Yo, Mister B. [Asking Alexandria/Black Veil Brides Fic]

Chapter 5!

Not only is this long-overdue chapter to MollyMay629 for giving me a final push and reading my little ranting profile and deciding to comment, it is also dedicated to the following people:

ALessonNeverBurned, for constantly reminding me, "Bitch, work on Yo, Mister B. or I'll slit your throat." Okay, not really like that (at all) but... just reminding me. :3

Cassiebells816, for commenting on most of my stories and supporting me. She's been there since my earliest writing days. :D

ArianaWeasley, for also reading and commenting on my stories, as well as keeping my one-shot story up and running (by the way, I AM still working on your one-shot. :D Requests are open, the rest of you!)

and X_xAllyx_X, for just commenting and reading. The littlest things make my day. :D

A'ight, 'nough with the sappy sentiments. On to the story!

By the way, that's Grumpy Cat's scared face over there. -------->

"One Direction. To Hell, I hope."

:DDDDDDDDDDD

-- (comeatmebro) --

After painfully explaining to James exactly what Cameron meant--that little twit; I'll have to get him for that someday--and finding my shirt, I waved goodbye to all the guys and began walking towards where May had parked her hideous vehicle.

Of fucking course, it wasn't there.

So I opted for walking home, after pinching a bit of out-of-place flab on my otherwise flat belly and deciding that I should both quit eating so much AND start exercising a bit more.

And I certainly wasn't going to try to catch a ride home on a tour bus. Come on, now.

Thirty minutes later, however, I realized my deadly mistake.

If it still took twenty minutes to get to the venue from May's house--considering how May drives, the fact that there was hardly any traffic yesterday, and the fact that May's house is closer to the venue than my house--how the fuck did I expect walking to my house would be easy?

Jesus. Christ.

Just then, a black vehicle with shaded-in windows slowed down behind me. Instead of driving right past, they sped up just a bit until they were side-by-side with me.

The window facing me rolled down just an inch, enough to where I could hear a creepy, deep voice say, "Get in, baby."

Oh dear God why.

It's a sixty-year-old pedophile, and they think that I'm a twelve-year-old girl with big jibblies.

"Dude, if you don't fuck off," I started, "I'll chop your toothpick dick off with a rusty spoon and feed it to you, 'kay bitch? I'm too old for you, son."

The person inside the car began maniacally laughing, to which I only rolled my eyes and began walking away faster.

"Wait, Evan, wait!" the voice said, still laughing their crazy asses off--wait. Just. A minute here.

What?

I turned and gave the vehicle an incredulous look. The window rolled down completely, revealing a hysterical Andrew Biersack.

I took two long strides towards the car and began choking the tall, lanky man, wrapping my skinny fingers around his neck and shaking his entire head back and forth.

Andy made quite a few incomprehensible noises. "Evan!" he croaked. "Evan, let go!"

I reluctantly released Andy's slender neck from the vice grip of my hands and he began gasping for oxygen.

After a few deep breaths, Andy looked at me oddly. "What the fuck, Evan!"

"You, sir, have no right to be "what the fuck"ing me. If anything, I should be the one "what the fuck"ing you. You scared the shit out of me, with your deep, creepy-ass, rapist voice."

He blinked. "So you're saying that you should be fucking me?"

I furrowed my brows. "What--no--how the--that makes no sense--"

Andy gave me an amused look. "Do you want a ride home or not?"

I rolled my eyes skyward. "Yeah, I guess," I sighed.

"I mean in the car, not on my dick."

"Andy, shut the fuck up."

--

"Slap him, Yasmin!" I yelled at my computer screen, the Spanish soap opera on Netflix frustrating me to the point of actual anger. "Hector deserves it! You caught him with Peña, and everyone knows he's with Inga, too! Fucking throw something at that bitch-man!"

Instead, Yasmin ran out of the bedroom crying.

"You stupid woman!" I yelled, throwing my can of peanut butter in the air in exasperation, getting up from the computer chair, and beginning to run around the living room in angry circles.

A knock on my door pulled me out of my rage-quit session.

"Who is it?"

"The creator of wet dreams," said the person knocking.

I rolled my eyes and walked over to the door, opening it. "Danny, sweetheart, the only way you could create wet dreams is if someone pissed themselves because of your ugly face."

Danny gasped deeply. "You bitch! Don't hate me because I'm beautiful!"

"There's a difference between hate and truth. Obviously, you don't know what it is."

Danny hit my face playfully with a piece of cloth that was in his hands, then looked down at the aforementioned piece of cloth. "Oh yeah. We found your beanie," he said, tossing the gray head-covering item at my face.

My face was blank as the beanie slapped my nose, slid off slowly, and fell on the floor. "Thanks," I said flatly.

"James wanted to bring it to your door, but I locked him in the car."

I furrowed my brows. Why would James be so desperate to return a simple beanie? 

I peered around Danny to see James stretching from the passenger's side of a car to the driver's side, his wide-eyed face pressed against the window.

Upon seeing this, my face turned much like that of a scared, grumpy cat.

That is not a good look for someone so attractive, I said, hoping my thoughts would telepathically get to James so he could stop being odd.

I moved back, hopefully hiding behind Danny's fat self. "That's creepy."

Danny laughed. "Yeah."

Oh his smile is so cute.

I cleared my throat. "Well, thanks for the beanie."

Danny nodded, an adorable, dimple-y smile on his cute, stubble-covered face. "You're welcome, Ev. Remember, the creator of wet dreams is always around if you need him."

With that, he winked and jogged back to the car, where he promptly began yelling at James to "Back the fuck up, you creepy little cunt."

I heard something crinkle inside of my beanie. I looked inside of it to see a piece of paper. On it was a barely-legible number, written in some sort of crazy-ass chicken scrawl.

I turned red at the name written above the number.

James. ;D

I snorted as the car rolled away. "You cheeky British bastard, you."