TW: this chapter begins with some suggestive material, proceed with caution luvs
When Rhonda opened up her eyes, she was in a bedroom.
It wasn't her bedroom, in fact, that room didn't look modern at all. It looked like one of the bedrooms in the show she had recently become enamoured with — The Witcher she remembered it was called — within the medieval styled room was an array of blacks and reds, two of Rhonda's favorite colors, and paintings were hung all over the walls. Rhonda realized she was wearing a robe, it was a soft crimson with golden hemming; the girl smiled, it was her favorite robe and she had received it on her birthday, if she remembered correctly it was a Moschino robe. Rhonda would have written this off as just a weird dream, had her thoughts not been interrupted by the sound of a gentle mewl from below her, she looked down to see what the deal was, but found herself completely frozen when she saw who it was.
Upon this queen sized bed, wearing the exact robe she was, was none other than Helga Pataki. A scantily clad Helga Pataki.
In fact, it was this that made Rhonda realize that she too wasn't wearing anymore than underwear under her robe.
Helga's face completely flushed, with her eyes half lidded and her breathing being more akin to pants, the blonde looked so incredibly vulnerable. Rhonda almost felt like she shouldn't be looking at her like this, as if this was an intimate sight she wasn't worthy of seeing; her thoughts were then cut off again when she took a good look at Helga, her stomach sinking into the ground when she saw deep, reddish-purple marks surround her body like a second layer of skin. Helga was so incredibly bruised.
Instead of crying out in pain however, the panting blonde pointed a weak finger out one mark, "there Rhonda, please, there" she managed out, her voice sounded raspy and soft. Rhonda wasn't sure why, maybe subconsciously she knew what Helga wanted, but she found herself leaning down and gently placing a kiss atop one of the bruises. The rough, sore looking bruise then disappeared, with Rhonda's lips welcoming Helga's now soft, velvety skin. Rhonda then pulled back, only to see the spot she had kissed was no longer bruised, and when she saw the look of satisfaction on Helga's face, she then again leaned in, ready to give another bruise a kiss.
With each kiss she lay upon her bare skin, deep violet became creamy peach, Helga would gasp, squeal, and even moan. With each deliciously unholy groan of satisfaction that left Helga's mouth, Rhonda would follow up with yet another kiss. The blonde gripped Rhonda's robe, whispering a myriad of 'yes', 'don't stop', 'so close Rho, so close,' as well as the occasional expletive here and there.
This was so wrong, Rhonda was just trying to help, to clear the bruises from her best friend's skin. She shouldn't have found herself appreciating the way Helga's breath would her graze cheek as she begged for her to continue, she shouldn't have found herself enjoying the shiver that would run down her spine whenever the desperate blonde moaned her name, she shouldn't have found herself thinking that this would be better of she could see the more modest parts of her body.
The closer Rhonda got to clearing all the bruises, the more desperate she became, her panting got louder, noises more frequent. It wasn't until she got to the very last bruise that it happened. Once Rhonda lay that final kiss, ridding Helga's body of all those obscene marks and injuries, the blonde sunk her head deeper into the pillow below her, a deep red consuming her face. With her eyes shut, her grip on Rhonda tightened beyond belief; Helga's mouth was agape, a long, strained, high-pitched, scream like noise being all the sound she could bring herself to make. She shivered harshly, frantic pants making their way out her mouth and nose as she shook. Her slender legs were continuously moving up and down, as though she could barely keep them still, and her back arched upwards.
Rhonda watched – stared – as Helga lost all control of her senses, deep down inside she knew what was happening, she knew the state her actions had brought the blonde to, but she didn't want to admit it. She felt almost disgusted with herself, knowing that she was simply watching her friend at a time in which she deserved privacy, and it made her sick to her stomach that with each gasp and squeak that escaped the ascending girl, she could feel her own arousal peaking.
Rhonda then shut her eyes, this was the work of Bermuda, the slimy creature had snuck into her head and was playing with her. Never had Rhonda thought of Helga this way, never had she dreamt of Helga this way, it wasn't until that thing made itself known that her mind was plagued with these inappropriate, perverted, bastardized caricatures of her best friend.
She was then pulled back down, brought face to face to Helga, who had seemingly recovered from her... moment. She blushed deeply, her eyes filled with an adoration that had never been directed towards her before, it was an almost lovesick look. Helga smiled, placing her hands on both sides of Rhonda's face, "thank you," she said soft, before pulling her in for a kiss.
Rhonda's mind became static, this was the second time she had fantasized about kissing Helga, and she was beginning to short circuit. As the bashful blonde began to deepen the kiss, the world around them became blurrier, Rhonda could barely see anything, it was all becoming so fucking hard to see—
RIIIIING! RIIIIING!
Rhonda opened her eyes.
The noirette clutched her chest with one hand, using the other to frantically pat the bed below her. She looked around, it all looked... modern and normal, as she looked from side to side, she failed to see the same scantily clad Helga that just plagued her mind seconds ago. She finally released a hitched breath, she knew it was a dream, and yet she could still feel the same exhilaration, the same tingle down her spine when Helga held her by the face. She checked the time, she had about an hour before Helga showed up at the front door so they could walk together.
Rhonda slid out of her bed, the vivid images of her dream still not leaving her head. Still, as nice as it was to kiss her, Rhonda was more pleased when she realized she had cleared her friend of all those unbecoming bruises, bruises that probably came from sports, from Bob, from Arnold...
She could feel her brows furrowing, an extreme anger filling her as she thought of Arnold gnawing at Helga's delicate neck, leaving hideous dark purple marks, the same Arnold that would spend the rest of the day pretending she wasn't even there. She though? She rid her of them, replacing uncomfortable itch with tender care, something Arnold could never do.
"Have a nice nap?"
Rhonda looked to her side, brushing her hair as her eyes locked upon the black blob that she was now stuck with, "oddly enough, I'm actually quite glad to see you Bermuda, where have you been?"
Bermuda let out a deep chuckle, "I'm liking this polite side to you, as for where I've been, I was keeping an eye on our lovely muse, she was having sweet dreams"
"No nightmares?" Rhonda asked, knowing exactly who it was talking about.
"For the first time in years, no," Bermuda then slid its way to her other side, snuggling awfully close to her, "she dreamt of a field of briar roses, donning a gown of whites and yellows, she was carried away into the sunset by a valiant, courageous prince"
Ignoring how cold the creature felt as it touched her skin, she tried to keep up, "was he handsome?"
"Well, that's subjective," Bermuda joked, "but he did have a rather football shaped head"
Rhonda was sure Bermuda found great amusement in that angered look on her face. It enraged her as much as it saddened her, how Helga loved him so deeply to dream of him taking her away from everything that ever hurt her, whilst he was most likely not even thinking of her. How she wished she could knock some sense into her friend, and encourage her to move on to someone worthy of her time of day. Let Lila and Arnold have each other, she was so much better than the both of them combined, and didn't deserve to be sloppy seconds.
"Then might I suggest not using the word valiant? I've never met a football head with such a trait, nor courageous,"
Bermuda was going to come back with something snappy and amused, when they both heard a knock at the door, "Rhonda darling, is everything okay? Who are you talking to?"
Feeling herself grow bashful, the teen made her way over to her closet and began pulling out her clothes, "yeah I'm alright mom! I was just on the phone!"
"Okay dear, oh! I actually came up here to let you know that your friend's at the door, so hurry or you'll be late"
The noirette began quickly slipping on her dark blue jeans, whilst simultaneously trying to wear her shoes, "okay, thanks mom!"
As she heard her mother's footsteps stray further away from her door, the deep black creature floated it's way around her as she put on some accessories, "be quick Rho, an impatient Helga is an uhappy Helga—"
"Oh shut up," she snapped, quickly grabbing her bag and heading towards her bedroom door, "also don't call me Rho, only Helga does that"
Bermuda simply stayed put as Rhonda slipped out of her bedroom, rushing to meet Helga at the front door. All it could do was laugh, she had so much to learn.
Lila knew exactly what had happened.
Contrary to popular belief, Helga did indeed take her hair seriously, it was the part of herself she spent the most time maintaining, aside from her gym built body of course. Helga was the sort who wore her hair symmetrical and neat, so when she rocked up ten minutes late to English with the most unkempt pigtails she had ever seen her wear, Lila knew exactly what had happened. Her and Arnold had another one of their in school rendezvous.
It made Lila's heart so heavy.
Things had changed so much over the years, her and Helga had actually become friendly, Eugene of all people became popular, Harold became the social outcast, Gerald became known as a social butterfly, and Arnold... Lila didn't like what Arnold had become.
Perhaps it was because his parents had shown a harsh refusal to come back to Hillwood with him, or perhaps it was his grandparents' failing health, or it could have very well been the current state of the boarding house. Whatever may be the issue, it had caused Arnold to become a lot less empathetic, a lot less sweet, a lot less kind. The Arnold that was probably confidently lollygagging down the hallway as they spoke wasn't the same Arnold she grew up with, and she didn't like it at all. People change, that much she knew and had come to accept, but she just couldn't take Arnold's new disregard for other people, specifically Helga.
She often heard him bragging about how easy access he had to her, and since Helga was deemed rather attractive by their school, he was praised for it whenever he did. Lila knew it was mostly an act, and deep down inside he had conflicting feelings for her, but even then she still couldn't appreciate how he was doing her. Over the years, she had come to learn that underneath that rough and tough persona Helga put out there was so much trouble, so much baggage and pain and confusion and love. None of which was being helped by a certain boy's mixed signals..
The redhead didn't want to get involved, but as she saw that red blush on Helga's face, and that crooked smile that radiated pure, unfiltered love, she couldn't help but feel her heart fall to the very pit of her stomach. She simply couldn't imagine having her feelings toyed with like that, and she could only imagine how hurt Helga felt when Arnold told her he 'wasn't ready'.
Lila's father had always tried to instil in her certain values, politeness, public decency, how to go about speaking to people, however one of the things he always made sure to drill into her was the importance of justice. When something is wrong, you should call it out and try to fix it, something Lila had tried to do all her life. When her cousin's accidentally broke her father's favorite vase, she was the one who tried to glue it back together, she always brought extra food with her in case someone didn't have anything at lunch, when Helga poured her heart out to her that fateful performance night, she happily let Helga go on that stage and play the part instead.
As much as she didn't want to involve herself in Helga and Arnold's... situation, it felt so wrong to sit there and watch as he tore her heart out and stepped on it almost everyday, maybe Helga was too in love to notice she was being played, maybe Arnold was too much of an idiot boy to notice just how much she loved him, either way someone had to step in. Lila wasn't dumb, she knew if she went straight in Helga wouldn't trust her and would probably try to kick her out, so she'd start off simple.
She would help them, it was the right thing to do after all.
I rlly love Lila, I love the sweet Lilas and the bitchy Lilas... I just rlly love her
Anywho, pls review bc I love reading those!