hello! this my playlist for mona from the choices game ride or die! some of these songs i see from mona herselfs pov, mc thinking about her, their relationship, & the aftermath of it! either way, it all relates back to her, so have fun listening, i hope you enjoy! if you want to know exactly why i chose these songs, please go to my google doc where i describe everything! i'll update this playlist when i find new songs! this is all ongoing & being updated!
summary: rivals to lovers excerpts featuring oliver cochrane, estela montoya, tyril starfury, and mona. from this prompt list.
warnings: vague description of gunshot wound, bleeding, talk of death. rating; pg13.
a/n: i wrote this several months ago and just never got around to posting it for some reason but better late than never right ??? hsdhdhdjs T-T
OLIVER COCHRANE
You’ve done it this time.
Not only did your plan to rescue Edward from Admiral Cochrane’s clutches fail, but you’ve now put the whole crew at risk as Samuel saunters to their side, reporting the whereabouts of Charlie and the others to the navy men. Unfathomable fury burns within you, and you want nothing more than to sink a sword into his chest. Such a simple wish is hindered by the metal chains clamped around your wrists and the gun pointed to your temple.
Admiral Cochrane, as arrogant as ever, makes his way from behind the wall of soldiers to face you. He is followed by Oliver, who carries a heavy gaze in his eyes.
You turn away, not wanting to let him see you like this: chained up and at his father’s mercy, defenseless and one bullet away from death.
A foolish part of you hopes there is conflict brewing in his heart, that the one afternoon you shared in Tiburon was the start of something meaningful, but when you tentatively lift your head to look at him, you feel a stinging chill run down your spine. You can’t read him. At all. You don’t know what he’s thinking when he looks at you like that, like you’re some stranger, like this is the end.
The admiral is talking, no doubt blustering and boasting, but you hear no words. You can’t hear anything over Ginny’s loud sobs and Jonas’ booming voice barking for soldiers to release her. You think this is truly it, but then Admiral Cochrane hands Oliver a rifle and moves aside. Oliver takes his father’s place before you, and trains the firearm at your forehead.
That is truly it: Oliver being the person who kills you.
Are his hands shaking or is that an illusion caused by the tears in your eyes? Nonetheless, you level his steady gaze with a defiant one. You tilt your chin, as if challenging him. If he is going to end everything, you want him to memorize this look.
You blink and there is chaos around you. There’s a ringing in your ears and the smell of gunpowder in the air. Oliver faces away from you, rifle pointed at his father who has blood bubbling from his lips. The admiral is desperately clutching his chest, but it’s to no avail with how quickly the splotch of blood spreads across his body.
At once, Oliver drops the firearm and rushes to your side just as Charlie descends upon the navy ship with a throng of men.
“Oh my God, Oliver! Why would you—what—why?” You’re unable to put together a coherent sentence with the sudden rush of adrenaline tackling your senses, but Oliver understands. As he undoes your restraints, he looks at you with nothing but certainty in his eyes, and you understand.
No matter what, he chooses you. Always.
prompt: the leader of your enemy's crew is threatening to kill you, and your enemy is faced with a decision — it's either you or their crew. you think you're toast, but instead, without hesitation, your enemy stabs/shoots their leader. it will always be you.
ESTELA MONTOYA
There isn’t a sliver of space in Estela’s heart for anything else other than avenging her mother.
That’s what she has always believed in until she met you. Charming and caring, you look out for her when nobody else does. It was irritating in the beginning. You hardly know anything about her, yet you blindly extend your hand at every chance you get, offering help and comfort without the expectation of anything in return.
You’re so sincere, so good. Too good for her, Estela thinks. Without meaning to, she carves out a space within her heart just for you, and God, is that annoying.
Why would you do such a thing? Why would you show her kindness? Why would you make her feel like this?
Sharing a bed with you has only worsened everything. Estela can’t sleep, not when you’re an arm’s length away, not when she can smell the scent of your shampoo as you shift and turn in bed. Estela can’t stop the drumming in her heart. She can’t stop the incessant thoughts flooding her mind, thoughts of holding you close and carding her fingers through your hair. How stupid is that? She can’t do anything but instruct you to stay on your side of the mattress, lie on her side, face away from you, and will herself to sleep.
“Good night, Estela,” you whisper.
Estela’s eyes snap open, and she contemplates saying something back, but in less than a minute, she hears your breathing grow deep and even. Even so, she mumbles a ‘good night’ and shuts her eyes, letting sleep take her.
When she begins to stir in the morning, she burrows her head into the pillow, finding it difficult to toss aside the covers and climb out of bed. Estela is usually up and throwing on her clothes within minutes of waking, but today, she finds herself curling into the sheets. Her nose tickles, and she cracks open an eye.
Your face is tucked under her chin, not even minding that Estela’s hair is splayed out over the pillows and brushing up against your cheek. Estela has one arm curled protectively around you, and you have an arm slung over her waist. You’re still sleeping, slightly snoring from exhaustion, but Estela is awake. Wide awake, and unable to move. Unwilling to move. You startle Estela when you move in your sleep, pressing your face into her neck with a soft groan.
Along with her heartbeat, she feels your breaths against her throat, gentle and unabating. You’re alive and safe for now. On this mystery of an island, sticking to Estela’s side, such a thing may not be guaranteed in the future.
Would it be okay for her to have this? To have you?
As stealthy as she can be, Estela detangles from your hold and slips out of the hotel room. The moment she found herself feeling some semblance of love for you, she received her answer.
It would not be okay for her to have this, to have you.
prompt: sharing a bed with your enemy, and being told ''stay on your side or i'll set this whole bed on fire'' only to wake up the next day with your enemy's arms wrapped around you.
TYRIL STARFURY
You’d be lying if you say you aren’t jealous of Tyril’s prominent position in Undermount and natural talent when it comes to magic and politics. He is at the forefront of the elven city, a feat that is exceptionally impressive at his young age.
You would give anything to be as gifted as he is, but you would give much more to keep that thought to yourself. Coming from a house with little influence, you don’t have much, and your dignity is one of the few things you want to keep.
You and Tyril circle one another like predator stalking prey, footsteps light and alert. The training grounds have emptied out, save for the two of you. You’re unsure who moves first, but the next time you blink, you’re trading blows, the sharp sound of steel against steel resonating in the air. Tyril is stronger than you are, but you’re more agile, dodging and returning his attacks with relative ease.
Your luck runs short when twenty minutes have passed and you’re still going back and forth. Tyril has picked up on your fighting patterns, and soon enough, he backs you into a corner, forcing you to go on the defensive.
Every time you train—whether it’s with fists, bows, or longswords—he bests you, rendering you unable to move, lying on the ground as you ache from overexerting your muscles. Just thinking about his retreating form as he leaves you alone to catch your breath makes your face hot with frustration.
Without meaning to, your magic flares up and imbues your next strike, sending Tyril stumbling several steps back. You falter when you see the split second look of surprise on his face. Still reeling from what you’ve done, Tyril catches you off guard easily.
One second you’re standing and about to apologize. The next, you’re lying on your back, hands pinned to the ground, barely a breath away from Tyril, whose body weight is heavy atop yours.
Anything you plan to say dies on your tongue right then and there as you realize how close he is. Tyril looks like a stranger. Growing up together, you should be familiar with his looks, but you’re not. You don’t notice the faint freckles and tiny scars scattered across his face until today, and you wish it could’ve stayed that way, because they make him endearing, and you hate to think of Tyril Starfury as someone endearing.
“You’re angry,” Tyril notes. Dark chunks of hair swipe against your face, and you turn away, hating the fact that he is right.
Your cheeks begin to grow warm again, but you’re unsure if it’s from his words or your close proximity to him. “You’re heavy. Get off of me.”
Tyril does get off of you. You two sit side by side afterwards, and in the newfound silence, he asks, “Why won’t you look at me?”
“What is there to look at?” you return, trying and failing to mask the bitter tone in your voice. “You have all of Undermount’s attention already.”
“It seems I never have yours.”
You resist the urge to snap at him. Does he believe the world revolves around him?
“You never look at me,” he continues, “no matter what I do.”
You look at him. “What does that matter?” It’s true you seldom look at him, but that’s because you see your shortcomings in him. He has what you don’t. The less time you spend looking at him, the more time you have to devote yourself to mastering magic and elven politics.
You can’t make sense of the expression on Tyril’s face, and you don’t try to. Was he expecting something from you? He looks as though he’s been delivered crushing news, unable to say anything in response.
Mirroring what you do best, Tyril looks away.
prompt: fighting with your enemy, only to end up on the ground, with their body pressing into yours, your hands pinned to the ground.
MONA
Fuck, that hurts. That’s the first thing you think of as the second bullet pierces your body. The second thing you think of is how lame you look in front of Mona. You just got shot, not once but twice in front of her. If you make it out alive, she’ll hold this incident over your head for who knows how long. Though, you may be spared from that fate with how quickly you’re bleeding out.
Where the hell did the bullets hit anyway? Donning an all black attire robs your ability to determine where all the blood is seeping out from, but judging by the way the right side of your body stings… you can deduce it’s somewhere on that side. Shit. You don’t feel it as you drop to the ground. I should probably put pressure on the wounds, you think. You can’t move. Your body isn’t listening, regardless of how much you want it to.
Then, a familiar bronze jacket is shoved into your side. Mona hunches over you, applying pressure to your wounds dutifully.
“Ow, Mona, easy on all the jabbing!” you hiss. “Oh, God. That hurts like a bitch.”
“Shut up and save your energy. The ambulance is coming.”
“Ugh, forget it,” you mutter, pushing at her shoulder weakly, “just go. The police will get here before the rig. You have to go.”
“You just got shot twice,” she reminds you. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“I kinda deserved it.”
“Yeah, you kind of did,” Mona replies dryly.
“Ouch. Now that hurts.”
“You think this is funny?” Mona lifts her head and you see, for the first time, that her eyes are filled with rage and fear. She’s no longer bantering. She’s genuinely angry.
“Look,” you reason, “I’m probably not gonna make it out of this. Just go already, okay? I won’t hold it against you, just—”
A cough wracks your body, and you actually feel blood spurting out of you, wetting your clothes and dying Mona’s hands red. At this point, you’re unsure if she’s even listening. Mona keeps pressing her jacket into your wounds, though it doesn’t do much. She realizes that, and the haunted look on her face breaks your heart.
“I love you.”
Plain and simple. Mona said it.
Yeah, you and Mona have your moments, but coming from rival crews, love is the last thing you expect Mona to feel for you. You’ve brushed shoulders on the same jobs countless times, but more often than not, the two of you wind up laughing it out at a diner, so maybe love was inevitable. But in this cruel life you were forced into, where every man is for themself, perhaps this is inevitable as well.
This, meaning watching your own blood soak your clothes, the concrete, and the girl who just spat out the three words she has been terrified to say.
“I won’t ever forgive you if you die right now,” Mona says, “I’ll kill you myself if you do. You hear me? I can't lose you. Keep your eyes open.” Her voice is trembling, her usual bravado gone from seeing you like this: bloodstained and unmoving, minutes from passing out from blood loss.
God, you want to vomit. Not because of what Mona just said, but because you feel so dizzy, so tired. You put on a smile for her anyway, saying, “I can’t take you out on a date if we… if we both end up behind bars. Wait for me, okay? Soon as I get out, I’ll find you.”
“I’ve been to prison before, and it doesn’t scare me.”
Now, you’re the one to grow disgruntled, snapping, “But it scares me. If you end up behind bars because of me, I’d be so… mad, so I mean it. Go.”
“You think I’ll be able to live with myself if I just up and bolt right now?” Mona snaps. “Leave you here to die?”
“Mona, please… please go.” You know you won’t win this one, but you need to try. You need to… stay awake. You need to tell her you feel the same. She needs to know. You’ll tell her when you catch your breath. You breathe in and out slowly, but you find that taking in air gets more difficult with every passing second.
Mona is speaking to you. Her lips are moving and you feel wetness on your cheeks, but you’re certain you’re not crying, so it must mean she is. Yet, you can’t see it.
You can’t see much of anything at all.
prompt: you've just been shot, you're bleeding out, and your enemy is freaking the fuck out, dropping the ''i love you, i can't lose you'' card, begging you not to close your eyes.
Well, she's my favourite Choices rebel. And i really like this part where she accidentally spilled out her feelings for MC lol. Besides, i miss her so much xx
*character Mona from Ride Or Die book belongs to PIXELBERRY
