InsaneJournal

Who: Violet, Tate
What: Mention of dreams, bruises, high school revenge, & teenage hormones running rampant.
When: Before Monday
Where: Violet's house
Rating: definitely PG-13+ (there's some breezed over frisky stuff at the end)
Status: Complete!



Tate's finger still ached from the tattooing. Not that it hurt having her name written around his ringfinger, because things like that never hurt. Any time he cut himself before, it was a way to scrape past the surface, to get under the armor that he'd built up from his short lifetime, to feel things again. He really did believe that bloodletting let any evil out of him...and now that he had stopped doing that, maybe the bad was building back up again. And maybe that's why, whenever he nodded off or slept, he was starting to have those dreams.

He had nodded off and recalled telling Violet to lure some girl who had bullied her, down into the basement. The best way to take care of a bully was to scare them, so they left the victim, alone. It was a perfect plan and that stupid bitch deserved her face being clawed up...even if Tate didn't understand how he was able to do those things, without even having to do it, himself. It almost was like he was possessed by something unseen and unknown, while still retaining enough of himself to plot and scheme and do all the things he wanted to do, at the same time.

In other words, it didn't make any rational sense.

He woke up in Violet's room, curled up on his side on her bed, temporarily rendered immobile. Sleep paralysis. Fun. That was probably because he nodded off in a still unfamiliar place, and it was going to take him a few token seconds to get his bearings again. It also made him look like he was still asleep, until he managed to get a hold on himself, unfreeze, and roll over enough to study Vi's room and to see where she was.

All the while he was reminding himself to keep his mouth shut about those dreams, because worrying Violet and making her cry were things he didn't want to do at all.

He didn't want to be bad. He remembered that much. He didn't want to be a bad person, and even when he was asleep and dreaming he knew it. If he kept repeating that in his head then maybe it would be true, and it might even make the bad dreams go away. It was either trying that mantra, or he'd be cutting himself all over again, by the end of the week.

Violet loved the tattoo. It was Tate’s name and a heart in cursive, flowing script around her ring finger. The painful throb was comforting, like when she cut herself. It made her feel like there was something else in her life to focus on, like there was something after all the bullshit. Since she’d met Tate, she felt the urge to cut a little less. It was something. She’d take it.

She was cuddled into Tate’s side like he was a large teddy bear, but rolled over when he moved. Her tank top rode up, exposing her lower back, and her panties rode low anyway. The cool feeling moving over the bruises and scraping there made her sigh. She was dreaming the stupid dream again, the one where her dream parents explained that they were moving to Boston so she could have a better life, so they could be a ‘family’ again.

The bed moved when she rolled away and he moved his head enough to peek over his shoulder. But when she kept rolling, when he knew she was asleep too, he moved so he could watch her. As soon as he'd rolled over, that was when he saw the dark blotch on her back. Tate's brows knit together and he traced his fingers in a feather-soft touch there, not trying to hurt her but to make sure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him.

After all, Violet's room was about as well lit as his was. And that meant it wasn't exactly "light, airy, and friendly"...kind of like how his mom kept their kitchen, all whites and pale yellows and sky blues, which made him want to gag whenever he went in there to spit in the orange juice carton. As it was, they spent a lot of time spitting in the food at the Langdon household. And if it was relatives that Constance wasn't fond of, she'd even ask him or Addie to clear their throats and hock a fat glob in the mixing bowl. What? It's how they showed they didn't care.

That was family, though. This was Violet, so it was different. He did care. And the bruise wasn't a trick of what little ambient light there was, causing a shadow on her back.

It made him angry. He had to draw his hand away and clench it into a tight fist, close his eyes and count to ten, before the rage boiled over. ...don't be bad, don't be bad, don't be bad, don'tdon'tdon'tdon'tdon't....

"...Violet?" he finally heard himself saying, from about a million miles away. Or at least that's what it sounded like. Was his voice really that gentle when he spoke? It sounded almost foreign, too distant to be his own. It was a stark contrast to the usual biting commentary when he was at home. "Are you still sleeping?"

Violet heard Tate as if she was in a dream. She rolled into the source of the voice, turning her head and smiling to herself. Tate was either in her dream or in her room, and her sleeping self reacted by nuzzling into the source of the sound. “Mmm, Tate?” She tried to open her eyes, thinking that he was in her waking world as opposed to her dream. The voice was more immediate.

When she woke up, her brown eyes took him in, the way his perfect chest looked in the moonlight, the way his blond hair hung in his brown eyes. “You’re perfect,” she murmured, smiling broadly. “Hey.” Waking up a little more, she ran her fingers over his chest and nuzzled closer. But she noticed that he looked upset and immediately sat up. “What’s wrong? Did my parents come in or something?”

"No one came in. It's...hey, can you turn a light on?" He would have done it himself but if he tried, it would have been done blindly. He hadn't gotten the layout of her room in his head yet, and so it wasn't like he knew where to reach over. It would have resulted in things getting knocked over, and her parents might have come in if everything was crashing down. So she didn't worry too much and so his mind was off his dreams, he clarified, "There's something on your back."

She rolled over to turn the light on, sitting up and pulling her legs to her chest. “Oh, it’s just a bruise,” she said dismissively. “That bitch knocked me down and started hitting me. At least I messed up her face too.” Violet tapped the healing cut on her forehead. “I think her name’s Kaitlyn or something? Something with too many ys and ns.” She turned around so he could look at her back, sighing a little to herself so he could look. “It’s okay, it doesn’t hurt. Promise.”

"I don't give a fuck what her name is," he said a little more harshly than he should have, but at least that flare of anger wasn't directed at Violet, but at the ho bag that knocked her down so hard that there was the fading remains of a bruise, even now. He knew about the cut to her forehead, but he'd thought that was it. "She really hurt you when it happened. I heard it was bad but...I thought it was a rumor. I didn't know."

He didn't know it was that bad, to leave that mark behind. In fact, he was kicking himself for not noticing, yet, but it's not like they reached that all too important 'hey, let's fuck reverse cowgirl or doggy style' portion of their burgeoning relationship. It had been intensely face to face, so far. After all, it was still a really new experience for them both.

"She can't get away with doing that," he said, a little more calm sounding and seeming, like he had made up his mind that the girl wouldn't get away with it.

Violet turned to look at him, smiling and resting her chin on a fist. “She did, but I got her too. You should’ve seen her eye.” Moving closer, she wrapped her arms around Tate and kissed him again. “What do you want to do?” He was kind of hot when he was wicked.

The kiss was very eagerly returned, as was the embrace, and it was almost fierce the way he held her, like he didn't want to let go again, in case someone else out in the world dared leave a mark on her. Sure, Violet liked him to hold onto her neck and stuff, but there weren't bruises afterward. The bite mark was a different story, but neither of them were strangers to pain. That was different. It was that they already knew what they both could or would do. Getting jumped like that, was some random element out in the world, colliding into Violet, and hurting her. And that random element shouldn't be allowed a second opportunity to do that, ever again.

Tate rested his forehead against Violet's, careful of the cut there, and closed his eyes. The dream was still fresh and real, like it had been painted onto the inside of his skull. It was there, forever.

"We scare her," he whispered. "Or I will. If we scare her, she'll never bother you again. She'll stay away. A headbutt isn't enough. She'll try to jump you again. So I need you to lure her behind where Mr. Thompson teaches his biology class. You know where the room is. Tell her...."

Even as his voice trailed off, he thought on it. Everyone had a weakness, because the world and a lof of the people on it were corrupted or corruptible. Drugs might not be the only option, there, but it had to be one of the four things someone might get trapped over: Power, Money, Sex, or Drugs.

"...tell her you've got some drugs, or her boyfriend was behind the building making out with someone. I don't know, you're smart. You get her there, and I'll do the rest."

Violet’s eyes lit up with ideas. “I can just tell her that yeah, her boyfriend’s a whore and he hit on me once but I turned him down. Easy enough, she’s a jealous bitch.” She leaned on Tate, feeling comfortable and snuggly next to him. “What are you going to do?” She didn’t want to hurt her too badly; her bloodlust had been sated with the fight. It had been pretty obviously a draw.

She also didn’t know the bruises were still there, and accordingly she stood up to pad toward her attached bathroom, shucking her panties and tank top en route. Turning, she craned to look in the mirror, ignoring all of her perceived imperfections and wrongs, trying to only look at the bruises. “Oh, she did get me pretty bad, huh. Bitch.”

"...don't worry," he had told her, "I'll scare her a little bit. I don't think I'll even have to touch her."

It wouldn't be what it was like, behind his closed eyes. He'd have to manipulate everything to his advantage, without resorting to...outside help.

Tate sat up more in the bed, watching as Violet cast aside the remainder of her clothes. Even with the bruises, she was perfect. Enough that he got out of bed also, walking toward her in only his boxers, and put his hands on her shoulders to hold her still. There were no imperfections and there was nothing wrong with her body. Not to him. Everything that constituted a scrape, a scar, or a mark that was on Violet, was the world's fault. That was what left a mark on her.

Or, at least, that's what he was thinking, to himself.

"She's a stupid bitch and stupid bitches get what they deserve," Tate whispered, kissing one side of Violet's head, right above her left ear. He left his lips there, sliding his hands down over her body, luring her in close against him. "You're beautiful."

Scaring her would be fine, Violet liked the idea. She was still staring in the mirror when Tate put his hands on her shoulders. She couldn’t help but shiver, looking up at him and smiling. “You make me beautiful. You think I am, so I am.” Her fingers went over his chest as she turned, kissing him on tiptoe. “It’s always going to be this way, isn’t it?” She hoped he’d say yes, if only because she believed it would be. Whatever had gotten her parents, his mother - it wouldn’t get them.

Violet wasn’t as upset about the stupid bitch as Tate was, but she supposed it was because she loved Tate a little more than herself. “Now you know how I feel about your stupid mother. She hurts you, and that’s … I wish she were dead,” she mumbled. It scared her.

"Always. I'll be here for as long as you keep picking me up after I sneak out of my mom's house, or until we're moved in, together," he promised her, and the way he looked at her plainly showed that he loved her, even if there was also something haunted or broken there, on the inside. He kissed her once more and murmured under his breath, "I won't let anyone hurt you again. And Constance mostly does her own thing. She wants everything perfect, but she might as well give up and die. It's not perfect and it won't ever be."

It wasn't how it worked outside of the house, and it wasn't the way it was going to work, inside of it. That, and Tate was dead set on not ever being what she wanted him to be. His mom didn't matter. Violet did. It was that simple.

His gaze moved up to look into the mirror, even as his face was still bent down so their lips were close together. He stared at his hand as it moved over the bruise on her back, and traced a fingertip around the edge of it.

"It's those dreams," he said, "and if there was a shrink around, I might talk to 'em about them. Maybe. I don't know."

“Tell me about them. I’ve had some too, but I don’t think they’re as bad as yours. Tedious, but not … creepy.” She kissed him in between words, her fingers toying with his hair. “I know you won’t let anything hurt me, but I want to make sure things don’t hurt you.” She couldn’t keep him safe from Constance, or even himself, but she could try to repair the damage done. “Tell me?”

“I...don’t know,” he confessed, but it was only a partial truth, another white lie. He didn’t like lying to Violet, but he didn’t want to risk upsetting her again. Not like he had, before they got their tattoos done and her name was wrapped around his finger. “All I know, is that I protected you from someone who hurt you. But I don’t know how. It was weird. It was a dream. It wasn’t real, so it doesn’t matter. You matter.”

She mattered enough that as she kissed at his lips and played with his hair, Tate squirmed his way out of his boxers. He kicked them aside, took hold of her hands, and led her back to the bed. They still had a lot of things to try with one another, and this was the only way that he could think of to not only let her know he loved her, but to also make her forget to keep asking him about his dreams.

If he didn’t know, that would explain a lot for the upset. She hated when she had bad dreams and couldn’t identify the source or the reason. “You’re my hero,” she smiled dreamily. “You’re everything that matters.” She had no doubt that he’d protect her because she’d protect him. Together forever, come hell or high water. “You said you’d die for me, I’d die for you too, you know.”

She noticed when he took his boxers off and chuckled when they went back to the bed. “Side perk of you pretty much living here,” she grinned. Rolling onto the bed with him, she kissed along his shoulders, his chest, moving further down. He deserved something nice for living with those dreams.

That was a side perk he could definitely get used to. For the rest of his life.

Tate lifted his head, watching her kissing further and further down, caressing her hair with both hands, before he rested the back of his head down in the pillow. Stopping Violet was probably like trying to hold back a tidal wave: impossible. He didn't even try, but did make a mental note that he wanted to reciprocate.

The fact about the dreams was that he didn't know and it did upset him, because the dreams felt real enough. It was also that he didn't feel like he was in his right mind, even more so than usual, and there was so, so much in the way of emotional and mental turmoil, so much anger, that it felt like he was going to explode or plummet, based on if it was rage or sorrow. It was just like how he was now, only amplified. One thing wouldn't change, no matter what, and that was how he felt for Violet. Hell or high water? Indeed. He'd wade through both for her.

Thinking was going to be difficult, though, because she had a wicked mouth on her. Once again, Tate was grateful (as well as vocally appreciative) for having a girlfriend who was as into porn as he was, because she had a pretty good idea of what to do. Enough that he was trying to gently guide her around so he could reciprocate while she was doing that.

Maybe it would get both their minds off whatever strange shit was going on.

Tate might have thought he was crazy, but Violet knew she was stubborn. He couldn’t have stopped her if he’d tried, no matter what. He deserved all the joy in the world, all the love, and she was going to give it to him wrapped up in a big red bow. Dreams were just dreams and she wasn’t going to let that stop her life, her love. Their life. Because they were two in one now, two bodies, one soul, and she’d found herself lately worrying about their lives together. Their future.

She could tell what was happening when Tate asked her to move her hips by gently guiding her with her hands. It made her groan around him and she hoped he knew that he was being perfect again.

If there was one thing that Tate wanted to be perfect about and that he thought deserved to have everything he could give, it was all about Violet. Even if everything else was messed up, she was the one spot of light in the pitch black nothingness of everything else. He was going to focus on her, and that meant he was going to do so, with his face between her thighs. So any groans from him, are going to be hopelessly muffled and probably only add to the experience...considering where his mouth was.

He had to match the perfect that was her, after all. And now he also has to play catch up to get her just as turned on as he was.