disclaimer: nah man
notes: gUESS WHO'S BACK BITCHES.
notes2: oh hey look another collab with milk ghost that's been sITTING IN MY DOCUMENTS I'M SORRY I FORGET THESE THINGS STILL EXIST anyway this was super fun to write
notes3: PSA THIS STORY IS NOT ABOUT BASEBALL. read on to find out just what exactly is being swung and by whom. ;))
playlist: 'Trouble' by Neon Jungle
.
.
I don't look for trouble
But trouble looks for me
And it's been waiting around corners
Since I was seventeen
.
.
x
[1:24 AM]
It's quiet.
A crescent moon shines in the sky and the stars are visible. The Utonium household's windows are dark, the doors are locked, and two of the four residents are fast asleep.
The missing two residents, Buttercup and Professor Utonium, are two states over at some convention. They won't be home for three more days. The remaining sisters are completely ignorant of the world outside, where nothing is stirring.
Crunch.
Well, almost nothing.
x
Two aqua blue eyes fly open, and the youngest of the Utonium trio glances around her room. Why does she feel so nervous?
Just as she's closing her eyes again, scolding herself for stressing over nothing, she hears it.
Thunk.
Her eyes widen and she slowly sits up in bed, trying not to make noise. As her eyes adjust to the darkness, it's silent again. She waits.
Thunk.
Her heart rate picks up and she turns to her window. It's still closed, she notes with relief. So where is the noise coming from?
CRACK.
This time, she throws the blankets off of her and snatches her cell phone from her nightstand. She doesn't have any weapons in her room—stupidstupidstupid—so she tiptoes to her door and opens it, very slowly. Peering out into the dark hallway, she doesn't see anything. She steps out and heads for her oldest sister's door.
Before she can reach it, however, it opens and Blossom steps out, hair in wild, sleep-mussed curls and pink eyes wide. Bubbles rushes over as quietly as she can.
"Blossom, there's someone in the house," she whispers frantically, cell phone in a death grip. Blossom nods grimly.
"I heard." She replies, voice just as quiet as Bubbles'.
Thunk.
x
Her blonde sister trembles and brings a hand up to cover her lips. Pretty blue eyes meet bubblegum pink, and they both jump at the noise that follows.
BANG.
"Ohmygosh we're gonna die ohmygosh OHMYGOSH." Bubbles is quietly having a complete breakdown. She wishes the Professor was here. She misses Buttercup.
Blossom flails at her, curls flying and bouncing. "Sh, shh!"
The youngest Utonium grabs onto her sister's sleeve, bottom lip wobbling and tears beginning to stream down her face. "What are we going to do, Blossom?"
She looks at Bubbles' face, her terrified expression, the way her body is shaking. The redhead swallows the lump in her throat with some difficulty and congratulates herself on not shrieking when a weird clattering noise starts up outside.
Tone almost deathly calm but still wavering, she says, "Call Boomer. Ask him to come over as soon as he possibly can."
Of course, that's not really going to be a problem when her sister calls up her doting boyfriend in tears and frantically tells him about someone possibly in their house. She just hopes he doesn't mow someone over on his way.
"What about you?" Bubbles questions, eyes full of worry. "Blossom, what are you thinking?" The redhead eyes the closet at the end of the hall, her scared and tired mind beginning to formulate a plan. It's a terrible plan. Probably the worst she's ever had, and it's dangerous. Stupid, too. So stupid it just might work.
She puts a hand on her younger sister's shoulder and tries to smile. It doesn't work as well as she'd hoped, but Bubbles doesn't complain. "Just...call Boomer, okay? I...I-I'm going to take care of things."
She's the eldest; she should take care of her sisters. She always has, and she always will—even if it means her life. Or almost her life. Or braving an intruder all by herself.
She'd better not die in these pajamas because a) they're one of her favorite pairs, b) she doesn't want to die at all, and c) the coroner would probably laugh at her because they're pink with bunnies hopping across them. Brick would tease her relentlessly.
Whatever, if she does die, she'll just come back and haunt his sorry self. Maybe she'll just sit on the edge of his desk in her stupid (-ly cute!) pajamas and judge his life choices.
Like his recent ear piercing.
Which she does not, in any way, think is hot.
Blossom sucks in a deep breath and waits until Bubbles locks herself in her bedroom, but not before sending her older sister one last worried glance.
Then she turns to the closet.
x
Bubbles shakily dials Boomer's number—she should have him on speed dial, why doesn't she have him on speed dial?—and sits as far away from the window as possible.
It rings, and rings, and rings, and she's afraid it's just going to go to voicemail when her boyfriend's sleep-heavy voice comes over the line.
"'ubbles?" He croaks.
She's so relieved to hear his voice, but she's still concerned about Blossom alone out there with someone who is possibly in their home. "Boomer!" She whispers loudly, frantically. "Boomer there's someone here and they're—Blossom's out there alone and—andandand, I don't know what to do Boomer there is someone here and maybe in the house and—"
x
Blossom grips the makeshift weapon in her hands with white knuckles as she stares down the staircase. It's a hockey stick that Boomer forgot at their house a while ago, and it's been sitting up in their hall closet ever since because they keep forgetting to give it back to him.
Thump.
Oh no, she thinks. I'm not really doing this, am I?
She is.
Cautiously, carefully, hesitantly, she slowly puts her foot down on the first step.
This is definitely a bad idea.
x
Boomer's out of his bed as soon as Bubbles says 'there's someone here'. The phone is pressed between his cheek and shoulder as Bubbles frantically whispers through the line—God he hopes she's locked in her room, away from whatever the hell is in her house—and he's trying to find his shoes.
After ten seconds of no luck he gives up on shoes and just grabs his keys from his desk and throws his door open, to hell with waking up his brothers.
"Okay, okay, Bubbles, listen." Boomer says. "I'm coming right over, I'll be there in ten. Don't leave your room, okay?" She sniffs.
"I won't Boomer, but Blossom, she's—"
"Fuck, she's not out there is she?" Boomer says, freezing halfway down the stairs. Bubbles starts to cry again.
"Yes Boomer, she's out there with the—the intruder and I don't know what to do should I help her or—" Boomer cuts off her whispered ramblings and starts climbing the stairs again two at a time.
"NO. Don't leave your room. Stay where you are. I'll be over soon, okay?" Boomer soothes. Bubbles takes a shaky breath.
"O-okay. See you soon." Boomer nods, even though she can't see him.
"I love you," he tells her, genuinely.
"I love you too," she replies, and then the line goes dead. Boomer stops at Brick's door. Should he really do this? Brick would probably strangle him to death if he woke him up.
Bubbles' frantic whispers and teary voice steel his resolve.
"Go time," Boomer says to himself before banging on his brothers' doors. "WAKE UP MOTHERFUCKERS!" He shouts, banging harder. Not two seconds later—
"WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK." Brick's door swings open, almost ripping off the hinges, and his oldest brother is glaring at him with a look that would make Satan scared. The redhead looks seconds away from breathing fire.
"BOOMER, GIVE ME ONE GOOD REASON WHY I SHOULDN'T KILL YOU RIGHT HERE AND RIGHT NOW." Brick seethes.
"Bubblesjustcalledmeandthere'ssomeoneintheirhouseandBlossomwentdowntheretoinvestigate—" He rushes out, panic seeping into his veins again as he tells Brick. They really need to go.
Brick miraculously understands him and his eyes widen slightly. He pushes past Boomer and kicks Butch's door down.
"BUTCH GET YOUR LAZY ASS OUT OF BED BEFORE I THROW YOU OUT THE DAMN DOOR MYSELF." Butch bolts up from his mountain of blankets and lands in a defensive position.
"What's going on?!" He looks around frantically.
"Someone's inside the girls' house." Brick tells him. Butch, surprisingly, catches on pretty fast.
"Fuck, isn't it just Bubbles and Blossom?" He straightens and starts looking for shoes. He's already wearing socks, and he manages to stuff his feet into a pair of black, beaten up high top converse.
"Yeah, which is why we really need to go." Boomer says. Butch grabs what looks to be a paper clip from his desk and they're off.
x
Blossom is still deliberating if she's really going through with this or not as she makes her way down the stairs. It's a slow process, she's regretting a lot of life choices right now, there's weird noises coming from the kitchen, and she's pretty much concluded that this is the worst night ever.
So it takes her about five to ten minutes to actually get down the stairs and then she stops. Now what? All of the racket is clearly coming from the general direction of the kitchen. And seriously, what was this burglar or whatever they were even thinking? They're being loud enough to wake the dead, especially people sleeping right above them; they have to be the worst thief in the history of thieving.
The redhead takes a few deep breaths, gripping the hockey stick for dear life. This is it. She is going to confront a criminal who is potentially armed and dangerous and could most likely kill her within any given moment.
Well, she isn't going down without a fight.
She quietly makes her way to the kitchen, avoiding all the creaky floorboards or groaning carpet spots. She's lived here her entire life, it's not that hard. For once, the victim has an advantage.
Sure enough, there's a figure in their kitchen—a man, from the looks of his physique. Moderately tall, dressed in black, probably here because he thought their home was an easy target. Truthfully, there isn't any car out front because they only have the one station wagon, and it's hundreds of miles away. Still, you know what they say about assuming: it makes an ass out of you.
He picks up one of Bubbles' pretty blown glass vases and turns it over in his hands. It's her little sister's favorite, and suddenly Blossom begins to get angry. Who is this bozo, thinking he can just break into their home and startle them from their deserved night's sleep and terrify them out of their wits? He thought he could just waltz in out of the dark and steal their stuff? Aw heck no, she isn't about to let this jerk get away unscathed.
Also stealing is a felony and she's very against things like that.
Then the robber in question turns around, and she swears her heart stops beating.
x
He lets out a startled grunt at the unnaturally pink and—are they freaking glowing?—blazing pink eyes directing their intense stare his way. The moonlight filtering in through the kitchen curtains doesn't do much but illuminate a head of wild curls and the shadow of something long within her hands.
She looks like Medusa.
"GET OUT OF MY HOUSE," Blossom screeches at an inhuman level, sounding more like a banshee than a seventeen-year-old girl.
The redhead swings the hockey stick so fast he doesn't have time to dodge, and he lets out a cry of pain when it slams into his side, and there's a dull crack.
Nailed him, she thinks as he drops the vase and it shatters all over the floor.
The accursed felon throws open the kitchen door and hightails it out of the house, and she nods her head in content. Blossom starts to walk over to the back door to shut it—and maybe secure the knob with a bungee cord or something—when she slips and her foot crunches over the broken glass on the floor.
Her scream is blood-curdling and echoes terribly throughout the house.
x
Butch hangs on for dear life as Boomer swerves to miss—his brother is going too fast, he can't even see what they just avoided. He's crammed in the back (which absolutely sucks, by the way, screw his brother's Jeep and its shitty space problem) while Boomer drives like a madman and Brick is ever stoic in the passenger seat. They haven't said a word since they left.
His blond brother swings the vehicle into the Utonium's driveway like he's fucking Vin Diesel, and then barely kills the engine before he's sprinting across the lawn in his bare feet. Brick is close behind him, equally shoeless and shirtless.
His brothers are hopeless.
By the time he gets to the front porch, Boomer is pulling at his hair and exchanging words with Brick on the topic of how to actually get inside since the door is undoubtedly locked and neither of them has a key.
Well, it looks like his time has come.
Butch takes a step forward and raises his hands. "Gentlemen, I believe I have the solution to your dilemma."
He's been waiting for like five years to say that.
"When the fuck did you get so articulate with your speech?" Brick questions harshly.
The middle brother raises a brow and taps an imaginary watch on his wrist. "Do you really wanna know, or do you wanna save the damsels in distress?"
Boomer is doing everything he possibly can that conveys his anxiety and antsy-ness. "What can you even do?"
Butch grins ruthlessly and pulls out a bent paperclip. Brick eyes it, clearly unimpressed. "And what the hell do you think you're gonna do with that?"
His brother gets down on one knee in front of the doorknob, undeterred. "I'm gonna pick the lock, man. I have mad lock picking skills."
"Sure you do," Boomer replies miserably. Butch takes the paperclip to the lock and begins working. It becomes clear soon enough that he does actually have an idea of what he's doing.
His blond brother eyes him suspiciously. "Why do you know this. What do you even do in your spare time?"
"Youtube, bro," Butch responds and nods his head as he hears a click.
Brick looks around the girls' neighborhood. "Why do I feel like I'm in the real life version of Grand Theft Auto."
"Because I'm fucking awesome." Butch replies easily.
Boomer gives him the certified bitch face. "Actually I think it has more to do with the fact that you're technically breaking into my girlfriend's house at two in the morning."
The lock gives a final click, and Butch leans back to shoot them both a grin. "We," he corrects. "Like I said, fucking awesome."
Brick turns the handle and pushes the door open. "Whatever, let's just—"
An awful scream cuts him off.
Blossom's scream.
x
This time, Brick's eyes actually widen. He meets Boomer's deer-in-headlights, panicked gaze, and even Butch looks concerned. Brick opens the door wider to get in, and it creaks.
Inside it's dark and silent. All three of them look around cautiously, although Brick is beginning to look agitated.
Where did the scream come from? Is anyone still in the house?
x
When Blossom hears the front door creak open—they've never gotten around to oiling those stupid hinges, but this time she's glad they haven't—she silences her crying and fumbles for the hockey stick. She hears footsteps against the wood floor of the entryway, then dull thuds on the living room carpet. They're moving closer.
How many intruders will she have to brain tonight?
Shaking the thought away, she gets to her feet, albeit unsteadily. There's a significant amount of glass in her left foot, so she leans heavily on her right and only puts her left toes on the ground. There isn't any glass in her toes, thankfully.
Blossom limps to the kitchen doorway, and prepares to fight.
The footsteps get closer, and a tall figure with dark hair appears in the doorway. She can't see his face.
It doesn't matter, she tells herself. He's still committing a crime.
As the figure moves to enter the kitchen, Blossom cocks back the hockey stick she's holding.
"Oh no you don't," she practically snarls. Buttercup would've been proud. She aims for their head and swings with all of her might. There's a resounding crack and the figure drops to the floor like a stone, unconscious.
The light flicks on.
x
Boomer's jaw is practically on the floor. Brick is, in his usual state of shock, gawking without actually gawking.
Blossom is standing in front of them—eyes glowing, cheeks tearstained, hair absolutely wild—and she's got one of Boomer's old hockey sticks in a death grip. Butch is on the floor in front of her, having received her hit right in the head.
Her eyes widen when she sees them and the hockey stick clatters to the floor.
"I think...you just killed my brother." Boomer chokes out.
x
Blossom looks absolutely horrified and drops to her knees in an instant, ignoring the stabbing in her foot. She grabs him by his shoulders and runs her fingers through his hair, trying to find the place where she decked him.
"Butch! Butch wake up! I'm so sorry I didn't know it was you!" For all her effort, she gets no sign of response. The redhead covers her face with her hands and gives a strangled cry. "I cannot believe this."
Brick's gaze roams around the room, looking for anything out of the ordinary—aside from his possibly dead brother lying on the floor and Blossom trembling next to him—and discovers a trail of bright red, fresh blood leading from the kitchen to...Blossom. The blood belongs to her.
He pulls her off the ground and she lets out a whimper, immediately putting him on high alert. "What happened?" He demands, staring at her tear-streaked face and bloody foot.
Before she can answer, Bubbles comes crashing down the stairs, wielding the flute that she'd taken up in sixth grade like Thor and trying to look menacing.
"STAY AWAY FROM MY—Brick? Boomer? Blossom IS THAT BLOOD?"
Boomer brings her into his chest and hugs her close. "You were supposed to stay in your room," he admonishes.
The blonde puffs out her cheeks. "But I heard Blossom yelling and screaming so I couldn't let her just...just fend off that horrid intruder by herself!"
Brick rounds on the oldest Utonium. "You did WHAT?"
She looks at him miserably, and Boomer rubs the back of his neck. "What even happened here? I thought you said someone was in the house."
"There was someone here," Blossom says mournfully. "But he ran off when I hit him with your hockey stick. He broke one of Bubbles' glass vases and I accidentally stepped in it when I heard the front door open. And, well..."
She glances down at Butch's unconscious form beside her. He's breathing steadily, but he's bound to have a heck of a goose egg on his head when he finally wakes up. Blossom sniffs and glances down at her bleeding foot.
x
"So let me get this straight." Brick says, looking at his counterpart. "You decided it would be a good idea to come down here by yourself to ward off a potential murderer or other type of criminal, and your weapon of choice was a HOCKEY STICK?"
Blossom bites her lip but nods.
"Are you fucking KIDDING ME?" Brick explodes. Blossom winces and Boomer holds Bubbles tighter. "A HOCKEY STICK? HOW RECKLESS CAN YOU GET?! YOU COULD'VE DIED BLOSSOM. DIED."
"Don't you think I know that?" Blossom spits back. "I realized how dangerous the situation could've been, but I had to do something! I'm not just going to stand around and let some—some whackjob commit a felony! And in my own house too! I didn't have a choice, you jerk!" She climbs to her feet, favoring her left foot, and glares at the redheaded boy. "I'm not some damsel in distress. I handled myself perfectly fine, thank you!" She sniffs, crossing her arms. Brick is seething, and he wants to punch something. Preferably the asshole who started this whole mess in the first place.
"Oh just kiss already!" Butch's voice cuts into the conversation, stopping the argument and causing all parties to look down at him in varying degrees of disbelief.
"Seriously, the UST between you two is frickin' unreal. Would save us all a lot of trouble if you two just got it over with." Blossom falls back to her knees and Brick blinks. Butch squints against the bright kitchen light.
"Jesus..." he groans. "I've seen the light. I died and came back to life. I am now called the king of the undead. Hail me, peasants!" He lifts both arms in the air, hands in fists, but the rest of him remains lying on the kitchen floor.
"Get up, moron." Brick rolls his eyes.
"Butch you're NOT DEAD." Boomer exclaims, regaining the ability to speak. Butch sits up slowly, and Blossom reaches out to help him. He rubs his head.
"Didn't you just hear a word I said? I am Butch, lord of the undead. Worship me." No one responds, so he moves on, looking at the pink eyed girl next to him. "Damn Blossom, you've got a hell of a swing. What the fuck did you even hit me with? A rolling pin? I feel like my brain's gonna leak out of my ears." Bubbles cringes in disgust.
"Ew," she gags.
"I, um, I hit you with one of Boomer's...hockey sticks." Blossom manages to get out, rubbing her arm in embarrassment. Butch groans again. Blossom shifts and another wave of pain makes itself known. She hisses at the unwelcome sensation. Brick moves into action, practically picking her up and placing her on the island countertop.
"Where's your first aid kit?" He asks her. She points underneath the sink and he retrieves the kit.
Bubbles goes to the freezer and hands Butch a package of frozen corn, which he holds to his head. Brick gets to work on Blossom's foot.
x
Bubbles gloomily stares down at the mess on the kitchen floor, a broom and dustpan in hand. "Aww, this was my favorite vase too," she bemoans. "Buttercup got it for me last Christmas."
Butch snorts, then cringes. He somehow manages to drag himself to the kitchen table, where he promptly collapses in a chair and puts the bag of frozen corn back on his head.
"Buttercup bought you a vase," he mumbles, probably meaning to be snarky. It comes out as a low whine.
Boomer takes advantage of this as he shoos his girlfriend away from the shattered glass and takes the broom and dustpan out of her hands. "You sound like you wanted a vase from her. As I recall, she didn't give you anything last Christmas. 'Cept for maybe that shiner when you tried to sneak some of her gingerbread cookies."
Blossom brushes some of her tears away on her pajama sleeve. She still hasn't completely calmed down from earlier. "I hope no one ever tries to break into our house ever again."
Brick grunts his agreement, and Bubbles nods furiously. "We should probably call the police and let them know that a burglar's out on the loose."
"Well if you hit him half as hard as you nailed me, then I'd say he probably won't be back for a round two." Butch groans, but still manages to look somewhat proud of her.
Blossom fidgets. "I did um, I did hear something crack."
"…Holy shit."
Boomer glances over at her appreciatively as he sweeps glass into the pan. "Maybe I should recruit you for the hockey team. The other teams would be too scared of you and your insane swing to score."
She smiles awkwardly and feels her face heat up, but her smile drops when there's a sharp pain in her foot. "Ouch," she mumbles, and places a hand on Brick's shoulder.
His bare shoulder.
What?
Blossom glances down at the redhead, and notices for the first time that he is a) completely shirtless, b) also barefoot, c) wearing a pair of red and black plaid pajama pants that hang sinfully low on his hips, and d) has the most attractive bedhead she's ever seen on a guy. Oh.
Oh my.
She snatches her hand back like his shoulder is fire (uggh why does he have to be so...so muscular?!) and if her face was hot before, it's surely burning now. He's not wearing his trademark red baseball cap, either, which is strange. She doesn't often see him without it.
Brick shoots her a weird look and stands, running a hand through his hair. "There. Don't go taking on any more fucking criminals for a while and you should be fine."
"You're the criminal," she mumbles.
He raises a brow. "What was that?"
"Nothing!"
Bubbles watches her boyfriend's back as he dumps the broken glass into the trash and sets the broom aside. He's shirtless and barefoot, too. She wonders if he ran anybody over on his way to their house. Hopefully not. He'd probably run out without even grabbing a shirt or shoes, so. She doesn't even want to think about how he drove.
Butch is watching Blossom watch Brick in amusement. She's totally ogling his older brother, no doubt about it. Although it is Blossom, so of course she looks ashamed of it.
Brick noticed her ridiculous pale pink long-sleeved pajamas with rabbits of all things hopping across them some time ago, but had chosen not to comment. Of course she'd sleep in something like that. Her hair is a mess too—auburn curls sticking out all over the place, in a neater, less intense way than Princess', but still a mess.
This hasn't escaped Butch, either, and he grins. "Yo red, you're lookin' a little worse for wear, there. I don't think I've ever seen your hair like that before, Medusa."
She glowers at him, tired and embarrassed, and her gaze flicks to the hockey stick leaning against the counter. "I will hit you again, and this time I'll make sure you stay out."
He raises his hands in surrender and backs off, but doesn't let her appearance completely slide. It's too much fun, despite the health risks.
x
"What time is it?" Bubbles asks out of the blue. Blossom glances at the oven clock.
"2:17," she tells her younger sister. Butch slumps further against the table, frozen corn package still pressed to his head.
"Shit man, I'm tired. Getting brained with a hockey stick is a fucking exhausting experience, 0 out of 10 would recommend." He grumbles. Boomer snorts and Brick rolls his eyes.
"You can sleep here tonight," Bubbles suggests. Normally, Blossom would have protested, but sleep sounds really nice right now and she doesn't want to do anything else.
"Thanks Barbie." Butch nods at Bubbles as Boomer kisses his girlfriend's cheek in thanks. "We owe ya one." Bubbles smiles prettily and disappears to get blankets and pillows, Boomer trailing after her (he's not going to let her leave his sight, dammit).
Butch leaves the kitchen, still clutching the corn, and goes into the living room. He doesn't even make it to the couch, instead falling to the floor and laying in front of said piece of furniture, spread eagle. His eyes close and just like that, he's out.
Bubbles and Boomer return with blankets and pillows in their arms, and Bubbles puts a pillow under Butch's head and two blankets over his sleeping form. The corn rests against the injured portion of his head.
Blossom double checks all the locks in the house before going into the living room, limping all the while. She tries not to think about Brick and his...shirtless-ness. As soon as she enters the living room she sees Brick making his way toward the couch.
However, said boy mistakes Butch's arm for the blanket and consequently trips over the outstretched limb.
x
Brick flails.
The leader of the Rowdyruff Boys (but are they really still considered boys now? Looking at all those muscles, Blossom begs to differ) falls flat on his face, but not before ungracefully waving his arms like a madman. This is the prideful, hardheaded, infuriating guy who used to torture her—still does, in some ways—and yet.
He's been taken down by his own brother.
Well, actually, Butch's arm. The dark-headed teen barely even stirs.
Her counterpart lies there for a few moments, rigid on the floor. She's going to start laughing, she can feel it bubbling up and threatening to spill over. Brick kind of twitches, and it's so awkward and such an unusual thing for him.
That does it.
Blossom's hands fly to her mouth as she starts to giggle—giggle, how embarrassing. She knows he's not really hurt, but she stills feels a little bad for laughing. Especially when she can't stop.
Brick raises his head and sends her the evil eye. Like, his one visible eye is glowing a bright red, and his ridiculously messy (coughhotcough) bedhead hiding the other and half of his face.
Boomer is collapsed on the recliner, draped across it with Bubbles in his lap. They're both breathing peacefully—Bubbles rising and falling evenly with her counterpart's breaths. Butch is still knocked out (from sleep this time), and cradling the corn to his head like it's a newborn child.
She's trying so hard not to disturb her sister and his sleeping brothers, but it's so difficult. It's past 2 am and everything is funny.
"Shut up," Brick orders miserably, and she tries. She really does.
Blossom's eyes sparkle as she smiles at him—all pretty and bright and entirely too happy for what she's just been through. Also, it's two in the morning. Fuck this, he isn't sleeping on the floor. And that smile of hers doesn't weaken his glare one bit, no way.
Brick pulls himself up onto the couch and sends her a questioning glance. "What the hell're you doing just standing there? Aren't you always saying something about 'early to bed, early to rise' or whatever the shit?"
The girl puffs out her cheeks and looks away from him. "...Everyone is down here."
He raises a brow. "So?"
"So, no one's upstairs..." The redhead plays with the ends of one of her curls.
"Blossom, it's two in the fucking morning. I cannot decode your weird subliminal messages right now."
"I don't want to sleep alone up there while everyone else is down here!"
Brick blinks tiredly at her and heaves a sigh. "...Come here."
Blossom eyes him suspiciously. "What?"
x
"Just—ngh." Brick waves a hand at her, not exactly flailing but not looking quite as collected as he usually does. The pink eyed girl comes closer, making a point to step over Butch and his trip-inducing arm (she snickers as she does it though, and Brick gives her a look).
When she gets close enough, she raises an eyebrow at her counterpart in silent question. Brick sighs again, rolls his eyes, and mutters 'fucking troublesome' so lowly she only just catches it. Before she can reprimand him, his arms shoot forward and snake around her waist, yanking her down on top of him.
She will deny it to her dying breath, but she squeaks when he pulls her down. Brick, at this point, is too tired to really care.
In his words (commonly used when faced with his middle brother's constant shenanigans): "I've run out of fucks to give."
He stretches out along the couch, all legs and torso and arms and muscles, and leans back against the pillow Bubbles had given him before. Blossom, cheeks painted a deep red, watches him with wide eyes. Still trying to comprehend the situation.
Brick—the leader of the Rowdyruff Boys and her hotheaded counterpart and pain in the ass—had just pulled her down on top of him. To sleep.
What?
Brick opens one blood red eye, and comes face to face with Blossom's bewildered expression. He smirks (damn, that bedhead is just making him even more attractive and this IS NOT THE TIME FOR THIS BLOSSOM) and presses a kiss to the corner of her lips.
"'Night babe," he says lowly to her. Then, he leans back again and shuts his eyes. Blossom's cheeks darken but she doesn't resist him, curling up on his—bare—chest and putting her ear right above his heartbeat.
Her breathing evens out in time with his heart and finally, the reds are deep asleep as well.
x
BOOM.
Blossom's eyes shoot open, and she lifts her head from Brick's chest, frantically searching for the source of the sound. It's morning, or something—she squints at the clock, 6:52 am—and what little light there is streams in through the curtains.
Right, she can hear the rain on the roof. That means that it was just a crack of thunder.
But it's time for her to get up, really. It's not like they have school or anything to worry about since it's Saturday, but still. She should...do things. Like make breakfast for everyone when they wake up.
But she's also still exhausted.
Blossom blearily attempts to get up, but she's thwarted almost instantly. She glances down only to see the sight of Brick's arms wrapped around her. She's...not even on his chest anymore, but comfortably tucked away between the couch and him. Their legs are tangled together, and it's like there's no room between them. There's a blanket hanging haphazardly off the couch, and she shivers. Partly because she's cold, but also because of something else. Someone else.
Had he really kissed her last night? Maybe he was just so tired he wasn't thinking, maybe—Blossom shakes her head and tries to get up again. Brick shifts this time, groaning, and she feels his grip tighten. "—n't 'et up," he mumbles gruffly, lips ghosting across her cheek.
He's not even awake, really.
She carefully trails her hands down the length of his chest, eyes widening when he inhales sharply. But he's still asleep, so she's safe. Or at least, that's what she thinks.
Brick barely cracks one eye open and she freezes. "'s too fucking e'rly to get up," he sounds agitated...and heavily under the influence of sleep. "Jus'..."
x
Blossom presses a finger against his lips (ignoring the way it sends a shiver down her spine) and nods ever so slightly, eyes at half-mast. Brick quiets, and exhales deeply when she removes her finger to bring her hand back down against his chest.
She relaxes again, practically melting into him. She didn't notice it before, but he's radiating heat, and it feels nice. She's not so cold when she next to him. Brick tightens his grip around her and her cheek presses against his bare chest. (No he is not fucking blushing what are you talking about.)
They don't talk anymore, and sleep soon claims the both of them.
But not before Blossom presses her lips against Brick's chest in a chaste kiss that leaves them both red.
Ah, yes. Reds indeed.
x
The next time she wakes up, it's 9:30. Brick's face is buried in her neck, their legs are still tangled, they're even closer—she's not even sure how that's possible, but—and she's getting an eyeful of rock solid pecs.
And it's not an unpleasant view—for a fleeting second she thinks, 'I could wake up to this every morning,' and then she almost screams—but she really does need to get up.
Blossom glances up at Brick's sleeping face and brushes the hair out of his eyes. (Ugh, he's so...so...entirely infuriatingly handsome and it's not even fair, world. It's really not.) She likes his eyes, despite their eerie color and the way they ignite like burning embers when he's angry, or the hard look he usually has in them. But when he looks at her, something changes. She's not sure what—it's not exactly the way Boomer looks at Bubbles, no. That's pure adoration and a lovesickness that's so bad it's like Cupid just shot him with an arrow.
It's not the way Butch glances at Buttercup when he thinks no one (especially her) isn't looking. That's something like realization and surprise, but there's something in that gaze that reminds of her the spark in Brick's. Butch always softens when he thinks no one is watching him, particularly when he's watching her middle sister. It's almost like...
Love.
Wait.
Butch is in love with Buttercup? That...that actually explains a lot of things, to be honest. But still, she's going to talk to him about it, and soon. Especially because he always looks terrified at the same time. She wants to know why.
So, she isn't sure what the something in Brick's eyes when he looks at her. It's like the way Butch looks at Buttercup, but different.
Blossom sighs. She needs to get up, but it's so hard. Because...because reasons. If Butch finds them like this, she'll never hear the end of it. And Bubbles will be planning their wedding even though they're not...they haven't...she buries her face in his chest and curls up the best she can. Ugh, her cheeks are burning.
Blossom clenches her fists and takes a deep breath. Okay, she can do this. The redhead trails her hands down Brick's arms to his hands and attempts to lift them. Truthfully, she's not trying very hard. In reality, she hopes to stir him just enough for him to tell her to go back to sleep again. Although she's not sure that's physically possible, because she's not even tired anymore—well, okay, that's a lie, but.
Except she's starting to get a little hungry, too, and pancakes sound amazing at the moment. Or Belgian waffles, with strawberries. She thinks she remembers something about Brick liking strawberries. (But she's not just making them for him or anything, okay. They're her favorite fruit. Honestly.)
"Brick," she whispers quietly, glancing up so her auburn fringe tickles his chin. "Brick I need to get up."
So he's not a dead sleeper like Butch, but he can still hold his own. Which is to say, he does not wake up when she asks him to let her go. Blossom ponders this.
Well, at least he doesn't snore. She's not sure if that's Butch on the floor or if a chainsaw cheerleader massacre is going on inside their house.
Blossom doesn't even really want to wake him up, so she tries to get up by herself again. Her foot is killing her, good grief. Somehow, the redhead manages to untangle her legs from his. Now all that's left is to slip out from under his arms.
Which is unfortunate, because she's not sure if this will ever happen again. Ever.
"One, two, three," she mumbles and drags herself out from under him. She straightens in triumph, on her knees over him and about to fist pump when she hits her head on a lamp.
Blossom gives a choked gasp and tumbles backward over the arm of the couch. She accidentally kicks Brick, which wakes him immediately, and he falls off the couch.
"Wh—shitfuck!"
"Shh!" Blossom hisses from her awkward position. Her legs are thrown over the arm of the couch, and she's stiff on the floor. "Language."
Brick looks at her. Or her feet. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Making breakfast," she answers miserably. "Or I was going to. Did we wake anyone up?"
He glances at their still-sleeping siblings. "No. Probably because Butch sounds like a fucking engine."
Blossom rights herself and peers at him over the armrest. "Um...just—just go back to sleep. I'll come back when breakfast is ready."
He looks at her as if he's asking if she needs help. Without actually saying it out loud, of course, because that's not his way. Men, she'll never understand them.
He runs the back of his head and looks to the side. "Yeah, well, it's gonna be hard to do that after you kicked me off the damn couch."
"It was an accident," she defends, pulling herself up and crossing her arms. "Although you deserve it. I couldn't move an inch sleeping next to you."
Brick gawks at her. Like, openly. Must be he doesn't have such a great handle on his emotions right after he wakes up. "You're a blanket hog," he shoots back immediately, his morning voice rough and low. "You and your sisters are all about sharing and caring and whatever the fuck, but you are a blanket thief. I was freezing."
"That's a lie!" She pushes against him as they stumble into the kitchen. (She was very warm last night. In fact, she wouldn't have minded being a bit warmer—RED LIGHT MEANS FULL STOP BLOSSOM SERIOUSLY.)
Blossom points a spatula at him. "You sleeptalk!"
"I do not," he replies hotly.
She grins, and it's almost feral. "Oh, but you do. Do you want to hear some of the things you mumbled in your sleep? Because I assure you, they're—"
"Now who's lying," Brick mutters as he corners her and puts a hand against the wall to stop her escape. "You know I don't."
She lightly whacks him with the spatula. "Wow, so scary. I'm cowering in fear. Oh—"
"What about now?" He leans in and his lips brush her ear.
Oh no.
"WOW LOOK AT THE TIME. We should probably get started cooking those waffles. Maybe turn on the radio. I think there's a broken lawnmower in the living room."
x
Butch groggily drags himself to the table and collapses in a chair, similar to what he'd done earlier.
Bubbles is talking about something—she woke up in the night-technically-morning and saw whatever—but he doesn't really pay attention. He feels like shit. Blossom should definitely try out for the hockey team. He has a feeling she'd be terrifyingly good at it.
Speaking of the redhead, Bubbles just mentioned her name. He tunes in.
And then turns to Blossom, gaping.
"YOU SLEPT WITH BRICK?!"
"NOT LIKE THAT!"
.
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I'M LAUGHING THIS WAS SO FUN TO WRITE THESE FRICKIN TEENAGERS WILL BE THE DEATH OF ME I'M TELLING YOU. also...reds, man. i can't get enough of them. JUST KISS ALREADY GOD.
side note: boomer would totally run someone over if bubbles needed help. like, he wouldn't even think twice, he'd just gun it.
and if you're wondering, when buttercup and the professor get back and find out what happened the professor buys a security system and buttercup laughs at butch being brained for like a solid two minutes straight.
review and tell me what you think! also go check out milk ghost (she's a wonderful author love her) AND GIVE ME MORE ONESHOT IDEAS PLS AND THANK YOU ILY
peace out girl scouts,
queen caffeine