#'Brooke we still have five minutes I don't want this to be a thing where every week people show up earlier and earlier' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gingerteaonthetardis · 2 years

Note

Literati and “not wearing that”

nonny, i apologize for taking so long to finish this. i had an idea and i wanted to make sure i got it right, you know? that said, this received no editing, i finished it about ten minutes ago, and you'll just have to forgive my grammatical mistakes.

an additional note: this story contains brief references to events immediately post-childbirth. nothing graphic or traumatic happens or is said to have happened; it's merely an acknowledgement that birth is messy and emotional. this story also contains an unplanned pregnancy. proceed accordingly!

read on ao3.

"I'm not wearing that."

Crossing his arms over his chest, Jess Mariano does his level best to look immovable, firm, and completely immune to the blue-eyed hangdog look the Rories—one standing tall and another in miniature—are giving him right now.

"But—" Bug pipes up right as her mother reaches down and touches her shoulder, which is liberally sprinkled with rainbow sparkles. He has no doubt that the bathroom's gotten a similar treatment, if the state of Rory's robe is anything to go by. She looks like the inevitable outcome of an explosion in a glitter factory.

"Hey, kiddo, can you give us a sec?" she says, looking down at her daughter—and though her tone is gentle it also brooks no argument. In the moment, she reminds him of Lorelai, though he'd never, never tell her. "I think Charlie Brown should be starting soon, if you want to go check the TV."

He instantly feels guilt over how Bug's narrow shoulders wilt at the dismissal, her chin dipping low. As she turns, the picture she makes is almost too tragic: her (slightly too large for her five-year-old stature) butterfly wings drag on the floor behind her, sparkles scattering miserably in her wake, where they will absolutely be ground into the rug by the soles of various shoes. Each shuffle-step feels calculated to hurt him.

"We'll be out soon," Rory calls after her. "Don't start your letter to the Great Pumpkin without us!" Her voice is still light, but he can see the narrowing of her eyes before she's even fully facing him again, moving to nearly-close the door. "You're in trouble, mister."

"Fine, but I am not," he bites out, "wearing that."

The 'that' in question lies spread out over the bedspread like a secondary comforter: a multi-colored pukefest of optical fuckery that would be at home in the music video for 'Yellow Submarine,' but is painfully out of place in this particular bedroom. Even his own hurricane-force proclivity for messmaking can't compete with the sheer unambiguous monstrosity of this Halloween costume.

"Jess," Rory whines, stomping her foot—which shouldn't be adorable, considering she's thirty-seven years old and a mother. But somehow, it is. "You are being so childish right now! Like, I legitimately cannot believe how immature you're being."

"Says the woman who just stomped her foot at me!"

Rory's frown intensifies, and he can tell that she's resisting the urge to stomp again, which brings a smirk to rest on his lips. Indignation rarely works on Rory.

His smugness doesn't last long, though. "Is this a masculinity thing?" she asks. It's that tone—so flippant, so genuinely uncomprehending, like he's out of his mind not to want to wear the damn thing—that always gets his hackles up, and he's about to defend himself when she picks up again, on a roll. "Is your, what, male pride going to be threatened by wearing a silly costume to a kids' Halloween party? Do you need to watch that bootleg of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat again?"

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Rory…"

"Do I need to get you on Dr. Phil or something?"

"That guy's a hack," he says with a roll of his eyes.

"Of course he's a hack," she bursts out. She seems to have diverted her energy into making the bed now. Which is a bit difficult without displacing the hellish mountain of fabric, but she's managing. Mostly via flinging the pillows back up to the head of the bed. "I meant so we can put you on national television and he can publicly shame you for refusing to wear a dumb costume for three—two hours, tops," she amends, noting the increasing intensity of his glower, "to make your kid happy."

Sometimes, he wonders if she says that kind of shit—your kid, your kid—intentionally, just to fuck with him. Just to melt him in all the ways that count, so he'll be more pliable. If it weren't for the fact that Rory doesn't have a manipulative bone in her body, he'd be certain she does it on purpose.

She and Bug are two of a kind, winding him around their slender fingers in conscious and unconscious moments, tighter every day. His shoulders sag as she punches a pillow.

He still has to put up a token resistance, of course. "She's five," he reminds her. "She's aware that the world doesn't bend to her every whim at this point, I'm pretty sure."

"Seriously, Jess? You're gonna go out there and tell her 'life's not fair'—on Halloween?"

Groaning, he sinks down onto the bed, which at least puts a stop to her restless tidying. "No, I just…"

Rory's like a shark or something, apparently, and she orbits closer like she can smell the blood in water. The impending victory. Sinking down beside him, the warmth of her thigh presses against his. His hands itch to touch her—like he hasn't done it in months or years, instead of just twenty minutes.

Her hand finds his. Like she's reading his mind.

She's good like that. Damn her.

His whole body loosens, finally giving up any semblance of a fight, and he knows she can feel that, too.

A breath sighs out of her. "Remember what you said right after Bug was born?" she prompts, sliding her hand under his and threading their fingers together one by one. It's a slow and fluid motion, but intentional, distracting him as she adds, "You were sitting next to me in one of those really uncomfortable chairs—"

"Really uncomfortable," he agrees, the memory coming back. "My back wasn't right for days."

"Okay, Grandpa." She rolls her eyes. "But I was super embarrassed because I was still really sweaty for some reason? And also kind of—like, leaking, for basically the entire duration of the conversation—"

"It's not called 'sweating' when you've just delivered a baby, Ror. I believe it's called a 'glow.'"

Her other hand reaches over, patting their entwined fingers. "Diplomatic of you not to mention the leaking. Anyway," she says, clearing her throat, "I noticed you'd brought your bag to the hospital, and I thought you were leaving again. I was so sure, actually, that you'd come to tell me goodbye…"

Her lip wobbles a bit before she sucks it into her mouth, biting down. Her pointer finger makes a map of the back of his hand—tracing hills and valleys, tendons and veins. But even with her head down, he picks up on the faint sheen in her eyes.

Jess squeezes her fingers.

"I was really kind of bitchy to you," she admits.

He shakes his head too fast. "I wouldn't say that."

Except he would; she'd practically run him out of the hospital room that day, despite not being able to properly stand on her own two legs. "I don't need you hanging around, looking after me, waiting for me to get my shit together, Jess," she'd spat, almost venomous with pain—all kinds of pain—and also with exhaustion. "Because it's not gonna happen. You're not Luke."

Those three words had fucked him up for a long time, though he'll never admit it. And they'd tempted him to bolt.

Again.

It was like she'd looked straight into the heart of him with her weird, divine feminine post-birth senses and seen the fears still lurking there: that he'd never be good enough, or strong enough, to be what the people in his life needed.

Now, she looks at him with lucent blue eyes, feathered a little more at the edges by time and experience. They're softer than they used to be, and more determined in their glinting.

She lets out a breath through her teeth. "I was awful. But instead of leaving, you opened your bag and pulled out this beat-up book—"

"Operating Instructions," he remembers with a smile. "Anne Lamott."

"—and you said it didn't matter if I ever got my shit together, because it wasn't about having my shit together. It was about knowing that I would never be alone."

"If memory serves, I also warned against getting super into religion postpartum."

Rory's laugh is watery, and her eyes squeeze shut as tears threaten to overflow them. "Shit, that's so mean. It brings her real comfort, you know?"

"Babe, where are you going with this?" His hands break free long enough to find their way to her back, where he fans slow circles into the worn cotton of her robe. It catches at the pads of his fingers, making soft-hot friction.

"Well," she winces, "I was gonna wrap it up by saying you promised me you'd always be there for Bug and me, and that means you have to put on the damn costume."

Jess lets out a low whistle. "Yeah, that would've been a pretty watertight argument. Lucky you didn't make it, or I'd have no choice but to cave under the emotional weight." He's relieved to see a brighter grin tug up the corner of her lips.

"Guess I couldn't go through with it." Her thumbs come away shiny when she wipes under her eyes—shiny and flecked with black from her makeup. "Because I'm a sucker, apparently, who can't stand to cheapen the memory."

And—I was right, Jess thinks. Not a manipulative bone in her body.

Though maybe a little in the connective tissue. A Gilmore legacy, a heritage that makes damn sure his life is never boring.

The knowledge is so sweet and heart-aching that his arm tightens, pressing her in closer until her head is at his shoulder, where he can turn his face and press a grateful kiss to her crown. Her hair smells like her shampoo and cheap plasticky glitter glue, and it is something he cannot imagine—would not be willing to imagine—living without.

"Well, you don't have to," he sighs into her hair. "I give up. I'll wear the costume."

He expects a reaction, of course—some gleeful clapping, some thanks, maybe even a little gloating. (In an ideal world, he thinks, he'd be repaid in kisses. Absolutely pinned to the bed by them, knees on either side of his hips, trapping him in her gravity.) But he does not expect the reaction he gets.

He almost leaps out of his skin when Rory bursts into tears again.

Her transition in holding her—shifting her from shoulder to chest—is automatic, requiring no rational thought, which is fortunate because his mind is taking on the sound of a blaring siren. Wrong, wrong, wrong, something is wrong.

He glances to the door as her gasping becomes muffled, listening for the sound of the television. Luckily, it seems like the hunt for the Great Pumpkin is well underway; Bug should be solidly distracted. Allowing his full attention to snap back to the room, to Rory.

Rory, who isn't like this and doesn't do this—not anymore, because they've learned, and he likes to think they've grown together. But if this is Rory and Rory doesn't do this, that means whatever it is—the reason she's melting down in his arms an hour before a kids' Halloween party—is big.

Really big.

Possibly building up for weeks, or longer. Months?

He races through his memories. Is it possible that she's been unhappy for months?

Jess can't help the way his stomach sinks.

"Rory? Talk to me, are you okay?" He wraps both arms around her, feeling the rapid fluttering of air going in and out. "What's happening? What did I do?" He hates himself for the last question, but it's ingrained. An instinct older than their relationship.

Her words come out on a series of gasps. "You didn't—do anything. God, sorry—I'm fine—it's just," she shudders, and his hands clench, fingers pressing into her tight, "baby hormones."

Jess freezes. What?

"Shit," she snuffles. It's like she's heard his unspoken question; more likely, she can feel the sudden straightening of his spine. "Sorry. There—there was a—plan and I'm—messing it up."

"A plan?"

He's feeling very detached from his body, all of the sudden, very much like he's missed some crucial step in the conversation.

"I just—it was Bug. She dug the pregnancy tests out of my bag, and you know how she can get. She wouldn't stop asking about the—the 'glowsticks.'"

He's sure, from the outside, he's wearing the ghost of a smile. But inside, he's floating. The sound of his pulse feels like it's coming from everywhere at once. "Okay," he says. A normal reaction, he thinks. Pregnancy tests.

Pregnancy tests.

"And when I explained, she was—she was so—"

And as she gasps for breath, his hand resumes its automatic circuit around her back, feeling the soft ridges of her ribs—the knobs of her spine—soon, if she's pregnant (which she is, Jesus Christ), she'll start filling out and the bones will get a little less pronounced. She'll soften everywhere again, only this time, he'll be allowed to touch her—

"—excited, I knew she'd tell you. So, I made her promise to keep it secret, and I told her it was a surprise for you." Rory hiccups, and it's a pitiful little sound. "She's been asking every day if it's time to tell you yet."

A surprise for you.

He tries to find his way back into his body—ground control to Major Tom. "When were you going to tell me?"

"After the party. That was Bug's idea. Trick or treat, you know?" As her own breaths slow, he finds his lungs following suit—oxygen ripples into him like clear water, sharpening everything. And so he notices that Rory sounds terrified. "But now it's out there and it's not the kind of news you can just—take back and be like, 'Hey, forget I said that!' So… surprise, I guess?"

In the moment, all the feelings seem to be overlapping. Joy and terror are foremost among them in a particular heady combination that reminds him a little of that first real kiss at the gas station, when she'd finally let her hands slide into his hair. In the moment, everything feels so powerfully strong that his brain doesn't have room for anything else, and so it empties itself out and all he can think to say is, "Were you going to tell me while I was dressed as a caterpillar?"

Rory hesitates, and then snorts out a giggle.

"Does that matter?"

He's about to insist it does—or admit that it doesn't—when there's a creak at the door. A little brown-haired head pokes in, followed by shimmering wings. "Mama!" Bug's brow is scrunched up with knowing. She's far too observant for her age. "Did you tell?"

"She sure did," he answers for Rory, who is surreptitiously wiping away more tears. "You get tired of Charlie Brown?"

Bug nods. He doesn't exactly blame her; he gets tired of the moralizing Peanuts in probably half that time.

"C'mere, then, I need to tell you something." He pats the bed beside him, but isn't remotely surprised when Bug scrambles right up into his lap, swinging an arm around his neck for good measure. He steadies her with one hand while the other is still pressed to Rory's back, and the world distills. Into those things he'd never felt, never imagined feeling, before they became a family.

Mostly the kind of panicked tenderness that comes from holding your whole fragile world in your hands.

A family. A baby. The information hardly feels real, but he repeats it like his favorite line of a song.

He takes a deep breath. "This is big news, Bug. You excited?"

Her head bobs again. The verbal thing comes and goes with her, and he grins at how like him she can be, even though they're the furthest thing from blood-related.

"Me too," he says, and when Rory sways a little, he turns to meet her eyes. A thick-throated swallow is the best he can manage, and he hopes that she hears what he isn't saying.

Bug squirms a little, and he turns his attention back to her.

"It's your surprise," she pronounces.

He nods. Clears his throat. "A good surprise. You did a great job keeping Mama's secret. Maybe too good of a job," he adds with a mock-glare at Rory, who sticks out her tongue. "You guys should be surprise party planners. Great poker faces."

Bug frowns. "You shouldn't poke people." Her highly-developed sense of justice in action. His arm around her squeezes tighter.

"You know you'll always be my girl," he tells her soberly, and for some reason, his chest is so tight he can barely get the words out. She's his miracle—the event and the being that removed the scales from his eyes. If not for her, he doesn't know where he would be. Where they would be.

She considers, head cocking. And then she nods. "Yeah, Big."

He swallows. "Good."

He hears Rory sniffling again, and she pulls Bug into her lap to have somewhere to hide the face, and he can almost see them from the outside: the three of them, the picture they make.

For a moment, they stay like that.

It's only when Rory's breath slows that they break their little three-way hug. "Big's gotta get dressed if we're gonna get to the party on time," she rasps, combing a hand through Bug's hair. "You wanna help me finish getting ready, honey?"

Bug agrees cheerfully, and then the Rories are off again, heading for the bathroom—but he catches the elder Rory's hand before she can go too far.

She pauses, looking back at him with a quirked brow and a smile so soft he could sink into it forever. Her eyes are red-rimmed and shining a living, oceanic blue.

Pushing up to his feet, he catches her jaw with his fingertips, pulling her in.

Kissing Rory makes time stop; it always has. When he was younger and a teenager with an angry heart and more questions than he could possibly find answers to, her lips had felt like a kind of safe harbor. A place he could go to where everything stood still, where all the roaring stopped. Nothing had to make sense there, because the normal rules didn't apply.

No time or space. Just them.

And even though he feels so far away from being that pissed off kid—a lifetime away, or several lifetimes—it's still the same now. Everything fades. Everything quiets.

Everything is them, and it always has been, and it always will be.

Breaking away, he dips his forehead to touch Rory's, warm skin pressing like book pages. The new best feeling each time he feels it.

He nudges, eyes angling to meet hers. Whispers, "Thank you, Rory."

Her answering smile is like a kid with a secret. She sparkles and glimmers and does all manner of inhuman things, because of the light and because he loves her. Loves her so badly it burns.

Her and Bug and—he swallows—whoever he's yet to meet.

She lands a quick kiss on his nose and turns away, making for the bathroom where Bug waits impatiently on the threshold. Eyes wide and wise, like she already knows everything is going to change.

Everything is going to change, he thinks, while his heart expands in his chest. They'll have to figure it out together.

But not just now. While Rory pulls back her hair, their daughter sits cross-legged on the floor, chattering about chrysalises, which is the theme of Rory's costume tonight. Bug pronounces it at least seven different ways, all of which are perfectly, wonderfully wrong. But she talks on and on about the life cycle of a butterfly while her own wings shed glitter into the air like snow.

Caterpillar. Chrysalis. Butterfly.

So, yes, in the end, he puts on the damn costume, and he can't even complain about it. Not really. He doesn't even want to.

In fact, he's the happiest goddamn caterpillar in New York City.

#JESS MARIANO IS A GOOD DAD. THAT'S THE POINT OF THIS STORY #it is. in fact. the point of everything always forever. good dad jess #literati fic #jess mariano #rory gilmore #jess x rory #gg posting #abbey.txt #my fic

18 notes · View notes

humbughana · 3 years

Text

history

warnings: boys that don’t know what no means, drinking, cursing.

words: 1.8k

Lola has a run in with an ex.

“Get away from me,”

“Oh c’mon lo, don't be like that.”

Lola was currently seated at a bar, sipping on her fourth- no maybe fifth, drink and was happily humming to the songs in the background waiting for her friends to return from the dance floor. Rafe was out with his own friends that night and she missed his presence. He always let her lean against him when her world started to tilt slightly and she seriously needed it right now as she twirled on the spiny bar stool.

But the annoying voice she was trying to ignore was one of her ex-boyfriend leaning next to her, in her personal space.

“So now you don’t speak?” he smirked and leaned further into her side as Lola grimaced and also leaned away about to topple off the high stool, “go away, Logan.” Lola narrowed her eyes at him before going back to her drink mindlessly. The history between the two of them honestly didn’t get far, she had met him in her freshman year seminar class and she clung to the first friendly face. Moving away for college was never easy, especially when you didn’t know anyone. But anyways, she fell for him and when he found his footing, he found new girls to keep him company while they were still together and Lola experienced her first real heartbreak.

Okay, so maybe their history went a little farther than she let on.

Now being a junior and dating Rafe, she felt nothing but contempt for the boy next to her. Lola had a slight problem with never letting things go and this is one of those things, not that she missed him, but that she wondered why he did what he did all these years later.

“You always had so much to say when we were together.” Lola gripped her glass harder in her hands as she chewed on the inside of her cheek. Reeling in her anger she turned to him and smiled, “Until you fucked half our class when we were ‘together’.” She made air quotes over the last word and he rolled his eyes, “You can’t still be mad about that, Lo.”

“You’re disgusting. And don’t call me that.” she spat at him. Logan stepped in closer now that she was facing him. Looking at him Lola could still feel the way he made her feel, the way he made her feel crazy and told her as much. How he had excuses for everything and she would cling onto every single one, waiting for him to come to her dorm at night only when he was in someone else's bed.

“I’m sorry, Lola. Is that what you want me to say?” Logan placed a hand on her knee and she looked down at it before blinking up at him and shoving it off, “You’re two years too late.” Lola rolled her eyes, “I could never see you again and be fucking grateful.” She was determined to see him flinch but he only let out a laugh, “I don’t think you could ever forget about me, Lo.” he leaned a palm against her cheek before backing away and disappearing into a crowd. She let out a shaky breath before finishing her drink and ordering another.

About an hour later she was sufficiently drunk and having a much better time, now mingling with strangers all over the bar with her friends when a hand wrapped around her waist and tugged her back. Lola looked over her shoulder to see Logan once again, with a drunken grin, “‘’ve been lookin’ for you” he slurred and leaned into her as she cringed away from his head.

Lola tugged at the arm around her, “get off me, Logan,” she tried to stay steady as he shook his head and desperately spoke frinatically, “I loved you! I miss you so much, lo.” He kept walking them further away from her friends and the crowd, finding a wall next to the door that was relatively secluded.

“I don’t care.” she yelled at him, “I don’t care how you feel! I want to get away from you!” She laughed at the hurt expression on his face, completely not stable enough for this conversation as she drug a hand through her hair.

“You don't mean that-”

“I hate you.” she stepped closer to him as she spoke with venom, “let go of me.” his hand was now only wrapped around her wrist and he shook his head, “But I can’t stop thinking about you.”

She tried to flinch away when his grip tightened painfully on her and she used her other hand to slam into his shoulder, “bitch,” he mumbled and grabbed her other arm painfully as her heart rate sped up not from the alcohol this time but fear. She hated the helpless feeling in her gut as his face morphed into rage.

“Hey!” They both looked over, Lola’s eyes wide with fear and unshed tears to see the bartender that was serving her all night followed by two bouncers, “Is there a problem here?” He looked towards her as Logan just laughed lightheartedly as if his fingers weren't leaving bruises on her arms, “Everything's fine.”

And she froze for once in her life, not being put in a situation like this ever put her at a loss. The ever so headstrong and confident Lola Brooks was nowhere to be found.

“You need to leave.” The bartender was staring at her still as the two men behind him closed in. Logan sneered, “You can’t kick me out,” Lola yelped when he grabbed her waist this time, squeezing her side painfully as they pried him off of her, “Let go of me!” he yelled as Lola was finally safely removed from him and he was dragged out.

“You okay?” the bartender was at her side as she nodded even though her hands were visibly shaking and she was on the verge of a complete breakdown, “I can walk you out if you have a ride?” he asked as a question and she shook her head and pulled out her phone.

Finding his number was as easy as ever and she pressed the phone to her ear, “Hey baby,” his easy going drawl made her close her eyes.

“Rafe, where are you?” She asked straight to the point, praying he was sober and could come get her.

“The house. Are you having fun with the girls?” He asked distractedly, Lola could tell as she looked at the ceiling in distress.

“Have you been drinking?” She asked quickly and he snorted, “I wish. I had to drag Max out of-”

Lola cut him off with a shaky voice, “Can you come pick me up?”

There was a pause, “Yeah. Yeah of course. I'll be there in five minutes. Are you okay?”

Lola bit down on her bottom lip, “I’m fine. See you in a little bit.” She hung up before he could respond out of fear she’d cry or something he had really never seen from her cold front. She had maybe cried once with him and it was over a movie so it didn’t really count.

“Someone coming to get you?” The guy asked and she nodded, “Yeah, he’s on the way. Thank you.” She nodded at him, thankful that he was watching her. He even led her back to the bar and snagged her a stool to sit on at the end closest to the walkway behind the bar as she waited, bouncing her leg anxiously.

The bartender slid her glass of water and then as a few minutes passed nodded behind her, “Is that one yours?” Lola looked over her shoulder to he Rafe pushing through the crowd taller than most people and a red had on his head that she loved making him stand out even more.

Lola nodded and finally he caught sight of her and smiled from afar and tried to get to where she was and pulling her towards him when he was in arms length, kissing her on the cheek, “Hey baby,” he grinned but then did a once over of his ‘center of the action’ partier girlfriend sitting in the corner with none of her friends in sight, “What’s going on?” he frowned as she grimaced slightly, “nothing, can I stay at your place tonight?”

“Yeah,” he nodded slowly but was frowning at her still and the bartender rolled his eyes as she narrowed her own at him.

“Some asshole wouldn’t leave her alone,” Rafe turned towards the boy as he continued, “had to physically remove him from her and the bar,” Lola looked down feeling nervous and embarrassed as Rafe thanked the man quickly while paying her tab and placing a hand on her back as he guided her out of the bar. She faltered when she walked outside, half expecting Logan to still be here but Rafe just looked at her in concern, “C’mon, i’m just around the corner.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders in the cool night air and into his side.

The drive back was quiet and she grabbed the hand on her thigh, interlocking their fingers and squeezing him just thankful he was there; Rafe didn’t miss the gesture that was never like her. They got all the way up into his room before he asked her what happened.

Lola opened her mouth but had a harder time coming up with a real story to tell him, “I- my ex he grabbed me,” she stuttered, looking down at her raised hands and Rafe saw the red lines on her skin, “he wouldn’t listen,” she blinked rapidly as her lip wobbled and Rafe wasted no time in pulling her into him as she finally cried.

Rafe just held her, sitting down on the edge of the bed and pulling on onto his lap as she tried to collect herself hidden in his neck.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, sniffling as she pulled back all red with wet cheeks, “I don’t know what's wrong with me,”

Rafe lifted her hands up between them and traced the marks that would probably bruise as angry filled him, “Not a thing,” he pressed a kiss into each of her wrists and relished in her letting him finally comfort her for something. Lola smiled softly at him and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, “Thanks for the rescue.”

Rafe rested his forehead on hers, “Anytime baby,” he paused for a second, “I’ll kill him the next time I see him.”

“You don’t even know who he is,” she couldn’t help but let out a little laugh at his words that were so like him as he huffed in disdain, “You’re ex?” Lola nodded with a frown.

“We don’t have to talk about it tonight but we will eventually.” Rafe pressed a kiss to her own lips and Lola nodded, “I know.” she mumbled as he pulled back satisfied with her answer.

“Now let's go get ready for bed, baby. I missed you today.”

#rafe cameron #rafe #cameron #rafe cameron x oc #rafe and lola

33 notes · View notes

raviliuz · 3 years

Text

"Here comes the sun" Blaise Zabini x Theodore Nott

Muggle, retro au

@lifesucksandiwanttobeamarauder I finally translate that fanfiction, I hope you like it 🥺

The dark-skinned boy has tried to sit still from three hours already. It is incredibly hard for him, because of his amazing hyperactivity. In all honesty, sitting here as a model doesn't count to his dreams or favourites activities but he couldn't deny to Theodore's asks.

Just because of that — his bloody weakness for the older boy — he must stick up there and pose to Theodore's new painting. Blaise perfectly knows that person on that work of art won't be even similar to him. But it will be beautiful, perfect as everything that has been made by gifted hands of Theodore Nott.

There's music, playing quietly at the background, played on a gramophone, restored by Blaise himself. He gifted it to his friend as a birthday present two years ago on an incredibly warm and short night, 22th of June.

He has so many memories with that slight, passionate boy.

"Theo," he says suddenly, breaking the silence. He sounds like a dissatisfied kitten and when he doesn't notice any reaction, he repeats meowing "Theo, I'm bored."

The other boy finally pays his attention to Blaise, not his reflection on painting, which is created on a canvas (too small in Theo's opinion).

"Blaise, you really can't stand it for a while more?" Theodore asks and there is a nuance of desperation and melancholy in his voice, "I want to end it."

And Blaise has already known, he loses again. He won't be able to deny his friend the pleasure that results from looking at the painting — finished, after hours of working.

"I'll stand it, Theo" he sighs and in his mind adds 'always for you'. At this moment all he can do is begging and praying that Theodore is not able to read minds, just like some characters in their favourites comics.

"Nah, Blaise" slight boy says suddenly and leaves his paint palette and set of brushes on the cupboard, promising himself that he will wash it carefully within a few minutes when paints won't be already dry "I know you don't want to."

"It's not like that" Zabini starts to explaining himself chaotically because he doesn't want hurt Theodore's feelings, "I love watching your painting and you while you're painting. And I love that you have a passion and you're so talented. I just... It's May Day and we are sitting in your room..."

"It's alright, Blaise" Theodore interrupts his with the most beautiful, in Zabini's opinion, smile — that carefree, happy and only a little faraway one.

"We should do something and bring Hope with us to take many photos and place them in our albums with dumb yet cute captions" Theo proposes with a light laugh.

The younger, but taller, better built and more mature, of boys, stands up and brushes off invisible pollen from clothes. He reaches his hand to Theodore to help him stand up.

"Wanna go?" he proposes and even if Theo doesn't know where he agrees without a single question.

It doesn't matter where they go, it will be awesome as always if Blaise is with him.

He catches Hope and puts it on his neck. Theo loves his polaroid camera with whole his heart, even if it isn't the newest and all the better photos were made by Blaise.

Blaise is still holding Theodore's hand in his (definitely larger and rougher), like he doesn't care about rubs of paints in many different colours on Theo's hand and now, also on Blaise's one.

He pulls his friends outside and enters the garage like he is in his own house. Theodore knows what he means without words and grabs his bicycle with a big smile on his slim face.

Meanwhile, Blaise grabs his skateboard, which, only in the form of rebellion against sentiment, he did not give a name. But he perfectly knows that by his skateboard, people could see a different side of his personality, which he doesn't show often — bloody sentimentalist who loves very clichéd books or movies and constantly remembering beautiful moments, and it doesn't matter if that happens a year ago or two hours ago.

The skateboard has its best years far behind its. The picture which was printed on the underside of 'his love' (although, of course, incomparable to that of the boy just standing next to him) has almost completely faded and crumbled, peeling paint seems not so good, to put it mildly, but in Blaise's opinion, it adds the special character and charm to his skateboard. Every scratch and every cooked screw tell a story and Blaise thinks it definitely better than new skateboard — probably glamorous but without its own character.

Blaise isn't similar to Theo, not it that topic. He has never had boxes filled with various craps, which refer to many different events and happenings. He doesn't have special notebooks with tickets, a diary or millions of notes with quick sketches, created under the influence of a sudden flow of wen. He doesn't keep every notes and message on scraps of papers, which have been hand down on lessons, in hope that the teacher wouldn't see that. In first, even having a photo album was strange for Blaise. It shows, that he likes looking back at past and that feeling, which sometimes accompanies you right before falling asleep, when you remind yourself one of those pleasant situations from childhood, isn't foreign for him. It was all he was trying to defend himself against, but only for a time.

For a time when on his way stood that quite frail and nerdy boy. Theodore showed him being sentiment isn't something bad just as singing songs out loud in public places. As compensation, Blaise showed him the magic of comics and all these beautiful, charming in their area, which he discovered while taking a walk daily. Blaise pulled Theodore out of his room and dragged him away from the easel to lead him everywhere he can.

"To our place?" Theodore asks and gets on his a little too small, colourful bike. The seat creaks quietly under his mass but none of the boys pays any attention to this.

"Exactly, now ride, my carriage" Blaise screams and catches up on Theo's seat so the movement of the bicycle can drag him.

"Pff, flax" Nott giggles and Blaise find it as the most sonorous, melodic sound in the whole world.

They ride slowly through all that musty hole, also known as Torquay, or — their home. The road even if it's really old and it remembers when they as children drew chalk on a street, is not in a bad condition. A worse fate befell the road signs — some of them are smeared with sprays, and some are knocked off the ground, due to a car accident or a group of probably drunk but still strong young people.

There are many houses near the road. They are quite poor and definitely not as modern as houses in the capital. At some time, before he started taking daily walks, Blaise dreamed about living in London. Or rather, to be able to tell others that he lives in London. It's another thing which distinguishes him from Theodore — the older boy sees beauty everywhere, in everything and in everybody. Blaise envied him with this skill, for him the world has been boring or just ugly and people have been cruel sometimes.

The sun is warming their backs when they slowly ride on a well-known path. They pass Mrs Shermik, so out of courtesy from four meters away from her, they shout to the old woman joyful 'Good morning'. As they turn into a lane, which is fortunately dry as it hasn't rained much lately, Theo starts humming under his breath.

"Hey Jude, don't make it bad" he looks at his friend (nearly losing control of his bike) and Blaise quickly understands what he means.

Blaise joins to his singing and adds next line:

"Take a sad song and make it better".

Someday Blaise would have worried. He was worried about what people would think, he was afraid someone would hear them. But not now. Now he doesn't care when the words flowing from the depths of memory, and when the song ends, he starts another, definitely his favourite — "Blackbird". Neither of the boys has a perfect voice, singing is definitely not their hidden talent, but that doesn't matter. And that is wonderful, isn't it?

Here Blaise can no longer skate further — the ground is too uneven, even ploughed by the tires of wheelbarrows and carts of people from the neighbouring village. The dark-skinned man rejects Theo's offer to simply get his bike's rack and chooses to run next to the boy. The basketball team and two trainings a week are finally coming in handy — thanks to this, his condition is really good and he doesn't gasp like an old man with asthma after twenty meters run. Theodore, noticing how well his best friend is doing, accelerates, forcing Zabini to run, which he accepts with a groan. Nevertheless, he catches up with the older boy and promises himself that as soon as they get there, he will get his revenge.

After five more minutes, they are a destination of their travel. The place they describe as "their", although they are well aware that they are not the only people who come here, is exactly as they remember it — beautiful.

It was Blaise who discovered them during one of his walks over three years ago. He perfectly remembered how it happened.

That day he was trying to find a rather fast but shallow brook, which he remembered from his childhood. Before Draco's move to London, they told Draco's parents that they were going to the field, but in fact, they went to the brook and walked back and forth on a tree that had fallen over the river. He remembered just as well how Draco's mother, on her way to the store, noticed they were not on the field, prompting a search. When their parents found them by the brook — wet but in unusually good moods, they were already too worried to be upset with them.

After searching for more than an hour (during which he definitely fulfilled the daily, maybe even a week, step norm, but he didn't care) he found a place from his memories, although it was difficult to recognize its. The brook had dried up completely, leaving only a faint riverbed and tree roots washed out of the ground, but the place has definitely retained its charm.

Theo drops the bicycle, leaning it hurriedly against one of the roots, and lays down on the grass, staring at the almost cloudless sky, hidden only by tree branches. Blaise, slightly out of breath, rests his hands on his knees and stays like this for a moment. When his breath normalized he comes closer to Theodore. There is a snap and a Polaroid camera gracefully named Hope spits out a photo in which the image hasn't shown up yet. Theo enthusiastically grabs a small piece of paper and starts waving it so fast that it is about to reach orbital velocity. After a while, the picture clears up the silhouette of a younger boy, who was about to lie down next to his friend. Blaise looks at the photo and asks smiling, even though he already knows the answer:

"For your or my album?"

"Of course mine," Theodore replies quickly, grinning happily, "Why do you need your own photos? They will be much more useful to me."

The dark-skinned boy can't help but messes Theodore's hair in one move of his hand. However, Theo is not annoyed by that, he reacts to it like a cat, moving closer and silently demanding further caresses, which the younger one does willingly.

They are sitting like that (or rather, Blaise is sitting and Theo's half lying on him) till the sunset. There is a flower crown on Blaise's head, made by Theo with field flowers collected by him. And of course, Theodore took a photo of Blaise in his work of art.

It's getting dark. Butterflies, which were flying around them flew away and gave way for beautiful moths and fireflies. Theodore stands up energetically and starts jumping on protruding trees' roots, chasing insects to take a photo of them.

"Theo, please be careful," Blaise says attentively but the only response is 'don't worry' screamed by Nott.

Blaise unwillingly starts remembering his childhood. Times, when he wasn't Theodore's friend and all that connected them, was the same neighbourhood, chalk and short-term relationship of their parents. Then they found that as a stupid and loathsome. Nowadays, at their seventeen's, just as weird. But they weren't friends. After all, Blaise was friends with Draco and the teacher in primary had repeated that it's better to have fewer friends but true friends. So Blaise fraternizes with Malfoy till he moved to London.

It's not that now Blaise finds it as a mistake or holds any grudge with Draco. But nowadays he thinks that it is not good to withdraw from others.

When Draco had left and moved to London, Blaise had thought they now he stayed alone but on that moment, Theodore slowly crept into his life. Nott sat next to Blaise on school basketball pitch and started reminding happy moments from times when Draco lived in Torquey.

And later he showed his painting to Blaise and dark-skinned boy couldn't believe someone his age could do something that beautiful. A week later Blaise sat down with him in the canteen and sometime later also on most of the lessons so he could distract him from learning to read their favourites comics.

Now, Blaise would imagine his life without his always laughing and only sometimes a little faraway friend.

His thoughts are interrupted by a quiet scream.

"Ouch!"

Blaise, worried, stands up imminently and run through Theo. He is curled up in a fetal position between roods of the biggest tree. Zabini hugs him tightly and Theodore accepts that willing, cuddling to his chest while holds back tears.

"Ah, Theo" Blaise whispers, still cuddling the boy in his arms, "I asked you to be careful."

"I'm sorry, Blaise" he answers, sniffing.

"Don't apologize to me, silly" Blaise couldn't stop himself from nuzzling his friend's cheek.

"But you are worrying now and you warned me that I might get hurt..."

"Shhhh" Zabini interrupts him and places his fingers on Theo's mouth to shushes him "I always worrying about you, no matter if you get hurt or not" he admits truthfully and after a few seconds of silence adds "Please, stop crying.

He stops hugging Theodore, although he wants to do it forever. Blaise squats in from of him and gently grabs his friend's head. He wipes away tears, flowing slowly on fairy (although all that time, spends under the sunlight) skin.

He wants to not cry because of sadness or pain, wants him not to have reasons for a cry.

He wants him to be always happy, even if that meant that Blaise wouldn't be on his side.

Wants, wants, wants.

But the world isn't always beautiful, even if Theodore thinks so. Sometimes the world is cruel, ugly or just totally boring. The same about people who live in it.

Do it's really important to find your refuge. A place, a person or a hobby, which will be like an escape from all evils in that world.

Blaise thought that his escape is comics. Reading them has dragged him into the world of superheroes where he could use his imagination and think about meaningless things for hours such as what superpower would he choose (flying, of course). Besides that, the world in comics is just easier. It isn't hard to differentiate who is good and who's bad. Good people fight with bad people, that's all. The Justice League cares about Gotham and saves innocent people from Joker, Deadshot or Darkseid. In the real world, it would be an unsolvable matter with billions different threads and complications so even the best detectives wouldn't be able to decide who is guilty.

Comics world is just easier.

Lately, Blaise has got to understand that the whole beauty in that world is locked in its confusions, problems and ambiguities. Because the world is beautiful, even if sometimes it's cruel or ugly.

And the one who made him understand that is his only real refuge — Theodore Nott.

He is the one who makes reading comics even better.

He is the one with who Blaise could do anything and it would be incredibly good.

He is the one with who Blaise wants to talk about 'good old times' and makes new memories to remember.

He is the one with who Blaise wants to stay forever.

Theodore Nott is the one who Blaise bestow that hot and unique feeling which, no matter what since says, comes from the heart.

And that feeling, now makes him do something, he has been dreaming about for that long. Blaise gently and unsurely grabs the head of the person, who since a year isn't only a friend for him. He delicately raises Theo's head a bit upper to look him straight into his eyes. Their lips touch slowly and gently. Both of them don't feel so confident with what's going on but they will worry about that later. Now, Blaise doesn't have the time and desire to thinks about the consequences. Not now, when he feels the structure of soft lips of his love.

When the dark-skinned boy doesn't notice any objections from the older boy, he let himself do a light, carefully move with his lips. He doesn't want to scared Theodore, knowing how delicate and artsy person he is. He would ever forgive himself hurting Theo.

If he only knew how long Theodore was waiting for it and how much he enjoys that kiss, even if Blaise's lips are rough and chapped.

Blaise gently moves away and hangs his head down, looking at too long grass. He's afraid of seeing Theodore's reaction for what he has done because he's afraid of rejection and ending that important relationship.

However, Theo, likes he doesn't see his friend insecure, giggles lightly and grabs the younger boy cheeks, turning his face to him.

"Oh, finally. How long might I wait?" Theo says with a delightful smile.

"Really. You... Me..." Blaise mutters like he doesn't know what he wants to say.

"Yeah, silly" Theo chucked and hits an end of Blaise's nose with his "You're definitely my favourite person in that universe. And every other, alternative universe too."

Blaise, still can't believe what's happening, hugs his boy and kisses him quickly. The kiss is one hundred per cent cute and totally not sultry. Because feelings as sultry and desire don't fit Theodore, even in an alternative universe where Bruce Wayne become the Devastator instead of Batman. It just does not fit.

"Yeah, and you're my fav person."

They sit in silence for a while, but it's nothing wrong. The silent can be calming and comfortable, it can say more than every word in the world.

The air is getting cooler and owls' chirps become more ominous, so finally, Blaise breaks the silence and says:

"Theo" mentioned boy turns to him and glance at Zabini, "Is your knee still hurting?"

"It's not that bad" Theo shrugs but Blaise quickly understands that it's not good either, "But can you ride the bicycle? I'll drive on its carrier."

"But what with my skateboard?" Blaise asks inconvenience.

"I'll carry it, please" Zabini's only answer is a sigh but not the irritated one. He doesn't know what would Theo had to do to irritate him.

"Alright, but please, be careful."

Blaise raises Theo's bicycle from the ground and helps the boy to climb up to the luggage carrier and then he carefully sits on its seat. Theodore holds Blaise's skateboard (which he has named against his will — Faith) with one hand and the other one is embraced around Blaise's stomach so Theo can stably stay on the carrier. Well, maybe not only because of that.

"To me?" Blaise proposes and slowly leaves their place.

Theodore automatically nods but then he understands that Blaise can't see him so he quickly says 'yes' some times.

Boys are leaving, slowly and without unnecessary haste, but that moment is different than every previous one, they have spent here. Now, they're leaving their place not as just friends.

From Theodore Nott's album:

"4th of May, 1984 —

My favourite day to remember"

#harry potter #slytherin quidditch #bxb #slytherin quidditch team #blaise x theo #blaise zabini #theodore nott #zabini x nott #mrs zabini #muggle au #non magic au #retro #retro au #slytherin #slytherins #slytherin quartet #draco malfoy

33 notes · View notes

artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

don't play the fool now (multi) — chapter five - Roza

[ summary ] : detox is feeling the pressure setting in as she completes the first day of her new mission though a distraction is paving her progress and bianca simply can't catch a break between a cute detective, katya and her own issues.

[ author's note ] : literally it's been so long I CANNOT, I am so so so so sorry omg... most of this was written about november so I am sorry if it's not up to par ): — lily xx

(´∩｡• ᵕ •｡∩`) / AO3 / My Tumblr

— *.✧

"Welcome to the place you'll be spending the next few months!"

Detox dropped the two boxes she was carrying in from the minute she had stepped into the elevator with Tatianna who had been showing her around the offices and police force building: this was by far the most idiotic and yet stressful mission the blonde had to deal with thus far.

Become an entirely different person

Pretend you're a transfer from another department

Get close to the captain of the unit

Murder or get information. Or both.

The details hadn't been worked out yet but Bianca had made it clear that Detox was not there to play around and flirt, she would be doing all the undercover work.

It was nothing but peachy keen to Detox. A frustration building in her bones. She had to spend the next few days, weeks, months acting like she was up to date with whatever the detectives and police force would make her out to be. Thank god she knew her narcotics, weapons and the basics: murder, how to get rid of fingerprints, stains, bruises, the stench off a dead body, all the things that being a professional had taught her.

She couldn't possibly be that useless.

Changing her hair was the worst part. No question.

Going from royal blue to a blonde bombshell wasn't exactly her style even if it definitely would cover up the overstated hair color and make her seem at least a tiny bit less suspicious with her long, flowing hair now blonde and curled thanks to Aquaria's whimsical hairstyling techniques.

"Welcome to me…" the words leaving her lips in an immensely hushed tone as she stared right back at the detective who gave a smile, eager to see another new worker around in their new and improved NYPD unit.

"You're gonna do great Heather, no doubt's honey."

She decided last minute to use her sister's name as her own for the time being, knowing Detox was a bit of a rough risk and besides: what better way to pay respects to the person and lawyer she had been closest to before going off to prison for substance abuse, smuggling of illegal substances and all the other things she had managed to hide from her transcript.

Bianca I fucking hate you, I really have to pull strings here and by myself.

The older girl butt in to her as the blonde had begun to set up her laptop and trinkets around, praying no more people would bombarde her for today. "You should totally get settled in but I know for a fact that Trinity wants to meet any of our new recruits! She's the unit's captain and I promise you, she's a bit hard hitting but super closested sweetheart."

Trinity .

So this was the person she had to play guessing games with the next few months and woe over in one way or another, to follow and pry her fingernails under.

"I'll definitely check her out."

"Thank you!"

She pulled out first a picture frame that held a sepia filtered photo of Detox, Alaska and Roxxy at their senior graduation together: all dolled up even from the beginning, it was odd to keep such sentiments from the pure and clean days before rotting in crime but what could she say? They were all still together, still best friends even if Alaska sometimes worried more for herself than anyone else, a bit colder than she used to be.

Once she had organized her things she stepped out of the door and made her way around the office, her acrylics hugging the file she had to give to one of her new co-workers for examination. They had spent hours working over the loophole with paperwork but luckily after careful examination and some strings pulled with Katya, they had come up with a solution and now she was Heather Sanderson, born in Maryland and a former employee of the local police department.

"Are you Heather?" A voice spoke behind her gently yet firm as Detox stared at the empty chair confused before wincing and turning quickly seeing a tall blonde with about her hair length and piercing eyes staring at her with intent for a reply back, her ID placed around lanyard which was littered with Canadian flags and text that reads Toronto across the fabric.

"Yes! Are you Brooke?" Nervously extending her hand she was met with a curious recluctentance before the Canadian smiled sweetly, sitting back in her seat once she parked her iced tea on the coaster she had sitting on her desk.

"I am, I know you have the files Tatianna was telling me about if I can look at them. Just the usual medical and background things I have to handle."

Detox looked over Brooke's shoulder, ignoring whatever the detective had to say towards her even though she was sure it was the usual welcome she had become so accustomed to since this morning. She had stepped through the doors starting her new mission, angry that Bianca had to assign her to such a damn cup out: go undercover and pretend you're a decent human being for a few months so we can get a deeper insight and information on the police and detective department.

Peering over her shoulders, she noticed a police officer of average height. Sporting the signature uniform as well as long brunette hair that curled at the ends—lighter highlights cascading from her roots: she had a great upkeep and hairstylist clearly though her dark brown eyes and perfect made over face was the focal point.

Fuck, she's gorgeous.

The same girl had taken off her jacket and threw it on her chair, continuing to chat with the person right near her point of vision, blinking as her makeup shined under the dimly lit up computer screen she was staring at meticulously. Her body hugging her tight fitting blouse and her badge shining.

Brooke tapped the older woman's shoulder with a laugh, "Stop staring with your mouth open, you'll catch flies." Detox rolled her eyes, not about to take shit from her new "peers" as if she were to become close to anyone she had to work within the next few months of the missions allocation.

"That's Trinity Taylor, she's our police unit's captain."

The sirens flared off in her head instantaneously once she fit the last piece of the puzzle: this was the girl, thegirl she had to woe and become close to and get information out of for Bianca, for the team.

Trinity was why she was getting paid and doing this entire mission.

"She's very pretty."

Brooke laughed, rolling her eyes at how dense the new rookie was being. "Yes, she's also got really thick skin, a cold hearted exterior and is surprisingly hilarious as ironic as that may sound." The Canadian shook her head, "She's single but I wouldn't try it, especially since she's your squadron leader and will absolutely give you the beat down no matter the call."

This mission definitely just got interesting.

"Oh don't worry about that, just seeing what I'll have to work with is all."

The brunette caught the eye of the gaggling stares, Detox immediately snapping from it and looking away completely embarrassed though she heard a slight snicker under Brooke's breathe, wanting to slap her. Hearing the thud of the boots under the tiles she simply stood her ground and was prepared to act as casual as possible.

"Morning Trinity." The Canadian hummed aloud, typing across her floral tape covered keyboard pretending to analyze the files while not so secretly deciding to eavesdrop and see where this conversation goes.

"Good morning Brooke Lynn." Trinity crossed her arms and took a look up and down Detox who stood with a permanent paralyzed fear in her eyes, she felt so damn fearless all the time and yet one glimpse of this girl had completely tore her down piece by piece and left her distraught. It was pathetically hilarious.

"Jesus, I'm not gonna kill you for staring, not like I can blame you." She flipped her hair as Brooke coughed to hide the obvious smirk across her lips as she took a long sip of her iced tea that Adore had brought her from Starbucks. Going vigorously through the files she had managed to find her medical records and began her less than exciting examination.

"Hey, you're the one member of our unit, right?"

Finally feeling enough willpower to respond she bit her lip and nodded, "Yeah, Heather." Trinity gave a broad handshake, firmly holding her hand as the blonde licked her lips feeling a bit out of place already and obviously.

"Trinity Taylor."

"It's nice to meet the person everyone told me to go and scout out in the first place."

Trinity tilted her head to the side and chuckled. She was definitely amused that Detox was so reluctant to smile, to breathe since it was her first day: the atmosphere was always tense but that was just the job. The Floridian could only hope she wasn't threatening in her status and by her looks alone or else the training and all that came after would be a complete and utter disaster.

Detox wanted to slap herself, every time she glanced over or they made basic, polite eye contact her entire body jolted awake and she could tell by her change in expressions that she was utterly terrified. Which was extremely odd considering how calm she felt at her actual profession which was twice was horrifying and awful in danger, stress, you name it.

"Well, your first assignment with me is just a refresher, I'm sure you know basic training coming from another unit?"

"Absolutely."

She ran her nails through her blonde hair as Trinity handed back her files with her eyes gleaming and a smile slipping through, "See you soon, my office is down the hall." A flush crept up on Detox's face as she turned and gave a goodbye to Brooke Lynn who waved back and turned with an immediate sigh, taking one more sip from her iced tea.

"You're hopeless."

— *.✧

Bianca sat aimlessly in her chair, scrolling through the constant masses of emails she had to sort and help with, the requests and the actual patrons and then those who simply knew her as their boss. She had never given most of her own girl's and team her personal phone number to the fact she knew it be taken advantage off. Only three people had her number on this damn circuit: Sharon, Jinkx & Bob.

However, despite this there was still an influx of text messages that read off requests from the other girls to which Bianca would bitterly reply with them to email her and not have Sharon, Jinkx or Bob become the scapegoat for their needs and wants or better yet: just don't bother Bianca!

Well that wasn't entirely the truth however it was close enough.

She understood the tasks she had to take on as a leader even if it meant countless requests and permissions granted.

The older woman's phone buzzed and the corner of her lips curled into a smile, hoping it be Adore whom had been quite a good company even just through the phone the past couple days. Her humour, her personality, fashion sense, job— she was everything Bianca wasn't and it made every exchange the more exciting and yet, opened twice the bigger grey area between them.

From: Katya (3 Unread Messages)

"Oh just this fucking whore."

Relieved she didn't have to think about two hours for a reply Adore sent, She slid open her phone with her fingerprint and sighed before her eyes grazed over the messages plainly.

Bianca! девушка !

I believe we should go and see Trixie since you told me you need to make some transactions...

I can tell you that I would be glad to tag along and contribute ;) xx

Her fingers slid across the keyboard as she typed up a reply.

If you're driving.

You're more than welcome to come with.

She assumed the notification she got almost immediately after her texts was an indication that Katya was already on her way and that she should get ready for her.

I'm outside whenever you're ready, you know where I park.

Blatantly staring at her phone she got up and only took a small blue clutch purse and tied her hair up feeling nothing but discontent towards wanting a development between her and a fucking detective . She could almost slap herself, she actually wanted Adore to text her back and it felt fucking disgusting to actually enjoy human interaction that wasn't the usual rundown about missions, jobs or sewing.

Though the sewing usually only applying to Aquaria who would come and see her on the rare downtime they had. The younger girl always asking about her hems, a new sewing trick or what fabric to use for what kind of silhouette.

She locked her office and gave a quick holler to Jinkx who sat in the common area, reading a book and drinking what must've been her third or fourth cup of coffee judging by the dried stains that splattered across the white cup. Bianca interrupted simply letting her know she'd be with Katya to finish some needed exchange and business.

"Have fun, tell Katya and Trixie hello from me."

Bianca didn't care too much about getting money from Trixie, she was sweet and kept a secret well enough considering her position. Though half of that underlying sweetness was probably from the paralyzing fear that if she ever told anyone she'd be blown out on the spot, no hesitation by Bianca herself.

Approaching the blue BMW Bianca's eyes wandered through her backwoods garage, undeniably pressed that she had to even go to the bank and be in public. She kept her image hidden well, no one would ever suspect Bianca Del Rio as the most known menace and wanted mafia boss in New York. All they would see is a blonde, thick Russian accent and leather jacket on with her friend; black hair, thick mascara and quite the fashionable woman.

At least that's what Bianca had hoped for as a first impression.

Katya's grin sat permanently pursed across her lips as she took the car out of park, turning out of the secluded garage and looking to Bianca for any last minute changes, any final looks of reclusiveness. The older woman cleared her throat, her fingers running through the hair that stranded from her face as she put on her sunglasses with a hard roll of the eyes.

"Let's get this shit over with."

#rpdr fanfiction #biadore #detox x trinity #trixya #bianca del rio #adore delano #katya zamolodchikova #trixie mattel #trinity taylor #brooke lynn hytes #aquaria #hitman au #crime au #detective au #lesbian au #roza #concrit welcome #detox icunt

9 notes · View notes

boneandfur · 5 years

Text

Riding Lessons [2]

CHAPTER TWO

Rating: for mature readers only // Words: 2388 // Summary: Juniper gets ready to ride in the rodeo, and unexpectedly sees a face from her past.

•••

"If yer still hellbent on this damn fool idea of yours, you gotta wear something else." Cliff coughs delicately, moving his finger up and down to indicate the dress. They're standing under the pines, killing time. A blush creeps up his neck. "Just think what kind of example you're settin' for Duke's girl."

"I think it's mad cool, grandpa!" Brooklynne squeals, hugging Juniper around the waist. "I'm gonna vlog the whole thing!"

Juniper looks at Cliff, though she doesn't need his permission, she feels chastised all the same. She looks to Brooklynne. "Brook, what size shorts are you wearing?"

Cliff's eyes bulge. "Oh, hell no. Duke would never forgive me if I let --" but Juniper is already tugging Brooklynne towards the bathrooms.

"This dress would look real pretty on you, Brook. In fact, if you like it, I'll let you keep it." Juniper keeps talking as they head into the bathroom and surpass the line, going straight into two neighboring stalls.

"They're actually a little too big?" Brooklynne squeaks from the next stall.

"Perfect." Juniper may have her mama's hips, but she can make it work. "Shirt too." Brooklynne's shirt and shorts sail over the partition, and Juniper passes Brooklynne the dress. She stole it from Caitlín before she left, hell, she stole Caitlín's boyfriend, Sully, too. But he didn't touch me the way Dick Mulligan... She pushes that thought away, but the memory of his touch is branded on her skin, she's aching all over with the need for him to touch her again, Just like that.

Seven minutes later, Juniper is in Brooklynne's hacked off jeans, now a pair of teeny tiny Daisy Dukes that hug her curves like a second skin. The tank top might be a problem, she acknowledges grudgingly to herself as she looks in the mirror. My breasts are the problem. She's wearing a red lace balconette bra that seemed like a good idea at the time, but is completely out of place under the black tank top, which barely skims her belly button.

"Here, Juniper." Asha appears, looking her critically up and down before passing her a plaid shirt, and Juniper rolls the sleeves up, tying it under her breasts.

"That's not what I..." Asha's eyes bug out. "Never mind. Looks cute, I guess. You might even pass for one of us, if you wore it the way God intended you to."

Is that supposed to be a compliment? Juniper doesn't answer, intent on braiding her hair, out of her face. "Thanks, babe." She blows an air kiss, and Asha recoils like she's been slapped.

"How's this?" Brooklynne taps Juniper on the shoulder, and she hears Asha suck in a horrified breath.

"Oh, sugar, ain't you a picture!" Her mama's words come out of her mouth before she can stop them, and Juniper coughs to cover her slip. "You look beautiful. Don't she, Asha?"

Asha is staring at Brooklynne like she's somehow become wild, feral. "You'd better cover yourself up! Juniper," she continues in a dark, urgent whisper, "I'm surprised -- no, shocked at you! You can't let that baby girl go out in the fair looking like, like -- that." They both look at Brooklynne, who is twirling dreamily in the mirror, the skirt fanning out around her knees, looking five years older already, the kind of girl who runs off with a carnival boy and never looks back. "When her pa sees that he's gonna --"

"What's Duke gonna do? Oh, hell." Juliette pops her head in through the door to the cement washroom. "Asha, you better take that kid to get a cover-up on before Duke and Cliff see her. Juniper, you come with me."

"And where the hell are you taking her?!" Asha demands, exasperation coloring her tone. "The rodeo starts in..." she checks her clipboard. "In less than fifty minutes!"

Juliette ignores her, pulling Juniper out into the sunlight. She takes a good look up and down at the tied plaid and the Daisy Dukes, letting out a wolf whistle. "Damn, girl! They gonna let you ride in that?" She waits until they're out of earshot, then her face splits into a big grin. "You're riding in the rodeo! Sawyer told me," she goes on, unaware of how her face lights up when she talks about him, like no one can tell how she feels inside.

If this wasn't all a means to an end, Juniper would let herself give them both a little push in the right direction, but she can't let herself get attached -- it hurts too much to say goodbye that way, and she never says goodbye, not if she can help it. "What else did he say?" Juniper plays with a loose thread on the shorts, which threaten to cut off her circulation at the hips. When all of this is over, and she's made it safely over the border, she's going to take a long soak in a copper tub, sloughing off this false identity like the dirt from the road. But until then, she's here in East Podunk, lying low, safe from the long arm of the law. "What?"

Juliette waves a hand in front of her face. "You in there, June Bug? I said that Sawyer was real worried about you, but I told him I'd take care of it. And first order of business is gettin' you some ridin' boots and a hat. You're representin' Oakley Ranch, after all." Juliette winks at her. "What size shoe you wear?"

"Six." But Juliette is already handing Juniper her boots.

Juliette runs a hand through her dark curls. "The toe box might be a little wonky, but I think you'll be all right. Those are five and a half's. They okay?"

The boots fit like a dream almost to the toe box, which pinches. But it's only for a few hours. Juniper feels a warm feeling of gratitude bubble up in her chest, but she pushes it away. The less beholden she is to these people, to this place, the better. She wiggles her toes. "Thanks, I think these will be fine."

By the time they finish, Juniper is wearing a red hat edged with cheap silver ribbon, and there are only fifteen minutes left before the rodeo starts. Juliette leads her to a roped off area near the gate, crowded with people and press milling around. "You just go over there and find Asha. She's probably by thie chute. She'll assign you your number. You want me to come?"

"Nah, I got this. Thanks again." Juniper hugs Juliette quick, kissing her on the cheek. Juliette smells of bourbon and green apple shampoo. She gives a little wave to Juniper.

"Good luck!"

•••

With a swing in her hips and a confidence she doesn't feel, Juniper waltzes up to the crowd of cowboys. Even in Juliette's boots, it's hard to see over the bobbing sea of ten gallon hats. There are rodeo cowboys and rodeo queens with spangles on their boots, there are little boys and girls in chaps leaning on the fence watching, and teenage boys swaggering around.

She's never seen so many girls in painted on jeans, sparkly cowboy hats, and push up bras in her life. Somewhere in the crowd, she can hear Dick's deep baritone, and the high pitched giggles of girls. She looks for a familiar face, but she's hemmed in on all sides. She spots Dick, surrounded by several stage five clingers, all spray-tanned and bleached blonde with their hair teased to high heaven. They're pouting, trying to get his attention, but he's busy talking to some dark haired guy who's dressed as casually as the others, yet looks somehow out of place. As if he can sense her eyes on him, the stranger raises his head, scanning the crowd, and Juniper ducks down, frantically backpedaling.

Dave Reyes. The long arm of the law has found her at last. I'm not ready. Not yet, please, not yet! She feels like she can't breathe, and sucks in several deep, rapid breaths, her heart rate speeding up. Her vision swims with black spots, and as she tries to fight her way back out of the crowd, she feels a wave of dizziness slam into her.

"Hey now, what do we have here?" A guy with a blonde crew cut, press badge, and a blue vest over a short-sleeved flannel shirt that looks like it came from the Sprawlmart clearance rack grabs her arm, smacking his lips as he surveys her. She's too out of it to slap him the way she yearns to, and instead a feeble protest leaves her lips as he hauls her forward.

"No!" Juniper tries to tug her arm back, but the guy isn't listening.

"A buckle bunny! Martin, look! I got us a real live buckle bunny!" he leers in Juniper's face, addressing her breasts. "How-de-doo, little bunny. I'm TJ." He snaps a selfie with a full flash, blinding her, and then gropes her ass. "Maybe you've heard of--" TJ has barely opened his mouth to start his spiel when Dick shoves his way through the crowd to step between them, his body shielding Juniper.

"The lady said no. Are ya as dumb as ya look, or are ya deaf, too?" Dick snarls menacingly.

With an irritated scowl, TJ puts his hands up like he'll shove Dick in the chest, then some sense of self preservation kicks in, and he steps back. "Get your own buckle bunny, man."

"Back off," Dick growls. "You really wanna test me, city boy?"

TJ mumbles something Juniper can't hear, and she whimpers. Dick whips around so fast she swears she can hear his spurs jangle, and then his arms are around her and he's carrying her through the crowd, all the way to a quiet corner in the back of the barn.

Dick sets her down on a crate, rubbing small circles on her back. He clears his throat. "He didn't hurt ya, did he, Goldilocks?"

Dizzy and nauseous, she shakes her head, and Dick passes her a flask from his pocket. She can't even touch it, too intent on trying to breathe.

"Good. I thought..." Dick shakes his head, then starts rubbing her back, his deep voice low and soothing in Juniper's ears. "Put your head between your legs, cup your hands over your mouth, and take some nice, easy breaths," he murmurs, beard tickling her earlobe and setting off butterflies in her stomach. "I swear to God, if I see that city boy with his hands on you again --" she hears the sound of Asha's irritated voice, and then Dick's big, warm hand leaves her back as he stands up. She can hear Asha upbraiding him for "harassing the press".

"You okay?" Asha crouches down near her, and Juniper nods, focusing on each small breath. Asha stands up, apparently satisfied with that answer, because she pats Juniper's shoulder awkwardly, and then fades back into the crowd when someone calls her name.

From the corner of her eye, Juniper sees Dave again, and she ducks her head beneath the brim of her hat, hoping against hope he hasn't recognized her. She starts sweating, and then she's shaking uncontrollably, trying to fight the wave of blackness that threatens to engulf her. Voices swim around her in the darkness, and then she feels Dick's hand on her back again, tethering her to the here and now.

"You clean up real good, Goldilocks," he whispers. "Knew I was gonna have to fight 'em off the minute I saw ya in them Daisy Dukes." When she looks over at him in surprise, he tips his hat and winks at her, then stands up, holding out a hand. "Ain't you gonna wish me luck?"

Juniper stands up, the world righting itself again. She scans the crowd for Reyes, but he's melted away, as though he never was. She bites her lip. Maybe she was just imagining things. Maybe... "Good luck? Shouldn't you be wishin' me luck, cowboy?" she pokes Dick in the chest, and then he's pressing her up against the barn, their lips a hairsbreadth away. She feels drunken, dizzy, though she hasn't touched a drop. Dick tilts her chin up with two fingers, and just as he bends his head, his breath warm on her lips, she hears Asha calling her name.

"Juniper!" Asha's voice, so close, makes her jump, and she wriggles past Dick, making her way towards Asha, who rubs the bridge of her nose in annoyance. Did she see Juniper and Dick, so close they almost could have kissed? Undoubtedly. Asha's voice is colored by something deep and green when she speaks again, and Juniper shifts uncomfortably in Juliette's borrowed boots. Her feet are beginning to hurt. "It's not too late to back out..."

Just lay low as long as you can, honey pie, Opal Mae's voice whispers in the back of her mind, as though her mama is standing right beside her. It's living out in the open that'll get ya. Ghosters are livin' dead people's lives for 'em. If the Feds don't know where ya are, they'll never catch up to ya.

But the money... they can start over with that kind of money, they can stop running for good. Three notes, Ellie. She thinks of the last postcard she sent, musical notes interspersed amidst her cramped handwriting. Ellie remembers, right? She must. It was all Opal ever whistled when it meant You're safe now, little chicks, the coast is clear.

"June?" Asha touches her shoulder. For a moment, Juniper loses her train of thought as she hears the national anthem start up, and Dick Mulligan swaggers past her in his chaps and black hat, raising his brows at her and giving her a nod as he passes.

One last con, one last game, you can do this, she tells herself. "I'm not backing out. I can do this, Asha."

Asha exhales through her nose. "Right." She hands Juniper a number on a piece of paper. "You're after Mulligan. Remember to mark the horse out, or you'll be disqualified on the spot." Her fingers brush a stray curl that's come loose from Juniper's braid. "Lucky number seven."

Lucky number seven. That's gotta count for something, right?

Tag list: @walkerismychoice @lizeboredom @debramcg1106 @darley1101 @youwontlikewherewewillgo @choiceslife @regrettingnathan @viktoriapetit @thatcatlady0716 @breaumonts @blackcatkita @enmchoices @llamasgrl @littlecrookedheart @nazariobae @tmarie82 @gardeningourmet @anneross41 @ritachacha @cora-nova

(part one is on the choices archive - choicesfanfic.com under the same name. eventually i will make some new masterlists with the external links.)

#dick mulligan x mc #choices big sky country #bsc #playchoices fic #my fic

46 notes · View notes

artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

don't make me wait another day, chapter 3: good as hell (kamasia) - holtzmanns, writworm42

A/N: Last chapter, Kameron and Asia continued their flirtation over text and agreed to have another session. This chapter, Kameron prepares for their second session before being Very Distracted in it. Thank you Bean for beta-ing, we love you!!!

Title from Good as Hell by Lizzo

The week creeps by far too slowly for Kameron’s liking. It doesn’t matter how many clients she sees, how many hours she clocks, how many appointments or errands or other things she fills her personal time with. By Monday, everything starts to meld together, a blob of meaningless, tedious chores.

Well. A blob of meaningless, tedious chores, except for one small detail.

On Thursday, at 3 p.m. on the dot, she’s going to see Asia again.

“That’s all very romantic,” Kameron’s coworker, A’keria, interrupts her story with a roll of her eyes, “but if you tell me how sick you are of waiting for Thursday one more time, imma have to go drown myself in the pool.”

“Oh, leave her alone, Kiki!” Another of Kameron’s friends, Vanessa, pipes up from her place at the front desk. “You just bitter ‘cause you ain’t got no man.”

“Please, bitch, you ain’t any better than miss Kam over here. Where’s Brooke Lynn, anyway, you finally separated her from your clingy ass?” A’keria grunts, glaring daggers at Vanessa as the other woman blushes deeply.

“She’s cleaning the pool,” Vanessa grumbles under her breath.

“Excellent, so she drownin’ herself already, too.”

“You’re both the worst.” Kameron grumps before a gym member comes by to ask Vanessa a question, breaking up their conversation. It’s not that she doesn’t think she’s being annoying–she knows she is, she’d probably be fed up too if she had to listen to herself. But at the same time, she can’t help it.

Asia O’Hara, the gorgeous woman with the white teeth and the amazing sense of humour, is going to be spending time with her again in less than a week. In just a few days, she’s going to be spending a whole hour with her.

A lot can happen in an hour.

Her phone buzzes beside her, interrupting her thoughts. Before she can grab it, though, a long, pale hand swipes it up for her.

“Oooh, Asia again?” Brooke grins, waggling her eyebrows over the top of Kameron’s phone. “You guys text a lot for girls who’ve just met.”

“Give me my phone back.” Kameron snatches it away from her hands, furiously keying in her password as Brooke snickers fucking lesbians under her breath. “And go fist Vanessa while you’re at it.”

She looks up her phone just in time to see Brooke thrust her fist in the air as she walks away.

A: Say, I was thinking…

K: Yeah, I do that a lot too

Kameron smiles to herself as she sends that text off, hoping that as cheesy as it is, it’ll make Asia laugh.

A: BITCH

Mission accomplished. Before she can enjoy the moment though, three dots pop up on the screen, and her heart stops for a moment.

A: Seriously. I was thinking

A: I probs need new workout gear. I don’t have much.

A: Just a sports bra and some shorts maybe

A: I want something with good support tho.

Kameron’s throat goes dry, all thoughts in her mind suddenly scattered like ping pong balls. Asia’s flirting with her. This is a clear, blatant display of trying to turn Kameron on, trying to get her to imagine Asia in tight spandex shorts and a sports bra that puts just a little cleavage on display. Isn’t it?

Kameron is Asia��s personal trainer, and she’s texted Kameron for advice on things like how to do a particular home exercise in the past. Maybe she only wants a recommendation of where to buy new clothes, that’s a possibility too, and there could be no flirtation at all-

“Bitch, she’s flirting with you.” Vanessa’s scratchy voice over her shoulder makes Kameron jump. She’s about to chew Vanessa out for reading her screen when another text comes through, and Vanessa smiles wickedly as they both turn to look at what it says.

A: How d’you feel about something like this?

The attached picture nearly makes Kameron’s mouth go dry. It’s a mirror shot, Asia twisted slightly to the side. Maroon leggings hug Asia’s ass perfectly, and she really doesn’t even need to do the crap ton of squats that Kameron always forces on her clients.

Asia has one of those body types that’s naturally muscular, naturally defined, the kind that usually makes Kameron grumble out of jealousy because she has to actually work for her own. Asia, though, with the slight indentation of abs that peek out above her high waisted shorts, makes Kameron feel more lightheaded than anything else. Asia’s matching bra crisscrosses over her shoulder blades, tracing around the muscles of her back and framing her breasts in a way that makes Kameron dizzy, her eyes moving frantically to pick a spot to focus on first ( how is she supposed to pick a spot to focus on first?).

And if there’s any doubt that Asia knows exactly what she’s doing, another text follows up, one that’s almost mocking in its blatancy.

A: So you think these will have enough support?

Kameron lets out a laugh in disbelief, because Asia’s really trying to kill her, she is, and having a grand old time while doing so.

Though two can play at this game.

K: Mm, tough to say. We’ll have to test that out together, won’t we?

There’s no response for a moment, enough time for Kameron to come dangerously close to spiralling, wondering if she’s said too much, too soon.

“Still texting her?” Brooke taps her fingers on the other side of the counter and Kameron jumps, nearly dropping her phone in the process.

“Nope! Nope. Why do you guys care so much, anyway?” So what if she’s texting Asia? Especially if she hasn’t replied. Why hasn’t she replied yet-

Bzz.

“Bitch, look at this!” Kameron is pulled back sharply as Vanessa materializes behind her, grabbing onto her shoulder for support as she cranes up on her tiptoes to peek at the text message that pops up on her screen.

A: can’t wait to see how you like them in action ;)

“Damn, I know you’re lesbians, but y’all move fast!” Vanessa’s voice is gleeful as she dances around to the other side of the counter, leaning against Brooke’s side and beaming when she wraps an arm around her.

“Your girlfriend is literally beside you right now.” Kameron points between the two of them.

Vanessa flips her ponytail over her shoulder. “And?”

Kameron rolls her eyes, turning away from the others with an exasperated sigh. “I don’t have to be here, I got a session to get to.”

“At two-thirty? Huh, A’keria, did you know we were doin’ sessions on the half-hour now?”

“Hm, you know, that’s funny, ‘cause I’m lookin’ at the schedule right now, and Kam doesn’t even have anything until four…”

“Prep time!” Kameron fires back over her shoulder and flips the others off as she hurries away, but she’s unable to keep the smile off her face as she goes.

____

Kameron spends a bit longer than necessary choosing her outfit on Thursday morning. Sure, the muscle tee she goes for shows off her arms, though she’s most definitely not wearing it for a specific reason, nor is she wearing the spandex shorts to get a certain someone’s attention.

Most definitely not.

Lo and behold, Asia is wearing the sports bra and leggings from the picture that she had sent earlier in the week, the one that feels like it’s branded onto Kameron’s eyelids because she can’t stop thinking about it. Kameron can feel herself swallow hard while she tries to keep her eyes up, waving at Asia as she walks in and drops her duffle bag on the counter.

“Hey, Kam.” Asia’s voice is sugary sweet and the toss of her ponytail over her shoulder would almost make Kameron laugh, if it wasn’t fucking hot at the same time.

“Hey.” Kameron can’t help the slight curve of her lip. She’s been looking forward to this hour more than she wants to admit. “Ready for me to kick your ass in the gym again?”

“ Bitch, first of all, I’m fit as hell-”

“That you are.”

“-and - wait, hey .” Asia pokes Kameron’s side. “Second of all, you really should kick my ass outside of the gym. I mean, what?”

Asia spins on her heels and walks to drop her duffle bag in the change room before Kameron even processes what she says, her mouth dropping open when she sees the way that Asia winks at her before disappearing behind the door.

Kameron wants to take it back. She’s not ready for the mini heart attack that Asia will mostly likely be responsible for causing.

Asia returns and Kameron rolls out her shoulders, gathering her thoughts because she is at work, and Asia is her client, and she can’t exactly do anything stupid while on the clock, no matter how much she wants to. And no matter how much Asia is hinting that she wants the same.

That can wait. Kameron’s patient.

Kameron tries to keep her cool as Asia starts her warm up, running through the exercises that she’s going to take Asia through in her head. They’re things that she’s done a million times with clients, but with Asia, it feels different - Kameron really wants to impress her, get her to come back. Catch her interest.

Asia wipes the sweat from her brow as she rises from her last burpee, panting. “I will never, ever forgive you for making me do these. Never. It’s been two minutes and my legs are already jelly.”

Kameron passes Asia her water bottle, her eyes trailing along the curve of Asia’s jawline as she grabs a drink. “That was only our first exercise.”

Asia groans. “Remind me why I come to your sadistic ass for personal training again?”

“A part of you enjoys it, I can tell.” Kameron grins. It’s unfair, really, that Asia still looks good after breaking a sweat.

“Pfft.” Asia grumbles underneath her breath as she tucks a stray later behind her ear. “As if.”

“Admit it, you do.”

“Make me.” Asia grins at her with a wicked gleam in her eyes, her tongue peeking between her lips which is distracting enough to make Kameron’s eyes flit downwards.

“Okay.” Kameron smirks, noticing Asia’s slight raise of her eyebrows. “Let’s do five more burpee reps then. C’mon.”

“Bitch.”

Kameron’s proud of herself, really, for staying professional throughout their warmup and the beginning of when Asia begins lifting. At least, until she has to spot Asia.

Her fingertips ghost along Asia’s bare sides, along the small strip of midriff showing between her sports bra and the top of her leggings. Kameron can see the goosebumps rising along Asia’s skin as she shifts her hands to support her back. It’s a contrast from the way that they’re sweating underneath the almost suffocating heat of the gym, the stuffiness not quite overbearing enough to keep Kameron from feeling a shiver run through her system.

“Next one, I’m going to have you squat while holding the bar above your head.” Kameron lifts the bar, handing it to Asia who grunts.

“No extra weights on it?” Asia lifts the bar up above her head, arms beginning to tremble, and Kameron snorts as she lifts her own hands up to the bar to stabilize Asia’s grip.

“Gotta start with just the bar first. It weighs fifteen pounds on its own.” Kameron brings her hands down slowly as Asia’s grip on the bar becomes stronger.

“Fifteen? Damn, I don’t want anymore weights on top of this.”

“Now squat with it.” Kameron has to hold in a laugh when Asia makes a face of disbelief.

“Bend my legs? While holding this shit? I’m not going to be able to get back up.” Asia huffs, her grip tightening on the bar.

“Just try. If you get stuck, I’ll help you get back up.” Kameron can’t help herself, really, from the wink that she sends in Asia’s direction. Especially because it makes Asia blush, before she lets out a scoff.

“You will, huh?”

“I’m very supportive.”

“Yeah, I bet you are.”

Kameron’s not sure if she’s imagining the way that Asia’s glance flits from her eyes down to her lips, then back up, the way that her tongue peeks out from between her lips. She distracts herself from the fact that all she wants to do is lean in, kiss Asia, maybe bite on her lower lip and see if it makes her moan because-

She’s still at work.

So she takes a step back, coming to stand behind Asia before she starts her reps. Her hands hover near the bar without quite touching, should Asia need the support. Asia’s warm in front of her, the beads of sweat dripping down the back of her neck showing the effort that she’s putting in to keep bar up, along with her shaky hands.

By the time the session is over, Kameron’s absolutely twitching. It doesn’t help, really, when they finish and high five and Asia takes the opportunity to lean on Kameron, an elbow on her shoulder. Asia’s wiping the sweat from her brow, the muscles of her taut stomach lightly shifting as she breathes, and somehow it’s fucking hot. Kameron’s parched, and it’s not for water.

“So, do I get a reward or something for surviving that session?” Asia tilts her head as she looks over, the gleam in her eyes making Kameron’s mind travel a million miles an hour.

“Depends on what what you want.” Kameron doesn’t miss a beat, doesn’t hide the way that she slowly drags her eyes from Asia’s face down her frame, knowing that Asia’s watching.

“You should come and find out.” Asia lifts her elbow from Kameron’s shoulder, turning on her heels to flounce towards the changing rooms, the very ones where Kameron knows there are rows and rows of showers.

The wink that Asia throws at her before letting the door swing closed behind her is enough to get her to follow, after dropping her clipboard behind the front desk without a second thought.

Good thing Asia’s her last client for the day.

#rpdr fanfiction #kameron michaels #asia o'hara #vanessa vanjie mateo #brooke lynn hytes #akeria davenport #asia x kameron #lesbian au #fluff #dont make me wait another day #holtzmanns #writworm42

15 notes · View notes