#the bottom line is I miss who my mom was before the alcohol and abuse

[teardropsonsmyguitar]

.

[barrysjumpsuit]

blindsided - barry’s sister x rafe cameron (ch. 3)

part one, part two, masterlist

word count: 3.5k

warnings: cannabis use, cocaine use, physical and verbal abuse, underage drinking, anxiety/depression, mentions of sex, the whole nine yards tbh

synposis:  christy is a lifelong resident of the outer banks. after a series of hookups with rafe cameron, kook royalty, she’s smitten. what she doesn’t know is about what her boyfriend and brother are involved in behind her back

a/n: things are starting to get good... I’m super excited to write the rest of this! got some wild shit coming up. read this for SOFT RAFE. (side note, the necklace part is 100% a marie thing that i do and wear. i studied moon snail predation on clams so HMU if you wanna learn abt the ecology of the long island sound) (also in this house we stan naturdays)

----

Rafe had listened to Christy’s begging when she was saying she wanted to go to the Boneyard separately from Topper and Sarah. They slipped out before the others were done getting ready, but Christy still couldn’t bring herself to relax. 

Her boyfriend was on edge too. They were silent as they drove south, Rafe eventually pulling off the road as they reached the trailer. Barry’s bike was gone from where it usually sat, and Christy was finally able to breathe a sigh of relief. 

Rafe followed her into the trailer. It was weird seeing Rafe Cameron, so well put together, in her shithole of a home. He knew better to comment on the state of things, and he looked visibly uncomfortable.

“Come on and help me,” Christy said, grabbing his hand and leading him down the hall to her bedroom. She unlocked the door and pulled him inside before closing it. “You know how to pack cigarette joints?” 

“Can’t be too hard,” he said. Christy pulled out a mason jar of bud from her last harvest, along with two paper plates she kept for this exact purpose. 

“We’ll do all of them,” she said. “I have a couple already made.” 

Christy sat down on the bed next to Rafe. Their knees touched, the jar between them. She busied herself grinding the nugs, picking out the stems while Rafe started emptying the cigarettes of their contents. 

“You know,” Rafe said suddenly, breaking the silence. “I’ve never smoked weed.” 

“Really?” Christy asked. She was genuinely surprised. “Y’know, they say it’s the gateway drug, and…” 

“Yeah, I went straight to the hard stuff,” Rafe said quietly. “It’s more of a… pogue thing.” 

“What, so we’re stereotyping drugs now? I’ve seen you drink Natty Light. That’s as pogue as alcohol gets.”

“Naturdays!” Rafe protested.

“As if that makes it any different.” Christy grinned and tapped the grinder to the paper plate that sat in Rafe’s lap. “You want to try?” 

Rafe nodded, and Christy looked up at him. There was something soft about him now, sitting in her bed in her shitty trailer. He hadn’t said anything about her living situation like he normally would. He hadn’t refused to help her. 

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Christy said quietly. He looked up at her, smiling softly. “We can wait until we’re there or until we leave. It’s up to you.” 

“What will it feel like?” he asked. 

“You really are clueless. We’ll wait until we’re away from the party, okay? This strain chills you the fuck out. It’s the only way I can sleep most nights.” 

“Really?” he asked. “I didn’t know that. You always seem to fall asleep pretty easily.” 

Christy bit her bottom lip before answering, focusing on twisting her grinder. “It’s because I feel comfortable with you.” 

Rafe’s hand was suddenly cupping her cheek. He had moved the plate and his in-progress work to the bedspread and was leaning forward, perched on his knees. “Christy…” he murmured, his lips tantalizingly close to hers. “Really? You mean that?” 

“Yes,” was all she could say. She could smell his breath, his deodorant, his cologne. 

“You mean the world to me,” Rafe purred, moving his hand so it rested on the nape of her skull. “I love you so much. I’m glad we found each other.” 

“Me too,” Christy whispered, and Rafe’s lips were on hers. They were gentle, patient, and tender. The kiss made her feel safe, reciprocating what she had just confessed to him. 

Normally, Christy had a tough exterior. She was closed and blunt. People knew her for that, and even Barry commented on it. She didn’t know why Rafe of all people unlocked her as if he had a key, melting her heart and opening her up. It was true: she usually smoked herself to sleep every night. If she didn’t she would toss and turn into the early hours of the morning, and by then she would give up and go for a run or boat ride. Whenever she spent the night with Rafe, tucked into his bed and in his arms, her brain stopped worrying. It stopped running through endless scenarios, and she slept. 

Rafe was the one to pull away. He smiled gently at her. Some of his hair fell over his eyes, so Christy reached up to tuck it back where it belonged. “I love you, Rafe Cameron.” 

“I love you too, Christy,” he murmured back, kissing her once more on the forehead before sitting back down on the bed and picking up the paper plate again. 

The two of them packed a cigarette carton full of joints in half an hour. Before they left, she pocketed her bowl, a couple baggies with nugs, and JJ’s five grams. 

“This is a cute picture,” Rafe said as Christy stowed the last of the bud underneath her bed. They had used half of it prepping for the kegger. She looked up to the picture frame he was holding. 

The photo was of her and Barry. They were younger �� Christy was fifteen and Barry was nineteen – and on the boat. They were holding a fish, a huge striped bass they had hauled in on light tackle. A shadow was cast over a corner of the picture, and Christy’s heart twisted. 

“You okay?” Rafe asked, and she just nodded. “What is it?” 

“My mom took the picture,” Christy said quietly, taking the frame from him. “This was one of the last memories I have of her before she killed herself. Like a week later.” 

“Oh baby…” Rafe put an arm around her, kissing the top of her head, and she leaned into him before putting the picture frame back on her dresser, face down. 

“Let’s get out of here,” Christy suggested, and she gently pushed Rafe out of her bedroom. She turned and relocked the door before pocketing the keys and walking down the hall. 

“Look who we have here! Rafe Cameron!” 

Christy froze at Barry’s voice. Rafe’s hand tightened around hers, to a point where it was almost painful. Barry was sitting on the couch in front of the coffee table, and she could tell he just did a line.

“You just can’t stay away, can you, boy?” Barry said, standing and sauntering over to them. Christy tried to push Rafe behind her, but he refused to budge. “You fucking my sister again? We’re going to have words.” 

“Barry, stop it!” Christy put her hands on Barry’s chest and shoved him, but he barely moved. “We’re together, okay? We were just stopping by to get some weed to sell.” 

“You sure you don’t want anything else?” Barry asked, dangling a baggie of cocaine in front of Rafe’s face. Christy could tell he was bristling with anger and doing everything he could to restrain himself from swinging a fist. “Right here, Country Club. She’s got your name on it. I miss your business, you know.” 

“Barry that’s enough!” Christy yelled, shoving herself between the two of them. “Rafe, let’s go.” She tugged on his hand, but Rafe remained rooted to the dirty carpet of the living room. 

Rafe didn’t say anything. He and Barry stood, staring at each other, both of them seething with anger. 

“I don’t want your fucking blow,” he finally said, turning, and storming from the trailer. 

“You’ve got yourself a keeper there, Chris,” Barry said, swinging the baggie. “A real winner.” 

“Fuck you, Barry!” Rafe yelled from the other side of the screen door. 

“Go. Sell your weed and fuck your kook. Fuck your kook in his mansion, eat his food, sleep in his bed. And leave me here.” 

Barry’s words followed her from the trailer. Rafe grabbed her and they hurried to the truck, getting in and peeling out of the yard. 

Rafe was quiet, and Christy knew what that meant. He was pissed. Christy couldn’t help but press herself against the door, making herself small. 

He didn’t pay much attention to her until a whimper made its way out of her mouth. She closed her eyes at the sound, knowing that Rafe looked over to her. “Oh, baby…” he said quietly. A hand touched her shoulder and she flinched. 

Christy had seen Rafe angry before, plenty of times. He was the only person she had ever seen seriously take on her brother and make her fear for him. 

“Just… leave me alone, Rafe,” she muttered. 

“Christy, I’m… I’m sorry.” 

“Rafe, just be quiet, please.” She opened her eyes to look at him. He looked shocked, his mouth slightly open. Christy looked away before closing her eyes again.

She felt him pull the truck over to the side of the road. “Christy,” he said again, softer this time. “Hey. Come here.” 

Rafe pulled up the center console and slid across the seat so that he could wrap his arms around her. Christy curled into him, trying to hold back tears but failing as Rafe’s fingertips started making lazy circles on her back. 

She wasn’t sure what she was crying about. Barry’s words rattled her. The whole exchange did. She knew Barry’s words were true. Christy had left him when things got tough. But she knew she couldn’t totally blame herself. He wasn’t doing much to help his situation.

Rafe encountering Barry was something she didn’t want to happen. But it did, and it was bad, but not as bad as she thought it was. Maybe it was best for them to get their anger out before she was deeper in the relationship with Rafe, and before it was more of a secret. It was bound to happen at some point. 

“I’m good,” she said, making a slight peace with her thoughts. Christy unburied her head from Rafe’s chest, rubbing makeup all over his face as she wiped the tears from her eyes. “I’m okay.” 

“You still want to go to that party?” Rafe asked, leaning his cheek on the top of her head. 

“No,” she replied. “But I at least have to stop by. I’m selling someone some weed. It won’t take long.” 

“Okay,” he said. Christy felt him press a tender kiss to the top of her head before sliding back over in the seat and pulling back onto the road. 

The sun was about to set. As soon as Rafe parked near the Boneyard, Christy hopped out of his truck. She walked through the grasses and onto the beach, knowing exactly where JJ would be. He was manning the keg with John B, the hose in one hand, a beer in the other. Christy shoved through the crowd, consisting of mostly tourons, and slid up next to JJ. 

“Follow me?” she asked, and he wordlessly handed the hose to John B. 

“Hey, Christy, you okay?” JJ asked suddenly. Christy kept walking, but JJ continued. “You don’t look too good, dude.” 

“Thanks for pointing that out,” she snapped at him. They were still too close to the crowd for her to feel comfortable doing a deal of anything larger than a couple blunts. 

“I’m serious. Hey.” JJ reached out, grabbing her arm so that she faced him. “Is everything okay?” 

She just sighed. “Want to smoke a joint with me?” 

JJ was visibly confused, but he didn’t protest. They sat on a piece of driftwood, and Christy pulled out one of the cigarette joints she and Rafe had rolled earlier. She lit it, taking a few hits, before passing it to JJ. She waited a few minutes before speaking the first words. 

“I don’t know what in the fuck I’m gonna do, JJ.” 

She was surprised the words rolled out of her mouth like they did. Maybe it was the weed, or maybe it was the walls crumbling in her brain, wanting to push her old life behind her. 

“Care to elaborate?” JJ asked beside her.

“I’m dating Rafe Cameron,” she stated, knowing that JJ could put the pieces together. 

“Oh,” he said, surprised, furrowing his brow. “I didn’t expect that.” Before Christy could say anything, JJ’s eyes stretched wide, and he looked at her. “Oh. Holy shit. Does your brother know?” 

“We had our first encounter with him about an hour ago,” Christy replied, taking the joint back from JJ. 

“I take it it didn’t go well?” he asked, and Christy shook her head. 

“Nope,” she said, smoke coming out of her mouth. “Barry’s not having much business. Hasn’t been good ever since Rafe ghosted him. He won’t move his own product, he needs people to buy from him in bulk, which no one will do because Rafe told everyone he’s a crazy motherfucker. Right now it’s just a few close friends he has.” 

“Agatha probably didn’t help, huh?” JJ asked, and Christy just shook her head. “If anyone can get through it, it’s you, Christy. You’re pogue through and through.” 

“You don’t know me,” she said quietly, handing him the joint. Her eyelids were heavy and she pressed her palms into the smooth, soft surface of the driftwood. 

“I know enough. Anyone to have been through as much shit as you can get away from that situation. It takes one to know one, Christy.” 

She looked over at him. JJ was smiling softly, and she couldn’t help but smile back. 

“Here’s your weed,” she said, pulling the baggie out of her pocket. “Same strain you’re smoking now. You can finish the joint, too.” 

“Here’s your fifty,” JJ said, handing her two twenties and a ten. “Thanks for your business.” 

“And for yours,” she said, standing. JJ laughed as she had to catch her balance. 

“Hey Christy?” JJ called quietly as she turned to walk away. 

“Yeah, JJ?” 

“Let me know if you need anything, okay?” 

“You got it,” she said, turning away so JJ couldn’t see her smile. The two of them had always had a natural understanding of each other. It takes one to know one, as he said. It was true. 

Christy trudged up the beach and back into Rafe’s waiting truck. “You good?” he asked, and Christy nodded. 

“Let’s go get stoned.” 

---

Christy woke up before Rafe did. He was rolled towards her, an arm draped around her waist with his mouth slightly open. 

Rafe’s breath smelled of weed. She smiled to herself, remembering the events of the previous night. They had gone onto the Druthers, laying on the outside seats, and smoked. The strain Christy brought was her favorite indica. She usually smoked it before bed. It was the only thing that would shut her brain up. 

“This is nice,” Rafe said after a few hits. His eyes were soft under his hooded lids. “I like it. I feel good.” They were laying next to each other, feeling the boat rock gently beneath them. She was laying on his chest while Rafe gently threaded his fingers through her hair, occasionally scratching her scalp. 

Christy fell asleep like that. She only woke up once to Rafe carrying her down the dock; she murmured his name and tightened her grip as she felt him step onto the soft grass. He had to briefly put her down to open the door to the house, but he picked her up again and quietly ascended the stairs before pushing open his bedroom door and setting her down in his bed, sliding next to her and pulling the covers over them. 

That’s where they were now. Rafe Cameron’s bed. His grey pillowcases smelled like him, like cedar and seawater. It was an odd combination, but she liked it. 

Rafe had put her phone on the bed between them. The time read 5:32. Her shift started at 7, so Christy decided she could get away with a few more minutes of dozing. Her work apron was draped across a chair in Rafe’s room, and she could probably rewear the previous day’s clothes, which were piled on the floor next to it. 

Christy’s stomach rolled at two missed calls from Barry. He wasn’t a texter. He was a caller. Christy was a talker, hating phone communication and opting to talk to people face to face. She willed herself to push the thought of what he had to say until she would go home after her shift that afternoon. 

Rafe was still asleep by the time she left for work at 6:30. She kissed him gently before closing his bedroom door softly behind her and trying to leave the house undetected. 

On her walk to work, she smoked a cigarette, willing the brief high to wash away the thought of Barry, which lingered in the back of her head. Instead, she focused on the sound of the laughing gulls on the shore, and the rhythmic lapping of the waves as they reached the beach. The crunch of her shoes on the gravel shoulder of the road, of the sound of cars driving by her, of the voices greeting her as she passed houses. 

Work was busy with tourists, rebounding back to the island after the hurricane. The hotels had power again, and she talked to her guests about what they had been up to. She liked hearing their stories: what drew them to the OBX, where they came from, who they were. One young couple had just gotten engaged the day before. One table seated an older couple, travelling down the east coast from Connecticut looking for seashells, and asked her the best spots. 

“At low tide, the west side of the island is the best,” she suggested, topping off their coffees and putting another handful of prepackaged creamer on the table next to their mugs. “The sound makes it shallower, so there’s lots of critters living there. More intense wave action on the east side will wash some up but they’re usually pretty banged up.” 

“That’s a neat necklace,” the woman pointed out. Christy picked up the pendant, smiling. “Did you find that?” 

“This? Oh, thanks. I love it. My mom found it.” She couldn’t help but smile at the couple, and at the memory. She pulled it off to hand to the woman. “It’s from a moon snail. The hole is a drill hole, see how regular it is on the edges? Moon snails are predatory, they’ll drill into whatever they can. Usually clams and other snails. Even other moon snails. Like this one here.” Christy pointed out the perfectly rounded hole. 

“Did you find it here?” the man asked. 

“Nah I’ve found some here though. They’re everywhere. I found this one at Edisto Island near Charleston. You guys should definitely check it out, it’s the best shelling beach I’ve ever been to.” 

The couple tenderly looked at each other. “That’s where we got married,” the woman said. “Thirty five years ago. That’s one of our next stops.” 

“It’s a special place, that’s for sure,” Christy said, smiling. Mr. Carrera’s voice sounded through the restaurant, calling out her name. “Is there anything else I can get you two?” she asked. The couple shook their heads, and she turned to make her way to the counter. 

“I’ve got a big to go order just called in,” he said, scribbling on a notepad. “Can you and Kiara make sure everything makes it into the right containers for them, and then help load it up?” 

“Sure thing, Mr. C,” she replied. They were at an odd time of the day – they were still serving breakfast, but had just opened up orders for their lunch menu. Since it was a Sunday, the place was packed with brunchers, and her section was full, keeping her mind occupied. 

The shelling couple left her a hefty tip and a sweet note on the receipt. Maybe she would see them on her walk home at the beach she told them about. 

“JJ told me about you and Rafe,” Kiara said as they were packing to-go containers into plastic bags as the orders were finished. 

“You gonna warn me about him?” Christy asked flatly, almost disinterested. It sounded bitchy of her, but she knew Kiara cared about her. 

“Just… be careful.” Kiara replied quietly. “If you ever need a buffer or place to crash away from them… let me know. Okay?” 

Christy looked at Kiara, surprised. “Thanks, Kie,” she smiled. It was nice knowing there was someone looking out for her, even if they weren’t extremely close. 

The rest of her shift went by quickly and effortlessly, but as she closed out and began walking him, she was smacked in the face with reality. Barry would be waiting for her, without a doubt. She also realized she hadn’t gotten any texts from Rafe. It was two in the afternoon. Surely he would be awake and wanting to talk to her, right? 

Christy walked along the beach, her shoes shoved into her backpack. She saw their boat tied to their dock, the trailer just up the shore from it, and she started towards the trailer. Barry was laying on a couch outside. It was nasty – they usually just draped a tarp over it whenever it rained. 

After mentally preparing herself for this interaction all day, she was surprised to see Barry grinning at her, calling out to her giddily.

Christy could tell he wasn’t high, but sober. His mood plus his mental state didn’t make sense

Something had happened.

----

fun stuff to come in the next few chapters! shit’s about to hit the fan ;)

taglist (msg or ask for an add!)   @stargazingstarkey @letsgofullkook @ims0golden @ampanonyg @hoeforpankow @jjsmentalpolaroids @drewstarkey @obbx-tings @bricksatanakinswindow

[221castiel]

Day 8 - Heartless

we’re going to pretend this isn’t a day late, and that it doesn’t completely suck

Sam glanced around the small group he stood with, gaze darting from one boy to the next as they passed around a cigarette, there were only four of them in total it wouldn’t be long till it got to him. He probably should say no, Dean would kill him if he smelt even a trace of smoke on Sam’s clothing. He probably should say no but he didn’t think he could. Maybe the school bell would ring first, though as Sam glanced over his shoulder it seemed the school was perfectly content with sitting in silence.

“Sam?” He turned at the sound of his name, giving a small hum in response.

“Do you want to go get some food with us?” The one boy, Mathew asked. 

Sam’s lips parted as his gaze darted across Mathew’s pale hair, and dark hair, before he looked to the next boy, Jason, and then the next Christian. He finally looked back to Mathew, still unsure how to reply. “What about class?” Sam finally mustered

“It’s just history.”

That was true, Sam was doing well in history, really well, he could afford to miss one day. More importantly he couldn’t disappoint his new friends, it was hard enough being the new kid, again, Sam usually ended up talking with whatever other kid didn’t have friends, but this time. These boys were cool.

Besides, it was just one day. 

Finally Sam gave a nod of his head, receiving a smile from the other boys. They liked him, he had to keep them liking him.

It was just one day.

That was all Sam could tell himself as he followed his friends, through the school parking lot. He was doing really well in the class, that thought continued as they walked down the street, the group laughing at some dumb joke. John wouldn’t find out, Sam would make sure of that. 

Sam stopped the moment the other boys did, his gaze going from the cement sidewalk and to the bar they now stood in front of. The building was old, much like the rest of the small town, built from chipping wood, with a sign hanging from the roof that looked on the verge of falling. 

“Are you sure we’re allowed in?” Sam asked as Christian- maybe his name was Kameron, pushed open the front door. 

The other boys laugh, Sam’s gaze immediately darting across them. Shit he messed. “It’s okay,” Mathew said. He rested a hand on Sam’s shoulder, leading him into the bar. “My parents own the place.”

Sam didn’t make another argument, instead allowing himself to be led to a small booth at the front of the building. 

“Did you see Cassidy today?” Jason asked as they all took a seat in the booth, Sam facing the front door. It didn’t help though as every time he heard it creak his gaze immediately went there as if John would be the next one to walk through. He’d left a few days before, there was no way he’d already be back. 

“Yah,” Christine? Kameron? Maybe it was Patrick. Replied. “She looked hot.”

Sam’s gaze went back to his friends, specifically Jason. One of his ears were pierced the black stud clear against his blond hair, would Dean let him get one probably not. Dean would probably kill him for even thinking about it. 

“She’s a slut.” Mathew said 

Jason rolled his eyes, “in a hot way.” 

Mathew opened his mouth to reply, though before he could a loud crash came from behind Sam, followed by men’s laughter. The once easy look that had rested across the others face was gone, now replaced by a clear annoyance. “He’s back.”

“Who-” Sam began as he turned his head, eyes immediately landing on the pool table at the far end of the bar, and then to Dean who was sat on the floor laughing. Shit.

One of the men was helping Dean up, Dean stumbling slightly, as he did, a cue stick in hand. Shit. Shit. Shit. Was all Sam could think as he watched his brother make a terrible attempt at hitting the white ball, instead his stick went flying out to the right allowing the other man to take his turn and win.

Sam turned back to his friends not needing to watch to know what would happen next. He’d seen it a few times before, Dean would beg for a rematch, raise his bet, then kick the other’s ass in no more than five minutes. 

“I don’t know what he’s doing here.” Mathew continued as Sam looked back to the other, teeth chewing at his bottom lip

Shit. 

“Or how in hell he can afford the alcohol,” Jason mumbled. 

Sam’s gaze dropped to his lap. It was easier to stare at his fiddling thumbs, over his friends. Though even still it didn’t stop the unsease in his stomach, something that didn’t seem to leave no matter how many times Sam reassured himself. 

“Sam,” He looked up at the sound of his name, to Christian, no, was it Kaleb, it was definitely Kaleb. “you good?”

“Uh yah, that’s just-” Sam raised a hand, scratching the back of his neck. “That’s my brother.” 

All at once the boys’ expressions dropped, all eyes on Sam. Shit, he messed up, again. He was going to lose them, he could see it across their tense posture, the way their lips sat in a tight line, unsure what to say. He was going to lose them. He couldn’t lose them. 

“You guys are right, he’s a fuckin’ alcoholic.” Sam quickly said, though it did nothing to relive the tense atmosphere. “He should be using his money to buy some clothing that actually fit.” That was a low blow, and Sam knew it. Dean had clothing that fit, though after Sam had grown, Dean had given it all to him, and instead took some of their father’s old clothing for himself. 

It was a low blow, though it did get a small laugh, some ease to the table. 

The continued jabs at his brother soon fell with ease, the other boys laughing along, all eyes on Sam as he poked snide comments at his brother; his lack of relationships both romantically and platonically, clothing, appearance, dedication to their father. It worked well, Sam kept his friends, and Dean would never know. It worked well, until Mathew offered to get them some food, and asked Sam for help. 

Slowly Sam stood, his gaze immediately darting to the pool table, where his brother was nowhere to be found. He had to be somewhere, though no table, or bar stool was vacated by Dean, he must be in some corner, with a girl underneath him.

“You comin?” Sam looked back to Mathew, who had an eyebrow raised. He could only force a nod as he hesitantly followed his friend across the bar and towards the kitchen, his breath caught in his throat the whole time. Heart hammering. 

He didn’t relax until they’d reached the kitchen's entrance where they stopped, the doorway giving them a bit of privacy from the rest of the room. 

Mathew was barely a foot away from Sam, so close he could see the rise and fall of the other boy's chest, feel his intense stare as the other’s eyes stayed locked on Sam’s. Why they weren’t moving, Sam couldn’t be sure, though there was an electricity to the air that made him too scared to ask.

“Is it true?” Mathew asked, in such an eerily low voice, Sam couldn't help but take the smallest step back. “Your brother, is he a faggot?” 

Sam’s lips parted his eyes locked on Mathew’s unable to look anywhere else. He couldn’t move. He could barely breathe, the tight doorway squeezing out any air that had once filled his lungs. 

Sam closed his mouth, before his lips immediately parted once again, unsure how to reply. 

Dean and him rarely had actual fights, though when they did there were certain things Sam knew he couldn’t mention. Their mom. John’s abuse. Dean’s struggle at school. This was more than joking about Dean’s sex addiction, or poor appearance, or even his drinking habits. This felt like crossing a line Sam knew he shouldn’t.  

“What,” Sam finally mustered, voice weak and uncertain. 

“I heard my sister talking with her friend,” Mathew explained. “She said he wouldn’t sleep with her cause he’s a fag.”

Sam’s mouth opened again. He’d seen Mathew’s sister, tanned skin, curves, big breasted, wavy dark hair. She was definitely Dean’s type, though most girls were. “Uh-” Sam began his friend staring back with a raised eyebrow. Shit, Sam really needed to say something. “Yes?”

“Yah.” Sam repeated this time his voice steadier, more confident. Despite that his stomach still twisted, the distance feeling of guilt, that he was doing something wrong. Maybe he shouldn’t be bashing Dean so hard, but his friends bashed their siblings, he was just having fun. It was just for fun. 

Mathew’s gaze dropped down Sam, before once again meeting his eyes. “That explains a lot.”

“What?”

“The alcoholism, the no friends thing,” Sam could only dumbly nod along, as his friend listed back everything that Sam had told them about his brother. He couldn’t listen to it any longer, maybe he’d admitted too much about Dean. 

“It’s really weird,” Sam interrupted, mind buzzing. He didn't know what else to say. “The whole faggot thing.”    

Mathew nodded, “my dad thinks they should all die.”

Sam couldn’t find his voice to say that his dad thought the same thing.

There was a moment of awkward silence, Sam shifting slightly, glancing back to the booth they’d walked from, while Mathew stared back at him. “I’ll order us some drinks and food,” Mathew finally began, much to Sam’s relief, he didn’t know how much more of the silence he could take. “Then you can help me carry it back?”

“Sure.”

Once Mathew had walked into the kitchen, Sam’s gaze dropped to his boots trying to keep his thoughts distracted from the other things that pestered at the back of his mind. The guilt. The dread. The fabric of his shoes brought none of those things.

They were hand-me-downs from Dean, and it was obvious, with a hole forming on one boot, the laces now in strings, the soles falling apart, Dean had always been rough on his shoes. It bothered Sam he couldn’t have his own pair, ones he could keep nice, and clean.

From his right, over the low chatter of people, he could hear the sound of footsteps approaching, though his gaze stayed on his boots until an all to familiar voice spoke. 

“Sam,” he instantly looked up as his name was spat, heart stopping at the sight of Dean in front of him. Dean who was clearly furious. “Out.” His brother spat, voice so harsh Sam couldn’t find the words to reply. “Now.”

When Sam didn’t as much as move, Dean grabbed his wrist, dragging him out the bar, stopping once they’d gotten to the sidewalk.

Sam’s heart hadn’t calmened, though he couldn’t quite figure out what he should be most panicked about. Dean finding him skipping class, Dean finding him skipping class in a bar, Dean making a scene in said bar, Dean possibly hearing what Sam had said. Sam hoped, to any god there may be, Dean hadn’t heard        

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Dean spat looking down with a harsh glare, Sam only glaring back, though with Dean a few inches taller it didn’t exactly give the effect he’d hoped for. Fuckin’ Dean and his fuckin’ height. “You’re supposed to be in school, not at some bar.”

“I was trying to have some fun,” Sam defended.

That didn’t seem to calm Dean if anything he seemed even more annoyed, his jaw clenched, and eyes narrowed, a crease forming between his eyebrows. Sam’s own fists clenched. “You’re fifteen you should be at school.” 

“You dropped out at sixteen!” 

 “You’re supposed to be smarter than me.” Dean replied, his voice, though harsh, steady, something that only made Sam’s blood boil. Why did Dean have to be so controlling, Sam was fifteen he could make his own decisions.. 

“You’re right!” Sam snapped. “I am smarter then you so I should deserve a day with my friends.”

There was a second where Dean’s features faltered, where his angered expression dropped into pain? Hurt? Sam didn’t know, though it was gone just as fast as it had come, and soon Dean was once again glaring. “You’re right, have fun with your friends.” Dean said as he stepped back. “Don’t let this faggot stop you.”

Shit.

Shit. 

“Dean,” Sam began as the other turned away. “Wait!” 

He jogged to catch up with Dean, who had made no attempt to slow his pace. “Dean,” Sam continued, trying to get the other’s attention. He looked up to his brother, who’s gaze stayed forward. “It was just a joke, you know? I didn’t mean it.”

No reply, Dean’s jaw staying firmly clenched.

“Dean please.”

Again no reply.

That’s how it stayed for the rest of the walk to the motel, Dean looking forward, not speaking a word, while Sam had to practically jog next to him to keep up. Even once they’d reached the motel Dean’s silent treatment continued as he took a seat in front of the tv not moving until a few hours later. 

Dean finally stood walking in silence to the kitchen, Sam watching from the one motel bed. He’d spent the past hours anxiously glancing between his book and Dean. His stomach twisting the whole time, threatening to throw up whatever he’d eaten, keeping his muscles tense. He felt nothing short of sick. 

Utterly horrified.

Ridden with guilt. 

Slowly he placed his book on the bedside table before he followed Dean to the motel's small kitchen, taking a seat at the table. For a moment Sam only watched his brother grab a beer from the fridge, taking a sip as he got out a pot and the pasta.

“School was good,” Sam finally said, in an attempt to lighten the stif atmosphere, talk the way they always did when Dean made dinner. Dean would ask how school had gone. He’d tease Sam for being a nerd when he said good, and then ask what he’d learned about. Only to then tease Sam more.

Despite the teasing Sam was almost sure Dean enjoyed hearing about the things he'd learned. Always asking questions, urging Sam to further explain certain things, seeming just as interested as Sam himself. Of course he’d never suggest that to his brother, if Sam was right Dean wouldn’t admit it. 

“You went for an hour,” Dean mumbled. 

The harshness in Dean’s voice made Sam pause, his gaze glancing across his brother, though he could only see Dean’s back. John’s old leather jacket hung loosely around his thin frame. “I stayed for chemistry.” 

No reply. 

“We’re doing formula balancing,” He continued, “It’s kinda hard but I think I’ve figured it out.” Sam paused again. He hated the silence, the way it made the guilt weigh further on his chest, ringing through his head, every breath seeming too loud, every shift echoing, the wood of the seat he sat on creaking. It was uncomfortable, especially when Dean was usually so loud. “Maybe,” Sam began slowly, the uncertainty in his voice clear even to himself. “Maybe I could show you after dinner, I have a few worksheets in my bag that-”

Before Sam could continue Dean had turned around. He walked over to the table, Sam’s muscles tense as a bowl of pasta was placed in front of him.

Sam’s gaze stayed locked on his brother’s face. He hated how Dean’s features sat, emotionless, unreadable, lips pressed in a tight line, and jaw locked. His shoulders back in a stiff, perfect posture, a similar stance to when their dad was around. 

“Aren’t you eating with me?” Sam asked, when instead of sitting across from him Dean walked off to his duffle bag that sat on the pull couch where he was sleeping. 

“I’m goin’ to the bar.”

Sam took a shaken breath, his heart weighed down, still heavy with guilt. He wanted to make things better, though Dean was stubborn, and nothing Sam could say would change that. “Maybe when you get back we could watch a movie,” Sam suggested, “we could rent Star Trek, or something with cowboys!”

Dean didn’t reply, instead walking back to his duffle bag. 

“I said I was sorry.” Sam insisted. He couldn’t think of anything else but pleading for his brother’s forgiveness. “Dean,” Sam continued, his voice raising with each word, becoming more frantic, and shaken. “I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“Sure,” Dean mumbled. Sam could feel the burning at his nose as his brother grabbed a handgun from his bag, placing it on the couches arm rest. “Don’t open the door for anyone, I have a key. If anything comes, shoot. You know where the holy water is. Salt the door when I leave.”

“Dean, please,” Sam pleaded. The guilt was weighing down, squeezing the air from his lungs, making every inch of his body burn, the fire licking through his veins, from his fingertips to his heart.

“Look Sammy,” Dean walked to the door, stopping just as he opened it. He turned back to Sam, their gaze meeting for the first time since they’d returned from the bar. “I get it, you have some fuckin’ reputation or some shit. Don’t let me ruin it on you.”

“Dean-” Before Sam could continue the Dean had stopped out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.  

Sam had been left alone before, rarely, but he had been. It had never bothered him, until now. The whole room seeming to weigh in silence, still thick with the tension of him and Dean's argument, laced with guilt, dread, a mix of emotions that seemed to spiral. He didn’t know what to do, should he follow Dean.

What should he do, he tried apologizing.

Again.

And again.

And again.

If Dean didn’t want to talk he wouldn’t, hell even if he did want to he wouldn't.

The thought’s continued to spiral through Sam’s head as he ate his food, then finished his homework, then got ready for bed.

He didn’t sleep much that night, his stomach twisting as he layed in bed.

The silence weighing around him.

The loneliness of the room burning. 

What could he do to fix.

Beer?

Girls?

Food?

Pie.

~

It was seven in the morning sharp when Sam left the motel, walking the short distance to the small town's library, where he found a pie recipe. From there he made his way to the grocery store, buying the ingredients, before he went back to the motel.

“Okay,” Sam said to himself as he placed the ingredients onto the counter top, a large bag of flour, baking soda, apples, sugar, and anything else he could remember the recipe recommended. “Where should I start.”

He glanced across the counter, before his eyes landed on the stove, preheat the oven. Now how does he do that? It couldn’t be that hard he’d seen Dean do it over, and over, just twist one of the nobs, or did he press the buttons?

Sam pressed one of the stoves buttons getting a high pitched beep in response. After another button responded in the same way, Sam decided to instead twist each of the four knobs on.

“Now what,” He looked back to the ingredients he’d gotten, and the pot he’d taken out to use as a misshaped bowl. Maybe he should have written the recipe out. “Crust.” 

He moved the bag of flour onto the stove top, before opening the bag of sugar and baking powder. From there it became a guessing game, Sam pouring in the ingredients, attempting to get what he could remember from the recipe. A lot of flour, a dash of sugar, baking powder, more sugar, some vanilla, and more sugar. 

It wasn’t going bad, Sam was in fact proud of himself as he mixed the ingredients, a beige coloured dough beginning to form. Things were actually going well, that was until the bag of flour burst into flames.

“Shit!” Sam screamed, stumbling back from the eat.

He could hear nothing but the ringing in his ear, his eyes locked on the flames, feet staying firmly in place no matter how much of his body screamed for him to run. Shit. Shit. Shit.

His heart hammered in his chest, the heat practically burning his cheeks. Shit. He should move. Run. Do something other than stand petrified in fear. 

Shit.

“Sam!” 

He looked to his left just in time to see Dean step in front of him, and blow out the fire with an extinguisher. Despite the fire being out, Sam’s heart didn’t calm and it was obvious that Dean’s heart was the same, the panic clear across his face.

“Are you okay,” Dean almost demanded, eyes locked on Sam’s. 

Sam could only nod in response, voice lost. What was he supposed to say, he didn’t know, his mind still buzzing with adrenaline, with the moment the bag had burst into flames. 

“Are you sure?”

Sam gave another small nod. “I’m sorry,” he finally whispered. 

He could almost see the sigh that left Dean’s lips, as the other looked over his shoulder at the mess, the panic that had once controlled his features, now exhaustion, or maybe defeat. “It’s fine,” Dean replied, voice almost monotone. “Just go sit down while I clean this up.”

Without an argument Sam slowly made his way to the couch, staying silent as he took a seat on the old furniture. The panic he’d felt had died out, his heart that once raised, replaced by the twisting of his stomach that had become almost permanent since him and Dean’s fight at the bar.

Sam continued to sit in silence, as he watched Dean clean. Throwing away the now black bag of flour, cleaning off the counters, and then the floor. He didn’t acknowledge Sam the whole time. Sam didn’t blame him. He was in fact almost disappointed when Dean had finished, and walked over to him, so he stood in front of where Sam sat.

“Do you wanna tell me why you decided to light the kitchen on fuckin fire or why you aren’t at school again?” Dean asked, glare locked on Sam, though Sam himself quickly looked down, instead to his socked feet. They were mix matched, one a white, the other a black, with a hole next to his big toe. Neither were that interesting, though it was better than looking at Dean.

“I was trying to make pie,” Sam mumbled, keeping his gaze locked on his socks hole. 

“What?” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Sam said in the same low mumble.

“Sam you’re goin’ ta have to speak up.

A shaken breath filled his lungs, before he finally looked up to Dean, vision hazy, his next breath stuck in his throat. “I was trying to make you a pie,” Sam finally replied, not caring to stop the way his voice shook. “To apologies for yesterday.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth tugging up. “That was a pie?”

“I was trying your hardest.”

“Well you’re hardest fuckin sucks.”

Sam couldn’t stop the smallest smile that spread across his own lips, his gaze dropping back to his feet, then going back to Dean. He knew he had to get the words out, though they seemed stuck, refusing to come no matter how hard he tried. “I’m-” He began barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry. I was being an ass.”

“Yah you’re right.” Dean agreed “you’re a fucking dumb ass, but lucky for you I’m still a little tipsy, and starving so how ‘bout we head down to the diner and grab some pie that wasn’t made by a snotty kid.”

“I'm not a kid.” Despite his defensive words, it felt good to have Dean teasing him, it felt normal, that's how it was supposed to be. Dean teased, Sam teased back, they didn’t fight, they were brother’s. 

“You’re fifteen, you aren’t exactly the definition of manhood.”

Sam rolled his eyes, though still grinned, taking Dean’s offered hand. He followed the other to the front door, his fingers playing with the sleeve of his sweater as he could still feel the unease in his stomach. It was something he didn’t think would be going away anytime soon.

“Dean-” Sam began just as the other had opened the door, stopping Dean in his tracks. “I really am sorry.”

“Dude,” Dean replied, an easy grin spreading across his face, though there was something about it that didn’t seem right. “It was yesterday, I'm over it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Bridge over water, or whatever that fuckin’ saying is.” Dean stepped out the door, nodding his head in the direction of the diner. “Now can we get some pie.”

Sam wasn’t sure if he should mention that it was in fact water under a bridge, not bridge over water.

The same way he wasn’t sure if he should mention the finger like bruising around Dean’s wrist that wasn’t there the day before.

Or the hickey that he’d seen just below the collar of Dean’s t-shirt.

Or the way Dean now had the slightest limp to is step, almost unnoticeable if Sam hadn’t been paying attention .

He wasn’t sure if he should mention any of it, so he didn’t, instead giving a small nod of his head. “Yah, let’s go.”

[cherry-moonlight]

Life Could Be A Dream

{NOS4A2 - Charlie Manx x Reader}

{A/N - Also on AO3 under CherryMoonlight}  Hi! I have been obsessed with NOS4A2, and while I haven’t read the book yet (don’t judge me), the show is incredible. I haven’t written anything in a year or so, and I know I owe plenty of other stories, but this series came to me in a dream and I’m just so happy to be off hiatus and inspired again! That being said, this is a first person POV reader insert, and pretty much just not very canon but I’m having fun writing it and I hope you have fun reading it should you choose to!  PS — I’m crushing hard on Charlie Manx so definitely expect some of that at some point. (I know, how dare I considering the whole virgin thing- but really, how could I not?!)

Warnings: Abusive parents (verbal, physical, emotional), alcoholism, drug use.

Chapter One - Long Overdue

Snowflakes fell like ashes from the sky as I walked forward down a snowy road I’d seen many times before. Despite the chill in the air, my skin didn’t react to the bitter coldness. I wasn’t bothered by the gentle wind or the glistening ice. It was as though the cold could touch me, but I couldn’t feel it.

Deep green pine trees doused with pure white lined the road as far as the eye could see in every direction but up and down. My eyes searched for something— anything, that could tell me what was happening; why I kept being brought to this particular place. There had to be some kind of sign.. Some kind of message I was to receive. Everything had a reason in my mind, bad or good, and this dream was no exception.

Much further down the road, there were glittering lights that danced in a blurred haze on the horizon. But no matter how far or how long I walked, they never grew closer.

“{Y/N}!” I heard what sounded like a small child’s excited whisper, as though they were taunting me, rather than calling out to me.

This is new..

I turned around immediately, looking for the source of the disembodied voice as a slight pang of panic rose in my chest. Though I wasn’t sure what was happening, the fear began to manifest anyway, giving me some kind of indication that this might become a nightmare.

A faint giggle echoed from the other direction, and I turned to face it, too. With a shake of my head and a moment to steady my breathing, I reminded myself that I was in control..

Or was I?

I picked up the pace to a brisk walk, not wanting to will myself awake just yet. The lights ahead of me stayed exactly where they were, but the sweet scent of peppermint mixing with pine began to fill my nostrils. It was pleasant, almost addicting right from the first whiff.

Still, I lowered my eyes to the ground, almost afraid of what I might see if I looked around so carelessly.

Another reverberated giggle filled the air, but this time it was accompanied by my name again. When I looked up from the white ground beneath my feet, I saw a small figure dash across the road. Just beyond that, the lights in the distance began to grow clearer before me.

“I can see..” I mumbled under my breath a bit too happily as I began to run, not wanting to miss the opportunity to finally find out what was beyond the long road.

My hair whipped around my face, and I knew if I could feel the air around me, it would’ve stung my skin. My breath formed small white clouds around my mouth as I continued, and just when I thought I could make out what lay in front of me, I was grabbed by small hands from behind, the excruciating pain of a sharp bite digging into the back of my shoulder, until—

I jolted awake, sitting upright as my {E/C} eyes pried themselves open to absorb where I actually was. Everything felt foggy, and as I clutched the shirt I wore with a trembling hand, I tried my best to ground myself.

A record I had on a turntable spun in what seemed like endless circles at the end of the track list and everything was quiet, save for the static. Looking out towards the frosty window, the ice climbing around the edges like spiderwebs offered me a sense of comfort. The world was cold, but inside, everything was warm and cozy. I was safe, and this was only a dream I’d been having for years— even if a few things had suddenly changed.

I stood up, working on slowing my breathing as I lifted the needle from the record and set it in its place, turning the player off. My mind roamed back to the dream I’d just had. It was strange that out of all the time it plagued my sleep, something had finally been different. It felt stranger than usual as I mulled over the way I heard children and saw the lights come a bit more into focus this time. There was something about it that I couldn’t quite place. It reminded me of the holidays— my favorite time of year despite the way I grew up. Christmas was my favorite holiday, always allowing me to get lost in everyone else’s joy and excitement. Watching heartwarming films and seeing the way the community came together to decorate their homes.. It reminded me of what being a child should’ve felt like, even though there was never any indication that Christmas even existed in my house. For as long as I could remember, not a tree, nor a present ever graced my December’s.

As I moved to the vanity to fix my appearance, I came to the conclusion that I was just excited for Christmas’s arrival, and my dream was a reflection of that. This year, I wanted to buy a small tree for my room and decorate it the way I wanted. I was an adult now, and no one could tell me any different.

“{Y/N}!” I heard my mother scream from downstairs, eliciting an automatic eye roll from me. “Come down here, now!”

With a huff, I did as I was told, despite being eighteen, I still lived under her roof and had to abide by her insane rules.

My mother and I never quite got along. As a child, she consoled herself with prescription pills and alcohol, and I never really had a father. My older brother split with him the moment he walked out of the door when I was seven, which is when my only recollection of Christmas’s ended, leaving them like a far too distant memory to me.

My dad never bothered to take me with him, or even call me afterwards. Neither did my brother. I didn’t know what I did wrong, but as time moved on, I realized they’d simply abandoned me with her. I supposed that they assumed I’d end up the same way. Not able to blame them, I never bothered to reach out, either. I had my dad’s number, I stole it from a sticky note my mom had gotten from one of their mutual friends. But if they wanted to contact me, they would. Sometimes, when my mom had locked me in the closet for “being too happy,” or hit me for answering a question in a way she didn’t like, I really wished they would’ve.

Since then, I’ve had to learn to take care of myself. When she was passed out on the floor for what felt like days on end, I was in charge of things like food and getting myself to school. The microwave was my best friend early on, and unlike most other kids, I was glad I had school to escape to.

I’d never quite forgiven her for ruining my childhood. Sometimes, I’d see the other kids getting picked up by their parents; the care in their eyes, the love in their hearts. It was all very comforting to watch. I cried myself to sleep countless nights wondering why I couldn’t have parents who cared for me the same way.

When my mother was awake, it was constant belittling and berating. Being so young, I had no idea I could be such a mistake and a screw up so soon, if at all. But there was dear old mom, ready to remind me at a moment's notice. Something as simple as dropping a pencil on the floor earned me an ear full of being a klutz and completely worthless to the world. If I even looked at her in a way she didn’t like, I felt her wrath.

But as time went on, she gradually got worse. She built up more of a tolerance to whatever she was taking, making her perfectly functional to the rest of society, but twice as abusive to me. No matter how old I got, I remained the punching bag. I’d thought she took out the anger of losing my father and brother on me, but later I couldn’t help but think it felt like she just liked hurting me.

Before I exited my room, I looked at a small cedar chest with a heart shaped lock that sat atop my dresser. It was my saving grace these days, the only thing that kept me sane. It held money I’d been putting away to get my own place, and a few other things that were important to me, like the note with my dad’s number and a small locket I had been gifted as a child.

Soon. Soon I’d never have to hear her voice or see her face again.

My feet shuffled to the bottom of the stairs and I inhaled and counted to four, then exhaled and counted to four; a small tactic that I used to deal with her. Turning the corner into the kitchen, I saw her sitting at the wooden table, glass of whatever the day's poison was in hand, waiting for me with a crisp white sheet of paper in front of her.

“What is this?” she questioned, the annoyance thick in her voice already.

I peeked over her shoulder. It was paperwork from a therapy session a friend let me take from her almost a year ago. I hadn’t wanted to do it, but she insisted once I explained just a portion of my life to her.

“You went through my things?” Was all I could manage.

I was bubbling with anger, but trying my best not to fly off the handle.

She wasn’t worth it, I reminded myself.

“You went to therapy? After all I’ve done for you, you felt like you needed… Help?”

She spat the word “help” out as though it were venom on the tongue. I was still processing the fact that she felt as though she’d raised me well, or really even at all. How dare she think she was there for me at all.

“Well? Answer me, {Y/N}!”

Lost for words, I stammered a bit, unsure of what to say. The last thing I felt like doing was fighting with her, and in that moment, I had no idea where to begin to tell her off.

“I— Just.. There’s—“

“I know you’ve always been a little slow,” she snorted. “But you can’t even answer a question these days..”

“That’s it! I’m sick of you! How dare you—” I snapped, but before I even had time to finish another thought, she was up from the chair and her hand had roughly connected with my cheek.

Stunned from the stinging sensation, I stared at her blankly. Though it used to be a daily occurrence, it had been a long time since she’d hit me, and the act only dredged up memories that I thought I’d gotten over. I shook my head, and without another word, I went upstairs, slipped into my favorite combat boots, grabbed a jacket and my bag and placed my cedar chest in it before making my way to the front door in a rushed cloud of hurt and anger.

“If you walk out of this house, you’re not coming back! I’ll leave your shit on the curb and I’ll never see your ungrateful ass again!” she called out, her voice hoarse with crazed, manic emotion.

“I wouldn’t come back if this were the last place on earth,” was all I said, opening the door to leave.

I heard the rattling of a pill bottle being frantically emptied and breathed a quiet laugh of disbelief before slamming the door shut. There was no care to be had in my mind or heart anymore. Maybe it was wrong, but I had taken too much from that woman. I was done sticking around and pretending to care in the hopes that she’d change one day.

Looking out ahead of me for a moment, I slid into my jacket and slung my bag over my shoulder. Closing the door with the intention of never looking back should’ve been the best day of my life. Instead, I felt anxious beyond belief.

Leaving with no plan as to where I was going wasn’t how I wanted to end things. I’d managed to stick around for eighteen years, and almost felt silly for letting this small encounter become the straw that broke the camel's back.

At the same time, eighteen years is a long time to go on the way I did. It was overdue.

As I walked into the snow, I realized how alone I truly was. No parents, no siblings. No family. I couldn’t burden my friends to deal with the mess my life had become. I lived in what could be considered the middle of nowhere. It was freezing and I had nowhere to go. I raised myself for so long, I didn’t know if I was actually expecting to be able to take care of myself in a situation like this or not, should it happen. But as I reached the end of my driveway and looked down the road, I was reminded of my recurring dream. It looked the same— the trees and the glistening snow atop them. The only thing missing was the dazzling lights at the end of the stretch. How I never put it together that this scenery was near identical before, I wasn’t sure.

It was then that I wondered if this is what my dream had been trying to tell me all along..

That I’d be walking a cold, lonely road to nowhere.

[midnightartemis]

Chapter One

The call came suddenly like it always did. A new home. A new foster parent. A new school. At least this time I would be starting right at the beginning of the year. That was easier. I could work with that. I only hoped that this one would last.

I had my small bag of things packed within five minutes and I sat waiting anxiously on the edge of my government-issued co-housing bed. I wondered what shitty luck the universe had decided to drop on me this time.

It wasn’t that I was a bad kid. I tried to keep my head low, my grades high… it’s just that I usually got the short stick when it came to foster parents. The bad eggs. The abusers who somehow slipped through the cracks of the shitshow that is the United States child protective services.

It had become some sort of sick game for me. I move into a new home and it’s okay for a few days, weeks even. Then the abuse would start and I would start gathering evidence. When I had enough I’d wait until a particularly bad day to call the cops, drop the evidence, and get their licenses revoked.

I was a survivor. I could take the punches, the days without food, the yelling, and everything in between, but others couldn’t.

I check my watch and grab my bag. Time to go. My caseworker and house mom are waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs. My caseworker is a tall, skinny woman with white-blond hair and a kind face. She tried her best, she really did. It wasn’t her fault I always found the worst homes. My house mom, known affectionately as Aunt Z, was much the opposite, short, large, and with a permanent scowl on her face. I also couldn’t blame her for that. She had to deal with all the girls who came through. I had only known her for two months, but that was long enough to know that she had a big heart. My heart hurts a little at the thought of leaving her, but I had very little control over where they sent me. Miss Holdo, my caseworker, breaks into a huge grin at the sight of me. “Miss Niima! All ready to go?”

I nod. It wasn’t like I had much of a choice.

“Girls,” Aunt Z barks. “Get in here and say goodbye to Rey.”

I bite my lip. I didn’t want a big send-off. I hardly knew most of the girl’s names. I only ever talked to most of them at group therapy sessions. It was better to not get attached. One by one, they trailed in. There were six of us in total. Most of them mumbled a goodbye and slunk back out of the room, but Ara raced up to hug me with tears in her eyes. She was the youngest of the group and had grown attached to me over the course of the summer. I hugged her back.

“It’s okay. I’ll make sure to text you and visit if I can.” She sniffled back her tears and I ruffled her red hair.

“Alright, time's a-wastin. On with you.” Aunt Z grumbled but affectionately patted my shoulder. It was her version of a hug.

Miss Holdo smiled and I followed her out the door, chatting as we walked to the car. “I think I found a good one, Rey.” Her eyes were a little guilty. “We’ve had really good success with her in the past. She only takes cases like yours and as soon as she saw your profile, she called me to ask about you.”

Great. I tried to hold back that flicker of hope in my subconscious. I had gotten my hopes up before and, yet, here I was again. I got in the passenger seat of Miss Holdo’s car and immediately took a piece of gum from the container on her dashboard. She started the car and I buckled up. She handed me the AUX cord as she always did.

I plugged the cord into my beat-up iPhone and started scrolling through my songs. Hozier sounded good. “Where are we headed?”

“Not far, just an hour. Republic.”

Republic. I had never been. New school. New people. New everything, then. Okay. “And this foster mom?”

“Unmarried. A bit older, in her fifties. She seemed very nice and very interested in you. She runs a tavern on the northeast side of town by the river.”

I frown. “Is she going to make me work there?”

“No. She told me that she likes to keep her work separate from her home life, especially when there is alcohol involved. She let me check her cupboards. There’s not a drop of alcohol in that house, Rey.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. “Okay.”

“I did a super thorough inspection. Even called her previous cases. They all stayed with her until they came of age. I really think this could be a good fit for you, Rey.”

In other words- don’t fuck it up. All I wanted was to put my head down and get through junior year in peace. “If you say so.”

We drive in silence. I look out the window watching the town of Jakku, Vermont slide away into the past. Holdo is bobbling along to the music and I close my eyes, soaking it in.

It’s late afternoon when Republic appears in front of us. Worn down houses and trailer parks line the streets of the southside. There are sketchy gas stations and abandoned storefronts. People sit on their porches and stand on corners, their eyes watching Holdo’s sleek black car as we drive past. I’m waiting for her to put her blinker on and turn off the main road towards one of the broken-down houses or parks, but she keeps going. The cracked sidewalks get a little nicer, the storefronts, less abandoned. We pass through two stoplights and then we’re crossing over a river and a trainyard. This side of the river, the houses are nicer, many of them newly renovated. We pass through a downtown shopping area filled with little boutiques, an ice cream shop, an old fashioned movie theater, a coffee shop. It’s quaint, perfect. “I think you missed your turn.”

Miss Holdo laughs. “Nope.”

Shit. Well, okay. I’d dealt with rich fosters before. It didn’t end well for them. Let’s just say that the dad was a little too hands-on. The anxiety is back in my chest. I worry my lip between my teeth. The downtown area slowly morphs into old historic houses and residential housing.

“I want to show you your new school first.” She seems much too excited. We keep driving until the historic houses have turned into rows of newer developments and gated communities. She takes a turn and we pull into the parking lot of a huge tan building. New Republic High School is marked on the side in large silver block letters. The front is filled with huge windows and the inside looks incredibly new and clean with white walls and wide stairs and solid oak doors leading to classrooms and offices.

I raise my eyebrows and Miss Holdo chuckles at my shocked look. “I know. It’s huge. Some of the best teachers in the state work here. They were very impressed with your transcripts, especially with everything you’ve been through. They still want you to take some placement tests, but they’re excited to have you.”

“Oh, okay.” I think I’m in shock, just a little bit. It all seemed too good to be true. Everything was completely different from the shitty schools in Jakku.

“Oh, shoot. We better go, I don’t want you to be late to meet her.” Holdo sped us out of the parking lot and back towards town. We pass by the new developments and into the historic district. We turn down a tree-lined road filled with huge Victorian, Colonial, and 1920s style houses. Everything seems picturesque, each lawn trimmed and cared for, the vines perfectly placed. Holdo slows and we pull up in front of a tiny 1920s bungalow. I breathe a little sigh of relief that it’s not one of the giant houses that flank either side. There’s a huge, old oak tree out front, a little brick path leads to the steps of the porch. There’s a light on. A white swinging bench is hung from the porch roof. The siding is painted almost a teal, seafoam green-blue with white trim. Flowers line the house and there’s a seashell wind chime hanging from the porch. My nerves make my stomach twist.

Holdo turns off the car and we get out. She grabs her bag of paperwork and we start up the path. I’m holding my breath as we climb the stairs of the porch and Miss Holdo knocks on the door.

“Oh! One second, one second! I’m here.” The door swings open and I look down at the smallest woman I think I’ve ever seen. She can’t be more than four-six, four-seven. I tower over her at five-eight. Her eyes are huge behind her round, black, thick-framed glasses. Her grey hair is coiffed perfectly and she’s dressed like she’s been working in the garden all day. I smile. She opens her screen door and beckons us in. “Come in, please. I hope you’re hungry. I made burgers on the grill. It’s such a nice day out and I couldn’t resist. Oh, where are my manners? You must be Rey. I’m Maz. Maz Kanata. I would prefer Maz over Mrs. Kanata, but,” she clicks her tongue. “I’ll also take ma.”

I’m completely overwhelmed. I glance at Miss Holdo and she shrugs. The door opens straight into the living room which is filled with an eclectic assortment of chairs and a couch. Art hangs on almost every surface and there’s a small TV over the fireplace. It’s warm and inviting if a bit chaotic. A set of stairs leads up to a second floor. We follow Maz through the living room and into a large kitchen. Everything seems like it was pulled out of a vintage magazine and cobbled together with love and color. There’s theory to the chaos. An archway leads to a dining room with a huge colorful table and none of the chairs match. A door in the kitchen leads to another porch outside. This one isn’t covered, but it overlooks the backyard. I can’t help but gasp at it. Stone paths circle raised garden beds. There are a hoop house and a pond and a bench beside a huge fir tree surrounded by flowerbeds. It’s beautiful. What the hell is happening?

There’s a table on the porch beside a grill and it’s been set for three. Maz hurries over. She’s awfully fast for an old woman. “Sit, sit. Please. I wasn’t sure if either of you were vegetarians, so I made some bean burgers that can make even a carnivore cry.”

I smile and take a seat. Shock. Yep. Definitely in shock. What’s the catch? Maz builds our burgers and piles our plates high with chips and fresh fruits and vegetables. She pours us a glass of lemonade each and finally, takes a seat. I hesitate, looking between Holdo and Maz, unsure of the protocol. Everyone was different. Maz's huge eyes glance at my plate. “Well, eat up, hun. You’re as skinny as a stick.”

I eagerly dig in and moan. It’s so good. “This is the best burger I’ve ever had.”

“Good. I’ll teach you how to make them. Now, business is best discussed over a good meal, let’s get on with all the legal mumbo-jumbo.” Maz winks at me and I giggle to myself. She was definitely different, like no foster I’d met before.

“Right.” Miss Holdo wipes her fingers on a napkin and pulls out my case file. It was far too thick and I glance at Maz, but she didn't seem fazed. Right. She would have seen it. “Miss Niima is to remain in your care for the foreseeable future. She will be taking classes at New Republic High, as we discussed. We will have weekly check-ins in person for the first two months. And if all parties are comfortable after those two months, we will move to bi-monthly check-ins until Miss Niima turns of age on October 13th, 2021, one year and two months from now. Miss Niima will also continue to go to group therapy sessions once a week with the local therapist. I believe you’ve already contacted him and gotten an introduction session set up?”

“Oh, yes.” Maz pulls a card out of her pocket. “Here’s the number and the date and time of the appointment.” She looks at me. “Wednesday afternoon, once you get out of school. But, we can schedule around any after school activities you want to take on.”

“After school activities?” My jaw drops. I’d never been given the opportunity.

“Oh yes, they have a billion different little groups and teams there. I’m sure you’ll find something.”

“Okay.” Holdo grins. “All I need for you to do is sign and Rey is in your care.”

I sign and then Maz signs. It didn’t take a lot for me to sign my life away. It was signed away a long time ago. This wouldn’t last, it never did.

“Now.” Maz folds her hands together. “I like to set down my expectations for you in front of your caseworker so that we can all be on the same page. If that’s okay?”

Again, not like I have much of a choice. I nod, curious to know. “Yeah. Yes.”

“School comes first. You can get a job if you want to, but you have to keep up your grades. Judging by your past transcripts though, that won’t be much of a problem, but I know that junior year comes with a lot of stress. I will make sure that you are safe, fed, and clothed. It’s up to you how you want to take my hospitality. I’ll hold you responsible for your actions, and breaking rules will have consequences. All the rules are posted on the fridge and you are welcome to discuss them with me at any time if you would like to amend them or add more. Okay?”

I nod.

“School night curfew is 10 pm. For every time you’re more than five minutes late, that curfew will be moved up by fifteen minutes. Weekends, we will start at 11 pm and go from there. There’s also a list of chores you’ll have to complete. They’re designed to help you become a self-sufficient adult. So, you’ll do your own laundry and clean your own room and dishes. You’ll also help me cook and work in the garden on the weekends. But,” Maz’s large eyes go very serious, and I still myself for the catch. “Above all, I want you to build relationships and trust. Trust goes both ways, Rey. You have mine, right now. From the start. If and when you have problems, I want you to be able to come to me. I will never call anyone on you as long as there’s no immediate harm to anyone. I’m on your side. And, I’m here for the long term. That means we work through our problems, together, okay?”

That was not the catch I was expecting. My heart is racing and I feel like I’m about to cry. It’s too good to be true. I guess I would believe her when I see it. “I- yeah… Okay.”

Maz smiles. “Good. School starts in the morning. I’ll be starting you off on a twenty-five dollar allowance. It should be enough for snacks at school and coffee with friends. If there are any other supplies you want, talk to me and I’ll see if I can get them for you. How’s that sound?”

“Okay. Twenty-five a month is more than I usually get, so-”

Maz chuckles. “No, sweetie. Twenty-five a week.”

My eyes go wide. “Oh.”

“I’ll be taking you to school and picking you up, but if you want to start learning to drive, I can make that happen. This is going to take a lot of communication, Rey. Probably a lot more than you’re comfortable with. But you can ask me any questions you want, okay?”

I nod, feeling overwhelmed.

“How are you feeling, Rey?” Miss Holdo looks over at me, a gleam in her eye.

“Ah… A little overwhelmed. I guess.”

“That’s perfectly normal. Should I let you get settled in?”

“Yeah.” I glance at Maz and she’s happily biting into her burger. She’s strange, but… I think I like her.

“You have my number, so don’t be afraid to call. I’ll see you Saturday morning at ten, okay?” Miss Holdo stands to leave and grabs her paperwork. “Thank you for the dinner, Maz.”

“Any time, hun. You should call more.” Maz raises her eyebrows.

“Sorry, Maz. I will. I promise.” Miss Holdo gives Maz a small hug and I’m left bewildered.

Maz sees my face and chuckles. “Long before she was your social worker, Rey, Amilyn was causing quite a bit of trouble for me.”

I suddenly understand Holdo’s certainty that I would be a good fit here. “You were in the system?”

Holdo nods. “Almost didn’t get out of it, if it wasn’t for Maz. She’s a good one, Rey. I promise. Just keep that nose out of trouble.”

“I don’t go looking for it,” I grumble. Holdo smiles and bids her goodbye. Maz gives a big old sigh and starts gathering plates. I automatically grab my plates and follow her into the kitchen.

“Just put the scraps in the compost bin and set your things on the counter. I’ll take care of it tonight. The rules are on the fridge if you want to read them over and sign them. We can discuss any of them that you want to.” Maz steps up on to a stool so that she can reach into the sink and starts running water for dishes.

I shyly make my way over to the fridge and read the list. It’s what she basically already told me plus a few extra notes about cleanliness and food. Anything not marked in the fridge is fair game. Shower regularly. Add necessities to the shopping list before Friday. All of it was already more room than I had ever been given in most households, that is beside the ones that didn’t give a shit. The last bullet just says- Respect is built. Love is given freely. Responsibility is learned. Trust goes both ways. Beside the rule list is a whiteboard daily chore chart. Weeding the garden is marked for Saturday and Sunday (subject to weather). Clean dishes and homework are marked every day. Sweep is marked every other day. Laundry and clean room are unmarked. The date of school starting and my therapy appointment is marked in red on a calendar. Despite the eclectic feel of her house, Maz seems incredibly organized. I pick up one of the markers stuck to the fridge and sign the rule list. I date it.

“All good?” Maz is waiting for me at the entrance to the living room. I nod and she gestures for me to follow her. I climb the stairs behind her and we end in a hallway. There’s a door in front of us, and another to my left and right. Maz gestures to the door in front of her. “My room. You need anything at any time and I’m in there you can knock .” She points to the door on my right. “That’s the office. There’s a computer in there that you can use to research, watch your Youtube videos. Though I think they give out laptops at that school now. I don’t know, I’m not the most technologically up today as the kids these days. I apologize in advance. There’s no cable and I can’t figure out the Apple TV doo-dangle-thing.” She points to a half-open door on the right side of the hall. “That’s your bathroom. I never go in there so, you’re responsible for telling me when shit breaks. I went out and got you some supplies, but if there’s anything else you need, let me know. Now…” Maz opens the final door on my left and flips on a light. She leads me into a simple room, painted cream and blue stripes. There’s a twin bed covered in a white comforter pressed against the wall, a wooden desk under the window, a dresser against the wall with a record player and a box of records, and an open door to a walk-in closet that looks like it’s filled with clothes. I can’t help but stop and stare.

“This is mine?” I set my one bag down at my feet.

“All yours, hun. You can arrange it and paint it how you want. Most of this stuff is leftover from previous girls. You can have whatever you want and anything else, I can put in storage. I think Jyn left a lot of her old clothes and you’re about her size.” Maz looked over the room. “Tomorrow, if you want, we can go shopping for any clothes you might need. Underwear. Bras. Whatever. Oh, and this is for you, for your first day.”

Maz picked a plain blue backpack up off the bed and handed it to me. I took it hesitantly and unzipped it. It was filled with notebooks and pens and pencils and even a calculator. Tears sting at my eyes. It’s too good. It’s too good to be true.

“Oh, hun. Can I give you a hug?”

I nod and her surprisingly strong arms wrap around me. I break and tears fall and I’m sobbing now. I didn’t deserve this. I didn’t deserve any of this.

[camillemontespan]

oblivion [raleigh carrera] [part three: comfort]

Part Two if you want to catch up

Warnings: Mention of drug abuse

***************************************************************************

Raleigh and Marina took a private plane to Michigan. Marina slept the whole way, curled up under a soft blanket, her hands clenching the material. Even as she slept, she wasn't at peace.

Raleigh had called his mom before they boarded the plane to let her know they were crashing. Although he was very close with his mother, he hadn't actually seen her since last Christmas due to work commitments, girls, alcohol and rehab stints.

He was worried about what she would say about this new development in her son's rollarcoaster of a life.

In a bid to distract himself, Raleigh flicked through a magazine, only to throw it on the floor when he saw a full page spread of images of Marina lying in a stretcher and her and Raleigh leaving the hospital.

He shouldn't have even been shocked. Of course the media were all over this. This is what they did. They chewed up innocent girls like Marina Cortez and spat them back out.

His mother would have definitely seen these articles. She was an avid People magazine reader and framed many of Raleigh's old interviews when he had just started out. She even had one of his magazine covers framed in the guest bathroom, which Raleigh couldn't decide was flattering or just plain weird.

He closed his eyes. A nap would be a good distraction.

***********************************************************************************

A private car collected Raleigh and Marina from the runway so they could make a quick escape.

They arrived at Raleigh's mom's house. It was made of white timber with picket fences and a yellow front door. The front garden was filled with rose bushes and the trees that lined the road were turning red. Autumn was finally here. Raleigh's favourite season.

As he expected, his mom had decorated the front porch with halloween decorations. They loved Halloween in the Carrera household. Pumpkins sat at the entrance wearing goofy grins and the windows were sprayed with fake cobwebs from a can.

Marina smiled for the first time when she saw the pumpkins.

The door opened and Raleigh's mother stood at the threshold. He noted that she had a look of concern on her face which was quickly replaced by a wide smile. She was going to act normal. She was going to act like she didn't know who Marina Cortez was and she was going to act like this was just her son bringing home a girlfriend for the first time.

'Ahh hijo!' she cried, throwing her arms out so she could pull him into a bear hug. 'I've missed you!'

'Hey mom,' Raleigh whispered, inhaling her familiar smell. He pulled back gently. 'This is Marina.'

His mom looked at Marina and held out her hands. 'Aren't you just gorgeous?' she asked, giving Marina a warm smile. 'Absolute beauty. Come in, have some tea. Do you like mint tea? I'm obsessed right now!'

Yup, she was acting normal, her typical caring self. Raleigh was grateful.

**********************************************************************************

Marina felt a strange mix of bewilderment and contentment as soon as she stepped into the house. Bewildered because Raleigh's mother was already treating her like part of the family and content because this house was the cosiest house she had ever been inside.

A log fireplace was lit in the living room and pink and purple throws were draped around the back of two blue velvet sofas. Books covered every surface and there was a Halloween film playing on the TV. Family photos were displayed everywhere.

'Thank you for having me, Mrs Carrera,' Marina said quietly. 'Really kind.'

His mom looked at her seriously. 'First of all, call me Jennifer. Second, I'm not a Mrs, Raleigh's loser father made sure of that and third, make yourself at home! Seriously, honey.'

Marina accepted a steaming mug of mint tea and watched Raleigh as he gratefully hugged his mother. When he sat down, Jennifer wound a lock of his wavy hair around her finger, a maternal gesture.

Raleigh eyed Marina warily, watching her every move. He looked like a lion ready to pounce if she so much as breathed wrong.

She had forgotten this side of him. This protective and loyal side. When she had bad press at the beginning of her career, Raleigh made sure he was there to take the edge of. He would make sure he got worse press than she did, sort of like he wanted to balance out the universe for her.

When she finished her tea, she stood up slowly. 'Is it OK if I take a shower?' she asked. 'I still smell like a hospital..'

Jennifer nodded. 'Of course! I can always run you a bath, I've got cute bath bombs -'

'Mom!' Raleigh groaned. Marina smiled weakly and Jennifer turned red when she realised her error. She had forgotten about Marina's incident in her bath tub.

'I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to..' Jennifer whispered.

'It's honestly okay,' Marina said. 'No worries.'

Jennifer went sheepishly into the laundry room and brought out a towel, passing it to Marina.

Raleigh and his mother watched as Marina left the room.

'Jesus, ma..' Raleigh groaned. 'Way to make it awkward.'

'I'm sorry!' she hissed. 'It was like word vomit!'

They were silent for a moment until she broke it. 'How bad has she gotten, Raleigh?'

Raleigh bit his lip. 'Bad. You watch the news and read those trashy magazines, you should know.'

Jennifer wrinkled her nose. 'Actually, I make a point not to read any of the shit about you or your girlfriends. Only the good stuff.'

Raleigh chuckled despite himself. His mom was fiercely loyal. 'You're so biased.'

Jennifer placed a kiss on his head. 'You're my son.' 

        *************************************************************************

The evening, while Raleigh’s mom cooked dinner, Raleigh and Marina sat on the sofa watching a film. She looked fresher after her shower, if Raleigh ignored the hollowness of her eyes and pale skin. She was wearing check pyjama bottoms with a slouchy red sweater, choosing comfort. 

They sat a couple of inches apart, as if they were afraid to touch. Maybe they were; it had been months since they had last seen each other. Their relationship had never gotten closure, so everything felt uncertain now that they were alone. 

‘Your mom’s really nice,’ Marina suddenly said. ‘She’s really young though, I thought she would be older.’

Raleigh smiled. ‘She had me when she was sixteen.’ 

Marina’s eyes widened but she didn’t comment. Raleigh continued. ‘It’s always just been us. My dad left her before I was born so I never knew him.’

‘I’m sorry, Raleigh,’ Marina murmured. Her eyes caught his. ‘Do you know anything about him?’

Raleigh let out a dry laugh. ‘Just that I inherited his rebelliousness. Everything else I have is my mom, thank God.’ 

Marina smiled and brought the blanket up around her neck, snuggling in. ‘She raised you right.’

Raleigh blushed, looking away. He cleared his throat. ‘Enjoying the film?’

Marina looked back at the TV. ‘Sure. It’s not a Halloween film though.’

‘What the hell?’ Raleigh cried, whipping round to face her. ‘The Nightmare Before Christmas is definitely a Halloween film!’

Marina rolled her eyes. ‘You’re wrong. It’s a Christmas film.’

‘Eight year old Raleigh would disagree,’ Raleigh said, pretending to be offended. ‘He would fight you and win.’ 

Marina giggled and focused on the film again. Raleigh cleared his throat. ‘Uh.. do you want to talk about what happened with you?’ he asked. ‘In the bath-’

‘No,’ she interrupted, her voice sharp. ‘No, Raleigh.’

‘But-’

‘I just want to watch films with you and forget about what happened, okay?’ she said, her breath becoming hitched. ‘I just want to forget.’ 

Raleigh caught her hand and squeezed gently, his eyes fixed on hers. ‘Okay,’ he whispered. ‘I get it.’ 

Marina blinked back tears and looked back at the TV screen. Raleigh cursed himself for his idiocy. They watched the film in silence until Raleigh spoke, needing to break the tension. 

‘Did you know I used to have a huge crush on Sally from The Nightmare Before Christmas?’

Marina’s body began to shake and Raleigh looked at her in alarm, before realising she was laughing. 

*******************************************************************************************

2am. Raleigh was woken up by the sound of his bedroom door creaking open and soft footsteps on the hardwood floor. Blinking, he saw movement in the shadows. 

Marina let herself into his bed and snuggled under the duvet. ‘Raleigh, I can’t sleep.’

Raleigh turned on his bedside light and looked down at Marina, who was pale and shaking. Her forehead was beaded with sweat.

Dread filled his heart but he knew that this had been coming. Withdrawal. 

‘I’ll get you water and a face cloth,’ he whispered. ‘You’re alright, Marina.’ 

He raced into the bathroom and found a face cloth. He filled a glass with water and brought the items back to her, placing the cloth on her forehead to mop up the sweat. Her hand shook as she lifted the glass to her lips; Raleigh steadied it with his own. 

They stayed like this for a while before Marina turned over and lay on her side, trying to keep calm. 

‘Can you spoon me?’ she asked, her voice tiny. 

Raleigh obliged and pulled her gently into him, spooning her. His fingers twirled her hair around his finger. ‘Distract me,’ she whispered. ‘Please.’ 

Raleigh thought to himself and before he could think about how stupid an idea this was, he began to sing softly. 

It was their song, their duet. Love Who I’ll Be. They played it together acoustically just before Marina’s album went platinum and the public had adored it. But the song had united Raleigh and Marina. 

‘Lost in the darkness

You showed me the light

I was feeling heartsick

Til you made it right’

Raleigh sang, his voice crooning in her ear. He made sure to sing softly and gently, like a lullaby. 

Baby no one's perfect

But I know what I'm worth

I finally found someone who understands

He sang to her over and over, determined to keep her calm. 

No more doubt, no more pain

No more feeling like I am to blame

My days will be brighter and I will fly higher

I'm gonna love who I'll be

He stopped when he heard her snoring softly.  All he wanted was for her to feel peace. His eyes felt heavy and her body was warm against his. Soon, Raleigh was asleep too, his body curled against her back, his hands placed tightly over her fists, keeping her together.

[adonis-koo]

Three’s a crowd

| 4 |

Plot: (CEO AU) When your mom’s fairytale life begins to bleed over into your world you’re suddenly caught between two men and one big secret, what was suppose to be a relaxing trip soon begins to spiral out of control. All you wanted was a free vacation...

Pairing: Jungkook/Reader/Jimin, Hoseok/Reader, Taehyung/Reader,

Genre: Smut, angst, drama, angst with a happy ending

Word count: 10k

Previous | Next

Tags: Rough sex, body worship, spanking, hair pulling, degradation kink, daddy kink, thigh riding, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, creamiepies, vaginal fingering, oral (f receiving),  dom!jungkook,

Warning ⚠️ This fic touches on drug use, alcoholism and abuse. Please read with caution if any of these things are triggers for you 🖤

Jimin had that look on his face and the way he bit his lip, you could immediately tell he was not expecting you to reject him again for dinner. It was only 6 o’clock but you didn’t want to ruin your appetite for your date. You admittedly felt excited for it. You hadn’t been on a date in over a year, having resorted to one night stands made it easier since you never had time for a relationship. Any guy who had attempted often left upset at being put on the waitlist in priorities sense you worked two jobs.

To be honest you didn’t know what to tell any of them. It’s not that you were never interested or you had side pieces. You just worked the 3rd shift at a psych ward and 1st and 2nd at a bakery leaving you with four hours of sleep on a good day. Which you didn’t want to spend awake for a movie, or a walk in the park. Especially at some god awful fancy restaurant.

You supposed it was ironic sense that was exactly where you were being took but the difference was it was an actual upper class restaurant with food that was the price of your monthly rent. Jimin didn’t know any of this though. And quite frankly you figured it was for the best, he had been persistent about getting you to atleast eat with him. 

You’d admire his effort but regardless he was going to be your step brother. You couldn’t live knowing you slept with him even if it was before your parents got married. You were warming up to the idea but not enough to ever fall through with it. He sighed not looking pleased at all, eyes flashing with irritation and his smile gritty,  “You really like testing my patience, don’t you sweetheart?”

You couldn’t stop the scoff from escaping your lips, was he really going to act offended you were rejecting him? “No I’d like to remind you our parents are going to get married. That’s weird, I don’t know about you but that’s really weird for me.” You replied as you crossed your arms, leaning on your door frame.

Even if he was a good lay, and you’d imagine he definitely was- it didn’t matter. Sure your integrity wasn’t high but it was still there like damn, you weren’t just gonna let this happen. Not only was it weird but it wasn’t right either, you weren’t going to potentially compromise your mom’s happiness for an orgasm you could easily get else where. 

Jimin exhaled sharply through his nose looking annoyed before regaining his cool demeanor though his stiff posture didn’t surpass you as he answered, “Yes but that doesn’t make us siblings. We’re adults Y/n. Legality doesn’t mean anything except in the states eyes.”

True as that was you still didn’t quite believe it, even if your mom never found out that didn’t change that fact that once wasn’t guaranteed. You weren’t an idiot, in situations like these it was a slippery slope, first it was just one time, then a second and third. Even if it wasn’t likely your mom would find out, if she did...You’d never be able to face her again, sighing you shook your head, “Well then if that’s the case you won’t have a problem waiting sense it doesn’t matter. Goodnight Jimin.” You shut the door promptly not wanting to carry on the weird feeling conversation any longer.

Laying back down in bed you rested with what time you could. Physically you could’ve kept going but while on vacation you had the luxury of being able to rest mentally. Something you just had to muddle your way through on a regular day at work. You were able to just rejuvenate after an hour before you heard a knock on the door. 

Confused as to who it was you opened it unexpectedly. A maid was holding a large box, it was black and white with a long string of ribbon tied into a bow, “For you ma’am!” She said chipperly, handing the box over as you furrowed your brows. Watching her dash off to whatever duty she had next before shutting the door.

Setting the heavy box on the bed you untied the ribbon to open it. Gaping as you saw the wine red dress you had tried on earlier that day. Who could foot that kind of bill? Remembering the 4 million dollar mark flash in your eyes as you took it out of the box accompanied by a pair of matching heels. The bottom of the box though made you huff as you looked away. Picking up the small card message: Wear it for me babygirl - JJK

Except he wasn’t referring to the dress, no he was talking about the lingerie you’d imagine he must’ve picked out for you on his own time neatly folded at the bottom. He was thoughtful you’d give him that much.

It was nearing seven and you figured you’d might as well begin getting dressed. Peeling off your lounge wear before putting on the lingerie he had requested you wear first. The satin and lace was silky and just felt expensive, briefly you wondered how much it cost. It couldn’t be that expensive could it? Holding the lacy material in question you finally shook your head in disdain. It was just as soft as it felt in your hands. The fabric didn’t dig into your skin nor did it chafe. It was a bustier styled bra, cupping your breasts sitting them up high but it suited the cheeky panties well.

Considering Jungkook’s words from earlier he seemed to take on more classic designs. His taste in lingerie however was borderline raunchy, you supposed he had to make up for it somewhere along the line. Pulling the garner belt up before attaching your black sheer stockings to them. Resting for a minute before resuming your journey to finish getting dressed. Eventually you finished up your apparel, you had kept your makeup simple, knowing you’d most likely have a long night ahead if everything went well during your date. 

No less then five minutes after 8 you heard a knock. Opening the door as you clipped on your left earring. Jungkook had a hand against the door frame, looking almost predatory before smirking down at you, “Glad to see you got my gift.”

You couldn’t stop the snort from escaping your lips as you curved an eyebrow before replying, “Mhm you didn’t miss a single detail in my outfit, huh?” Knowing exactly what you meant as he grabbed ahold of your waist. Gentle but firm enough to lead you as he let his lips brush against your ear, “And you were a good girl and wore everything, right?”

Finally smirking you looked up at him, two could play this game if he really wanted to be like that. Shrugging you put on a falsely innocent expression, “Well I’m dressed, aren’t I?”

Jungkook’s eyes darkened slightly at your bratty response as his grip on your waist tightly slightly, “You wanna force me to check?” His lips brushed against your ear as he whispered, you could feel heat dripping between your thighs as a couple walked past you both as he continued, “I won’t hesitate to put you against the wall baby, they can all stare if they want, I don’t care.”

His words made your face flush and your body warm as you glanced away, unable to trust your mouth to speak as he lifted his neck back up. Gauging your reaction before snickering, “Oh that turns you on doesn’t it? The idea of people watching huh?”

You had begun to squeeze your thighs together as you took a deep breath, he was right, you did like the idea of him forcing your legs open and letting your wet cunt be on display for anyone to see, clearing your throat you decided to keep your dirty thoughts in your head as you spoke up, “Not even gonna ask how my day was? Not very gentleman like.” Trying to deflect his dirty talk as a new crowd of people had gotten off the elevator headed your way.

Jungkook looked down at you curving an eyebrow before scoffing, leaning back down against your ear as he replied lowly, “Sorry baby, but you didn’t seem like you wanted a gentleman back in that dressing room. Did you?”

Crossing your arms you look up at him sharply, not realizing the glaring pout on your lips that made him chuckle. Making you all the more huffy as you looked away. He was right, of course he was. Jungkook seemed like someone who read body language well and you must have been an open book. Getting in the empty elevator as Jungkook hit the 13th floor button.

“Did you behave like I asked?” You honestly didn’t expect him to be so blunt. He wasn’t gonna talk like this the entire night was he? You weren’t sure you were gonna last long enough for it.

Swallowing thickly you nodded, the stickiness in your panties making you shift a tad uncomfortable as you forced an answer, “Almost killed me but yeah.”

Jungkook paused for a moment judging your body language for any lies, knowing you were telling the truth he let his lips tug into a loose smile, “Good, if it makes you feel any better I’ve been suffering too. I wanted to wait for you.” It was the odd intimacy in his words that made your cheeks flair again rather then the words themselves. He had really suffered the boner just out of anticipation for tonight? “Oh out of curiosity...” you glanced up at Jungkook, watching him lick his lips as he asked, “Have you told Jimin about tonight?”

“No...?” You extended the word as you curved an eyebrow, suddenly turning to face him as you crossed your arms. Why would he ask that? And furthermore why would you tell Jimin out of anyone any of your business that went on in your bed. Watching his expression become passively sheepish at your suddenly suspicion, “Why would I tell him?”

Jungkook glanced away from you, unsure of what to say for a moment as he gathered his thoughts. Finally looking at you carefully as he shrugged, attempting to portray a casual response, “No reason. Just...be careful with him.” His eyes had such clear warning it was your turn to blink as your mouth became dry, “Not everyone is as upfront with their intentions as I am.”

What was that suppose to mean? Why did everyone speak in so cryptically? Sighing you shook your head deciding to just be blunt about this situation, “Look I’m not gonna sleep with him. Our parents are together and it’s just weird. Really weird. He can try all he wants but he isn’t gonna get anywhere.”

Jungkook only store at you for a minute, his eyes clouded with a strange sense of pity, before looking away altogether, opening his mouth as if wanting to say something but quickly closing it. As if thinking it would be better to be quiet, clearing his throat he gave a dry chuckle, resuming his charming expression as he looked back towards you, “Sorry about that, Jimin’s not really a fun topic. In my opinion atleast.”

“Well it definitely wouldn’t kill him to not always be so honest that’s for sure,” You hadn’t originally meant to voice it out loud, but you got the vague sense Jungkook and him were close friends. Or atleast that’s what it seemed like. Maybe he could shed some light on why Jimin had such duality in personality.

Chuckling Jungkook lead you out of the elevator towards the ritzy floor that appeared to be entirely there just for fine dining, “Money makes people entitled. He’s not an exception.”

Curiously you glanced at him, the air about Jungkook was difficult to read. Something you weren’t use too, most people were like an open book involuntarily. The way they held themselves, what they wore, the brands they sported. It made it almost too easy to get an idea of people’s outlook on life. Like Jimin for instance, he was like a prowling linx. He paraded around like he genuinely cared and was concerned for whoever he talked too, but those half smirks and empty eyes never slipped past you even if they only showed for a split second. His intentions were just as pathetic as his attempt to pretend he really cared.

But Jungkook? Watching him smile coolly as he addressed the waiter who had nodded, weaving you towards your table in the lowlit dining area. Every expression on his face, every move he made, it was all intentional. He said he was just blunt, but was he really? Everyone in life had an ulterior motive, that’s just how it worked. Whatever his was, he had mastered never letting it seep through his intricately placed mask.

Jungkook pulled your chair out, gesturing you lightly to sit down. Often times you’d roll your eyes at any guy who’d attempt this. You lived such an informal life it hardly seemed fitting to be treated like this. But seeing this gesture on Jungkook, it fit almost alarmingly well. Like it had just come second nature to him, regardless of social class, this was just how women should be treated. It came off surprisingly natural compared to most guys who’d fumble as if forgetting until the last second about doing gentleman gestures which often came off more cringeworthy than chivalrous.

Sitting down as he seated you, before taking his own seat across from you as you tilted your chin, raising an eyebrow as you finally spoke up, “And what about you Jungkook? If money makes people entitled, what does that make you? You can have anything you want,” pressing your lips together you gave a hum in thought, “You can have any girl you want, why bother with someone like me?”

You’d be lying if the question hadn’t nagged at the back of your mind. Not out of some sort of desperation or need for reassurance. Pragmatically speaking, you had been genuinely curious. Someone like Jungkook, he shouldn’t even be in the same room as you. Suddenly realizing how blunt you were, you puckered your lips hoping it hadn’t come across offensive as you glanced at him.

Jungkook only laughed, soft and oddly sweet as he relaxed in his chair, glancing at you with soft eyes. Not necessarily affectionate, but an odd admiration as he shrugged, “It doesn’t make me anything. In my family money was never discussed while I was growing up,” he pressed his lips together, glancing away from you for a second as his gaze faltered, “Anything we bought, anywhere we went. That was just life for me. For a long time growing up I assumed everyone lived like I did.”

You found yourself curiously tilting your head. Having not expected at him giving such a detailed response. More so at the reality of his life, “Both of your questions lead to the same answer. My father...” his eyes suddenly filled with disdain, his nose wrinkling in irritation at just the thought before closing his eyes, sighing altogether, “He’s extremely controlling. He’s always been that way. Growing up he controlled every aspect of my life. Not in the way people would assume he would.”

Pausing for a second he seemed to be gathering his thoughts in figuring out how to properly explain as the waiter appeared. Two glasses of wine in tray as he handed them out. Explaining if you had another request for a different flavor he’d be happy to serve, handing out two menus as well he disappeared.

“I’m aware, socially speaking there’s a lot of differences between us,” Jungkook continued slowly as he delicately gripped the stem of his glass as if it was a rose, glancing at the dark inky liquid as he continued, “In your world, parents are usually more forceful yeah?”

Not expecting him to glance up to meet your eyes in hope for a response, a cloud of doubt in his gaze as if he didn’t want to wrongfully assume about you. You gave a dry laugh that came out more like a scoff, “Well there’s varying degrees...” You suddenly gripped the cup of your glass tightly, your expression darkening as memories of your childhood surfaced, forcing yourself to relax as you continued, “But aren’t most parents like that? How could that be different for you?”

“Well when you’re parents are as rich as mine they have different tactics in getting what they want,” Jungkook shrugged, glancing at you again as he rested his elbow against the armrest, twirling the stem in his hand as he continued, “They controlled me, just a lot more subtly. When you have money, you can choose what school your child goes too, which families they associate with, who they’re friends are. He molded my entire childhood to fit his ideal. I didn’t even realize it until my senior year when I had met a freshman who I really got along with. My dad about blew a fuse when he found out.” 

His voice betrayed a bitter tone his expression had managed to steer clear of, “That was when I realized it wasn’t about who I was talking too, it was about it being someone who was in a lower class then us. Someone who my dad looked at as just a worker bee, someone who didn’t matter. He’s a very big elitist, people who don’t level our wealth aren’t worth our time in his opinion.”

Finally managing a drink from your glass as you set it down, letting his words soak in as you finally rose your eyebrows, “And you don’t agree with that?”

Jungkook licked his lips, running a hand through his dark silk like locks as he thought for a minute, “Well I was conflicted at first. Because I didn’t understand, I grew up my entire life just assuming I was normal, sure I had noticed subtle differences with my friends. But with my dad puppeteering my entire life it was never enough for me to question it until my senior year. I disregarded his word and hung out with who I wanted too. I branched out and found people I actually got along with. That’s when I began to realize I wasn’t so normal. I’m not even close to normal. The more I hung out with my friends, let them take me to public standardized areas, their homes, everywhere the more I understood that money? Material goods, financial security, that meant a lot more to people then I ever thought it did. Some people are just greedy for it, some people genuinely struggle with it...” he licked his lips as he rambled away, his eyes in a far away place, “It was weird seeing that, it still is weird. It feels like a foreign concept to me. Maybe that does make me entitled inherently. I’ve never known a day in my life where I’ve had to struggle with security in that sense.”

Straightening his posturing he cleared his throat, as if realizing how much he rambled as he finally glanced at you, “You’re right, I can have anything I want, and any girl I want. But I want you because I’m curious,” Jungkook finally set his wine glass down as he shifted in his seat, leaning forward slightly, “You’re forbidden, something I’ve never been allowed to indulge in. When you have parents like mine I was only allowed to associate with my friends in highschool for so long before they cut it off. You’re everything I’m curious about, your way of life, your mentality, your culture. I’m curious, I’ve always been. And there’s so much of your world to experience it honestly overwhelms me at times. I don’t really know where to begin on my own.” He ended his sentence somewhat sheepishly, which let you know he was being honest.

Jungkook’s eyes looked boyish in that moment and you could tell every word he spoke he meant. You looked thoughtful as you tilted your head. You could never imagine being as sheltered as he was, but it made you wonder. What was classified as ‘your’ world? On any other occasion you would’ve scoffed, the idea it’s self almost made you feel like a science project for him to tinker with and study for the sake of his own weird sense of curiosity about the average mass of commonwealth. 

But his overwhelming amount of genuineness put in his words made it difficult to feel indignant. Because his eyes, his whole demeanor while explaining was just so innocent. It was an endearing, genuine curiosity that made it so difficult to scoff at him. He really genuinely wanted to understand your way of life, it was such a foreign concept to you though. Could you even help him? How could anyone not experience life the way you had?

Well technically lots of people hadn’t, most people didn’t live the way you did, or suffer the background you had. But still your way of life, surely it couldn’t have been all that different, right? Jungkook left you alone for minute as if knowing you’d need a moment to muse his words. The silence was comforting and filled with the soft jazz that had been playing live towards the front of the room.

The waiter had come by after another few passing seconds to take your order, it wasn’t until after he left that Jungkook spoke up, “What about you though? I didn’t ask you out just to talk about myself the entire time.” He laughed causally though you could detect he seemed a bit worried he had rambled too much.

Shaking your head you grabbed the stem of your glass, twirling it as you hummed, “I don’t mind. It’s actually pretty fascinating to hear...” hearing your words you watched his eyes light up in relief, “It’s interesting to know that people can be raised so different...I guess I’m still trying to wrap my head around it...” licking your lips you glanced at him briefly before looking away hesitantly, “My life feels pretty boring compared to yours...if not rather disheartening.”

It was true, you didn’t have a manipulated and repressed childhood, nor were you drown in riches and ignorance until you one day grew up and had an epiphany there was more to life than your parents had lead on. Jungkook frowned as he spoke up, “You should never compare, just because your life wasn’t as eventful as mine doesn’t make it any lesser in value.”

Your heart for a moment felt touched by his words. But it made you curious, how could he be so open minded and soft if he had been conditioned by his father his entire life? “W-well...” you fumbled slightly as you set your wine glass down, fumbling with your fingers as you awkwardly continued, “My life isn’t glamorous and honestly, if you’re looking for a more accurate depiction of working class I’m not a very good example...” 

But your words only made Jungkook look more curious as he patiently waited for you to continue. Sighing you looked around from him as you crossed your legs, resting your chin against your hand as you glanced into the crowd of people, all wearing finewear with elegant soft spoken voices. Leaving an echo of a soft murmur to fill the air that mingled with music, “Growing up was...not fun.” 

You frowned prominently as you furrowed your brows, digging into your memories as you continued, “I’ve never lived a fancy or...” you frowned as if looking for the right word, “Stable life...My parents worked very hard to ensure we had a place to live even if it wasn’t much. When I was a kid I could’ve cared less. But I hadn’t realized how much of strain it had put on their relationship. Eventually my dad would get so mad he’d run off to one of the local bars and wouldn’t come back until late in the morning.”

Sighing you didn’t have the nerve to look at him as you expression finally softened, “Of course that made the strain even worse. Looking back it was pretty counter productive, they’d argue, he’d drink, they’d argue about his drinking, making him go drink more. Eventually he became unemployed and it was just my mom barely scrapping us by while he drowned his at the bottom of a bottle.” Glancing down at your lap your softened expression still glowered slightly, a bitter note in your eyes that Jungkook took attentive care to notice though you had refused to look at him, “I was forced to grown up fast, so I didn’t have much of a childhood, by the time I was fifteen I ended up dropping out of highschool to work as many hours as my job would let me to help pay for rent while saving up to move out with my mom. By the time I was nineteen one of my friends had been looking for hospital work to get experience in the field. Sense they had two openings and he wanted the company I didn’t see the harm. Working two jobs, one during the day and one at night...” 

Your eyes seemed distance as you mused, looking a bit lighter then before as you glanced up at Jungkook while shrugging, “Well it’s taxing, I’m not gonna sit and lie to you about it. I rarely have time to do anything besides sleep the few hours I can manage. But I was also able to get us moved out that same year. And after years like this I’ve gotten use to it, the lack of sleep, the minimal way of life...Jimin constantly says it doesn’t take a lot to make me impressed but...” 

Sighing through your nose your expression hardened, curling an eyebrow looking vaguely annoyed, “No one here seems to get it y’know? I come from nothing, I am nothing, compared to anyone in this place. I’ve work my ass off my entire life just to survive. I don’t know what the word luxury even means, and don’t get the wrong impression,” Your voice suddenly fumbled, faltering in your ranting, looking at Jungkook for a second before looking away almost worried, “I don’t want you to think I’m bitter, or jealous of anyone here. It’s just, everyone takes what they have for granted because they think it isn’t enough. It’s hard to swallow that when you live the life I do, when I know at the end of the week, I’ll just go back to my life, back to work and I’ll never see any of this again. But everyone here? They act like this is some sort of average business week. And I guess, it is for them.”

Licking your lips you sighed, closing your eyes briefly for a moment as you shifted in your seat, “Being here, feels weird. Everyone looks at me like circus show. Like it’s cute how I get so flustered by how much luxury there is here. But in reality, you’re right. The majority of the world will and never will be use to this.”

Jungkook had stayed relatively quiet as you found yourself unable to speak anymore. Suddenly feeling rather self conscious, this must’ve been how he felt after exposing so much of the personal turmoil he had suffered through with you. But in another way, it felt rather liberating, just simply telling someone about your hardship, it was easier confiding in a stranger than a friend. 

Because a stranger won’t be disappointed in you, or tell you what you should have done. They will earnestly listen to your story without judgement that your friends and family would carry. Maybe that’s why he had told you so much as well.

“But it isn’t really temporary, you do know that, right Y/n?” Your head shot up at Jungkook’s soft voice, an odd amount of empathy on his face for someone so different than you. A delicious fragrance filled the air as the waiter had finally stopped by your table, setting your food out for you.

“I don’t know how you feel about it,” Jungkook looked as though he was treading on sensitive ground as he continued, “But Park is going to marry your mom. Even if you don’t actively see them it’s still going to impact your life, a lot of the strain you feel right now won’t be so heavy.”

Sighing you looked away from him, “I’m a grown women...I don’t need help. Or want it...okay maybe I do but I’m also not a slacker. Of course I’d appreciate their help but they don’t need to worry about me,” you shrugged loosely, beginning your meal as you continued, “Maybe I’m just being stubborn, my mom always said I take on too much. But I’ve lived like this my entire life, how can I just drop the only way I know how to live? I know I’ve complained a lot about my life but, I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.” 

Your words were earnest as you glanced up at Jungkook, your eyes and expression both had softened significantly as you finally let out a small laugh, a genuine smile on your lips, “Sure my life sucks and I have a dysfunctional family, but isn’t that what life’s about? No matter who you are, or where you come from, we all seem to have those problems. I might not be drowning in gucci. But I do have an apartment. And I have a bomb ass cat...” Y

our nose wrinkled as you smiled, remembering the little shit stain that curled against your neck anytime you were home to sleep, “And I have two friends who are just as dysfunctional as me. Sometimes, it’s not all about the big things in life. Sometimes,” you glanced down at the extravagant meal in front of you, smelling worthy enough to make your mouth water as you mused, “It’s the little things in life, that make life worth living, y’know?”

You had been initially a little on edge for the first date you’d be attempting in months, especially when it was with someone so different from you by nature. But you had found yourself, for the first time, in a long time, genuinely relaxed and enjoying yourself. The pitfall most guys fell into with you, was in search for a romantic partner. It wasn’t their fault, there was nothing wrong for wanting that. You just weren’t the right person they needed, you didn’t want to be settled down with commitment and shifted priority that came with a relationship. Or maybe you just hadn’t met someone you liked enough to change your mind.

Regardless more times than less they’d want to take it slow, get to know you, your life, your story and family. And finally after so much pining and unnecessary waiting they’d sleep with you. They actually didn’t, because you’d never make it past the third date before inevitably getting impatient and leaving. You liked it fast, without reason or questions. It just made life easier. And if it worked out, great and if it didn’t? No harm done. 

Most guys you attracted never seemed to share the same mindset. Even going as far as horrified at the prospect of going home together on the first date. But one of your biggest ideals in a relationship was simple, he had to be good in bed. You weren’t opposed to teaching someone, but often times men had a very large and a very sensitive ego. Again you had never gotten that far to begin with. Which was why you had never had any luck from a relationship. If he was bad in bed and too prideful to learn then there was zero point in wasting your time with someone, but since most of the guys you had went out with refused to sleep with you...well you can see the problem, right?

There was something about Jungkook though, you rather liked. He was easy going but eager, just like yourself in that aspect. As if ready to jump you at any moment if you gave the word. He didn’t want to wait around and ‘get’ to know you. He was blunt in his intentions of wanting to sleep with you, admitting later to simply wanting to get to know you’re side of the coin in life. And you had no problems with that, because inherently it was all just fun and games.

An easy win win, you’d finally break your dry spell with someone you got along with, he’d be able to sate some of his curiosity about the outside world.

You could respect that. You and Jungkook had been closing that evening, laughing together at one of the stories you had been enthralled at telling, having so few friends you often only experienced anything thrilling with them, leaving you with little to no audience to ever tell it to outside your mom. And that was when it was legal atleast. Jungkook seemed rather shocked and oddly absorbed in your rather crazy stories, obviously enjoying them as he had never experienced anything close to the oddities you and you had friends had experienced.

Getting out of your seats you both had smiled with a lingering silence but he spoke up, “So about making it up to you after this morning....”

“Gonna bail on me again?” You rose your eyebrows with a teasing smile, half expecting him too. It was almost eleven and you’d imagine he was going to have a busy day tomorrow, wouldn’t anyone who lived a life like this? Something you weren’t jealous of, you were busy yes, but nowhere near on the extravaganza that was the Fifteenth Dark Ace hotel. And for that, you wouldn’t blame him, if you were that busy you’d probably bail on a date too.

“After how much of a good girl you’ve been?” Jungkook let that infamous smirk pull on his lips as he stepped closer to you closing the gap of space, forcing you to crane your neck to glanced up at him, “I’m not that mean babygirl. Wanna head up to my room?”

You licked your lips, knowing his tone of voice had come off in a way not to pressure you. After all you could have changed your mind in the few hours you had spent together, but it hadn’t. In fact it only reinforced how much you wanted this guy to pound into you, “Lead the way.” You gestured, curving an eyebrow with one of the worlds most cutest smile, not at all fitting given the scenario you were headed into.

Obviously glad to hear you wanted this just as much as him, he wasted no time to wrap an arm around your waist, leading you down the lowlit path as you glanced one last time at the stunning dining area. The crystal chandeliers that held thousands of candles in them creating such a glowing ambiance. The skilled saxophonist who played softly intertwined with the piano, and the utter divine smell of fresh baked bread that had passed by from a waiter. And- Wait was that who you thought it was? Blinking you had to do a double take back at the sea of people before your gaze had landed on a black head of hair, Jimin?

Jungkook seemed to notice your surprise as he raised a brow, looking out to where your gaze had landed before spotting Jimin as well, letting out a tiny amused chuckle before speaking, “Oh he never sleeps alone at night, don’t look so surprised Y/n. It’s just how he is.”

Watching Jimin as he smirk deviously as he gripped the girls chin, her bare back facing you with the revealing gown on but you could tell by her body language she was flustered. Still though a small indignant pang sent through your stomach, of course he only wanted to sleep with you. 

Sighing you rolled your eyes as you shrugged, deciding not to care further, you weren’t that interested anyways and it’s clear Jimin was only interested in your body. Why focus on that though when someone like Jungkook was leading you to his room, “Why is he like that anyways? I mean he’s just so…”

“Dualistic? Dunno to be honest,” Jungkook shrugged, thinking for a moment before shrugging again, “I have a few theories but none seem to really peg his problem whatever it is. Money makes up his ego sure but he just has a mentality that whatever he wants he gets. Unlike me his family is considerably lower class then us. The only reason we’re childhood friends is because our dads were as well.” Jungkook rambled on as you curiously glanced at him, so the Parks really weren’t that loaded? A flash of the private jet you had not been in two days ago flashed in your mind as you felt like you had been sucker punched. If that wasn’t fucking loaded then what did that make Jungkook!?

Getting in the elevator he finally concluded as he shrugged, “Honestly, I know you said you weren’t interested in him but I’m being serious Y/n. He’s like a predator, when he wants someone, he won’t give up. Be careful.” And there it was again, that crypticness from earlier.

Confused you tilted your head before shaking it. He kept warning you but nothing had really warranted anything for it, sure Jimin was an attractive man but that’s all he really had going for him in your opinion, it wasn’t like you naturally got along with him, “Okay, if he really is into me as much as you say…Why are you doing this?” You gestured your hand between you both, “With me?”

Jungkook took a moment to contemplate your words looking rather sheepish, as if being caught in the act before his brows furrowed in thought. Finally he shrugged loosely, that smirk curling back on his lips as he replied, “Because I think it’s fun taking what Jimin can’t get. He’s such a sore loser it’s honestly hilarious…which is why you should probably keep this between us.” He pressed his lips together, whatever pride he had on his face loosened as he glanced at you almost worried briefly.

“Well the good news is I wasn’t intending on telling him about who I’ve slept with,” You laughed lightly, not wanting whatever seemed to be disturbing Jungkook to get him too worried, “Besides you have nothing to worry about, I’ve survived campus fuckboys of all different sorts. This isn’t any different I can promise you.”

“What about me?” Your mouth gaped at the unexpected coil of smug in his tone as he pulled you closer to him, dragging his lips against the shell of your ear as he murmured, “I’m not a fuckboy to you, am I?”

Your breath had hitched slightly at the warmth of his lips and the grip of his hands against your waist, you could’ve sworn you had heard his heartbeat with his hot breath so close to you, “No,” Suddenly feeling the overwhelming desire to be a brat even though you knew the consequences, “I couldn’t even think you’re a fuckboy. You’re like a cute little bunny!” You suddenly spun around, booping that cute little curved tip of his nose as you grinned playfully. 

Suddenly giggling loudly at his drop in expression looking dumbfounded at what you had just done, “See! Maximum cuteness! You’re too adorable to be a fuckboy I don’t make the rules Kooky.” You pinched his cheeks as your grin widened, finally provoking him to grab your wrists as his brows furrowed.

Licking his lips and despite trying to look sexy it had the opposite effect, maybe it was the wine but he just looked so damn adorable trying to be alpha like, “You must really liked that punishment huh?” He curved an eyebrow, his eyes had darkened considerably and his tone of voice had deepened, finally achieving the aura he had been looking for, “We haven’t even got to my room yet and you already wanna test me baby?”

Pressing your tongue against your cheek you backed off slightly, while punishment was enjoyable you had been promised reward tonight and you weren’t gonna throw that away, “No,” you shook your head with false innocence as you contained yourself, “I’m daddy’s good girl- No I’m daddy’s best girl.” You corrected yourself patronizingly and you were surprised he hadn’t pushed you against the wall to spank you in that moment as he crossed his arms looking less than impressed, making you snicker nervously. Fumbling with your fingers as you cleared your throat, “I’ll behave.”

Sighing Jungkook shook his head, letting his disapproving gaze softened slightly, “You’re lucky I’m in a forgiving mood tonight, you really enjoy teasing me don’t you?”

He stepped closer again, as if daring you to continue as you impishly smiled, glancing away as you fiddled with your hair, knowing if you ignored the question you’d be punished, and if you answered the wrong way you’d still be punished, “Is it really a good time in bed if there isn’t a little bit of banter? There’s nothing more fun than making a dom feel the need to prove himself even when he knows he doesn’t have too.”

“Is that what this is about?” Jungkook almost looked amused as he grabbed your chin delicately, making you look at him as he leaned down wolfishly, “You want me to prove my dominance babygirl? Careful what you wish for.”

The door had dinged open, having finished its journey as Jungkook turned to face the entrance, briefly smirking while he wasn’t looking, gotcha. No punishment tonight, you were what the kids called a crafty sub, you knew just the right thing to say to get what you wanted. On the rare occasion you could watch your mouth.

Leading you back to his room the door clicked shut with a finality, knowing you could go back on this at anytime but seeing the city lights reflect off his body outlining made you swallow. Your mind flickered to his bare torso when you had first met as he took off his jacket. Turning around as he raised his eyebrows, “You just gonna stand there?”

“Shouldn’t you be telling me to strip?” You took a slow step further into the room, your eyes adjusting to the dark room as you questioned his motives. Unsure if he had this whole night planned out the moment he saw you or was simply going off of instinct.

Chuckling Jungkook sat on the edge of his bed kicking off his shoes while giving them a small kick to the side, shrugging as he relaxed back against his hand, “You dictate the night sweetheart, not me. You want to be a brat and get under my skin right? Make me feel the need to prove myself? Sad to say but I’m a patient man baby, it’s gonna take more then teasing to get me to do that.”

“So let me get this straight,” You had stepped out of your heels, glad to have them off as your feet thanked you, turning to face him as if this was a salesman gimmick that you were positive seemed too good to be true, “You’re gonna let me boss you around?”

“Mhm.” He nodded looking genuine but you were suspect as you squinted your eyes making him laugh, was this some trap? “I’m not gonna bite- too hard, do we need protection?” He licked his lips feverishly as he waited for your next move, relaxed and clearly not looking the least intimidated as he casually asked the question, you wouldn’t have been surprised if he had kept condoms on him twenty four seven.

Pressing your lips together as the pout began to quiver on your lips, “No I’m on pill…” you lingered warily in your spot, looking as if you were in the room with a rabid animal, cautious of his every flickered gaze. He was relaxed, not looking the least concerned about anything, of course he wasn’t, not when he was the one who could unfairly flip the roles here, “Boss me around sweetheart, that’s what you wanna do right?” The wicked smirk curled on his lips as he raised his brows expectantly

“Well-“ You fumbled tugging your hair as you cautiously padded closer to him, still unsure if this was a trick or not, “Yes…but I don’t wanna get punished…” you finally admitted your reason of reluctance as you trudged towards him, lips still pouting with a quiver as you glanced away from him.

Jungkook nodded exasperatedly with a patronizing tone, “Mhm and I promise you won’t, as long as you behave when I tell you too. And right now I’m giving you permission to boss me around. Make me do what you want baby, anything’s for grabs.” he leaned back against his hands as he encouraged you to come closer.

“Anything?” You tilted your head, quirking a brow in disbelief as you finally took the final step towards him, looking down at him, he looked so smug in that moment as he nodded again, “Anything.”

Licking your lips it was your turn to cheekily grin as you raised your eyebrows, having his permission before pressing your mouth closed, unable to keep that adorable little smirk off your lips as you lifted your leg up, placing your foot beside his seated position. The high slit of your dress parting all the way up to the height of your thigh, “Kiss.” 

It was a one worded command but he had got the message. Not breaking eye contact with you as if to remind you he was ultimately in charge as he gripped the soft skin against the sheer black material of your stocking, kissing your inner thigh as his eyes lidded slightly but refused to break from your contact.

Letting his lips part as he dragged his tongue against the soft surface, humming approvingly as you let your hand find his hair. Having been curious since you met him to touch it, his hair looked so silky and soft and your assumption was right as you massaged your fingers against his scalp making him shift positions of your thigh as he let his lips press up further while his tongue dragged in its path.

Finally allowing your eyes to close in contentment as his soft lips began to pepper your thigh in kisses, “Feel good baby?” His hand ran across your thigh gently squeezing as you nodded with a hum. Letting him open your leg more to get a better angle on your thigh as you felt the tulle part further. His lips pressed deeper against your skin before opening again, biting down with a nip, taking the skin in his mouth sucking delicately. Undoubtedly marking you as you continued to enjoy the pampering before pausing for a moment, pulling away slightly making him come up for air on his handy work.

Two hickies had already started to form in a shade of purple that was difficult to see in the low lights. Jungkook said nothing as he watching you place your foot back on the ground, almost anticipating your every move as you reached for the zipper of your dress. Unzipping it all the way down before letting the material drop from your body, grabbing the pin in your hair as you pulled it out, feeling your hair stumble down as you smirked again.

Watching his eyes light up in amusement, almost like a kid unwrapping a present as he licked his lips humming out, “You look even better then I had hoped.”

Stepping between his parted legs you snorted definitely an unattractive laugh as you curved an eyebrow, “How come I didn’t get that reaction when you came to pick me up?” It was a playful question as you tsked, “Come on keep kissing gentleman, I love to be bathed in worship.”

Wrapping his arms around your waist he pulled you to him as he pressed his lips against your stomach, glancing up at you wolfishly as Jungkook rose a brow, “Do you really want a gentleman?”

“Not when you look at me like that.” You replied amused though answering honestly as he continued to pepper your body in kisses, focusing more on your lower body within his reach as he began to nip at your hips. Between your lacy black cheeky panties and the garter belt it had left a snippet of your skin for the taking as he continued to nip his way to the other side.

Letting his hands squeeze against the sides as he made his way back up to your pelvis where the belt sat, kissing over the material as he tugged you to straddle him.

Inherently wanting to be obedient you did as asked making yourself comfortable on his lap as his hands ran down to your ass, holding you firmly as he dipped down into your neck continuing his trail of kisses, parting his lips to mark again as he began to suck against the skin. His hands began to delicately trace back up your sides almost making you wiggle at how feathery his touch was.

A quick nip against the spot he had been working on emitted a breathy little gasp from you that unfortunately didn’t escape his auditory, “Keep making those sounds babygirl.” He practically petted you as he stroked his hands down your back, showering you with affection and his undivided attention as he began to work his way down to your breasts that sat prominently up in the matching lacy black bustier bra.

Jungkook pressed kisses on top of them before biting down against the soft tissue, obviously finding the next spot he wanted to mark as his mouth continued to work. His hands continually stroking against your sides as he let his tongue press and prod against the spot as he finally glanced up at you, “Feeling pampered enough to help me out sweetheart?”

Eyes still closed you nodded as you heard him quietly laugh before pausing and continuing, “Lap dance me in that pretty lingerie baby, give me a good show.”

Your forearms had found there way against his broad shoulders as he finished up marking his spot against your breast as you began to press down against him. Letting your hips drag and wiggle in search for his length that you had found quickly hardening.

Your arousal began to spike between your legs as you pressed your cunt back against him almost too eager as you began to rub and drag down against his lap, feeling his grip on your hips tighten slightly, letting you know you were doing a good job as he finished his last mark, a whine escaping your lips as you felt your clit catch against the material of his slacks.

Smirking he leaned back against his hands as he let you get to work, pressing down on him from different angles, your panties were completely soaked and the embarrassing wet patch was prominent as you eagerly worked his clothed bulge as he spoke up, “Careful babygirl, you’ll get my slacks wet at the rate you’re going.” 

Your cheeks began to flare because he was right. Your panties were beyond ruined by your own wetness from how turned on you had become in such a short amount of time, “Never said that was a bad thing,” Jungkook snickered at your reaction, grabbing your chin to make you look at him, “Look at you, all red faced while bouncing on my lap. What do you want baby? Wanna be my princess right? Tell me what you want.”

Your face was getting redder as you attempted to look down towards his lap, feeling his finger keep you in place as you murmured shyly, “I want to ride your thigh daddy.”

Jungkook raised his eyebrows in surprise, as if expecting a more common request before suddenly looking smug while squeezing your sides as he nodded, “Of course you would, go on, ride daddy’s thighs princess.”

Eagerly you slipped from his lap and over to his left thigh sitting with legs on either side as you began to press down against the cotton material before eagerly rubbing yourself against him, feeling your clit flatten enough to send a jolt into your stomach as you suddenly whimpered. Holding onto his thigh as you continued to ride it, letting your clit catch against the material of your panties as you continued to drag your hips against his thigh pleasuring yourself as you whimpered again, feeling the pressure slowly building in your core.

Jungkook observed cockily, admittedly not once in his life had a girl wanted to thigh ride him until now but he was more than happy to experience. Feeling your arousal messily slip through your panties and soak through his pants, it was an oddly satisfying feeling as you pressed against him harshly, feeling your pussy part and wet further as you continued to ride him quicker, “Look at you princess, you’re making such a big mess on daddy’s thigh, come on baby keep riding.” Whimpering at his words you continued to use his thigh in desperation, “You look good desperate, it’s almost pathetic how much you want your little clit rubbed, do you need help?” Whining you nodded defeatedly as he chuckled. Bouncing his thigh in compliance as you suddenly bucked your hips your clit flattening continually at the movement stimulating as you let out little gasps, “Come on princess cum on daddy’s thigh like a good girl.”

Feeling the pressure build in your core you continually whimpered as you rubbed yourself against his bouncing thigh, feeling your legs begin to shake as he almost demanded, “Cum for daddy babygirl.”

Moaning loudly you felt the pressure snap as you obediently let the orgasm wash over you, moans almost embarrassingly slipping out from your lips as you continued to whimper and whine while wrapping your arms around his neck, burying your face in the crook as he stroked you praisingly, “Mmm that’s a good girl, good girl baby.”

Your legs were shaky and you weren’t sure if you could stand as he grabbed you by the ass, picking you up so he could properly set you down on the bed, unbuttoning his shirt as he tsked, “Such a messy baby, you couldn’t help yourself could you? Do my thighs feel that good?”

Blushing you looked away red cheeked and pouting but nodding regardless. Letting his shirt fall off his well chiseled arms as you felt your face grow hotter at his well built body display, suddenly feeling self conscious as you looked away, did you even deserve to sleep with someone as good looking as Jungkook? 

By the time he had let his slacks hit the floor he tsked again, kneeling down as he grabbed your wrists, “Don’t cover yourself, I want to see you in your pretty lingerie princess. Unless you want me to take it off for you…” he licked his lips, his fingers already finding their way to the back of your bra as you said nothing in return, feeling your face hot red as he unhooked it.

Taking it off you had instantly went to cover yourself once more, Jungkook’s hands caught your wrists in time as he huffed, “I said don’t cover yourself baby, look at how pretty you are.” He could barely murmur the words out as he let his mouth suck against your nipple, making you whimper at the suddenly sensation as his hand went to the other. 

Massaging nice and slowly while giving gentle pinches to it, sighing through his nose as he paused for a moment before sitting up to take you in, running a hand through his hair as he sighed again, “Fuck you look hot. Want me to eat that pretty pussy baby? I’m hungry again but for a whole new meal.” He hadn’t even left you an option as if he had decided on his own. Feeling his fingers pull against the garter belt first pulling it down with your stockings as he pressed kisses against your leg all the way back up to your thigh.

You jolted at the feeling of his lips kissing your well soaked panties as he hummed, “We should get rid of these hm? You did a good job of ruining them baby.” He coyly smirked from between your thighs as his fingers curled around the band of your panties, pulling them down in one fluid motion before diving in between your legs. 

Wasting no time as he let his tongue lick up from your slit making you gasp at the unexpected sensation. When was the last time you had even been ate out? Most guys found it too gross to wanna try it or simply didn’t like doing it. It was a foreign feeling having Jungkook jump between your legs on his own accord as he devoured you, sucking your clit like a tasty treat as you wiggled and whimpered beneath him, letting his tongue continuously drag against your clit until he found its sweet spot. 

Your voice was already becoming ragged and your already over sensitive body was reacting sharply at the harsh sensation as you whined, collapsing back against the soft surface. Jungkook pulled your legs over his shoulders as he straightened up, hiking your lower body up with him as he glanced down at you like a predator while eating you alive.

Feeling his tongue prick and prod at the oversensitive bundle of nerves making the orgasm build faster and faster as you squeezed your thighs against him moaning, “Daddy please! I’m so close!” You finally strangled out.

His grip on you tightened at your whimpered words while feeling a long slim finger slip inside you as you attempted to twist and turn while he kept you in place. Pumping a second finger inside you as he quickened his pace, not letting his tongue stop for a second as he took your clit in his mouth sucking against it as he let it swirl in his mouth, using his tongue to stroke it.

Clenching around his fingers that roughly pumped in and out of you when he found your g-spot you had snapped, almost screaming at the pain of your orgasm but it obviously wasn’t enough for him, “Keep going baby.” He suddenly added a third finger pumping you roughly as he vigorously hit your g-spot each time, sending you into orbit as you continuously bucked in his hand whimpering not evening finishing your second orgasm before he sent you into your third while attaching his tongue back to your clit humming.

Tears had begun to slip from your eyes at so much overstimulation but he refused to stop continuing as he ruthlessly hit your g spot, letting you practically ride his face as he nipped your clit. Still riding your third orgasm as he finally achieved what he was looking for. Forcing your fourth one as you roughly clenched around his fingers, body shaking and crying with whimpers as the liquid squirted out, coating his fingers as he slipped out of you, setting you back down on the bed as you continued sobbing from so much overstimulation, fuck had you ever even squirted before? You didn’t even think you could.

Jungkook began to wash your thighs in kisses as he softly praised you, “Such a good girl, my best babygirl. Can you still take daddy’s cock? You don’t have to say yes baby.” He murmured against your thighs as he gently massaged them, practically bathing you in affection as you swallowed back those big crocodile tears, your eyes were mascara stained and red cheeked looking incredibly tired but you were a trooper as you struggled to sit up, “I-I can do it, I want you balls deep inside me daddy.” Your needy eyes looking directly at him as you murmured, not shy but horse from so much whining.

“Mmm you sound so cute when you talk filthy princess, keep going for daddy.” Jungkook asked as he let his cock spring free from his boxers. It looked incredibly irritated and red tipped, precum covering it as you licked your lips nervously, “…I-I don’t know…you’re really big daddy.” Glancing away as he gently pushed you back down against the bed.

Smirking though he pressed his lips against you forehead, “You let daddy worry about that, you just relax baby, okay?”

Biting your lip you obediently nodded, “Okay.”

You certainly weren’t lying, he was huge, in both length and girth, it didn’t help that you hadn’t been laid in forever and it’s not like you had gotten a lot of action before that. Feeling spoiled at all of this as you felt him open your thighs again, sore from already being opened so much they sent a dull ache to your hips.

You suddenly moaned as you whined feeling his massive length slip against your pussy, coating in your arousal as it brushed over your hypersensitive clit.

Stroking your pussy with his cock before grabbing the tip he began to press it in, making you grit your teeth as you hissed sucking a breath of air in.

“Mmm fuck baby you’re tight, you weren’t joking about not getting a lot before huh?” He chuckled though it sounded strain as he pushed himself further in, “Good, because this is my pretty little pussy to fuck isn’t it? You want me to prove my dominance right? Well guess what baby? I’d fucking demolish anyone who even tries getting close to this.” 

You whimpered as he suddenly began thrusting. His length throbbing painfully inside you at such a small space, his hand slapped your thigh making you whimper out as he continued, “This is mine, all mine babygirl.” His hips continued to rock faster against you as you wrapped your legs around him letting him pound ruthlessly inside you as he let out a gravelly moan. His voice deep and almost guttural before quickly letting his hips begin to slam into you making you moan loudly as you began to wiggle and try to buck in sync with his hips. Being too fast though Jungkook laughed, “Look at you baby, even when you’re all fucked out you’re still greedy for another orgasm aren’t you?” He opened one of your legs up further to penetrate you deeper but you could already feel him hitting your cervix, fuck! He was so big, “Go on baby cum all over my cock, be a greedy little girl.”

Whimpering as he continually filled you, roughly hammering into you making the bed begin to knock against the wall as his fingers found their way against your sensitive clit almost making you scream as your voice whined out loudly, “D-daddy please- it hurts!”

Hearing your whimpering only made his cock twitch and pulse as he picked up his pace, thrusting rougher as he continued to rub your clit harshly, “Be a good girl and orgasm for me baby, do I need to repeat myself? I want your cum all over my cock baby come on start riding.” He suddenly picked you up sitting down while setting you on top of him, your orgasm already building enough to make you eagerly bounce his cock as he grabbed your ass.

Quickly helping you as you felt it eagerly twitch inside you again, “Come on baby come for me.” His hand smacked against your ass echoing against the room as you whimpered, burying your face in his neck only for him to grabbing a fistful of hair, yanking you to look back at him, “No baby you’re gonna cum all of this cock while looking right at me.”

Feeling his fingers roughly pressing against your clit against as he let go of your hair in trade to spank you harsher,  your walls clenching harshly around his cock that was painfully throbbing and rubbing against your g-spot as he growled, “Cum baby.”

Whimpering you bounced him as fast your hips would let you taking down his full length despite it painfully throbbing inside you, quickly riding his thick base as you whimpered continually, feeling yourself clench against him as your orgasm arrived quickly. 

Roughly rubbing your sweet spot as you cried out, tears close to falling down your face as he spanked you again, “Go on, cum you slut, don’t make me repeat myself.” His hand slapped your bare red ass one last time before the overstimulation overwhelmed you, crying as it washed over you, sending you to cloud nine as he suddenly flipped you both other. Now on top of you as he ruthlessly thrusted into you, slamming his cock into you as he continually moaned though it barely reached your ear. 

Pushing himself until the base of his cock was all the way inside you before he released, feeling the hot ropes of his cum fill you until you dripped his seed, his hips didn’t stop though as he drilled into you, obviously forcing himself into overstimulation as he moaned loudly cumming again from the overstimulation, his seed spilling from you even further as he filled you a second time.

Finally relaxing as he let himself slip out from you. Sweat beading down his neck as he gasped for air, obviously out of breath as he rested his forearms on either side of you, kissing your neck as he murmured, “What a good girl, you did so well baby.”

Originally you had intended on making your way back to your own room once this was finished, but there was not a single bone left in you body that could properly function as exhaustion began to set in. Picking you up to properly set you in bed, pulling the nice fluffy blankets over you both as he got back on top of you, showering you in kisses and soft praise again, “Go on babygirl, sleep you earned it.” He urged you as he continued to smother your stomach in kisses while gently stroking your waist.

Just as you had done everything else this night, you listened without being told twice. Letting your eyes fall shut as sleep gladly took you.

Note: hey babes! I’ve been meaning to update this all day but honestly? I’ve been feeling a bit down lately, I keep getting dms saying I need to add a read more tab but like as a mobile writer I’m unable too. I’ve kinda been at a loss for what to do because I don’t want to clog tags and annoy people :( that being said I still wanted to update for you guys so until I’m able to get my hands on a pc I’m just gonna keep chapter pushing 5K out of the tags. Sorry for the long note! 🖤

Tag list: @sapphireprinces5 @jazzytfw @theslumberingcat (Let me know if you’d like to be added!)

[martinscardigan]

A Year in The Making

Jack Kelly x Female Reader

Word Count: 2,474

AN: Abuse TW, Death Mention TW, tbh though its mostly fluffy

The reader is a singer at Medda’s theatre where she meets Jack while he’s painting a back drop for the theatre. She moves into an apartment above the theatre, and when she can’t sleep she wanders down to the stage, where she finds Jack can’t sleep either. 

IDK Y’ALL its a little angsty, mostly fluffy, and I’m super nervous about posting this so yeah sorry my summary is kinda awful!

Shout out to Trevor @hopeful-broadwaybaby for reading this and helping me be chill with posting it. You a real homie for listening to me screech about this for honestly like half an hour?? <3  

You will never forget the first day you saw him, Jack Kelly. You were walking backstage at Medda’s theatre, looking for Ms. Medda so you could get some help with part of your costume when you ran into him.

He was covered in paint splatters, most notably a long blue streak right across his forehead. The blue brought out the shade of his eyes. And rendered you almost speechless.

“Oh- uh, sorry,” you blushed taking a step back.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. You lookin’ for somethin?” His voice seemed not to match the soft artist that was in front of you.

“I’m just looking for Ms. Medda, I need some advice with this thing,” you gestured to your costume, one of your sleeves was falling off because it hadn’t been stitched correctly. If you went on wearing this, it would not bode well for your career.

“I hear one shoulder dresses are in fashion,” he joked a smirk on his face. You dead panned, knowing that your life was at stake. He seemed taken back, “Uh, I saw her that way.”

You walked the direction he pointed, putting a hand to your heart nervously. You felt your heart racing, what was that? More accurately who was that?

“Hey, uh,” You heard his unmistakable voice, “The name’s Jack Kelly.” You turned back to him and smiled.

“I’m known as Glitz around here, thanks for the help.” You had regained some of your confidence as you had walked away from him, being not as close broke the spell a little.

-

You continued to see Jack around the theatre, which was basically your home. Medda let a few of her girls stay in the apartment upstairs, you included. Your family was a little, rough around the edges. After the first few times you showed to work with bruises Medda insisted you move in.

You knew Jack stayed the night at the theatre sometimes, and one night being unable to sleep was one of those nights. You wore a white nightgown and wandered down to the theatre. You sang for your act, much like Medda. Holding a candle you sat in the center of the dark theatre, humming to yourself the song you sang for your act.

“Why can’t I sleep?” You wondered out loud, laying back on the stage.

“Rough night?” You heard Jack Kelly’s voice rise from the shadows. You immediately jump up from your relaxed position, vividly aware you are in nothing but a nightgown.

“Dear god Jack, don’t scare me like that. And come down here, if we’re both here, we might as well talk,” You ran your hands through your hair your heart racing loudly in your ears. You heard his steps echo in the empty theatre, and he appeared in his undershirt. You had seen it before, but always when he was painting, and never in such close proximity to see the myriad of bruises lining his arms.

He sat across from you, his dark hair splayed across his forehead and a sleepy smile spread across his face.

“Can’t sleep?” He asked quietly, the candle light made him look almost angelic though you knew he was anything but.

“No, there’s a lot on my mind,” you shrugged. He raised his eyebrows asking you to continue speaking. “Tomorrow would have been my little sister’s birthday, it weighs heavily on my mind.”

You pulled your knees to your chest as Jack studied you for a moment, his blue eyes turned a shade darker.

“She still around?” Jack asked quietly. You shook your head in response, hair falling in your face. Jack gently pushed the hair that fallen in your face, the touch brought blush to highlight your cheekbones. Quietly he apologized, unsure of what to say next.

“It’s okay, I mean, nothing I can do now right?” You swallowed down the lump that took residence in your throat.

“Hey, don’t say that, I miss my mom and dad every day,” Jack tried to comfort you. You drew away quickly.

“How do you deal with it?” You ask after a few moments of silence.

“Look around ya, I paint,” Jack shrugged, you looked around at the backdrops that he had painted, glowing dimly in the light of the candle.

“Can you teach me? All I can do is sing,” you shrug sending him a half smile half expecting him to just laugh.

“Sure,” Jack looks around for a moment, then stands, offering you his hand. You take it hesitantly, he leads you to an old backdrop, one of his first as Medda had explained. “Stay here for a moment.”

You stay, looking at the well done painting of mountains, trees standing out and blue and purple flowers lining the bottom edge of the painting. The way the candle lit the canvas it could almost be misconstrued as sunset. You could hear Jack’s footsteps backstage, along with the sliding of various objects. When he reappeared, he held a few cans of paint and several paint brushes.

“Oh Jack, what?” You gasp, taking a surprised step back.

“You asked if I could teach ya, and we won’t find any time in the day with me sellin’ papes and all, so nows a good a time as any,” Jack shrugged, placing the things on the ground.

That night was the day you consider your friendship with Jack to have started.

-

Fast forward 3 months, and Jack had invited you to lunch at Jacobi’s. You wore a plain blue gingham dress, the hem was muddied up from walking in the bowery in it. You fidgeted with a loose piece of hair as you walked to the deli.

You saw his figure leaning against the building and your heart jumped. You had a huge crush on him since that night he first tried teaching you to paint, but unwilling to ruin your friendship, you never acted on the inclination.

“Aren’t you a sight to behold?” Jack drawled when you were in earshot. A small blush lit your cheekbones. You had met a few of the boys before, Crutchie, Race, Specs, but knowing that a boatload of Newsies waited for you behind the door made you nervous.

“You don’t look half bad yourself,” You teased, smiling at him in greeting.

“Well,  you know what they say, Ladies first,” Jack offered his arm, and you took it, rolling your eyes as you were sure he was flexing. He held the door open to you and inside the Deli was a messy group of Newsies. Most of them paused at you entering, Crutchie smiled at you and Race waved. Jack rolled his eyes at everyone.

“What are ya lookin’ at?” He called to the Newsies who resumed their previous conversations. “Sorry, they ain’t used to girls.”

“It’s okay, I ain’t used to boys,” you laugh. Jack leads you to a table a little ways off from everyone else. Jacobi comes, carrying two sandwiches. You look at Jack with surprise, you had never discussed it, but it was pretty well known that you were better paid for working at the theatre than Jack was selling papes.

“Jack! What is this?” You gasp, thanking Jacobi for the food.

“I invited ya, I just wanted to treat ya to somethin’ nice.” Jack lifted his hat from his head and ran his hand through his hair as a bright blush lit his face.

“Well thank you,” you smiled timidly. You panicked and changed the topic to the weather, but you would never forget the look in Jack’s eyes at that moment.

-

Things truly started to change a few days after the strike. You noticed how Davey mellowed him out, and how adorable Jack was around Les. Romance was in the air as Katharine and Sarah hit it off right away, and Davey had an interest in a girl from Brooklyn.

You found yourself in Jack’s penthouse one night, the newsies had not stopped partying for almost 3 days straight, and Papa Newsie was damn near exhausted. You had never seen him so tired, and you took the evening off to make sure he also took the day off.

“Jack, sit down.” You grabbed him by the shoulders and tried to push him down. He resisted you, laughing at the attempt.

“I’ll sit when I want to, I need to make sure the boys don’t kill themselves,” He tried to push past you. You stood your ground sending Jack a look that said if he even tried he would regret it.

“Davey, Katherine, Sarah, and Specs are all down there, and I asked them to make sure to watch them. Crutchie is down there too, and you know that he mellows them out.” You explain, crossing your arms, continuing your glare.

“Fine, fine, but you have to stay with me,” Jack drawls. You couldn’t smell any alcohol on him, he stopped drinking months ago when you told him that your abusive father was an alcoholic. But he was damn straight loopy with exhaustion.

“That’s why I’m not singing right now, doofus,” you laugh. “Okay, now go lay down, do you need any help?”

“Help laying down?” Jack asks, his eyebrows arching.

“Jack you’re damn near drunk with exhaustion,” you eek out, you try to avert your eyes as Jack starts to peel layers. First the suspenders, then the vest, then the button up. He pauses for a second, glancing back at you before peeling off the dirt and paint stained undershirt.

“I need to take it off, so I can air out my wounds,” He looks at you, and you have turned bright red. You take in the cuts and bruises from the fights over the last several days, and immediately want to start crying.

“Jack,” you whisper, coming closer to him. “Are you okay?”

Jack freezes as you investigate his back, your fingers lightly grazing the larger cuts and pressing a little more firmly into the bruises. You reach a bruise on his left shoulder.

“Oh, Shit, don’t do that!” Jack yelped in pain turning back around to face you.

“Sorry, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Does your shoulder hurt?” You ask, concern in every word.

“Y/N everything on me hurts,” He sighs sitting down. He holds a hand out and you take it, sitting down next to him on the wooden floor of the fire escape. In the recent months you had become more comfortable with touching each other, Jack placed his arm around you.

“Jack, don’t.” He looks at you with hurt in his eyes and you quickly make an amendment to what you have just said. “I mean, I don’t want you to hurt yourself if doing that hurts you.”

“I’m fine,” he just tightens his grip and you can feel the heat radiating off of his skin. “Hey uh, Y/N, can I ask yous a question?”

You felt your heart leap, he only ever really called you your real name if it was serious, and you gathered that it was this time.

“Sure,” You responded simply, not really looking at him.

“Is it okay if I like you? Like really like you? Like want to kiss you?” The words tumbled out of Jack’s mouth quickly, so quick that for a moment you were unsure if you had heard him correctly.

“Go home Jack, you’re drunk.” You mumble under your breath, but he’s looking at you and listening so intently that the comment really stung.

“I’m not, I just, I’s just got feelings. Lots of them,” Jack says. You decide that he probably won’t remember any of this in the morning, so you turn to look at him.

“Jack, of course it’s okay, I’ve had a crush on you since we first met backstage at Medda’s.” The truth leaves your lips for the first time and all of a sudden it’s like reality itself has come crashing down around you.

“Now I know I must be dreamin’, because the Glitz I know she’s too shy to ever tell me her real feelins’” Jack says in his loopy half asleep voice. You had slept up here with him a few times, just curled in his arms when you were anxious, so you knew what that voice sounded like very well.

“Jack, go to sleep.” You lean down with him, and almost as soon as he’s horizontal, his eyes fade closed. When his arm around you goes limp, you sit up and study him. Jack is ripped, more so than anyone you had ever seen before. He’s also covered in bruises, and has a black eye that is just barely starting to heal.

The words you said kept bouncing around in your head, having a crush on him since that first day at Medda’s. You knew he was out like a light, so you leaned down and slowly pressed your lips to his cheek. Your movement was soft, barely any pressure involved, but sure enough, you saw Jack’s eyes open.

“Oh crap,” You say as you pull back. “This is just a dream?”

You fail at convincing him and he sits up, staring at you with wide eyes.

“What was that?” Jack presses a hand to his cheek in disbelief. You can tell he’s still wildly tired, but more aware now than before.

“I wasn’t lyin’ Jack.” You state simply, preparing yourself for the heartbreak you knew that you were about to experience. Jack pauses for a moment, cocking his head to the side for a moment, his eyebrows asking a question. He leaned in, and you caught your breath.

When his lips were mere centimeters from yours, you heard a strangled, “You sure?”

“Yes.” And his lips crash into yours. In moments, his hand is at the small of your back, pushing you closer, and your hand knots into his hair. It’s a wild kiss, a kiss that’s been a whole year in the making. You shift so you can be closer to him- to your Jack. Breathing in his scent and just feeling the texture of his skin beneath your finger tips.

His hands move from your back to your hair, finding the pin you used to keep it up, and pulling that pin out. You shivered as you felt your hair cascade down your back.

After a few moments, the kiss softened and Jack pulls back from you. A smile on his face that almost outshines the moon.

“You sure this ain’t a dream?” Jack says, brushing the hair out of your eyes. You grin and attempt to straighten his hair.

“It better not be, I better wake up in your penthouse to the sun rising in the east, and Jack Kelly- my Jack Kelly by my side.” You grin, your brain barely functioning.

“Your Jack Kelly, huh? I like the sound of that.”

“I do too.”

[apostateangela]

Part 3: The Power of the Pussy... I mean Autonomy.

I’m back.

So much has happened, but I’m reluctantly going to at least bring this sex post to a reasonable close, in a sense of fairness as there was a bit of a cliff hanger. Though I’m baffled at any interest in my sex life because there are much more interesting stories out there. Except I suppose a middle aged good Mormon girl turned slut contains some intrigue.

Yes, I used the word slut.

And I’m okay with it.

There’s a movement, of which I have found myself a part of, to take that word back.

I have participated in two Slut Walks now and have felt their power as I’ve stood with fellow sluts and chanted “MY BODY! MY CHOICE!”

Just for clarification, though I’m sure you don’t really need it, the negative connotation of the word slut suggests that it is somehow shameful and wrong to have a lot of sex with as many consenting people as you want.

I clarify because this is the place I came from; this negative space where sex is reserved for one person and one person only, that of your eternally bonded husband.

The idealism and ridiculousness of this concept aside--of which I’ve already established--the reasoning ties back to what I’ve already articulated, that somehow a woman’s body is not hers but rather God’s, and by extension, her husband’s. This idea that a woman’s body is not her own to do with what she likes exists outside of the church or other ecclesiastical entities.

I am not unique in fighting against it.

But as I’ve also already shared, my feminist journey is very closely tied to my spiritual one.

Where did I leave off?

Oh yes, sexistential crisis, Danny, I needed more experiences.

I didn’t understand a lot back then, but something I did know was that I didn’t want to be tied to anyone, I didn’t want a boyfriend, or heaven forbid a husband. This was partially the fear of falling back into the abusive horror I had just left, escaped from. And I knew that I didn’t understand the scope of that enough to attempt a new relationship even though it had been a year since I had gotten out of my marriage (I wasn’t divorced. Divorce takes a long time. Yes, I am an adulteress).

The other reason is, I wanted to explore and understand sex and I wanted to be free to do that with multiple people. Getting into a monogamous relationship would inhibit that. I was up front with Danny from the beginning. But it seemed he didn’t really hear me, as is often true. To my credit, when he started calling me his girlfriend, told me he loved me, and started to exhibit some ownership tendencies I, as kindly as possible, put a stop to it. We drifted away, there wasn’t much heartbreak. It was more his choice than mine as he couldn’t handle the criteria.

Which led me to talk to more people on OKCupid. So many men...like a candy shop!

And I had me some fierce cravings and desire to try it all.

Remember the questions I had at the onset of this journey?

What kind of sex?

With who?

How did I find someone?

Would anyone even want to have sex with me?

What about safety?

What about after?

What kind of experiences could I have?

I had answered the ‘How did I find someone?’ The internet is a convenient and wonderful tool. As well as the answer to ‘Would anyone even want to have sex with me?’

Yes… duh.

I was bold and hungry and had discovered something my friend/colleague (the one who got me started on OKC) called “The power of the pussy.”

If you’re offering, it’s not hard to find someone who wants it. I have discovered that this power is something that most women on the planet know they have. Most are taught about it by other women, sometimes even their own mothers--or their sisters to say the least. But, if you live and learn in a culture that limits sex and treats it as a sacred or shameful thing (two sides of the same coin) then no one tells you about it, let alone teaches you about it.

I won’t bore you with the naughty details. Except to put the scope of my endeavour into perspective, because I find it somewhat remarkable.

I hit it, and hit it hard, for about six months.

If I only had one new partner a week... it was a slow week.

I learned a LOT! About sex, and men, and myself in connection to men and sex.

My experiences ran the gamut; from assault to group sex.

Yes, I was sexually assaulted.

I am not unique in that either.

I joined the sisterhood (one in five women) of those who have been sexually assaulted a few months into my journey.

It’s not a surprise.

Having lots of sex with men you meet online has many risks, assault being one of them.

Sadly, I learned from that experience too.

It is one of those things that I had to have explained to me. I didn’t know how to understand what had happened to me or how I should deal with the reality and feelings of it.

Because I showed up as a consenting person, things were muddy.

It started out different than I had experienced before, a bit more aggressive.

But it was exciting, so I went along with it because, remember, I wanted sex.

Then in the middle, things escalated, changed.

It became rough and violent to where I was afraid and wanted it to stop.

I remember clearly saying, “Stop. I don’t want this, I don’t like that.”

…to no avail. I stumbled from this man’s apartment late that night and somehow made the 90 minute drive home without getting in an accident, though I don’t remember much of that late night drive.

In my confusion, the next day, I went to my militant feminist friend and she clarified the reality of the assault for me and as well as identifying the rape victim’s behavior I also exhibited; that of almost leaving your body, disassociation, while waiting for it to end.

I’m not writing about this because I want pity or anything akin to special recognition. Again, I am not unique.

I am including this because it connects to shame.

I said in the last post after I spent the day in bed with Danny that there was something inconspicuously missing, shame.

I did not feel bad about what I had done. Quite the contrary, I felt great!

And that is fairly incredible considering my Mormon programming.

I had sex with many men before my assault.

And after each encounter, I still felt no shame.

But after my assault, I did…deep despairing shame.

Because I thought it was my fault.

This is what sexual assault does to victims. It suggests that because you were in a certain place, dressed a certain way, drinking perhaps too much alcohol, consenting to casual sex with someone you barely knew, that somehow it meant that the assault was your fault. That you had done something to bring this violence upon yourself.

There is shame attached to that.

But, sexual assault is never the fault of the victim.

And the shame felt by a rape victim is misplaced at the very least, and downright criminal at the most.

To take the blame for something you did not do, is a dishonesty of self.

It is the deepest wronging of a personal nature.

It is also very Mormon.

For the easiest thing in the world, is to blame yourself for everything that goes wrong in your life, ask God for forgiveness, lay the burden at his feet, and move on clean. Except, you can’t. Because it wasn’t your fault to begin with.

While it is true I learned to be more careful from that experience, I also learned that Mormonism had made me take the blame for things that were not my fault and apologize for myself at every turn.

I try really hard to fight that impulse… every day.

Did I stop having sex after the assault?

Not at all, after my bruises healed, I continued my exploration.

I was not as traumatized as some because I had experienced worse; the psychological and mental abuse I suffered at the hands of my husband for over twenty five years.

The violence of a single experience cannot compete with that.

So what are my conclusions?

What does sex mean to my life and my identity?

What did I learn from this exploration?

I learned about physical, mental, and emotional connection.

I learned that these intimacies can exist in different combinations as well as independently of each other. And that it is okay for me to want sex in those different combinations.

I learned that people are not perfect, and their struggles and imperfections are not my fault, just as my baggage is not theirs.

I learned that attraction and beauty wear so many different faces.

I learned how to release myself from inhibition and let go to fully experience all the moment had to offer, and then take it even further.

I learned that my mother was right… somewhat.

SEX is wonderful!

Sex is FUN!

Sex IS something to be shared.

But, sorry Mom, it is much MORE of all of those things when you diversify and explore.

Your baby girl is a SLUT, and proud to be.

As a mother, I hope my own children embrace their inner sluts, and I have indeed taken one of them shopping to that funfactory of adult toy stores.

Bottom line, I LOVE SEX!

It is a SERIOUS physiological need I have (Maslow you are correct).

More than that, I WANT IT!

And as a autonomous woman realizing her own power, with respect and consent,

I will find ways and people to enjoy and fill that desire, as well as continue to explore and expand my sexual horizons.

I will revel in pleasure...

...without shame.

-Angela

[vmheadquarters]

Twelve years ago today, UPN (RIP!) premiered a cult-classic neo-noir about murder, class warfare, sexual assault, and forbidden love. It was quippy and campy and smart as hell—and it just happened to center on a pint-sized blonde who looked like a cheerleader but thought like Sherlock Holmes. The show was Veronica Mars, and even if the last decade has muddled its legacy with a much-hyped but ultimately disappointing fan-funded follow-up film and, of course, the extremely meh third season, the high school years remain an unparalleled success. Veronica Mars seasons one and two were better than anything that had come before, far surpassed its competition in quality, and set a high bar for future shows that has only barely been met by a few episodes of television here and there. So give my regards to Friday Night Lights (a family show, not a teen show) and Degrassi (please), but Veronica Mars is the best teen show of all time*. 

1. Nuanced Class Conflict

Gossip Girl and The OC did it well, but Veronica Mars did it better. Even though Neptune, CA, is technically fictional, it's as real a place as has ever been portrayed on television. Its particular problems and reputation informed everything from law enforcement (the question of whether or not to incorporate the town into a city and make the sheriff's office into a police department) to the biker gangs riding through on their way up and down the PCH. The levels of privilege/lack thereof were so nuanced and specific. Other shows divide people into the Haves and the Have Nots; on Veronica Mars, everyone has something a little different. At the bottom of the socioeconomic ladder is Weevil, whose background is not only impoverished but criminal; the only community he can "afford" is a gang (though his crew isn't all bad—you'll find nary a broad stroke or generalization in the world of Veronica Mars). In the center of things are Veronica and Keith, who lived comfortably when Keith was sheriff, but have buckled their belts since he became a private eye. On the one hand, they own a small business! On the other, they live in a pretty crap apartment complex and have nowhere near enough saved to send Veronica to college. Then there's the nouveau-riche Echolls', who have all the glamorous trappings of wealth (cars, booze, mansion) and pretty much none of the cultural capital. At the top of the heap are the Kanes; while the Echolls' have enough money to "get away" with murder, the Kanes have enough money to get away with it, cover it up, frame someone else for it, and get the sheriff fired for looking into it. Money problems are basically the least-juicy of TV plots, but by using wealth disparity as a way to develop the characters, essentially building it into the DNA of the show, Veronica Mars created a TV universe just as interesting and complicated as that of Friday Night Lights or Parks and Recreation.

2. Lianne Mars

A girl with a missing mom is a fairy tale trope as old as time, rooted in a deification-of-the-female version of misogyny that I don't have time to get into right now. Suffice it to say, a dead or absentee mother is usually a sign of lazy writing. It's a way to reduce the character count and set a heroine adrift while, not coincidentally, making it so the (usually male) writer doesn't have to think of what a grown woman would think or talk or act like. At first, this is the fate of Veronica's mother, Lianne Mars. She was just conveniently...gone, another casualty of the fallout from the Lilly Kane murder investigation. Her absence lets Veronica be angsty and ill-supervised even as Keith Mars entered the canon of Bestest TV Dads of All Time (which he is! Love Keith forever and ever). But then she came back, with baggage, and the trope was, if not redeemed, at least put to good use. Lianne is an alcoholic who couldn't deal with the disappointing turns life took, and she finally cracked when her husband ran directly into conflict with her lost love Jake Kane, for whom she still pined. Even when she decides she wants to be a mom again, she can't quit being an alcoholic. And as heartbreaking as it is to watch Veronica play the parent, it's also a moment of growth. Veronica realizes—or rather, decides—that she isn't doomed to repeat her mother's mistakes. She is a stronger, better person than Lianne. A person big enough to love her flawed mother, even strong enough to forgive her. In the third episode, Veronica says, "The hero is the one that stays, and the villain is the one that splits." By the end of the series, Veronica has learned what true villainy looks like, and it ain't her mom. Showrunners, take note: This is how you do a realistic redemption story.

3. The Guest Stars and Bit Players

The casting department at Veronica Mars did flawless work. Obviously, the core cast is great, but the semi-regulars and guests are also amazing. There's an entire season devoted to Steve fucking Guttenberg. Lisa Rinna and Harry Hamlin play the negaverse versions of themselves. Ryan Hansen and Ken Marino do their Ryan Hansen/Ken Marino Shtick, and why shouldn't they? Max Greenfield (a.k.a. Schmidt on New Girl) and Tessa Thompson (from Dear White People and Creed) both had recurring roles long before they were famous, and even Tina Majorino (Mac) and Michael Muhney (Lamb), who didn't really "break out" in a major way after the show, are perfect in their roles. The second (SECOND) IMDb credit for one Jessica Chastain is an episode of Veronica Mars, and of course, Leighton Meester appears in two episodes. Yes, there are other teen shows that feature young actors who went on to bigger, better things, but I maintain that Veronica Mars is notable for encouraging real actors to do real work.

4. The Mysteries Were Smart AF

The show trusted its audience to keep up and pay attention. Maybe even a little too much. In the era before binge-watching and old episodes being able on demand, Veronica Mars suffered from the same issue that plagues the first few seasons of The X Files: Viewers who weren't "caught up" on the season-long mystery arc found it difficult to get into. VM had low ratings throughout its run, and when it used the shift from high school to college to introduce shorter, quicker mysteries, well, we all know how season three went. But looking back, it's clear that the show was ahead of its time, telling smart, twist-y weekly stories while teasing out a longer mystery that deeply impacted the main characters' lives. (Can't you just imagine how they'd advertise the show now? Moody teaser trailers with the tag line "Who Killed Lilly Kane?" and fansites and podcasts devoted to all the clues and hints and easter eggs from every episode?) There are other teen mystery/crime-fighter shows, sure, but they tend to put their characters in immediate peril, which makes the audience ask, "What's going to happen?" Instead, Veronica Mars is an intellectual exercise, evidence and theory based, and the question becomes, "What has already happened, and what does it mean?" That's the kind of meaty writing that inspires, if not legions of fans, a loyal audience to sing its praises. Veronica Mars was so smart it was niche. I'm not making a case for VM as overlooked prestige television, but then again I totally am. WHY didn't it win any Emmys?

5. They Didn't Explain Every Little Thing

See: above "trusting the audience smartness" factor. They didn't explain why sleeping with a "consenting" teenager is still wrong, or why Logan and Veronica went from adversaries to lovers in the space of like, a week, or why money equals power. They got that the audience got it. So, the exact opposite of a show like, say, Secret Life of the American Teenager. There were episodes that touched on privilege and entitlement and infidelity and the abuse of power by law enforcement, but it was subtle and real instead of, you know...Degrassi.

6. The Humor

It wasn't dark and humorous, it was darkly humorous and humorously dark. (Think combining the creepy weirdness of Twin Peaks with the banter of Moonlighting.) Logan's poignant answering machine messages, Veronica's epic takedowns, even Lamb got to be withering and snarky while he systematically fucked over the whole town.The humor kept us invested even when stories dipped into sentimental, Dawson's Creek-esque territory and deflected the romance-y moments that might have turned it into a mystery-style Felicity. Veronica's and Logan's jokes, in particular, also serve a psychological purpose: mask their pain at any cost. Unlike in Gilmore Girls, where every character speaks like a hyper-intelligent stand-up comic and not at all like a teenager or real human being, Veronica and the residents of Neptune make comments that feel true to their characters and relevant to their circumstances. If you watched any episode of Scream Queens and thought, "I guess they're trying to imitate...Scream? Heathers? Clueless? With the smart/bitchy blondes and the snappy comebacks and the eye rolls?" I understand. But actually, they were trying (and failing. Hard.) to do Veronica Mars. Smart sassy cute mean heart of gold flirty clever repartee? Yeah, that's Veronica Mars, and Ryan Murphy, bless his soul, is not Rob Thomas.

7. The Rape Plot(s)

From the very first episode when, in a flashback, golden-haired, white dress-clad Veronica walks, almost in a stupor (have you ever seen a more "perfect" victim?) into the sheriff's office to tell Lamb that she was raped—because she is a good girl and good girls go to the authorities—only to have him, basically, shrug it off, rape and sexual assault were core themes of the show, central to its purpose and story engine. Creator Rob Thomas initially envisioned the story as a YA novel with a male protagonist, and changing the lead's gender to female is arguably the best and most important decision he ever made. Veronica's sexuality is everything. How she flirts her way out of scrapes, plays innocent when it can help her, distrusts it when she's attracted to the "wrong" person, is allowed to enjoy it with Logan and, of course, how her virginity was taken from her one night she can't quite remember. The show takes Veronica's rape seriously as not just a plot point or easy motivation, but as a defining part of her character. She cleans obsessively and looks over her shoulder. She's sensitive to the potential aggressors—and victims—at her school. She knows that her rapist was someone she knew, and she has to live with that mystery every day. But it's complicated. That night she can't remember might have been semi-consensual, but then we learn, no it wasn't. Yes, there's a story about a false rape accusation (against Adam Scott!), but the truth only makes the situation murkier. And in an unfortunately rare move, Veronica Mars also depicts the aftermath of the sexual abuse of boys, including an exploration of how the stigma against male assault survivors re-traumatizes them. (The third season is, in my opinion, a missed opportunity to tackle the campus rape epidemic. By blaming the rapes on a psychological experiment gone awry, the show unfortunately ignores the fact that toxic masculinity isn't a role-playing aberration but a pervasive national issue. But its heart is in the right place, if not its logic.)

8. Veronica

Choker-wearing, dog-owning, private-detectiving blonde badass Veronica Mars. She's most often compared to Buffy, that other crime-fighting cutie with a ragtag army of friends and a ne'er do well love interest, and the comparison is apt. Both possess skills their peers do not and use those skills to solve problems both thrust upon them and sought. But the difference is that in the space that Buffy uses to explore the supernatural, Veronica Mars plays with loyalty and ethics. Is it wrong to snitch on your friends? Is a rumor evidence? Can you break the law to serve a higher good? These are issues Buffy doesn't wrestle with; it's pretty much a given that evil vampires are worth defeating (yes, there are definitely instances when Buffy is tested because she's fallen for a vamp or one of her friends is possessed or whatever, but that's not like, the thing of the show). And while so many other "outsider/observer/new kid" teen show protagonists (Ryan, Dan, Dawson, Lindsay Weir) long to get "in," Veronica's been there. She's been popular, and (a little) wealthy. She's not exploring a new world, she's re-learning her old one. In that she has more in common with Angela Chase, but way less whiny. You watch My So-Called Life and think, I'm totally Angela. You watch VMand think, I wish I were Veronica. When people talk about the strong but vulnerable but smart but flawed but cool but real but beautiful but relatable but empowered but conflicted but modern but iconic but a good role model but not unattainable with a job not defined by that job "interesting" female characters on television, a few names tend to come up again and again: Carrie, Murphy, Ally, Roseanne, Olivia, Dana. To that (very white!) pantheon I humbly submit: Veronica.

*....except for Freaks and Geeks.

[dearophelia]

this one’s for the torn down, the experts at the fall

come on friends, get up now, you’re not alone at all; or, one night in the intersection of Archangel and Victoria Ryder

PG, Garrus+Tori friendship, subtle Garrus/Olivia; warnings for not-remotely-researched medical stuff, and references to a past abusive relationship

"You still don't have a medic?" Victoria says as Monteague leads her into the supply closet Archangel and his crew have generously called their medbay.

Garrus looks over at her from the gurney, gingerly holding his arm very still against his chest. He's still in the bottom half of his armor, but the top half sits haphazardly - the left shoulder absolutely shattered - on the floor against the wall. "No."

She sighs and gives Monteague a subtle shove as she brushes past. Payback for interrupting the end of her date. "That's really dumb considering your line of work," she says, running her omnitool's medical scanner over his shoulder.

"I've noticed," he says, pain laced through his tight subharmonics.

Victoria closes the scanner and starts to wash her hands. "The bullet's still in there, and it's in pieces, but it missed anything important. It's gonna hurt, but you'll live. Might even have a nifty scar. Monteague, help him with his shirt and then get out."

Monteague crosses his arms. "Why?"

"Because I can't see what I'm doing if there's bloody fabric in the way." She dries her hands. It was a very good date.

Though he starts to help Garrus remove his shirt, and shortly changes his plan to one involving a pair of scissors, Monteague still eyes her. "Why am I leaving?"

"Because you're the approximate build of a brick wall, this room is half the size of an elevator shaft, and you broke into my apartment."

At that, Garrus stiffens and drags his gaze over to Monteague. "You two broke in?" he says with a tone of disappointment Victoria thinks could rival the one her father used.

"And interrupted a pretty good date," she adds. That's the more important bit.

"Loitering in the hallway would've looked suspicious," Monteague defends, tugging off the last piece of fabric and tossing it into the biohazard matter recycler.

Victoria sighs, exasperated, as she looks through the supply cabinet she set up for them after the fourth time Garrus called her over. "You guys have my contact code," she says, pulling out the tools and meds she'll need.

Garrus closes his eyes, takes a breath, and opens them again. "Fix whatever you broke, give her security system an upgrade, and the next time I tell you to get Ryder, call her and ask."

For a moment, Monteague looks like he's going to argue further - it was Sensat's idea, Sensat's back there fixing it already, Ryder wasn't answering, all arguments true but falling flat against breaking in - and he wisely chooses not to. "Got it, boss. You need me for anything else?" he directs the question at Victoria.

"Check on Penny, please. Tell her I'm going to be a while."

He nods, and then leaves.

"I'm sorry about that," Garrus says as soon as the door shuts completely.

Victoria shrugs and settles her omnispecs on her face, cycling through programs until she lands on the bioscanner with a magnifier. With a tap, it syncs to the gesture control on her omnitool, and she waves the HUD away. "I added a couple black market protocols the other week, Sensat probably enjoyed the challenge." She washes her hands again before snapping on a pair of gloves.

Garrus laughs quietly, grimacing a little around the edges of it. "Thanks for coming."

"Well, you're making my walk to the clinic safer, so. Hold still." Victoria slides a needle in under his shoulder plate to numb the area. It's a weird intersection she resides in these days - Mordin, Aria, Archangel. Galatana and its shiny clean floors, its steady bright lights, its total lack of gunfire and knife fights, all seems a lifetime ago. So does that house in Indiana, and the bouquet of daisies long rotted into the dirt. Her thirteen year-old self, sleepless from studying for entrance exams, daydreaming of Presidium hospitals and pristine white lab coats, wouldn't even recognize her. Sometimes that bothers her. Tonight it doesn't. She tosses the needle into the biohazard unit and then rests against the sink, giving the anesthetic a few moments to kick in. "Should I ask whose gun you got on the wrong end of?" 

"Minor red sand dealer," Garrus says. "He's dead now, and I know who his dealer is."

"One step at a time, right?" she says, and pokes his shoulder.

He makes an irritated noise and glares at her finger.

"Did you feel that?"

He blinks. "No."

"Good. Try not to move too much." Another wave, and the HUD returns. It takes a moment to register Garrus as turian, and then all the stats in the bottom corner roll out of red and into green, and the holographic display settles over him, highlighting veins and muscle and bone, and bullet fragments. She zooms in and starts to work.

They sit in silence for a while as Victoria digs tiny pieces of a nasty hollowpoint bullet from his shoulder. She'll have to tell Mordin and Aria there's a new arms dealer in town. Each piece lands in the metal bowl with a clink.

"So, what's their name?" she asks.

"Hm?" Garrus makes a confused sound.

"The ghost you're avoiding by setting up this little medic-less operation."

His head swivels around to stare at her. "You a therapist and a surgeon?"

"No," she says idly, "just able to recognize my own brand of damage." She recognized it that night in Afterlife, even through the pounding music and flashing lights. For his sake, she's glad he seems to have put aside the rampant alcoholism he was teetering toward that night. For her sake, she's glad he remembered she was a doctor and chose her to call at 3:45 in the morning when Vorash caught a knife to the gut five months ago. Garrus pays well.

Garrus narrows his eyes. "I thought your brand of damage was the bad day," he gestures with his uninjured arm at her eye, thankfully long healed.

"I have multiple brands of damage," she says with a wry smile and gently nudges him to turn back around so she can work. "So what's their name?" she repeats.

He sighs and his rigid posture slouches a little, but not in relaxation. Defeat, maybe. "Shepard." It sounds rusty in his mouth, rough, sticking to his throat with disuse.

Victoria isn't a therapist, but she sure as hell knows pain when she hears it. And Garrus may have a hollowpoint bullet shattered in his shoulder, but she could be cleaning it out with no anesthetic and it wouldn't hurt nearly a fraction as much as Shepard does. She softens her voice. "And Shepard was...?"

"My CO. For a little while. She was," he pauses, "she was good. Really good."

A million different words he could've used, and Victoria's been around enough turians to hear what lies in the spaces in between. CO, mentor, friend. Something else, something different, something more. She doesn't call him on it, or push him to continue; they're edging a little closer toward friendship with each call, close enough she finally felt comfortable enough to ask, but they’re still dancing in that murky area between acquaintance and friend. "I'm sorry," she says.

A sad, broken noise comes from the back of his throat, and he catches it, tamps down on the broken bits, almost as soon as it happens. "She saved everyone's ass, and then they hung her out to dry. They - " he stops suddenly. His hand brushes against the armor storage compartment at his thigh. He pops it open, checks that something is still inside, and closes it again. "She died. And didn't have to. The Alliance wrote it off as another geth attack." 

The way he says geth tells Victoria exactly how highly he thinks of that particular cover story.

Her first year on Omega is a little slippery, events out of order or misremembered or not at all, but Victoria remembers the blow that cracked her skull, remembers Bray calling panicked on her omnitool, remembers hearing something from a newsstand about an Alliance ship's distress call one system over as she slid into one of Aria's skycars. Remembers a text from Mordin to be at the ready if the Alliance didn't come through the relay in the next three hours, remembers swiping it away before scrubbing in to save a krogan who'd half bled out on the floor already. 

"I'm sorry," she says again.

He nods, and she feels him pull himself back from the edge. No way in hell was Shepard just a CO.

"What's the name of your ghost?"

She drops one last fragment into the bowl. "Mom."

Silence for half a moment. "I'm sorry."

Victoria shrugs. "Omega's a great place to run away to," she muses, dodging any follow-up questions. "Tell me about her," she says after a moment.

"Who?"

"Shepard." At his stiffened shoulders, she continues. "I spent most of 2183 either in a cloud of depression so thick I couldn't see three feet in front of me, or getting the shit kicked out of me by some asshole I accidentally let into my life. I missed the attack on the Citadel and everything. Catch me up."

He shifts slightly, just enough to look over his shoulder without jostling her work. "Is this a tactic to help me ignore that your anesthetic is terrible and already wearing off?"

"Yep." She opens a suture kit.

He huffs, the smallest hint at laughter, but he starts talking. As she stitches him up, Garrus tells her about the Normandy. About Saren. About the short redhead woman who seemed to bend the universe by sheer force of will. About learning to drive a human-designed vehicle while she tried to set her own broken foot in the back, about making an idle comment about her height and getting absolutely smoked in headshots. "She was our field medic," he says, somewhere in between trying to remember the back half of a joke and telling her about the altercation with Saleon.

Victoria's long finished - he's bandaged up and she's cleaned up, even started the autoclave - and she crosses her arms. "Were you this bad at getting out of the way of bullets back then, too?" she smirks.

Sliding off the gurney, he tightens his mandibles, making a friendly irritated face at her.

Her smirk shifts into a smile, and she points at the bandage. "Leave that alone for 24 hours." She hands him a bottle of antibiotics. "One of these a day until you're done." A bottle of painkillers. "One every six hours for two days, then once a day as needed. I'll be back tomorrow to change the bandage, unless you have a medic by then,” the smile changes back into a smirk.

Garrus rolls his eyes, but takes both bottles from her. "Thank you."

Victoria nods. "You're welcome.” She pauses, and then decides maybe they’re closer to friendship than she’d been giving them credit for. “You're paying me pretty well, so I'm gonna throw this one in for free. It sounds like you and Shepard were really good friends. And I don't think she'd be too happy to see you in your shared afterlife of choice so soon. So even though I’m one bullet away from being able to get six months of super extended cable, try to duck a little more often, okay?"

Garrus laughs, a genuine honest laugh, and nods. "I'll try."

[ptsfreed]

Starting over

TW: mental abuse, physical abuse, narcissistic abuse, gaslighting

For years, I’ve kept a journal or blog.  I started when I was 5 when my mom bought me my first journal (it even had a lock and key).  As I got older, I transitioned to blogs.  I tried them all, Xanga, Tumblr, Blogspot.  Writing has always been cathartic for me, a way to process and heal.  I had gradually fallen out of the habit but I know that it’s time to start up again.  Last week, I actually made a booming return to paper/pencil journaling, but let’s get real--my hand hurts.  Typing is just so much faster.  Blogging it is.

I suppose I should start out with outlining my goals for what I’m planning to achieve with my return to writing.  I want to give myself the opportunity to slow down, process my emotions and experiences, and heal.  I like having the ability to have something physical to look back on, sort of like a barometer for intangible growth.  It’s hard to measure social-emotional learning otherwise.  

Here’s what I’m currently dealing with.  I’m 31, married, with two children.  I’m a full-time work-from-home-parent.  I am a moderate/severe special ed teacher for a virtual charter school.  My husband also works from home full-time in the entertainment industry, so it’s just us versus the kids all day.  My little ones are 3 and the other is just shy of one.  My husband and I became first-time homeowners right in the midst of the pandemic.  Then he was laid off.  For seven months.  We’re both educated with experience in our field.  Overnight, we went from a six-figure household to becoming eligible for food stamps.  This year, I marveled at how easily a job loss in a two-income household could turn that very same household eligible for welfare.

Depression ran high.  The booze flowed.  My PTSD symptoms went untreated as available therapy appointments became more scarce with the entire world enduring a collective trauma together. I watched my strong husband crumble.  I saw him cry and doubt himself for the first time ever.  I watched as a dark cloud seemed to envelop our household, ridden with fear for the future, uncertainty for the present.  We became expert budgeters.  We ate all the leftovers.  We helped each other to thrive with the most limited social interaction in our lives.  With the welcoming of our son, we compromised our social-distancing for family’s sake, with the promise that everyone in our pod would commit to limiting our social diets to strictly one-another.  It was hard...we love our families, but we dearly missed our friends.  Living two hours away from family in the first place, our local friends quickly became family.  But we adjusted.  Loneliness was preferable to falling ill to Covid--or worse, dying.  

At some point during the pandemic, my mom moved in with us after leaving her abusive 30-year relationship with my father.  Except, she never really left.  She maintained contact with him.  I knew it would be difficult for her.  I expected the separation to be hard, painful, and drawn-out.  What I didn’t expect was how severely living with my mom again after seven years would impact my mental health.  I could feel my anxiety levels rising.  My resentment steadily followed.  I didn’t want things to feel this way.  I was battling toddlerhood with a strong-willed, fiery, emotional kid with a penchant for hitting and also adjusting to life as a full-time working mom of two.  I felt the emotional toll of being there for everyone, compassion fatigue, though I hated to say it.  I felt like as a doting mother, good wife, caring teacher, and compassionate daughter I needed to do it.  But the toll it was taking on my body and mental health was unmistakable.  I cried, sometimes for no reason at all.  I snapped, I felt angry at small things.  My house looked like a tornado ran through it at all times.  Finding motivation to do things was like pulling teeth.  I gained weight, I hit the bottle almost nightly, though I typically limited myself to two drinks.  I told myself I deserved it.  Lots of people share a bottle every night with their significant other.  It’s not like it was impacting my ability to perform my job or care for my children.  Deep down, I still didn’t like it.  It felt like the only way to escape from the hell of quarantine and being broke.  I just wanted to see people.  Spend without immediately regretting it.  Yet here we were.

The year has been a challenge.  Ridden with strong toddler emotions and learning to navigate parenthood while actively trying to break the cycle of spanking and yelling to discipline.  I don’t always succeed and I hate myself each time I snap.  I run to my daughter, apologize and tell her that I was feeling overwhelmed, but that wasn’t okay.  It’s never okay to spank a bottom or yell because you want compliance.  If I can’t always be the perfect parent, then I can at least be one that is apologetic and not too proud to say sorry.  I want to teach accountability and remorse for one’s own actions.  At the very least, I can instill that.  That’s the silver lining of losing your cool, I guess.  But with these apologies and accepting accountability, it’s important that I also couple these sentiments with change.  It’s important that I do this in all aspects of my life, which is what I hope to achieve with writing.  I need to hold myself accountable and be able to look back at change.  I can do this.  I have done so much.  I have survived the pandemic.  I have created a family.  I have finished a bachelor’s and a master’s degree with little financial support.  I have paid my way out of debts.  I can do this.

1.  First and foremost, the reason I started writing again in the first place, I am done with binge drinking.  I feel pangs of doubt as I write this, afraid of my own capacity for caving to cravings and peer pressure.  As I experience those pangs, I can hear a silent voice in the back of my head telling me to push forward and cast that doubt aside.  I know I can do this.  Enough is enough.  My relationship with alcohol has never been healthy.  I began my drinking career in college surrounded by friends that made me feel home.  Drinking was fun, cool, part of the experience.  Pre-gaming was encourage and expected.  If pre-gaming meant you got drunk before the party, then the goal of the party was to get even more smashed.  I carried these habits into adulthood and still carry them with me today.  My last binge was Sunday and I’m not going to torment myself by recanting how bad it was yet again.  My goal isn’t to stop drinking entirely, just to have a healthier relationship with alcohol altogether.  Binging isn’t healthy.  The person I become when I drink isn’t healthy.  I can control this.  I can do this.

2.  I want to continue my journey into healthier eating and fitness habits.  As of today, this is the longest time I’ve ever seriously stuck with a weight loss goal.  I’ve lost 6 pounds since I began with mostly just-dieting.  The fitness part has been difficult to make time for, but I’m working on it.  I know that this goal is closely tied to goal #1.  If I can get in control of my diet, I can get in control of my drinking.  I am in charge.  I can take ownership of my health.  I can do this.

3.  I want to continue learning about my PTSD, my symptoms and how they have and continue to impact my life.  I want to continue learning about establishing healthy boundaries with people I love, my mom included, unfortunately.  I want to continue learning about narcissistic abuse, substance abuse, and how these factors have contributed to who I am as well as my entire family dynamic.  Growing up hispanic, it has been incredibly difficult to establish boundaries without being labeled as “too good”, “hateful” and “too angry”.  I have been told countless times by my own mother that I’m too angry and upset at my father who physically and mentally abused me and my entire family for as long as I can remember.  My dad has cheated on my mom and rejected me for over two decades.  I am sick and tired of being told to forgive my abuser because my boundaries make others feel uncomfortable.  What has been especially hard after actively working on myself for 3+ years is having my own family tell me that perhaps therapy isn’t suiting me because it’s made me “too angry” and that I’ve “lost my lust for life”.  They want to assume that my general sense of frustration is attributed to not talking to my dad, when in reality, freeing myself from that relationship has afforded me more peace than I ever could have fathomed.  Sure, there are difficult moments, but every time I think that maybe that relationship may be worth pursuing again, I am reminded of why I have established such rock-solid boundaries in the first place.  According to others though, this makes me too hateful.  Too angry.  “You’ve punished him enough”, they say.  As if this was ever about punishment and not about protecting myself and my children from narcissistic abuse in the first place.  They say this and accuse this anger of pouring into other aspects of my life, without ever once asking what’s really going on inside.  Not once has anybody asked how parenthood is going.  How I’m coping with the pandemic and the renewed sense of cautious freedom now that I am fully vaccinated and my husband is halfway vaccinated.  Not once has anybody thought to consider that maybe I’m not super woman, that I’m just human and that I too have moments of vulnerability that I irresponsibly cope with by binge drinking.  Instead, everybody says that the best course of action is to essentially “get over” my resentment and symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder brought on by the decades-long abuse I suffered at the hands of my own father.  The same hands that banged my head against a wall, beat me within an inch of my life, and then sent me to work at a cosmetics counter without a stitch of makeup and completely battered and bruised.  According to the armchair therapists in my life, it’s my job to let go of these feelings and now trust this same meth-addicted man with my children.  I need to trust in his capacity for change and honesty after 20+ years of lying and gaslighting.  I don’t want my boundaries to cost me the most important relationships in my life.  But at this point, I can’t do it anymore.  I am exhausted with explaining myself, for demanding respect and begging to have my story heard and considered.  My mom will continue to choose my dad over me.  She feels compelled to be his friend and the peacekeeper, still, even after attending therapy and working on herself.  I know that my dad is at the center of this, stirring the pot and causing a rift in my relationship with my mother because having me out of the picture will bring the two of them closer.  “See, she turned her back on you too”, I can hear him saying.  This is the loneliest I have ever felt in my life.  I have been told that by my parents my entire life that I am essentially dispensable.  “I don’t fucking need you”, my dad would say.  My mom would “intervene” by asking me what I did to make him so upset, and perhaps I should just “find somewhere else to live” if this was how I was going to act.  I hate feeling this way.  It hasn’t gotten easier as a 31 year old woman, but I can say that I am now able to see the situation much more objectively and with clarity.  This is why it’s important to keep attending therapy, working on my drinking, practicing mindfulness, and living my life with intention.  Wellness really does come full circle.  I can do this.  I can do this.  I can do this.

[type-a-nomad]

March 12+13

Mon. March 12 2018

My friend Sofia left this morning, which was sad.  Every Monday morning we have a huge volunteer meeting outside for about an hour.  Ever since Danni got here, they’ve been very entertaining.  She is very loud and outspoken in a way only northern British people are.  The light in our living room is green because there was no normal bulb to put in so we used the only one we could find.  At the meeting when Shannon asked if there were any things to call attention to in the houses Danni called out, without raising her hand: “can we change the green light in the living room, because I feel like I’m living in a crack den”.  I died laughing, but everyone else was silent because they thought it was kind of disrespectful.  If they're so offended by the comment, maybe have basic things around like non-green lightbulbs.  Danni isn't wrong, our living room looks straight out of Breaking Bad right now.  Currently, there are 70 volunteers on project.  I like some of the newbies but some are problematic.  Danni is not one to shy away from conflict and she got in a very loud argument with one of the new British girls who was snarky to her.  I can’t really describe the way she speaks, but when she’s upset her accent is so heavy that I can barely understand her, even with my strongest listening ears on.           I’ve been reading a lot this week and I have some quotes that I want to share and talk about from the two books I’ve been pouring through.  The first is apparently supposed to be a children’s book, but given the decline of the English language and education system in recent years, I doubt kids under 13 would be able to keep up with it.  It’s called A Little History of the World.  My dad got it for me when I was 7 and there’s a little note in the inside cover from him that was undiscovered until I got to South Africa.  Now, that book is one of the most important treasures I brought with me.  The quote goes “What I have always loved best about the history of the world is that it is true.  That all the extraordinary things we read were no less real than you and I are today.” It’s the opening line of one of the last chapters in the book and I think could be easily overlooked, but that idea is so profound to me and resonates deeply.  It is entirely true.  Sometimes I wonder what history books will say about our time now, what truths today will become stories later on.  What events now or changes are we overlooking that are, in hindsight, going to be looked at a time of great consequence.  We can guess.  We can point to wars and political shifts.  We can point to technology and the Age of Plastic that we have seemingly entered.  But the reality of it is, we don’t know until it is no longer reality.  Until we have experienced enough of the future to see what parts of the past actually made enough of an impact to be seen as relevant to the future situation.  My guess of how this period of time will be looked at is the paradox between the push for constant innovation and new technology, and the regression to the past with populism and tightening of social, racial, and cultural boundaries.  How we love new things and stuff, but we can’t tolerate new people and ideas.                     Another book I’ve been reading, quite slowly, was given to me by my therapist/life advisor Ariel.  Before I came here, she gave me a book of Billy Collins’s poetry, and a book by Pema Chödrön, called “When Things Fall Apart: Heart Advice for Difficult Times”.  It’s brilliant.  One of my favorite parts is that there is no fat or pretension.  None of it is trying to sound smart or important. It is straightforward and spiritual in the most honest way.  It is so realistic and profound at the same time that I spend several minutes with each sentence.  The entire book is written by a woman who has mastered the Buddhist mindset of acceptance, non-attachment, and nowness.  I am extremely far from that mindset, so some of the ideas can’t really resonate with my extremely preoccupied mind, but I hope I can learn to internalize them.  An example of some of the really valuable teachings in the book is: “Sticking with that uncertainty, getting the knack of relaxing in the midst of chaos, learning not to panic — this is the spiritual path.  Getting the knack of catching ourselves, of gently and compassionately catching ourselves, is the path of the warrior”.  This is so important.  The idea that gentleness and ability to choose the path of nonfiction, to sit without adjusting that strap that’s slipping off your shoulder, not scratching the mosquito bite, not smoking that cigarette the nicotine in your brain is begging for, sitting with the little parts of your brain that make your stomach tight and make you want to get up and walk around, that’s real strength.  That’s finding peace and self control and wisdom and really using it.  Indulging in action without really sitting with the decision of that action is a mindless and unconscious way to exist, really.  I want to fully exist in my being in the present.  To let my consciousness exist as fully in the now as I can.  To see the beauty in impermanence and not hold too tight to the metaphorical sand slipping through my hands into the bottom half of the hourglass.  Before you write off this entire paragraph as super hippie-dippy and hocus-pocus-y, really think about what it means.  How consciously are you living?  When’s the last time you weren't thinking about the future or the past for a full 10 minutes?  When’s the last time you didn't feel discomfort in acknowledging and releasing an impulse?  

Tues. March 13 2018

       Today was normal for me.  Tutoring was nice for the most part.  I’m on my period which is the worst when you need to work with kids.  My cramps were terrible and I felt so badly I didn't even go out to play with the kids during break.  Besides that, the morning was standard for me.  However, for about 20 volunteers today was quite turbulent.  There’s been a bit of drama down here in Cape Town.  To preface this story, we have rules of living for the volunteer program.  Sunday-Thursday we are not allowed to go out past 11pm and are not allowed to show up to project hungover or unrested.  The crucial part of all of those rules is the hangover part because in the townships there is a lot of alcohol abuse and so most of the kids associate the smell of alcohol with physical and emotional abuse from mom, dad, or other family members.  Thankfully, that rule hasn't been broken as far as anyone can tell.  However, a lot of volunteers go out and party and return quite late at night.  The hostel has security cameras for obvious security purposes and, until now, have never really been checked to the extent of my knowledge.            Last week, a lot of people missed curfew and were really loud about it, so it woke up the interns and they had to tell the managers.  At the morning meeting, the managers asked everyone who violated curfew to stand up.  About 6 people did.  I know that at least 15 people violated curfew and probably more at the property down the street, Dunbar, because they have no supervision and party a lot more than my house. Everyone who stood up had to spend their Friday washing the cars SAVE owns.  Fairly, they were annoyed everyone else didn't stand up.  One of them told Shannon it was unfair to enforce it only on the people honest enough to admit they broke the rules.  So, today, Shannon looked on the security cameras, which are positioned so you can see everyone’s face super clearly.  Tons of people were caught red handed and had lied about it because they didn't stand up.  Shannon was livid and posted part of the video of people coming in late to the group chat.  It was wild.  She’s generally a go-with-the-flow person who also gets things done.  But she brought the whip down. Everyone who lied wasn't allowed to go to project today and had to clean the entire hostel and then the other property that’s under construction, that we call 83, and organize the entire storage spaces.  It turned out to be pretty beneficial because last night there was a huge fire in Dunoon and because everyone lives in shacks so close together, over 500 people are displaced and homeless.  The extra hands from all the people in trouble meant SAVE could make lots of care-packages.  Three of the teachers at one of the schools we work at are homeless now.  I can’t imagine going through that.  Losing everything in one night.  On top of that, there’s no way they can just buy things again.  There’s no insurance (obviously) and most people live hand-to-mouth, so once you lose everything, that’s that.  It’s horrible.           I had rugby this afternoon which was interesting because I have no idea what rugby is and everyone kept telling me it’s basically american football without the pads.  Everyone lied.  It really isn't anything at all like american football, the balls just look similar.  It’s more similar to netball or basketball than football.  There weren't that many of us and the boys that did play we kind of had to corral into playing because everyone wanted to play soccer, which was a little sad, but we tried our best to make it fun.  Obviously, it was touch-rugby instead of tackle.  There was this one 11 year old boy on my team who was tiny.  He was clearly malnourished and not growing like the other boys.  His name was Melvin.  I noticed that he had some kind of burn on his hands, but he was wearing a long sleeve shirt and a sweater over it because it was a bit chilly today, so I couldn't really tell what it was.            When we took a water break, one of the boys came up to me and told me that Melvin had horrible burns over his arms and down his back from boiling water, and that we should only touch his legs during the game.  I took and distributed the information and we kept playing, but it was so troubling to think about.  The burn was clearly severe, as far as I could see.  His skin was entirely discolored in the surrounding are and I noticed there was a similar shaped scar from an incident on his other hand, but it looked like something that had happened maybe even years ago.  My immediate thought was that it was domestic abuse.  It is not far from the range of possibility for a parent to pour boiling water on their child out of anger or as a punishment.  After rugby, I went straight to Shannon to tell her about what I saw.  She already knew. She said two weeks ago Melvin had an accident at home and it was an accident.  She said that the families live in such close quarters, these incidents aren't as uncommon as they may seem.  Moreover, he had to go to the hospital for 2 days because they were 2nd degree burns and was out of school for a week.  For some reason, this doesn’t sit right with me.  How does that much boiling water go on just his back and arms?  I can’t really imagine a situation where an entire pot of boiling water accidentally falls on a child without that child getting at least somewhat out of the way.  Further, what about the similar scar on the other hand? Was this a repeated incident?          At the end of the day, even if it is abuse, there’s nothing I can do and that’s extremely upsetting.  All I can ensure is that the kids feel safe and happy when they're with me, but when our time is up, I have to send them back to potentially dangerous situations.  That’s so heartbreaking to me. These kids are so normal at the project and just happy to be there.  They come from entirely different backgrounds and situations than kids who are friends with my own brother in California, and yet they act so similarly and are really just as much of a kid as anybody growing up in a first world country.  The hardship they experience seems so incredibly undeserved I just want to swoop them up in my arms and save them from any hurt in their lives.  They’re just kids and I wish they had the room to live that way without thinking about it.  Around 12 is when that shift towards hardness really takes place and I’m making it my duty lead with love and kindness to delay that hardening of their youth as much as possible.  

- Q

[novakidds]

(an addition from my girlfriend with experiences like the op:)

Little sister was a total sweetheart who loved Disney channel stuff, and kids' stuff. She wanted to do books for kids and maybe perform some day, memorized some lines to try acting. She was always a little left behind by peers and teachers, but she seemed to have a light in her that kept her going. She even started college and was working two jobs, one at the college and one at a movie theater (to be close to her interests). Suddenly, she started studying to become a nurse, starting keep close tabs on her wallet. Another employee was harrassing her openly. This man would become her boyfriend and rapist, a twice DUI'ed bottom feeder, alcoholic, and on parole. She had his kid after a Christmas "party" where he only invited her and his family kept hush and set it up for him to rape her. other men gained interest at her workplace. The man she ended up marrying? A guy with a kid already who was divorced for being physically abusive who spun up a sob story about how much he loved his son and wished he had full custody. Enough cheap dates with this guy and he managed to somewhat catfish her into marriage (surprise! He was still physically abusive), and ended up pregnant again. All her cool gadgets and doodads and other interests faded. The girl who brazenly wore minion crocs and was generous and kind ended up pregnant again and with little to no interests at all, other than "joking" about how much she hates her husband.

Best friend of 12 years since 1st grade was a sociable and talented Libra. She had a bisexual phase, claiming to be open to female partners but her standards were far too high and different for women. Needless to say, she only dated one man- After getting her first job at walmart, some coworkers invited her to a party where she sucked some greasy redneck dick and wouldn't shut up about it. She stayed with him, a man about a decade older than her with a son from a previous girlfriend that he wasn't allowed to be around, and lived in a trailer with his dad and three dogs. She moved in with him first opportunity while he hoped her Parkinson's afflicted adopted mom would die sooner so he could be in her house (she was okay with her but didn't want that layabout boyfriend around because "He changes you". I miss that woman, she was like my own mom). He knocked her up a few times, stressed her so hard she lost the baby, and gave her a disease, but she still wouldn't allow anyone to "bad mouth" him. She would only talk about him. She wanted to be a tattoo artist! She drew the entire promotional poster of Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland Mad Hatter from memory! And it was incredible, and hung up on her wall with so many other things. She was learning Spanish (because she was latina, and now is only that physically and won't call herself that "outside of the bedroom" which is gross), she had dreams and a lifespark! With this man, she lost all of that and agained a smoking and drinking habit, was only allowed to be interested in him, no methods of contacting her, lost a lot of weight, started wearing makeup, and finally, gave birth to a girl. He immediately got creepy, posing with the girl baby possessively in photo shoots he couldn't afford, and they play family on facebook. Fully colonized.

Tarja Turunen, one of the best women in metal, gave up everything for Marcelo Cabuli, a rotten troublemaker who ruined her career and personality, and future prospects. Bjork had always been a little dick crazed and pandering. Grimes was wonderful and creative before Elon Musk made her just another indie girl trying to be special. So many female friendships ruined by boyfriends and marriage due to a lack of class consciousness. What the hell happens to women that makes them act like this? I need an answer more specific than patriarchy.

one of my best friends in high school was a very loud and proud “lesbian” for 3 years and then senior year she got one shitty trash ass cheating bf and then would not shut up about sucking dick/how she could “never go back to pussy after having a dick in her” no matter how many times I said I didn’t want to hear it and now last time I saw her she lives with her new bf who keeps a gun in the house even though she tells him she’s not comfortable with it and cleans up his vomit after every drunken night out and spends 75% of every conversation taking about him no matter what the topic and making the most convoluted excuses for his gross behavior bc he’s so “cute and helpless” without her like wow talk about a nosedive into handmaidenism

[midnightartemis]

Invisible Stars: Chapter One

Chapters: 28/? Fandom: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Ben Solo, Finn/Rose Tico, Poe Dameron/Rey, Poe Dameron/Finn, Poe Dameron/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren Characters: Rey (Star Wars), Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Ben Solo, Finn (Star Wars), Poe Dameron, Rose Tico, Leia Organa, Han Solo, Luke Skywalker, Maz Kanata, Larma D'Acy, Amilyn Holdo, Snoke (Star Wars), Boba Fett, Bossk (Star Wars), Armitage Hux, Chewbacca (Star Wars), Arashell Sar Additional Tags: Mentions of Suicide, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Abuse, Drug Use, Suicide Attempt, Star-crossed, Dreams, Alternate Universe - High School, High School, School Dances, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Teen Angst, Foster Care, Forbidden Love, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Near Death Experiences, Multiverse, Reincarnation, Attempted Sexual Assault, Assault, Graphic Description, teenage romance, Teenage Drama, Horny Teenagers, Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending

Chapter One

The call came suddenly like it always did. A new home. A new foster parent. A new school. At least this time I would be starting right at the beginning of the year. That was easier. I could work with that. I only hoped that this one would last.

I had my small bag of things packed within five minutes and I sat waiting anxiously on the edge of my government-issued co-housing bed. I wondered what shitty luck the universe had decided to drop on me this time.

It wasn’t that I was a bad kid. I tried to keep my head low, my grades high… it’s just that I usually got the short stick when it came to foster parents. The bad eggs. The abusers who somehow slipped through the cracks of the shitshow that is the United States child protective services.

It had become some sort of sick game for me. I move into a new home and it’s okay for a few days, weeks even. Then the abuse would start and I would start gathering evidence. When I had enough I’d wait until a particularly bad day to call the cops, drop the evidence, and get their licenses revoked.

I was a survivor. I could take the punches, the days without food, the yelling, and everything in between, but others couldn’t.

I check my watch and grab my bag. Time to go. My caseworker and house mom are waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs. My caseworker is a tall, skinny woman with white-blond hair and a kind face. She tried her best, she really did. It wasn’t her fault I always found the worst homes. My house mom, known affectionately as Aunt Z, was much the opposite, short, large, and with a permanent scowl on her face. I also couldn’t blame her for that. She had to deal with all the girls who came through. I had only known her for two months, but that was long enough to know that she had a big heart. My heart hurts a little at the thought of leaving her, but I had very little control over where they sent me. Miss Holdo, my caseworker, breaks into a huge grin at the sight of me. “Miss Niima! All ready to go?”

I nod. It wasn’t like I had much of a choice.

“Girls,” Aunt Z barks. “Get in here and say goodbye to Rey.”

I bite my lip. I didn’t want a big send-off. I hardly knew most of the girl’s names. I only ever talked to most of them at group therapy sessions. It was better to not get attached. One by one, they trailed in. There were six of us in total. Most of them mumbled a goodbye and slunk back out of the room, but Ara raced up to hug me with tears in her eyes. She was the youngest of the group and had grown attached to me over the course of the summer. I hugged her back.

“It’s okay. I’ll make sure to text you and visit if I can.” She sniffled back her tears and I ruffled her red hair.

“Alright, time's a-wastin. On with you.” Aunt Z grumbled but affectionately patted my shoulder. It was her version of a hug.

Miss Holdo smiled and I followed her out the door, chatting as we walked to the car. “I think I found a good one, Rey.” Her eyes were a little guilty. “We’ve had really good success with her in the past. She only takes cases like yours and as soon as she saw your profile, she called me to ask about you.”

Great. I tried to hold back that flicker of hope in my subconscious. I had gotten my hopes up before and, yet, here I was again. I got in the passenger seat of Miss Holdo’s car and immediately took a piece of gum from the container on her dashboard. She started the car and I buckled up. She handed me the AUX cord as she always did.

I plugged the cord into my beat-up iPhone and started scrolling through my songs. Hozier sounded good. “Where are we headed?”

“Not far, just an hour. Republic.”

Republic. I had never been. New school. New people. New everything, then. Okay. “And this foster mom?”

“Unmarried. A bit older, in her fifties. She seemed very nice and very interested in you. She runs a tavern on the northeast side of town by the river.”

I frown. “Is she going to make me work there?”

“No. She told me that she likes to keep her work separate from her home life, especially when there is alcohol involved. She let me check her cupboards. There’s not a drop of alcohol in that house, Rey.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. “Okay.”

“I did a super thorough inspection. Even called her previous cases. They all stayed with her until they came of age. I really think this could be a good fit for you, Rey.”

In other words- don’t fuck it up. All I wanted was to put my head down and get through junior year in peace. “If you say so.”

We drive in silence. I look out the window watching the town of Jakku, Vermont slide away into the past. Holdo is bobbling along to the music and I close my eyes, soaking it in.

It’s late afternoon when Republic appears in front of us. Worn down houses and trailer parks line the streets of the southside. There are sketchy gas stations and abandoned storefronts. People sit on their porches and stand on corners, their eyes watching Holdo’s sleek black car as we drive past. I’m waiting for her to put her blinker on and turn off the main road towards one of the broken-down houses or parks, but she keeps going. The cracked sidewalks get a little nicer, the storefronts, less abandoned. We pass through two stoplights and then we’re crossing over a river and a trainyard. This side of the river, the houses are nicer, many of them newly renovated. We pass through a downtown shopping area filled with little boutiques, an ice cream shop, an old fashioned movie theater, a coffee shop. It’s quaint, perfect. “I think you missed your turn.”

Miss Holdo laughs. “Nope.”

Shit. Well, okay. I’d dealt with rich fosters before. It didn’t end well for them. Let’s just say that the dad was a little too hands-on. The anxiety is back in my chest. I worry my lip between my teeth. The downtown area slowly morphs into old historic houses and residential housing.

“I want to show you your new school first.” She seems much too excited. We keep driving until the historic houses have turned into rows of newer developments and gated communities. She takes a turn and we pull into the parking lot of a huge tan building. New Republic High School is marked on the side in large silver block letters. The front is filled with huge windows and the inside looks incredibly new and clean with white walls and wide stairs and solid oak doors leading to classrooms and offices.

I raise my eyebrows and Miss Holdo chuckles at my shocked look. “I know. It’s huge. Some of the best teachers in the state work here. They were very impressed with your transcripts, especially with everything you’ve been through. They still want you to take some placement tests, but they’re excited to have you.”

“Oh, okay.” I think I’m in shock, just a little bit. It all seemed too good to be true. Everything was completely different from the shitty schools in Jakku.

“Oh, shoot. We better go, I don’t want you to be late to meet her.” Holdo sped us out of the parking lot and back towards town. We pass by the new developments and into the historic district. We turn down a tree-lined road filled with huge Victorian, Colonial, and 1920s style houses. Everything seems picturesque, each lawn trimmed and cared for, the vines perfectly placed. Holdo slows and we pull up in front of a tiny 1920s bungalow. I breathe a little sigh of relief that it’s not one of the giant houses that flank either side. There’s a huge, old oak tree out front, a little brick path leads to the steps of the porch. There’s a light on. A white swinging bench is hung from the porch roof. The siding is painted almost a teal, seafoam green-blue with white trim. Flowers line the house and there’s a seashell wind chime hanging from the porch. My nerves make my stomach twist.

Holdo turns off the car and we get out. She grabs her bag of paperwork and we start up the path. I’m holding my breath as we climb the stairs of the porch and Miss Holdo knocks on the door.

“Oh! One second, one second! I’m here.” The door swings open and I look down at the smallest woman I think I’ve ever seen. She can’t be more than four-six, four-seven. I tower over her at five-eight. Her eyes are huge behind her round, black, thick-framed glasses. Her grey hair is coiffed perfectly and she’s dressed like she’s been working in the garden all day. I smile. She opens her screen door and beckons us in. “Come in, please. I hope you’re hungry. I made burgers on the grill. It’s such a nice day out and I couldn’t resist. Oh, where are my manners? You must be Rey. I’m Maz. Maz Kanata. I would prefer Maz over Mrs. Kanata, but,” she clicks her tongue. “I’ll also take ma.”

I’m completely overwhelmed. I glance at Miss Holdo and she shrugs. The door opens straight into the living room which is filled with an eclectic assortment of chairs and a couch. Art hangs on almost every surface and there’s a small TV over the fireplace. It’s warm and inviting if a bit chaotic. A set of stairs leads up to a second floor. We follow Maz through the living room and into a large kitchen. Everything seems like it was pulled out of a vintage magazine and cobbled together with love and color. There’s theory to the chaos. An archway leads to a dining room with a huge colorful table and none of the chairs match. A door in the kitchen leads to another porch outside. This one isn’t covered, but it overlooks the backyard. I can’t help but gasp at it. Stone paths circle raised garden beds. There are a hoop house and a pond and a bench beside a huge fir tree surrounded by flowerbeds. It’s beautiful. What the hell is happening?

There’s a table on the porch beside a grill and it’s been set for three. Maz hurries over. She’s awfully fast for an old woman. “Sit, sit. Please. I wasn’t sure if either of you were vegetarians, so I made some bean burgers that can make even a carnivore cry.”

I smile and take a seat. Shock. Yep. Definitely in shock. What’s the catch? Maz builds our burgers and piles our plates high with chips and fresh fruits and vegetables. She pours us a glass of lemonade each and finally, takes a seat. I hesitate, looking between Holdo and Maz, unsure of the protocol. Everyone was different. Maz's huge eyes glance at my plate. “Well, eat up, hun. You’re as skinny as a stick.”

I eagerly dig in and moan. It’s so good. “This is the best burger I’ve ever had.”

“Good. I’ll teach you how to make them. Now, business is best discussed over a good meal, let’s get on with all the legal mumbo-jumbo.” Maz winks at me and I giggle to myself. She was definitely different, like no foster I’d met before.

“Right.” Miss Holdo wipes her fingers on a napkin and pulls out my case file. It was far too thick and I glance at Maz, but she didn't seem fazed. Right. She would have seen it. “Miss Niima is to remain in your care for the foreseeable future. She will be taking classes at New Republic High, as we discussed. We will have weekly check-ins in person for the first two months. And if all parties are comfortable after those two months, we will move to bi-monthly check-ins until Miss Niima turns of age on October 13th, 2021, one year and two months from now. Miss Niima will also continue to go to group therapy sessions once a week with the local therapist. I believe you’ve already contacted him and gotten an introduction session set up?”

“Oh, yes.” Maz pulls a card out of her pocket. “Here’s the number and the date and time of the appointment.” She looks at me. “Wednesday afternoon, once you get out of school. But, we can schedule around any after school activities you want to take on.”

“After school activities?” My jaw drops. I’d never been given the opportunity.

“Oh yes, they have a billion different little groups and teams there. I’m sure you’ll find something.”

“Okay.” Holdo grins. “All I need for you to do is sign and Rey is in your care.”

I sign and then Maz signs. It didn’t take a lot for me to sign my life away. It was signed away a long time ago. This wouldn’t last, it never did.

“Now.” Maz folds her hands together. “I like to set down my expectations for you in front of your caseworker so that we can all be on the same page. If that’s okay?”

Again, not like I have much of a choice. I nod, curious to know. “Yeah. Yes.”

“School comes first. You can get a job if you want to, but you have to keep up your grades. Judging by your past transcripts though, that won’t be much of a problem, but I know that junior year comes with a lot of stress. I will make sure that you are safe, fed, and clothed. It’s up to you how you want to take my hospitality. I’ll hold you responsible for your actions, and breaking rules will have consequences. All the rules are posted on the fridge and you are welcome to discuss them with me at any time if you would like to amend them or add more. Okay?”

I nod.

“School night curfew is 10 pm. For every time you’re more than five minutes late, that curfew will be moved up by fifteen minutes. Weekends, we will start at 11 pm and go from there. There’s also a list of chores you’ll have to complete. They’re designed to help you become a self-sufficient adult. So, you’ll do your own laundry and clean your own room and dishes. You’ll also help me cook and work in the garden on the weekends. But,” Maz’s large eyes go very serious, and I still myself for the catch. “Above all, I want you to build relationships and trust. Trust goes both ways, Rey. You have mine, right now. From the start. If and when you have problems, I want you to be able to come to me. I will never call anyone on you as long as there’s no immediate harm to anyone. I’m on your side. And, I’m here for the long term. That means we work through our problems, together, okay?”

That was not the catch I was expecting. My heart is racing and I feel like I’m about to cry. It’s too good to be true. I guess I would believe her when I see it. “I- yeah… Okay.”

Maz smiles. “Good. School starts in the morning. I’ll be starting you off on a twenty-five dollar allowance. It should be enough for snacks at school and coffee with friends. If there are any other supplies you want, talk to me and I’ll see if I can get them for you. How’s that sound?”

“Okay. Twenty-five a month is more than I usually get, so-”

Maz chuckles. “No, sweetie. Twenty-five a week.”

My eyes go wide. “Oh.”

“I’ll be taking you to school and picking you up, but if you want to start learning to drive, I can make that happen. This is going to take a lot of communication, Rey. Probably a lot more than you’re comfortable with. But you can ask me any questions you want, okay?”

I nod, feeling overwhelmed.

“How are you feeling, Rey?” Miss Holdo looks over at me, a gleam in her eye.

“Ah… A little overwhelmed. I guess.”

“That’s perfectly normal. Should I let you get settled in?”

“Yeah.” I glance at Maz and she’s happily biting into her burger. She’s strange, but… I think I like her.

“You have my number, so don’t be afraid to call. I’ll see you Saturday morning at ten, okay?” Miss Holdo stands to leave and grabs her paperwork. “Thank you for the dinner, Maz.”

“Any time, hun. You should call more.” Maz raises her eyebrows.

“Sorry, Maz. I will. I promise.” Miss Holdo gives Maz a small hug and I’m left bewildered.

Maz sees my face and chuckles. “Long before she was your social worker, Rey, Amilyn was causing quite a bit of trouble for me.”

I suddenly understand Holdo’s certainty that I would be a good fit here. “You were in the system?”

Holdo nods. “Almost didn’t get out of it, if it wasn’t for Maz. She’s a good one, Rey. I promise. Just keep that nose out of trouble.”

“I don’t go looking for it,” I grumble. Holdo smiles and bids her goodbye. Maz gives a big old sigh and starts gathering plates. I automatically grab my plates and follow her into the kitchen.

“Just put the scraps in the compost bin and set your things on the counter. I’ll take care of it tonight. The rules are on the fridge if you want to read them over and sign them. We can discuss any of them that you want to.” Maz steps up on to a stool so that she can reach into the sink and starts running water for dishes.

I shyly make my way over to the fridge and read the list. It’s what she basically already told me plus a few extra notes about cleanliness and food. Anything not marked in the fridge is fair game. Shower regularly. Add necessities to the shopping list before Friday. All of it was already more room than I had ever been given in most households, that is beside the ones that didn’t give a shit. The last bullet just says- Respect is built. Love is given freely. Responsibility is learned. Trust goes both ways. Beside the rule list is a whiteboard daily chore chart. Weeding the garden is marked for Saturday and Sunday (subject to weather). Clean dishes and homework are marked every day. Sweep is marked every other day. Laundry and clean room are unmarked. The date of school starting and my therapy appointment is marked in red on a calendar. Despite the eclectic feel of her house, Maz seems incredibly organized. I pick up one of the markers stuck to the fridge and sign the rule list. I date it.

“All good?” Maz is waiting for me at the entrance to the living room. I nod and she gestures for me to follow her. I climb the stairs behind her and we end in a hallway. There’s a door in front of us, and another to my left and right. Maz gestures to the door in front of her. “My room. You need anything at any time and I’m in there you can knock .” She points to the door on my right. “That’s the office. There’s a computer in there that you can use to research, watch your Youtube videos. Though I think they give out laptops at that school now. I don’t know, I’m not the most technologically up today as the kids these days. I apologize in advance. There’s no cable and I can’t figure out the Apple TV doo-dangle-thing.” She points to a half-open door on the right side of the hall. “That’s your bathroom. I never go in there so, you’re responsible for telling me when shit breaks. I went out and got you some supplies, but if there’s anything else you need, let me know. Now…” Maz opens the final door on my left and flips on a light. She leads me into a simple room, painted cream and blue stripes. There’s a twin bed covered in a white comforter pressed against the wall, a wooden desk under the window, a dresser against the wall with a record player and a box of records, and an open door to a walk-in closet that looks like it’s filled with clothes. I can’t help but stop and stare.

“This is mine?” I set my one bag down at my feet.

“All yours, hun. You can arrange it and paint it how you want. Most of this stuff is leftover from previous girls. You can have whatever you want and anything else, I can put in storage. I think Jyn left a lot of her old clothes and you’re about her size.” Maz looked over the room. “Tomorrow, if you want, we can go shopping for any clothes you might need. Underwear. Bras. Whatever. Oh, and this is for you, for your first day.”

Maz picked a plain blue backpack up off the bed and handed it to me. I took it hesitantly and unzipped it. It was filled with notebooks and pens and pencils and even a calculator. Tears sting at my eyes. It’s too good. It’s too good to be true.

“Oh, hun. Can I give you a hug?”

I nod and her surprisingly strong arms wrap around me. I break and tears fall and I’m sobbing now. I didn’t deserve this. I didn’t deserve any of this.

[chanzicoup]

“Runaways” (Wonwoo x Reader Gang!AU) pt. 4

Count: 1.8k

Genre: Life on the run

Warning: Abusive Parents, Mentions of Drug and Alcohol abuse, fight scenes

Next Part

~Blake

"Care to join me?"Wonwoo's words had reached Mae's ears and the blood in her body immediately rushed to her cheeks. With one swift movement she was throwing a pillow at her half naked boyfriend who was now taking shelter behind a closed door where his giggles could still be heard. She mumbled a curse word under her breath and sat back down. Her skin returned to it's normal color and temperature before she reached for the trunk to retrieve her bag. She laid out her minimal belongings and packed it all in half of the dresser, leaving the rest of the room for Wonwoo. She was about to put the bag back as well but at the last moment she saw something fall from it out of the corner of her eye.The item is small and rectangular, clearly a bit crumbled from being in her bag through her journey away. She picks it up and turns it forward. It's the picture of her family in their finest attire. For some reason she did not know herself, Mae's eyes started watering and her hand covered her mouth.

What if her mother hadn't died? Would she have a father? Would she get along with her family despite probably going through the oh so glorious ritual of teenage angst? Would her mother support her and Wonwoo being an item? Wonwoo was a good man, and surely if Mae's mother had gotten to meet him then she'd love him and think he was a perfect match for her only daughter.Oh how she missed her mom.

Their time together being cut short had always been itching the back of Mae's skull. Restless night's wanting to waltz into her parent's room to ask for warm milk her mother has a secret ingredient that helped Mae sleep soundly, an ingredient that died with her. Many nights after her mother's funeral she'd still catch herself wanting that exact drink sleep in her parents bed, then remembering her mother was never coming back and that she can never get that again. Why her mother? The woman who cared the most for Mae. This was the only way Mae could remember her, this one picture that was hidden behind the protection of a glass frame for years before being taken out. Already it was beginning to tear at the corners. If Mae wasn't careful she'll lose her mother a second time. And yet tears still leaked out of Mae's eyes, she gets like this on occasion. Wonwoo has never seen her like this, it was a side Mae kept careful to hide from him. She knew he'd comfort her and he'll kiss her tears away, but she did not want to bring the weight onto him too. She couldn't do anything about her mother being dead so Mae had always felt silly for crying over it. It's time to move on. Now she won't have to deal with her father, at least for now. There's no telling what the future will do to her. Wonwoo finished his shower and changed into his clothes. As he was toweling off his hair he could hear the sniffles coming from the other side of the door and grew worried. He stepped out of the bathroom and caught Mae rushing to hide the photo.

"Hey what happened? Why are you crying?" He asked as he sat next to her and held her shoulders. She tugged a hair behind her ear and looked up.

"I'm just being emotional. It's no big deal." She said but Wonwoo wasn't buying it, she rarely cried like this and when she did it was serious. The photo was in Mae's hands but still folded, hidden away. Wonwoo grabbed it and understood why Mae had gotten upset. She missed her mom. He knew she didn't want to hear the whole "everything will be alright" or the "it's okay to cry over missing a loved one who has passed on" spiel so he kissed her forehead and hugged her tightly.

"It's not important. Crying won't do anything." Mae forced herself out of Wonwoo's grip and finished putting the rest of her things away. He was still on the bed and stared at her with concern. "You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine. What do you want to do?" He hated how she tried to push him away from her but he understood that it was a topic she didn't want to talk on. He played along, leaning against the bed to contemplate. They really shouldn't be out in the open, just in case someone recognizes them or starts poking their nose into their business. But maybe that's what Mae needs to get her mind off of things.

"Let's go for a walk." Wonwoo suggested, grabbing his hoodie that was stuffed in between his and Mae's belongings. She verbally agreed and grabbed her own coat. They left their money behind and in the trunk, not seeing much of a need for it at the moment. Mae was about to walk out first but Wonwoo stopped her."Wait.." he mumbles as he grabbed something from his pocket. Pulling out his wool gloves he put them in Mae's hands, "in case you get cold."

"God you're such a hopeless romantic." Mae scoffed, flattered by her boyfriend's chivalry."Not hopeless. I've got a woman by my side." He winks, successfully making a blush smack itself on Mae's cheeks. With hands intertwined the two walk out together, avoiding the sketchy staff members and indecencies of the building, and into the cold winds of New York. One thing that's not different than their motherland is the weather currently. Both places are fucking freezing. The two traveled the area, going a few blocks here and a couple of yards there. No exact location they want to go to, just ending up wherever they end up. Life is like a game of spin the bottle, you never know where it's going to land. At least that's how it was for them.

This was the first time they felt normal, not having to carry their secrets on their shoulders in fear of those who knew them finding out the truth they put there all into hiding. No one knew them there, meaning not only is there no way secrets will be shared, but if they were no one would care enough about a couple of strangers to help. They could walk in the park and not care who saw them and knew of their relationship from their body language and PDA.Mae found a park, one no one else was occupying. During their walk Mae had seen numerous playgrounds, but there were too many kids and parents around for her to comfortably check out the swing set, something she rarely did as a child and has secretly always wanted to do.

When the beige roofing of the jungle gyms, chain-link fences, and lack of bystanders came into view she made a B line to it, nearly tripping Wonwoo and not even noticing. Looking to where she ran to Wonwoo was confused as to why she was getting so hype over a kid's play area, but he said nothing because look at that smile!

"Babe look!" She called, hopping on the monkey bars and struggling to make her way across. Her lack of exercise is to blame for her nonexistent upper body. Wonwoo jogged over and grabbed her waist, hoisting her up slightly so she can get across. After the monkey bars it was the swings, Wonwoo taught Mae how to go higher after he pushed her for a few minutes. Neither of them had done this sort of thing before so they were going off of what they might have seen in movies. When she got herself going he sat at the swing next to her and slowly swayed back and forth, not really wanting to go as high as the trees like Mae did. After the swings it was the slides. Now Wonwoo didn't really want to do it, being fatigued of the long walk and playing. Instead of sliding, he sat on a bench.

"Come on, it's fun!" Mae said as she went through the slide for the third time. He shook his head and moved his hand in disinterest, but Mae dragged him to the playground. She sat him at the top of the slide, which was a cylindrical shape and meant no one could see them inside or from practically any angle, and put herself in his lap. Then the count down to take off began.

"3..." Mae was in his lap. She could be a real child sometimes.

"2..." The love of his life was engulfed in his personal bubble, and he didn't mind it. If anyone else had even attempted to be this close to him he would've broken their nose.

"1..." All he wanted to do was kiss her. And have her kiss him back because he knew the love he had for her matched the one she had for him. Now the feeling of falling brought Wonwoo out of his thoughts and seconds later they were at the bottom of the seemingly large-for-a-child slide.

How could something so short lived be so thrilling to a child? Mae was giggling and turned around, now straddling his hips. A habit the both of them had become accustomed too  Her face was close to his, mainly due to the small space they were in. But he couldn't help thinking Mae leaned in closer just to tease.

"See? The slide isn't that bad." She said. He rolled his eyes and laid down, Mae resting her arms and head on Wonwoo's chest. "I guess it's not so bad," he chuckled "It could be longer though. Not much fun." Mae's fingers began twirling Wonwoo's hair, showing signs of affection was limitless when they were in their own peaceful solitude. Before they would be smacked and yelled at for even looking in the direction of one another and although they could be in serious trouble if anyone discovered their secret, they simply did not care. They would make it work somehow, they could runaway again if they had to start back at square one, that time taking even more precautions. Hopefully it'll never happen and their parents will give up searching, if they even start. 

Wonwoo's arms hold Mae close to him, sharing body heat to keep them both warm in the chilly breeze. She can hear his heart beating, it's fast and prominent. He's nervous and Mae knew why. The reason made her face heat up and she looked away to keep Wonwoo from noticing, but they both knew what can happen, and it was something they've never done before.

"Baby. Look at me." Wonwoo cooed. Mae turned to look at him dead in the eye, she leaned up to where their faces were parallel to each other. Wonwoo began kissing Mae again, this time heading lower down her neck.