I, KatieK102, do not own the Powerpuff Girls. If I did then the RRB would have definitely appeared sooner!
This isn't how Buttercup imagined everything would go down. She has no regrets.
Nearly three hours later and the six superpowered teenagers were all sent home.
Between the two of them, Butch and Brick had a combined total of seven broken bones, two bloody lips, three gashes, thirty-one new bruises, and a two black-eyes. Their clothes were ripped and their hair was tousled.
It was easily their third worst fight ever.
Boomer had somehow been dragged into the fight and so was guilty by association.
Blossom was completely unresponsive to… anything. Her cherry-pink eyes were glazed and her jaw still hung, her expression one of horror. The nurse concluded that she wouldn't be able to focus in class, so she might as well be sent home to let the shock wear off.
Bubbles had been allowed to leave school after claiming that the entire thing was her fault, since she lended Buttercup the clothes. In all actuality she didn't believe she was guilty, but no way was she going to be the only one left at school.
Buttercup was sent home for "provoking" Butch and inspiring the fight in the first place.
Also because her shorts violated the dress code.
The Professor nearly fainted when he laid eyes on them, and promptly burned them.
Jealousy Looks Good on You
The three Rowdyruff Brothers were all seated at their kitchen table, boxes of pizza set in front of them and completely untouched.
"So bros," Boomer started hesitantly, glancing from Brick to Butch, "how about we-"
"He's not my brother," Butch snarled, cutting Boomer off.
Brick rolled his eyes (one of which was black) and said, "Shut-up Butch. You're lucky I went easy on you."
"Went easy on me?!"
"Dear God, why me?" Boomer groaned, burying his head in his hands.
Jealousy Looks Good on You
"So then," Bubbles began, crossing her legs and looking at Buttercup, "when do you think-"
"No," Buttercup growled, as she tried (and failed) to focus on her chemistry homework.
Bubbles sighed. "I hope Boomer is having a better time than I am…"
"Ugh!" Buttercup cried, frustrated, as she crumbled up her homework and threw it into the trashcan. "This is impossible!" she exclaimed, as she jumped off of their bed and stormed over to her closet. She dug around it for a minute before she apparently found what she was looking for: a black halter top that she'd bought on a whim, and a pair of ripped jeans that were so tight, the Professor most definitely was not present when she purchased them.
It didn't occur to Bubbles what her sister was plotting until Buttercup yanked her t-shirt off over her head and replaced it with the black top. Her baby-blue eyes nearly bulged out of her head then. "Hold on, you can't go anywhere right now! We're already grounded; the Professor will be livid!"
"He's not gonna find out," Buttercup replied as she pulled on the skinny jeans. She paused to fix her blonde sister with a hard, green-eyed glare. "Is he?" she demanded.
"I'm not saying anything!" Bubbles said quickly. "Blossom, however-"
"Blossom's totally brain dead, dude," Buttercup interrupted with a dismissive wave of her hand. Whale, she wasn't wrong - their auburn-haired sister was downstairs sitting on the living room crouch, presumably staring at the television with a wide-eyed, glassy stare. She hadn't spoken a word since Buttercup grabbed Brick and kissed him in front of the entire school.
Which, Bubbles figured, she was technically responsible for. Or at least she was guilty by association; either way, once Blossom was responsive again, Bubbles would offer her an apology.
Even if Buttercup did look hotter than the inside of a dormant volcano (speaking from personal experience, of course).
Actually she looked pretty hot now too, from a totally not-weird, completely-sisterly sort of viewpoint. That black halter top was simple but very form-flattering, hugging her fierce sister's assets but not distracting from her blazing lime-green eyes. The jeans were tight and ripped in a way that was absolutely 'in' right now, and really gave the outfit some kick. And for the shoe… yes! Buttercup stepped into a black wedge that gave her 5"8 stature a bit more height and made her legs look a bit more toned.
She should dress like this more often, Bubbles thought to herself. Maybe I'll hide some of her t-shirts and athletic shorts, and then- "Hold on," the blonde gasped, suddenly catching on, "you're going to a party? While we're grounded?!"
Buttercup spun around and hissed, "shhh! It's not a party, it's a club! Big difference."
Bubbles crossed her arms. "Oh yeah? How so?"
"It just is," Buttercup retorted. "Now, if the Professor realizes that I'm missing just tell him that Robin picked up my calculus homework and I went to go get it, okay?"
Did Bubbles get it? Yes.
Did Bubbles like it? No.
She hated lying to the Professor, especially when she privately thought that Buttercup would deserve whatever consequences came upon her. I mean, sneaking out to go clubbing when they were grounded? Can you say glutton for punishment, much?
… but for one of her sisters, she would do it.
Anyway, Buttercup would totally owe her later.
Buttercup has never been great at math, so she doesn't bother trying to figure out the odds of running into him at her club. All she knows is that he's there and he's gorgeous and he's grinding on a girl that is most definitely not her.
Was sneaking out of the house to go clubbing while she's grounded a stupid decision?
Of course it was. Buttercup just didn't care.
She's always been the reckless one.
Blitz is a nightclub on the outskirts of Citiesvile. It's secluded enough that the Professor won't find her here (or anyone else, for that matter), and the security is good at their jobs.
It's pretty upscale as far as local clubs go; easy enough for a Powerpuff Girl to sneak in and not be hassled by reporters or gossip mags.
God only knows, that's the last thing she needs right now.
Her plan was to nod at the security guard standing outside (his name is Diego and he's an aspiring screenwriter) and waltz into her self-proclaimed club, down just enough shots to make her blood hum and start dancing on the first guy that looks like he knows what he's doing.
(That's not her usual routine; she doesn't usually get tipsy or dance on the first guy she sees, but these past few weeks have been anything but routine and she's ready to forget all about him and those piercing green eyes and that smirk that ties her stomach into knots and-)
Anyway, so there you go. She had a plan; it was pretty basic, shouldn't be too hard to follow.
Yeah, no. As soon as she stepped into the flashing strobe lights and the pulsing music, her eyes were drawn straight to the dancefloor and the all-too familiar boy commanding it.
Except, he wasn't really a boy anymore, was he? And she wasn't really a girl anymore. They'd both grown so much since their days as superheros and supervillians and while it sometimes seemed like nothing ever changed, the throbbing in her core was new and terrifying and thrilling all at once.
Screw taking a few shots. She was going to need all the focus she could muster.
As tempted as she was to shove her way through the crowded dancefloor and rip the girl he's grinding on away from him, she would sooner die than give him the satisfaction. So instead she spun around, scanned the crowd for someone half-decent looking and then flashed him a 'come-hither-and-dance-with-me' smirk.
The stranger ditched his partner within seconds, and then they were both moving to the pulsing beat. He was actually kinda attractive, and he wasn't that bad of a dancer, so Buttercup grinned and let herself get lost underneath the colorful strobe lights and between sweaty, loose strangers.
She was jealous.
Butch didn't need to know that.
Obviously she's jealous. Butch is stupid but he isn't an idiot.
The dude dancing with her, though, was clearly an idiot.
He's excited because she's Buttercup Utonium and even if she doesn't do much of the superhero stuff anymore, she's still world-famous and he thinks he has a chance with her because she likes to dance.
He has no chance with her. None.
Whoever he is, he isn't her type. He's barely taller than she is even without the wedges, and he has dirty blond hair and freckles across his nose and sun-kissed skin, and honestly he'd have a better chance with Bubbles.
Buttercup likes em' rough around the edges. She likes someone who doesn't follow orders, but doesn't give them either - she doesn't want a follower but she doesn't want a leader, she wants someone with their own mind, who uses it however they want; whether they use it to save the world because it's their responsibility, or to watch the world burn just because it sounds like fun.
She likes someone who can challenge her, who can go toe-to-toe with her and not blink in the face of danger. She likes the rebels, she likes the bad boys.
And he knows exactly what she likes, because he's just like her.
He's her counterpart; her other half. And when he thinks about it like that, maybe it was ridiculous to waste his time making-out with short-skirts because right now, he's drawn to her in a way that feels inevitable.
Butch shook his head with a frustrated growl. Dammit, she was the reason he even came to this club! He needed to put some miles in between him and his brothers, and nightclubs always helped to get his adrenaline pumping and his worries fading. He strolled into the club like he owned it, and girls flocked to him within moments.
Maybe they didn't know who he was, or maybe they knew and simply didn't care. After all, clubs were for people who wanted to forget, not remember. Either way Butch wasn't going to complain if a bottle-blonde wanted to lay all over him, or if a redhead in a skimpy dress wanted to purr dirty-nothings in his ear.
Why does this feel different? Why isn't it fun anymore? Butch was wondering, right before she strutted onto the dancefloor. He wasn't sure if she saw him and pretended not to, but she didn't even glace in his direction before signaling for my-daddy-owns-a-yacht to come over and dance with her.
And now, here they were.
Butch knew exactly why they showed up to this club; they were trying to forget about each other, if only for one lousy night. But for some reason, call it fate or karma or bad luck, they couldn't seem to.
Frankly, Butch was tired of playing this game. Maybe he baited Buttercup by kissing her teammate (and like, half of the girls in the school) and maybe that used to be fun, but these days he was only making her miserable.
And while making each other miserable was always fun, making themselves miserable sure as Hell wasn't.
Especially not when Buttercup looked like that.
Honestly, today had been a day for her. First she showed up to school in those short-shorts and her hair in a playful ponytail, and now she was dancing in that black top and those wedges that gave her already-amazing butt an extra lift, and really, how dare she look so irresistible.
The dude she was dancing with seemed to agree, if his wandering hands were anything to go by.
Yup. Screw it. He was throwing in the white towel and then, if he had his way, he was throwing her in his bed.
Butch shoved the girls off of him and they cried indignantly, but he couldn't have cared less. He pushed his way through the throng of dancers and just got her eye right before he ripped her partner away from her. Buttercup glared at him and he promised himself that he would make it up to her later, but for now, he had this idiot to take care of.
"Hey man, watch it!" the guy snapped, spinning around to probably give Butch a piece of his mind, but paused. Even if he didn't recognize him as a former Rowdyruff Boy, he absolutely recognized him as someone who could snap a neck and make it look easy. "Uhh-"
"You wanna say that again?" Butch demanded, his voice rough.
"I-"
"I don't appreciate it when jackwad's like you dance on my girl," he continued, not giving his could-be victim a chance to speak. Buttercup flashed him a look at "my girl" but she didn't call him out for it, amazingly enough.
The dude looked ready to crap himself. "I-I didn't know she was your girlfriend, man," he stuttered.
Butch shrugged. "She isn't. But trust me, she's mine." He narrowed his dark-green eyes. "And if you wanna keep your all of your fingers, then don't you lay a single one on her ever again. Got it?"
He nodded quickly.
"Good. Now scram, douchebag." Butch didn't have to say it twice. The guy shoved his way through the throng of dancers and headed towards the nearest bathroom, nearly stumbling over himself.
Butch smirked. I love being me.
"Ahm."
Oh, right. Now came the hard part.
Something is about to happen, and Buttercup would be lying if she said she wasn't ready for it.
By the end of the night, they're either going to go back to being enemies or- or they're going to be something completely different and new.
He called her "my girl". She never imagined those words leaving his lips (never really wanted to) but now that they had, they sent shivers down her spine. She hated the idea of being owned by anybody, but maybe they could work out some sorta partnership.
Dating. Maybe they could start dating.
What would the town say?
What would her friends say?
What would the Professor say? Her sisters?
As questions darted through her mind, she found that she didn't particularly care for the answers. Why should she? She'd already dedicated enough of her life to keeping Townsville safe, and now it was time to finally do what she wanted, opinions and consequences be damned.
Was Butch what she wanted?
She looked up at him and frowned, questions on her tongue. He looked back at her and smirked, like he knew exactly what she wanted, and those questions melted.
"So I'm your girl, huh?" she asked instead. "Could've fooled me."
Butch shrugged. "You were dancing with other guys too."
"You were dancing with other girls first. What are you doing here, anyway?"
"Don't worry about it," came his response. "The point is I'm here and I look amazing, and you're here and you look amazing, and it would be a crime for us to not go home together, wouldn't it?"
Her heart did an entire Olympics-worthy gymnastics routine. "I guess you would know a thing or two about crimes."
He was still smirking, but it was softer now. "We don't gotta leave right now or anything. What's the hurry? This club is sick, and I kinda wanna watch you dance in those clothes before I rip em' off."
She smirked right back at him, a challenge gleaming in her lime-green eyes. "Who said I'm gonna let you get that far?"
They continued like that for the rest of the night, going back-and-forth like it was second nature. Their bodies began swaying to the pulsing music without their consent, but they didn't stop, and soon they were dancing together and Buttercup was amazed by how easy it was.
It was like they were made for each other.
Butch grabbed her waist and bit her ear playfully. "You know," he muttered, "if you wanted me attention you could've just said so. No reason to go and piss me off, y'know?"
"Where's the fun in that?" Buttercup asked, grinning wildly.
"It was kinda fun," Butch admitted. "Anyway, jealousy looks good on you, babe."
"Same. You should've seen your face when I kissed Brick!"
He gripped her waist just a little bit tighter. "I'll make you pay for that later," he told her, his hands wandering to her butt. For the first time ever, she didn't slap him away and launch him across the town.
"I don't doubt i-" she was interrupted by his lips on hers, and when electricity shot through her veins like liquid lightning, she knew exactly what she wanted.
She wanted Butch, and if the way he kissed her was anything to go by, the feeling was absolutely mutual.
First and foremost, I want to thank every single one of you for for reviewing the first portion of this two-shot. I received way more feedback than I anticipated and it was awesome! The best feeling in the world is knowing that others like your work, so I was floating on cloud nine for a minute there!
I hope the second half doesn't disappoint! I would love to do more PPG fics in the future if I ever had the right idea, so maybe you guys will see me around :)
