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purplelupins · 7 months ago

Text

Happy together

|The Black Phone|

Part IV

Albert Shaw/Grabber x Fem!reader

Summery: Nothing like a new city. You just wanted a fresh start, and something comfortable, but what happens when you start to see the exact same patterns in Denver as you did before?

Warnings: mentions of murder, injury description, smut, dubious consent, breeding, begging, flirting, daddy kink, p in v, use of pet names (kiddo, kid, princess, honey) fingering, oral (f receiving), grinding, cumming in pants, semi public sex, violence, swearing, blood kink, face paint, reader is a sad baby

Notes: this is a commissioned fic for @mandowifey and the face claim for Richard is Hamish Linklater in Tell Me Your Secrets

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You needed him.

You had always thought the word limerence had a nice ring, but you hadn’t thought it would feel so devestatibgly addictive.

You wanted to pick that man apart bit by bit and bite into his heart so hard he could see bits of it in your teeth when you smiled. You wanted him to think of you so often he couldn’t stand it.

And you wanted to piss him off his rocker while doing it.

Your feet felt detached from your body as you walked to your bed. It barely registered that you had laid down until the smell of cotton and your soap enveloped you. Your limbs still ached from your encounter in the alley, and you half hoped the hurt would stay for a while, and half wanted to leave an angry message for your neighbour detailing how badly your back and legs hurt.

Your mind ran. It was as if everything up until that moment had been preparation for him. That grumpy old man who slept just 40 feet from you. Your head spun as you took inventory of every kill and move you had made since…since you started, and how every step had brought you there.

To him.

Right where you were supposed to be.

A cool breeze smoothed down your legs as as your blanket lay beside you unused. The window in your room sat open and unassuming…just in case he came. Then you glanced down that the floor just under the window and a twitch of a smirk pulled at your lips when the light caught the shards of broken glass you had scattered there. Just in case the old fuck tried anything.

Goodluck picking that shit out of your feet, Shaw.

You hoped you would be able to hear him yelp and swear with his dick all hard as he crept into your trap to carry out one of his perverted stake-outs. Having a Polaroid of that would keep you happy for the rest of your life.

But sadly for your sake, Albert had seen you unscrew one of your lamp’s lightbulbs and crush it in a towel. It didn’t take much brain work to put two and two together when you disappeared into your bedroom. He knew it was a little welcome gift just for him. And while once upon a time he might have been annoyed, and disappointed that you were trying to stave him off. But as he crept back from your window, he couldn’t help the tiny grin that pulled his mouth into a smirk. You were thinking of him.

And Albert liked that.

But while that knowledge did elate him, Albert was a smart man, and he knew knowledge is power. And oh how badly he wanted power over you. Ever since he had felt your soft flesh under his finger tips and your usually so defiant, arrogant voice in his ear whining for him, he needed more. He needed you to feel small. He needed you in the palm of his hand so he could swallow you like a pill to satiate his sick desire.

So he ignored you.

You had expected him to at least break into your house, but when days passed, there was a hole in your stomach that began to fester. You found yourself checking his house constantly, even looking at the door of the diner every time the bell above the door rang. Every creak at night made you get up to investigate and every car going by made you stare to see who was driving.

You felt insane.

You didn’t like feeling insane.

Everyday it was a horrible battle between you and yourself as to whether or not you should call him or break into his house again. The feeling of rejection and solitude took shape and fed that hole in you until it was gaping and you couldn’t sleep or function properly.

It didn’t matter how many men you flirted with or how many shitty jokes you laughed at. You even tried to chat up one of your regulars when his wife wasn’t with him…

How dare he.

However, you hating it didn’t stop you from going to the liquor store after work once a few days had passed. You made your way towards the far side where the whiskeys and brandies were kept; you had known enough men to know that nine times out of ten, they could appreciate a nice bottle of well aged liquor.

In your mind, your plan was faultless. You were going to deliver the bottle with a snarky little note that would get under his skin and it would both impress him enough or irritate him enough to confront you. Either that or he would do nothing and it would give you an excuse to sneak into his living room to drink a couple fingers of it while you waited for him to come home to remind him of who he was trying to fuck with. It was a win-win situation really.

You finished the note in your car, and tied a little blue bow around the neck of the bottle of whiskey. You had considered dropping it at his door, but while you liked Max, you didn’t trust him not to find the bottle and open it for himself.

You took a long breath, and pushed yourself out of your seat and onto the side walk, and shut your door. You rolled your shoulders back and began to walk down the block to the hardware store in the shortest skirt you had. A rush began to fill your head in anticipation of pouring gasoline onto this game of cat and cat you played with the older man; he thought he could just call it quits after he got a little something from you? Well he certainly had something else coming. You couldn’t wait to see the little bomb plant itself in his head until it detonated and he came to you.

You missed him.

You opened the door to the hardware shop, and smiled brightly as you walked up to the empty counter. When no one came out, your smile fell a little in annoyance, and you rang the service bell a couple times.

“Sorry- coming, shi- I- oh!” Emmett nearly stumbled out from the back room and smacked into the counter.

The lust for blood began to curl tight when you saw the young man come out to greet you. You just couldn’t tell if it grew stronger because it wasn’t Albert and you weren’t satisfied or because you enjoyed the anticipation.

“Hey Em…where’s the big bad boss man?” you grinned and tilted your head. It wasn’t as if you could say “Why the hell are you here?” Or “I want Al.”

“Oh- Al? He’s in his office…is something wro-“ he started leaning over the counter to you when he stopped short.

“Emmett?! Did you finish with those boxes?”

All at once, that growing hole in your gut collapsed in on itself and flipped and churned. You felt your throat tighten, and your hands start to shake and your ears rang. Your cheeks heated and your ears burned.

What’s wrong with you? Take a breath and say something back to the old man-

But somehow, words alluded you, and you found yourself thrusting the bottle into Emmett’s hands and turning on your heel without a care in the world, “Nothatsokayhereyougothisisforyourbossbye!” You blurted out and were out the door before the poor boy could get another word out.

You chose not to have any kind of confrontation with yourself over your behaviour that night as you drove home. It might have been more merciful to have your head cave in than to deal with whatever the hell this was.

It was ridiculous.

You had never been made to feel this small…and now you’re leaving him gifts oh well done you twat.

You drove home and settled into bed with a cold, empty feeling in your bones. It infected your sinew and cooled your blood. It was something that you hadn’t felt in years, and something you never thought would happen again…not like this at least.

You liked this one.

You actually liked him.

But you were hurting and really it was all his fault. If he didn’t like you then why did he grope you like a teenage boy in that alleyway?

Fuck him…

“Richard I really couldn’t…I’m so flattered, but-“

The thin man towered over you, and you leaned your hand on one hip as he did his best to convince you to come to his daughter’s birthday party/annual summer barbecue. You noticed that he slouched a great deal.

Albert didn’t slouch…

“C’mon it’ll be just what you need. You were just telling me about how much you want to make some friends and plus I- it, I’ll…it’ll-“ he stumbled over his words, and you found yourself nodding a little as if to encourage him like a toddler. The man sighed, and sat down on one of the stools next to you. “It’ll be fun and I’d like it if you came…we’re- we’re friends right?” He raised his gaze to meet yours, and he looked so hopeful that you almost patted his head like he was some lost puppy in need of reassurance.

You pretended to hum and think about it. It wasn’t as if you didn’t want to go- you didn’t mind.

Free food, free drinks, and cake.

It was something to do and something to take your mind off of that fucking old man with those blue eyes who made you cu-

“I don’t think your wife likes me after that first time we met.” You reminded him and his shoulders slumped a little.

But he didn’t give up.

“She’ll be so busy and honestly she probably doesn’t even remember, she just-“

You put a finger to his lips and smiled, “Hey, hey! I was kidding. I’ll just help with the plates and hide behind the balloons.” You laughed and shrugged.

His entire face lit up, and you felt yourself actually get a little excited…but not as excited as you knew you might have if it wasn’t for your mind being distracted.

“You- wait, you’ll come?” He gasped and stood, “You’re coming? Oh thank god- oh that’s- I’m so pleased- thank you!” His hands reached out as if to hug you but he stopped himself short and just beamed at you. You waved at him and looked into the kitchen window to see if there were any orders up.

“Oh you know, what are friends for, huh? Besides I think you owe me some free food after all the whipped cream and extra fries I’ve smuggled for you.” You elbowed him and he laughed a little awkwardly.

“Haha, yes…well, here let me…write down the address…” he mumbled to himself as he searched for a pen in his jacket and grabbed a napkin. You watched as he wrote, though your eyes became unfocused as your mind drifted. It wasn’t like you didn’t already know where Richard lived. You had followed him home enough to know a few different routes too, not that he needed to know that. He started to ramble about how the annual barbecue had started and you smiled and nodded while your eyes glazed over…

You thought of veiny hands and thick forearms and greying hair that needed a trim and sharp canines-

“It’s at 11 o’clock and uh��should last until about 4 o’clock…you don’t have to stay the entire time though. Just- you can just come for a bit. Or stay! What- whatever you like.” Richard had become a bit of a fumbling mess with his words as the two of you got closer. He was sweet…so miserable and so pathetic, but sweet. You sometimes wondered if he liked to beg…

You nodded and took the paper before pocketing it in your uniform. “I’ll be there.” You added a smile to send your performance home.

He smiled back and rubbed his hands on his thighs. “Great! Super. I’ll see you then.” He said, gathering himself and backing towards the door.

You waved at him, “See you!”

He left, and you mindlessly went back to your job. Your face went back to how you schooled it for work, and you let your mind coast on auto pilot for the rest of your shift. You found that your usual prowl for fresh meat was more of a bored glance. You pretended like you didn’t care who walked through the door. You pretended to not care that your legs didn’t hurt anymore.

Four days. It was four days from the time that Richard had given you the invite to the day that you were expected to attend…and those four days all but evaporated.

You were constantly looking for ways to go over to the Shaw residence but you swore it was like some kind of divine intervention would occur every time you did…without the divine part. There was always something that got in the way or no one was home and you could only leave your used panties on Alberts pillow so many times before it got old.

So when you checked yourself in the mirror one last time and smoothed down your summer dress, you welcomed the change in routine. A part of you was almost excited to be back to your old self a little…testing the waters with Richard would be fun, and you felt a rush start to surge through you at the thought of being in his home with his family and friends. But then you felt your shoulders sag a little.

It wasn’t him.

But you had a job to do, and who knows…you might scope out some new men to play with…

…but what’s the fun in that…

You stared up at the house- pristine and admirable. You sighed and half considered going home, but decided against it when you thought of losing all your hard work on Richard. You pulled yourself from your car and grabbed the gift for his daughter, and strode up to the front door. You knocked a few times, but when no answer came, you followed the sound of voices and children laughing around the back of the house.

Sure enough, the party was in full swing. Several men and women you recognized from around the city, or neighbours of your hosts. God was in your good graces that afternoon as no one had clocked your entrance yet; you wanted to keep it that way. You slowly made your way past a train of kids and over to the food table where you grabbed a glass of juice, and started immersing yourself into the part of ‘sweet, friendly stranger’.

“Crazy summer, hey?”

“You catch the game the other night?”

“I can’t believe they’re knocking down the old post office.”

“Pretty dress, oh it has pockets? I need one.”

You managed conversations with several people without saying much of anything for several minutes when you finally saw your hostess. You bit your tongue to suppress the smirk that so badly wanted to come forth when you saw the little scowl on her face. You excused yourself, and decided to find her better half.

You passed by the little face painting table for the children and a parent almost losing consciousness while blowing balloon after balloon. It was sweet.

A little too sweet.

As you ventured to another part of the backyard, you heard a familiar voice call out from inside the house.

Of course he was the errand dog.

You wandered up to the back porch and slipped inside the double doors into the dining room. You could see into the kitchen, and sure enough there was a very tall, very rushed older man there who looked everything “dad”. You forced a smile.

“I like that polo.” You called to him as he shoved his head into a cupboard. Richard whipped around and almost lost his footing at the sound of your voice.

“You came!” He smiled back at you almost relieved, and put down the paper plates he had gotten and came over to you. You had expected him to just stand there with his hands in his pockets or shake your hand but he scooped you up for a hug. You clung to him out of reflex and let him hold you. You hoped he couldn’t feel your knife in a holder between your breasts.

“Thank god you came…these are all my wife’s friends or parents of kids I don’t know,” he slowly released you and waved his hand outside as he explained, “Good to see your face, honey.” He added with a smile.

You returned the smile out of reflex, and shrugged, “Not like I had anything better to do.” You playfully punched his shoulder and he moved with your touch.

Gangly, tall man.

You wondered if a breeze would knock him over. Then you cast a look over his shoulder at the plates and nodded into the kitchen, “What can I do?” You asked.

Play the part, play the part…

Richard spun and looked at the various items on the counters that needed to be brought out, “Oh- well…I don’t want to put you to work on your day off. You being here is enough.”

You shook your head and started guiding him into the kitchen, “I need somewhere to hide remember? Not everyone here thinks I’m adorable.” You pushed, and to your pleasure his ears turned pink. At least that was a little enjoyable to curb your underlying boredom.

“I- well-“ he laughed, knowing you were talking about his wife, “I-I suppose…would you take those extra cups out to the punch table? I forgot about three times to do it so she might actually be happy for once.” He smiled a little sadly.

You felt a little pang of hurt for the man, but snapped a sympathetic smile back onto your face. He eyed it, and returned the expression. It was no secret how miserable he was.

“I’m on it!” You chirped, and retrieved the cups that he had pointed to, and breezed past him. Richard seemed relieved to have some help, and you knew he watched you go down the steps to the back yard; you let your dress sway a little extra just to play with him.

You placed the cups down, and let your gaze wander. It all felt so domestic, and you felt yourself flush a little at the idea that this was your house…your family…but you knew the likelihood of that happening was slim to none-

“Hey kids! Who here knows a magician’s magic word?!”

“ABRACADABRA!”

Your throat squeezed.

You whipped your head around to the voice, and felt yourself go lightheaded.

You never thought face paint and a top hat would make your thighs quiver and your mouth grow slick…but something about Albert Shaw bowing theatrically for the gaggle of children had you weak.

It had been over a week since you had seen him properly; not watching his van pull out in the mornings or glimpses of him through his windows at night. Your chest filled with hurt, and your nose stung.

You felt jealous over the kids standing too close as he performed a trick. You wanted to be the one he was focused on.

You felt someone come and stand beside you at the punch table, and you looked up to see Richard eyeing the entertainment. “Not bad huh?”

You shrugged but nodded, “Kids love a good magic trick.” You pushed the lump in your throat down.

He nodded with you, “Hey I have a couple more things inside, would- would you give me a hand?” He pointed his thumb back, and you almost said no.

No I miss him.

You cast one more look at Albert, and this time, he saw you. You felt his blue eyes lock onto yours as he waited for a kid to pick a card. You could see his body go stock still for a moment, though you applauded his recovery. You felt that pang of hurt return to you when you remembered how he had been avoiding you. How he hadn’t even said thank you for the liquor. How he hadn’t left you a message to stop leaving your panties. How he hadn’t showed up to kill you yet.

But then, the hurt churched into something else when you were struck with an idea. It wasn’t something you were terribly keen on doing…but it might just be the push that old bastard needed to come and say something to you.

You looked away from Al, and smiled brightly up at Richard who was returning his gaze to you after saying hello to a guest. “I’m all yours.” You said, and you almost felt bad for how instantly Richard blushed.

But it wasn’t his blush that fuelled you, it was the jaded glare that burned into you from the man with white face paint and top hat.

And you let the fire rage.

You brushed Richard’s elbow with your hand as you both turned to return to the house, and you shot him another smile. When he saw it, he stuttered halfway through responding to his wife who said something to him in passing.

He was such a plain, dad type with a face like a puppy…so utterly easy so manipulate.

A bit of a loser really.

He led you inside as he prattled on about last year’s barbecue and how one of his good friends had moved away since then and how he can’t believe his daughter is growing up so fast and how it wasn’t this hot last year. But you responded and hummed in acknowledgement like a good girl, and followed him past the kitchen into the walk-in pantry.

“-there’s just so much I used to want but now I’m just excited for bed at the end of a long day-“ he stopped mid sentence and looked at you and winced, “God I’m so sorry you must think I’m so pathetic.”

You laughed gently and shook your head, “Not at all…things just change!”You said. You weren’t entirely lying, and you knew that if you told him that he was indeed a lost cause, he might breakdown in tears…though that might have been a pleasant sight…

You both stood there in the cramped space, and stared at one another for a moment, before Richard blinked and remembered that he was a husband and father in his own house.

“Right, uh…if you could grab the jar of Maraschino cherries and the crackers just there, then I’ll get these…hm…what else…” he hummed and looked from shelf to shelf as you gathered what he said. However, you accidentally knocked a box of Graham cookies off one of the shelves in the process.

“Oh shoot…” you said to yourself, and bent over to pick up the box. As fate would have it, the moment you bent over was the same moment Richard remembered there was a treat he had bought for his daughter just above where your head had been. Thus, when you bent over, the older man leaned past you and pressed up against your backside just as you started to stand up. You gasped softly and jumped a little in surprise— or at least what he would interpret as surprise. You of course were not truly surprised, you knew it was only a matter of time before he accidentally brushed up against you while you were “helping” him.

Richard inhaled sharply and almost flinched away as you straightened.

You slowly turned and noted that he didn’t step away. After a timid moment, you gradually rose your gaze up to his; his breaths were coming hard as his chest rose and fell visibly.

You flushed, “S-sorry…didn’t mean to get in your way.” You made your voice a little sweeter, and looked away as you squirmed. Such a fail safe strategy. Worked every time.

“No- no it’s my fault- I…I’m sorry.” He stuttered, though even you could tell he wasn’t entirely apologetic.

Interesting.

You half expected him to get spooked, but then after a moment of staring down at you, he moved just a centimetre closer. Enough that his chest was pressing against you and you could feel his breath on your forehead.

You could see his normally wide brown eyes drop as they hooded over, and his lips parted. You wondered when had been the last time he was touched…hugged…fucked…

“I forgive you.” You whispered with the tiniest of grins, proud of yourself for making it seem genuine when you were mentally pulling your hair out.

The older man huffed out an incredulous laugh, and you looked down bashfully. But then, a large hand came to your cheek and tilted your face back up; warm but dry lips covered yours on a fleeting kiss. Gone just as fast as it had been there.

You met your eyes go wide, and surprised like you had no idea he was going to do that.

“I’m…Christ I’m so sorry- I don’t know what- im…I’ve never-“ he started, running a hand over his face as he stepped away to the other side of the narrow room; still only a foot and a half away from you.

“It-it’s okay…” you wrung your hands and looked at your knuckles.

He chanced a glance at you, momentarily stopping his internal anxiety.

You hid your smirk. “I-I um…I know you’re married…and you’re a great dad…it’s just…I…I like you…”you continued, and slowly looked up at him; he was watching you with baited breath, “I liked it.” You finished, and flicked your gaze to his lips.

It’s not him it’s not him…

As soon as you had finished talking, Richard could feel too much blood drain down past his pelvis, and he twitched a little at the sensation. The most release he got was when he showered alone in the mornings before work. His wife kissed him on the cheek for show when they were out, and he only got hugs from his mother and his daughter. Now here you were…half his age and looking up at him so enticingly telling him you liked his kiss.

Richard looked out the pantry to the back door that was half visible to the outside if you looked hard enough. He seemed to think for a moment, then a sick satisfaction curled inside you when you saw his restrained snap in two.

He took the step between you and held your cheeks in his hands as he kissed you again. Your lips pushed into your inner lip, and you winced a little before returning his affection.

Hard.

You closed your eyes and pretended. His teeth clanked against yours and you could tell he was about to pull away to apologize again when you grabbed the short hair at the nape of his neck and pulled him closer. It was as if his mind stopped working and he hit autopilot as he gave in and let himself be greedy.

It was a mess; both of you knocking into the walls of the small room and you fought for a comfortable place to press up against each other. The older man reached down and slowly brought your thigh up and over his hip.

“I-…god help me I’ve wanted you since I first saw you.” He whispered, eyes a little nervous. “That fucking whipped cream…” he added in a mumble.

You keened and whined softly for him as you kept your eyes shut and imagined blue ones staring down at you instead. The imagine of Al pressing you against that pantry wall had you rolling your hips over his crotch like a needy whore, feeling him get harder and harder. He was twitching and throbbing in seconds against your panties and your daydream broke a little when you felt how different he was than Albert.

He might not have been the exact person you wanted to be rubbing up on, but he was a fair stand in and he seemed more than happy to do it.

You squirmed as you felt your panties soak through. “R-Richard I’m- …your pants.” You whimpered as you tore away from his mouth to look down between your squished bodies; the dark spot on his khakis where you were grinding on him was obvious.

“You’re- jeez you’re soaked…is that for me, sweetheart?” He panted out in disbelief at the idea of a young thing like you making such a mess for him.

No it’s for him…

With your eyes closed you were miles away in someone else’s arms. You couldn’t remember the last time you had been so distracted, and you felt the creep of anxiety in the back of your mind; whether it was from the guilt of letting this man touch you or from your imagination floating around a certain part time magician like one of his cheap black balloons, you weren’t sure. So you nodded feebly, feigning embarrassment.

You might have drawn things out longer, but you were never very patient. And now even less so- almost wanting to get things over with quickly even though it was you who had started it.

“T-touch me…” you mewled against his mouth as he kissed you and ground himself against you like a horny teenager.

And suddenly, Richard didn’t seem to care about the party or how he hated his wife or how old his baby girl was turning or if she would like her presents. All he cared about was you whining for his touch.

The older man wordlessly lifted your skirt and lifted a shaky finger to his mouth; sucking on it quickly before reaching down between your thighs and slipping it past the hem of your panties. Richard might have been twice your age but he too was greatly lacking any self control as he only teased you for a moment before easing his long finger inside you to the knuckle.

He had long forgotten what a warm body wrapped around him felt, and Richard’s head went light as he pumped his finger inside you a few times. It was euphoric. He could have died happy knowing that he could still make a woman wet.

Richard could feel your slick soaking through the leg of his pants, but he wasn’t about to stop this god given gift. Fuck the pants.

Every bit of stress he felt and worry he had vanished as he began to work his fingers inside you. It didn’t matter that you were wishing it was a murderous neighbour of yours in his place. You just couldn’t wait to see the look on the old fuck’s face when he saw both of you completely wrecked and disheveled.

Richard might had been a little sloppy but he had you climbing steadily with help from you pushing your hips into his palm to message your clit. Your skin began to feel far too warm, and your whines were muffled by his lips smushing against yours. But it wasn’t quite enough. You could tell by his staggered and rougher ruts against you that he was getting close himself, and you weren’t about to be left high and dry if he came first. You reached a hand down between you both and covered his hand with yours and pressed the heel of his hand down against you, and rotated it; you cried out loudly into his mouth, and Richard momentarily felt his anxiety peak but it was gone again when you started begging him.

“Pl-please don’t stop- I- I’m- im gonna-“ you tried to get out as you manipulated his hand to pleasure yourself.

The older man nodded, knocking your nose a little and continued his efforts. His breaths came in little gasps that grew faster and faster as he pulled away from your mouth. You went to chase his lips but he buried his face in your shoulder and you heard him moan weakly into your skin. You shut your eyes and let yourself grind against his palm, and evidently it was exactly what you needed as just seconds after, you were biting into his shirt as you clenched down around his fingers that curled inside you.

“I-i- ah! A-Al-“ you whined softly as your hips ground down against him and your thighs shook while you soaked his hand. You felt the pant leg under you grow saturated and warm; it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that this middle aged man had just cum in his khakis after grinding on you.

Richard either didn’t care or didn’t hear you whine out another man’s name as you came.

Not like either of you knew that the party’s entertainment had gotten a package of glitter all over his hands and needed a sink to wash up. Not like either of you saw him glowering from just out of view as he watched and listened to the two of you breathing each other’s air.

Albert noisily grabbed a towel from the kitchen, making the man you were slumped against jump as he sobered up from his haze. He held you a little tighter as if it would conceal the two of you a little better; you both watched the other man leave the house into the yard, and Richard heaved a sigh of relief while you felt any euphoria leave with your neighbour. Hurt stabbed at you again, and you felt jealous tears sting in your eyes.

He didn’t even look at you.

This wasn’t fair.

“-y/n?”

You blinked and looked up at Richard who was now staring down at you with a slightly anxious stare.

You blinked again and sighed like you were in a daze of his making, “I’m- oh I’m sorry…what was that?” You asked shaking your head like you were embarrassed.

“I was- I was uh…just-just saying that w-we should probably get ourselves Um…cleaned up.” He murmured awkwardly but not coldly. You gathered this was the first time he had ever done something like that- it would have been endearing if it weren’t for your lack of care.

You had let yourself get too attached to Albert. He was going to leave you just like the rest-

“Sure…think you need some new pants.” You said a little absentmindedly as you untangled from each other and you walked out of the small room. You could hear the man behind you stammer something out, and you hummed in agreement as you stared out the back window.

“I’ll-I’ll be back in just a minute.” He said. You knew that he was hoping for a little affection from you or…something. So you forced a smile on your face and turned back to him.

“See you out there, tiger.” You held the items you had gone in there for and watched him flash you a small smile in return, but once he was gone, so was your jovial expression.

This time, you looked at Albert properly as you approached the cake table with the items.

He was busy again…

Sitting on a stool pulling flowers out of thin air.

A plethora of emotions had been churning in you all day, and while you felt humiliation and jealously close to the surface, your sorrow was just below it. The thought of Albert toying with you but casting you aside for weeks might have made your blood boil for a while, but more than anything it stabbed at your heart.

You liked him.

You liked him a lot.

More than you had liked someone in a long time. And you thought that he might have liked you just as much especially after that afternoon in the alley.

But there was just…nothing.

You sucked in a breath and made up your mind.

You turned on your heel, and began back towards the house, to the path that you took when you had arrived.

“H-hey honey, where you going?” You heard Richard call to you as you passed the back stairs where he was descending.

“I-I’m I’m just not feeling too well…think it’s the heat. Thanks for the fun day!” You called out to him as cheerfully as you could, “See you later.”

He was hurt, and horrified that maybe he had driven you away, and you knew it. But you didn’t care. You didn’t want to be there anymore. You didn’t want to play pretend.

Albert watched you smile so sweetly at that middle aged loser who was paying him for the afternoon. He felt his stomach twist angrily as he recalled those sweet sounds you made as he touched you; just like when he had been the one holding you against that alley wall. He wondered if they were honest; if you actually liked him making you cum. Albert’s ears had filled with white noise before you had finished, and his blood was still boiling.

If this was the game you wanted to play, fine. But he had never been one for following the rules.

You climbed into your car, and drove away from that house with the white picket fence; your head felt light as you gripped the steering wheel and began to half hour drive home.

You were angry.

You wanted so badly to pull off the main road and find the shittiest bar you could and catch the most pathetic man you could and sink your knife into his chest until your rage was gone. But you had a sneaking feeling that just like having Richard make you cum: it wouldn’t help. Plus it would mean you had to clean up after and you had no energy for that.

You drove slowly through the city, and by pure muscle memory, you parked near the diner. You stared out your window, and felt your eyes glaze over as you watched the people walk by. Families, couples, single men and women who were waiting for the right someone to come along. You focused on one couple in particular. They each held a small popcorn container and they laughed; most likely having come from the cinema. You caught the glint of a ring on the woman’s finger, and you felt your anger wane into melancholy. No one every chose you. All those men who claimed they wanted you…the ones who just couldn’t bring themselves to say they loved you…who wouldn’t leave their wives for you…they were so selfish. They really thought they could just get a piece of you and go? Was that what Albert thought? Was he going to leave you too? Carve another hole into your heart? You weren’t sure what hurt more…the fact that you were never someone’s first choice or that maybe you were the reason.

You weren’t sure how long you sat there, but you did know that your eyes were dry as they started to tear; several minutes of not blinking making them sore. With your heart in your stomach, and head numb, you mindlessly began the way home.

You didn’t even remember turning the car on or pulling into the driveway, but then you were unlocking your door and kicking off your shoes. You didn’t even bother with the lights as you reached behind yourself to unzip your dress as you wandered through your living room-

“Have fun today, kiddo?”

A shiver ran up your spine and your heart lurched. You halted and let your arms hang down by your sides as you turned on the direction of that same face you wished had been the one panting in your ear just a few hours ago.

Albert sat in your arm-chair, relaxed shoulders with his head in his palm and legs spread wide- the crotch of his black pants pulled tight like the arms of his t-shirt. His top hat was still perched on his head and those ridiculous glasses as well.

You felt your heart pull at the sight of him, remembering his voice in your ear weeks ago.

“I did. Too bad you were there, could have been even more fun.” You jabbed at him. It wasn’t like he needed to know how pathetically you needed his attention. You were fairly certain he was well aware.

“Oh I think you had just enough fun, Princess. A bit whoreish don’t you think?” He cocked his head to the side and stared at you like he could see past your clothes.

“Whoreish? If you’re talking about how tight that shirt is for a child entertainer then I have to agree. Maybe shop in the adult section next time.” You crossed your arms.

The older man’s eye twitched, and you swore his mouth did too.

You threw your arms up, “No really, I mean it’s a bit creepy. You entertain kids and kill them, now your taking their clothes too…that’s just-“

“Enough.”

You could feel your muddled wmotions start to come to the surface no matter how hard you tried to remain unfazed, “No, no, C’mon now you started it!” You shot back, “You behave like one too y’know? So what you grind a girl on your leg in a back alley then never talk to her again?”

So much for not letting him know where your head was at; you might as well have just carved your own heart out and tacked it onto your sleeve.

Albert leaned forward onto his knees; his white face paint standing out in the darkness.

“Yeah? You all sour over that huh?” He rasped in faux sympathy.

Asshole.

“If any part of me is sour it’s because you touched it, you old fuck.” You bit out, hands itching to snatch your knife that you had in its sheath between your breasts. It didn’t help that your eyes were starting to prickle.

Al shook his head and tsked you, “Christ you got such a pretty face but you need to shove some fucking soap in that mouth, kid. I’d ask if your daddy raised you like that…but I’m pretty sure we covered his lack of involvement before.” He sneered.

“Yeah you’re right, he’s probably out fucking your mom.” You shot back.

Albert hummed.

“Didn’t think he was into corpse shit. Guess everyone’s got something. Makes sense though with you being his daughter if he’s that fucked up too.” His words stung, but you weren’t about to break down.

You sighed. “Let’s wrap this up grandpa, you need your early bedtime and I need a shower.” You went to move into your bedroom, but Albert shot up out of his seat and was pushing you up against the wall before you could get a proper defensive hold on him; all you managed was to get an arm free.

“We’re finished when I say we’re finished you brat-“

You didn’t wait for him to finish before you quickly jabbed your knee up into his thigh then kicked his knee as best as you could. He winced for a moment, and you laughed aloud at the thought that he probably had knee issues with his age. Albert went to grab your arms and slam them against the wall, but you were faster to slip out of his hold and put your weight into tackling him to the floor. You both landed with a thud, and you were thankful for the lack of light as the window was still open and you were never in the mood to be the brunt of neighbourhood gossip.

He fought to throw you off of him, and you locked a leg around one of his as you straddled him. Albert released your arm and shoulder and shoved the heel of his palm into your chin, and you saw stars. You had only just gotten a grip on his shoulders but your hands went limp when he struck you. Before you could fully recover, Albert already managed to grab you under your armpits and slammed you into the floor beside him before climbing on top of you.

You laughed when your skull collided with the wooden floor, amused by how your vision was doubling.

“What’s your fucking problem?” You slurred a little but worked to shove your arms between your chest and his, pushing on his upper ribs.

But when you sucked in a breath, you were hit with the heady smell of whiskey. The scent made your stomach go all mushy and your muscles went slack when you thought of him opening your gift and nursing a glass.

He was short of breath from it, but he was still holding you down by your collar. “I’m looking at it.” He spat.

At that, you laughed again, though this time it was far less bitter. He was such a hypocrite. You used his distracted state and kicked him hard in the shin, and dug your fingers into the tender membrane between his ribs. He grunted out in pain and released you only for a second, but it was the very second you had been waiting for.

You groaned as you rolled him off of you, and scampered out on his grasp. You went to stand but he lunged across the floor and snatched your ankle, causing you to crash down to the floor; your chin took the brunt of it, and you tasted copper. You had bitten your cheek, not that you felt it very much as adrenaline was fuelling you.

You kicked your leg to losen his grip, but he had you tight. You repeated the action like he was some pest, then opted to just flick him square in the face. You wished you still had your shoes on, but evidently you didn’t need them as he released you and cupped his hands over his nose and mouth.

“Aw I’m sorry did I knock your dentures out, old man?” You snickered out as you wriggled free and scrambled to your feet.

“Fucking brat!” Al spat, blood running from his nose and mouth as he rose up onto his palms and pushed himself up to rush after you as you bolted for the door.

It wasn’t like you had a plan, but it certainly would have been a scene with a crazed older man chasing after a poor young girl on a Saturday evening. The idea of Al getting arrested and locked away, and having to accept your visits just to see him was very appealing. However, you were not ready to confront the idea that during the entire fight you hadn’t reached for your knife. It would have been so easy. But you would have rather had him put away behind bars and glass than have him gone-

Your hand was millimeters from the door handle when your head was yanked back and your scalp burned; Al tugged at the roots of your hair and brought you stumbling back, crashing onto the floor. You stared up at him as you went to sit up, but he put his foot on your chest and pushed you down- a small smirk on his bloody and painted face.

“You just don’t quit do you, Princess?” That playful but threatening lilt in his voice returned, and you groaned when the heel of his shoe dug into your ribs.

“This? Thought we were just warming up grandpa…was hoping to-“ you started, but Albert was swift to step down even harder, pushing the air out of your lungs. You wheezed out a laugh, blood leaking out of the corner of your mouth.

Albert snarled down at you and shifted to kneel on either side on your torso when you heaved yourself up and grabbed your knife out from under your dress and slashed at his thigh. It broke through his jeans and slit the skin, but nothing horrendous. Subconscious or not, you didn’t want to maim him too badly. Another part of you, however, considered swiping at him again…hoping to puncture something important.

The older man hissed, and reflexively smacked you across the head, but you just lunged at him again. His glasses flattered to the floor. Albert was out of breath, and you could tell, but he still snatched your wrists before you were able to knock him off of you. His chest was pressed against yours, and your hips were flush. You both strained against one another until you gathered a wad of saliva and blood on your tongue and you spat it out at his eye. He turned away from you for a moment, but when you thought he might release you again, he growled low in the back of his throat and thrust you down to the floor.

Hard.

This time, when your scull collided with the wood, you felt disconnected from your body, and you didn’t appreciate the weakness.

Your ears rang and you tended your muscles to try and sit up again, but he had you. Albert leaned down over you, and breathed your air. “Stay down…like a good pup.”

You smiled, dazed and glassy eyed like a kid on Christmas.

And he smiled with you.

“Guess that’s two outta three that I got you, huh?” You could feel him speak- the skin on his bottom lip catching yours.

You shrugged raggedly, “I’ve had better. You only won cuz I can barely walk straight after cum-“

He smacked you again. And you laughed.

“What? Don’t like the thought of another man actually making me cum?” You jabbed again. He snarled and smushed your cheeks together with his large hand.

“Listen to me you little bitch, you are nothing. You will always be nothing.” He growled at you, a fleck of his spit landed on your cheek; either that or it was his blood. “You don’t fucking matter. And you’re a pain in my fucking ass, you hear me?”

There was a beat of silence following his words, as you stared at one another. You could practically taste him.

And likewise, he could taste you. Could smell that other man on you like a bloodhound. And he despised it.

“What? Did the Alzheimer’s kick in-“

You started to make a snark remark again, but was stopped short when Alberts teeth collided with yours and his lips covered your mouth. It took two seconds of him kissing you for your defensive walls to tumble down, and you were quick to welcome him between your legs as his rough jeans rubbed against you. A moan slipped out of you and down his throat at you began to grind your hips up against his, and you whined when you felt him return it just as eagerly.

You could feel your stomach do flips as he held you and groped at your hips and neck and hair; Albert’s tongue rolled against yours, not even needing to push into your mouth before you were tasting him yourself.

You pulled him as close as you could as he released your lips and began sucking and kissing down your neck; his face paint left little marks in his wake, but your found yourself hoping you looked a mess.

Covered in him.

“Fuckin’ creep…” you slurred in a daze.

All too soon, he pulled away and your mouth chased his, but Albert simply smirked and pushed you back down onto the floor when you went to sit up.

“Stay down princess, daddy’s not done with you yet.” He rasped- his hat having fallen off ages ago. Face paint all blotchy.

You wanted to cry from him not touching you, but you whined and nodded, hoping it would bring him back down to you faster. Albert smirked, and pulled you tight against the crotch of his pants where his cock was hardening. You could already feel it swell against you; throbbing. Albert brought your thighs up on either side of his hips and held your knees. Then, once he had you locked against him, his smirk fell, and he began to roll his hips into you. The thick outline of him against your core had you salivating and drool leaked from the side of your mouth. He ground against you patiently and hard, watching your every twitch and whine.

Your skin began to warm too fast and you began to grab at him while your thighs tensed.

“Pl-please I’m- please to-touch m-me-I’m- ah! I-pl-da- Ah!” You couldn’t get a full word out without gasping or tripping over it.

He tsked you when you started to babble. “Awe…does the stupid little bitch like that? Feels good?” His mocking tone and faux sympathy made your core tighten around nothing and you flushed with need. You wanted so badly for something to be inside you- fingers, cock, you weren’t picky. You just needed something.

You whined and nodded as you shifted against him, trying to get more friction to cum. But sadly for you, Albert knew what you were lacking; he knew that he wasn’t pressing against you enough. But it only made it so much more satisfying when he finally ran his hands down your thighs dragged your dress up simultaneously. His large, calloused hands groped at your flesh harshly, making it discolour from his grip.

The older man leaned down over you again, and latched his lips to your neck, and bit down. His jaws closed around your skin and punctured you hard enough to bleed or at the very least leave a visible, lasting mark. It knocked the wind out of you. You keened against him and mewled into his ear as he lapped at the deep mark. The sting was throbbing, but it only kindled the ache inside you that begged for him. Albert kissed and sucked at your shoulder, smirking to himself when you grew breathless.

So much fight only to crumble with a few kisses.

I missed you I missed you I missed you…

He continued to kiss over your skin and dress, pulling at the edges to gain more access to your flesh as he went. It wasn’t until he got to your stomach that he grew impatient with your clothes; Albert pulled away with a bothered snarl and without missing a beat, he grabbed the top of your dress at the middle and swiftly tore the fabric in half. You gasped at the violation, and was about to spit fire at him for ruining one of your favourite dresses when he bit down right above your breast and groaned against you, rocking his groin half into your leg and half into the floor. You weaved your fingers through his thick grey hair and nudged him down, hoping to whatever god there was that this man would stop fucking teasing you.

Albert snorted out a hoarse laugh and detached himself from you before leaning up to your mouth again and kissing you so hard your head ground into the floor.

“Needy little psycho whore.” He rumbled against your lips.

You keened and squirmed, but then to your good fortune, he was quick to leave your lips, and he moved down your body eagerly; tearing any left over fabric in his wake. You sat up a little to stare down at him as he kissed right under your belly button, and you noted how his face paint and streaks of his blood was smeared all over your skin. You felt lightheaded , and your cunt clenched at the sight of it.

“Pl-please daddy-“ you breathed out without meaning to. You needed him so badly it physically hurt you.

The older man hummed and tsked you as he slowly leaned down and nipped the top of your panties with his teeth and pulled them away from you until they snapped out of his grip and shocked your skin.

“Fuck off…” you tried to say with some assertion, but it came out as more of a whine.

This time, he placed a wet, open-mouthed kiss over you, leaving a wet mark on your panties. You couldn’t help the buck of your hips when he was so, so close to your clit but just not quite there. Albert smiled up at you wolfishly, and kissed you there again.

“Something you want?” He sneered at you- spit strung between his mouth and your ruined underwear.

“Yes your head on a platter with a million dollars in cash!” You huffed out in frustration. His bloodied teeth flashed in the low light much like a predator, and your remark earned you a slap on the thigh that stung.

“Watch that fucking mouth of yours princess or I’ll have to stuff it.” Al rumbled low in his chest like gravel.

He tortured you like that for ages, waiting to see how long it would take for you to start looking for your knife. It only took a few minutes, and he smiled to himself before finally pressing a warm, open kiss right over your clit, and sucked gently.

You cried out in surprise at the stimulation, and he chuckled against you which only made you whine more. Albert’s large hands gripped your soft hips and pinned them to the floor- immobilising you.

“Awe pretty baby…you should cry more.” He taunted you.

Your eye twitched, and you went to wrap your legs around his neck and flip him under you, but he caught your thighs just in time and laughed against your skin.

“You just don’t stop do you?” He said to himself, shaking his head as he wrenched your legs back down and pinned you better.

A rebuttal began to form in your mind, but it was erased when the older man leaned back down to your soaked panties and licked a long strip from the bottom of your clothed slit to your clit, and you couldn’t contain the loud whine that escaped you. You were throbbing with need, and you knew he could feel it by how cocky he was. You started to imagine your revenge on him and how fun it would be to strap him down to a bed and toy with him until he was begging you-

Albert softened his grip on you ever so slightly, but it was only because he was now dead focused on the sweet treat in his mouth; he knew you weren’t going anywhere. He had you. Al let his spit drench your underwear as he licked and sucked at you until he could clearly see your outline, then he took one thick finger, and caught the edge of your panties and pulled them to the side. The cool air hit you, and you flinched ever so slightly, but a moan caught in your throat when he dove in tenfold. He latched onto your puffy clit and sucked his warm lips around it. Your hips began to rock up into his mouth as he ate you, getting that much needed friction that had your orgasm climbing fast.

As if understanding your every high-pitched whine like a language, Albert now toyed with the idea of stopping and leaving you there. Just to see what you would do. Would you kill him? Go on a rampage? Report him for a crime just to get him locked away in a nice cell? Become a shell of yourself? But if he was honest, hearing you cry out for him so needily was going straight to his groin and ego, and he was thoroughly enjoying both.

He delved his warm tongue inside your cunt, and lapped at your slick that coated his mouth. Your legs began to twitch, and Al quickly returned to gently licking and sucking at your clit. He wanted you to cum. He was proving a point, and fucking you every way he saw fit was one way of doing it.

You could feel your vision starting to blur as your senses overwhelmed you. Your skin felt all hot and that tension in your navel was growing so fast you felt disconnected from your bones. You cried out when you felt two thick fingers slip inside you to the knuckle, and press up against that sensitive spot inside you, and before you could think, your legs were shaking and you let go.

Your hips bucked up against him as you came, riding out the immense pleasure that surged through you as you constricted around his fingers and wet his latched mouth. It didn’t even have time to slip him a snark remarks before you were cumming for him.

It took a few minutes before Albert slowly eased off of you, and watched as you laid there in a dazed lull. You looked so serene and docile. The gap in your aggression was to his advantage as he crawled over you and caged your body with his. You could feel his chest against yours- heavy and expanding as he breathed in excitement.

He had you.

You slowly came back to your body when you heard his belt jingle as he worked it open with one hand. Albert watched you intently as he almost tore his pants open, and palmed himself needily - not able to wait to take himself out. Then, you felt him lean away, and his hands took yours, and you watched lazily as he guided you to the waistband of his underwear.

“C’mon…take daddy out, kiddo.” He rasped, fighting to keep his breathing controlled.

You stared up at him and nodded hazily and slowly groped at his cock as you slipped your hand into his pants and gripped his shaft. The thickness sobered you a little, and made you clench around nothing in anticipation. You didn’t waste anymore time in pulling him free from his pants, and it seemed Al was not about to waste time with removing any more of his clothes before getting inside you.

The older man wrapped a hand around yours and guided you to stroke him, slowly rocking into your touch as the tip weeped unabashedly. You watched the pre-cum dribble down onto your intertwined fingers and you began to salivate.

“Enough.” He snipped and took your hand away before almost collapsing onto you; his forearms bracing him up as his chest crushed you. You could feel him slick the fat tip against your sensitive clit, and you were about to curse at him when he suddenly stuffed it inside your little cunt. Air caught in your throat at the stretch, but Albert didn’t seem to care as he started to rut- pushing and pulling as he forced your body to get accustomed to his cock. Your body flushed and your arms wrapped around his wide shoulders as he bullied his way inside you.

Thoughts began to leave your body as his veiny shaft stroked against your g-spot, and his tummy rubbed your clit. You were helpless to the sudden build up of another orgasm as he squished up against your cervix and rooted himself inside you. It was like he belong there. As he went to pull out, you sobbed into his shoulder, and he halted when he felt your body tighten around him; almost forcing him out as you gripped him like a vice. Overstimulation wracked your body but you couldn’t bring yourself to push at him.

You moaned and babbled in his ear as he slowly started to move again- using your tightness to his greedy advantage.

“Im-I’m- ah! Please- I’m- I can’t- fu-fuck…daddy I can’t-I-“ it was nonsense, and Al swallowed it up as he latched his mouth over yours and fucked it with his tongue down your throat. You cried and whined and shook and clenched, and he didn’t dare stop. The older man released your hips and grabbed at your thighs as he wrenched them up to your chest and pressed them down, forcing out most of the air in your lungs as he mounted you.

And you let him.

“H-hurry daddy-“ you whined in his ear weakly.

He chuckled breathlessly.

“God you’re so fucked in the head princess…” he grunted as he started rabbiting inside you like a man possessed.

You couldn’t talk even if you wanted to. You could only cry out like a bitch in heat. Neither of you cared if your neighbours heard you. To hell with them. You could deal with the disapproving stares in the morning, but you couldn’t deal with it if this old fuck didn’t cum in you at least once that night.

Al pulled away from you to look down at where his cock fucked your body. His fingernails were leaving grooves in your flesh, and you hoped they would last as long as the bruises surly would. You hoped you would hurt more than last time.

He was entranced by the large bulge that formed under your skin as his cock would slip inside you fully- you tummy distending around the girth. You stared up at him, and felt your heart throb at the sight of him.

Al would never get tired of the sight before him. If he was honest, since that alleyway, he was hooked on how you looked when you came. Your sounds, how you shook, how you babbled and grabbed at him. Which was why he felt sick seeing some other man feeling you up.

That memory alone had his energy return with a vengeance.

He hunkered over you as his thrusts became sporadic and harder. His hot breath fanned over your shoulder as he bit into you again, sucking the skin into his mouth as he stuffed himself inside you one more time before you felt your tummy grow warm. Al squished the fat tip of his cock up against your bruised cervix as it throbbed while he came. His thick cum filled your little cunt, flooding it until it was too much, and it started to squeeze out the sides where he plugged you. It dripped down your ass and onto the floor into a puddle under you. Spurt after spurt of cum he filled you.

You felt all tingly and exhausted once he finally relaxed, and his weight settles into you. You were in such a daze, but somehow your mouths found eachother in the dark, and his tongue slipped against yours as you ground against each other.

His point was made. You belonged to him.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

@ethanhoewke @honeycovered-bandaids @dancingisdangerouss @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @theroadreader2 @lxdyred @eth1calcannibal @ebiemidnightlibrarian @katehawke @blep-bloop @ratpackash @darkvoidz @belladonnaaura @pecter-specter @samhainrain @turtle-boris @abra1dabra

#ethan hawke #the grabber #albert shaw #albert shaw x reader #the grabber x reader #the black phone #slasher x reader #slasher horror #happy together #the black phone fanfiction

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ilovemilestellersmoustache · 9 days ago

Text

The Tortured Poets Department

Charlie Dalton x Reader

Summary: You and Charlie were always more than just friends too bad Charlies too scared to admit it

Word Count: 9K

The cave loomed before her, its entrance bathed in soft shadows, while faint candlelight flickered from deep within. Y/N paused at the threshold, the cool night air brushing against her skin. The sounds of voices—laughter, snippets of poetry, and the occasional hushed murmur—floated out to her like a familiar melody. This place had always been her refuge, ever since Neil Perry had taken the chance and brought her into the fold. It wasn’t her school, and the legacy wasn’t hers to claim, but it didn’t matter. The poets had welcomed her as one of their own, and the cave had become her home in ways she hadn’t expected.

She shifted her weight, her fingers lightly brushing the rough surface of the stone. Inside, the group’s energy ebbed and flowed, alive with creativity and rebellion, each voice adding its own spark to the mix. This wasn’t just a gathering; it was freedom—the kind of freedom she could never find elsewhere. The words spoken here carried weight, every verse and line a quiet act of defiance against the world that tried to confine them.

And yet, as much as the society itself meant to her, there was one reason she couldn’t stay away. Charlie Dalton. He was the storm in this quiet sanctuary, the wild streak in the poetry, and the wildfire she could never ignore. His laughter rang out now, sharp and unrestrained, a sound that seemed to carry all the mischief and thrill he lived for. It sent a shiver through her, one that was as much anticipation as it was nervous energy.

Charlie had always been different. Where the others found solace in the safety of their words, he turned his into challenges. He pushed boundaries, dared authority, and refused to let anyone dictate who he should be. And yet, beneath that wild energy, there was something else—a passion, a brilliance, and a vulnerability he rarely showed. It was that combination that had drawn her in from the beginning, that kept her coming back to the cave night after night.

Her eyes scanned the group as she stepped inside, the soft glow of candlelight illuminating familiar faces. They turned to greet her with warm smiles and knowing glances, but her focus was already fixed. She found him easily—Charlie always had a way of standing out, even in the dim light. He sat perched on a rock near the back, his unruly hair catching the flicker of the candles as he gestured animatedly, no doubt telling a story or reciting a verse.

He noticed her almost instantly, his grin widening as their eyes met. That grin—so full of life, so full of trouble—sent her pulse racing. For all his chaos, for all the ways he drove her mad with his recklessness, Charlie Dalton had a gravity she couldn’t escape. And she didn’t want to. With his untamed energy and mischievous grin, had a way of drawing her in like no one else ever could. He was a wildfire, dangerous and beautiful, and she couldn’t help but get burned.

Y/N sank into her usual spot, the cold, uneven surface of the rock grounding her as Knox animatedly recounted the details of his latest victory: finally winning over Chris. His enthusiasm was infectious, and the group roared their approval, clapping him on the back and offering exaggerated toasts to his triumph. Y/N joined in with a soft smile, genuinely happy for him, but the ache in her chest persisted—a familiar weight she could never quite shake in moments like this.

Her eyes drifted across the flickering circle, landing on Charlie. He was sprawled out on his back, one arm tucked behind his head and the other holding a cigarette loosely between his fingers. The lazy grin on his face was pure Charlie—reckless, confident, and entirely at ease, like he had the world in the palm of his hand. He caught her staring and winked, a quick, casual gesture that set her pulse racing and her stomach twisting into knots. How did he do that? How did he always make her feel like the only girl in the room, even when he wasn’t trying? Even when he was chasing someone else?

She averted her gaze, biting down on the corner of her lip as Knox’s story came to an end. The group shifted seamlessly back to their poetry, the warm, familiar cadence of voices reading aloud by candlelight filling the cave once again. But no matter how she tried, Y/N couldn’t focus on the words. Her mind was elsewhere, drawn back to the boy across the circle—the boy who drove her mad in ways no one else could.

They weren’t together. Not officially, anyway. But sometimes, it felt like they were. The stolen glances, the late-night whispers, the way he sprawled across her lap during their quiet moments, tracing lazy patterns on her arm—it all blurred the lines. It was more than friendship, but less than certainty. And it was slowly tearing her apart.

Charlie was a flirt—always had been, probably always would be. His charm was magnetic, his boldness impossible to ignore. He’d flirt with anyone, and he made it look so effortless. It didn’t matter if it was a fleeting smile, a well-placed joke, or an offhand compliment—he always knew exactly what to say to leave people wanting more. Sometimes, that person was her. And sometimes, it wasn’t.

Her chest tightened at the thought, her smile faltering. Who else holds him like I do? she wondered bitterly. Who else deciphers the chaos behind his smirk, sees the cracks he hides so well? Who else knows him, if not me?

But knowing him wasn’t enough. Not when he turned those same grins and careless winks to anyone who crossed his path. Not when his attention, so intoxicating when it was hers, could so easily shift to someone else. It was a cruel game, one she wasn’t sure she wanted to keep playing—but one she couldn’t bring herself to quit.

The Summer Before, the memory came to her unbidden, vivid as if it had happened yesterday. Pulling her back to a warm August evening that felt like a lifetime ago. It was the last stretch of summer, the kind that tasted of freedom and endings all at once. The school year loomed just over the horizon, but for one fleeting day, none of it mattered.

She had spent the afternoon at the Dalton house, sprawled across Charlie’s bed as sunlight streamed through the half-drawn blinds, painting the room in a muted gold. The air was thick and lazy, and she’d made herself comfortable while he disappeared downstairs, claiming he needed to “liberate” something from his father’s liquor cabinet. His room was unmistakably his—a cluttered chaos of books, vinyl records, crumpled clothes, and scrawled notes on scraps of paper. It smelled faintly of cigarettes and cologne, a scent she could still recall with aching clarity.

When Charlie returned, triumphant and grinning, he carried two mismatched glasses and a bottle of whiskey. “The finest my old man has to offer,” he declared with a mock bow, pouring them each a generous measure. The whiskey burned her throat, making her cough and wince, but she drank it anyway, unwilling to let him see her flinch.

The hours passed in a haze of conversation and laughter. They dissected song lyrics like philosophers, debated poets like scholars, and mocked their own pretentiousness until they were doubled over with laughter.

“We’re not Patti Smith and Dylan Thomas, you know,” she teased, lying back against the pillows. Her fingers trailed absently over the worn quilt on his bed, the fabric soft and familiar under her touch. “This isn’t the Chelsea Hotel.”

Charlie snorted, settling beside her with a cigarette dangling from his lips. “We’re modern idiots,” he agreed, his voice warm and full of mischief. In his other hand, he clutched a half-eaten chocolate bar, and she watched as he absentmindedly alternated between taking a bite and flicking his lighter open and closed.

The afternoon melted into evening, the air cooling as the golden light gave way to a soft, dusky glow. Somewhere between their debates about the superiority of punk rock versus jazz and their shared musings about life’s absurdities, Charlie’s head found its way to her lap. She didn’t question it, didn’t hesitate, only smoothed his unruly hair with gentle fingers. His hair was soft, messier than usual, and tickled her skin when he shifted. He was unusually quiet now, his endless energy dimming as the day wore on.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice low and almost drowsy. The cigarette in his mouth bobbed slightly as he spoke, his words slurring just enough to reveal how tired he was. “You get me, you know that? Like, really get me.”

Her hand froze for a moment, mid-motion, as her heart stumbled in her chest. The simplicity of the statement caught her off guard. Charlie wasn’t one for heartfelt confessions, at least not ones that felt this raw, this real. She opened her mouth to respond, her mind scrambling for something to match the weight of his words, something that would let him know she felt the same. But before she could speak, his eyes slipped closed, the cigarette still loosely balanced between his fingers.

She eased it from his grasp and crushed it in the ashtray beside the bed, watching as his breathing evened out. His face was so different like this—peaceful, unguarded. Vulnerable in a way he rarely let anyone see. She stayed there for hours, running her fingers through his hair, memorizing every detail of the moment, knowing she’d carry it with her long after the summer faded.

That night became a part of her, etched into her memory like an old photograph—beautiful, bittersweet, and impossible to let go.

Sitting in the cave now, the air thick with candle smoke and murmured poetry, Y/N’s thoughts swirled like restless waves. She stared at the flickering light on the walls, trying to make sense of the ache in her chest. The cycle with Charlie—the stolen moments, the blurred lines, the lingering looks that promised everything but delivered nothing—was wearing her down. It felt like chasing shadows, reaching for something just beyond her grasp.

She’d thought about walking away more times than she could count. Maybe if she distanced herself, the pain of wanting more than he was willing to give would finally subside. Maybe the hollow ache that followed her home after nights like this would stop gnawing at her. The idea of pulling away, of reclaiming her peace, had a kind of seductive appeal. But just as quickly as the thought came, it unraveled, replaced by the fear of what that distance might mean—for her, for him, for whatever fragile connection they shared.

Her resolve had wavered countless times, but there was one moment that kept her tethered, one confession she hadn’t been able to forget. It had come from Meeks, of all people, on a night when the Dead Poets Society had celebrated a little too freely. She remembered the slurred edges of his words, the glassy look in his eyes as he leaned toward her, his sincerity cutting through the haze of whiskey and laughter.

“Charlie told me once,” Meeks had said, his voice low and unsteady, “if you ever left, he wouldn’t know what to do.”

The words had stunned her, slicing through her doubts like a blade. She’d pressed him for more, her pulse racing, but he’d only shrugged, as if it was the most obvious truth in the world. At the time, she’d dismissed it as drunken rambling, a loose thread of half-truths spun in the moment. But the memory had lingered, replaying itself in her mind over and over, as vivid and persistent as a song she couldn’t shake.

It had become an ember she couldn’t extinguish, no matter how much it hurt to keep it alive. It burned quietly in the back of her mind, a stubborn flicker of hope that refused to die. What if Meeks had been right? What if there was more to Charlie’s carelessness, his charm, his aloofness than she’d let herself believe? What if, behind the easy grins and bold declarations, he was just as lost as she was?

The possibility both thrilled and terrified her. Because if it was true, if there was something real beneath all the layers Charlie used to keep the world at bay, then leaving wouldn’t just be an escape. It would be a betrayal of something fragile, something she wasn’t sure either of them knew how to name. And if it wasn’t true? If she was clinging to a hope that didn’t exist? Then she’d only be prolonging the inevitable heartbreak.

The uncertainty was maddening, but still, she stayed. Still, she waited. Still, she burned.

The breaking point came a week later, during one of those evenings that felt deceptively ordinary. Charlie had invited her over, as he so often did, and they sat across from each other at the long, polished dining table, the soft clinking of silverware filling the spaces between their laughter. The Dalton house had always felt cold, more like a museum than a home, but Charlie’s presence had a way of softening the edges, making it bearable.

His parents barely acknowledged them, as usual. His father sat at the head of the table, eyes buried in a newspaper, while his mother moved in and out of the room, her focus elsewhere. It was always like this—a hollow kind of civility that Charlie seemed determined to fill with his wit and charm. Y/N had grown used to it, though it never stopped tugging at her heart. She knew how much he hated the emptiness of it all, even if he never said so outright.

They bantered easily, trading jokes and teasing each other like they always did. For a while, it was enough to keep her grounded, to remind her why she stayed, why she kept coming back even when it hurt. But then, in a moment so casual it felt almost unintentional, everything shifted.

Charlie reached beside her, his fingers brushing hers as he picked up her hand. His touch was light, almost absentminded, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Her breath caught as he toyed with the ring on her finger, sliding it off and holding it up to the light with a mock-critical eye.

“Nice ring,” he said, his voice smooth and teasing, though there was an edge of something else beneath it. Mischief, maybe, or something quieter, harder to define.

He slid the ring onto his own finger, grinning as he wiggled it in the air. “Think it suits me?” he asked, his tone light, though his gaze lingered on her in a way that made her stomach flip. Before she could answer, he pulled it off again and reached for her hand. This time, he slipped it back onto her finger, but not where it had been. Instead, he placed it on her left hand, on finger one reserved for promises neither of them had made.

Y/N froze, her heart lurching into her throat as she stared down at the ring. It gleamed faintly in the soft light, impossibly small but suddenly heavy. Her pulse pounded in her ears as she looked back up at Charlie, searching for some kind of explanation.

He didn’t offer one. Instead, he smirked, his thumb brushing lazily against her knuckles, the gesture so casual it felt almost dismissive. But his eyes… his eyes held something else entirely. A flicker of something she couldn’t name.

Her heart exploded in that moment, a chaotic mess of hope and despair that left her breathless. Did he even realize what he was doing to her? Did he have any idea how much weight that single action carried, how it sent her thoughts spiraling in every direction?

It was Charlie in his purest form—effortless, infuriating, and entirely unaware of the havoc he wreaked on her heart. Or worse, maybe he did know. Maybe he knew exactly what he was doing, and he just didn’t care. The thought made her chest tighten, the ache of uncertainty threatening to swallow her whole.

Y/N didn’t make the decision all at once. It wasn’t a grand epiphany or a sudden resolve to cut Charlie out of her life entirely. Instead, it came in quiet moments, in the spaces between his laughter and her silence. It was the ache in her chest after nights spent waiting for something more, the hollow feeling that lingered after he turned his charm to someone else. Slowly, she began to pull away—not enough for anyone to notice at first, but enough to protect herself.

It started the next time he tried to sprawl across her lap during one of their quieter gatherings in the cave. Normally, she would have let him, her hands instinctively finding their way into his unruly hair. This time, she shifted slightly, leaning forward just enough to make the gesture awkward. He paused mid-movement, a flicker of confusion crossing his face before he laughed it off, settling against the rock beside her instead.

“You’re getting stingy with the lap space, Y/N,” he teased, shooting her that boyish grin that used to undo her. She forced a laugh, light and unbothered, and Knox jumped in with a joke that shifted the group’s attention. She was grateful for the distraction, even as she felt Charlie’s gaze linger on her a second too long.

She didn’t stop coming to the cave, didn’t stop sitting beside him during meetings. That would have raised questions, drawn attention she didn’t want. But she started drawing boundaries—subtle ones that only she noticed at first. When his fingers brushed hers, she pulled away just a little too soon. When his touch lingered on her arm or her shoulder, she found excuses to move, to shift her focus elsewhere. She stopped letting him hold her gaze for too long, stopped answering his teasing remarks with the same soft warmth she once had. Her responses grew neutral, her smiles polite but distant, her laughter quieter, less personal.

The hardest part was changing the way she spoke to him. She started to choose her words more carefully, deliberately moving their conversations away from the intimate territory they’d once inhabited. She spoke to him the way she spoke to Knox, or Neil, or Meeks—warm but friendly, never crossing the line into something more. When he teased her, she teased back, but the softness in her tone was gone. When he leaned in close, whispering some private joke just for her, she pulled back, laughing lightly but keeping the space between them.

Charlie noticed, of course. He wasn’t oblivious, even if he sometimes pretended to be. At first, he brushed it off with jokes, playfully calling her “cold-hearted” or “aloof.” But as the days turned into weeks, his remarks grew sharper, edged with a frustration he didn’t bother to hide.

One evening, after the group had dispersed and the boys were walking back toward Welton, her the other way, he finally called her out.

“You’ve been weird lately,” he said, his voice more serious than she’d expected. He shoved his hands into his pockets, his steps slower than usual as they walked side by side.

“Weird?” she asked, feigning confusion. “How so?”

He stopped, turning to face her. The dim light from the nearby lamppost cast shadows across his face, making his expression harder to read. “Don’t play dumb, Y/N,” he said, his tone softer now, almost pleading. “You’re pulling away. I can feel it.”

Her stomach twisted at the raw honesty in his voice, but she held her ground. “I’m not pulling away,” she said, keeping her tone even. “I’m just... trying to make things easier. For both of us.”

“Easier?” He frowned, his brows knitting together in confusion. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means,” she began, taking a steadying breath, “that I think we need to set some boundaries. Clear ones. You’re my friend, Charlie. That’s all we’ve ever been, and that’s all we’ll ever be.”

Her words hung in the air between them, heavy and final. She saw the flicker of hurt in his eyes, quickly masked by a smirk that didn’t quite reach his usual bravado.

“Boundaries, huh?” he said, his voice tight with forced humor. “Didn’t realize you were such a rule-follower, Y/N.”

“I’m not,” she said quietly. “But I can’t keep doing this—not when it feels like I’m the only one who doesn’t know where we stand.”

His smirk faltered, and for a moment, she thought he might argue, might try to convince her to stay. But then he shrugged, his usual nonchalance sliding back into place like armor. “Whatever you say,” he said, turning and walking ahead without another word.

She stood there for a long time after he disappeared into the night, the ache in her chest sharper than it had ever been. But this time, it wasn’t unbearable. This time, she felt the faintest stirrings of relief beneath the pain—relief that she’d finally taken a step toward reclaiming her heart, even if it meant leaving part of it behind.

The shift was palpable, and everyone in the Dead Poets Society felt it. Where Y/N and Charlie had once been inseparable, now there was only a careful, deliberate distance. She no longer sat beside him in the cave. Instead, she found a spot near Knox or Neil, her focus firmly on the poetry or the discussions at hand. She laughed with the others, joked with them, even debated them—but with Charlie, there was only silence.

Charlie didn’t handle it well.

At first, he tried to keep things normal, filling the gap with his usual charm. He’d toss jokes her way, flash his signature grin, lean casually in her direction as though daring her to ignore him. But when her responses came clipped and polite, or worse, not at all, he started retreating too. His jokes turned sharper, tinged with bitterness he didn’t bother to hide. When she ignored those, he stopped trying altogether.

The quiet between them wasn’t hostile—it wasn’t anything at all. It was the absence of everything they’d once shared, and that was worse than any argument could have been. The others noticed, of course, though none of them dared to bring it up directly. Neil, ever the peacekeeper, occasionally tried to draw them both into group conversations, but it always ended awkwardly, with Y/N excusing herself early or Charlie storming off. Knox exchanged worried glances with Meeks and Pitts, but even they didn’t know how to fix something that had already fallen apart.

One evening, as the group gathered in the cave for another meeting, the tension came to a head. Y/N sat near Neil, her notebook open in her lap, the candlelight casting soft shadows across her face. Charlie was at the far end of the circle, sprawled on the ground with a cigarette dangling from his lips. He wasn’t paying attention to the poetry being read, his eyes instead fixed on her, unrelenting and unreadable.

She felt his gaze but refused to look up, her focus firmly on the poem Neil was reciting. Her heart beat faster, her pulse loud in her ears, but she forced herself to stay composed. This was what she’d chosen—distance, clarity, self-preservation—and she wasn’t going to backtrack now.

When Neil finished reading, the group broke into soft applause, and the conversation turned to the next meeting’s plans. Charlie stayed silent, which was unusual enough that it drew attention. Knox nudged him lightly, murmuring something she couldn’t hear, but Charlie only shook his head, his expression dark.

Finally, he broke the silence. “So, what? We’re just pretending this is fine?” he asked, his voice cutting through the chatter like a blade.

The group froze, everyone turning to look at him.

“Charlie,” Neil said cautiously, “what are you talking about?”

Charlie’s eyes stayed locked on Y/N. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

She felt the weight of his words like a physical blow, but she refused to rise to it. She closed her notebook slowly, meeting his gaze with a calm she didn’t feel. “This isn’t the time or place for whatever you’re trying to start,” she said evenly.

“Isn’t it?” he shot back, sitting up now, his cigarette forgotten. “Because it seems like you’ve been avoiding this conversation for weeks. Or avoiding me, more like.”

The others exchanged uncomfortable glances, clearly unsure whether to intervene or let it play out.

“I’m not avoiding anything,” Y/N said, her voice firm. “We’ve already talked about this, Charlie. There’s nothing left to say.”

His laugh was bitter, humorless. “Nothing left to say? That’s rich, coming from you. You used to never shut up around me.”

“That was before,” she said softly, her tone steady despite the ache in her chest. “Before I realized I needed to step back. For my own sake.”

“For your sake,” he repeated, the words laced with disbelief. “And what about my sake, huh? Did you ever think about that?”

Her composure wavered for a moment, but she held her ground. “You don’t even like me like that, Charlie,” she said quietly. “You never have. And I can’t keep letting myself believe otherwise.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Charlie stared at her, his jaw tight, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. For a moment, she thought he might argue, might try to tear down the walls she’d built around herself. But then he laughed again, low and bitter, and stood abruptly.

“Fine,” he said, his voice cold. “If that’s how you feel, I won’t bother anymore.”

He turned and walked out of the cave without another word, his footsteps echoing in the stillness. The group sat frozen, the tension lingering like smoke in the air.

Y/N exhaled slowly, her hands trembling slightly as she clutched her notebook to her chest. She could feel the others’ eyes on her, their unspoken questions heavy with concern, but she didn’t have the energy to explain. Instead, she stood and followed the path Charlie had taken—not to chase him, but to leave the cave entirely.

Outside, the cool night air hit her like a balm, soothing the raw edges of her emotions. She looked up at the stars, their distant light a stark contrast to the turmoil in her heart. She’d done what she needed to do, what she should have done months ago.

So why did it feel like she’d lost something she could never get back?

Y/N, once a vibrant and steady presence among the group, had grown quieter, more reserved. She still came to the meetings, still participated in the discussions and laughed at the jokes, but something in her had pulled inward. She became deliberate, careful, every word she spoke measured and free of vulnerability. It was as though she’d wrapped herself in armor, impenetrable and unyielding.

Charlie, on the other hand, was chaos. His laughter was louder, his jokes sharper, his need for attention almost desperate. He’d started flirting more—brazenly, recklessly—with anyone who would entertain him. Girls from other schools, waitresses at the diner, even strangers at the train station. It wasn’t subtle, and it wasn’t lost on the boys, who exchanged worried glances every time he sauntered into the cave smelling faintly of perfume and cigarettes, a cocky grin plastered on his face.

“Where’ve you been, Dalton?” Neil asked one evening when Charlie arrived halfway through their meeting, his tie loosened and his shirt rumpled.

Charlie shrugged, leaning lazily against the cave wall. “Busy,” he said with a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You know me—always finding trouble.”

The others laughed uneasily, but Y/N didn’t look up from her notebook. She could feel his eyes on her, searching for some reaction, but she gave him nothing. Her pen moved steadily across the page, her posture calm and detached.

“You’ve missed three meetings this month,” Neil pressed, his tone gentle but firm. “That’s not like you.”

Charlie scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “Relax, Captain. Poetry isn’t going anywhere.”

“Neither is your mess,” Meeks muttered under his breath, earning a nudge from Pitts.

Y/N’s chest tightened, but she didn’t lift her gaze. This was what she’d wanted, wasn’t it? Distance. Separation. A clear, definitive line between them. She had no right to feel hurt by the way he threw himself into distractions, just as he had no right to demand anything more from her. They were nothing but friends now—or less than that, perhaps. Just two people occupying the same space, their connection unraveling thread by thread.

But Charlie was unraveling in his own way, too.

He stopped coming to the meetings altogether for a while, and when he did show up, it was always late, his energy frayed and restless. The easy charm that had once defined him now felt like a mask, a shield he wielded to deflect attention from the cracks forming beneath the surface. The boys tried to pull him back in, tried to anchor him, but Charlie only laughed and brushed them off, his bravado growing more transparent with each passing day.

And Y/N… she stayed silent.

She didn’t ask where he went or who he was with. She didn’t press him to stay when he left early or try to fill the space he left behind. She told herself it wasn’t her place, that this was the natural progression of the distance she’d chosen. But late at night, when the meetings were over and the others had gone home, she’d lie awake replaying every moment in her mind—the sharpness in his voice, the emptiness in his laughter, the way his eyes lingered on her even when he pretended not to care.

It wasn’t until one particularly quiet night in the cave that the weight of it all came crashing down. The group was smaller than usual—just Neil, Knox, Pitts, and Y/N. The absence of Charlie’s energy was stark, the silence stretching long between recitations.

“Have any of you talked to him?” Neil asked finally, his voice low.

Pitts shook his head. “He’s… distracted, I guess.”

“More like self-destructive,” Knox muttered, earning a sharp glance from Neil.

“What are we supposed to do?” Pitts asked, his tone heavy with resignation. “He won’t listen to us.”

The conversation hung in the air, fragile and unresolved. Y/N didn’t speak, her gaze fixed on the flickering candlelight. She knew the boys were looking at her, waiting for her to say something, but what could she offer? She’d made her choice. She’d drawn her lines.

She told herself it wasn’t her responsibility to fix him.

And yet, as the meeting ended and the others began to pack up, Y/N found herself lingering, her notebook forgotten in her lap. She didn’t know what she was waiting for—an answer, a sign, or maybe just the courage to admit that no amount of distance could stop her from caring.

Because for all the defenses she’d built, for all the ways she’d tried to let him go, one truth remained: she wasn’t sure she could.

Charlie had always been the one who could keep his cool, who could laugh off anything and never let the weight of the world get to him. But now, as the boys confronted him, his carefully constructed walls were crumbling. They found him in his room that day, pacing back and forth, looking more disheveled than any of them had ever seen him. His eyes were bloodshot, his usually perfect hair was messy, and there was a distinct emptiness to his movements.

“Charlie,” Neil started, his voice firm but gentle, “this isn’t you. You’ve been avoiding us. Avoiding everything.”

“I’m fine,” Charlie muttered, brushing a hand through his hair in frustration, as if trying to push the emotions down. “I’m fine. Leave me alone.”

But the boys weren’t buying it anymore. They had seen it for weeks—the cracks in his facade. It wasn’t just about missing meetings. It was the way he was drowning in distraction, pushing everyone away. And they all knew why.

“You’re not fine, man,” Pitts added, his voice hard with concern. “We’ve seen how you’ve been acting. You’re hurting. You’re pushing Y/N away, and you’re not talking about it.”

At that, Charlie’s expression darkened. “Don’t bring her into this,” he snapped, his fists tightening. But it was clear the mention of Y/N hit a nerve, and Charlie couldn’t mask the raw frustration that bubbled up inside of him. “I don’t get it, okay? I don’t get why I didn’t just make it official, why I danced around it for so long. I liked her. I always did...”

His voice faltered. He sank onto the edge of his bed, his hands in his lap, staring down at the floor as though trying to find some sense of direction. “I kept thinking she would stick around, that it would just work itself out somehow. And now she’s gone, and I’ve got no one to blame but myself.”

The boys exchanged uneasy glances, each of them uncomfortable with seeing their friend so broken, but it was clear that Charlie needed to hear this. He needed to hear what they were all thinking, needed to confront the reality of what he had done.

“You can’t just shut people out, Charlie,” Knox said, stepping forward with his usual calm voice but a hard edge to it. “You can’t keep running from your feelings. You had something real with her, and you messed it up. But you’re not beyond fixing things.”

Charlie didn’t respond right away. He just stared at the floor, the weight of it all pressing down on him. Finally, he mumbled, “I don’t even know if she’d want to fix it. I didn’t do anything, anything right. I just... I didn’t make it real. I let it slip away, and now she’s gone.”

He collapsed back onto the bed, his voice breaking as he admitted what he couldn’t say before. “I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t even know if I deserve to.”

The boys stood around him, all of them unsure of what to say. But Neil finally spoke, his voice softer than before. “You don’t fix things by running away, Charlie. You show up. You make it right. And maybe, just maybe, she’ll meet you halfway. But you have to do the work.”

Charlie’s gaze softened slightly, but he couldn’t shake the heavy weight in his chest. He had lost her. It felt final. And the thought of walking into that silence, of confronting the mess he had made, terrified him. But the boys wouldn’t let him off the hook. Not this time.

A few days later, Charlie started showing up to meetings again, his presence there a little less chaotic, a little less desperate. He was still messy, still a little broken, but there was an attempt to pull himself together. He threw himself into the work, into the distractions. But each time he looked around, there was something missing. And it wasn’t just his usual spark; it was her.

Y/N wasn’t at the meetings anymore.

At first, Charlie assumed it was just an off day. But then the days turned into weeks. Others tried calling her, but the replies were few and far between. She didn’t show up at the hangouts, didn’t respond to calls. Slowly, the silence between them grew louder.

He didn’t understand it. He hadn’t expected her to come running back, but he had hoped—hoped—that she would at least reach out. That she would be there. But she wasn’t. She had distanced herself completely.

The boys had no answers either. She was simply gone.

But Charlie couldn’t just sit idly by, pretending like everything was fine. He missed her. He missed her laugh, the way she used to tease him, how everything seemed lighter when she was around. He hadn’t known what he had until it was too late.

Still no sign of her. It was as if she had vanished into thin air. Charlie felt it in the pit of his stomach, the gnawing emptiness that had begun to fill the space where her smile used to be. He had lost his chance.

Meanwhile, Y/N was going through her own quiet spiral. Cutting off contact with the boys had been easier than she expected. She and Charlie no longer shared the same circles, and the distance between them felt... necessary. The absence of Charlie in her life was heavy, but it was also a relief. She had needed space, needed time to reclaim herself after everything had fallen apart. The constant reminders of him, the brief, desperate calls she couldn’t bring herself to answer, were all too much.

She didn’t show up to meetings, didn’t respond to group invitations. The boys didn’t know what to think, but they knew Y/N had made up her mind.

It hurt. It hurt more than anything she had ever felt before. But it was the only way she could breathe again.

Y/N’s mind had been racing for weeks. Every moment of silence, every unanswered call, every time she passed by their usual hangouts, it was like a weight on her chest. She had let go of so many things to protect herself from the fallout. But deep down, she couldn’t stop questioning everything. Maybe I’m the childish one—the thought had haunted her.

She couldn’t focus anymore. Her grades were slipping, her friends at school barely knew her, and the loneliness kept seeping in like an endless tide. She had lost more than just Charlie—she’d lost the version of herself that had been full of hope, that had been able to laugh through the awkwardness. Everything had been wrapped in him, and now that he wasn’t there, she felt like she was floating in a sea of nothing.

She couldn’t help but replay everything. Their late-night talks, the stolen glances, the laughter... but the part that stung the most was that she hadn’t gotten the closure she needed. She had cut off all contact, telling herself that it was the only way to move forward, but it had come at a cost. The truth was, she had never stopped loving him.

But moving was the final step. It felt like the only way out. Another prep school, in a different state, far enough from everything to finally heal—or at least, to try to. She hoped that the distance would give her space to breathe, to find herself again without the constant reminder of a love she couldn’t have.

Packing up her things felt surreal. It was like she was closing the door on so much more than just a school—she was leaving behind the girl who had once laughed with Charlie, the girl who had dreamed of what they could have been. She didn’t know if she’d ever be able to go back, to talk to him again. But she had to do it. She had to move on.

Still, as she looked at the empty room, the reality of what she was doing hit her. She couldn’t deny it—leaving him behind didn’t stop her from still caring. And maybe, just maybe, it didn’t stop him from thinking of her too.

But for now, she was going to face the next chapter alone, hoping that the distance would help her forget the pain and allow her to rebuild herself from the pieces left behind. She didn’t know how long it would take or if she’d ever fully heal, but the decision was made. She had to move on, even if it meant leaving everything behind.

The moving van was parked outside the gates of the all-girls prep school, a stark reminder that Y/N was leaving. It had been a quiet afternoon, most students still milling about after classes. The air was heavy with the fading warmth of the day, and the bustle of Welton kids heading out was like a dull hum in the background. But there, on the far side of the field, Charlie stood frozen, his eyes locked on the scene unfolding before him.

Y/N’s parents were in the process of packing the last of her things into the van, a finality to the motion that seemed to pierce through the haze of everything else. Charlie’s chest tightened at the sight, his mind spiraling as his fingers ran through his already messy hair. His breath came out in short bursts, his heartbeat racing in anticipation.

What the hell am I doing?

He had been circling the field for what felt like hours, rehearsing his lines in his head. He had a plan, didn’t he? A speech. Something that would fix this mess he had made. He was supposed to be calm, collected. He was supposed to tell her everything—the truth about how he felt, how sorry he was, how much he wanted to make it right. But the more he practiced, the more the words seemed to slip through his fingers like smoke.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I should have told you how I felt rather than protecting my ego. I should have told you from the start that I was afraid of losing you... that I never meant to hurt you.”

It sounded so simple in his mind, but when it came to saying it out loud, it all felt so... impossible.

His eyes darted back to the van. It wasn’t just any van. It was the symbol of everything he was about to lose. Y/N was leaving, and he was just standing here, caught in his own head.

Why didn't I just tell her? Why did I wait so damn long?

His stomach churned with the realization that he hadn’t done enough. He had let her slip through his fingers. He’d taken too long to make up his mind, and now it felt like it was all slipping away, out of his reach, and he couldn't fix it in time.

His heart pounded as he moved closer to the edge of the field, his feet dragging like they were stuck in quicksand. He could see her parents now, their backs turned as they focused on the last few things to load up. Y/N wasn’t in sight, and that made everything worse. She wasn’t even there to hear him out, to let him try.

He reached the fence line and stopped, staring at the van. This is it. She’s leaving.

Charlie closed his eyes, shaking his head. He had to act. He had to move. There was no more time for hesitation.

And then, from the corner of his eye, he saw a figure approach—the unmistakable outline of Y/N. She was walking toward the van, her movements slow and deliberate. Every step she took made his chest tighten. He opened his mouth, but the words stuck, choked by the knot in his throat.

I can’t lose her. I won’t.

With a sudden burst of clarity, he pushed forward, determined to speak his truth before it was too late. As he crossed the field, the world around him seemed to slow, the sounds of laughter from other students fading into the background. There was only Y/N now, and the desperate need to make things right.

Charlie’s feet moved faster now, the space between him and the van growing smaller with each hurried step. His mind raced, the words he’d rehearsed countless times rushing through his head, but none of them felt right. He wasn’t prepared for this moment. He’d spent so long hiding behind jokes, distractions, and that perfect mask of arrogance, but now it was just him—raw, vulnerable, and completely terrified of what he was about to admit.

As he reached her, Y/N was just turning away from her parents, adjusting the strap of her bag. The moment she saw him, her expression faltered—just for a second—before the familiar walls went up, that guarded look he had become all too familiar with. It was that same look she’d been wearing ever since he’d distanced himself, ever since he'd messed everything up.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice breaking slightly as he approached her, stepping into her personal space without thinking. She paused, and for a brief, stupid second, he thought she might walk away again. But instead, she just stood there, silent, watching him with those unreadable eyes.

He swallowed hard, heart hammering in his chest. “I don’t know what I was thinking.” His voice was barely above a whisper, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “I’ve been an idiot, Y/N. And I’m so sorry for... all of it.”

Her eyes flickered, but she said nothing, and it pushed him to keep going, to explain what had been gnawing at him for so long.

“I’ve always loved you. I know that sounds insane,” he laughed bitterly, shaking his head, “but it’s the truth. I’ve always known. Even when I was with someone else, or when I was being an asshole and pretending I didn’t care, it was always you. I was just... scared, okay? I was scared to change what we had, scared that if I admitted it, it would ruin everything. You... you were always there for me, and I didn’t want to lose that. I didn’t want to mess it up.” He took a shaky breath, his gaze never leaving hers.

“I didn’t know how to deal with how I felt. So I pushed you away. And I got confused, and I lashed out.” His chest tightened, words getting harder to force out. “I was emotional. I didn't know how to handle it, how to handle you—what I wanted with you. I didn't know how to be the kind of person you deserve."

His hands, which had been shaking, curled into fists at his sides, but his eyes never left hers. "All I ever wanted was to be with you. But I kept screwing it up. And now, here you are, and I—" He stopped, frustrated. "I'm not good at this. But I need you to know, Y/N... I've loved you for so long. And I don't want you to go without knowing that."

His voice broke as the weight of it all hit him, all at once—the guilt, the pain of knowing he was losing her, and the overwhelming feeling of having waited too long.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered again, his throat tight, his heart aching with every word. “I don’t know why I waited. But it’s always been you. And if I lose you now... I don’t know how to fix it. I’m so in love with you, and I’m so scared.”

Y/N’s face was unreadable. For a moment, she said nothing, her gaze flickering between him and the van. Charlie’s chest tightened as the silence stretched between them, and he could feel his heart pounding so loud he was certain she could hear it. She slowly turned away.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” he said, each word feeling like it took all of his courage to speak, but it was the truth. “I don’t expect you to just forget everything and come running back, but you need to hear this, okay?”

She hesitated, her fingers gripping the strap of her bag, but she didn’t say anything.

“I’m not perfect,” Charlie continued, his voice thick with emotion, “I’ve never been perfect, and I was a damn fool to not see how much you meant to me. You were never just a ‘friend,’ and I know now that I’ve been holding onto something—stupid pride, fear of change, who knows—but it’s you. You’ve always been it for me. I was scared of what we could be, scared of losing you if I messed it up. But I messed it up anyway.”

Charlie’s breath hitched, his chest tightening as he took a step closer. “I’ve spent so much time telling myself I could move on, that I could just... distract myself with all this other nonsense. But no matter what I did, it was always you. Always.”

His voice softened, and now it was all that was left to say. “I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to be this person anymore—someone who hides from what he feels, someone who runs away from the one person who truly makes him feel like he belongs somewhere. Y/N, I know I don’t deserve another chance, but I’m asking you to let me prove to you that I’m ready to be with you. I want us. I want to try. I want you to know that this... us... this is real. It’s always been real.”

Y/N’s back was still turned, but Charlie could see the slight shift in her posture—the hesitation, the quiet battle inside her. And then, after a long pause, she slowly turned around, her eyes no longer as guarded, but still cautious. Her lips parted as if she were about to speak, but she didn’t.

Instead, she took a step closer, her gaze searching his. "Charlie, you hurt me," she said, her voice quieter now, not angry, just sad. "You made me feel like I was nothing more than an option, someone to keep around until you figured things out. I couldn’t just sit there waiting for you to wake up." Her words were heavy, but they held a sense of vulnerability that Charlie had never heard before.

He nodded slowly, his chest tightening at the honesty in her voice. "I know, and I’ll regret that for the rest of my life. But you don’t have to wait for me anymore. I’ve been waiting for you, Y/N. I’ve been waiting for us, for the right time, and I was wrong. I know I can’t change the past, but I want to be with you. I want to make it right. Please, let me try. Let us try."

Her eyes softened, just a little, but she took another step back, as if unsure. "I don’t know, Charlie. I can’t just go back to how things were. I can’t pretend it didn’t hurt."

"I don’t want to go back to what we were either," Charlie said quickly, his voice firm. "I want something real with you. Not games. Not confusion. I’m not asking for everything at once. I’m asking for a chance—just a chance to show you that I’m not the same person I was before." He paused, stepping forward. "I know we’re both scared. Hell, I’ve been terrified the whole time, but I’m not running anymore. I want to be with you. That’s all I know for sure."

She was silent for a moment, studying him, the conflict clear on her face. Charlie’s heart raced in his chest, the waiting unbearable.

And then, finally, she took a deep breath and smiled, just a little. Not the carefree, sarcastic smile he remembered from before, but something softer, more tentative. “You’ve got one chance, Charlie,” she said, her voice steady but warm. “One. Don’t make me regret it.”

Charlie felt something light and pure spread through him, like the weight of the world had finally lifted. He smiled, his heart leaping. “I won’t. I swear.”

And with that, she stepped closer, her hand brushing his in the briefest touch. It wasn’t a grand gesture, but it was enough. Enough to tell him that maybe—just maybe—they could make it through this together.

“I’ll hold you to that,” she whispered.

“I know,” Charlie said, his voice quiet, but full of the promise of everything he was willing to give to make it right.

Charlie couldn’t believe this moment was actually happening. All the fear, the confusion, the mistakes—all of it had led him here, standing in front of her, heart racing as he waited for her to make her decision. She wasn’t just someone he cared about anymore—she was everything. And now, after all the time apart, he couldn’t let this chance slip away.

Y/N’s eyes softened, her lips parting as if she was about to say something, but for once, Charlie didn’t need to hear the words. He could feel everything she was trying to say in the way she looked at him. The hesitation in her eyes was still there, but there was something else now—something warmer, something that told him she was willing to take that first step toward them again.

"Charlie..." she whispered, her voice trembling slightly, and he could see her vulnerability mirrored in his own.

He took another step toward her, his pulse hammering in his ears, but he wasn’t afraid anymore. Not of her, not of what might happen. He just knew he couldn’t walk away again. Not without knowing if they could truly have what they’d both wanted for so long.

For a moment, everything was still. Her gaze flickered down to his lips, and that was all it took. With a breath that seemed to catch in her chest, she closed the distance between them, her hand reaching up to rest lightly on his chest. She leaned in, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Charlie closed his eyes, letting everything around them fade away.

When their lips finally met, it wasn’t just a kiss. It was everything he’d been holding back—the months of silence, the longing, the regret—and in that single touch, it all came crashing down. Her lips were soft and warm, and Charlie felt like he was breathing again, as if the weight of everything that had gone wrong could somehow be erased in this one moment.

She kissed him back with the same intensity, her hands moving to rest against his neck as they held each other, both of them finally understanding what they’d been too afraid to admit before: they were meant to be together.

As they pulled away just slightly, their foreheads resting against one another, Charlie couldn’t help but smile. "I swear to you, Y/N, I’m never letting you go again."

Y/N chuckled softly, her voice still full of warmth. "Good. Because I’m not going anywhere either."

And in that moment, surrounded by the soft glow of the fading afternoon light, everything felt right. The past didn’t matter anymore. They had found their way back to each other, and this time, Charlie knew he wasn’t going to let fear or doubt take it all away.

They were finally together, and that was all that mattered.

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