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imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl · 4 years ago

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Californian Dream (Pt. 11 of 11)

Pairing: Billy Hargrove X Reader

Word count: 2.3 K

Summary: Being part of one of the richest families of California doesn't mean you're happy. Your life is boring, and you're surrounded by meaningless people and their meaningless talk. Even during Summer, with the break you have from college, there's nothing good going on. Nothing but the new pool guy, Billy, the most handsome man you ever saw. You were successfully avoiding him, not wanting to act like an idiot in front of the guy until Billy accepts to be your date for a fancy gala you're forced to attend. The night was going well, even better when he sneaked you out to go to the beach. But a gang of criminals breaks into the party, kidnapping the heirs to the wealthiest families, which includes you. So, for your safety, your parents want you to stay with Billy, living in his apartment until the criminals are caught. And that could take weeks, maybe even months.

Warnings: Light violence

<- Previous part (10)

{Stranger Things Masterlist}

{Dacre Montgomery Masterlist}

California Never Felt Like Home

Even though he's not going anywhere any time soon, you hook one leg around his waist, just to pull him a little closer. “You're my prisoner now.” You mutter, sleep still clouding your voice.

“I wouldn't want to be anywhere else.” He answers, placing kisses all over your face.

“The good part is that we'll have all the afternoon to ourselves.” You giggle, moving to lay on your back with Billy hovering over you.

“I'll take you to see the sunset on that beach you like. Completely desert.” He says in a low voice. “If we survive your parents.”

“We already did.” Kissing him, you move to lie on top of him. “It'll be at this super expensive, fancy restaurant, so it means they won't yell at me or put on a show.”

“Sometimes I think you should consider what you're giving up.” He gets sad suddenly, sighing. You know what he's thinking about, and it will take time for Billy to see and understand this is what you really want.

“I'm giving up a huge house I never felt like it was mine. Lots of money that never brought me happiness.” In between the words, you place kisses all over his face. “But what I'm getting...? God, it's amazing.” Sitting up, you straddle his hips. “I got real friends now, and a home. And an awesome boyfriend who doesn't compare to the assholes on my parents' list.”

“I'm so happy I'm around to see the good daughter rebelling.” He sits up too, strong arms encircling your waist. “You look so good, little rebel.”

“You're just saying that because I'm wearing your shirt.” Wrapping your arms around his neck, you raise an eyebrow. Yesterday, you decided to pick one of his shirts to put on instead of your regular pajamas.

“Babe, you look good on everything. But I gotta admit seeing you wearing my clothes is very hot.”

Smiling, you can't help but blush. “We still have a few hours, so I think we can maybe make out for a while?” Biting your lip at his smirk, you giggle.

“Starting the day off with good ideas already.” He mutters, holding you up and throwing you back on the mattress. “This is the first day of the rest of your lives, you know that, right? Because I'm never letting you go. Unless you get tired of me.”

“I don't think I'll ever get tired of you, so yes...” Caressing his cheek, you take a deep breath, the sunlight illuminating his face. “The very first day of the rest of our lives.”

•••

The morning bliss had to be interrupted. But, as you sit across from your mother at the restaurant, you don't feel scared, or nervous. You feel perfectly fine. You're not dressed for this place, you can see it in your mother's eyes, but you don't care. You like the clothes you're wearing, and your mother's disgusting stare makes you chuckle under your breath. Making yourself comfortable, you ignore the silence. Nobody is saying anything, and your father has been staring at Billy as if he could kill him with his stare.

“So... I believe you want an explanation.” You start, cupping your hands together above the table. “Billy and I are dating. And I'll be living with him.”

“Is it some kind of joke?” Your mother interrupts, leaning closer. “You can't possibly think I'll believe you'll do that.” You're about to say something when she raises a hand, and you shut your mouth. “I get it, (Y/N). Billy is good looking, he has this appeal, he's different from the guys you're used to, rougher around the edges, I get all that. But this? This is insane.”

It's only a matter of time for the insults to begin, you're aware of that. “That's not all, mother.” You add, not even considering giving her a proper answer. “I'm not going to course Law anymore. I'll look for something I actually like. And go to the public University.”

“What the–”

“I have a good job now, at a store of diving equipment and I love it.” Cutting your father short, you raise your voice just a little. “That's my life now. I'm not going back to the house, but I want you both to know that I'll visit, of course, and you can visit me whenever you want and–”

“I'm not going to let you throw your entire life on the trash because of the freaking pool guy.” Your father's voice storms out, making a few people look your way. He does seem a little embarrassed, but definitely angry. “This man–” He points at Billy, and you hold his hand under the table. “–he can give you nothing. Nothing. What do you have in life, Hargrove? I shitty job, a tiny apartment. Do you think you can provide to someone like my daughter?” There it is. The insults. And, knowing exactly what Neil told Billy, you won't let your father treat him this way.

“You wanna know what Billy gave me, father?” Smiling, you begin. “He gave me a life. I never felt truly happy, never. Not in our mansion, or those fancy galas, or wearing fashionable clothes. Never. But with the pool guy, as you call him, in his tiny apartment with his lowlife friends? I finally felt something. I finally felt life was worth living.”

“Alright.” He slams his fist on the table, glancing at your mother, a mean smile on his face. “If you insist on doing this, I'll disown you.” He giggles, a hand half covering his mouth. “You won't see any cents from me anymore. Is that what you want?”

He looks like he got everything figured out. Exchanging a stare with Billy, you can tell he's worried. Does he think you'll fall for this? Squeezing his hand a little and smiling, you try to reassure him. He must feel awful, seated here, and listening to all this shit. “I–”

The waiter comes and you're cut short, waiting for your parents to order whatever they want to eat. “Oh, finally. We'll want Muffin Pan Shrimp Ragoon. Thought I'll give my kid one last decent lunch at a decent restaurant. What do you think?”

Seriously? “I can't eat that.” You think it's so obvious, but by the look on your father's face, he doesn't get it.

“What? Do you want to order something more expensive as a goodbye to your good life?”

“She's allergic to shrimp,” Billy speaks for the first time, his voice strong and deep. Both your parents look a little surprised, but soon enough recognition comes to their faces.

They completely forgot, but it doesn't bother you. You're happy Billy actually remembered it. You only mentioned it once, at the gala. “It's alright, though. We'll have lunch by the beach.” You tell them, smiling at Billy.

“Let me guess...” He dismisses the waiter with a gesture of his hand. “Sandwiches and soda?”

“Actually, yes.” Exclaiming, you stand up, and Billy does the same. It's over. You told them what's gonna happen now, and they have to make peace with that. And if your father wants to change his will and cut you out of it, so be it. “I made them myself and they're delicious.”

“For goodness sake.” Your mother mutters, running a hand through her hair. “Honey, please think this through, alright? Your house will be opened whenever you want to come back.”

“Thanks, mom. I will visit, I promise.” That said, you smile at them before turning away, hand in hand with Billy, walking away from the table.

“You better wipe off your bank account, (Y/N), because you'll never get a penny from me again!” Your father yells, and you simply wave at him, not even bothering to look back.

When you're outside, you feel light-headed, relieved. “This wasn't as bad as it could be.” You breathe out, walking to where Billy parked his car, a block away.

“Did he mean it? About disowning you?” He sounds serious, despite the smile that's on your face.

Turning around without letting go of his hand, you start walking backward. “I don't give a damn.” Speaking slowly, you wink at him, stopping suddenly and letting him come closer by himself before grabbing the collar of his shirt and tiptoeing to kiss him, sweet and slow.

“What the– (Y/N)?” Someone calls and since you do know who it is, you keep kissing Billy for a while longer. “Holy shit.”

It makes you giggle when he pulls your closer, deepening the kiss. But eventually, you have to breathe, so you break apart, a smile on your lips.

“Care to explain why the hell you're making out with the pool guy? In public?” Daniel says as you turn to face him. He has a girl with him, but you don't know who she is. He seems better, given the time he spent held hostage. “Have you lost your mind, girl?”

Sighing, you roll your eyes at him. You have a lunch date on the beach, and you don't wanna waste any more time with meaningless people. “Yeah. I'm dating the pool guy.” You tell him, shrugging your shoulders. “Actually, I'm in love with the pool guy. And now I work at a scuba diving store, so you can come up with some kind of name for me too, but you wanna know what? I don't give a damn.” Pulling Billy harder, you start walking again. “I'd love to say that we'll be seeing each other soon, but we won't. So... Goodbye, Daniel.” Turning on your heels, you leave the couple behind.

The drive to the beach is short, and instead of sitting on the sand, you chose to seat on the hood of his car. Which he now calls Lily, and you peacefully eat the sandwiches and drink the soda. You wouldn't trade it for all the money in the world. The ocean, the sunlight, the fresh wind messing with your hair. The simple food, the hood of his car... And him. Billy is certainly the best part. Having him here is indescribable, and knowing you'll go back home with him is even better.

“So... Will you help me chose something to major in?” You ask as he helps you climb off of the hood, taking your hand and starting to walk down the beach.

“Actually, I have some fresh news coming straight from Jason.” He says, a bright smile on his lips.

Furrowing your eyebrows, you stop to look at him. “What news...?”

“Mr. and Mrs. Heeler, from the store.” Billy starts, putting a strand of hair behind your ear. “They want to retire and they're thinking about passing the store over to you and Jason since they don't have any relatives. If you both agree on being associates.”

“Oh my God!” You exclaim, tiptoeing to crash your lips on his. “This is amazing.”

“Please act surprised when Jason tells you.” In a sudden motion, Billy reaches for your thighs, pulling you up and wrapping your legs around his waist. Using his shoulder for balance, you giggle. “He didn't want me to tell you but I couldn't resist.”

“This is just awesome. This is...” Taking a deep breath, you take a look at the ocean. The sound of the waves crashing is low and calming, and the way the sunlight reflects on the water shines like liquid silver. Then, you look at Billy again, his smile warming up your heart. “I love you.” You haven't said it yet, but it feels like the right time. And this is how you feel. You've never been in love before, but you know how this is how it feels. Like someone owns your whole heart. “I'm not sure if you feel the same but I just need you to know that–”

“I'm completely in love with you.” Billy cuts you off, bouncing you up a little and making the way back to his car. “I have been for a while and that scared the hell out of me.” When you reach Lily, he puts you down on the hood, remaining in between your legs. “But now... I'm sure of it. I want a life with you. A future.”

Blushing, you smile, your forehead touching Billy's. “So that thing you said about me getting to pick the kid's names...” You tease, placing a kiss on the corner of his lips.

“I mean it, if...” Pulling away from a little, he locks eyes with you. “If you don't pick something silly like the name you insisted on giving my car.”

“It's not silly!” Playfully, you try to push him away, giggling when he grabs your sides, tickling you. “Alright! Alright!” After a while you manage to stop him, his hands going back to your hips. “We'll pick names we both like. How does it sound?”

“It sounds like we're talking about kids even before getting married.”

“What?” Furrowing your eyebrows, you try to process what the hell he just said. “Sorry, I thought you heard you talking about...”

“I never felt like the type for marriage but, God, I want to marry you,” Billy exclaims, connecting his lips to yours.

You have a lot to say, a lot of things to ask, but you surrender to the kiss instead. This is all the answers you need. His lips on yours, on this paradise on Earth.

California never felt like home because home isn't a place, but a person. Billy is your home. Wherever you are, if he's with you, it's the right place. Nothing else needs to be said. The life you had before vanished like smoke in the air, and this is even better than everything you could ever dream of. Not all the money in the world can buy this moment, and you don't regret a thing. Love is far more important, and now that you found it, nothing will make you let it go.

@multific @dontxfearxthereaper @nope-thanks @nikkixostan @shinydixon @clockworkballerina @infinitelycharmed23 @lilred91 @moatsnow

#imagine billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove #billy stranger things fanfiction #billy stranger things imagine #billy stranger things

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soulwillower · 4 years ago

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if you’re too shy • richie tozier

(richie tozier x cam girl!reader smut)

[based off the song if you’re too shy (let me know) by the 1975.]

requested: i can't find it lol BUT 🤍anon (i think) requested a fic based off of the 1975′s new song, if you’re too shy let me know !!

warnings: swearing, alcohol use, switch!richie kinda, smut, unprotected sex, a tiny bit of cumplay i guess, mentions of phone sex, oral sex (female receiving), face sitting, a bit of dirty talking, UNEDITED as always

also i wrote this in a different style than usual and idk if i like it much but u can let me know what u guys think,, if its weird i can go in and change the povs since its 3rd person richie

[losers + reader are 21+ in this.]

7.4k words lol

♡

i see her online all the time i'm trying not to stare down there while she talks about her tough time

"h-hey, man, who's that?" the voice from right next to richie makes him damn near leap out of his seat. it makes beverly chuckle a bit as she takes a bite of her apple, shaking her head. "it’s nobody." richie says quickly as he tilts his phone towards his chest and shoots a toothy grin to bill. his friend raises his full eyebrows, "wh-what, so n-nobody was sending you n-nudes?"

"something like that." richie mutters, stomach fluttering as the image flashes in his mind’s eye - the curves, the dark red lace, the plush skin painting a perfect scene in richie’s vivid imagination.

richie looks back down at the photo. his his thumbs hover over the profile picture; he'd found her originally on his instagram explore page, the photos teasing and immediately he had to know more. y/n.

and then a few days later, he'd subscribed to her only fans, which he never quite thought he'd do with anyone, but he couldn't help it. she was so enticing, so perfect and so alluring. it was the playfulness that pulled him in; and he swears he's never lusted after somebody like he has with her. it was kind of starting to freak him out.

"is that o-onlyfans?" bill says and richie shoves bill's nosy face off his shoulder with a panicked grunt. "fuck off, mushmouth."

bill laughs and stan and bev perk up from across the table, staring at the two, interests suddenly piqued. "did you subscribe to a girl's onlyfans, rich?" stan says with a grin, setting his pen down on his notebook.

richie just smirks and wiggles his brows a bit, enough to confirm his question. bill chuckles from next to richie.

"let me see." bev says, wiggling her manicured nails in a "gimme" motion. richie hands his phone over with red cheeks. normally he wouldn't care about his friends discovering he's paid money just to see a hot chick's bod, but this was different. for some reason, he felt connected to her. god, that thought made him want to slam his head against a brick wall. she doesn't even know him, for all he knows she could live in the middle of.... montana, or like, ohio.

bev whistles and stan nods, "if i looked like that," bev mumbles as she tosses richie's phone back towards him, "i'd do that too. mad props."

noises of agreement fill the table but richie's just looking at the small smirk that peeks from the corner of one of the photos and he can't help but wonder what her eyes are like in real life. he wishes he could meet her.

girl of your dreams, you know what i mean there's something 'bout her stare that makes you nervous and you say things that you don't mean

it's a cold day when bill and richie find themselves stumbling in to the coffee shop for a drink. bill's muttering about some girl in his creative writing class that gave him head when richie's eyes catch a figure so familiar yet foreign that he stops dead in his tracks. bill turns to him, face confused. "r-richie, what's wrong w-with you?"

richie shakes his head, stammering in disbelief, "that-that's her, bill. the girl, from onlyfans. y/n." he whispers, gesturing with his eyes towards the girl working the register.

bill’s jaw goes slack, green eyes raking over her form and igniting richie’s stomach with boiling rage. as if bill’s doing something that only richie is allowed to do – as if they're not both being total creeps.

“h-holy sh-shit. she’s b-beautiful.” bill mumbles. richie elbows him in the ribs, shooting him a glare that prompts an eye-roll from his auburn haired friend.

richie swallows and watches, his throat feeling like sandpaper as she laughs at something the customer in front of them said. bill nudges richie, "i-i'm gonna get a s-seat. t-talk to her."

he winks and grins as he walks away, leaving richie with his reckless self. he thinks he's sweating through his sweater as he walks up, finding himself face-to-face with her. "hi, how can i help you?" she asks, giving him a smile

holyshitholyshitholyshit.

he might've just came right then and there. okay, he's gotta say something cool, something smooth. don't be a dumbass, tozier.

"howdy, sugar. i'll have my coffee like i like my women." his mouth blurts as his brain sirens go off, PUT ON THE BRAKES, RICH – "a hot shock to the lap.”

she glares at him, cheeks light pink and eyebrows pulled together in annoyance and yep, richie's probably going to get hard because of that look but he's also probably going to toss his body off a bridge because what the fuck, tozier?

he can hear bill laughing quietly from a ways away and he quickly shakes his head, muttering quietly, "jail. jail, richard."

"funny." she deadpans, clearly not amused. because of course she isn't.

"sorry, i'll have a black coffee, y/n." he mutters, eyes widening to himself when he realizes she was not wearing a goddamn name tag and he just said her name.

this is a disaster. she gives him a bewildered, slightly creeped out look and if richie wasn't panicking, he'd gape at how she still managed to be effortlessly gorgeous even now.

he sighs, shaking his head, the door of the cafe opening and blowing a gust of frigid air through the warm room. fitting - douche chill.

"look, toots, i don't want this to be weird. i- um, i recognize you." he says, cheeks aflame. she raises a brow, face straight for a few moments, unsure what he means.

it's not long after when recognition flashes over her own face - must have ruled out coffee shop, university and her local gym - and she nods with a tight, almost uncomfortable smile.

he tries not to think of the livestream he watched last night where she showed all her new gifts and modeled lingerie, and how he’d spent his time to himself with his left hand immediately after watching. his cheeks are red with shame.

"okay." is all she says, writing down a scribbled order on the coffee cup. her eyes shoot back up and give richie a once-over that really makes his fingers itch - god, why did he have to be this way?

he almost runs his fingers through his curls but decides against it, eyes opting to focus on her own gorgeous eyes as they meet him. "i'm impressed i have a fan who looks like you, i must say. even if you are a complete jack ass." she purrs and his jaw nearly smacks the floor at its velocity as it flies open.

"what's that supposed to mean?" he asks then with a small grin, flattered at the tiniest of compliments that just barely, in his mind, eclipsed the insult that he so very much deserved.

"i'm saying you're kind of a dick. it's too bad, because you're real cute." she says casually, handing him his change. his stomach flips and butterflies release in his chest, a feeling that he's not felt in almost five years.

but damn, of course he messed up - he got the chance to talk to the hottest girl on earth and he started it by saying an awful joke that wasn't funny at all. of course she though he was a dick, he is one.

he's shocked, though, as he waits for his coffee with bill, who is still snickering into his hand every few moments, to find his coffee cup with extra sharpie scribbled on the white paper. a name.

y/n. and below it is a phone number with a small heart scribbled, and richie can't tell if it's a seven or a one but he figures he'd try every phone number in the damn state if it meant he could fucking text her. holy fuck.

"maybe i would like you better if you took off your clothes i'm not playing with you, baby i think that you should give it a go" she said, "maybe i would like you better if you took off your clothes i wanna see, and stop thinking if you're too shy, then let me too shy, then let me know"

he didn't text her for two days and three hours. yes, he counted it. no, he won't think about why he was obsessing over the numbers - but since the time he'd finally had found the courage to text her today, things have escalated proficiently.

she'd just mentioned how hot it was in her apartment since her heater had gone haywire - even though the winter winds were cold, she'd claimed she was burning up in what she was wearing.

and the mere mention of her clothing had sent richie into somewhat of a spiral, spending at least seven minutes glued to his phone and scrolling through the saved album he had of those photos of her that she'd posted; his sweatpants getting increasingly tight and his palm suddenly aching to slip through the fabric and find some release.

but, in true trashmouth fashion, he apparently needed that sweet, sweet rejection from a hot cam girl he'd somehow weaseled into getting the number of in order to wank off properly, so he types out a text and hits send immediately.

what are you wearing?

and then he almost vomits in embarrassment – what was she going to think? did he just royally fuck up? oh god, he’s going to have to shave his head and move to canada.

his phone buzzes and he nearly passes out when he lays his eyes upon the image attached – there her body is again, curvy and full and beautiful, her skin glowing in the fading light of what he assumes is her bedroom. and with it:

this. what are you wearing, rich?

and then he pulls his gaze from his phone and stands, breathing heavily because holy shit.

he's gotten nudes before, but.... none from someone like her. holy shit.

he walks to his bathroom, splashing water on his beet-red cheeks. he swallows, staring at himself in the mirror. fuck.

he slaps his cheek once, then winking at himself in attempt to muster any sliver of confidence. and then he snaps a picture, only in his boxers.

and then he has to physically refrain from making a joke about wearing the same lingerie set as her, instead sending a flirty text that he knows any other woman would blush at. he just doesn’t know with y/n, and maybe that’s why he loves it so much. she's keeping him on his toes.

you like what you see?

he sends that one afterwards, shaking his head because oh my god, she's going to respond with "no" and then bill him $40 for the nude she sent him. not that he wouldn't pay, but...

his phone dings and he nearly breaks an ankle running to his desk.

yeah, i do. but maybe i'd like you better without any clothes on.

he almost yells out loud at this, but he has a feeling that waking up stan in the middle of the night would not be optimal after their 'roommate agreement' they'd made that explicitly states richie cannot scream between 1am - 9am. so instead he smirks to himself, face turning red.

he's getting harder by the moment, and as he stares at that picture she'd sent earlier, he lets out a breathy groan. the lace....

we could face time yk

or we don't have to.

he reads her words in live time, watching the thought bubble appear again and watching it like a hawk. he can just imagine her sitting there with a small smirk as another text comes in and he almost groans as his dick twitches.

like, if you're too shy or something ;)

he stares at the screen for two seconds at that sinful photo she'd sent just before those texts and then sighs, shaking his head and pressing the green face-time call button.

i've been wearing nothing every time i call you and i'm starting to feel weird about it sometimes it's better if you think about it this time, i think i'm gonna drink through it

three days later, richie was undeniably and unequivocally drunk. but, as he's just explained about three times to mike, he knows that it is just easier to not think right, especially about her, right now - and the best way to do that is by getting so piss drunk that even if he tried to "hit her line," as he so eloquently put it, his dick would be too whiskey'd out to make a full appearance.

it's for the best. mike had fake gagged at richie’s cadence with a laugh, but richie was dead serious because he was starting to think he had a real issue.

it was obviously just a fun thing to do between two near-strangers, but he'd found that he was starting to almost pavlov-style condition himself into getting turned on every time the name y/n came across his recent texts or face times, and it was getting to be too much.

especially when her post notification popped up and he cracked a fatty in the middle of his econ lecture. christ, the point of elasticity of markers in the u.s. was not something he pictured when he usually had to quell a pitch in his tent. so yeah, it's too much.

because yes, he loves her fucking body and wants nothing more than her, but in truth he longs for the feeling of her skin against his; to touch her, to kiss her, to make her his. all the time.

but yet, it was just a good way to get off without all the strings and ribbons and yarn and whatever the fuck her soft-looking knit bra is made from attached.

so much for not thinking about her.

but i see her online (and don't think that i should be calling) all the time (i just wanted a happy ending) and i'm pretending i don't care about her stare while she's giving me a tough time

it’s noon the next day and he's laying in (for some reason) stan's bed instead of his own with a blinding, mind-splitting headache and an insatiable craving for a cheeseburger, eyes squinting in lust and something akin to shame as he watches the livestream y/n had just started. she’s in a slip – a very thin, silk and see through slip and it makes him more frustrated than he’s willing to admit.

as he stares at her smooth skin and wonders how it'd be to touch it all, her eyes catch something in the chat and she smiles coyly. "hi, rich." she purrs and richie almost chokes - holy shit, she saw him join.

"do you like my gift i just got?" she asks coyly, snapping the straps of her bra with a small smile and he stiffens almost instantly, thinking of how many times he'd seen her skin in videos and photos that were just for him.

how she'd moaned his name two nights ago on face time, her fingers buried inside herself slightly off-camera. and oh, how he wishes he could see all of her, but they'd not crossed that line yet - anything they'd done hadn't been yet proven visually, only from facial expressions, noises, and the brutal honestly of being together through face time.

he wants her so fucking bad, he needs her like he needs water to drink and air to breathe and it's murdering him as he watches her react to the chat of her livestream, playing with the hem of her black lace panties.

god, he needs a cold shower or something if he's going to get anything done today.

and then he's calling her an a few hours after her stream ends because he just can't wait - he feels his stomach twist with shame as he realizes he should not be doing such a certainly a terrible idea. but she answers after three rings. "richie." her siren voice purrs and he literally feels himself fall deeper into the pit.

"hi there, toots. got any coffee in the pot for me?" he asks, sounding surprisingly eloquent compared to how she normally makes him feel.

she hums in fake thought, and it makes richie grin. she's fucking adorable. "come to the shop, i have my break in ten." and then she hangs up. he sighs, rubbing his face with his hand as he shakes his head. he's utterly fucked.

he's there in record time, a smirk plastered on his face as he walks in and sees her sitting at a table, lookin' all pretty. just for him.

"what made you think of calling?" she says in loo of a greeting. he sits across from her and wills his eyes to meet hers. "nothin' toots." he says with a half shrug, taking a sip of the coffee placed in front of him that has the the name 'dick' written on it in her handwriting. he rolls his eyes affectionately.

"oh, so it wasn't anything to do with my livestream this morning?" she asks with a look, eyeing him. her eyes are swimmable, they hold so many stories and secrets and maybe richie's just hungover, but he's feeling very flustered.

"we-w, uh, no. what... what are you talking about?" he rolls his eyes at himself inwardly, cursing stuttering bill and his contagious speech patterns. "-i don't know what you're talking about, sugar." he recovers fairly smoothly, if he may toot his own horn. and honestly, he can pretend not to care as long as he doesn't look into that goddamn stare of hers.

he chuckles awkwardly, cheeks aflame as she stares at him with a bored look and a small hum. she still looks perfect and he's even more nervous now, because oh god, oh fuck, he's gonna get slapped in the face by y/n.

it was pretty unspoken since they'd started doing... stuff... that richie probably still watched her content online, but she'd never fully addressed it until today during the livestream in front of a thousand others.

he's choking on his spit in shame but then a smile splits her face and richie's sure he's suffocated on his own saliva and gone to a sinner's heaven. or maybe hell.

"oh, richie, i'm just teasing you. look at your face!" she says with an airy laugh, pinching his cheeks and making him want to shrivel up as he turns even redder. what the fuck? "-so cute. alright, i've got to get back to work. i'll see you around, rich." she says with a wink, taking her coffee and tossing it into the trash bin as she stalks towards the employee back room.

he gapes as he watches her leave and then gets up and makes his way to the exit, clutching the coffee like it was trying to jump out of his grasp and make a run for it. god, she's too much.

"maybe i would like you better if you took off your clothes i'm not playing with you, baby i think that you should give it a go" she said, "maybe i would like you better if you took off your clothes i wanna see, and stop thinking If you're too shy, then let me too shy, then let me know"

"-babe, you'll have to try harder than that." richie says with a chuckle, watching his phone screen as the beautiful girl on face time gives him a sly, challenging look. she's in a green lace bra, one richie's not seen yet and he can feel himself stiffen as she absently trails her fingers over her chest.

they'd been much closer over the last week since he last saw her in person, enough so that in the three-is weeks of knowing her, he's positive he's head over ass for her in a way that he shouldn't be. and yet, she still comes back every time, still texts him and answers those face time calls. he's baffled, honestly.

"i know you hate me because i'm right." he adds, not even totally remembering what point he's trying to prove as y/n shifts back a bit and more of her body is revealed, her hair glowing dimly in the soft lighting of her room. his eyes run over her curves, her full thighs and stomach and hips that fill over her panties and he almost groans.

"whatever, maybe i'd like you better if you took off your clothes." she says coyly. and richie's half flattered, as usual, but the more he thinks of it the more deflated he feels. he kind of thought they were growing something more than just getting each other off over face time like horny fifteen year olds. he grins nonetheless.

"you say that a lot, you know." richie says breathlessly as he stares at her. she tilts her head ever so slightly and grins, biting her lip as her eyes move around her screen with a conflicted look. "-why?" he adds.

she hums again.

"well. okay, so there's the visual world - like, the internet, onlyfans, instagram- it tells us that everything is amazing. and we should want everything. and it makes us yearn for everything that we don’t have and everything that’s unobtainable. you know, love, a relationship beyond physical. and even physical, it's different when it's online."

her words confuse him much more than they aid him. "you think... that because of the internet, love is unattainable?" he asks with furrowed brows, unsure how somebody so perfect and, quite frankly, lovable, would think that.

"it is for me." she says it with a small sense of forlorning but mostly it's whispered. enough that richie's heart skips a beat and he's, for the first time, not having a hard time keeping his eyes on her face instead of her body.

"what?" he asks dumbly. she just laughs, shaking her head and he stares at her on his tiny phone screen in the dark.

"that’s something that, you know. in real life, person to person, it has a lot of connotations of... trust and vulnerability and connection. doing what i do- and what we're doing… on the internet - it has the opposite of those connotations. like, before you, i didn't- i didn't really do this, i just was selling stuff. because guys don't want to fuck the girl who sells her body online. and you know now, i want to..." she trails off and richie doesn't dare interrupt her because he thinks she's about to say something he's wanted to tell her for a while now.

"i don't know, i guess. exploring someone's body in physical presence isn't seen at all as voyeuristic, or anything apart from...like, an intimate exchange." she says it casually, brushing hair from her face and shit, richie's swooning. he's in fucking love, he knows it, because y/n is so smart and intelligent and he's so fucking trashed for her. as she speaks, her hands move and distract him slightly from her body, doused in blue light from the screen and splayed out for him and only him on her phone camera.

the soft lace on her hips and chest make his body stiffen and it causes him to suppress a groan as she sighs, but richie knows he can’t screenshot this heavenly sight because she’ll definitely notice and she can probably already tell he’s having a hard time not staring at her alluring figure as she talks.

"-whereas, you know. as soon as it happens on the internet, it becomes kinky and cam-girly. and, you know, that's fine. i love doing it. it's just, i'm not sure where the authentic communication even is now. or if i get to have a happy ending." she says and he finally sees her blush for the first time.

he wishes he was there with her, he wishes that he could touch the redness on her cheeks and caress her curvy body and taste her skin on his tongue. he wants to feel himself inside her, he wants to be with her and kiss her lips and yet he can't, so he sighs and shifts in his position, moving to turn up the brightness of his phone so he can see better.

"shouldn't you get to be the one to decide that, doll?" is all he adds. because he feels kind of lost and just as confused as y/n is with this.

he's starting to feel weird about it, because... is this authentic? what makes things like hookups or whatever the hell they've been doing authentic? shouldn't this be easy? it's just phone sex, phone sex with a really hot girl.

a girl who is complex and alive and full of sincerity and richie is definitely falling harder than he should.

she just sighs but makes no other comment. and then they just stare at each other, richie's face illuminated in his dark room by the phone's reflection.

well, i found a motel it looked like the bins i think there'd been a murder so we couldn't get in i need to get back i've gotta see the girl on the screen

"come over and watch a movie with me." he says into the phone, biting his lip. the silence from the other end of the line is deafening as she makes her decision, because they both know she's not about to come over just to watch the shining or psycho.

they've never done that before, and richie knows if she does come over, then whatever they have will crash down in a fiery mess. and he hates how excited that makes him as he waits in silence for her to drop the ball. so to speak.

"okay." she says, sounding shocked herself, and richie can't contain the excited grin from eclipsing his face. "yeah?" he asks breathlessly, and she's quiet for a little longer. "yeah. text me your address."

she hangs up after that, and richie's thumbs shake as he types his address and sprints out to where stan, mike, ben, and bill are playing video games in he and stan's living room, wheezing at all of them to get out because someone fucking unbelievable is about to walk through that door.

she's there about an hour later, cheeks flushed when richie opens his door, looking just as nervous and flustered. "hi, chee." she says breathlessly, staring up at him with those goddamn eyes, the eyes that pulled him in the first time. his stomach flips in affection at her nickname and he offers her a drink as she takes in his shitty apartment. he wonders briefly if stan ended up buying that rosé that he'd given him shit for considering, and then prays that stan will stay the night elsewhere.

she's already pouring out glasses of wine when he snaps back to reality, and he grins at her, mumbling in thanks as she passes him a glass that's certainly poured almost to the brim.

"what are we watching, then?" she asks coyly, lifting a brow at him. his cheeks are red, but he tugs her arm down the hall towards his room with a grin, their wine sloshing from their glasses as they move erratically.

"we're watching psycho, y/n/n." he says as he pulls her into his room, glancing back to see she's already swallowed down almost half her glass, a lipstick stain on the side of it. faintly he knows stan will be frustrated if richie doesn't clean that off, but he's more distracted by her lips.

"i like psycho." she says with a nod and a cheeky grin, "the whole 'voyeuristic gaze' thing with hitchcock." she mumbles, and richie recalls faintly learning about that in one of his film classes freshman year and he grins as he takes a hefty gulp of his rosé, figuring he's already given himself away and if she's going to do that, he can too.

he hums, setting down his glass and grabbing hers to set it besides his on the bedside table. he turns around, intending on grabbing his laptop so they could watch the film, but she's so much closer that he'd expected and her hands fall onto his shoulders and he almost shits himself.

unpleasant, but honest. just richie's style.

"can i try something?" she asks with a grin, and richie nods, knowing that she could do anything to him and he'd gladly let it happen and most likely pay out of pocket for the damages afterwards.

and then she's pulling him from her grip on his shoulders, her lips sliding against his and making him grip her hips. his mind almost explodes at with y/n-sensory-overload because he feels her everywhere - on his lips, against his hands, on his shoulders, and pressing against his front.

her lips taste like chamomile and rosé.

she thinks his lips taste like vanilla and cigarette smoke, just as she'd always imagined. he feels so real, pressed against her lips and his body against hers, and she sighs as her tongue slips into his mouth because god, she's needed him for so long. and now she has him.

his hands move, touching every inch of her as their tongues fight for dominance. she pulls back, smirking as she gently pushes him onto his mattress, sliding onto his lap smoothly afterwards, grinding her hips against his slowly.

the moan he emits is heavenly and she could cry because she finally gets to hear it in person and not through the crackling static frequency of the phone.

so she grinds down on him again, eager to feel all of him. he's hardening against her core and she whimpers into his mouth in need as his fingers slip under her top, rubbing circles on her bare skin and making her shiver. she's noticed to this gentleness; it was rare when she did get to enjoy the comfort of another body with her own, and when she did they were hardly half as loving or caring as him.

she's desperate now, she needs to feel him inside her after all these weeks of teasing and waiting, so her hand snakes down to palm him through his sweats. he lets out a small groan into her mouth, biting her lip as he pulls back slightly. their eyes meet and his are hooded with lust, lips parted as she pumps him slowly from outside his sweats. his hips buck up lightly into her palm and she smiles gently, kissing him slowly.

"let me make you feel good, y/n." he mutters, eyes pleading as he stares up at her. her stomach flutters with butterflies and she nods, shocked that he wants to pleasure her.

he gently pulls her off his lap until she's laying on his mattress and he stares down at her, biting his lip as he takes her in. he can't fucking believe she's really here. she slowly pulls off her top, leaving her in her bra and jeans as she stares up at him with a wry, seductive smile. then she unzips her jeans and slides them off, leaving her in his favorite set of hers - black, lacy, and revealing. she looks utterly stunning and he groans, his hands falling to run over the skin, tracing the lace on her breasts. her cheeks are red as she gazes up at him.

"touch me, richie." she orders and he almost groans as he drags his lips over the valley of her breasts, sucking on the soft flesh and admiring the splashes of budding purple and pink that he's created. her heartbeat is quick under his fingertips and he moves to unclip her bra, kissing her skin as the fabric falls away.

she's slightly cold in his room, and goosebumps appear over her flesh as richie leans to catch a nipple in her mouth, flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud. she lets out a quiet whine that has richie rutting into the mattress next to her, his fingers trailing down to dance at the waistline of her underwear.

and then he's pulling aside her panties, his fingers running up and down her slick folds and making her jump in lust. he can't wait, just like her, and he's rubbing her clit teasingly as she pleads, "chee, please." her eyes are eyes closed in bliss as his finger slips inside her, crooking slightly as he moves it. he presses his lips to the skin of her breast, pumping his finger and then soon adding another, crooking them both in a way that makes her let out guttural moans of pleasure. he marks her breasts with littered pink and red marks, smiling to himself at her figure.

she can't help but swoon as she watches him, his hair in his face slightly until she brushes it back, his fingers curling inside her and making her gasp, pleasure coursing through her body. his thumb softly comes up to rub her neglected clit and she grabs his shoulders to steady herself, the pleasure almost too much.

she's honestly slightly shocked - knowing richie as little as she really does outside of the literal booty calls at two in the morning and the accumulative forty five minutes they'd spent in person, she'd expected him to be... well, good. just good. because there's no way someone so funny, caring, and smart could also be that good in the sheets.

but right now, he's making her see goddamn stars.

"i've been wanting to touch you for so long, sugar." he mutters, eyes raking over her figure as her breath comes in stuttering gasps. she watches him with blown-wide eyes as his demeanor changes right before her, making her fall apart at his fingertips.

"that feel good, honey?" he asks, smirking as she whimpers, clenching around his fingers. "yes, god you feel so good." she utters, making him groan in approval from where he's sat back, watching her face contort in pleasure. she lets out another moan and richie stares at her body, watching his fingers as they fuck into her. he can't take it, then.

"will you sit on my face, doll?" he blurts, and she nearly yelps out as his fingers leave her. it's abrupt, but she's started to notice that this is how he operates - impulsivity is his second nature. and she loves it.

her face burns as she nods, the thought of richie under her making her whimper with anticipation. "yes, richie, please." she moans out again and he's grinning, laying back on the mattress with a wink. "c'mere, need to taste that pretty little pussy." he mutters and she feels herself clench around nothing, desperate for him as she swings a leg around to straddle his head.

immediately, his hands wrap around her thighs, thumbs smoothing over her stretch marks as he stares up at her, eyes glinting with desire. slowly, his finger pulls the seat of her lace panties to the side and his breath hits her bare, throbbing pussy, making her breath hitch. she cards her fingers through his hair and lowers herself slightly, gasping in shock as his tongue darts out to lick a bold stripe up from her entrance to her clit.

"chee," she moans out, tightening her grip in his hair and sending a groan through his body that reverberates and makes her shiver. his lips attach to her clit and fiery pleasure snakes through her body making her legs shake, a moan escaping her lips immediately. he sucks lightly before releasing to swirl his tongue, her moans making richie impossibly harder through his sweats.

"so good, rich." she mutters and he groans, tongue spreading her wet folds and slowly prodding at her entrance, dipping in slowly before pulling out, teasing her.

she can't help but grind down slightly, making richie grip her tightly, tongue sliding into her again and making her yelp. "you taste so good, baby." he mutters lowly before slowly reattaching himself to her heat, her eyes rolling slightly at the sensation as he fucks his tongue into her. one of his hands snakes up to her ass, gripping it tightly and then slapping it, the stinging pleasure making her buck her hips against him, emitting a hiss from her.

"rich, i-" she cuts herself off with a sharp gasp, the pleasure from richie's mouth making it increasingly harder to speak. her toes curl and her head tilts back as his tongue flicks over her clit, teeth grazing it slightly and making her buck.

she's embarrassingly close already, and judging by the way richie's smirking under her, he can tell. "please, please." she mutters, hips rocking on him as his tongue swirls, nipping softly at her clit and making her cry out. "please, make me cum, 'chee." she mutters and his tongue moves quicker, hand slapping her ass again.

and then she's clenching her thighs on either side of him and grinding down as she hits her peak, moaning quietly as she shakes in pleasure on top of him. he rides through her high, lapping at her and pulling away with a grin as she moans his name dejectedly. she's worn out from the best orgasm she's ever had and he gently nudges her so he slides in between her thighs, her back now on the mattress. he kisses her cheek and she keens quietly.

"fuck me, richie." she mutters, eyes still closed. his eyes snap to hers, surprised at the dominance in her voice after how she was two seconds ago.

he moans quietly, kissing her deeply as he ruts against her and relishes in the feeling. he's pulling off his sweats and boxers in record time and then he's pumping himself as he grips her hips, turning her so she's on her stomach, ass propped up slightly. his hand runs over the smooth skin of her ass, snapping the elastic of her panties and making her moan quietly.

then he's lining up her hips with his, pulling aside the lacy seat of her underwear to press against her entrance. he waits a moment as he leans to press a soft kiss to her spine, slowly easing into her. she moans loudly as he eases in, her face pressing against the pillows. she smiles as she smells the scent she'd just recently come to know as his, his cock stretching her and filling her up fully as he buries himself to the hilt inside her.

"so tight, sugar." he mutters and she whimpers, getting antsy as she adjusts to his size. "richie, please, need it so bad." she mutters, bucking her hips back against him in need.

"say that again." he mutters, sounding strangled, and she grins into the sheets. "please fuck me, richie. need it so bad, need to feel you ruin me." she whimpers, chest fluttering in anticipation. his hands grip her hips as he pulls out of her slowly, almost as slowly as he entered, before stopping almost all the way out. she moans loudly in pleasure as he pushes back in, snapping his hips against hers and filling her completely.

she briefly thanks god that his roommate seemed to be out for the night as she moans his name loud enough for the neighbors to hear.

he sets a brutal pace, his cock thick as it fills her up and makes her toes curl. he pushes her hair away from her neck and presses kisses to it as he hits a spot inside her that makes her scream his name. his fingers move to pinch her nipples, rolling them as he fucks into her.

she's completely blissed out at the feeling of him inside her, so glad that he invited her over and that they finally get to touch each other. "rich, oh my god." she emits, eyes squinted shut in complete pleasure.

"fuck, toots, takin' me so well, aren't you?" he asks, hands kneading her ass before slapping her right ass cheek harshly, making her arch her back. at the new angle they both let out a groan and richie knows he'll fucking cum too soon if they stay like this, so without warning he pulls out completely.

y/n whines, breathing heavily as his hands come to flip her around. now on her back, they make eye contact and she bites her lip, pulling him in for a searing kiss that knocks the wind out of both of them. images of richie in his room alone, snaps and late-night face times play through her mind as he grips her and slides her hips down towards him on the mattress and lines himself to her again, pulling her legs up so they're against his chest before pushing in.

he gives no time to adjust to this angle and it makes her moan loudly as he hits a spot deep inside her that pulls her closer and closer to her second orgasm.

his name leaves her cherry lips like a mantra and he can't stop staring at her as he fucks her into the mattress - the way her tits bounce with his brutal pace, the way her face is twisted in pleasure, the way she clenches and spasms around his cock.

one hand grips her breast, rubbing her nipple with his thumb and forefinger as he kisses her again, addicted to her taste as he feels himself coming closer and closer to the edge.

"chee, fuck, right there." she moans out and he groans in pleasure, the feeling of her walls clenching around him making his hips stutter. he keeps his thrusts up, though, as her fingernails rake down his back leaving small trails of burning pleasure in their wake.

her skin is covered with a sheen line of sweat as she looks up at him, hair wild and lips kiss-bruised. "god, don't stop, 'm gonna cum." she mutters and he snaps his hips harder, eager to make her cum so hard all she can think of is his name.

he moves a hand down to rub at her clit and he moans into her neck as she clenches hard around him, her hips bucking spastically. he can tell she's about to cum, and after a hard thrust, she does for the second time, spasming around him and sending waves of pleasure up his body. she's moaning his name, pulling him closer in bliss as she becomes sensitive and god damn it, she's so fucking beautiful.

"please cum, richie." she whispers against his lips, "please." and then at her will, he's spilling into her, hips stuttering as he pushes as deep into her as he can, loving how she clenches in sensitivity around him. he stays inside her for a moment as they breathe, coming down from their highs and eyes closed as they take in what just happened.

"holy shit." he says because yeah, that's like all he can say right now because he just got to fuck y/n and she's kissing his fucking collarbones right now and its making him blush and his heart flutter.

"that was...incredible." she whispers against his skin and he can feel her smile against his skin. it makes him feel all soft inside as he pulls out of her and flops next to her, kissing her forehead.

his fingers flutter over her sensitive core, smiling as he sees how wrecked she is, some cum dripping down her leg. he then soothes over the lace panties, patting her lightly and kissing her red cheek.

"rich?" she asks, making him look up at her. he hums in question, pushing some of her hair back. "can we still watch the movie?"

his heart swells and he grins, kissing her softly. "of course, doll. you're too cute." he says with a wink, making her roll her eyes. he hands her his shirt and then pulls sweats on himself, mumbling "stay here" and padding out to the kitchen to get her water and snacks, then returning minutes later to see her holding his phone in her clutch with a smirk.

"what're you doing?" he asks with a smile, but she shakes her head, making grabby hands for him and the snacks. so he laughs, cuddling up with the girl of his dreams and watching a flick, falling sleep with tangled limbs and a lipstick-stained neck.

and after she leaves the next morning with a kiss and a wink, he checks his phone and smirks to himself as he notices the lock screen she'd apparently made last night while he was making snacks.

a photo of her in his bed, wearing his shirt, a soft smirk on her face, neck littered in budding hickeys and a hand between her thighs next to her black lace panties.

god, she's going to be the absolute death of him.

//tag list: @gabiatthedisco @blisshemmings @simplesammyx @dickology64 @clownsloveyou @emnotm @moon-shine-baby @toziershmozier @daughter-of-the-stars11 @lets-vibe-bro @trashedfortozier @oceandog13 @beauregard-s@finnskindofwoman @kait-tozier @upamongthestarss \\

#richie tozier x reader #richie tozier smut #richie has adhd #losers x reader #losers club x reader

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hansolmates · 5 years ago

Text

vernon; blossomed (m)

feat. tattoo artist!vern x flower shop fem!reader based on nonnie’s big brain

genre/warnings: flangst, lang, wild generalizations of how tattooing works, gratuitous love for side characters, mild drinking, phineas and ferb references, mild foreplay

word count: 12k

Vernon called you his Rose.

Not exactly his Rose, because you were definitely not anyone’s property and he wanted to give you nothing but your full autonomy, but it’s because he’s never had the chance to ask for your real name.

But when he first spotted you in the little lavender and honey colored flower shop across the street, you were tending to the rose bushes at the front entrance. You were cutting roses and you didn’t look utterly graceful, in fact you stabbed yourself more than once with the thorns. He couldn’t help but laugh when you laughed when your co-worker had to hand you a new bandage every minute.

He decided then that he liked you, even if it’s not wholly sexual or romantic, he liked you.

Or maybe he just liked the idea of you, the way you’d lounge around in the canopy swing with your boots tucked under the seat, fluffy yellow socks wiggling out in the sun. Sometimes you’d read a book, sometimes for well over an hour. He liked how you soaked up the heat and created your own little world, happily unproductive.

It was only a seven meter walk from the flower shop to the tattoo parlor, but the view from his front window required zero walking distance and a sure-fire lack of ever bumping into you.

“Vernie’s got a crush on the Flower Girl,” Yoongi sing-songed, chugging along a box full of random-ass materials that Vernon was supposed to clean in the morning.

Vernon scowled, and swatted away the older one’s hand when it dived in front of his face.

Yoongi whistled like he was an old-time animation, singing the day away. “Vernie’s stalking his crush.”

“I’m not stalking,” Vernon snapped, swiveling around in his rolling chair. “that involves shit like literally following her around, photography, I dunno, being a weirdo?”

“You definitely qualify for one of those.” Yoongi replied tartly, and he fought the urge to grin when Vernon finally turned back to the window, only to narrowly miss your form. The swing was now unoccupied, the only thing remnant were your working boots lined up against the entrance. “It’s been what, two weeks? Just ask her out already.”

“You think I would’ve done that by now if there wasn’t a reason why?“

Soooo you were dating someone. Some super tall, super handsome guy would stroll up to the flower shop every morning, coffee in hand. Before you’d take your proffered coffee, he’d pucker his lips for a good-morning kiss in repayment. Vernon looked back to Yoongi, who was staring right back at him and confirming his suspicions that yes he was being a fucking weirdo for paying attention to things like that.

Yoongi pressed his lips together, puffing his cheeks out in slight irritation. “So you’re stalking a taken girl,” he whistled lowly, “should I regret hiring you?”

“Not funny.”

“As repayment for effectively creeping me out,” The older one slipped his hand into his electric yellow windbreaker to twirl Vernon a ring of keys. “You’re closin’ up for tonight.”

The brunette’s jaw dropped to his lap, and he got up from his spot by the window. “What? What happened to Minghao?”

“Sick,” Yoongi shrugged.

Closing up meant that Vernon had to stay until 12AM, at the very least. The area was off a college town and that meant a lot of young lucrative artists would stop by pretty late, hence the closing time. Usually Yoongi and Minghao were the night owls, but tonight Minghao was supposed to fly solo because Yoongi landed a last-minute recording gig. “C’mon, can I at least close early?” Vernon whined, “it’s summer. No one’s here.”

“What, ya gotta date or something?” Yoongi smirked, swinging the entrance open. Halfway out the door, he added loftily, “don’t forget to water Patricia. It’s been two weeks.”

The door slammed and Vernon was left alone. He spared a glance at the window, only to see that your boots were now gone from the patio and only one light was on in the shop. Vernon turned to his company for the night, their jade succulent, aptly named Patricia Planty.

With Patricia Planty watered and a stomach full of Wendy’s nuggets in his body, Vernon busied himself up for a grueling five hours. Thankfully he brought in his laptop, as if he were expecting Yoongi to pull a fast one on him tonight. He drew some random things on his tablet: rockets, stars, the occasional squirrel, and roses. When he was tired of drawing, he’d blast the speakers off the joint and mess around with some of his music programming. When he was tired of doing both, he’d vegetate on the couch and read Reddit articles.

It was past eleven when the first customer of the night stumbled in. Vernon fought the urge to groan, putting down the pen of his tablet on a particularly intricate constellation.

“We’re closed!” He yelled through the office door. A white lie, but who would know?

“Google said you were open until 12!” A voice yelled back, sounding slightly strained.

Crap. Vernon lowered the volume and pushed away the swivel chair, swinging the office door open. With a rough clear of his throat and hoping not to look like too much of a jerk, he faced his customer, “Welcome to Nu ABO—”

It was you. Cheeks ruddied, and your eyes glassed with a fresh glaze of tears. Your lower lip worried into a wobbly frown. Vernon’s Reebok’s glued to the concrete of the parlor, effectively stopping him in his tracks. The smell of mulch and a mixture of flowers penetrated his nostrils, but it did nothing to distract the utter hurt etched on your face.

“Um, hey,” his voice was gentle, yet unsure. “What are you doing here?”

You just looked at him, incredulous. Vernon could have sworn he saw your left eyebrow twitch. Of course, you’ve never met him in your entire life, yet Vernon felt like he knew you since the beginning of your summer work. “Gettin’ a tattoo.” You replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, rubbing away a stray tear.

He didn’t want to say it, but Vernon sighed and reasoned, “But it’s just that, ya kinda look—”

You brushed past him, going straight into the artist room and plopping on the worn leather chair meant for customers. It was still high up because Vernon was cleaning the underside of the metal, so you had to do a little hop to get on. “I don’t care what kind of design. I looked up your Yelp online and everything looked pretty good.” And you then proceeded to unbutton the top of your blouse.

“Holy shit,” he bounded over to you, grappling his fingers between your shirt before you could undo the rest of it. His breath was probably hot and heavy, compared to yours which was fresh from the cool summer air. Your faces were so close, closer than he ever fathomed. He didn’t think you two would meet this early in the year, as he was emotionally preparing to visit your flower shop at the end of the month, making up some spiel on how he needed to purchase real roses to replicate a commission. Not now. Now was a spontaneous episode, where he was trying to refasten your shirt and ignore the petal pink lace of your bra baiting his eyes.

When he sensed that you would in fact, stop taking your shirt off, he backed up. “It’s just that, after eleven we don’t really apply tattoos. We just take consultations.” He tried to sound defeated, rubbing the back of his neck. Again, another lie. But Vernon wasn’t about to ink you on the spot, especially when you looked like this.

“Is it because I’m upset?” You cried, “because I assure you, I’m in the right mind!”

He winced, lolling his head back and forth. “That’s debatable.”

You frowned, “C’mon, I have money. Just do me this one solid.”

“What? No, you don’t even know what you want!” Vernon was exasperated. Not that he imagined the first time meeting you would be a walk in the park, but at the same time he wasn’t expecting to argue with you.

"Don’t you want to be part of my spontaneous young life? Give me a tattoo that I’ll think about with my children 30 years from now?” He would laugh if you didn’t look like you were crying a river ten minutes ago. “As long as it’s not a tramp stamp, because I don’t think I can pull that off—"

"Did you break up with your boyfriend or something?” Vernon blurted out before he could regret it.

Your face morphed into something Vernon couldn’t understand. Pain, for sure. But a sort of relief knowing that you didn’t have to hide it. “Damn,” you give him a tired smile, “does the whole town know or something?"

You cried again. This time, Vernon reacted quicker. Pulling out a Wendy’s napkin from his flannel pocket, he proffered it to you. He was thankful you didn’t question whether it was clean or not (it was!) and you proceeded to cover your snot and tears all over it.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

You sniffled and blew a particularly large chunk of snot before you shook your head.

"Do you… want fries?” He gestured to the small table in the room, which had some leftover fries from his combo. “I can heat ‘em up in the microwave."

Due to the fact that you ran out of tissue room, you rubbed your face with the entirety of your sleeve. You peeked out mid-rub, and replied with a soft, "hell yeah I do."

His heart twitched. Even betwixt your teary expression, you were so freakin’ cute. He shuffled back to the office, nuking the leftovers in the microwave until they were piping hot. Vernon waited a bit for them to get cool, and fiddled with the music so a soft R&B playlist bounced off the walls. He couldn’t believe you were here. Scratch that, he could, because you were bound to run into him one day due to pure proximity.

But he didn’t imagine you’d be plopped in his artist room at 11:32, bleary eyed and shoving potatoes in your mouth.

Vernon busied himself with his phone, and typed a hasty you wouldn’t believe what just happened… to the employee group chat.

[June 11, 11:33PM]

Bo$$ man: dont tell me u put aluminum in the microwave AGAIN

Hao hao: the chinese mafia came for me, didnt they? good thing I called out

Jeonghan is a prick: use your resources! sharp items are everywhere :) emergency money is under Patricia’s table

Bernie: tf is wrong w all of you

Bernie: SHES HEREEEEEE

"M'sorry,” you mumbled with a mouthful of fries, breaking Vernon from his mid-text crisis. He felt his phone buzzing like hell as he shoved it in his pocket, but ignored it for the sake of you. Your previous high of emotions has long worn off, and now you were looking a little embarrassed as you fixed your gaze on the empty container of fries. Your face is blotchy and red, and you’re especially puffy due to the salt you just consumed. “I should go home."

He didn’t want to be intrusive, but the look on your face showed it was clear that you didn’t want to go home just yet. Drumming his fingers against the metal table, he casually suggested, "Why don’t I do your back?"

You looked at him like he was crazy. "You still wanna tattoo me? After I cried like an idiot and ate your fries?"

"You’re not an idiot for being upset. And I offered you my fries.” He pulled out an ink canister, and a thin needle. “This is temporary ink we use to practice, or for customers who wanna test out the look. Lasts one to two weeks. And y'know, it’s a nice distraction."

You looked skeptical, unsure of his kindness. "Why my back?"

He shrugged, "It’s the biggest canvas. And if you don’t like it, you don’t have to look at it."

Still, you’re not convinced. There was something strange about him, something almost too sweet. While your schema may be marred by television and movies, the man in front of you didn’t seem like he quite fit into this little shack. He’s full of color, in his eyes and in his stature, his words clean and pure as he tries to soothe your aching heart. And as much as you tried not to check him out, you spotted no tattoos on any viewable part of his body.

"And it’s kind of cathartic, really.” He watched your lips quirk up in a smile at the word usage. Not only sweet, but probably smart. Your first smile all night. Cheeks effortlessly heated, he continued, “you kinda just let go into the feeling. And it’s always fun to not know what’s been drawn until the very end."

You’re curious. There’s excitement in your vision as he gestured to the available cot, inviting you. "Alright. Ink me up."

Vernon grinned, and started preparing the workspace. Handing you a medical gown, he quickly shuffled away to prepare the ink and needles. He didn’t really work with the clients as deeply as this, he was really just a glorified secretary that took care of the consultation. While he washed his hands, he heard the faint rustle of fabric, definitely your shirt and bra. He turned up the temperature of the water, acutely aware of how hot his hands were getting.

"Um,” your voice is muffled from being pressed up against the cot, your face presumably propped with pillows. “So are you Yoongi?"

"Nah, I’m Vernon.” He wheeled over a cart full of supplies, the metal clanging against the concrete. “’M usually the guy who wipes the sweat off his brow."

You hummed your own name in response, resting your cheek in the plushness of the cotton pillow. There’s a number of sounds paired with the R&B in the background. The smack of Vernon putting on gloves, the click of the needles and the slickness of the balm Vernon has applied on your back. His touch was warm, as his palm crescents across your back to soothe the balm into your skin. He then wiped it down with a paper towel until your skin was smooth and dry.

"Any ideas yet?” He asked, and from the corner of your eye you see him switch out a needle for a new ink pen.

“Maybe, stars?” Your voice is muffled against the cushions, as you’re hugging them close to your body. “And maybe something inspired by Spiderman? I liked that new one with Miles, he’s a cool one."

You could hear the smile in his voice, "I liked that one, too."

You stuff your own smile in your pillow, how embarrassing could it be that this stranger can make you feel better so fast? Mingyu would be groveling if he saw you now, topless, letting a man ink you up in however way he wished. "Will it hurt?"

He chuckled at that, "Nah. The ink will sit on top and sink in, I barely have to apply any pressure. Just relax."

Under the discretion of Vernon, who offered you fries and liked Spiderman, you relaxed. The first stroke of the needle and you were a goner. You closed your eyes and let him do his thing, You couldn’t tell what exactly was going on through his mind as he was painting your back, but you could tell his art was rather cacophonous: stiff pokes here and there, smooth strokes, and wide breaths of ink staining your back. The ink melted into your skin, bonding to your cells under Vernon’s careful control.

It was almost 1AM when he finished. He tapped your back, urging you up. Tired, and slightly dazed, you sat up. You realized a little too late that you’re only wearing a thin hospital gown, the straps having fallen midway through the process. The air was cool against your skin.

Vernon totally would’ve gotten a complete view of your sideboob if he wasn’t blushing like a maniac and looking away, and you respected that. His arm is punched out, fisting your button down. You hastily snatched it away, and turned around in order to look decent.

“The ink won’t show up fully for another six hours, so until then let me know how you like it.”

“Thank you so much,” you smiled gratefully as you do the last button of your blouse, and pulled out your phone. “Do you accept Venmo or Cashapp?”

“Oh, yeah.” He accepted the proffered device, and put in the necessary charges.

Once he gave back your phone, you added a sizable tip to the price he typed up. “The time really flew by,” you noted the time on the corner of your phone, 1:07. “It was really, an experience like you said.”

He shrugged, and threw you an easy smile. “I try.”

"Can I get a real tattoo from you someday? Y'know, when I’m ready?"

"Ah, no. I’m not really under the apprenticeship.” He looked bashful when he said it, as if he were caught doing something wrong. “I just work here for the part time money. I do art on the side, though.”

You had the urge to ask what he doesn’t do on the side, but it was late and you were probably holding up the poor guy for your trivial questions. “Regardless, I’m still thankful it was you that did this for me.”

In three strides, he opened the small door for you. “My pleasure. Have a good night. Or, morning. Or if you’re one of those people who don’t consider it morning unless it’s light out, then good night?”

“Good night,” you giggled, “get home safely.”

“You too.”

The screen door slammed shut behind you, along with the main door. Your car is parked in the grass patching of the flower shop. You jogged over, and the summer air made you shiver, your back still raw and warm under Vernon’s touch.

You couldn’t wait until the flower shop closed.

If Wonwoo noticed that you moved the porch swing relative to the placement of Nu ABO, he hasn’t brought it up. You weren’t spying on Vernon, no. But your skin was starting to itch with curiosity and in your haste to leave last night, you didn’t even ask what he designed on your back.

“Are you stalking the tattoo guy?”

Despite the voice being petal soft, you flinched. Assistant Manager Joshua Hong with a bouquet of boat lilies, was accusing you of stalking. His Converse tapped rhythmically against the wood paneling, looking down at you like a guilty child.

“What?” you floundered, waving around the florist magazine in your hands. “Josh, I’m studying! And the sun was in my face so I moved the swing.”

“You’re studying,” Joshua flickered his eyes to the run down shack across the road. “The tattoo guy?”

“I already said I wasn’t!”

“Then you’re telling me you spent all last night doing that,” he reached over to tug at your starched work collar, “all by yourself?”

Your hand flew to your neck, as if you were trying to hide Vernon’s hard work. “I just wanna see what he did, all right? And I’m trying to be very patient until closing because if Wonwoo sees me going there,” you jerked a head none-too-gracefully at the direction of the parlor, “he’s gonna tell you-know-who.”

Joshua frowned, because he already knew. After all, he stayed in the back room with you all last night, wiping away your tears. “Well, whoever did it is truly an artist,” he said genuinely, “it’s beautiful.”

Joshua finally left you alone, and you suddenly felt emptier than before. Sure, the breakup with Mingyu was conventionally bad, but why were you so conflicted with your feelings? You didn’t want Mingyu to know you were hanging out with other guys, but you wanted to let go of him. Maybe you were trying too hard too fast.

But Vernon made everything so, so easy.

No, you are not letting him be a rebound. The inner conflict in your head was giving you a massive headache, you couldn’t tell if the vibes you were feeling last night were because of the recent breakup or just an authentic spark.

The storm door shuttered boldly, and you jumped. Wonwoo stepped out, and gave you a weird look. “You alright?”

“Me? Yeah, fine.” You gripped the collar of your shirt and pretended to fasten the buttons.

He was unconvinced, either that or the pinched look he was sporting was an indicator of a bad day. “Listen, I know things are gonna be weird because my best friend is your, y’know,” he trailed off, painfully trudging through this conversation as easily as trudging through quicksand. “He’s gonna stop by a couple more times during the week, doing me a few errands. So if you wanna take the week off, recalibrate before the the month ends, just let me know. ”

“Won, please,” you wanted this to end, “we don’t have to talk about this, alright?”

He awkwardly twirled around his car keys. “Alright.” As simple as that, he threw himself in his sedan and drove off, dirt brushing the pavement.

You glared at the dust cloud until his car was far from your sights, the mustard color blinding your vision. “Honestly,” you said to yourself, finally hopping off your swing into the direction of the shack, “he thinks I’m five and never experienced heartbreak.”

“Welcome to Nu ABO!” this voice was different, and you slowed your steps. It doesn’t quite have the husk that Vernon’s voice held, but definitely matched the energy. The boy stepped out, and his eyes sparkled in recognition. “Flower Girll,” he said to himself, and you suddenly felt like you got caught, “I don’t think we’ve met before.”

"We haven’t,” you replied warily at the pet name, “where’s Vernon?"

"Oh, he’s around.” The guy waved noncommittally to the air in the room, crouching his head to look down at you. He stuffed his hands in his black overalls, which covered a painfully bright rainbow tye-dye tee. “Curious to see Vern’s ink though. He’s only ever done small stuff.”

“I thought he wasn’t an apprentice.”

He flicked his wrist around to show you a beautiful line of Chinese calligraphy. "Keep the secret between us, ‘kay?” He winked.

“Minghao, leave her alone.” Vernon stepped out of the small bathroom hidden in the artist room, a white towel behind his neck. You took in his disheveled appearance. His face was red from washing his face, and he wore the same clothes from yesterday. “Hey.” He said.

“Hi,” you replied, “did you sleep here last night?"

"Uh, yeah.” Vernon rubbed at his neck again, and stuffed the towel in his backpack. “I usually do the morning and afternoon shifts, I covered for this guy last night,” he jabbed his fist in Minghao’s shoulder, “but still had to do my day shift.”

“So,” Minghao rocked back and forth in his boots, “why are you here?”

You suddenly felt self-conscious, and gripped your phone between your two palms. A little part of you was disappointed that Vernon was not alone, but another part of you was relieved. It helped slow down the pace of your feelings (feelings?) that was heading in a direction you were not anticipating. “I wanted to say thank you again for last night.” You coughed, and Minghao grinned wider at your explanation. “And I was wondering if you could take a picture of my back? I haven’t had a chance to look at it.”

He beamed, and you could tell he was happy that you wanted to document his work. “Oh, of course! I completely forgot last night.”

Vernon moved to grab your phone, but Minghao swiped a hand in front of him. “Can I take your photo?” He asked you, although the look in his eyes said that you didn’t have much of a choice.

Your cheeks burned at the sudden intrusion. “Huh?”

“I mean, have you seen this guy’s Insta?” Minghao scoffed, albeit playfully as Vernon mirrored your flush.

“What are you talking about?” Vernon exclaimed, thoroughly insulted, “my profile is tastefully abstract.”

“It looks like it was tastefully done by a three year old.” Minghao pulled out his iPhone, and adjusted the filters. “I’m doing you a favor here, Flower Girl.”

You looked warily at Vernon, who slumped in defeat, “If you’re going for that e-girl vibe, I guess Hao’s a better photographer.”

“Better than your pictures coming out blurry.” Minghao shot back, holding the camera to your face. “There’s no light in here,” Minghao glared at the singular window in their tiny studio, the sill decorated with a single jade succulent. “Got any ideas?"

Vernon shrugged, "You said I have the taste of a three year old, so."

With Wonwoo gone for the day, you realized that you did have an idea of where you could take a tasteful picture. The thrill excited and terrified you. You only wanted a simple picture to see what it looked like, but Minghao looked as equally as excited to see your ink. Maybe it was the fact that the art was fleeting or that Vernon was really that talented, but it encouraged you to offer the setting up.

"I think our greenhouse has plenty of light,” you gestured out the studio’s only window, which was in perfect view of the flower shop. “We should be closing up soon, so it’s free."

Minghao nodded approvingly, "We can try."

And with a hasty "be back @ 4:20!” sign taped on the front door to Nu ABO, the three of them walked across the street to the greenhouse.

You went in first, nearly bumping into Joshua who was bent over, pot in hand.

“Hey Josh,” you grabbed the keys from the front desk, “borrowing the greenhouse."

"Hey Josh,” Minghao and Vernon mimicked, who found it amusing that you just brushed by without an introduction.

You rolled your eyes, hearing them exchange pleasantries and bro fists. The plexiglass doors to the greenhouse unlocked with a turn of your key, the smell of heat and grassy rain hitting your nostrils. Joshua placed the pot somewhere, following suit as the boys were right behind you.

“Awesome,” Minghao exhaled, stepping further into the greenhouse. It was a small one, but comfortable enough for a couple patrons to browse around. “I’m gonna move around some plants if that’s okay, I gotta vision.”

Joshua looked a little frazzled watching Minghao talk to himself and start moving the settings around (“The hydrangeas don’t go there, are you crazy?”) and started helping Minghao move the pots and placements around. You and Vernon hung around the entrance, giggling to yourselves.

You tried to bump his shoulder, which didn’t even reach his. “So, what’s your Insta handle?”

He quirked his brows at that, “Why, so you can judge my aesthetic too?”

“No,” you replied, faking your shock. “I would never insult your taste!”

With a roll of his eyes he said, “Speaking of taste, since your shift is over and my shift is over,” Vernon rocked back and forth on his feet. “Wanna grab a bite?”

Something’s fluttering in your stomach, and you stomp it down. It’s an innocent invite, yes. Unfortunately it was not-so-innocent in your twisted mind knowing that you are still fresh from a breakup, yet your backed is marked with Vernon’s work. “You must be tired though,” you tried to reason, “you should get some rest, I don’t wanna bother you.”

“Not a bother,” he said immediately, “besides, I wanna ask you something.”

That got you curious. Before you had a chance to ask, Minghao was ushering you over, telling you to stand in front of a bundle of orchids. They’ve bloomed a Canary yellow, encasing you in a golden ring of flowers overlooking the terrace. The new friend has gestured for you to undo your shirt and he turned away in respect. It’s different with an audience and an expectation. You made haste to undo the buttons of your blouse, then your bra, throwing it aside. You felt the warm, moist air kiss your back, and you heard a low whistle coming from Minghao.

“Beautiful,” Minghao exhaled, “Vern, you’ve outdone yourself."

Beautiful. Vernon made you beautiful.

Your body was simmering, and you could do nothing as you let Minghao photograph you. You focused your eyes on a puddle dripping from a faucet in front of you, counting the seconds between each droplet.

“And, done.”

You shoved on your clothes, and felt extra awkward as you fumbled to reach for the straps of your bra. You nearly slipped on the puddle as you walked back to the boys, who were busy over Minghao’s shoulder.

“Super awesome,” Minghao handed you the phone brightly, “so much texture and feeling.”

The screen showed a halo of foliage that surrounded your bare back, blush orchids kissing the frame with color. Your work shirt bundled under your hips, and fell under your elbows to reveal a city sky. You were breathless, zooming in to capture every detail of the ink. A navy sky, blanketing buildings across your back in a diagonal, splaying from the bottom right to the top left. On the bottom, skyscrapers reaching for the stars.

If you zoomed in enough, you could tell that the stars were shaped like roses.

“I don’t know how many times I’ve said thank you in the past two days,” you started, causing Vernon to grin widely. “But thank you, I’ve never felt so beautiful.”

Vernon scoffed, “I didn’t do anything, I’ve only enhanced your beauty. That’s our shtick.”

You handed Minghao back your phone and thanked him. He then rushed off, saying he had to stay at the parlor since Yoongi was coming soon. Immediately, Joshua began putting back the plants in their rightful places. You and Vernon followed suit, starting with the smaller ones.

“So,” Vernon picked up a tray of succulents, “are we still on for dinner?”

Wide-eyed Joshua crept in-between the foliage, laughably appearing under a series of hanging plants like a madman. “Dinner?” he asked, looking between you two.

“Yeah man,” Vernon reached to pull Joshua away from the plants, “wanna come?”

Simultaneously disappointed and relieved, you let out a subconscious exhale. Joshua was coming, which meant that there would be no possibility for feeling weird (or catching feels), being awkward or fighting any oncoming feelings with Vernon.

"On Thursdays there’s this really good half-off sushi deal by my place. We can take out and eat at my apartment?” Joshua’s kindness was palpable at the offering of his home, and the both of you smiled gratefully.

Not more than two hours later, the three of you are bundled away in Joshua’s two-room, empty boxes of carryout stacked high. The television was playing reruns of Full House, the only source of light in the dim space.

“Are you gonna go home soon?” Vernon asked, and turned his head to the corner of the room. Joshua is cuddled up in the single couch, tucked in a wearable blanket with the armholes.

You shrugged, “I dunno. Usually I crash here for sushi nights,” you patted the couch lovingly, “This is my second bed.”

Vernon chuckled, tucking his feet under his thighs. It made him look impossibly small in comparison to how tall and lanky he actually was.

“So, what did you want to ask me?”

Vernon looked between his legs, as if he were trying to piece his words together. “Long story short, I got waitlisted at my top graduate school option,” he then pulled up his phone, revealing the picture of your back that was taken that afternoon, “but I was thinking that if I made a portfolio of this kind of art, it would really tip my application over the edge. Originally I was thinking of just sending my usual art, but it just popped in my head today while we were doing it.” He looked up through his eyelashes, wisps of copper looking expectantly at you. “If you’re comfortable with it, would you be my canvas?”

“Live art,” you surmised, “honestly, I’m honored that you would want me to be a part of something so big. You think I’m that good?”

No, you weren’t doubting Vernon’s art one bit. The fact that your back would be out on display for a bunch of strangers was unnerving, to say the least.

“Are you kidding?” Vernon zoomed out of the image, revealing the curve of your back and the generation of life reflected in the greenhouse. “This is wicked. You’re stunning. We’d make a great team!”

You felt your body heat at the statement. His presence was almost too refreshing, and you wanted to return the favor of helping you out last night.

“Lucky for you,” you shot a quick text to Wonwoo, “I’ve planned to take this week off.”

Over the course of the week Vernon wanted to do an artistic timeline of sorts, adding and retouching the already existing ink on your back until the canvas was full. It felt fulfilling, letting yourself become a vessel of success for someone. The following day, Vernon shot you a text revealing his portfolio, and said how excited he was to see you.

You met in the shack after his shift, and Vernon let you into the office and locked the door. You can hear the rap being played in the artist room where Minghao and Yoongi were working with a client.

The artist was muttering to himself as he invited you to sit at the couch. Something about whether he wanted to start from the “top-down” or “bottom-up.” Instead of contributing to his madness, you turned away from him and started shedding your shirt. Today was a plain cotton shirt, and you shucked it off and balled it in your arms.

No less than five seconds was Vernon’s hands on your back, and despite the warmth radiating from his fingertips, you couldn’t help but shiver. Vernon had explained that while he did a large portion of your back the first time, there was still room for growth and he wanted your back filled by the end of the week.

“Do you mind if I,” his hand hovered over your bra.

You shook your head, and with his thumb and forefinger he flicked off both your bra straps with ease. Your hands flooded themselves in the fabric of your t-shirt, which silently accepted your death grip.

“Sorry, do you feel weird?” He definitely sensed your lack of vocality, and put one strap back in case.

“I’m fine,” your voice is light, what else could you say?

“Whatever you say,” he hummed, and resumed his work.

You opt to take in the sounds. Minghao laughed about something in the other room, coupled with the zing of the needle. The music pulled to a stop and boomeranged back into a smoother arrangement.

“I think we’ll start from the bottom-up and build from there,” he then placed his hands around your waist, poking at the dive between your waist and your bottom.

There’s an unmistakable heat that pooled within you, which caused you to wring your shirt harder. It was going to be a long week.

By Wednesday, he was in your apartment, working on the sides of your waist. The day after every session, Vernon would take a picture of yesterday’s work and show it to you. A gummy grin would always take over his face, either proud of himself or happy that you loved the new addition.

Despite the fact that the only thing covering your body was a thin gown medical taken from the shop, every pore of your body felt unbelievably hot. You really shouldn’t be mixing alcohol on a Wednesday night, but Vernon was excited that he was halfway done with the project and it was time to be “poppin’ bottles.”

You felt a little drowsy as a result of that, but nothing terrible. Like he said, the feeling was cathartic.

“Aren’t you drunk too?” you murmured into your navy blue whale plush, “what if you accidentally stab me?”

Vernon laughed, and it shook the couch. You couldn’t see his face as he sat on the floor, getting in the crevices of your skin. He poked at your skin a little harder than usual, as if he were testing the possibility. “That’d still take a lot of strength.”

“You’d be surprised,” you sighed, “those little sticks florists use to keep the babies upright? Flat as a thumb and I still manage to impale tomatoes with them.” He doesn’t respond to that, and you’re left drowning in your own answer. You wondered if he truly thought you were a crazy tomato-killer, or was concentrated on detailing a particular patch of skin. “Can I tell you a secret?” you blurted, “honestly, I think flowers are beautiful, but I really hate working at the florist. The only reason I’m doing it is because Joshua really needed the help and he knew I wasn’t going to do shit until my city job starts in September.”

“Huh,” Vernon stopped, resting the heel of his hand on your back. “That’s funny. Explains all the cursing when you’re cutting roses outside.”

“You’ve watched me outside?” you grinned into your cushion, “creepy much?”

“Do you wanna know a secret?” Vernon blurted, evading your question with one of his own, “I’ve had the biggest crush on you since you came by in May.”

You tensed, and if Vernon noticed, he didn’t react. He kept on doing his business, marking your back with baby’s breath. It had to be the alcohol talking. If he drank at all, you couldn’t even tell because you couldn’t get up and he was strikingly coherent. All this time, and you didn’t even notice?

“You don’t have to answer,” he said, as if he knew you were strung speechless. “I just, wanted to say it. We’re cool.”

And you agreed, pretending to fall asleep.

Friday was around the corner before you knew it, and Vernon wanted to photograph the final piece where it all started. The greenhouse was devoid of human life at the crack of dawn, unless you counted Joshua who was asleep on the counter because he was the only one with a key that knew of your recent escapades with Vernon.

Vernon was just as tired as you are, but he was adamant about having the photo taken at dawn, as the first picture was taken in the late day. There was some contrived symbolism attached to it that you didn’t really understand, but you trusted his vision. Besides, your panda eyes wouldn’t be revealed in the photo, so you could master the art of sleeping upright while he took photos.

“Alright,” Vernon set up his camera. He was dressed in a university zip up and matching sweatpants, like he just rolled out of bed. “Everything’s set up, whenever you’re ready.”

Likewise with you, and you pulled off your hoodie, not bothering with a bra. Despite the fact that the room was temperature controlled, the cold morning air still managed to worm its way to your bare top. You quickly rubbed down your gooseflesh with your palms.

You two engaged in a comfortable silence as you tested out your poses and he adjusted his frame. After a couple of practice shots, the air seemed calmer.

“Cold?” Vernon asked casually.

“Anything that isn’t under the sheets of my bed is cold as hell,” you muttered, trailing your fingers delicately across your waist.

“That’s a nice pose,” Vernon said to himself, “we’re almost done. Then you can go to bed for the rest of your day. Unless you’re down for breakfast?"

You two still haven’t spoken about his little confession the other day, but in all honesty there was no reason to bring it up. Your lives were going in different directions, and you knew Vernon deserved more than a halfhearted summer fling.

"I think I’m down for bed and breakfast,” you replied wryly.

“Smart girl,” Vernon chuckled, “can you change your pose for me? Like, pretend that you’re stretching.”

You didn’t understand what he meant by that, so you ended up flexing your arms in different directions.

“No, we’re not doing yoga.” He let his camera swing around his neck as he rushed over to you. The sun was a soft white, the antithesis of golden hour as you two rushed to make the magic happen. He grabbed your arms from behind, twisting the left wris in an unusual angle.

"Ah, Vernon!” You jerked around to face him, now fully awake. “I’m not a Barbie doll, you can’t just move me like that."

Vernon doesn’t respond. He let go of you as soon as you screamed, eyes blown wide and pupils a thick black. His stare is frozen to yours, and his hand is in mid-air, a centimeter away from your bare breasts.

"Oh,” you said, “did I whack you with my boob when I turned?"

"Yeah, you boobed me.” Vernon looked afraid to stare anywhere but your face. “I’m so sorry."

"It’s okay,” you bit the inside of your lip, “I don’t mind if you touch me there."

Now, Vernon looked terrified.

It’s been a long week. A long, surreal week. You wanted to tell Vernon about your conflicted feelings, you wanted to ask about his little crush, and what on earth did he find appealing about you. You wanted to tell him how much you trusted him with your body, and how you wanted him to do more to you than just ink.

It’s then, the gaping boy shook himself together. His hands encircled your neck, haloing at the finishing piece of his work, an echelon moon. Vernon’s fingers trailed to cup your face, and you felt your whole body warm in anticipation. Patient, you waited for his carmine eyes to flutter shut, and you smiled, finally closing yours—

"The fuck is this?"

In an instant, the air was sucked out of you like a blackhole, and Vernon immediately shielded you, throwing his jacket across you like a towel.

"Mingyu,” you said shakily, clutching the cotton coat tighter around your form.

It’s then that a no-longer bleary-eyed Joshua stumbled into the greenhouse, seconds too late.

Mingyu threw down the sack of fertilizer he hauled on his back, black dirt smattering the floor. “Its been barely a week and you’re fucking someone in the greenhouse, of all places?” Mingyu was angry, plain and simple. “I thought we agreed on a break."

"You agreed on a break,” your thighs were numb from leaning on them, but Vernon’s hand on your back encouraged you to get on your feet. “I agreed that two years was too long to wait."

"And who are you?” Mingyu squinted his eyes at Vernon.

“He’s none of your business,” you stepped in front of him, tugging his hoodie closer around your frame.

Mingyu’s face fell in realization, and he looked between you two with forlornness that made your stomach churn. “C’mon baby,” your nails embedded themselves in your palm at the jab, “can we go outside and talk about this?”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” your voice was paper thin, but loud enough for Mingyu to hear across the room, “I’d prefer you leave us alone, and do not talk to me ever again.”

It took all your composure to turn around, and you glared a hole into Vernon’s chest. You felt your body bleed goosebumps around your arms and legs, not out of weather, but out of anxiety. You hugged yourself to shut the prickly feeling down. You heard Joshua do the only helpful thing this morning and it’s his soft utterances that finally pulled Mingyu out of the greenhouse. ,

What’s left is the drip of the hose, and the two of you, unmoved.

Thankful for the silence, you looked up at your companion, who was speechless. Vernon’s lower lip was puckered out slightly, face contorted as if to say I’m sorry, that kinda sucked. The tell-tale signs of emotional overload began to prick at your eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” you wiped your face. Since when did you start crying? “I’m so sorry that I let all of this happen, and I let myself let this happen, and I’m such a mess and I’ve been trying to hide it all this time, but I’m selfish and I just wanted to see what would turn out of it.”

“What are you apologizing for?” Vernon tried to lighten up the mood, and offered you an easy smile and reached for a hug.

“I’m sorry because I don’t know if I like you or not!” you outburst, and pushed him out of arm’s reach. “I feel so fucking guilty I just got out of a relationship and I can’t tell if I like you or I like your attention, honestly. And it isn’t fair because you’re just so sweet and kind and easy to love. Either way at the end of the summer I’m moving into the city for my full-time job. And I, I, I don’t know!”

Vernon forced his way into your space, barely a foot apart. He didn’t touch you, but his warmth still emanated from the jacket you were wearing. He didn’t seem upset, then again you were probably upset enough for the both of you.

“Hey, I offered to do your back because I knew you needed a distraction,” Vernon said softly, “no strings attached, ever. You do you, right? Focus on yourself.”

You wished he was mean about this. It would’ve made it easier. “What if this is the last time we talk? What if I want to ignore you for the rest of the summer?” you murmured, already knowing you. should enjoy these final moments.

“We’ll live,” he shrugged, and finally broke the space between you. His lips planted themselves between your forehead, melting away the lines that marred your brows apart, “and we’ll heal.”

The city was daring. The city was unforgiving.

You tugged your scarf closer around your neck, which constricted your airflow but also prevented any possible windchill from slicing your neck. In your other hand you were hauling a week’s worth of work in a luggage that had once packed your things in August and sent you to this very career path.

As much as you loved your new life, you wished things would be a little more boundless. The box of your workspace, the box of the elevator, and the box of your goshiwon apartment were starting to feel particularly stifling this weekend.

It was Friday (or FriYay, as your co-workers dubbed) and that meant a weekend vegging out with a comfort meal and a new movie. There was a Burger King and a Gongcha under your apartment complex, both calling your name.

Boba and burgers, the perfect way to end a week.

You munched on your fries as you scanned the Gongcha menu, craving something sweet to contrast with your salty meal.

It is then a low, sultry whisper sauntered in your direction (in a Gongcha, with children) and you almost choked on your fry. “I would know that back anywhere,” the offender drawled.

What a strange pick-up line. The paper bag crinkled in your grip, and you turn around to see a familiar perky face in a scarlet Adidas tracksuit. Of all the places, he was here.

“Hey, Flower Girl.” Minghao greeted, wiggling his fingers in a wave. He was on a tall stool, long legs splayed out and a cup of oolong milk tea hung lazily in his grip. His cup was at least 50% ice, and he was shaking the cup like a rattle every ten seconds.

“Normally, people would start with a simple hello,” you replied wryly, ushering him over to wait with you in line.

“Normally,” Minghao shrugged, and slipped an arm around your shoulders as if you were long lost friends, “how have you been doing? Planting gardens for the spring?”

“Please,” you scoffed. To Joshua and Wonwoo’s chagrin, you’ve forgotten a lot since the summer. “I can’t even make a corsage anymore, my brain’s on overload. What about you?”

It looked like he was waiting for you to ask that. You barely got your order in before he started spitting out his story. “Didn’t you hear?” Obviously you didn’t, and he didn’t give you a chance to answer. “Two letters. RM.” Again, nothing. “The RM? The hottest rapper in Korea? Anyway, he was one of our clients in August—he got a sick design of a koala and an alpaca, cooler than you think—and gave us a massive tip on his Instagram story. We were famous overnight! We were getting crazy clients left and right—fuckin’ Sana wanted a little heart on her sternum, hottest thing.”

“So you were able to relocate the parlor to the city?”

“The big push was when Yoongi dropped RM his demo,” he shook his cup furiously, ice clanging, as if he never got tired of this story. “Like, I didn’t even know they were texting! I’ve been running the parlor mostly, I’ve always wanted to live in the city, but RM funded a lot of it and is helping Yoongi make his mix.”

In the back of your head, the question of an aspiring grad student was niggling in your brain, but you pushed it down. “So, if Yoongi’s working on his demo and you’re supposed to be running the parlor, why aren’t you there now?” you asked.

He stared at you as if it were the most obvious choice. “Because I’m here, drinking boba with you.” Minghao then grabbed your finished drink from the employee’s hand, ushering you out the door. “And now you’re going to follow me, because my break was over fifteen minutes ago.”

“What?”

“I have your boba,” he’s already out the door, waving your precious beverage like a fish to its line. “Hurry up, now I’m sixteen minutes late!”

You groaned, lugging your suitcase full of work and now cold french fries back into the freezing weather. The wheels of your suitcase are cracking in exhaustion, mirroring yours. You just wanted your damn milk tea, hot fries, and a Netflix catch-up. What was the point of following Minghao to Nu ABO, when there was no reason to be there other than …

“Oof!” your face slammed into Minghao’s back. The light was red. “Did Vernon move here too?”

“Duh, who else would be covering for me?”

“You’re trying to set me up!” You cried in betrayal, jabbing him in chest with your finger. “Y'know what, I’m just going to get another boba. You keep that.”

You two glared at each other. Minghao looked relentless, ignoring whoever was bumping into him on the streets. His eyes suddenly glinted to your rolling luggage, and he snatched it from your grip, running into the streets.

“Can’t replace your work, right?” He laughed, forcing you to chase him down the block.

You felt sweat start to develop on your back, contrasting with the icy weather. Your work blazer and pinstripe loafers were not suited for vigorous activity. Minghao has an unfair advantage, being tall and athletic, and you had just finished half a bag of Burger King. Damn him.

Minghao stopped in front of a sunken in building, with stairs leading downwards to a neon-lit parlor with the name glittering in electric periwinkle font. Flustered, you gasp at the cold air, finally able to stop. Despite having lost your breath ten meters ago, you managed to tell Minghao you’re proud that they have a real parlor.

Your heart was beating in your ears, and you can’t tell whether it was because you haven’t worked out in months, or because Vernon was behind that door.

Minghao dumped your luggage behind the reception area, and went straight into the artist room. This new parlor was much bigger, so when Minghao disappeared into a hallway he was out of your sight. You wait around, letting yourself sink into the familiar hip hop playlist. There are pictures littering the walls, all covered with a clean black frame. You see Yoongi and the supposed RM, sporting his koala and alpaca ink (which actually did look sick) and some photos of Minghao’s work, all of his designs being simultaneously colorful and graceful.

It’s then in the epicenter of this wall is a long black frame that cut across the horizon, seven images of a woman with flowers and stars inking her back.

Your back.

“Beautiful, right? I’m sure it takes you back.” Minghao was over your shoulder, flicking his fingers between the photos. “Lots of customers have requested these designs. He never makes them the same way, though.”

Instead of answering, you followed Minghao down the hallway and into the artist room. Vernon had just finished with a client. Poking in head first, you saw him ticking off protocol off a printed list, speaking concisely. The client was listening intently, and you see he has an arm sleeve with peonies. It’s then he noticed Minghao intruding once more, and frowned.

“Dude, you got milk tea without me?” Vernon said, affronted.

“Ya didn’t ask.” Minghao vigorously shook the ice in your tea like a baby rattle.

“You didn’t mention it, therefore I couldn’t have asked.”

“You’re so smart, Hannie,” he beamed at him like a proud parent complimenting his son, “that’s why he’s going to grad school.”

You let yourself in fully, and you felt shy as Vernon’s lips parted slightly upon realizing who his second guest was.

“Hey,” Vernon exhaled, and gave you a small smile. He looked happy, content. As handsome as ever, he ran a gloved hand through his hair, soft curls bouncing as he shifted around the parting. “This is uh, a surprise.” his eyes flickered to Minghao, who held his arms out in a passive shrug. “A good one to end the week.”

“Hi,” you bit your lip, feeling shy, “so, you decided to get certified and you’re going to grad school? I missed out on a lot.”

“That’s okay, we got time.” Vernon assured, “besides the fact that I got a project due tomorrow morning that I’ve barely started, and then I have a field trip I gotta go to on Sunday—”

Before it could drag on any longer, Minghao hacked out a very loud, and very fake cough. You broke out of the rêve, and muttered a “gimmie that” before snatching your precious bubble tea out of Minghao’s hand.

Vernon mirrored the cough, more out of embarrassment than annoyance. “Lemme finish up with this client, yeah?” And he jerked his head back to the patient, going on about safety.

Minghao led you out of the room, whispering a “you’re welcome” in your ear that taunted you for the rest of the night.

Vernon finished at 5, just like he did back in the little shack at university square. He came out in a 2XL neon green hoodie, leading the client out the door and telling him to “take it easy”. As soon as the client’s gone, he comes over to you. You’re still staring at your pictures, as if you couldn’t believe that you were on display, looking like a tasteful nude model.

“Hi again,” he said, dusting the imaginary dirt off his pants.

“Hi,” you replied, feeling tingly at the sound of his voice. Did you really miss him that much?

"Um, is it cool if I hug you?"

It certainly has been awhile. You nodded, unsure if you could form a coherent response because you could tell Vernon was blushing and he was being too damn adorable for you to handle.

Upon permission, he brightened. The warmth of his cotton hoodie enveloped you like the way hot chocolate feels after a cold day. You breathed in his scent, realizing how much you missed the scent of fresh laundry, especially on him.

"How are you?” He asked casually.

“Uh, m'okay.” You answered softly, “a little cold nowadays."

He hugged you tighter in response. With one more squeeze he let himself go, but kept you at an arm’s length. "Wanna get dinner?"

You looked at him funny, "didn’t you say you had a project due tomorrow morning that you haven’t started?"

Without missing a beat he altered, "Wanna get takeout? I’ll do work and eat while,” his eyes darted to your luggage, “you do work?"

While you wanted to say that it was Friday (FriYay!) and you weren’t planning to open Pandora’s Box until Sunday night, you obliged and followed him to his place.

On the way over, Vernon got his well-needed milk tea (and your second round) with two matching cartons of jajangmyeon. You trailed behind him rather than next to him, due to the fact that he was also lugging a Joshua-sized canvas on his back. In fear of being knocked out or ruining his work, you settled for walking a meter apart.

Vernon lived on the second floor of his complex. You imagined a sizable one-room similar to your goshiwon, but you’re in awe when you see a fully furnished living room and kitchen. You smiled at the singular jade plant decorating the windowsill, one you remembered as Patricia Planty one session months ago. The hardwood was so shiny you could see your reflection in them. Kicking off your shoes, you stumbled over the kitchen countertop, reveling at the onyx granite.

"I’ve never seen this much granite in my entire life!” You cried, spreading your hands over the cool rock. It was so well polished, you could see your reflection. He was certainly living the high life this year.

Vernon shook his head, setting the take out down and pulling out the containers. “It’s RM’s old place. I rent it out with the guys."

"God, this is ten times better than my place! Your kitchen is bigger than my apartment!"

He flicked your bowl of jajangmyeon over to your side of the countertop, the sauce and noodles premixed for you. "Eat up, babe.” He stuffed a radish in his mouth, now working to mix his own noodles, “we got a lotta catchin’ up to do."

Whether it was your hunger or the casual use of the word "babe”, you abandoned the granite for now and did as told.

An hour later, you’re flipping through their mounted TV, taking full advantage of their Disney+ subscription as Vernon is laying on the floor.

“I thought you were working,” you chastised, letting yourself sink further into their couch. It was like resting on a big, fluffy marshmallow. You never wanted to leave.

Vernon is splayed out like a starfish, papers and watercolors spread around him. His large body stood out against the white linoleum floor, his neon green hoodie reflecting on the shiny surface. “I am.” he replied blandly, “I’m waiting for lightning to hit me with a burst of inspiration."

"Grad school’s biting you in the butt?"

"Big time."

Another bout of silence hit the two of you, and it was surprisingly nice. You finally started to notice that Vernon is picking up some art utensils and is doodling something. (He still is on the floor and hasn’t sat up properly, but progress is progress.)

It felt oddly domestic, but you didn’t mind. There was no need to ask about the past, Kim Mingyu, or any other silly drama you two entrapped yourselves into last summer. What mattered now was the warmth of each other’s presence on this chilly night.

Your eyes are heavy and fighting against the long day, and before you know it, you’re asleep just as Rapunzel escapes Gothel’s tower.

You haven’t awoken to the morning sun in a long, long time. While the notion sounded awfully depressing (because it was), you really didn’t have much of a choice because the goshiwon was closet sized, and closets had no windows. But today, the sun blasted you, forcing you up. This was accompanied by the the tell-tale sounds of breakfast, which was weird because you only ever ate cold food in your room, because there was zero ventilation. The scent of dark roast muddled your senses, forcing you awake. You twitched at the sudden stench, and snapped your back straight. Were your walls always this pristine white?

"Didn’t know you were this early in the game, Flower Girl."

You never went home. While Vernon was long gone and probably off presenting some haphazard art, Minghao and Yoongi (for the first time, in the flesh!) were watching you from their marbled island, while you rubbed the crusties out of your eyes. "Usually, encroaching on a significant other’s apartment is reserved for the 5th or 6th date.” Minghao teased, waving his Nutella toast in your face.

“Oh, shut up,” you glared at Yoongi, who was slowly chewing on his own toast. There’s was black spark in his eyes, like he’s relishing on whatever has unfolded. “And you, you. I know this is the first time we’ve met and you haven’t said a word. But shut up too. Your thoughts are awfully loud.”

You’re embarrassed, and you pull up your hands to mediate your fired cheeks. Instead of your palms, you feel worn cotton dabbing at your face. You wiggled your fingers under the neon green hoodie. Vernon put on his clothes for you to wear. You were in a very uncompromising position, and his roommates were reveling every second of it.

Yoongi shrugged, throwing you a flippant grin. “Whatever you say, Flower Girl.”

Contact emerged in the form of texts and images. You wondered how Vernon managed to keep things casual in light of how sudden your meeting was, but you relished in the way things fell naturally.

[February 19, 2:10PM]

Vern: Is this still your number

Vern: If so, here’s what i submitted for my project

Vern: IMG.934

Vern: if not, pls enjoy this picture of a pink platypus. the medium was watercolor nd if you’re curious, i got the idea from sunsets and phineas and ferb. Enjoy your day

You: hey look, there’s perry

Vern: nice

Vern: wait, this doesn’t confirm if ur u or a stranger

Vern: are u just a perry enthusiast

Vern: evidence pls

[February 19th, 6:08PM]

You: IMG.48

[February 20th, 12:22AM]

Vern: ooh

Vern: look cute in my hoodie

You’ve toggled with the idea of just cutting straight through the bush and asking him out the next time you see him in person. A little part of you liked the chase, however. That feeling where you’re tugging between friendship and something more, and you can’t help but feel like you’re fifteen everytime his name popped up in your messages. You self-dubbed it the-honeymoon-to-the-honeymoon phase.

[February 27, 5:34PM]

Vern: what are you up to

You: it’s hour 32. I’ve been under the covers and have survived solely on celery and honey-butter chips. currently binging all netflix comedies. debating on whether to send for help otherwise i may never get up

Vern: that’s the spirit

By the time two weeks passed, you felt confident enough to ride off the mutually weird text messages and constant contact to meet with him. By then, you’re knees deep in the honeymoon-to-the-honeymoon phase. You’re languidly floating in that river, hoping you’re not rushing it by agitating the waters.

[March 8th, 10:10PM]

You: hey

You: you up?

Vern: nah. mastered the art of sleep textin

You: just wanted to ask if you could help me pick out a tatt that would fit me

You: if you were available. I’ve heard from the mullet-monster that you’re a hot commodity drowning in appts and deadlines

Vern: wait forreal?

Vern: i can pencil u in. tomorrow night @11?

You: so soon? What happened to being busy

Vern: not for u. Already have an idea in mind

By the time you arrived Saturday night, Minghao was slapping your back across the door, gabbing on about a “major banger” they were missing uptown. He looked the part, the only person you knew that could fill out an all-studded denim fit. Like a disco ball at a rodeo. He barely said good-bye before he hopped in a Lyft, cheering for freedom.

You poked your head into the artist room, and saw Vernon playing on his phone. His fist dug into his cheek, carob pupils glazed over. You almost felt bad for wanting his attention this late.

“You usually do the day shift,” you commented quietly, holding up a bag with two milk teas in hand.

Vernon looked up, illuminating in a half-smile. “Y’know me, always covering. Just for the hour though, this shouldn’t take long since we’re just looking at ideas.”

He slapped a hand on the client chair. This one was much better than the cot they had in their shack. This one was pure leather and gleamed high quality. You placed your drinks on the countertop and eagerly bounced onto the seat. “Comfy,” you murmured, and wriggled your sneaker-clad feet.

“Good,” there’s a sharp snap from the plastic seal and Vernon is sipping into his milk tea seconds after you put it down. He’s chewing on a particularly large gulp, gnawing on pearls like no one’s business. With his rolling chair, he slid over to you, seamlessly reaching for your wrist.

If he noticed that you’re wearing a particular neon item, he doesn’t comment. He turned on the overhead lamp, letting a soft white light bathe your form. When he finally spoke, he chanted your name in a sing-song, tapping your wrist in beat. It’s as if he were envisioning the color blooming on your skin.

You let him do his thing, and he pulled out his phone, scrolling through his gallery. You see pictures of his friends, some of his family, and digital art. He scrolled slower at the myriad of images: a colorful orca, lavender constellations, and budding roses.

You were seeing a lot of flowers nowadays, with the burgeoning of spring and the recent ending of Valentine’s. It’s only now that you notice how apparent the theme is throughout the parlor, particularly in Vernon’s affinity.

“Why don’t you call me it?” you asked softly, peering over his form to see him mulled over a picture of periwinkle lupines.

“Huh,” he’s distracted, and has now swiped back to the colorful orca image.

“Flower Girl,” you uttered, “they call me that, but you don’t.”

Vernon clicked his phone down, the lupines flicked away. He peered at you through his lashes, the white overhead making his eyes appreciably bright. “Before I knew your name,” he started slow, making faces to himself as if he were debating on whether to tell you, “I’d call you Rose. You were always by the rose bush planted outside the shop.”

“Avoiding work,” you crinkled your nose, however relished in the endearment, “being named after a rose is too big a compliment.”

He snorted, “That’s what they said. Hence, Flower Girl was born,” he’s easy about it, but now he’s put his phone down and is rubbing circles in your wrist. You wonder if he felt how clammy your palms were getting from the minute intimacy.

“You know what flower I’d compare to you?” you asked, “freesias.”

“And what do those mean?”

“Thoughtfulness,” the pad of his thumb still lingered on your skin, his grip painfully apparent. “And renewal.”

“Why renewal?”

“Because,” you swallowed, “you make me feel renewed. And this time I’m sure it’s because it’s you.”

Vernon looked like he wanted to smile, trying so very hard not to embarass you whilst you poured your heart out with delicacy. His coral lips were tucked in a thin line, teeth biting at his lower lip. Drop by drop, he was going to accept that dew with as much care as possible. “Only me,” he inquired, pressing into your pulse.

Your mouth was sand dry. “Uh-huh.” You exhaled a breath long clutched in your throat, hot air fanning into Vernon’s face. He paid no mind, and (to no avail) was still trying to hold in his smile. “You’re dimples are showing,” you whined, poking the little dip in his cheeks with your free hand. “Use your words.”

“Like?” he elongated, playing dumb. You supposed you earned his brand of torture, after all, seven months is a long time to make up for.

“Like how we want the same thing?” you tried.

“How do you know I want what you want?” he feigned, furrowing his thick brows. Acting could’ve been another career possibility for him, portrayed by the way his eyes were blown with confusion, his mouth parted like a kitten.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! Forget words!” you broke, nearly shaking from the nerves.

It’s then that Vernon finally gave you a concrete response. His grip on your wrist was near painful as he eagerly tugged you closer, kissing you. There’s enthusiasm in every action from the way he pulled you closer, large hands melding to cup your cheeks. A little part of you is both breathless and invigorated at the energy stinging the room, and you can barely keep up until Vernon spilled kisses down your neck.

He threw up the armrest holding him back, tucking his knee between your legs as he lapped you up, kissing you fully. The chair was much too small for the both of you, his large body pressing you further into the cushions.

He sat up a bit, bumping his head on the lamp. He paid no mind. “By the way, I like you, too.” Vernon puttered cheekily, rubbing his scalp. Just as swiftly, he latches onto your neck and sucks at a sensitive spot. You can feel his teeth showing from the smile in his kisses. His thumbs rubbed lazily over your jaw, enjoying the feel of your soft skin under his rough palms.

“Really,” you exhaled, relaxing against the headrest as Vernon’s wandering hands traveled lower. “Had no idea.”

“But I’m happy,” Vernon is fumbly and sweet, mumbling in the crook of your neck while his fingers toyed with the waistband of your sweatpants, “happy you’ve healed, and happy for us.”

He’s excited, almost too excited. The space between you two was warm, the lamp beating under your skin, awakening something between you two that was left behind that summer. It’s as if winter left him dormant, and you were the fresh flower waiting to be bloomed under his touch.

“Are you always,” you gasped, two fingers already worming their way inside your panties, “talkative at this part?”

“Not if you wanna talk,” and the ever-zealous Vernon Chwe gets to work, sticking out his tongue in surprise when he finds that you’re already drenched. “Shit, you’re so beautiful,” he holds onto that word dearly, and pressed his forehead against yours, “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to hold you like this,” he reached for your delicious bud, and you felt your senses flower into pleasure.

He makes a noise, low in his throat as he watched you melt against the seat. “I like you like this,” he said thickly, his voice matching the slick sounds emitting from yourself. “Comfy, relaxed. You always looked so stuffy in those work suits,” you feel wholly undeserving of this worship, as he licked a long strip from your collarbone to your neck, “would love to help you chill out a lil’ more.”

A whine bubbled from the back of your throat, your eyes rolling shamelessly as you feel the pads of his fingers working circles between your folds. “Ah, I’ve—I’ve fantasized about this,” you confessed, “every time you’d ink my back. At one point we just stopped covering myself with those stupidly thin gowns. All you had to do was turn around.” Vernon blinked rapidly, mental pictures ticked like film in his pupils. His hands stuttered across your slick, inserting two fingers between your folds as you continued. His pace was slow, yet purposeful as he made sure you felt him with every thrust. Rings adorned his fingers, and the cool sensation surprised you. You shivered in pleasure. “Mm, I’ve imagined us kinda like this in that little shack, hard against the cot overlooking the shop,”

“Dirty,” he said, as if recalling the weather.

“And ah—wondering what kind of tattoos you have,” and in your haze you reached for him, your hand gripping firm at his gunmetal belt buckle. You tucked your fingers between the button of his light wash jeans, palming the telltale signs of something hard, “please? You’ve done too much for me, lemme return the favor.”

“Not now,” he pressed his forehead to yours, “you can guess my ink on our way home.”

“Wha?“ You’re dazed, feeling warm with affection and drowned in the moment. You feel his fingers, slowly pumping out of its rhythm and resting on your thigh. You groaned at the premature end, his shiny digits resting on your fleece sweats.

“They’ll kill me, this is new leather,” Vernon said, “and now we can afford security cameras, which are so small even I can’t find them.”

“Unbelievable,” you laughed. You’re not frustrated, only endeared.

“Besides, I’d rather have our first time somewhere private. Undisturbed,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead, "somewhere where there’s lots of granite."

You melted, pulling at his collar to pepper kisses on his nose. The mention of coming home to his pretty kitchen was icing on the cake. "You know how much I love your granite."

(After your granite fantasy was fulfilled, you spent the rest of the weekend huddled in Vernon’s room. You’re living off take out and mutually satisfied with the unhealthy means. When you’re not eating or watching movies, the two of you are drafting your first piece.

Freesias and pink roses.)

(His tattoo was also very cute.)

#vernon #vernon fic #seventeen fic #seventeen smut #vernon smut #vernon fluff #seventeen fluff #vernon fanfic #hansol vernon chwe #seventeen scenarios #kpop #kpop fic #kpop scenarios #kpop smut #blossomed

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deniigi · 4 years ago

Note

I WOULD LOVE A DAVE FIC !!!

Excellent. Here’s for you and @dudewhereismy-tardis

I am putting most of it under the cut because it is LONG

Dave (Daredevil copycat from Inimitable Verse) POV. Reminder that Dave is not his real name, but one given to him disdainfully by Wade in this verse.

Title: rises in the east

------------

“Dad.”

What?

“Dad.”

What time was it?

“Your phone’s ringing,” Charlie said. “It’s the boss.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“Give it here,” Dave rasped, throwing an arm over his eyes.

“Mom said you’re gonna hurt your back sleepin’ on the couch,” Charlie reported as she shoved his phone into his palm.

“My couch, my rules,” Dave said. He crammed the phone to his ear. “Ansel here,” he said.

Charlie wanted to stay home and if she was a year older, Dave would have let her. But alas. The last time he’d let her stay home, she’d texted her friend Jesse who had become unspeakably jealous and had appealed to her own parents for such freedoms, and now the whole block thought that Dave recklessly abandoned his daughter when he went to the goddamn grocery store.

All that for a can of Sprite, man.

This neighborhood was off the fuckin’ charts sometimes.

Case in point: Dani standing in front of him in the lobby with her hands on her hips, telling him that he needed to wear a tighter t-shirt or to start flexing because they were losing business.

“Dani, I’m an instructor,” he reminded her. “I’m hired to do classes.”

“It’s two hours,” Dani said. “Take the damn fliers.”

But he didn’t want to?

Dani blinked at him slowly from under her headband.

Charlie was having a great time and Dave was glad for that because he was not. He was being stared at by every person in the street as if they’d never seen a dude with muscles before.

It was the shirt.

He knew it was the shirt.

And possibly his nipples. Smashing the brochures high enough against his chest to cover them wasn’t going well and the highlighter teal underarmor Dani had forced upon him left very little to the imagination here.

There wasn’t anything else to do but let the poor things live their best lives.

“Dad, gimme more,” Charlie said.

She tugged at the brochures covering what was left of his dignity.

Blessed child, who hurt you?

“Where did the others go?” he asked her.

Charlie pointed across the road to a gaggle of ladies leaning out from their stoop, smiling.

Ah.

Yes.

Them.

“Let’s try for someone who looks more like a bro,” he told his offspring.

Charlie blinked up at him.

“Why?” she asked.

Oh, baby.

“Because they’re an easy mark,” he said. “Go up and say ‘my dad can take you’ and send ‘em my way, okay?”

Charlie’s face went from confused to ready to kill instantly.

This was her game face. This was her ‘I’m gonna wreck this goalee’s teeth’ face.

Dave shouldn’t have been proud of her, really; her teachers said that she was becoming argumentative and obstinate in the classroom. But there was just something there in the fact that his kid sure as shit wasn’t no sheep that made his chest feel big, wide, and full of hot air.

“I’m on it,” Charlie said.

He gave her three brochures and let her scramble off to the other side of the sidewalk and then turned to meet the eye of a family with a father with neat hair and the beginnings of triceps peeking out from under his sleeves.

“You lookin’ for a gym, sir?” he asked.

The guy looked his way and eyed him up.

He took a flier on his way past.

“Excuse me?”

“One second, man,” Dave said, doing the rock-shuffle to keep all the fliers on the table from blowing away.

“Excuse me.”

“Hey, I said just a sec,” Dave snapped.

He turned back and found himself staring into the dark eyes of a bald man with olive skin and deep wrinkles in his forehead.

And Dave knew him.

Holy shit.

Dave knew him.

Fuck.

God.

Jesus, Lord.

“I am so sorry,” he started.

“DAD.”

Ch—Charlie?

He looked down and sure enough, holding Rudolph ‘Diamond’ De Luca’s massive bearpaw was his very own daughter. De Luca made her wiry, suntanned limbs seem like unbaked pretzels.

He was so much bigger than he’d seemed on TV all those years ago.

“This your kid?” De Luca asked.

Jesus.

“She is. I’m so sorry,” Dave said, “Did she—she didn’t bite you or anything, did she?”

“Dad,” Charlie whined. “Don’t tell ‘im that.”

“I’ll pay for whatever damage—” Dave continued.

De Luca blinked at him impossibly slowly with long dark eye lashes. He turned his face slowly back down towards Charlie.

“You sure this is your old man?” he asked.

Wh—

Wait.

What the hell did that mean?

“That’s him,” Charlie moaned. “He’s just bein’ dumb. Dad. Stop bein’ dumb. This dude’s the real deal. He’ll fight you in a heartbeat.”

Dave grabbed his child before she could cause any more damage. She made a fuss, but let go of De Luca’s mitt. Dave shoved her behind him, just in case this situation got any more tense than it needed to be.

De Luca lifted an eyebrow at that and then brought his face back up to Dave’s.

“Who’s gym?” he asked.

What?

Oh.

“Spitfire,” Dave said. “We’re, uh, just about there, on the—”

“I know where you’re about,” De Luca said.

Dave didn’t know what to say. De Luca held his eye.

Oh, god.

This wasn’t going well.

“How old are you, son?” De Luca asked.

FFFFFFFFFFFffffffffffffuck.

“38,” Dave said.

“And your baby girl?” De Luca asked, gesturing with his chin down at Charlie.

“I’m 12,” Charlie told him brightly.

“Hm,” De Luca said.

He shifted his weight back and wrapped a few fingers around his chin, surveying Dave’s whole body like he was the statue of David with a knee injury.

Dave became intimately aware of his nipples again.

“Not bad,” De Luca said.

Oh, thank god.

“Thank you, sir,” Dave said. “Is there, uh, somethin’ I could help you with?”

“You got an accent,” De Luca noted.

Uh?

“A good accent,” De Luca said. “Whereabouts did you grow up?”

Oh.

Well.

Dave could actually just point to it from here. The condo was still standing, despite all building codes and actual alien invasions. At this point, the only thing that was gonna take it down were the rampant, rapidly mutating, borderline feral gangs of chickens that roamed its halls.

Not that anyone spoke about them.

No, that was inviting trouble to your doorstep.

“The chicken coop?” De Luca said.

The one and only.

“Bless you, you poor fuck.”

Yeah, that tended to be the usual reaction.

De Luca laughed.

“You’re a funny guy, uh,” he squinted at Dave’s nametag, “Ansel?”

How could a word sound so wrong in someone’s mouth?

Where had Dave’s life gone wrong that his own name sounded so foreign and distant to his ears?

“Actually,” he said, swallowing, “My uh, my friends call me ‘Dave.’”

De Luca’s head snapped right up and slowly, a grin spread across his face.

“Oh, now, that’s a good name for ya,” he said. “You look like a Davy.”

Hng.

Diamond De Luca thought he looked like a ‘Davy.’

Welp.

Time to get that birth certificate changed.

“Listen, Davy,” De Luca said casually, “Your baby girl there was tellin’ me that your boss has you out here like dancin’ monkey; is that true?”

Fffffffffff.

Technically yes?

“It’s even his day off,” Charlie whispered.

Dave wrapped a hand over her face.

“It’s fine,” he said. “It happens. Folks’ve been sick lately. I don’t normally do this kinda thing.”

De Luca’s face said that that was real cute. Real, real cute, honey.

“Well,” he said, “Let’s just say it like this. Where you work don’t gotta be where you train.”

Oh.

Was he offering--?

“If you decide to drop by, tell the guy at the desk Rudy sent you,” De Luca said. “Your kid’s real sweet, Davy. She can come too, lord knows the damn place is a daycare at this point.”

“Thank? You?” Dave stuttered.

“Don’t mention it,” De Luca said.

He left. Dave watched him waltz down the block and wave at the gals collected on the stoop at the end of it and felt a little lightheaded.

“Dad?”

Not right now, champ.

“Dad? Is he famous or somethin’?”

HHHHHHHHHHNG.

Back when Dave had been 14 and scraping the tips of his fingers into callouses on the old guitar he’d found tossed into a dumpster in the Upper West Side, he’d had to compete with the sound of the couple fighting in the apartment next door and with the radio the old man downstairs always had playing on his fire-escape window.

The old man downstairs was a real hard-ass. Always slammed a broom into the ceiling, scaring the shit out of Mom and Dad and sister and auntie. Dave had never seen him not smoking, nor had he ever seen him without suspenders.

The man was a retired plumber, apparently. And while Jim Beam was his main vice, his passion was boxing.

To the tune of chords picked out of an out-of-tune guitar, Dave had listened to tinny commentators oohing and awing over match after match, until finally, when sleep wouldn’t come one night, Dave had snuck out of the room he’d shared with Flora. He’d settled down on the living room couch, next to his old man splayed out in the recliner.

Dad had lifted his eyes slowly his way and told him that he should have been in bed.

Dave had told him that he couldn’t sleep because the couple next door was makin’ up from their daily afternoon argument and Dad had just sighed.

He’d let Dave stay up with him and the TV in the living room had fuzzed and rattled away, making sounds really familiar to Dave at that point.

Boxing was a sport that he had, up until that night, left to his father. But for the lack of anything else to talk about that wouldn’t make his dad look at him with disappointment in his eyes for all that damn music-playin’ and eyeliner, he’d asked who the guy on the screen was.

And that was how he’d learned about Diamond De Luca.

About Kenny Varga. Bert ‘The Albatross’ Kleinfeld.

But there was one guy who Dad had mentioned was his favorite rookie and, now it felt both kind of silly and surreal that the name had been spoken so casually in Dave’s home growing up.

Dad had been puttin’ money on Battlin’ Jack Murdock back when Dave had been a little kid.

He told Dave, disappointedly, after a few weeks of Dave getting up at 12:30 to come out and watch boxing with him that he’d really thought that Murdock was gonna be the next big thing.

Guy was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, Dad had said, shaking his head. But wolves that got too wily got put down and Battlin’ Jack had been found in an alley, bled out in the arms of his reason for fighting.

Dad said it was a fuckin’ shame that Murdock had gone out with a slug in his head.

A fuckin’ shame, he said.

Dave didn’t remember him every saying that Murdock’s reason for fighting was a blind ten-year-old, but the thought was now merged with that memory.

That, in itself, was merged with the memory of Dave’s phone ringing one night was Addie’s name on the Caller ID. Her voice was shaking when she told Dave that the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen had just called her from an unknown number.

He had their baby.

He’d snatched her and Jesse out of the arms of two men looking for girls to be used in businesses Dave didn’t want to think about.

He’d saved them.

The devil had heard their screams when no one else had and he’d come flying out of the dark.

He’d held the girls in the light of a bodega and he’d coached Charlie through typing Addie’s number into his phone and then he’d taken it from there.

Addie was too scared to go meet the devil on her own. Mason hadn’t been around yet and so Dave had thrown on his shoes and had meet her on 46th.

The devil was on 48th, swinging his boots with both girls in his lap.

They were all singing. The devil had pretended like he didn’t know the words to Britney Spears’s ‘Toxic.’

Matt Murdock was under that mask.

Knowing that this whole time, he’d been the one dragging a stick against the fences and bricks of Hell’s Kitchen was almost impossible to digest.

And Dave had worked with him now.

He’d seen that smirk and that notorious jaw unwrapped from its red armor and that didn’t make reconciling the murdered boxer’s son with the man who’d saved his daughter any easier.

Charlie hadn’t remembered him.

She thought that Matt Murdock was a weird fuckin’ dude, and granted, he was a weird fuckin’ dude, but Dave had to say: he was grateful.

Matt Murdock not only brought home his baby, but he’d given Dave purpose in a life that had become consumed by the daily grind.

Matt Murdock had smiled in his direction, never quite into his eyes, and he’d passed along the baton with next to no fight.

Dave wasn’t him.

Dave would never be him.

Matt Murdock wasn’t just some poor murdered boxer’s blind son. He was the product of some serious poverty. Some serious violence. A whole fuckin’ cult induction, if he was to be believed. And Dave wasn’t so sure if he was always to be believed.

But he still appreciated Matt Murdock for what he’d done and what he’d made for this part of the city.

He’d made Daredevil.

And he shared that with Dave.

Dave’s own dad’s approval hadn’t felt like the honor that had come with Matt Murdock’s covered eyes and curled lip slowly relaxing as he’d lifted his face up from Dave’s knees.

He hadn’t been inspecting.

He’d been listening. Dipping his fingers into the blood in Dave’s heart and deciding if he was worth his salt.

Matt Murdock, son of Battlin’ Jack Murdock, was a product of Fogwell’s Gym in the Kitchen.

Diamond De Luca, retired heavyweight, was a product of Fogwell’s Gym.

The stars had aligned. And Dave had stood in their path.

And he wasn’t wasting the chance that they offered him.

Charlie was stoked to be allowed to come to the gym with him. She usually went to Jesse’s house, where Rubes would look after both girls for a few hours.

But De Luca had said that it was okay for her to come along, and so he figured, why not?

Fogwell’s was an institution in the Kitchen. All kids deserved to know their own history.

“I’m gonna fight Fogwell himself,” Charlie announced halfway down the block.

“You will not,” Dave told her. “Because I’m not tryin’ to get thrown out before we even get started here, alright?”

Charlie whined.

He ignored it.

This wasn’t the first time he’d been to the gym. Matt Murdock slipped in and out of it when he was in the city and he’d taken the whole team there once or twice. But it was different to be there in the presence of the daytime crew.

Dave felt very small in their presence.

The whole place was full of people pounding bags and swearing and shouting at kids who were tumbling all over the rows of benches set off to the side of the bags.

It was not what Dave had been expecting.

He told the guy at the front that ‘Rudy’ had recommended that he stop by and got a nod and a wave.

“He’s probably upstairs,” the receptionist said. “Go pick a bag, I’ll give him a buzz.”

Charlie refused to join the kids on the benches because apparently that was ‘only for babies, Dad.’ She wanted to hold the bag.

She was not, in one thousand years, holding the bag.

Dave wrapped her hands and let her go at it first to ‘soften it up’ for him.

De Luca caught him adjusting the demon-child’s thumbs before they ended up at the hospital again and laughed.

“Davy-boy, you made it,” he said.

Dave snapped up straight to attention.

“I did,” he said.

De Luca laughed again.

“Relax, kid,” he said. “Damn, you’re tight wound. Don’t worry, we won’t tell no one you’re sleepin’ with the enemy.”

Ahahahaha.

Please don’t.

These people were jacked. Dave was but a kickboxing instructor.

“Here, bub, lemme see what your pops has got,” De Luca said, shooing Charlie out of the way.

And this was the moment of truth.

De Luca seemed surprised when Dave finally laid off the bag. And Dave couldn’t read his expression for a million bucks.

“Uh?” he tried. “Not good?”

De Luca blinked himself back to earth.

“Oh, no,” he said. “It’s just uh, you fight a little like someone I know.”

Please don’t say a mobster.

“Kid used to live around here; name’s Matt Murdock,” De Luca said. “You know him?”

Did—

Did he know him?

QUICK. Answer the question.

You’re takin’ too long.

He’s gonna—

“S’alright if you don’t,” De Luca said. “I was just sayin’. Kid was like one of my own.”

He—

What?

“Yeah, boy fought like the devil like his daddy before ‘im,” De Luca said. “He’s the only one Fogwell lets call him ‘Grandpa.’ He’s about your age, actually. God, I’m old.”

AHAHAHAHAHA.

Please change the subject.

“You’re not that old,” Dave said. “I think I might have heard the name.”

Charlie looked up at him, baffled at the hedging.

He pleaded with her with his eyes not to say a damn word.

“Yeah, he’s somethin’, left here for San Francisco. Didn’t even say good-bye, the little shit,” De Luca sniffed. “Came back last year all ‘I’m gettin’ married’ and I swear to god, he’s picked up some kid. Just between you and me, pal, the old guard here have been talkin’, and we think that someone missed out on the sex ed talk, if you know what I’m sayin’.”

Oh.

Poor Sam.

He wasn’t even there to scream from the mountaintops that Red was a last resort for him at best.

“I’m just sayin’,” De Luca said with a shrug that spoke far more of supreme irritation than nonchalance, “He coulda just told us. I’m just sayin’.”

Any more ‘just sayin’s’ and Diamond De Luca was gonna go find a wall to bury them in.

“Did you, uh, have any feedback?” Dave blurted out as the guy started mumbling.

“Hm?”

“Feedback,” Dave repeated, waving a gloved hand at the bag.

“Oh. Yeah, loads, kid. You got all the muscles and not a damn lick of memory, here, lemme show you.”

Crisis averted.

Thank god.

D2: hey uh, DD?

SM: DAVE

S2: DAVEEEE

S3: DAVE

SM: what’s up man?

D2: nothing I was just trying to get ahold of DD?

BT: He’s trying to get Kirsten to give up her dreams of an indoor office pond rn. Can I help?

SM: I want an indoor office pond

S3: omg same

D2: uh yeah actually could you just tell him I met a guy named De Luca the other day and he might want to give him a call?

BT: de Luca?

D2: yeah

BT: okay sure thing

D2: thanks

BT: I’ll go see if I can get a word in edgewise.

SM: good fucking luck

S2: I hate fish

S3: leave this place and never return

S2: I HATE FISH

DD: WHAT

SM: oh shit that was quick

D2: oh. I was just saying that I met Diamond De Luca the other day?

SM: ?? Who’s that?

DD: oh no

S2: ??????????????

DP (´｡✪ω✪｡´): who the fuck is that?

DD: are you still with him?

D2: no?

D2: he caught me out fliering and invited me to Fogwell’s

D2: and when I got there he mentioned my stance was like yours and he uh

D2: got a little distracted

DD: what kind of distracted?

D2: He thinks Sam’s your bastard kid

BT: GODDAMNIT

DD: FOR FUCKS SAKE

BT: First Mrs. Jones, now this guy?? TEACH.

DD: These people have zero faith in me I swear to god.

DD: like come ON man. I did sex ed in the same class as Angie he knows I’m too catholic for that shit

DP (´｡✪ω✪｡´): I looked this man up and he looks like an Italian nate with less hair

SM: wh

DP (´｡✪ω✪｡´): okay you’re right he looks nothing like nate

SM: that

SM: that’s not even slightly helpful, wade, thanks not at all. Hey who’s angie?

DD: long story. Rudy’s daughter

S2: RED YOU FUCKED A BOXERS DAUGHTER?? That’s a million dollar baby man

DD: I

DD: what?

DD: no? Why would I fuck angie she’s like my sister?

S2: oh nvm

SM: 😬😬😬

S3: I am confused ❤

D2: you should probably call him, friend

DD: on it. thanks for the notice

DD: hey what’s your fuckin name again?

S2: f

S3: f

SM: f

D2: It’s Ansel

DD: Adams?

D2: not the photographer. Ansel West.

SM: WEST

S2: OMG

S3: guys don’t

SM: I BET YOURE A SUNSET DAVE

S2: YOU EVER FEEL CALLED TO THE PRAIRIE DAVE???

SM: YOU’RE A&W, DAVE!!

S2: ROOT BEER ROOT BEER

D2: ah yes. Middle school. I remember this feeling.

Dave laid his phone on his chest and stared back up at the ceiling.

It was never dull, this new life he’d settled into.

He said a prayer for Murdock and rolled onto his side.

It was still his goddamn couch.

#fic #inimitable verse #ficlet #team red

176 notes · View notes

f33itan · 4 years ago

Text

💛⚜️Pᴀʀᴛ 1: Tᴏʀᴛᴜʀᴇ ɪs Gᴏʟᴅᴇɴ⚜️💛 (From my Wattpad)

A/N: Ok, this was something a mutual of mine said here on Tumblr, and I decided to write a oneshot about it. Might be very VERY slight angst, nothing bad enough to actually be put under that umbrella though, anyways, enjoy this, and ty for the reads! :)

CW: MENTIONS OF RAPE, DEGRADATION, AND MORE FOUL WORDS THAN USUAL. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

B/N: Your Mother's boyfriend's name

M/N: Mother's name

꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂

"Oi, Y/N! Go get me another pack of beer from the store!"

"Yes father!" Damn that pig looking bitch. I'm just some fucking girl, trying to protect her mom from this demon of a person! Heck, he's not EVEN a person! He's the devil himself!! Man, I wish dad was here...

When you were in about 7th grade, your real father got killed in a massacre a couple cities over. He was not only a police officer, but a great father and husband as well. He treated you and your mother amazingly, and you thought life couldn't get anymore perfect, but soon that all went down hill. After his death, your mother's health depleted and she felt empty inside. She needed somebody else to make her complete. She decided to call an old friend from high school, and next thing you know he moved in. He seemed like a nice guy at first, but soon enough he was beating you guys mercilessly, enough to leave large bruises and scars whenever you didn't do exactly what he asked, in your eyes though, it was more of an order. You hated being ordered around, but you hated your mother getting beaten around even more. It seemed like a blessing that he hasn't tried to rape her, but god knows what he'll do, he's unpredictable

With all of this happening, you decided to tell him you were doing some "extra curricular" classes in college, but what you were actually doing was taking the Hunter's Exam and learning nen. Your biological father was kind-hearted and fun to be around, but he was also strict and sometimes a bit harsh, though he always meant well. Before his passing, all three of you would go out on the weekends to train, exercise, or do something that would enhance your body power and brain power. Because of this, all of you were exceptionally smart, and bodies all well toned. Sometimes your excursions would be going to a park and practicing a sport, driving to the snow and sledding, skiing, snowboarding, and every once in a while going to another state to zip line, try animal encounters, or take a family friendly class in that state's heritage and customs.

Since you were accustomed to hard core training and events, you thought the Hunter's Exam was quite fun, and was a test to your skills. After that, you were scouted out by a strong nen user by the name of Biscuit Krueger. You and her had lots of fun training, and with her pushing your limits to the utmost best, you turned out to be a specialist.

(Whenever I imagine myself in Hunter x Hunter, this is always my nen type and stuff LMAO)

Your power was called, Black shadow. You could have up to 10 weapons on hand, completely subjected to doing your bidding. These weapons were linked to you through blood, and they were surrounded with a substance that appeared to be black mist. The weapons you most preferred to practice with and use were your katana, blood string, and scythe. You could also make a weapon yours by cutting a fingertip and letting the blood drip onto the weapon, altering the appearance then gaining that black "mist", showing that it was now yours. The downside to this technique was that those "shadows and mist remnants" were your sleep. The darkness in your mind and the shadows all around you were taken and used for that power. In turn, you were always tired, yawning, and had bags under your eyes. Another plus side though was that you had a nen created chamber that had every weapon you owned. A girl can have some fun toys, can't she? You had tools for torture (whenever you took an opportunity to try it), many varieties of weapons, and of course, more snacks. But unlike B/N, you didn't have just fatty snacks. You had regeneration potions, healthy snacks, and special nen created "snacks" to help with different things, which all of these you had collected through pulling some strings. Your mother was worried, but you said it was all just college things. Yeah, just college things..

Ill make that pig bitch pay for what he has done to my mother!

Feitan POV -or whats going on with him- :

"What time, is it.."

"8 AM Fei!"

"Shut up, green eyes, too loud."

"Oh Fei don't be rude! It's mean!"

"That's, the point."

"Oh wait, Shalnark, what this?"

"What do you mean?"

"This... gold string?"

"OI SHALNARK, FEITAN, COME ERE' REAL QUICK!"

"Phinks, what, do you, want-" Phinks just ignored his question and pointed to the TV.

This is Channel 12, reporting live from York New City Town Square. People all over the city are claiming to be seeing a string tied to their left ring finger, leading them to some unknown destination! What is this string? Who put it there?-

"AY AY IM ON TV! THE STRING THINGY JUST LEAD ME TO THIS BEAUTIFUL GIRL AND NOW WERE DATING! SUPER AWESOME!"-

I apologize for the interference, but this string appears t be leading people to.. partners? Soulmates? Find out tomorrow morning, this is Amy Starwick from Channel 12, signing out.

"What. The. FUCK."

"OH MY GOD OH MY GOODNESS HOLY SHIT FEITAN YOU HAVE A SOULMATE!!"

"Nope-"

"YESS YOU DOOOOOOO"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP CHEERY BITCH-"

"No❤️" Since Feitan was on his last nerve with Shalnark, he decided to stomp over towards Chrollo in the main room, but Chrollo just chuckled.

"Wanna go find your soulmate? See if that things real?" Feitan just stared at the ground, lightly shifting his feet.

"Go ahead, I don't mind."

"Just, doing it, out of, curiosity."

"Mhm, curiosity, go find them." And with that, he was dismissed. Feitan wanted to say it was curiosity, but deep down he had this feeling there was something else, but what was it? It made his stomach tingle and he didn't like it one bit. He tried to ignore all of this, and just shrugged it off...

꧁꧂꧁꧂TimeSkip to Next Day꧁꧂꧁꧂

Your POV + some Feitan POV:

"Alright, today's the day, he'll be at his work, and on his break, i'll set the plan in motion.." Both me and mom don't like him, and I don't know about her, but I sure hate him, every ounce of him. The plan is simple: 1. Capture mom's boyfriend, 2. Take him to an abandoned building, 3. Torture him and get all of the answers I need, and 4. Kill him. His break is at 12, and he usually goes to get takeout every other Friday, what a pig. I'll give him a taste of his own medicine.

Time: 11:30 AM

Ok, I have everything ready. Fully energized to the utmost extent, Elixirs to bring him back in case he passes out too early, and- what? He's leaving for lunch early? PERFECT! You ran behind some buildings and hid in a two-way alleyway, waiting for him to pass by...

Here we go..

One..

Two..

THREE!

You covered his head with a sack, and took his phone out of his back pocket. Before heading over to your post, you laced the inside of the sack with some sleeping powder and pressed it against his nose and mouth. Within moments he passed out, and you typed in what you hoped to be his password, which was correct. Around 12:30, you were going to text one of his coworkers that he would be "going to a restaurant across town, and ditching work for a day, not wanting to see his stupid good for nothing girlfriend or his dumb daughter." You knew he called you both this because of going through his text messages when he wasn't looking or when he was sleeping. Little did you know that somebody was watching you from afar.

"Hmm... So, she, my, what do people, call it.. soulmate? Seems, interesting..."

Time: 12:00 PM

"Jesus, I new he was a fat ass but I didn't know he weighed this much!" You were tugging him from his legs through the back ways of York New. You wanted to find a secluded area, where once you were done with him you could just toss him somewhere for the birds and maggots to eat. After walking for what seemed like hours, you came across a set of abandoned buildings, specifically the one you laid out some extra things. A couple extra weapons, some towels, a change of clothes, a chair and some rope, a couple of flashlights, and of course, some snacks. Lucky for you, the douchebag you've been dragging around like a rag doll was still out cold, so you picked him up and tossed him on the chair, tying his wrists, ankles and neck to the chair.

"Maaannn, this is boring!! When the hell are you gonna wake up?!" As if on queue, you saw his eyes start to flutter open, and you immediately grabbed your box cutter. It wasn't a weapon used by your nen, but it was quite effective.

"What.. who.. wait- Y/N!? WHAT THE FUCK?! UNTIE ME NOW BEFORE I BEAT YOUR ASS!!" you didn't notice it, but Feitan was watching from the building over.

What, the fuck? Why she kidnap him? That pig? Why? Confusing, gotta keep, watching.

You shoved the box cutter into his left cheek, and you bathed in the glory of hearing his screams of pain.

"How does this feel, you bitch? Everything you've done to my dear mother, everything you've done to me, and heck, YOU WERE PROBABLY BEHIND MY DAD'S MURDER DURING THAT FUCKING MASSACRE!!" B/N noticed the tears in your eyes, and took this to his advantage.

"So what if I was? Both of your parents were pathetic anyways."

"NO THEY AREN'T! YOU'RE THE REASON WHY MY MOTHER'S LIKE THIS NOW! YOUR THE FUCKING REASON FOR EVERYTHING SHITTY THAT'S HAPPENED TO ME!!"

"Heh, hehe.. hahaHAHAHA! YOU KNOW GOD DAMNED WELL THAT ALL OF YOU ARE PATHETIC! WANNA KNOW WHY I GOT WITH YOUR MOM!? BECAUSE SHES HOT. AND SHE HAD GOOD MONEY FROM YOUR FUCKING DAD. YOU KNOW WHAT I WAS GONNA DO?! YOU KNOW WHY I TOOK OFF EARLY TODAY?! I WAS GONNA RAPE YOUR MOTHER AND MAKE YOU WATCH, THEN KILL BOTH OF YOU AND RUN OFF WITH ALL OF YOUR MONEY!! AND YOU KNOW WHAT'S IRONIC?! I DON'T HAVE ONE. SINGLE. FUCKING. REGRET. IF IT WASN'T FOR YOUR DAD, YOU SOULDN'T HAVE HAD THE NERVE TO DO THIS, YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN ABORTED!!"

You couldn't handle this anymore, tears were falling down your face rapidly as you grabbed the duct tape and closed his mouth shut.

"I don't give a fuck about what you say.. I'm going to kill you here. This is your grave. Someday, I'll join you in hell, and when I do, I'll torture you again, and the Devil will laugh. You just watch and ducking wait you, you.. PATHETIC WORTHLESS PIG ASS SLOPPY ASS NASTU FUCKING BITCH!" With that, you grabbed a couple super worms in each hand and shoved them into his ears. Even with the duct tape, you could hear his screams of agony as the worms dug deeper into his ears. You then got our your katana and slashed him across the stomach, and shoved even more worms into that open wound of his. Quickly, you poured a large bottle of the elixir you had brought over him to keep him from dying so quickly. Box cutter still in hand, you carved small lines all over his arms and legs, then ripped off the tape to hear his desperate cries. You imagined he wanted to be dead, but you didn't care. His pain and you pain mixed together and you just started laughing. You through your head back and let yourself laugh. all of the pain this man has caused you and your mom will be repayed today.

But the pressure and stress was too much to handle. Your laughing of victory soon turned into screams and more tears, as you let yourself fall to the ground, not even noticing you didn't hit it hard, something had caught you, or someone..

What the shit am I doing?

Am I really going to kill him?

What's wrong with me?

What will mother think?

What would dad do?

What am I doing with my life?

You soon snapped out of all of those negative thoughts though, as you noticed something caressing your face lightly.

"Rest, now. He, won't die, so quickly. I'm, Feitan." You were a sniffling and crying mess, so all you could do was rush into Feitan's chest and cry. Without thinking, he wrapped his arms around you and held you close. He had no idea what he was doing, for he had only seen this kind of skin on skin contact in movies. So, he did what those people in the movies did.

"Don't, worry... It's all, going to be.. okay."

Word Count (Including author notes, etc) : 2251

-Wrote February 3, 2021-

Unedited sorry about that lol-

Part 1...

#hxh #hxh oneshot #hunterxhunter #feitan #feitanportor #pov #feitanxreader

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dreamer-snail · 4 years ago

Text

Rebel Companies Prologue

Word Count: 1557

Warnings: sibling quarrels?, I don’t think swears but maybe, unedited

A/N: Look, did I start further back in the scene than needed? Probably, but I wrote stuff that I don’t feel like deleting so just be happy I’m writing human words 😅. There’s not too much scene setting here so sorry if it gets confusing. And if you didn’t read Y/N’s Backstory yet, check it out!

*I don’t own Uncharted or whatever so credit to the lines/scenes I took from the game. If you want to watch some of the walkthrough for visual references, I started the scene here at about 16:00 to the end*

|| MASTERLIST || SERIES MAST. || BOOK I MAST. ||

|| NEXT>>> ||

⟐ ⟐ ⟐ ⟐ ⟐

“This is bad,” Nathan mumbles, leaning his forearms along to cool metal of the railing, looking out on the water.

Nate couldn’t believe his brother was here. After, what--15 years?--Samuel Drake turns up alive, having been in prison all those years, and then just shows up to find his little brother? The two Drakes stayed awake all night--just catching up on the things Sam had missed and all the adventures Nathan has been on. But once the sun’s rays grazed the river and the streets of New Orleans, the eldest Drake revealed the real reason he was here: to find Henry Avery’s treasure--the treasure that started it all. But this time if Sam can’t find it, he’ll be dead.

“Well, we’ll just pick up the trail where we left off and--”

“Wait, trail?” Nathan cuts in sarcastically, glancing at his older brother, “Sam, there’s no trail. After Rafe and I escaped he took his parents’ fortune and bought up all the land around Saint Dismas Cathedral. We combed that place for weeks--Avery’s treasure isn’t there.”

Sam slowly lifts his left hand to inhale the smoke from his cigarette, appearing calm despite Nathan’s words. As Sam breathes out, Nate continues, with an almost distant look in his eyes.

“Not that that stopped Rafe . . . moron’s been digging for years, still hasn’t turned up squat.” Sam wiggles his head a little.

“Not really surprised,” he comments somewhat cockily while taking another drag.

Furrowing his brows and glancing at his brother, Nate asks, “What does that mean?” In response, Sam shrugs his shoulders and reaches for something in his jean jacket pocket.

“Well, just--ya know, I happened to do a little digging of my own, and uh,” Sam pauses to show the folded paper between his fingers to Nathan, “bet you Rafe doesn’t have this.” With a little huff, Nate snatches the paper out of Sam’s hand before unfolding it.

“It’s really amazing what you can find on the internet these days . . .” Sam breathes out. Confused, Nathan sighs before responding to his brother’s comment.

“It’s just the Saint Dismas’s Cross.”

“Oh, is it?” Sam questions confidently, “Because the one we found was broken and hollow, remember?” With that, Sam turns his head to the younger Drake, waiting for a response. Shocked, Nate looks closer at the picture.

“Holy crap, it’s still intact,” he breathes out, just above a whisper. Lost in thought, Nathan’s eyes move around, realizing what this information means.

“Avery . . . made more than one cross.”

“So whatever is missing from the one in Panama . . .” Sam leaves in the air while he stands up straight.

“. . . is probably still inside this one,” Nate finishes, waving the paper up and down in his hand, eyes widening. Sam smirks and nods his head with a confirming hum. Nathan does a little happy scoff, almost not believing that after all these years, there’s still more to Avery’s story.

“Well alright! Where is this?” Nate asks, referring to the cross.

“Oh this,” Sam starts playfully, plucking the paper from Nate’s hand, “exquisite piece is going up for auction in three days at the Rossi estate.” Sam folds the paper, tucking it away, and faces his younger brother.

“The Rossi estate?” he questioned sarcastically.

“Oh, you know it?” Sam shots back in the same tone.

“Uh, yeah . . . and how do you plan on securing an invite to an exclusive--heavily guarded, black market auction?” Sam nods and shrugs his shoulders.

“Well, you don’t necessarily need an invitation,” he says slowly, waving his hands for emphasis, “per say.” Nate, knowing his brother will just sneak in, asks a different question as the two men turn back to the water.

“Where are you going to get the money to outbid all the high rollers? I could take a second mortgage out on my house and still not have enough . . . to--” Nate realizes what his brother’s silence means, muttering, “yeah, you’re gonna try and steal it, huh?” Nate bows his head while Sam shakes his and chuckles.

“No,” the eldest Drake starts, pulling the cig from his mouth, “we are,” he finishes seriously, exhaling the smoke from his lungs. Nathan, realizing what his brother is suggesting, immediately shakes his head.

“Oh no. No, man, listen I’m--I can’t,” Nates backs away, “I-I’m out.”

“What?” Sam voices, furrowing his brows, and turns towards his brother in confusion.

“No, I-I-I just don’t do that kind of thing anymore,” Nate pauses. “Besides there are plenty of other guys that are much more equipped,” Sam scoffs in the background while Nathan keeps going, “to . . . handle this kind of thing!” Sam shakes his and walks to his little brother.

“Like who?

“Um--” Nate quickly grabs his phone, scrolling through his contacts, looking for a name.

“No, no, no--” Sam repeats over Nate.

“Look--I know there’s someone in here--”

“No, no,” Sam finally cuts off, “Absolutely not. I don’t trust anybody in that phone with my life, okay? . . . I need you on this one,” Sam finishes softly, looking into his brother’s eyes. Not knowing what to say, Nathan shakes his head, searching for an answer.

“Sam, there’s gotta be another way.” And Sam only sighs sadly at that.

“Not with the time I got left,” he whispers, walking back to the railing, tossing the end of his cig before pulling a new one from the pack in his pocket. Conflicting thoughts swim in Nathan’s head, but, in the end . . . he knows what he has to do. Calling up Elana, his wife, Nathan makes up a story about his boss having the permits for the Mylasian job as a cover. Finishing the call, he walks back to the railing where Sam is, and harshly grips the metal.

What am I going to do, Nate wonders. He just lied to his wife and now he’s expected to risk his life to save his brother? Despite his frustration, Nathan knows he would do anything for his brother, determined to save him and make up for last time . . . Nathan ruffles his hair and decides to dive right in.

“Listen, Sam,” the eldest looks to his little brother, “if I’m going to do this--if we are, it can’t just be the two of us.” Nathan waits for his brother’s response, seeing the aggravated expression on his face.

“Nate, I already said I don’t want anyone else--I don’t trust them!” Sam all but yells. However, Nathan is determined to persuade his brother.

“But you trust me, right?” Nate questions with a raised voice. Sam remains silent, eyes still on Nathan.

“You trust me, so trust me when I say we’re going to need more help. Listen, I’ve done this before, okay--I know what the stakes are . . . it’s never as easy as the one time. There’s always more to the story, meaning we need more help.” When Nate finishes, he expects Sam to put up a fight, but notices that Sam is quiet. He gives a huff of annoyance before turning to his brother, gesturing for Nathan to continue. Happy with himself, Nate flips open his phone once again looking for people to help, but there aren’t many available options. Sighing, but still searching, Nathan breaks the silence between the two.

“Okay, well the only free person I can think of is Victor.” As soon as the name leaves Nate’s lips, Sam sighs and shakes his head in annoyance.

“Absolutely, not! Of all the people you could chose, I probably trust him the least--”

“Listen! Sully has a lot of connections, okay?” Sam leans his elbows on the railing and puts his head in his heads while Nate continues. “He’s great for getting in and scouting a place out. Plus he has a plane we can use, so he’s coming,” Nate finishes, lightly chopping his hand on the railing to signify the end of that part of the conversation. Sam just sighs and moves to take a harsh inhale of his cigarette, while Nate looks out at the bustling, New Orleans streets as people start their days.

“But it can’t just be Sully--he’s getting too old for all the climbing around we do so . . .” Nate trails off while looking through his contacts once again.

Sam sings lowly, “He doesn’t even have to come . . .”

“Sam--” Nate sighs frustratedly, and his brother holds up his hands in mock defense, exhaling the smoke from his lungs. Nathan pauses to think of who else would be willing to join. “Look if we’re gonna do this, Sam, we’re gonna do it right, meaning we need another body to keep an eye on things or at least be there as backup for when things can go to shit,” he reinforces.

Finally, after scrolling through a few times, Nathan realizes he’s out of options and settles for the name on his screen. Sam, sensing his brother’s stillness, glances over.

“So, who did you have in mind, little brother?” Sam mumbles with the cigarette that’s in his mouth.

“A, uh, friend of a friend--” Nate responds, immediately receiving a glare from Sam. “--a trustworthy friend of a friend. We’ve only met once, but she’s just as committed to this sort of thing as I was.”

Nathan shoves the phone towards his brother who grabs the rectangle and looks closer at the name. Raising an eyebrow at his brother, Sam looks up before questioning, “Who the hell is Y/N L/N?”

⟐ ⟐ ⟐ ⟐ ⟐

A/N: Hope you liked it! The next part won’t becoming out for a while since I want to write the whole series first then release the parts weekly. Enjoy this taste, and come back for more once I finish! It would mean a lot if people could repost this or comment if you have any ideas for the story. I don’t know--yell at me or something. Also let me know if you want to be tagged. Thanks, everyone!

⟐ ⟐ ⟐ ⟐ ⟐

|| NEXT>>> ||

Permanent Taglist: @amaranthskies-writes @thetravelingsologuy

Story Taglist: @halfgoddesshalfhell96

#Beloved Radiers #Beloved Raiders series #Nadine Ross #Nadine Ross x reader #Nadine Ross x fem!reader #Nadine Ross series #Rebel Companies #Rebel Companies Prologue #Uncharted #Uncharted series #Uncharted 4 #Uncharted 4: A Thief's End #Book I #Book 1 #RC

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hailtothepumpkinqueen · 4 years ago

Text

It had been two months since they had heard from Azazel. No calls or texts. No randomly showing up at the house. No making grand declarations at her work. Absolute silence.

It was enough that the others felt they could begin to relax on their "security detail" and let Jacqueline go places unaccompanied. She had her phone, she had means of keeping herself safe, and it looked like Azazel had finally gotten it through his head that she didn't want him.

So Jacqueline didn't think anything of it when a nervous looking man came into her shop asking her to check his house for wayward spirits. It wasn't a super common thing, but she did make "house calls" on occasion.

Her "skeevy sense" pricked slightly when he tried to insist that she ride with him in his car, but chalked it up to the man's nerves about the ghosts in his house. Nothing new there. A quick text to the guys to say she was going out, and she headed to her car.

The house itself was entirely unremarkable. One of those cookie cutter suburban places. Again, no real reason for her to suspect anything was amiss.

The banality of the situation was quickly shattered, however. She had taken maybe two steps into the home when she felt something sharp pierce the side of her neck. A moment later, it felt like all her limbs were made of lead and the world was spinning around her.

Drugged. She had been drugged. It was a trap, and she fell for it. Shit.

She woke up god knows how many hours later, groggy and finding herself sitting on a chair of some kind in a dimly lit room. Her head was pounding, but when she tried to reach up and massage her temples she realized her hands were tied to the arms of the chair.

The last thing she heard before blacking out was "I'm so sorry, but I needed the money..."

Great. Wonderful. Fantastic. She finally felt safe enough to go out on her own, and this shit happens. How could this possibly get any worse?

"Good morning, starshine~" crooned a familiar voice in the dark, as if to answer her question. Yes, yes it could absolutely get worse for her.

The lights suddenly brightened, causing her to shut her eyes and recoil back into the chair. When she was finally able to open her eyes again, her worst fear--and annoyance quite frankly--was confirmed. There stood Azazel, grinning broadly at her. Wearing a dark purple suit and holding a bouquet of red roses this time.

"Tah-dah~" he posed with a flourish, looking rather pleased with himself and oblivious to Jacqueline's rising anger.

"You paid someone to kidnap me??" Were the first words out of her mouth, her voice shrill in her fury. "What in the actual fuck is wrong with you??"

"Well how else am I going to get an audience with you? You've got a fucking goon squad following you around like lost puppies twenty-four seven!"

"Oooooooooor you could give me my damn space and respect that I've rejected your advances twice now??"

"And let another man have what's mine?" Azazel chuckled darkly, shaking his head at the notion. "Absolutely not."

"How long are you going to keep up this game, Doll? How long are you going to make me wait for you to admit your feelings for me? I like a chase as much as the next guy, but this is downright cruelty, babe. Is it my looks? Do you prefer redheads now? Will that help?"

He didn't give her a chance to refute the ridiculous statement that she somehow belonged to him before launching into another of his diatribes.

As he spoke, his hair went from brunette to a very particular, very familiar shade of red. Jacqueline swallowed hard and said nothing, seething quietly as he continued.

"Or is it his face in particular that's caught your fancy, hm?"

He stepped closer to her, his face shifting until she was staring back...at Gizmo. But he looked wrong. There was no softness in his expression, Azazel's grin making it too malicious. Like he was wearing a poorly made mask, rather than a perfect imitation.

"Is this what you like, hm?" he breathed, leaning in so that "his" face was closer to hers. "Pale, ginger vampires is what get you going these days? I'm willing to be this for you, if you'll give me a kiss~."

Jacqueline inhaled deeply through her nose, smiled sweetly at Azazel...and then headbutted him right on the bridge of his nose, causing him to shriek in pain and stumble backwards. She laughed, delighting in causing him a little pain after what he'd put her through.

"Bitch!" He gasped, holding a hand over his now bleeding nose. The shock was enough that he reverted back to his usual face. "I'm doing this for YOU! Why must you be so difficult??"

There was a moment where Jacqueline was quiet, the gears turning in her head as she weighed her options. She would have to be smart if she wanted to get out of this. Time to give him a show.

"Oh, Ace, I'm so sorry," her voice cracked in just the right way to be believable, tears welling up in her eyes. "You're right. I've taken this way too far, and you've been so patient with me when I've been so cruel to you."

She dropped her head and slumped her shoulders, sniffling pitifully for good measure. He perked up at her sudden change in tune, not seeming the least bit suspicious.

"I have been patient, haven't I?" He mused, smirking to himself.

"Endlessly so! It's just...I've been hurt so many times before and it makes me irrational sometimes. I never really meant to hurt you, darling. I just have so many feelings inside me I don't know what to do with them. But you've broken down my walls with your persistence and I'm ready to lay my heart on the line again~"

Gods she hoped she was being believable enough. It was making her want to puke. But he seemed to be eating it up, looking like the cat that ate the canary as he hung onto her every word.

"I knew I'd get you eventually~" he chirped, striding back to her and kneeling so he was eye level with her. "You really had me going there for a moment, angel face. With the salt and the kicking me out and letting that ginger kid hang around."

"Gotta make the chase exciting, don't I~?" She chuckled, leaning closer and looking at him with sultry eyes. "Um, darling? The restraints? Are they really necessary at this point?"

"Oh right! Sorry, Doll, I totally forgot about that. Save those for the bedroom, hmm~?"

She waited until he was busy untying her wrists to roll her eyes, making sure to laugh at his "hilarious" joke to keep up the ruse. There were rope burn marks on her wrists from her struggling earlier, but he didn't seem to concerned about it. His focus was on pulling her to her feet, dipping her "romantically" and kissing her.

It took every ounce of self control to fight the urge to punch him, allowing the kiss to go on just long enough for her to yank free the little vial hanging from her neck under her shirt. Holy water. Not enough to really hurt him, but enough to incapacitate him for a few minutes.

She splashed it right in his face, again causing him to scream in pain and recoil away from her. He was still screaming and writhing as she ran for the front door, yanking it open with all her might and stumbling outside.

As soon as she was out of the threshold of the house, her phone, which until that point had been silent, began pinging rapidly. Dozens of texts and missed calls and frantic voicemails. Azazel had apparently gone to great lengths to conceal her from everyone else. She waited until she was in her car and driving to send out a mass text.

"I'm alright. Will explain when I get home. Prepare alcohol plz. Need more permanent solution for Azazel."

The guys were never gonna let her out of their sight again after this.

#my writing #my OCs #long post #Jacqueline Reine #Azazel #if you needed any further indication that azazel sucks #i don't know what to tag this as #Gizmo kind of makes a cameo?

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thatbloodymuggle · 5 years ago

Text

the one with the compass

Tongue Tied (jj maybank) 7/?

masterlist

word count: 4.3k

warnings: crappy writing, major filler chapter

playlist

"This is empty. You took empty tanks?"

Rosie watched in disbelief as Kie examined the scuba diving gear John B had stolen from Ward. She stared dumbfounded at the black-eyed boy. John B merely hung his head in response.

The water around them was calmer than usual, and the sun was setting, making it a picturesque sight. The calm of the water and the sky contrasted what they were about to do.

"Okay this one's a quarter full. That's enough for one of us," Kie sighed. The five teenagers looked at each other.

"Love it when a plan comes together," Pope quipped.

Kie ignored him, "Does anybody know how to dive?"

Rosie looked down at her stitched hand and frowned, "I mean I've been diving before," Kie, Pope, and John B look hopeful. "But I can't get in the water right now," she held up the injured hand, and their shoulders all slumped.

Silence followed.

"It's kind of a Kook sport," JJ sighed.

Pope cleared his throat, "I, uh, read about it?"

Kie huffed and threw her hands in the air, "Great! Pope read about it, so someone's gonna die."

"You put the thing in your mouth and you breathe. How hard can that be?" JJ looked to Pope.

Rosie rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to argue, but Pope beat her to it.

"If you come up too fast, nitrogen gets into your blood and you get the bends."

John B and Kie seemed to understand the risk, but JJ wasn't so quick.

"You mean bends like," the blond bent over, sticking his ass out in a suggestive manner, "bend over and..."

"The bends kill you, dumbass," Rosie deadpanned.

"I can dive," John B interjected, though his voice was full of uncertainty.

Kie cocked an eyebrow at him, "Since when can you dive?"

"I'll do it," he affirmed.

The group looked at each other and paused for a moment, before Pope broke the silence, "Let me do some calculations real quick. So that boat's about 30 feet down, right? So it'll take 25 minutes at most at that depth, which means you need to make your safety stop at about... 10 feet for two minutes."

John B nodded. Rosie watched Kie strip herself of her t-shirt and jump into the water. Rosie caught onto what her friend was doing, but the three boys ogled at her like idiots. Rosie rolled her eyes, and pulled her legs up into her seat. JJ instructed John B on how to get inside the cargo hold and Rosie found herself zoning out fairly quickly. She stared out at the horizon, admiring the pristine line between the blue water and the orange sky.

"Diver down?"

Rosie was pulled out of her thoughts and watched with a smug grin as Kie gave John B a kiss on the cheek.

"Diver down."

John B jumped into the water and slowly sank down. Rosie turned back into her seat in the boat and stretched her legs out. Her bare feet nudged against JJ. He shot her a look and shoved them off, but she put them back up on the seat with a smirk.

"Shit. Guys!" Pope cried out as the wailing of a siren filled the previously peaceful air.

Rosie's head shot towards the source of noise to see a boat heading towards them.

"That's the police," JJ stated the obvious.

"Just act frickin' normal," Kiara flung her hair back and situated herself into an unnaturally natural position.

Rosie's heart raced, but she remained in her relaxed position as to not raise suspicion.

"Evening, officers," Pope addressed them.

"Evening."

"How you kids doing? You know the marsh is closed?"

The teenagers all looked at each other with faces of mock surprise.

"No, wow."

"Why is it closed?"

"We're conducting a search out here. Boat went down," the officer replied.

Rosie remained silent while the officer interrogated them some more questions before asking if he could take a look around their boat. She sat up in her seat and moved out of the way so he could inspect it. Rosie's worry-filled eyes met JJ, who held a calm expression; though she knew he was freaking out internally too. Rosie's leg shook with anxiety as the officer stood at the edge of the boat and looked down at where John B had to be waiting. The teenagers waited..and waited.. and waited. Finally, the officer deemed it acceptable and moved back into his own boat.

"Let us know if you see anything on your way out," the officer called out.

"We'll be gone soon, sir," Pope replied as the police drove away.

As soon as they were headed in the other direction, all four teenagers raced to the edge of the boat and peered down. Rosie watched the water expectantly. Sure enough, seconds later, John B floated to the surface and the tension in her shoulders deflated.

"Thank God!" she cried.

"There he is!"

"Did you find anything?" JJ asked in excitement.

John B threw a soaking duffel bag onto the boat. JJ, Rosie, Kiara, and Pope all cheered and helped their friend out of the water.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I ran out of air," John B panted.

Kie sighed, "You scared the shit out of me."

Pope and JJ explained the situation with the cops, but Rosie and Kie's attention was elsewhere. Rosie watched a boat with two men approach from the distance. Something about them sent an uneasy feeling crawling up her spine.

"Hey, guys? Bogey two o'clock," Kie directed the boys' attention to the boat.

"What are they doing back there?"

"The marsh is closed," Rosie mumbled.

"Let's not stick around to find out," JJ moved to get the bowline from the water.

In an instant, the atmosphere shifted to one of panic as JJ fought to get the line out of the water as fast as he could. The boat was rapidly approaching, and it didn't seem very friendly.

"JJ hurry up," Rosie urged the blond.

The boat was getting closer and closer.

"Don't wait for me, go!" he worked as fast as he could. John B raced to the drivers seat and revved up the engine.

"Go go go!"

"Go into the marsh!"

"I'm going," John B shot back at his panicked friends.

He steered the boat into the marsh in an attempt to lose them. Rosie watched in anticipation as the boat followed them into the marsh and started to gain speed.

"Guys, they're following us!" Kie called out in panic.

"John B, you gotta go faster!" Rosie urged him on, the anxiety spreading through her body.

"Gun it!" JJ added on, looking back and forth between his friend and the boat.

The two boats raced down the strip of water, both going as fast as they could.

BAM

Rosie jolted at the noise while simultaneously being shoved down by JJ. She turned her head back to see that one of the men was now aiming a gun at them. Her heart was pounded painfully against her chest.

"John B, get down!" she cried at the boy who was still up and steering the boat.

BAM

Gunshot after gunshot rang throughout the air, and the fear in Rosie's body increased with each one. She locked eyes with Kie who was pointed at a fishing net at the end of the boat. Rosie nodded and moved to get up with her, but was pulled back down again by JJ.

"JJ, let go," she hissed at him, but he tugged her down harder.

"Kie, get down!" John B yelled at the other girl who was moving towards the back of the boat. Rosie glared at JJ for keeping her from helping her friend, but he was unmoving.

Rosie jumped when another shot sounded through the air. She watched Kie restlessly as she threw the net into the water and immediately ducked down. Seconds later, the boat chasing them got tangled in the net and stopped abruptly.

"Holy shit," Rosie breathed.

The teenagers all sighed in relief.

"Whoo!"

"Pogue God, man!"

John B raced the boat away from the two men and towards the Chateau. As the sun set and the last light left the sky, he pulled the boat into the dock outside his house. The Pogues all hopped off the boat as soon as it was close enough to the wood. They were jittery in anticipation of what was hidden inside the mysterious duffel bag.

"What do you think is inside?"

"It's gotta be money, right?

"Can we please just open the bag?" Pope nearly yelled.

The other four paused to look at him, wearing matching expressions of amusement.

"Wow, Pope, that's a rare outburst of emotion," John B laughed.

John B zipped the bag open in a hurried manner and pulled out a silver, tube-like container. The Pogues all remained silent and watched him twist it open. They had nearly been shot over this, so whatever was inside had to be of great value.

Excitement turned into confusion as John B emptied the tube to reveal an old, rusty compass.

"A compass?" Rosie questioned in disbelief.

"Oh, wow. Great job, everybody. We found a compass," Pope threw his hands up.

John B remained silent.

"This was my father's."

"We were right outside like this, and then all we hear is just BAM, BAM, BAM!"

Rosie rolled her eyes at JJ's dramatic reenactment of his afternoon with John B. The blond was all fired up and bounced in excitement. John B, on the other hand, stood stoic against a beam on his porch.

"Knocking paint of the wall from the inside! And I'm just lookin' at him like--" JJ moved to the couch where Pope and Rosie sat. He shook his hair out over them, sending white flakes everywhere. "Look at this shit!"

Rosie scoffed and shoved him away, "That's dandruff."

"Disgusting," Kie added.

"Look at all that? That's paint!" JJ pointed to his white mess. "At that point, I was just, like.. I'm waiting for death!"

Rosie cocked an eyebrow and looked back and forth between John B and JJ. "So you saw the guys that shot at us, right?" Pope ended JJ's tall tale.

"Yeah."

"Did you get a good description of them? What did they look like? Anything we can bring to a police report?"

JJ paused and gazed out of the window in contemplation before replying.

"Burly."

He turned around to lock eyes with three sour faces.

"Burly?"

"That's not helpful," Kie stated the obvious, but JJ was quick to continue talking. He must really enjoy the sound of his own voice, Rosie thought.

"Like the type of guy at my dad's garage," JJ pulled out a cigarette and lit it before continuing. "I can tell you with full confidence that these boys, these killers," he took a drag, "they're square groupers."

"Like narco square groupers?" Pope asked.

Rosie sighed while Kiara voiced her own thoughts, "You guys, not everything is a kingpin movie."

"Okay so what does this square grouper look like specifically? Because apparently, you don't know what to look for!" Pope egged JJ on for better answers.

"Dude!" JJ screamed, "I wasn't taking little mental Polaroids the entire time, man, I was under duress, okay?!"

If they were in any other situation, Rosie wouldn't have hesitated to make fun of his voice crack. But now was not the time.

"But I can tell you that by the way Ms. Lana was screaming that these guys are serious hombres, man," the blond finished his rant.

"Why would they want the compass?" Kie brought them back to the task on hand.

"Yeah, that thing's a piece of shit. You couldn't pawn it off for five bucks," Pope added.

Rosie watched John B flick the compass open and closed in contemplation. He looked up from the device. Realization clouded over his face.

"The office."

All eyes were on John B.

"My dad's office. He always kept it locked because he was worried about his competitors stealing his Royal Merchant research," he led them inside the house and to the forbidden room.

The office was full of papers, maps, and pictures taped on the wall, scattered on the desk, and strewn about the room. John B went straight for a cork board full of pictures, and laid it across the desk for all of them to look at. He pointed out the same compass that had been passed down in the Routledge family for generations. Rosie listened intently, as did the others. John B's eyes widened and he pulled out the compass from his pocket.

"My dad used to talk about this compartment in here. Soldiers used to hide secret notes," he spun the top of the compass and removed a piece from the inside, revealing an engraving.

"What's that?"

Redfield

"That wasn't there before," John B trailed off. "This is my dad's handwriting!"

The teenagers immediately began throwing out theories in an attempt to decipher the meaning, but Rosie shifted from the conversation. She wandered over to the book case and ran her hand over all of the labelled binders. She then inspected the maps. The rooster outside had begun crowing, so she pad towards the window and slowly peeked out from between the blinds. Her eyes widened at the sight before her. A large, black truck had pulled into John B's driveway.

"Uh, guys?" she called out, but they continued talking.

"Guys!" she yelled. They all looked over at her. "Somebody's here!"

Rosie's heart sunk as two burly men exited the vehicle.

Kie's voice trembled, "Is that them?"

JJ walked away from the window muttering under his breath. John B followed him and pushed the blond up against the door.

"JJ! Where's the gun?"

"Gun? I-uh-I can't-"

Rosie widened her eyes in disbelief, "Now you don't have the gun? The one time we actually need it?"

He ignored her and began to retrace his steps, "It was in my backpack and then I-- it's on the porch."

JJ swiftly exited the room to retrieve the weapon, but came running back seconds later at the screams of the two men.

"John Routledge!"

He quietly shut the door behind him and locked it.

"They're on the porch," JJ whispered.

For the who-knows-what-time in the past few days, Rosie's heart beat out of her chest. Her eyes widened in terror as the men shouted again and busted into the house.

"Routledge!"

"Where you at, boy?"

The teenagers all looked at each other in panic.

"Window!" Kie directed JJ and Pope to open the window while John B leaned against the door and Rosie held her ear up against the wall to listen.

"Hurry! They're getting closer," Rosie hissed at JJ and Pope who struggled to get it open.

Rosie went back and forth from having her head against the wall to looking over at the two boys.

"It's painted shut!" JJ panicked, but kept trying to force it up.

Kie found a knife which she handed over to the boys to pry the painted window open.

"Check the back room!"

Rosie's eyes widened, "Everyone shut up!"

While JJ worked at the window, the doorknob rattled. Rosie ran over to the blond to help by adding more force. Finally, by some miracle, the window gave in just as the door knob was shot by a gun.

The teenagers piled out of the room and sprinted towards the chicken coop to take shelter. First Kiara, then Rosie, JJ, Pope, and John B. The space was cramped and they had to squat together, but Rosie couldn't complain. She was too focused on not getting killed.

They waited with bated breath for the men to leave. No one uttered a word. Finally, the men exited the house with all of John B's dad's files in boxes. But the rooster had begun crowing louder and louder, and wouldn't shut up no matter what they did.

"Do something, Pope. Shut him up," JJ gritted to the boy who sat closest to the screeching bird.

"What do you want me to do?"

Tears leaked from Kie's eyes, "Pet it, or talk to it, I don't know!"

The crowing increased, and Rosie watched through a crack as one of the men looked over to the chicken coop.

"Fuck, do something," Rosie hissed menacingly at JJ, but the fear in her eyes bore through.

JJ shot forward and grabbed the rooster by the neck, holding it to the ground. The dumb bird continued crowing. Rosie watched in horror as JJ snapped the rooster's neck, pulling its head from its body. Kie was crying silently and Rosie was trembling.

JJ leaned back against the wall of the chicken coop to keep himself hidden and Rosie subconsciously gripped his hand in her own. Both of them shook violently. No one dared to move a muscle, or so much as exhale too loudly.

The men turned away and piled back into their truck. Finally, Rosie felt like she could breathe again. Kie was still crying. Despite the relief flooding the small space, no one spoke a word. JJ subtly squeezed Rosie's hand, which was still in his, before letting go and crawling out of the coop. Rosie followed, and eventually the others.

"That's enough adventure for me for one day," Rosie nearly whispered. "I have a shift at The Wreck I need to get to."

Pope nodded, "We'll let you know if anything happens."

Rosie shot him a sharp nod and a tight-lipped smile before starting down the dirt road towards her car. She felt bad for leaving so abruptly, but she had really had enough insanity for one day. She longed for some normality, even if it meant working.

So Rosie continued on her way, preparing herself for the next six hours of impatient customers, sticky sweat, and greasy food.

"He kissed you?!"

"Yes. But don't tell Pope or JJ. I stopped it anyways."

Rosie squealed in excitement at her friend's news. Kie had stopped by the last hour or so of Rosie's shift to help her clean while simultaneously filling her on on all she'd missed from the rest of the afternoon with the Redfield lighthouse.

"What, was he bad or something?" Rosie laughed.

"No!" Kie was quick to defend John B, and blushed upon realizing that. "No it's just--no Pogue on Pogue macking, right?"

Rosie rolled her eyes at the dumb rule, "Whatever you say." Her eyes shot to the door as it opened. A smirk took over her lips at the boy walking towards them.

"Speaking of the devil," Rosie shot Kie a look before moving over to a different table to give the pair some privacy.

She watched for a few minutes as Kie and John B spoke amongst themselves. She waited eagerly for some sign of affection--a hug, a kiss, anything--but was let down as the most she got was an awkward handshake.

John B and Kie walked over to a disappointed Rosie. "We've got a mystery to uncover," the boy spoke. "Come on!"

He lead them out to his van, where Pope and JJ sat waiting.

"Took you long enough!" the JJ as Rosie hopped into the back and Kie took the front seat.

Rosie leaned closer to him and whispered in his ear, as to not embarrass her two friends, "Kie was busy friend-zoning him. They did a handshake and everything."

He let out a louder-than-necessary laugh. Kie and John B stared at JJ expectantly.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing. Rosie's just dumb but we all knew that," he covered, earning a glare from the short girl. She sharply elbowed him in the ribs, and Pope groaned.

"Why do I get stuck in the back with you two? It's like I'm third-wheeling a failed marriage."

This earned him laughter from the two teenagers in the front seat, and glares from the two in the back.

John B continued driving down the empty road while JJ dug out a pre-rolled joint from a case in his pocket.

"You mind if I just relax on this one? It's been a long day, a lot of weird stuff's gone down," he pulled out a lighter. "Oh, did you want a hit of this?" he purposefully skipped over Rosie and held the joint out to Pope.

"I keep the signal clear," Pope pushed it back. Rosie attempted to grab it, but JJ held it out of her reach.

John B intervened before another fight could ensue, "I know I was wrong about the lighthouse, and wrong about everything else going on. But I was right about one thing. Okay? My dad is trying to tell me something."

He parked the van outside the gate of an unlit cemetery and they all piled out, flashlights in hand. It was eerily quiet, but it didn't bother Rosie as much as she thought it would.

A cemetery is just a bunch of dead people, she thought, they can't do anything. They're dead.

"This place is scary," Kie voiced the opposite while they walked towards the rows of graves. "John B, what are we doing?"

"Okay, so you know how you're trying to remember a song and you can't remember who sings it?" he lead the group towards a large mausoleum "So, Redfield. This whole time I thought it was a place, right? But it's not a place," he held his lantern up to the name Redfield engraved on the stone, "It's a person."

"Voi-effing-là"

"It's my great-great grandmother, Olivia Redfield," John B faced the rest of the group.

John B, Pope, and JJ all moved to wedge the door open, but the stone wouldn't budge. Rosie watched the boys fail miserably. A large snake came hissing and slithering out of a large crack in the door, making Rosie and Kie jump back in shock.

"Holy shit!"

"Woah!"

Pope, John B, and the girls all backed away from the animal, but JJ continued walking towards it, "That's a moccasin, alright. Ye olde, Dr. Cottonmouth!"

Rosie watched in alarm as the blond idiot began barking at the snake.

"JJ!"

"Shut up!"

Rosie pulled the elastic of his head flashlight and snapped it back, effectively cutting off his barking.

"What? They're afraid of dogs!" JJ proceeded to argue back and forth with Pope and John B, while Rosie eyed Kie's flashlight which was pointing to a huge crack in the door.

"Wait, guys, look!" Rosie directed the boys towards the opening. "We can get in through the crack."

"By we, you mean you, right?" John B raised an eyebrow at her.

Rosie frowned, "Why me?"

"You're the smallest. Best chance of fitting through," Pope spoke as if it was obvious

She sighed, but complied. With a boost from the boys and some light from Kie, Rosie found herself inside the stone structure. She scanned the area, and her eyes landed on what looked like an unopened package. She picked it up and scanned it. For Bird.

"Found something!" she called out and handed the envelope package to John B through the crack. With a leap of faith and some help from Pope, Rosie found herself back on the ground next to her friends.

"Holy shit," John B mumbled, "this is from my dad."

His moment was cut short by the sound of a vehicle approaching. Rosie whipped around to the source of the noise just as JJ warned them, "Code red. Code red. Square groupers!"

The teenagers hid behind the mausoleum. Rosie shut off her light and the others followed but John B's lantern was still shining bright.

"John B, your light!" Kie urged him, but it wouldn't go out.

Rosie peeked over the edge of the wall, and widened her eyes as two men came out of the car holding what looked like a gun.

"Guys, he's got a gun!"

"Screw this," Kie shot up and ran, the others right behind.

The teenagers sprinted towards the fence. First John B climbed over, then Kie. Rosie went to haul herself over, but instantly flinched back. She'd forgotten about her stitches.

"Shit!"

Before the panic could set in, JJ lifted the small girl off the ground, giving her enough leverage to hop over with just one hand. She glanced back at him while he hopped over the fence with ease. Rosie ran towards the van, but was stopped by Pope who was sitting on the top of the fence.

"Guys, guys! I'm stuck!"

Rosie, John B, and Kie ran back over to help pull him off. JJ stepped back and pulled out his gun, which Rosie was quick to smack out of his hands.

"JJ, no!"

Before the two could bicker, John B had yanked Pope off the fence, leaving his pants hanging behind. The teenagers laughed at their pants-less friend and piled into the van.

The adrenaline pumping through Rosie's veins was exhilarating. It was an ecstasy like no other, and she couldn't get enough. Over the past few days, Rosie had experienced the most adventure she'd felt since she was a little kid.

Rose-Ann Mae Connolly was developing a taste for adventure, and craving adventure can be a dangerous thing.

But as John B drove away and JJ passed her a joint, she didn't care. She didn't care that she was living alone, and she didn't care that she had work the next morning. All Rosie cared about was what was inside that package.

So as she took a long drag of JJ's joint, she let the craving take over.

taglist:

@tangledinsparkles @lovelymaybankk @my--heroine @thelonelyumbrella @floretsoleil @flick24 @books-netflix-and-pizza @dad-ee-drea @dolanfivsosxox @anahgiedd @love-bean @my--heroine @maleriefay @mrs-maybank @shawnssongs @downbytheouterbanks @lostwnoah @2410slb @daygiowvibe @thesailbells

IM SO SORRY THIS IS ALL FILLER I PROMISE THE NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE MORE EXCITING BEAR WITH ME

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rxsie-the-demon · 4 years ago

Text

Brooklyn Baby | JJ Maybank

SERIES MASTERLIST | chapter one

chapter summary: Nikki goes out of her comfort zone and bonds with Kie, while still remaining curious about what happened last summer. At a party, Topper gets a little too touchy, and Nikki (surprisingly) befriends Rafe and Wheezie.

warnings: drinking, smoking, HARD DRUGS, swearing (oops), HARRASSMENT (topper gets VERY touchy) so if that makes u uncomfy just skim over that, and a conversation about addiction/rehab and therapy

word count: 5029

Chapter 2: Cinnamon Girl

If I had to choose, B Days would be my least favorite. On B days, I have no classes with anyone I know, except English with Kelce at the end of the day.

And no one to sit with at lunch.

On my second day of school, when I realized I had no one to sit with, I ate in the library. You’re allowed to, so long as you clean up after yourself and stuff.

Walking into the huge cafeteria, with clean white titles and those long foldable school tables, I decided to do the same thing today; just sit in the library by myself, and maybe read or shop online, The tall walls of the cafeteria were decorated with motivational quotes and the school’s athletic accomplishments.

But when I was walking towards the lunch line, I saw Kiara sitting by herself out of the corner of my eye, head down on the table. Which made me feel really, really sad for her.

I stood in line quietly, AirPods in my ears, scrolling through Instagram when I found Kiara’s page. I didn’t want to seem like a stalker, but my curiosity got the best of me and I clicked on it.

Her page reminded me of this social activist that I follow that of a social activist I follow, the difference being that Kiara’s page was mostly environment-focused, with the occasional selfie and pics of her friends.

Clicking on one of her them, a selfie with her and her four friends on a boat during sunset, I saw a slightly sunburned brunet with his arm wrapped around one of the most beautiful girls I’ve ever seen. She’s probably a TikToker, I thought. Sunburn had a dark blue bandana wrapped around his neck and had his shirt unbuttoned. Major surfer boy vibes.

Next to Tiktok, was Kiara, with bright eyes and a bright smile. Completely different from the girl who sits behind me in APUSH. The boy next to Kiara had dark skin and curly hair. He was wearing a hat, like Sunburn and the other boy next to him. And judging from the way his arm was around her waist, Hat totally had a thing for Kiara.

But the last boy, holy shit, if I thought Sunburn was cute, Hot Blonde Boy was another level. He was the one taking the picture, with one arm stretched out to hold the phone and the other one, covered shiny rings, was posing with, like, the rock hand sign? I think that’s what it’s called: with his index and pink fingers up, and the rest like they’d be balled in a fist. His messy blonde hair was being held together by a red snapback, and he was shirtless except for his shark tooth necklace. His tan went well with his bright, energetic eyes and big smile but...oh my gosh. His hands. They were big, with long fingers, and his arms were a little veiny and-

I put my phone away. Nuh-uh, I’m not going to be thirsting over a random guy’s hands, especially when that guy could literally be dead, or worse, the crazy dude who tried to shoot Topper.

Not that I don’t understand why someone would want to shoot Topper.

I grabbed my tray, putting a Chicken Caesar salad bowl (yum), a bowl of grapes (double yum), and a water bottle onto my tray. Remembering that Kiara didn’t have any food with her, I grabbed a hamburger, too.

I paid for my food and walked towards the utensil holder, debating whether or not I should just go to the library or sit with Kiara. I mean, I should sit with her, she’s by herself and is going through a hard time, but then again, I hardly know her. Besides exchanging numbers with her yesterday and not even texting her, I never interacted with the girl. She’ll probably think I’m just talking to her to get tea for Topper and Scarlet.

But then again, I already bought her a hamburger.

I walked over to her table. She was wearing a similar outfit as she was yesterday, the only difference being she was wearing light blue jeans. So, yay? A bit of color?

I sat down across from her and put my tray down quietly, not wanting to scare her. “Hey.”

Her head shot up immediately. Her soft brown eyes looked so tired, her light brown skin looking ashy and dull. Her dark brown hair, with it’s nice, defined beach wave curls, was tied back in a bun in her hood. When she saw who it was, her face softened. “Oh, hi.”

“I hope it’s ok I’m sitting with you, I don’t know anyone else in this lunch and I thought it’d be good to discuss our project.” I waved my hands around a bit before opening the plastic lid of my salad.

She nodded, eyeing my food for a second.

My heart hurt. Of course, she has the money to buy food, that’s not the issue. She probably hasn’t been eating out of grief.

“So I’m Indian, duh,” I waved my hand in front of my face and she smiled softly, “and I thought this was a chicken burger, but it’s beef. And I can’t eat beef, because, ya know, Hindus don’t eat beef. So, like, could you do me a solid and eat this for me? I hate wasting food and I’d feel awful if I threw it out.” I slid the burger towards her.

She nodded, pulling it towards her and taking a small bite.

I poured my croutons into my salad and started quietly eating when I heard Kiara mumble, “Thank you.”

I glanced up at her for a second, only to look back down. “Don’t thank me. I bought that on accident.”

“I saw you staring at me in line. And...I haven’t eaten in the past two days.”

I looked back at Kiara, who was looking everywhere but me. I decided to just ask.

“It’s because of what happened to your friends, right? You’re mourning?”

She nodded, still not looking at me.

“I understand. Grief isn’t something that has, like, a definitive answer. You just gotta let it run its course,” I said, putting my hand in front of my mouth because I was chewing.

Kiara nodded again and took another bite, a bigger one this time. I mentally high-fived myself for getting her to eat. I didn’t think it’d work.

“So, what do you want to do for the project?” I asked.

Kiara shrugged. “We could do current events. Maybe something environment related?”

“Like, an advertisement? We make a video talking about pollution or something?”

“Yeah! Or maybe we could organize something and get a bunch of people to come together and, like, clean up the beach?”

“Or we could go out on boats and find trash in the ocean?”

“That too!” Kiara’s eyes were shining now, and she was smiling. Wide. Much like the girl whose Instagram I was stalking.

“Sweet. Ok, so, the environment is one thing, do we have any other ideas? Like, isn’t the Outer Banks also famous for shipwrecks or something? I heard The Royal Merchant sank here. Maybe we could do a project on that?”

Kiara stiffened up when I mentioned shipwrecks. Did I say something wrong?

Shit. Her friends died at sea, how could I be so stupid?

“That’s...not a bad idea, actually. I happen to know a lot about The Royal Merchant. More than I want to know, actually,” She chuckled. She looked down at her hands, and then looked back up. “John B, my friend who died at sea over the summer, he and his dad were obsessed with finding it. We actually-,” she leaned closer to me. “We actually found it. But, uh, the gold isn’t there.”

My eyes went wide. I leaned forward, too. “Well, where is the gold then? Do you know?”

Kiara nodded. “In the Bahamas.”

“How the f- How did it get there, if the shipwreck happened here and no one knew where it was until you and your Pogue friends found it?”

She sighed. “Long story. I’ll tell you another day.”

“Wait-”

The lunch bell rang. I sighed as we stood up and grabbed our bags, walking towards the doors to leave for class. I really want to know how the gold ended up in the Bahamas.

“Well, thanks for lunch, Nikki!”

“Of course, Kiara, that’s what friends are for,” I smiled.

Kiara beamed. “Call me Kie.”

I was overjoyed. A friend. A real, actual friend. “Kie. Fantastic. Hey, Kie, do you know anyone named Rafe by any chance?”

Kie narrowed her eyes. “Yea, why?”

“Oh, nothing, I was just invited to his birthday party this Saturday.”

Kie rolled her eyes. “Be careful around him, ok? Talk to you later!”

“Uh, bye!”

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

Yellow, or blue?

I held both dresses up to myself, looking in the mirror.

Saturday came, and it was time for Rafe’s party.

The party starts at 9 and was gonna last all night, but Topper wanted to take me out to eat, so at 7:30, I’m still deciding which dress to wear.

Both dresses are sundresses, short, flowy with shirred backs and knotted straps. They are literally the same dress, down to the little polka dots, just in different colors. I could wear either one, because I kept my makeup simple: concealer, nude eye shadow, mascara, and clear lip gloss.

I texted Kiara, asking her to choose a color, to which she responded yellow. We managed to get really close in just three days, which made me happy, because I felt that she was my only real friend at school, and, well, I was her only friend there.

I slipped the dress on and matched it with my white Birkenstocks. I went over to my dresser table (yes I have two mirrors in my room, sue me) and put on my white tassel fringe earrings. I kept my ‘Om’ necklace on.

I admired myself. My light brown skin looks good with the yellow and white, and my jet black hair, which I decided to not straighten, had slight waves, and reached my shoulders. I look like a rich, beach girl. A Kook, I suppose.

I grabbed my phone, taking a quick mirror selfie and snapping it to Topper, captioned ‘i’m readyyy’. He opened it immediately.

‘Damnn u look hot,’ he typed out. Ew.

‘aw ty,’ I typed back. ‘where r u?’

‘I’m omw. U have ur bag? The party’s on a yacht and there’ll be a pool.’

‘swim suit’s packed’

‘Fantastic. I’ll be there soon.’

I locked my phone, putting it into my purple and black NYU drawstring bag that also held my black bikini and a towel. I grabbed the bag hopped down the stairs.

Mallory and Krish, my sister-in-law and brother, were sitting on the couch, watching TV.

“Hey losers. My friend’s gonna be here any minute to pick me up.”

Mallory turned to face me, smiling. “Aw, you look cute! Have fun, and be safe, ok?”

“If you’re gonna be coming in, like, super late,” Krish added, not taking his eyes off the TV, “try to be as quiet as possible. Diya is a really light sleeper.”

Diya, my 5-month-old niece, made baby sounds. I took a couple steps forward and saw she was spread out on the floor, in her fluffy pink blanket, chewing on her gloved hands. I waved at her.

“Don’t worry, if I wake her up, I’ll take care of her. I don’t plan on drinking or smoking or anything tonight. Well, maybe drinking, but that’s it.”

They laughed. “Ok, ok, just have fun,” Mal said.

I sat on the floor, playing with Diya, until 7:50, when the doorbell rang, revealing Topper, wearing a black button-down shirt that was rolled up to his elbows (bless), Air Force 1s, ripped jeans, and a Gucci belt.

He smiled. “Ready to go?”

I smiled back. “Yep.” I turned to face Krish and Mal. “Bye Mom, bye Dad!”

“Bye, hun!” Mallory called out. They smiled and Top, too, and waved.

I closed the door and left, and Topper grabbed my hand to lead me to the car. “Sorry, I’d have introduced you to my parents, but they were too busy, like, ogling at my baby sister,” I half lied.

Topper laughed, “No worries. I’ll have plenty of chances to meet them, I hope?”

I smiled. “Yep, I hope so too.”

A complete lie.

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

Dinner with Topper was...interesting. Instead of taking me to some fancy restaurant or whatever, he took me to this cute little diner closer to the beach, but not close to The Cut, according to him. “There are a bunch of restaurants here in the Banks,” he had said. “But not a lot of people know about this one. That’s why it’s my favorite.” He winked, and I nearly vomited in my mouth.

The place was real old-timey, with the little booths and a jukebox. We had burgers and shared a plate of fries and a milkshake. And honestly? It would’ve been really romantic if I actually liked Topper like that.

Don’t get me wrong, Topper is hot. He’s sweet to me, like cotton candy sweet, and really affectionate. I love touchy boys (consensual, of course, or they get their shit rocked), but he’s always grabbing my hand and playing with my hair. Which would be fine, but I barely know him.

And ever since he admitted to drowning that John B kid, whatever potential feelings I had just...disappeared. That paired with his Holier-than-thou attitude and his blatant classism makes him everything I would hate in a person, let alone a potential boyfriend.

Besides, I know the real reason he’s flirting with me. The Kook King of High School needs a Queen, and with his ex gone, everyone wants me to step into that role. Any other time, I’d be happy to be That Girl. But something just feels wrong about this.

Lots of people have told me I remind them of Sarah, apparently because she, too, was a bit of a social activist and an environmental freak (no wonder her and Kie were friends) which just confirms the fact that I’m just a replacement.

But, besides Kie, I have no other friends at OBX High. I have no choice but to go with it.

Driving close to the dock, I could hear loud music playing from somewhere. Leaning forward, I saw the yachts, one of them in particular already pretty full of people and neon lights.

“Yeah, Rafe tends to go all out on parties,” Topper remarked, gesturing towards the boats as he parked. “But they’re always fun.”

I nodded, plastering on a smile. I grabbed his hand. “Fantastic. Lead the way.”

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

Ok, I have to hand it to OBX kids. They know how to get turnt.

At 9:30, the yacht left the dock and headed towards the sea. By 10, the party was in full form, with kids dancing, singing, swimming, smoking, drinking, everything!

It was a glorious mess.

Right now it’s 10:30, and I’d been dancing with Top when we decided to go get something to drink.

We went to the bar and I told Topper to just one of whatever he was drinking for me, so he got two Mai Tais. The bartender looked really worried, because, you know, more than half the kids at this party are underaged, so I slipped him a 50 for his troubles.

Top and I walked away, laughing at the bartender’s confused face. The familiar feeling of alcohol started to wash

We walked around and talked about life and the universe, and when we finished our drinks, we went to the deck.

I leaned onto the railing, staring into the ocean.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” I asked softly. Growing up in Brooklyn Heights, I was never one for the ocean. I mean, sure, there were beaches an hour or two away from my old home that I visited often, but I was always a city girl. But this, this was something else entirely. The way the pale, white moonlight shined on the dark blue ocean, it was comforting, almost.

“Yeah,” Topper whispered back, wrapping his arm around my cold body, “really is beautiful.” I turned and saw him staring at me, smiling just a tiny bit. I shoved him lightly.

“You’re so corny,” I laughed.

“Maybe, but I made you smile, didn’t I?”

“...Shut up.”

We laughed, and he wrapped both arms around me and pulled me close to him. I stiffened a bit. Calm down, Nikki. It’s not that big a deal. But it is. I hate leading people on and I hated that he was always touching me.

I snuck my arms around his waist and rested my head on his chest. I’m short, I’ll admit it, standing at a towering five foot four with my two-inch platforms. Topper, on the other hand, is six feet tall, so my head tucked in just underneath his.

We stayed like that for a bit, swaying softly to some pop song. I felt myself relaxing, but I knew it wouldn’t last long.

“Hey, Nikki?”

“Yeah?”

“I, uh, I really like you.”

I pulled back and looked at Topper, who was fidgeting with my hair, and I narrowed my eyes “Wait, actually?”.

I hope he’s joking. He’s known me for less than a week! I mean, sure, you can have an instinct attraction to someone, yadda yadda, and maybe he wants to get to know me better, or whatever. Fine.

Maybe it’s because I don’t like him that, but I find his declaration of feelings a little ridiculous.

“Yea, I do. I know we just met, but I really want to get to know you more. No, I’m not asking you out...unless you want to date, that is, but I feel insanely attracted to you.” He brushed his hair back nervously.

I could reject Topper, and risk my popularity and social standing. It could end up well, it could end up terribly. But if I say I like him back, which is a lie, I guarantee my place as the most popular girl in the Outer Banks.

I place my right hand on his shoulder and my left hand on his cheek. Standing on my toes, I gently guide his face to mine.

As I close my eyes, I imagine that I’m not about to kiss Topper, but Hot Blonde Boy from Kie’s Instagram.

His lips are soft, really soft, and Top’s hands drop to my waist to pull me closer to him.

After we pull away, he tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear and gently kisses my forehead.

“I like you too, Top,” I lied, “but I don’t want to rush into anything. We just met, and I’ve rushed into things before, and they never ended well, and-”

“Hey, hey, I get it,” he takes his hand to my chin and lifts it up so that I’m looking at him instead of the floor. “We can go as slow as you like, all right?”

I smile and nod. Top cups my face in his hands, and right before he can kiss me, I pull away and say, “Let’s go swimming! I’m going to go change, ok?”

He nods, ruffling his hair. I turn, pulling my phone out from my duffel bag and sending a text to Kie.

‘sos i just kissed topper.’

I walk into one of the changing rooms and change into my bikini. As I’m stuffing my dress into my bag, I see I get a text back.

‘dumbass!!’

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

Apparently, when I said I wanted to go swimming, it translated to yeeting me into the pool and then jumping in after, and then us splashing each other, non-stop. I mean, I guess that is what you do at a pool party, but I have no idea. Usually, I just stand around and eat food and, you know, don’t actually go into the water.

It was fun and all, yea, but I was uncomfortable the entire time because he couldn’t- no, wouldn’t- keep his hands off of me.

After it became too much, I jumped out of the pool and sat down on one of the chairs, wrapped my towel around myself and feeling really uncomfortable. Topper climbed out after me and sat down at my feet. “Did I, uh, do something?”

Yeah, you won’t stop touching me, bro.

“No, no, it’s fine, I just got a bit claustrophobic, that’s all.” I checked the time on my phone. I had an idea. “Hey, I’m going to go find Kelce and Scarlet, ok?”

“Uh, sure, do you want me to come with you?”

Not really, no. “Uh, if you want, but I was just gonna have, like, a girl’s talk with Scarlet?”

Topper nodded and smiled. I stood up, shoved my towel into my bag, slipped my shoes on, and ran off.

I felt a little weird just walking around in a bikini, especially since I don’t know anyone here, but remembering that everyone else was just as scantily clad as I was made me feel a little better.

I went to the highest deck, where the eldest kids (and by kids I mean like seniors and 20-year-olds), hoping to find Kelce or Scarlet there because I hadn’t seen them anywhere else. But I couldn’t see them on the deck.

I walked around a bit and then decided to text Scarlet.

‘where are you?’

I got a text back immediately. ‘Top deck, near the front. I’m with the little kid.’

Little kid? I walked towards the front side of the ship and indeed saw Scarlet, wearing a dark red colored bikini, sitting in a lounging chair with a girl who looks like she’s in middle school. The kid was pale, with freckles, dark hair, and glasses. She was the only one at this point not wearing a bathing suit.

Why is there a kid here?

I sat down in the seat next to Scarlet and gave her a hug. “Hey!” I slipped my bag off my shoulders and leaned forward to face the young girl. “Hi. What’s your name?”

She smiled. “I’m Wheezie. My brother’s the birthday boy.”

“Wheezie?”

“It’s a nickname, my real name is- Oh, hey, Topper!”

I spun around. Topper was standing in front of me, arms angrily crossed over his bare chest. “Hey, Wheezie. Nikki, can I talk to you?”

“I’m enjoying the company of my new friend.” I gestured over to Wheezie.

“Yeah, well, I want to talk.” He roughly grabbed my wrist and yanked me up.

“Ok, jeez, lemme grab my bag.” I pulled myself from his grasp and turned around to grab my bag. Scarlet mouthed the words be careful, to me. I nodded.

“Bye, Nikki, it was nice to meet you!” Wheezie called out. I shouted pleasantries back. Topper grabbed my wrist again.

After dragging me halfway across the deck, he let go of me and turned around. “What’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me?! What’s wrong with you?! You’re the one who, one, won’t stop touching even though we’re not dating and we barely know each other, and two, literally dragged me away from my friends when I was having a conversation with them! Are you like this with all the girls you like? Huh? Maybe that’s why your girlfriend left you for some Pogue, not because Pogues steal things, but because you-” I stepped forward and shoved Topper, “-don’t know how to treat a girl, no, a person, with respect!”

I stopped talking and realized that a lot of people had gone quiet. My face flushed with embarrassment until I heard someone shout.

“WOO! You tell him, Nikki!”

I turned and saw Scarlet and Wheezie jumping up and down and clapping. Soon, all the girls (and some of the boys) around me were clapping and cheering for me, congratulating me and telling Topper that he’s a dick.

I stepped towards Topper. “You and me, whatever thing you think we had going on, it’s done.”

I turned around and beckoned Wheezie and Scarlet to sit back down with me on the deck. The partying resumed, and I went off chatting with the two girls, but I saw out of the corner of my eye that Topper was getting all huffy and puffy.

I pointed that out to the girls. “Should I be worried?”

Wheezie wheezed laughed. “He’s probably just going to call Rafe and get him to tell you off.”

“...He’s gonna get the host of the party, who I don’t know and never met, to yell at me? Fantastic. Good thing he’s your brother.”

“Technically half brother, but yes, a good thing. Oh look, there he is right now!”

I turned around and saw Topper marching towards me with another equally tall, equally blonde boy right behind him. The difference is, this boy didn’t have as much of a hostile aura as Topper has right now.

“So, which one of you embarrassed my boy Top?”

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

The boy, who introduced himself as Rafe, the host, beckoned Scarlet, Topper, and I inside of his suite. He closed the door on Wheezie, though. Bummer. I liked her.

Inside his suite were a bunch of twenty-year-olds, drinking hard liquor, dancing, and sitting around this big table. Rafe took his seat in the middle, told everyone else around him to fuck off, and had us, except Topper, sit across from him. Topper took the seat to his right.

He offered us a bag of white powder, to which Scarlet and I declined. Topper took it, though, and started setting it up to use.

“You use coke?” I asked Topper in disgust. I have nothing against most drugs, like weed or psychedelics, which can be fun to use sparingly at parties or whatever, but not hard drugs like opioids.

Topper shrugged at my question. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is a big deal. What the fuck is wrong with y-?!”

“Ok, no fighting at my party, please?” Rafe sighed, rubbing his temples. “I brought you guys inside so that everyone else can enjoy the party while you guys have your little marital dispute-”

“WE’RE NOT DATING!” I shouted.

“Whatever,” Rafe sighed.

I stood up. “I’m gonna go hang with Wheezie. Scarlet, you coming?”

She was about to respond when Rafe stood up and said, “I’ll join you.”

I shot a confused look at Scarlet, who just shrugged.

I slipped my bag over my shoulder and walked towards the door, which Rafe held open for me, and we stepped outside, the air making me shiver.

Rafe pulled a pack of Dunhill cigarettes out of his pocket, put one to his mouth, and lights it. He gestured the box towards me and I take one, leaning forward a bit so that he could light it for me.

I rest my arms on the railing and close my eyes, breathing in the burning smoke and exhaling it slowly, being submerged in the light-headed haze of nicotine.

“How old are you?” Rafe’s voice interrupts my zen. I open my eyes and look at the boy, who’s very obviously checking out my bikini covered body.

I laughed and took another drag. “Sixteen,” I exhaled the smoke from my mouth.

Rafe’s eyes went wide, and he turned back to the sea. “Oh shit. My bad. Uh...how’re you liking the party?”

“It’s pretty good. Besides, you know, Topper being Topper, and you forcing me to talk to him.”

Rafe laughed. “Yea, I didn’t mean anything by it. I have a reputation of being a prick, and I’m trying to be better but, you know, not a lot of people respect you when you go from being a douche to a nice guy.”

I nodded, understanding what he meant by that. “Reputation with friends?”

He laughed. “Just,” he waved his hand free hand around, “Everyone. I wasn’t a good person. I’m trying to be better, but it’s hard when everyone already expects me to act a certain way and don’t give me a chance to change.”

I noticed the rings on his hands, like that boy from Kie’s Instagram. But unlike Hot Blondie, Rafe’s too old for me.

Which leads me to wonder…

“Did you know Sarah Cameron, by any chance?” I asked.

Rafe’s eyes went wide, and then he started coughing up smoke.

“W-Why do you ask?” He stammers, still coughing.

I gave him a weird look and just shrugged. “Curious, I guess.” I looked back at the ocean. “I’m the new girl, and everyone keeps telling me about all this stuff, but won’t tell me what actually happened, and I dunno, I’m just so confused.”

I turned to face Rafe, who was looking away, and I think I saw tears forming in his eyes. “Yea, Sarah’s my sister.”

Now it was my turn to cough up smoke. “W-”-cough cough- “Wait”-cough cough- “a minute.” I gasp for air and continue coughing. And after I finally manage to get some oxygen into my lungs, I say, “Sarah Cameron’s your sister? Shit, I’m so sorry, Topper never told me.”

Rafe shrugged, fiddling around with his rings. “It’s alright, I was just...surprised. No one asks me about Sarah or the Pogues anymore. After I came back from rehab-” He stopped, probably because he didn’t mean to say that, but he continued, “After I came back from rehab, I just...stopped beefing with the Pogues, especially JJ, Kie, and Pope. You know them?”

I nodded. “I know Kie, we’re friends. But not JJ and Pope. Never met ‘em, don’t even know what they look like, yet I’ve heard so many things about them.”

Rafe nodded. “They’re not bad kids, really. My time away made me realize how much of a prick I’ve been to them. Like, I caused them a lot of pain, and for what? For nothing. Literally just because I thought that, because they were poorer than us, they weren’t as good as us.”

I nodded. Then I turned and smiled, and stretched out my hand. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Rafe Cameron.”

He smiled and shook back.

_______________________________

chapter three

#obx fic #obx #obx fanfic #outerbanks #jj maybank #jj fluff #jj angst #jj x reader #john b #john b x sarah #obx kiara #obx pope #rafe cameron #topper obx

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noneya-business-me · 4 years ago

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Sticks and stone may break my bones but that doesn't mean you're not a snake

Out of all the things that his friends had dragged him out to do, mall visits were always the worst. He grumbled adjusting his sunglasses as Mina bumped into him for the 20th time in the last five minutes. “Let’s go in there!” Kaminari said, making the group follow him into yet another clothing store.

“Are you seriously going for the e-boy thing?” Kirishima laughed, looking at the various shades of black around the store.

Bakugou groaned but held up a few shirts for the electric user to take to the dressing room. “You’re really good with fashion Bakugou!” Mina complimented, “you have to pick some stuff out for me too!”

“You have no idea.” He huffed, rubbing at his temples, “I just want to get some stuff from the supplement store.”

“We’ll go there next.” Sero stated, “we’ve been dragging you around for long enough.”

He called into the dressing room for Kaminari to hurry up. He was pretty thankful that his friends were starting to understand his moods and body language. He wasn’t sure how much more he would last until he blew up.

Outside the store was getting louder and louder for some reason, and he groaned again when he thought about having to go back out there.

“I’m going to try some stuff on quickly, I’ll catch up with you guys in a minute,” Kirishima stated, pulling a sweater off one of the hangers. The blonde stared at his boyfriend in confusion.

“Are you sure?” Mina asked, raising a brow in his direction.

The redhead nodded, “I won’t be long at all.”

Kirishima gave Bakugou a reassuring nod, prompting him to follow their friends out of the store. The blonde rolled his eyes but complied.

It quieted down significantly as they stepped out before Mina sucked in a breath and started squealing. “What the hell is that noise?” Bakugou snapped, glaring at her.

“I-it’s Ashton Laurier!” She was grinning wide.

Bakugou’s eyes widened, and his eyebrow twitched as his gaze snapped over to where she was pointing. He would recognize that painfully obnoxious pose anywhere. He always hated the way the other's wavy brown hair was cut, with one side longer than the other. Seeing it again was already making him want to grab a pair of scissors and even it out.

“I’m going over to ask him for a picture.” She stated, hurrying over before the blonde could grab her.

He grit his teeth, stomping over towards them. His friends seemed equally excited, which in turn made him want to barf.

By the time he got over there, Mina was already gushing to the rodent about how much she loved his work. “Wow, Ashton I’m so glad they were able to dig you up to make an appearance today.” Bakugou stated, inspecting his manicure, “from the looks of you I guess they didn’t give you much time to freshen up.”

“Excuse me-“ the other whirled around to stare at Bakugou, before he smirked, “Oh hi Katsuki. I love the dye job, it really matches the box.”

The squad's mouths dropped open and their eyes widened. “Holy shit,” Sero whispered.

“He called him Katsuki.” Mina wheezed, grabbing over her heart like she was having a heart attack.

“I heard your fourth nose job was free. You gotta love those free punch cards!” Bakugou stated tightly, his posture smug, “hey next time why don’t you call me, and I can do it for free.”

The brunette’s hand flew to cover his nose as he snarled. His blue eyes narrowing.

“You sound like a Neanderthal,” he spat, “good thing you have the forehead to match.”

Bakugou gaped, his own hand flying to his forehead. The two of them snarled at each other.

“Do you know each other?” Mina asked, looking between them in confusion.

The tension was thick between the two as they glowered at each other.

“Oh, you didn’t tell your little friends about me?” Ashton cooed, with a smirk.

“I don’t make a habit of talking about the garbage I leave backstage.” Bakugou jeered, putting his hands firmly on his hips.

The brunette growled.

“C’mon man seriously.” Kaminari whined, “you know a celebrity and you didn’t even tell us!”

The blondes glare snapped over to Kaminari with an expression of Shut the fuck up you fuckface all over it.

“Yeah, that’s right Katsuki.” Ashton smirked, “you know a celebrity.”

“Piss off you dumpster goblin.” The blonde growled, a sneer marring his face.

“Oh wow, that’s the face that landed me the front cover of AllPro Fashion.” The model stated smugly.

Bakugou grit his teeth painfully, “that was my spread and you know it!” He snarled, “you know what the fuck you did.”

The blonde took a deep breath, before composing himself with a confident air. “Too bad that was your first and last big shoot. When was it? Four years ago?”

“Whatsit matter to you, has been?” Ashton snapped back, his smirk disappearing.

“I’m just saying you’re second rate, that’s a big accomplishment for you.” Bakugou hummed, “you should be proud.”

“Where the hell is Kiri? I can’t believe he’s missing this.” Sero wheezed, pulling out his phone to try and capture the moment.

The other model’s face screwed up even more. “Oh, don’t look so sour Ashton, you should be coming into a large sum of money soon.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” He seethed.

“Well, I mean if I had a face like yours, I would sue my parents.” He stated smugly, as his friends started wheezing around him, “therefore you don’t have to be sad about the lack of work.”

“This is incredible.” Kaminari huffed, out trying to hold himself up.

“Who knew Blasty had it in him,” Mina added.

“Blasty? That’s cute.” Ashton stated, “you don’t like the nickname I gave you?”

“Don’t.”

“I really liked wobbles.” He stated with a smirk.

He seemed to get a second wave of confidence as he started getting up in the explosion heroes space while the blondes own confident air started to fade a bit.

“Wobbles?” Kaminari asked.

Bakugou shot him a glare as Ashton’s smirk grew wider. “During a runway a couple of years ago, Katsuki was coming out of the curtain in a pair of heels and was wobbling so bad he fell over.”

“You tripped me you asshole.” Bakugou snapped back, his body shifting into pure defence mode, “Do you have any idea how that affected my career?”

“Why should I care?” Ashton replied, “besides I got a good nickname out of it. As far as I know, a lot of people still call you that.”

The blonde's eyes widened before his brows furrowed in thought.

“Anyways, it’s been great chatting with you, but it really hasn’t.” Ashton said, flinging his bags over his shoulder, “I have to get ready for my next job.”

Bakugou rolled his eyes, crossing his arms in annoyance. “My agent’s lining up a huge shoot with Himariyuki fashion.” The brunette shared in a smug tone.

His face twisted in glee as Bakugou’s face fell blank and stared at the other before he started to laugh.

“Oh my god! You seriously don’t realize who my “agent” is, do you?” He wheezed, “the agent that you made cry years ago?”

“What about him?!” Ashton snapped back, his face becoming redder and redder. He was unsure if it was in anger or embarrassment.

“He’s my dad! And the co-owner of Himariyuki fashions.” He laughed, holding his stomach as he tried to suck in gasps of oxygen, “dude you doomed your career the second you decided to be a dick to him. Sorry, but my dad basically vowed never to endorse you in the company.”

The blonde was still cackling when the first shove happened. His eyes widened in shock before narrowing with a feral grin. “You have no idea who you’re messing with.”

“Oh, shit this is about to get real.” Kaminari whistled, backing up with the rest of the group.

“I know a bitch when I see one at least!” Ashton yelled, an ugly glowers on his face now.

“Why are you guys still here?” Kirishima’s voice suddenly cutting through the tension, “I thought you were heading over to the supplement store.”

Almost immediately Ashton’s glower disappeared, and his kind mask was put back on display.

“Oh, and who are you?” Ashton asked, seemingly forgetting that Bakugou and the rest of his friends existed.

He brought up a hand to trail down Kirishima’s arm. “Do you work out?” He asked, with a smile.

“Um, yeah.” The redhead replied, looking between his friends and the stranger.

“You sure as hell look like it.” Ashton stated moving in closer, “how about you and I-“

“Taken already moron.” Bakugou hissed, grabbing Kirishima’s arm and putting it around his own waist, “let’s get out of here.”

The brunette stared at them in shock before growling, “you better watch your back Wobbles!”

The blonde rolled his eyes, as they continued to walk away. “Wobbles?” Kirishima asked a hint of amusement in his voice.

“It’s a long fucking story.” Bakugou replied, “you really had to be there. Did you get what you wanted?”

“I can say for sure that you missed the best show ever Kiri. I’ll send the video in the group chat,” Sero stated, “but seriously what was that?”

The blonde sighed, “Ashton had unfortunately been around about as long as Deku but with modelling jobs and stuff. We’ve been in a bunch of ads and stuff together over the years.”

They exited the mall heading towards the train station. “I really liked doing modelling jobs and stuff when I was a kid, but he’s the one that ruined it for me. If you’re wondering why I’m such as asshole it’s because of that guy.” He grunted, “when I was just about to enter middle school, dad took me to one of my shoots. I was just coming off the set when I saw him talking to my dad.”

His shoulders seemed to slump as he continued talking about his father. “I don’t know what he said to him, dad won’t tell me, but it was about me. Whatever he said to him really upset him and made him cry.” He bit at his lip, “I really started to resent him since then, and I wanted to get out of modelling completely but sometimes I’ll do campaigns just because I miss it.”

They situated themselves on the train, heading back towards the dorms. It was a little later at night, so their group was the only ones on the car, “Did you know that Bakugou modelled?” Mina asked, turning her attention to Kirishima.

“Yeah?” He replied, raising a brow at her, “it’s kind of obvious.”

“How in the world is it obvious?!” She whined, “it doesn’t count because you’re he’s your boyfriend.”

“There’s literally a poster of him right behind you.” He replied, pointing behind her.

She whirled around and sure enough, Bakugou’s face was staring back at her. He had a baggy black shirt tucked into some high waisted black pants. It seemed like an ad for a perfume or something, at least that’s the vibe it gave off. “They’re all over the city.” Kirishima mused, “maybe you’re blind to them because he’s your friend?”

“Man, you must be such an attentive boyfriend.” Kaminari sighed.

“I don’t know.” Kirishima hummed, “am I an attentive boyfriend, Kat?”

“Shut up,” Bakugou grumbled with a blush dusting his cheeks.

They soon made it back to the dorms. They had intended to be back for movie night therefore everyone was gathered in the common room waiting for them. “Where have you guys been?” Midoriya asked, “we were getting worried.”

“We ran into a witch,” Bakugou replied, kicking his shoes off.

Midoriya looked at the rest of the group hoping to get some additional information. “We ran into Ashton Laurier,” Mina added.

The boy’s face seemed to blank before his cheeks puffed out in indignation. “What a jerk,” he mumbled.

“Oh my god! This is priceless!” Kaminari shrieked, “not even the broccoli boy likes him!”

“That’s not even his name!” Midoriya shouted, standing up, “he’s Japanese! Why is he using such an obviously fake name?!”

“Oohh, he’s getting heated.” Sero whistled, “how do you know that’s not his name?”

“Because I’m a freak and couldn’t leave it alone!” Midoriya replied, pulling a journal out of nowhere, “his name is Tetsuhiko Ichigawa!”

“Man, I told everyone you were a freak, but no one believed me.” Bakugou sighed with a roll of his eyes, “but this gives me even more material when I’ll unfortunately come face to face with him again.”

“SEE?! You’re welcome!” Midoriya shouted.

“You really don’t like him, do you Deku?” Uraraka asked.

“I used to go with Kaachan when he would do photoshoots and stuff, but I stopped going after a few that Ashton was at.” He replied, “the guy is a complete monster in human skin.”

“Did he make you cry too?” Kirishima asked.

“I mean who doesn’t make me cry?” Midoriya replied, raising his brows, “but yeah.”

“That’s why you stopped going?” Bakugou suddenly asked, the attention returning to him.

He looked a bit sheepish as he crossed his arms in front of himself. “Um, yeah.” Midoriya replied, “I thought you knew that.”

“You never really told me. You just - stopped.” Bakugou stated, glaring down at the ground, “I thought it was because you didn’t want to be around me anymore."

“I should have told you,” Midoriya added, nervously fiddling his fingers, “I knew he had a habit of pushing your sore spots.”

“He seemed adamant about pushing that nickname,” Mina added.

“What nickname?” Midoriya asked as Bakugou’s face blazed red.

“Wobbles.”

“Was that from that time he tripped you?” The green-haired boy asked.

“And the whole AllPro thing,” Kaminari added.

“It all ties together. It was that fashion show that Ashton tripped him at and broke his nose.” Midoriya hissed.

“He broke your nose!” Kirishima yelled.

“Yeah, he’s a little snake.” Bakugou sighed rolling his eyes, “I wasn’t hired for an entire 3 weeks because of him. I thought my mom was going to strangle him.”

“I feel like finding him and strangling him myself.” Kirishima hissed.

“It’s whatever,” Bakugou groaned, waving his hand dismissively, “it’s done already, and I fucking hate him but there’s nothing that I can do about it now.”

“Yeah, but-“ Kirishima tried to argue.

“He’s seriously not worth it Eiji.” Bakugou sighed, shaking his head.

“He said that people still call you that too,” Sero added.

The blonde bit the inside of his cheek. “I didn’t know that,” he mumbled, “I didn’t think that it even got past him.”

“For all we know he’s lying.” Midoriya tried to reassure him, “He’s a pathological liar.”

Bakugou glanced at him, a small amount of vulnerability slipping through. “Everyone seemed pretty horrified about what happened as well,” Midoriya continued, “I can’t believe that they would call you that behind your back.”

Kirishima nodded at his side, trying to reassure his boyfriend.

“Hey, just look at it this way Kat.” Kirishima cut in, wrapping his arm around his waist, “you’ve got something that he’ll never have.”

“And what’s that?” The blonde asked with a small smile, as the grip on his waist tightened.

“You have people that care about you.” He said sweetly, kissing him gently on the cheek, “and from what I saw and heard from him today, you’re leagues above him.”

He glanced across the room at his classmates that gave him nods of approval and smiles.

The blonde grinned harder, nodding along with them, “I guess you’re right.”

I just wanted to post this here. A lot of people on Ao3 seemed to like it, so I wanted to share it here as well! Hope you enjoyed! If you couldn’t guess I’ve been into my hero academia more than anything else.... :)

#bnha #mha #bakugou katsuki #Kirishima Eijirou #fanfic #model bakugou #roasts

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sugarbooger513 · 4 years ago

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Angel’s Rising- Chapter Four

“It’s the weekend, Aria. Chill out a bit.” Lilith rolls her eyes when she notices me grading a few papers. I give her a smile and pat her head. “Sorry. I promised Aizawa that I would have these done so he can put the grades in.”

I’ve worked at UA for a week now. I gotta say, it’s nice. For the most part, the kids are really easy to get along with. They seem to be happy I’m there. Apparently Aizawa seems more relaxed now that he has help with all of his work.

“Can Rose and I go hang out with the guys?” “Where are you going?” “The park.” I shrug and give her a smile. “Just check in with me every once in a while, okay? Do you need some money to go eat?” Before she can say no, I pull my wallet out and dig a twenty from it.

She doesn’t want to take it, but she eventually gives in to my pouts.Before they leave, I give them both a hug and kiss on their head. Of course, as soon as they walk out the door, mom comes from downstairs. The scowl on her face makes me mad already.

“Where the hell are they going?” “To hang out with some friends. Lilith said she’ll check in with me.” She rolls her eyes while going to the fridge. “They should be checking in with me. I’m their mom.” Sure you are, lady. I ignore her presence now, focusing instead on the stack of papers I still have.

My phone rings, and I answer it with a smile. “Hey Aizawa.” “Hey. Do you and the girls need anything while I’m out?” I roll my eyes and laugh. “No. The girls just left to hang out with some friends.” He knows who I mean, so he doesn’t question it. “Oh. Do you need anything?” “I’m fine. I promise.” He lets out a short yawn. “You want to grab lunch with me?” “Aizawa, I still have to finish these-” “I can grab it and bring it there, if you want.”

My face flushes, and mom notices it. “U-uhh.. I mean, I..” He chuckles a bit at my stuttering. “Are you worried about me coming in your house?” “A-A little bit. It isn’t much.” He sighs, and I can hear his car’s blinker turn on. “I’m picking up sushi. I’ll be there soon, okay? We can finish the grading together.” I sigh in defeat. This man is too kind for his own good. “Fiiine. I’ll see you soon, ‘Zawa.” He scoffs at the nickname and hangs up.

“Who was that?” “Oh. It’s the girl’s teacher. He wants to come over and help me grade.” She grabs a bottle of whiskey, which makes my stomach drop. Lovely. He’s going to see that side of her. When I hear a knock at the door, i jump from the couch and go to open it.

Aizawa’s gray eyes make me almost forget to breathe. God, he’s one handsome guy. He gives a small smile and puts a bag in my hand. “I promise I got some for me, too. You don’t have to beat me up.” I giggle and smile sweetly at him. “Good because I could toootally beat you up.” He notices my mom staring, so he walks in and places his stuff on a coffee table. “I believe we’ve met before.”

She ignores him holding his hand out. “You were the teacher who was blamed for the kids using their quirks at that damn summer camp.” Oh my god. There’s a bit of shock in his eyes. “Umm.. yes. I gave the kids permission to protect themselves.” “Mom, this isn’t-” “Shut up, Aria.” I whimper and back away from the two of them. “You almost got my babies killed, sir.” “Umm.. Rose and Lilith were both unharmed. Trust me, they were protected.” Ignoring the fear in my chest, I step to stand beside Aizawa.

“He did what he had to at that camp, mom. Trust me, this man cares for his students.” Mom glares at me, but I send it back to her. There’s no way I’ll let Aizawa get blamed for that training camp. He glances down at me, a worried look in his eyes. “Aria, it’s okay.” “No, it isn’t. I know that you did what was best for them. If I had been in your place, I would have done the same thing.” “Yeah,” mom rolls her eyes, “you don’t have a useful quirk when it comes to being a hero. Your quirk doesn’t hurt people. My daughters will be real heroes.” I bite my lip and look at the ground.

Aizawa places a hand on my shoulder and pushes me to the couch. “Ignore her, Aria. You have a damn good quirk.” I sit with him and smile softly. “Don’t worry. I’m used to her saying it.” “But you are a hero. You’ve made it. Don’t let her take that from you.” He grabs our lunch and places mine in front of me. He doesn’t have to tell me to eat, his stern look says it for him. Before he grabs his, he takes a second to throw his hair into a low ponytail. It’s nice seeing his face for once, honestly.

As we eat, he grabs one of the papers I graded and starts reading it. “Oh, come on, Kaminari. English isn’t that hard.” I shrug and swallow the sushi in my mouth. “I know. Poor thing spelled ‘disturbed’ with a ‘z’.” “I didn’t even catch that one. I just saw how he managed to misspell his first name.” Oh hell, how did I not catch that? Aizawa places the paper down and sighs. “I worry about that kid, but I hope Rose is able to teach him something.”

“What do you think about lilith and Tenya?” He shrugs and pretty much swallows a piece of his sushi roll without chewing. “I mean, she’s less prone to calling me homeless since the two of them started talking. Iida calms down around her. They’re good together, but I worry about how hard workers they both are.” “Why does that worry you?” “Well,” he sighs in thought, “it’s good, don’t get me wrong, but if they both become overworked.. they might not know how to tell the other to take a break. You see where I’m getting?” I nod. Lilith and Rose are both that way. I hate to say they act like me, but they really do.

When I was in high school, you never saw me without a textbook or my notes. I studied constantly. If I wasn’t studying, i was training. Sometimes Midnight would help, and other times I would practice on a dummy. It’s one reason I encourage the girls to go hang out with their friends. I want them to be as stress free as possible while staying on top of their work.

I don’t know what makes me speak again, but I do. “Hey, Aizawa.” “Yes?” “I.. really enjoy spending time with you. Outside of the class, I mean.” He looks at me with wide eyes. Is he surprised. “Really?” “Yeah? Is there a problem with that?” He shakes his head, obviously still confused. “Not a problem. I tend to scare people away, though.” I giggle and move our trash to the table. “Go ahead, try scaring me away. I bet you can’t.” He gives me a small smile before shoving me a bit. “I don’t want to scare you away. I enjoy your friendship. Now shut up and help me grade these.”

Both of us go quiet once we start grading these papers. Of course, he’s faster at it than I am, so he ends up grading from both of our stacks. I swear, he finishes his stack and a third of mine. Once he reaches over for my last paper, I grab his wrist.

“Aizawa, I will draw a penis on your hand.” “What are you, twelve? Let me grade the damn-” When I hold the pen towards his hand, he grabs my wrist and pins it to the couch. “No ma’am.” “Yes sir.” He rolls his eyes, but starts laughing softly. God, his laugh is nice. It’s contagious, too. Once he lets me go, he snatches the paper despite my pouting. “Pouty faces don’t work on me, Aria.” “Shut up. Do you want some juice?” When he nods a bit, I jump up and walk to the kitchen.

The most embarrassing thing is having to jump to reach the top cabinets. Still, I manage to grab two cups without needing a chair. When i open the fridge, I grab our bottle of grape juice and pour it into both cups.

However, I don’t realize that Aizawa is behind me until he reaches to grab one of the cups. My dumb instincts cause me to squeak and.. fling a cup full of grape juice on his shirt. He stands there, dumbfounded.

“I-I am so so sorry!” “No, it was an accident. I’m sorry for sneaking up like that.” I quickly grab a dishcloth form a drawer and start patting it on his shirt. He seems to blush a bit, but I ignore it. “Seriously, Aria, it’s-” “What size shirt do you wear? I have some men’s clothes you should be able to fit.” He rolls his eyes. “A large.” I nod and place the rag in his hand while I rush to my room.

This time, I hear him following me. As I’m searching through a drawer, he sighs. “It really isn’t a big deal, Aria.” “I feel terrible. Just let me wash that for you.” I hold a white shirt out to him, which he takes reluctantly. “Fine. Quit worrying, though.” I reach my hands out and take the bundle of scarves from around his neck. He tenses a bit, but doesn’t stop me. Once I place them on my bed and look back at him, I’m frozen. Holy. Shit.

He throws the sweatshirt he had on to the ground without looking at me. I know staring is rude, but I can’t help it. In his hero costume, he really looks like a twig, but damn he’s a muscled twig. He finally notices my stares and lets out a sigh. “You looking at the scars?” Oh. There are scars aren’t there? Still, I nod absent mindedly, not wanting to admit that I was just staring at how hot he is. That would be awkward at work, wouldn’t it?

“You know,” He stops putting the other shirt on and looks in my eyes, “you can just tell me the truth.” My face heats up and I finally turn away from him. “S-Shut up and get dressed!” He chuckles softly. Asshole.

“I’m clothed. You can look now.” I turn and roll my eyes at his smirk. “You’re awfully playful today, Aizawa.” When I pick up his sweatshirt, he chuckles. “I’m having a good day. I enjoy your company.” I was going to open my door, but something makes me get a bit brave. I shut it again and glance over my shoulder at him. He tilts his head. “Well,” I bite my lip slightly, “you could always.. enjoy it more often..” His eyes widen, but I see a smirk on his face.

“Interesting. That’s something I should consider.” When he winks at me, I lose my brave side. Damn, he’s too good. I go to open the door again, but he stops it with one hand. “Hold on now. You can’t tease me like that and suddenly get flustered.” “I-I teased you?” He chuckles lightly and turns me so my back is against the door. “Umm, yeah, you did.” He places one of his arms over my head so he can lean his forehead against it. His smile is soft, and it makes my stomach erupt in butterflies.

“Hey,” his voice is soft, “you’re.. you’re really cute. I just.. want you to know that.” His other hand comes up and rests on my cheek. Is this real? Am I dreaming about this? I really hope not. His calloused thumb runs gently over my cheekbone, and I lean into his touch.

I never heard the front door open. “Sis? Are you home?” Aizawa chuckles lightly and backs away from me. “Come on. Lets convince them we weren’t banging in here or something.” Right. Because I totally can speak right now. I nod and walk out of my room with his sweatshirt in my hand.

Rose smiles brightly at me, but it fades when she sees Aizawa behind me. “M-Mr. Aizawa? Why are you here?” Lilith pops from around the corner and looks at me confused. He holds his hands up and chuckles. “Chill. I came to help grade and bring her lunch.” Lilith points to the shirt he’s wearing. “Isn’t that yours, Aria?” Busted. “I spilled grape juice on him, so I need to wash his shirt.” “I can just take it home, Aria.”

“She won’t let you, sir. I would let her take care of it.” Lilith and Rose both laugh. Aizawa sighs before smiling at me. “Fine, but just bring it to school tomorrow.” I nod and suddenly remember his scarves on my bed. I turn to quickly grab them. “Here.. you shouldn’t forget these.” He smiles and places them back around his neck.

“I should probably head out. I’ll take the papers so I can put them in the computer.” I nod and grab the stack for him. “Hey, Mr. Aizawa.” He tilts his head and glances at Lilith. She smiles a bit and lets out a chuckle. “You should totally come over more often.” “Yeah,” Rose nods, “it’s nice seeing Aria hang out with someone other than us.”

He’s genuinely shocked from what they said. I am too, but it isn’t a lie that the girls are my only real friends. I look down and try my best to ignore the rising heat in my cheeks. It isn’t easy though when I can feel his eyes staring into my soul.

“I.. I would love to, girls. Now, I really have to go. I’ll be here to pick you three up tomorrow. Behave for your sister.” The twins roll their eyes, but each wave goodbye to Aizawa. When I look up, he’s still staring at me. His smile is soft. “I’ll see you at work, Aria.” I open my mouth to say something, but Lilith interrupts me. “Oh come on, just hug at least. Lame asses.”

“L-Lilith! I swear-” I cut my sentence off when Aizawa chuckles. What’s so funny? When I look at him, his cheeks are dusted a faint pink. Was he.. wanting to give me a hug?

“Aizawa?” “Come here, goofball.” I smile and walk into his strong embrace. He smells strongly of coffee and laundry detergent. That sounds odd, but it’s comforting. I feel.. at home like this. I know that I’m technically at my house, but.. something about being around him makes sense. It just does.

“Hey, Aria.” “Y-yeah?” “The twins smiles at each other and walked away.” Of course they did. I immediately hop away from him, my face pretty much on fire. “I-ignore them. They like to mess with m-me.” He chuckles and gives a small shrug.

“I don’t have siblings, so I wouldn’t know. However, it is pretty funny to get you all flustered.” I slap him on his chest, which only causes him to grin. “I will wipe that smirk off your face, Aizawa.” “Do it, kid.” I huff, which makes him snort and turn away from me.

I follow him outside where his car is parked. “I’m not that much younger than you, Aizawa.” “Eight years is a bit of a gap, kid.” “Quit calling-” “Nope.” God, is he usually childish? Don’t get me wrong, I like this side of him. It’s just weird having him so playful.

“Hey, I really do need to go.” “Got a girl to see?” He smiles softly and rolls his eyes. “I already saw you today, Aria. You’re the only person I bother seeing.” Okay, that makes me blush. I didn’t expect that kind of answer. When he takes his hair from the ponytail, he seems to notice my frown.

“What’s wrong?” “Oh,” I chuckle, “I just enjoy seeing your face.” “Gross.” “No, really. You’re.. you’re a good looking guy.” He chuckles and pulls me into another hug. “Aww. You’re too kind. I’ll see you in the morning.”

I’m not prepared for him to lean down to place a kiss on my cheek. He doesn’t look at my face after. He just rushes to get in his car.

I watch him drive away, my heart pounding loudly. It takes a bunch of effort to turn and walk inside. Of course, Lilith and Rose are waiting for me.

“Sis,” Lilith chuckles, “I think you have a crush.” “On our teacher, nonetheless. Good. Maybe we can get out of detentions if they bang.” I ignore Rose’s comment, still fuzzy from the kiss. I touch my cheek and smile to myself. Lilith snaps in my face to get my attention. “Do you?”

When I giggle, she lets out a sigh. “A thirty year old grouchy teacher? Wow, you need taste.” I shrug and pick his sweatshirt up from the couch. It smells mostly like grape juice now, but there’s still him on it. “You two..” The twins look at me with worried looks.

“How.. how do you two feel around Denki and Tenya? What.. how do you know?” Rose is the first to answer. “He.. he’s more than a best friend. He understands that, well, I don’t come from the best place.” Lilith nods and chimes in. “He makes time, despite the hero course being so hard.” I look at their faces, and both of them are smiling like idiots.

“Do they.. feel like home?” “No. They are home.” I smile at their answer and squeeze the sweatshirt tighter to my chest. Yeah, he is my home. I don’t know why, or how, but that man is my home.

@katgalle

#aizawa shouta #aizawa x oc #mha #bnha #fanfiction

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missweber · 5 years ago

Text

@lardo-week

For Day 6 of Lardo Week - Friends and Lovers

(Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5)

(FYI, I’ll start posting these to AO3 tomorrow after I get the last chapter up tomorrow and give everything a good scrubbing for lurking typos and the like)

the practical thing to do

It wasn't that Lardo wasn't earning money. She had two decent part-time jobs and had even picked up a couple of freelance assignments.

One of the freelance assignments (painting the risers of a staircase in an old house-turned-bookstore to resemble shelves of children's books) had been fun and had paid fairly well, but it hadn't led to any nibbles from potential patrons.

She had time, she reminded herself. There was nothing wrong with working part-time for a gallery and for a local youth hockey organization. There was nothing wrong with creating some stability for herself.

But something was wrong.

"Can I vent?" She had timed her question for when Ransom and Holster were home and Shitty was at an evening seminar. As for She-Who-Would-Not-Be-Named, Lardo didn't really give a shit if she was home or not.

"Lay it on us, so we may ease your troubled mind," Holster intoned, affecting an air of wisdom and concern. Ransom didn't say anything, but he closed his laptop and put it aside so he could pay full attention.

Wanting to vent didn't mean knowing what to say. Instead, she just plopped herself down on the couch right between them. There wasn't quite enough room, but they made it work.

"I feel like a fucking parasite," she said at last.

The chorus of no no no! and we're fine with how things are divvied up, honest! weren't as comforting as they were meant to be.

"I'm venting, okay? That means you gotta let me vent! Don't..." She took a deep breath. "Don't just tell me not to worry, okay?"

Part of her could hear Shitty explaining how being told not to worry was sometimes the same as 'go away and don't bother me with your pesky emotions,' and that, she found comforting.

"My bad," Holster said.

Ransom pulled her into a side hug. "Sorry about that, Lards. Go ahead. Why are you comparing yourself to a tapeworm?"

"Gross, dude," she and Holster said in perfect unison, and that led to a giggle fit that totally killed the mood.

"Now I'm not feeling ranty. I'm just going to whine instead."

"Would you like some wine with that wine?" Holster asked in a horrible faux-British accent.

"Oh, hell yes!"

The occasion apparently called for a bottle of good wine that had been 'liberated' from Shitty's grandparents, and the novelty wine glasses. Lardo noted that her glass said 'Wine is cheaper than therapy' and tried not to read too much into it. After all, Ransom's said 'I just can't adult today' and Holster's glass proclaimed that he was 'Sotally Tober.'

"So anyway, I feel like a total mooch. I know you guys say it doesn't bother you that I'm paying a smaller share of rent than you are, but it still bugs me. I feel... I feel kept."

"Does it help if we tell you we don't think of it that way at all?" Ransom asked gently.

She shrugged. "In theory."

Shitty, Ransom, and Holster had each told her over and over and over they didn't mind paying bigger shares of the rent. They all either had or made enough money to cover it, and how the hell was Lardo supposed to do art on the side if she didn't have the time or energy to do art?

"We've got your back, bro," Holster said as if that explained everything.

She knew it should. She wished it did.

"Did anything in particular stir this up?" Ransom asked. His eyes narrowed. "Shitty's dad didn't say anything again, did he? Or Claire?"

Holster shushed him, and cast furtive looks at the hallway. "Don't say her name! She'll know we're talking about her!"

Ransom leaned in close and lowered his voice to a whisper. "I know I always said I was team attic, but if the person who's hiding in the attic is you-know-who? Then fuck it. I'm changing my answer."

"Dude," Holster said solemnly. "What if she's actually a thousand roaches in a trench coat?"

"Huh. That actually makes a lot of sense."

Watching their back and forth helped more than their concern. "No one said anything, guys." Well, George had said something in an email, but not in the way the guys meant it. "Just some job stuff came up today that... well, it stirred some shit up."

The point of having a job was to earn a living. Yes, you should do something you liked to do, but you needed to be practical about it. Lardo's parents had never been poor, but for as long as she could remember, they always had to be mindful. She had never gone hungry, but her mother and her bà ngoại had.

They had always encouraged and celebrated her artwork, but they had also been very clear that she was expected to get a real job.

There had also been sly hints about how finding a husband with a real job was a possible alternative, but she forced the thought from her mind because while a wine hangover was bad, a rage hangover was even worse.

The three of them killed off a bottle and a half of wine. It was weaksauce compared to their kegster days, but while Lardo had gone to several classes hungover and still in her pajamas, she didn't think that would fly at the Newbury Street gallery where she worked.

Where she worked for now, at least.

"I'm done guys," she said with a yawn that was only a little exaggerated. "Thanks for letting me dump on you. And don't say it's no problem or anything stupid like that."

She really hoped Shitty got home soon. Now that she had vented, she actually wanted to talk.

It was good to crawl into bed. It was only half-made, as usual, but Duckie and Mr. Steggy were in their proper places as they should be. She smiled, remembering how Shitty had literally squeed with delight when she first introduced him to her childhood plushie.

She hugged both stuffed animals to her and fell asleep.

She was woken up what felt like just a minute later when a naked Shitty tried to pry Mr. Steggy out of her grasp.

"You're hogging the cuddle-buddies," he whispered.

"You snooze, you lose."

"Excuse you, but I was not the one snoozing, Ms. Duan."

She laughed and let Shitty take the plush stegosaurus. He slid into bed and snuggled close. She leaned in and kissed him deep, curling one hand around the back of his head so she could play with his hair. God, she was so glad he was growing it out again.

He ran his fingers down the curve of her waist and up the rise of her hip, but it was an inquiry rather than a request. She kissed him again, then pulled back. "Just this," she said. "And can I talk to you about something?"

She felt him tense defensively but then relax. The first had been automatic, the second, deliberate. "Okay?"

"First of all, yes, there is some money shit tied up in all of this, so I need to know it's okay to talk about money. Otherwise, this is going to be frustrating as hell."

It said something that all he did was nod in agreement. They had figured out quickly that their difference in background made financial discussions a big-ass mine field. They'd had a rough start, but now they used safe words more when talking about money than they did when having sex.

Lardo thought more couples should follow their example.

"I got a solid lead on a job today."

His face lit up. "What! That's–"

She covered his mouth with her hand. "Let me finish, okay? And if you lick my hand, I will pluck your mustache out hair by hair. Nod if you understand."

He nodded. She removed her hand.

"Here's the problem. If I take this job, I'll have to quit the gallery job and cut back my time with the Rockets. Maybe even quit."

"Okay," he said. She could tell he had a question, but was holding it. For now.

"Starting out, it would mean less money. Not a lot less, but..." But it had been enough to trigger a crisis that required copious amounts of wine to solve. "And the commute would suck."

"Okay."

He wanted to say he would fix it, that he would make up the difference. She could see it. But he stayed quiet, and she loved him all the more for it.

"But that would only be at first. Part of what I'd be doing is training to take on someone else's job when he retires next year. And it would be decent money. I...”

She let go.

“I thought that wasn't important to me! I know I'm worth more than the money I make! I know my art is damned good art even if it takes me forever to get to where I can do it full time! So what's wrong with me that I'm ready to throw away an art gallery job—a fucking Newbury Street gallery job!—so I can make more money a whole year from now!"

Shitty actually raised his hand sheepishly, as if he was a student in her class. "Um, so what is this job, anyway?"

That was enough to get her to laugh, and laughing gave her an excuse to wipe away the tears that had started to well. "Details, details... Yeah. George Martin said she's got an opening for an assistant equipment manager-slash-logistics person."

"George Martin? As in Jack's George? Falcs George?" Shitty's eyes were wide. "Holy guacamole doesn't even begin to cover it. So, what are you thinking?"

"In a lot of ways, it makes sense to keep the gallery job. No, it's not my kind of art." Honestly, it was more the sort of thing she imagined hanging in Shitty's grandparent's house. "But it's good experience to see that side of things for when I start selling my own things. And then there's the networking. It would be the practical thing to–"

She stopped, listening to what she was about to say, and hearing the echo of her mother's voice.

"Lards?"

"Yeah?"

"Would you still have time to do your art? If you take this other job?"

She shrugged. "Yeah. I don't see why not."

Shitty reached out and took her hand. He rubbed his thumb up and down her wrist, stroking and soothing. "When you said you would have to quit your gallery job and maybe not work as much with the kiddos on the Rockets, I almost said something."

She nodded. She had caught that.

"What I almost said was that you sounded more upset about cutting back your work with the kids than you did about quitting the gallery completely."

"Holy shit," she whispered. It was as if someone had pulled aside the curtain hiding Oz the Great and Terrible.

She didn't like the gallery. She liked the idea of the gallery. She liked that even after she had decided that the world wouldn't end if she didn't get a job in the arts right away, this opportunity dropped in her lap. She liked what she had been learning from her boss and the new appreciation she had for mid-century American art.

What she didn't like was dressing up like she worked in a law office. She didn't like the way some buyers treated paintings like investment properties. She didn't like being a salesperson/hostess.

And she really didn't like how many clients reminded her of Shitty's grandparents.

But she loved her hockey kids.

"You're right. But..."

"But?"

She gently plucked Mr. Steggy from Shitty's grasp and set him on the nightstand. Duckie followed a second later, and Lardo wriggled as close to Shitty as she could. "But you've given me a lot to think about." She tilted her head so she could kiss his chin. "G'night."

There was no need to make a decision just then, even though she was pretty sure what it would be. There were just a few things she had to think through, first.

She felt like something big had shifted, or was about to shift, and that the future was going to be something she had never imagined. But that was okay.

She had Shitty. And in a different way, she had Ransom and Holster, and Jack and Bitty.

And, as Holster had said, they had her back.

#omgcp #omgcheckplease #lardo duan #my fic

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wheredidhiseyebrowsgo · 6 years ago

Note

Hi, I'm looking for fics where Derek is the mob boss and meets Stiles (or is with him already). And Stiles doesn't know who Derek really is at first then finds out and Derek is afraid Stiles will leave him but Stiles accepts him. Or it can be that Stiles is a mob boss. Thank you loves

AND

Anonymous said:Do you have any monster stiles or mobster Derek sterek fics? I need them in my life

AND

Anonymous said:Do you know any mobster derek / mob hale family fics? I read one the other day and I'm really into the concept!

Here’s some mob fics. - Anastasia

Big Bad Wolf's Little Red Angel by GoNEF

(1/1 I 1,523 I Mature)

18 year old Stiles is in love and in a relationship with Derek Hale the most dangerous Mafia boss in the world.

Someone to Watch Over Me by Saucery

(1/1 I 4,245 I Teen)

Derek is a broody mafioso. Stiles is a gutsy newsboy. They fall in love.

A Criminal and His Lucky Charm by Dexterous_Sinistrous

(1/1 I 5,917 I Explicit)

Please forgive yourself.

For what?

For allowing yourself to let someone in. For letting me love you. I didn’t deserve it, but that wasn’t your fault. Derek, please, just do it. Please— please don’t drag this out.

Derek Hale valued Stiles above everyone—everything. And Stiles betrayed that. In the end, he figured if he had to die, dying in Derek’s arms wasn’t so bad. He could at least have that.

So When Do I Get To Pledge My Loyalty To The Mob? by RedRidingStiles

(1/1 I 9,971 I Mature)

“Are you my sugar daddy?” Stiles blurts out, slapping a hand over his mouth when his brain catches up to his mouth. The man lets out a soft laugh, making his way around the couch till he’s standing just feet away from Stiles. Stiles can smell his cologne from here, it smells heavenly, Stiles kinda wants to bury his face into the guy's chest so he can figure out exactly what it is.

“If that’s what you’d like to call it.” The man smiles, Stiles doesn’t think he should be allowed to smile like that. All soft and gorgeous and way too pretty to be legal. He’s still not convinced any of this is real.

Stiles loses his wallet, someone returns it along with $5,000. Shit keeps coming, Stiles life doesn't make any sense anymore, he's just going with it.

We Gotta Hide What We're Doin' by CharWright5

(1/1 I 17,893 I Explicit)

As a Bodyguard within the Stilinski Rodzina, Derek's one and only job is to watch over the Omega son—and only child—of the Family's Head, Stiles, a task that is easier said than done some nights. It's just good that the Alpha knows the best way to punish the little troublemaker when his bratty behavior threatens to expose a secret that could get the Bodyguard killed.

Between Dogs and Wolves by artemis69

(1/1 I 25,920 I Teen)

"This is…not four million in cash,” remarks Stilinski.

“Isaac. Did you fail to get my money back and decided to pick up a stripper on the road to bribe me? Because let me make this perfectly clear: this would totally work. Well done.”

The mafia!AU where the Hales owe four million to the Stilinskis, Laura rents Derek (but not as a stripper), Stiles gets a new favorite, Derek gets a new boss, a new puppy and a new family.

Sometimes they break people, but mainly, they just snark at each other.

So Say Goodnight by Britt_pknapp, Fearful_little_thing

(1/1 I 29,831 I Teen)

How was this his life? Seriously? An hour ago, Stiles was crouched in a damp alley trying to catch a glimpse of that rich guy walking into a brothel. He even had his camera to get a picture, just in case they wanted to run it with his article. But no. That was not his life apparently. Because now, he had his hands bound behind his back and a bag pulled over his head and he was stuffed in the backseat of a car, the engine chugging away, taking him and his two abductors to god knew where.

Holy shit. He was going to die.

Rose Tattoo by Handsofred

(11/11 I 36,615 I General)

‘’Nice incline ó Conaill, so graceful and elegant’’ A voice laughed out which had Stiles jumping and turning to look over as one of his father’s men and his friend appeared and he rolled his eyes.

‘’McEwen, I‘m graceful all the time’’ Stiles mentioned at the same time he turned, only to walk smack bang in to the wall, groaning loudly as he put a hand up flat and rubbed at his nose with his other, Stiles sent a glare towards his friend who was struggling to hold his laughter in. ‘’Aye laugh it up you asshole’’ He muttered.

‘’Stiles, you okay son?’’ His father’s voice floated up from the stairs as he blinked the sting away as his nose healed the cracked bone.

‘’Aye Da, just getting reacquainted with the hall wall again you know’’ Stiles called back, ‘’its been a while since I last checked in, thought it might of missed seeing my handsome face’’ Hearing his Alphas laughter, Jimmy let his own laughter out which had Stiles glaring towards him again as he finally headed down to his bedroom and inside where he pushed the door closed and made his way towards his bed to grab his laptop and get to work.

After all, he had Riley’s to look forward too.

Howl by littlefrog1025

(24/24 I 121,377 I Explicit)

A wolf pack is surprisingly a lot like a mafia family...

heart as black as night by thepsychicclam

(8/8 I 97,724 I Explicit)

It's 1924, and Derek Hale is a bootlegger and runs one of the many speakeasies in New York with the help of his Pack. They don't know, however, that he's also a hitman for his Uncle Peter, a shady Omega with mafia ties to whom Derek owes a huge debt.

Stiles Stilinski is about to graduate from high school and start working at the docks when he stumbles into the Sour Wolf, a speakeasy with lively music, a glamorous jazz singer, and a certain dark, handsome, and moody bartender that Stiles can't stop thinking about.

Not the usual form of Payment by Anchanee

(31/31 I 98,988 I Explicit)

John Stilinski has been brutally killed and Stiles Stilinski finds himself thrust to the head of the American branch of the Stilinski Clan at the age of eighteen. The mobster family that operates mainly in central Europe, but had branched out to America with one very talented Claudia Stilinski, who had secured the market of central California (San Francisco, Brentwood, San Jose). She was succeeded by her husband and now her son.

When his enforcer, Isaac, brings him Derek Hale as compensation for his family's debt, he’s not quite sure what to do. The Hales were a successful family who had worked with the Stilinskis quite successfully over the last decades. Now they are offering their son instead of money. Though Stiles is still learning the ropes of this mob business, he's pretty sure that THAT'S not normal!

Stiles ends up using Derek as a bodyguard which is probably not what you’re meant to do with a rival family’s son, but Stiles is making this up as he goes. And despite him being a mobster, he still has some dignity left.

#teen wolf #sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #mafia #anon #Anonymous

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artificialqueens · 6 years ago

Text

Elastic Heart Part 9/10 (Branjie) - Mia Ugly

A/N: Thanks as always to artificialmeggie for the feedback. She’s the best, you guys.

Brock is in Houston when the lip sync finally airs.

He’s seen pieces of it before but that’s all. They played a clip of it during the reunion, and he only took in parts of it. He’s really not looking forward to seeing the whole build up.

Or the way it fucking ends.

His manager wanted him to host a watch party for the episode, but a brief conversation with Brock obviously made him re-think it (Brock’s hovering on the fine edge of ‘not okay’ and it’s starting to become fairly apparent to even the peripheral people in his life.) So he gets to take the night off.

He thinks about streaming it in his hotel room, but then he’s also a little worried about being alone. So he finds a local club that’s screening it, dresses like his usual disheveled self, and sits up at the bar.

The episode is ugly, a slow slide into a car accident, tires skidding on the ice. His attempts at rapping are about what you’d expect, and Vanessa doesn’t do much better (she’s nervous, though, that’s all that it is. If he hadn’t been there, if all that shit hadn’t been going on between them, he’s sure she would have crushed it.)

Then there’s the runway, where they both turn it out but not enough to save themselves. Brock watches Vanjie’s face during the critiques, watches her close her eyes and nod (he didn’t expect it to hurt this much.)

Christ, they were holding hands when they came back on the main stage. Brock had forgotten that. The image on TV re-awakens the memory in him, and the feeling of their hands sliding apart burns against his palm.

He grits his teeth during the lip sync, watches the moment he stops dancing, watches the devastated look that comes over Vanessa’s face (his pulse is kicking in both wrists, in his throat.) He watches their hug afterwards and can’t help but notice how much they’re both shaking. He sees himself mouth something in Vanessa’s ear and thanks God the mics didn’t pick it up, or the editors chose not to play the audio. He doesn’t know what he would have done.

It’s a bit like putting together the pieces after a night of heavy drinking. Some of the things Ru says are familiar and some are like they happened to a different person. Brock watches himself thank the judges, watches himself tilt as he sashays away (almost falling but not quite.)

And then he’s back in the werkroom, staring at the camera like it’s the scene of a crime.

Brock holds his breath. He wonders if he could hold it for the rest of the episode. His lung capacity is pretty good, and it’s almost over. Almost there.

“I’m - in love with him,” Brooke Lynn says on television. “Oh my God.”

Oh my God.

Brock’s entire body flinches, and he knocks his drink to the floor. The sound of breaking glass is buried beneath the cheers and applause of bar patrons, reacting to Brooke Lynn’s stunned confession.

“Shit, shit - I’m sorry -”

Brock said he loved him, he fucking said it on television, he didn’t know -

“It’s fine, no worries.” The bartender is coming around with a rag, bending to pick up the broken glass. “Happens all the -” He stops. Blinks. “Holy shit, are you Brooke Lynn Hytes?”

“I’m just going to - okay -” Brock leaves too much money on the bar to cover his tab, and gets out of there as if an angry mob is chasing him. Oh my God. Oh my God.

Somewhere across the world, Jose is probably watching this episode.

Oh my fucking God.

His phone is ringing but Brock doesn’t answer it. Text notifications are going off like mad and Brock doesn’t look at them. He keeps walking down the sidewalk and when that isn’t enough, he breaks into a run. He doesn’t know where he’s going, just knows he needs to get as far away from everything as possible. The show, the bar, himself.

How did he not remember that? How did he not know?

How could he have been so -

(The first van ride back to the hotel, Brooke ends up in a seat beside Vanjie. It’s crowded and loud, everyone still full of energy from the photo-shoot, from their first day of filming, as if there isn’t a hammer swinging gently above all of their heads. Brooke is fully in silent concentration mode, staring out the window at the blurred streetlights of L.A., thinking about her paint for tomorrow. It’s got to make an impact but it’s also got to show them who she is, and –

“Ooops, sorry girl.” Vanjie elbows her as she tries to get her jacket off.

“It’s fine.” Brooke smiles, falls back into her thoughts. It’s not easy when Vanjie is as loud as a brass band right next to her, shouting into the backseat at a queen named Honey about some show they did together in New York.

The van turns a corner and Vanjie slides against Brooke, their shoulders pressed together tightly.

“Sorry, baby. I’m all up in your space. Honey, why you say that? You know that’s a damn lie!”

Brooke thinks about wigs. Short and blonde, maybe, really push the superhero couture. Or maybe bombshell, waves and – but that’s not really Detox. But it’s got to be -

“You sent me a message, you remember? After Season 10?”

It takes Brooke a moment to realize that Vanjie is talking to her.

“Oh. Yeah, I did.”

“I gotta thank you for that. I was feelin’ all sad and shit, feelin’ embarrassed. It meant somethin’ to hear from people.”

Brooke can remember watching that first episode, thinking Vanjie was hilarious and bizarre, feeling sick when she was the first one sent home. She remembers the voice more than anything, and it was surreal hearing it in the werkroom today. Still doesn’t feel like real life.

“If I knew you looked as fine as this, I mighta messaged you back.” Vanjie gives Brooke a slanted grin, and Brooke feels herself - horrifyingly - starting to blush. What is she, fucking thirteen? It has clearly been way too long since since she got laid.

“I’ll include some pics next time.”

“I am here. For. That.” Vanjie claps it out. “You can make up for it by sendin’ me some now.”

“You’ll have to wait until the show’s over and they give us our phones back.”

“I just gotta use my imagination. Y’all hold still.” Vanjie stares at her intently for a moment, and then blinks. “Click. There, real nice. I’ma throw a filter on it, give you cat ears or somethin’.”

“Whatever you want,” Brooke laughs. “Just don’t post it anywhere.”

“Vanjie could you like move over one fucking inch?” The skinny queen on the other side of Vanjie – who is… not Yvie - Scarlet, yes! Brooke’s brain hasn’t completely shut down – shoves into Vanjie, who in turn gets pressed up against Brooke once again.

“Hey, bitch, it ain’t my fault I got hips! Unlike some of y’all.” Vanjie glances at Brooke. “Sorry baby. Not tryin’ to get all up on you.”

She straightens up, but – and it might be Brooke’s imagination – she doesn’t seem to pull away as much as she did before. Her hip is still warm against Brooke’s, her bare arm against Brooke’s shoulder.

Brooke feels something internal stutter at the contact, like stones shifting somewhere underneath her ribs.)

He doesn’t look at his phone for two days.

The first call he returns is his sister’s (“Why didn’t you tell me things were that serious? Okay, I know what an NDA is but I’m your sister and you had your heart broken - no, mom’s fine about it, we’re just worried about you - well, you have to talk to someone, Brock -”)

The next person he talks to is Nina.

“Oh good, you’re still alive,” she says as she answers. “How does it feel to have broken the internet?”

“I - haven’t really looked.”

“Haven’t looked? At the internet? Just, in general?”

“I couldn’t yet. I’m going to, I just -”

“People are kinda freaking out about that episode. You’re going to have offers of marriage from like, governors and stuff. Tell them I’m single, by the way.”

“Have you talked to her?”

“No. And she’s not saying anything. Her PR team must be circling the wagons, coming up with a statement. Making sure this doesn’t look bad for her.”

That stops Brock’s heart for a moment. “Do you think it will?”

“Well, I mean, people love her. But they love you too. I’m sure her team just doesn’t want this to become about, you know, that bitch who broke Brooke Lynn’s heart.”

“Oh my God.” Is this what a heart attack feels like? Brock doesn’t know what else to say, can’t even fathom putting a sentence together. Fuck, fuck, fuck - everything is terrible and complicated and this episode just made it all so much worse.

“Brock,” Nina says gently. “I have to say - I didn’t know. That you were so serious about her. It was all shiny and fun, I thought, I didn’t know -”

“It’s okay,” Brock stops him quickly.

“But I’m sorry about it. Sorry you didn’t feel like you could tell me.”

“I -” And what can Brock possibly say to that? “I’m sorry about that too. About a lot of things. I was kind of out of control near the end there. You should have made it to the Top 4.”

“It’s okay, I’m just going to sit by the phone with my hair in curlers, waiting for AllStars to call. Oh God, what if they’re calling RIGHT NOW?”

Brock laughs, even though his eyes are hot with tears. “I’m sure they will.”

“So what are you going to do? You have to say something. Everyone’s -”

“No. It’s got to be up to her, she needs to decide how she wants it to go. We were supposed to figure this out but -” He starts coughing then, which is embarrassing but unsurprising. It lasts too long, and after he’s finished, Nina responds with a pointed silence.

“Sorry, sorry. Smoking too much.”

“I don’t want to seem critical or patronizing or anything but - it’s um, getting a little self-destructive. You know that right? This whole - thing.”

(“I’ll be around longer this time, bitch, believe it,” Vanessa is saying in the seat next to Brooke, too close and too warm. “Gonna show ‘em I’m not just a joke or nothin’. You best reserve this seat cuz I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

“Good,” Brooke says automatically. Then she stiffens slightly because that might have been - not the right thing to say. The word just came out of her mouth, she didn’t think about it and now she’s afraid to turn her head, afraid of what she’ll see if she looks at the queen beside her.

When she finally does, Vanessa is studying her. There’s an odd little furrow between her eyebrows.

“Yeah?” Her voice is quiet, barely audible in the chaos of the van.

And Brooke does something totally stupid, reckless and embarrassing but – fuck, there’s no controlling it.

“Yeah,” she says, then watches Vanjie smile all slow and pretty, like someone who’s just heard an awful secret.

“Huh.” Vanjie chews on her lower lip, and Brooke tries not to look anywhere near those teeth or that mouth. “Anyway, it – is – you know, whatever. Um.”

Vanjie’s the one who breaks eye contact first, looking down at hands that are clenched tight in her hoodie. “Lookin’ forward to getting’ to know you proper, and. Scarlet I swear to God you’re halfway on my lap, ho. I’ma kick you outta this van you don’t shove over.”

Brooke goes back to looking out windows, tells herself that this is not going to happen. Whatever that weird moment was, it was just a moment. Crumple it up like tissue and throw it away.

She’s not too worried about it, honestly. She doesn’t do that sort of thing much, doesn’t have the time for it. And she’s never dated another queen before, it’s not really her thing. Vanessa’s cute as hell, but both of them have too much to prove here and Brooke’s worked too hard to get here to be distracted by the first pair of dewy brown eyes she sees.

Brooke has walls around her heart, anyway, and no one gets past those. She’s not in any danger.

She wants that to be true.)

“So maybe. Stop it?” Nina says. “I don’t know.”

“I legitimately don’t deserve you.”

“Who does? Haven’t met him yet. Probably will soon, though, like on the set of AllStars 5. I’m coming for you, Drag Race romance. Oh shit, what if it’s the Vixen?”

“I’ve changed my mind. You’re the worst.”

“She’s a fighter, I’m a loverrrrr.”

“I’m going to hang up on you.”

“You say that, but you never do.”

When they eventually say goodbye to each other, Brock realizes he has three missed calls from his manager, and two passive aggressive emails. They want him to say something, make a statement, set the record straight. Reporters are calling for interviews (Christ, and they haven’t even see the reunion yet.)

Jose also hasn’t called or texted. Not once. And that’s fine. It makes sense. It’s fine.

Instead of doing the responsible, professional thing (he might need a new manager by the time this shit is finished) he dials a number his hands would recognize in the dark. There’s no answer. He contemplates hanging up (throwing his phone into the sea) but instead grinds his molars together and stays on the line. Waits for the beep.

“Hi, it’s uh Brooke. Brock. We should probably talk, hey? About - that. That thing that happened. Anyway, when you’re up for it, give me a call.” (Oh my God, I’m in love with him.) “Anyway. Hopefully - talk to you soon. Okay. Um. Bye.”

Brock waits for his heart to restart, waits for his jaw to unlock just enough to breath.

Then he goes on social media. It’s all a bit of a blur after that.

* * *

After the lip sync, Brooke doesn’t go home.

They move her to a different hotel in L.A. because she’s going to be back in a few days anyway for the reunion and the finale taping. She’s silent and robotic as she packs up her stuff, ratings poison.

She isn’t going to write anything on the mirror, but a producer basically won’t let her leave until she does and Brooke wants out of the werkroom so much she can barely breathe; she scrawls “My heart will go on,” barely legibly. Then she draws a little ship underwater.

She doesn’t read the letters the girls leave for her. Not at first.

She waits until she’s in her new hotel room, a couple drinks in to give her the necessary emotional buffer. The new room has more of a view than the last one, and she can see the ocean off of her balcony. Dusk is falling over L.A., smog mostly blocking out the sunset, and Brooke chain smokes (not good) and tries to meditate half-heartedly before she can bring herself to touch the folded papers.

In the end it doesn’t matter. Because Vanessa didn’t write one.

Brooke laughs out loud when she realizes it, and doesn’t recognize the sound of her voice. Of course Vanessa didn’t write her a letter. After an exit like that, what the hell was she supposed to say?

The days leading up to the reunion are like weights around her wrists and ankles. Brooke goes to the hotel gym for hours every day, and follows it up by jogging on the beach. She throws herself into everything physical, tries to exhaust her body so much that her mind will shut off. She can’t think about what she’s done. Can’t think about what’s going to happen. How it’s going to look.

And she hates that public perception is such a huge part of her concern, but fuck it, that’s how she makes her living. And now she has no control over it, can’t remember most of it, and is going to have to do some wild amounts of damage control when the season airs.

They send a van to drive her to the theatre for the filming of the reunion. She arrives late and rattled, but is relieved to see Nina and Plastique and a bunch of the other queens already in the dressing room, getting into drag. It feels good (for a moment) to be hugged and smiled at by people who don’t know how spectacularly Brooke Lynn just fucked up. She has to take these moments while she can, because God knows it’s all going to come out in a few hours.

Soju’s cyst is healing nicely, so there’s that.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Nina says to the mirror, as Brooke pins her wig in place. “I thought you’d be Top 4 for sure.”

“You and me both.” Brooke tries to smile, brush it off. “Hoped you’d be up there with me.”

“So what happened? Can you like, mime it or something? Was it all those burner phones of yours? All the strange men you were smuggling into your room at night?”

Brooke laughs but the sound is like ice-cracking. “I’ll let Ru tell you all about it.”

The Top 4 queens get dressed somewhere else, so Brooke doesn’t see Vanessa until they’re making their way onstage (she tilts slightly, almost falling but not quite.)

Vanessa is flanked by Silky and A’Keria, and she’s wearing that electric orange/red again, a cocktail gown with huge feathered shoulders, a high neck and no back. She looks the best she ever has on the show, and Brooke feels the ground sliding underneath her heels as Vanessa meets her eyes from across the stage and quickly looks away.

Brooke bumps into Ariel as they find their seats. She can’t stay upright.

“Welcome back ladies.” RuPaul takes the stage in a neon orange patterned suit, smiling brightly. Brooke thinks she’s smiling back, but she can’t be sure. Her face is not in control of itself when Vanjie’s in the room.

The reunion is a bit of a blur after that. But Brooke remembers the important parts.

[Transcript: RuPaul’s Drag Race Season 11: Reunited

Time stamp: 00:34:18

RuPaul Charles: Now, every year on Drag Race we know that the queens competing connect with each other in important and lasting ways. But this season, for the first time in Drag Race herstory, two queens had a very special kind of connection, right from the start. Let’s take a look at some footage of - what the kids are calling - ‘hashtag Branjie.’

[A compilation of Brooke Lynn and Vanessa’s interactions is played. The queens onstage smile and ‘aww’ over particularly cute moments.]

RuPaul Charles: So Brooke. Vanjie. Did you two know each other before the show?

Vanessa Mateo: [pause] I’ve talked about this before, like, we didn’t know each other. He messaged me after Season 10 and I’d seen, you know, photos of him -

Shuga Cain: Girl, we’ve all seen those photos of him.

[Laughter]

Vanessa Mateo: But we never met or anything until we did the show.

RuPaul Charles: So the show brought you together?

Vanessa Mateo: [pause] I mean. Yeah, like you’re in this situation where you’re going so hard and there’s so much pressure, and then you meet someone and there’s this feelin’ - I don’t know. Someone make that make sense. Edit that.

RuPaul Charles: Brooke Lynn, what was it like for you? Was there a spark right away?

Brooke Lynn Hytes: [does not respond]

RuPaul Charles: Brooke Lynn?

Brooke Lynn Hytes: [pause] Yes. There was.

RuPaul Charles: What was it like having that sort of chemistry but trying to balance the pressures of the show, the challenges, the runway…

Brooke Lynn Hytes: [pause] Um. Difficult.

Vanessa Mateo: [pause] From the get-go, we said ‘we gotta keep this thing to the side.’ You know? Like it wasn’t gonna affect the competition.

RuPaul Charles: But ultimately it affected the competition in a big way, didn’t it? Let’s take a look at one of what is - I would argue - the most dramatic lip syncs in Drag Race history.

[The final moments of Brooke Lynn and Vanessa’s lip sync is played. The queens on stage are visibly shocked.]

RuPaul Charles: Brooke Lynn, what was going through your head at that moment?

Brooke Lynn Hytes: [pause] I - don’t know.

RuPaul Charles: Well, it seems like at some point you made a decision to stop competing. And to many people you were considered one of the front-runners of the season. So what happened?

Brooke Lynn Hytes: [pause] I - I just stopped. [pause] I’m sorry, it’s my first time seeing it. It’s all a bit - I’m having trouble. Putting it together.

RuPaul Charles: I can see that. Vanessa, maybe you’ll have better luck. What was going through your head when Brooke stopped dancing?”

Vanessa Mateo: [pause] You know I - I didn’t want to see that. I didn’t know what she was doing at first, and then I realized - I don’t know. It wasn’t good, I tell you that. Not a good feeling.

RuPaul Charles: Why’s that?

Vanessa Mateo: It felt like maybe - she felt sorry for me? And I didn’t want that. I wanted to prove that I deserved to be here, you know, I didn’t want to be given nothing.

Brooke Lynn Hytes: No, it wasn’t like -

RuPaul Charles: Do you have something to say about that, Brooke?

Brooke Lynn Hytes: [pause] No. She should - say how she feels, sorry.

RuPaul Charles: You know, during the season there was a lot of discussion about your lack of personality, your being ‘closed off.’ How do you feel about those comments?

Brooke Lynn Hytes: [pause] I - don’t know.

RuPaul Charles: You don’t know, or you’re not going to talk about it?

Nina West: Brooke and I have known each other for years and I think that at this point it’s pretty obvious that she has a personality. People were kinda being hard on her, but being a quiet person, being shy or thoughtful is also a personality, and -

RuPaul Charles: I guess it’s just not one that’s particularly fun to watch.

Nina West: I don’t know, you get a bit of vodka in her, and it is extremely fun to watch. [laughter] Occasionally disturbing, frequently sexually confusing, but always fun.

RuPaul Charles: Brooke, do you agree with Nina? That people were too hard on you this season?

Brooke Lynn Hytes: No.

RuPaul Charles: Do you think you owe some of the other queens here an apology? Because I know you all worked really hard to be here, and then you chose -

Plastique Tiara: I don’t think Brooke owes us an apology.

Nina West: No. Absolutely not. She doesn’t. That’s -

Rajah O’Hara: I think she does. If she wanted to go home so bad she could’ve taken my place. She didn’t want to dance against Vanjie, fine, I would’ve. She should have sent her own self home Week One. That’s how I’m feeling.

Yvie Oddly: Girl, come on. That’s bullshit.

Rajah O’Hara: We all busted our asses to get here, we all of us have friends on this show, we have people we don’t wanna send home. But we do it anyway, and to see someone just throw it away pisses me off. It’s how I feel, I’m not gonna apologize for that.

Scarlet Envy: But props to Vanjie. I mean, whose dick do I have to suck to get into the Top 4?

[Vanessa Mateo gets up, takes off microphone.]

RuPaul Charles: Vanjie -

[Vanessa Mateo leaves the stage.]

Scarlet Envy: Oh my god - it was a joke.

Silky Nutmeg Ganache [standing up]: You want to come for my girl, you come for me too. Okay? She ain’t deserve that, that’s the fucking tea. That’s some shady ass -

Scarlet Envy: It was a joke!

RuPaul Charles: Silky, I know that emotions are running high but -

Silky Nutmeg Ganache: Nah, I’m serious -

Rajah O’Hara: Bitch, this ain’t about you!

[Brooke Lynn Hytes takes off her microphone. Brooke Lynn Hytes leaves the stage.]

RuPaul Charles: Well. Okay. [pause] Anyone else have somewhere to be?

[End transcription]

Brooke runs in the direction Vanessa left, through scattering P.A.s, over lighting cables and through the back stage area. She ends up in a hallway, sees Vanessa stomping it like it’s a runway down at the other end. Brooke hurries to catch up with her.

“We have to talk.” When Brooke touches her arm, Vanessa shrugs her off.

“No, we don’t.”

“Yes we do! I need to explain -”

“Explain what?” Vanessa looks up at Brooke and the hurt in her eyes is like lightning. “I came here wanting to show I was more than just a joke, that I was somethin’. And now that’s done. That shit that Rajah said back there, that shit Scarlet said, that’s what everyone’s gonna say! I’ma be the bitch who didn’t make Top Four on her own -”

“No. No one is going to think that -”

“They already do, Brooke!” Her hands are moving wildly. “You think I needed this? That you had to throw it for me?”

“No.” Brooke will swear to the grave that she never once thought that. That she went into that lip sync with no intentions and then in the moment - the moment she saw that fucking tear run down Vanjie’s face - everything stopped. “I know you could have done it, I’ve seen you dance and you’re fucking fierce. I’m the one that fucked up, I’m the one that made a choice -”

“You made the wrong choice!” Vanjie’s angry now, in a way Brooke hasn’t seen since Untucked. “I didn’t ask you to do that! I didn’t want you to do that!”

There is a camera person and a security guard moving silently down the hallway toward them, and Brooke cannot have this conversation be part of some reality show available to the fucking world. She takes Vanessa’s hand and pulls her around the corner, down another hallway and out of an emergency exit. The door slams shut behind them and they might be trapped outside in an alley for the foreseeable future, but at least they won’t be on camera.

“I’m sorry,” Brooke says. Vanessa has her arms folded. She looks smaller than usual, even in her three inch heels. “I’m so sorry. I know you didn’t ask for this. And I didn’t go on that stage with any sort of - plan, it just -”

“You felt sorry for me, right?”

“That’s not true -”

“That’s what it looks like, though. That’s what everyone is gonna think!”

“Let them think what the fuck they want then. Does it matter? You’ll know -”

“Does it matter? You say that to me - it’s my life, my life they’re gonna be talkin’ ‘bout! Me as a queen! My career - everything -”

“It’s my career too. It’s my whole life too,” Brooke’s voice is rising with frustration - frustration with the situation, with Vanessa - but most of all with herself. “I have friends, family, they’re going to see that episode and they’re going to be fucking furious at me for what I did. I worked hard to get here, I worked damn hard, and when people find out that I just gave up -”

“Am I supposed to feel bad for you now?”

“Well, I didn’t makethe Top 4.” Brooke regrets the words immediately (Vanjie’s eyebrows knit together and it’s the end of the fucking world.)

“So what do you want? A thank you card?” Vanjie’s hands are so tight on her arms that Brooke can see her acrylics leaving indents in her skin.

“No. Jesus. I just - don’t know how to fix this. Would you be any happier, would this all be okay if I had sent you home? Is that what you wanted?”

“So that’s what woulda happened, hey? That’s the only other option here?”

“No but – I don’t know what you want me to say! This was my dream, Vanessa. Okay? I’m still a little fucked up about it, and I don’t know -”

“I didn’t ask for your dream. I didn’t want it!” Vanessa wipes away a tear, and Brooke is taken violently back to that moment on the main stage right before everything fell apart. “You can’t put that on me.”

“I’m not putting it on you, I’m just trying to explain.”

“Explain why, then.” Vanjie pins her flat with her gaze, the way she did that first time she looked at Brooke across the werkroom (and every damn time since then.) “Why did you do it?”

A hundred thoughts go through Brooke’s head. A hundred moments between her and Vanessa: passing each other in hotel hallways, sliding folded letters under doors, kissing in shadows like they were starving for each other, could never get enough. Brooke opens her mouth and wants to scream these moments out of her chest, take them, take them, they hurt too much. She tries to put it into words. Tries to piece it together like a mosaic made of glass shards. She tries.

“We’re done,” Vanjie says quietly, and then her eyes squeeze shut.

(There is something howling beneath Brooke’s skin, a wounded animal.)

“Jose -”

“Nah, nah, I can’t - do this right now. You don’t even - we’re done.”

“Don’t -”

“It’s done.” Vanessa takes a step back. She doesn’t say anything else, just moves cautiously around Brooke until she gets to the door. It opens and Vanessa goes inside and she’s gone then. She’s gone. It’s done.

At some point, Brooke slides to the ground. She doesn’t know when, doesn’t feel herself moving, but she’s on the ground just the same.

At some point, she hears the door slam shut. She has no idea how long she’s been out there., maybe minutes, maybe days. When she finally looks up, she sees A’Keria Davenport leaning against the brick wall, single eyebrow raised.

“Everyone’s looking for you on the inside,” she says, “The pair of you sure know how to make a scene.”

Brooke doesn’t have the strength to respond.

“Mama Ru was not happy everyone leaving her set, no ma’am. Thought she was goin’ to flip her wig when you took off after Miss Vanessa.” A’Keria pauses, and then she laughs. It’s a wholly unexpected laugh, warm and without judgment. The pearl beading on her gown clicks together as she moves. “Next season probably no one’s gonna even show for the reunion. They’ll just all be off dealin’ with their drama somewhere.”

Brooke might laugh but then things might escalate, and any emotions are potential threats at this point.

“Shouldn’t be sittin’ on the ground in chiffon, girl. Show some respect.”

A’Keria offers Brooke her hand, and Brooke reluctantly lets herself be pulled to her feet. She dusts off her gown through sheer force of habit.

“You gonna come inside? Or you live here now?”

The thought of seeing anyone else is paralyzing. Brooke doesn’t know if she can manage it.

“Maybe – a few more minutes. Is Vanessa –“

“She and Silk are off somewhere, don’t you worry ‘bout it. We’re takin’ care of her.”

“I’m glad she has you.”

“She is a lucky bitch, that’s true enough.” A’Keria gives Brooke a gentle touch on the shoulder. “But you got people too, Miss Brooke. Don’t forget that.”

From somewhere on her incredibly ornate dress, some magical secret pocket, she produces a cigarette and a slim silver lighter.

“Shouldn’t be encouragin’ your nasty habits, but I thought you might need somethin’. And – when it comes to Vanjie –“

She looks thoughtful, the way she looks in the werkroom when she’s sewing, quiet and focused while Silky and Vanjie spout all manner of nonsense beside her. It strikes Brooke suddenly that of all the queens this season, A’Keria might be the one she knows least of all.

“You know, some people are better at gettin’ stepped on than gettin’ lifted up. See what I’m sayin’? You get stepped on enough, you start to think that’s how it goes. So when something good happens, like someone gives you somethin’ you didn’t even know you deserved - you don’t know what to do with that. It messes with that story in your head. The one that tells you what you’re worth.”

“I wasn’t trying to give her anything. I know she could have made it without me -”

“Girl, you really think I’m talking about the show?” A’Keria moves gracefully back toward the side door. “I’m sayin’ she ain’t mad at you. Not really. She just don’t know what to do with – all this. It can be a lot to hold.” She smiles, a bit sad. “I’m goin’ in. You take care now.”

Brooke thinks about A’Keria’s words long after she’s gone. She stays outside and smokes that cigarette down to the tips of her burning fingers and then steps on it, crushes it between the pavement and her heel. She counts to twenty-five, then thirty, then forty in her head.

She goes inside.

At the live finale, Brooke watches from the audience as Nina West is named Miss Congeniality, and Vanjie lip syncs for the crown.

Then she flies back to Nashville, alone. She feeds her cats, she works, she travels. She calls her mom, she jogs along Cumberland River, she dances at bars with men she doesn’t want.

She smokes too much, and doesn’t sleep enough.

She dreams.

She doesn’t see Vanessa for five months.

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #angst #smut #canon compliant #eventual happy ending #elastic heart #mia ugly #concrit welcome #submission #s11 #on set fic

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