bbeboppp

[bbeboppp]

∘ ONESHOT: Hound Dog 〔Jett Rinks x reader〕

➺ Sorry I don't write more No Hope in Hell chapters, I've grown out of that celebrity crush. Really, I write for myself if there's no fics I like/follow a story I've got in my head, I only post stuff because other people might enjoy it. I might write another chapter some day, who knows. ➺ A/N: The context is pre-rich Jett and you as the reader is Benedict's unhappy wife (I've never tried this trope before don't crucify me if I butcher it. x) Also, I didn't proof read. Good luck.

• The first time you met Jett you were introduced by Benedict. To you, Jett was like a stray dog, a dark horse but less noble. Instead of walking, he would stalk; his words drawled coolly with a thick coy Southern accent; he was slick but wirey in nature; there was an unpredictable factor about his manners. Unbothered by Benedict's presence, he gave you a smile of curiosity, his dark squinting eyes assessing you, trying to look through you skin and skull and into your brain, or maybe just through your clothes. He had that sort of gaze that made you feel naked. 

• When he shook your hand, he gripped it tight and held on for an awkwardly long length of time. He had calloused and strong tanned hands that gripped yours, softer and smaller in comparison. Looking into his eyes makes you feel like electricity is coursing through your veins. Benedict warned you about Jett beforehand. He told you, "Never mind our cow-hand Jett, he's nothin' but a Hound dog."

• Benedict noticed Jett's presence much more on the farm since he'd brought you home. Jett often drove past the large manor, looking at the windows as he passed by trying to spot you in that maze of a home.

• Deep down Jett is a romantic. After the stiffness of the first few interactions wears off, he'll tell you all about his life; his parents, his past jobs, his childhood. He'll ask you questions too, mostly about you and Benedict. He'll ask if you're getting along, when you met each other, if you're planning children. Once while driving you somewhere he felt extra bold and asked if you ever considered extramarital affairs.

• You didn't plan on ever doing anything remotely unloyal to Benedict, not until he began to rule the house with a strange possessive feeling somewhere between wrath and business, getting angried easily and excluding you from conversations he didn't think you could handle because of your sex. It drove you away, despite your attempts to reconcile; you were undoubtedly unhappy, and with divorce not being an option you started to look at the young fit cow-hand; Jett Rink.

• The first time you decided to give back the signals he gave you was during one of the many times he escorted you from the field to the house. You hated being sent back to the house by your husband, it made you feel like a trapped songbird kept in a cage. You vented about your frustration to Jett, who was quick to jump on the bandwagon that his employer was a douche-bag. "He won't let me do anything! He's suffocating me!" You yelled, and something stirred inside Jett. Maybe Benedict's wife wasn't as happy as she kept letting on, maybe, maybe..

"If you had a wife would you treat her this way?" The question knocked Jett's train of thought off the rail, he took his eyes off the dirt road to look back at you, perplexed. He saw faint tear stains on your face; you were so frustrated and you had bundled it up for so long now you were letting it loose.. To a rag-tag vagabond who could just be a lowly playboy. Jett stammered, big the inside of his cheek and looked back at the road. This was going well, or was it a trap? He wanted to pick his words carefully, and so after a tough silence, he answered you.

"If you were my wife, I wouldn't treat you that way. No." He shook his head, frowning as the sun shone on the bonnet of the car, reflecting into his virile blue eyes.

Before he could continue, you laughed. He turned his face to you, what had he said made you laugh? He laughed a little, even though he didn't know what the joke was. "Whats so funny?" He humoured, those charming dimples poking his cheeks.

"I asked *if* you had a wife, not if *I* was your wife." You replied in a teasing manner, looking back at him with a sort of gotcha expression. Jett's cheeks flushed, what an embarassing fluke.

"Oh well, y'know, I meant.." Jett's tongue stumbled around his mouth like a drunkard, embarassing him ever further. You looked at him endearingly; the tough cowboy who smiled once a fornight and stalked around your husband's premises like a tomcat was cherry-cheeked and stumbling in front of you now, over the smallest little detail in a sentence.

"Well, as in.." He paused, took a deep inhale and exhale and looked over at you again. You looked back, hoping he'd keep talking; you loved his Southern drawl. "Oh darnit, nevermind." He mumbled, turning his attention back to the road.

• Since that day, you noticed a shift in his behaviour. The once aloft quiet young man who's acts of kindness could've been written off as simply friendly or helpful changed tactics. The first thing you noticed is those quick darting glances he took at you were suddenly lengthened. He stared, with dark soul-strong blue eyes that you grew to wish to meet. When your husband or Luz wasn't around, he'd sneak in little pet named when he addressed you. "Let me get that for you darlin'." "Don't worry baby, it won't rain just yet." "Is Benedict gone for the whole day hun? Leavin' you all lonely?"

• It became an inside joke between the two of you for him to mention something Benedict had done, and you'd ask if he'd do that to his wife. Jett always laughed extra loud at your jokes. Jokes never got old with him. "Benedict forget your dinner date? That's a pity." "Would you ever forget you a dinner date with your wife Jett?"

• Benedict had his suspicions about you and Jett, but he thought it only went as far as Jett would blatantly flirt with you, and you only politely answered back. Jett wasn't as careful as he could've been, he stared and lingered too much around you, and smiled extra hard when you spoke to him.

• Luz made comments about how she never knew you had bought a new dog. When you asked her what she meant, she grumbled about how obviously Jett stuck around in a room when you were there, how he'd always join into a conversation if you were in it, how he scowled at your husband if Benedict ever scolded or ridiculed you.

• The first time you kissed Jett was as he held the door to the automobile open for you. You stepped out, and kissed him on the cheek. "Goodnight Jett." You turned back and waved sweetly at him as you walked towards the house. He stared at you gobsmacked; then tilted his head down so his hat covered the smile on his face as your husband stepped out onto the porch to greet you. Part of what sent a thrill into Jett's veins was because of how high-risk it was. Three seconds later and you both would've been done for. He wondered if you liked him, *him* in particular, or if you were just a sad bored housewife looking for any man to have an affair with. Either way, it was fun and he wanted it to last as long as possible.

• At the welcoming party, you felt like an outsider in your own celebration. Everyone knew everyone, and when Benedict left you to tend to the meat you wandered off to a fence to lean against and sip your drink. The sun was blazing, the people's voices turned into hums and the buzz of that midday heat on the back's of crickets turned the landscape into a fever dream. "Lonely?" You turned your head, on the other side of the fence a handsome face greeted you. You smiled back softly. He has been lingering for a while, avoiding people, waiting for Benedict to wander off so he could approach you. He did that often. Some folk noticed you had hidden under the shade of a small tree, conversing with the help. Low disapproving mutters spread across the crowds, that was just the nature of small town folks; they loved to talk, but never confront.

• During days Benedict would be away handling cows in their herds miles away, you'd take strolls in the early morning, before midday struck and the hottest heat drove you back inside seeking shelter. If Jett was around at these times he'd ditch whatever tasks he'd been assigned and follow along, making small talk.

• You learned he wasn't any sort of scoundrel or lost boy like Ben, Luz or anyone else for that matter had described him. He had a brazen look about him, piercing eyes that looked for trouble, sure, but he had a soft warm core, and although not yet had he let you in to that core you felt it's warmth radiate through his thick skin.

• He never pushed ever, never tried initiate or ask for anything from you other than your attention. That sort of pure, loving interest was something you'd never experienced before. He was a gentleman, wrapped up in a world where he was outcasted.

• During one of these strolls, Jett asked you if you loved Benedict. A tough question. He was your husband and provider, but that was all. He wasn't your lover. He was your provider only because you were a housewife and forbidden to be anything else. He was a hard working man, but he lacked any emotional intelligence you could bond to, he was a shallow character and he had a superiority complex brewing under it all. You spoke about this to Jett, but never said whether or not you loved Benedict, but Jett got the hint.

• Jett and you share cigarettes sometimes. He'll let you smoke the first half of it, because you prefer it's taste. His rollies crumble and fall apart a lot, and he huffs about them until you offer to roll them for him. Truth is, he can roll fine, he just loved seeing you do things for him. It was his funny way of finding out if you cared enough to do something for him.

• On the other hand, if smoking bothered you, Jett would stop smoking around you, and eventually give it up altogether without you ever having to ask for it.

• As you and Benedict's life fell apart, you and Jett's strengthened. Nights he wouldn't sleep in the same bed as you, returned home late or not at all, you'd leave in the middle of the night and sleep in the haystacks up in the barn. Jett slept up in the rafters of the barn; he was that sort of character. He had a mattress and pillow of straw underneath him and the itching didn't bother him none. During those long lonely nights he lay awake thinking about life, about you. He sighed; if he hadn't fallen for you he would've moved on by now to find better work and better pay elsewhere. The night you ran into eachother in the rafters he lay down his jacket on the hay, since you complained about it's scratching texture. Although the Texan days were long and blazing the nights were longer and colder. They nipped any exposed piece of skin you had to the air, and they made you cuddle and hug yourself for warmth. Those were the best nights of Jett's life, when he'd hold you in his arms and you'd both look out the open wooden frame of a window, at the dark sky hanging above the small, far horizon.

• Jett pointed out constellations and clusters of stars, speaking softly into your ear as his pointed finger guided you to each one he talked about. He told you he learned about them from his father and the men he worked with on farms in his youth. They all told urban tales and superstitions, practical survival and wilderness knowledge. They were men of knowledge, not from books or bibles, but from words on tongues and stories passed down generations. It fascinated you, how what you thought was a simple life had that beautiful complexity about it all of humanity possesses.

• "You know," You giggled softly, "Benedict told me you were no good." "No good?" Jett had a soft resting smile on his face, his eyes half-lidded, his dimples poking his cheeks. His tone was light and  playful. "He called you a hound dog." You laughed. It was a ridiculous insult, you thought that even before meeting Jett. "Maybe I am." He grinned rogeuly, the bottom of his top teeth showing.

• Jett traced circles on your skin. It was something he did absentmindedly, like fidgeting or twitching his nose, and once he realised he was doing it he didn't stop. Physical contact was so magical to him, you were a Goddess and you brought him to heaven.

• It was around the time of Luz's passing that both Jett inherited a piece of land from her, and Benedict has starting to ignore you around the house. One fo the last conversations between ye was how he'd rather just get through his day without any bothering. You were too needy and talkative for his liking. He didn't care about you or where you were.

• The first time you came and visited Little Reatta, it was a sorry sight. The homemade sign was endearing, and when you saw Jett walking towards you with a spring in his step and a dopey smile on his face, you smiled too; he had a contageous smile. "Welcome to Lidl' Reatta."

• You're the only person he'll let make fun of his accent. Even Texans acknowledge that Jett speaks with a hybrid mutt complexion of an accent, being a travelling labourer since he was able to work has mottled all the accents he's ever heard together and given it a Southern twist. To local Texans, he was a drifter who was just staying longer than most, to you he was just another Southerner chewing on a rubber band for an accent.

• You make vists to Little Reatta more frequent as time passed. It was then that you had the misfortune of tasting Jett's tea. It's canon he makes terrible tea, and because of this most times you offer to make the tea instead of him; because you couldn't break his heart by telling him he doesn't make tea decently.

• Almost everytime you visit, Jett tries bring you to climb the empty water tower he has on his property. "You can see for miles 'round on top of this thing." He'd say with both feet on the ladder and a hand outstretched for you with a big mischevious grin on his face. Eventually when you caved in and agreed to climb it despite you fear of heights, once you got to the top Jett threw his arms around you and hugged you tight. "I won't let go. Promise." As he rested his chin on your shoulder, he talked about the land. Where the property line ended and another person's began. Where he saw a coyote, where he found a rabbit hole, a man's shoe, some rusted nuts and bolts. He spoke about the wasteland as if it was the most wonderful paradise on earth. To Jett, you were Adam and Eve in the Garden, this was your garden and this was your paradise. You could see this happiness radiating off Jett because he smiled so much his face started to hurt.

• Slowly, you start spending your entire days there, then every day, then overnight, then you spend more time at Little Reatta than Reatta itself. Eventually you've fully left Reatta. It was easy, since you only brought your clothes and a few books.

• Jett spent his days hunting rabbits and birds or sometimes the odd deer or relation in the cerdivae family. He'd skin and gut them and you'd cook them. Jett is an odd character, and although you always knew he has that specialness about him you would be thoroughly reminded when he'd bring home squirrels in an attempt to have them for dinner. "They taste like chicken, or duck. Or both. They aren't so bad you just need to try them." Like a child with a toad in their palm, he'd chase you around the house playfully with a dead squirrel or two.

• At night, Jett always fell asleep first. He usually lay on your chest, hugging your sides. It was a comfort to have a warm body to lie beside during the night.

• Jett keeps a picture of you in his wallet.

• He brings a sense of unseriousness to your practicality. If you're cooking, he'll come in, dip his finger in the mixture, pick up an ingredient and walk around the room with it until you notice it's gone, or come up from behind you and hug you with your arms to your side so you can't get back to what you were doing without acknowledging him.  It always makes you laugh, his spontaneous decisions and bursts of energy. It's as if he worries you'll forget about him if he doesn't see you regularly enough, or that you'll come to your senses and leave the house back to Benedict one day.

• Jett takes you on what he calls adventures regularly. He always listened to how unhappy you were with Benedict because he always wanted you inside, and so he'll bring you with him into the wilderness regularly. In the vast desert of Texas there isn't much, but to the North a small forest lies filled with green and life. He shows you which mushrooms are edible, how old a fallen tree is by the rings of it's trunk, which types of trees are which by their leaves, which bird is singing based on their song. He warns you about the poisonous plants, where roots jump up from the ground as if trying to trip you and all other oddities and wonders that had formed naturally.

• He owns an old banjaxxed acoustic guitar that he plays tunes on sometimes. In the late evening, you'll sit together on the porch and he'll play some sort of tune or song he half-remembers the lyrics to and improvises most of the time; but that's part of his charm.

• When he sees you, Jett feels a sort of cuteness aggression. It'll usually take form in him looking at you for a moment, still and smiling, then give you a squeeze disguised as a hug or throw you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing and spin around.

• One of his favourites things to do is explore your body; non sexually. Lying side by side in bed, he'll trace your skin ever so gently with his fingers up and down the curves and dips, over any birthmarks or scars. If you ask, he'll tell you about his own scars. He has small little blemishes on his knees, elbows and palms from falling over, climbing and rough housing as a child or young teen, each with a short intimate story attached. A body is an archive of memories, it's tears and age and size and smoothness tell a tale of a life lived in it.

• If you ever gift him anything wearable, a shirt or necklace, he'd wear it til it was hanging on my threads or eroded into dust. He appreciates everything you do not with words, but with deeds.

• Since he can't be bothered ever going to a barber, he asks you to cut his hair. It's nerve-wrecking but fun, he doesn't mind if you mess up his hair, it's just hair. The first few times you cut his hair you hated how it turned out even though he insisted he couldn't of got a better trim if he went to the barbers, eventually you grow into the scissors and acquire a decent amount of skill.

• Dancing in the kitchen together, or dancing and singing alongwhile he plays a song on the guitar.

• Like the times you spent in the barn together, Jett loves stargazing with you. By now, you've learned off a handful of constellations thanks to him. As you stargaze, and talk and guess about the stars above your heads, he'll be looking at you instead, in awe and adoration.

• Anytime you cry, he feels like his world is crumbling. He holds you caringly in his arms as you bury your face into his neck and he nuzzles his nose into your hair. He rocks back and forth, hushing and whispering sweet nothings into your ear calmly til you feel better. He'll trace his fingers up and down your arm, drawling spirals and circles.

• If you fall asleep before him, he'll make sure to tuck the sheets in around you.

• Jett loves your hair. Touching it, playing with it. teaching him to plait your hair was more fun for Jett than you could've imagined, he was almost hypnotised by the simple act of bringing one piece of hair infront of the other. After you wash, he'll light the fire, have you sit by it as he brushes and dries your hair. He loves when you play with his hair too. The first time you ever did it he groaned so loudly you thought something was wrong; quite the opposite.

• Jett keeps a journal where he draws. He didn't have very formal education, so instead of writing about the day instead he'll take the journal with him on a hunting trip and draw a family of rabbits, or a coyote on a hill, or a vulture circling something dead under the sun, but his favourite thing to draw is you. He's very shy and secretive at first, but after letting you see it for the first time and hearing your sweet compliments he shows you everytime he adds something new to it now. Sometimes he'll tear out a picture he really likes and stick it in the wall above the desk in your bedroom. Again, most of the drawings are of you.

• Massages. Back massages in particular. Jett knew he had to marry you when you first gave him a massage. His muscles are tense and knotted from constant manual labour, but since you've offered him massages he's felt as if a long ribbon all knotted and jumbled up has been untangled and ironed out within him.

• "Y'know what you remind me of?" "What?" "A toffee. You're hard on the outside but soft on the inside." Word Count: 3.7K

[bbeboppp]

Not a hope in hell | Part IV

𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗙𝗢𝗨𝗥; Stone on the Road

A/N: Sorry I update slowly. Also I'm gonna try include some angst because I haven't yet.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

❝ Don't say you need me when, you leave and you leave again ❞ Pretty When you Cry, Lana del Rey

✧

THIRD PERSON'S POV:

December 12th, 1971. 03:44 AM

Bobby hadn't shown up to work for a few days. He hadn't been seen home either, or by anyone in Café Verde.

Another soul, lost to the streets. That was the main image he portrayed. Nobody in the half-way house knew him by his name, and they wouldn't care to either. He didn't try socialise with any of them, if they fell back into the life they might pull him back too. Bobby didn't think he'd be tempted so easily, and didn't think he'd go back to his old ways in his own. At least if someone he knew walked past him & they got chatting, he could blame them.

Maybe it was loneliness that drove him so far from the right road. He was getting less casual with the waitress from across the road, but the more he thought about that blooming relationship the more he felt as if he was going to turn into a burden for her, like a tumour or a parasite. Bobby wasn't a ridiculously prideful character, but he was a shameful one.

He didn't know what time it was. Bobby was lying on the floor, in a cold apartment room. He had just woken up, and was covered in a cold sweat, as if he was fevered. As he came to his senses, his heartbeat steadied, and he wiped the sweat from his upper lip. He had passed out on the floor, and his inner arm veins were cut by track marks, viciously fresh. To his left, on a mold infested mattress someone too was passed out, being hugged by another, also gone. Their mouths were open, then limbs limp and their clothes smelling of god knows what. The walls were falling to bits, and there was murmuring coming from another room.

Bobby sat up, rubbing his eyes. He must've been passed out for a while, he didn't remember it being dark when he conked out; although he didn't remember anything at all about when he lost consciousness.

This was it, as if he'd never gone to jail, or tried turn his life around, he was back here. The warm embrace of heroin was the only embrace he'd ever really felt, and this was where he stooped to to be held by it.

He looked at the two passed out on the bed beside him. They were sleeping peacefully, holding each other loosely. He wondered where Kitty was, if she was in this apartment complex or another nearby. This was close to Chico's turf, if she was anywhere she'd be around here. He got her into this world, and then disappeared. The complete opposite of a saving grace, he wondered if he even deserved a second chance after that scenario.

Bobby stood up, feeling dizzy, he needed water. Stumbling around the semi-familiar apartment, he found his way to the kitchen and lowered his head to drink water straight from the tap. It was probably contaminated or some shit; this was New York; but he couldn't care less.

As he wiped the excess water from his lips, Bobby looked around for the door. He wanted to leave. Post-high clarity, he decided the people who let him lie on the floor unconscious weren't the best to be around. They never had been, and they never will be.

The hallway was colder, and so was the stairway down. It was as if the further he got from his source of a high the colder t he world around him got.

As he stepped out onto the street, a cold chill bit him. It was night time, and would be so easy to slip back inside and go back up to the room and shoot up again, to warm himself in the cold December night.

Something kept him pushing, and he shut the door behind him, stepping down the steps of the complex onto the street. He stumbled a little, and shivered dramatically as he was met with the elements of the open street.

A dog barking, old ladies sitting on low balconies gossiping, hustlers, solicitors, begging hands, footprints in the snow, rumbling engines from vehicles on the roads, the smell of hash as he turned the corner and the general smell of well; rubbish. All of Bobby's senses were being attacked as he walked down the street. His nostrils stung from the cold winter air & the smells creeping up from the sewer, his eyes stung in the cold too, and he blinked hard to stop them from going blurry.

Cold. It crept in, seeping into his bones, it stung his nose and eyes, and made him purse his lips so they wouldn't crack in the low temperatures. He thought of somewhere to go.

The half-way house took him forty minutes to reach. By then, his hands had frozen and he was balling them up in his fists as he slinked up the steps stiffly. The door didn't budge; he huffed under his breath, remembering their strict rule of all doors locked after the 1am curfew, to try prevent suspicious activities and relapses.

So now what, he couldn't go home, not that the half-way shitbox was home anyway. That's what it was, a shitbox.

Leaning against the railing, Bobby looked out onto the street, seeing Café Verde closed. He remembered y/n again, her shy smile and twinkling eyes.

05:16 AM

Y/N'S/3RD PERSON POV: (because I fucking switched halfway through oops).

My buzzer rang. I didn't hear it the first time, the second or the third. By the fourth time, I had just groggily awoken.

I looked through my open bedroom door into my hallway, looking at the phone on the wall as a little light beside it flashed. I wasn't expecting visitor's, and definitely not at- what time was it?

The clock on my bedside table read 5 AM. What a joke, must just be someone coming home late drunk trying to get in who forgot their keys. It rang again, impatiently. Something in me was compelled to answer it, like a gut feeling. Heaving out of bed, I walked into the hallway, picking up the phone connecting to the buzzer.

"Hello?"

"Y/n..?" A familiar accent answered back.

"Yeah."

"I uhh.." I heard shuffling on the other line, as if he was coming up with an excuse on the spot.

"I was out with friends, we were out in bars and pubs n' all til late, I'm far from home n' I was just wonderi-"

"You wanna come in?"

A silence was held, a quiet buzz on the line was all that told y/n they were still connected.

"If you're not busy or.. Anything, y'know."

Y/n laughed under her breath. She was busy sleeping, but she'd usually get up in another hour or so anyways so she was up for good now.

"5FA, be quiet going up the stairs, the elevator is getting repairs done."

"See you." Bobby put down the phone, & I pressed the button to open the door to the building.

Four minutes later, an exhausted man showed up at my door. He was in clothes that.. smelled, and his hair looked roughed up. He looked drained in general.

"I haven't seen you in a while, what happened?" I breathed, stepping aside from the open door to let him in.

Bobby's face twisted into one of guilt and awkwardness. He winced, inhaling as he thought up of another excuse.

"Family emergency. Rather not get into details."

Y/n bit her lip, looking down as she thought. She didn't want to be nosy, but who get's back from a family event looking like they haven't showered or slept for a year?

"If you wanna freshen up, the bathrooms down the hall on the left." She offered, pointing vaguely.

"Thanks, really." In the dim lighting of the apartment, his brown eyes seemed so soft, they looked into hers as he displayed signs of pure appreciation.

"I'll get you a towel." She said, walking back to her room to look through her drawers for one. Knowing he didn't have a second change on him, Y/n opened up the very bottom drawer. Everything she despised but couldn't bring herself to throw out or something similar was all piled up inside; to same some, her ex's clothes.

She picked out an off-white vest & pair of dark jeans. They smelled of the man's cologne, even though they'd been through the wash several times.

She stacked the folded clothing on top of a towel and handed it to Bobby who was standing in front of the shower, trying to figure out the nozzle heads.

"Turn that clockwise to turn the water on, turn that one anti-clockwise to turn up the pressure, and that one clockwise to change the temperature."

"I didn't pick up any of that." Bobby casually spoke, twisting the nozzles for himself; he didn't do well with spoken instructions.

"Just- whatever. Come out whenever you're done." Y/n sighed, leaving.

"What did you think I was gonna do when I was done, stay in here til I starved?" Bobby humoured, but got no reaction from Y/n.

She didn't feel so appreciated, and slightly resented Bobby for being so casually able to waltz in her home after basically ghosting her for the best part of a week. She wanted an explanation, for him to leave the bathroom and burst into a monologue, perfectly explaining everything.

When Bobby left the room, it was visible a little bit of life had come back into him. His skin looked cleaner, his hair no longer greasy. And that god awful smell, almost eradicated.

"Thanks for the spare pair of clothes, they your old man's?" He asked casually, dumping his worn clothes in the corner of the room.

"Uh, yeah." Y/n shrugged. She was sitting on the edge of her bed, sleep pecking at her head. Something the girl struggled with was getting to sleep early enough to wake up early enough. Her mother used to say she was nocturnal, always staying up late and not emerging from her room til it hit around 2pm. The only proven method she'd found of getting early sleep was either to completely exhaust herself during the day or do one all nighter, making the next night easy to sleep.

"I can't thank you enough, I really needed a pitstop." He yawned, leaning his hip on the side of the bed frame.

Y/n's face crumpled up. That's what she was? A pitstop? A pitstop between what and what? She wanted to be angry, but was too full of sadness.

"That's what I am? A pitstop?" Her voice wobbled, she looked at Bobby with teary eyes, feeling a little hurt.

"Oh, no. No, no I didn't mean it like that y'know baby." He lowered the tone of his voice, tilting his head as he bent lower to get his face level to hers as she sat on the edge of the bed.

"I was just jokin', sorry, I don't take much of anythin' seriously, not th-"

"You don't even take me seriously? After-" Maybe it was laughable that she was asking a man who'd known her for less than a week if he was serious, but the wave of sadness washing over her brain brought the question to the surface.

Bobby kissed her lips. Her eyes widened, before she closed them too and melted into the kiss. He had hold either side of Y/n's face, holding it softly, not wanting to leave any bruises on her soft skin. He tasted like cigarettes and smelt of them too. Even though he was wearing totally different clothes, the smell must've been etched onto his skin like a tattoo. Their lips stayed connected for a long moment, before he pulled away.

"I don't take much of anythin' seriously, not that i don't appreciate you doing this for me." He finished his sentence he was cut off from.

Y/n looked at him, her eyes wide, lips slightly apart.

"Fuck, sorry." Bobby began to inch away before Y/n wrapped her arms around his neck, almost throwing herself at him as they kissed again. Bobby smiled into the kiss, holding onto the curves of her hips.

Y/n began to root through his freshly washed hair with her hands. It had only been towel dried, and was still damp. She massaged the back of his skull, which made a low groan roll from the back of Bobby's throat, one neither of them really predicted. He gripped her hips tighter, tilting his head as he kissed her deeper.

Standing at the bottom end of Y/n's bed, Y/n was slowly backed down onto the soft blanket lying on top of the mattress. Bobby's elbows rested either side of her torso as he massaged her hips & thighs. Y/n was ecstatic. She hadn't been caressed in a long while, and every time Bobby exhaled warm breath onto her face or felt his cold hands touching her warm skin her heart skipped a beat.

Y/n's hands travelled from his hair to his chest, her fingers guiding themselves over his collarbones and muscles, she almost giggled like a school girl looking at a poster of her boy-band celebrity crush as she felt his lean build. They travelled lower, but as soon as one reached Bobby's belt a hand reached down to stop it.

They parted lips, both slightly more out of breath than before, she looking into his eyes, perplexed. He looked back at hers, almost confused why he stopped himself.

"Not like this." He whispered softly, letting go of her hand and stroking her cheek as he propped himself up with the other arm.

Y/n's brows furrowed. She hadn't been intimate in months, maybe even close to a year, and this is what she gets? Edged? Teased?

"Please." She whispered into his ear, taking his jaw tenderly in both her hands, cupping it as she rubbed circles with her thumbs.

"No, I don't want to rush things." Bobby placed a hand over her, inadvertently turning her on when she felt how much bigger his hand was.

"But I do." She whined, sliding her hand out from under his to squeeze his hand. Bobby huffed a laugh, then frowned a little when he still felt her squeezing his hand, not letting go as she stared up at his face hovering above her. He clenched his jaw, biting his tongue to stop himself talking. He stared back at her, contemplating if sex this early on in their relationship would ruin it.

Still holding onto his hand, Y/n released her grasp a little. "But if you don't want to, I get it." She eased, still massaging one side of his face with her free hand. Bobby tilted his head, pushing into the massage as he closed his eyes, enjoying it.

"I don't want to ruin anything, I really do adore you, I don't want you to think this is all I want." He spoke gently, opening his eyes to become half-lidded ones. When he looked down at Y/n and met her too half-lidded eyes, he was contemplating again.

"Don't tease me just by coming this far." She whispered dangerously, creating extreme tension with the eye contact the two were holding. She looked up at him through her lashes, blinking slowly as her chest heaved with every breath, entrancing Bobby.

His dimples showed up as a smirk slid onto his features. She was good, almost too good. Bobby freed his hand from Y/n's, and took it to kiss her fingers caringly.

"Alright then."

Bobby lowered his face to her neck, pecking it with kisses. She arched her back instinctively as she put her arms around his neck once again. She tilted her head to the side so half of it was resting on a pillow. She melted into the soft bed underneath them, breathing deeply into her lungs as she took in every sip of pleasure. Bobby's hands travelled to her shoulders, plucking at the string vest resting on them. She reached down to the brim of her night shirt, pulling it over her head, revealing the whole of her upper torso. One thing Y/n forgot about sex was how vulnerable it made you feel, especially when you became undressed before your partner.

Thankfully Bobby was quick to follow, pulling his vest he had only just put on over his head as well. The skin to skin contact between their chests felt so good, it was simply exciting. Bobby's lips moving from her neck to her collarbone and the area above it, where he began sucking the skin.

The more sounds Y/n made, the hungrier Bobby became. He too had forgotten what kinds of audios can make a man mad, and the two progressed further, turning each other on step by step.

After a couple minutes of foreplay, Y/n lowered her hand down again, to his jeans. This time he didn't stop her. She could feel something poking against her leg, and her heart beat faster as she unbuckled his belt with one hand, then unbuttoned the top button. Bobby pulled his jeans down, then his boxers. He propped himself up on the opposite arm, giving the other one a break as he used that arm to place a hand on the low of her back. He used to other to pull down her pajama pants, which came off without much of a struggle.

Pausing, the two locked eyes again.

"You still sure?" Bobby breathed, now resting his free arm on the side of her hip.

"Yes." Y/n whispered, her knees resting either side of Bobby's legs.

"You sure?" He spoke quietly, staring at Y/n's face as she closed her eyes.

"Mhmph."

"You sure sure?"

"God stop messing around Bobby." Y/n's eyes flew open, a scolding expression on her face. He had on an arrogant smile, and giggling at himself a little under his breath.

As he went in, Y/n's chest lifted as she inhaled, drawing in a sharp oh. He carefully held the small of her back and the side of her hip, staring at her face as he looked to see what kind of faces she'd make. "You're beautiful." He breathed, staring at her whole underneath him.

"Mmmnnggghh, nhh, tthhankss." She arched her back higher, intertwining her own legs with his. Bobby moved both of his hands to her hips, holding them to make it easier to move in and out for him. Her legs were now wrapped around his hips, locking him into the position.

Bobby exhaled a small laugh from his nose, dimples popping up as he smiled at her. Her hair was all over, some rogue strands throwing themselves over her face. His smile slowly faded, as he began focusing on his rhythm & pace. He'd grip her hips tighter as he went in & out. It was now that he realised he'd had to pull out soon. He grinned softly at the thought that they were just so entranced by each other neither thought of protection; too impatient and excited.

Y/n was in a world of her own, she'd flutter her eyes open & shut, occasionally planting kissed on Bobby when his head dipped low enough for that to happen.

"Bobby," Y/n gasped, holding one hand on his shoulder, the other pressing against his pec. "I'm close."

He smiled with satisfaction, seeing Y/n a squirming, aroused mess below him, "Me too, baby," he'd lean down to kiss her on her forehead, and she felt his lips curled into a smile against her skin. Between each syllable they spoke to each other they panted; all they could get out between each gasp for air was a syllable anyway, anymore and they'd exhaust themselves.

Finally, with a pleasure filled moan, Y/n arched her back one last time, feeling a whole body reaction. Bobby was close behind, quickly pulling out.

He collapsed onto Y/n, the two heaving to catch their breath in the otherwise silent room. Bobby's head rested in between Y/n's breasts, pecking them with kisses, his hands letting go of her hips; one slinking herself her back to hold her body to him while the other reaching up to rub her shoulder & all along the upper bit of her arm.

She'd kiss the crown of his head, one arm resting on his back as the other cradled his jaw, her fingers running up & down his jaw & cheek in a gentle caress. Y/n moved her hand after a while to hug Bobby around his neck.

Lying there with Bobby on her chest, Y/n matched the rhythm of her breathing to his. They lay there in silence, Bobby's eyes closed with Y/n's half-lidded. With one delicate finger, she traced the outline of the muscles on his back, then his shoulder blades, then moving down his arm, to his elbow. In the dim, very early morning light, Y/n could almost make out the track marks on the inside of his arm. He pulled his arm tighter to his side, obstructing her view.

God, please don't ruin this moment.

Now Y/n knew. She already had her doubts about this whole family emergency, but now she knew. Bobby was an addict, likely to heroin, the biggest thing in New York City right now. Instead of gasping, grabbing his arm to inspect it, shouting, or any other sort of confrontation, she wrapped both arms around him, bringing him in with a tight hug as she inhaled the smell of his hair. Even his hair smelt faintly of cigarettes. She closed her eyes in his embrace, as Bobby opened his.

He wasn't sure if she had seen his track marks or not, and wasn't sure what the close embrace was for. He blindly hugged her back, why wouldn't he.

Bobby closed his eyes again, now snaking both his arms underneath the dip in her back, clinging onto Y/n as he fell into what the best rest of his life was. He had been tired for all five of the days he went missing, and now was his chance to rest.

Maybe he deserved it, finally resting against a woman's skin in a clean, safe home. It was the quietest apartment he'd ever been in. Not that the complex was high-end, but it must've been filled with retired folk & mutes for a silence this strong to linger.

On the other hand, Y/n was contemplating whether or not she should ask Bobby about his arms. It was clear the five day disappearance must've been a relapse, she knew he came from the half-way house across the street. It didn't bother her though, and she wanted Bobby to know that. As long as he'd love her and stay clean he could come back and lay here with her.

"Bobby..?" The silence was broken by Y/n's soft voice.

He didn't respond, Y/n assumed at first he had fallen asleep, but then groggily, a "Hm?" grumbled against her bare chest skin.

She bit her lip, stroking his hair with a hand distractingly as she thought of how to word what she wanted to say.

"I love you." She began,

"I love you too." Bobby sleepily pressed a kiss against her breast, snuggling up closer to her.

"And I love you for you. As in, who you are." She continued, pausing to see if he had anything more to say. His brain activity paused, then continued as he realised that she did indeed see his track marks.

"I don't care about your past, or your dark moments, I think you're a really lovely guy." She faintly whispered close to his ear. Bobby stared straight ahead, at the wall, his eyes guarded, his thoughts inside unguessable. "I love you." She repeated.

The room was silent. Y/n bit her lip again, wondering if she should have ever bothered talking to him. Maybe he didn't want to talk at all, she was just bothering the man that wanted something casual, and didn't want to change for love. Then, she felt wet on her chest. She frowned a little, before realising what it was. Bobby was crying. Then, it all came crashing down, his body began shivering, his breaths staggering as he tried control them, more tears falling down on her skin.

He opened his mouth, wanting to say something back. What was there to explain? No I promise I'm not a junkie baby those 5 days I disappeared were nothing? It all happened so fast, the last thing he expected was to be crying into the arms of a stranger.

Y/n kissed the top of his head again, reassuringly caressing his scalp & holding his back too.

He buried his face in her, balling up his a hand then using the bottom of his palm to push away the tears. He went to do it again, but y/n's caressing soothed his too much, like a baby being given a pacifier, he fell back down onto her chest again, letting the air dry his tears instead of angrily pushing them away.

With one arm still around the dip in her back, he used to other one to reach up and hold Y/n's arm which was resting around his neck, as if to say don't stop holding me.

Y/n's struggled a little, but managed to pull the bedsheets crumpled up at the side over her & the now sleeping man on her chest. She held him close like he was a delicate china plate that would chip and crack if she ever let go.

Bobby fell into a deep sleep. The embrace he was in was nothing he ever felt before. It was warmer than heroin, something he never wanted to lose. Maybe that was a dramatic statement to think or feel, but he was hooked.

END OF CHAPTER

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Word count: 4.3k

[bbeboppp]

REBLOG IF ITS OKAY TO TALK TO YOU.

Please.

[bbeboppp]

𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭 | 𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐𝘐𝘐

𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗧𝗛𝗥𝗘𝗘 ; Simone's Garden

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

❝ I'm on my knees in fascination ❞ quote from Reflecting Light, by Sam Philips

✧

THIRD PERSON'S POV:

December 6th, 1971. 04:17 AM

Bobby had been turning all night. He had trouble sleeping in his cold, box-roomed apartment. The cold that nipped him through the thin blanket lying on top of him & the buzzing noise of the city around him often lead to nights like this. He wondered if he had some strain of insomnia, and if he'd be doomed to suffer through nights like these for the rest of his life. Bobby didn't get a wink of sleep til he saw the sun rise, at five thirty. The sun didn't wake up the city; it's busy people were still hustling along long before it bled it's colours into the streets; they don't call New York the city that never sleeps for nothing.

December 6th, 1971. 12:44 AM

Sitting by the window again, Bobby had dragged the singular chair from the table to the window to wait the passer-bys below, smoking a cigarette between his tobacco stained fingers. He reminded himself of his old man, Bobby's father used to come home after work and sit watching the folks on the street go by. Bobby thought it was because they were too poor for a television & his father was just about illiterate, but who knows, maybe it was just an unshakable hereditary trait.

Bobby sat at his window, throwing cigarette butts into the ashtray just a light another one til he felt compelled to move. The very moment he felt compelled to move was the moment he saw a familiar face leaving Café Verde across the street. Y/n, in her green apron busily walking away as she let her hair down from a ponytail.

Unbothered to arrive to work, Bobby decided on a different activity to occupy his time with.

December 6th, 1971. 12:49 AM

Walking down the street, Y/n heard her name being called. (cba to remember if Bobby was told y/ns name just roll with it for plot convenience).

"Y/n." Bobby's voice wasn't drawn out, it was a quick, attention-catching shout. She turned her head, fiddling with the ends of her hair that had knotted up a little.

Y/n turned her head. Catching up to her in a lazy jog, Bobby had a cigarette tucked between the lips at the corner, and a friendly expression painted on his face. He was wearing all navy, apart from a black leather jacket. The man walked up to her as if they had been friends for years, throwing an arm over her shoulder nonchalantly. The girl felt her face get a little warmer, an unavoidable shy grin lifted the corners of her lips and her gaze met his.

"Going anywhere interesting?" He asked, slowing down from his previous walk to match her walking pace. Bobby took the cigarette hanging off the corner of his lip, holding it towards y/n as an offer, which she politely shook her head as a "no" to.

"I'm looking for somewhere to eat on my lunch break. I'd eat at the café, but there's only small pastries and coffee, it won't fill me for lunch." Y/n spoke in a factually tone, as she had eaten from the café many a time, and noted that their overpriced pastries were only snack items.

"I know a good place. Simone's Garden. It's a ten minute walk from here, how long do you have for break?" Bobby, having wandered the streets of New York many a time, knew almost every nook and cranny.

Y/n hadn't heard of Simone's Garden before. Judging by the name, it sounded like a nice enough place. Maybe somewhere with outdoor seating surrounded by potted plants, large glass windows and romantic table candles. She could picture a dark wooden table set with a soothing shade of red as a tablecloth, and waiters with expensive European accents. She could vividly imagine delicate soft jazz playing in the background, maybe even by a live band dressed in tuxedos with extravagant moustaches.

"You'll love it, it's real classy." Bobby followed up, pinching his fingers together as he said classy to add extra emphasis. This made the shy little grin on y/n's face spread into a smile of excitement, it wasn't every day she was able to attend places of such high value.

December 6th, 1971. 1:04 AM

A small brick building painted in black stood squished between two, larger more modern ones. There was ivy growing on it's walls, and rubbish overflowing from four bins lining against it's alley's walls.

The area of town y/n had been lead to was.. Unpopular. She recalled news of a stabbing close to this area only two days ago, but surely that didn't reflect on the restaurant's status.

"Table for two." Bobby spoke to a waitress, who lead them inside. The floor boards creaked, and the interior was dark. A couple shouts came from the kitchen, y/n didn't feel at home at all.

"I used to work here, when I was sixteen." Bobby explained, pulling out a chair for y/n before seating himself. She took off her scarf, letting it hang off the back of the hair as she took off her coat, doing the same. The menu's had tears at their sides, and small stains dotted every few pages.

"Why'd you quit?" Y/n asked, briefly looking up from the menu to Bobby sitting across from her at the table.

"Oh, I didn't quit, I was fired." He replied coolly, browsing over the menu without looking up.

Y/n laughed awkwardly, wondering why he'd return to a workplace he was fired from. Before she could ask why, Bobby chimed in.

"I took cash from the register, but I paid it back, me and the owner are on good terms now." He said, not even to reassure her, but just to tell a bit of a story.

When the waiter came, they seemed to recognise Bobby and yelled his name, giving him a firm pat on the back as Bobby stood up to shake the waiter's hand and pat his back as well. The waiter told y/n a story of when Bobby stored stolen technologies in the storage room, but Bobby cut him off before he spoke too much. Y/n ordered a slice of cottage pie with a side of leek soup, Bobby ordered fries and soup. His order didn't seem to go together well, but he didn't take advice.

"I've been living off these since I was ten." Y/n was informed about the fries as soon as they arrived. "That's why I look so good." He followed up, with a straight face, as he munched on the thin salty chips. Y/n grinned, laughing quietly. There was a subtly about Bobby, although he was loud and obnoxious even, every time he spoke or someone spoke of him a little piece of him was revealed, something deeper, or about his past, that y/n found herself collecting like pieces to a jigsaw. The man could definitely be defined as a jigsaw. Slightly broken, piecing himself together. During quiet discussion over lunch, y/n noticed the track marks on his inner elbows his shirt sleeves didn't cover. She said nothing, only taking a small mental note. They seemed mainly healed, but she wasn't completely sure as y/n didn't want to stare.

The food y/n ate was great. Bobby grinned smugly, recalling his past words, "I told you, you'd like the food here. Really good food." He spoke, chips in his mouth. That was a habit he'd have to get rid of if he wanted to see y/n again.

December 6th, 1971. 1:34 AM

The owner walked out from the back, greeting Bobby with an overly friendly manner. Despite what Bobby had spoken of about his past with the manager, they did indeed seem to be on friendly terms. Bobby held up y/n's coat, helping her throw it on again & payed for the bill in cash.

Walking back towards Café Verde, the two held hands as Bobby talked about anything and everything. He was such a lively character, full of interesting personality and almost unbelievable stories. The man definitely fit into the role of someone who lived in the city that never slept; he was almost always on the go, pumped with energy and life.

December 6th, 1971. 1:42 AM

"Well, you've got another.." Bobby looked down at his watch, counting the time, "Eight minutes til you're back to work."

As y/n rummaged through her bag, looking for something, Bobby's attention seemed to be pulled away from her. His eyes travelled across the road, he froze. Forgetting to breathe, it was as if time stood utterly still at that very moment. Across the way, hugging herself in the cold, a girl in a familiar red coat was walking past a barber shop. Kitty had grown even thinner, even more sickly since Bobby had last seen her. Her face was obscured by her striped scarf and woolly hat, thin streaks of greasy unkempt hair fallen either side of her freckled face.

"Awh, man." The man mumbled, diverting his eyes to the pavement. He felt pitiful, seeing who he once considered the most beautiful girl in the world worn into such a state. She had only deteriorated, like a beautiful flower long forgotten, shrivelling into addiction.

He wanted to say hi, to catch up, but he didn't want to be sucked back into that life. That life, that life that he had introduced Kitty to, that she was stuck in, as she wandered the streets all alone.

Bobby felt his heart strings tug, although he was remorseful he couldn't cry, his eyes were dry even as the cold wind stung them.

He couldn't do it, he couldn't stand there and wait for Kitty to see him. He didn't even know what to say. With that, Bobby turned to walk away. He pecked y/n's cheek with a kiss, a quick goodbye. He was riddled with guilt, and only wanted to avoid his past. It was only a coincidence that in the big city of New York, that he had run into the only girl he didn't want to ever see again. Only a coincidence, yet it felt like fate that he should be reminded of his past.

Y/n stood unmoving, having pulled out a scrap of paper & a short blunt pencil from her handbag. She had written down her number and address, but before she could hand it to Bobby he had disappeared from her side, only leaving behind a kiss on her cheek.

She turned her head, watching him stride off. it was odd, seeing such a random move. Y/n tucked the piece of paper into her pocket, sighing and walking into work early; having nothing else to do.

END OF CHAPTER ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

A/N: whoopsie daisies this was LATE. also i promise that something interesting will happen in chapter four i just don't wanna rush into anything cos i like slowburn but im kinda impatient LMAOO. Also I didn't check for grammar so good luck deciphering all that

Word Count: 1.8K

[bbeboppp]

Been inactive for a while. I am working on the third chapter & a Scarface one-shot. Anyway, just wanted to share this album I found on youtube :)

[bbeboppp]

𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭 | 𝘗𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯 𝘕𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘭𝘦 𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘬 | 𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐𝘐

𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗧𝗪𝗢 ; Philosophy

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

❝I'm stronger than all my men; except for you..❞ quote from "Pretty When You Cry" by Lana del Rey.

✧

THIRD PERSON'S POV:

December 5th, 1971. 07:56 AM

The dim light from early morning hours shone in through lacey white curtains in Bobby's room, illuminating the cold flat. The humble droning of cars below rumbled softly. Bobby had never, ever been a morning person, especially in the winter months.

God, he remembered just why he didn't take opening-shift jobs now; the mornings of New York were miserable to be welcomed from sleep to. He groggily sat up, reaching to the foot of his bed, where his suitcase lay. Inside were just a few of his belongings, such as clean spare clothes, forty bucks, a half-empty deodorant stick, a pack of stale beef jerky, and a belt. As he looped the belt through the belt loops, Bobby remembered the feel of it's soft leather wrapped around the skin just above his elbow. As if the room wasn't already silent, another dreadful silence slipped in.

Rejecting the memory, Bobby finished looping his belt quickly, kicking his heels into his shoes as he shoved his bomber jacket over his shoulders, zipping up half-way. A box of matches and a packet of silk cuts branded themselves against his skin as he felt them in his pockets.

✧ THREE MINUTES LATER ✧

A five-minute walk with only a minute to spare, Bobby accepted the fact that he'd be late to work. He wasn't planning on punctuality, the mindset of working any job but one assigned to him already kicking in, I guess some things never change. Besides, the dark-haired man already had something else in mind.

Bobby sat on the steps of the apartment, a cigarette tucked between his lips. He rested his hands in the pockets of his jacket, keeping them from the nipping frosty air of New York. Across the street, the little café had opened. The tan-brown bricks, the tea-green awning, the name of the café written in white paint. He watched two waiters, already in uniform, walk in through the door along with a tall, grey-haired man with hollowed cheeks. He was likely the manager, as his ridiculous outfit suggested. The lights turned on inside, the outside seating brought outside once again & the awning extended out into the street. Lastly, the little sign saying Closed was flipped, now reading Open.

Bobby stood up, throwing his cigarette butt on the ground, stamping out the burn end with the tip of his boots as he crossed the street, entering the café.

✧ INSIDE THE SHOP; Y/N'S POV: ✧

Y/N's uniform consisted of a white t-shirt, green apron that wrapped around her mid-section & pants of her choice, which in today's case would be a pair of brown flared trousers. It was a fuck ugly uniform, but it hard to slay when you have to worry about the uniform policy.

The first customer of the day was an old man who sat in the darkest corner in the café, reading the menu slowly. He typically came in every few days and never tipped. Y/N's work partner, Loretta, usually took his order. Loretta was one of Y/N's only friends, but a great one at that. She had shoulder-length curls, bleached not quite blonde but rather an off-ginger shade. The second customer was a woman in all-black attire, probably attending some important meeting that day. She wore heels that sounded loudly on the old wooden floor as she walked towards the counter, ordering a black coffee to-go.

The third customer was a man y/n hadn't seen before, and definitely not one who looked like he drank coffee from a local café. Maybe he drank coffee, but still, his grungy apparel brought a feeling similar to a premonition, but an enticing one at that.

His face was stubbled; he needed a shave. His hair was kept out of his face with a band around his forehead and a tall nose standing in the middle of his face like some sort of landmark. The thick, dark hair around his face framed it; his dark eyes held a witty spark within them; he seemed upbeat for some reason.

"What would you like to order?" Y/N spoke, hands on the counter as she waited for an order to fix a drink of some sort.

No response. Bobby had heard her, and acknowledged it, probably, but he was busy reading the menu fixed on a sign above Y/N's head.

"Mmm, I don't know. What do you suggest?" Bobby spoke after maybe fifteen seconds of silence, glancing from the sign to her. Already, a line began to trickle in behind Bobby, all lining up quietly & neatly.

"Black coffee." Y/N spoke, unfeeling and unknowing to the chemistry Bobby was trying to search for. Her answer was short and simple. She had recommended the easiest drink on the menu.

"I don't like black coffee." He scoffed, looking back at the menu, reading it slowly and carefully as if he had all the time in the world.

Y/N frowned a little. She glanced nervously at the line, hoping the man would make up his mind. Thankfully Loretta had finished taking orders of seated customers & handed them to the manager who was working behind the counter and now opened a second register, a second line forming.

"Espresso then." Y/N suggested, another easy drink to make.

"What's in an espresso?" He tilted his head a little, knotting his brows together as if to imitate confusion.

"Americano." Y/N bluntly spoke. She didn't have the patience to explain simple coffee recipes.

"No no, I don't want an Americano, they're too sour." Bobby protested, shaking his head as if in disappointment.

"Americano's are sweet."

"No, they're sour."

A long silence came from Y/N. She stared at Bobby, not reciprocating his silliness.

"Americano's are not sour."

"The ones I've had are."

"..So.. do you want an Americano?"

"No I want an Espresso."

Y/N hesitated, waiting to see if he'd pull another trick. He stared intently now, his lips not moving to speak another remark.

Four minutes later, Bobby was handed his Espresso. He didn't typically indulge in buying over-priced coffee, but the charisma of the little café was something Bobby decided if he incorporated into his life, would steer him away from spending his time elsewhere. A distraction.

✧ 08:12; BOBBY'S POV: ✧

By the time Bobby had arrived at work, the store had been open for just over ten minutes. Inside was quiet, apart from a few teenagers on their way to school buying gum or the elderly doing their weekly shopping.

Matilda was at the front desk, the sweat on her forehead making her fringe begin to curl.

"You're late!" She hissed at Bobby entering through the door, strutting towards the backroom to get his uniform.

"No I'm not." Bobby replied before shutting the door to the backroom. He scribbled his name down on a name-tag, sticking it to the store-uniform fleece. The fleece was a dark navy colour with two thin lines running horizontally below the chest, one yellow and one red.

"You're LATE." She repeated, glaring at him, but still somehow keeping the pace she held scanning customer items.

"Maybe your watch is just fast." Bobby remarked, taking zero offense to the huff Matilda was working up over his timing. He walked into another register, opening it up.

The day went by with no significant events. Thankfully, Matilda didn't snitch to the manager about Bobby's punctuality, but there's a good chance she will if he runs late again.

✧ 03:21; ✧

First day back, Bobby had accidentally charged four customers twice the price of their items, dropped multiple & worked about three times slower than Matilda. Raul dropped by once, much less cheerful than he was the previous day. Bobby had a feeling that would happen; no grocery-store manager is typically that enthusiastic. He took a spoking break in the back alley, meeting Matilda doing the same. Their uniforms would smell of tobacco afterwards, but since Raul smoked in the backroom it was easy to blame the smell on the backroom, as Matilda had informed Bobby.

Raul offered Bobby $2.10 per hour if he stayed til half seven, as the person who was supposed to come in after Bobby had spontaneously moved to Florida. Bobby agreed, liking the sound of a seventy-cent temporary pay-rise.

✧ 07:26; ✧

With the end of Bobby's shift approaching, the final mile was really kicking in. His entire demeanour was tired, and he was working impossibly slow with a grumbly attitude.

Deciding to go out for a "smoke break" and never return, Bobby left the register & stood outside the shop, as Raul was shouting on the phone in the back-alley. As he held a cigarette between his tobacco-stained fingers, a familiar face exited the shop. Y/N, not wearing her horrid work uniform & in a thick fake-fur coat. She was holding two brown paper bags of groceries, balancing one on each hip.

Bobby stood up from where he slouched against the wall, now walking in step with her. A man of the moment, if Bobby tried this today he'd probably get tazed.

"Want some help carrying those?" He offered, the cigarette hanging lazily from his lips.

Taken slightly aback, Y/N frowned, almost discouraging him altogether.

Before Bobby could speak another bluntly friendly offer, Y/N handed him a bag. She continued walking, readjusting the other bag a little, not acknowledging the puppy she had at her heels.

"Your welcome." He sassily added.

The two walked a length together, Bobby sparking up conversation about anything, anything he could think of. "How's the weather?" He asked, spitting the cigarette he had into a bin, not wanting to look bummy in front of a lady. "Same as always. Cold." Y/N shrugged, crossing the street. Bobby followed in tow.

"Do you like your job?" He asked. "No, who does." Y/N answered. "Awh, don't be such a pessilist." Bobby cooed "The word is pessimist." She corrected him, fighting the oncoming smile at his idiocy. There was something.. slightly charming about the way he answered so quickly yet so foolishly, large doe eyes glancing to his side at her every chance he got.

"Oh, well, I'm not too smart. You seem smart, you go to college?" Bobby followed up. Y/N scoffed sadly, "No, I wish. I got rejected from four." "What were you gonna study?" "Philosophy." Y/N mumbled, perhaps slightly embarrassed about it. Not that she found anything wrong with studying philosophy, but her parents seemed to highly discourage it, since it's deemed typically useless.

"Oh, I know a few philosophers." Bobby spoke brightly. "Pythagoras, Plato, Aristotle.. Uhm.. Para-something." Bobby began listing all the philosphers that came to mind at that moment. Y/N giggled when he said para-something.

"What? I told you I'm not too smart." He retorted, mocking a hurt-tone in his voice. "Parmenides. Philosophy is much more complex than studying the Greek Philosophers though. I mean, the courses can cover a range of umbrella-genres.." As Y/N began rambling about all she knew of philosophy college courses, Bobby listened with a great interest. Of course, he didn't understand half of what she was saying, but at least he nodded along with great enthusiasm and asked a few questions along the way. Unbeknownst to Bobby, Y/N was taking the long way home, just to draw out the conversation a little longer.

✧ SIXTEEN MINUTES LATER; ✧

At the steps of a grey apartment, Y/N stopped. Bobby stopped beside her. He looked up at the building, trying to count the storeys in it but gave up at fifteen.

"What floor do you live on?" He asked. "Twenty." Y/N sighed, taking the bag from Bobby.

"Oh, and thank you." Y/N smile was warm, bizarrely different from when they first met. "Anything to help out the next Aristotle." Bobby replied, looking down with a grin.

Y/N rolled her eyes, giggling quietly. Bobby skipped up the steps ahead of her, just to get the door and hold it open.

"Why thank you." She smiled again, tilted her head against her shoulder as Bobby stood there, stupidly smiling.

"Are you working tomorrow?" Bobby asked, leaning on the side of the door now.

"No, I only work on Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays." Y/N shook her head. Tomorrow was Wednesday.

"You have the day off?" Bobby asked, brows raising.

"No," Y/N sighed, huffing a laugh, "I'm going to Coney Island this Wednesday, visiting my sister."

"Well, have a good time so." He pursed his lips into a subtle smile, watching as Y/N made her way inside, towards the elevator. Bobby walked down the steps, towards his own flat. He didn't know this area of New York too well, but wouldn't get lost by any means.

He took a seven minute detour, deliberately avoiding Needle Park. A burning curiosity itched his insides. He wanted to have a look, to check up on his friends. To see if Kitty was there. But he couldn't do that, he couldn't go back. People don't go to Needle Park to find jobs or prosperity, they go there to die.

When Bobby got home, he patted down his pockets, looking for his keys. He found him in his back pocket & unlocked the door. A cold room & mumbled arguments from neighbours greeted him.

END OF CHAPTER ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Word Count: 2.2k

IMPORTANT: If I call Bobby Paolo at some stage PLEASE tell me omg it's so embarrassing I don't know why I do it </3

[bbeboppp]

𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘩𝘰𝘱�� 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭 | 𝘗𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯 𝘕𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘭𝘦 𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘬 | 𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐

𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗢𝗡𝗘 ; New Beginnings

𝘽𝙇𝙐𝙍𝘽 ; ┊ It's 1971, New York. Sherman Square, known informally as Needle Park. The seemingly never-ending cold winter coats the streets in biting frost as Bobby is released from prison. Swearing to not return to Helen or his addiction, Bobby finds himself looking for a new distraction. He gets a shitty job as a retail worker, living in a half-way house. It's at work on day in December he meets Y/N. Her taste in music is new, her clothes catch his attention and most importantly; they're in love. The story follows Y/N & Bobby's relationship as he keeps temptation to relapse at bay and figures from Bobby's past life cross paths once more. After all, what peace can you find in Needle Park?

⚠︎︎ ⚠︎︎ ⚠︎︎ Based on the film "The Panic in Needle Park" by Jerry Schatzberg, this is my personal take on what could've become, if the very last scene hadn't occurred. The films is an 16/18s and contains use of drugs, domestic violence, talk of drugs, heroin being shot up, etc. I don't want to glorify or romanticize this; personally I've never done drugs and don't intend to, I've seen people destroyed by them. This story is written as a sort of healing process for Bobby and won't contain any domestic violence. Drugs will be mentioned, but not graphically. :)

(NO SMUT, just a warm up. idek if I'll even get attention haha so may or may not be continued if I FLOP. I'll post this on ao3 once I get an account WHY DO I HAVE TO WAIT TIL OCTOBER UGH)

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

❝And here I am, the Only Living Boy in New York.❞

quote from from "The Only Living Boy in New York" by Simon & Garfunkel.

✧

BOBBY'S POV:

December 4th, 1971. 10:01 AM

The gates opened, there stood Bobby with nothing but the clothes he wore and a bag with all the few possessions he had in this world. Nobody was waiting for him, the only faces he sees are the officer's as he passes by them and a couple strangers walking the streets, hunched slightly in their thick winter coats as they briskly journeyed down dull, dim grey pavements.

To his left were rows of fairly desolate buildings in disrepair being towered over by their neighbouring modern neighbours. The world hadn't seemed to develop much since he'd initially entered prison. Taking in a deep breath of the cold morning air, Bobby exhales as he walked. Being in the prison sometimes fucked with his perception of time, even though the longest sentence he'd even done was just under one year. Time will move on, with or without him, and New York was a busy city constantly changing and evolving.

✧  FIFTY-TWO MINUTES LATER  ✧

The door opened with a creak, a short man balding with a clipboard in hand entered first, Bobby shortly after. "Your keys." The man handed Bobby a set of copper keys, two. One for the front door, the other also for the front door but in case the first one was misplaced. A tiny flat with peeling wallpapers, a steel bed-frame and narrow window in an awkward place. Bobby couldn't guess with a gun to his head how old the room was. The furniture in it had probably never left, the walls never repainted from their initial colouring. The man was rambling on about the room. How you need to wake up before 10:00 AM if you want hot water & the café across the street opens at 08:00 AM. Bobby nodded along, taking a look around the room from where he stood. He didn't care much for scenery, sure he could enjoy well orientated & decorated homes, but he never felt the need to do any home improvements himself. Not being materialistic, as long as the mattress he slept on didn't break his back and the chairs didn't collapse under him he'd be fine.

Bobby thanked the man, taking the keys as he watched the man exit the room, shutting the door behind him. Silence fell upon the room, not like much dialogue was happening before. He huffed, walking over to the bed just a few feet away and dumping his bag down onto it. The mattress squeaked, and then again as Bobby sat down. He pulled his boots off, dropping them on the ground beside the bedframe. Taking out a pack of Embassy Gold cigarettes, selecting one and lighting it up. Sitting at the very end of his bed, Bobby watched the street below as he took drags of the stick between his lips, held occasionally by his lightly tobacco-stained fingers.

Down on the street, Bobby observed people walking by. A man dressed in all-gold, likely phoney yelling onto a phone as he crossed the street. A taxi, a red car, a black car passed. Two women with arms interlinked and bright red lipstick strutted down the path, being cat-called by construction workers on break with nothing better to do than pester. Bobby's eyes wandered up and down the street, and finally that little café his landlord had mentioned previously caught his attention. Tan bricks with a tea green awning, a dark-oak door and outdoor seating covered in raindrops thanks to New York's bleak weather. Nobody was sitting outside, and Bobby could see the outlines of bodies sitting down inside the café through the front windows. As he took another drag, Bobby paused after exhaling. The door opened, out stepped a waitress with a ridiculous green half-apron on, grey uniform-top & hair wrangled back. Her mouth moved, she was likely cursing the rain. In her apron's front pocket was a cloth which she took out, using it to wipe down the tables & seats affected by the rain. Bobby chuckled, her efforts were in vain; the furniture would be soaked again in a couple minutes.

His cigarette came to it's end, he placed it on the window-sill, making a note to get an ash-tray. Lighting another one, Bobby watched the waitress huff, returning to inside the café. He continued watching the people on the streets for another four minutes, then saw the very same waitress return out the front to wipe down the furniture again, which was just as wet as it had been prior to her drying it four minutes ago. He giggled (girly-pop moment), watching her expression; just as irked as she was moments before. Bobby has a feeling this wasn't her first time, and wouldn't be her last.

He put the second cigarette out, crushing the ashing end against the wooden window sill. Probably not a good idea, but he wasn't really a good-idea-haver. With almost half the day over, Bobby figured he'd ring the number advised to him by Chico to get a real job. "Easy pay, the manager's an ass but you're not gonna get any better Bobby." Bobby remembered those exact words being spoken to him on the phone during Chico's only visit to him in prison. He was surprised Chico came at all, and wondered if Chico would expect some sort of favour for giving out this information to Bobby.

Bobby lit another cigarette, absently gazing out of the window. Once his third cigarette was finished, he inhaled sharply through his teeth, deciding to get the call over with now rather than later.

✧ ONE HOUR & ONE PHONE CALL LATER  ✧

Paul's grocery read the sign above the small shop in a tacky font. Bobby pushed open the door, looking around the premises for a guy named Raul who he'd spoken to previously on the phone.

"Raul, it's only one letter away from Paul, why don't they rename the grocery Raul's grocery if Raul is the manager?"  Bobby thought, but this little monologue was interrupted by a hard slap on the back. Bobby jumped, turning to see who was greeting him so informally. Raul, a tanned man with something similar to a military haircut on his head & striped top with a nametag on it.

"Oh shit, oh fuck," Bobby thought, looking at the shirt Raul had on, "is that the uniform? That shit is so ugly."

"Your Bobby?" Raul had a jolly voice, and a plastic smile on his face. It was a question, but spoken more like a statement.

"Uh humn." Bobby nodded, holding out a hand to shake.

"Welcome to the family, Bobby." Raul gripped Bobby's hand firmly, shaking it in an unexpectedly enthusiastic manner.

"Oh no he calls his employees his family. Chico why'd you set me up like this." Bobby thought, but only simply smiled in return.

Details such as Bobby's hours and pay were exchanged over the phone. Three days a week, 8:00 AM til 4:00 PM, with one half-hour break. He got $1.60 an hour and couldn't smoke with his uniform on.

"You can start tomorrow, you'll be on shift with Matilda over there." Raul briefed, handing Bobby a uniform shirt and leaving the storage room to point to Matilda. Matilda was an acne-riddled 20-something year old with a hunch and fried blonde hair in a bun. She didn't notice Raul calling her name, focusing on scanning her customer's items.

"If you catch her smoking in her uniform, tell me. She's a re-offender." Raul chuckled, slapping Bobby's arm as he did so. This man did a lot of friendly slapping. Bobby scoffed a laugh, sharing a smile with Raul, but mostly just to be polite.

✧ ELEVEN MINUTES LATER  ✧

Walking back to his flat, uniform in hand, the drizzling-rain had stopped. Bobby walked past a busker, an elderly man playing the trumpet. He stood and listened for a moment, the sound of constant road-traffic and mumbling strangers blending with the sophisticated jazz being played.

Bobby tossed a coin into the trumpet-case the man had played in front of him, receiving a grateful wink. He turned away, looking at the café on the other side of the road. That little green awning, that dark oak door and tan brick walls. Bobby remembered the waitress wiping down the tables, biting the inside of his cheeks as he peered in the glass windows, looking for her.

He turned away, back to the trumpet player. The sound of music accompanied his thoughts. 

"Café Verte opens at 08:00 AM, Monday to Saturday. Doesn't open on Sundays, the owner's a Catholic, they don't work on Sundays." Bobby recalled the landlord explaining to him.

"If you're gonna get something, get the black coffee. They get their coffee beans imported from Brazil, real good shit." The landlord was probably a regular customer, because who the hell else rambles on about a café.

Bobby made up his mind to visit Café Verte the next day, the fact both the café & his job started at 08:00 AM not seeming to cross his mind.

END OF CHAPTER ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

A/N: Just a reminder this is my first published work. Sorry for the slow start haha I promise I'll speed it up. Any advice would be appreciated <3 WORD COUNT: 1.5K

[bbeboppp]

happy godfather part 2 day to those who celebrate

[bbeboppp]

There's no damn Tony montana smut. I've read everything on ao3, even checked wattpad. I downloaded tumblr solely to find some. Going to start writing myself if I don't find anything new.

[bbeboppp]

i saw the greatest minds of my generation lost to al pacino