#dream one i was at home and some bikers showed up and threw cigarette butts on the ground so i tried to fight thsm

[jmjerror]

been having WEIRD DREAMS lately

[theprincesslibrary]

#4: Baleful - Close your eyes

Warning: violence, past trauma, mention of abuse, mention of rape, domestic abuse, blood, torture 

He’s waking up. 

He doesn’t remember much. He was coming home after a night out, drunk and alone, the girls weren’t receptive to his charms. And then nothing. Just darkness and a violent pain at the back of his skull. He’s fully awake now, though his reality looks like a nightmare. His reflection is staring at him from the ceiling, eyes wide from fear. He is strapped to an operating table, naked, unable to move. He doesn't understand why he's here. 

I’d feel bad for him if I didn’t know any better. But I do.

I know what he did to his wife, to his previous girlfriends. I know what type of monster he is. But I’m worse. The saw in my hand is itching to cut, but I can’t start yet. Everything must be done to perfection. So I step out of the shadows and move closer, tape his eyelids open, so he can't close his eyes. Putting that mirror on the ceiling was a real pain in the ass, it’d be a shame if all that work went to waste. I wouldn’t want him to miss the show.

*****

When Thancred reaches the scene everything looks like it did for the previous murders: they still don't have the crime scene, just the dumping area. A godforsaken place where nobody cares what you do or say: welcome to Ul'dah's low town, where the jewel city doesn't shine so brightly. Here only the rule of the three wise monkeys applies: see nothing, hear nothing, and above all shut the fuck up. The perfect place to get rid of a body.

These corpses are not your typical murder victim though: no crime of passion, no hit-and-run. Everything is clean. It’s the third case of the type to end up on his desk, and it's a fucking nightmare. Let’s be clear, the modus operandi is dirty as fuck: shallow cuts all over the body, severed limbs, head cut off… all of that ante mortem, a fucking slaughter. But the scene is fucking spotless, perfectly ordered like a freaking Mog Station warehouse. They don't really have a corpse, more of a human puzzle: the organs and the head sit in separate jars, the limbs are all wrapped up mummy style, personal belongings in a cardboard box... And the cherry on top: not a single witness.  

That’s when Thacred's expertise comes to play. See, a regular cop would harass the lab, call them every 5 minutes, pressure them day and night… be a pain in the as. But not detective Thancred Waters. Nah. He has his way of doing things. He lets the lab rats alone, especially with a scene like that which is as much of a nightmare for them as it is for him. If puzzle number 3 is like its friends, CSI can’t do much for him right now, they need to unpack all that shit, literally. So he leaves them the fuck alone, they’re happy, and when they have something conclusive they call their favorite detective: how far one can go by not being an asshole is astonishing.  

Instead, Thancred likes to interrogate people. Relatives, of course, that’s police work 101, but he pays extra attention to the little monkeys on the streets: the guy no one notices sitting in the corner, the drug dealer in his vintage car, the homeless lady who sleeps here at night. He just knows how to make them talk. It must be his lucky day because he saw his favorite monkey when he arrived at the scene. It would be rude not to check on his old friend, although “friend” might be a bit of a stretch. He met Theodric in Limsa Lominsa, back when he was still a street urchin, stealing purses from unsuspecting passersby. They were in the same band of petty thieves, followed the same path, except one day Thancred targeted Louisoix Leveilleur. Instead of turning him in, the man saw his potential, and took him under his wing. His life changed that day. Theodric wasn’t so lucky. He got involved with the wrong crowd, took the wrong drug, and ended up here, in one of Ul’dah’s worst neighborhoods where not even the refugees dare to come. 

Yeah, not really friends, and considering what he's about to do to him, it's better that way.

 *****

Thancred’s fists hurt from punching Theodric’s ugly face, he needs a break from all that “friendly catching up”. He reaches for a cig and lights it up. Gods, how he loves the taste of tar… finally some stale air to help him breathe. He spares a look to the little monkey slouched against the tainted wall of a shabby restaurant. His face is covered in blood, but he’s not talking. He hates when they stay quiet, he’ll just have to be more explicit. 

“You know Theo, I can call you Theo, right? You know… it’s the weekend for me too. As you can imagine that I have other things to do besides fucking up your hideous face. I'm not asking you to share every tiny detail of your sad existence, I’m not your therapist. I’m not even asking for the name of your dealer. Just tell me who the fuck threw away the mummy. That would make me incredibly happy, I’d be able to go home, have a nice bath, you know, normal people shit.”

Thancred takes another puff from his cigarette and looks down at the man who was once his partner in crime. It’s almost like staring at a twisted version of himself, at the man he would have become without Louisoix. Six months ago, he might have gone easy on Theodric, might have tried to help him out. Six months ago, he would have been the man Louisoix wanted him to be, but that guy died in Lahabrea’s basement. All those months of sequestration and torture did a number on him, fucked him up so bad, his soul died back there. Now he's just this empty shell, pretending to be alive out of spite. Just to say “look at me now, I’m still there”. But he's not, not really.

He draws the last puff from his cigarette and crouches next to Theodric, his face on the same level as the junkie's. The little monkey has one open eye, just one, the other is too fucked up. There’s fear in that one eye, but he’s still not talking. Thancred gets his cig close to Theodric’s good eye, so he can understand what’s going to happen next. He likes to let people understand the rest on their own, it stimulates communication. 

“You might think I hate you Theo, but I don’t. I don’t give two flying fucks about you. But you see, my shrink told me I had to externalize my rage. When you don't talk to me, it pisses me off, so I have to externalize. On your face. You’re not a bad guy, a little drug here, a little dealing there, it’s not that bad. I’m a whiskey guy myself so really who am I to judge? Just tell me who threw this corpse, so I can calm the fuck down. I don’t need to externalize as much and we both go on our merry ways.” 

Thancred punctuates his question by crushing his cigarette's butt on Theo’s arm. His screams echo in the empty street so loudly dogs start to howl, not that anyone cares. Noone would come to his aid, not in this part of town, not when a cop is the one making him scream like a pig. The wise monkey rule reigns supreme. But now he’s in enough pain for Thancred to believe whatever he’s gonna say next. 

“Fuck Waters, I swear I don't know anything. You know me, I'm not that brave, if I knew anything I’d be singing like a fucking canary right now. Please let me go, I promise if I hear something I'll tell you. I swear Waters.”

*****

Theodric looks sincere.

It pisses him off, cause now he’s gonna have to resort to a more classic approach and act like a regular cop: talk to the wife and relatives. He hates to act like a regular cop, hates to talk to the wives. He doesn’t know how to deal with crying people. He used to be good at people skills, he’s not anymore.

He needs a drink. 

He ends up at the Quicksand like always. It’s a second house for all sorts of human trash: bikers, dealers, pimps, him...  

Thancred likes the atmosphere, and the barmaid, Lya. Lya is good. It sounds dumb, but she is. She smiles all the time and listens to everyone’s bullshit without judging. She’s pretty too, beautiful even. When she smiles it's a bit like a breeze blowing over a field of poppy, it shakes him to the core. It shakes up any guy. They all want to throw themselves in her arms and let her lull them to sleep as a mother would. She could turn the most vicious wolf into an obedient little lamb with just one smile. All the guys here come for her: the alcohol tastes like piss, the food is barely decent when it’s not expired, and the walls grow mold. But she's here. They all want her, but no one touches her. She’s broken, they all know that. They might be a bunch of heartless assholes, but they have principles. And Lya is off-limits. Her last boyfriend used to beat her up to a pulp, she still has a scar running down the side of her face. It doesn't take away from her beauty, but it drives him mad with rage.  

One night he was taking a piss behind the bar – mind you the alley’s hygiene is better than the loo inside – he saw the guy slap her, and felt the irrepressible urge to externalize his rage on the asshole’s face, so he did. Repeatedly, until he was the one lying on the ground, pissing himself. They’ve been friends ever since. She listens to his stupid jokes, gives him the best food, stops pouring drinks when she thinks he’s too drunk and smiles at him. She smiles so brightly he feels like a little boy in a candy store, hopeful and fearless.  

She looks out of place in this dirty joint full of heartless assholes, like a porcelain doll forgotten in a construction site, but she’s one of them: damaged. They don’t want to break her, they can all see the cracks in her porcelain skin, so no one touches her. They just pretend, pretend they have a chance, pretend they’re good enough for her. They even play this game where the last guy standing can ask her out. They drink until they either pass out or leave, and only one guy is left. The winner never asks her out, but still, they come every night to drink and dream. 

***** 

I always start with small incisions, quick and superficial. It stings just a little, but not too much. The most important thing is not the pain or the screaming, it’s the fear, the anticipation. It’s a wholesome experience: he gets to feel, see, and smell all of it. People often forget to mention the smell, iron and urea, blood and piss. The mix elicits a primal reaction: run, it says, run. But he can’t. 

*****

It’s Monday and Thancred has an appointment with the third victim’s wife. She looks vaguely familiar, must be from the file or the guy’s belongings. The murderer never bothered to hide his victim's identity. Hell, they even leave a special box for passports and other personal stuff. So yeah, she looks familiar, but he’s been in Ul’dah for a while, so it’s not a surprise. What he can’t stand is the way she's fidgeting on her chair. 

Thancred doesn’t like when the witness fidgets because a regular cop would think ‘hum, that’s suspicious'. Thancred tried being a regular cop once, wasn’t for him, so he stopped, started being an asshole instead with some instinct sprinkled on top, it was a wholesale price. Still, the fidgeting is annoying. And she still looks familiar, more than she should from just a file picture. Thancred can’t put his finger on it. Maybe he fucked her once. He was kind of a womanizer before his life went to shit, before Lahabrea. It doesn’t explain why she’s so nervous, or why she keeps nervously rubbing her arms. Nor does it explain the five layers of clothes. It’s at least 35° out, and she’s out in the sun with a freaking turtleneck. The outrageous makeup has to be the icing on the cake. 

And that’s when it hits him. He knows her, but not from the file, or a one-night stand. She’s from Lya’s support group for battered women. That’s why she’s nervous. Not because he’s her former lover, not even because he’s a cop, but because he’s a man. That’s why number 3’s dead: he was trash like the rest.

"Excuse me for a few minutes."

Thancred gets up and exits the room, leaving the widow alone. He spots Minfilia across the room and strides towards her.

"Hey Min, I'm gonna need you to take this one."

"Why?", she teases, "finally found a widow impervious to your charms?"

"Pretty sure our so-called victim wasn't the loving husband he owed to be."

Understanding flashes on her face, she drops the file she was reading on her desk and follows him to the interrogation room. Relief washes over the widow’s face when she sees Minfilia.

“This is my colleague, Detective Warde. She’s going to take it from here.”

Then he’s out again, leaving the two women alone. He goes to his desk while Min does her thing, and looks for the victim’s name in the database. He doesn’t need to watch Min do her work, he trusts her to get the answers they need. The petite blonde has great people skills, and she’s one of the good ones. She's so good, it's hard not to hate her. He doesn't though, never did, never will. 

She’s one of the few friends he has left, one of the few people to put up with his bullshit after Lahabrea's "incident". He loves her like the little sister he never had, and more than anything he respects her. She's a good friend and a good cop, something this city sorely lacks. Rhabdan runs a tight ship as chief of police, but there's always a few bad apples in the bunch, not Min though. She's one of the good ones, not some disillusioned asshole like him. It's hard to be hopeful in a city like Ul'dah where being rich means one can escape any form of responsibility. Like number 3 here. His wife's medical record is a testament to his behavior: bruised face, broken ribs, even lacerations. It's a miracle the woman is still alive. But her in-laws are rich, and influential: Lolorito's people. That's why Thancred is not so sure he wants to catch the killer, not when they're doing what he's not free to do himself.

When Minfilia is done with the interrogation, she motions for him to join her in the break room. She confirms what Thancred already knows: the guy was an asshole.

He needs a fucking drink. 

*****

First I remove his dick, not like he’s gonna need it anymore. I do this slowly, very slowly. I want him to suffer. This is also what the mirror on the ceiling is for, and the tape on the eyelids, no escape. He must see everything and especially hear everything, the slightest tear of his flesh, the sound of his blood dripping on the sanitized tiles, the scalpel cutting his flesh, my slow breathing. The shock of emasculation makes him pass out. It’s okay, we have all the time. I cauterize his wound, I don't want him to bleed out and die. Not yet.  

*****

Another corpse: emasculated, dismembered, and wrapped up like his buddies. 

Thancred lights another cigarette and crouches down in front of the jar containing the head. He knows this face, he broke that nose: Lya's ex. Suddenly the crime scene doesn't seem ugly anymore, it shines with glitter and shit. It makes him happy to see that stupid face in a jar, means he won't be a problem for Lya anymore. He's also the second "victim" who likes to take out his anger on women, there has to be something there. Thancred needs to take another look at the first three victims, they can't be all that clean.  

He ponders whether he should tell Lya about this. Would that make her happy? It might make her feel better, safer. "By the way, the asshole who used to beat you up is dead, a serial killer took care of it." 

Yeah. Maybe he needed to work on his speech. 

It’s just him and the old Bernie now, playing that secret game of theirs. The old man sends him a dirty look before finally getting up. Thancred wins tonight, and he plans on taking her out for real, not just in his head. It's a lucky day after all, maybe she'll say yes.   

The bar is empty that time around. ‘Good’ he thinks, 'Her smiles will all be mine.'

She’s smiling more than usual, she looks happy even, so he decides not to say anything. She smiles, but she’s seldom happy, no point in ruining the mood. The asshole will be just as dead tomorrow. So he sits at the bar to be closer to her, and drinks while he tells her stupid nonsense. One drink, then a second, and finally a whole bottle.

*****

He waking up again, and we’re back in business. Killing a man isn’t easy work, but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. My mom used to tell me: “When things get hard, just put them in different boxes and deal with them one at a time.” So I do just that: I cut him into small pieces, wrap them up, put them in nice little jars.

First his right arm, the one he used to slap his women. I cut just below the elbow, he screams like a piglet being bled out. Then his left arm, all the way up to the shoulder, his legs, and finally his head. 

*****

He wakes up to an empty room. Of course, she’s not here, why would she? She’s in his fantasy, not in his reality. It was such a vivid dream, it left him hard and wanting. He buries his face in the sheets, and he can almost smell her. As if dreams could leave a scent behind. Fucking morning wood. He needs release and a shower, but first, he wants a smoke.

He dreams of Lya that night.

She's riding him like a fierce amazon, her breasts moving to the rhythm of their bodies. Everything about her is erotic, her hungry gaze, her mischievous smile. That smile excites him as much as it soothes him. Fuck, he doesn't want to get out of this dream, but his alarm rings, and the dream is gone.

He walks to the kitchen naked, he lives alone and doesn’t give a fuck about flashing his neighbors. She’s standing in his kitchen, a coffee mug in hand. She’s wearing one of his shirts; it’s a bit too big for her, but too short to be decent. She’s so fucking beautiful wearing his clothes, if he wasn’t hard before, he certainly is now. And then he remembers everything.

She kissed him outside the restaurant, he wouldn’t have dared, but she kissed him. They ended up at his place. They made love on his couch, in the shower, in his bed. He didn’t fuck her, no, he worshiped her: kissed every inch of her skin, licked every freckle. He prayed to her body like a mad man, as much as he could, as much as she let him.

She said yes.

All the alcohol made his brain soft and mushy, but he remembers now. He helped her close the bar, and they went to that new place near his precinct. The one that stays open until 3 am. They talked, he told her he was a cop, she said she knew. It was written in the way he moved, in the way others moved around him. They talked all night long, and she smiled. Gods, that freaking smile got him good. They talked so much, they got kicked out. 

He must look like a fucking idiot now, with that surprised look on his face and his hard cock because she bursts out laughing. A laugh that explodes like fireworks and ricochets against the walls of his apartment, leaving notes of bright colors everywhere. It's crazy how beautiful she is when she laughs. He wants her, needs her.

He strides towards her, lifts her off the floor, and drops her off her gently on the kitchen table. He doesn’t want to break her, doesn’t want to worsen the cracks in her porcelain skin. Then he makes love to her, in the middle of his kitchen, with the blinds open for the world to see. Because he can, because she wants him as much as he wants her. 

***** 

His instinct about the victims being trash was right. 

After some heavy digging in the first two victims’ past, he finds what he needs. Victim number one’s a serial rapist: used to slip roofies in women’s drink, raped them, and filmed the whole thing, threatening to release the tapes if they tried to report him. Not that they would, the guy was filthy rich, another one of Ul’dah’s “cream of the crop”, these women knew they didn’t have a chance to see justice. If it wasn’t for his “barely legal” deep dive in the guy’s personal belongings - he might have stolen his computer after breaking into his parents’ house - Thancred wouldn’t even know about it.

Victim number 2 was no better, he had a long history of domestic violence and child abuse, but no open case, not even a complaint. Now adding number 3 and Lya’s ex to the list… these guys all deserved to die like pigs. He should say it, should even think like that, but he does. He doesn’t even want to catch the culprit, for all he cares they should be free to rid the city of these predators. Should even get paid for doing public service.

Looking at the so-called victim’s file drives him mad with rage. He wants to drink, but more than anything he needs to see Lya; He can even pretend to do police work while he’s at it. She knows at least one of the women, she’s a victim herself, maybe she knows more. 

The Quicksand is packed. He has to share her smile and his time, it annoys him, but it's okay. Tonight she will be his, and his alone. He sits at the bar, she smiles at him, and he’s not mad anymore. He orders whiskey, then another, and another. After the third glass, the rush finally dies down, and they can talk. He tells her about his investigation, and tells her about her ex. She's a little shaken up, but it's okay, she is strong. 

He shows her pictures of the victims, not the one from the autopsy, he’s not that stupid, pretty pictures with happy smiles and perfect lives. Moments of happiness he knows to be fake. He asks her if she knows the victims or their wives, through her support group, or by word of mouth. She nods. She knows the wives of 2 and 3, she talks to them often. She recognizes the last victim, of course, he was her monster. 

Thancred’s curious to know what she thinks about all this, that’s the cop in him, but he’s also worried about how it’ll affect her.

“I don't know… well I do. I know I shouldn't be happy, but I am,” she admits. “I'm a little less afraid.”

He hates that she feels guilty.

“I’m glad he’s dead,” he states, hoping she’ll feel relieved that those words are coming from him. “Now, I know he won’t  prowl you around anymore.”

She smiles softly, and he has the urge to make love to her on the bar, in front of everyone. But he won’t, Lya is a goddess, not a girl who gets fucked in a bar. He’s going to buy her flowers, and maybe a nice bottle of wine. He might even light some candles to set the mood, then he’s gonna make love to her, again and again until they both pass out in blissful exhaustion.

*****

I dispose of his body in one of the city’s garbage dumps. It’s the perfect place to get rid of a body. And this open sky trash dump is perfect for me: exactly what this trash deserves. The people who live here all look dead, the only thing that sets them apart from my guy is the steady movement of their hearts. That, and the fact that they’re all in one piece, for the most part.

*****

Reports come back on Lya’s ex.

Toxicology’s clean, no head trauma either, he wasn’t drugged or incapacitated like the others. He might have known his assailant. The rest of the report looks similar at first glance, cuts all over the body, severed limbs, emasculation, beheading. It’s the same MO but somehow it feels messier: the body shows hesitation marks, the cuts are deeper, meant to hurt... it feels more personal, like an act of revenge. 

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. 

*****

He opens up his flat’s door and practically runs towards the kitchen. He needs a drink before seeing Lya. It can’t be her, when she smiles the ground shakes, she turns wolves into lambs. She’s so small, with soft porcelain skin, tiny hands… It can’t be her, yet his guts tell him otherwise.

He’s halfway in the kitchen when he spots her. She’s waiting for him, his backup gun in those tiny hands of hers. When he dreamt of coming home to her that’s not what he had in mind.

 She’s smiling at him, a sad little smile because she doesn’t want to kill him, not really. He might be an asshole but he doesn’t hurt women. Maybe she likes him too. She’s crying now, tears rolling down her beautiful face. It’s stupid but he still wants to throw himself in her arms. It’s stupid because she’s going to kill him. 

She’s gonna try anyway. 

*****

Gunshots echo in the room, followed by the loud thud of a lifeless body hitting the ground.

[madelainesvixens]

CALL IT WHAT YOU WANT: CHAPTER FOUR | SWEET CHILD O’ MINE

Saturday, October 3rd

12:00

Marty showed up at the diner with a couple guys from the team, a herd of blue and yellow jackets passing through the single door.

''Jones!'' Marty's voice called, seeing him balancing empty plates in one hand and drinks in the other. FP looked up when he heard his name. ''Where were you last night? You know it's a rule to be present at every after-match parties.''

Unknown to the public eye, the Bulldogs have a book of rules they must follow to be a part of the team. At the start of every season, all new players have to sign the book and agree to follow all rules. If one violated a rule and, by example didn't attend an after-match party, Marty threatened to kick them out of the team. Except, Coach still had the last word on who was in the team and not so...Marty can shove his rules up his ass.

''Sorry man, I had a...stomach flu,'' FP covered up, hoping Marty wouldn't press in for more infos. ''I threw up on the way home and didn't stop until two in the morning. Trust me, it was best I stayed home.''

The bulldog frowned. ''Shouldn't you be at home if you were sick?''

Caught. Think fast, FP.

''Weirdly enough, I'm feeling brand new. So, maybe it was more of an upset stomach than stomach flu.''

Marty hummed, still perplexe. ''Better show up on Friday.'' FP nodded at his captain. ''Now, bring me my usual. With an extra onion rings order. I'm so hungry, I could eat a whole cow.''

''Coming right up!''

.

18:54

Some spent their Saturday night at the Twilight drive-in, making out in a car with a movie in the background while the party animals liked to get ready for parties with their girlfriends or pre-gaming at their best bud's house. FP, he, was stuck at the diner, wiping the counter and tables clean.

It was nearing seven o'clock and the diner was almost empty except for a couple sharing a booth and an man in his forties at the counter. The latter stood and left a twenty on the counter, right next to his empty plate. FP nodded at the man, grabbing the dollar bill and politely wished him a good evening. Putting the cloth over his shoulder, FP cashed in the money in the register, putting the rest in his apron's pocket as tip.

While he was doing so, the bell above the door signed, signaling a new customer walked in.

''Hey handsome. I'll have a vanilla milkshake and an order of fries. Don't burn them.''

FP's eyes snapped upwards to meet the figure that had previously interrupted the stillness of the diner. A smirk formed on his face as his eyes lander on the girl that haunted his dreams. She had told him she'd show up at the diner yesterday. Like promised, there she stood.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Alice had asked, sitting up in FP's bed, smoking a cigarette in nothing but her underwear.

FP stared at the ceiling, still naked under the blanket, savoring the intimate moment. “I’m working.”

“Until…” She raised an eyebrow, using an old plate on FP's nightstand to use as ashtray.

“Until eight.”

“And after that?”

He thought for a moment, playing the busy card. ''I don't know. I might go to Fred's.''

''What would you say if I passed by?''

FP looked up at the blonde, furrowing his eyebrows. ''At Pop's?''

She nodded, taking the last puff of her cigarette and killing it in the plate. She set it aside and joined FP, sliding a leg on each side of his hips. The teenager watched her with hungry eyes, his hands coming up automatically to knead at her butt.

“Then, I'll be going home, I guess.”

''No burger?''

''No burger,'' she confirmed.

FP frowned in confusion. ''How can you come at Pop's without ordering a burger? It's Pop's trademark menu! Along with milkshakes.''

The boy went to work and prepared Alice's milkshake

''I'm simply not hungry for a burger.'' She paused, leaving over the counter a bit, exposing her decolté. FP bit down his bottom lip, swallowing his burning envy to reach out but figured it was inappropriate to grope someone in a familial diner - even more so when you work there. ''I'm keeping space for the dessert.''

The raven haired boy raised a suggestive eyebrow, watching her as she grinned down at him. ''May I ask you what you are having for desert?''

FP placed the vanilla milkshake on the counter, right in front of her.

Alice gave him a thoughtful look. ''I'm not sure yet.'' She picked the cherry from the whipped cream mountain and put it whole in the mouth, twisting her tongue expectedly so the tail would knot.

She pulled it out of her mouth, setting the perfectly knotted cherry tail next to her milkshake and took a sip.

FP called an order of fries from Pop and the man send one back immediately. He set the basket on the counter, right in front of the vanilla milkshake when the blonde biker caught something from the corner of her eye.

''Does it work?''

She pointed at an old jukebox with yellow and orange lights by the doors of the diner.

FP nodded. ''Yes. Although no one uses it, Pop insists to keep it. He says it reminds the customers of the diner's roots.''

''Does it plays good music? I swear if I hear another Backstreet Boys hit I'm gonna smash my head against the counter.''

''You have a hatred for boy bands?'' FP asked, amused.

She shrugged, taking a fry between her fingers, cutting it in two with her teeth. ''Meh. Not my cup of tea.''

''What do you listen to?''

''Wait and see.''

Pulling out a few coins from her pocket, Alice walked over to the jukebox and tapped the glass, following the rhythm of a melody, while reading the titles available. Def Leppard, Michael Jackson, Prince, Tina Turner, Aerosmith, Whitney Houston, Poison. In the end, she pressed an orange button and choose Sweet Child O' Mine by Guns N Roses.

From his spot behind the counter, FP watched as Alice swayed her hips to the side, following the beat of the song, as the sound of guitar filled the diner. He should be heading to the kitchen and help Pop with the orders but Alice had all his attention. Sorry, Pop.

.

20:07

After his shift ended, FP said goodnight to Pop and switched his uniform for proper clothes. He usually didn't bother changing and just walked home in his work clothes but, if he were to see Alice Smith after his shift, the greasy and smelly uniform had to go. He joined Alice outside the diner and they took the road in direction to FP's house. Only, as they took Elm street, FP stopped in his track on the sidewalk, seeing his dad's truck in the driveway. Fuck.

Instead, turned around and headed to Alice's.

It was FP's first time on the Southside and, although he would never admit it, he was a bit creeped out. He's heard so many bad things about Southside citizens.

Forty minutes later, they reached Alice's house and FP was surprised to see a trailer. He knew she lived on the Southside - aka the 'poor' side of Riverdale - so, he hadn't expected a fucking castle. He wasn't ignorant.

Alice pulled out her keys from her backpack and unlocked the door. The second the trailer it was shut, FP had his lips on her, pushing the blonde against the back of the door. He used his knee to part her legs, rubbing expertively against her middle. Alice moaned, her body already on fire under FP's touch.

She dropped her keys and backpack right at the entrance, creating a loud noise inside the trailer. FP shrugged off his jacket, Alice doing the same with her, the rest of their clothes and shoes quickly leaving their bodies as she led them to her bed.

They got to the bed, Alice straddling FP and taking control.

Usually, FP wasn't a fan of dominant girls. He liked to be the alpha in every situations - and that included in bed. He liked to be in control and guide where it goes but, with Alice, it was different. He wanted her on top. He liked when she had control on him and he would let her do all she wanted with his body - but, he's not going to tell her that.

He had a reputation to maintain.

Alice's hands were in FP's raven hair, tugging at the roots as he sucked on her nipple, flicking the other between his fingers. She moaned, loving the feeling of his tongue on her. Although the pleasure was good, she pulled away and pushed him so he was laying back on the bed, scooting closer on his stomach, sitting right under his pecs, letting him feel the wetness through her underwear. FP licked his lips, hands running up her thighs.

He grabbed her and flipped positions with her so Alice was now the one laying on the bed. His fingers lightly dances across her skin, running up and down her legs as he brought their lips back together. Alice closed her eyes and waited for his fingers to make their way up to her underwear. FP ran the tip of his middle finger between her legs and Alice sighed into his mouth as all of her attention flooded to the work of his finger against her underwear, her heart beat instantly accelerating.

“FP,” she breathed against his lips.

He smirked, continuing to stroke his finger along her clothed centre. ''How's does this feels, Ali?''

She shuddered uncontrollably as his middle finger curled and found the very top of her already swollen clitoris, making her unable to talk.  Her body was defying her mind and responding to his touch more and more as each second ticked by. The blonde instinctively pushed herself backwards against his finger, desperate to feel more of him.

Her hands snaked up his back, feeling the muscles underneath his skin before clawing at it, leaving red marks.

Wetness coated FP's finger as he pushed it in and out of her. For a second, he thought to add another but, instead, he pulled back completely and wiped his finger on the sheet. FP raised on his knees and sat between her legs, stopping for a second, staring at Alice and admiring her - almost - naked body. Blond curls cascading over her shoulder, plump lips reddened from all the kissing, the curves of her full breasts, nipples hard and asking to be played with - again.

''Why did you stop?'' she asked, both confused and frustrated.

The raven haired boy snapped out of his trance, getting back to business. Slowly, he pulled Alice's underwear down her legs and discarded them on the floor.

The seconds passed and his erection was getting difficult to ignored, still confined under the cotton of his boxers. Patience, he reminded himself.

FP scooted himself down on the bed and positioned himself between the blonde's legs, anticipating what was going to happen. Alice was a lucky one, only a few girls had the privilege to get the special treatment from the MVP. Forsythe Pendleton Jones II did not go down on every girls. His strong hands pushed her knees further apart, creating more room. Alice propped herself on her elbows and looked down, locking eyes with FP. Keeping eye contact, he dipper his head and kissed her inner thigh, sending shivers through her entire body. FP kissed higher and higher until he reached her middle and-

Alice threw her head back, fingers gripping the sheets, the second FP's lips touched her clit. Yes.

.

Monday, October 5th

17:50

FP pushed the button to turn off his shower, grabbing his royal blue towel to wrap it around himself. He paddled over to the locker area to dry himself and get dressed when the locker room door was pushed open and closed loudly. FP brushed it off, thinking a guy from the team had forgot something like their cleats or jersey.  

He expected a loud voice to resonate through the locker room, typical of Bulldogs but, the room stayed quiet, except for a clicking sound of shoes. FP pulled his brows together. Maybe it was the janitor? Mr. Greenfeld was avery quiet person. But, there was no sound of wheels or chemical cleaners bottles swishing around in the cart.

Not dwelling on that, FP put away his shower stuff in his toiletries bag and was about to untie his towel to dry off when a voice startled him.

''That back's looking mighty fine, Jones.''

FP whirled around. What the fuck?! His alert eyes softened when he saw the girl that haunted his dreams, a wicked grin across her plump lips, standing by a row of locker. ''What the hell are you doing here? If Coach sees you-''

Alice shook her head, taking a few steps forward, crossing the locker room. ''No need to worry. I saw him pull out of the parking lot two minutes ago when I parked my bike.''

''Your bike?!''

The new information made FP laugh. Until FP caught Alice's name in detention, he used to always refer to her as 'biker girl' because of her leather jacket but, it turned out she was a real biker. That's...hot.

She stepped over the wooden bench separating the two rows of locker and joined FP on the other side. FP watched her getting closer, biting down his lip in anticipation. Less than a couple inches was separating them, now.

Alice leaned to close the gap, stopping just before their lips touched. ''Do you have anything one you?'' she asked in a whisper.

Nodding, FP pressed their lips together, one of his hands coming up to cup her jaw. Although their kissed were urgent and intense most of the time, they were capable of soft kisses too. Alice ran her hands from his waist to his shoulder blades, feeling them flex beneath her palms. Water was still dripping from his damp hair and onto his back and chest, adding to the sexiness of the moment.

Mimicking her movement, he untied her flannel at the front, revealing a black bra. The Bulldog trailed kisses down her jaw to her neck, sucking on her skin to bruise it lightly - nothing too noticeable. Alice moaned, feeling her her nipples hardening behind her bra. She reached back and unclasped it, freeing them. She could feel herself dampening between her legs as his lips and tongue continued to play skilfully. FP's hands came up to her breasts, massaging them, pressing the flats of his palms against her aching nipples.

They pulled back so she could free herself from her jeans and boots and, to FP's surprise, she shifted to her knees and, with one light tug, FP's towel dropped to the floor and she leant forwards, holding his dick steadily in her hand as she kissed around his groin and thighs.

“Enjoying that?” She flicked up her eyes to FP, who was smirking down at her. She slid her lips from him and licked along the length of his shaft once more, keeping her eyes on his.

She sat back on her feet and smiled.

FP banged his head against a locker. ''Very much so.''

.

19:15

The second FP got home, his after-sex 'glow' was chased away.

''What's that?'' Forsythe asked, raising an assortment of college applications in his left hand.

Shit. He found them. Panic rose inside FP's head.

''The school's counselor gave them to us. It's nothing, Dad.'' He tried to snatched them back from his old man's grasp but Forsythe abruptly pulled them away of his son's reach.

Forsythe pointed an accusing finger at FP, eyes narrowed and menacing. ''Don't lie to me, Boy!''

He stepped closer to FP and the latter backed away until his back hit the wall. For a second, FP thought he was going to hit him. He didn't.

''Us, Jones's don't go to college. We work at the factory. Like me, like your grandfather, like your great grandfather, like-''

''I don't want to work at the factory, Dad! I want to be the first Jones to go to college.''

He wanted to study marketing with Fred so they could, one day, start their own business together. Fred and him had talked about it during the summer and it became their secret little project. They had no idea what they wanted to start a business in but, they had time to figure it out. College was months away and their business won't see the day of light until a couple years.

Forsythe laughed. ''Who made you believe you could get into a college? College is for intelligent kids with big money. Don't think that because you're a part of the football team that colleges will want you. It counts for jackshit in a college application.'' And then, the man ripped the papers in half right in front of FP's face.

NEXT CHAPTER (X)