symphony of laboured breaths and the lingering echoes of her cries. As your focus shifts back to the killers, you watch in horror as two Ghostfaces stand alongside Bailey, their presence casting a sinister pall over the unfolding chaos. The dim lighting accentuates their ominous figures, while Bailey, wearing a sadistic smirk, reveals himself as an orchestrator of this grim spectacle.
"Great job. Both of you."
"You?"
A palpable tension filled the air in the dimly lit theatre, engulfing you as the truth unravelled right before your eyes. "Yeah, of course me." Bailey teases with a smirk growing on his lips, "Frankly, I expected more from you two after what you did to us."
"What do you mean 'us'?" Tara questioned hesitantly. Bailey's smirk grew into an insufferable smile as he looked to his left, where one of his accomplices was moving to remove the mask. Your heart pounds inside your chest as the white face and black fabric are torn away, revealing your friend's face.
Ethan.
The seemingly unassuming roommate revealed himself with a sinister grin. "Ta-da!" Bailey laughs, finding the shock on all of your faces amusing. The sick look on Ethan's face made you want to puke, the revelation that someone you considered a friend had been out to kill you all along.
The feeling made Woodsboro feel like nothing. The two killers were Sam's boyfriend, whom you had hardly met and someone who you hated from the beginning.
It was nothing compared to seeing the real side of your friend.
With a smirk plastered on his lips, he begins to taunt you about how unsafe you were the whole time, "Mindy was right; it was easy to juke the roommate lottery. All I had to do to meet you was room with a conceited, condescending alpha, literally named Chad. Fuck it felt good to kill him.". You felt a surge of anger coursing through you as he spoke, causing your jaw to clench and your grip to tighten around the brick in your hand.
The idea of Ethan pretending to be his friend for months, only to have been plotting his demise the whole time without any hint of remorse, ignited an unbearable anger inside you.
"This one was your grandmother's Sam. Nancy Loomis?" Ethan smiles at Sam, pointing to his mask with his bloodied knife. "Really runs in your fucking family, doesn't it? And speaking of family, my name isn't Ethan Landry, is it, Dad?"
"Dad?" Tara speaks for the rest of you, your faces growing more shocked. As the shock washes over you, your focus shifts to the second masked figure who still stands menacingly staring directly at you.
"But, if you're Ethan, that just leaves… Mindy?" Sam breathes out in disbelief. Your expression twisted in confusion as you looked back at the memories of how much Mindy had loved Anika. It seemed impossible, yet who else could it be?
Shock filled the room as Quinn removed her mask, leaving you all in stunned silence. "Hey, Roomies. Didn't see that one coming, did you?"
"But you died?" Tara spoke, a hint of anger behind her voice. "Yeah, kinda didn't, though." Quinn quipped mockingly, "It was a good way to get off the suspect list, stab Gale Weathers, stab Mindy on the train, that sort of thing."
Bailey's proud smile made you feel sick as his proud eyes bore into yours, "I made sure I was first on the scene so I could switch her body out with a fresh one. You'd be surprised with what a grieving father can get away with."
Your anger was starting to burst at your seams, being played for fools and having someone come back from the dead to kill your friends, pulling very tight on your last nerve.
"I got Stu Macher's mask. He was my favourite.". You rolled your eyes at her giddy proclamation. Of course, he was.
Bailey, clearly the leader of this psychotic trio, took slow and calculated steps towards Sam. "Number three and number two. Which just leaves…" Pulling out the most weathered mask from his jacket, he holds it out towards Sam, his eyes menacing. "I'm gonna need you to put it on."
Sam stands tall and looks back at the man with a matching expression, slapping the mask out of his hand as you watch his jaw clench in anger. Ethan is quick to react and slashes his knife towards the girl, slicing through her upper arm with a hiss.
You are quick to catch Sam as she falls back into you. She quickly recovers as she grasps her arm, now dripping with a familiar crimson liquid. Bailey's two minions begin to move around you, circling you as your anger finally comes spewing out of you; you step in front of Sam with rage filling your eyes. "You did all this as a family?" you yell at them incredulously. "Hell yeah, bitch! Sam should know why better than anyone!"
You immediately knew they were talking about Billy, yet the true origin of their motive still escaped you. What family had Sam ever hurt for them to hate her so much to go on a murderous rampage?
"They still haven't figured it out. Maybe we overestimated them." Ethan mocked as the confusion was clearly evident on your faces. Sam was the most confused of all, knowing that she had never done anything wrong. "I don't know what you believe, but I didn't commit the murders in Woodsboro…"
Bailey's laugh fills the theatre, slightly offended that Sam would think that they would believe some stupid internet rumour. Instead, he reveals that it was, in fact, Quinn who had started the malicious rumours, making life in New York for Sam absolute hell.
Each time you think the betrayal couldn't run any deeper, they manage to beat themselves yet again.
"You're a killer, just like your father was.". "I'm not…". "Yes, you are, you motherfucker! You killed our brother!". The gears could finally tick inside your heads as you looked between each other in an attempt to connect the dots. As far as you were aware, the only person Sam had ever 'killed' was… Richie.
Oh shit.
"You're Richie's family?" The realisation also struck Sam as her face sank. "Ding-ding-ding, now she's finally getting it." You shook your head in disbelief. A family seeking revenge for their dead son, okay, sure. Seeking revenge for a murderous psycho by killing his victims who had killed him out of self-defence? Too far.
Yet clearly, nothing was too far for this family, as Ethan revealed the sickening detail that they had killed their own mother because she had refused to avenge Richie. You knew all Ghostfaces were, on some level, psychotic, but this was getting insane.
"Great job with the parenting…" Tara quipped at Bailey, her words bringing the tiniest of smiles to your lips, her sarcasm never failing to entertain you, even if it's whilst you are surrounded by killers.
"You shut your whore mouth!" Quinn screamed at the girl, your jaw clenching at the insult as you looked at her, infuriated. The temptation to throw the brick in your hand at her face almost overcame you until you felt a gentle hand on your wrist.
"I loved my son. So I helped him build this collection." You shifted your gaze towards the older man as he looked amongst the exhibitions with a reminiscent smile. "All of this is Richies?"
The more you seemingly find out about Richie, the more Sam's expression seems to fall. The guilt she had felt after Woodsboro was reborn as her ignorance about her then-boyfriend increased tenfold.
Knowing that this was all Richie's made the space somehow more bone-chilling than before. As your eyes scanned the numerous exhibits, filled with items that belonged in an evidence box somewhere, a part of you pangs with guilt for the other siblings who were clearly the least favourite.
"This is where you have to die." Your attention is brought back to him as he redraws his gun and points it directly at Sam. Instinctively grabbing for Tara's hand, you spare Sam a quick glance, noticing her expression shift as she tilted her head at the man.
Oh, he was fucked.
"He was pathetic, you know?". You watched the deadpan expression on Bailey's face break. "That's not true…" he shook his head. "He was a man-baby who made his girlfriend do almost all the killing." You had to hold back your smile as you watched his facade breakdown. "He was a strong, virile young man!" "He was a weak little bitch who cried before I cut his fucking throat."
As the words leave Sam's mouth, Quinn lunges towards the three of you with a bloodcurdling scream. She is quickly and effortlessly stopped as Tara clocks her in the face with her brick. With teeth and blood flying out of her mouth, she falls to the floor.
A sign that their moment is finally over, your senses are heightened as Act 3 appears to finally kick off. Before you can make any moves, gunshots ring out from behind you as you turn to see Kirby apparently coming back from the dead.
Her resurgence doesn't last long as Ethan quickly rushes towards her with his knife ready in his hand. You're quick to follow the boy as he reaches Kirby and stabs her in the stomach. Finally reaching them as Kirby falls to the ground in pain, you run straight into Ethan, throwing him into the ground. He quickly gets back up and runs away with a maniacal laugh as you shift your focus back to Kirby.
Noticing the knife still sticking out of her stomach, you look at her with a grimace as you realise it's the only way you're gonna get a weapon anytime soon. "Sorry, but I need this." She gives you a small nod as she squeezes her eyes shut.
Gripping onto the handle, you pull the knife out swiftly in an attempt to minimise her pain. She howls in pain, and her hand grips on your arm, her nails digging into your skin as the wave of pain washes over her. Finally relaxing, she opens her eyes back up and looks at you with a tiny smile.
"Fuck 'em up."
As you stand up, you see Ethan reappear from behind a wall, his eyes set on you. Turning towards him, he begins to charge towards you with a sick grin still plastered on his face. "What are you gonna do, scar-face…" he calls out mockingly as he closes in.
That made you snap.
With a new vigour burning inside of you, you lunge towards him as you pull the knife above your head. With a loud grunt, you drive the knife down into his chest. His smile finally washes over his face as he looks at you surprised. Ignoring it, you continue to pump your knife in and out of his chest as if he were a piece of meat, his blood splattering all over you, but you couldn't care less.
Out of breath, you push his limp body off of you as he keels down with blood sputtering out of his mouth. Standing still, you look at his blood-covered body with laboured breathing. Noticing he is still alive, you move to stab him again until you hear your girlfriend's voice from behind you.
"Y/n!" she calls, your head instantly turning in her direction as you notice her beginning to climb the scaffolding behind her sister. Taking your chance, you quickly run towards them, weaving in and out of the display cases before you reach the base of the scaffolding.
Looking for a place to hold your knife, you settle on wiping it off on your shirt, adding to the mural of crimson colours, before placing the knife between your teeth.
As you begin climbing, the gash in your arm aches as new blood begins to flow from the wound. Biting painfully onto the knife, you continue your ascent as you see Tara at the top, reaching her hand down to you. Hearing noise behind you, you turn your head as you watch Bailey and Ethan begin to circle you like sharks, smelling your blood.
With a final grunt, you reach the top and grab Tara's hand as she helps pull you towards the balcony. Watching the two sisters scale across it in front of you, you take the time to try and settle your breathing, which is easier said than done when you're clutching a knife between your teeth.
Moving to follow them, you take the knife out of your mouth and carefully hand it to Tara. Climbing carefully along the railing, you are seconds from making it to safety with the others before another shot rings through the air.
A burning sensation instantly erupts in your leg as you lose your balance and fall backwards. Screaming your name, Sam and Tara barely manage to catch you as your hands barely grip the slippery railing.
Peering over your shoulder, you watch as Bailey moves towards a set of stairs and Ethan moves to stand directly underneath you. "Shit. Not good," you whisper to yourself as your gaze returns to the sisters' terrified looks.
With your injured arm weakening by the second, a noise from the balcony catches your attention as Quinn appears behind Sam, brandishing a bloodied knife in her hand. As Quinn moves towards her, she is forced to let go of your arm, and she turns to face her.
With Ethan taunting you from below and Quinn and Bailey closing in on the girls, you overcome your panic and realise it's your life or theirs.
"Tara, let me go". Your words cause the girl to look at you in shock. “No, I-” “Tara! Let me go.”. Your grip continues to slip as she looks at you as if you have lost your mind.
"Tara… Please." you give her a small smile as she looks at you with tears in her eyes. You watch as her lips begin to quiver, and you feel her grip loosen. Giving her a nod, she finally lets go of your wrists, causing you to plummet down from the balcony.
Turning your attention to the killer below you, you land with a loud bang, and your injured leg collapses beneath you. In an instant, Ethan is plunging his knife into your stomach, a meek whine escaping your lips as you bend over his arm. Twisting his knife inside of you, your loud cru echoes through the theatre as tears threaten your eyes.
Finally, bringing your head up to look at the boy, his smile sent a shiver down your spine as your breathing became more and more laboured. Just as you thought your time was coming to an end, another figure comes falling down from above you.
It was Tara.
Before you can say anything, she lands on her feet with a knife in her hand. Catching Ethan off-guard, she grips his hair and rips his head back. Looking at her with his mouth open, she lifts up her knife and plunges it into the back of his throat. You can hear him gargling on his own blood as she twists the knife, blood splattering on her face.
"Now die a fucking virgin."
Pushing him so that he falls to the ground with a thud, Tara quickly averts her attention back to you, who, to her surprise, was wearing a smirk on her lips. "That was really hot." you chuckled in pain as she kneeled down next to you, noticing the knife was still in your abdomen.
"Shut up," she said before moving to lie you down. Knowing she was about to pull it out, you exhaled shakily before nodding at her, and just like you did Kirby, she pulled the knife out quickly, earning a pained groan from you, before immediately applying pressure to your wound.
Gently removing her hand from your stomach, you move to sit up and attempt to ignore how her hand is now stained with your blood. Making into an upright position, you look at Tara, who is scanning you for any other wounds, whilst you watch her face with a tender gaze.
The bang of a gunshot, followed by the thud of a body that vibrated the creaky floors above your head, brought you both back to the situation you were in. "Help me up," you say quickly, urgently trying to get up and help Sam, presuming it wasn't her body that you heard fall.
As Tara wrapped her arm around your waist gently, she pulled you to your feet; the faint sound of Sam's voice talking to someone calms your nerves. The throbbing from your bullet and stab wound was a rude awakening as to the shape you were in, not to mention the blood that covered almost every inch of your body.
Before the two of you could move towards the stairs, the sound of screaming rang through the theatre as you both looked up. Your jaw dropped. Bailey and Sam came flying over the railing before plummeting into the displays beneath them. As the glass shattered beneath them, you were quick to notice their lack of movement.
Pulling Tara off of you, you pushed her towards her sister. Running to her side, you hobbled as fast as you could towards them. Thankfully, Tara had managed to shake her awake by the time you got there. As she helped Sam to her feet, you sighed in relief as you looked over at a still motionless Bailey.
As the sisters check over each other, your sights remain on the unconscious killer in front of you. "What are we gonna do about him?" you ask, nodding your head in his direction.
You watch as the gears turn in Sam's head, weighing the options between ending it now and letting him die somewhat peacefully or giving him a taste of his own medicine.
She chose the latter.
Hidden behind the curtains on the side of the stage, you watched Bailey through a small slit, waiting for him to move in order to signal Sam that your plan was in action.
It was simple, really. Make him go crazy, and then you kill him.
After a few minutes, Bailey finally began to stir as he moved to sit up. You quickly poked your head around the corner into the hidden hallway, where Sam was standing in her father's costume; you gave her a nod before she pulled a phone out of her pocket and pulled it to her ear.
The sound of Bailey's phone ringing echoed through the now disturbingly quiet theatre. Repositioning yourself so that you can see him, you watch as he rapidly looks around him before standing and bringing his phone to his ear.
You can't hear what Sam is saying to him, but you watch him make his way to the stage as planned. "Oh yeah, what's that?" his voice grows louder as he finally appears on the stage.
Now, the fun part.
As planned, from your place on the ground, you reached your uninjured leg out and kicked a floorboard. Before you could even retract your leg, Bailey snapped towards the noise and fired two precise shots into the heads of the mannequins that lined the stage.
"You put on your true face, huh? Your birthright. Poetic that you're going to die in it…" Exhaling quietly as he spoke, you moved to a spot against a wall where you could relax your weakening body for a minute as Tara played her part.
A noise sounded from the other side of the stage. Closing your eyes as you leaned your head back onto the wall, you listened as Bailey once again flinched and fired his gun, this time the sound of shattering glass filling the stage.
"You know the truth now. Murder's in your blood."
It was your turn again. As quietly as you could in your state, you reached your arm over to the brick that Sam had given you. Picking it up, with the strength left in your arms, you threw it into the back corner of the stage, away from you.
The sound of Bailey's gun firing once again filled the air as he screamed frustratedly, "Stop fucking around and show yourself!". Knowing that it was Sam's turn, you quietly crawled towards the curtain, pulling it aside slightly so that you could peer through.
"I'm a fucking police officer! What are you gonna do, huh? Who do you think they're gonna believe?" he screams once again. A faint smile lands on your lips as you watch Sam appears behind him, wearing the mask and all. Before he even notices her presence, she quickly spins him around before, as you would put it, stabbing the shit out of him.
As crazy as it sounded to say, the sound of his screams was like music to your ears. His family had singlehandedly taken everything from you, so watching him suffer was like heaven to you.
Spotting Tara appear from behind her hiding spot and walking towards Sam, you decided to do the same. With a groan and the help of a wall, you pulled yourself to your feet before weakly hobbling out from your place behind the curtains.
As Sam finally stops stabbing him, and he pleads for his life, you watch with a mixture of admiration and concern, confused as to why she is giving him any chance to live.
She didn't entertain it for long.
"But you did fuck with my family, so…". You watch with wide eyes as Sam gruesomely stabs him straight in his eye, the blade clearly reaching his brain as he falls to the ground, twitching.
"Aw, now we're matching." you joke, earning a laugh from the girls as you look at the mutilated body of the once detective who now also had only one functional eye - had he been alive, that is.
"Let's get out of here," Tara says softly as she grasps your hand with hers. Her touch never fails to make you giddy, but something was off this time. As she tried to pull you towards the stairs off the stage, your head began to spin uncontrollably as a wave of nausea hit you like a truck.
Your legs collapse underneath you as Tara catches you, her face ridden with worry. "Y/n?!? Hey, you're okay, just breathe.". Your vision was fading in and out of a blur as the feeling of your limbs began to escape you. Sam kneels down on the other side of you, matching Tara's expression, as you try to nod to Tara's words.
"Yeah… I just… need a little break." Your eyes begin to flutter shut as you try your best to keep them open. "Keep your eyes open for me, okay," Tara speaks as calmly as she can as she notices the blood beginning to spill from your wounds again.
“Yeah… of course…”
Opening your eyes slowly, you groan softly as the bright light hanging above you stings your eyes. Carefully rubbing your eyes, still careful of your scar, you move to sit up slightly, noticing you are in an empty hospital room. Confusion washes over you, as last you remember, you were on a bloodied stage, and yet here you were.
Doing your best with your aching limbs, you move a pillow behind your back in order to give you a better view of your new environment, admittedly much nicer than your previous one.
Scanning the room, you notice the small TV in the corner of the room is playing The Babadook. You know you didn't put it on, so someone must be here, and it's not particularly hard to figure out who it must be.
With your attention focused on the screen, you fail to notice when Tara walks in the door with a bag of chips in her hand. As she notices your moving figure, a loud gasp escapes her lips. She drops everything in her hands to cover her mouth, her eyes immediately watering.
The sound makes you immediately turn to her, a smile growing on your lips as your eyes meet hers. As the fact that you are awake and alive sinks in, she runs over to the side of your bed and brings her hands up to your face.
Gently cupping your cheeks, her teary eyes look into yours as your hands gently grip her wrists. "Hi," you chuckle softly, the wave of relief finally hitting you. "Hi," she chuckles back even softer, her eyes scanning every detail of your face.
"Is everyone okay?" you ask with furrowed brows as she nods enthusiastically in response. "Yeah, yeah, we're all fine.". The sigh that escapes your lips rids your mending body stress, all of it melting away as soon as you know you have all made it.
Your eyes return to Tara's as she whispers softly, "I can't believe you're alive.". You smile sincerely at her words. "I'm not going anywhere." At your words, she lets go of your face and climbs onto your bed. Your eyes were filled with curiosity. You watch as she wraps her arms around your neck and buries her head in your shoulder.
Instantly reciprocating, you wrap your arms around her waist and hug her with all the strength you can muster. You can feel her tears falling onto your bare shoulder, entangling one of your hands in her hair as you gently play with her hair.
jacobvanloon
romaincrisis
izzy806
janainaart
ellievsbear
blakekathryn