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itsbrandy · 5 months

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Burnout Chapter 10

Summary: Bee celebrates with Dieter and Claire. Things are starting to move too fast for her.

Word Count: 7.9k

End of Episode song: Can I Call You Rose? - Thee Sacred Souls

Chapter 10: 🌹

“Congrats?” Bee asked, her eyebrows pushed together in confusion. He had used another word, too, one that she was not even remotely prepared to acknowledge. Too much had happened today for her to process this announcement. From the audition itself, the whirlwind breakup, her newest friend asking her to move into her gorgeous L.A. condo, and now, Dieter Bravo standing at the door announcing that she had scored a starring role in a Netflix show that was almost guaranteed to be a cult favorite?

Even in her thoughts, she felt out of breath.

“Breathe, Bee,” Dieter reminded her, the corner of his lips pulling up into a mischievous smile. “Maybe you need to pinch yourself too to prove that you aren’t dreaming. Whatever you need to do, just do it.”

Claire cackled from her spot on the couch. “Surprise, bitch! You’re a star, Bee!”

Her dogs, Marshmallow and Fudgy, also felt the need to chorus out their approval. Tiny yaps added to the sheer overstimulation.

“I think I’m going to pass out,” Bee said, earning more laughter from Dieter and Claire.

“Are you going to let me in, or do I have to stay outside all night?” Dieter joked, raising his eyebrows at her.

“Oh shit, yes, come in,” Bee said, laughing at herself for being so stupid. “I’m just surprised, is all.”

“Who are the puppies?” Dieter asked, crouching down to greet Fudgy, who had approached them. Marshmallow, on the other hand, was still perched atop Claire.

“They’re mine,” Bee said, watching as Fudgy assaulted Dieter’s hands with his tongue instead of letting himself be pet. “This is Fudgy, and Marshmallow is over on Claire’s lap.”

Claire laughed. “He’s my baby now.” Claire rose from the couch, and Marshmallow followed after her dutifully. It was clear that she was his new favorite human, and Bee loved it. Her partner was so easily replaced by Claire in their eyes. They probably didn’t notice that the loser was out of their lives for good. “Want something to drink, Dieter?” she asked, gliding her way to the kitchen. “I’ve got wine, beer, spirits.”

“A true Hollywood bartender,” Dieter joked. “I’ll have what you two are having.”

Claire looked at him deadpan. “We haven’t started drinking yet, so it looks like a whole big glass of nothing is in your future.”

“Well, then nothing is fine,” Dieter said, a bit embarrassed.

Bee felt suddenly out of place, watching the banter that took place between them. If she didn’t know any better, she would say that Claire was interested in him. But, knowing Claire, the only glimmer of jealousy that sparked within her was because of how easily she could talk to him.

“I’ll have a glass of wine,” Bee said, feeling the need to speak up and make herself a part of the conversation.

“Better to celebrate,” Dieter said to her with a wink.

Claire let out a heaving, overdramatic sigh. “Finally, you guys get the right idea. We’re having champagne, dammit. Bee just got a lead role in a Netflix original!”

Bee grinned, and heat rushed to her cheeks. Hearing Claire say it like that felt way more real. But how did Dieter know that she had gotten the part? He was on the panel, of course, but then again, so was Claire. Why didn’t Claire just give her the news right after they had concluded with auditions?

“Wait, but how do you know?” Bee asked, flinching as the cork popped off the bottle that Claire had just opened. Both dogs started barking immediately but quieted with a stern shh! from Claire. “Wow, Claire, you know how to get them to behave.”

“I am mother, now,” Claire declared, bending down to pet Marshmallow. She poured three glasses of champagne from the bottle and distributed them between herself, Bee, and Dieter.

“The director texted me. She should have texted your agent, too,” Dieter said casually. “I told Claire when I asked to come over, but I wanted to be the first one to tell you because we have history and all.”

“History?” Claire asked, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. She took a sip from her glass and seemed pleased with it.

“Not history like that, oh my god, Claire,” Bee groaned. “He’s talking about Disney. He came to my work, and we filmed some segments about the new Star Wars desserts that I designed.”

“It was a great time,” Dieter said, leaning over the counter on his elbows and taking a sip from his glass.

Feeling a little out of place, Bee took a sip as well. She was a lightweight, and Claire knew as much, but Dieter didn’t, so she took just a tiny sip to try to pace herself a little better.

From how well-stocked Claire’s wine collection was and from how sexy Dieter looked with a glass in his hand, she was prepared to get outpaced by the two of them.

“Are you going to quit your job, Bee?” Claire asked suddenly. “You probably should.”

Dieter frowned and looked down at his glass. “You’re going to have to.”

“Really? Like, actually quit it now?” Bee asked. She set her glass down on the counter to avoid showing that her hands were shaking.

Claire nodded. “As soon as this gets announced, there’s no way you’re going to be able to work there in peace. Plus, with the commitments of this project, there’s no way you’ll be at work long enough to actually get anything done.”

“Wow, it’s that much time?”

“Yup,” Dieter said, popping his lips on the ‘p.’ “It’s part of why Netflix pays so well. You can’t really be in anything else while you’re filming for them. They don’t want too many titles coming out with your name attached when you’re working on a Netflix original. I’m in Star Wars, and this, that’s it for the next five years or so.”

“Five years?” Bee asked, her voice raising in shock. “This show is going for five years?”

“If all the plans work out right, it’s expected to be just as popular as the main series, if not more. The main series is based on the books, so people kind of already know what happens to all of the characters. This is all a surprise, meaning that those who are into the books will enjoy watching it a little more,” Claire explained. “So, there have been five seasons planned, which means at least five years.”

“But only one season has been like actually approved so far?” Bee clarified. “Just so I’m clear.”

“Yes, only one season so far, but there will be more,” Dieter said with a smile.

“What if I ruin it, though?” Bee asked. “What if the show gets canceled after the first one because it’s so bad?

Claire and Dieter look at one another and exchange a laugh.

“What is so funny? It’s a serious question, guys,” Bee insists. “I could just completely ruin the show, and then it flops, and we’re all out of work.”

“Do you think that I would take on a project that was likely to fail?” Dieter asked her, making direct eye contact with her.

Bee felt like it was too intense to maintain his gaze, so she looked away and focused on Claire instead, who seemed to want to burst out laughing at her again but decided to spare her feelings.

“Well, no,” Bee admitted. “But they cast me, and I’m nobody, so there is clearly a budget issue.”

“They wanted a nobody,” Claire said, rolling her eyes. “Didn’t I tell you? They didn’t want someone who was already famous to interact with Dieter in a romance because it would make the fans crazy and ruin someone’s career.”

Bee felt her stomach drop, and Dieter gave Claire a look that said, “don’t say that to her.”

“Oh,” was all that Bee could muster.

“Your career will not be ruined from being my leading lady,” Dieter said, his voice was soft and reassuring, but Bee felt anything but settled.

The words ‘my leading lady’ echoed in her mind. No way, oh my god, no way, she was going to be Dieter Bravo’s love interest in a show that could go on for five years. Five years of working alongside Dieter Bravo, seeing him every day of filming – Nevermind that, she was hanging out with Dieter right now and commiserating over their industry over a glass of champagne.

“Your career is safer from a strong start in this show than someone super famous catching the wrath of jealous fans,” Dieter explained further. “That was the reasoning. Besides, Bridgerton is mainly ‘unknown’ actors anyway. Netflix prefers to mix strong stars with new talent.”

“That makes sense,” Bee agreed, taking a deep sip of her champagne. “Well, I guess I’ve made it now. I can die happy.”

Claire snorted. “That is so morbid, Bee. What the hell?”

“It’s true! I’ve made it, and it’s all I’ve ever wanted,” she laughed, but Dieter and Claire didn’t find the joke very funny. “What? Didn’t you two dream of making it too?”

“Well, yeah, but you’re only getting started, silly,” Dieter said with a smile. “Die happy once you’ve made twelve movies and have a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame and everything.”

Claire shrugged. “It’s not very hard to get a star. I think she should set her sights higher.”

“Sure,” Bee said sarcastically. “And maybe I’ll complete an EGOT too.”

“You could,” Dieter said with a shrug. “Can you sing, though?”

“I can try,” Bee teased.

“Ugh,” Claire said out of nowhere. Bee hadn’t even noticed that she had walked away from the counter to go look at what was available in her kitchen cabinets. “Should I order some snacks? I don’t really have anything, and I don’t want to be a bad host.”

“Oh, it’s okay, I don’t really need anything,” Dieter said, but Bee could tell that he was being humble. “But I’m happy to stick around if I’m allowed to. I don’t have anything planned tomorrow, so I can stay up late for once.”

“You should order snacks, Claire,” Bee said. “He’s being nice. He would love some snacks.”

“I would love some snacks,” Dieter admitted. “How did you know?”

Oh, well, Dieter, I’m a super fan, and I even know what kind of snack you would like, but I’m not going to say it because you will think I’m a freak, Bee thought.

“I just had a feeling,” she lied. “And if you’re going to stick around for a bit, then we might as well have some stuff to munch on.”

Bee played it cool and sauntered over to the dining room table with her glass.

“Bee’s got the right idea,” Claire said, following her to the table with her iPhone clutched in her hands as she put together their delivery order. “Let’s not stand around like weirdos.”

Dieter scoffed. “You’re calling me a weirdo?”

“Yeah,” Claire responded. “Weirdo, what kind of chips do you want?”

“I’m not picky,” he said. “I’ll eat whatever.”

“Bee?”

“I like those cheddar Ruffles,” Bee said. “But I will also munch on anything.”

“Fine, we’ve got the Cheddar and Sour Cream Ruffles, I got regular Lay’s, some dip, and I got a little veggie tray to keep us accountable, anything else?” Claire offered. “Nothing? Crickets?”

“You’re a very generous host, Claire,” Dieter said. “Thank you. I feel like I’m hanging out with the cool kids.”

Claire nodded and set her phone down. “We are the cool kids, the three of us. The new Bridgerton stars, look at us go.”

Bee felt her eyes widen without meaning to. The news still hadn’t settled in yet, and she wasn’t sure when it ever would. It was crazy enough that she was sitting here hanging out with Dieter Bravo and Claire like they were all three best friends. She wondered what her partner was doing at home without her. He was probably sitting watching the news like nothing had ever happened in his half-empty apartment without her.

“A celebration party times two!” Claire said, seemingly reading her mind. She raised her glass and motioned for Dieter and Bee to do the same. “To our roles in the Bridgerton spinoff and to Bee for leaving her deadbeat boyfriend.”

“Oh, he wasn’t a deadbeat,” Bee corrected. “He was just boring.”

“Sorry, you’re right,” Claire laughed. “Her boring boyfriend.”

“Oh, that happened today?” Dieter asked, concern crossing his face. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

To her own surprise, Bee laughed. Like actually laughed in his face.

“What’s funny?” Dieter asked, looking to Claire for some input. “Did I do something?”

“Dieter, we just like became friends today. I wasn’t going to tell you about breaking up with my boyfriend right after I just met you,” Bee explained, tears coming to her eyes with how hard she was laughing. The champagne was getting to her already, but she was having fun and finally feeling a little bit loose with him.

“Oh my god, we did not meet today,” Dieter said with mock outrage, a hand on his chest like a true dramatic. “We met like a week ago, and we were very fast friends.”

“Sure,” Bee conceded. “We did have a fun time, but I didn’t think we were on ‘My boyfriend totally sucks, and I want to leave him’ terms.”

“Well, I thought we were,” Dieter said with a goofy shake of his head. He took another sip of champagne – the last sip in the glass and set it down like he was the main character of a movie who expected an eager bartender to fill it once more.

Claire, in fact, was the eager bartender. She then refilled her own glass of bubbling beverage and topped off Bee a little bit, who was lagging behind.

“I’m sorry for not spilling the beans sooner, but now you know,” Bee said with a sigh. “It was quite the melodramatic breakup. As you can see, I’m crashing here for a bit with my boys.”

Dieter frowned, lines pressing into his skin with concern. “I’m glad you got to keep the dogs,” he said genuinely, and Bee felt tears gather at the corner of her eyes.

“Shut up,” she said. “You’re going to make me cry.”

“I’m serious!” Dieter protested. “I was worried about those dogs all damn day, Bee. I didn’t even know what they looked like.”

“She’s only keeping one because Mallow is mine now,” Claire interrupted. Sure enough, Marshmallow had been lifted into Claire’s lap and had officially joined them at the circular dinner table. Bee glanced at her feet and noticed that Fudgy had gotten cozy near Dieter underneath the table.

“I’d rather you steal her dog than a boring man,” Dieter said with a shrug. “What did he do anyway?”

“Do?” Bee asked.

“Like for work,” Dieter explained.

“Oh,” Bee said. “Well, he was like corporate-whatever, and then he started his own business. It was new, but it looked like it was doing well. I don’t know. I never really paid attention to the financials. That was his wheelhouse.”

“So it was long term then,” Dieter approximated. He was talking with his champagne glass now. He used it for gestures, and it was drawing Bee’s eyes to his long fingers, his masculine hands. She had to drag her eyes away from them and focus instead on his eyes while he talked, which were equally intimidating.

“You could say that,” Bee said, playing a little bit hard to get.

“Well, they say you need a month for every year at least to get over them,” Dieter said. “When will Hollywood’s newest star be back on the market?”

Bee counted the years in her head but chose not to answer.

“No comment,” she said with a smirk. “But what if I was ready to end it before my cutoff? Does that mean I’m ready now?”

“Probably,” Claire interrupted. “If you were checked out during the relationship, you’re probably fine.”

“We were roommates,” Bee said, expecting Dieter to get the hint. “And I was also the maid. It wasn’t great, promise me.”

Dieter took a second to process her explanation, and Bee wasn’t sure if it was the lighting or if Dieter was starting to get tipsy as well. The tops of his cheeks were slightly pink, and his second glass was just about dry.

“You’ll be able to afford your own maid shortly,” Dieter said. “Netflix is paying me more for this show than Disney is for the Star Wars show, so I’d expect you’re going to get a pretty big check.”

“But I’m new,” Bee said. “There’s no way that they’re going to pay me big when they secured you for a big contract. Wouldn’t that mean they have a lower budget?”

“Not when I have a contract that states that I will not perform work unless my opposite gender costars are paid the same, if not more,” Dieter teased, taking the final half-sip of champagne that rested in his glass.

What. The. Fuck.

Bee felt like she had the spins, and she wasn’t even fully drunk. If it was more than Star Wars, then that meant that… Oh my god…

That was hundreds of thousands of dollars per episode over five years… She would never have to work another day for Disney in her entire life.

“Dieter,” Claire scolded him, and Dieter put his hands up like he had been caught in the act of something.

“What? I’m just telling her the truth,” Dieter said.

“That’s fine but don’t give her a heart attack. Let’s keep the new news to a minimum. She’s had enough shock for one day,” Claire said, taking Dieter’s empty glass from him and retreating to her wine collection.

“I don’t believe you,” Bee said with a shrug.

“When have I ever lied to you?” Dieter teased. “Honestly, when?”

Bee let out a tiny burp but pretended like she had just swallowed hard. The champagne was really starting to get to her now, or maybe it was the number. She would be able to afford a new apartment with no problem. She would probably be able to buy a place, actually.

“I don’t know you well enough to know when you lie,” Bee said with a shrug. “No, no more, please, Claire. I haven’t even finished this.”

“We have got to get your tolerance up, girl,” Claire said with a disapproving click of her tongue. “At events, they give you champagne all night, and you’re going to have to keep up.”

“It’s true,” Dieter laughed. “A glass and a half of champagne is rookie numbers, but we’ll get you up to speed.”

“You make Hollywood sound like a college frat,” Bee said.

Claire and Dieter exchanged a look.

“It kind of is,” Claire said. “It’s just as incestuous, everyone sleeps with everyone else,everyone parties, and everyone knows each other.”

“I’m starting to realize that,” Bee said with a slight giggle. “I think I’m done drinking for the night, though.”

She pushed her glass toward Dieter, allowing him to finish off her glass.

“Welcome to Hollywood, Bee,” he said, accepting it happily.

***

Bee woke up on Sunday morning with a slight headache but no other symptoms of a hangover. The bedspread was white, and the sun glimmered cheerily into the room, which was decidedly not in the apartment that she shared with her partner. The dogs slept happily in the bed with her, curled up near her feet. And for once, Bee felt like she was waking up somewhere that she belonged, even if that was just the guest suite in her friend’s apartment.

There was a glass of water and a bottle of Advil on the bedside table, next to her phone charger, which was plugged in, courtesy of Claire. Bee hadn’t really gotten that drunk, and she had honored her promise to stop drinking after the glass and a half of champagne, but she still spent the rest of the evening tipsy and feeling warm.

She only hoped that she hadn’t said anything horribly embarrassing in front of Dieter, but she was pretty sure that she remembered everything from the night before.

With a deep sigh, she rolled over in bed to reach for her phone. There were 10 text messages on the home screen that had come in since she had fallen asleep. Two were from Dieter, one from Claire, three from her agent, and four from her ex-partner. Frowning, she started from least to most scary.

[Claire]: Went out for a run, be back in an hour. xx

Okay, no problem, Bee thought. That was nice of her to let her know since she hadn’t yet gotten used to the house.

Bee heart-reacted the text message and moved to the next one.

[Mark]: Call me when you are up.

[Mark]: I know it’s Sunday, but seriously, call ASAP, please!

[Mark]: Bee, I have news, hint hint!

The pinching herself was unnecessary, after all. She made the mental note to call Mark after she was done reading the other messages and moved on. The remaining option was the choice between opening the apparent rant from her ex or the two from Dieter.

Least scary, she reminded herself, and she clicked on the messages from her ex.

[Ex-Partner]: Hope you and the dogs are okay.

[Ex-Partner]: I’d love to see you today.

[Ex-Partner]: I think we can work through this, I really do.

[Ex-Partner]: Okay, ignoring me? That’s really immature of you. I thought you were better than ignoring someone who is trying to reach out to you and fix things. I guess the issues that you had in your last relationship are still here to stay. Good luck finding anyone else who will deal with your coldness and your lack of affection. I didn’t think you would stoop so low as to ignore someone who really loved you for once in your life. I guess that’s what you did to your mom, too, even though all she ever did was love you. Have fun at your dead-end Disney job going nowhere in life. And I hope you have a really fun time with your loser friends trying to learn how to act when no one will cast you. Anyone can tell you that they don’t want 30-something nobodies in Hollywood.

Nice, she thought. The words shocked her to her core. She hadn’t realized that he had had so much cruelty. How dare he talk about her relationship with her mother when he had no idea what it was like to grow up with so much pressure and to try to stitch together a relationship with a woman who couldn’t understand how she had hurt you. And her Disney job was dead-end because she had worked her ass off to get to the top, for the moment. If she wanted to, she could run the whole damn thing, but she loved to bake, not do paperwork.

And the acting thing…well, the acting thing might have been true 24 hours ago, but it certainly wasn’t now.

Go fuck yourself, she typed out. But then she deleted it.

He didn’t deserve a response from her. He didn’t get to celebrate the news of her Netflix casting with her, but he would see the announcement and know that he was wrong. If he was talking to her like this, it was out of desperation for a reaction. And she would not give him a reaction.

She would do what actresses did best, and she would give him a show.

Out of nothing but pettiness, she screenshotted the messages so that she could show Claire later, and then with a quick swipe of her finger, she deleted the conversation between the two of them so that he was no longer in her ‘Recent Conversations’ on her phone.

The only person that was left to respond to now, was Dieter.

[Dieter]: Thank you for spending time with me. I had a wonderful time.

[Dieter]: Have you heard the news? Sammi says we need to wear the same color. I was thinking red. 🌹

Bee smiled. And had a little mini-freakout that Dieter had double-texted her. But she didn’t know the news, and she wasn’t entirely certain who Sammi was. Maybe the director?

There were so many names that had been said to her the day before that she couldn’t be certain, but it sounded about right.

“I better call Mark first,” she said to herself, sitting up in bed and dialing the number of her agent. If there was news that she needed, he was the likely source of it, given the triple text that she had received. Mark answered on the first ring.

“Bee, thank goodness. I’ve been waiting for you to call me,” Mark said, his tone a weird mix of disapproving and excited.

“Sorry, Mark,” Bee said. “I slept in.”

“Yeah, I know,” he replied .”Claire ended up telling me as much. Look, I know you already know, but I just wanted to confirm with you that you did get the role of Celine in the Bridgerton spinoff. In fact, the casting agency and Netflix are working on your contract right now. They want it signed today, no questions and no fussing around with numbers.”

“Okay,” Bee said hesitantly. “What’s the rush?”

“Well, there’s going to be an event tomorrow with the main cast,” Mark said. “It’s not a red carpet, red carpet, but it’s a red carpet.”

“What?” Bee asked. “Not a – huh?”

“It’s a red carpet but it’s for photos, mainly. It’s a presser-type event, where they will get you all together and show teaser photos for the new show. Something vague like a rose and the show title and they’ll get you all together for some photos,” Mark explained. “It’s really cheesy shit that they do for magazines and Twitter and all that, but after that you’re free.”

Bee sat in bed and blinked. A red carpet, photos, the dress that Dieter had mentioned. It was all coming together now. But tomorrow? Tomorrow was not going to work.

“This is tomorrow?” Bee clarified. “Like as in Monday?”

“Yes, Monday at 7.”

“PM?” she asked.

“Of course, Bee,” Mark said with a sigh. “Relax. You have done absolutely everything right so far. You are doing great and getting far based on your talents. There’s no need to try too hard.”

“Okay,” Bee said. “Thank you, Mark. That actually makes me feel a lot better.”

“Anytime, Bee,” Mark said happily. “And I already told Claire that she’s going to need to help you find a dress and to charge it to the agency card.”

“I can pay for it, it’s okay,” Bee protested. She didn’t want any sort of special treatment given to her because of the circumstances that she found herself in. Even if she had to put it on a credit card, she would be happy to do so.

Mark laughed on the other end of the phone. “No, it’s fine. It’ll just come out of your first check.”

“Okay, if you insist,” Bee said, unsure of what the standard protocol was. The way he said it made it sound like the dress was going to be out of her budget anyway. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Mark replied. “Enjoy your day of shopping! Buh-bye.”

“Bye,” Bee said, hanging up the phone.

She laid back in bed and looked up at the ceiling, heaving out a deep sigh. Bee hadn’t even been awake for 15 minutes and her day had already been a rollercoaster. From the texts from her ex to the ones from Dieter, to Mark’s announcement of a red carpet tomorrow…she was going to need a massage or something.

“Helloooo,” Claire said from the hallway, knocking on her door quickly. Fudgy leaped awake and started barking at the door.

“Hi Claire,” Bee called out from the bed. She still didn’t want to get up yet, she was feeling too overwhelmed to face what was supposed to be a relaxing Sunday but now was anything but.

Claire slowly opened the door. “Glad to see you’re awake, we’ve got things to do.”

“I was worried you were going to say that,” Bee groaned. “I wish I could just stay in bed all day honestly.”

“So do I but we can’t all get what we want, can we?”

Bee shook her head. “No, but I really want it. Will that help my chances?”

“What’s up?” Claire asked. “Did something happen?”

“I’m just a little overwhelmed is all,” Bee said, tilting her head up to look at the ceiling again. “This just doesn’t feel like real life and I feel like I need to hit the pause button for a bit and just process everything that has happened for a while.”

“That makes sense,” Claire said, entering the room and taking a seat on the end of the bed next to Fudgy and Marshmallow. “But unfortunately, you’re kind of killing it and we have some important things to do to make sure that you’re ready for tomorrow. It’s going to be a really big day and you need to look hot.”

“You say that like I’m not already hot,” Bee joked, forcing herself to sit up in bed once more. “What’s on the agenda for today then?”

“Well, you need to get your nails done, definitely. And we need to get you a dress for the event itself. I also need to make sure that my hairstylist and makeup artist can do you also before the event, but that’s more of an admin task. And then we are going to grab dinner in a somewhat public location and hope that paparazzi take pics of us so that there is more than just the red carpet shots of you tomorrow,” Claire listed off.

“Do they really just take pictures of people at dinner like that?” Bee asked. “That’s terrifying.”

“No, well, yes and no,” Claire explained. “There are certain restaurants in L.A. where if you go and you’re any sort of famous, they’ll take pictures of you as basically free press. So, they would recognize me and get pictures of both of us. Then, when the announcement hits they will dig up those pictures of us looking hot at dinner together and post them too. It will give you more credibility.”

Bee nodded. She hadn’t thought about the side effects of stardom very clearly, but she should have known that living in the public eye was going to be more difficult. She was going to have a tough time walking Marshmallow and Fudgy to let them out to go poop eventually if things kept going how they were going.

As a borderline obsessive Dieter Bravo fan, she was familiar with how fans knew nearly everything about the person they were interested in. The thought scared her and excited her, but most of all, it was overwhelming.

“It’s going to get better, I promise,” Claire said. “You will get used to it and it won’t seem so crazy anymore. It’ll just be life. What else is bugging you?”

“Ugh,” Bee groaned. “My ex texted me like a bunch of just pure evil stuff. And I know it shouldn’t bother me but fuck him, he held me back for so long and so I’m just annoyed.”

“Ew,” Claire said, making a face. “Don’t let him interfere with this, this is so exciting.”

“I know, I know,” Bee said. “I’m not going to, but it was like really toxic stuff that he said. I’m ignoring it for now, but I wish I could just really tell him how much he sucks.”

Claire smiled slightly. It was a sad, but understanding smile. “You did the right thing by not responding. You just need to focus on yourself and how amazing this experience is. So, let’s live in the moment and go get you a hot dress for tomorrow night. Did Dieter text you?”

“Oh shit, he did,” Bee said, grabbing her phone and unlocking it again. “I need to text him back. I understand what he meant by ‘news’ now.”

[Dieter]: Thank you for spending time with me. I had a wonderful time.

[Dieter]: Have you heard the news? Sammi says we need to wear the same color. I was thinking red. 🌹

Now understanding the context, she quickly typed out her response to him.

[Bee]: Yes! I just spoke to Mark. I think red sounds great. I’m going shopping with Claire today.

“Okay, I replied to Dieter,” Bee announced, locking her phone and setting it down on the bed face-down.

“Well, what did he say?” Claire asked. “Did he say he’s madly in love with you?”

Bee blushed, heat rising to her cheeks at the idea of Dieter Bravo confessing his love to her. “No, crazy. He did not say that he is madly in love with me. He asked if we could wear red to the red carpet.”

“That’s basically the same thing,” Claire said with a wave of her hand. “He’s so interested in you, Bee. It’s not even funny.”

“It is funny,” Bee insisted. “Because it’s a joke, there’s no way that I could ever pull Dieter Bravo in this lifetime. I’m in some sort of alternate timeline with this role. The fact that I kissed him yesterday is like…well, it isn’t even a fact to me. I barely remember it.”

“Don’t repress your memories of that, girl,” Claire scolded her. “You need to cherish that memory like it was the best day of your life.”

“Well, it kind of was,” Bee admitted.

“That’s right, now take a shower and let’s go find you a hot dress for the red carpet. And probably one for dinner tonight, too,” Claire said, picking up Marshmallow. “My baby and I are going to go watch some tv and eat a snack.”

“Take Fudgy with you, too, then!” Bee called out after her. “You can’t play favorites. He’s going to get depressed!”

***

Showered and truly ready for her day now, Bee felt much better knowing that there was going to be an announcement about the casting. It solved a lot of problems for her. She could quickly say goodbye to her old life and rub her success into her ex’s face while being invited into Hollywood with open arms. Between Claire’s plans to get her face in the spotlight more and her new work commitments, there was going to be no way that she would be able to continue working at Disney.

She had accepted this fact while she showered, and while it made her kind of sad, it was for the best. Even if she had never accepted another role in her life after this Netflix show, she would have done something. Claire had also had one big role, and she stayed in the industry, persistent and working at simple audition workshops to fill her days.

For once in her life, she was going to actually have enough money to be more than just comfortable. It was everything that her mother had wished for her and more in one role.

“Okay, I’m ready,” Bee announced as she walked into the living room. Claire sat with both of her dogs resting on her body while she watched some version of Real Housewives on the tv with a glass of orange juice in her hand.

“Finally,” Claire said, pretending like she hadn’t just been comfy on the couch and had instead been waiting on her for a long time. “Let’s go. We’ve got so much to do. I already called my hair and makeup ladies, and they said they can do your hair and makeup too. We just have to be ready to go an hour early.”

“That sounds good?” Bee said hesitantly.

“Yep, it’s perfect,” Claire said, standing up and grabbing her keys. “Are they good to just chill?” Marshmallow and Fudgy were standing near her feet, expecting Claire to take them with her.

“Yeah, or I can put them in their little crates if you would prefer. They’re good boys, though. They won’t get into anything. It was my ex who didn’t trust them in the house,” Bee explained.

“They are good boys,” Claire said, giving each of them a scratch on the head. “And your ex is an idiot. They wouldn’t get into anything that they aren’t supposed to.”

Bee laughed and petted both of her dogs, before slipping on her shoes and heading out the door with Claire. They took Claire’s car, which Bee still needed some time getting used to how fancy it was. Though, she supposed there were even fancier cars in her future. She couldn’t really be seen as an A-lister if she was driving her current car.

“So, where are we going first?” Bee asked as Claire navigated onto the freeway.

“My stylist’s house,” Claire said nonchalantly, as if everyone had a stylist. “They’ve got like a whole store in their house where you can lend dresses from. We’ll start building you a wardrobe for sure, but this is our first stop in case she has anything quick. If not, there’s a couple of places that we can go to actually shop.”

“Okay,” Bee said, mentally preparing herself. She imagined a large mansion with a basement full of clothes and a high-class stylist with a fake nose who didn’t take her sunglasses off even when she was inside. The thought of the imaginary woman scared her senselessly. She didn’t like changing in front of other people and hated trying on clothes.

Bee was the type of girl who wore things that she bought from Amazon in a size too big because she was too lazy to go through with the return process.

“He’s the sweetest,” Claire reassured her, pulling into the fast lane. “And he’s super adorable and very gay, so don’t worry about changing. He wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole.”

Bee laughed so hard that she snorted. “Okay, that’s actually really reassuring.”

“You’re welcome,” Claire said. “I knew you needed it. I asked him about red and gave him your size and he said he has three options for you to try.”

“Nice,” Bee said with a nod. “I’m excited.”

“No you aren’t, but I appreciate you trying to be,” Claire said honestly. “Then, if we can’t find anything, we go and do nails before they close, and then the two stores. Okay?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Bee said.

The drive to Claire’s stylist’s house was long, and Bee had a feeling that she was making her first-ever trip to Calabasas, or one of the surrounding insanely rich neighborhoods that A-list celebrities called home. It was crazy enough that she was crashing in a condo in Hollywood Hills.

“What stylist lives out here?” Bee asked. “Like, who makes enough money to live where the Kardashians live from picking out clothes?”

“A damn good one,” was all Claire offered, a mischievous smile on her face.

The gated community’s security was easy to get through, and Claire was pleased that the security guard recognized her without a hitch. The homes in the neighborhood were disgusting to Bee, just dripping with wealth and extravagance. She didn’t claim to know the circumstances of everyone in the neighborhood, but the homes appeared to be at least 6 bedrooms each, and she doubted that many people actually lived there.

Bee found herself grateful that Claire lived in an upscale but reasonable condo. She wasn’t sure how she would have adjusted so quickly if she had to visit her in one of these homes.

“Derrick!” Claire shouted as soon as she saw who Bee could only assume was her stylist.

He was standing outside in a black t-shirt and Nike shorts with a small chihuahua on a leash, but he seemed very well-groomed and professional. His warm brown skin glowed in the sun like he had just put moisturizer on.

“Claire!! Oh my gosh,” he said, wrapping her into a big hug. “And you must be Bee. Nice to meet you.” He let go of Claire and immediately enveloped Bee in a similarly tight squeeze. “Sorry,” he said. “I know we just met, but anyone who is friends with Claire is like my new best friend too.”

“I agree,” Bee said with a laugh. She was feeling a little awkward, but it was nothing she couldn’t shake off.

“Let’s get you in some dresses,” Derrick said. “I know you guys are on a time crunch.”

Derrick led them through the gorgeous paned glass front door and into the main portion of his house, which was no less beautiful. His furniture was brightly colored and patterned, unlike the other photos of celebrity houses that Bee had seen, which were beige and minimalistic. He led them further into his house and down a set of stairs that led to a basement that was indeed packed with gorgeous outfits like Bee had imagined.

There were three red dresses on an empty clothing rack, each of them with different designs and cuts. One had full-length sleeves, the other was fully sleeveless, and the third had a unique cap sleeve design.

The rest of the room was filled to the brim with stunning designs, ones that Bee would expect to see on red carpets, the Met Gala, and high fashion runways. She had never been one who was obsessed with fashion, but she could appreciate Derrick’s collection for sure.

Already, Bee was having trouble with deciding which dress she would want to wear to the event, and she hadn’t even tried them on yet to see if they would fit.

There was a small curtained area in the basement that Bee assumed was for changing, and Derrick directed her over there to change into the first dress, with Claire to help her. He also mentioned that it was fine to change out in the open, whatever she was comfortable with.

“It’s okay, I’m covered underneath this, so I don’t mind,” Bee said, stripping down to her bra and underwear. Derrick handed her the first dress, which had long sleeves and was deep, blood-red in color.

“Oh, it looks so good, Bee,” Claire gasped, putting her hands over her mouth. “You don’t even need to try on the other ones.”

“Really?” Bee asked, turning around to look in the large, floor-length mirror behind her.

The dress fit like a glove, hugging at Bee’s hips and accentuating all of the nice parts of her body. The dress had a turtleneck effect to it, hitting just below her jaw. Overall, the dress was somehow modest while being extraordinarily sexy. She looked like a vampire temptress, and the color was perfect to contrast with her dark hair and light skin.

“Oh yeah,” Bee said. “I love this so much.”

“It’s perfect. It’s Valentino. It’s been worn before, but no one is going to care. Everyone is going to just be shocked by you,” Derrick gushed. “The hair definitely needs to be down, though. The last time I saw it worn was with a bun, but her dark hair needs to be down to really pull off this color.”

“I agree,” Claire said. “Thank you so much, Derrick. How did you get it right on the first try?”

“I always do, baby,” Derrick said, giving Claire another hug. “Now, let’s get Bee out of this dress, and let’s get you two on your way. What’s your next stop?”

“Nail appointment,” Bee said as Claire tugged down the zipper on the dress. “I’m excited about that part especially. This was scary, but now I realize it wasn’t all that scary at all.”

“People are always so scared of meeting me!” Derrick exclaimed. “I don’t know why but stylists always get a bad rep from the people that are mean about fashion. Fashion can be whatever you want it to be.”

“True,” Bee agreed. “That’s so true. I thought I was going to walk in and get roasted.”

“Girl, for what? You’re wearing leggings and a cute top like every other girl in L.A., and there’s no problem with that,” Derrick said with a laugh. He led them out of the wardrobe collection and back upstairs. “Thank you for coming to see me, ladies. I’ll have the dress at Claire’s house tomorrow with her gown as well.”

Derrick waved at them as they got into Claire’s car and made their way to the nail salon.

“That was amazing,” Bee said as they pulled out of the neighborhood. “I was so scared. I thought that was going to be horrible.”

“It was amazing. You looked so amazing in that dress,” Claire squealed. “Derrick is going to send the dress color to Dieter’s stylist to try to match you two as best as possible.”

“Okay, I’ll text him that,” Bee said, pulling her phone out.

There were five missed text messages already, but Bee could have sworn she had just checked her phone.

[Dieter]: Just heard you picked your dress! Charlene is going to make sure I match you.

[Dieter]: I hope that you’re excited and not freaking out too much.

Bee blushed. Was this her new reality? Every time she looked at her phone, there was going to be a new text message from Dieter Bravo himself?

[Bee]: You’re fast with your news. I am excited and freaking out. Does that sound reasonable? Lol.

His response came immediately as if he had been already on their text message conversation awaiting her reply.

[Dieter]: I think we can work with that. 🙂

“He responded fast,” Claire said, peeking over from the driver’s seat.

Bee flushed even deeper. “Focus on the road, lady.”

[Bee]: Good, because I’m going to need to get used to this for a bit.

She was a little bit disappointed that he didn’t respond immediately this time, but she didn’t want to linger too long waiting for him. She moved on to opening the other two messages. Two were from her mom, a simple “Love you honey” and a separately sent heart emoji, and the other was from her ex.

[Ex]: Turn your location off if you don’t want me to see you gallivanting around L.A. with your new friends while you ignore me. I can’t believe you’ve done this to us and our family. I love those dogs. I love you. You don’t even know what it means to be a star. Why are you being so selfish and wasting all of our time?

Bee held her breath while she read the words from her ex. They made her second-guess everything, even though nothing had changed. She still wanted her freedom. She didn’t want to be with him. But everything outside of that relationship was so scary, and he was so safe. It would be so easy to go back to him and live out a comfy life that didn’t involve Calabasas designers, Valentino dresses, and surprise champagne hangouts with Dieter Bravo.

“You’re going to have to block him, Bee,” Claire said without prompting. “He’s going to start getting to you, and he’s going to keep trying to manipulate you.”

“Maybe he’s right, though,” Bee sighed. “Maybe it would just be better to go back and be safe with him.”

Claire sucked her teeth. “That’s exactly why you need to block him, Bee. You don’t deserve to hear stuff like that. And honestly, you don’t have time for it.”

Bee looked down at her phone. She turned off location sharing, but her finger still wavered, hovering over the ‘Block’ button.

Chapter 11 | Series Masterlist

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x ofc #dieter bravo x oc #Dieter and Bee Universe

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adricthemindnimon · 2 years

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Thoughts watching the commonwealth games finals (first 2 rotations):

- Really like Jea Maracha! Not the highest difficulty, but she moves well and is enjoyable to watch!

- Apparently short pirouettes on bars irritate me to an almost absurd degree.

- Odine Achampong pulling a “yikes” face after her bars dismount lmao

- Alice Kinsella’s vault is a MESS, but her bars are lovely.

- Emma Yap has no difficulty to speak of on bars, but she swings really nicely (and covers pretty well out of a fairly dead hang).

- Commentators who say gymnasts legs are “glued together” when they’re obviously not make me feral. Also, saying they’re glued together when they’re twisted all around each other. Like yeah, I guess they are completely touching, but... not in a good way. Don’t make that sound good.

- Bent knees are to beam what short handstands are to bars. My absolute bugbear.

- Naveen Daries is allowed to keep doing wolf turns.

- I hate hate hate the pace/artistry/whatever requirement that makes gymnasts keep moving the entire time on beam. Almost none of them make it work, they just look silly waving their arms and prancing weirdly. They’re about to do big tricks, let them stand still a moment. It would be better.

- Caitlin Rooskrantz is beautiful on bars. I know she fell, I’m ignoring it. She is beautiful to watch.

- Cork hat lady in the audience I love you.

- Wow Emily Whitehead really did land her bars dismount in full tuck.

- “She had a little fight, but she won!” such a sweet way of talking about a bobble.

- I really enjoy Milka Gehani on beam! Lower difficulty, and a lot of bobbles, but all of her individual skills are super clean. Knees straight, toes pointed, position absolutely correct on each skill she does. “She’s got good discipline in her movements” - yes, that’s it! And she moves with real confidence and purpose between movements (and bobbles). Very impressed.

- Honestly, a number of these gymnasts from smaller (geographically or just gymnastically) countries are quite nice to watch on beam. They can’t do the difficulty, but they’ve clearly put the time into the quality.

- I normally don’t love the gymnasts who are aggressive and power their way through bars, but Georgia Godwin makes it work. I think it’s because she does also have good flow and a good swing, so she’s looks more like a daredevil than someone who’s angry at the bars haha

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sinfulcries · 3 years

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Imagine fucking Kazutora's mouth and ruining his throat with your massive cock whenever he's misbehaving. His tongue is so damn sharp and the lack of filter is insane, so whenever he decides to be a bitch and start yapping like one, all you have to do is shut him up by shoving your cock into his disgusting mouth. Like a cork to a bottle, your dick plugs his throat up perfectly and he struggles to breathe let alone speak.

He'll start punching you, raking his fingers against your thighs and screaming out muffled profanities as your strong arms kept his head in place. You'll just chuckle in amusement as you watch the little dirty-mouthed bitch choke on your cock and slowly succumb to submission

- Panchito

Watch the way as his eyes roll into the back of his skull as you firmly hold his head in place to take every inch of your fat cock. He can barely breathe and you could tell that he was about to pass out with the way his nose was pressed up against your pubic hair, gagging and slobbering while he struggled to open his eyes properly. That’s when you pull him off of your cock, watching him sputter and cough while he cries about you being such a meanie <33

#kazutora thirsts

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matchesarelit · 2 years

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Imagine If You Will...

Request: @shellbeerocks

“Hey! If you’re doing request can I get a Simon Tam imagine?

If the reader could be an herbalist oc medic picked up by the team that constantly butts heads with Simon over how wounds should be treated

Thank you so much!”

A/N: Hey I hope you like it! It gets a bit raunchy but not like smut of anything. If that makes you uncomfortable please let me know and I'll be happy to write it again.

WARNING: not smut but a little Raunchy Minors Do Not Interact!

Jayne’s feet dragged behind him as he was carried back to Serenity intermittently drifting in and out of consciousness. Within seconds the call for yourself and the doctor had began echoing through the halls. As the both of you fell in step, you surveyed the wounds throughout the crew. Sadly the illegal goods that had so unceremoniously been dropped on the floor of the deck told a slightly different story than the heavy smattering of wounds that covered your crewmates.

All but Wash and Kaylee had seemingly serious wounds, so before the crew could have been sat upon the benches ready for treatment you were at the ready with your belt, baskets and tools. For a while you worked in relative silence the clinks of tools and bottles and light groans and curses, but suddenly a cuss behind you laid a coat of silence over the room.

“We’re running out of Cyklokapron.”

“Do we need Cyklo-whatever Doc? Can’t it wait till we stumble on some more meds?” Mal’s less than concerned attitude seemed to aggravate the good doctor.

“Yes, That injection is the reason that half of you haven’t bled out of the tab-” Simon’s snippy reply was promptly cut off by one of your own as you rummaged through your supplies.

“Last I checked we still had three shots left, Its not hard to extend and we can get around fifty doses worth with a little concocting on my end.”

Smirking at the glare that was burning at the side of your skull, you moved towards the cabinet turning to look directly into Simon’s eyes as Mal began to speak.

“Well then, seems there was no need for the dramatics.” You released a small chuckle of agreement before your attention was drawn to the man draped over the metal seat.

“Will you shit your yaps and hurry up, I’m gorram dying over here.”

Raising your eyebrow at Jayne before reaching for the syringes, you found them already tightly bound by Simon’s digits. Prying them from his grip a whispered Thank you left your lips and put a scowl on the doctors face.

Quickly diluting and re-distributing the tranexamic acid you returned to your previous work on Zoe’s bullet wounds, as Simon reluctantly treated Jayne with your concoction, before slipping out of the room with the newly patched up Mal in tow.

Through the dusty glass of the infirmary you could see the frustration on Simon’s face as well as the exasperation that graced the Captain’s.

Simon dangled the newly corked bottle of medicine loosely in front of his face, the face which released the complaint; “I can not be expected to use these, these snake oil concoctions. Not to mention they wasted the last of our Cyklokapron.”

“Look Doc, Unless you plan on risking your fine clothes and fancy hair to steal from under the alliances noses, you are going to have to shut your yap and get back to fixin’ up my crew.”

Wiping your bloodied hands on a nearby cloth you paused as Mal limped back into the room, moving to the window you simply stuck your tongue out at the doctor.

Continuing on with patching up the crew a smug smirk graced your lips as Simon reluctantly tended to the small injuries throughout the group.

It took a while, but soon enough you were wiping the benches and flicking off the light switch as you left for your bunk.

“What the hell was that? Undermining me with your quack crap”

With a hand on your shoulder he had stopped in your tracks, "You must really enjoy this; getting under my skin. It seems to be the only thing you actually do around here." The venom in his voice was infuriating as was the self importance that constantly laced everything he did.

"Please try for once in your pathetic little life to pull your head out of that gaping hole you call an ass. I have been healing people since back when you were still in school; dotting your i's and crossing your t's. Not to mention that unlike you, I am an active member of the crew that keeps you from the gloved grasp of the alliance, so maybe put in the slightest bit of effort into paying me the respect I deser-" Shocking yo out of your scathing criticism, your back slammed against the tin of the nearest wall, sending a hollow echo throughout the surrounding halls.

Pinning you in place with an arm on either side of your head, Simon caught your lips with his own. The rough bite of his teeth on your bottom lip all but drew blood and elicited a groan from the back of your throat, before his lips moved to your throat.

"You are so fucking infuriating, and this" as the murmured whispers left his throat, his hand trailed from your shoulder, ghosting over your chest before gripping the meat of your hip with a force that was sure to bruise for weeks to come, and pulling you to meet his crotch and the obvious arousal that was forming a tent in his slacks. "Is even worse, cause there is no ignoring the absolute goddess in front of me. You are walking torture, and I fucking love it."

#simon tam #simon tam x reader #simon tam imagine #firefly imagine #firefly x reader #Imagine if you will...

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hookedonapirate · 3 years

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Book Update

If anyone is wondering when Hard To Handle will be coming out, I have some news! So, for those who don't know, Hard To Handle is an original A Helping Hand rewrite featuring Harper and Owen (Killian and Emma) and will be part 2 of the series. And if you haven't guessed yet, part 1 features Audrey and Brady (Elsa and Liam from A Helping Hand) with a Harper and Brady friendship. For those interested in their story, I have a little treat for you below. However, this Sneak peek doesn't show Audrey and Brady meeting yet because I haven't gotten that far.

This is sort of an enemies to lovers story (I say sort of because their "enemy" status in the beginning is too complicated to slap a label on it) that starts off with Harper and Audrey butting heads with their new neighbor, Brady, and him and Audrey exchanging love hate letters. 😉 Then Brady and Audrey form an alliance and break up Harper and Bryce. I promise it's not evil like it sounds because Brady discovers Bryce is cheating on Harper. Remember, Bryce is the Neal of AHH.

This book is a bit darker than book 2 because of the toxic nature of Harper's relationship with Bryce, and because Audrey often pays the price for his shenanigans, but there's still humor and fun in this one.

Anyway, here are the first few chapters. I may post more if anyone's interested ❤️

Chapter One

Brady

There are strange sounds coming from the unit next door.

Laughter maybe?

Yes, definitely laughter.

More like Cackling. From one—make that two—females.

Two loud, annoying females.

Just great.

I take pride in being a fairly simple man who doesn’t need much to be happy. A few things like fishing, enjoying an ice-cold beer and having a few moments of quiet time usually does the trick. Even the sound the can makes whenever I crack open the pull tab of Coors Light is music to my ears. I finally have time to relax after sweating my ass off from all the unpacking I did. I just moved in today and couldn’t stand the idea of tripping over boxes or searching through them every time I needed to use something. I was unable to stop unpacking until every single item in those boxes had a home.

Now I’m able to sit back in my patio chair, prop my feet up on the plastic stool and breathe in the pleasantly cool evening air, enjoy a refreshing, ice-cold beer and some quiet time.

Or at least I was able to until my air of tranquil serenity was so rudely disturbed by my cackling neighbors.

They could at least close their balcony doors, so the entire building doesn’t have to hear them.

I’m already in a foul mood, and the two laughing hyenas aren’t helping. If anything, my mood is worse than it was when I was packing.

They, however, sound like they’re having a grand old time. Doing what exactly, I’m not sure, but it sounds like one of them needed a break from studying and the other one is encouraging her to get drunk and let loose. Which means they’re college students.

Just fucking perfect.

This is exactly why I moved off campus, even though it meant paying rent and enduring a much longer commute to work.

It’s just my luck to get stuck living next to two loud teenagers or early twenty-something-year-olds. I’m around college students all the time, considering I’m an instructor; I don't need to live next to them, too. I learned that very quickly.

Young adults, my ass. More like impudent children.

I feel like the property management should’ve included that minor detail in the apartment listing. Or that not everyone is required to follow their uniform policies.

A peaceful, friendly community? Ha!

The management will definitely be hearing from me about their false advertising.

“Dude, I’m sorry to tell you this, Harp, but your boyfriend’s a fucking loser! Even Elisa said so!”

“He’s just misunderstood!”

“Misunderstood?! Bryce is such a creep!”

“Is not!”

I take a swig of my beer through gritted teeth. I really wish I had a TV right now.

It won’t be delivered until tomorrow, though. Which is very unfortunate and inconvenient at the moment because I need a distraction from reality. Listening to their conversation makes me furious and sad at the same time because it reminds me of me and my brother arguing about his girlfriend. I kept trying to tell Owen she was no good for him, but he wouldn’t listen. I bet this Bryce guy isn’t married, though.

Or maybe he is; I really don’t know.

I need something to take my mind off the overwhelming urge I feel to hop on a plane, fly to Chicago and kick my brother’s ass for being the fucking moron he is. And let me tell you, the urge is very strong right now. Earlier today, Owen told me the woman he’s been seeing is married. They’ve been dating for six months, during which she was lying to him the entire time. I already didn’t like her very much to begin with because she was a controlling bitch—I’m the only one who’s allowed to be a controlling bitch to my brother—and because ever since he started seeing her, I haven't been able to hang out with him very much. Whenever we made plans, he canceled them because Naomi wanted to spend time with him instead. And he was my best friend. Now he tells me she’s married and that he’s still staying with her.

What the actual fuck?

He’s so brainwashed by her, I couldn’t talk a lick sense into that goddamn head of his. Now he wants me to be okay with them staying together while she’s still with her husband?

Fuck that shit.

“Okay listen, if you’re going to talk shit about my boyfriend, we’re going to need more wine.”

“Agreed.”

It becomes silent next door for a few minutes, which makes me sigh in relief. Soon I hear, “Son of a fucking bitch!”

There’s a litany of curses and then, “We need a new corkscrew!”

“But we’re too drunk to drive anywhere!”

Damn, if only I had a corkscrew so they could drink more wine, get drunker and become even louder and more annoying than they already are.

That’s actually not a bad idea, though. If they’re anything like my ex-girlfriend, the quicker they get drunk, the quicker they’ll be ready to sleep. The quicker I’ll finally have my peace and quiet.

I contemplate driving down to the corner store, but what would I even say if I showed up at their door with a corkscrew they didn’t ask for? Oh, hi, I was eavesdropping on your conversation and took it upon myself to go to the store and buy you this corkscrew so you could both drink yourselves into an alcohol-induced coma and I could finally have some peace and quiet?

Nope, I definitely can’t say that.

Chapter Two

Audrey

“Son of a fucking bitch!”

When I rush into the kitchen to see why my roommate’s cussing up a storm, I’m expecting the counter and floor to be covered in wine and shattered glass, even though I didn’t hear any glass break, but Harper’s just holding the corkscrew and staring at the top of the bottle.

“What’s wrong?”

“We need a new corkscrew!” Harper grabs the bottle of wine and points the top of it at me. The cork is still jammed into the neck of the bottle, and the worm of the corkscrew is stuck inside it.

Which is very unfortunate.

She’s been studying her ass off, except for the occasional interruptions from her asshat of a boyfriend, Bryce. She had a really tough time getting him to finally leave so she could study, and she had to literally push him out the door. So I thought Harper could use a break and I could feel saner again by indulging in some wine. But one bottle of wine quickly turned into two. Or rather, it would’ve if not for the end of the corkscrew inside the cork.

Fuck.

“But we can’t drive anywhere,” I point out, considering how tipsy we both are, even though we only went through one bottle between us. But we’re both lightweights.

“Hold on,” she says, picking up her phone from the counter.

I cock my brow. “You do realize Amazon Prime takes two days to ship, right?”

“Yeah, I know, Aud. I’m not that drunk.” After looking at something on her phone for a minute, she leaves the kitchen, returns with one of her tennis shoes and sets the phone down to pick up the wine bottle. She places the bottom of the bottle inside the heel of the shoe, raises her hands above her head and goes to one of the walls in a striking pose.

I rush over and put my hand on her arm to stop her. “Wait, what are you doing?”

“This will push the cork out.”

“But won’t the wine spill all over?”

“Not if I can only push the cork part of the way out and then pull it off the rest of the way.” She hits the shoe against the wall a few times, but the cork doesn’t budge.

“Why don’t we see if any of the neighbors have a corkscrew,” I suggest. “This method doesn’t seem to be working.”

She sighs and drops her arms. “Who do you think would have one?”

“What about Mandy? She’s a wine drinker.”

Harper shakes her head. “She doesn’t get home from the office until late on Mondays. And there’s no way I’m trying mister grumpy pants across the hall. It always seems like he’ll snap at any moment. Plus, once his dog starts yapping, she never shuts up.”

“What about the new guy who just moved in next door?”

I shake my head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. What if he’s an ax murderer?”

“I saw him earlier when he was moving in. He seems harmless enough, and is kind of cute, actually.”

“Yeah, well so was Ted Bundy. And I’d like to stay alive with my head intact, thank you very much.” I haven’t seen the new neighbor yet, but I don’t think going over to a stranger's place while we’re both a little tipsy is the best idea, for several reasons.

She flicks her hand. “Well, you don’t have to go. I will.” She grabs her keys, removes her pepper spray from the attached chain and throws her keys back on the counter before heading toward the door.

“Harp, wait…”

Ignoring my pleas as I follow behind her, she slips into her Nike slides. “I’ll be fine. I got my handy dandy pepper spray,” she says, holding it up.

Before I can talk some sense into her, she’s already dashing out the door and calling out over her shoulder, “If I’m not back in five minutes, call 911!”

I sigh and lean against the door, pressing my ear against it so I can listen for Harper’s screams or any signs of a struggle.

Chapter Three

Brady

When I head inside from the balcony, there’s a knock on the front door. I scratch my head and stride over to answer it, wondering who it could be. I just moved into this apartment today, so I literally don’t know any of my neighbors yet.

I open the door to a skinny blonde with green eyes, long, shimmering hair and soft pink lips. She’s easy on the eyes, but I have a feeling she’s one of the laughing hyenas next door. She’s not as young as I thought she’d be, though. She looks to be around my brother’s age. When I give her a once-over, I notice the pepper spray she’s trying to hide in her fist.

I wince at the sight of it. She doesn’t even have the safety lock on.

I offer a tight-lipped smile. “Hello.”

“HiI’myournextdoorneighbor,” she mumbles, her words slurred together. She’s a little tipsy and has to lean against the doorframe so she doesn’t fall over.

“How can I help you, next-door neighbor?” I ask, keeping my eyes on the pepper spray. The sight of it brings back too many painful memories. Memories I’d rather keep locked away.

“I was wondering if you had a corkscrew my roommate and I could borrow?”

On the balcony, I wanted to strangle the two neighbors who were interrupting my quiet time, but now I feel very protective. She’s obviously drunk, yet stumbling over to a neighbor she doesn’t even know. I mean, I like to consider myself an overall decent human being, or as I’ve been called before, “one of the good guys,” but this woman doesn’t know that. She knows nothing about me, yet she’s over here asking to borrow a corkscrew. And yes, she’s carrying a weapon, but I doubt she knows how to use it properly, and with how tipsy she is, I doubt she’d even be fast enough to use it.

“I’m sorry, I don’t.”

Her smile fades, but she looks determined, so I’m hoping she doesn’t go knocking on all her neighbors' doors asking for a corkscrew.

“I could buy you one,” I offer, trying to sound as polite as possible. Which is difficult when I’m irritated.

Her eyes widen in surprise. “Really? You’d do that?”

I cross my arms and give her a stern look. “On one condition.”

She nods excitedly. “Of course, anything.”

I’m so glad I’m a nice guy because this woman seems far too trusting, and I’m afraid of what would’ve happened if I were anything less than a decent human being. “I’ll go and get you a corkscrew if you return to your apartment and keep the noise down for the rest of the night. And maybe close your balcony doors so the entire building can’t overhear your childish conversation.”

I’m thinking this is a very reasonable request. I’m willing to leave the comfort of my apartment to get in my car and go to the corner store to get some women I don’t know a corkscrew, and all they have to do is put a cap on the noise.

But the scowl on her face tells me she doesn’t agree. “First of all,” she raises her index finger, “ruu-uuuuuuude!” She raises another finger. “Secondly, my roommate and I aren’t children. We’re having a stressful week and were finally able to relax and drink some wine when the corkscrew broke. But that’s okay, we’ll figure out how to get the cork off ourselves!” She turns on her heels and starts to head toward her apartment, but spins around again and gets in my space, jabbing a finger at my chest. “And thirdly, we weren’t being that loud!”

I clench my jaw as she storms away and slams the door shut after disappearing inside her apartment. I throw my own door shut, huffing in frustration.

Why couldn’t my neighbors all be sweet old ladies?

So much for having a relaxing evening!

I head back to my balcony when there’s another knock on the door.

“Son of bitch,” I curse under my breath as I march over to the door and yank it open. “What, now?” I ask angrily when I see her standing at my door again.

“I need to borrow a dress shoe.”

I furrow my brows, growing more agitated. “A what?”

She sighs as though I’m the one inconveniencing her. “A dress shoe,” she says impatiently. “Surely you’ve been to a wedding or funeral. You must have one.”

“I do, but why do you—” Before I get the chance to answer, she shoves past me and heads toward my bedroom.

I follow her in there and cross my arms over my chest in the doorway as I watch her go to my closet. “What in the ever-loving hell are you doing?”

“I told you, I need to borrow a dress shoe.”

Seriously?!

The audacity of this woman waltzing into my apartment and taking one of my shoes! “That’s funny because I never said you could borrow one.”

“Wow, your closet is super organized,” she comments as she looks around, easily finding one of my brown dress shoes and grabbing it from the shoe rack.

I’m still standing in the bedroom doorway when she tries to get through. I reach for my shoe, but she steps back and aims her pepper spray at me. I instinctively duck out of the line of fire and lunge forward, grabbing the pepper spray from her hand and twisting the safety lock.

“Wait, please don’t kill me! My roommate’s calling 911 if I’m not back in two minutes!” she cries, shielding herself with her hands.

I sigh in exasperation and extend the pepper spray to her. “I’m not trying to murder you, I was trying to get my shoe back.”

She slowly drops her arms and narrows her eyes as she snatches the spray from my hand. “Then why did you take away my weapon?”

I scoff. “It was a reflex so I didn’t get sprayed in the face since I wasn’t actually attacking you. Do you know how many times I’ve been pepper-sprayed in the face?”

“Why, because you’re a rapist?!” she accuses, stepping away from me and aiming her pepper spray at me again, even though the safety is still on. She probably doesn’t even know that, though.

I sigh in exasperation and raise my hands in surrender. “No, because I was in the Marines. Getting pepper-sprayed was part of my training. It taught me how to use my weapons and equipment.”

She lowers the spray, guilt etched in her features. “Oh, sorry. My roommate said you might be another Ted Bundy, and I don’t want to be raped and murdered.”

“Yeah, because breaking into your neighbor’s apartment and stealing their shoe is a good way to prevent that from happening,” I say, my words laden with sarcasm.

“Well, no, but that’s what the pepper spray was for.”

“It won’t do you any good if you don’t use it properly. You need to have a firm grip and use your thumb to activate it so it can’t be taken out of your hand like I just took it out of yours.”

“Thanks for the tip.” She raises the pepper spray at me again and presses the button to activate it. But it’s still disarmed. Once she realizes her mistake, her eyes widen.

I cock my head to the side and plant my hands on my hips. “Really?”

She offers an apologetic smile, then scurries toward me, ducks under my arm and squeezes past me, darting for the front door. “I’ll bring it right back, I promise!”

I let her go and exhale another deep sigh. What could she possibly need my shoe for anyway? To squash a spider or something? Can’t she use her own Goddamn shoe for that?

Right, she probably doesn’t want to get her precious shoe all gross, so she’s using mine instead. Which means my shoe will be returned with spider guts on the bottom.

Just great.

I go to the balcony and curtly grab my beer so I can head inside and not have to hear every goddamn word of their conversation again.

Pound, pound, pound.

What the hell?

It sounds like they’re banging something against the wall.

My shoe, perhaps?

Pound, pound, pound.

Then I hear a loud pop!

“Yessssss!”

They got the cork out.

“Holy shit, you made a mess!”

“Sorry, but at least we can keep drinking!”

“Woohoo!”

I head inside and close the sliding doors, hoping to go to bed and get some rest. But then there’s another knock on the front door.

“Fucking hell,” I groan as I go over to answer it. It’s probably the blonde neighbor with my shoe, but I’m not sure I want it back.

Sure enough, it’s her.

“Thanks for letting me borrow it.” She hands over my shoe with a small smile and heads back to her apartment.

“You didn’t borrow it, you stole it!” I call after her. But she completely ignores me.

“And sorry I tried to spray you...twice!” Before I can respond, she’s already inside her unit.

I bring the shoe to my nose to get a closer whiff of it. I noticed the smell as soon as she handed it to me. “Hey, why does my shoe smell like wine?!”

But I’m talking to the door at this point.

I shake my head and go back inside, trying to decide if I should try to get the smell out or just toss the pair into the trash. For now, I set it aside and go to the bathroom to get ready for bed, hoping my neighbors will down the bottle, get tired and pass out so I can have a quiet evening.

No such luck.

They turn on the music, and I can hear the pounding bass through the wall and also, “Yeeeeesssss, this is my jam!”

The walls are actually shaking.

Why do the other neighbors put up with this! It’s absurd, really.

They should be evicted.

I contemplate calling the police to make a complaint, but this is New York City; the police have better things to do than respond to non-emergency noise complaints. So I return to my bedroom, strip down to my boxers and toss my clothes into the hamper before slipping into bed. I can still hear the noises coming from the unit next door, but thankfully, I’m a patient man. I’m sure they’ll get tired soon and go to bed. Or at least I hope so.

But an hour passes, and the music still doesn’t cease. I groan and roll over on my stomach, pulling the pillow over my head, wishing I had noise-canceling headphones right now. I’m normally against the idea of something that cancels all sounds, because it also cancels sounds that alert danger. Like if a burglar broke into the apartment or there’s an explosion or gunshot. But right now, I’d do anything to get a good night’s sleep. Between arguing with my brother over the phone into the wee hours of the night yesterday and spending all day moving into my new place and unpacking, I’m completely exhausted. Not to mention I always start my day at five in the morning. My classes don’t start until eight a.m., but I like to get an early start to my day. I got up that early when I was in the Marines, and some habits just never die.

I’m about to get up and go down the hall to ask them to turn down the noise, but I’ve already asked her once and she got offended, so I doubt it will do any good.

Chapter Four

Audrey

I’m immediately regretting the two bottles of Barefoot Harper and imbibed last night. My head is pounding, I’m dehydrated, and I have to be at work in an hour. I take some aspirin, drink a full glass of water before jumping into the shower.

When I leave my bedroom, dressed and ready to go, Harper is shuffling out of her room.

“Morning,” she says groggily, wiping the sleep from her eyes.

“Morning, Harp.” I head to the kitchen to make her some coffee. I’m not a coffee drinker myself, I prefer tea, but I know Harper can’t function in the morning without a fresh cup of hot Folgers.

“Why did we drink on a weeknight again?” she groans, taking a seat at the table.

“That’s an excellent question.” I pour water into the pot and place it in the coffeemaker, turning it on.

Harper buries her face in the cradle of her arms on the table as I grab some aspirin and a tall glass, filling it with water. She doesn’t have to work today, but she does have classes. She’s already a registered nurse like me, but she’s going for her master’s degree to open up more job opportunities. And also because she’s an overachiever, when it comes to her career at least. I just wish she were an overachiever when it came to other aspects of her life, like the kind of men she dates. Or maybe Harper was purposefully aiming for Class-A levels of douchebaggery when she started dating Bryce. If that’s the case, then she definitely went above and beyond expectations. And while she is my best friend and roommate, there’s only so much sense I can talk into her. And I'm not willing to let some lowlife scumbag get in between our friendship.

“Here, these will help.”

Harper lifts her head and takes the aspirin and glass. When she pops the pills in her mouth, swallowing them down with a big gulp of water, she already appears to be more human again.

I grab my keys and strap my purse over my shoulder, heading toward the front door.

“Speaking of drinking, are you going to be here Friday night?”

I snort-laugh and turn to look at her, placing my free hand on my hip, knowing exactly where this is going. She’s still recovering from her hangover and already has booze on the brain. “That depends. Is Bryce going to be here?”

When she takes a slow sip of her water, I know what her answer is before she says it out loud. “Well, considering he’s the one who invited a few people over, yes, he’ll be here.”

“Then no, I definitely won’t.” I head for the door, trying to leave again.

“That’s a shame because Bryce has a good-looking friend who thinks you’re gorgeous.”

I spin around, cocking a brow. “Which friend?”

“Treyton. You haven’t met him before, but he saw your pics on Instagram.”

I walk to the table, placing my hands on top of the chair, my key ring dangling from my finger. “How did he find my Instagram account if we’ve never met?”

“Bryce showed it to him.”

What the fuck?

I furrow my brows in confusion. “Okay, why is Bryce showing his friends my Instagram account?”

She smirks. “Because Treyton was asking him if I had any cute, single friends.”

I sigh, not liking the idea of Bryce trying to set his friends up with me. I’ve met some of his guy friends, and neither is one I’d kiss if he were the last man on earth. “Sorry, not interested.”

I remove my hand from the chair and try to leave again.

“Oh, come on, Aud. Give the guy a chance. I mean, I don’t know him that well, but he’s fucking hot.” She picks up her phone from the table and pulls up something before handing it to me across the table. “See for yourself.”

I reluctantly take the device, a heavy sigh leaving my lips. I highly doubt his looks will sway me. Even if is hot, he’s still Bryce’s—

Holy crap.

He’s got those smokey grey eyes, a chiseled jaw and a little smirk on his beautiful face that makes me melt.

Well, fuck.

“So, what do you think?” Harper asks curiously, trying to stifle a smirk as she perches her chin on the back of her joined hands, her elbows resting on the table.

I try not to show how attracted I am to a freaking photo of a guy I’ve never met before, but damn, those eyes are spellbinding, and I’m pretty sure I’m blushing. “Okay, he’s a little cute.”

“A little? Honey, you and I have similar tastes in men, so I know you don’t think he’s just cute.”

“Yeah, that’s true. We usually do, which is why I have no idea how Bryce got your attention. He must have a big dick or something.” I narrow my eyes. “Does he have a big dick? Because that would explain a lot.”

Harper bursts out laughing. “Oh my God, Aud, you know it’s not all about the size! And no, he doesn’t, he’s average, but as much as you hate him, you can’t deny he’s good-looking.”

“Yes, maybe on the outside he’s cute but personality-wise he’s ugly as fuck.”

She sighs in defeat as I hand over her phone. This is just an argument neither of us will ever be able to agree on. Well, until she finally decides to take off those damn rose-colored glasses and sees Bryce as he truly is. But I know it would make Harper happy if I agreed to stay for the party. I know that sometimes she feels out of place considering most of Bryce’s friends are college kids. Normally, she’s the oldest one there, but you could never tell, because she has a baby face and looks at least five years younger than she actually is, so to the other college kids, she's one of them.

“Fine, I’ll be here for the party.”

Harper’s eyes widen in surprise. “Really?”

“Yes, but if any of his friends grab my ass, I’m leaving.”

She laughs. “Okay.”

The coffee machine beeps, so she gets up from her seat, grabs a mug and creamer and pours the steaming, hot liquid into her cup. She returns to her seat and sips her coffee as I once again try to leave. “Thanks for starting the coffee, Aud.”

“No problem. See you tonight.” I unlock the door, and when I pull it open, I notice a folded up crisp piece of copy paper taped to the outside. I cock my brow and peel it off, unfolding it. I’m expecting it to be from the building management.

But then I read the first line...

To the two hoity-toity princesses,

I immediately suspect it’s from mister grumpy pants across the hall, but the letter is in fancy cursive writing. Who even writes in cursive anymore? Maybe an old lady or mister grumpy pants, I suppose. But he normally doesn’t leave letters. He’ll just knock on the door with his cane and chew us out in person. Harper said the first time he knocked on her door to complain about the noise, he made her cry.

When he tries that shit with me, I give it right back to him and threaten to call the cops on his dog and have her taken to the pound. He tends to leave us alone now. So, I’m surprised he’s resorted to leaving us notes.

Can you kindly tone down your loud music and obnoxious woohooing, laughter and overall commotion that kept me up until 2 a.m.? Some people actually have to work on a Tuesday morning. I, myself, wake at 5 a.m. every single day and am now forced to go to work on three hours of sleep. Luckily the students I teach possess much more class and are at maturity levels you both obviously could never achieve if you actually tried. I know neither of you could possibly understand waking up early for a job or getting your hands dirty, as you’re city girls who probably live on mommy and daddy’s income and never worked a day in your lives, but some people actually have responsibilities and obligations, not just classes they can skip whenever they feel like it. So have a little respect and lower the volume a few notches.

This time you get a warning, but if the noise persists, I will be forced to contact law enforcement. Have a lovely day drinking your Starbucks lattes and trying to get rid of what I hope are nasty hangovers.

Sincerely,

The tired and cranky guy from 8C, thanks to his loud, annoying neighbors

P.S. The blonde who took my brown dress shoe owes me a new pair seeing as it now reeks of Pinot Grigio, thank you very much.

My nostrils flare before I even finish reading the letter. The audacity of this asshole! He doesn’t even know us, hell he hasn’t even met me in person, yet he makes all kinds of false assumptions about us.

I know neither of you could possibly understand waking up early for a job or getting your hands dirty.

What the actual fuck?! Harper and I both wake up at the crack of dawn to go to work at the hospital, and we’re constantly on our feet for at least twelve hours. We only work three days a week, but our jobs are emotionally and physically draining; I mostly use the other four days to sleep, recover, clean the apartment and run errands. So, for someone to say we don’t work or ever get our hands dirty is a blow to the gut. We’re nurses for crying out loud! Getting our hands dirty is part of the job!

Another remark of his that irks me: We’re city girls who probably live on mommy and daddy’s income. My parents would actually laugh out loud if they read this comment. They always tell me how independent I am. Hell, I wouldn’t even allow them to pay for my schooling even though they wanted to; I wanted to do it all on my own, so I had two jobs while I went to college. They also weren’t too happy when I took a job in New York, but they told me if anyone could handle herself in a big city, it was me. Not to mention, Harper had it way worse than me, growing up.

But the fact that this douchebag is so ridiculously wrong about us makes me smile a little. It will feel so goddamn good to make him see the error of his ways.

I’m still carrying the letter with me as I go to my bedroom closet and grab my stationary from the top shelf. I take out a sheet of paper and a pen from the box, replace it on the shelf and return to the kitchen. I hate the idea of using my good paper on this asshole, but if I’m going to stoop to his level and leave a note on his door, I might as well do it with class.

“What’s the note about?” Harper asks with furrowed brows. “I paid the rent just in the nick of time.”

“It’s not from management.” I take the pen and paper to the table and start writing out a letter. “It’s from our friendly neighbor in 8C,” I say sarcastically.

Her eyes widen as she reaches for the letter. “What did he say?”

I look up and hand it to her.

When she reads it over, the sleepiness in her eyes morphs into anger. “What the hell?! Who does he think he is? He doesn’t even know us!”

“Exactly.” I look down again at the paper and continue the sentence I was working on.

I can feel her staring at me as I write. “What are you doing?”

“Replying to him,” I say without taking my eyes off the page.

“What, are we in elementary school?”

“According to him, we are.”

“He’s just a douchebag, you can’t take anything he says seriously.”

I almost laugh. Normally she’s the one wanting revenge when someone wrongs her, and I’m the one having to talk her out of it. “Maybe, but this will teach him not to make assumptions about people.”

After I’m finished, I let her read it before I tape it to his door. I head to work with a smile on my face. This should teach him not to be such a dickhead.

Chapter Five

Brady

Dear self-righteous butthole in 8C,

~~~

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#my book #sneak peek #self-promotion #hannah writs

25 notes · View notes

jojo-reader-hell · 4 years

Note

oh! speaking of the wolf fic that anon was talking about, would you make a part 2 for that? maybe they finally caught the little wolf pup and she gets to meet the rest of the wolf clan of her family. it'd be to cute to see a wolf as massive as the jojo's be around such a smol bean XP

Ask and ye shall receive... like, months later 😂 sorry it took so long, hope you’ll enjoy!

...

“Bunny, don’t you remember your Papa Jojo? I used to hold you and feed you your bottle. Remember? We would cuddle with your blankie and your stuffed rabbit.”

“No! Leave me alone!”

You’re currently wedged into a tight space under an old tree root system. It’s a painful fit, but you’re not going to come out for anything. Especially not with the blue black muzzle of the large wolf at the entrance, currently trying to coax you out of your hiding place. The muzzle is peppered with grey hairs, and a very deep familiar voice emits from the shiny white fanged mouth in a rumble. When you yap at him to go away he whimpers, pushing his nose further into the tight space as he tries to dig you out. It only succeeds in making you press tightly against the root wall behind you, entire body shaking and muscles aching from the twisted position you’re contorted into.

“Bunny please!” He whines.

“Help! Help! Monster! Mama help!” Your barking almost sounds desperate, like you’re being tortured and it makes the bigger wolf howl in frustration, his digging more frantic as he tries to get you out.

“Jojo stop it! You’re scaring the baby!”

A sweet voice barks away the large wolf from digging, taken over by a cream pair of paws even lighter than your mother’s coloration.

“Stop digging. You’re only going to scare the baby even more.” A soft voice admonishes the beast and makes him whine in submission.

“But look how far they are, all the way in the back, what if my Bunny becomes trapped forev-...”

“Shhh... let me try.”

Another muzzle visible next to that of the blue black wolf appears, and a sweet voice tries to beckon you out. Both the newcomer’s scents confuse you, because even though they have that canine whiff about them you can still smell an underlying note that’s definitely more human than anything. It’s a clean smell, just like the Castile soap your mother often uses to clean the laundry because of Jotaro’s sensitive skin. Totally not the comforting patchouli scent of your mother nor is it Jotaro’s stinky musk, so even though it’s a good smell, you don’t have any positive connections to it. It’s foreign and scary, and you begin to whine for your mother.

“Baby, come to your Mama Erina.” the sweet voice coos to you. “Come on out my darling, don’t be frightened. We’re your family and we all are here to help you.”

You’re completely silent, wide eyed as you see her soft blue eye peer through the entrance. Never in your life have you seen something as big as she is (Good Lord, she’s even bigger than your mother!), her cream colored fur is almost white with age. Her mouth rests in an almost human like smile, and her black nose moves as though she’s taking in your scent.

“Come on darling.” She says, extending a paw as though you’ll take it. “Come to me. Come to your Mama Erina who loves you.”

Whoever she is, she most certainly is NOT your Mama. You can see her deeply pigmented gums and threatening pearly white fangs as she talks, and this only cements your stubborn refusal as you duck further into your crevice.

It’s not long before more voices join in, words intermingling with howling and snarling.

“Mother? Mother?! Did you find them?”

“Granny! I looked everywhere and couldn’t find the baby!”

“Jojo, Georgie, come here. I found them.”

Vaguely, you hear the familiar voice of your grandpa Joseph, a wheeze evident in his voice as he’s had a hard time catching up with the rest of the cacophony of paws. You can hear your mother too, conversing with your brother who is grumbling about having to follow you all the way out here and abandon the meal your grandpa had brought for you.

“My Bunny...” moans the blue black wolf in despair.

“Oh land sake’s Jojo stop it.” Scolds the white wolf.

“Mama Erina, maybe I should try getting them out?” Holly is most certainly worried, there’s a tinge to her voice that almost coaxes you to her, but you won’t stir a stump if everyone else is out there.

“You can try, but I’m not sure there’s a way with everyone crowding.” Erina from the sounds of things is still trying to console the one calling you Bunny (you suppose he’s called Jonathan because that’s what they keep saying when they comfort him).

Your mother tries to help, unfortunately compared to the others she’s got stumpy paws that won’t quite reach you, and even though she’s calling and calling for you telling you it’s alright, you won’t move.

“Papa, do you think you’ll have any more luck coaxing out the baby?” She finally sighs.

“‘Course I can! I guarantee I can make my baby pop right out of there like a cork from a bottle!”

“You be careful with my Bunny!” It’s the blue black wolf again, Jonathan, reluctantly moving aside to allow your grandpa access to you.

It was quite surreal to see your once human grandfather as a wolf, Grandpa Joseph’s pelt is much the same as his regular hair color, a deep hickory peppered with the beginning signs of gray. He grunts with the effort of laying down on the forest floor. When he exhales a whoosh of air, his scent completely fills the little space. Wonderful, memorable with the musk of his deodorant and leaving a sweet after smell, sugary like the cola he likes to drink with you on hot days.

“Come on baby. Grandpa’s here.” Joseph coaxes out to you softly.

“Vieni qui vita mia... Granny is here for you too.”

You hear the sweet soft dulcet tones of your granny Suzie using that almost crying tone of voice, that kind she used to use when you were a little kid and you hurt yourself.

“Granny?”

Your high pitched voice strikes a nerve among the creatures present, and you see another cream colored snout press into the entrance. Immediately you recognize the scent. It’s your grandma Suzie Q! You know her smell anywhere: a heady cloud of White Diamonds perfume with just a touch of amaretto.

“Will you come out for me? Please baby? It’s alright. Granny won’t let anyone hurt you.”

You’re almost ready to come out, slowly wedging your way to the entrance where your grandparents soothe you out little by little. But the minute you push your head through the tiny opening you know something is wrong. You scream in your puppy voice, afraid that now you can’t get out as everyone moves in all at once.

“Stay still.”

A deep feminine voice barks out a command, the approach of a brown wolf silenced all of you into submission. She sniffs around you, noticing your little paw that’s caught in a root and nudging it with her muzzle. Her teeth are unnervingly close, you’re unsure if her exposed teeth are a threat display. Her smell is almost indistinguishable from the damp forest soil, completely odorless and lacking the canine whiff, but there’s an underlying musk of pine sap emitting from her pelt that is all too familiar. A memory threatens: being cuddled to a bare chest in midwinter, chapped lips grazing your cheek as you doze off lazily. It’s not your mother who held you during that time. It was the strong human form of the wolf before you, formidable in such a way that suggests her humanity is just as feral as when she is a wolf.

“Move your paw this way.” She commands and nudges at the same time.

You’re so frightened you obey automatically. Not even stopping when she takes you by the scruff in her mouth and helps to yank you out from your prison. You expect her teeth to hurt, but your skin is so pliable on the back of your neck you hardly feel a thing as she pulls you free and into her furry stomach. With her paw, she presses you to the softness of her underbelly, a long wet tongue lathing along the sides of your face as the shewolf begins to clean you meticulously.

You suddenly know her now... so many more memories of her and what had to have been her mate keeping you warm between the two of them as you reached for their faces. The memories are soothing, coming back fast and as if they’ve always been there, just like the memory of your mother laying you on a massive man’s chest, his blue black hair wild and unkempt as he lifts you up to kiss you. Or the memory of another woman with your Granny Suzie, the two of them swaddling you up and hardly able to contain their soft giggles as they place a small hat on your head.

Another wolf, this one nearly a carbon copy of your grandpa, laths at your face with his tongue, telling you in a deep baritone that he’s your great grandpa George and he’s so happy to see you again. Holly approaches and begins naming the ones you don’t recognize in the group, each one submissive when they press against her to get to you. You’re even comfortable enough to allow the wolf that calls himself your Papa Jonathan to shower you in his dog kisses, tail wagging a mile a minute as he squeals about how much he’s missed you, and how he’s got an important gift to give you so you won’t ever get lost again. His mate, your Mama Erina, rubs her head against yours, tail swishing politely as she praises you for how you’ve grown up so wonderfully. All the while everyone crowds around into a big pile of swishing tails, whines, kisses, and reassurances that your big, warm, happy family will help take care of you as you navigate this scary situation.

It’s the one who helped you out, your great Granny Lisa Lisa, that breaks wolf form to place your Papa Jonathan’s old collar around your neck, the little bell makes such a pleasant sound as she flicks it gently.

“For next time.” She advises, “That way when you try to run, you’ll know I’ll grab you by the collar.”

Everyone laughs, adding in how Holly should keep you on a leash, and you’re so overwhelmingly happy you can’t help but to join in the laughter with them.

It’s nice, you decide, to belong to such an unusual family.

#jojo’s bizzare adventure #jojo’s bizarre adventure stardust crusaders #jojo’s bizarre adventure phantom blood #jojo's bizarre adventure battle tendency #lisa lisa jojo #elizabeth joestar #george joestar ii #jonathan joestar #erina pendleton joestar #holly kujo #joseph joestar #suzie q #jotaro kujo #jjba reader insert #werewolf!reader #werewolf au #nobody dies everyone lives

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corxoran · 2 months

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I love any even slightly annoying kazuma. He never got a proper carefree childhood, I need him to get to be a bit of a brat.

My favorite genre of asoryu is when they literally just annoy each other. They've been through so much together and they have gotten way too comfortable again, but it's still different from before. Before, they'd hang all over each other and always be together and maintain a polite but close relationship, but now they see each other after like six months and ryunosuke isn't afraid to call kazuma a bitch under his breath when he's being a BRAT. They laugh about it. They're basically married.

Before, I imagine that kazuma was the touchy one who always had an arm around ryunosuke. But after everything he'd become a little more subdued and ryunosuke's so used to being in contact with him that he begins to do it instead. Not a whole arm around him but probably something small - a hand on his back.

Kazuma is typically pretty calm even when he's being annoying but when ryunosuke shows up they get LOUD... kazuma can't help it he gets excited to see his best friend again...

Random hc kazuma can't handle his liquor at all he's a lightweight. Ryunosuke's a tiiiiny bit better but not great. It happens in stages - kazuma used to be a loud and then sentimental drunk, but now he's a quiet then emotional drunk. Ryunosuke is a very confused and clumsy drunk. Airheaded to the max. It's always "oh... huh???"

I need to know what other people think their relationship is like after the games. At first I'm sure it was a bit tense but knowing them and seeing how stubborn and passionate they both are, I doubt they'd be able to stay apart long. They'd send each other jokingly passive aggressive letters. The difference between kazuma's letters to susato and his letters to ryunosuke is wild.

People might think they dislike each other from their letters but then they witness them bantering in person and they're like oh... they're gay!

#asoryuu #cork yap #tgaa #dgs

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tristanlovesthequeen · 3 years

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The Paddock

Tristan Chase Sparrowe

11/25/2016

The Bull

One day in the fall of autumn, when the moon is high and bright, orange in hue and full in complexion, when the clouds hang oppressively low in the sky I wandered through the meadow to the buffalo paddock, newly installed by decree of the mayor of San Francisco about two months ago.

The headlines in the newspaper were all the same, dismal in hue, recording the afterthoughts of the Mayor. “'The park commissioners expect soon to procure a buffalo cow who will lighten the hours of his confinement,' Harrison says”. Tomorrow the buffalo, Anastasius will be married to his bride-to-be, a new import from a ranch in Wyoming, where my uncle lives with his wife, and a dog, where they have retired and where my uncle hunts and participates in environmental conservation.

It's brisk, with many clouds of smoke blowing from the corners of my mouth into the Fall air. The grass has just been clear cut, and the smell invades my nostrils. The dew from the morning and previous evening cling to the individual hordes of grass scintillating in the dawn evening light. I have been up for a day and a night approximately and everything seems to vibrate around me.

I am here with a specific purpose. No one is around the buffalo paddock the night after Thanksgiving, the city itself is deserted, let alone the park and its many intertwining trails. I could walk for miles on these days in San Francisco, traversing the entire seven by seven without seeing a single person.

I reached into my backpack and extracted a long pair of bolt cutters I had purchased for a penny at Goodman Lumber two days ago.

A swift look to my left, and to my right, and into the stable at Anastasius as he sleeps. The strong bull grunts and twitches in his sleep as steam puffs from his nostrils. His side rises and falls as he breathes and his ears twitch a bit. It is a pity for such a sculptural beast to be imprisoned as he waits for a wedding he has no say in and a migration pattern that is now limited to across the paddock. Either way, an option might be a change of pace for him. A change of scenery, a chance to spread his wings before wearing his proverbial wedding ring around his hoof.

A link in the chain link fence snaps open and then another, and another as I make an archway about the size of an Ort cloud in the distance. Finally the metal links curl like a pad of melted butter to the wet grass. Anastasius sighs deeply and continues his dream. I ponder where he might be in his mind for a moment. The plains with his kin, avoiding native species of humans and the great white hunters of the fields where they used to graze. Possibly butting heads with an alpha male or turning on his heels to run. In space or in a hell like place, with demons floating above his massive cranium. An endless pasture where he sits in a cloud of cow fermones, butterflies braiding his mane.

I find myself walking a few paces ahead, erstwhile extracting the axe from a loop in the lining of my coat. I question my motives one last time before raising the axe above my head and, hearing the blade glint I let it fall into a mass of decomposing wood that surrounds the buffalo encasement. A crack resounds and a group of black birds flutter into the air squeaking as they fly. Anastasius stirs. I let the blade strike again, over and over until I break a hole in his cage. I kick the horizontal beams until they become diagonal and finally...

The bull's eye catches my attention. He has been watching me for some time. I breathe “You're free now lil' buddy,” and continue to circle around back towards the hole in the cyclone fence. Anastasius whines a bit. And grunts again.

I consider my motives and consider this new found freedom that I now share with the bull. It never felt like optimism to free the bull, just felt like a circumstance, a necessity, of the era that I live in. The symbolism of this pack animal now caged by himself, a migratory creature that is now forced to stay in one place. A metaphor for the elimination of the Native Americans who relied so heavily on the existence of the herd. And the grasses that cultivated with the motion of the species, and now wanes due to it's disappearance. What a pity. I wonder why he does not leap anymore, if he is lacking some sort of bacterial family in his gut or if his brain is lacking a certain chemical, why he has accepted his fate as a caged being, why he does not call out or try to create an alliance with a human to help facilitate his escape.

A mild panic surges through my veins and works its way into my knees making me weak for a spell. I tuck all my tools and hike back towards the main road. I decide to wait for a moment by a streetlamp and spark up a cigarette.

I think about the stars for a moment and try to locate Orion's belt. Somehow when compared to the power of the cosmos, my own worldly problems seem immaculately minuscule. And then came a dull rustle from the bushes lining the Fulton street border of the park. Anastasius slowly emerges from the darkness, then pauses, kicking his hind legs out to stretch. One, and then the other. A glow from my cigarette and the plume of smoke from my lungs catches his attention and he freezes.

Now that nothing is separating myself from such a large powerful animal I feel the weakness in my knees again and somehow the cigarette's effects seem more intense. I lower my head a bit to acknowledge his presence and say “fair thee well monsieur.” He lowers his head back at me and then he trots off in the direction of Ocean Beach.

His silhouette pirouettes and fades into the darkness of the night. When I arrive home I undress and lay in bed, and count to slow down my brain. Again I imagine the distance of the night sky, the size and millions of stars in the sky, compare them to the personalities here on earth and the endless multitudes of people. Once again I feel terribly small. Eventually I drift off and I, too am one with the cosmos.

The next day is the opening ceremony of the arrival of the new bison to the paddocks. Anastasius is to have a wife.

I make my way towards the modest crowd of people who have showed up to see the young bull procure a new wife. News teams are there and flashbulbs take snapshots of the Mayor arriving and emerging from his Lincoln town car led by police escort.

No one seems to suspect that Anastasius is not present, then again no one seems to care. The mayor stands up on a soapbox and gives a short speech, then motions like a circus conductor with his left hand to the truck containing the cow. Two men stationed on either side of the truck wearing overalls boots and golfers caps let down a metal ramp and a gate to the flatbed.

The cow, Anastasia, seems to be alarmed by the noise of the cheers of the crowd and the visage of a small excited yapping dog. She immediately starts to gallop into the paddock making a swift round and then charging out of the hole in the fence that I had cut the night before.

The music from the bandstand stops and the crowd gasps. The mayor throws his pork-pie hat to the ground and starts to shout at his assistants. A moment passes and sirens from firetrucks and police vehicles start to whine.

A large gap toothed grin stretches across my face. I laugh for a moment and then my forehead crinkles and I start to grimace. I don't pretend to understand what is going to happen to the bison nor do I feel guilt about setting them free. Seeing this crowd in a frenzy sets me off in an opposite trajectory from the crowd and the escaped cow.

That night at home with a hot toddie sitting by my wood burning stove with the neighborhood cat, Noodles, listening to the radio, the broadcast starts to announce, “In other news, police officials say they located the escaped buffalo which were to be married today on Ocean Beach and Ortega. The bull, Anastasius, and the cow, Anastasia were standing near the sea foam giving each other Eskimo kisses when authorities arrived. The mayor arrived shortly thereafter to find the police troop crying tears of joy. The band played “Auld lang syne” and the mayor hugged his wife. The mayor's assistants opened bottles of champagne and as the corks flew into the air the buffalo walked side by side down the coast.”

Noodles meowed and rolled around on his back.

Bibliography

1) http://www.sfgate.com/bayarea/article/Oldest-bison- at-Golden- Gate-Park- dies-at- 22-

5870761.php

2) http://www.sfgate.com/bayarea/article/Golden-Gate- Park-baby- bison-found- dead-

2443708.php

3) https://localwiki.org/sf/Golden_Gate_Park_Buffalo_Paddock

4) http://www.foundsf.org/index.php?title=Buffalo

http://poormagazine.org/node/5456

http://sheriffmichaelhennessey.com/Sheriffs_Stories/Getting_Buffaloed.html

“12 Short Stories of the Bison in Golden Gate Park.” JSTOR web article.

The Bison or Buffalo in the United States. The Indiana Quarterly Magazine of History, Vol 6. No.3 (September, 1910) pp. 114-117. Trustees of Indiana University. Http://www.jstor.org/stable/27785281. JSTOR web article.

Poaching Pictures Yellowstone. Buffalo and the Art of Wildlife Conservation. Alan C. Braddock. American Art, Vol 23, No.3 (Fall 2009), pp.36-59. The University of Chicago Press on behalf of the Smithsonian Institution.Http://www.jstor.org/stable/10.1086/649775. JSTOR web article.

#Tristan Chase Arcelona

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herondaleholly31 · 5 years

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“I’ll keep you warm”-Ben Hardy X Reader

Overview: You and Ben take Frankie on a winter beach walk :)

A/N: It’s been a while I know. Who would’ve thought being in your final yea of A-Levels actually meant you had to work? I’m back on top (at least for the moment) so I am catching up on the some writing so hopefully I’ll upload some more soon. Since my last imagine there are a lot more of you so this is just a quick Hi and thank you for reading my stuff it really means a lot. I hope you like this imagine too. If you have any requests send me a message :)

Like and Reblog!!

Word count:1615

Frankie was barking with wild excitement. His head kept popping up from the boot, no matter how many times you asked him to get down. When he saw the glittering mass of sea the dog got so excited, he started barking at the window, only stopping when he got too excited and smacked his head on the window.

“Is he alright?” Ben whipped his head around.

“Watch the road!” You laughed, lightly pushing his cheek to look forward “and he’s fine. Ok, next right.”

The music blasted from the speaker of your old car, the bass so strong it was causing the tub of chewing gum to vibrate violently.

“Remind me why we had to drive your old car?” Ben half asked, half yelled.

“It’s a tradition! I always come to the beach in this car.” Your feet stretched further on the dashboard, looking over at Ben who eyes were back on the road. Damn, he looked cute; particularly when he chuckled at your last comment, shaking his head slightly. As he continued to drive to the shore, your chest felt warm. It felt great to be home.

As soon as you pulled into the makeshift car park and the engine spluttered off Frankie was at it again, scratching against the boot door and whining. You opened the door and he shot off like a cork. Ben called him to stop and the dog skidded to a halt, kicking sand up into a small hazy cloud. The car park was deserted, normality in the middle of February. The tracks of car tyres and dragged body boards with pattering’s of feet had been dusted away, making the place seem almost forgotten. It made your blood tingle with excitement. That was until You peered into the boot and groaned “oh noooo.”

“What?”

“I didn’t bring enough layers,” you shook your head “I’m such an idiot it’s freezing.”

“But Ben, I never get cold at the beach,” your boyfriend mimicked you higher pitch voice “The beach was practically my bedroom when I lived here.”

“Oh, you’re so FUNNY!” after failing to think of a comeback all you could do was mock his laugh. Ben’s face softened.” I’ll keep you warm love” he grabbed your hand and tucked It into the nook of his elbow, yelling at Frankie to stop sniffing and start walking.

Light grey clouds scuttled across the sky, a watery sun peaking through the cracks onto the deserted beach. It was nearly golden hour and a chilling breeze lapped at the sparkling water. The scent of salt stuck in your nostrils. Frankie, too excited to stay with you, bolted down the sandy path and shot towards the water. His bark caused seagulls to fly from where they stood, cawing indignantly. You and Ben took your time, him holding onto your hand so you wouldn’t slip on the crumbling sand dunes. Voices raised to be heard over the wind you two huddled close together as you walked by the shore. Occasionally Ben would break away to throw Frankie his tennis ball; bowing when you’d applaud a particularly long shot. His cheeks were flushed pink with cold but he was grinning widely, his blonde hair tangling into a messy mop. One time you stretched out to fix it but he swatted away “I want the beach look,” he laughed. It was nice to see him so relaxed. Back in the city Ben rarely had time to stop; if it wasn’t a movie then it was interviews, dinners with directors, gala or benefit nights. They were fun, but it was always work. Here, he could concentrate on him and you. Being just your boyfriend, not working you into his schedule like you’re some kind of business partner.

“I can see why you and your friends would come here,” he said, “It really is beautiful.”

“My friends mum owns the beach café on the hill” you pointed to the cliff that curved towards the sea “we used to spend all summer making bonfires and eating free chips.”

“Please say she’ll give us free chips,” Ben groaned.

You shrugged “She might give them to me.”

“Will she change her mind if I use my full name?”

“Using your fame for free food?” you pretended to wipe tears from your eyes “I’m so proud.”

An older couple were strolling in the opposite direction. They wore matching green coats and walked with the lack of purpose that was common on a Sunday afternoon. They smiled sweetly at you and Ben, the way that you cuddled into each other, your paths weaving haphazardly when one of you would laugh so hard, you’d stumble. The wife turned to her husband and asked if he remembered what it was like to be that young and in Love. The husband looked over, saw the way you’d steal kisses and how Ben would jump on your back in a piggyback motion, roaring with laughter when you’d almost topple over head first into the sand. A small light haired dog yapped by the sea shore in delight, biting at the waves and looking confused when he wasn’t unsuccessful. The husband looked back at his wife and smiled. Yes, he said, I still feel like that now. He loved the way his wife blushed,linking her hand with his. They continued to walk across the beach, the sound of you two ringing in their ears.

“Did you see that couple walking along the beach?” you asked, dusting sand off your knees and upper thighs-it had already gritted into your wellie boots. “They were so cute. Do you think you’ll still love me when I’m that age?”

“I’ve got to be with you until we’re like that?”

“Rude.”

“I have no doubt about it,” Ben winked. He got distracted saw his dog splashing in the froth “Frankie,” he sloshed over to scratch behind his dog’s ears “You coming?” he called to you still on the shore. You shook your head and tried to protest, but Ben wouldn’t hear it. “Come on,” he grabbed your hand and dragged you in.

“Ben nooo” you tried to pull back but your boyfriend was persistent.

“If you don’t stop whining, I’ll push you.”

“You wouldn’t.”

He wiggled his eyebrows before gently pushing your shoulder “oops.”

“Stop it.”

He did it again, harder. “My bad.”

“Ben,” you shoved him and he stumbled, causing seawater to slosh onto his jeans.

“Oh, you wanna play that game?” light shoving dissolved into a play fight, pushing hard enough to stumble but not to fall over-that was until your boot slipped into a dent in the sea floor. You wobbled, gasped, and fell with a soft smack into the sea. Instantly your skin numbed with cold, skin and clothing sticking together like glue. Your eyes stung with salt as you gasped for air. Although you couldn’t see you could hear Ben laughing hysterically.

“Oh my- “

“I’m so sorry,” Ben gasped “You just…. you” he couldn’t finish his sentence as he fell into silent laughter.

“BEN!” You watched your boyfriend flailing about, clutching his sides and his laugh becoming higher and higher with hysteria. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?” When you stood up your clothes made a sucking gloop before starting to pour like a shower. Your teeth started to chatter. “I’m so cold.”

“I wish I’d filmed it.”

“I have no spare clothes. I’m cold and wet and I have no clothes. DON’T YOU DARE MAKE A JOKE,” you pointed warningly. Ben closed his mouth again. When you tried to walk out of the sea more water trickled down your stomach. Tears pricked at your eyes. “I’m cold.”

“Oh Y/N” Ben’s face softened as he saw how upset you were. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“You got me wet,” you whined.

“I’m not going to make a joke, I’m not going to make a joke,” he closed his eyes and shook his head smirking. Ben followed you as you went out to the sand, then started to take off his jacket. Ordering you to take off your wet clothes he pulled off his big hoodie, goosebumps already littering his skin “Here.” Without hesitation, you pulled the jumper over your head. Although the warmth spread across your skin that wasn’t enough for Ben, who pulled you into his chest and wrapped his coat around so you were smooshed into his chest. He rubbed his hands violently on your back. You moaned softly as the warmth made your skin itch slightly. Ben rested his chin on your forehead, drawing you closer as your shakes subsided. He didn’t want to let go though. “Warmer?”

“Much warmer.”

“You’ll laugh about this one day.”

You poked at his side, causing him to jerk “ow! Okay maybe not.”

“Stop moving I’m getting cold again,” you smiled.

“You were the one who made me move!”

“You pushed me into the sea so I win this argument.”

Ben shook his head but he was smiling. You lodged your chin onto Ben’s chest, admiring this angle of his jaw and lashes. “Wanna go get those chips now?”

“In a minute. I want to hold you like this for just a bit longer.”

In the background, Frankie was barking at a seagull. The waves crashed onto the sand. The sun was starting to set, staining the sky a burnt orange and smudged with grey clouds. The jumper was soft against your skin, and you already knew you were going to steal this jumper. Ben felt a wave of calm with you in his arms, your heart beating against his chest.

“I would push you in the sea a thousand times more if it meant I could hold you like this.”

“So, you admit you pushed me on purpose?” you teased.

“Just shut up and let me kiss you.”

“With pleasure.”

#ben #ben hardy #ben hardy imagine #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy x oc #roger taylor!ben hardy #imagine #reader #ben x reader #hardy #roger taylor #roger taylor x reader #fluff #cute #fanfiction

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