#bella 🤍
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chrislilcumslvt · 7 days ago
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yes or no
no??
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chronically-ghosted · 8 months ago
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sliding into your inbox to say hi and ily and that i also think you’re the coolest 🤍
byeee
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me at my desk opening my phone and seeing this!
BELLA! BE GENLTE WITH MEEEE 😭
you are supa dupa cool and i KNOW i love you more and i hope you've had a lovely day and if its night, i hope you can take some time to do the things that make you happy 🤍
be safe, be happy, and know you're loved!
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littlemissmentallyunstable · 2 months ago
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there’s been lots of requests and comments so here it is PART 3!!! (SHE’S HERE first anon, hope you survived this long second anon and it was not a dream third anon, I’m posting/making it now fourth and fifth anon)
some of you were going feral for part 2 so I hope this lives up the expectation 😭😭 if not I’m severely sorry
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title: the dancer and the angel part 3
pairing: grayson hawthorne x reader
synopsis: grayson has just admitted to kissing lyra kane, the girl you’d been worried about, the girl that was stunning, the girl he said didn’t matter… he chose her over you so now what??
parts: part 1 part 2 part 4
warnings: swearing, SPOILERS FOR TGG
a/n: okay so I hate switching POVs but I felt it was necessary here and I know the start is the same as the part 2 but in Gray’s POV but trust me there is lot more
tag list: @tornqdowarnings @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @sweetlikeanangel @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77 @maybxlle @sheisntyou @anintellectualintellectual @aleatorio1234 @adalia-jaycee @off-to-the-r4ces @lyra-kane @reminiscentreader @lyrakanefanatic @imaseabear @elizaa31
GRAYSON’S POV
Guilt has chewed me up and spat me out the whole walk back to our shared room. There’s a pulsating lump in my throat that aches relentlessly, reminding me of what I’ve done. I am a terrible person. I never deserved her and now I’ve done the worst thing I could’ve possibly done, that anyone on this whole planet could’ve ever done. And she will never forgive me for it. I wish there was a way to turn back time and alter certain events. As soon as the time machine is invented, no doubt by my very own brother Xander, I’m coming back to moments before now to stop my idiot brain from-
I can’t even think it. Maybe it’s because it makes it more real. It’s like the last few moments of my life have been erased from my brain, it’s a blank canvas and I have no paints. I know what I did but I can’t remember exact details. Still, I can taste her on my lips, an over sweet taste that was almost too sickly has now morphed into something bitter. Her perfume lingers on my clothes and adds to my ever growing headache. I don’t want to smell her, I don’t want the reminder of the awful human I have become. The monster that now inhabits my body, lives in my skin, breathes my air and poisons the people I love. The ones I truly love.
Y/n. At one point she was the only reason I was still existing, still carrying on. She somehow managed to give me the fight to keep carrying on. I got up most days because I knew I would get to see her face. And now I’m going to throw everything away, our whole relationship. Everything we’ve been through or planned to go through together. It will reduced to nothing in a few minutes.
I’m outside the door, my feet have carried me here through muscle memory. I must go in, I must face her I’m aware but I’m afraid. I’ve never felt so pathetic. I wonder if she is still asleep. Though, I can’t work out whether I’d rather she be awake or asleep. I don’t think I could bear to look at her angelic feature either way. Those wide eyes, round lips, heavenly- I can’t bear it, I’m going to lose her, all of her.
I fiddle around with the key, hoping the door will just never unlock so I don’t have to face this. The mechanism clicks, mocking me. I step in silently and face the door to lock back up again. I don’t understand why, I know I’ll be kicked out in a matter of seconds, what good will a locked door be? And yet I’m still facing the door, fumbling with the key, my back towards her. Though I can hear her getting out of bed. She’s awake. My body’s immediate response is to go into a state of paralysis. I can’t move as the guilt ridden cement hardens over my body, creating an outer shell of the cruel creature I’ve become. Her body is behind mine. I can feel her bright presence radiating her usual tentative nature.
“Are you okay?” I hear her whisper as she touches my arm so gently it stings.
It stings so sharply because I know what I’ve done. The shameful crime I’ve committed. I jerk away suddenly.
“Are you hurt?” she asks, deep concern in her tone.
It kills me. It’s a poisoned dagger wedged deep within my heart, hitting every vital artery. Her voice is so soft, so melodic. She cares so much, too much and I’m about to destroy it all. And as much as I could not say a word I couldn’t live a lie, the guilt would eat me alive. How could I look her in the eye and tell her she’d always been the only one when I know she hadn’t? She’d already noticed earlier today my distant mood. She had always been observant, vigilant about those things concerning me and I’d always been grateful. I wouldn’t have that anymore. Lyra had been on my mind earlier and I couldn’t tell her. Now she would realise.
“No,” I reply.
My voice is unfamiliar to myself, it’s sharp and blunt. It sounds horribly harsh. I could feel it hurt her, the air ripples with a touch of dimness when I hurt her. Even with my back to her it’s obvious to me. I know her so well, too well and from this day on we might drift to perfect strangers. That thought hurts me more than anything.
“Where have you been?” she says. Her voice so sweet, so innocent, cruelly naïve.
I don’t want to break her, I don’t want to do it. It would be like smashing a glass ballerina. Something so beautiful, something so delicate should be preserved not purposely broken. I force my eyes to meet hers. I immediately regret it. The soft mellow colour all melts into one, clawing at my heartstrings and ripping the organ to shreds. She’s so beautiful. How had I ever looked at any other? How had I let myself?
Suddenly I’m drowning in guilt. I don’t know how, it just comes over me suddenly. Like a tidal wave I had my back to. I’ve been swept under by an endless ocean of shame. My lungs swollen full of my own black sin. I don’t know how but I manage to choke out two shaky words.
“I’m sorry.”
My voice cracks. My voice never cracks. She knows that. I’m sturdy, I’m strong, I’m the rock that never breaks and here I am. Here I am crumbling into dust. She’s too smart to miss the signs, she’s too clever not to immediately know something so horribly wrong, her mind is too sharp not to have worked half of it out. She’d already been suspicious of Lyra. She’d already seen what might happen between us even before I did, before it did actually happen.
“Gray?” she asks, my name sounding too sweet on her tongue. The next time she says it will taste bitter, I’m sure of it. She barely whispers the word but I hear her, it rings in my mind. It forever will.
I’m full of pure regret and guilt, it wracks my soul, shaking me relentlessly back and forth until I’m dizzy with it. Remorse’s doors suddenly burst wide open, ready for my grand entrance. My hopes and dreams snicker and smirk smugly as I walk down the runway, my head hanging in embarrassment.
I need to tell her. My heart races in my chest and there’s a lump stuck in my throat, so large it’s started to block my airways. I don’t know how to get the words out, I don’t know how to talk. I feel like I’m suffering some sort of aneurysm. She looks at me, her eyebrows pinched in and eyes narrowed and then I see it. Her eyebrows part and slowly sink. She knows already.
“Tell me,” she murmurs, her voice of an angel shaking.
I close my eyes, trying to suppress the tears. I haven’t cried in years I’ve forgotten this feeling, this heavy weighted agony that ripples through me causing water to infiltrate my eyes. I bite the inside of my cheek and still my shaking hands.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her, an uninvited raw desperation ripping through my voice, “I never wanted to hurt you, I never meant for it to happen, I-“
“Tell me,” she grits through her teeth sharply, her eyes glitter so beautifully fierce and fiery, like she wants to kill.
But I know she’s trying to steady her rising sadness by covering up with her fury. I can see through her, like she can see through me. I freeze and the pause elongates. The aching silence is deadly, it’s fatal. I wish she didn’t have to make me say it.
“I kissed her,” I murmur, the words making me feel sick as I say them.
“Who?” she asks, he tone low and ferocious, “who did you kiss? I want to hear you say it.”
I’m twisting a knife into her heart and I know it. But she wants me to cut deeper. She’s a woman of principle, I’ve already hurt her, I might as well do the job properly in her eyes. And I can’t deny her this. Not I’ve stripped her of her dignity, her trust, her love, her everything.
“I kissed Lyra,” I whisper, suddenly aware of the dampness on my cheeks.
A sour taste fills my mouth. The words send lightning sparks across my jaw, sending ribbons of agony down the sides of my face. The truth hurts. Literally. Tears are rolling the side of my face, but I don’t bring my hand to wipe them and nor do I stop them. I’ve never felt more broken.
But she doesn’t care, there is not pity in her eyes. Good. I don’t want he to pity me. She should hate me. She should want me to miserable and hope for me to have a lifetime of the torture I’ve just forced her to endure.
“Get out,” she murmurs, the anger bringing out her natural stunning features. A flicker of boldness in her eyes, the striking angles of her eyebrows, her strong thick lashes and her full lips.
“I’m sorry.” they’re the only words I remember how to say, through my internal fit of torment.
I expect her to hit me around the face, a good strong punch I know she can make or a sharp smack that’ll leave a red hand mark pressed against my cheek. I imagine she might scream at me and ask me all the questions I wish I had answers to. But she does none of that. She only looks at me darkly and utters two last words.
“Leave Grayson.”
I can hear the tears she’s trying to hold back, through the numb façade. I know her better than she’ll ever realise. But it’s not fair for me to stay, not after this. She’s only asking one thing of me when she should be doing so much more. So I do. I turn my back on her again. And I leave.
***
Tears pummel down my cheeks like never before. I can’t remember the last time I cried. I don’t think I’ve ever cried like this. I’m blinded by them as I stumble sideways. I don’t know where I’m going. I stand on the edge of the cliff and sink to my knees, letting out a loud guttural scream. I’m there until my throat is so raw I can’t feel it. I bite my lip so hard it draws blood. And then I’m up again and running, following a path my footsteps are dragging me towards. I can’t think straight, I’m dizzy with pain. Before I know it I’m outside the safe house on the island. My hands tremor on the handle and I swing open the door, falling to the floor for my sobs to take me over. My chest aches and burns and tightens. That’s when I realise I can’t breathe properly. I fumble around for my phone, a tear splashing into the illuminated screen. With uncontrollably shaking hands, I typed no words. Just three numbers.
911
***
The wait feels like years, maybe even decades. Each second taunts me, with a mocking tick. I’d crumbled into the corner of the room at some point and stayed there, curled up and choking on my own sorry sobs. What had I done? What had I done? What had I done?
The question circles around my head like the nostalgia of a distorted tune of a merry go round. I’ve never made such a big mistake and my life and deep down there’s a sinking sensation that is telling me I’m not going to be able to make this better. I sob, loud harsh sobs that hurt my lungs and knock the air out of my stomach. My whole being shakes with every strangled noise that escapes my lips. Grieving. I’m grieving over something I chose to throw away. It’s cruelly ironic. But I think part of me is also grieving the good man I once thought myself to be, that she made me believe I could be.
I turned my back on the one and only person in this world who just cared about me, took me for who I am and believed I could do anything. She only wanted the best, she only wanted happiness and she deserved so much more and here I am, stabbing her in the back and dancing in her blood like a madman. She was my everything and I managed to mess it up, just like everything else in my life. I can’t have normal relationships, I can’t do something without messing it up. I’m one big screw up the opposite of how the old man raised me to be. He’s looking down on me now and I can feel his disappointment, like an infection coursing through my bloodstream. I failed him, I failed my brothers, I’ve failed her, I’ve failed myself.
She thought I was better, she believed I could be more than his expectation. And I was stupid enough to believe it, encourage it and let her belive the lie too. We’re all idiots.
I can recite her favourite song, her favourite flower, her favourite food and favourite colour. I can tell you all about her favourite novels and how she orders her books on an endless bookshelf. I know that she tells people her favourite film is ‘it’s a wonderful life’ but it’s actually secretly ‘tangled’. I know she prefers to stay inside and cuddle under blankets rather than have a night out. I know she’d rather reason a thousand books than watch a thousand movies. I know she wanted a library in her dream house and two, maybe three children with her husband and I know she’d sometimes debate about getting a cat as well. I know how she loves brownie batter more than the actual brownies and can’t sleep with any lights on. I know she still uses the bunny rhyme to tie her shoelaces and how she fiddles with her collarbone when she’s nervous. I know exactly what diamond she wanted in her engagement ring and her favourite country. I know what people she despises and I know what people she adores. I know every inch of her face, every hair on her head, every sparkle in her eyes and every cell on her skin.
I know her.
I know her, but that can’t help me now. Pain ripples across the left side of my chest and my hand clamps over it as I grit my teeth to try and bear it. I hear the door creek open and can’t tell whether it comforts me or not.
“Grayson pookie!” Xander calls out, “we’re here.”
His cheerful voice doesn’t provide me with the cushion to this pain I thought it might.
“And we have some in incredibly strong whisky,” Jameson adds, I can here the mischievous grin in his voice, it’s been the same all of his life.
“My nose hairs are officially burnt off,” Xander agrees.
I can’t speak. I try to call out for them but the words die in my swollen throat.
“Where are you Gray?” Nash calls out, he sounds a little more worried than the other two but is concealing it well.
“Here,” my voice is hoarse and laboured, even I can’t recognise it.
The mood immediately shifts, you can feel it. The air becomes tainted with concern as their footsteps approach my cowering figure. The case of whiskey is dropped as there is an audible thunk as it hits the floor. I can feel their bodies enveloping around mine creating something of a circle of safety. I look up to worried face and shiny eyes.
“Help me,” I gasp for air, greedily trying to gulp down the oxygen that I feel so deprived of, “please.”
“We’re here to help you Gray,” Nash murmurs softly. His voice had always been something comforting, especially when I was younger. I wonder if he will be so kind when I tell him what I’ve done. He’s going to hate me, there’s nothing he despises more than a man who can’t respect a woman.
I shake my head and choke out another struggling sob, instead of the words I don’t know how to say. Jameson’s eyes flit between mine and Nash’s, the concern rippling across his features. He’s never looked this concerned for me in his life. I think to all the times as children I’d helped him settle after a nightmare and wiped his tears that he hated falling when the old man had humiliated him. Oh how the tables had turned. Now it was my little brother wiping my tears.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, his touch so gentle it shocks me.
“I can’t-“ I barely get out, wrapping my hands around my neck.
“Gray…” he trails off, unmasked emotion hitting his face like a train.
“I can’t breathe,” I wheeze as the invisible blanket that was set out to suffocate me tightens over my nose and mouth.
“Hey, Gray, look at me,” Nash says, his voice smooth and reassuring, “in and out okay, in and out.”
“I can’t,” I pant, my limbs shaking embarrassingly uncontrollably.
Xander takes both of my hands into his and squeezes them until they still, “yes you can, follow Nash’s instructions okay?”
“Slowly, do it with me,” Nash nods, “in through your nose and out through your mouth.”
I do. In and out, a rhythmic pattern. Each time Nash reminds me how to breathe. There’s an aura of calmness about his voice that lulls my panic into a narcoleptic sleep. Once my breathing is halfway regulated I look at him, dead in the eye, with shaking sorrowful lips.
“I fucked up,” I sob, “I fucked up and I don’t know what to do.”
They all share a look, this is the worst state they’ve seen me and we all know it. I begin to pathetically sob uncontrollably once again, the feelings building up in my chest and tearing me apart from the inside out. It’s like a rabid pack of wolves had been set loose to feed on my internal organs. I don’t know how to stop the ocean of tears, I don’t know how to shut my mind off, I don’t know how to help myself. Reel myself in from this abominable mess I’ve become. I’m hyperventilating, my chest throbbing up and down unevenly. Nash nods towards Jameson, a short, soft, sharp nod of approval.
“Hey! Calm down!” Jameson snaps, giving me a hard slap around the face, “snap out of this!”
The shock shuts me up and the sting stops my tears. I’m back to reality instead of a wallowing mess. Nash must’ve been approving the slap I realise in the sudden cleared head I’d obtained
“Sorry,” Jameson mumbles at me, looking a little guilty.
I massage my jaw, “no I think I needed that.”
He grimaces and then softens his tone, “what happened Gray?”
I tense, growing very still, “I can’t say it out loud, I can’t, I’m awful, I’m horrible-“
“What happened?” Nash drawls.
I choke out yet another unnatural sound. Seems the slap didn’t snap me hard enough into reality. I exhale slowly. I have to say it, now or never.
“I kissed Lyra.”
The words hurt even more this time, that they did when I’d admitted it to y/n. Neither one of my brothers can mask their honest reaction.
“Oh fuck,” Jameson blurts out, “you cheated?”
Anger. He’s fuming with me. I can see the rage trailing through his eyes and blossoming into his expression.
“I didn’t mean to,” I reply, feeling like a small child.
Jameson’s eyes widen and fury flashes across his face, “how can you not mean-“
Nash shoots him a look and his mouth glues shut. Then he turns to me and I can’t quite read him yet. I gulp.
“No one does that kind of thing for no reason,” he says sternly, “I never thought you’d be the one of the four of us to ever do that, seems I was mistaken little brother.”
Disappointment. He’s disappointed. A horrible sinking feeling settles in my stomach. Nash is disappointed in me. It’s one of the worst feelings imaginable. There had only been few times in my life when he had been and I remember the feeling all too well. Shame has me in a chokehold an it’s succeeding in strangling me. I can‘t bring myself to meet his eyes, I don’t want to see that look I can feel is on his face, that look of pure disapproval.
“How did she find out?” Xander asks quietly.
Shock. He hadn’t said anything until now, but his lips had been slightly parted and he’d paled a little. He never thought I’d do this to anyone, he’s yet another person I’ve let down.
“I told her,” I murmur, “the guilt was consuming me.”
“As it should,” Jameson snaps, twitching with a fiery ferocity.
“Jamie,” Nash says, trying to keep some kind of diplomacy.
“No,” he growls, “you don’t do that to a girl, your girl, you can’t do that!”
“Don’t take the moral highground now,” I spit.
“When you’ve cheated on your girlfirend? Yeah I think I will,” he replies, the bitterness rolling off of his tongue like a deadly poison. He doesn’t know I’ve already poisoned myself with my own actions, his words can’t hurt me.
“I didn’t mean to,” I falter.
“Bullshit,” he grits through his teeth, in two definitive and threatening symbols.
“Careful Jamie,” Nash warns.
“All this is your fault anyway,” I continue, ignoring the warning.
“So it’s my fault, you kissed another girl, yeah, okay Gray,” he nods his head with a sarcastic smile.
“It is!” I exclaim, throwing my hands in the air, “if you hadn’t locked me in a room with her-“
“So it’s my fault you couldn’t keep up dick under control,” he quips, interrupting me.
“You could’ve locked me with my one of my sisters but of course you just had choose the only girl who isn’t related to me,” I seethe.
“Odette isnt related to you,” Xander pipes up. I’d forgotten he was there, that anyone besides me and Jameson were there.
“Odette is old enough to be my grandmother,” I scowl at him, immediately feeling bad as the words leave my lips, but don’t dwell on it as I turn back to Jameson, “why did you make me a player in your sick excuse of a game?”
“You can’t use the game as an excuse,” he laughs darkly.
“I will,” I reply sharply, “this is your fault and Avery’s fault too.”
“Avery? Don’t make me laugh,” he rolls his eyes.
“The game never should’ve been created by her,” I yell, “that’s why I’m in this mess!”
“No, you’re in this mess because of you,” he shouts back, “but don’t you dare bring Avery in to this it’s not her fault.”
I feel like I’m one of those circus acts, the ones that lay on a spinning board and get knives hurled at them. Only in my case the knives are the truth and they actually hit me.
“Why did you make me a player?” I ask quieter now, my voice hoarse, “why?”
“I didn’t know making you a player would result in this,” he says.
“It was so irreverent,” I snap becoming angrier by the second, a sudden burst of red overriding any rational sense in my head, “I never needed to play.”
“You can’t pin this on me Gray, if it didn’t happen with Lyra, who knows who else it would’ve happened with,” he hisses.
“So you think I’m just like this? You think this is me?” I ask him, prodding the hollow space where my heart used to be.
“I didn’t before….” he trails off, sighing, “but now I don’t know what the fucking think of you.”
“Jamie,” Nash repeats again, in the same warning tone as before. We both ignore him.
“Just because you and Avery are all peaches and roses-“
“Leave Avery out of your anger issues,” he roars defensively.
“No,” I counter, raising an eyebrow, mirroring his usual argument demeanour, “you think you’re so perfect now you’ve got your dream girl and the two of you are so much better off than the rest of us, because your love is undeniable or whatever bullshit people feed you about it-“
Jameson’s features twitch for a split second. He’s hurt, but won’t show it. He’ll refuse but I know that it hit a nerve that won’t heal for a long time. I stop mid-sentence.
“I am far from perfect, I think we both know that,” he says, in a low voice, “look you’re hurting, I get it, but I’m not going to mollycoddle you and tell you it’s okay when it’s not. I’m not going to stand here and lie to your face because as your brother that would be the worst possible thing for me to do to you.”
“My brother would try and understand what it’s like from my side,” I say, desperation clawing at my voice.
“You’re looking for a fight Grayson and it’s not going to end well, not with me,” he warns, shaking his head.
“Maybe I do want a fight, but you know you do too,” I growl rolling up my sleeves, “so fine, I’ll give you a fight Jamie.”
“I don’t want a fight, I want some justice for y/n,” he states simply, “she did nothing to deserve that Gray, she’s been so good to you, the sweetest soul on this earth and she’s helped you through a lot of shit and this is how you’re repaying her?”
“Jameson,” Nash says.
He ignores him for the third time and I can see his calm facade beginning to drop, “you think because you called a 911 and you’re here crying that I should feel sorry for you?”
“I thought you were going to be here for me,” I reply numbly, my tone dead, “clearly I’m mistaken.”
“I can’t be there for someone with no morals,” he replies, “you cheated and you’re the one who’s upset about it, how do you think she feels?”
“You think I don’t know her?” I fire back, my throat burning, “you think I don’t know exactly what she’s doing right now? I hate myself, I hate myself for doing what I did!”
“Good you should!” he screams back.
Before I know it I feel myself charges towards him, ready to throw a good punch but Nash and Xander launch onto me to quickly and managing to hold me back. Nash’s grip is so tight I don’t dare try and budge.
“Out. Now.” Nash says sharply to Jameson, “go and cool off.”
His tone sends a shiver down my spine that I won’t admit to. Jameson opens his mouth to argue.
“Jameson.”
He skulks away, with a sullen face. We all wait frozen until the door has been slammed shut. Nash lets my arm go, dropping it harshly and Xander follows suit.
“And you’re no better,” he turns to me, placing his cowboy hat on a nearby surface, “I’m only sending him away because you can’t be left alone in this mess and so the two of you don’t rip each other to pieces.”
Silence stills the room. His voice echoes but makes no sound all at the same time.
“Take a second, take a breath and we’re going to talk this through like adults,” he says, “if you want to carry on being a child then leave. Calm down, you’re not a toddler having a tantrum, you’re a grown man, act like it.”
Nash has a way of snapping me back to reality. I nod shakily.
“Talk.”
I begin, “I don’t even know why I kissed her, I didn’t mean to it just-“
“Happened?” he guesses, “no little brother, that doesn’t just happen.”
“The I don’t know Nash,” I say, tipping my head back and resting it on the wall behind me.
I hadn’t meant for it to happen. I didn’t want it to happen. It just did. She was there, just stood there. Her hands looped naturally around the back of my neck, warm and gentle, “someone sent me that ticket Grayson. I thought it was Avery but if it wasn’t…”
She trails off, her voice small and tentative. Her golden eyes filled with the utmost worry. I wanted her to know she’d be okay, that she’d have someone to keep her safe. Her arms get more comfortable around my neck. She’d felt it too, the electrifying spark between us. It was exhilarating but something about it was off, synthetic.
“Then who the hell was it?” I questioned, my hands magnetised to her cheek all of a sudden.
Lyra didn’t pull away and neither did I. I lower my head and she raised onto her toes and titled hers back a little. She was graceful, like a dancer. My lips brushed over hers. They were sweet like honey. For the first few moments it was bliss and the realisation hit, like a stone to my stomach. I jerked backwards suddenly, shaking my head.
“I can’t do this,” I said, my fingers trying to wipe her taste off of my lips, “I don’t- this isn’t-“
I was tongue-tied, not able to explain to her how wrong it was. The words wouldn’t work the way I wanted them to.
“Gray?” Lyra murmurs, a tender voice. Her amber eyes are widened and slightly confused.
“No,” I yell. She flinches and another wave of horribly strong emotion rushes over me, drowning me. “No I’m in love with someone else. I don’t know what that was. I can’t-“
I stumbled backward a few steps and the turned around and ran. Like the coward that I am.
“It did just happen,” I murmur, lifting my head from the wall to look my older brother in eye, “I swear to god, I didn’t intend for it to happen, I didn’t even know I had feelings for her.”
I can see he disagrees still and isn’t convinced. I don’t know how to prove it to him.
“Let’s establish one thing here, who do you like?” Xander asks me.
“I like Lyra,” I say slowly, “but I love y/n.”
Nash shakes his head, “if you loved her you wouldn’t have done that.”
“I made a mistake,” I press on.
“And you will pay for it and regret it for the rest of your life,” he shrugs, “it’s not what you wanted to hear but it’s the truth. Listen, I love Libby and loving someone means so many things. One of those things is that I don’t even look at other women, to me they don’t even really exist. Libby is my world and no one else even comes into the equation, so the fact is someone else came into the equation for you, meaning the love wasn’t there.”
“But it was, I felt it,” I say, my voice breaking as I press my chest.
“What do you feel for Lyra?” he asks plainly.
“I don’t know, she’s intriguing and smart and beautiful,” I murmur, “and I like her, but I don’t know if I have romantic feelings for her.”
“Then why did you kiss her?”
“Comfort? Lust? Greed? Selfishness? I don’t know it just happened,” I repeat for what feels like the hundredth time.
“Stop using that phrase as a get out clause,” Nash shakes his head, “you have to admit to yourself more than anyone that this didn’t just happen.”
“I leaned in and I put my lips of hers, and I didn’t stop it, it didn’t feel wrong straight away,” I admit out loud finally.
“It didn’t?” Xander says, looking wounded.
“No, it didn’t feel wrong until I realised what I’d done,” I say, looking down, suddenly finding my shoelaces to be the most interesting thing in the world.
No one replies for a long while. That’s when I realise how exhausted I truly am and how much I crave sleep.
“I vouched for you,” Xander says quietly, “I told her that you’d never do that, that you weren’t that guy.”
“I’m not,” I say, in denial at first. I take a moment to analyse his sentence and then come to a sickening realisation, “oh my god I am…”
“She was already anxious about where your loyalties were Gray,” he winces.
“I proved her right, I proved every worry she had right, I just proved to her that she shouldn’t have trusted me,” I spiral, hating that I hadn’t seen it sooner.
Xander looks to Nash for support for a reply.
“Yeah,” Nash sighs, “you did.”
“I need to fix this, there has to be a way-“
“Grayson,” the acuteness of his voice cuts through my sentence like a machete.
I freeze and clamp my mouth firmly shut.
“This isn’t a broken vase, you can’t glue it back together or buy a new one,” he tells me softly.
He was referring to a time where Jameson and I had been seven and eights years old. We’d been brawling of course, Hawthorne style and accidentally smashed a vase. Usually it wouldn’t matter, there were vases all over Hawthorne House and they were smashed frequently. But this wasn’t just any vase. It was nan’s priceless vase that had belonged to her daughter, our grandmother, Alice. We were never allowed within a five mile radius of it, but like the rebellious children we were, we didn’t listen. Through our fight we’d smashed the whole thing, it was truly destroyed. The two of us stayed up for nights on need gluing together the pieces only to realise it was never going to look like the original again. So we’d hunted to buy another, problem was, this vase was one of a kind. It turned out after four weeks or trying to ship a similar one in that nan had known the whole time. She didn’t speak to either of us for a good few months.
“This is real life, she is a real person and you hurt her,” he explains, “fixing this isn’t an option. There isn’t a way to fix it, there are no pieces to our back together, okay?”
I’m silent but it’s the loudest voice in the room. My face pinches together in agony. For the first time, a little of the disappointment fades and my brother’s face softens. He wraps a strong arm around me and I flop into him like a lifeless bag of nothingness. I bury my head into his shoulder and try to cry but there seems to be no tears left. He understands and holds me for a moment. Suddenly I’m six years old again and crying in Nash’s in my arms over Jameson hiding my favourite teddy bear at the time, then I’m eleven in his arms with pneumonia after being stupid enough to get caught in the rapids un the dead of winter wanting a good photograph of a rare fish, then I’m seventeen, crying over a redheaded girl who I thought I’d managed to murder. And now here I am, at twenty-two years old in his grasp once again, having made the greatest mistake of my life.
Suddenly I feel another set of arms wrap around the both of us.
“Group hug!” a familiar voice sings.
Leave it to Xander to make me crack a half smile in the darkest moments I’ve ever experienced. After a while I pull away and sigh.
“Do you think she’ll ever forgive me?” I ask, pulling away.
“Honestly?” Xander asks.
I nod
“No,” he says. I wish I could see that little glimmer of a lie in his eyes, but I can’t. And it kills me.
“Think about it like this,” he sighs, “would you forgive Eve for what she did?”
“This is not the same thing,” I reply coldly.
“Eve cheated your trust, she betrayed you,” he explains gently, “that’s exactly how she feels.”
Dread fills my every pore as I murmur lifelessly, “I’m as bad as Eve.”
“No wait,” he says, looking guilty and panicked all at the same time, “that’s not what I meant!”
“I know,” I reassure him so some of his guilt subsides, “but it’s true and now I’ve just realised.”
“Look Gray, you aren’t Eve. You’re never going to be Eve, but think of how you felt then. That’s how y/n feels,” Nash soothes, “she’s not going to just forgive you, that’s not how it works.”
“You just broke her heart Gray,” Xander adds, careful to keep his tone as light as a feather, “for a girl you just met.”
“Why am I horrible person? Why do I always find a way to mess to something good?” I groan, smacking my head on the wall behind me. There’s an audible thump as pain spreads through the back of my skull. I wonder if I can concuss myself to forget all of this, but I don’t attempt the idea.
“You don’t-“
“No I do,” I say firmly, cutting him off, “I’m not meant for love, to love or to be loved, I’m not built for it. I’m not a good enough person for it. I’m never going to find my Libby or my Max or my Avery.“
“Grayson-“ Nash begins.
“Emily knew it and now so does y/n,” I snap.
My brothers still at her name, not moving a muscle. I never bring up Emily.
“Listen to me,” Nash says sharply, getting my attention, “you are meant to be loved. You are meant to love. I love you, Xander loves you, Jameson loves you and y/n loved you too…”
The change of tense makes my soul ache.
“…but this time around, you made a mistake, a costly mistake. But that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve love.”
I nod numbly, robotically.
“What can I do to make it up to her?” I ask, my voice beginning to tremble, “to show her I’m sorry? Something there has to be something.”
Nash gives me a grim look and Xander’s face remains blank, they’re the only answers I need. My head sinks into my hands. The door reopens and I look back up. Jameson has returned.
He meets my eyes, “Avery’s with her.”
Blood surges through my heart and I can almost smile. He checked on her. For me.
“Is she okay?” I ask quickly.
Jameson looks at me and for a split second I almost see the ghost concern is his eyes. He shakes his head softly, “no, but she will be,” he replies, it’s an attempt to comfort me and I am grateful.
“Thank you,” I mumble.
“I’m not apologising for what I said, because I still stand by it and you won’t change my mind,” Jameson says, “but I am sorry for being so angry about it.”
“You were right,” I whisper, “you were right about me. I never deserved her, so was nothing but an angel to me and I just turned around and threw it all away. I abused the luxury I had, I stabbed her in the back and then gifted another with the knife, I’m a horrible person.”
“What you did was wrong, but that’s doesn’t make you a horrible person,” he sighs, “you need time Gray, this is going to take a lot of healing. On both sides.”
“I don’t deserve to heal, I deserve to be in pain,” I murmur, the dullness in my tone echos around the empty walls.
“Oh no, we’re not going back to emo Grayson,” Xander says quickly, shaking his head.
“I agree with Xander on this one,” Nash nods, readjusting his cowboy hat.
“I don’t want to hear you blasting my chemical romance at three a.m and then denying it later again, you came out of that phase we’re not going back there,” Jameson tells me.
I bark out a laugh that thaws my icy chest. I then bite the inside of my cheek.
“I can’t fix this, can I?” I say, looking at the ground,
Nash shakes his head softly.
“But that doesn’t mean you can’t be fixed,” Xander says.
“You’ll get through this Gray,” Jamie agrees, “I know it.”
The room grows still.
“Can we drink that whiskey now?” I ask, to cut through the silence. I feel like getting drunk, I feel like I need some relief.
“Big brother,” Xander nods at Nash handing him the bottle.
“Little brother,” he tips his cowboy hat in reply before taking the bottle into his hands and cracking it open.
“Let me pour these things properly,” Nash grins, “Jamie, come help.”
“Wait me too!” Xander jumps up,
“Stay with Gray,” he shakes his head.
“I don’t need to be babysat,” I grumble, annoyance written all over my face.
“I want to watch them pour whiskey properly,” Xander explains, “so I can impress Max.”
My eyebrows fly to my forehead, “Max drinks?”
“No I want to impress her though,” he grins.
‘You’re an odd human,” I almost laugh, tilting my head to the side.
“Why ta very much!” he says, almost skipping away.
Once I know they’re all gone, I lean back on the wall, my heart feeling a tiny bit less heavy. The pain isn’t gone. I think I’ve just gone numb. I feel hollow, empty, nothingness. Guilt is still gnawing at my insides but slower. A satifying clink against the fragile rim of the glass takes me out of my own head for a split second. There are hushed voices from the kitchen, I notice. I walk over to the door that lay ajar, I lean in to listen.
“We need to tell him,” it sounds like Jameson.
“Not now,” the accent indicates Nash.
“Then when?” Xander’s voice asks, “how long can we prolong it.”
“I can hear you,” I tell them, raising my voice a little.
They turn to face me, awkwardly remaining silent. The expressions on their faces don’t offer me comfort.
“Whatever it is, spit it out,” I say, “it’s not like tonight could get any worse.”
They share a look. Apparently it can. I feel sick to my stomach.
I can barely breathe, “who died?”
“No one has died,” Xander says quickly, “yet.”
“What?” I say, my tone deadly,
Nash glares at him, then turns back to me. There’s sorrow laced delicately, deep within his hazel irises.
“Gray,” he says gently, “Gray we hate to do this but…”
“What? What is it?” I ask urgently.
“Gigi’s missing.”
The words shock me to my core. I feel my throat begin the close up as panic returns with a smirk and triumphant greeting. My whole world has collapsed in less than 24 hours.
***
YOUR POV
I don’t hate him. Call me naive or call me stupid. But I don’t. I don’t think I ever could. The kind of love I have for him is unconditional, irrevocable. Time can’t heal a wound this deep and although it is still fresh now, I can tell. But if he were to say sorry I think I would forgive him every time. And if he asked me back I’d fall into his arms into an instant. And I hate myself for it, it’s stupid and it’s a little cruel. How easily I would take him back after what he did. I know I shouldn’t but something inside of me is drawn to him. Like an invisible magnet has been planted in our hearts. I wish I didn’t love so hard, fall so deeply, maybe I wouldn’t get hurt so badly. But it’s in my nature, it’s who I am. I wonder if he knows how much pain I’m in, the rippling agony that rolls across my chest relentlessly with no hint as to when it will cease. I’m tired of being the second choice but unfortunately I wouldn’t mind being his. And I know it’s completely stupid of me to think that way, completely wrong but love makes you do stupid things so they say. I sit on the beach, by the sea in a state of numbness. Silent tears roll down my tears as the waves lap my feet. Deja vu washes over me and the memories of Grayson and I the night of the game flash through my mind.
I grip his hand and run with him as he guides me the just beyond the shore. He sits down swiftly on the sand and pulls me down to sit between his legs. I lean my back onto his chest and let him nuzzle his face into my collarbone.
“I love you,” he whispers, kissing my neck, “only you.”
Only me, huh? Only me…
The waves crash against the rocks, hurtling a salty spray towards me. I hear footsteps and turn around. Avery stands there, a mournful expression over her delicate face. She knows. I stumble towards her and collapse into her arms in a fit of uncontrollable sobs now and she holds me. Her touch is gentle and warm but it’s nothing compared to his. I realise he might never hold me in his arms again and I cry even harder.
***
I don’t hold Lyra accountable. She is not to blame. Some girls in my position might dream about different ways to brutally murder her but I can only ask what comfort would it bring me? My feelings are already dead, what good is more pain doing?
There was a choice that Grayson Hawthorne was given: his dancer or his angel. He chose his dancer and I hope he’s happy. Because angels have wings and we rise up stronger.
idk guys I think I wrote Grayson’s POV really awfully to be honest… also I feel like the 911 meet up was not like their normal ones where they try and like do something (e.g drink or dare) and then talk about the pain but that’s bc Grayson was in such a mess and then they had to drop the bomb that Gigi was missing. so anywayyyss…
I am sorry this took so long and I hope it lived up to any expectation you wanted it too (sorry if it didn’t) and I hope you enjoyed 🤍🤍 thanks for reading as always
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janniksnr · 4 months ago
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flores-desyatov · 2 months ago
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Bella and Vanya looking gorgeous with Vanya's brother and friends • from V's instagram
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tyrelbauer · 5 months ago
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The Adventures of Bella
 Pairing: Dad!Matt Rempe x oc!daughter
 Chapter Seven:
i wake up to bella climbing up on my bed and cuddling next to me with her blanket.
“morning, bells,” i say, kissing the top of her head. “happy birthday.”
“i'm three!” she announces excitedly, holding up three fingers.
“yep. you're three now…” i reply, smiling. “are you excited about your party?”
her face lights up at the mention of her birthday party. “ty coming?”
i nod. bella and ty are always getting into trouble together, so i’m not sure how i feel about that yet. “yeah, ty's coming. what do you want for breakfast?”
“ice cream!” she says, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world.
“nice try, pipsqueak. i know it's your birthday, but you still have to eat real food for breakfast. i'm thinking pancakes?”
she pouts and crosses her arms over her chest.
i laugh at her pouty face. “the pout only works on grandma and your aunts, bells.”
she smiles, sitting up. “and ty ty…”
i can’t argue with that because it’s completely true. “yeah, and ty ty. you have him wrapped around your little finger.”
“he said i can have ice cream for breakfast.”
“no he didn't.” i roll my eyes and get out of bed, holding my arms out. “come on, you little troublemaker.”
she jumps into my arms, wrapping her arms around my neck. “i'm not trouble, dada. ty is.”
i laugh as i carry her toward the kitchen. “unfortunately for me, you're both trouble.”
we walk into the kitchen, and i set her down on the counter while i get everything out to make the pancakes.
she watches me quietly, her legs swinging back and forth.
i glance over at her and notice her watching me. “do you want to help me make the batter?”
bella nods, so i pull up a chair and move her to it.
i hand her a small cup of flour. “okay, pour this in.”
bella carefully pours the flour into the bowl, some of it spilling over the edge.
i smile and hand her the next ingredient, a cup of milk. “be careful with this one.”
she focuses intently, her tongue sticking out slightly as she pours the milk. a little splashes onto the counter, but most of it makes it into the bowl.
“good job! now, we need an egg.” i crack the egg into a small bowl and let her pour it into the mix.
i add the rest of the ingredients, and she looks up at me.
“what next, dada?” she asks.
i grab a whisk. “now, we have to mix it all together. can you do that?”
“mhm.” she takes the whisk from me and starts whisking the ingredients together, her movements causing some of the flour to puff up into the air.
after a few minutes, i take over to make sure the batter is smooth.
“alright, the batter is ready. i'm going to finish them since i have to use the stove. why don't you go wake up aunt al and steph?”
“ok, dada!”
i help bella down off the chair, and she runs off to wake up alley and steph.
a few minutes later, bella comes back into the kitchen with steph and alley following her.
“look!” bella says proudly, pointing at the bowl of batter on the counter.
alley smiles and ruffles bella's hair. “you did a good job, kiddo.”
“i think those pancakes might be missing something, though,” steph says, walking over to the fridge.
bella's face lights up as she watches steph pull out a container of chocolate chips.
“chocolate chip pancakes, huh?” i ask, raising an eyebrow.
steph smiles and hands me the container.
i sigh but start adding the chocolate chips to the pancakes. “you're going to spoil her.”
“it's her birthday, let the kid live a little.”
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quillkiller · 3 months ago
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bellatrix pls xx
(ask game)
mwah thank u claude <3
favorite thing about them
i always tend to be the most compelled by oldest sibling-characters and that’s one of my favorite things about bellatrix aswell.. like her undying loyalty to family and especially her sisters, even if the loyalty is flawed and unhealthy, is very deeply special to me. i read a post lately about how bellatrix never used violence against her own family even if her family ended up using it against her. even after azkaban, after years of torture and dementors, she never layed a hand on. she always prioritized her family, despite it being in fucked up and harmful ways .. makes me Sick
least favorite thing about them
honestly maybe nothing ?? i think she’s one of the most interesting female characters in the hp series. she marries but never had children and ended up more powerful and demanding more respect than her husband ever did. she was voldys right hand man, despite being a woman .. she wasn’t heir to anything at all but becomes the most feared black family member of all ?? i think thats very interesting. i suppose i could be boring and say that my least favorite thing is that shes a ’death eater’ but that would be a lie :/
favorite line
"You need to mean them, Potter! You need to really want to cause pain - to enjoy it - righteous anger won't hurt me for long - I'll show you how it is done, shall I? I'll give you a lesson—” <- cunty
brotp
bella & sirius but in like a really fucked up way. in a sirius was bellas favorite cousin way and she hates him more than anything and sirius misses bella because he knew her before her name caused fear to whoever spoke it. they would play quidditch together and play fight and bella was his cool older cousin and sirius was the heir who looked up to her.. they absolutely excluded their other siblings during holiday festivites or whatever and teamed up. i Think
otp
quillkiller <3
notp
any ship with a man. bella is a lesbian to me 🤍
random hc
i think she’s kinda.. gross ? i dont think she brushes her teeth regularly and often gets knots in her hair because she doesnt like brushing it. she was the kind of teenage girl who hated her ’evolving’ body and puberty and how men started looking at her differently and how she became a ’girl’ against her own will
unpopular opinion
young bellatrix was just a pretty normal teenage girl. like yeah she was prejudiced and narrow-minded, but i really believe she was just a teenage girl who loved her sisters and laughed a lot. i dont even tend to think she was that against andys relationship with ted at first and the coin really flipped when she understood that andy was going to choose him. to bella their relationship was just a fling, bella had them too, and then when it really came down to it they would fulfill their duties and do whats expected of them. sort of hogwarts being their rumspringa shdhfjsjf if that makes sense ? <- people tend to think bella was just born crazy or evil as if it isnt in the canonical text that azkaban is what deteriorated her mental state. like yeah she wasnt a good person before that, but she was also. a person. who made those choices and had to live with them and committ to them. i dont think she just Chose to submit to voldy without second thoughts. she wanted to and she was going to do it, but she had sisters she loved and has been hurt in her life and theres just NUANCE !!!!!!!!
song i associate with them
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sidraofthewildflowers · 1 year ago
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Hi, I was wondering if you could make a board based on the vibes you get from my account. Ik we don't know each other tho 😭😕
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Ofc!! Here you go!!!
You give a Saltburn vibe (and I mean that in a nicest way possible lol)
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chrislilcumslvt · 15 days ago
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HEY HEY HEY!! im tired asf but i wanna straighten my hair cuz im going to my friends party tmrwww. its only 9:50pm but cuz my hair is LONGG its gonna take me maybe 3 hours 😭 WHAT DO I DOOO???? yes or no????
GIRL MY HAIR IS LONG AND IT TAKES ME 30 MINS TO DO 😭
SO YES DO IT 😭
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suguella · 5 months ago
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came to the conclusion that i just hate ppl.
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littlemissmentallyunstable · 2 months ago
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title: fix you
pairing: aaron warner x (first person) reader
synopsis: aaron returns from a meeting with his father, but something is off… (prior to the ignite me tattoo btw)
warnings: mentions of abuse, a bit suggestive at the end ;)
a/n: first aaron warner fic ever… thanks for reading 🤍🤍
tag list: @wish-i-were-heather @midiosaamor @sweetlikeanangel @maybxlle @whatsamongus @elysianwayy77 @bewitchingkisses @emelia07 @inmyheaddd @sweetreveriee @azysmate @anintellectualintellectual @off-to-the-r4ces
I hear someone stumble in and immediately panic seizes my chest. Aaron Warner doesn’t stumble, so logically it must be an intruder. But who the hell would’ve found a way into Aaron’s private quarters? I don’t care, I grab the gun from under the floor board and slowly approach the door. My heart bangs in my chest, crawling its way to my mouth. It’s so dark that I can barely see a thing. I hear a second step taken and I can tell by the way the weight is hitting the floor unevenly that it’s a shaky step. I take my chance and swiftly rush out, gun pointed towards the figure.
“You’re holding that all wrong, love,” says a dry voice.
“Aaron?” I ask, my voice catches in shock. I squint through the darkness in attempts to recognise him.
“Care to explain the gun?” he replies, eyebrows raised at my questionably aimed weapon.
“I thought you were an intruder,” I say, dropping my arms down to my side and playing the gun down.
“I am not,” Aaron tells me bluntly.
“Obviously,” I smile, attempting to touch his arm. But just as a go to clasp my hand around it, he moves.
Swiftly and almost silently, he walks past me. I feel his body brush against mine softly.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“I need to shower,” he replies.
There’s something off about him. He stumbled in, his voice is uneven, he wants to get away from me. Something happened and I have this horrible feeling that it was something horrible.
“Are you okay?” I say, trying to seem casual.
“Fine,” he replies. His tone is blunt but cut-throat. He can tell I’m fishing for what’s really wrong and he’s making it clear he doesn’t want to talk. Unfortunately for him, he chose the wrong girl if he wants me to shut up and move on.
“Did it go okay?” I continue.
“It went how it usually did,” he tells me, his voice low.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask. I knew who his dad was and how he was treated, I knew the traumatic stories of his childhood and the bad memories that would haunt him at night, I knew I wanted to kill the man who’d given them to him. But one thing I never knew was anything to do with the meetings held with his dad.
“You know my father, love. He isn’t a pleasant man and nor are his meetings,” he says plainly, “now I’m going to wash.”
He walks towards the bathroom, flicking the light on. The brightness is fluorescent and artificial. I begin to follow him and then I see it. I stop in my tracks. Reams of crimson ribbon decorate the back of his white shirt, jagged lines of the deepest blood red. The fabric has soaked in the liquid and it’s splayed out all across the white. My stomach turns.
“Aaron…” I say, my voice barely a whisper.
“Please, love,” he sighs, running a hand through his perfect hair, “I need to shower.”
“He hurt you,” I murmured, “again?”
He freezes suddenly, realising he’s bled through his white shirt. He’s too exposed to hide it from me this time. He can’t brush it under the carpet when the stains are on the surface. He lifts his head up, back still towards me.
“Don’t,” he says harshly, his voice so low it sounds dangerous.
I don’t say a word as he walks into the bathroom, but my legs can’t help but follow even though my brain is telling them it might be a better idea to not. I step inside quietly and I can feel his body tense.
“Aaron-“
“I said don’t,” he repeats, the bitterness in his tone making me flinch.
Something that resembles anger flickers in my chest. An amber flame of fury.
“Sit down,” I say, my voice firm and unwavering.
He stills, staring down. I don’t say a word and neither does he. In the silence, the air grows heavy and thick, weighted with unspoken words. I don’t know how long we stand like this until slowly he sits down on the lid of the toilet. I wait a few beats, then slowly crouch down, level with his knees and his eyes shooting straight to the floor.
“He hurt you again, didn’t he?” I ask for the second time.
He’s silent.
“Please Aaron,” I beg, “you can’t keep doing this.”
The desperation in my tone makes his heart ache, but still he doesn’t look at me as he says, “he’s hurt me my entire life, love, today he was no different.”
“Show me,” I murmured.
“I don’t want you to see this,” he grits through his teeth, still refusing to meet my eyes.
“I don’t care,” I say, “you can’t keep shutting me out.”
“I can and I will,” he replied curtly, turning away.
“Warner,” I snap, in an attempt to get his attention.
He looks up sharply. His green eyes flicker with some sort of hurt. I never called him Warner, he was my Aaron. Warner was for everyone else, but Aaron was for me.
“Let me help you,” I say firmly, “you need to let me in like I let you in, this goes two ways.”
He stares at me saying nothing for a while. I wonder when he’s going to get up and walk out. Maybe leave completely. Forever. That thought scares me the most. Aaron shuts down when he can’t share his problems. He shuts down and shuts me out.
I am surprised when he slowly takes his shirt off, revealing his battered back. I bite back a gasp and conceal the shock and horror from being displayed on my face. Amongst the jagged scars that ripple across his back, the ones I already knew of, the ones I had once traced, there were fresh wounds. Long, distorted shapes are looping across him, oozing fresh hot blood. Great purple bruises splayed out of the sides of each lash mark, creating some sort of sick and twisted abstract art piece.
He must be in so much pain.
“It’s a shame really,” he murmurs, “I quite liked that shirt.”
I pull myself together, “you have a dozen others like it.”
“I liked that one,” he replies quietly.
“I like you without a shirt better anyways,” I grin at him.
“Well,” he says cracking a half smile, “I suppose I can spare it then.”
“I suppose you can.”
I grab a wash cloth from the cabinet above and soak it with warm water. Gently, I dab his new lashings, trying to wash them. The deep red bleeds through the white of the cloth, spreading through it, like a river of hate. With each stroke I see his face contort.
“Does this hurt?” I ask tenderly.
“I’m fine,” he replies, his voice hard.
“You’re wincing,” I say flatly.
He glares at me. It’s hot.
“I’m fine,” he states.
I drop it and continue to clean. When I am satisfied that I’ve done the best I can, I return to the cabinet and pull out antiseptic and bandages.
“Not antiseptic,” Aaron grumbles.
“Don’t be a baby,” I retort with a laugh, cutting the bandages to the right size.
“I’m not!” he says, a bit too defensively.
“I’m not letting those wounds get infected Aaron, I’m using antiseptic,” I tell him, unable to suppress my smile.
He rolls his eyes and reluctantly lets me press antiseptic into each open gash. He hisses each time, refusing to cry out so I attempt to be as quick and efficient as I can.
When I am finished, I move on the bandages. I stand in front of him and work around. Gently, I wrap the bandage over his back and torso. His hands suddenly clasp my waist, his grip is firm. I bite back a gasp. His hands are so hot I can feel them through my clothes, though in this moment I wish I didn’t have the barrier of clothes.
I try to ignore the distraction he knows he’s making. Softly and methodically I continue to bandage his back and once I make the final wrap I lean down and press my lips on his. He kisses back eagerly, pulling me onto his lap. I wrap my thighs around his hips and continue to plant tender kisses all over his mouth. I’m dizzied by the sensations of passion. We pull away finally when neither of us can think straight and his eyes lock with mine, the delicate green tainted with something I couldn’t quite place my finger on.
“How do you feel?” I ask, brushing a strand of blonde that had fallen, out of the way.
“After that,” he murmurs with a grin, “on top of the world.”
“Your back,” I deadpan.
“I don’t care about my back,” he groans, “kiss me again.”
“Aaron,” I say, my tone accusing.
“Please, love,” he begs, closing his eyes, “I’m suffering withdrawal symptoms here.”
“Aaron,” I laugh.
“Just one kiss, it won’t hurt,” he says quietly, brushing his thumb over my bottom lip. His touch so airy I almost don’t feel it.
“I’m not kissing you until you answer me,” I reply.
“You like to make my life difficult don’t you?” he sighs.
“Ditto,” I poke my tongue out.
“It’s much better now you’ve worked your magic,” he answers my question, gazing at me.
There’s a long pause, but it feels like our eyes carry on the conversation. But every time I look into those emerald voids, I feel his pain. And it makes me see red.
“He shouldn’t do this to you,” I murmur, anger lacing my tone.
“I know,” he replies.
“I hate it,” I practically growl, my face all screwed up at the thought of someone hurting Aaron. My Aaron. I hadn’t had time to get angry earlier, I’d been too worried about the wounds. Now they were clean and dressed, I have the opportunity.
“I know,” he says again.
“I want to stop it,” I tell him, then falter, “but I don’t know how.”
“I’ve been trying to work that out for a while, love,” he says, nuzzling into my collarbone.
“Just,” I pause and sigh, “please let me help you, you don’t have to hide for everyone you know.”
“It’s what I know how to do,” he murmurs, looking up, “opening up is the opposite of how I was trained to be.”
“But you’ll try?” I ask hopefully.
“I’ll do anything for you, love,” he smiles, tucking my hair behind my ear.
I smile, my cheeks glowing a soft pink.
“I love you,” he whispers with another kiss.
“I love you too,” I giggle, melting into him.
He cups my face in his hands and kisses me slowly, tenderly. The motion is long and drawn out, each millisecond testing my self control. Desperation claws at me, all I want to do is kiss him harder and faster but I stay patient. My hands find their way to the back of his neck and comfortably into his hair.
“Let’s go to bed,” he says against my lips.
“You don’t sleep until three o’clock in the morning,” I scoff.
He turns and looks at me, a twinkle in his eye and a smirk placed comfortably on his lips, “who says we’re sleeping?”
a/n: this is my first aaron warner fic and cut me some slack bc I have not read shatter me in months, I really should do another reread… but hopefully I captured the characters okay. But tbh after reading it back I kind of hate it, it feels rushed and weird but yolo so I’m posting it anyways!!
and I know what you’re thinking ‘bella you promised us the mysterious blonde part 4’… I know it is being written, it’s just really long and I want it to be perfect so there are a few little fics in between
shatter me masterlist
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thedeadthree · 2 years ago
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IOVANNA (hotd) 🔮 // ILLYRIA (hotd) 🐉
EDELGARD (fernweh saga) 🌲 // NINIANE (vtm) 🩸
BELLONA (m*cu) 👻 // UNQUEMË (pillars of eternity) 👁‍🗨
LIOSLAITH (dnd) 🌿💀 // LIOSLAITH ❄️💀(dnd)
TAGGED BY @roofgeese, @shellibisshe, @jendoe, @marivenah, @corvosattano, @shadowglens and @leviiackrman to make the loves in this cutest picrew! ty ty dears! <3
TAGGING: @feystepped, @griffin-wood, @unholymilf, @kingsroad, @chuckhansen, @queennymeria, @morvaris, @aartyom, @jackiesarch, @florbelles, @lacunafiction, @risingsh0t, @leondaltons, @denerims, @phillipsgraves, @malefiicarum, @weisshaupts, @jillvlntine, @pearlcscent, @50sjello, @jacobseed, @blissfulalchemist, @aceghosts, @adelaidedrubman, @loriane-elmuerto, @girlbosselrond, @rosebarsoap, @nightbloodraelle and you!
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sara-smind · 2 years ago
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Innamorato
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flores-desyatov · 3 months ago
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from Bella's IG story 🤍 08•15•24
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tyrelbauer · 7 months ago
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The Adventures of Bella Pairing: Dad!Matt Rempe x oc!daughter Chapter Six:
I walked downstairs and mom had Bella occupied with her blocks at the table. "Dada has to go. Go tell him good luck." Mom says and Bella gets down off her chair and runs to me. "Good luck, dada." She tells me, hugging my leg.
I pick her up and kiss her cheek. "Thank you. You be good for grandma at the rink, alright." She nods and I put her back down. "You score for me?" She asks, slightly tilting her head to the side as she smiles up at me. "I'll do my best, kiddo."
I ended up scoring in the second period. After the game I did the necessary interviews before rushing to get dressed, eager to get to Bella. But just as I was about to leave, another interviewer approached me. I couldn't say no, so I agreed to another quick interview.
Midway through the interview, I heard Bella, clear and excited, "Dada! You scored!" I turned, and there she was, running towards me. "Sorry," I apologized to the interviewer, unable to hide my smile as I picked Bella up.
"I did. Can you go see Grandma for two more seconds?" I ask. "Unless you don't want her in the interview it's okay. I don't mind." the interviewer says. "are you sure?" i ask and she nods.
"Obviously, your little girl was here to see your goal, what does it mean to you that you are able to play in front of her?" the interviewer asked. "I love it. Bella absolutely loves hockey. She comes to practices with me, and all the guys love her as well, which is a major bonus," I reply.
"Dada scored for me," Bella interjected, grabbing my face in her tiny hands. "I so proud of you." I felt myself starting to get choked up, but thankfully, the interviewer decided to cut it there. "Well, I'll let you get going. Thanks for talking to me, and good luck with the rest of the playoff games, Matt." "Thank you," I tell her.
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ynsvnte · 1 year ago
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TALL WTF RIS BELLA POARCH!!!!
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