Safety Net

safety net

Tara Carpenter x F!Reader

masterlist | over (1) | love language (2)

Summary: Tara Carpenter loved playing games with you. (inspired by safety net by ariana grande ft. ty dolla sign)

Warnings/Tags: toxic!tara, clueless!tara, mature language, implied sexual themes, mentions of violence and trauma.

Note: as promised THE LAST PART (woohoo😮‍💨) this was seriously a lot of fun and became a bit of a writing exercise using songs as prompts and trying to piece them together into a storyline. Thanks for all the comments, reblogs and feedback. They are so appreciated! Let me know what you guys think! <3

Word Count: 3.4k+

“You’re staring, again.”

Tara snaps her gaze back to the book on the table, ignoring her friends’ smug smiles. “Why don’t you just go up to her and apologize?”

“She doesn’t want to talk to me, trust me, I’ve tried.” Tara rolls her eyes. 

It’s been two weeks since that night at the party and you have been ignoring Tara. You spent the rest of spring break working at your uncle’s shop, avoiding the friend group, sans Mindy because you couldn’t exactly avoid someone you lived with. Tara attempted to give you space the following days but reached out to you in hopes that you could talk and sort out the situation. Tara doesn’t want to lose you as a friend. 

“I’m not gonna apologize for something that wasn’t my fault, Mindy. Just because she caught feelings doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. But now she’s ignoring me?” Tara scoffs, “Well, some friend she is.” 

“God Chad’s right. You two are clueless.” Mindy’s nose wrinkled.

“She knows where to find me when she’s done being stubborn.” Crossing her arms, she glances back at you. You were sitting across the quad, on a bench surrounded by your other friends; laughing and talking, unfazed by Tara’s brazen staring. 

How were you not seeing her shameless looks?

She swallowed the pitiful lump in her throat as she continues to observe your carefree nature. 

“Weren’t you begging me to tell her to call you back like a week ago?” Mindy objected causing Anika and Quinn to snicker as they listen in, not bothering to pretend like they weren’t eavesdropping.

“Begging is a stretch,” She mutters weakly, picking at the corner of her book.

“Tara, why can’t you just admit that you want to be with her?” Quinn ponders, genuinely confused as to why you two are playing hopscotch around one another. Everyone could see how madly in love you two are.

It genuinely puzzled the friend group as to why it’s taking this long to get you guys to stop playing games.

They just wanted to see their friends together and happy, definitely not because of the growing bet pool. And not because it was getting increasingly expensive to wager in the bet the longer it ran because you two refused to acknowledge the clear feelings you have for each other. (It was starting to burn a sizeable hole in their wallets)

The brunette shakes her head defiantly, “We’re just hooking up.”

“You’re not acting like you guys are just hooking up.” Anika counters, “actually, you guys act more like a couple than me and Mindy sometimes.”

“No. We don’t,” She frowns.

“Yes you do and it’s gross,” The aforementioned girl interjects. “No one should be cuter than me and my girl.” She wraps an arm around Anika, leaning in to lovingly peck the girl’s cheek. 

“Y/N’s always bringing you coffee when you study with us at the library, even though her class is on the other side of campus.” Anika comments.

“She always loses on purpose when we play card games just so you can win,” Quinn adds.

“She laughs at all your lame jokes and obscure movie references – there’s no way you enjoy Suspiria as much as you say you do,” Mindy stated.

“Hey!” 

“Dude, she has a Spotify playlist titled with your name and heart beside it.” Mindy throws her hands up, feeling a bit fed up.

“Doesn’t mean anything, we share music all the time!”

“Tara, Y/N literally takes care of your plants when you complain about forgetting,” Quinn objects.

Tara’s still feeling persistent. “That’s not true.” 

Her dying plants have been on the mend these last few weeks and it’s definitely because she’s been paying more attention to them; placing the potted plants in a better area for sunlight and watering them more.

Quinn shoots her roommate a pointed look, “You were over-watering them, Tara. Y/N had to come over and change the soil. Did you even notice?”

No, Tara didn’t even notice. She was shocked at how much went over her head as her friends continue to list all the little things you do that, apparently, she’s been too blind to see. She glances back at you as you’re talking to a girl; smiling, unbothered. She recognizes her from her creative writing class – Tara didn’t know you two were close. Close enough for the girl to wrap a hand around your arm and lean into your ear something that the Carpenter can’t make out from the vast distance.

Tara’s eyes slither into tight fissures as she watches the random girl continue to make herself comfortable on you. Eventually, whatever she felt she had to whisper so close was over, but not before the girl planted a kiss on your cheek unsuspectingly. The Carpenter watches as you slightly jump from the contact, then eventually grant her a shy smile – the same smile you reserved for her. 

Tara feels an unpleasant drop in her chest because, for the first time since moving to New York, she allowed herself to finally feel everything she’s been burying.

It was suffocating, making her want to claw at her throat to get rid of the nasty sensation. Regardless of how much she swallowed in an attempt to get rid of the feeling, it only grew larger as it ached; begging to be acknowledged. Hastily, Tara stands up, gathering her things.

“Where are you going?” Her friends' questions were left unacknowledged as she footed it, not really sure where she was going; all Tara knows is that she had to get away before her friends see her break down. 

In her haste, Tara misses your concerned eyes tracking her disappearing figure.

●●●

Tara is choosing to ignore the world and her problems.

After that conversation with her friends, she ran home, plopped into her bed and hid under the covers for the remainder of the afternoon. She put on her favourite horror movies, hoping it would distract her from her thoughts of you. But her efforts proved to be fruitless. You tormented her thoughts regardless of how desperately she tried to drown them out. 

So, she sat there until bright blue skies turned navy and drove herself mad thinking about you.

Trust came sparsely for someone who was violently attacked by a deranged murderer. As much as Tara tried to push through the past and live as if nothing happened, it plagued her in her daily life. It revealed itself when a phone rang too loudly, near kitchen knives, or in dark areas – there were just certain experiences that were tainted by the memory of Ghostface. 

But then you showed up. She remembers opening the door to her apartment and there you were, standing behind Mindy with a $15 bottle of champagne and a poorly-wrapped throw blanket for the old couch to celebrate the Carpenter’s housewarming party (an attempt at some normalcy) with a shy smile and Tara was hooked. 

No matter how much she tried to distance herself, echoing sentiments that it’s a bad idea to get involved with someone so soon. But you lured her in, anyway.

It was in your tenderness that you had Tara wrapped around your finger.

Normally, the Carpenter would be annoyed with someone treating her like she was made of glass, but when it came to you; she knew it wasn’t out of pity. Your gentleness was welcomed with open arms because for once in her life, Tara finally felt like she didn’t have to be so brave all the time, at least, not when she was around you. 

She didn’t have to pretend her life was as put-together as she made it out to be. 

Because for once, someone had finally made her feel like she is worthy enough to stay for, to care for, and maybe to love. And that was terrifying because all anyone in her life had ever done is let her down and leave – Sam, her mom, her dad, Amber. So she kept you on a tight leash; taking control and leading. Never letting you close enough to see how she really feels about you. But there are cracks in the unsturdy walls she tries to put up, she’s not perfect. How can she resist you when you still willingly chased after her regardless of what she’s put you through – and how even through her harshness, you never lose your gentleness with her.

You create real balance and peace within her (not the fake one, she’s desperately fronting) and to someone who’s only known chaos and instability – that’s terrifying. So sue her, for being a little scared.

So, yes. 

Right now, Tara is ignoring everything around her because that realization is too big a burden to deal with.

She has her legs pulled up to her chest, the fuzzy blanket you gifted months ago, wrapped around her shoulders as she watches the TV from the couch; not really paying attention to the film. Her eyes begin to burn the longer she stares at the blue-lit screen causing a painful sting to her pupils. 

A terse knock on the front door startles her making her blink at the sound. 

Everyone was out for the night; Sam at therapy, Quinn at a hookup’s house and her other friends, all off doing their own thing. She wasn’t sure who could be at the door at this time. Cautiously, she stands to silently walk to the door – the pads of her naked feet connecting to the wooden floor litter goosebumps on her skin. Standing on the tips of her toes, Tara looks through the peephole.

She sees you shifting on your feet, glancing over your shoulder – looking unsure if you should even be there. 

Tara feels a pit forming in her stomach, but moves swiftly to unlock the door, opening it. 

“Hey.” She says softly, palm wrapped tight on the doorknob in an attempt to ground herself.

“Hi.” You rub a hand on the back of your neck.

“What–what are you doing here?” Tara sees you flinch, mistaking her tone for malice but you’re answering before she can correct herself.

“Mindy said you needed my help.” You drawl as if confused. 

Tara shares your confusion, brows drawing together. “I… don’t need help?”

You shake your head, clenching your jaw tight, “God dammit… I think she set us up.” 

“Oh.”

Rolling your eyes, “Yeah, oh. Look, that’s my bad, I’ll deal with her. You can go back to… doing whatever you were doing.” 

Tara sees you eye her attire glumly; an oversized shirt that covered her bare legs; assuming the worst. Her eyes immediately widened like saucers, grabbing your arm before you could leave. 

“No! That–that’s not–I’m home. Alone.” She clarifies. The word ‘alone’ taking a special raised and rushed tone. 

You scoff, pulling away from her, “good for you.”

“Can we talk?” Tara calls out, she can’t let you leave yet – despite her previous decision to ignore you and ignore her feelings. The longer you stood across from her, the more she realized just how much she’s missed you these last few weeks.

“No.” You continue to walk down the hall.

Tara grows desperate, running after you and grabbing your arm again to stop you from leaving. The concrete floors were rough on the soles of her feet. “Y/N, please.”

You turn, ready to yank your arm away from her grip but her watery eyes halt you; sympathy bubbling lowly in your chest and you curse inwardly at how easy it was for her to lure you back in. 

“Can y’all shut the fuck up? Some people are trying to get some sleep!” A voice interrupted, it was her neighbour, peeking his head a couple of doors down to yell at you two. He pops his whole body out when he sees Tara’s revealing figure, shooting her a lewd smile through his cigarette-tainted teeth,  “Oh hey, there.”

Tara feels you turn in her hold as your face drops – jaw clenching as you glare at her sleazy neighbour (who was at least in his late 40s judging by his greying hair) “Go back inside unless you wanna get fucked up and stop looking at her.” 

He stares back for a few seconds, debating if the challenge was worth his time. You move her behind you with a tug of an arm; blocking his view of her. Tara knows it's the wrong time but she couldn’t help but move closer; inhaling your familiar perfume. “Man, you’re not even worth my time.”

You wait until he shuts the door before facing her again, muttering under your breath. “Creepy motherfucker.” 

“Go back inside before anyone else comes out here begging for a show.” You tell her, lightly pushing her back to her door. But her hold on your arm tightens, “Not until you come inside and talk to me.”

You sigh, looking around the hallway in an attempt to buy yourself some time before you eventually gave in – tugging her inside the apartment.

Only once you were both inside did you pull away from her grip; Tara’s arm falling limply by her side. You look at her expectantly, “Well?”

Tara remains unmoving and silent, She curls into herself, leaning against the back of the couch just staring at you

You grow annoyed at her silence, running a hand on your face, “Tara you begged me to talk…” 

Still nothing from the Carpenter; she isn’t sure why she can’t say anything now that you’re standing in front of her. Maybe it was because she wasn’t ready to confront you and her feelings but as you stood there, about to leave, she knew she couldn’t let that happen. She wasn’t sure when she would see you again, this was the closest you’d been around her in the last few weeks. 

At this point, she was acting on pure impulse and heightened emotions.

“Unbelievable…” You mutter, grabbing the doorknob. She can feel practically feel the sharp snap in your patience as you try to leave, again.

“I don’t get you.” 

That stops you in your tracks, making you turn looking confused. 

“What?”

Tara begins to shake her head.

“I mean, I don’t get you… Like, why are you still here? Jesus, Y/N, you’ve been ignoring me but you still came here cause you thought I needed help. Even after all the petty shit I’ve been doing with those guys to fuck with you and after the party” She grabs at her hair; roughly tugging on it. “And even after all that, you still chase after me. Why!”

“Because I love you.” 

Tara inhales a sharp breath at your admission and how carelessly easily you said those words. Your brows furrowed like you looked genuinely confused by her question, it has Tara scoffing in disbelief. Unsure how you can still give her genuineness even after everything she’s done, she doesn’t deserve it.

“No, you don’t, you can’t. We’re just hooking up, it was just sex.” She denies, but a fog of tears is beginning to cloud her eyes. Even through the haze, she can see you approaching closer, holding a cautious hand out. 

“Maybe I am just a hook-up to you… but I didn’t just catch feelings for you. I’m not just falling in love with you, I already fell Tara. More like, I dove head-first without a life jacket,” You take the moment to chuckle dryly.

“And yeah, that wasn’t part of the plan but I wouldn’t be able to live with myself I didn’t tell you that there’s someone that wants to wake up and fall asleep beside you every day. Someone that wants to show you that maybe this time you don’t have to be so afraid to let someone in.” You shake your head, looking down for a brief moment of insecurity but you regain the passion in your eyes as you connect gazes.

“So, look me in the eyes and tell me that I’m just a hookup, and if you do. I’ll leave you alone – for good.” She desperately blinked away the tears as she attempts to meet your eyes to tell you that you are just a hookup, it is just sex, she doesn’t love you too. But when she meets your eyes, she sees tenderness again and suddenly her knees are buckling under her.

Her body doesn’t meet the ground like she expects it to. Instead, you grabbed her, wrapping a firm arm around her waist as you held her weight up. She can hear distant mutterings of comfort being whispered in her ear but nothing registers as she realizes that she’s starting to sob uncontrollably. 

“Baby…need you to breathe… ‘gonna make yourself sick.” 

She couldn't hear anything around her until her face is being pressed into soft fabric; clawing at it, in a desperate attempt to self-soothe. She’s having a panic attack. 

“Tara… Please, baby, you have to breathe–” You beg but Tara can’t hear you properly.

Nothing works until she feels you wrap her in a firm hug, still leaving her enough space so as to not feel suffocated. One arm around her waist, the other hand wrapped around her neck, as you rub soothing lines on her clammy skin. 

A few moments of silence pass until Tara feel the pressure in her chest ease as the ringing in her ears subsides. She gasps for air against your chest, coughing as a burning ache in her throat develops. The rubbing of lines on her neck turns into firm pats on the back as Tara continues to cough through her tears.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” You shush her. Eventually, her coughs turn into occasional sniffles and deep breaths as you run fingers back up her hair comfortingly; giving her all patience she required.

“I’m sorry,” Tara says once she pulls her head off your chest, keeping a tight grip on your clothes.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Your eyes softened as you ran the pads of your thumbs to wipe away at her tear-stained cheeks.

She shakes her head in your grip, “Yes, I do. Even now, you’re still treating me so well. I don’t deserve it.” Her voice turns into a broken whisper as she finally allows herself to be vulnerable.

“Oh Tara,” You said so tenderly, “You deserve the world, baby. You’re amazing.”

“No, I’m not,” She shakes her head, beginning to pull away from you, not wanting to hear your words and how genuinely you believed it. 

You tightened your grip around her waist, preventing her from moving. “Yes, you are, if only you can see yourself the way I see you. Oh, Tara, you don’t even realize it. You amaze me, you make me want to be a better person, that’s what you do to me, that’s what you make me feel. Not the other stuff you’re saying.”

Shaking your head, passion raging in your eyes; eye contact with the smaller girl unwavering, “The way you care for everyone around you, and how you carry yourself despite everything you’ve gone through… Baby, it’s amazing to watch you be yourself. I know, I know… After Amber, it’s hard–” That makes Tara’s eyes widen, unaware you knew about her and her late friend. 

“–to trust people but, if you just gave me a chance and spared me an ounce of trust to let yourself fall… I promise I’ll be under there waiting with a safety net.” 

Tara examines your eyes, there was no ounce of dishonesty in them. But that’s to be expected, you’ve always been genuine with her, always up-front, and calling her out on her shit – with love. It was one of the things that made her fall for you. Where everyone around her treats her like she’s a porcelain doll, letting her get away with whatever she wanted – you stopped her, but always in a way that was more so loving and protective rather than overbearing and smothering.

The thudding in her chest begs for reprieve as her heart craves to be moulded with yours. Her heart wants to know what it was like to beat in tandem with you, to finally allow herself to be caught instead of trying (and failing) to hold herself up all the time. 

As Tara’s body caves in on herself, she pulls you down by the neck, unable to hide the content sigh that leaves her lips when your mouths meet in the middle. The kiss was sweet, passionate and firm; it poured out all love that words could never capture; where the tool of language proved to be invaluable in expressing her feelings. 

“I trust you…” Tara whispers when she pulls away, unable to school the smile breaking across her lips. You giggle, making her smile wider. For once the heaviness in Tara's chest feels bearable with you in her arms. 

No other words were exchanged as you two attempted to meet again for a kiss only to bump noses and miss because you two were beaming so wide.

●●●

happy reading!

:)

everyone but her pt.20

Summary: Grief comes in many different forms and stages. You're stuck on anger, and Wednesday accompanies you to the funeral. But she says something wrong, with the best of intentions, and you end up doing something that will change your family dynamic for the worse.

Word Count: 7.7k Warnings: grief, child abuse, self neglect (not eating, recklessness, not taking care of self, excessive drinking), extreme anger, flashbacks (mentions of car accident, injuries, illusions to criminal activity), swearing, violence, smoking Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader (everyone but her Masterlist) Taglist: @extinctspino @basichextechml @cfvgbhndun-new-blog @jinxscatbomb @awolfcsworld @suzhiman @gengen64 @eclipsesmoonshine14 @alexkolax @thenextdawn @cacciatricediartemide @cozwaenot @the-night-owl-blr @natashasapphic @parkersmyth @alilbitlesbian @irish-piece-of-trash @rainbow-love4ever @audigay @bakugounuggets @myfturn @rockwyn @bigbadsofty07 @andsoigotabutterfly @captainbeat @smromanoff

Everyone says grief comes in five stages; denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. But you disagree. It’s not five stages, it’s one. Only one stage that washes over you like a wave and holds you under until you’re drowning. You’re drowning and watching everyone on the surface live their lives as if you aren’t just right underneath them, choking on the salty sea water as you scream for help.

It’s only one stage; agony.

The house was bigger than you remembered when you got home far too early in the morning. The barristers were cleaner, the kitchen was far more pristine, and it was quiet. It was far too quiet, and your hands started to go clammy at the revelation. There wasn’t even any comfort in the ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer. Tick-tocks burned themselves into your brain until it was stabbing into your head like a knife.

You started humming a tuneless song. It eased the pain slightly.

"Don't hum, dear," your mother said as she took her gloves off and handed them to your maid and previous nanny, Mabel. "It's childish."

Your humming died off and the silence came back.

"Mabel will show you to your room,” your father said, resting his hand on your shoulder and giving it a comforting squeeze. For a moment, things almost seemed okay. “We will mourn tomorrow, then start the preparations.”

And just like that everything came crashing down once again. Paired perfectly with the migraine that still refused to settle.

“Oh, Y/N,” your father called out before you managed to get more than three steps up.

You turned around slowly, each joint still aching from the fall earlier in the night. Was it that same night? It felt so long ago. Nothing felt like you had been on a carnival date earlier in the night, that you had been having fun with Wednesday and the gang less than eight hours ago. Or was it longer than that? Did it even matter anymore?

“Your principal wanted you to have your phone back,” he continued when you stayed silent. He smiled softly down at the phone in his hands before looking up and handing it back. “Your conversations are a bit concerning,” he said when your fingers brushed his to take it back. “I installed a program to track your activity.” You blinked once. “For your well-being.”

For my well-being. Right. Of course.

“You have a few unread messages,” your father called after you as you turned to walk back up the stairs. “You should let them know everything is alright.”

Be angry, a voice in the back of your head growled when Mabel continued to guide you through the now-unfamiliar corridors. It was a familiar voice, one that hadn’t reared its head in months, but you couldn’t quite place it. He went through your phone, so you need to get angry. No. No, you wouldn’t get angry. Why not? Your jaw clenched painfully. Nicky wouldn’t have gotten angry.

“Y/N.”

You stopped in the doorway of the room - your room - and looked sideways at Mabel. She looked older, more worn. Maybe it was just from working for your parents for so long. How was her son? Had he graduated college yet? He had wanted to be an engineer, if you remembered right. Why did she look so sad?

“I am truly sorry,” she said softly. “I cannot imagine your grief.”

No. No, she couldn’t imagine your grief. She couldn’t imagine what it was like to see him not even a week earlier, alive, and not knowing it would be the last time you saw him. She couldn’t fucking imagine what it was like and no one could fucking imagine what it was like.

The migraine throbbed again and you squeezed your eyes shut to try and ease it.

“The headaches will stop in time,” she said. Your eyes flew open. “They always have.”

“What?”

Mabel tilted her head and a crinkle formed between her eyes.

“Your headaches,” she said, her finger lifting to tap lightly against your left temple. “They always got worse when Nicky stopped suppressing.”

“Suppressing?”

Her sorrowful smile slipped into a frown.

"Yes," she said softly, "don't you remember?"

No.

"Well, I suppose that would defeat the point," she chuckled lightly. "He could suppress memories," she explained softly, gently, agonisingly. "He always chose the bad ones, of course." 

No. 

"I myself got a slight headache when he passed."

No.

"It's how I knew he was truly gone."

No!

"Y/N?"

You shoved past Mabel, forcing her back into the hall. The stairs passed under you four at a time until you were on the ground floor.

"Darling?-"

"-Where are you going?-"

"-It's 4 in the morning-"

"-Get back in the house."

Your parents' calls fell on deaf ears as you threw the front door open and stormed outside. Your feet picked up speed as you walked down the endless driveway. The moment they hit the pavement you broke out into a jog, then a sprint. Your shoes hit the pavement of the road in a steady rhythm.

"You really wanna know?" Nicky asked after taking another one of your chess pieces.

"You promised you would tell me," you said with a frown.

"How about I make it your graduation present," he teased. "Give you something to look forward to."

"Deal," you said with a smile. He knocked your king off the board.

The excessively large houses blurred as you ran down the street. Motion lights turned on and guard dogs barked when you passed by.

"That was the year they left us to fend for ourselves for the week," Nicky laughed with Yoko.

"I don't remember that," you said with a slight frown.

"You were, uh, too young," Nicky said with a smile and a pat on your back. "Not worth remembering anyway."

The houses thinned and were quickly replaced with trees. Your feet stumbled as pavement turned into dirt. Icy air froze your tired lungs, leaving a sensation of needles in your chest.

You pushed your feet faster.

"Nicky, I'm tired," you whined after tripping over your own feet again.

"Just a few more hours," he said. His shirt had finally dried and looked stiff. “Then we’ll be back at Nevermore.”

"You said that a few hours ago," you complained. "My skin is itchy."

"We'll wash it off later," he said. He wasn't even looking at you.

"Are they gonna find us?" You asked as you did a little jog to catch up to him and hold his hand.

"No," he said without hesitation. The dried blood was starting to flake off his forehead. The cut on his nose looked angry.

"Is this gonna give me bad dreams?" You asked in a small voice. He stopped in his tracks and picked you up, letting you crawl onto his back.

"Of course not," he said softly. "You won't even remember it."

The forest flew by. Each twig and branch that whipped across your face made you feel more and more alive. It was a feeling, and you needed a feeling. Anything, everything, whatever you could get.

Everything hurt. Oh god, it hurt so bad and you couldn’t scream.

“Hang on, kid, we’ve gotta get the door.”

“Where’s Nicky?” You asked. Your tongue felt heavy, like lead.

“Gotta get you first,” a man’s voice said. “Stay still.”

“Nicky?” You slurred; the words tasted of copper.

Your eyes fell to the top of the car that was now underneath you. It was covered in something shiny. Something red.

Your lungs couldn’t take it anymore. They couldn’t take the cold, couldn’t take the exertion, the stress, none of it. And it felt. You could feel them. The more you ran, the more it hurt and soon you could focus on the pain in your side instead of the pain in your head.

Memory suppression.

There was no thought about stopping, your feet just slowed their movements until you collapsed to your knees on the cold, damp forest floor. You felt the end of a stick dig into your hand, splitting the skin. The blood was warm; it was comforting. Each gasping breath felt like you were inhaling shards of glass, each one more painful than the last.

And it felt.

“I feel angry,” you said as you sat at the top of the wall and watched Nicky continue to climb.

“You always feel angry,” he grunted. He was stuck. As usual.

“I don’t know why,” you sighed. “I can’t think of anything that would make me angry.”

“It’ll go away,” he said as his face finally pulled up and you could look him in the eyes. “Good kids don’t stay angry.”

“Am I a good kid?” You asked softly. He smiled.

“The best.”

You let out the most feral, unhinged, excruciating scream you could possibly produce. It hurt your throat and left it feeling raw.

But it felt.

The sun had started to rise before you could get up from your position on the ground. Your knees were stiff and soaked to the bone and the stick in your hand had broken off. It would leave a splinter that would need to be dug out. There was a lingering ache in your throat and lungs and that migraine still wouldn’t go away. And when you started walking mindlessly back to the house, you could feel blisters on your feet and heels; a few of them even popped.

But at least it felt.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?-”

“-We were about to call the police-”

“-You look like a stray dog-”

“-We just cleaned the entry-”

“-Where do you think you’re going?”

You couldn’t recall getting home. But you continued walking through the house as your parents called after you, practically dragging yourself up the stairs until you made it into your room. The door fell shut and the lock clicked into place and all you could do was fall back to your knees.

The cold wooden floor didn’t feel so bad. At least it felt.

—---

You wished you were numb again.

The day of mourning came and went, each second testing your patience and wearing you thin. You hadn’t slept, hadn’t showered, hadn’t even gotten up from your spot on the floor. You could hear your phone vibrating on the wood, almost loud enough to wake the dead. Maybe it would wake Nicky, you thought before finally checking it to make it stop.

Not even noon and you had 17 missed calls, 72 texts, and a plethora of messages from the vast array of other social media outlets. A large number were from Yoko, then Ajax, the rest of the group, and your family back home. Two or three calls from Momma Weems and your family. But your eyes started to sting when you saw the name for two messages.

Nicky.

You clicked on them immediately, desperately hoping to see what he had said. Something in the back of your head was screaming at you not to open them, not to get your hopes up. Your eyes trailed over the messages, reading them once, twice, three times before it finally clicked.

It wasn’t Nicky.

You had given Wednesday his phone.

You hadn’t ever changed the name.

Nicky: Thing wishes to know if you’ve made it back safe.

Nicky: I wish to know as well.

Fuck. Now you were making Wednesday feel things too? Why would she even care anyway.  It wasn’t like she loved you anyway, wasn’t like she even really cared. You knew she didn’t do love, she had said it to her mother time and time again. Why would she care if you were safe.

Didn’t she know Nicky was the one who needed the attention?

You growled at nothing in particular before throwing your phone across the room, hearing the screen shatter when it hit the wall. The sound made you flinch and you instantly felt that guilty feeling deep in the pit of your stomach. It vibrated again.

You didn’t check it.

—---

“You need to eat something before you go,” Mabel urged you once again as you finished buttoning up your shirt.

“‘m not hungry,” you mumbled. Your fingers faltered on the buttons; it wasn’t fitting like it was supposed to.

“You haven’t eaten in five days,” she said in a far softer voice. It was humiliating.

“Too busy planning,” you said, finally deciding to give up and instead throwing a jacket over the crooked, too-big shirt. “I’ll eat when I’m dead.”

“That’s not funny.”

“I’m not laughing.”

You moved past Mabel and went down the stairs to meet up with your parents. It was the day to finalise plans; something that you knew was going to cause argument after argument. There had already been too many screaming matches the past few days, none of which ever came to a definitive conclusion.

Maybe today would be different.

“That jacket is unprofessional,” your mother said with a slight frown.

“The shirt doesn’t fit,” you said without looking up at her. Your fingers toyed with the shattered phone in your pocket.

“We will have it tailored,” your mother sighed, “again.”

“We will discuss it later,” your father said as he ushered everyone to the car. “We need to get going so we won’t be late.”

You sat in the back with the both of them while Jenkins started the drive to the funeral home. With a thunk, your head hit the window and you looked out at the houses passing by. The harness was pulled painfully tight and your wings were already stiff, but you didn’t care. At least it felt, right?

The phone in your pocket vibrated, and you pulled it out slowly to look at the two new messages.

Yoko: You don’t have to answer me, but answer Wednesday. She’s losing her mind

Ash: just saw your pop in town. told me about nicky. im so sorry

You exhaled through your nose and slid the phone back into your pocket without answering. There was no time to answer anyone anyway, you had planning to do. Although you shouldn’t be, he was still the source of the migraine that refused to go away.

Memory suppression. Just the thought made you sick and your mouth feel like you had swallowed cotton. How could he do that? How could he just hide your memories from you? Your own memories. He had no fucking right, those were your memories, not his.

“We’re here.”

You pulled your head back from the window and blinked a few times, doing your best to hide the anger. As you uncurled your fists, you could feel your nails pulling out of the skin; you had left four perfect crescent shaped cuts on your palms. Thankfully your pants were black, and you wiped the slightest bit of blood off on the legs.

The next thing you remember is sitting in one of the chairs across from the funeral director. You couldn’t recall getting out of the car, or introducing yourself. Hopefully you had done well or you would get an earful once you left.

“Today you will select the casket and can order the headstone,” the funeral director said as he slid over a bunch of paper.

“Casket?” You asked, turning your head to look at your parents. “We never agreed on burial.”

“Your mother and I have made the executive decision,” your father said with a smile.

“Then make a different one,” you said with a slightly raised voice.

“I’ll give you three a moment,” the funeral director said with a professional smile. Everyone stayed silent as he grabbed a few things and left, shutting the door behind him.

“Do not question our decisions in front of strangers,” your father said, his polite smile falling immediately.

“He didn’t want to be buried,” you said. Your chest felt tight, like it was caught in vice grips.

“He shall be buried with the other Smiths,” your mother said while you chuckled humourlessly. You pushed your chair back and stood up, walking to the other side of the table and pacing.

“He said he didn’t want to be buried,” you argued; the migraine was back. “Said it creeped him out and he would rather be cremated.”

“We never heard him say such a thing,” your mother said with a sigh.

“Maybe because you were never there,” you scoffed before freezing in your tracks.

Instantly the atmosphere in the room changed from uneasiness to aggression. You could feel the hair on the back of your neck and arms stand up and your breath caught in your throat as you squeezed your eyes shut.

“I beg your pardon?”

Fuck.

“I’m sorry-”

“-We were never there?” Your father asked, louder this time. 

You could hear the chair scrape against the floor and you turned your body to face him. He looked furious and the migraine came back stronger than before. Almost like someone was pushing glass into each individual fold of your brain. You could feel your palms getting sweaty.

Fight back, the voice in your head said. He abandoned us. Fight. Back.

“You weren’t there,” you said with a shaky voice. Be confident. “You left us and didn’t come back.”

“Did you ever stop to ask yourself why we would even consider doing such a thing?” Your father asked.

“Let’s focus on the burial,” your mother cut in, “we can talk about this later.”

“It’s because you produced two freak kids,” you said, your voice stronger, more confident. Your father walked around the table to come closer. Keep fighting. “Could you imagine if that got out?” He looked furious. “If anyone discovered that the high and mighty Smith family had two Outcast kids that they hid away-”

-your head jerked to the right as the slap echoed in the otherwise silent room. Keep it together, you thought as your lower lip started to quiver. You held back the stinging in your eyes as you stood up taller and turned back around to face him. It was times like this where you wished you were smaller so you couldn’t look him in the eye.

“You will never say such a thing again,” he said as he jabbed a finger into your chest. “Do I make myself clear?”

Hit him back.

“Crystal,” you whispered through clenched teeth.

“He will be buried,” your father said with another jab. “That’s final.”

You could feel the persistent stinging of your cheek as you all sat down and the funeral director came back in. He didn’t comment. You didn’t prompt him to.

—---

Mabel had worked for the Smith family for 23 years, she knew when to hold her tongue. But when you all came back from the funeral home and she saw the new blooming bruise on your cheek, she felt a mix of anger and pity. She wouldn’t pretend you were the best at holding your tongue; you never had been. But your father also allowed you to push his buttons until he snapped.

She didn’t have to ask to know that was exactly what happened.

The days leading up to the funeral reminded her an awful lot of when you were younger, with the obvious differences. You were still reckless, almost even careless. Accidentally breaking things, roaming around the house without direction, doing anything and everything your heart desired without seeking permission or forgiveness.

There were times when she would be cleaning and would hear the sound of the grand piano lingering in the air, and she would sneak around the corner to watch you. Back ramrod straight, slender fingers poised perfectly over the keys, face completely neutral as you read the music on the stand. It was beautiful to hear you play again, and the occasional jazz tune that would sound when you were certain your mother wasn’t around was all the more enjoyable because of the slightest smile on your face.

Other times Mabel would catch you leaving the house without warning, not coming back until late in the night with dazed eyes and dried tear tracks on your cheeks. Those were the nights she would gently take you by the shoulders and guide you back up to your room. You did nothing to assist her as she cleaned you up and dressed you in something comfortable so she could put you to bed.

She did her best to ignore each and every new bruise or scratch or scar.

It was impossible to get you to eat. You dropped weight faster than she could keep track of, and no matter how many meals she left in your room, they always went untouched. She tried to keep small snacks like protein bars in your room in the hopes that you would eat them, but she had no way to tell if you did or not.

On evenings where guests would come over and you would be “encouraged” to socialise, she took note of the amount of drinks you would have each evening. It was always far too many, and she and Jenkins would end up carrying you back up to your bed before everyone had left for the night. You would always accept your scolding with a grimace and two Tylenol the next morning and go about your day.

You would pick fights with your parents. Never over anything important, always little things and they were starting to pick up on that as well. At first they had fought back, getting into screaming matches with you and sending you off to your room. But then you tried to start fights over the silverware, or the way your shoes fit, or even how bright the lights were in the room. It didn’t take long for your parents to stop arguing back and just ignore you.

Mabel noticed that almost made you more angry.

Other times, your parents would nit pick at you as well. Over your hair, or the style of clothing you wore. If you had worn the same shirt twice or tracked mud into the house. Your speech quickly became more "professional" and you selected your words carefully in an effort to retaliate. It was far less outwardly destructive, but Mabel could still see the damage it inflicted reflect in your eyes.

But through all of your anger and self destruction and attempts to grab anyone’s attention, you always treated her and Jenkins with the utmost kindness and respect. That was what reminded her of when you were young. It was in the gentle “thank yous” or the soft smiles when she would hand you something. The questions about her son, or about Jenkins’ wife and cats, or any of the neighbours.

She knew you were a good kid. She knew, and Jenkins knew, and that was probably what hurt them the most through it all. You were a good kid with no one to truly lean on and no one to help guide you through this loss. And they knew it was just going to build and build and build inside you until it exploded.

The day before the funeral was the day you would see Nicky for the last time, and Mabel could see the fear and anger in your eyes. She and Jenkins had fully prepared themselves for your mental state when you got back, but even they couldn’t have prepared themselves fully.

You came into the house dazed, not hearing a single thing your parents were saying. But then it was like a switch had been flipped and you clenched your jaw before making a snide remark back to your mother. It didn’t take long to turn into a screaming match, and Mabel and Jenkins watched in horror as you balled up your fist and swung at your father.

The fear in his own eyes was evident even though your fist connected with the brick wall beside him; whether on purpose or not, you had missed him completely. Tears fell from your eyes and you screamed again as your father pulled you into a hug. Mabel watched helplessly as you tried to push him away before finally giving in and crying into his shoulder.

You held onto him like your life depended on it as your blood dripped down the pristine, white walls of the house.

“Your tie is crooked,” Mabel told you on the morning of the funeral. You had been struggling to get ready for over an hour, and no amount of makeup could hide the bags under your eyes or the lingering bruise on your cheek.

“So are these fucking buttons,” you mumbled as you ripped your dress shirt open to start over. She could feel you getting angry again. It was probably from the lack of sleep.

Or lack of food.

Or lack of help in general.

“Stay still,” Mabel huffed, setting the laundry basket down on your bed and standing in front of you.

You sighed, but remained still as she got to work on your shirt. It had been tailored only a few days before and still seemed a bit big again; it broke her heart. But she did her best to ignore it and focused on buttoning up your shirt properly. Your violent treatment had loosened two or three buttons, but she certainly wasn’t going to bring that up to you.

“How have your school ties survived this long if you can’t do them yourself?” She asked, her eyes darting up to meet yours. She almost thought you smiled.

“Wednesday always fixes them for me,” you said. You didn’t look down, but that was alright, she was focused on your tie anyway.

“You like this girl?” She asked softly. If your parents heard, they would have started screaming.

“A lot,” you answered just as softly. “I think I love her.”

“That’s a big emotion for you,” she said not unkindly.

“I hope I don’t fuck it up,” you whispered.

“You won’t,” she said with a smile as she patted your tie down. “You’re all set.”

You turned to look up at the mirror, eyes squinting and your jaw clenching before you relaxed. Mabel kept her smile to herself; she didn’t want to unintentionally encourage you to fight the reflection. You stood up straight and pressed your tie flat once again before slipping the suit jacket on.

“Thank you, Mabel,” you said softly, and you quickly leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. Your lips were chapped, but it was expected.

“I’ll see you when you get home,” she said with a smile. You smiled back once, halfheartedly, before walking out of the room.

She really hoped your anger wouldn’t explode at the funeral.

—---

The whole car ride made Wednesday feel sick to her stomach. It had been a short flight down to D.C. and now she, Thing, Yoko, and Weems were finishing the trip with the short drive to the funeral. The rest of the gang had opted to stay at Nevermore for the time being; they didn't want to overwhelm you. The funeral was supposed to be outside, or so your mother had said, but it looked like rain. Usually perfect for such an occasion.

Just not this one.

She checked the phone again, hoping you had finally answered. It was a foolish hope, she knew that much, but it still resided in her chest. No one had heard anything from you since you had left the harvest festival, not even Yoko or your family. She shouldn’t have expected you to answer her of all people.

But she hoped you would have.

“We shall give her space,” Weems said once she pulled the car through the gates to the cemetery. It was connected to the reception hall, where everyone would go after the service.

It reminded Wednesday an awful lot of the cemetery back home.

“Except you, Addams,” Yoko said, drawing Wednesday out of her thoughts.

“Why me?” She asked.

“You give her peace,” Weems answered.

Well, that was comforting; surprising, Wednesday knew. To know that everyone else could see her effect on you; had they seen your effect on her? They probably had. Enid certainly had, and that was more than enough torture. But if they said she gave you peace, then who was she to argue.

Once the car was parked, everyone got out. Thing climbed onto her shoulder as she unfolded the umbrella. She waited patiently as Weems and Yoko got out as well, each holding their own umbrellas, before they started the short walk to the grave.

It seemed the rain had ruined the original funeral plans, seeing how no one was sitting anymore and the chairs were in the process of being removed. Wednesday and the small group stood off to the side and waited. They hadn’t exactly been invited, but who was going to stop them? Especially at a funeral.

You were one of the lead pallbearers, the one on the front left. Wednesday felt her heart drop into her stomach at the sight of you; dark eyes, clothes hanging off your smaller frame, your wings invisible beneath your suit jacket. But the worst part was you didn’t seem sad. No, you looked angry.

After lowering the casket back to the ground, you hesitated, your fingers running across the wood before you walked to stand near your parents. They tried to offer you an umbrella but you ignored them. You simply stood in the rain, looking down at Nicky’s casket as an old, unsteady man started talking.

Wednesday simply watched you the whole time. Watched the difference in your posture, your back straight and head up. She took note of the way you clasped your hands in front of you even though she could see the scabbed over skin pulled taut across your knuckles. She watched the muscles in your jaw tighten and relax, over and over and over as you blinked too many times to keep the tears at bay.

You were upset, rightfully so, but Wednesday couldn’t have found you more beautiful. Not because you were suffering, not because you were struggling, but because you were. You were handling everything so well, at least on the outside, and she couldn’t help but admire the way the rain fell down your face, caressing the skin in comfort.

Your family, you included, looked impeccable standing there together. Wednesday could only imagine how powerful all of you would have looked if the four of you had been together; you, Nicky, and your parents. Standing there in perfectly tailored suits, manicured to perfection, neutral expressions on your faces. Is that how you would have looked if you had stayed with them? Would she have had the same pull toward you?

She waited until the funeral itself was over before making her way to your side. Everyone else - including Thing - had gone inside to escape the rain and start the reception, but you didn’t move a muscle. Her shoulder brushed against your arm when she got close enough, and for a moment your shoulders fell and your jaw unclenched.

“I’m tired, Wends,” you said in such a quiet voice that Wednesday almost couldn’t hear you over the rain. “And I feel alone.”

Time to use the comfort teachings everyone had been helping her with for the past two weeks. They had drilled it into her head time and time again, through all hours of the day and night until she could recite it properly. It was robotic sounding, she knew that much, but it was a start. She hoped it would work.

“It’s okay to feel sad,” Wednesday said. You stiffened beside her. “But you are not alone.”

“Did Yoko teach you that?” You asked, immediately catching on. She should have known better.

“I-,” don’t lie, “-yes,” she admitted. “I’m not particularly adept at comfort.”

“I don’t want comfort,” you said, turning to look at her. The rain had finally started washing off the makeup from your face and she thought she could see something on your cheek. “I don’t want pity. I want you to be real with me.”

“Real?” Wednesday inquired with furrowed brows.

“Yes, Wednesday, real,” you huffed. “Be real with me and tell me what you’re thinking.”

Now that you had put her on the spot, she wasn’t sure what she was thinking. She was thinking of the now-obvious bruise on your cheek and where it had possibly come from. She was thinking of the bags under your eyes if you had been getting enough sleep, which clearly you hadn’t.

Part of her was thinking of her own parents, as unusual as it would be. How they had fallen in love at a funeral and had confessed their undying devotion to each other. Funerals had always been a romantic event for the Addams family, and she was aware this was for your brother, but she couldn’t deny she knew what her parents had meant every time they reminisced.

Oh. That’s what she was thinking.

“I am thinking…,” she paused, blinking at you twice, three times and looking away. You wanted real. She looked back up at you to meet your probing gaze. “I love you.”

Your brows knit together as you looked away from her for a moment.

“What?” You asked quietly.

“You asked what I was thinking,” Wednesday clarified slowly. “I was simply thinking that I-”

“-Don’t say it again,” you interrupted.

And right there, right then, Wednesday felt her cold dead heart break in her chest.

“You did not just say that,” you said with a huff. “Did you really just confess?”

“Yes,” Wednesday said indignantly. “It’s what I was thinking at the moment.”

“We’re at my brother’s funeral, Wednesday,” you said, far louder this time. “Do you really think this is the time?”

“You asked,” she said again. “Why would you ask if you didn’t want to know?”

“I can’t,” you said as you held your hands up and started backing up. “I just- I can’t do this right now.”

Wednesday let her umbrella fall as she watched you walk off toward the reception hall with hands on your head, covering your ears. She could feel the rain slowly seeping through her coat, but all she could really focus on was you. Only you, and how her father had been right.

Love was agony.

—---

You were going to be sick. You could feel it in your chest, your lungs, your stomach. Your mouth wouldn’t stop salivating and you were going to be sick. How could she say that? How could she tell you that now? Your palms were sweaty when you dragged them down your face, ignoring the makeup that you wiped off with it.

It should have been exciting to hear Wednesday say such a thing. She was capable of love, a genuine love, and had even felt so strongly as to verbally tell you as such. And it had been ruined because they had killed Nicky and now you couldn’t even enjoy the single fucking good thing in your life.

You felt sick.

Your parents were standing in the middle of the room, talking and laughing with some lawyer or congressman or senator or whoever the fuck else could put up with them long enough to talk. It was like they weren’t even upset, they weren’t even devastated that their son, their first born, was currently being buried six feet under. Didn’t they care?

You felt sick.

Weems, Yoko, and Thing were off to the side, talking with each other. They looked up, almost as if sensing your staring, and gave you sad smiles. They pity you, the voice in your head spat in disgust. You frowned at the thought and turned around, looking for someone, anyone to talk to. Hell, at that point you would’ve taken the old man off to the side that was giving you a look that made you rather uncomfortable.

Your eyes fell on a couple standing next to the fireplace, talking quietly with each other. Something about them seemed familiar, but you couldn’t quite place from where. But you stopped caring when you saw the subtle cloud of smoke fall from the taller one’s lips and you quickly made your way over.

“Mind if I steal a hit?” You asked when you got nearby. The taller one smiled sadly.

“Sure,” they said as they handed the vape over.

You grabbed it and brought it to your lips, inhaling deeply. It scalded your throat and stung your lungs as you held it in for far too long before slowly exhaling. You watched the smoke as it evaporated into the air, leaving nothing but a sickeningly sweet smell in its place.

“That’s disgusting,” you mumbled as you handed it back to them. The shorter one still hadn’t looked up from the hole they were staring into the ground.

“It’s marshmallow,” they chuckled.

“Like I said,” you said, “disgusting.”

“You’re Nicky’s sister,” they said with a half smile, avoiding your gaze by looking out at the crowd again.

“You’re a couple of strangers,” you said.

“I’m Casey,” they chuckled lightly, “and this is Devon.”

Devon finally looked up and eyed you up and down before looking back to the crowd with the slightest hint of a sneer. If you hadn’t spent so much time with Wednesday, you would’ve missed it. What could they possibly be sneering at you for? It was your brother’s funeral. You felt the muscles in your jaw tighten.

“He talked about you a lot,” Casey said softly.

“How would you know?” You asked way more harshly than necessary. Part of you didn’t care. Okay, none of you cared. “He hasn’t exactly done much talking recently.”

“The three of us were… close,” they said with a distracted nod.

“He was in a coma for four years,” you scoffed, “how close could you be.” You reached over and took the vape from their hand and brought it to your mouth for another hit.

“We were his partners.”

You choked on the smoke, leaving your throat raw and scratchy. Your head spun to look at Casey and Devon, eying them to see any sort of discrepancies in their body language. If Wednesday had taught you one thing, it was how to tell if someone was lying. Avoiding eye contact, licking their lips, anything.

There wasn’t a single sign.

He hadn’t told you he was dating anyone. Why hadn’t he told you? Surely he would have, you two told each other everything. He was your big brother, for fuck sake, he would have told you. Right?

Right?

“We loved him too,” Casey said softly; they still weren’t looking at you.

He lied. He fucking lied.

You looked out at the crowd and took another hit of the vape. Then another. And another. And a fourth one for good measure. It felt like your lungs were going to burn themselves to embers, but you didn’t care. At least it felt. After a fifth hit, you slipped it back into Casey’s hand and continued looking out at the crowd.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly, your voice now hoarse and deeper than usual.

“We’ll get through it,” they said. “He’ll get his justice.”

They know he deserves justice too, the voice in the back of your head said. You couldn’t argue with it. But what else could you say? It was too much and you had too many questions. Where had they met? How long had they known Nicky? How long had it been going on?

You felt sick.

You didn’t bother saying anything else to them before walking off, walking through a haze until you ended up with the group your parents were talking to. A few of them tried talking to you, giving their most insincere condolences before going back to their conversations.

It was disgusting. Watching them laugh and talk as if you weren’t standing at a funeral reception. As if you hadn’t been standing at Nicky’s literal graveside less than an hour ago. Heartless, the voice said, they killed him and are using it as an excuse to socialise. 

“I can’t recall what caused his condition,” one of the men said when there was a lull in the conversation.

“A car wreck,” your father said with a few mindless nods of his head.

“That’s tragic,” a woman said. “Drunk driver?”

“An Outcast, actually,” your father answered.

Wait.

“What did you say?” You asked, drawing everyone’s attention.

You felt something tug on your pants, and your eyes darted down for just long enough to see Thing. He was wearing a little black bowtie around one of his fingers. But you weren’t focusing on him; you were too busy thinking about what your father had said.

“I said an Outcast caused the wreck that killed my son,” your father continued. His back straightened as he kept eye contact with you.

“Abominations, the lot of them,” a man huffed before taking another drink of the wine in his glass.

Thing pulled at your pants leg again. You kicked him away, listened to the subtle sound of him scuttling across the floor. Thankfully no one else had noticed him.

“An Outcast didn’t kill him,” you bit back. “You two were the ones that pulled his life support.”

The group around you fell silent, now beyond interested in the conversation. Any chance to get a good helping of gossip, of course. That was how all socialites worked, especially when another socialite was involved. In this case it was your parents; they were going to be the talk of the town for a year.

“No son of mine should have to exist as a vegetable simply because we couldn’t be merciful,” your mother said. “Especially because of some sinful abomination.”

“Stop calling them abominations,” you growled through clenched teeth.

Your fingers were starting to ache as they curled into fists at your side. Your pulse was rushing in your ear and for a moment, you felt your chest was going to explode. That your heart would beat faster and faster, harder and harder until it finally broke free.

You took a single step closer.

“If it were up to me, I’d have them all euthanised,” your father said as he smiled at you with his “show everyone we’re perfect” smile. You took another step forward until you were almost directly in front of him. “The world would be a much better place.”

The sounds of the world muffled in your ears, and all you could hear was the sound of your own breathing. Erratic, shallow, rushed. Something dripped down your neck and your jaw felt like it was going to crack under the pressure. That migraine came roaring back as you stared into your father’s eyes.

Do it.

Your fist connected with his nose before you could even comprehend what was happening. The people around you gasped and stepped back as your father fell to the ground. One of his hands attempted to stop the flow of blood while he held the other out in front of him.

But you saw red.

You knelt down on top of him, only one thing on your mind as you grabbed his shirt collar. He almost looked remorseful for a moment. But only for a moment. Again. You tightened your grip on his collar as you swung again. And again. And again.

Harder.

You could hear Nicky in the back of your head, screaming and pounding against the inside of your skull. Telling you to stop, begging you to let your father go. Each time Nicky pounded against your skull, you threw another punch. And another. Something wet slid down your cheeks and you couldn’t stop.

Something wrapped around your waist and yanked you back. Hard. The wind flew out of your lungs and you instantly grabbed onto the arms around you. You tried to pull them off but your hands were slick and you couldn’t get a good hold. You were stuck.

“Y/N, stop,” the voice said into your ear. Weems?

“Say it again,” you shouted at your father who was frozen on the ground, bruised eyes focused on you. “Say it again, you fucking coward.”

“Breathe,” another voice said before someone stepped in front of you. Yoko?

“You're defending the group that killed your brother,” your mother said as she knelt down to look at your father’s injuries. He was wheezing and covered in blood. "You should do this to them instead."

You tried to lunge forward again, and the arms around your waist almost gave out. You threw a leg out, hoping to kick him while he was down. Just one more. But the arms around your waist tightened again, and Yoko grabbed your flailing feet until you were being carried out of the room.

“Don’t you fucking touch them,” you shouted as you continued attempting to fight and Weems and Yoko struggled to carry you. “I’ll fucking kill you next time.”

You felt sick.

The cold air and rain hit you like a brick wall when you were finally outside. The arms and hands holding you back let go and you fell onto the ground as you stared at the now-closed doors of the reception hall. Your frantic breathing was the only thing you could hear.

“Breathe.”

Another face came into view, and almost instantly your breath caught in your throat. Wednesday’s eyes were wide and focused on your face. They were bloodshot; why were they bloodshot? Her hands were poised to touch you, to check you for injuries, but the moment you felt her hand on your arm you flinched.

You saw red. Only red. You wanted to hurt something. Someone. You didn’t give a fuck who it was, you just wanted to make someone else hurt the way you were hurting. To swing at whoever was closest.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you said as you crawled back across the ground. Wednesday immediately let go.

I don’t want to hurt you, you thought as you pushed yourself up to your feet until you could start stumbling away. Shaky fingers unbuttoned your jacket and ripped the buttons off your shirt until you could reach the harness. They were calling after you; you didn’t know what they were saying. The harness hit the ground and the moment your wings unfurled, you jumped into the air.

You had nearly hurt Wednesday.

You felt sick.

Werewolves change form as dictated by their moon

It Will Come Back

Summary: The cabin was becoming a distant memory but you and Wanda had been anything but. Missions continued with the team but when it was time relax, you were no longer alone. And for the first time, you never wanted to be alone again

Pairing: Wanda x Reader

Genre/Warnings: Fluff (mention of alcohol, alcohol consumption, blood)

Word Count: 4.9k

A/N: The rhythm is slowly coming back and of course, I can't leave this series alone for too long. Here’s chapter 17 of AOP. I’ll be testing out if I have major writer’s block with a fic not related to this a bit later 😂 Happy Reading everyone! 💕

*please do not repost or translate my material or claim as yours. reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated!*

________________________

Your chair squeaks beneath you as your leg quietly bounces, hands trying to pop already cracked fingers. It's taking everything within you not to let out a sigh, trying to remind Steve that you all had plans later tonight and there was still things to do. He was even involved, you just knew he didn't want to set up the decorations.

You knew this was a fact as you glance over at Nat, her eyes peering up from the time on her phone. Even she knew he was cutting it close and she needed him to climb the ladder.

As you glance around the room, you catch a pair of emerald eyes across the way. Your stare softens as you watch Wanda cock her brow, you pen tapping silently against your temple. You wait for her to tap her fingers against her journal, the silent confirmation that she was connected to you. A secret language the two of you had developed over time.

You're beautiful, the words fill your mind and you watch the smallest upturn in Wanda's lips as she tries to pretend to pay attention to Steve.

The mission, her distant voice echoes in your mind as you sigh, leaning forward onto the table. You feel the pull to find her eyes again, to find her across that table but you hold yourself together for the moment. You'd have all the time in the world to stare into those emerald eyes, as you trace along her silk skin and listen to her alluring whispers all night long.

The clicking of the air-conditioning brings a soft rush of air from the vents. You noticed the slight shift in Wanda's hair and smell that sweet amber flow from across the table. Breathing in deeply, you feel yourself relax your cheek even more into your hand. You stare at Steve but your attention is far from him.

You smell wonderful, you think.

Y/N...we're in a meeting, Wanda warns and you move your hand to hide the grin on you face,

You smell wonderful at this meeting.

Wanda doesn't respond but you watch as she stares down at her notes, biting softly against her lips to keep her beaming smile from escaping. You don't stop your thoughts but simply readjust yourself in your seat.

Haven't seen each other in a few days. I say, we go get a solitary cottage by the sea. Lock myself inside with you. Stay there for a week.

Green eyes curiously flash up to you, What would we do for a week?

Got a lot of ideas, you shrugged.

Wanda catches the hum she nearly lets go and clears her throat, Perhaps. And even more, I like what I see.

You can't pull away from her stare this time. A teasing glint in her eyes and a glowing warmth in her cheeks. Your thoughts start to continue through everything the two of you can do in that solitary time together. All the recipes that could be attempted, all the kisses that could be stolen.

A sharp pain in your knees makes you jump in your seat as you sit up straight, your hand rubbing against the throbbing pain.

"Alright, we'll check on this lead. Y/N, check in with Yelena and we'll meet back here. Hopefully we'll have a triangulated location of where Strucker is."

You nod at Steve's works and glance over Nat, gratefulness whispered from your lips to her. She makes a noise as she stands and beings to walk out with Wanda. You sigh, closing your journal and trying your hardest not to look at Wanda. As you glance up, you shift your eyes and see a different pair of green eyes already looking at you. She was waiting. Expecting you to fail at your only objective, not to be obvious.

Quickly, you jog out of the room and past the pair, attempting to catch up with Sam. Mostly you were trying to put as much distance between you and Wanda. To get the Russian off your scent before she sent Yelena to ask a billion questions to break you. Besides, you had the rest of the day to preoccupy yourself with getting things prepared for the party.

And the rest of the day was tiring burden. To avoid Wanda and the peering eyes of Nat, you picked up other people's responsibilities. You walked into the compound with an armful of party decorations as Wanda was finishing decorating a batch of cupcakes. Your eyes connected, both of you knowing the redhead could come around a corner at any moment. There would be time to share cake later, no matter how much your stomach was growling.

________________________________

You make it through the afternoon though. Finding yourself leaning up against a doorway with a grin on your face. Nat was out of the Compound, you were a bit safer to knock on the door in front of you. As it opened, your brow rises slightly.

"That's a nice sweater you got there," you eye the slightly oversized sweater on Wanda. She pulls softly at the sleeves as you push yourself away from the threshold.

"I picked it up from somewhere,"

You step forward, "Somewhere or someone?"

"Oh, I don't remember actually," Wanda closes the door softly behind you, 'But I'm sure," she leans against you as your arms wrap around her, "Or someone could spark my memory."

Your lips press against hers, feeling her arms slink around your neck. She steps into you, practically leaning as your arms tighten around her waist.

"We can't stay here forever," you whispered to her, "You have to make a good first impression,"

Wanda grins against your lips, stealing one more peck, "Just knowing I put up with you, she's going to love me."

You let her slip from your grasp and watch her put the finishing touches on her hair, "That might draw some suspicion, Princess. Putting up with me as... an acquaintance?"

"Exactly," Wanda nods as she steps out of her slippers, "Who sometimes wear each other's clothes."

You laugh, "You do look amazing. I might have to steal it back later, though."

"You do know I’m not wearing this tonight right?," she teases and reaches for the closet handle. You press your hand over hers, softly clasping your fingers around hers.

You hover your lips over her neck, watching how her breath catches, “Even better,”

As your lips press against her soft skin, you hand that wraps around her waist sneaks beneath the sweater. Her contented hums vibrate through you as she cranes herself closer to your lips. Until you feel her hand rise up, pressing your face just to side.

For a moment, you fight to continue kissing down to her collarbone but you feel her body shift. Her lips find yours as she peeks over her shoulder. You feel your body relax in a way that’s only possible with Wanda.

Every muscle her fingers run across, relaxes at her touch. The sighs that brush over you when you grip her tightly and press the softest kiss beneath her jaw. They pull you from the world around you and truly show you just how vulnerable you are. But you don’t worry about made up dangers anymore.

All your focus doesn’t belong to fear now. Only to her.

“You don’t want to wear yourself out too soon do you,” Wanda whispers against your lips, sucking in a breath when you nip along the tender spot on her neck.

You hum as you nuzzle into her, “A warmup before strenuous activities is highly recommended,”

Wanda giggles, trying to pry your locked arms from around her, “There won’t be any strenuous activities if you don’t let me get dressed,”

You let out a defeated groan, watching her open her closet, “Isn’t the point to not let you-,”

She holds her hand out the door and with a flick of her wrist, her duvet is twisted around you.

“This! Is!” You struggle against the unending maze of fabric, “Unfair!” By the time you rip the sheet off your head and give it a few good stomps, Wanda has already undressed and dressed.

“It was for your own good. We’d never make to down those stairs.”

Jabbing at her sides with a grin, you press a kiss to the side of her head, "Should we be walking down those steps together? Y'know, all this secrecy stuff."

Wanda glances back at you, "We shouldn't really take all the attention away from your sister, right? Besides, we still have things to talk about. Serious," her finger stabs into your chest and flicks up to your nose, "Adult things."

You hum, "After some serious, adult activities?"

She rolls her eyes, "Is it serious when you fall off the bed?"

"Get movin', Maximoff," you pinch her side and steal one last kiss before you slink out of her bedroom. As you check the hallway before sauntering down the stairs, you hold onto the smile on your face for one moment longer.

No matter how hard you tried, that smile would find its way back on your face. Glancing across the room and crowd, you find that red headed witch in her own conversation. You watch how her eyes glowed as she laughs, the spinning of her rings when she stood and listened. When those green eyes finally found yours as you turned and found her already looking your way, your chest falls into itself. A tightening you had never felt before. A warmth throughout your limbs you wish you had felt sooner.

You both tried to keep your distance for most of the evening. Interacting with the rest of the team and the moments you did run into each other, it was a friendly conversation. A comment on a past mission or when the two of you were going to train again.

As you sit at the bar, you wonder if it was too nonchalant.

"So," a voice comes from beside you and you know it'll confirm your thought, 'You're in an interesting mood."

You glance up from your drink, "Is that so?"

"Yeah," the redhead settles into the stool next to you and holds up two fingers, "Curious timing with Wanda walking down those stairs. Hope you guys got to spend some time together since last mission."

Your brows clench as you take a long drink from your glass, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"What it means is..." Nat slides the shot of vodka to you, "The way you act when she's away, it's something. Maybe that same something that has you giddy as a pig in shit."

A grin forms on your face, letting her go and have her fun, "Alright, well she is my friend,"

Nat scoffs but you point at her and continue pointing to the rest of the team that is scattered around the floor, "I act the same whenever any of you are out without me. I'm always saving your asses on mission."

She raises her brows and waits to sip on the vodka with you, "Friends don't do any of this."

You clear your throat, "Don't what? Protect each other?"

"They don't cancel plans to watch a stupid show," you clench your jaw slightly, knowing she said that to see your response, "Have conversations with nothing but their eyes or forget the world exists when you hear your name."

Your clear drink is warming in your fist as Nat finishes hers in a single gulp, 'How many times can you really take the scenic route?"

You shiver, downing the rest of the drink so you can get far away from this conversation. As you gag to your right, you see a blonde making her way to you. It was a trap and you figured it out too late.

"Look. From where I am," Yelena slides in next to you, cornering you, "Which is from the sidelines because someone hates family."

You glare over at the blonde, "I took your dumb vest didn't I?"

Her brown eyes roll, "You two make a lot of sense together. It'd be a shame if you can't see that yourself."

You flip over your empty glass and push away from the bar, Yelena quickly downing the shot she just ordered. She presses her hand against you, "Where the hell do you think you're going."

You look up at the Russian, the answer should've been obvious as you look at the time, "Out? With all of you?"

"Absolutely not, you have some things to take care of tonight," her eyes glance back towards a certain redhead that jokes with Barton, "Go show some of that sensitive side. Don't be so serious,"

"I hate you," you grimace as the refill on your drink is stolen and the two sisters take off to continue the night in the city.

You groan as the night finally reaches its end here in the building. You don't want to have this conversation yet. You were fine having fun. Having fun with her. But you wonder how much more fun it could be when you weren't meeting at different times to grab a cup of coffee together.

Or having Thor interrupt the two of you watching a movie together in the living room.

You wanted to blame all of this on your want to keep things casual and not put a label on any of this. But you know, deep down, that you are scared. Terrified, even. You are terrified of ruining her.

The world around you is lost as you get lost in your own mind. A cold chill brings you back to the world and the door you find yourself in front of, opens without a sound. You feel yourself shoved inside with a quiet giggle and tip over onto your bed.

"You're very distracting," she whispers against your lips,

You shrug, "You weren't even paying attention to Stark and his thrusters,"

Wanda smiles, placing her hand on your cheek, "The team's scattering. What're we doing tonight?"

You sigh as you breath her in, alcohol teasing your nose, "Right now? I don't know. But I bet Nat's cashing in on a bet,"

"Let her," she giggles as her lips brush against yours, a tense kiss relaxing with each moment.

Your hand cups her face, "Everything alright in that little head of yours, Maximoff?"

She nods, "It's just... we're so close to Strucker. You and I know more about him and his tortures than anyone. If we get caught, we know how unlikely it is we come back," Wanda presses her hands against your chest as she sits up, "Who thought now was a good time for love."

You raise your brows with a grin, "Who said anything about love? I'm just trying to get you back into bed."

She chuckles but her eyes stay glued on her rings, "Still an asshole,"

"Hey," you whisper, "I'm not going anywhere. I told you."

"Your thoughts were quite loud tonight," Wanda's eyes flash to yours, "You wanted to run,"

You wrap your arms around her waist and push yourself up from the bed, "I just... I'm scared,"

Her fingers rub the back of your neck, her body resting on your thighs, "Y/N, what could you be scared of?"

"I've never really been scared," you chuckle but it falls flat, "I was always faster or smarter but then... Then I met you," you play with the rings on her fingers and find why they calm her so much. "I wasn't faster or smarter when that bullet hit you or when I made you slam your head on those steps,"

"Hey now, you saved-,"

You don't let her finish, "I'm terrified. So terrified to lose you. Or to ruin you."

Wanda runs her fingers through your hair, you know what she wanted to say. To deny everything that you were saying. That you've grown so much from who you were when you first met in that HYDRA building. But she knew, your past wouldn't let you believe it.

"I don't feel so angry all the time when you're around. You shake the frost from my bones every morning you're next to me. But I..." you forced yourself to look up from her rings, 'I don't know where I'd be if..."

"Probably falling out of windows, "Wanda grins through her tears, "Getting your ass beat."

You click your tongue and feel her hands press against your chest. You listen to her silent commands, falling back onto the bed as her lips press against yours. You breathe in slowly, slowly filling your lungs, "There's no world in which I'm good for you,"

"You have nothing to prove, Y/N. It's you and me," Wanda whispers against your lips as her hands cup your face gently, "It was worth putting up with you. But even think about leaving," those soft hands squish your cheeks as she leans forward, "And I'll rip your limbs off,"

You move quickly, arms wrapping around her as you flip her over onto the bed. She giggles, sending your heart soaring as you peer down at her, "I love when your grin grows," your own lips tug upwards, copying Wanda. Every time you saw that grin, it made you lighter than air.

"Life gave and took so much from you," you sigh as your thumb runs down her jaw, "And that same one reminds me every day, I could never deal with me like you do,"

"You are a pain sometimes," she wraps her hand around yours, "But I still have time to fix you up. It's not like we're getting married."

With a grin, Wanda settles down into the crook of your arm, "Man, we'd never hear the end of it. Still, love?"

Wanda chuckles, "Who would've thought. I love you,"

Guiding your finger down her face, you push a strand of hair from her eyes. Her green eyes had never looked brighter than in this moment. Their beauty would never fail at blowing you away. The life behind them awoke the life inside of you, "Even when I snore?"

She gives a tight smile, "No. You really need to get that under control, actually. Like, that could end all of this."

"Oh yeah?" you laugh, rolling onto her and pinning her to the bed. She lets out a groan as she tries to push you off,

"Someone had a heavy breakfast," she jokes, straining to push you off still.

You rest your face in the crook of her neck, snoring loudly into her. She laughs, trying to get you off now with tickling fingers against your side. You fight against the panic in your body as you quickly pin her wrists to the bed. She cries out for mercy and with a long raspberry blown on her neck, you look down at her reddened face.

"You have all of me," your words are slow and firm, making sure she understands everything you're telling her, "I can't do any of this without you,"

You let her arms slide out from your hands and she curls up into you. Rolling softly and entangling her legs into yours, listening to the words that come from your lips, "I promise to take care of you,"

She smiles, her hand resting on your face, "I love you," the words are slow and drawn out. Everything you're saying in this moment that you're drawing out, she's saying it all in those three words. Three words you never thought would be uttered from you. Three words that feel like guiding a thread through a needle. As you stare at her, you know this should all be easier than it's feeling. It all feels so right and yet something still hods you back from giving her everything.

As you look at her, you see no malice in her eyes. No impatience to get you to step on the gas and repeat those words to her. You take in a deep breath, watching her bite her lip and hold back a smile.

"I have to say," she whispers, her breath washing over you, "It's kinda fun seeing you out of control."

You let out a hearty laugh and roll onto your back and pat your stomach as she gets as close as possible to you. You draw her even closer and press your lips atop her head. She rests her head on your chest, breathing in deeply as she feels your heartbeat.

You both lay there in silence. Your hand subconsciously runs through her hair, feeling her body relax into you with each passing moment.

She sighs, her telltale sign that she was moment from falling asleep.

As you glance down at her, you see everything in her. Your past, your present and all of your future. Even if you wanted to fight against Nat and Yelena about how wrong they were about anything between you and Wanda, it was impossible. Your entire world is merging with hers and you were doing nothing to stop it. You want nothing to stop it.

You press a soft kiss against the top of her head.

"I love you, Wanda," you whisper as her breathing turns quiet and deep, "I... am so in love with you."

Resting your head back onto the pillow with a soft grin, you feel a pair of lips press under your chin, "I know,"

You look down at her, a smile that nearly squeezes your eyes shuts on your face, "I really fucking love you,"

Her lips plaster to yours before you can gather a breath. You pull her into you, each of your movements so slow and your breaths so deep. You just want to be one with her, just together.

As her lips move with yours, you feel a sharp pinch, "Ow! What was that?"

"Can't let you get complacent," Wanda's smile presses against your lips,

You hum, "Funny, we've done that a few times now,"

She chuckles, remembering everything between stolen kisses, quick peck and long lazy kisses the past weeks.

"It felt like our first kiss to me,"

"I've heard that once you say, 'I love you,'" Wanda's thumbs slides across your hand, "A kiss tastes differently."

You hum, "Maybe we oughta test a few other things out? I think Stark has a cabin tucked away somewhere,"

Wanda's fingers climb up your chest, "Not so fast. We'll have plenty of time to visit cozy cabins," you pout a little but she kisses your chin and watches the frown disappear, "But... I doubt the world will end if we sit here a while,"

____________________________

You hum to yourself as you clean your room. Snatching up clothes thrown around and making sure your bed has fresh sheets on it. Wanda was away on a mission and all you can think about was the quiet moment shared between the two of you. The moment the two of you admitted just how far you had fallen into each other. 

As you pick up the papers that litter your desk, your eyes fall on a torn piece of paper. In it, you see Wanda’s handwriting. A small note to you so you wouldn’t forget how much she’d be looking forward to coming back to you.

And an even smaller reminder to not watch any of the show’s episodes without her. Sticking the note onto your laptop, you shuffle your files together and decide to get to them at a later time. A later time as in, when Nat smacks the back of your head with them. 

Tying the garbage bag off, you start to make your way towards the trash chute down the hall. Whistling the theme of the show you’re dying to watch, your flat notes are deafened. A blaring alarm explodes throughout the Compound and there isn’t a single thought in your head. 

The bag tumbles to the floor as your feet are whipped around and back into your room. Your thumb presses against the small box on your bedside table. A quick scan, a click and the box door shoots open. You reach inside, your hand wrapping around the grip of the gun inside. 

As you walk, your hand slams the magazine into the grip. Rising up to yank the slide back, listening to it click as it settles forward with a bullet resting in the chamber. You peek subconsciously already around the corners of walls as you make your way down the hall, swiftly bypassing rooms. You don’t hear any fighting inside so you’re wondering if it’s a break in. 

Peeking over the edge of the stairs, you wait and listen. Besides the blaring alarm, there’s no crashing or shouting. Light comes from underneath the doorway that leads towards the garage. Adjusting how you hold the gun, you cant the pistol as you wait for someone to come through that door. 

The alarm is silenced. You clench your brows, no one breaking in would know the code or certainly wait that long to silence it. The alarm leaves a deep ringing in your eyes and it only grows in pitch as the scene in front of you slowly plays through that garage door. 

First, Steve limps into the safety of the Compound. He drags a half conscious Sam through the door and towards the infirmary at the end of what must seem like a never ending hallway. Banner jogs past them, calling out to FRIDAY to start turning on the machines that might be needed to save Sam’s life. 

You stand there. Staring at the blood that is dragged and smeared across the floor. Remembering the tears and burned portions of Steve’s suit, half of his helmet missing and his unprotected face covered in dried blood. The whole side of his face was red and the whole front of Sam’s suit was red. Head hanging limply as his feet stumbled over themselves.

Your eyes rose back up to the door another straggler makes their way inside. 

Nat drops her bag of equipment in the threshold, pressing against her bandaged side with a tight grimace. Slowly, you raise the pistol up towards your chest, the muzzle pointed towards the wall. The magazine dumps out and tumbles down the stairs with echoing thuds as your stomach flips just like it.

The slide cracks backwards as you lock it in place, a single bullet following after the magazine. Wrapping your hand around the slide, you rack the slide backwards once, twice and three times before locking it again, feeling it pinch the skin of your thumb. Feeling something.

You moved slowly through the process. Usually it took you less than three seconds. But you were deliberate in each movement you made. Your eyes never leaving the door in front of you. You were waiting and you wanted a pair of feet to come through that door by the time the bullet reached the last step. 

You stare down into the empty chamber. You’re not sure why you wait to look up again. Everything is finished. Inside you though, you feel like you might be finished too.

“Y/N,” Nat groans out, stopping the rolling bullet with her torn up boot. 

You don’t look at her. If you don’t look at her, she can’t tell you why that door isn’t being shoved open and that bag being thrown across the Compound in a hazy red cloud. 

“Y/N,” Nat tries once again to get through to you, “She isn’t coming.”

The plastic of the gun snaps in your hand as the metal of the frame is slowly bent out of place, “What happened?”

“Please,” her eyes are red and now you know it’s not from exhaustion. They complement the dried blood in her ears and the tears that stain her dirty face. You watch her limp her way into the conference room, holding open the door for you.

You follow her inside, dropping the twisted metal and plastic that was once a gun. Your next victim is the chair you stand behind as she tells you everything. The ambush and betrayal. How Yelena’s contact had been bought out for twice as much by Strucker.

Using his own home as the fallout zone of a huge explosion. He played all of you like a damn fiddle, thinking Strucker would let his location get out that easily. And you learned how easily it was for him to take back one of his prized possessions. 

Yelena was already on her way to help, taking care of this loose end before coming here. She recognized the group that became involved when Nat contacted her on the Quinjet. Nat pulls out a tattered patch from her belt pouch and drops it onto the table. You glare at the black circular patch, red outline of a skull with six tentacles and a red star inside the skull. You have a stack of these patches hidden in your belongings and you hoped you’d never have to see it again. 

A special Hydra division you had been a part of. The same division that nearly executed you in a warehouse. You surrendered to them and all their experiments to save your family and now, you were going to have to make sure no one ever wore this patch again.

You narrow your eyes, lip twitching in rage as the chair creaks. Everytime you thought their head was finally chopped off, it always came back. This time though, you were coming back. 

“We’re gonna hit these fuckers where it hurts.”

“Hey,” Nat calls after you as you slam the chair into the table and walk to your locker, “I think you should wait,”

You open your locker, swinging the door slowly until the metal just clangs against another locker, ‘What are you talking about,”

Shuffling through your gear, you pull out your empty magazines and place them on the bench behind you. You’d go down to the armory and start to load everything up. And you’d unlock a part of your past that you tried to bury away, even hide from Wanda. 

Nat sighs, “When was the last time you conducted a ‘brunch chit chat’?”

You glare over at her, “Are you thinking I’ve gone soft?”

“No, no, quite the opposite,” Nat takes the keys to your past and yanks them slowly from your finger, “I don’t want you killing them before we learn anything.”

“I’m not stupid, Natasha,”

“But you’re angry,” your finger loosens on the key ring, “I haven’t seen you this angry in a long time.”

You sigh, gripping your locker and talking more for yourself than to Nat, “We just follow a trail. Soldiers, general then Strucker. And then we all come home, right?”

Natasha looks at how you try to hide the shaking in your hands, an itch you’ve always had starting to surface, “Y/N…”

“Right?” you plead, her eyes widening as she sees the terror in your eyes. It’s stronger than the anger that rages through your body, a chill that settles into your bones. 

Nat closes your locker slowly, “I’m not asking you to do any of that,” you watch as the key she took is hidden away in her gloves, “Let’s just start up a plan and wait for Yel to get here. Okay?”

But you knew it wasn’t going to be okay.

Pink Handcuffs

Natasha/R

Summary: Struggling with nightmares was normal for you, but the simple act of someone reaching out makes a difference.

Warnings: None really? unspecified nightmares, one kinda bad word but this is meant to be sweet and comforting.

Authors Note: Haven’t been on here forever which isn’t a surprise to anyone. I lost all the drafts I’ve had for two years and it made me want to stop writing altogether. I had two completed long works with upwards of 14-18 chapters completely lost so I’m bummed about that. While there’s no way to get any of that work back I’m still writing when I can.

Gif not Mine

It happened again. It happened and you still can’t stop it, change it, move on. The nightmare keeps you in a grip tighter than your hands on your own throat when you wake up. No matter how many years pass you still wake in a cold sweat with tears readily streaming down the sides of your face.

You slowly unclench your muscles starting with your legs and working your way up. After a deep breath you swing your legs over the side of your bed and your feet press against the cold floor, your hands massaging your temples to ease the thumping in your head. A sound could be heard, the lightest footsteps of someone walking down the hallway outside your door followed by light knocks.

“Come in,” you croak. The dryness in your throat creating a scratchy sensation. You clear your throat once. Twice. A third time, much louder, before looking at who’s entered your room. It was the spy.

“You okay? I thought I heard something,” Her voice is the same that she uses in the training room. Commanding and distanced. Even now her arms are crossed and her face looks stern in the moonlight leaking in from the window. You shrug off the question and lean back on your hands.

“Nothing new. ‘m sorry I woke you,” the feeling of the blanket under your fingertips provides enough of a distraction while you try not to make eye contact. There’s a long pause, neither side knowing how to proceed. You’ve never talked to each other outside of training in the 6 months you’ve been on the team.

Then, all of a sudden, she breaks the wall between you two, uncrossing her arms and taking a hesitant step forward. The look on her face would have you believe she surprised herself too with her actions.

“I read your file-“ You scoff. Every interaction starts like this with her. It’s like she has this need to remind you that she knows almost every little detail regarding the documents contained inside. A power move that makes you feel sick right now.

“What about my file Ms. Romanoff?” You ask, exasperated by the social interaction on top of the nightmare and she purses her lips.

“Never mind…” She steps back, hand reaching for the door knob and you watch her slip back out into the hall. She was probably only trying to help and while you know that, you can’t help but keep that safe emotional distance that’s been there all this time. You push your thoughts away as you lie back down, sinking into the soft mattress underneath.

In the following weeks you could feel her eyes watching you more often. Studying carefully. You couldn’t decipher if it was out of concern for your well-being or everyone else’s. Did you want to know? Would you ever know? She was Fury’s top spy before the avengers after all.

It all came to a head when you stayed past the end of team training. You’d been exhausted from lack of sleep the previous night, but that only made you more determined to push yourself harder. If you went to your room you’d immediately try to sleep which would only lead back to the nightmare. So there you were, wrapping your hands to begin using the punching bag in the corner of the room when something was tossed onto the floor next to you.

It was a pair of handcuffs, old with scratches in the metal on top of a manila folder labeled “SHIELD Property: Top Secret”. Before you could crane your neck to see who it was, Natasha spoke.

“Go ahead. Read it,” her voice was softened and her demeanor was encouraging. She watched as you sat on the matted floor, crossing your legs before picking up the file folder and perusing the contents inside. She’d never show you her personal file, but the intel on how Red Room widows were raised would suffice. It was quiet aside from the occasional sound of rustling paper as you took your time absorbing the information, occasionally throwing a concerned glance her way.

“Why are you showing me this?” You asked as you closed the file, holding it out for her to grasp. Instead of taking it back, Natasha chose to sit on the floor space in front of you, picking up the handcuffs and dangling them on her pointer finger, contemplating how to talk to you about this.

“When I went into your room that night you had the same exact look that I do when I wake up from a nightmare,” She trailed off, watching every detail of your face with caution.

“It’s not that big of a deal-“ You shrugged off the insinuation.

“It’s more than a nightmare though… Isn’t it?” She probed. “It’s okay if it is,” She added and you sighed.

“You’ve already read my file. I don’t see why you have to go through this like some sort of interrogation,” you shook your head and Natasha furrowed her brows at the action.

“Your file’s missing your psychological fitness evaluation. That’s what I was trying to tell you,” She lowered her head to try and catch your avoidant eyes.

“Doesn’t sound like a me problem,”

“It’s the epitome of a you problem,” She shot right back. “But… What I also wanted to say was that we’re a team. We all struggle with our own PTSD, but we help each other through it. I’m seeing you struggle with this and I want to help,” She gave you a reassuring smile and for the first time you felt that wall of ice between the two of you starting to melt.

“With handcuffs? Kinky,” You joked and she rolled her eyes as you laughed at yourself.

“I was just trying to prove my point. After years of not being able to stop using them I was able to get support. Even if I can’t get rid of them completely I don’t have to use them anymore, but if that’s where you want to go with it I can go back to being an ass,” She tossed the cuffs your way and you caught them. When you both stood you paused for a moment, letting the new dynamic settle.

“Thank you, I appreciate it… and… I’ll be more communicative about what I need,” You finished and chanced giving the spy a hug. She tensed as your arms wrapped around her, but after the initial shock she reciprocated the embrace. The first of many because, little did either of you know, that in 5 years time you’d be getting married… and your gag wedding gift to your wife would be a cheap pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs.

“Thank you, I appreciate it… and… I’ll be more communicative about what I need,” You finished and chanced giving the spy a hug. She tensed as your arms wrapped around her, but after the initial shock she reciprocated the embrace. The first of many because little did either of you know, that in 5 years time you’d be getting married… and your gag wedding gift to your wife would be a cheap pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs.

legally binded - 3

Jenna Ortega x F!Reader

masterlist | series mast. ♣ prev part | next part

Chapter 3: Movie Premieres, SNL and Quarrels

Summary: After getting caught in some hot waters with the press, you are forced into an unexpected agreement with America's sweetheart, Jenna Ortega to save your career.

Warnings/Tags: dual!pov, famous!reader, actress!reader, mentions of hard substances, intoxication, mature language, real people (do not read if any of these makes you uncomfortable)

Note: Otherwise known as the One in New York. What do you guys think about R and Jenna's dynamic so far? 👀 (taking a break for a few days/maybe a week after I post this, I think I've kept you all fed for a bit while I'm gone lol, in the meantime, send asks I'll try to answer all of them!😋)

Word Count: 6.4k+

“You get on that plane and I’ll drop you as a client.” Jake’s voice rings out from your work phone. 

“What the fuck, Jake, are you serious?!” You seethe, practically red in the face. 

You have been on the phone with Jake for the last hour – Liv refuses to pick up your calls after you blew up the group chat, rehashing your argument with Jenna. Desperately pleading to fly back home because you couldn’t stand being in the same city as the actress, at the moment. 

You couldn't even think about her words without it making your blood boil.

“Fuck yeah, I’m serious. Do you know what time it is here?”

Glancing at the clock it read 3:46 A.M. EST, you roll your eyes. “It’s just past midnight in L.A. You won’t die if you don’t get eight hours of sleep.”

“Be quiet. I don’t wanna hear another word from you.” He nearly shouts and you imagine that one vein popping through his forehead. You liked to stare at it when Jake goes off on his shouting tangents at you. 

He never notices that you're not paying attention.

“Maybe we should get Liv on the phone or maybe Sarah?” Link glances at you worriedly.

He hates seeing you so riled up, so he often played the middle-man with your quarrels against Jake and Liv.

“Liv says she doesn’t wanna hear it. Sarah says forget it and I’m saying, I’m not fucking around this time Y/N, this is your last chance. I’m over your shit.” He hangs up the phone, leaving the line dead.

You jump face-first into the stiff bed, groaning loudly.

“Looks like you’re outta luck.” He pats you back, leaving you to sulk alone as he shuts the door. “Try to get some sleep.”

There was no way you ended up in this situation. 

You guess, it was fair to acknowledge your recent streak of bad behaviour. First, it was tame — ignoring your phone, running away to party, getting mixed in the wrong crowds – eventually, Link had to start dragging you out of bed by the legs (sometimes kicking and screaming) just to make it in time for a gig.

You’re not sure when all of this started. All you knew is that you were so tired. You just wanted one second to breathe; to feel like that young child again, with hopes and dreams. But no, someone was always hovering over your shoulder ready to drag you away to another event you could care less about. 

You close your eyes, allowing the jetlag and exhaustion to set in as your body moulds into the mattress.

– 

The next day, you find yourself standing in front of Jenna’s hotel room. The large double door looks menacing and faintly, you can already hear a bustle on the other side. You really didn’t want to knock but you know what was on the line so you swallow your pride and raise a fist to knock. 

But before you can knock, the door is opening revealing a girl, with dirty blonde hair bearing a semblance to a certain actress. “Oh, hi!”

“Hello.” You greet warmly.

“I’m Alycia. Jenna’s younger sister.” She holds her free hand out.

You shake her hand, “Nice to meet you, I’m–”

“I know who you are.” She smiled then laughed, “Everyone knows who you are.”

You chuckled, shyly nodding. “I guess.”

“Are you two done?” Jenna suddenly appears, yanking the door wider so you can see her. Her makeup complements her well; the green bustier two-piece looked expertly crafted just for her; and the way her hair fell in soft waves framed her face nicely. 

“Hi…” You say a little vacant-sounding.

You don’t say anything else.

From the corner of your eye, you see her sister’s raised brow but you think you’re imagining it because you can’t keep your gaze off of Jenna. The actress raises her brow at you, impatient.

“What did you need?” She asks.

“Uh—I wanted to talk, about last night."

Jenna watches you momentarily before rolling her eyes; pulling you inside with a rough yank. “Get inside before someone sees you — Alycia close the door.”

You stumble, still a little dazed but the smaller girl’s nails are gripping your arm painfully making you snap out of it.

“Ow, ow, ow.” You whisper, not inattentive to the multiple people scattered around the large room.

“Guys, this is Y/N.” She ignored your complaints and pulled you past the foyer into the living room – her entire team had taken refuge in the room to get the star ready for a day of press interviews.

Various echoes of your name and greetings are sent back to you but you certainly don’t miss the awkward tension in the room started by your sudden presence. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt, I can just go.” You point behind you.

“Nonsense.” An older woman that looked kinda like the actress waves off. “It’s great to have you here, Miss L/N. Jenna was just talking about you.”

“Oh please, just Y/N is fine.” Shaking your head bashfully, briefly wondering what she could be telling her family and team about what kind of person you are.

“I’m Jenna’s mom. That’s her dad, her other sister Mia, and her brother Marcus.” She points and you try to keep up with the names of the people she’s throwing at you; Jenna’s family and team included.

“It’s so great to meet you all. It’s not hard to see that Jenna is so loved.” You say sincerely.

“We try our best.” Her dad says looking appreciative of your words. You smile at everyone and it seems to ease a bit of the tension in the room.

You didn’t see Jenna rolling her eyes again (her favourite to do around you) disregarding the encounter; she hides the surprise she feels from your genuine compliment.

Last night's argument with you, still burning in her brain.

“What did you want to say?" She says a little bluntly.

Watching as everyone turns to go back to what they were doing, you look down at Jenna. “Um… I wanted to apologize for last night. And call a truce, maybe over dinner?

She looks surprised not expecting you to be the first one to give in. “Oh…”

“Yeah…”

“I appreciate it.” Jenna cuts in, “I’m sorry too… a truce sounds good. Sarah got mad at me too, for what it's worth. She even said I was whining.”

Jenna jokes, dropping her walls a bit.

You rub a hand on the back of your neck, chuckling, “Good to know.”

“I can’t do dinner though.” She shuts her eyes as if remembering something. 

“Oh, that’s okay. Maybe another time.”

“Or maybe… you can be my date to the Scream cast dinner?” She offers, looking a little hopeful.

“Are you sure?” You chew your lip. Ignoring the word date.

“Yeah! Totally, you can meet everyone, it’ll be great. Not to throw anyone under the bus but they’ve been trying to meet you.” She says sheepishly.

You laugh, dropping your walls just a tad. “Sure I’ll be there.”

She smiles warmly, satisfied with your answer. “Yeah, it’ll be great. I guarantee there’ll be paparazzi, so it’ll be good for publicity. They’ve been hounding me since I landed, my dad nearly pushed a guy in the airport. I couldn’t even walk to the door by myself at the SNL dinner cast party.”

You lose a bit of the smile but Jenna doesn’t see, laughing at her memory of the paparazzi. You blink around, making sure no one saw you, it might give them the wrong idea. “Uh, yeah sure. I’m good with whatever.”

“Okay, cool.” She shoots a thumb up, walking away from you. “I’ll see you tonight?”

“Mhmm.” You smile, waving goodbye to everyone and booting it out the door. 

Unsure where the tension in your chest is coming from you swiftly walk to the elevator; aggressively tapping the button as if the elevator would come faster that way. And practically throwing yourself in the metal box as soon as it opens.

You miss the entire pandemonium that implodes in the room when you leave.

“Holy shit?” Mia exclaims.

“Language.” Her mom chastises. 

“No, holy shit, indeed. Jenna oh my god what did you do to that poor girl?” Alycia walks past Jenna to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. 

“What are you talking about?” She looks at her sisters confused.

Mia’s rolling her eyes, standing up from the couch. “Did you not see the way she was looking at you?”

“No? How was she looking at me?” She turns to her mom who had a hint of a smile on her lips as if she knew something. Jenna was starting to feel left out. 

“She likes you, Jen.” Her brother speaks up, not even bothering to look up from his phone. 

“What? You guys are crazy. We barely know each other.” Jenna starts shaking her head furiously, turning to Enrique, her stylist and close friend. “Enrique, tell them they’re being crazy.”

But he shrugs, sharing that same Cheshire grin her mom had. “God, not you too.” She clamps her eyes shut with her hands.

“Hey! Watch the eyes!” Her makeup artist warns. 

“Dad?” She drops her hands, pleading at the silent man, who, she knows is listening. Why do Dads do that thing where they let everyone argue, only stepping in when the Mom asks for backup. 

He remains in character – staying silent.

“You guys don’t know what you’re talking about. She was literally here for five seconds. How could you possibly think she likes me from that.” Jenna turns to everyone else.

“I don’t know, Jen. The eyes never lie.” Mia says, privy to the way your smile fell when Jenna mentioned being spotted for publicity tonight. 

“I’m– I’m late for interviews, I need to go,” Jenna mutters, grabbing her purse and walking to the door. 

–

“This is gonna blow up.” Your producer says from beside you. 

“I don’t know. I still think it’s missing something.” You sigh, sliding the headphones off as you slump onto the plush leather seats. 

You sneaked off to the studio not too far from the hotel in lower Manhattan. See you would have told Link or anyone really, but you were trying to be discreet. And Link is one ‘ol snitch and the personal fun police. 

It seems after your fight with Jenna, Jake and Liv put you under strict instructions not to leave the hotel unless accompanied by someone from your team. 

You’re not a fucking child. You don’t need a babysitter. So here you are, with your producer in the studio trying to record this damn song you’ve been stuck on for three months.

“Maybe it’s time to scrap the song then.” He offers. “It’s never gonna be done before Coachella.”

Immediately you are shaking your head. No, this song is special, you can feel it. If only you can get your head out of your own ass long enough to find the damn words. 

“No, just– just put it on hold. Let’s work on something else.”

He sighs, clicking the screen to pull up another file. “Your call.”

The buzzing of your phone against the wooden table echoes into the silence that grew as you waited. “Ah fuck.”

Reaching over, you grab the phone and are bombarded by a flurry of texts and missed calls. 

Some from Jenna, some from your bodyguard and driver, most from Link.

Jenna’s is the first one you click.

The phone rings three times before it gets picked up. Muffled, loud voices are all you hear at first before she eventually speaks up, “Hello?”

“Hey, I am so–”

“Where the hell are you? You’re ten minutes late. We’re all waiting for you.” Her tone is sharp and snipped. 

You had fucked up.

“Fuck… I’m sorry, I’ll be right there– there was…. uh.” You stand, gathering your jacket and silently bidding your producer goodbye as he looks on confused. “There was a lot of traffic. I am so sorry, I’m trying to make it as fast as I can.”

She sighs through the phone, “It’s…fine. Just get here as soon as you can, please.”

A little white lie never killed anybody.

You make it to the restaurant in record time. Pushing through the paparazzi camping outside the restaurant doors. Do they have no shame? Clearly not as they shout Jenna’s name at you; asking if you were there to see her, trying to get their piece of the scoop. Thankfully, the security guard had seen you and personally ushered you to the cast‘s table. Someone must have informed them that you were coming.

You’re still blinking away the spots in your vision from the camera flashes when you feel an arm pulling you down to sit. 

“What took you so long?”Jenna asked assertively, scanning you.

“I told you. Traffic.” You plaster a smile at all the eyes on you, subtly shrugging Jenna’s arm off yours with a little bit of attitude.

You don’t miss her clenched jaw. Plastering a smile in front of her costars who were trying their best not to gawk at you. "Well, where were you then? No one could get a hold of you, we were worried."

You tried your hardest to school your genuine surprise at her worry. "Sorry. I was working. My phone was off."

“Hi! I’m Melissa, it’s so nice to meet you, I’m a big fan.” A brunette extends her hand from across the long table – interrupting Jenna before she can say anything else.

You make the usual greetings, introducing yourself to Jenna’s costars and colleagues. You felt a bit like a trophy wife if you were being honest. Like eye candy on her arm, serving only to make her look good. Upon that realization, you feel a little flushed. You’re not sure why, that is the whole point of this whole thing. 

Her castmates have been sending you two knowing eyes over dinner — giving Jenna inconspicuous smirks and smug grins as if you couldn’t see. You keep your head down after the pleasantries are over and the main courses are brought out. 

Grateful, you don’t have to talk about your upcoming projects any longer.

“What’s wrong?” You nudge her elbow, noticing how she was pushing away some pieces of food on her plate. 

“I don’t like apples.” She mutters. 

You can’t fight the smile that creeps on your lips but you don’t tease. “Just push them off to the side and I’ll eat it.”

She looks at you. “You sure?”

“Yeah, it’s no big deal.” You shrug taking a sip of your wine. 

“That doesn’t gross you out or anything? I know some people are weird about that sort of thing.” Jenna explains. 

“Dude, I’ll eat your apples, chill.” You laugh.

“Okay, thanks…” She mumbles, still looking at you but you turn, talking to Mason and his girlfriend.

Jenna feels a nudge on her side. “What?” 

“You two are cute.” Jasmin smirks. “And Y/N L/N? Not a bad catch at all.”

“Stop.” Jenna blushes. Unsure if she feels uncomfortable that some of her close and respected friends believe this lie so easily.

–

“Hey, give them some space!” The security guard shouts as the paparazzi come rushing toward the door as soon as the cast steps out. 

You were standing in the lobby waiting for Jenna. “Shit…” You hear her mutter, watching as she searches for something in her bag. 

“What’s up?” You ask.

“I forgot my sunglasses in my room. The flashes hurt my eyes.” She frowns. Wordlessly, you fish the pair you stashed in your jacket. 

“Here, wear mine.” You hold the glasses out, watching as she just stares at it. Rolling your eyes, you push it toward her. “Dude, just take it.”

“Thanks…” She mumbles, sliding them up her hair. 

You walk ahead of her, holding the door open as everyone trickles out. You’re regretting giving Jenna your only sunglasses cause the flashes are bright and it’s making your eyes water.

“Go ahead,” You usher, only leaving once everyone’s gone ahead of you. You trail behind ignoring the various men with large cameras chasing you as you walk down the sidewalk. 

“Y/N over here, please! Just one photo.”

“Y/N, just one photo of you and Jenna, please!” 

“What do you have to say about Vegas?”

You ignore them keeping your head down trying not to fall behind. 

“Where’s Y/N?” You hear over the sea of nameless faces. 

“Right here.” You say, sliding in beside her.

You miss the subtle sigh of relief she lets out.

“You can’t just walk behind everyone like that.” She grits, frustratedly.

"I tried to keep up." You mumbled like a scolded husband.

The shouting increases when you stand beside one another; practically rendering you blind with all the flashes. “Dammit.” 

You place an hand on her back, pushing her forward. “Put on the sunglasses and walk.”

“Y/N, please over here. Jenna!” The shouting is constant and blurs altogether all at the same time. 

“Ow.” You feel Jenna tumble when someone bumps her side causing her to bump harshly against you. Firmly, you grab her arm to preventing her from falling and pushed back against the crowd to check on her.

“Are you okay?” you ask worriedly as she fixes the lopsided glasses. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.”

“Hey. Watch it–” You grit at the closest person holding a camera. “It wasn’t me.”

The man insists, still shamelessly snapping flashes directly into your face and you begin to grow angry, slapping the camera out of his hands. “I said fucking watch it, asshole.”

You glare for a brief moment as the shouting gets impossibly louder. Knowing if you didn’t pull Jenna out of this, chaos would ensue. You link hands and drag her through the crowd, briskly walking to her castmates who shared looks of concern.

“Are you okay?” You ask, still walking but now barricaded by security and her friends.

“Yeah, I’m fine, I promise.” She squeezes your hand but then sighs, “You shouldn’t have done that.”

You scoff, “Are you serious? That guy pushed you.” 

“It was an accident and you kinda overreacted.” She whispers lowly. 

You clench your jaw, dropping her hand — Not wanting to blow up in front of her colleagues, you walk swiftly ahead.

You don’t talk even when you are both side-by-side being driven back to the hotel. Her driver has the partition up halfway but you see the nosy glances he keeps making at the rearview mirror as you and Jenna sit in silence; acutely aware to the growing tension between you and the actress.

You refuse to speak, just looking out the window as other cars pass by on the street. 

“Are you done ignoring me now?” She speaks up but you still don’t want to talk. “Seriously?”

“Y/N all he did was push me. A little shove, that’s all. I’m okay. What’s not okay is the phone call you know we’re going to get from Liv and Sarah about that guy’s camera.”

“He deserved it.” You mumble through the palm holding your head up. 

“I’m not saying he didn’t but you can’t just be aggressive to paparazzi like that. It’s exactly what they want.” She reasons, turning to you. Hoping you’ll finally look at her. 

“I know…”

“Look at me, please?” She places a hand on your arm.

You turn, keeping your face impassive.

She sends you a shy smile then laughed. “I mean it though, thank you for having my back. My Dad is gonna think this whole thing is hilarious.”

“Why?” You can’t help but join in.

“He’s a cop, so he’s a little protective. He’s been waiting to shove away a pap for the longest time. He’s gonna be so mad you beat him to it.” 

You laugh imagining her father’s reaction. 

–

“You haven’t seen Scream? Not even the original?” Jenna turns bewildered like it was the most blasphemous thing she’s ever heard. You were in her hotel suite, watching movies. For some reason, Jenna invited you over to her room after being dropped off at the hotel. “How? You’re an actress.”

You couldn’t think of a good reason to say no so you accepted.

“Yeah, sorry. Jeez. Way to sound like a film snob. I didn’t know there was a checklist of movies to watch before becoming an actor.” You snort reaching for more popcorn from the bowl beside you. 

“Shut up.” She hits you with the remote. “How have you not seen any of the Scream movies? You’re literally going to my premiere tomorrow.”

You hold up your hands in surrender, throwing a couple of kernels in your mouth. “Sorry, they’re not really my cup of tea.”

She rolls her eyes, snatching some popcorn from your hand, ignoring your protests. “Oh sorry, I forgot we have an action star in our midst.”

It was your turn to hit her arm, “Shut it. I just mean… I haven’t found the time to sit and watch them. They’re not exactly short films.”

“You’re in the MCU and Dune. Don’t talk to me about long movies.”

“Touché…” You can’t beat her there. They are ridiculously long movies. Probably why you’ve only ever seen them during premiere night and never again. “Well, put one on then. Let’s see what all the hype is about.”

She grins scrambling for the remote. “You’re on.”

You wait for her to pull up the Scream catalogue, chuckling at her visible excitement.

“Hey, why did you become an actress? and singer while we’re at it, Miss Grammy winner.” She nudges your shoulder.

You snort, shoving her lazily. “Shut up… Do you want the press interview answer or the real one?”

She raises a brow, immediately deciding. “The real one.”

You nod, feeling like she would say that.

“My mom... She was a rising star in the 80s but something happened and she never got to live out her dreams. When she had me she put me through all of the arts. I bumped and failed with most of them but acting and singing kinda stuck… I guess she saw those were the only two things I could stand so she pushed and pushed, it led to Jake discovering me and here we are.”

Jenna stays silent processing your story, she doesn’t miss the slight solemness your tone had taken. "Why do I feel like there's more to it than that?"

You chuckle, licking your lips. "Caught me... it's why I don't talk to my parents anymore."

"Oh..."

"Yeah. As soon as I turned eighteen I cut ties with them. She got too controlling, wanting money, wanting autonomy over my career so I took Jake with me and moved to L.A. and did it on my own. I think... at some point acting became a spite thing with me because of her.

“Spite?” Jenna asks?

“Yeah… it was all I’ve ever known for a long time until I started making music. Probably the only time I’ve ever felt sure about a decision.”

"Oh..." Jenna finds herself saying again.

"Uh–sorry. I didn't mean to make it weird. We can just forget about it." You curl into yourself, tugging the blanket to your lap.

Jenna blinks, feeling dumb that she's made you think her silence is a bad thing.

"No..." She grabs your wrist. "Thank you for sharing with me."

You look into her eyes, feeling a bit small at her kind eyes. You know it's not out of pity but you couldn't help but want to close up again.

Pulling your hand away from her grip, you cough. "Of course, we're friends now."

"Oh, are we?" Jenna ignores the drop in her chest when you pulled away like that. “Okay, what’s the press answer then?”

“That I watched the movie Cabaret when I was younger and wanted to be like Liza Minelli.” You admit.

Jenna scoffs, “That’s literally my answer.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah except, it’s Dakota Fanning in Man on Fire.”

You chuckle, “doesn’t Denzel die in that one?”

“Yeah and what about it?” She raised a brow.

"But see, don’t fight it we’re meant to be friends... we even share the same answer."

"Shut up, dummy. Every actor has some sort of answer like that.”

Eventually, the two of you start a marathon of the Scream franchise. Which in hindsight, is kind of a bad idea seeing as it was way past midnight and the other actress still has a long week ahead of her. It seems like the events of the day catch up to her cause you feel a head slipping on your shoulder; distracting your focus halfway through Scream 3.

Jenna had fallen asleep with her head on your shoulder. You fight the urge to tense up not wanting to wake her up. She looked like she needed the rest and you relate more than anyone to her exhaustion. 

“Jenna…” You lightly tap, “You fell asleep, you need to go to bed.”

She grumbles, whining in her slumber. You feels your cheeks warm when she unconsciously moves to snuggle closer to you, throwing an arm over your waist.

Fuck.

Really?

God, I am not your strongest soldier. 

“Jen, seriously. Wake up.” You shake her arm.

“What?” She complains, her words muffled by your collarbone.

“You need to go to bed.”

The feeling of her soft lashes brushing against the material of your shirt as she blinks sends a shiver down your spine. “Oh…”

Jenna mumbles mortified. Quickly pushing herself off of you, unable to look you in the eyes. “Sorry.”

You don't mention how she might have punched your stomach and that you were desperately trying not to cough.

“S’okay…” You shake your head softly. You couldn't help but notice the way her hair fell over her eyes messily. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” She asks once she regains her senses, waking up from her short slumber.

Something tells Jenna she won’t be sleeping with how fast her heart is pounding; uncertain as to where her sudden anxiety is coming from. 

“Yeah… I’ll be waiting for you inside.” You stand gathering your belongings.

“Wait, you’re not walking the carpet with me?” Jenna pulled a face.

You raise a brow, “No? At least, I wasn't told I had to. They just said I had to show up.”

“Oh… okay.” She nods then sighed, long and profound.

You continue to raise a brow but don’t say anything. Not wanting to push her. You remember the last time you guys fought and are immediately turned off. No thanks, not trying to open that can of worms.

“Okay. Goodnight then.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.” She leans against the door.

Her premiere is a success. After borderline shoving you inside a tinted Cadillac, Link brushes your vintage Prada gown down; making sure you are in tip-top movie-star shape. You don’t walk the carpet, instead heading straight inside – making headlines. 

Your every damn move is a headline these days.

Silently thanking whatever God was out there that you didn’t because the way your jaw dropped when you see Jenna was downright embarrassing. Your reaction would surely have been a running piece if cameras were around.

Your managers would love it though.

Link had to forcefully elbow your side as Jenna walks up to greet you. 

“Wow…” You manage to say. “You look stunning Jenna.”

Jenna was glad for the dim lights in the theatre, “Thanks.” She blushes, casting her eyes down.

“You look great too.” She scans you up and down, suddenly feeling warm under her gape. 

Maybe it was the way her makeup is done or the deconstructed tuxedo for a dress that she had on tonight but she looked more mature, intimidating? Like she could throw you around a little and you’d just gladly ask her to do it again.

Wait, what?

“Thanks… Link and I should head to our seats but I just wanted to congratulate you. This is seriously amazing.” You express sincerely.

Jenna flushes more, waving you off with a huff and a lazy hand. “Please.”

“Seriously!”

Link coughs loudly, interrupting the bubble you and Jenna found yourselves in. “Okay, someone’s a little impatient. We better go.”

A hand reaches out, grabbing you. “Do you wanna, maybe, I don’t know. Sit beside me?”

You turn, surprised. “Oh? What about Enrique?” You glance at her stylist standing just behind her pretending like he wasn’t listening; fiddling on his phone. 

“I’m sure he won’t mind switching to sit with Link, right Enrique?” She turns, asking her friend.

He grins widely, “Nope. All good with me!”

“Perfect!” She smiles at you, still grabbing your arm. 

“We’ll be down there!” Jenna calls out to Link and Enrique linking your fingers out of nowhere as you walk to beside her costars.

You still don’t say anything when Jenna wraps herself around you when you make it to your seats, waving as people cheer with a large smile before pulling you to sit down. 

Only then did she pull herself away, “sorry about that.”

“All good.” You mumble after realizing what happened; turning to face the large screen.

Perfect photo op.

“Hey is that sharpie on your dress?”

“Yes.” She sighs.

The rest of the night goes off without a hitch but you can’t stop the growing unpleasantness in your chest. You decide to brush it off and save face for Jenna’s night. Your sulking and feelings can wait in the privacy of your own four walls and definitely not at a high-profile movie premiere.

By the time you found yourself at the NBC building in a random dressing room at the SNL studio, waiting for Jenna’s monologue you forget all about it. You lay lazily on a stiff and most likely old couch, scrolling through your phone. 

A knock on the door has you pulling off your headphones. “Come in.”

“Hey Y/N.” A head peaks in making you sit up briskly. “Alycia, hey. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just uh– Jenna’s asking for you.” She sends a sheepish smile, the corners of her eyes crinkling.

“Oh,” Your head perks up. “Is she okay?” You question, following the smaller girl past hallways that all looked the same; trying not to bump into the various stagehands buzzing around. 

“Yeah, yeah, she’s kinda freaking out, though and… we can’t get her to calm down.” You both stop at a closed door. 

“Oh… why me?” You couldn’t help but ask.

“Uh… okay she didn’t exactly say you but I saw your episode and you were hilarious and who better to talk her down than someone who’s done it before.” She flashes a large grin before opening the door and shoving you inside.

The room is empty save for Jenna dressed in a short-legged suit. You force yourself to blink, reminding yourself that you are on a time crunch.

“Jenna.”

She snaps her head at your voice, and a noticeable tremble in her fingers is the first thing you see. “What–what are you doing here? I thought you’d be in your seat by now.”

“Your sister asked me to come.” You admit, walking forward.

“I’m fine. Go to your seat, I’ll see you after the show.” She turns her back to you, looking over sheets of paper with multi-coloured inked notes scribbled on every open space.

“Take a deep breath for me, Jenna.” You walk closer, slowly bringing the hand tightly clutching her notes down. The bones in her fingers relax as she drops the paper. She doesn’t say anything when you don’t disconnect your hands. 

You find yourself standing much closer to her.

“Take a deep breath.” You repeat.

Jenna closes her eyes, inhaling a long, deep and audible breath in then out. She clutches your fingers as she does so, unconsciously leaning back against you to ground her bubbling anxiety. 

She stays in your hold with her back against your chest: a death grip on your fingers. Your swipe a thumb over the skin of her hand. “It’ll be okay…”

“Thanks…” Jenna looks into your eyes, taking one last deep breath.

Briefly, you hold her gaze feeling tepid under the intense look in her eyes. You can’t tell what they're saying but for some reason, the way her dark pupils seemed softer under the fluorescent lights had you under a spell.

And for a fleeting second, you thought she was leaning in closer to you — eyes flickering to your lips.

“Don’t mention it.” You drop her hand immediately, taking wide steps back.

Not liking the way her eyes flickered down.

You don’t like what that could possibly mean.

Jenna’s turning rapidly, pretending not to notice as you take sizable steps away from her. “What did my sister say?”

You laugh, shoving your hands in your jacket. “That she liked my SNL episode and thought someone who’s done it before can talk you down.”

“Talk me down?” She scrunches her nose.

“Don’t shoot the messenger.” You shrug.

“Your episode was okay.” Jenna turns away to face a mirror, brushing away her bangs.

You take the bait, glad she wasn’t trembling anymore. “Okay? I got the whole cast to break, it’s considered a classic. It was nominated for an Emmy that year.”

“It didn’t win though.”

You scoff playfully, “I’m leaving. You clearly don’t need my help anymore.”

She laughs obnoxiously as you stomp out of her dressing room. “Wait.”

You stop just before you open the door. “Yeah?”

“Thank you… for talking me down.” She tucks a hair backs, a little shy.

The small smile creeping on your face is hard to subdue. “Don’t mention it. Now, go. You’re gonna kill it.” You wink, exiting the dressing room.

“She’s all good.” You tell her team.

“That’s it? She hasn’t calmed down all day, it takes you – what, five minutes?” Enrique crosses his arms. Jenna’s mom smirks, patting his back then walked past him and into the room as the rest of her family slowly trickled in; her sisters staring at you intensely.

“Uh sorry?” You blush furiously, walking off in the other direction to find your seat.

Jenna kills it, but that was never a surprise. You can tell she’s nervous throughout her monologue but after Fred Armisen does his bit – from beside you, which had been a pleasant surprise. She begins to grow confident, feeling pleased with your embarrassment when the camera pans to you and Fred.

You’d get her back for that. Making a mental note to cook up a special revenge plan, just for her.

Eventually, she falls into the role naturally. Nailing her punchlines perfectly, working the crowd like an expert, and exquisitely performing her skits. It’s a shock to you when you overhear someone behind you say she’s never done live stage work before.

She's so natural at it.

It's a privilege to watch her perform.

You nearly die when she changes into a red suit as she introduces the musical guest of the night.

Actually, you begin to slide off your seat when she comes out in a pinstripe suit — a reference to the Addams family you overheard in passing.

When credits roll and the ‘LIVE’ sign turns off. You remain in your seat. Unsure if you are just admiring her or if it’s ‘cause your legs no longer functioned. You can’t fight that admiration as it grows when you see how supportive her family is as they cheer her on and celebrate this win as one unit. 

You smile, wishing you can relate. At least some people had that in their lives.

A part of you thinks it makes the whole world’s difference, having a support system like that. But you would never know.

Silently, you slip out the stage doors and back to the random dressing room you’ve decided to take refuge in. 

You narrowly miss Jenna trying to find you through the masses; her smile dropping a bit when she realizes you’re gone.

– 

You don’t get a chance to personally congratulate Jenna because Link was bursting into the dressing room — after complaining about trying to find you for ten minutes. Rambling on how you’re needed back in Los Angeles and there was no time to say goodbye.

When you catch the other actress it’s by pure stroke of luck. You're going through checkout at the hotel, waiting for Link to do all the work as you wait behind him. 

You feel slightly guilty that you're just leaving without warning.

You should send Jenna a text, right? But would she even care if you left so suddenly? She did want you out of the city just a few days ago.

But then, you two literally just, might’ve, maybe, almost kissed/shared a moment in her dressing room, so who knows what you should do at this point.

You feel a migraine forming at the base of your skull, the longer you thought about the other actress.

“Y/N?” A voice breaks your self-deprecating thoughts. You turn to see Jenna with her team and family trailing beside her.

Jenna’s smile falls when she sees your bags. Her family walks ahead but you certainly don’t miss their curious eyes as she stops in front of you.

“Where are you going?” Her eyes keep flickering between you and your bags.

Link avoids her sharp, accusing eyes.

“Back to L.A. sorry I was just about to send you a text, actually.” You confessed, a little ashamed. 

It felt like you got caught doing something you shouldn’t be doing… like when you lie to your long-time partner about the real reason why you want some time apart.

“A text?” She raises an unamused brow not liking your answer.

“Yeah, Jake wants me back in L.A. Uh– sorry, was I supposed to tell you?” You ask, a bit confused.

“Tell me?” She scoffs, face dropping. “Yeah, you’re supposed to tell me. I was going to invite you to dinner to celebrate with my family and the SNL cast tonight. But you weren’t even in the audience anymore by the time I finished.”

“Sorry… I thought you’d want to celebrate with your family.” You shrug lamely, torn between feeling guilty and confused at her reaction to the news of your sudden departure.

She made it feel like you were trying to escape.

“Well, I thought–” 

She cuts herself off with a huff then looked back as her family waits for her by the elevator.

“Thought what?”

As if remembering she was still out in a very public setting, after hosting one of the most recognizable programs in America; Jenna blinks out of it. Shoving her feelings down.

“Nothing. Have a safe flight back to L.A. I’ll see you in a few days… or weeks” She mumbles with an edginess to her words, walking away before you can say anything else.

“Tough break, buddy.” Link pats a comforting hand on your shoulder as you were rendered speechless. Unsure if you should chase her down and apologize.

Damn can she walk fast in those heels.

But, why would you be apologizing for having to do your job?

But the way her brow creased like she was actually upset caused an unpleasant drop in your chest. Not enjoying how she was upset and that it seemed like it was all your fault. You? Nah. Maybe she’s still dealing with other stuff and is just taking it out on you. 

It wouldn’t be the first time.

“What. Just. Happened.” You turn, aggressively snatching your card from the hotel worker who definitely enjoyed the show.

“Are you blind?” He scoffs then walks away from you.

“What do you mean? Link… what do you mean?” 

-

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