kapczan - Tumblr blog

kapczan · 4 months ago

Text

Watermelon - Billie Joe Armstrong x fem!OC (Part 1)

Summary: He shouldn’t want her. She shouldn’t need him. But Billie has always been drawn to things that burn, and Poppy has never been good at saying no. A careless argument turns into something breathless, something neither of them can stop. And when it’s over—when reality sets in—Poppy learns that desire always comes with a cost. Was this love, or just another lesson in what it means to be young and reckless?

Warnings: Angsty, kinda toxic romance. Age gap. Coming of age typo shit. No actual smut, but it's heavily implied. Cheating. Billie's kinda a bitch. Basically, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT.

A/N: It could be a x reader fic, but I kinda suck at these. Don't worry, the OC isn't described very specifically. I'm gonna totally write some x readers tho. It's one of those fics you write when you're having a huge mental breakdown and you're horny, so don't blame me. Late 90s/early 00s Billie.

See also on my AO3

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

She didn’t feel comfortable after meeting his wife. Fuck, she wasn’t even sure if she will ever recover. Her calm eyes and polite smile… The brunette acted like Poppy wasn’t dreaming about her husband since she was fourteen, like her husband didn’t take it to the next level of flirting with the poor, lovestruck girl. For the redhead, it was all too much. Too much pressure she was not used to. Too many vulnerable, hurtful emotions.

And yet there she was. Standing next to Billie Joe fucking Armstrong. Her hands warm and sweaty, as if she was after an intense performance on stage. His green eyes made her feel as if she was melting, legs collapsing. Billie was no prince charming. Actually, he didn’t care about anything. And it was the problem. Because she cared, cared about him so much it made her struggle to breathe. And he was just an older guy, rebellious, confident punk with “green day” every day.

The biggest absurdity was the fact that Poppy could be described as a brave rebel from this little punk band that blew up out of nowhere. She was proud, she was loud, she was funny and, most of the time, she knew what she’s doing. But with this black-haired guy? Life suddenly was hard and soft at the same time. She wasn’t a stressful person, but when someone only mentioned Billie, she grabbed a mirror, asking Dahlia if she looks good. And everything was funny and stuff until he noticed her. Until he started talking to her, making her feel high. The validation he gave her was something she did not expect, but she thought she needed.

“You’re weirdly quiet, Pops.” Billie noticed, brushing his messy, raven hair. This small gesture always made Poppy dizzy. Her eyes wandered through the room, as she felt a little bit under pressure. “It’s ‘cause of my wife?” His smirk widened, probably because he actually enjoyed her shy act, which made him feel like he was the one leading. He wasn’t very wrong.

“Yeah. But, it’s not like she’s the only reason I feel uncomfortable.” Tone of her voice was showing how unsure she felt. She bit her lower lip, exhaling through her nose. “The way you looked at me there. As if I was nothing, nothing to worry about. Maybe I just imagined this whole scene differently. I thought that you’ll be nervous like me, that your wife will be jealous, or at least suspicious. Why was she so okay with this?”

“I mean,” His teasing smirk faded for a moment. “I guess she didn’t see anything weird here. You acted just the way you always do when I’m near. It’s funny. I told her about this, so this wasn’t a big surprise for her.”

His words were like little knives, stabbing her chest violently. He humiliated her, like if she was just another stupid groupie. It was disappointing. “Oh, so you told her that I’m acting like a stupid teen next to you, but you probably hid the fact that you’re enjoying this shit? That you’re being all flirty next to me? Great.” She murmured, turning her head towards her hotel room, which was only two doors away. Billie chuckled, he did it a lot, and nudged her shoulder to make her look at him again.

“Well, you got me. But you know that I’m a motherfucker. And you absolutely love it.” He leaned in, whispering the last words certainly into her ear. “Get a goddamn grip and stop proving that you’re a ‘stupid teen’, alright?”

The silence between them was heavy. Poppy’s heart pounded so fast that she could swear it wanted to run away from her. If the moment wasn’t so awkward, she’d probably say it out loud. The tension made her want to puke. She loved him. But she still didn’t know what love even means. And it was fucking exhausting. The way she had all boys wrapped around her finger, and she still managed to choose the one that was an absolute menace. It felt like he just played her, but she still wanted him badly. She wanted to be held by him. She wanted to cry with him, laugh with him, talk with him. Wanted to feel that he also treats this relationship like something important. Getting attached to someone with a free nature was the worst thing possible. It was even worse when the person was married for five fucking years and already had two little sons.

“But you know what?” He broke the silence. “I’ll never regret meeting you. You’re fun, Poppy. You’re something else.” As the words flew by, they got closer and closer, and she slowly grabbed his hand. The redhead always had her hands near him, as if she couldn’t live without physical touch. It wasn’t sensual or something, she just enjoyed the warmth, even if he was the coldest man she ever met. Which he was.

“Then why did you act like it’s nothing near her. You didn’t even flinch. For a second I thought y’all are poly or whatever.” A dry, stressful laugh escaped her mouth.

“What did you expect me to do?” Their foreheads touched, and she closed her eyes. She tried not to cry, but emotions that filled her up were making her teary. His hands found her cheeks, cupping them softly. His expression softened. “Don’t bother yourself with this stuff. You’re overthinking again.”

Those words hitted her hard. Billie knew a lot of her traumas. He knew she had problems in the past with overthinking everything. She thought her lame self was gone, and that old Poppy would never come back. But then she met him. He ruined her whole new persona, and maybe it wasn't his intention. She felt like she was eight years old again, listening to her father argue with her aunt. She felt like she’s fourteen again, having dad’s drug dealer looking at her like a true predator. Every possible embarrassing or awful memory came back to her, gripping on her brain hard.

And in a quick moment everything was gone.

Why?

Because he kissed her.

Both of his hands wrapped around her jawline and neck, making her look up. He was leaning in so intensely that they nearly fell on the ground. She was taken aback. They kissed only once before, and she didn’t even remember this (because she was drunk as hell). So, it was magical. Maybe there wasn't a pink aura and little hearts like in cartoons, but it still felt like something surreal. She kissed back, filled with devoting her hunger.

After some lovey dovey moments, he became violent. He bit her lip, pinched her to the wall, was so intense that she nearly passed out breathless. Both flushed looked at themselves after finally ending this starved make out session in awe, like if they didn’t believe it would be so good.

“Fuck.” He mumbled, wiping his lips with his knuckle. “We shouldn’t do those things here.” His expression flickered for a second when he looked around. When he noticed a camera he just laughed and took a step back, searching for room keys in his jeans pockets. As he found them, he quickly opened the door next to them. Before entering the hotel room, he gestured to Poppy, wanting her to come with him. She was still breathless, though, slowly analyzing everything that happened seconds ago.

“You comin’?” He asked, his face quickly went from amused to slightly annoyed. Suddenly, she was not listening to him. She wanted to ground herself a little bit, and the best thing to ground yourself is to watch your surroundings and describe it quietly in your head. At least that was her method.

The hotel hallway was dim, the buzzing fluorescent light above flickering like it was seconds from dying out. Poppy stood there, arms crossed over her chest, her heartbeat still a little too fast for her own liking. The walls felt too close, the air too warm, but she wasn’t sure if it was the shitty hotel or just the fact that Billie Joe was standing a few feet away, jingling the key to his room in his hand. She should go to her own room. That was the smart thing to do. But she didn’t move.

“You gonna just stand there all night?” His voice was lazy, amused, like he already knew she wouldn’t leave. Poppy swallowed. Her throat felt tight.

“I don’t know,” she murmured. “Maybe.” Billie let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as he tapped his fingers on the door. He pushed it a little bit more, then looked back at her, raising an eyebrow. A silent invitation. Her stomach twisted. She shouldn’t. She really, really shouldn’t. But her feet were already moving.

Inside, the room was dimly lit by the glow of the city outside. The air smelled like clove cigarettes and whatever cheap soap the hotel stocked in their bathrooms. Billie tossed his key on the nightstand, then flopped onto the bed like he had all the time in the world.

Poppy hovered near the door, her fingers twitching at her sides. “What?” She asked after noticing his green eyes checking her unkindly, impatiently, her voice barely above a whisper.

Billie’s smirk was there, the same one that made her stomach knot up. She couldn’t keep her eyes off him. “Nothin’. Just wondering how long you’re gonna pretend you don’t wanna be here.”

Her breath caught. She wanted to argue, wanted to roll her eyes and scoff and call him an asshole. But the words never came, because he was kind of right. And everytime he was right, which was a lot, she felt smaller.

“Jesus, just come over here.” He begged her, for the first time looking desperate and a little bit pathetic. It worked. She blushed and slowly came to the bed. She sat and took her big, chunky shoes off. For a moment she looked at the shoes. Her dear friend, Dahlia, gave her the shoes. She started missing her bandmates, or rather sisters-not-in-blood, more and more.

Redhead’s breath came shallow, the weight of the moment pressing down on her. She should’ve run. Should’ve slammed the door behind her, should’ve let the space between them stretch until she forgot how his voice felt curling around her name. But she didn’t. As soon as his hand slowly caressed her fingers, she forgot about any bad thoughts. His touch was like drugs. So addictive, so wanted, so needed. She could do anything to just feel him.

After taking her shoes off, she curled next to him. Billie pushed himself a little higher, as if he wanted to take a good look at her face. He tilted his head, slow and deliberate, eyes dragging over her like he was memorizing the way she folded into herself. “You look fucking scared.” He uttered under his breath, there was a hint of sarcasm in his words. Then, she also got up a little bit, with furrowed brows.

“I’m not.” She grimaced a bit.

His fingers brushed her wrist, barely there. Like he was testing her. Seeing how much she’d let him get away with.

She should’ve pulled away.

She didn’t.

His touch was light, feather-soft as it trailed up her arm, fingers ghosting over the inside of her elbow before curling gently around it. A slow, torturous climb up to her shoulder, then her neck. His thumb brushed over her pulse, and she knew he could feel how fast it was beating. How unsteady she was. She hated how easy it was for him. How he didn’t even have to try, she was already so flustered next to him. And now he was dragging her down, his torso attached to her back.

His voice was quieter when he spoke next. “You can still leave, y’know.” It was funny. The way he acted like a humble king, knowing damn well she would not leave. Knowing she was all his, melted and dreamy, as her unsureness was fading away under his intense but delicate touch. The words sounded like a formality, something he had to say just to say it.

A deep, gnawing ache settled in her chest, one that only worsened when he moved himself suddenly, ending on top of her. His breath was warm against her cheek, the air between them thick with something she wasn’t ready to name. Poppy’s fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, gripping it like a lifeline. Her body moved before her mind could catch up, closing that last inch of space between them.

The kiss wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t soft or slow or sweet. It was a collision, a crash, something that felt inevitable from the moment she stepped into the room. Billie’s hand slid into her messy, curly hair, fingers tangling at the base of her skull, pulling just enough to make her gasp.

It was enough for him to slip his tongue past her lips, to taste her in a way that felt more like a famished claim than anything else. His free hand found her small of her back, fingers digging in just hard enough to make her shiver and want more. It was new for her. And she loved it.

They melted. They burned. Together.

It’s crazy how two living beings can become one in an act of “dirty, sinful” desire.

It’s crazy how quickly desire can turn into peace.

Or regret.