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amlovelies · 3 years

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what desire will make foolish people do

@wayhavenmonthly Fall for Unit Bravo

Day 5: game

pairing: Mason/f!oc Serena Willis (not a detective)

warnings: not technically smut, but super suggestive also smoking and foul language

words: 2779

read on ao3

A/N: this is part of my Au and takes place before the scene I posted for day 2: Liability. I’ve posted parts of this before as “excerpts from a fic I’ll never write” guess I’m a liar. This is all pulled from different parts of the story because I liked the way I could use them to fit the theme, so there are some slightly awkward bits where I edited it to make more sense.

Round 1

The cool spring air outside the warehouse helps to clear my head. The last few weeks have been hard, and as much as I think I am adjusting to my new life and role here, there are still days when it’s harder. Days when I miss home and feel so out of my depth it’s almost a joke. I lean back against the door and close my eyes taking deep breaths.

“Are you planning on blocking the door all night?”

My eyes snap open at the growled question. Great, Mason. Of all the members of Unit Bravo I’ve been unable to really connect or understand him. He’s made it clear he thinks I’m useless and I’m surprised he bothered to waste a whole sentence on me rather than just grunting. I watch him pull out his damn near ubiquitous pack of cigarettes.

“Can I have one?” I ask almost surprising myself. I haven’t smoked in years, but maybe it’ll take the edge off.

“Sorry,” Mason says as he pulls a cigarette from the half full pack in his hands, “I’m all out”

“So you’re the only one who gets to use self-destructive behaviors to make them feel better?” I ask in what I hope isn’t a petulant tone.

“Isn’t self-destructive if I’m immortal. Besides, I’ve got something I can give you that’ll make you feel much better than a smoke would.”

I’m glad it’s getting too dark so I don’t have to see the smirk on his face. It’s too bad it doesn’t affect his vision because I’m sure he can see the blush that paints my cheeks even as I’m rolling my eyes at his much too obvious come on. I’d heard rumors about Mason’s “charms,” but this is the first time he’s ever tried to use them on me. No matter what I think of his personality, he is a dangerously handsome man and I hate how flustered the comment makes me feel even if his flirting has more in common with a battering ram.

“Or I could just go to the store and pick up my own pack. Sounds a lot more satisfying.” I say as I push off the door and make to walk past Mason. I don’t actually want a smoke that bad, but I also don’t want to back down in front of him.

“Fine, don’t say I never did anything for ya.” Mason scoffs and I yelp as I’m hit in the chest with the pack. I eagerly pull one out and pass the pack back to him. I’m a little skeptical about his sudden altruism, maybe he really is trying to get me into bed.

“Where’s your lighter?” I ask.

“Never asked for a lighter, Sweetheart, and it seems I’ve lost mine.” He says, voice smug and mocking. So much for my victory. “Maybe you should pat me down, see if you can find it.” He adds opening his arms wide to give me access.

“I think I’ll pass.”

“Your loss.” He replies as he leans against the wall.

I sit for a moment tapping the cigarette against my leg trying to figure out how to regain the upper hand. Or maybe not even the upper hand so much as just to stay in the game. Because this is some sort of game to him, and the last thing I was going to do was let Mason win this round of whatever the hell this is.

A hazy memory resurfaces of younger wilder nights, and I start speaking before I lose my nerve.

“Don’t worry, Sunshine.” That gets his attention and a scowl replaces the smirk he’d had only a moment before. “I know how to take care of myself. It’s not the first time I’ve had to get creative to get what I want.” I say in what I hope is a low and teasing tone, but I worry sounds like I have a head cold. I close the space between us.

I raise my cigarette to my lips and wait until he begins to pull another drag from his. “All I need is for you to stay still.”

I move forward on my tiptoes until the unlit end is pressed firmly against the glowing ember of Mason’s cigarette. We are so close and alarm bells start ringing in my head. His presence envelopes me. My senses are overwhelmed by him. The scent of smoke and sandalwood is heady and enticing, especially combined with the heat I can feel pouring off his body. God he’s good looking. I have to remind myself to breath, to inhale or otherwise this won’t work and I’ll just be trapped under the intense gaze of his grey eyes.

To my relief, it ignites and I’m able to move away from him. I put some space between us, and take a thankful drag from the cig hoping it will ease my now rattled nerves. It doesn’t, and to be honest I’m not sure why I used to enjoy this so much. I steal a glance over to where Mason stands with a wry smile, his eyes studying me. I’m not sure what he’s looking for.

“Well thanks for the smoke.” I say with an attempt at a flippant tone. I don’t wait for a response; I turn on my heel and walk off toward the fence. I can hear the door open and I breath a sigh of relief to find myself alone once more.

Round two

I guess I earned some sort of respect in Mason’s eyes after the cigarette incident. Oh, sure it was mostly him making innuendos and propositioning me, but it was a hell of a lot more than the monosyllabic grunts that I was used to.

I tried not to read to much into the flirting. That he wanted to sleep with me I didn’t doubt. I also had heard enough rumors, and been subtly warned by Nate, that I knew it wasn’t really personal. Mason wanted to sleep with everyone. Besides I found myself enjoying our little verbal sparring matches. Considering the fact that he kept doing it he didn’t seem to mind or maybe he just viewed me as a challenge.

Mason manages to corner me in one of the warehouse’s many labyrinthine hallways. I had been avoiding him all day. The night before I had woken up from vivid dreams that definitely didn’t involve the incredible annoying vampire in front of me. As much as I try to play unaffected by his seduction attempts, I know it’s a lie, and my subconscious did not come to play last night.

“I don’t know if you’re aware of this, Sweetheart, but our bedrooms share a wall.” Mason leans forward closing the already small gap between us a wolfish smile on his face, “and my hearing is very good.”

He pauses and I try not to be entranced by the sight of his tongue running over his top lip. I’m pretty sure I know where he is going with this and I wonder it is possible to die of embarrassment.

“Not that there was much to hear last night. I’d be glad to show you how best to use your fingers,” he raises one hand to push his hair back drawing my attention to his well-shaped and surely dexterous hands.

It takes all my self-control to hold his gaze and I’m secretly grateful for the solid wall pressed against my back. You could probably boil a pot of water with the heat pouring off my face. The thought that he had heard my clumsy fumbling last night is perhaps the most mortifying thing I could imagine. He probably couldn’t wait to use this against me. At least he doesn’t know I was thinking about him. After all everyone masturbates. The only part of this that is really getting to me it knowing that there is some part of me that wants to see exactly what those hands can do. Not the rational part obviously, but still I’d be foolish to continue to pretend it’s not there.

At least he had waited for a moment when we were alone. I could only imagine the field day Farah would have with this, or maybe he was afraid of Nate’s disappointment. He looks so pleased with himself and I would give almost anything to wipe that smirk off his stupid handsome face. I have to think of something quick.

“Listening at walls? Are you really getting that little action?” His smile drops and I know I’ve picked the right counterattack.

“You know I don’t really think I should be the one you’re concerned with,” I smile and place a friendly hand on his shoulder. “Maybe Dinah can set you up on a bind date. I’m sure she knows some nice girl who is just frothing at the mouth to reform a bad boy and teach him the meaning of love” I gaze up with what I hope is an innocent expression.

The angry growl that he response with is music to my ears. I try and keep the glee from my face, but as he stomps away, I can’t help but congratulate myself on another victory in what-ever-the-hell game it was that I somehow found myself playing with him.

Round 3:

“You suck at this.” Mason says as he once again knocks me on my ass. He isn’t even breaking a sweat while my gasping attempts to catch my breath seem to be echoing in the empty training room.

I push away the hairs that are sticking to my sweat drenched face and give him a withering glare. He just laughs. How kind of him to make sure I want to hit him, not that I’ve managed to land one yet.

“Always such a gentleman, Sunshine,” I say as I haul myself back to my feet. “Considering how charming you are it must be a miracle that I haven’t just fallen into bed with you yet.”

He quirks a brow and gives me a look that I know well enough by now to know is trouble, “yet?”

I inwardly curse my poor word choice or Freudian slip or whatever. Not that I’d found myself thinking about him late at night more and more, or appreciating the long lean lines of his body, or wondering if he actually had to skills to back up all his bravado.

“Fuck off, Mason” I say as I roll my eyes and sink into a crouch ready to continue our sparring. It’s a petulant response, not at all keeping with the game we’ve been playing. A game which mostly consists of me trying to not let him unnerve me and find new and exciting ways to drag the very dangerous vampire who is has spent the last few hours kicking my ass.

He circles me, his movements lazy and languid. When he moves it’s sudden and with a speed I can’t follow. Before I know what’s happening, he’s behind me, his breath ghosting over my neck, “I’d much rather fuck you.” He says with a laugh.

Summoning ever bit of agility I possess, I turn and swing, but there’s nothing but empty air and his laughter. I overextend myself and have to stumble forward a few steps to avoid falling over. Once I’ve regained my balance, I flip him the bird.

He just grins and lands a stinging hit to my right side. “Do you know what the problem is Sweetheart?”

“Oh? Enlighten me.”

He moves in a blur, and I find myself pressed up against him chest to chest. My arms are held secure behind my back. His face is only inches above mine, his well-shaped mouth curled in a taunting smirk. This close I can clearly see the freckles that dust his checks. He’s breathtaking, and I hope he attributed the rapid increase of my pulse to a fight or flight instinct of being trapped rather than his proximity.

“Your body gives you away.” His voice is almost a whisper. A fierce blush erupts over my cheeks. Damn his stupid vampire super senses. He’s so smug and enjoying this. I rack my brain for a way to turn this around, but it’s hard to think clearly when I can feel the lean lines of his body pressed against me, and I can’t help but wonder how far those freckles extend over his body. I have to act quick, maybe I can distract him.

I tilt my head up to meet his gaze and moisten my lips. His eyes dart towards the action and I press forward against him. I’m playing with fire. This is a stupid idea, but that has never stopped me before.

“What exactly is my body telling you now?” I ask my voice breathy, low, and inviting. Before he can answer I close the space between us and press my lips against his. I try not to think about the feel of his lips against mine.

His hands on my arms loosen in surprise. I know that it’s now or never, but I hesitate. No small part of me what’s to stay in this moment surrounded and overwhelmed by him. But that would mean he wins. So, I pull my arm back and strike a weak jab to his right side. He moves back from me with a grunt

. “Not afraid to fight dirty. Maybe there’s hope for you yet. “He says with a nod before turning and leaving me standing along in the center of the training room.

I know I should be savoring my victory, but all I can taste is Mason on my lips.

Match

It’s a little after midnight and I’m standing in front of Mason’s door. I’ve spent the last few hours tossing and turning in a vain attempt to sleep. I keep replaying what happened in the training room: the feel of his body against mine, the brief taste of his lips, the feel of his breath ghosting over my neck. All these months of trading innuendos and hot tense moments seem to have come to a head and I feel consumed by wanting. It was a line I shouldn’t have crossed, even if it did let me land a punch, but now that I have, I feel like I’m falling towards the inevitable conclusion. And would it really be the worst thing? It’s been so long since I’ve been intimate with someone. Maybe it’s better to do it this way knowing that it’s just fun?

So now I’m standing in front of his door daring myself to knock. I mean he’ll probably be insufferable after this, but at least I’ll get laid? We both want this. It doesn’t have to be a big deal.

In the end, he saves me from having to knock. I jump a little, startled out of my deliberations, when the door swings open. His shirt is off and my eyes trace over his form. Freckles dot his skin and a patch of hair curls over his well-defined chest. Fuck he’s hot.

“Is it yet already?” He asks with a smirk his eyes tracking over my body. I’d only thrown on my bathrobe before following my libido to his door.

I take a deep breath and swallow the snarky comment I want to make. “Guess it is,” I say as I push past him into the darkened room.

He closes the door and turns to face me.

“You sure about this?” he asks taking a step closer to me.

I step closer as well only a foot or two separate us. If I wanted to, I could reach out and run my fingers over his chest tracing the line of dark hair to where it disappears under his skinny jeans. And god knows I want to.

“I am. Are you? You’ve talked a big game. Afraid you won’t perform to expectations?” I ask with a smirk.

His laugh is dark and low and confident and turns something within me molten. He closes the space between us, pulling my body flush against his. I’m intensely aware of the thin fabric of my robe as the only barrier between us.

“Not even remotely.” His voice is velvet and sends a shiver through me.

Then his lips are on mine and all I can sense is Mason: the smooth skin of his back under my hands, the wicked glint in his grey eyes, the heady scent of him-sandalwood and smoke, the taste of him on my lips, and the way he growls as nips his way down my exposed neck. He walks us backwards toward his bed and I know I am lost.

tagging: @morgans-ass-freckles @specialistagent-morgan @bionicgrapejuice and @agentnatesewell

#the wayhaven chronicles #TWC #twc mason #fallforunitbravo #liability au #mason/serena #scribblings #fanfiction #not totally in love with the last two sections #but trying to not get too in my head about this #so just post it #embrace the cringe 2020 #lovelieswrites

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adorebughead · 7 years

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Multitudes - Part 1

Well, hey! I’m back again with a brand new fic! After the lovely response to For Better or Worse, I felt super inspired to continue with my writing - and I am actually really excited about this one. I’m being painfully self critical of my writing as always, but I really hope that you enjoy! The name comes from one of the most well-known poems by Walt Whitman, A Song of Myself. Hopefully that’ll make more sense as the story progresses. Let me know what you think!

(edit: I also forgot to mention originally that this isn’t just a one shot; there’s lots more to come!)

*Read on AO3*

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“Do I contradict myself? Very well then, I contradict myself. I am large. I contain multitudes.”

There was something about the month of October. The amber hue of the afternoon skies, the lingering scent of cinnamon and pumpkin, the scattering of autumn’s colourful leaves leaving fragments of a summer stripped away. A falling, a letting go, an end intertwined with a new beginning.

These were the things that Betty Cooper found herself thinking about every morning as she perched on a bench beside the harbour with her favourite book in hand before heading to work, inhaling the welcomed breeze as the day started to unfold. How beautiful the world seemed as the year began to close.

A few moments of solitude were so warmly welcomed before a six hour shift in the coffee shop. It’s not that she hated it, but she didn’t love it, either. She was indifferent. It was a job. It paid the bills. And that’s about all it did.

“Can I take a name?” She smiled, the pen lingering in the air between her fingers.

“Uh, sure,” he laughed, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s Trev.”

“Nice to meet you, Trev,” she said playfully, scribbling his name with an added love heart and placing the cup to the side. “Pumpkin spiced latte with extra cream, your favourite.”

He smirked then, leaning across the counter to plant a brisk kiss on her lips.

“Are we still on for later?”

Her perfectly slicked back ponytail sprung as she passed the cup over to her colleague and friend a few feet away, currently fighting with the coffee machine.

“Of course,” she replied, returning to her original spot in front of the cash register and smoothing down the front of her navy blue ‘Oakwood Bay Coffee’ t-shirt. “What do you have in mind?”

“I’ve booked dinner reservations at that little seafood restaurant just outside of town.”

Betty winced. She hated seafood. “Sounds great,” she chorused, flashing her most convincing smile. He always bought it.

“But it’s probably best you don’t stay over,” he said quickly, “just because I have to be up so early tomorrow morning for my flight.”

“Yeah,” she said, her gaze momentarily shifting onto a regular customer walking in and mouthing ‘hi’. “I get that. No worries.”

“It’s only a few weeks,” he assured her, “then I’ll be back.”

“Yep,” she smiled. “A few weeks.”

Retrieving his drink with a quiet thanks and taking a sip, he offered her another quick peck and swiftly bounded out of the door, humming an offhand ‘see you later’ as Veronica turned around and crossed her arms. Betty rolled her eyes.

“Don’t.”

“Look,” she started, “I’m your friend so I can tell you things straight.”

Betty raised her eyebrows, grabbing the damp cloth draped over the sink and wiping away the remnants of cinnamon and sugar. Somehow, Veronica saw this as a prompt to continue.

“It’s probably best you don’t stay over?” She repeated satirically. “Geez, I know you guys have been together for two years now, but do you even ever stay over anymore anyway? And don’t you hate seafood?“

“V,” Betty interjected, “I appreciate you looking out for me, I really do, but I’m fine. He’s fine. We’re fine. Everything’s… fine.”

A brief paused followed, nothing but the sound of plates and glasses clinking along with the hushed tones of an incredibly apt ‘Acoustic Coffee Shop’ Spotify playlist, which both of them had now heard so many times they were slowly losing the will to live.

Veronica huffed, throwing her hands up in defeat.

“Ok,” she muttered, leaning down to grab a bottled water from the small fridge beside them and subsequently taking a swig. “Where’s he going anyway?”

“London,” she sighed. “He’s taken a four week course to build up his business skills, or something.”

“Or something?”

“I kind of tune out at times,” she admitted, biting her lip.

“Well, it sure sounds riveting to me.”

“It’ll be a great opportunity for him.”

Veronica shrugged dispassionately in response.

Betty had met Trev just over two years earlier in their local college. She was studying English Literature at the time, bright-eyed and determined, dreaming of becoming a professional writer. They were introduced to one another during an open evening in which Betty was helping out at, and they hit it off almost instantly. It was all very easy, actually.

They initially went out on a few coffee and movie dates, making their relationship official only a couple of months later, and, as they say, the rest was history. They were pretty settled by this point, so much so that they didn’t need to be around each other at every waking moment. In fact, they often savoured the time alone. That’s what Betty kept telling Veronica anyway. And, as much as she hated to admit it, herself. On more occasions than one.

“Black coffee to go.”

The deep, monotone request pulled her out of her fleeting reminiscences as she shook away thoughts that were much too in depth for three o’clock in the afternoon after running on only one shot of coffee. She instinctively reached to grab a cup and her trusty pen from beside her, removing the lid with a click.

“You got it. Can I take a name?”

“No.”

The abrupt answer made her eyes shoot up in astonishment.

“Excuse me?”

“Not to be rude, but I assume I’m the only person in this something-out-of-a-Nicholas-Sparks-novel town who would even dream of drinking something other than a cup of frothed milk drowning in sugar-drenched syrup, so, no. I don’t see much of a point in giving you my name.”

She blinked, her brows furrowing as she tilted her head, attempting to conjure up a response. He looked back at her, showing no signs of remorse for the fact, despite his initial statement, he had indeed been exceptionally rude. Instead, his face was entirely nonchalant. It infuriated her.

“Right. So, that’s $2.85,” she uttered after a momentary silence, biting her tongue in an attempt to not lose her job, actively choosing to ignore Veronica’s background snigger as she handed her the cup. It only took a few moments before the freshly poured coffee was passed back again.

“Keep the change,” he mumbled, not even bothering to strain himself to look at her again as he chucked the money onto the counter, seizing his drink and stomping back outside.

“Please, come again,” she quipped under her breath, turning to face Veronica who was shaking her head with a smirk. “I should’ve written asshole.”

“Tourists,” she replied with a subsequent eye roll. “Anyway, I need to ask you something.”

Betty leaned up against the counter, taking a moment to relieve the pain that came with standing on her feet all day long. Late Friday afternoons were always pretty chilled, even if the mornings were an overwhelming rush of madness. But by now, people were getting ready to either go out on the town or spend a night in front of the TV with takeout pizza. Betty sure knew which she’d prefer. And it definitely didn’t involve seafood.

“Sure,” she replied.

“So,” Veronica pursed her lips together and raised a brow hopefully, “there’s this party-“

“No.”

“What? Betty-“

“You know I don’t go to those things, V.”

“Oh, come on,” she replied, clasping her hands together. “Trev’s leaving, and this can be a chance to reconnect with that fun, independent woman inside of you.”

Betty ran the cloth under the tap before rinsing it out. “Am I not those things already?”

“Look,” she sighed, “I just think it would be nice to let your hair down once in a while.”

“Veronica, you know that I like my hair well and truly up, secured with ten bobby pins and half a can of hairspray.”

They both chuckled then, Betty folding her arms across her chest and waiting for Veronica’s inevitable persistancy.

“It’s tomorrow night, anyway. I’m kind of crushing on the guy that’s throwing it. A friend’s support would be great.”

“And by that you mean someone to stand outside the door and keep guard as you make out in the downstairs bathroom?” Betty scoffed.

“Hey,” she shrugged, “that was one time. It was a nice bathroom.”

Betty shook her head with a grin, retrieving her pen as the bell on the door sounded. “I’ll think about it, ok?”

The evening rolled around relatively quickly, the sun setting just before six o’clock as Betty stood outside of her apartment waiting for Trev to pick her up. A cold breeze brushed over her skin, raising goose bumps as she tightened her black cardigan across her chest.

She’d decided to keep her hair up, twisting her signature ponytail into a neat, perfectly sculpted bun, and running a light pink gloss over her lips. She’d thrown on her slightly worn black jeans and a short-sleeved white lace vest, placing her heart-shaped necklace neatly over the top. When he finally pulled up, he was ten minutes late, not that she was keeping tabs.

Luckily, the drive to the restaurant was a short one at that.

“Are you all packed?” Betty questioned once they were seated at their table and served their food, picking at her salmon and taking small bites every so often. He didn’t seem to notice.

“Yeah, pretty much,” he replied, covering his mouth as he swallowed his coconut shrimp, the sight in itself making Betty feel a little queasy. “I just need to sort out my hand luggage when I get home later.”

She nodded, gently stabbing her fork into a cherry tomato and popping it into her mouth. “Well, it’ll be weird not having you around.”

“It’ll fly by,” he replied.

“Yeah,” she agreed half-heartedly, studying his features that she had grown so used to. She knew his face better than anyone’s. She threw him a faint smile, something inside of her shifting. She ignored it.

“I guess that brings me onto my next point,” he uttered after a few moments.

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh?

“I know we’ve been together for two years now, and they’ve honestly been amazing,” he began, “I just think that maybe we need a change.”

She placed her hand down beside her plate, still clutching onto her fork, and sat back a little in her seat.

Oh shit, she thought. He’s breaking up with me.

She guessed that she had seen it coming for a while. The both of them were close, very much so, but there was always something a little out of place. She was in a constant battle with her thoughts, because she knew they were supposed to be together.

She loved Trev. She really did. She felt a familiarity and safety with him that she had never felt quite ready to let go of. He had been there when her parents had split and he had supported her whenever she needed him. They leant on one another and had done for so long that they’d almost forgotten what it was like not to do so.

They were comfortable.

She shifted in her seat, placing her hands in her lap and softening her eyes. “Look, Trev-“

“I think we should get married.”

There were few things that had shocked Betty Cooper in her life so far. Everything had always been rather predictable, a simple, perfect life plan for the perfect girl next door. She had always excelled in school, running the school paper and involving herself in every after school activity she could find, she had gone off and gotten her first class degree, and she was now training to be a teacher; temporarily working in the coffee shop for a steady-ish income. She was only twenty-two, but her whole life had practically already been mapped out for her. Trev included.

That was why, in that precise moment, in front of her utterly untouched salmon, she was speechless. Of course it made sense for her long-term boyfriend to propose to her. Her parents were married at twenty-one, ignoring the fact said marriage had gone to shit, so surely she should’ve seen it coming. Nobody in Oakwood Bay would expect a Cooper to be unmarried in anything other than a white picket fenced house past the age of twenty-five. Despite of this, she couldn’t quite put her finger on why, but she had not once even thought about it during the past two years.

For once in her life, she was completely unprepared. Her fork fell onto the table with a loud clink.

“Wow,” was all she could manage, her eyes widening at the large diamond ring he had retrieved from his jacket pocket. He hadn’t gotten down on one knee, which Betty was actually quite thankful for, seeing as the few eyes that were already watching them were making her uncomfortable enough. She was embarrassed, suddenly. Anticipating a feeling in the pit of her stomach; the one they always write about in songs and in poems. It never came.

She looked back up at him and expected to see fireworks in his eyes, but there were none. Only the smell of dead fish.

“Is that a yes?”

Veronica inspected the ring for a good ten minutes, her jaw practically wedged open as the large, sparkling diamond got lost in her dark, brown eyes.

“It’s beautiful,” she declared.

“Yeah, it is.”

“So, remind me why you’re not wearing it?”

Betty sighed, plonking herself down onto her bed beside Veronica and pulling her legs into her chest. “I told him I’d think about it.”

Veronica raised a brow, carefully placing the ring back onto the bedside table. “What’s there to think about?”

“I’ll tell you when I figure it out,” she replied, sinking back onto her pile of cushions.

“At least he’s leaving in the morning so you can avoid any awkward run-ins.”

“We’re still together,” Betty defended, closing her eyes as she ran everything over in her head, “I think.”

“Well, you did just say no to his marriage proposal.”

“I didn’t say no.”

“But you didn’t say yes.”

Betty grabbed a pillow and proceeded to face plant it, turning over onto her stomach. She’d lost count of how many times she’d screamed into this thing.

“Hey,” Veronica said leaning over to gently place a hand on her shoulder, “you know what will make you feel better?”

“Binge-watching Gilmore Girls and eating ten gallons of ice-cream?”

“Ok,” she replied, “aside from that.”

Betty propped herself up onto her elbows, turning her head and wrinkling her brows.

“Buying a puppy?”

Veronica laughed, sticking out her bottom lip and nodding. “I was actually referring to the party, but yeah now that you mention it…”

“Oh, V,” she rolled her eyes, hopping back up off the bed and pushing her hair out of her face. “Does it really mean that much to you? All for this random guy?”

“I really like him.”

“Have you ever even talked to him?”

“I blurted out this really weird high-pitched laugh when I accidentally bumped into him in the store the other day. We did that thing where you both go to walk the same way about three times over. I think he thought I was having some sort of stroke.”

“So, it’s getting serious then?”

Veronica threw her head into her hands, her shoulder-length black hair veiling her inevitable expression of both mortification and disappointment.

“Ok,” Betty said softly with a sigh, smirking faintly. She’d never seen her best friend so dejected over a guy she’d never even spoken to before. Weird creature-esque laugh aside.

Her head shot back up in delight. “Ok?”

“I’ll go.”

Veronica squealed, heaving Betty into a rather abrupt embrace before hopping up off of the bed. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She cried. “Ok, so let’s talk outfits. I’m thinking sexy, but still classy, something simple but not so simple that it’s boring. Is red lipstick too much? What am I saying, red lipstick is never too much.”

As Veronica started to trail off into a debate with herself over the appropriate height of her heels, Betty lay back down and pulled her phone out of her pocket. No new messages. She turned her head to catch another glimpse of the ring lying beside a photo of the two of them holding ice-creams in a floral printed frame and sighed.

Why didn’t she say yes?

Betty allowed herself to awake much earlier than usual the following morning. Saturday shifts were her least favourite, and the truth was that she hadn’t slept at all. Trev had texted her not long after she’d gotten dressed to tell her that he was boarding his flight. It was a little cold and a little awkward, but at least he was still associating with her after she’d basically publicly humiliated him in his favourite seafood restaurant, of all places. She knew going there was a bad idea. When was seafood ever a good idea, anyway?

She loved visiting the harbour when the majority of the town were still asleep; watching the boats leave and allowing her anxieties to leave with them. Not only this, but the autumn sunrise was always the most beautiful, somehow. She found a comfort in this place, one that she had never quite found anywhere else

Taking a sip of her morning coffee before placing it onto the ground beside a small gathering of colourful fallen leaves, she propped her feet up on the bench and opened up her book to where she had last finished off. She exhaled, savouring the satisfaction of a peaceful morning paired with her favourite poet. Somehow, his words ignited something inside of her that she often worried was slipping away. These strings of sentences, masked by hidden meanings, were sometimes all that kept her sane.

‘There is that in me—I do not know what it is—but I know it is in me.

Wrench’d and sweaty—calm and cool then my body becomes,

I sleep—I sleep long.

I do not know it—it is without name—it is a word unsaid,

It is not in any dictionary, utterance, symbol.

Something it swings on more than the earth I swing on,

To it the creation is the friend whose embracing awakes me.’

“Whitman?” A voice sounded a few centimetres away from her, prompting a loud gasp.

“Jesus,” she cried, sitting up abruptly and clutching the book which had almost fallen to the ground.

“Nope,” he said dryly, “pretty sure it’s Whitman.”

She twisted her head then, meeting with a set of unfamiliar, vacant green eyes. His hair was tucked inside a grey beanie, a couple of dark curls peeking out of the front. It took him a few moments, but he smirked. Betty’s face was that of utter disgust as she reached down, realising she had seemingly instantly kicked over her coffee, cursing aloud at the realisation.

“I know you,” she spat, sitting upright and perching on the edge of the bench, narrowing her eyes. “You’re the asshole from yesterday.”

He folded his arms, taking a small bite out of a half-eaten, red apple. “You’ll have to elaborate on that.”

“Really?” She laughed sarcastically. “In the coffee shop? Your weird and incredibly rude speech when I asked for your name?”

He shrugged. “Oh, yeah.”

“Oh, yeah?” She repeated, expecting another snarky response which he suddenly held back on, something boiling up inside of her as a result of his inability to converse like a decent human being. Shaking her head, she tucked her book back into her bag and threw it over her shoulder, standing up and tightening her pony tail. He wasn’t even worth it.

“Can I help you with something?” She asked after a few seconds, folding her arms as he stood in front of her, much taller than she’d originally anticipated, showing no intention of moving out of the way.

“Actually, you’re in my spot.”

“I’m sorry, your spot?”

He nodded, squeezing past her and sitting down in the exact place she had previously been, finishing his apple with one more large bite and chucking the core onto the ground. The simple action made her cringe.

“Well, you were. Thanks.”

She furrowed her brows, glancing around in disbelief, her ponytail bouncing at the brisk movement. “I come here and read every single morning. I have never seen you. Not once. Are you just trying to irritate me?”

“Potentially,” he replied, prompting her to roll her eyes and drop her jaw ever so slightly. “But no, you’d have had a job seeing as I only actually moved here yesterday afternoon. Tell me, is your town slogan ‘the place people come to die?’ Because, if not, that was really a missed opportunity. I’d like credit for that one.”

Betty was speechless, this stranger who she had never met before yesterday already pushing buttons she didn’t even know that she had. He stretched his legs out, his scuffed combat boots perching on the concrete as he retrieved a pen and a notepad from his bag before throwing it onto the ground. He opened up to a page which had already been half-scribbled on and paused, craning his head to see that she was still standing, staring at him. He raised an eyebrow.

“Can I help you with something?”

She groaned, abruptly turning on her heel and storming away as far out of sight as she could possibly get, shoving her hands into her pockets. How could someone possibly be so rude and self-entitled? She’d be damned if she let him take her morning spot away from her again. Once she had made it back towards the main road, she felt a text buzz through the material of her gloves, startling her ever so slightly as she began to lose herself in mental re-runs of her previous infuriating conversation.

Veronica: Party starts at 8 tonight. I’ll come over at 6 to get ready?

Betty: Ok. Enjoy your Saturday off. Think of me slaving away.

Veronica: Ha ha. Hopefully you won’t be serving any more black coffee today.

Betty: Funny you should say that. Guess who I just bumped into?

Veronica: What? I-refuse-to-conform-to-society-and-give-you-my-name-for-a-damn-cup-of-coffee guy?

Betty: That’s the one.

Veronica: Is he hot? I can’t remember.

Betty: Oh, god. I’ll talk to you later.

Veronica: So that’s a yes.

Betty: He’s a total dick.

Veronica: So that’s a yes.

Betty: Bye.

Veronica: So that’s a yes.

Locking her phone and rolling her eyes, she picked up the pace as a few raindrops started to bounce off of her cheeks. Her morning had already started off so horrendously, so, naturally, why wouldn’t the heavens open and make it just that little bit worse? She was still pretty riled up from her previous encounter with black-coffee-guy, whose name she still did not know, and had no interest in knowing, but when she made it into work, she painted on her favourite fake smile as she greeted Ethel and Kevin waiting for her behind the counter. All she knew was that she needed to shift her attention to serving customers and cleaning tables in order to take her mind off of not only that, but of Trev’s dead-fish-scented proposal, suddenly grateful for the busy Saturday shift that she usually so desperately despised.

Because her perfect plan was already faltering.

And because it was most definitely a yes.

#bughead fanfic #bughead fic #riverdale fanfic #bughead

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