#he's being thrown around like a barbie doll that's what he deserves

[nouverx]

Today I offer you Alastor with a little hat. Tomorrow? Who knows

[athenamikaelson]

Complaints and Harriet Styles Pt. 2

Klaus Mikaelson x reader

Warnings- strong language, innuendos, mentions of blood and death.

Word count- 2.5k 

 “Would it make me a bad person if I said he was hot?’ I asked Caroline as I sat in front of her vanity mirror as she curled my hair.  

“Y/n,” Caroline frowned at me as she looked at me through the mirror, “he either killed or is trying to kill our friends. He’s a bad guy, so don’t even think about it.” 

“I’m not saying I want to bang the guy or anything,” As I say that the the thought crosses my mind and it’s clear Caroline knows that as well as her frown deepens, “Care don’t get your Barbie hair in a twist. Even though his accent is dreamy and his blue eyes make my knees shake. I’m not going to try anything, obviously.” I say mockingly as Caroline watches me as if she’s somehow aged 100 years since our conversation began. Which you know isn’t possible because she’s literally immortal. 

“Sometimes I don’t know what to do with you. You’re either arguing with someone or hitting on them. Or even both!” She says as she throws her hands up in emphasis, the curler unplugging itself during her action. 

We both sit there in silence for a moment looking at the curler’s wire. I look up at her with a sly smile, “Does this mean we’re finally done? My ass hurts from sitting here and being your personal doll.” Caroline puts her hand on her hip with a displeased look on her face. 

“I haven’t finished curling the other half of your head, so turn around and shut it. And didn’t you just say I was the Barbie doll?” She says matter-of-factly as she replugs in the curler and waits for it to heat back up. 

“Ok well you are a Barbie doll, I’m more like that doll that Angelica had in Rugrats, y’know the one with fucked up hair and looks like she just got thrown into a blender.” I laugh at my own joke as Caroline rolls her eyes, a smile trying to make its way onto her face. 

I glance at my dark eyeshadow that makes my y/e/c eyes bright. 

“Why do I even have to go to this stupid dance, our school has like 14 a year. How does our town even have the budget for that? And why do we have to do weird decade dances?” 

“Y/N you’re going to homecoming, end of story. It’s our senior year. This past year has been so crazy that we deserve a little normalcy.” She says as she finishes my last section of hair. 

“Normalcy? You do realize that every dance we’ve had since last year has ended with someone dead or impaled right? It isn’t a Mystic Falls high school dance if it doesn’t end in blood!” Caroline just watches me in annoyance as she sprays my hair with hairspray, “accidentally” spraying some into my face.

“Bitch!” I cough out.

“Go get dressed!” She uses her strength to lift me up and push me over to her closet where my y/f/c dress is hanging.

I look over my shoulder, “I hate you.” 

Caroline smiles, “Love you too brat.”

-------------

I listen to the live band as I sip on the disgusting drink in my hand. Caroline who was supposed to chaperone tonight left me to go yell at Tyler for his wolfy crush or whatever on Klaus. I’m seriously debating on just walking myself home, since Caroline was my ride, as I watch on in disgust as teenagers grind against each other to the fast song the band is playing in the backyard of Tyler’s house. Somehow Tyler was able to put together a huge party since the gym was flooded last minute. Caroline didn’t seem suspicious but I on the other hand always think the worst is going to happen at any time, and with my friend group's history with dances I wouldn’t be surprised if something was going to go down tonight. I'm about to grab my bag and leave before shit goes down when I hear a British accent come from behind me. 

“Welcome everyone tonight,” I turn around, and low and behold that British fuck from Senior prank night is standing up on the stage in front of all of us, yapping about something. 

“This is a long time coming,” He says as he watches someone from the crowd with a smirk on his face. I follow his eye line to see Stefan staring back at him. Yikes. I look back to the Brit but find his eyes staring in my direction. I don’t think he’s looking at me until I send a look of disgust at him which makes the smirk on his face deepen. Fuck me. Wait. No. I quickly turn around and start to make my way to the edge of the party hoping to make my escape before I get sucked into whatever bullshit the Scooby gang is going to try to drag me into. I smile to myself as I’m about to be successful in my escape as my vision is blocked by something. Said something bumps me backwards throwing me off balance and I wait to hit the ground as I start falling, but nothing comes. I look up to see Klaus grabbing ahold of the top of my arm, keeping me from falling down.  

“What a fucking cliche,” I say to myself angrily. Klaus looks at me inquisitively. 

“What’s a cliche?” He asks me with that stupidly hot accent as I rip my arm away from his hold and put another foot's distance between us.

“You catching me,” I tell him but he only looks confused, “Y’know in romcoms when the girl trips and falls but doesn’t actually fall because the random hot main guy catches her. It’s a big fucking cliche.” I say huffing as Klaus watches me with that stupid fucking smirk on his face.

“And I’m the main hot guy?” He asks, clearly trying to get me to go along with his current ego trip.

“No, you’re not. Ryan Gosling is the hot main guy or Paul Rudd,” I let out a satisfactory sigh at Paul Rudd, “You’re more of the evil boos villain in video games.” 

“And what’s so wrong with being the villain?” He asks me as he takes a step towards me. 

I look at him with what I can only guess looks like a “are you fucking kidding me” look. 

“Literally everything. That’s literally the whole point of being the villain.” I put my hand out stopping him from stepping closer. Klaus watches me closely for a second too long. His gaze makes me quite uncomfortable because I can’t tell if he wants to kill me for speaking to him like I just did or applaud me for having the balls to. God, sometimes I just need to learn to shut the fuck up. 

“Dance with me.” He states as he puts his hand out waiting for me to give him my hand in return. My gaze goes from his face to his hand multiple times before I shake my head in annoyance. 

“No way dude,” I say as I start to book it back towards the house away from him. I don’t get far though because he’s in front of me again with a determined look on his stupidly hot face. God why does it always have to be the bad guys that are hot? 

“Either you dance with me, or I start killing your friends off one by one. I wonder where that blond friend of yours is, Tyler’s little girlfriend.” He says with a dark glint in his eyes. 

“Why?” I try to hold my ground even though I’m pretty sure I’m about to start pissing myself any second now. 

“Why what?” he asks me as he watches me.

“Why do you want to dance with me? Theirs like 200 other girls here that I’m sure would just jump at the chance to dance with some British guy.”

Klaus just shrugs his shoulder as if he himself doesn’t even have an answer to the question. 

“Because none of them have had the displeasure of catching my eye.” 

“And let me guess, I have?” I ask him. He doesn’t give me an answer though, only reaches out his hand once again waiting for me to take it. Annoyed I slap my hand in his and drag him to the dance floor. Once I push us into the middle of a big group, I turn to him.

“Don’t be pissy if I step on your toes.” Klaus just lets out a huff of a laugh as he drags my body closer to him so my chest is touching his. A shudder goes through my body at the contact and I mentally curse myself for the reaction. Fuck he smells good. Jesus Y/N get a grip, he’s just a guy. A thousand-year-old hot guy, but still just a guy. I look up to find Klaus already staring at me, with a knowing smirk on his face. I just roll my eyes as I try to play it off cool as he sways me to the now slow song.

“So tell me, how did you become friends with my doppelganger and her little group of followers?” A weird feeling of sadness flows through me at his question as I realize he only asked me to dance for information on my friends. 

“We grew up together. Small town like this everyone knows each other, sadly.” I say looking off to the distance and watching the other couples converse lovingly with one another. 

“Why sadly?” He asks me, and for a second I could’ve sworn I heard actual curiosity. I glance back at him and shrug. 

“I just hate this town. I never liked people knowing my business, and everyone here is so complacent with their normal lives. They never question anything or want to know more about anything other than what happens in our weird ass town.” I blush as I realize I just rambled on to a complete psycho about my feelings. But, the look on Klaus’s face isn’t one of annoyance or humor like the other people I’ve vented to usually have on their faces. His face turns from contemplation to understanding. 

“I know what you mean,” He says as he expertly twirls me around, “when I was a boy I grew up in a small village where the wasn’t much chance for prospering. I loved the arts and knew I would never be able to do anything with it. It made me angry. So I can understand your resentment.” He tells me and for a second I forget that he’s the blood-thirsty monster ruining my friend’s lives. 

“You like art?” He looks down at me with a soft smile as if the subject brings out a different side of him. 

“I’ve loved it for over a thousand years. The way emotions can be shown through a canvas and bring out emotion so foreign is unlike anything else I found over a millennium of living,” His eyes trail down to mine, “What do you think?” 

I nod softly in agreement, “I love art. Not really painting because I’m kind of shit at it, but sketching and just looking at art. Although I’m not a fan of this new-age art where someone can splash a canvas with a line of color and sell it for a million dollars. I like art that means something to someone. Art that when you look at it you can feel the emotions that the artist was feeling, every move of the brush stroke made with heart and emotion.” Klaus nods along to my rambling again with a soft look on his face. A look that I can’t quite decipher since it’s on the face of one of the scariest men in the world. 

As the song comes to an end I reluctantly let go of Klaus’s hands. He stares at me for a moment and I think he’s just going to turn around and walk off realizing he didn’t get the information he wanted but then a small laugh escapes his lips and he shakes his head. I watch on in slight confusion wondering if he’s having some kind of stroke or something. 

“You’re not like them you know,” he must notice my confusion because he continues, “like your friends. You’re nothing like them.” I pang of hurt pierces my chest as I turn away and start to walk off, “Well screw you too.” 

“I didn’t mean that as an insult,” He says hastily as he grabs my arm turning me back towards him, “You’re friends they’re small-minded. They think of only themselves and not the world around them, or how amazing it can be.” I go to interrupt him and tell him not to insult my friends but he cuts me off. 

“You need something bigger than this little town. Something that brings you life. When I originally saw you that night in the gym I thought you were just going to be like the rest of them. But you surprised me Y/n, and not many people can say that.” 

I just stare at him in amazement for what seems like forever as I try to piece together everything he just told me. In my stupor though a woman approaches Klaus and whispers something to him which makes his originally light demeanor change to something dark. The woman walks away as Klaus looks at me once more.

“Whenever you decide you want to be a part of something bigger, see something other than this little town I’d be happy to show you. All you need to do is ask.” He tells me as he grabs my hand and places a chaste kiss upon it. I still can't get the balls to say anything as he gives me one last glance before he follows behind the woman. 

What the actual fuck.

-------------

I walked up to my front porch after getting dropped off by Matt because I guess Tyler drugged Caroline with vervain to save her from a pack of mind-controlled hybrids so that’s why she couldn’t bring me home. Sometimes I really hate my friend group. Why can’t for once we deal with normal people's problems like pop quizzes or acne? Like why does not one person in that entire group have a pimple on their skin? That’s the most supernatural thing going on here.

I’m about to open my front door when a small envelope catches my eye at the bottom of my feet. I look over my shoulder and only see Matt as he waits for me to enter my house. I wave to him with the envelope in hand and walk inside my house. I hastily open the envelope and pull out a piece of thick canvas paper. The paper is covered with a beautiful sketch of what appears to be an open field covered in flowers with grazing horses in the distance. Being so engrossed in the sketch I didn't notice the small note on the back. 

“There’s a whole world out there just waiting for you to experience, love. When you’re ready to experience it, I’ll be waiting.” – Klaus

Taglist-

@grac3aph3lion @megmcc2003 @kollover24 @nameunknownsthings

[icarusxdemise]

To Be Born Female

From before they are even born there are people that when a baby is being brought into the world they will pray, wish, cross their fingers that it will be a boy, even for others; “Girls cry too much”, “They are too loud”, “I won’t have the same love for them as I do my baby boy”, “They are too much work”, “When they’re teenagers they will become monsters”, “I won’t have the same connection if it’s a girl”, “They aren’t as loving as boys”, “ They are more dramatic”. These are things I’ve heard when in discussion of someone wanting to or is pregnant, or things I have read in different media forums about pregnancy and raising kids. There are whole groups made just for moms that have boys and how much of a boy mom they are. How amazing having only boys is.

Men are more volatile it seems with their hatred at the thought of having a daughter. There are videos online showing baby showers of all different couples as the main focus. It doesn’t matter in what way the colors are revealed, if pink is seen showering from the air as confetti, Barbie doll pink balloons released into the sky, or a dyed pink center of a cake. There is a chance of that man seeing that baby doll pink color and freezing. Not out of surprise or happiness or excitement, but rage. They see that color and walk away. They see that color and start destroying things around them. Tearing down the signs and streamers and decorations. They will start angrily whispering to the other or themselves or scream at the top of their lungs “NO!” while throwing their hat on the ground. The look of discontent, disgust, and disconnection that they already hold for their soon to be daughter clear on their face. The mother will later post the video for all to see for laughs. Thinking it’s something everyone will find funny. But when people see that video, they will see the real anger in the man’s eyes. The mother thinks it’s funny, that he isn’t actually mad for having a daughter. That we don’t know him so we have no say in if the reaction he made is justified or not. That it’s normal for a man to act like this. Making excuses for him. It isn’t normal, at least it shouldn’t be but sadly it seems that it is in some people’s eyes. The villainization of being born a person with a vagina starts before birth, before they have taken their first breath, before they can do any wrong to deserve the hatred thrown their way. 

 The means to be born female means to be an object first. From the beginning, one to be owned, to be curated into the perfect princess everyone would look at in awe and admire their newborn beauty. Dressed up in pink dresses and bows with little boots to match. Dressed to impress. They are untouched by the outside world, at least physically, but that doesn’t stop the objectification from happening, even if unconsciously. Just to be born into the world and have your picture taken to later be admired by others. To be seen and criticized by others. To have people see your newborn body and judge you on how much you weight, how much hair is on your body, how much red is in your skin, how cute your nose and eyes are, if your skull is shaped in a pretty way. They need, yearn to know what you look like. You get no privacy in being born, looked at from nurse to nurse, family member to family member right from the womb. They aren’t doing it to be malicious, they love you, they want no harm done to you, but right now you are the hot new commodity to be seen, held, even smelled, and shown off to the world.

[sunshineseung]

Journal Part 2 // Jeongin

🍄 | genre: smut ☁️ | pairing: Yang Jeongin x female!reader 🌿 | wc: 3.2k 🌸 | includes: milf!reader x babysitter!college student!virgin!jeongin, solo masturbation (m), “mommy/ma’am”, other pet names, more smut within smut [spanking, punishment], breast play, begging, agreement of safe word, unprotected PIV, choking, creampie, male overstimulation, a lil bit more but that’s the main stuff

🌊 | One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Finale |

The dim light of the desk lamp was all that lit the room as Jeongin desperately jotted his thoughts down into his journal. It was very late at night, almost sunrise, but he couldn’t stop thinking about you. As he was writing, he was completely hard, and his hand was lazily stroking his cock, not in an attempt to reach an orgasm, but rather just to relieve some of the pent up energy he had inside of himself. 

This journal will no longer have to be fantasy. Finally, after years of going after girls and failing miserably, I have a girl that wants me, but not just a girl, a woman. Ms. L/n, the woman this entire book is for, said she needs me, and she did get me like she wanted. Although I wasn’t thinking straight, I remember everything. Her defined hands worshipped my body while she teased me, and even with my underwear on, it was hard not whimpering and moaning as she gripped my cock like I’ve wanted her to for so long. When she went down on me, it felt like a dream. I almost pinched myself out of fear that it was all a dream, but when I looked down to see my release covering her chest, I knew it wasn’t. 

The kiss… Her lips were so pretty and soft. The way she kissed me made my heart burst, like my life was just starting to begin. As cheesy as that sounds, I can’t shake the feeling that my neighbor who I once only lusted for was becoming more than just the woman I think about when I’m needy. I want to be with her all the time, and not just for sex. It’s too early to say I’m in love, of course, but despite her being over ten years older than me, would it be crazy of me to say that I like her?

Jeongin shut the journal, putting it in his bookbag for tomorrow. Looking back out of his bedroom window, the light behind your curtains was off, signaling it was way too late for him to be up. He slept good that night knowing all of his wildest and dirtiest dreams were about to come true, or at least a few of them.

🍓🍰🐤🍀💐🍯

School was always a drag, but only having one class on Friday’s was a gift from God for Jeongin. All he had to do was get through an hour and a half of class, then he could go to your house. Through text, you told him to be prepared to stay late, possibly overnight, and being the overly excited (and horny) teenage boy that Jeongin is, he couldn’t help but let his imagination run wild. Late night sex, morning sex, shower sex, the things he wanted to do with you were endless. Still, he also wanted to hold your hand, as weird as that sounded.

Putting his feelings aside, he joined his last class of the week and scrolled through his phone as his teacher blabbed on about who-knows-what. He needed something to distract him from the massive distraction that was your entire existence. 

He dashed out of his house right when class ended, showing up to your house earlier than usual only by a few minutes. You thanked him for watching your kids and left, and the casualness of your mannerisms alarmed Jeongin. You’re all he’s been thinking about for the past day, so how were you so calm and collected as if you weren’t wearing the same shirt that had his cum on it, albeit washed and dried right after the fact.

Your kids certainly help Jeongin get his mind off of you when they immediately ask him to play once you leave. After going through every jigsaw puzzle and playing with every Barbie doll, he finally put them to bed, giving him over an hour before you get home from work to write whatever he wants in his journal. He just has to avoid falling asleep this time. 

“Please hit me harder ma’am,” I whine as she has me bent over her lap. I deserve this, and even more so, I want this. I want Ms. L/n to spank my ass as hard as she can while I writhe in her lap with my hard cock rubbing against her leg. “I’ve been a bad boy, haven’t I?” The marks she leaves on my ass burn in the best way. Feeling her nails dig into my skin when she grabs the flesh that she’s made bright red, I cry out of pleasure and pain. What’s so rewarding about being punished, and why does it make my cock twitch with excitement when you treat me like shit?

Subconsciously, Jeongin’s free hand has moved to the tent in his pants, rubbing over the fabric of his jeans for the slightest bit of stimulation. Feeling himself, he puts the journal to the side after writing nearly two pages of disgusting fantasies. Despite having a nice, wholesome time with your two daughters under an hour ago, his mind, as usual, wonders to the thought of you pleasuring him and yourself as much as you want. To Jeongin, he’s your babysitter but also your toy that will happily let you use him however you wish, basically making him your slave. 

Getting home a few minutes early, you walk into your house to see the living room empty, although you were expecting your babysitter to be on the couch. Opening the door to your kids’ room, they’re sound asleep with no sign of him. Your head spins when you hear muffled groans coming from your bedroom. Being only mildly pissed, you storm into your room to see none other Yang Jeongin curled into your comforter, jerking off while his head is buried into your pillow.

“Couldn’t wait for me, huh?” Jeongin feels the edge of the bed dip as you sit on the edge, but he doesn’t stop. Actually, he speeds up, moaning louder now that you’ve closed the door. He’s still partially dressed with his cute little ass hanging out of the back of his pulled down jeans. “Aw, is my pretty boy about to cum? Who are you thinking about, hm?” 

“Y-you.” Jeongin sighs loudly, feeling himself get closer to his climax just by you mentioning it. “I was thinking about you, only you, ma’am.” His whines of this new name make your face flush. You reach out for his thigh, turning him so he’s laying on his back. He flops into position like a ragdoll, but his hand remains pumping his cock. Just by feeling your hands on him, he cums all over his wrinkled tee shirt. Embarrassed he came so fast, he apologizes, but you know very well he isn’t really done yet.

“Don’t be sorry, baby. You’re so young, and I’m sure you can go another round.”

You pull his pants and underwear down his legs, making him gasp from the sudden exposure despite you seeing it all before. “Now sit up and take that shirt off.”

Fully obedient, he stands off the bed and strips until he’s totally naked, face red as he awkwardly holds his hands to his sides. You sit in front of him, running your hands down his arms until you grab his hips and bring him closer until his cock is right at your chest. Although he’s still a little soft, you’re sure he’ll get hard in no time.

“Undress me, Jeongin.” His eyes go wide as he looks your figure up and down, scared of what he’s about to see, and even more scared of what he’s about to do. With a dramatic gulp, he unbuttons the familiar work shirt you were wearing, exposing your bra. He slowly leans down, carefully not to faceplant into your chest, unbuttoning your top entirely before you shake it off of your shoulders, the article of clothing falling behind you on the bed. “I’m guessing you don’t know how to unhook a bra?”

“N-no. I’m sorry.” Jeongin moves back and covers his face with his hands as you reach behind you and easily unhook your bra for him, dropping it onto your thighs and tossing it somewhere on the floor. When he removes his hands from his face, his jaw hangs open. He can’t take his eyes off of your tits, which are much nicer than he could ever imagine. “May I touch them, mommy?”

“Of course, baby.” You take his wrist in your hand and pull his right hand to your left breast, basically forcing him to squeeze it between his fingers, not that he minded. Seeing him so flustered and confused only made you more turned on. He was so innocent, yet the things he wrote in his journal were so vulgar. You could hardly believe that the words in that cursed book came from the boy that didn’t know how to unhook a bra. “Put your mouth to the nipple.” 

“Huh?”

“Don’t act so naïve, Jeongin. I know you’ve thought about this before.” He finally looks up to you out of shock. “So shy? Now? But when you write in that book of yours, you’re not shy, are you?” 

“No ma’am. I’m sorry.” 

Stopping his hand, you pull him down to his knees by his wrist. He’s eye-level with your stomach, but he quickly raises himself up to connect his lips with one of your nipples. You moan shortly as your hand tangles in his hair, pulling him closer into your chest. Even after breastfeeding your two kids, your nipples were sensitive as ever. 

“Good boy.” You stare down at him as he’s focused, swirling his tongue around your bud. When he finally looks up to you, your head is thrown back from the mild pleasure Jeongin’s shooting through your nerves. 

He’s starting to feel bold. Jeongin moves from one nipple to the other, massaging your other spit-coated breast with his hand. His fingers rub your nipple, twisting it just enough for it to all feel good. Your moans become more frequent, and being able to hear you groan for him is all he’s ever wanted. 

“Mommy, can I fuck your tits?” You’re the one that’s shocked this time. He pulls back, his hand becoming still on your other breast. “I want to fuck your tits so bad, please?” 

“Whoa there, baby boy. Getting a little ahead of yourself, aren’t you?” You laugh at his eagerness, pulling him by his hair to stand up. Just seeing how hard he’s gotten by sucking on your tits is enough to make you almost laugh again, but you wouldn’t want to be too mean to the poor boy. 

Moving back on the bed, you lay down and spread your legs. His eyes immediately direct towards your heat, still covered by your work pants. When you gesture towards the obstacle, he lets out a tiny “oh” before pulling your pants down, leaving you in your sopping panties. 

He hooks his index fingers on the hips of your panties, gently pulling them down your legs before dropping them to the floor with your panties. Again, this is greater than anything he could have imagined. 

“C’mere, my little prince.” You take his hands in yours, dragging him to sit on your thighs while you lay under him. You don’t let go of his hands, and he really doesn’t want you to. Your pet names for him always make him blush, but this one in particular made his heart beat even faster than before. “Have you written anything about me since yesterday?”

Jeongin’s mind becomes clouded by all of the things he’s written in the past 24 hours. Every scenario and confession fills his head, and it takes him a few moments to answer before he comes back to reality to answer you. “Y-yes mommy.”

“What did you write?”

Pause. “S-spank me?” Jeongin’s voice is only a light whisper. 

“What was that?” You lean up a little, holding your hand behind your ear to tease him. “You have to speak up, Jeonginnie.”

“I wrote about you spanking me.” His voice returns to him, now fully speaking from his chest. “Punishing me, treating me like a doll.”

“Oh my God, baby. That’s so perverted.” You rub his thighs up and down as you stare at his cock, now twitching with your every word. “You want to be my little doll? Let me do whatever I want to you?” 

“Y-yes!” His overexcited nature makes you giggle as you feel around his pelvis, hands getting dangerously close to his dick. “Can I be mommy’s little toy? I’ll be good, I promise!”

“But don’t you want me to punish you too?” You bite your lip as you look up at him. He’s looking off into the distance, imagining all of the nasty things he wants you to do to him. “Spank you, degrade you, deprive you?” 

“Can’t I have both?” His retort is quick. You didn’t know he could answer you so soon since he was clearly dipping into subspace, although he didn’t even know he did that. “Be your good boy and make you punish me?”

“Wow, so dirty~ We’ll need a safe word, alright?” He nods in understanding, watching you as you try to come up with a word that you could both comfortably say. “How about ‘mango’? Would that be good for you?”

“Mango is good, yeah.” You feel around the base of his cock, watching precum drip from his tip as he groans.

“What do you want to do right now, baby boy?”

“Oh,” he ponders for a second, “p-please fuck me.” 

“Ah, I love it when you beg.” You roughly push him over, his body falling onto the bed right where he was jerking off not too long ago. Climbing over him, you line his member up with your entrance, running his tip through your folds. He whimpers under you, biting the side of his hand to hold back any unwanted sounds he might let out. “Are you ready?”

“Y-yes, mommy! Please let me feel you.” The hand he isn’t biting down on goes to one of his nipples, feeling his chest like he just did to you. You slowly lower onto him, watching his facial expressions rapidly change as he gets used to feeling your cunt around him. He isn’t the biggest, but he still manages to fill you up and make you feel just right. 

Once you’re fully lowered onto him, he grabs your hips and holds you, whining your name over and over again. You can tell he’s trying to get something out, but his brain is too blank to form a sentence. Adjusting yourself on his cock, he groans with a high-pitched whine following shortly after.

“Wait, w-what if I cum inside you?” You look down at him, smiling at his cuteness. “I don’t think I’ll be able to last too long.”

“Don’t worry about a thing, baby.” You lean over and kiss his forehead, holding his face in your palms. “No matter what, I’m not stopping until I cum, got it?”

“Y-yes, ah~ Y/n!” Leaning back from his face, you raise up on him while he is mid-sentence, making him moan out for you. When you start to ride him, his sounds just can’t stop. Fearful that he’ll wake your children, you lean forward again and cover his mouth with your hand, still allowing him to breath through his nose. Ignoring your hand, he continues to cry and wail, feeling like he was on cloud nine just from you riding him. 

“You have such a nice cock, Jeonginnie. It’s even better inside me, though.” Your mind starts to fog, ignoring the younger boy’s needs to chase your own high. While one of your hands covers his mouth, your other hand wraps around his neck, choking him just enough to make him sob from the thrill. A few tears rolled down his cheeks, and without being able to warn you, he reached his climax and shot his load inside you, but you didn't stop.

Cum leaks out of your hole as your movements become quicker and rougher. The hand that covered his mouth has now joined your other hand around his neck, choking him as he sobs from the overstimulation, yet the predetermined safe word isn’t even crossing his mind. He loves everything you’re doing to him more than he could ever describe with words.

Your thumb runs across his bottom hip and he opens his mouth, light sobs leaving his throat. Ducking down towards his face, you kiss him with full tongue, something he’s never experienced before. Still, he quickly learned the movements and kissed you back, loving the feeling of your mouth against his. 

Pulling away, you stare down into his eyes. You looked beyond beautiful to him, and the entire visual of your half-lidded eyes, gaping mouth, bouncing tits, and dripping cunt making his cock disappear over and over again, he couldn’t help but get hard again.

“Cum for me, please mommy?” He pouts, giving you the glimmering eyes that always make you shudder. His hand hesitantly makes his way down to your clit, circling it with one finger while you ride his cock. You’re not entirely sure how he knows where the clitoris is, but it feels so good that you don’t even care. 

Mewling with your entire throat, your cunt tightens around Jeongin’s cock as you ride out your high, shallowing your movements. The sight of you cumming from him makes him moan right with you, nearly cumming inside you again. AS you come down from your orgasm, you slowly pull yourself off of him, his cock dropping against his abdomen, covering in the combined juices of you two. Catching your breath, you lay next to Jeongin, secretly hoping he’ll turn to his side so you can spoon him for a minute. 

“I can stay, right?” Jeongin turns to you while you lay on your side, looking to you for any sign of discontent. You nod as you stand up to go to the bathroom and clean up. “Oh, where are you going?”

“I can’t sleep like this.” You laugh as you gesture to your pussy, clearly in no shape to sit overnight. “I’ll be right back out.”

You disappear into the bathroom, ready to take care of the mess between your legs. Jeongin grabs a tissue and wipes himself clean of any release left on himself before laying back down and going on his phone, seeing a plethora of text message notifications from his friends’ group chat. He doesn’t have the mental capacity to check them right now. He just wants to bliss out, joyfully going through the entire night over again in his mind, cementing every action and event in his memory. 

Walking back from the bathroom, you toss yourself onto the bed and lay next to Jeongin, asking him politely to turn over so you can be the big spoon. With your chest pressed against his back, he puts his phone down and falls asleep.

Suddenly, your phone rings, and you quickly reach over to answer the call without seeing who it was. Unfortunately, it was your ex husband's voice coming from the other end, and you wish you had turned your ringer off. Jeongin was asleep, just like your kids, but as you rubbed your eyes from tiredness, you couldn’t help but regret answering the call.

“Y/n, are you fucking one of my students?”

Shit.

[waywardwrestlewritingwaif]

Whisky Secrets (sequel)

Here's something different. Before I ever thought about posting fanfic here, I used to write things inspired by fanfic I found by some of the incredible writers I found on tumblr. I've never posted any of them but I've really felt like writing something for Aleister Black/ Tommy End lately.

So I reached out to one of my original favourites on this site, @ghostofviperwrites and asked her if she'd mind if I published this sequel I wrote to her story Whisky Secrets. She gave me the ok (for which I thank her very much).

You absolutely have to read her piece first or this won't make any sense. It picks up literally at the point where hers leaves off and the entire premise is based on what she wrote. I think this goes in a very different direction than what she had in mind, though.

Since this is an old story, some of the characters are very different than they are now. It was set at around the time I wrote it. Based on events in the story, it's pretty clear when that was.

It's a bit dated but I hope you enjoy.

Pairing: Aleister Black x OFC (hints of Roman Reigns x OFC)

Word count: 7,031

Content advisory: graphic sexual content, language, incidental roughness that some might find stressful

You rested on the sofa for too long, knowing that you had to get to work, that you were already behind on an assignment that was due that afternoon. As much as you desperately wanted to cling to the scent and the feeling of him being there with you and the idea that he might someday want to be there with you for longer, you knew that you were only wasting time by indulging in a fantasy. Once again, you reminded yourself, he saw you as a friend, a landing pad after he was finished his adventures. And so you dragged yourself to the computer and tried to focus.

It was a fluff piece you’d been hired to write: places for new residents of Orlando to meet people. You’d accepted it because the pay was good and it had seemed easy. But what the hell did you know about meeting people? You’d barely met anyone and the only ones that you’d call friends were the ones you met when you’d done an in-depth profile on the WWE and their development territory NXT. Of those, only Aleister had remained close and even then, you couldn’t say that the two of you had ever properly opened up to each other. Nevertheless, you’d stayed in touch with a number of them, occasionally meeting for coffee or drinks. None of this was in any way useful when it came to recommending locations to connect with strangers.

You’d tried to start the article the day before but now when you opened the file, you discovered that you’d only come up with a half a dozen corny titles and one word of text:

When?

The word was too painfully appropriate.

When were you going to run out of luck and be unable to find further work as a journalist?

When were you going to admit that what kept you here, rather than moving to another state and pursuing more secure work, was the fact that you were in love with a man who was only interested in your capacity as a friend and caregiver?

When was your hopeless love going to break you beyond repair?

Annoyed with yourself, you deleted the word and tried to start again. You could meet people at the gym classes that were ubiquitous in this city. You could meet people at get-togethers for shared hobbies like hiking or pottery or basically anything. No one had to meet people by getting thrown into their orbit and being unable to extricate themselves.

About half an hour into your resentful hammering on the keyboard, you were startled by your doorbell. For one sweet instant, you imagined that it was Aleister dropping by to pass some time with you. Then you realized that he never came to you without an invitation unless it was dead drunk in the middle of the night. Even when you invited him, it was only every fourth or fifth time that you asked that he agreed to come over and watch a movie or go for a walk in the nearby park. There was no way it was him at your door at eleven o’clock in the morning.

In fact, the person at your door was Bayley, chipper and warm as always, returning the spare laptop you’d lent her a few weeks before.

“Thank you so much,” she beamed, thrusting the computer into your hands. “You are a lifesaver. I’d have lost my goddamn mind if I hadn’t had this while mine was in the shop.”

“It was nothing,” you insist, smiling at her unconstrained warmth even though you didn’t feel very positive about your life at that moment. “Do you want to come in for a minute?”

She nodded cheerily and stepped across the foyer. You never really knew how you fit in with the women of WWE, even though you’d spoken to many of them in depth. Bayley stood out because she was determined to be your friend despite your introvert’s reluctance. And, indeed, she was irresistible. Much like her in-ring character, she cast sunshine wherever she went and her glow was contagious, even in your darkest and lowest moments.

You motioned her into the kitchen, offering her a choice of lemonade, iced tea or water. Her eyes immediately fell on the empty whiskey bottle you’d left on the counter, her expression growing more serious as she focused on it.

“Getting started early?” she cajoled.

“A friend left that here,” you replied guiltily.

She narrowed her dark eyes as she looked at you. Sweet and optimistic as she was, Bayley was not naïve. She knew exactly what friend had left the bottle behind and she knew how you felt about him.

“I’ll have a glass of lemonade,” she said, the smile slowly returning to her face.

You joined her and the two of you jokingly touched glasses before drinking.

“So, a few of us are getting together tonight,” she said hesitantly. “I thought you might like to join us.”

Your first instinct was to ask if Aleister would be there, but you thought better of it. Instead, you responded, “Well, I have an article I need to finish.”

Of course, your article was due by the end of the afternoon, which meant that your evening was free regardless, but part of you wanted to be at home in case Aleister came staggering over again.

Bayley’s jaw set in a determined expression you’d only seen from her in the ring. “We’re having a party for Roman, to celebrate him going into remission.”

Well now you felt like a bit of a bitch for making excuses and didn’t know what to say.

“It won’t just be wrestlers there. Some other journalists are even coming. And I know that it would mean a lot to him if you were there.”

When you’d done your article on the WWE, you’d interviewed Roman Reigns and he’d been incredibly generous with his time. He’d even contacted you after your interviews to confirm that you had all the detail you needed. He was the face of the company and had done everything possible to make sure that the company had provided what you required. He’d clearly wanted to make sure they’d left a good impression and you couldn’t help but be impressed by his PR skills. Although you knew it wasn’t true that it “would mean a lot to him”, you were touched by the idea that he remembered you and might like you to be there to celebrate his great news. At the same time… you needed to be there for Aleister.

“Look,” Bayley insisted, “I’m going to text you the details for the bar where we’ll be. It’s not a big deal, just a bunch of us getting together to be happy for our friend.”

There was no way that you could refuse that, so you shyly thanked her as she gulped the rest of her lemonade and made for the door.

“I’m serious,” she said as she departed. “You work so damn hard you deserve a night off. Finish what you’re doing and come have fun with us.”

As soon as she’d left, you once again sat down at your computer. Before you could return your attention to your work, however, you couldn’t resist checking Instagram.

Someone had tagged Aleister in a photo on Instagram.

Yes, you were that pathetic that you always checked.

With trepidation, you clicked the link to look at what was there. As it too often did, the notification came from an airbrushed-looking woman, her collagen-enhanced lips pressed against his. She looked arrogant and proud, while he looked smug and inebriated.

“Guess who I got to hang with last night?” the caption gloated.

You knew damn well what “hang” was a euphemism for. He never cared that the Barbie dolls he hooked up with advertised their conquest on social media. He was single and hot. Why should he care if people knew that he always scored with the sort of women other men lusted after? Why should he care that it ripped your heart to shreds every time you saw him with another woman so unlike you in every way?

The woman had posted a few other photos of the two of them together, embracing. Every part of her magazine-ready body was on display, save those parts that would have gotten her in trouble. Her artificially perfect breasts were spilling out of a tiny tube top while her endless legs were shown in their full glory between the edge of a skirt that likely required her to trim her pubic hair and the sky high heels that raised her enough to press her lips to his without having to stretch herself awkwardly. She was nothing like you, with your unkempt hair and loose, bohemian dresses, your comfortable ballet flats and blandly natural face. She had all the glamour that you lacked and he ate it up.

The images of the two of them cut into you like a laser and, for once, all you desired was to break free from the pain of feeling. A few minutes later, when Bayley sent the text she’d promised with the details of where you could find the party tonight, you immediately responded.

“I’ll be there. I promise.”

To hell with Aleister and the designer women he adored, you told yourself as you returned to your article with a vengeance. Tonight you were going to do whatever it took to break the spell he had cast over you.

*

It was just after nine when you found yourself teetering to the entrance of the bar where the party was taking place. It was marked only by a subtle sign, no words, just a stylized anchor, and it was hidden away on a tiny street that was hardly more than an alley. In your fit of pique, you’d finished your article two hours before your deadline and then, having examined the options in your closet and found them wanting, headed out and spent entirely too much money on a new dress that clung perfectly to your breasts before flaring out to highlight the movements of your body, while covering just the bare minimum to maintain decency. You’d also picked up a stylish pair of ankle boots with heels higher than you were used to and that posed a legitimate threat as you made your way down the roughly paved road to the speakeasy-style bar.

A little further down the alley, you see a couple leaning against a car, taking turns swigging from a liquor bottle. The woman is one of those glamorous animals that makes you so insecure, laughing in drunken delight in a way that only confident people can. In one quick movement the man spins her around and bends her over the hood of the car. He immediately takes out his cock, stroking it a couple of times before he thrusts into her, one hand on her back while the other holds the bottle that he continues drinking from. And it’s a moment before you realize that it’s Aleister, fucking away at a woman whose name he won’t remember in a few hours.

The sight makes you want to curl up and die, makes you want to say that you’ve made a mistake and run along home so you can bawl your eyes out while you wait for his inevitable drunken arrival. But, if nothing else, the damage that you’ve done to your credit card in order to make yourself look just a bit more sexy and edgy than usual, as well as the glasses of wine you had already consumed to fortify your courage, push you forward. This is a test. In order to pass, you need to be able to ignore the man whose indifference is killing you and enter the world of others, where someone who wasn’t up to the standards of the rarified model girls might be willing to give you a second look.

Aleister doesn’t even glance up as you enter the bar a few feet away from him, can’t feel the dark weight of your eyes on him or the force with which you tear them away as you step through the door.

As soon as you do, you are once again frozen with the idea that you’ve made a mistake. When Bayley characterized this as a “get-together”, you’d assumed it meant a group of people spread out around a few tables chatting away and toasting Roman’s health. Instead, what greets you is a basement club full of people with a dance floor alive with writhing bodies. You recognize a few journalists but for the most part, the space is taken up with every WWE and NXT star you’ve ever heard of. It’s a convention of beautiful people and you can’t help but feel dowdy even in your overpriced finery.

You slowly descend the stairs, fully intending to look around, say hello to a few familiar faces and then bolt for the exit, but you’re immediately greeted by a familiar voice that fairly shrieks. “Oh my god woman, just look at you!”

It’s Sasha Banks, standing at the edge of the stairs with Bayley, who gives you an exaggerated round of applause.

“Miranda, you look amazing,” Sasha continues breathlessly. “Seriously, you’re putting everyone to shame.”

You don’t feel like you’re putting anyone to shame, least of all Sasha in her body suit that hugs every curve of her perfect little hourglass, but you blush at the compliment.

“Come on,” Bayley gushes, “we need shots to celebrate your hotness!”

She pulls both of you through the crowd to the bar and somehow is able to get the bartender’s attention almost immediately, ordering two rounds of tequila shots because, she tells you and Sasha, there’s no point in getting just one round when you know you’re going back for seconds. The three of you toast and toss down the shots and then immediately do so again and you have to admit that you’re feeling the warm glow already. Sasha, apparently feeling something herself, wraps her arms around you and once again reassures you that you are devastatingly beautiful.

Another shot is thrust into your hand, this time by Dash Wilder, who’s arrived with his Revival partner Scott Dawson. Wilder has always been attractive to you, so you give him as radiant a smile as you can manage and you swear he blushes a little just before he downs his shot. Dawson is hugging Sasha and Bayley close to him, allowing Dash to edge a little closer to you and you’re feeling a little high on yourself when another voice cuts through your circle.

“Miranda? Holy fuck I can’t believe you’re here!”

Roman Reigns pushes right through the bodies close to the bar and grabs you firmly by the shoulders, his eyes gradually focusing on yours. He’s grinning with an intensity that clearly comes from his being a little past feeling no pain but it doesn’t hamper the thrill it gives you when he wraps his arms around you and nearly crushes you in a hug.

“I mean, shit, I don’t think I’ve even talked to you since you did that interview,” he pouts. “Thank you so much for coming.”

You smile as another shot is pushed into your hand, biting your lip self-consciously. You down about half the shot before Roman grabs it from you and finishes it, breaking up with laughter. He signals the bartender for another round, keeping an arm around your back until the tray of shots arrives. You’re all toasting each other and you wonder why you ever questioned yourself for coming here because this is exactly what you needed.

“Come dance with me,” Roman chuckles, grabbing your wrist and pulling you towards the dance floor. He’s clearly floating on a sea of drunken bliss, goofing around and happy to have someone to have fun with, someone he didn’t expect to be there. Even if you wanted to resist his offer, you couldn’t because, while he isn’t doing anything that might hurt you, his grip is strong enough and the rest of him powerful enough to compel you forward.

The two of you deliberately dance like complete nerds in high school, awkward movements and ironic posturing until you’re both laughing so hard you can barely stand. It’s then that you realize that you’ve become the focus of some attention; Roman goddamn Reigns, the face of the company, the locker room leader, the man who everyone has come to celebrate, is dancing with you. Most of the people here have no idea who you are but because you’re with Roman, you are somebody. Basking in the subtle attention and envy, you close your eyes and allow yourself to get lost in the music, swaying to the beat until you feel a large pair of hands on your hips.

You open your eyes to see Roman pulling you closer to him with a devilish grin before spinning you around and pulling your back against his massive chest. You continue to move but at a slower pace, your movements limited by how close he’s holding you and the sensual way in which his body moves against yours. Keeping one arm loosely around you, he lets his other hand fall against your thigh, lightly playing with the hem of your dress. It makes you gasp.

“You never responded to any of my texts,” he murmurs gruffly in your ear.

You remember at least half a dozen messages asking if he could clarify anything or if you needed any additional material for your article. You hadn’t needed anything else but you suddenly feel terribly rude for not answering.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, “you were very professional and I should have at least told you that I had what I needed.”

His voice drops even lower as he speaks. “I didn’t mean to be professional about them. And I was hoping that you didn’t have everything you needed.”

He pulls you up and firmly against him and for the first time you can feel his hardening cock through his pants. You can’t help but thrust your hips into him, barely able to process what’s happening to you. The two of you are still ostensibly dancing, although it’s more like a rhythmic grinding to the music as he reaches down and pulls the hem of your dress up, rubbing your thigh and then your ass as he presses his lips into your neck. His hands are everywhere on you and you’re aware that your entire lower body is basically on display for anyone who cares to look but you don’t care because it feels like you’ve won the lottery. You moan at the feeling of his growing excitement against your flesh, both his large hands grazing up the front of your thighs and for a moment you think that you’re ready to beg him to take you right there when you’re violently spun away from your dance partner, a bruising grip on your arm.

It’s Aleister, eyes incandescent with rage as he tells Roman, “I need to speak to her for a minute.”

Roman looks confused and tries to speak to you but Aleister drags you away and a gaggle of women immediately descend on Roman, desperate to take your place.

Aleister flings you against the wall, glaring at you with an intensity that you’ve never seen outside the ring.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he growls.

“I was dancing before you interfered,” you snap back at him, rubbing your arm.

“Dancing?” he repeats with derision. “That’s what you call that?”

“I was having fun.”

“What the hell are you wearing?”

For the first time since you saw him with his woman of choice outside, you feel ridiculous, like a girl trying to look glamorous by donning her mother’s clothes.

“I wanted something a little different.”

“A little?” he hisses back. “Do you realize what you look like? You’re all tarted up and letting some guy grab at you and get you half naked in front of a bar full of people.”

“What I look like?”

“Everyone could see practically your whole goddamned body. They could see what you were letting him do to you.”

“You mean to say I look like a whore.”

Aleister crosses his arms and glances away, refusing to confirm what you’ve said.

“So what, Aleister? So what if I’m letting a man touch me and show me that he wants me? Who cares who else sees? Maybe that’s what I want!”

“Are you so stupid that you think he wants you for anything other than a one night stand?”

The accusation stabs at your heart and your confidence but you’re determined not to let him see that.

“Again, so what? Maybe I’m happy to have this big, gorgeous man want me. Maybe I’m fine bringing him back to my place for a few hours of fun because at least it means someone is thinking of me as a sexual being for a change.” You pause, knowing the danger of what you’re about to say but unable to stop yourself. “Maybe I’d be fine if he just took me outside and fucked me over the hood of a car.”

For a second, you think that Aleister is going to strangle you. The look on his face is like the moment before the sky erupts in thunder and lightning. Truthfully, you expect that he’ll turn on his heel and walk away from you and never come back, and perhaps that’s what you need him to do so that you can get over him.

Instead, he grabs you, pinning you to the side of his body and pulling you towards the door. His movements make you stumble, and the more you try to resist him, the more ungainly you look.

“She’s dead drunk,” you hear him assure a few people, “I’m going to make sure she gets home.”

And while it’s true that you are drunk, you’re not nearly as drunk as he’s making you out to be. The second he has you outside, you try to twist away from him and go back, only for him to wind you closer, pulling you off balance so that you look even more inebriated.

You hear him whisper to Seth Rollins, who’s observing the spectacle through the corner of his eyes. “Look, tell Roman that she’s falling down drunk and I just had to get her home. No disrespect meant.”

Seth has a confused expression on his face but nods and tells him, “Sure thing.”

Realizing what Aleister is doing, you once again try to rush past him, but he blocks you, gripping your arm and pulling you after him so that you really do appear pathetically unable to take care of yourself.

“Why the fuck are you doing this to me?” you shout at him, figuring that there’s no reason to worry about who might hear you, there being no further you can sink in their estimation. “Why can’t you just let me enjoy myself?”

“Jesus, Miranda, you’re loaded. You can barely stand up.” He emphasizes this by jerking your arm forward, which almost causes you to keel over onto your face. “You’re just embarrassing yourself.”

“No,” you insist, pulling yourself to a halt. “I knew what I was doing. I knew what I wanted. Sure I’m a bit tipsy but-“

“You don’t want that,” Alesiter snaps, threading his arm through yours and continuing down the street. “You don’t just want to whore yourself out for a night because you think it might help your self-esteem.”

“You don’t get to decide what I want, Aleister.” You’re crushed against his side and he’s moving so quickly that your feet only graze the ground every third or fourth step. “Let me go. I’m sick of playing the surrogate mother for someone who’s incapable of seeing me as a real woman. I want to go back there. I want to have someone make a show of wanting me. I want to get fucked so hard I can’t walk tomorrow.”

Aleister shakes his head like a parent frustrated with a misbehaving child. “Stop it. You’re being ridiculous.”

“So let me be ridiculous!” you yell back, trying unsuccessfully to extricate yourself from his grip. “What the hell is it to you? Are you worried that for once I’m not going to be there when you need a place to collapse at four in the morning?”

The two of you reach the corner where the alley meets the street and he swings you to face him, glowering at you with a terrifying expression, gripping your biceps so hard you know you’ll be bruised in the morning. He says nothing but stares at you until he whips his arm out and hails a taxi seemingly out of nowhere.

He launches you, there’s no other word for it, into the back seat of the car and snarls your address to the driver as your tears start to fall. The cabbie is noticeably uncomfortable with your quiet whimpering and seems confused by the fact that Aleister does nothing to comfort or engage you. He sits with his arms folded, scowling, until you arrive at your building. Reflexively, you reach for your purse only to have Aleister swat your hand away and pay the driver himself. You try to keep pace as he yanks you towards the door, but stumble because of your unsure footing in these strange heels and because your vision is glazed by the tears you’re fighting to hold in.

When Aleister pins you against the door and rummages through your purse to find your keys, it somehow feels more invasive than Roman gripping your ass for an entire bar full of people to see. You feel, for a moment, that he is looking at you with tenderness. But when the door opens, he simply guides you through it. As you hear it click shut, the last of your strength, physical and emotional, gives out and you drop to your knees, finally allowing the tears to fall. It’s a full-on ugly cry, punctuated by guttural, anguished sounds you’d never allow anyone else to hear. Despite everything, you desperately want to hear the door open again behind you and to hear him say that he’s realized he loves you.

But no, in the end, he’s just found it gross that the woman he sees as his caregiver might have another side. He found you pathetic in your overpriced dress and shoes. He knew that you were desperately trying to act like something you could never be: like someone who could compete with the perfected Instagram beauties he fucks every night. You could never be that. He knew that you were just a sad little woman decked out in a gaudy outfit. You’d never be that sexy, desirable person who stopped men dead in their tracks, no matter what your dance with Roman had temporarily led you to believe.

You’re on your knees for what seems like hours, choking on tears and snot and trying to restrain yourself from howling. Just as the sound overpowers you and a low wail escapes your lips, you’re startled by a pair of arms, familiar, tattooed arms wrapping around your waist from behind.

“Shh. There’s no need for any of that,” he grunts into your hair.

And while you’re shocked and thrilled that he actually stayed behind to make sure that you were ok, it’s also even more humiliating that he’s seen you fall apart so spectacularly. Your body feels limp with defeat and unable to react at all as he gathers you up and carries you into your bedroom, setting you gently on the edge of the bed. He rests his hand on yours for a moment and you’re able to stem the flow of tears until he stands up and heads back towards the door. This time, you’re determined to hold in the worst of your misery until you’re sure he’s gone, even though you can’t stop the tears from running down your face.

But after a few minutes of straining to hear the door close, you see Aleister return, a damp washcloth in hand, and he sits once again beside you on the edge of the bed. He presses the cloth, cool and soothing, against your cheeks and then holds your chin as he delicately wipes it across your face. It takes you some minutes to realize that he’s removing your smeared makeup, cleaning you off so that you look good as new, so that you look more like the plain girl who lets him into her home in the middle of the night, his touch filled with a tenderness that you never imagined him capable of. When he’s satisfied with his work, he tosses the cloth aside and wraps an arm around you, pulling you close against him. The sweetness of his friendly gesture makes you want to cry all over again but you choke it back, knowing that you’ll have plenty of time for that when he’s gone.

“Can I stay here tonight?” he whispers, the sound of his voice making you feel weak.

You nod and roughly pull back from him, unsure of your ability to stop yourself from throwing yourself at him and begging him to wreck you. You fumble with the zipper of your boots until Aleister slides off the bed and onto his knees and removes it for you. He glides his hand along your calf, up to your thigh and then moves to your other boot. As he slides it off, he presses his head against the side of your knee, giving the skin a light kiss before rocking back on his haunches. You know he’s being gentle with you because he feels sorry for you. He finds you pitiful, which is even worse than finding you asexual.

The feelings are too much for you to take and all you can think of is that you want to get into bed where you’ll be safe and where you can sleep off the nightmare your evening out has become. You clumsily shed your dress, stockings, bra and panties without thinking much of the fact that you have an audience. Why should it bother him seeing you naked, after all? Normally, you put on some nightclothes but you don’t even have the strength to bother. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see that Aleister has turned his head towards the door. He’s embarrassed for you, the way you would be if a parent or sibling was undressing around you.

You crawl under the covers with a grumbled “good night” and immediately start to feel yourself drift off. You’re jolted back to wakefulness when Aleister climbs in beside you. In all the time you’ve known him, as many nights as he’s come and collapsed on your sofa, you don’t think he’s ever seen your bedroom. Now, having seen it, he’s apparently happy not to leave it, indulging in the comfort of your bed without even asking permission. It makes you a little self-conscious that you’re nude but it’s hardly the most humiliating thing to happen to you tonight, so you let yourself ignore it. If you can just fall asleep, this night will be over and you can begin the process of trying to forget it.

It’s only a matter of seconds, though, until you feel his body pressed against yours from behind, one hand coming to rest flat on your stomach and pushing you back against him so that you are acutely aware that you are not the only person naked in the bed. The hand on your stomach flutters downward until his fingers are moving lightly over your pussy, like he’s plucking the strings of a harp. His other arm wraps around your shoulders and keeps you flush against him, close enough that you can’t mistake the feeling of his erection against your back.

He presses his lips and tongue against your neck, making you whimper as you try to keep your heart rate stable. Your little noises seem to motivate him further, his touch becoming more insistent and one of his legs snaking over yours, pulling it back to give his hand greater access.

“Such a little fool,” he murmurs, his fingers stroking insistently along your fleshy folds. “Thinking I don’t see you as a sexual being.”

He sinks his teeth into your shoulder, making you cry out- more from the shock than the pain. His mouth continues to move around your neck and shoulders, nipping and sucking on the skin there, his grip on you tightening until it’s nearly painful.

“What are you doing?” you manage to ask.

“Leaving marks,” he says matter-of-factly.

You’re at a loss for what to say, but are saved from having to answer as he pushes two fingers inside you, his thumb rubbing slow circles over your clit. You’re embarrassed that he must have felt how wet you were just from being in his presence but he says nothing, quickening his pace and giving satisfied little growls when his touch elicits gasps and cries of pleasure from you.

It’s pity, you remind yourself; what he’s doing to you, he’s doing it because he feels sorry for you and because he’s drunk and horny despite his encounter earlier in the evening. But the thought gets whisked away as he brings you closer and closer to what you’ve desperately needed from him for so long. You let out a little shriek when he removes his hand, unable to believe he’s so cruel as to bring you to the precipice and then deny you. But he simply flips you onto your back before pressing his fingers inside you once more, watching your reactions to be sure he’s hitting just the right spot before burying his face between your legs. His tongue, lips and fingers work together like an orchestra. Your knuckles are white from the force of clenching on the sheets and you’re biting down so hard on your lip to muffle the sounds you’re making that you’re worried your teeth will end up permanently embedded. He unexpectedly raises his head and stills the movement of his hand inside you and the shock is almost enough to make you start crying again. You look down at him, his eyes sparkling in the low light with an expression you can’t read.

“Why won’t you let me hear you?”

Because you don’t want him to know how good his merciful little gesture is making you feel. Because you don’t want to admit to yourself that it’s better than you’d imagined. Truthfully, whenever you’ve thought about the mechanics of sex with Aleister, you imagined that it would be fast and rough and hedonistic, much like his other sexual encounters seem to be. But he’s chosen this moment to take his time, to focus on his partner, rather than go for a quick, dirty fuck in a darkened corner.

You don’t tell him any of this, instead croaking out, “I’m shy.”

He raises himself up and over your body with the effortless grace of a serpent, pressing his head close to yours and kissing along your jawline.

“What do I have to do to make you not be shy?”

“I don’t know… I just… am.” You wriggle a little under him, turning your face away when he looks directly into your eyes.

He cups your face in one hand and runs the other, still wet with your juices, over your breast, teasing the nipple and making you shudder involuntarily.

“Am I moving too fast?”

You shake your head, not quite trusting your voice.

“Is there something that you’d enjoy more? Something you want me to do for you?”

You give him another little shake of the head.

“You don’t have to be shy with me. Whatever you want, I want you to tell me so I can give it to you. Anything.”

For the first time, he kisses you on the lips, his tongue, that still tastes of you, slides against yours and the hand at the side of your face slides to hold your neck, cradling your head so that you don’t have to tense any muscles to stay in that position. Your body has nothing it needs to do but experience the sensations he’s creating. Of course, you still answer his kiss, hungrily flashing your tongue against his, reveling in the light scrape of his lip ring against your lips. His hand glides back down between your legs, and even the proximity is enough to draw a couple of little mewls of pleasure. You feel him smile a little against your lips at the noises and he pulls away from the kiss.

“Am I making you feel good?”

You nod as he starts to work his fingers around your entrance once again.

“Do you want my mouth down there again?”

You nod even more vigorously than the first time but he shakes his head.

“Tell me. Say it out loud.”

You open your mouth to do so and he immediately thrusts his long fingers into your g-spot and your clit at once, making you yelp in pleasure. It’s almost enough to make you cum on its own but he eases the pressure before you reach that peak.

“Yes?” he asks again.

“Yes, fuck, yes!”

“Then let me hear you. Please.”

He returns his attention to your core and has you making all manner of unholy noises in short order. He expertly teases you and then holds back, so many times that when he does finally take you over the edge, you feel like you might pass out from the intensity of it. Your gasps for breath sound cavernous in the quiet room.

He keeps the palm of his hand firmly against you as he leans forward and presses his lips into your neck, letting out a satisfied purr every time an aftershock rolls through your body.

When he’s satisfied that you’ve fully come down, he raises himself up on his arms, giving just the hint of a smile when you grab onto his biceps to steady yourself.

He’s so rigid that he doesn’t even need a hand to guide himself into you. He simply presses forward in one slow but sure moment, his eyes closed as if it’s a kind of religious experience, not opening them until he’s fully seated inside you. It’s been long enough since you’ve been with anyone that the feeling of being stretched draws a little whimper from your throat. He remains still, his eyes open and bearing down on you with a delirious kind of excitement, aching prick twitching inside you, desperate to proceed but waiting for a signal that he can.

And it’s at that moment that you allow yourself to think that this isn’t pity or a drunken mistake, that he’s as hungry for you as you have been for him and that what’s happened tonight has just served to connect a circuit. The fiercely possessive look in his eyes as he watches you, the fury when he thought someone else was claiming you, the need to mark you to make you his, the flush of pure lust on his face and chest… it is just a little frightening, something you suspected was in him but never that it was focused on you. But you’ve always known you could handle his darkness if he let you in. So you thrust your hips a little and wrap your legs loosely around his waist to show him that he can continue. Just as he starts to move, he cups your face and presses his mouth to your ear.

“You deserve so much better.”

“Stop trying to make those decisions for me,” you moan, feeling your insides flutter with his movements.

“I’ve never felt anything like that jealousy.” He’s staring into your eyes as he confesses. He lifts one of your legs over his shoulder pressing deeper inside you and gasping at the feeling. “Knowing that everyone could see how sexy and beautiful you are… And I’m an idiot for waiting for that to happen before I did anything, I just…”

He grimaces and slows his pace a little, obviously trying to prolong the sensation.

“You mean it?” You have to ask because you still can’t quite believe that this has been on his mind for all this time when he’s shown no sign of it to you.

“God yes,” he answers through gritted teeth, once again allowing himself to move faster and more urgently.

You can’t completely banish your fears that he’s going to regret this in the morning and just shut you out again but every second with him is pushing them further away. You lace your fingers through his hair, nipping at the shell of his ear as he lets out his own stream of desperate, lusty noises, running your nails gently down his back as he approaches his crescendo.

His head drops to your chest and he cries out as he releases inside you.

“Fuck I love you, fuck I love you, fuck I love you.” He repeats it like a mantra that brings him back down from his high, saying it a final time as he looks into your eyes.

Slowly, he rolls onto his side, gathering you close to him like he thinks an errant breeze might carry you away.

“I have…” he begins quietly, “… there’s a lot that goes on in my head… Bad things, I guess. I thought you’d run away. Or that I’d pull you down with me. I still don’t know that won’t happen.”

He looks so vulnerable that it makes your heart hurt but at the same time you have to stifle a smile.

“Well I’d rather you let me try to deal with it. I’m a lot tougher than you give me credit for being.”

His expression grows a little guilty and he nods. He wraps his arms tighter around you and you do the same until the two of you are lying in your bed, wound around each other.

[rikalovesrice]

Douxie x Reader #3 - Yours

So to recap, you, the Reader, are often overlooked because of your intelligent, glamorous, and popular older sister. You’ve always been in her shadow, rarely ever acknowledged. Which makes your friendship with Douxie mean that much more, because he sees you. Same with Zoe and Archie. They’ve become your secret, little magical tribe and you cherish them.

So you’re more than distraught when your sister takes an interest in Douxie.

- You’re hanging out with Douxie at Arcane Books when someone storms into the store. It’s your sister, looking extra irritated.

- Douxie greets her and you see it. Your sister looks Douxie up and down. And not a second later, she’s got one of her hands combing through her hair and a flirtatious smile on her Barbie-doll face.

- “What are you doing here?” you ask, feeling small tremors in your voice. Your hands curl in on themselves and you start picking at your thumbnails.

- Your sister scowls at you. “Um, trying to find books for a research paper?” She turns her attention back to Douxie, leaning on the counter. “We were told we can’t use books from our school’s library. Think you can help me?” She bats her eyelashes and drums her fingers against the counter, her long fake nails clacking on the surface.

- “Sure, of course,” Douxie says, smiling. You swallow, actually wishing for once that Douxie wasn’t such a sweetheart.

- “(Name)?” Douxie says when you suddenly gather your things and head for the door. 

- “Sorry, Douxie, I’m...” Your sister glares at you, leaning and waiting against the bookshelves you’ve been associating with warmth and comfort and belonging. “I’m not feeling great all of a sudden. I’ll see you later.”

- Douxie frowns, stepping towards you. “(Name) -” But you’re already out the door.

- “Forget her,” your sister sighs, touching Douxie’s arm. “She has these moments or whatever. She’ll be fine. So....books?”

- “Um...Yes, right. We have some interesting volumes over here...” Douxie makes a note to text you later.

- The feeling of absolutely not being fine at all burns deeper and deeper, under your skin and into your bones, no matter how many times you say the opposite. Your sister’s been making it a point to pay Douxie a visit everyday for the past week. And not just at the bookstore. Now’s she’s infiltrated Benoit’s, always asking for Douxie to be her server.

- She keeps touching Douxie’s arms and shoulders. Stop touching him.

- Your sister’s so pretty and you’ve always known it and seen it and she makes sure Douxie notices. No...Not you, too. Don’t look at her. Please look at me.

- “Oh my gosh, I love cats, too!” She’s such a liar.

- “Can I hear you play sometime? Sing a song for me?” No, no, no. Anything but that.

- You look at yourself in the mirror. You don’t know who or what you’re looking at. Who does Douxie see? What does Douxie see? And does he deserve it? Is it good enough for someone so beautiful and amazing as him?

- She’s everything you’re not. She’ll win. She’ll take it all like she always has.

- It doesn’t go unnoticed, how troubled and distressed you are. How your eyes go downcast as soon as your sister approaches Douxie. The stiffness of your smiles. The passive mean-spirited comments your sister makes about you. No, Douxie doesn’t miss any of it.

- “Hi Douxie!” Douxie’s heart jumps into his throat when a weight crashes down into his lap. He staggers where he sits. Your sister’s thrown herself at him, giggling and linking her fingers around the back of his neck. Her calves hang off the armrest of the couch, her legs swinging. “Wanna help me look for books again today?”

- You’re not even fully in the door when you see it. You don’t hear Douxie ask what on earth your sister is doing. You don’t register him actually trying to squirm out from under her. No, you just see your sister all over the boy you’re pretty sure you’ve fallen in love with. The boy you so desperately don’t want to lose.

- She’s trying to land a kiss on his cheek and the next thing you know, you’re storming up to the couch, visibly shaking. 

- “Get off of him,” you seethe.

- Your sister gives you an incredulous look. “Um, excuse me?”

- “I said get off of him!” You’re on the brink of screaming. “Can’t you see he’s uncomfortable?”

- Douxie’s resolutely standing up from the couch, forcing your sister off of his lap. He goes to your side, feeling flustered and annoyed like he has all week with this girl.

- “Oh my gosh, lighten up,” your sister sneers. “I was just having fun. Right, Doux?” Her seductive smile evaporates when Douxie backs away from her touch.

- “Look, I’m glad I could help you,” Douxie says to your sister, genuine but dry. “But I think we’re done here, love.”

- She scoffs, crossing her arms. “What do you mean done?”

- “You’re smart. I’m sure you can figure it out.” Douxie’s glowering at her, meeting her gaze evenly. You don’t realize it, but he’s put himself between you and your sister. A protective shadow.

- Eventually your sister breathes out a mirthless laugh, rolls her eyes, and pushes past Douxie. Before she leaves, she takes one last glance at the two of you and her face utterly sours with disgust.

- “Whatever. I’m over this. Clearly neither of you have good taste.” With that, she stomps out the door.

- You put your fists over your eyes and walk away from Douxie, suddenly overcome with shame. Douxie doesn’t hesitate to go after you, gently turning you to face him.

- “(Name), what is it?” he asks, hoping that you’ll look at him. You’re so upset and he just doesn’t like it at all. “Don’t listen to her. You’re-”

- “I’m a possessive jerk,” you say, voice strained as you feel the tears coming. “I’m sorry....I just...You’re just....I didn’t want her to take you away from me...”

- “Take...me away?” Douxie repeats. “Please look at me, (Name).” His large hands encircle your wrists, tugging gently. “I don’t....” Then he understands. He smiles softly. “No one’s taking me anywhere.”

- “Over and over and over...It’s always been the same,” you say, unable to hide your tears when Douxie manages to tug your hands away. “You were the only thing she never touched and now...”

- “(Name). Look at me.” And you do, overwhelmed by the tenderness in Douxie’s golden eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.” His hands slide up from your wrists and now he’s loosely holding your hands. “I didn’t go with her. I’m here. With you. Where...” Douxie feels a strange sensation in his chest, a warm swell. “Where I want to be.”

- You hug him, pressing into his chest. Douxie hugs you back, resting his cheek against the top of your head. He reassures you for the next several moments, holding you close.

- “You...want to be with me?”

- “Of course.”

- “You like being my friend?”

- “I most certainly do.”

- “You don’t hate me?”

- “Never.”

- “...I’m...not invisible, right?”

- You feel his arms tighten around you. “Not at all.”

- You feel your tears dampen Douxie’s collarbone, and a dam break loose inside of you like liquid fire, overpowering you because Douxie sees you. Douxie, the boy you love, sees you. And chose you over her. The relief is virtually unbearable.

- Cradling you in his arms, Douxie can only wonder how anyone could overlook you, so lovely and pure.

- “You’re mine...” It’s a feeble utterance, just barely above a whisper, not meant to be heard. But it is.

- And Douxie finds that he doesn’t disagree. 

- He presses his mouth into your hair, murmuring despite himself.

- “Yours.”

[resilientdolan]

Drown (G.D) - part 3

Word-count: 1.6k

Summary: Thing’s getting intense between Grayson and Bianca; Grayson didn’t like the idea about Bianca and Declan together, and Bianca hated the fact that Grayson’s activating his protective best-friend mode.

———————————————————————

“So you’ve been talking to the goddamn Declan Hayes all this time?! Behind my back?,” Bianca nearly throws her phone once Hannah screamed at herthrough Facetime.

“Uh, our backs, Hannah,” Tiffany adds to correct her statement.

“Yeah, whatever. You’ve been keeping it as a secret from Tiff and I?!,” again, Hannah yells.

“I swear to God, Hannah, yell one more time and I’m ending this call,” Bianca rolls her eyes back as she switches the call to the speaker mode and place it on her bed. She lazily gets up and makes her way straight to her closet. Honestly, she doesn’t feel like going to the Dolan’s.

“But, Bi, how’s it going? You and Declan?,” Tiffany asks.

Bianca grabs her favorite knitted sweater as she yells, not trying to sound aggressive, but only to make sure the other two girls can hear her.

“Okay, I think? He wanted to get some coffee with me. The other day he asked me if we could get some burgers together. Around 3 days ago, he asked me if i needed a ride home,” She replies.

“Please tell me you said ‘yes’ to the first and the second offer, Reine. Or else I’m going to lose my shit,” Hannah yells.

“Well maybe if the one who asked me was Gray—“

“He got Isla. Get over it,” Hannah quickly cuts her word.

Ouch. That hurts.

Bianca remains silent for a while as she tries to process her words. As she picks up a pair of leggings to match her top, she lets out a soft sigh.

“But Hannah, I love him. So much. I’ve been crushing on him since I was 12–,”

“Yeah, but he chose your bitchy cousin instead of you. He’s blind. Ain’t worth it,” Another knife thrown to her chest.

“Bi, I think it’s worth a try for you to go out with Declan sometimes. I mean, if it doesn’t work, consider it as a childhood-friends-reunion?,” suggests Tiffany.

“Yup. Well, maybe— who knows— he’s much better than Grayson,” Hannah adds.

Doubt that. But maybe Tiff’s right, tho? Worth a try, maybe it’ll help her to get over the fact that the man of her dreams isn’t for her, since he’s snatched by her evil cousin.

“Right, right, I’ll text him,” Bianca mumbles as she puts the knitted sweater on, followed with the leggings right after. Once she’s done with the outfit, she grabs a hair tie from her drawer and ties her hair into a loose braid.

“Looking cute!,” Tiffany squeals as she watches her getting ready for the dinner. Bianca gives her a wink.

“Nah, kinda boring. Why don’t you put on a crop top, and shorts... like— show Grayson what he’s been missing, yanno?,” Hannah disagrees.

“You know, I would go there naked to show him what he’s been missing, but like you two said— he’s taken, maybe I should just give up,” Bianca quickly gives them another wink. They can’t help but laugh at her answer.

“Now, I need to go. For a dinner, and a little tutoring session. I’ll keep you two updated, bye!,” She waves her hand and immediately end the call.

“Bianca, you ready?,” She can hear her mom’s voice echoes.

Bianca quickly grabs her books and shoves them into her backpack before she runs out of her room.

“Yeah, coming!”

———————————————————————

What’s up, Bi?

Bianca’s in the middle of dinner with the Dolans, and her phone beeps. She takes a quick look at it to find out that Declan Hayes sent her a message.

While she’s on her way to the Dolan’s residence, she finally decided to give it a try and texted Declan. Just a simple “hi”. Okay, maybe with a smiley emoji.

She smiles at her phone screen, before she quickly types a message to reply his text, while the others are busy talking. Well, except one.

Grayson.

Grayson has been watching her smiling at her phone for few minutes. And he’s dying to know the reason why she’s smiling at her phone screen. He probably knows, but clearly he doesn’t like it.

Not much, just having dinner. You?

Sent.

As soon as she replies to Declan’s text, she puts her phone down once again. She shifts her gaze from the phone, to everyone in the room to make sure no one’s paying attention to her texting during dinner. And that’s when she finally meets Grayson’s beautiful hazel eyes.

Hold up, is that anger in his eyes—

“What?,” Bianca mouths the word, with her eyes remains locked with his. He remains silent, shaking his head. He sets his fork down on the plate before he opens his mouth.

“I’m so full. I think I’m done. I need to study for tomorrow’s test,” He speaks up.

“Alright, dear. Ethan and Bianca too?,” Lisa responds.

“Yeah, Ethan too. And Bianca— if she’s done with the dinner. She hasn’t touched her food,” Grayson points at her plate, which is still filled with the half-eaten mashed potatoes, along with the roasted chicken breast.

“I’m not really hungry, just... kinda stressed about the test. I think I better study,” Bianca sets her fork down on her plate before she gets up. “But thanks for the dinner, Auntie Lisa,” She adds.

Yes, she calls her ‘Auntie Lisa’ because she’s just like her mother’s sister.

Lisa gives her a smile and a slight nod. Bianca gives her a smile back as she grabs her backpack, following Grayson, who’s already heading upstairs to his room.

As she turns to the living room, she finds Ethan sitting on the couch, busy with his phone. A light chuckle escapes her as she approach him, close enough to ruffle his hair.

“You coming? We’re about to start the studying session,” she asks, inviting him to join her and Grayson. “Besides, you’re supposed to be there to watch me, according to your brother’s girlfriend,” Bianca teases him.

“Fuck Isla,” He laughs, shaking his head as he get up from his seat.

“I thought you two get along well?,” She arches her brow as they head upstairs.

“I’m just trying to be nice, like I don’t wanna be rude. I don’t know what’s going inside Grayson’s head that he chose to ask her to be his girlfriend,” Ethan answers.

“She looks like Barbie doll,” she guesses.

“She’s evil,”

Bianca can’t help but bursts into endless laughter. Well... he’s kinda right, though.

“Don’t tell Grayson I said that,” Ethan shoots her a playful glare as he steps into Grayson’s room. She just shakes her head, finding his antics entertaining as she follows him.

———————————————————————

“So... the cytoplasm is actually surrounded and protected by the cell membrane, right?,” Ethan’s voice echoes.

Bianca gives him a quick nod before she shifts her gaze back to the phone in her hand.

Another text from Declan.

Are you free tomorrow?

Wait, is he going to ask you out once again?

She gently bites her bottom lip as she types the message.

I think. Why?

“Wait, so cytoplasm is part of the protoplasm?,” This time, Grayson asks.

But Bianca’s eyes remain glued onto the phone screen, too busy re-reading the whole conversation with Declan. Suddenly, she gets excited about the thought of going out with him. A smile comes across her lips as she daydreams about the possible thing to happen with her and Declan.

“Bi,”

No answer.

“Bianca,”

Damn, what if Declan’s really into her?

“Jesus Christ, Bianca, I need your help for the Biology test tomorrow,” Grayson groans. She can sense frustration in his tone.

Bianca quickly puts her phone down, and shifts her focus back to the topic discussed. “I’m sorry, can you please repeat the question once again?,” she begs.

“The answer is, yes, bro,” Ethan beats her in answering the question, after he spent nearly five minutes looking for the answer in his book.

“Thanks,” Grayson replies, with his eyes still locked on Bianca’s. “Are you kinda busy, Bi?,” He asks. His gaze moves to the phone that she puts on top of her book.

“It’s nothing important,” She sighs.

“You’re smiling the whole time like a complete idiot, is it Declan?,” He licks his upper lip. Ethan remains silent, but he’s clearly distracted by Grayson’s question.

“Why do you care?,” Bianca scoffs, feeling uncomfortable with him investigating her.

“Answer me, is it Declan?,” He repeats his question once again.

“I thought we’re going to study for the Biology test,” Ethan mumbles.

“Yes, it’s Declan. Why?,” She’s getting pissed with Grayson being nosy that she ignores Ethan.

“You know he ain’t shit, Bianca,” She can feel Grayson’s tone is rising.

“Why do you care?,” She quickly closes her book, not giving a damn anymore about the test since her childhood’s crush is testing her.

“He’s a douche! You deserve someone better! What the fuck is wrong with you?!,” Grayson throws his book onto his bed.

“Oh, and who do you think you are? You think you have the right to control me?!,” Bianca glare sat him.

“I’m your bestfriend!”

“Did I hold you back from dating Isla though I know she’s annoying?!,” She’s completely angry that she yells.

Grayson keeps his mouth shut. He knows that what she said was right. She’s his bestfriend, but she has never tried to control him, unlike what he’s doing now.

“I’m just trying to protect you,” He mumbles.

“I appreciate that, but I’m not a baby. I can make my own decision,” Bianca defends herself.

What the hell, Grayson? Who do you think you are?

The heated argument really got her mood dropped. Bianca takes a quick glance at the clock on his wall. 10 pm.

“Now if you excuse me, I need to go back home and get some rest,” She grabs her book, along with her phone before she gets up. “Goodnight,” she add.

Grayson looks away. It seems like he’s still mad. So she gives Ethan a small smile and heads out of his room.

What is going on inside his head? He thinks he can control her?

No, Grayson.

It’s time for Bianca Reine to move on. He’s nothing but her childhood crush.

[hargrove-mayfields]

A Stake of Holly in Her Heart Pt . 2

Pt. 1

At 6 in the morning, the time they had agreed upon years ago as their time to wake up on Christmas Day, it’s Susan who gently shakes Max awake, not Billy putting the blaring alarm clock up to his sisters ear.

But Max is already awake, her tears soaking the sheets on her brother's bed, wishing her mom would just forget to wake her up entirely and leave her there to weep.

The first “Merry Christmas” she hears is from Neil as he grabs beer out of the fridge, not Billy, who would’ve said it with as much sarcasm as possible as he shoved her out of the way so he could get to his presents first.

There’s no doubt in Max’s mind that Susan told him to say it, that he didn’t actually have any Christmas spirit in that Scroogey old heart of his to spread wishes of holiday cheer, which only makes the sentiment hurt more.

It’s her sitting on the floor by herself with a flashing camera in her face, tearing wrapping paper off of a bunch of pointless gifts with as little enthusiasm as possible.

She notices that, compared to previous years, there aren’t a whole lot less presents under the tree, and that only makes her feel worse about opening them without her Billy there to put sticky bows in her hair or toss wrapping paper balls at her.

By the time she opens half of her presents, including a makeup set she isn’t going to use, a cassette from a pop band she’s never even heard of, and a new pair of chucks she’s probably going to be made fun of for, Max feels her lip start to tremble, and her eyes blur over the multicolored lights on the tree.

The floodgates really open when, after lowering her camera, the dreaded question comes past her mother’s lips,

“What’s the matter Maxine, honey?”

That’s all it takes for her to be a bawling mess in the middle of a pile of wrapping paper and presents she doesn’t really want anyways.

Because there’s so much that is the matter in this particular moment that no answer any shorter than a 30 page thesis could even begin to describe what Max was feeling on that Christmas morning.

She wants to tell them that she doesn’t want these generic gifts from parents who know nothing about her, that she doesn’t want to be forced into the role of the perfect, cookie cutter family you’d see on a Christmas card, that all she wants is her brother back, but she's choked up, any attempt at speaking drowned out by a sob.

In this house, authority demands a response, an explanation is due for why their holiday is being ruined by such behavior, so Max has to choke back her sobs and whine out some pathetic excuse.

She comes up with something like ‘Dustin said he was getting a new Nintendo and I didn’t,’ but nobody really believes that.

They work it out of her eventually, earning a confession through threats of taking presents away like she was a toddler, and when that doesn’t work, a backhand to the face and a hand in her hair like she was any older than fourteen.

But telling them that she missed Billy a lot and that she felt guilty celebrating the holiday she knew was secretly his favorite without him around was apparently not the answer they wanted to hear, because Susan drops her camera on the carpet, and Neil leaves the room entirely.

She thinks of how the scene’d make the perfect Hargrove-Mayfield family photo.

The time between opening gifts and Christmas dinner at 3 o’clock was typically reserved for putting batteries in toys, plugging in new electronics to make sure they worked, and trying on new clothes and shoes, but Max’s meltdown under the tree had been enough to set the whole house on edge.

In the chair in the living room, where he always seemed to just sit around and scowl with a beer in his hand these days, Neil was that much grumpier, and Max stayed that much further away from him.

In the kitchen, Susan gets a little clumsier, the sound of her nervous hands clanging pots and pans together reverberating through the eerie quiet that’s come to settle over the house.

Max decides to go back to her room, to avoid all the noise and tension. She lays on her stomach across her double bed and grabs her walkie from where she left it under her pillow.

Tuning into the channel she knew would be occupied by her friends, she hears the boys and Eleven, who had come back with the Byers’ to Hawkins for the holidays, already on their own radios, talking a mile a minute about all of their presents.

That was supposedly a tradition of theirs, calling each other up to share the news of all they’d gotten, but she hadn’t been able to take part in it last year. She feels sick to her stomach thinking about last Christmas, the last one she would ever spend with her brother, so she keeps eavesdropping without telling her friends she’s there.

After so long, the boys all have their turns to gush about their new NES games and records, and in El’s case Barbie dolls and comic books, and the conversation slows down a little so Lucas can ask, “Has anyone heard from MadMax?”

All around there’s denial, and she hears Lucas sigh and say, “I’m getting kind of worried about her.”

A buzz of static from Mike's end, “She'll be fine, dude.”

“Way to be an asshole, Mike.” Dustin cuts in.

Defensively, Mike says, “What? I just meant that she’s like, super tough.”

Will tunes in then, the sound of his laugh cutting through the scratchy static, “Aren’t you not supposed to talk like that about other girls in front of your girlfriend.”

“What do you know about girlfriends?” Mike exclaims, clearly offended from the way his voice breaks.

And from there the conversation keeps on like that, just a couple of teenage boys loudly arguing over things that are not her problem, so she shuts the walkie off.

But, as she rolls over onto her back, what Mike said is really sticking with her.

Was she really supposed to be fine?

She couldn’t wrap her head around how everyone else was able to just keep on like normal while she was stuck mourning the greatest loss she had ever experienced on a day typically reserved for cheerfulness. It didn’t seem fair.

Staring up at her popcorn ceiling, she lets her thoughts drift back to times when Christmas wasn’t like this.

Her first Christmas without her dad, she remembers being upset the whole time, his singular gift he sent to her in the mail not really enough to make up for his absence. At the time she was too young to realize it, but Billy had put extra effort into cheering her up that day, letting her pick all of her presents out first, and giving her all the cookies that didn’t get burnt in the oven.

Now that Billy’s the missing piece, she has no one.

On Christmas Eve a few years back, Neil kicked Billy out of the house, and he had to spend the holiday at a friend’s place. He called Max that morning to tell her that she could open his presents if she wanted to, and to be careful around Neil. She understood that Billy was looking out for her when she saw her stepfather smack her mother for the first time under the mistletoe.

Last Christmas, her and Billy weren’t really on speaking terms, and just the thought of the way things were between them filled her heart with so much remorse. She thought she had all the time in the world to be angry with her brother, never in a million years would she have thought that Christmas of ‘84 would be his last.

In retrospect, knowing now that just months after the fact Billy would be gone, there was so, so much she wished she would have done differently.

Because he’d been trying to make up for it, had made his attempt at earning her forgiveness, and she’d rejected every last one. She thought he deserved it then, but she would give anything to be able to go back in time and accept his ride to the snowball, to drink the hot chocolate he made her instead of letting it sit until it got cold, to take new Christmas photos where she didn’t have a scowl on her face every time she was near Billy.

Before she can dig herself too far into her grave of despair, she’s interrupted by the dull tone of the ringing phone.

Without anybody even telling her to answer it, she knows it’s her Aunt Nicole, who always called her on Christmas like she was still a little girl because she wanted to hear what all Max got this year.

She sighs and wipes away any lingering tears from her face, dragging herself off the bed and trudging across the room as slowly and loudly as possible, just in case there was any question as to how exactly she felt about forced family bonding.

The phone she used to keep on her dresser had since been thrown out the window in a fit of Neil’s rage, so she has to go out to the kitchen to answer it.

Right now, listening to the shrieking and dehumanizingly pitiful voice of aunt Nicole was the very last thing she wanted to do, but Susan sends her a stern look from where she’s stood at the stove that tells her she has to.

“Hiya Maxie!” Every year she underestimated how loud her aunt was, and always had to pull the receiver back away from her ear. “How are ya?”

“I’m alright Aunt Nicky.” It had seemed like the right thing to say, nobody wanted to hear about her being all depressing anyways, but she regrets it the moment Nicole’s response comes.

“Oh, that’s great honey! You know, I would’ve expected you to be all mopey over Neil’s boy.” She chuckles at her own words, though through the static of long distance it sounds more like a cackle, and continues on, “Lord knows how emotional you get over such silly little things.”

Then, as though she hadn’t just doubly insulted her niece, she asks, “Anywho, did ya get anything good this year? Maxie?”

But Max doesn't even hear the question. She drops the receiver and walks away, entirely unable to stomach what Nicole said.

The phone is left dangling from its cord for her mother to pick up, as she blinks away the bitter sting of tears and marches straight through the living room.

But before she can escape back to her bedroom, Neil catches her wrist on the way through, his grip tight enough that she can feel her bones grinding together as he holds her there.

She hears Susan in the next room frantically trying to explain the situation to her sister, making up a more respectable excuse about boyfriend drama, which would’ve made Max pretty upset if the very angry step-father trapping her in the living room wasn't the greatest of her worries.

Once Susan is off the phone, Max gets herself a good old fashioned talking to, the same ‘respect and responsibility’ speech she’d heard a thousand times before, accented with a twist to the wrist if she doesn’t answer quickly enough or assuredly enough, or forgot the yes sir tagged onto the end.

After he’s confirmed it a good five times that Max fully understands the consequences of disrespecting her family, he squeezes harder and her wrist pops and her fingers go numb. Susan must decide that’s enough, because she asks for Neil’s help with something in the kitchen.

Without looking back once to see the scene she was leaving behind, Max seizes the opportunity to escape back to her bedroom, though she can feel Neil’s eyes burning a hole in her back as he watches her scurry away.

It’s with shaky hands that she locks the door behind herself, and she sits down with her back against it. She flexes her fingers to make sure they still work, and moves her wrist around so she’ll know if it’s broken, coming to the conclusion that, other than the dark red fingerprints blemishing her pale skin, she’ll be alright.

There’s a battery operated radio on her nightstand that she turns on to try to drown out the sound of the developing screaming match in the living room, since the topic of discussion is her, but the irony of every song telling of love and joy and peace on earth is too much, and she shuts it off.

She sheds a few tears for her childhood, for nostalgia of simpler Christmases as it fades away to the sound of her fighting parents, and for the ache pulsing in her wrist and other silly little things, but most of all, she cries for her brother.

Read also on ao3!

[artificialqueens]

Laws of Motion / Chapter 2 (Trixya) - DenDenMonMon

A/N: Confession time: So just like Contact at Katya’s place, you can always find Brooklyn Nine Nine playing at all times around my house. While binge watching that show and UNHhhh simultaneously, is that this idea came to mind. I pictured the Ru girls taking part in the b99 universe and everything made so much sense to me. The idea was to write a funny story, it is based on one of the smartest comedy shows currently on air, after all, but, yeah, my writing is too angsty, too dark, too loaded with emotions like to write something light and easy going like the show. And well, let’s see how this turns out.

AO3 Link

Chapter 2 - Red.

“Will you fuck off? But, like, all the way off?”

Trixie’s head snapped up to the sound of the familiar laughter following those words. She heard it for the first time two nights prior, and it hadn’t left her mind throughout the weekend. There were many things that were imprinted into her brain that Friday night; a pair of tattooed arms, a set of hot lips, a wet tongue, but, most importantly, a wheezing laughter.

As she had expected, the girl she took home from the club walked into the bullpen, disposable coffee cup in hand, and the woman she was hugging the other night right by her side.

“But think about it,” the redhead said, mouthfuls of muffin interrupting her speech. “It makes so much sense. Unless you are doing it naked, you are never really done with laundry.”

The blonde doubled over in laughter, her unnaturally bright teeth at full display. Her red shirt had just the right amount of buttons opened to show her breasts as she tried to control her breathing. Trixie didn’t even notice how she was biting her own bottom lip to the sight of the cleavage. She was too busy absorbing every move of the beautiful woman to realize what her own body was doing. Memories of what it had been like to have those smiling lips kissing her all over cluttered her mind; until she was burst out of her bubble by her new boss.

“Trixie, you can come in now.”

Katya’s laughter stopped at once. That name was rather uncommon, she had only heard it once before in her life. The odds of the life size Barbie doll, that she had fucked a few days before, being there in the same precinct, were slim to none. Yet, there she was. The girl from the bar was walking inside the office across the room as Captain Charles closed the door behind them.

She could still see them through the window. She could see how Captain Charles calmly moved his lips, clearly explaining something in his very professional way; but then he started laughing out loud. His bald head was thrown forward, dangerously close to the desk in front of him, and his glasses caught the reflection of the light above them. Seeing him laugh like that had a feeling invading Katya that she couldn’t really decipher. She was not sure if it was the fact that she had made it her mission to make the captain laugh at least once a day since years ago, or the fact that she hadn’t been able to fully get to know Trixie’s sense of humor. She only got the Depressed Malibu Barbie version, after all. Instead of dwelling on the feeling, she decided to go back to work. Filing reports took forever but she had to do it at some point.

Trixie was not sure how long she spent in the boss’ office but, when she walked out, she couldn’t help but feel pleased with herself. All the paperwork needed for her transfer was taken care of, the results of her many exams had been reviewed, and RuPaul Charles, the eminence himself, had congratulated her for such amazing work. He then walked her to the adjacent room, promising a proper presentation to the squad at the midmorning briefing, which was about to start.

She walked behind him, entering the already filled room, feeling like the new kid in school. Luckily, there was an empty chair next to the door, and she took it in a swift motion. She sat behind the long table and didn’t even dare to look back, nervous to make eye contact with any of her new coworkers.

The person next to her nudged her slightly. She turned around to see a girl with a big smile, the gesture looked sincere. “Hey, Jush!” She said in a shout. Trixie flinched a little, since everybody else in the room was chatting quietly. “I’m Jasmine.” The short bob bounced around her face as she laughed for no apparent reason. “You are gonna love it here,” she promised. “We always have so much fun.” Once more her laughter sounded loudly but, above that, it sounded welcoming. “What’s your name, Jush?”

“Guys, gather ‘round.” The voice of the captain interrupted them. Everybody went quiet and all eyes were set to the front. “Welcome to one more day in the job. It’s not an easy task, but the streets of Los Angeles are a much safer place because of you guys, so… thank you.”

He spoke with such an ease, his few sentences were delivered in a way that made Trixie believe that their job actually meant something bigger, something much more important than just cliché paperwork. She listened to the tall man, dressed in a colorful suit, as he kept reminding them just how valuable they were for the city, for him, and for each other.

“Now, remember, this town deserves nothing but the very best, that’s why, even when we are sad to see one of our brightest detectives go…” His hand pointed somewhere at the back of the room. “That also means that we are welcoming a new member of our family. Please, give a warm welcome to Detective Trixie Mattel! Come on up, darling.”

With dull claps heard from behind her, Trixie got up, walked the short distance, and stood next to the head of the squad. In a lame afterthought, she waved her hand slowly, as a pageant girl would do to the panel of judges.

Capt. Charles laughed at the action before continuing. “Detective Mattel comes from a precinct not far from here, and will take Ginger’s place as Katya’s new partner.”

Trixie’s eyes widened when she realized exactly who that was. The odds of the mysterious foreign girl, that she had fucked a few days before, being her new partner, were slim to none. Yet, there she was.

She must have done something extremely horrible in her previous life to deserve this, because there was no other valid reason for her luck to be so shitty. She always did things right, followed the rules, and went by the book. Yet, life had a thing for her. She just wanted to catch a break, a change of air. That was the reason why she had applied for the transfer. As much as she liked her previous precinct, it had started to become too small for her. She needed more, she needed something bigger. And she had gotten it.

That Friday night was supposed to be a celebration for her accomplishments, but her friends had bailed on her, her boyfriend had decided to end things, and she had slept with a woman for the first time in her life.

In that moment, she wished to come back to her old life, the one she had been fed up with the week before and now longed for. She wanted to get to work where nothing really happened, help kids find their bikes, and file reports about loaves of bread being stolen from the neighborhood’s grocery store. At some point it had been monotonous, it had been lineal, it had been boring. And one night had changed it all. Her entire world had been turned upside down, and not in the way she had expected. She spent her weekend crying, yearning for what she had lost, and craving for something that had been hers only for a couple of hours but felt like a part of her already.

When Kim asked her if she was still crying over her boyfriend, Trixie lied and said yes. Her roommate found it strange, since they weren’t particularly head over heels for each other, but didn’t ask any further. The answer made enough sense to pass as a half true. The reality was completely different. Those two days had been flooded with images of red lips and red nails, trailing her body and melting her to the bone. Her ears could hear nothing but soft moans and sensual whispers of Russian words.

She had dreams about her. Sometimes Trixie would catch herself daydreaming, other times the blonde woman found her way into her subconscious as she slept. The scenarios were endless. They would run into each other early in the morning, impatiently waiting in line for their first taste of coffee of the day. Trixie pictured them back at the club where they met, she would sit at the same stool and the woman would reach the bar and request a drink. It didn’t matter where it started, the fantasy always ended back in her room, with the air filled with panting and screams of utter pleasure. Reality would also find the same recurrent outlet, which involved her own hand inside her underwear.

Trixie never in her life had doubted her sexuality, she was straight. She liked men, a lot. She liked how they were simple creatures, with needs she could easily fulfill. Her type was very clear. The men she dated were slightly unkempt, they had beards and hairy backs. Her sexual compass had no apparent motive to be directed to the soft touch, the delicate pale skin, the long blonde hair of a random woman she had met at a club.

That same woman was now in front of her, fully aware of the discomfort she was causing her. There was no way Trixie could look at anything that wasn’t her. The color that had been haunting her dreams for two nights in a row, shone bright from across the room.

The girl in the red shirt bit her lip, trying to stop a smile from taking over her face unsuccessfully. “Oh, I get the pretty one. Sorry, Minj, I don’t know you anymore.” The girl stood up, bowing her head slightly. “My name is Yekaterina Pretovna Zamolodchikova, but you can call me… Katya,” she said in a rush, heavy tints of her accent lacing her speech. “And it’s going to be, oh, such a pleasure to have you as my partner.” The side smile didn’t go unnoticed by Trixie.

Her body weight shifted from one leg to the other, finally linking the face with the name she wished she had been able to scream as she came.

“You know,” Captain Charles spoke directly to Trixie. “Detective Zamo has the highest number of arrests in the precinct and, as far as I know, you had the highest in yours, didn’t you?”

Before she could even reply, Katya spoke again. “Oh, you are on, bitch!”

“We are on the same team,” Trixie reminded her, her hands going up in the air with disbelief, and making the room burst out laughing.

The captain smiled widely. “Ah, I can already tell you are going to make a fabulous team. Trixie, welcome to the family, and we take that term very seriously around here, it’s something that we don’t take for granted. From this moment on, you belong to a family of badass bitches!” That alone elicited a round of cheers and applause. He waited a moment before motioning for everyone to be quiet again. “Okay, I’m gonna let Sergeant Haylock to take over now.” He moved towards the door, and stopped right before exiting the room. “Oh, just one more thing… don’t fuck it up!”

And with that he was gone.

Trixie started to believe that what Jasmine told her was right. She could sense the light atmosphere of the place already creeping into her as she walked back to her seat. Sure, there was the crippling fear of facing her new partner, but everybody else seemed nice. She loved how nobody seemed afraid of cursing, not even The Boss, because her big mouth had gotten her in more than a few problems in her previous workplace. She could only hope that this sudden change of scenery actually meant a good thing for her, that all the rough changes thrown at her, out of nowhere, had come for a reason.

“Alright, you useless cunts!” The raspy voice, a complete contrast from the soothing tone of Captain Charles, brought her out of the conjuring of her possible future. “One of the bastards you failed to catch is out at it… again!” The sergeant placed his forearms on the little podium for support. “This one’s on you, Zamo.”

He pressed a few buttons on a remote control while Katya protested. Trixie took the cap off her loyal pink pen and pressed it against the glittery notebook, writing down the date at the top right corner. If the sergeant had addressed the case as Katya’s, it meant it was now hers as well.

When she looked up, the screen behind the man had illuminated, and the images that it was showing were disturbing to say the least.

“Oh, my God. The Puppeteer!” Katya said with something that sounded a lot like excitement. “He’s back!”

Trixie had to look at the screen with side eyes.

How could Katya be so ecstatic about the gruesome death of a young woman?

It looked like the girl had been sitting at her dining table; a kitchen could be seen at the back of the picture. She had her arms bent in the air, pulled up by strings attached to her hands, elbows and shoulders. Trixie right away understood the nickname given to the killer. The beautiful brunette, that couldn’t have been more than twenty years old, had her makeup done to resemble a marionette. Even though her head hung low, her eyes were opened, permanently staring blankly to the middle of nowhere. A pool of blood surrounded her feet, it was so big that it even went underneath the table. There were no apparent exit wounds, so there was no clear source for all the blood, but the amount seemed enough to determine the girl had bled to death right there on the spot.

Trixie wrote all her observations down, and made mental notes about things that needed to be clarified. For example, the picture didn’t cover the ceiling, and she needed to know where the wires were hanging from.

And all of these observations, she made them in less than a second, her trained eye was always ready to catch the smallest of details.

“Yes, it’s your damn puppeteer,” Sergeant Haylock repeated after Katya. “Care to fill us in on the case?”

Katya stood up happily. “Oh, yes, Gawd,” she agreed with a loud click of her tongue.

This was a case she had been working on for a year. Katya was sure she knew the man behind the attacks better than she knew herself. The only problem was, she couldn’t find him. It was the only unsolved case she had ever had. It had nagged at the back of her head for months, then the killings had stopped and she hit a dead end. Until now.

She reached the podium and right away called everybody’s attention. No words had left her mouth yet, but the shift in the room was evident. The vibe wasn’t solemn and inspirational, nor was it crude and sarcastic, like there had been with the men that came before her. People paid attention, took notes, respected what she had to say.

“Okay, listen up. This man is a psycho, a freak, and not the fun type that I like. He gets off by killing pretty looking girls, painting them, and hooking strings to their limbs. So far he had only attacked sex workers. Girls with no family, with nobody to file a missing person report, with hooker friends who are too scared to even talk to the police. His M.O. has been the same for months. Roy?”

She looked at the sergeant who simply nodded his head, confirming it hadn’t changed.

“This a dangerous, sick man who does not belong in the streets.” She made a dramatic pause, allowing her words to sink in. “The Minj and I will give you all the info that we have so you can keep your eyes and ears open. We can use all the help that we can get.”

The clear of a throat made her look to the back of the room. “Don’t you mean Mattel?” Ginger corrected her. “Today is my last day, darling.”

Katya quickly looked at Trixie. Her new partner. The girl was hanging to her every word. The pen in her hand had been writing non stop since Katya started her speech. The corner of her eye had registered that, even when her conscious self had deliberately ignored her. It was too much to take, she reasoned with herself. The girl was way too pretty and it was better to advert her attention from the voluptuous body. The formal wear seemed to hug her magnificent figure. She wondered if Trixie felt uncomfortable in the tight clothes. Katya did in her own, but she was nothing but skin, muscles and bones, unlike Trixie, who was all curves and flesh and just the right amount of fat settled in all the right places.

“Right.” She shook herself out of her dangerously sexy observations. “Right, right. You are right. Sorry. Tri… Detective Mattel and I will send you the profile later this afternoon.”

Instructions were given for the day, patrols assigned, cases were reviewed, and the meeting was over.

Trixie stood up, ready to leave, when Jasmine grabbed her by the arm. “Come on, Trix. I’ll show you around.”

Jasmine did just that. Never letting go of her arm, the lean woman dragged her around the place, showing her pretty much every room on every floor. After letting her know about the good bathrooms, they reached the interrogation rooms. Jasmine made a specific point about Katya preferring the last one on the left, since the air conditioner hit differently in that room, and how she constantly suffered from the heat. Jasmine said it with a laugh, as if it were a joke, but Trixie was trying to gather as much information as she could about her new partner.

In the course of half an hour, they had seen the most important parts of the building, or at least the ones Trixie was going to need. She had also heard more names that she was going to be able to recall, that was for sure. It was going to take some time but she was going to adapt, she had to. There was no other option.

They reached the bullpen again and Trixie was shown to her desk. It felt weird to sit behind it, Ginger’s stuff were still occupying the space. It didn’t feel like hers yet, but it was going to be.

She looked around the place, her new home. If things were any similar to her previous precinct, she was going to spend more time here, swamped with paperwork, than her actual apartment.

Her eyes immediately found Katya, chatting in the break room. Trixie didn’t miss the chance, she needed to talk to her before all the formalities were set into play. They had a lot of work to do and it was better to get everything out in the open. When she reached the door, determined to call her attention, she suddenly froze. Katya sat with her legs thrown over the armrest of a chair, the confined pencil skirt hugging her every curve in the uncomfortable position. A can of Redbull hung from her hand. She talked with such intensity that the girl sitting with her could do nothing but focus her sole attention on her.

“Oh, bitch,” Katya said effusively. “She sent me a good morning text, a fucking good morning text!” She slapped the arm of the girl beside her, emphasizing her words. “It gave me a boner.”

The other girl laughed with her head thrown back. “How would you know? Your dick is probably so small you can’t even find it.”

Katya’s mouth opened in mocked shock. “If you must know, you fucking cunt, even when being hypo– no, especially because it is hypothetical, my ding dong is huge, huge! It even glows in the dark.” She nodded approvingly of her own words.

“Really? And what color is this huge penis of yours?”

She pretended to give it a little bit of thinking, before pointing at the girl with her index finger. “Remind me, what’s the name of your mom’s lipstick again?”

Both girls laughed, and Trixie decided that would be a good time as any to interrupt. She cleared her throat, loud enough to make them look at her.

“Katya, can I talk to you?” This was the first time Trixie actually pronounced the name, and she was extra aware of the way it rolled from her lips, the way it made her tongue hit her front teeth. She liked it.

The girl looked at her, a knowingly smile playing on her lips. “Yeah, sure. What’s up?”

Trixie nervously looked between Katya and the other girl, who pretended to ignore them, picking at the ends of her hair.

“Alone?”

It took her a moment to react but, once she did, Katya easily swung her legs towards the back of the chair, going all the way around before finding the ground.

“Please, excuse us, Violet, my dear,” she said with an accent that was probably meant to be British. She then turned to Trixie, addressing her in her regular tone. “Come.”

Trixie moved by her side as they walked in uncomfortable silence. Or at least it felt uncomfortable to her, because Katya seemed pretty chilled. Her fingertips glided against the walls, humming a tune that Trixie had never heard before. Those were halls that she hadn’t seen with Jasmine, so she tried to pay attention to the path they walked, counting the turns they took, trying to get familiar with her surroundings, anything that could distract her from the heat exuding Katya and tickling her own skin.

Katya suddenly stopped in front of a door, took the door knob in her hand but didn’t twist it. She turned to look at Trixie instead. “Okay, now, you are about to enter my secret place. I shouldn’t even be sharing it with you. Nobody knows that I come here every now and then for… for different reasons, but this is like my safe place, so don’t tell anybody.” Her index finger pointed straight to her face. Trixie couldn’t do anything but promise she wouldn’t.

Once the door opened, shelves filled with boxes were revealed. There was a small table in the middle covered with dust. The place seemed to be untouched. The spiderwebs between the boxes told her nobody had moved them in a long time. The room was large but seemed to reduce in size with so many files spread everywhere. Against the back wall Trixie spotted a folding bed, it had messy sheets on top, as if someone had recently slept there and didn’t bother to make the bed. Next to it, on top of a pile of boxes, there was an ashtray and several candy wrappers. Trixie could see her there, she could very clearly picture Katya breaking her head over a case, not wanting to go home and going to that room instead. She could see her smoking in there, even when she shouldn’t be doing it, and popping candies into her mouth as she tried to connect the clues to make sense.

“This is the cold cases room,” Katya explained. “Nobody really comes here because, you know, the cases are cold. Duh.”

When she didn’t get a response from Trixie, she turned back around to face her. Her eyes were glued to the bedroom-like area she had set for herself a long time ago. She didn’t need to explain, she knew that Trixie understood why her stuff was there. And she wondered if Trixie had a similar place at her old building.

“So you wanted to talk.” Katya’s words came out in the form of a question, reminding Trixie why they were there in the first place.

She directed her stare to Katya again, meeting her eyes probably for the first time in the entire day. “Oh. Yeah, umm…”

“Is this about that night? About you being drunk?” Katya suddenly asked in a rush. The thought had crossed her mind throughout the day. Usually, she didn’t care much about a hookup the next morning but, yet again, she never had to see them again. And Trixie was there, big and expecting eyes looking right at her. “I asked you if you were okay, if you wanted to, and you said yes–”

Trixie lifted her hand to stop her. “No! I wasn’t that drunk. I, umm, it’s not that… not at all.”

“Oh, then what is it? If you are scared that I will tell anybody, you can be sure that’s not going to happen. I promise I won’t tell anybody.” She tried to make things easier for Trixie when she noticed her fumbling with her words, but she was not prepared for what she said next.

“You left.”

The words dropped from her lips with such hurt, with such emotion that they shook Katya to the very core.

“You didn’t really expect me–” Katya tried to reason but was interrupted.

“You said you were gonna stay the night. You promised.”

Katya raised an eyebrow, unsure of where all of that was coming from, or going to. “Well, technically, I didn’t,” she said softly, trying to make her understand. “Trixie, really, it’s no big deal. I get it. It was just sex.”

Her eyes grew wide open in shock, making Katya regret her words as soon as she said them.

“So that was it? That’s all it was for you? Just sex that happened because we had both been drinking?”

“I hadn’t…” Katya stopped herself before finishing her sentence, there was no point in explaining how she hadn’t tasted a drop of alcohol in years, and she surely wasn’t drunk that night. The girl seemed so wrapped up in her own feelings, a state Katya was more than familiar with, that no reasoning was probably going to get through her head. Instead she tried something different. “Look, alright, okay, listen. We don’t have to make this awkward, okay? You have had, umm, one night stands or, like, fuck buddies before, I presume. If you think about it, it doesn’t change things if we don’t want to. I mean, we are working together. We can make it, like, not awkward, right?”

Trixie looked at her for a moment too long, Katya could feel the brown eyes going across her face. Probably trying to read her the same way she was doing. But then Trixie nodded her head, as if reality had finally dawned on her. For a moment, Katya felt relief, she had gotten her point across. Or at least that was what she thought, until an air of determination filled Trixie’s features.

“Right. Okay. Have it your way.”

She turned around and walked away, her high heels resounding loudly through the empty hallways. Katya brought her hands up to her face, an exasperated grunt coming out from the back of her throat.

Then it hit her. She ran to the door, trying to see if she could still catch her. “Hey!” She screamed after her. “You need to help me get the boxes with the case!” She waited a few seconds but got response. “Yep. She’s not coming back. Okay, great.”

[deckyshep]

Sometimes, I’m Me

Original Writing by R.D. Shepard Written 2017 April 27 Edited 2020 January 13 Content Warnings: Parental abuse, trauma, dissociation Comments: It takes a lot of my strength to share this, but I’m doing it for my own sake.  I wrote this a few years back while in the midst of some trauma work with my therapist and edited it recently.  At the time, I was doing my best to use my voice to express my trauma, advised by my therapist to write out my feelings the best I could.  I want you to know: you are not your abuse, and you are not your abuser.  You will recover if you take the steps to recognize those things.  You are healing every single day that you continue on, and I am proud of you for that.

A little girl sits in her room, eight years old, placing each stuffed animal, doll, and toy she has beside one another on the carpet.  The walls are painted a heavy pink, covered in framed pictures of sweet, pink-cheeked angels that smile with their eyes closed as they seemingly guard the child.  Her skin is pale but freckled, as though she had only seen a single kiss of the sun each day.  

She wears a purple, faux silk dress that stops at her knees, and mid-calf, cotton white socks under adorably pink princess heels.  She’s a brunette, with a pixie cut and bangs that are too long covering bright blue eyes. Her cheekbones are almost blood red compared to her porcelain skin.

She bites her lip, glancing over her toys that lie in a half-circle around her.  Something doesn’t look right.  Switching the places of a Barbie and a Polly-Pocket, she smiles, clasping her hands together.  Perfect.

I step forth from behind the doorway, kneeling beside the girl.  She can’t see me; I know, because I wave my hand in front of her face and she doesn’t respond.  She seems to be too busy taking in the precision of her toys’ layout.  

Later, she would be diagnosed with autism.  

But now, she suddenly glances up at the door, as though she is looking through me.  She hears heavy footsteps coming down the hallway, and a man opens the door, red-faced and angry.

I can’t understand what he is saying, but I know he is swearing and scolding her.  She doesn’t know what she did, and she stands, eyes filling with tears.

He steps towards her threateningly, and the little girl backs against her bed.  She’s picked up, thrown onto the bed on her belly.

Later, she would be diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder.  

I don’t understand what’s happening.  She doesn’t, either.  Sometimes, we both black out, pretending like it’s not happening.  But we both can feel it.  And it doesn’t feel good.

Eventually, it stops. She’s trying her best not to cry, trying to inch away from his apologizing arms as they cradle her, attempting to show remorse for what he’s done.  Once he leaves, she wipes her eyes and sniffles, walking to her toys on the floor, and sitting back down among them.  She clenches her fists, throwing her bear against the closet door.

Later, she would be diagnosed with borderline personality disorder.

Later, it stops. Later, she would be safe.  Later, she would no longer wish she had a lock on her door.

But later, too, she would never feel safe again.

I wish I could sit beside that girl, wrap my arms around her, kiss her head, and tell her she has a good heart, tell her she’s a wonderful girl, tell her she’s loved and doesn’t deserve to be hurt.  But I know, at that age, he’s too good at manipulation for her to believe it.  He’s too good at hurting, at forcing her into things she doesn’t want to do, at dishing out pain to those who don’t deserve it. She wouldn’t be able to listen; she has too much on her plate for a child to deal with.

I want to tell her it wasn’t her fault.

But I wouldn’t listen. I’m too busy trying to get my mind off it, trying to organize my dolls.

Sometimes I’m that little girl: frightened, stuck in a dream, blacking out when things get unpleasant. Sometimes I can see myself from outside my body, trying to stop it, but phasing through everything I touch.  And sometimes, I’m okay.

But being okay sometimes isn’t enough to balance out the pain, the mood swings, the fits of rage, the tears, the scratches on my arms.  

It isn’t enough to justify what he did to her.  To me.

I am that little girl, and I am a twenty-two year old man.  I am fixing my dolls into a neat line, and I am studying for my Psych 101 finals.  I am asking my mommy for a new Barbie, and I am grocery shopping.  I am snuggling with my bear at night, and I am waking up at seven in the morning every day for classes.

I am being hurt, and I am healing.  

I am being victimized, and I am surviving.  

And I may someday forgive, but I will never forget.

[onlyivycaballero]

She needs therapy.

- Solo 1: She needs therapy.

- Date: 12th February 2016.

- Age: 18.

- Trigger warning: I don’t think there are any?

- Character mentions: Eliza Paxton and Cora Caballero.

Tick tock, tick tock... the hands on the clock continued to move as dull brown eyes watched the hand go around. It had been exactly twenty-four minutes since Ivy had arrived at her so-called therapy session and so far, she hadn’t uttered a single word despite the mountain of questions being thrown her way. She hadn’t even said so much as a ‘hello’ since she entered and she didn’t see that changing much. There wasn’t much to say and despite the fact that therapy was supposed to remain private and her thoughts weren’t allowed to be shared, Ivy wasn’t dumb. Her parents would pay off the ageing man quite well to tell them exactly what Ivy said and she refused to be another pawn in their game, she had been playing by their rules for far too long and she was frankly sick of it now. So she continued to watch the hands of time turn with a scowl on her pretty face. Twenty four minutes and thirty-one seconds but it felt like hours had passed since she was last in the comfort of her own home, sleeping off her hangover.

Though the therapist was speaking clearly and she was more than capable of hearing the words, she refused to answer. There was no point. She didn’t even open up to Eliza about the things that ate away at her, so there was no way in hell that she would freely talk about her issues to a perfect stranger. She wasn’t that kind of girl. This session could be better described as pointless. Her parents were throwing money down the drain paying for this. Ivy didn’t understand why her parents were so bothered, it wasn’t going to fix her in any way. But then it hit her. They wanted to sort out Ivy’s issues so that she wasn’t in the press any more. Her antics were always splashed across papers and magazines, no matter if the stories were true or false. She was getting quite the reputation now and it didn’t take a genius to see that her parents were embarrassed by her behaviour but Ivy hardly cared. If they wanted her to act like the prim and proper little princess then they should have raised her like one, shouldn’t they?

Time continued to pass slowly but out of the silence broke the Spanish man’s voice once more. It was clear he was determined to get her to speak but she refused to do just that. Why would she allow him the satisfaction? She only just about knew his name. “Do you feel like you’re in competition with your sister? Do you remember a time or age when that started?”

Ivy sighed out loud with a bored look displayed on her face, visibly over this conversation but she couldn’t help as her mind cast her back to when she and Ivy were eight years old.

The two girls were in the bedroom wearing matching pink dresses that their mother had chosen for them the night before, though Ivy didn’t exactly understand why they had to dress so fancy all of the time. They weren’t going anywhere special, it was just to wear around the house and she knew if she even got a spec of dirt on the pale fabric, her parents were bound to go ballistic. Cora would get off scot-free, no doubt, Ivy knew that but she tried not to hold it against them. After all, she was the more devious child. Perhaps she deserved to be told off more but she only acted out because she never felt appreciated.

Ivy was playing with her Barbie doll, using her hands to make her walk inside the dolls house her parents had specially made for Cora while Cora, herself, pretended her doll was on the phone. Complete and utter nonsense left both the girls mouths, a storyline that couldn’t be followed danced through their minds but neither of them minded. They were having fun, laughing and joking as their dolls moved about.

All good things must come to an end though. When the heavy wooden door was pulled open both Ivy and Cora dropped their dolls and turned their heads in the direction they heard footsteps coming from and in entered their parents. Ivy looked over towards her sister and gave her a small smile, reaching down to hold her hand as their parents stepped closer towards them and bent down at Cora’s side. “Cora, go and put your shoes on like a good little girl. Your princess lessons start today.” Their father said, a proud look displayed on his features.

Both girls somewhat perked up at this. Cora happily let go of Ivy’s hand and skipped over to the corner of the bedroom where she had kicked off her shoes earlier so they could jump on the bed. The other little princess turned towards her parents and gave them her best toothy smile.

“Do you want me to put my shoes on too, mommy?” She innocently questioned, looking up at them with her wide doe-like eyes. Then she noticed the look her parents shared and already knew disappointment was going to follow.

“Whatever for?” She heard her mom say which immediately made the girl's cheeks heat up in embarrassment for getting ahead of herself. If they wanted her to get ready, they would have told her to. “It’s not like you’re going to be ruling this kingdom once day.” The statement so effortlessly rolled off her tongue and Ivy wasn’t even sure if her parents could see how much it hurt her. “Go and play with your dolls, there’s a good girl.”

Casting her eyes to the ground, Ivy managed to mumble out a little, “Okay.” as she picked up her Barbie once again, though she had absolutely no intention of playing any more. She felt too sad and besides, she couldn’t imagine it being much fun without Cora. What use was playing if there was only one character? Ivy hadn’t even noticed the tears leaving her eyes until her mother spoke once again.

“Don’t cry dear, you’re a big girl aren’t you?” She asked, hanging the small girl a silk handkerchief. Without realising she was doing it, Ivy nodded her head and reached out for the fabric to wipe her eyes. “Exactly and big girls don’t do that kind of silly behaviour.”

In that exact moment, Cora returned with her little white pumps now securely on her feet and a smile on her face, clearly in a much better mood than Ivy was in that moment. The girl watched as her sister took hold of both of her parent's hands and walked towards the door. Once they left she felt a hand fall on her shoulder and looked up to see one of the staff looking down at her with sympathy in her eyes. “Don’t worry princess, maybe next time.”

Despite the optimism of the woman’s words, Ivy knew better. She would never be given the same opportunity as her sister and that’s just something she was going to have to deal with.

Dropping her doll to the floor, Ivy shrugged her shoulders as she looked up at the older lady. “It’s not like I want to go to those stupid classes anyway!”

Later that night, Ivy remembered her twin running into their room with the biggest smile on her face holding an ice cream cone their father had brought her as a treat for her ‘good behaviour’ in class. Their parent didn’t even come in to say goodnight to Ivy and that was the first time she ever truly felt jealous of her sister. That night, Ivy stayed awake until her sister slept and cut the hair off all Cora’s dolls before going to sleep herself.

Reality kicked back in as she looked back towards the clock. Twenty-six minutes and still, she had said nothing as she looked at the grey-haired man with a bored expression on her face. Rolling her eyes, Ivy leant back against the soft velvet cushions and listened as he listed off another question in hopes that she would at least say something.

“Do you hold any resentment towards your parents?”

Of course, she did. What kind of question was that? She remembered being fourteen years old and walking in on her parents discussing both hers and Ivy’s futures. They had it all mapped out for Cora but for Ivy, things seemed pretty bleak.

It was late at night and Ivy had been wandering around the halls in search of her pet cat, Gizmo when she heard her parents talking. She came to an immediate stop outside of their partially open bedroom door and eavesdropped in on their conversation.

“So it’s decided, when we have to nominate someone for the role of queen, we say Cora?” She heard her father ask. Furrowing her eyebrows, Ivy leant closer to the door to hear better.

“Of course!” Her mother replied in an instant, her tone far from kind. “She’s been the one taking the classes, she’s the oldest and she’s perfect for the role. Ivy is a disaster, she’ll amount to nothing.”

Ivy felt like she had been slapped around the face. Sure, she had heard those words before but she thought her parents were just giving her tough love to try and make her do better but no. They clearly thought there wasn’t a single good thing about her and there was clearly nothing she could do about it.

Her father paused for a moment before eventually nodding his head in agreement. “You’re right. She’s too destructive but we have to do something with the girl otherwise she’ll just get worse and ruin the reputation we built.”

They wouldn’t bother with her for a reputation? That was more important than her? She shouldn’t be surprised really. Unlike Cora who was sat upon a pedestal, Ivy pretty much had to raise herself and although she managed to act like it didn’t affect her, of course, it did. It hurt like hell but she would never admit it, she would never give them the satisfaction of knowing they had managed to hurt her. She was a lot of things but weak wasn’t one of them.

“She’s a pretty girl. We just need to get her attitude under control.” By now, Ivy could feel her blood boiling underneath her skin but still, she listened. She had never felt so angry in her entire life. “Maybe we should do an arranged marriage and find someone who could control her?”

“Oh right, like anyone’s going to want to marry her.” Her parents laughed but Ivy failed to see the humour in it. “With all the bad press she gets, no one would agree. The only person that likes her is Eliza.”

“That girl is too patient for her own good. I don’t know how she puts up with Ivy’s shenanigans.”

If she hadn’t seen red before, she certainly did now. Eliza was the only one that treated her the same as Cora, like an equal. That was why she trusted the Canadian princess more than anyone else, she understood her but apparently to her parents that was a laughing matter. They wouldn’t know the meaning of loyalty if it punched them in the face.

Then she heard it. The words she had heard at least a hundred times in the last year alone. “Why can’t she be more like Cora?”

‘Because you assholes didn’t treat me the way you treated her.’ She felt like screaming out but what would be the use? It wouldn’t do her any good and they certainly wouldn’t listen.

Taking no precautions to be quiet, Ivy stormed away from her parent's room, angrily throwing a glass vase off a table as she passed. The noise was so loud, it caused one of the staff to leave their current duties to check and see if everything was okay and once he settled his eyes on Ivy, he knew the broken object was her doing. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

Scoffing, Ivy walked passed him, barging her shoulder against his as she did so. “Shouldn’t you be cleaning a toilet?”

Letting out a heavy sigh, Ivy found herself looking back at the therapist with a look of boredom. This day couldn’t possibly get any worse. It was hot and sticky, no windows were open and the smell of freshly laid paint seemed to overwhelm her senses. It was strange to think that just beyond the door, there was a whole world of possibilities but she wouldn’t be able to enjoy them until this disaster was over. ‘Just half an hour left.’ Ivy told herself but that half an hour would seem like a lifetime and it didn’t appear like this man was about to drop the subject any time soon.

“Is there any particular reason you choose to do things you know will get you into trouble?” Did he want just one reason? Ivy had eighteen years worth of answers to that question. Last week, for instance, was a great example.

Stumbling through the door, Ivy dropped her keys on the table by the door and kicked off her shoes, attempting to be quiet so that she didn’t have to listen to the insufferable loud sounds with her head hurting the way it did. The night before had gotten pretty wild and instead of returning home, Ivy had decided to stay with a friend so she didn’t have to deal with her parents but sooner or later she knew she’d have to confront their wrath. She was just in no mood while in her fragile state.

However, fate had a cruel way of punishing Ivy for absolutely no reason what so over. On her way to the kitchen for a glass of water, the Spanish woman was forced to pass through the living area and just like that, her hopes of avoiding any confrontation until she was well rested were shattered. There, in the big grey armchair by the window, her father sat with the newspaper open, the front page displaying a photo of her dancing on a bar with a few people she had been with the night before.

The silence had become deafening but trust her mother to always break it. In she walked from out of the kitchen with a maid following her, carrying a tray of tea that would no doubt go to waste. Her mother didn’t like it too hot and if it went cold, she’d throw it away. Once the older worker left, her mother sat down on the couch and narrowed her dark orb in Ivy’s direction. If looks could kill, Ivy would certainly be dead by now. “I can’t believe you would do this and on Eliza’s birthday of all days.”

Without uttering a word, Ivy rolled her eyes and started to walk across the room when she heard her father calmly place the paper to the side and speak. “Are you trying to make us a laughing stock.”

Turning to face them, Eliza shrugged her shoulders and smiled as if there wasn’t a thing wrong but she knew she looked rough. It had been a long night. “It was her birthday and we celebrated.” She simply stated. Almost angry that the photographer had only taken a photo of her and not of her best friend too but then again, Ivy was used to being the target of public attention, they’d do anything to tear her down so she was used to it now. “You know, some people actually like to go out and have fun rather than sitting at home alone, reading ‘Pride And Prejudice’ for the millionth time because that’s the only form of excitement they can get.”

“What did you just say?” Her mother asked, knowing full well that Ivy was targeting her and her favourite book that she read on a continuous loop.

“You heard me. You’re boring.” She almost laughed at her mother's offended look but then she turned her attention to her father who looked equally disappointed in the brunette woman that as a child used to make her feel bad but as a strong eighteen year old, she was use to it now. “Both of you are. Sitting around here with you may as well be a corporal punishment so forgive me for wanting to have a little fun.”

“Sometimes I wonder why I agreed to have children.” Her mother whispered under her breath but Ivy caught it and she wasn’t willing to let it go so easily.

It was almost laughable that this was brought up every time Ivy did something they deemed inappropriate. Usually, Ivy would just let it slide but she was cranky from her hangover and if her parents wanted an argument then that was what they were going to get.

Taking a few steps towards the sofa, Ivy stood in front of her mother and folded her arms over her chest as she narrowed her chocolate orbs in the woman’s direction. “If you didn’t want kids, you should have used a damn condom and saved yourself the hassle.”

“We wanted a child, singular. Cora was our first born, you were just excess baggage.” Her mother said, seemingly unbothered that her words could have some sort of an impact on her daughter. “You’re an embarrassment. Why do you insist on tarnishing our good name? You always were an ungrateful brat.” Her father added but and she couldn’t help but laugh.

Ungrateful? What had they actually done for her? Given her some the gift of self-doubt? The gift of not feeling worthy? Or was it the gift of always feeling that no matter what she did it wasn’t good enough, because she wasn’t and never could be as precious as Cora. It was laughable. Over the years, all the screaming matches, all the mental abuse, all the times she was nothing but a second hand thought came rushing back and they had the nerve to say that SHE was ungrateful? That was hypocrisy at it’s finest.

“Well... I guess you got two for the price of one and you’re stuck with me now.” Ivy said as calmly as she could, though there was still a slight edge to her voice that she could never quite get rid of.

Picking up the paper her dad had carelessly tossed to the side, Ivy read the headline. ‘Careless Caballero Up All Night.’ A terrible headline to match a terrible article but right now, Ivy was glad someone had written it, even if only to further embarrass her parents. A soft smirk curved on the corners of the girl’s lips. “I won’t only damage the good reputation the Caballero family name holds, I’ll kill it, dance on the ashes and throw a celebratory party for the wake. That is one thing I can promise you.” Throwing the paper in her father’s direction, the girl moved her eyes from him than back to her mother, no anger evident on her eerily calm looking face. “My entire life I thought I was the problem in this family but it’s clearly you. You two are poison.”

Turning away from the pathetic excuse Ivy had to call parents, she heard her father speak as she was putting on her heels once again and picking up the keys from where she had thrown them on the table. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Out.” Was her simple reply as she walked down the long hallway, out the door and slammed it behind her determined to cause as much trouble in the next few hours as she possibly could.

Blinking away her memories, Ivy noticed that the therapist was still patiently waiting for her to reply to at least one of his question but she had had enough of today. The flashbacks were things she tried to avoid thinking about and for the most part, she had been able to do it rather well but having these questions thrown at her was bringing up memories Ivy buried and she wasn’t having a single ounce of fun and it felt far from freeing like she was told it would be.

Though the session wasn’t officially over, Ivy stood up and collected her purse that she hung up when she entered the room and placed the strap over her shoulder as she walked towards the exit. “I think today’s session’s over. I’m done with this.”

[kendolled]

                        It was an UNCONSCIOUS reaction, to tense as he felt the other’s finger brushing over the faintSCAR that marred the pale skin of his forehead. More often than not, he forgot that it was even there, the span of more than a few years making itALMOST impossible to see unless you were either close enough to inspect his face, or you already knew it was there. He and Chuck had spent plenty of smoke-filled nights remembering the day it’d happened.                         “Chuck did it,” he offered, biting his lower lip as his body SHIFTED away from her. A nervous sort of feeling had filled him, more eagerness to avoid the inspection that would UNDOUBTEDLY follow. “But IPROBABLY deserved it.” It was what he did- he made EXCUSES for his best friend, because Chuck was an acquired taste, and he could understand why notEVERYONE liked him nearly as much as Nate did. It was certainly a DESERVED dislike- and it was mostly shared, considering Chuck usually didn’t like them either.                         There was no mention of the fact that both he and the Bass boy had been no older thanFIVE, and he certainly didn’t mention the fact that it was the first time he’d actually met Chuck in general. Leaving a scar on someone’s forehead was certainly the way to make a lifelong best friend, it seemed, since Nate couldn’t really think of a time where he DIDN’T want Chuck by his side. He didn’t mention that the toy car had been flung at his head in aTEMPER TANTRUM thrown by a young Chuck Bass, after Nate had kept him waiting for five minutes while he decided if he wanted to play with Chuck and his toy cars ( TO THIS DAY, CHUCK STILL INSISTS THAT IT WASN’T JUSTANY TOY CAR- IT WAS HISBEST TOY CAR, WHICH HE KEPT AS A SORT OF NOSTALGIC HOMAGE TO THEIR FRIENDSHIP, AND APPARENTLY, IF YOU LOOKED CLOSE ENOUGH, THERE WAS STILL A BIT OF NATE’S DRIED BLOOD ON THE CHROME OF THE GRILL ) or if he wanted to play with a young Blair Waldorf’s Barbie dolls. Five minutes was justFOUR MINUTES too long for a Bass to bear to wait.                         He did, HOWEVER, offer a soft, “It’s what made us best friends,” because in the moments after he’d been struck, with their kindergarten teacherFUSSING over him and attempting to clean his wounds, Chuck had remained by Nate’s side while Blair had run off, saying something about blood beingGROSS. ( MORE THAN A FEW PEOPLE WOULD SAY IT WAS BECAUSE CHUCK WANTED TO MAKE SURE NATE DIDN’T RAT HIM OUT, AND WHILE NATE DIDN’T THINK THAT WAS NECESSARILY WRONG, HE LIKED TO THINK IT WAS SOMETHING MORE IN THOSE MOMENTS. ) China blue eyes had looked up almostDEFIANTLY at their teacher when she asked what had happened, his lips pressedSTUBBORNLY together as he refused to offer the information that she seemed to want. Chuck never said it out loud, but Nate knew the other male well enough to know that it was the moment Chuck had decided that maybe having Nate around wouldn’t be the WORST thing in the entire world.                         Chuck had all but dragged the young Nate over to his nanny when it was time to go home,PROUDLY proclaiming that, “This is Nathaniel. He’s my best friend,” the boys making quite a sight of dark and light- Chuck with his DARK EYES AND HAIR, Nate with his own SCRUFFY BLONDE HAIR AND BLUE EYES. It was then that Nate decided that he didn’t particularly mind being called by his entire first name, as long as it was Chuck doing it.                         “It was the day he started calling me Nathaniel,” was his last free offer of information. Maybe he’d tell them theWHOLE story one day- but ONLY if they asked. Nate didn’t much believe in secrets, but the day Chuck had thrown the car at his head had been soLONG ago that he thought that they might have been the only ones to remember it in general. And maybe he didn’t want to HIDE it- but it did feel nice, having that day just between the two of them.

[frigfridge]

just finished rewatching toy story 1 thru 3 over the past few days, wanted to share my thoughts:

i love these movies a whole lot. the first 2 hold a bunch of nostalgia for me because i was A Baby when 2 came out and when i was also A Baby i would just watch our VHS copy of toy story 1 over and over again. this also makes me the exact age group to be emotionally destroyed by toy story 3, which came out just as i was entering high school and hit really close to home

individual thoughts:

toy story: the first thing i noticed was it still looks really nice even watching in 2019!! which i think is kind of spectacular for the first feature-length computer-animated film. it no doubt helps that the plot is mostly focused on little plastic dolls without realistic hair or clothing to animate but the semi-”cartoon” art direction means the human characters also look pretty nice without going too far into the uncanny valley.

also, the plot is WAY darker than i remember?? not because of sid and all the body horror toys, but because for like half of the movie woodys friends think hes an actual (toy) murderer carrying around the severed arm of his victim (!!) like, its hilarious, but also wow theres a LONG way to go between there and the climax of toy story 3.

the soundtrack is probably my favorite of the bunch. part of that is probably nostalgia but i just really like the consistency of having randy newman singing every song. it sort of elevates him to part of the story, like an omniscient narrator singing woodys (and later buzzs) inner monologue. 2 (and especially 3) didnt have as many musical numbers, which i can understand with a shift to a larger-scale approach to storytelling, but i really like the feeling it gives number 1. “you got a friend in me” is an obvious classic thats been remixed and brought back in just about every piece of toy story media im aware of, but “strange things” and “i will go sailing no more” deserve just as much recognition and praise. there just isnt a weak number among them

toy story 2: heres where the story started getting bigger and more existential, which basically becomes the new direction of the series. which makes sense! this one released 4 years after the first, and while theres no real timeskip in the story (maybe 6 months?) it had been a little while since we last saw woody and the gang. everybody in the real world had gotten older, and with the turn of the millennium approaching, the theme of impermanence loomed large in the collective unconscious. well, maybe not in my unconscious, because i was 2. but its really interesting as kind of a “time capsule” to what people were thinking about as the 90s came to a close.

so toy story 2 was a little more grounded, a little more focus on the human world, but it was also more fantastical in its presentation. the opening “video game” sequence (which still looks amazing!!) and woodys nightmare (”i dont wanna play with you anymore...”) show the animators at pixar really found their groove and started getting experimental. and to great result!! the fantasy sequences are a lot of fun and help 2 really stand out.

i would be remiss not to mention jessies flashback song here. its something else they hadnt really done in the first film and i think it really works. jessie in this film unfortunately doesnt get to do much other than fight with woody about whether he should stay or go (except for when she saves him in the end) but this song makes her character work. it also helps that it destroys me every time

also i think this is the movie that gave me an appreciation for the acting of kelsey grammer. i dont really agree with his politics (i also dont know specifically what they are) but he is a damn fine actor and gives the prospector a very genuinely intimidating edge after his heel turn. the casting really makes the character here, but thats nothing new for toy story-- every voice works. if i were the casting director, i probably wouldnt have pulled erudite kelsey grammer for a character named “stinky pete,” but as it is now i couldnt imagine him voiced by anyone else.

the last thing about toy story 2 is it feels like there were a lot more pop culture references? at least as far as i noticed. there are apparently even more than i noticed but i caught on to the “also sprach zarathustra” riff in the opening, and the jurassic park rearview mirror gag. and of course the extended star wars reference with zurg vs. utility belt buzz (and i guess zurg in general.) the references are cute and mostly unobtrusive but really i could take or leave them.

oh yeah also al is hilarious. just this rude, neurotic businessman whos incredibly self-important for the owner of a minor(?) toy store chain. hes such a puffed-up jerk, every time hes on-screen is a delight

toy story 3: this one kills me to death. i always get misty-eyed during “when somebody loved me” but the ending of 3 where andy introduces his toys to bonnie and plays with them one last time made me sob the first time i watched it. and it still does! thats the long game right there, thats the payoff of over 10 years loving these characters. its an emotional ketchup bomb, everything gets all messy and soggy and sweet. hopefully 4 can follow up, but im not really worried about that-- ive heard some good things. damn, its been 9 years since this movie came out, though! it really doesnt feel all that long, but i guess i havent been doing all that much

i actually dont know if i have much else to say about 3. the opening with the re-imagining of the previous films openings (woody versus one-eyed bart, buzz and woody vs. the evil dr. porkchop) is a highlight, although theres a conspicuous lack of bo peep. ive heard she has a big part in 4, but it was kind of weird to see a lot of toys missing and their absence (mostly) glossed over after the first few minutes. i miss r.c. and lenny, but i get they wanted to narrow down the cast so all of them could get in on the plot.

speaking of which, the escape scene is great too. its kind of a crystallizing moment of how close these characters are, and how well they work together. it reminds me a lot of the escape from sids house in the first movie, but there woody was working with sids body-horror toys and seemed to strike up a rapport with them bizarrely quickly. (speaking of which, i miss those toys! their designs were super cool, but i cant imagine they got much merchandise, especially babyface with the sharp, metal spider legs.) here, though, woody and the gang cooperate the best they ever have, and it really paints a picture of how close theyve become over the years, and justifies the emotional climax in the landfill. this is what i was talking about when i said i was surprised how dark toy story 1 got! these toys all hated woodys guts back then for what they thought he did to buzz. they kicked him out of a moving truck! its just weird to think about that conflict between them when you know how long they end up sticking together. but thats, like, neat, so its ok. it feels earned, its just kind of crazy in hindsight.

toy story 3 was also obviously made long after the first two-- by comparison, the lighting is way more sophisticated, the humans are a lot more detailed. theres just a lot more detail In General. the main cast is, like, super dirty for the middle 90% of the film, and it feels like, yeah, We Have This Technology Now. we can render so many individual glitter sprinkles suck to hamms ass and they will be in every single scene. the “fur tech” on lotso and buster is also an obvious clue, especially in the flashback to lotso trudging through the rain back to his owners house. its like “look! we can make this teddy bear SO wet!” and wow! yeah! you did! so wet!

lotso himself is also an interesting villain in terms of sheer bastardness. he is just a huge jerk. he could have hit that button so easily! and he was so mean to the baby! but at the same time hes a great character in how he slowly “changes” throughout the movie. he is kind of an obvious “pixar ‘twist’ villain” but again, the amazing performance by ned beatty really saves him. also he does get a nice comeuppance at the end, which was necessary because hes really the biggest villain in the series so far. hes knowingly malicious and doesnt have any greater motive, hes just an embittered megalomaniac who (apparently) has sent other toys to be broken, thrown away, and incinerated at the landfill. he honestly deserves worse than being strapped to the front of a truck but it works for a family movie.

i have a couple more thoughts on 3 (i guess i did have a fair amount of stuff to say about it) but im getting tired of writing. the music is good as usual, but the vocal stuff being entirely back-loaded (in the credits) is a bit disappointing since ive always been a fan of the songs, but i get that they were going for something different. the jokes about ken being, uh, ‘flamboyant’ felt out of place, mostly the one at the end (”uh, buzz? barbie didnt write this”) because it comes from one of the gang and not unnamed lotso goon #3, but i guess its pretty tame in the scheme of things.

overall im really looking forward to seeing what 4 does with the series. whew!

[sithlordintraining]

My Dancing Doll [UPDATED]

A/N: Me, the last person who should make a new series when I have 6-7 more chapters of SNA, and God knows how many between TMM and KotN. But here’s a story since I’m starting to regret not going to an HBCU. It’s written for Ben since I did one for Kylo last time and KotN has Matt Feedback is much appreciated, let me know if I should continue. please. IT’S UPDATED AND IT’S BETTER! IT WON’T BE A SERIES JUST A NICE LONG ONE SHOT.

Basically based on this and one of my fave SU Dolls, Ms. Kayla Pittman

“So like that show Bring It?” Ben asked. A chuckle emitted over the phone. “Yes, but not exactly.” Y/N, his best friend told him. “I still can’t believe you moved all the way to Louisiana.” A pout formed on his lips. You chuckled once again: “You’re so dramatic, you choose to move away also, Mr. Harvard.” Ben just rolled his eyes. You two were inseparable and he never thought that even college would pull you guys apart, even if you called or face timed every Sunday, and practically text each other every day. It wasn’t the same for Ben. Hence him flying to Louisiana to pick you up for Thanksgiving so you guys can come home together. So why not invite him to one of your shows. “I can’t believe you’re a dancing doll.” He teased. “Oh my Gosh Ben, it’s not even like that you’ll see and then you’re going to want to come down all the time.” You were a Southern University Dancing Doll, it meant so much to be a part one of the nations most prestigious and famous dance teams. So what was the best way to explain to your rhythmically challenged friend than to make him watch Bring It? “Alright, alright,” Ben huffed. “Well, I can’t wait to see you Dancing Doll.” You let him off the hook with that tease. “Bye Ben, see you next week.”

It was so damn hot in New Orleans, Ben wanted to peel off all his skin. “Jesus Christ,” He wiped the sweat that formed on his forehead. Looking at his phone he had three hours to spare before meeting you, so he would go to the hotel, wash up, and get his ticket from you. But boy did this heat have other plans for him. Settling into his hotel after a nice refreshing shower, the chill from the air conditioner knocked Ben right out. If it wasn’t for the maid’s cart ramming into the wall outside, Ben didn’t know how he would’ve awakened. With sleepy eyes, he looked at his phone was your face illuminated alerting him he had a call. “Hello?” He groggily answered. “Ben, what the fuck are you doing? You’re supposed to be meeting me to get the ticket!” You continued to yell at him, even though you were trying to keep your calm. “M’sorry, shit, shit, shit.” He cursed as he flopped around his room to get himself together. Holding the phone between his ear and his shoulder he listened to you just go off about calling him seventeen times and thirty-six text and being so worried something happened. “Relax, relax sweetheart.” Ben interrupted. “I’ll be there, everything will be fine and focus on your practice. I’ll see you soon, forehead kiss.” He said and you huffed in annoyance. “Forehead kiss,” You grumbled. Every time after you would calm Ben down from his ridiculous tantrums, you would give him a forehead kiss, and vice versa. So now, since you guys were so far apart, the friends just decided to say it. “Alright bye,” He hung up.

The drive to the Superdome was hell! He knew he was definitely going to get cursed out by you. Maybe God had pitied Ben and decided that whatever Y/N had in store for him was far worse and the least he could do was get him there on time. Y/N HATED being late and one of Ben’s famous trait was being late; how’d they become friends, they still don’t know. In her text, she had given Ben directions to sneak in the back where the band was to give him his ticket. He followed it intently, through the sounds of Lil Wayne and Beyonce and the smell of barbecue before he found his destination with a sea of gold and blue. Throughout all the commotion, he could make out specks of jaguar print and he guessed that’s where you would be. He found himself correct as he saw your head popped up. He froze just staring at you because...damn. You looked good. Like yeah, you’re a beautiful girl. But, like damn it had to be a crime for you to look so mature, so...sexy. Your eyes met his and he gulped because even though you were shooting daggers at him, it was so hot. Ben watched his friend saunter over in her gold dance heels and jaguar-spotted cape and he swore he could watch you do that all day. “Ben, it took you long enough!” She said but all Ben could do was open his mouth as he accepted the ticket. He couldn’t stop staring at the way your (y/h/c) curls framed your face giving you that old Hollywood pin-up girl look, the way your black eyeliner winged to give you a mischievous look, while your red lips just played games with his mind. He didn’t realize he was just staring at you until you walked away. “Hey, Hi, Hi,” Ben pulled you into a hug, which confused you. Did he not listen to anything you had just said. “Hi,” You smiled sweetly, which had his brain turning to mush. “I have to go, I have to march in, and I’m already not supposed to be here.” You told him. “But, I want to watch you march in.” Ben put on his best puppy eyes, but it didn’t work. “Ben, stop it. I got you a good seat, now go! You’ll see me from there.” With a sigh, he accepted his defeat and watch you walk away to join your group. He began to shuffle along when he turned back to see you all taking a picture. Your eyes fell on him and you sent a wink his way with a flirtatious smile. Did you just do that or was his mind playing crazy tricks on him?

Ben briskly walked to find his seat in the large stadium with you running and doing other things in his mind. “Shit,” He mumbled under his breath. Never did he ever think he would feel this way about you, Y/N, his best friend. Slumping in his seat, he sighed trying to find the best excuse as to why he was feeling this way. It was just primitive hormonal instinct, he declared. Basic cavemen theory: see pretty lady, mate with pretty lady. Ben shook his head, he didn’t want to mate with you, he’s known you since you were twelve! Even though, everyone spoke about how cute your kids would be. A smile slowly fell to his lips at the thought until the rumble of drums pulled him out of his thoughts as Southern University began to emerge. On the large screen, he could see, who he guessed, was the captain and her somewhat stuck-up expression before panning out to show the others. His brown eyes widened when he saw their outfit. My God they all looked naked! There was no way in hell your dad knew about this, there was no way in hell any of their dads knew about this! It was a bodysuit that looked made it look like they had on silver sequin panties and a large bedazzled fleur de lis covering their torso. The captain began to throw a stand that maneuvered the group out. His eyes frantically searched for you, not knowing if he really wanted to see you or just wanted to see you in that. He groaned, falling into his seat as the crowd stood obscuring his view of you. Through his woes, he glanced to see that they had made it to the stands, doing one last count before sitting down one by one. He watched the screen intently as he still hadn’t seen you. People had begun to sit down so he had a very clear vision. Ben watched Y/N slowly guide her gloved hands down her body, back arching almost inhumanely, as she slowly rolled into a seated position. All the while maintaining eye contact with the camera before a little smirk fell to your lips, causing the crowd to rave at the newcomer who was very much living up to the expectation as the tail. Ben was heated, internally and externally. You basically just eye-fucked a whole stadium, who the fuck does that? Clearly you but, it was the look you had just given him! His brows knitted together as he clenched his fist. He wasn’t mad, is what he told himself. And it was true, he wasn’t mad, he was jealous.

Nor could he concentrate on the game as his eyes kept wandering back to you. The way you were perched up like a pretty Barbie doll or laugh at your friends jokes or make faces at the games. Ben couldn’t just stop watching you, it was as if he was a scientist studying cells or a painter and his muse. With every stand that was thrown, your movements were smooth and effortless. “A true doll,” He had heard someone say. A lot of people had taken interest in you, saying that you were “a perfect pick for the team” that “fit in with the seasoned dolls” and “is able to keep up and still having your own style.” Ben couldn’t help but smile at the compliments that filled his area about you. Plenty of times he wanted to turn and say that the girl they all deemed “Lil’ KP” was his best friend. In a brief moment, your eyes fell over to his section and Ben believed that even from afar you were staring into his soul. A blush began to cover his face at just the thought of you possibly thinking of him the way he recently discovered he thought about you. Simultaneously, a smile graced your lips that had believing that the universe was clearly messing with him. He growled in annoyance as he got up and made his way to the exit. Even though he was outside, he needed some nice, fresh, air-conditioned air. Sitting at one of the concession stands sitting area with the palms of his hands pressed against his eyes. Why was it now that everything had to be like this? Maybe that feeling was always there and you were always there and he found contentment in that. But now, you were miles away in Louisiana, wearing sequins all over your rolling body, with guys who didn’t know how great you are and deserved to be spoiled with food, presents, love, and attention. Much time passed before he decided to go back in. He observed that bands had left and it was much darker. Had he missed the whole game? “Umm, is it over?” He asked a random person. “No Baby, it’s halftime!” The man exclaimed. “They just getting started!” Bidding him thanks he made his way to the seat.

His mind was easily taken off you for a brief moment as he watched Grambling State take over the field. He couldn’t help but think of the big differences between this and the one at Harvard. Now, he knew what they meant by ‘come for the game, stay for halftime’. As his eyes roamed around the illuminated arena, he could definitely see there were more people than there were the first half. The field was clear and the crowd went mad anticipating for what Southern University would bring. The field was clear and the crowd went mad anticipating for what Southern University would bring. The band stepped foot loud and clear onto the field. Ben watched in confusion and amusement because this was far from what he saw at Harvard. The band leader who looked like he could be a British guard hyped the crowd as he flung his body over the field with high kicks and bending backward to land on his hat. The whole look was just enticing and he was impressed at the band's clarity, flow, and how they could execute movements while playing the instruments. Harvard could never. Maybe he should go to HBCU and be that one random white boy. He shook his head; he was pretty sure that he would at least have to have some type of rhythm and Ben could positively admit that after a while, his claps would fall offbeat. “And now ladies and gentlemen put your hands together for the classy, the beautiful Southern University Dancing Dolls!” The girls emerged from the field in a high-cut jaguar printed leotard with a sequined collar choker. “Again with these bodysuits!” Ben grumbled as it took his eyes to adjust to the fast movements that made it harder to find you. “YASSSS LIL’ KP!” The girls next to him screamed. Looking to the far left, he saw your mesmerizing smile. With every kick, turn, and jump he saw those facial expressions that were etched in his mind since the sixth grade. He was so happy for you achieving one of your many dreams and felt so proud to call you his best friend. Keyword: his.

And if you weren’t already killing him with the costumes, after halftime the dancers changed into a more revealing two-piece blue number with sequins and a feathered skirt aka belt because when you bent over he could see how perfect your as-. Ben shook his head, he shouldn’t be checking out his best friend like that. If the outfit wasn’t enough the band was playing songs that called for more sultry movements and once again you were eye-fucking the stadium. Granted you were just being an entertainer, he couldn’t deny that he wanted you to look at him with that look and only him. But what could he say? What would he do? He couldn’t just walk up to you and say “Hey Y/N I think I’m in love with you and I want to be with you forever.” He cringed just thinking how awkward it would be. With a deep sigh, he continued his new hobby: Y/N-watching. You looked so good in each costume, but this one had to be his favorite he pervertedly admitted to himself. Ben had to decide if he would stay quiet or say something.

The game was over and the score was forgotten as he followed the true fans to the back to watch the band march out. And there you were in all your glitter and blue feathers with a tired but very bright smile. With a tightening feeling in his chest, a somber feeling washed over him. How had he overlooked you? Yes, it was cliche to fall for a best friend. But, you were talented, funny, good-looking, intelligent, had a great personality, literally cared about him and cared enough about him to put him in his place. It made him sad that you were always there and he’d only seen you as a best friend. But had he? Thinking back, you were always the first person he wanted to tell good news to, the person he went to to make him feel better, the only person that could tease him to days end without making him mad, the last voice he wanted to hear at night, the sight he wanted to see in every class period, his date for every formal event, basically just always by his side. It was always you. Throughout his internal dialogue, he had missed your smiling face make your way towards him. “BEN!” You jumped and he caught you quickly, arms wrapping tightly around your exposed center. His fingers gently dug into the soft skin causing you to giggle and squirm out of his grip which had him wanting to pull you back in. “Did you like it? Did you enjoy the show?” Y/N asked. “Of course I did, it’s way better than mine. You might have to go up to Cambridge and show them a few things about a halftime show.” Your sweet laugh fell passed through your red lips leaving Ben in a haze. “Did you see me?” Her eyes gleamed up at him as his lips tugged before speaking. “Did I see you? Sweetheart I couldn’t take my eyes off of you. You were so beautiful and graceful. Y/N you have to be the most perfect person I’ve ever met.” As Ben began to talk, you slowly started to realize it wasn’t about your dancing, it was about you. “Everything you do is so effortless, even on your bad day, you make it look like a walk in the park. The way you carry yourself is so captivating, just to be in your presence is an honor. And the fact that you always chose me to grace it with just, I mean, I just.” Your smile had faded into a confused frown. “What are you trying to say, Ben?” Your words were slow and calculated, at least that’s how he processed it. “What I’m trying to say is, well, I,” He stammered before throwing all caution to the wind. “Oh fuck it!” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a long-awaited kiss. Everyone cheered and the band began to play ‘Ebony & Ivory’. You pulled away quite embarrassed, hiding your smile in his chest. Deep down you always thought you felt something more for Ben, but you thought of it as just the progression of friendship. But that kiss definitely proved you wrong! “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead. Lifting your head, you smiled: “It’s ok, but you still owe me a date.” “I know and we have whole two hours for that.” He chuckled.

Bonus:

“You will not take me on a date on a plane!”

“Think of it as part one.”

“What’s part two?”

“Dinner.”

“Oh hell no, don’t think you can use our families dinner as a date!”

P.s.:  Feedback is much appreciated, let me know if I should continue, please. LAZINESS AT IT’S FINEST RIGHT HERE!

[lcstpaths]

                         It was an UNCONSCIOUS reaction, to tense as he felt the blonde’s finger brushing over the faint SCAR that marred the pale skin of his forehead. More often than not, he forgot that it was even there, the span of more than a few years making it ALMOST impossible to see unless you were either close enough to inspect his face, or you already knew it was there. He and Chuck had spent plenty of smoke-filled nights remembering the day it’d happened.                          “Chuck did it,” he offered, biting his lower lip as his body SHIFTED away from her. A nervous sort of feeling had filled him, more eagerness to avoid the inspection that would UNDOUBTEDLY follow. “But I PROBABLY deserved it.” It was what he did- he made EXCUSES for his best friend, because Chuck was an acquired taste, and he could understand why not EVERYONE liked him nearly as much as Nate did. It was certainly a DESERVED dislike- and it was mostly shared, considering Chuck usually didn’t like them either.                          There was no mention of the fact that both he and the Bass boy had been no older than FIVE, and he certainly didn’t mention the fact that it was the first time he’d actually met Chuck in general. Leaving a scar on someone’s forehead was certainly the way to make a lifelong best friend, it seemed, since Nate couldn’t really think of a time where he DIDN’T want Chuck by his side. He didn’t mention that the toy car had been flung at his head in a TEMPER TANTRUM thrown by a young Chuck Bass, after Nate had kept him waiting for five minutes while he decided if he wanted to play with Chuck and his toy cars ( TO THIS DAY, CHUCK STILL INSISTS THAT IT WASN’T JUST ANY TOY CAR- IT WAS HIS BEST TOY CAR, WHICH HE KEPT AS A SORT OF NOSTALGIC HOMAGE TO THEIR FRIENDSHIP, AND APPARENTLY, IF YOU LOOKED CLOSE ENOUGH, THERE WAS STILL A BIT OF NATE’S DRIED BLOOD ON THE CHROME OF THE GRILL ) or if he wanted to play with a young Blair Waldorf’s Barbie dolls. Five minutes was just FOUR MINUTES too long for a Bass to bear to wait.                          He did, HOWEVER, offer a soft, “It’s what made us best friends,” because in the moments after he’d been struck, with their kindergarten teacher FUSSING over him and attempting to clean his wounds, Chuck had remained by Nate’s side while Blair had run off, saying something about blood being GROSS. ( MORE THAN A FEW PEOPLE WOULD SAY IT WAS BECAUSE CHUCK WANTED TO MAKE SURE NATE DIDN’T RAT HIM OUT, AND WHILE NATE DIDN’T THINK THAT WAS NECESSARILY WRONG, HE LIKED TO THINK IT WAS SOMETHING MORE IN THOSE MOMENTS. ) China blue eyes had looked up almost DEFIANTLY at their teacher when she asked what had happened, his lips pressed STUBBORNLY together as he refused to offer the information that she seemed to want. Chuck never said it out loud, but Nate knew the other male well enough to know that it was the moment Chuck had decided that maybe having Nate around wouldn’t be the WORST thing in the entire world.                          Chuck had all but dragged the young Nate over to his nanny when it was time to go home, PROUDLY proclaiming that, “This is Nathaniel. He’s my best friend,” the boys making quite a sight of dark and light- Chuck with his DARK EYES AND HAIR, Nate with his own SCRUFFY BLONDE HAIR AND BLUE EYES. It was then that Nate decided that he didn’t particularly mind being called by his entire first name, as long as it was Chuck doing it.                          “It was the day he started calling me Nathaniel,” was his last free offer of information. Maybe he’d tell her the WHOLE story one day- but ONLY if she asked. Nate didn’t much believe in secrets, but the day Chuck had thrown the car at his head had been so LONG ago that he thought that they might have been the only ones to remember it in general. And maybe he didn’t want to HIDE it- but it did feel nice, having that day just between the two of them.

[rydenbolt]

@thisbrutalbelle

Honorable mentions @scarlettxruby @strangerein @monsterbyamile @ianncardero @ephrampettaline

(Finally, edited and posted, way late! Tagged for everything under the sun because when these two talk about their fucked up lives, they need all the tags. Hope I didn’t miss anything, if I did, let me know! Also, we are missing the first few posts, they got lost in action lol Under read more because long, with disturbing convos.)

If the young wolf was bothered any by Bella’s lack of face paint, he didn’t show it. And as a matter of fact, he totally wasn’t. He hardly noticed the difference. But that was just Ryden not knowing anything about makeup in general. Neither his mom nor Sarah used much. So he ended up uneducated in these things. He still wondered what lash curler was used for. When Bellamy explained things further about what Ruby had done, Ryden couldn’t help cringe at that. That was… bad. Bad, bad move. People were probably shocked. “Yeesh… Well, I guess shit happens when you get drunk.” He shrugged. “I was there when she got bit. We weren’t sure if she would turn. I mean, there’s still a tiny chance she won’t, right?”

Bella pulled her lips to one side. She had known Ruby a while even if they hadn’t interacted often. Bella always hoped Ruby would mature a little, pull herself together, but it always seemed just out of reach for the human. Still, she didn’t know of Ryden’s exact relationship with her so didn’t intend to say anything when there was no specific need. However, as he continued she immediately ground her teeth. Of-fucking-course Ruby was turned directly in front of someone, of course she had dragged them into something like that and they were now stuck with that, with seeing that and feeling that worry for her she had incited in Bellamy, and in her ex-husbands, and Bellamy just folded her arms. “Honestly? Tiny, super fucking tiny, depending on when she was bit maybe bigger but…fuck, were you okay?” she asked him, unfolding her arms to reach up, the tips of her fingers moving his head this way and that before trailing his arms and feeling for any bite marks.

“I’m cool, babe. If there was anythin’, it’s long gone.” Ryden hummed, letting her turn his head this way and that to inspect him. It was nice, having someone to worry about him in a town full of basically strangers. “Don’t worry sweetness. I’m a tough cookie~ Wanna grab a drink with me by the way? I am thirsty yo… This heat, I can’t…” Ryden fanned himself with his hand a little - he wasn’t good with heat in general, being a furnace himself, but a place full packed of people, all this energy being burned into the air had Ryden practically drenched in sweat. For once, he just craved water. Gallons and gallons of it. In a pool he could submerge himself in, if possible.

Not noticing anything worrying on his form she let her hands fall. For all the two flirted with one another Bellamy knew it was mostly an outside amusement to the two of them. Perhaps one that bordered on inappropriate but they’d talked about things, and Bellamy trusted Ryden and that trust wasn’t based on nothing. He’d shared with her, he mattered to her. Perhaps most people were strangers but Bella felt like they were friends. “You definitely deserve a drink,” she smiled, starting over to the bar, lifting her hand and assisting in fanning him though it likely made no difference. “What is your place like, by the way? Because I can’t imagine your bath or shower is going to be very relaxing,” she teased him as she raised her hand and a bartender immediately came over. They brought Bellamy one of her usual drinks but waited for Ryden to order before grabbing it.

“Oh, well, I bunk with a nymph at the train tracks in this house he lives in. It’s cool, kind of reminds me of one of my childhood homes. Like… the fourth out of at least ten, heh.” Ryden joked but honestly, he haven’t had a proper bath - like, fill the tub up and soak in for hours - in months. Maybe longer. He took showers regularly though, while on the road, managing. If Ryden was anything, he was resourceful, easily swimming in whatever waters life decided to throw him in. He ordered water and a bunch of ice, and please make it a bucket-full, yes.

That sounded so weird, train tracks, she didn’t know there were that many places around there but she hadn’t yet been to Ryden’s home. Why go to his when her own was large, full of food, and had an amazing sauna bath? “That’s a lot of homes,” she noted. “Did you live with your parents?” It was hard to imagine people without them, purely because Bella had both until she was a teenager and her father bailed on them, but logically she knew that wasn’t always the case. “Well if you ever need an escape you can always use my place, I’m only there half the time anyway.”

“With my momma. We moved a lot cause we got evicted a lot. Cause we were piss poor.” Ryden explained, not looking phased about it. “Aww, babe. Not fun if ya ain’t there.” He gave her a gentle pinch to her side. His water was served and he practically chugged it down in one go, spilling some down his chin and chest. Then he dipped his entire hand into the bowl of ice, taking a handful and rubbed it against the back of his neck with a groan.

Bella nodded her head. She’d had friends like that but it had never been her life and she knew she could never totally grasp what that was like for an eight year old child. When she was eight she cried that the church wouldn’t put her in the Christmas pageant because she sounded like a screaming cat when she sang. “I lived in a white picket fence cul de sac Barbie dream house,” Bellamy told him. “But I still would have run away and lived with you because I made dumb decisions,” she smirked, looking at her own drink for a moment. She had run away sort of, thrown out actually but she could have gone back if she’d got sober. “Aww, maybe another night. I told Miles I’d crash at his place tonight,” she stated and the two of them needed to talk about him springing on her at the fry place whether or not she wanted to meet his kids. “But when I have a free night you can come over and we’ll wear swimmers in the sauna and watch movies and I’ll put you in a fancy robe.”

Ryden just had to bark out a laugh at that. “Baby, that sure would’ve been a very, very bad decision. Teen me was piss poor, on the streets most o'the time, kicked out of school and on a good path to become a criminal and a coke addict. No girls should be havin’ any o'that.” He admitted because it was true. By his eighteenth year, Ryden had no prospects, no future and no brain. And until Sarah came along, things weren’t any better. “No problem babe.” He nodded, totally not bothered by Bellamy choosing Miles over hanging out with him. It was perfectly normal and he had no problems with that. “Shit… You actually do have a sauna at your place, huh? You’re not shittin’ me??”

Bella scratched the back of her neck. “Basically was what I had,” she scrunched up her face. “I drank a lot back then, I mean, I drink now but my vampire body can take it. I drank to black out then and didn’t really…live up to my potential or whatever. All my friends were either drop kick addicts like me or dealers,” she ran her hand over her thigh, putting her drink down. “That’s sort of why I…choked you that first night we met. All your…tattoos freaked me out.” Bella swallowed saliva in her mouth, staring at her fingers still, watching as they balled into tiny fists hard against her thighs. “Reminded me of someone I knew with you that close to me, all I could see was your inked skin.” Obviously she didn’t feel that way now, she knew this was Ryden and that she was safe with him. Fortunately his words lifted her a little. “I do, and a steaming hot rain shower,” she smiled at him, lifting her head as he had her feelings. “And more bathbombs than I could ever need.”

No wonder they hit it off so quickly - Bella and Ryden were more similar than they realized. The young wolf nodded in understanding, the way a former addict would understand another one of their kind, without any further elaborate explanations on the topic. He knew exactly how it was. “Yeah I guess… us bein’ bitten and turned was kinna both a blessin’ and a curse, yeah? Cause when Sarah…” He swallowed a lump stuck in his throat. It was odd to be able to talk to someone about it so freely - to someone who knew enough of the story to understand. “When Sarah was killed, I woulda prolly gone back to it. Shit, the next day, when I came back from the police station and took care of everythin’ I… I took a hit so hard I fuckin’ lost meself so deep down the rabbit hole I reached China. Stayed coked up till the funeral. God knows what I did in that house those few days. Prolly contemplatin’ killin’ myself with a rusty spoon, heh.” He could laugh about it now, sure, but it actually mortified him. It mortified him that he broke the promise he gave to the woman he loved. He promised her he’d not get into trouble again, stay out of jail and get clean. The minute she was gone, he broke all of it. And that made him a trash of a person. Looking back at Bella, he was surprised to get an explanation on something he’d already forgotten all about. “That someone hurt you, baby?” He asked, although of course, Bella wasn’t obligated to explain. At the mention of a rain shower, Ryden groaned. “Oh my god, I always wanted to try those… Shit, baby doll, I might just take ya up on that offer and come over for some quality bath time.”

Bella usually would have laughed at his play on words but the fact was it wasn’t funny that something like that had happened, that Ryden had fallen down into that dark place when he lost someone. It was a twofold kind of hurt that Bellamy herself couldn’t completely grasp because she had never lost someone that exceptionally dear to her. Really she didn’t think his wife would have held his actions against him, surely she’d have been able to understand from where ever she was. Besides, Ryden was clearly clean now, a few days of hurt couldn’t possibly make or break who he was. “Was it the funeral that made you stop?” she asked him, hands still on her thighs. Hurt sounded like an exaggeration because at the time she was already so fucked up, what was this one act? What was the importance of it done a few times in the grand scheme of things? And really if she said yes other times… Bella shook her head, knowing her thoughts weren’t right but still feeling them anyway. “Yeah, I guess, sort of. You know how it is when you’re like that, it’s like you don’t really know what shit was really happening and what…what you did to be a part of it.” At his agreement of coming over to try the rain shower though she smiled happily. “A puppy and a doll having a bath, it sounds like we’re toys in some kids playroom,” she giggled.

Ryden huffed, chuckling bitterly. “No. Made me wanna do it again. The bite made me stop. For obvious reasons. It was just… bigger than that.” Ryden watched her as she practically admitted nothing but actually said far more than she meant. Ryden instantly figured it out. He dropped what was left of the ice back into the bowl to melt. “I lived in a bad hood. Like… real bad hood. There was this guy there, one of our neighbors, when I was twelve. He was sixteen an’ he was… well, he knew shit. He smoked, he had a few tats. He spoke like he put up with no shit. He could drive a car. Yanno. Cool stuff stupid boys like us found so fuckin’ impressive. So we flocked to Benny. Benny was our god. So one day, my momma sent me to the store, and I see Benny hangin’ out in the hallway, no shirt on, smoking a cig. He calls me up. I drop off the stuff, come up and am like, what’s up B? And he gets me into his apartment and asks me if I want some.” “Now, where I lived, ‘want some’ meant only two things. Not a snack. Not refreshments your momma brings to yer room for your friends. It meant, ya wan’t some crack or ya want some pussy. I froze. And said yeah. So he opens his bedroom and there was… this girl. We all knew her. I can’t… remember her name for the life of me but we knew who she was. She did things for a fix. Yanno. And she was lying there on the bed, naked as she can get, drugged up outta her mind. Benny closed the door. And there I was, standin’ like I crapped my drawers, twelve years old, scared shitless. Scared to hurt her, scared to get out and get beat for bein’ a pussy. Or worse, a fag. My hood suffered no homos.” “So I just stood there for long enough for Benny to think I did somethin’. And when I got out I put my zipper down, just to make it seem real. And outside in the livin’ room, Benny had called up other kids from the block in the meantime. And the next kid got in right after me…” Ryden ran his tongue over his teeth, looking away for a second. “I didn’t dare to get out of my room for days. Couldn’t get it out of my head.” He looked back down at Bella. As random as this story seemed, he shared it for a reason. He shared it because maybe Bellamy would share hers too. Because he could guess really well what happened to drunk, drugged up girls when they went out. And it was horrible. Absolutely horrible. But then a smile twitched his lips apart and he threw an arm around her, pulling her close. “Sounds so fuckin’ cute I think I’ll die, yo~”

Bella felt awful things down her spine as Ryden spoke, immediately feeling out of place in the crowded restaurant that had become a club for the night. Her hands made their way from her thighs to her arms and wrapped around herself, fingers buried in the fur of her jacket. She knew exactly the kind of guy that he was talking about because that was Jason to a T. The tats, the drugs, the car, all that stuff that made him seem like hot shit even though he was one of the only other white people in their neighborhood. The more Ryden spoke the worse Bellamy felt, a churning in her stomach as he spoke about seeing this girl, lying on a bed completely fucked up. Bella knew what that was like beyond a shadow of a doubt. Admittedly she was scared of what Ryden would say next, after all he was twelve, it wasn’t just happening to this woman, it was happening to him too. This shady fucking guy telling him to do this awful and fucked up thing. But he didn’t, he pretended but he didn’t and that made her feel a little relief. To imagine Ryden would have been hurt that way, to have the memory of doing that would have broken her tiny vampiric heart. Still, it was traumatizing but at least he could look back and know he hadn’t done it.  “I think you were pretty strong not to cave. All these people telling you that to be something you had to do this fucked up thing and you didn’t,” she said, still clinging to herself, already wishing she had more drinks than what was before her. Yet the cocktail was still there and she reached for it, finishing the whole thing. It was habit now more than addiction. The only thing she could be addicted to now was blood but it was the idea that she could get blacked out and fucking forget like she’d done throughout her youth that made her still instinctively reach for her drink. “I don’t know if where I lived was bad, but…I hung out with bad sorts of people because - because my life wasn’t real, least I didn’t believe it was. There was this guy, Jason, and he would give me rides places and when I didn’t want to be at school I’d drive around with him while he dealt and we’d fuck and steal from convenience stores, and then, you know, eventually we’d be somewhere everyone was drinking and smoking and doing shit and sooner or later I’d be blacked out. I honestly don’t remember like half of being a teenager but…,” she paused, placing her glass down in case she grasped it so hard she broke it. Bellamy hadn’t told anyone specifically what had happened, the first person she tried to tell had told her it was her own fault, and so telling others became too scary. What if they felt the same? Iann and Ephram assumed but never asked, seeing how much Bella blamed herself. “I remember some stuff, hazes of things. I remember him climbing on top of me and my hands not working, like I tried lifting and pushing but nothing happened but laughter. And there were others, his friends, whenever I was like that and whenever I was just…fucked. I don’t know how often it happened but…when I was fine I mean, I still slept with him, I still slept with lots of people, probably even the people that…whatever. So, why wouldn’t they think it was okay, you know? If I was sober I probably would have said yes.” Immediately she was trying to justify it, trying to say how it was okay what had happened, that her feeling like she had been hurt was stupid because she had done things before or after that allowed it. She was so young, and so lost, and now it was hard not to blame that stupid girl, even if it still made her sick to think of what had happened. “I don’t think it was anyone as young as you were though.” Think being a key word that frightened her even more.

“How could I cave in? Everythin’ in me screamed against it. It’s not strong. It’s… shit, it was wrong and I just couldn’t do it…” Ryden shook his head. Looking at him, everyone probably thought he had been picking up girls early on with that pretty face and smooth talking, leather jacket and the bike. He didn’t. He’d barely managed to get himself a girlfriend in high school after this and they haven’t done much till he was eighteen. Things like these happening throughout his life made the teenage Ryden into one very withdrawn, angry boy, scared of ending up like his no good dad, who got a seventeen-year-old pregnant and left. Scared of becoming a bully while at the same time being scared of what would happen to him if he didn’t fit in. Would some little fuck come up to him and pull out a knife, stab him in the gut cause someone spread the word around that he was a homosexual cause they heard he didn’t play around? Would someone wait for him in a dark alley, beat his face into the concrete within an inch of death because he went chickenshit on something everyone else seemed so proud of? Growing up with these uncertainties was not happy camping. Not in the least. And sometimes even Ryden himself wasn’t sure how he got past his twenties. Listening to Bellamy speak, it was hard not to give this guy Ryden’s face. Ryden understood perfectly well why Bellamy reacted the way she did that night at the Horned God. When she was talking about Jason, Ryden clearly saw himself. That was his life too - dealing, living on the streets, robbing stores, vending machines, ATMs, stealing cars and selling the parts or just going for joyrides before leaving the vehicle wrecked up in some ditch. Drinking, doing coke, doing some pot, meth even. Crack. Whatnot. Ryden had been everything but strong as a kid. He’d been a fucking coward. As cowardly as this Jason dude. Given, at least he’d never forced himself on anyone. If he beat someone up it was because they would strike first. If a girl said no, he backed away. If he was too drunk or high, if he blacked out, he blacked out where no one would see, where he wouldn’t do something stupid. Mostly next to a dumpster, in his own puke. Or in some ditch. Or on a bench. It was sad, pathetic, stupid. Not much different from that prick Bella hung out with. “Babe… Between a yes and the silence there’s a whole world of difference. A guy needs to be one seriously sick asshole to touch a girl who’s not feelin’ well. To touch a girl who… blacked out. Who can’t speak, can’t move… It’s sick and those dudes make me wanna barf. What they did was… it was rape, baby. It was not fine, it was not okay just cause ya slept with 'um b'fore. It was sick and it was rape. End of story. No excuses. The only thing ya did wrong, baby doll, is that you didn’t love yourself enough to walk away from it. To walk away from an asshole who would leave his girl helpless, defenseless for every ugly, vile motherfucker to hurt and use.”

To have such conviction at such a young age was strong though. Bellamy didn’t imagine many of those kids walked into that room able to not do anything because obviously Ryden had been scared about it being found out he hadn’t done anything. This older kid, in a place where no one was really looking out for you, people would do what they had to. Didn’t make it right, didn’t make it okay, but also didn’t make it fucking easy to not become something awful. “But to be twelve and to think it was wrong, to know it was wrong and to not do it even though you had some fucked up guy telling you that you had to… I mean, that’s fucked up what was happening and you did the right thing, puppy,” she said, reaching out and taking his hand in her own, squeezing it gently. He didn’t much feel like a puppy anymore but he was still that to her, incredibly sweet and loyal and clearly not willing to hurt people without cause. As Ryden said what she had seen in shows, heard in ads and read on the internet she knew logically he was right. These were things she had told herself but it was hard to believe it. It was hard to think someone you considered a friend would really want to hurt you, that they did it knowing it was wrong, and beyond that it was hard when she had been told before that it was her fault, that she put herself in that place. Believing that was so much easier than believing that she really had been…raped. A word she barely liked to think, and certainly felt uncomfortable saying. “Takes a while to love yourself,” she mused, still holding onto Ryden’s hand. “Moment I found out my parents had me to perpetuate the lie that their relationship was I just…I don’t know, didn’t figure I really mattered very much. And so it was easier to get drunk and forget I existed. You had a reason you turned to everything you did, right?”

“Yeah.. well…” Ryden shrugged his broad shoulders, suddenly looking small and shrunk despite his bulk. “I wish I stayed that kid… That kid might’ve not done some other stuff I did.” He brought her hand up, kissing over her knuckles real quick before he lowered it down again, returning the gentle squeeze. “Yeah, it does… Live and learn I guess.” Reaching for another sip of the ice cold water, Ryden shrugged again. “I suppose, but I went about it in the stupidest way possible. I was just sick of bein’ poor. Sick of seein’ momma cry over bills she couldn’t pay. Sick of her not havin’ pretty things like make up, clothes, purses, what not. Sick of seein’ her work eighteen hours a day for minimum wage, tryin’ to raise a kid on her own. So, instead of helpin’ her out the right way, I went lookin’ for shortcuts. Given, the place I lived at didn’t teach me no better but my momma did try. And I didn’t listen. Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, I guess. My old man was the same way. Guess it’s in my blood.” Looking back at Bellamy, expression softening to one not usually found on Ryden’s features. “I’m so sorry, sweet thing… So sorry for the things that happened to ya. No girl deserves that. Wish I could take it away, wipe that slate clean for ya.”

Bella wished the same. That she could have done something for him, made it easier. Nothing he said sounded shocking considering the people she had surrounded herself with as a human. It’s why she paid ridiculously well at Erzebet’s, why she was pretty fucking lenient about people taking time off. How could she not pay someone with kids enough to support them? How could she ask they miss their birthday for something as stupid as bringing people their food? There was always someone else who had a free day. With his lips on her hand she smiled gently. Such an odd time and place for all of this but the loudness of the dancing people helped make it a little easier. “You still have your Mum?” she asked him, wondering if she even knew where Ryden was now. “And when you’re a kid it’s easy to just…want to make things easy because shits already so fucking hard. You really think you’re like your Dad now?” she questioned. “Wish I could for you too,” she told him, moving closer and wrapping her arms around his middle, soft cheeks against his firm chest, getting neon paint on her cheeks but not minding in the slightest. “I never told anybody that though, so…,” she rolled off, hoping Ryden got the implication. She wouldn’t say anything about his stuff to anyone, and she was sure he would do the same.

“Yup, still got my sweet momma.” Even though Ryden only had her, he loved his family nevertheless, despite all the stupid stuff he did. Genna was the only person in Ryden’s life who never gave up on him, never left him and was always there. She was the reason he was here now - to keep trouble away from her. To at least keep her safe. Wrapping his arms around Bella as she hugged him, he shrugged his shoulders. No one could hear them in this noise and to any who had nothing better to do than pay attention to them, they couldn’t ever guess what they’ve been talking about. “I don’t know… Sometimes? I try not to be.” He really didn’t know. Because he knew that partially, he was being irrational about it. This like father like son enchanted circle was still something Ryden was trying to run away from. And he wasn’t sure how far away from it he’d gotten. “Yeah…” He muttered softly, kissing the top of her blonde head. “I’ll take it to the grave, babe. Scouts honor.” He promised as he let her go.

“You should bring her by,” Bellamy told him, a smile coming onto her face as she realized Ryden wasn’t alone. Her own mother was in her life but she’d never been close to Bellamy, Louise had always created a purposeful distance between herself and her daughter. Besides, if his mother truly had done so much for him then she deserved to have some things done for her. “Treat her to some spa treatments at Antoinette’s, dinner here when it’s not like this,” she insisted. Maybe he didn’t want to see his mother here, or maybe he wanted more control over what he was before he brought her by. “Well, I think you’re wonderful, and if your dad sucks then you’re not like him to me,” Bellamy assured, squeezing him gently as she held him in her arms, it was hard to let go after all of that. It was a strange relief to let it out to someone, to really share. Bella knew that for Ryden he’d probably shared with Sarah, and perhaps others from before he came here, but she was happy she could possibly bring him some relief in the town as he was giving her. “As if you were a Scout,” Bellamy teased, pulling away and looking up at him with that big grin on her face.

“No.” Ryden refused, instantly, shaking his head. “No, she can’t come here. I can’t let her… I can’t let her know these things. Nope.” God how he’d love to bring her here. Take care of her. Pay her back for all the things she’d done for him and have her not work another day till the rest of her life. God, he’d love that. But she can’t know about the supernatural world. About what he’d become. The thought of her being scared of her own son, of a child she gave birth to but had been turned to something else now… He couldn’t stand seeing her realize this. Seeing her afraid of him. And more terrifyingly, he could not endanger her by bringing her here with him. He was away from her for a reason. It made him tense up instantly to even think about these things. Chasing those thoughts away with a roll of his shoulders, he managed a small smirk. “Thanks, babe. Appreciated…” But her teasing did earn her a pout. “Oi! I’d make a mighty good one if they took me in, let it be known!”

Bella watched him shake his head, frowning a little as she tried to understand. She’d seen how others wanted to keep their families separate and assumed she just would never be able to understand. Her mother and father hadn’t loved her the way most children were loved and kids knew that so Bellamy had never felt very capable of loving them back. Iann she loved like family but…he had always known. “Perhaps you could pay her a visit then, borrow some of my cars, take her to a nice dinner, go see a show or something,” she suggested with a smile. Whatever the case if he had his mother Bellamy didn’t want him to lose her because of what he was now. “I mean, you might have looked cute in the little uniform with all of your tattoos, and admittedly I love the idea you know how to tie a knot or two but, come on, boy scout?” she asked with a raised brow.

“Yeah… maybe one day.” Ryden concluded this particular topic with that, because going deeper into it would require explaining who the Man in Black was and what exactly Ryden was doing here, so far away from home. And that might endanger not only Bellamy but maybe even others he’d met in this town. If they didn’t know, they wouldn’t have the need to protect him and in turn, the Man in Black will not lash out and hurt anyone for it or worse. If he tries to pass through this town. “Hey, at least it could be a good porn movie theme.” He shrugged, giving Bellamy a wicked grin, especially if she proclaimed that that was gross and totally inappropriate.

Ryden seemed quite resistant to discussing his mother which was strange considering all he had shared. There was no intention on her part to push though, signaling the bartender to bring her another drink as her own way of acknowledging the conclusion of the topic. She was sure that there was a reason, there had to be but Ryden had already shared so much of himself Bellamy knew that she didn’t need to be greedy, eventually she would know. When he felt comfortable enough with the topic itself, or with himself, or whatever it was that was blocking him. “Well if you ever decide to do it then we know what your first movie will be,” she smirked. “Personally I don’t think I have the personality for it but you? I could see it.”

“Nawww, contrary to all beliefs actually. I would seriously be bad at it. I mean, yeah, sure, I’d look good on camera or whatever but the moment I’d have to do it, I’d be like… yeah, nope, camera shy, sorry, he’s hiding now, byeeee, heh.” Although Ryden liked to joke about it and had the kind of vulgar humor that would make any prude’s skin crawl, it was the truth. Aside from how he looked, he wasn’t really made to be a porn star or alike, and neither did he plan to do it. Still, he did admire the people who could. “I guess we’ll both just have to settle for sendin’ amateurish nudes to whoever’s interested, heh.”

Bella snorted as he said he’d be camera shy, amused by the picture of a confident Ryden becoming quite small the moment a camera was turned in his direction. “Mine are not amateur, any picture of me is practically art,” she insisted, though her phone filled with selfies said quite the contrary. If she needed that many shots of one outfit or make-up look from one angle then it lost its credibility as art and just became insta-hoeing. “I’m sure yours are amateur though, awkwardly angled ab shots with your sweatpants vaguely visible. And with all your tattoos photoshopping yourself would be much harder,” she happily teased, linking her arm with his own. It was nice they had relaxed, especially since eventually he’d have to get back up on stage.

“Oooh, excuse us mere mortals standin’ in the presence of such greatness~” Ryden chirped with a wide grin, giving the petite vamp a little nudge with his elbow before they linked their arms together. “Yeah, I’m terrible at it but hey! I always looked better in person. That sure counts for far more likes than on Facebook.” He shrugged, ordering another glass of ice-chilled water. Because he was still kind of dying.

“Facebook? How old are you again?” Bella continued to tease, watching as he ordered more water. She’d never know what that sort of need felt like again. The need of someone living to quench a thirst not because they were an unholy creature but because they’d been sweating like mad for hours in a very crowded location. She missed it and thoughtlessly her fingers trailed along the warmth of his arm, hoping she might feel it by proxy. She didn’t. “How many of those are you going to need to get back up there, puppy?” she asked, raising her hand for another cocktail. It would do nothing but…it would feel like she wasn’t just standing there like a strange dead thing.

“Olllddd~ Still stuck in the age of VHS and push button desk phones.” Glancing down at her, Ryden gave her a look. “You know what? You’re a slave driver. Fine, fine! I’m goin’!” He moved to leave, but it was obvious he was joking about it.

Bella rolled her eyes. She was twenty-four so she could still remember VHS tapes and push button desk phones but they were definitely hazy childhood memories. It was actually weird to think of, remembering using a cordless house phone to call her friends in elementary school. Then in high school everyone with their colorless nokia phones. When he pulled to leave though she just gripped him tighter, pulling him back to her. “No, I need you for as long as you can spare for me.”

Of course Ryden didn’t intend to leave yet, so it was easy to pull him back to sit. The party was perfectly capable to go on without him for at least another fifteen minutes. He grinned at her. “Oh, she needs me now. Go figure.” He took another long sip of ice water. “So, ya been to get some fries and didn’t bring me some? I’m miffed.”

“I actually felt a little bad leaving without you,” Bella admitted. Ryden had worked so hard on the party and to leave for something like fries felt cruel but she hadn’t wanted to abandon Miles in favor of Ryden, especially when he was busy. “You didn’t miss much but a little drama though.”

“S’okay, babe. Drama’s not my thing anyway.” Ryden reassured her, definitely not annoyed because he’d been left to manage by himself. As a matter of fact, he’d hardly noticed anyone was gone. They had a full house tonight and he was kept busy. And talking about busy, he would have to go up there soon for real. Maybe after another drink with his baby doll though.