Boushi Adams is a character in a story I’ve been developing since high school. That’s literally over half my life now. He’s one of ten characters for the series, and the one who probably has the most significant character growth. A punk skater who grew up in the city to move to the suburbs after a tragedy, the story comes in when he’s a senior in HS. Being of mixed origins myself, he is also mixed, being part Japanese, part Caucasian. He’s a stubborn prick, who’s oblivious and doesn’t realize how all emotions work, but is fiercely loyal, and defensive of those he does care about. A character with flaws, for sure, but he begins to work through some of them in the first installment of my story.
A commission for the loveable codyknight22. He asked for Sephora (Roman/Blake) in a modern AU where they’re antagonistic roommates with romantic tension. TW: for drug use in their past.
If you’d like to commission me, feel free to shoot me an email at [email protected] so we can discuss prices! I also have a patreon!
“Roman?”
He looked up at the sound of his name, eyes drawn away from the laptop in front of him. “What?” Roman yelled back, waiting for a response. There was none. Pursing his lips thinly together, he opened up the door to the main room, peeking out to give Blake a sour glare.
“What?” he said again, irritated now.
His roommate was snuggled up against the cold, only the tips of her feet exposed from under the blanket. The sharp smell of nail polish permeated the air, threatening to give him a headache. “There’s no need to sound like that,” she said, the edge of her lips curling up in a smile.
Roman leaned against the doorway, arm braced above his head. “Well, you interrupted me. I was doing work.”
“Staring at instagram models all day isn’t work,” she said.
He blew out a huffy breath. Sensing his mood, maybe, Blake dropped the smile and spoke again. “The controller is in your room and I didn’t want to go inside and bug you. Can you get it for me?”
Rolling his eyes, Roman went back inside and searched for it. He had thought he’d left it in the main area, but lo and behold, she was correct. “Here. Lazy ass,” he said, tossing it over to her. “Anything else, Princess?”
He couldn’t help but notice his breath came out as a fog. It was getting colder every day here, and they both were reluctant to turn on the heat until it was absolutely necessary. It was one of the few perks of living with Blake; they had a lot in common, once the initial friction died down. The ad for a roommate hadn't specified gender. All Roman read was, "I don't want a friend, just someone to pay half the rent and never speak to me" and was immediately sold.
They met in a public place, Blake figured he wasn’t a serial killer, and that was that. They had exactly one other conversation, one that ended in a screaming match with Roman locked outside for two days. Eventually she had to let him back in, though. He’d already signed the lease, and she still couldn’t cover the rent all by herself.
It took about six months for them to bump into each other outside the apartment, both on their way to meet their respective parole officers. Somehow that turned into a very weird, yet very cathartic coffee date as they realized they were both ex-cons and were both lying to each other about it.
“Well, since you’re already up…” she said.
“God.” He closed his eyes, seeking patience. “Okay. What is it? Spit it out.”
“Just a cup of water.” At the look on his face, she immediately went defensive. “My nails are drying, okay?”
Not saying a word, Roman went to the kitchen, drawing out a glass of tap water. “Move,” he said, planting himself down next to her on the couch and turning on the TV. “And put your feet here,” he added, patting his lap. In a few moments they were comfortably sprawled together under the blanket.
He wasn’t quite sure if there were feelings between them, but sometimes you needed a human touch. Preferably a girl’s touch. Too much time alone made a person kooky, and she enjoyed it too, and he never really expected anything more from her so it all worked out.
Neither of them signed on for a cuddle buddy, but, well. Blake was soft.
Blake burrowed deeper into her makeshift nest. “How is work doing, anyway?”
“It’s okay.” Roman said a silent prayer that his drinking buddies hadn’t changed their collective password to the netflix account yet. “Newest model is trying to fuck me over.”
“You always think your models want to fuck you.”
Reaching over, he pinched her square on the thigh, making her yelp. “I said fuck me over. There’s a clause in the agreement I make them all sign that says they can’t distribute those photos anywhere without my permission, or without crediting me. I made them, I touched them up in photoshop--” he growled under his breath. “I made them, okay? And two hours later I see her posting them up on instagram with the hashtag no filter.”
Blake hummed, her toes flexing on his lap. “Maybe she didn’t read the agreement carefully.”
“Oh, she did. And she’s going to re-read it when I send her a takedown notice along with another copy of our contract. She’s either gonna take them down or pay me a five hundred dollar fine.” Throwing his head back, he laughed throatily. “Let’s see how quick she can hit delete!”
“You’re a sadist.” She set her glass of water aside and took the controller to their game system, picking out a dry, boring documentary.
She hit play; he didn’t really mind watching whatever had caught her eye today. “I’m a pragmatist.” Holding onto her legs, he pulled and yanked her down so that her thighs were resting on his lap now, one hand idly stroking her stomach under the blankets. “By the way, Belladonna, when are you going to model for me?”
She took his hand, sitting up briefly to nip at his fingertips. “Right after you get naked for me.”
He flinched away, affronted. “Absolutely not. Next thing I know, you’re gonna paint my likeness onto some giant mural and I’ll be known as the floppy symbol of civil disobedience, or whatever pet theme you’ve latched onto this month. I just know it.”
“Why would I paint a mural?” She eyed him critically. “Of you?”
“Okay, some fine art piece. Like those drawings of the man in the circle. It doesn’t matter what kind of painting, I'm not letting you get famous off my body, Belladonna!”
Her teeth flashed in a smile, amber eyes bright. “What if I promised you half the royalties?”
Well, that certainly caught his interest. “Ohh? Would you?”
“No,” she said, “I just wanted to know if that would change your mind.” She settled back against the armrest, looking satisfied with herself. “Everybody’s got a price.”
“Not you though.”
She blinked, slowly. “Of course I do. It’s just not money.”
Eyebrows dancing, Roman sat up and rubbed his hands together eagerly.
“Stop,” she said.
“I’m not doing anything,” he said, still rubbing his hands together. “So, when you say you have a price…”
“I meant in general. Not as a model. I’m not letting you do my makeup and posting pictures of my pouty lips on your stupid portfolio,” she said, turning on her side and focusing on the TV.
“Come on, Belladonna,” he wheedled, making legs with his fingers to walk up along her ribcage. She wiggled, biting her lower lip to keep from laughing. “Don’t you ever get tired of going everywhere with a naked face?”
Her heel dug into his side. “I don’t! Do you not see the makeup case in our bathroom clearly labeled with my name? Besides,” she pulled the blankets up to her chin, “You do your eyeliner unevenly.”
Roman let out an affronted gasp. Throwing the blanket off of them, he got up, nearly toppling Blake off the couch. She hissed in displeasure, glaring daggers at him as he returned with his makeup kit, all of it professional grade. “I don’t normally do freebies, kid,” he said, undoing the clasps and latches. “But this is a matter of honor. Take off your specs.”
She frowned.
“I won’t take your picture, I promise.” Not waiting for her, he reached forward and delicately slid her glasses off her nose, setting them aside carefully where they wouldn’t get scratched. “Even if you have the facial structure of a young god.”
Blake made a noise of disgust, deep in her throat.
“Okay, I say that to all the girls.” Noticeably, she hadn’t told him to stop. “But with you, I really mean it. Close your eyes.”
A long suffering sigh. But Blake complied, sitting forward and closing her eyes. Kneeling in front of her, Roman worked in silence, the TV blaring behind him the only noise in the apartment.
They were quickly approaching their two year “anniversary” as roommates, and despite their rocky start, he found himself growing increasingly fond of the younger girl.
She’d kept true to her promise of not wanting or needing to talk to anyone, and in all honesty he still hardly knew anything about her. But she always did her share of the chores, she always paid her rent on time. She was regular as clockwork, never straying from a schedule. No drugs entered the apartment except that one time her ex swung about, some bull-headed guy who needed a good drubbing to get him to fuck off.
Roman was proud of that day. He knew Blake could take care of herself, but it gave him a distinct and-- if he was going to be fully transparent here-- manly pleasure to know he was still good for a few rounds in the ring. There were days when he felt so old, broken up by years of rough living. A scuffle here and there set his blood boiling in the best possible way, and he was fairly certain Belladonna felt the same.
He had the fortune of being a freelancer, self-employed, but if Blake’s job ever caught her by surprise with a random drug test she’d be fucked over. Straight and narrow Belladonna, or so she tried to be, except that night she procured a bag of weed from who-knows-where and together they smoked the whole damn thing. Bonding moments.
“Armed robbery,” he said, answering a question she’d asked him many months before. “Forgery, annnnnd fraud.”
And Blake was quiet-- Blake was always quiet-- meeting his eyes in an unreadable stare, the blunt still between her lips. She blew it out with a few coughs, her composure ruined, and then she said, “Trespassing, disorderly conduct, terroristic threats, and criminal damage to United States property.” She grinned at him with all her teeth, eyes widening in amusement. “Oh, and ‘resisting arrest’.”
“You’re fuckin’ shitting me with that last one, right, Belladonna?”
“Resisting arrest?”
He waved his hand impatiently. But she just shrugged, lying down on their living room floor and promptly falling asleep.
He still wasn’t sure if she had been telling him the truth.
“All done, sweetheart,” he said, holding up the hand mirror so she could see herself. He’d enhanced what he believed to be her best features; her full lips, wide, almond eyes, and sharp cheekbones. “Tell me you love it.”
She angled her face in the mirror, turning from side to side to get a better look at herself. “I’m surprised you didn’t do something stupid like paint cat whiskers on me,” she said.
“And ruin my one chance at the canvas of your beauty? Mwah!” he pinched his fingers to his lips and blew an exaggerated kiss into the air. “And look, the lighting is really nice right now. I could go to my room and get the camera…”
“Do you want me to break all of your fingers one by one?” she asked him.
“Not particularly, no.”
“Then don’t get the camera.” She gave the mirror back to him. “Why do you want to take my picture so bad, anyway?”
Roman hummed in thought, twirling the eyeliner in between his fingers like a baton. His seaglass eyes carved down her body in a single raking stare, assessing her in an instant. “I like these things,” he said, hooking a finger on the front of her sweater and tugging down. Tattoos coiled up just out of view, symbols and patterns in pitch black ink. “And I need a new model, someone with a real edge. I think you belong on a velvet chair in a black silk dress, staring at the camera lens like we’re only alive by the grace of your good will.”
She just looked at him.
“Yes,” he said, “Exactly like that. Perfect.” After giving her a wink, he continued. “But that’s just the beginning, of course. We wouldn’t stop until it was the perfect shoot.”
Pressing pause on the documentary, Blake sat forward, getting within kissing distance.
you also get a high-five every other wednesday. no people of any gender over past 9 PM unless you can give me a 3 word dissertation on why i should let them stay. >:(
