mrghostrat · 6 months ago
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Crowley: *gets bored and doodles rude things on Aziraphale’s coffin with washable marker*
Aziraphale: 🧿👄🧿
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lupinqs · 2 months ago
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CHAPTER FOUR ━━ Caged Bird
☆ ━ pairing: hopkins!paige x oc (dani callan)
☆ ━ word count: 6.9K
☆ ━ warnings: literally just outright homophobia w a slur (sorry), conversion therapy, religious guilt, dani’s just super fuckin depressed, too damn long to proofread
☆ ━ links: my masterlist, take me to church masterlist
☆ ━ author’s note: here is where you can learn more about conversion therapy. believe it or not, this is still a fucking problem in the US today, as an estimated 20,000 minors are subjected to it yearly i believe. just because instances of it are included in this does NOT by any means mean that i condone it. one of my friends actually went through something similar for a little while and it’s so fucked up. if anything, this is to bring awareness of the fact that shit like this is still happening!!!!!!
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MAY 2019
DANIELLE CALLAN has never felt more content in her life. The soft morning lights spill through the blinds, casting golden stripes across her bedspread. She stretches lazily, her body still buzzing happily from last night. Everything has finally fallen into place. She and Paige finally said it—finally admitted their feelings, after all the years of hiding behind jealous stares, half-hearted jokes, and touches that lingered far too long to be deemed friendly.
Paige left earlier this morning, ready to catch her flight that’ll take her away for the rest of the summer. But even the distance can’t dampen the giddiness Dani feels, all over, almost like she’s caught some sort of illness that has her body and mind repeating Paige, Paige, Paige over and over again. She lays in bed, replaying when Paige she kissed her on the porch, when she kissed her goodnight, when she kissed her good morning, when she kissed her goodbye. Her mind glazes over as she remembers the blonde whispering “I love you” into her ear like it was a secret only they were allowed to share. It all felt so right, so natural, like they’ve always meant to be together in that way.
Dani pulls her phone from the nightstand, grinning at the last text Paige sent her, the one she’s been glancing at all morning.
Paige ❤️‍🔥
Boarding now. I love you
Can i call you when I land
Dani ❤️‍🔥
ofc you can
i love you too have a safe flight ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥!!!!!
Dani holds her phone to her chest, cheeks blooming pink, a smile spreading across her face. It’s real now. All of it. For the first time, she doesn’t have to pretend, doesn’t have to wonder if Paige feels the same way. The uncertainty is gone, replaced by a warmth that makes her feel like she’s floating.
Reluctantly, she swings her legs over the side of the bed, knowing she has to get up. She pads over to the window, trying to pul the curtains open a bit more, eager to let the light flood in. However, it seems as though they’re jammed, and, after a poor fight on her part, Dani sighs, rolling her eyes and letting the curtains stay closed, engulfing the room in darkness.
Nevertheless, she’s still smiling as she heads downstairs, the scent of coffee wafting through her nose, the faint sound of the TV playing in the living room registering. Her dad’s probably watching his usual morning news, she figures. She feels lighter than air as she bounces down the steps, a pure happiness that’s been harder to come by recently.
But as she reaches the bottom of the stairs, something about the atmosphere seems to shift. Dani’s stomach flips anxiously; the air feels heavy all of a sudden—thick. She pauses, her hand resting on the banister as she peers into the living room. Her dad is sitting in his usual spot on the couch, but something seems different—off. He’s hunched over, elbows on his knees, his phone in his hand. The TV’s on, but the volume is low, almost as if it’s been forgotten.
Not to mention that her dad’s expression isn’t what Dani’s used to seeing. There’s no relaxed, Saturday-morning ease in the way he sits. Instead, his face is set in a rigid, tense mask, his jaw clenched so tightly Dani can see the muscles in his neck straining. His eyes are fixed on his phone, unmoving, and there’s a darkness in them that makes her want to go right back up to her room.
“Dad?” Dani’s voice is cautious, her lighthearted mood evaporating as she takes a few tentative steps forward. “You okay?”
He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even look at her. It’s odd. Usually, he’d greet her with some offhand remark or ask about her plans for the day. But now, there’s nothing. Just silence.
Dani’s unease grows, her inside twisting with unfamiliar dread. She steps closer, trying to get a better look at him. “Dad?”
Finally, he looks up. His eyes meet hers, and the expression on his face is enough to make her swallow thickly, unsure how to feel. He looks at her angrily, coldly, and it sends a jolt through Dani’s chest.
He says nothing at first. Instead, he simply turns his phone around, showing her the screen. At first, she can’t make out what she’s looking at—just a video, playing on a small square of the screen. But then her heart plummets into her stomach as she recognizes what exactly is being filmed. The porch. Her and Paige. Last night.
Her breath catches in her throat as she watches the footage. There Dani is, fumbling with her keys while Paige kisses her neck, whispering those three words that meant everything. The video captured it all—the giggles shared between them, the way Dani turned around and pulled Paige in for another kiss, savoring it. This moment that was meant to be just theirs, is now playing out in front of Dani’s father’s eyes.
Fuck. Dani should have realized, should have remembered. They have a Ring doorbell—it takes footage of any movement near it. But she was drunk and stupid and in love and she’d forgotten. And now, by the look on her dad’s face, she’s about to pay for that.
Her mouth goes dry, her heart hammering in her chest as she looks up at her father. He’s still holding his phone out, eyes smoldering with an anger that makes her feel like she can’t breathe.
“Dad,” she whispers, voice barely audible. “I can explain—”
“What the hell is this, Danielle?” he interrupts, his tone low, the kind he only uses when he’s really, really angry. It makes her flinch.
She opens her mouth, but words don’t come. What can she say? How can she possibly explain something she’s barely had enough time to process herself?
Her dad stands abruptly, his movements sharp and filled with barely restrained rage. “You think this is acceptable? In my house? Under my rules? I—I don’t know what happened. You’ve always been a good girl. Danielle, you have a relationship with Christ! How could you do this? How could you throw everything I’ve given you, everything I’ve done for you, everything God has done for you for… for this?” He shakes the phone in his direction, his voice rising. “For this disgusting, sinful bullshit!”
Dani recoils like she’s been slapped, the weight of his words pressing down on her. The thoughts that she’s pushed to the back burner of her mind echo quietly, agreeing with her father. It’s wrong. A girl loving another girl is wrong. Sinful. But the part of her mind that’s taken over, the one that thinks about the blonde basketball player day and night and can’t help but think about how right it felt to be with Paige in that way, fights back. “I—I can explain, I swear—” she starts, but is quickly interrupted.
“Explain what?” he spits, face twisted in disgust and disappointment. “There’s nothing to explain, Danielle. I saw it. I saw you—kissing that girl. Paige.” He says her name like it’s some kind of poison, and it makes Dani’s chest constrict. “I knew something was off about that friendship. You think I haven’t noticed how you two are always together, always too close?”
Tears well up in Dani’s eyes, her whole body tensing in a panic. “It’s not like that—”
“Don’t you dare lie to me,” he snaps, eyes flaring. “I saw what I saw. And I won’t tolerate this… this perversion under my roof.”
The tears begin to pull over now, Dani’s chest heaving as she tries to fight the sobs that rip through her. “Dad, please—”
“You’re not seeing her again,” he cuts her off, his voice final, cold. “I don’t care how long you’ve been friends. I don’t care that you’ve known her since you were kids. I don’t care that she’s our next door neighbor. Whatever that is, it’s ended. Now.”
Dani shakes her head frantically, panicking, tears falling faster. “You can’t do that!” she shouts, voice cracking. “Please, Paige is—she’s my best friend—please—we”
“No!” he yells over her, vocals booming around the room. Dani flinches, her body trembling as she wraps her arms around herself. “You will not see her again. You won’t even go near her. Do you understand me?”
“Dad, please, just listen—”
“I said, do you understand me?” he repeats. “This is not up for discussion, Danielle. She’s a bad influence, a—” he hesitates, and then with a sneer that makes Dani’s stomach churn, he hisses, “She’s a filthy fag, and I won’t let her corrupt you any more than she already has.”
His words hang in the air like a death sentence, and Dani’s world tilts on its axis. It feels like the floor has been ripped out from beneath her. She’s never heard her father speak like this, never seen such venom in his voice. Of course she’s known he’s homophobic; he’s made off handed remarks every now and then, says things about how “those people” are disappointments to God. But this? The way he’s looking at her—it’s like she’s a complete stranger to him. Like he doesn’t even recognize his own daughter anymore.
The sobs break free through Dani’s chest and her hands shake as she covers her red-rimmed eyes with them. “Dad, please,” she begs, though she knows it’s probably useless at this point. “Please don’t do this.”
But her father’s expression doesn’t soften. If anything, it grows harder, colder. “Go to your room,” he says through clenched teeth. “I’ll deal with you later.”
Dani looks up at him, her vision blurred with tears. “Dad—”
“I said, go to your room!” he practically roars, and the sheer force of it makes her stumble backward toward the stairs, body shaking.
Her heart is in her throat and she’s trembling uncontrollably as she turns and runs up the steps, her sobs echoing in the otherwise silent house. She barely makes it to her room before collapsing onto her bed, her face buried in her pillow as she lets her tears free fall.
Everything’s ruined. Her dad hates her. He’s seen everything—and now he hates her.
And Paige…
Dani can’t even let herself think about that. How, just hours ago, she had everything, and—within minutes—it all slipped between her fingers.
And now all Dani can feel is shame.
JUNE 2019
The camp—if that’s what you could call it—isn’t the kind of summer camp Dani expected when her father first mentioned it to her. No, this place isn’t about hikes or bonfires or s’mores. It’s something else entirely.
They call it a “church camp,” but it didn’t take long for Dani to realize what it really is. Conversion therapy, as simple as that. A way to “fix” her, to cleanse her of her sins.
The camp is deep in the woods, secluded and quiet, the kind of place where no one would hear you scream, where no one would notice if you disappeared for a few months and come back changed. The other girls and boy here are like Dani—at least, that’s what she’s been told. They’ve been sent here to be “cured,” to be saved from the deviance inside of them, the sickness that led them astray from God’s light.
At first, Dani tries to resist. She fights it, mentally at least. The idea that something so integral to her—love—could be a disease was unthinkable. She thinks of Paige, her best friend, her first love, and tries to remind herself of the warmth, the joy, the rightness of it all. Paige always made her feel seen. Safe. Loved. How can any of that be a sin?
But as the weeks drag on, the messages seep in, and, slowly but surely, Dani’s defenses erode. The camp counselors—rigid, strict men and women with eyes that seem to stare straight into your soul—speak of salvation and sin in the same breath. They quote scripture, twisting it into something Dani never heard before, making her feel like her very existence is a rebellion against God.
They say the attraction she feels for Paige is a temptation, a test from the devil himself. That her love isn’t love at all, but lust, base, and immoral. Every day, they hammer this message into her through sermons, through private “sessions,” through exercises designed to break down her spirit, to rebuild her into someone who can conform, who can be pure again. They say they’re just trying to help her.
The forest surrounding the camp becomes a symbol of her isolation. The trees loom tall, casting long shadows over the compound, as if the very earth is trying to swallow her whole. There’s no escape, no outlet. Dani’s never felt more alone in her life. She wants to cry, to scream, to run, but there’s nowhere to go. No one to turn to.
Her days become a blur of routine and control. They take everything from her. Her phone, her freedom, her identity. She isn’t allowed to speak of Paige—hell, she isn’t even allowed to think of Paige without facing repercussions. They watch her closely, scrutinizing every move, every glance, every word, looking for any sign of weakness, any sign that she hasn’t fully accepted the “truth.”
Some days are easier than others. On the good days, Dani finds herself almost numb, going through the motions, letting the words of the counselors wash over her without sinking in. But on the bad days… the bad days are hell. On the bad days, the guilt is so overwhelming that she can hardly breathe. She’ll lay in her cot at night, staring at the ceiling, her mind racing with thoughts she can’t quiet. Maybe they’re right. Maybe I am sick. Maybe I’m not supposed to feel this way. Maybe… maybe Paige will be better off without me. Maybe I’ll be better off without Paige.
The worst part is that she can feel herself changing. Slowly, bit by bit, the person she’s always been—Dani, the girl who loves photography, the girl who loves to write, the girl who love Paige—slips away. In her place, there’s… someone else. Someone who’s afraid. Afraid of herself. Afraid of the world. Afraid of God.
There are moments, brief as they are, when Dani finds herself alone, sitting on the edge of the lake that borders the camp. The counselors allow “reflection time” out there, a chance to sit in nature and contemplate God’s will for their lives. Dani doesn’t feel God’s presence out there, though. Instead, she feels only emptiness. The lake, still and dark, mirrors the hollow ache in her chest, the ache that started the day her father found that video and had only grown since then.
She thinks of Paige during those moments. She can’t help it. Paige’s laugh, her smile, the way her fingers would brush against Dani’s hand when they were alone together. She thought of the way Paige’s voice had cracked, just slightly, when she’d said, “I love you,” as if it had been too heavy, too important, to carry without breaking.
And then the guilt would come rushing back in like a tidal wave, drowning out the memory of Paige’s touch. This isn’t right. I’m not supposed to feel this way. The counselors make sure of that. They drill it into her head day after day until she begins to doubt every thought, every feeling, every memory she has of Paige.
The uncertainty is the worst part. At night, lying in her narrow cot, Dani closes her eyes and tries to remember how it had felt to be with Paige. How, just a few short weeks ago, her heart had been so full of love that it felt like it might burst. But now, those memories feel like they belong to someone else, like they’re fading away, replaced by a gnawing doubt that maybe—just maybe—what she felt isn’t love at all.
The isolation gnaws at her. Dani’s faith—which, despite everything, was pure before—has become tainted, almost like she’s trying to crawl away from it—or at least, trying to crawl away from the twisted version of faith that the camp preaches. They tell her that God loves her but only if she can repent, only if she can reject the “unnatural desires” that have led her down this dark path. They tell her that true salvation means giving up everything she’s ever known, including Paige.
They don’t just want her to stop loving Paige. They want her to stop being herself.
But the hardest part is, after so many weeks, Dani doesn’t really know who exactly she is anymore. She feels like a shell of herself, hollowed out and empty, filled with nothing but fear and shame. And she begins to wonder if it’s working. If they’re right. If this is how it’s supposed to be.
But still, sometimes, Dani wakes up in the middle of the night, her heart pounding, her body drenched in sweat, a sense of panic so intense that she can hardly breathe. In these moments, she presses her face into the scratchy pillow, biting her lip to keep from screaming. Because in the darkness, in the quiet, when no one else is watching, she still wants Paige. She still loves her. No matter what they say, no matter how much they try to break her down, that small, fragile piece of her heart still beats for Paige.
And that scares her more than anything.
She doesn’t know how much longer she’ll be able to hold on to that part of herself. It’s slipping away, little by little, with every sermon, every “counseling” session, every prayer that she shoves down her throat. She’s being worn down, and she’s afraid that one day, she’ll wake up and not feel anything at all.
And maybe… maybe that’s what they want. Maybe that’s what God wants. Maybe that’s what she deserves.
Dani doesn’t even know how long she has left at the camp, nor how long she’s been there. After the first couple weeks, time begins to lose its meaning. She’s stopped counting the days (since they don’t tell her the date), stopped waiting for it to end.
JULY 2019
Dani sits in the chair, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her eyes downcast as she stares at the scuffed linoleum floor. The room is cold, sterile, and devoid of any warmth or comfort. It’s the same room she’s been sitting in for the past two months, every time she’s called in for her one-on-one “therapy” sessions. The wooden cross on the wall looms large above her, a constant reminder of the weight she’s supposed to carry, the sin she’s meant to repent for.
Across from her sits Mrs. Keating, one of the camp’s lead counselors. She’s a stern woman, always impeccably dressed, with sharp features and cold, piercing blue eyes that seem to cut through whatever walls Dani tries to put up. She’s been Dani’s assigned counselor from the start, the one tasked with guiding her back to the “right” path, the one who’s delivered the harshest sermons about the dangers of temptation and sin.
Today is supposed to be their final session—or, at least, that’s what Dani has been told. She knows the routine by now. Mrs. Keating will ask her a series of questions, probing deeper into her thoughts, her feelings, her beliefs. Dani’s learned to say what’s expected of her, to give the answers the woman wants. At first, she resisted, clinging to the hope that she could hold onto who she really is, but that hope has withered away in the weeks she’s been here.
She isn’t even really sure who she is anymore.
Mrs. Keating sits behind her desk, her fingers laced together as she regards Dani with that unreadable expression she always wears. It’s a look that makes Dani feel small, insignificant, like a child being scolded.
“So, Danielle,” Mrs. Keating begins, her voice cool and steady, “you’ve been with us for quite some time now. How are you feeling?”
Dani swallows, her throat dry. She hates these questions. They always feel like traps, no matter how carefully she answers. But she knows better now than to hesitate. She’s learned what they want to hear, and she’s learned that it’s easier to comply than to fight.
“I feel… better,” Dani answers, her voice quiet, almost mechanical. “I feel like I’ve been able to reflect on… everything.”
“Good, that’s very good,” Mrs. Keating replies, nodding approvingly. “And what have you learned in your time here?”
Dani’s fingers twitch in her lap, her nails digging into her palms. She hates herself for what she’s about to say, but she can’t stop the words from slipping out. They feel foreign, like they were coming from someone else’s mouth. But she thinks they’re right. After all this time, everything she’s gone through here, how can they not be?
“I’ve learned that… what I was feeling before… it was wrong,” Dani murmurs, her heart heavy. “That it wasn’t love. It was temptation. Sin.”
Mrs. Keating’s smile is small, satisfied. “And you understand why that is, don’t you?”
Dani nods, her gaze still fixed on the floor. “Yes. Because God doesn’t want us to… live that way. It’s against His plan.”
“And your feelings for the girl… ?”
They don’t say her name. They never say her name. And Dani’s glad. They don’t deserve to say Paige’s name. She’s too good, too full of light, for all of this. Dani’s stomach twists as the image of Paige’s face flashes through her mind—her bright eyes, her playful smile, the way her touch always feels so soft and warm. Dani’s chest aches with the memory, but she pushes it down. She can’t think about that now. She can’t think about her. It’s wrong. It’s wrong.
It’s wrong.
“I don’t… feel that way anymore,” Dani says, her voice barely above a whisper. “I know it was wrong. I know it wasn’t real love.”
Mrs. Keating’s eyes gleam with approval, as if she’s won some silent battle. “That’s right, Danielle. You’re starting to understand. Love, true love, is a gift from God, and it’s meant to be between a man and a woman. Anything else is a distortion, a lie from the devil.”
Dani bites the inside of her cheek, the taste of blood sharp on her tongue. She’s heard this speech so many times that she can recite it in her sleep, and each time, it chips away at her a little more, hollowing her out from the inside. She wants to believe that maybe it’s a lie—that what she felt (feels?) with Paige is real—but after weeks of being told otherwise, it’s getting harder and harder to hold on to that belief.
“And how do you feel about your future now, Danielle?” Mrs. Keating asks, her tone almost gentle, as if she’s speaking to a child in need of guidance. “Do you feel ready to live a life that honors God?”
Dani’s hands tighten in her lap. She feels the weight of the cross around her neck, its presence suffocating. She’s worn it every day since she received it from her father years ago. But ever since she’s gotten here, it’s become a constant reminder of the expectations placed upon her, of the person she’s supposed to be.
“I want to do what’s right,” Dani replies, her voice steady even as her heart stutters. “I want to live the way God wants me to live.”
Mrs. Keating leans forward slightly, her eyes narrowing as if she can sense the apprehension buried beneath Dani’s words. “And you’re willing to renounce those past feelings? Those sinful urges?”
Dani’s throat tightens, but, nevertheless, she nods. “Yes.”
“Good.” Mrs. Keating’s smile widens. “You’ve made remarkable progress, Danielle. You’ve come a long way from the confused girl who arrived here, and I’m proud of you for embracing the truth.”
Dani doesn’t feel proud. She just feels empty.
The silence in the room grows heavy, oppressive, as Mrs. Keating studies her, as if trying to gauge the depth of Dani’s conviction. After a moment, she rises from her chair and walks around the desk, coming to stand in front of Dani. She reached down, her cold fingers brushing against Dani’s skin as she presses her hand to the small silver cross hanging from Dani’s neck.
The touch makes Dani flinch, but she doesn’t move. She can’t.
Mrs. Keating’s fingers linger there for a moment, her grip firm, almost possessive. “God will forgive you for your sins,” she says softly, her voice filled with the kind of certainty that Dani can never muster. “He is a merciful God, and He wants nothing more than for you to be redeemed in His eyes.”
Dani’s pulse races beneath the surface of her skin. She wants to believe that. She wants to believe that all of this—everything she’s gone through—will lead to forgiveness, to peace. But deep down, something in her resists. Something in her whispers that maybe God won’t forgive her. Maybe she isn’t worthy of it. Maybe there’s no redemption for someone like her.
She swallows hard, her eyes stinging with the tears she refuses to shed.
Mrs. Keating releases her hold on the necklace, her hand falling back to her side. She smiles, the gesture cold and calculating, as if she’s just won a battle Dani hadn’t realized she was fighting.
“You’re almost there, Danielle,” Mrs. Keating tells her, voice smooth and placating. “You’re so close to being saved.”
Dani doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t think she trusts herself to speak.
Because in that moment, all she can think about is Paige. Paige’s face, Paige’s laugh, Paige’s love. She can feel it slipping away, the memory of it growing dimmer with every passing day. And the worst part is, she isn’t sure if she wants to hold onto it anymore. Bitterly, she doesn’t know what the point would be. What would be the point at all, if this is who she’s supposed to be now?
“Remember, Danielle,” Mrs. Keating says firmly, brows scrunched slightly, “God’s love is stronger than anything. Stronger than sin. Stronger than temptation.”
Dani nods mechanically, her mind a haze of conflicting thoughts and emotions. She’s heard this so many times, and every time, it feels like another piece of her soul is being chipped away.
But maybe that’s for the best.
AUGUST 2019
Dani’s home.
That simple fact should bring her comfort, but as she stands in the middle of her bedroom, staring at the familiar walls and the neatly made bed, nothing feels the same. The space seems smaller, suffocating almost, and everything inside her feels hollow. It doesn’t really feel like home anymore.
She doesn’t know what feels like home.
She doesn’t think she has one.
It’s strange—coming back from camp was supposed to be a relief, a return to normalcy, but nothing about this feels normal. Dani expected some kind of closure, maybe even a sense of peace after everything she’s been through, but all she can do is feel a dull, heavy weight pressing down on her chest, right under her necklace. She feels like she doesn’t even belong here anymore. And it’s not just her house; it’s her whole life.
Dani doesn’t hang out with Thaliah or Jalen anymore either. They try to reach out when she gets back—text messages, phone calls, even a couple visits—but she pushes them away. It’s not like she really wants to—it’s just easier. Easier to stay locked inside herself, easier to avoid the questions she knows they’ll ask. Easier to pretend that things can just… move on.
Because they can’t. Not after everything. Not after her.
It’s easier not to think about Paige this way. Paige is still gone, away on basketball things for the summer, and with her absence, Dani’s managed to build up walls—tall, thick ones that keep the memories at bay. She has to. Thinking about Paige, about what they shared, about how it all fell apart without the blonde even knowing, is too much. So, she doesn’t think about it. She can’t.
Her dad doesn’t bring it up either. Not directly, at least. They’ve never spoken about what happened—about the reason Dani was sent away in the first place. Instead, he acts like it never occurred, like she was just at a normal summer camp, learning life lessons, finding her footing. That suits Dani fine. The last thing she wants is to talk about her “past mistakes.”
Instead, they focus on what her father considers the right things, like Beau Hudson.
Beau is someone Dani’s known since elementary school, a boy she’s always thought is a typical jockey douchebag—the kind of guy who’ll peak in high school and will probably spend the rest of his life chasing after some sense of former glory. He’s loud, obnoxious, and has a habit of talking like he owns every room he walks into. Dani’s never liked him, never thought twice about him, except to occasionally roll her eyes when his name comes up.
But now, Beau seems to be the answer to her father’s prayers.
Apparently, Beau mentioned to his parents that he thought Dani was pretty. And apparently, her father—who happens to work with Beau’s father—thinks that’s just great. It’s perfect, actually. Perfect in the way that Dani knows her father has always envisioned for her—a respectable boy, from a respectable family, with respectable values. There’s no need to talk about her past anymore, no need to dwell on those mistakes. If she can just date Beau, everything will fall into place. She can be the daughter her father wants her to be.
So, she does it.
She begins dating Beau, and it happens so fast that she hardly has time to question it. One minute, she’s saying yes to dinner with his family, and the next, they’re officially together. It isn’t something Dani really wants, but it’s something she can tolerate. It’s easy. Beau’s world is uncomplicated, shallow in a way that’s almost comforting because it doesn’t require much from her.
She starts hanging out with his friends—people she’s never given the time of day before. Guys from the football team, girls from the cheer squad. Serena Corren, one of the cheerleaders who’s always been a bit of a bitch, turns out to be not that bad. Dani finds herself spending time with her, more than she expects. Serena’s loud and a little crass, but she isn’t mean, at least not to Dani. In fact, they get along well enough that Dani finds herself relaxing a bit around her. Serena talks about meaningless things, gossips about people at school, complains about cheer practice, and it’s a nice distraction.
Everything is a distraction at this point.
A distraction from Paige.
Paige, who’s back now.
The minute Dani opens the door and sees her standing there, everything crashes down on her. It’s like a punch to the gut. Paige looks the same and different all at once—still beautiful, still Paige, but something about her feels… distant. Or maybe it’s just Dani who’s distant. She can feel her defenses rising the moment she meets those familiar blue eyes.
“Paige,” Dani acknowledges, throat tightening.
Paige’s voice is soft, tentative. “Hey, Dan. Can we talk?”
Dani swallows hard. She shouldn’t let her in. She should shut the door, turn Paige away before it gets any harder. But she doesn’t. Instead, she steps aside, letting Paige walk into her home, into her life once again. “Sure. Come in.”
The living room is quiet, and Dani can feel the tension simmering in the air as she sits on the couch, body rigid. Paige stands a few feet away, arms crossed over her chest, looking at Dani like she’s searching for something—an explanation, an apology, maybe a sign that Dani still cares.
But Dani can’t give her any of that. She can’t let herself break.
It starts with Paige asking, “What’s going on? Why didn’t you tell me you were back? Why didn’t you—”
And then the floodgates open between them. Dani tries to keep her face neutral during it, shutting down any emotion that threatens to spill out. She can’t afford to feel—if she lets herself feel anything, even for a moment, it’ll all come crashing down, everything wrong and bad spilling out. Her eyes stay cold, her voice flat, and every word that comes out of her mouth feels like poison she has to swallow herself. She tells herself she’s doing the right thing, that pushing Paige away is for her own good. That it’s for both of them. But God, it hurts.
Watching Paige’s face fall with every sharp word she throws at her is like watching someone chip away at a sculpture, little by little, until it’s unrecognizable. Dani sees the flickers of confusion, hurt, and then anger that spread across Paige’s features. She sees the way Paige’s shoulders tense, the way her eyes burn with disbelief. Paige has always been so expressive, her emotions right there on the surface, easy to read. And it kills Dani to know that she’s the cause of every negative expression that paints the blonde’s face.
The worst part is seeing the way Paige’s eyes gloss over, like she’s on the verge of tears but is too stubborn to let them fall. Paige isn’t the type to cry easily, but Dani knows her too well. She can feel Paige’s hurt even without seeing the tears. It’s palpable in the air between them, suffocating.
But Dani can’t break. She has to be strong, even though it’s the hardest thing she’s ever done. So, she says the words that’ll sever whatever hope Paige had left. She tells her that their kiss, that their confessions, were both mistakes. That she doesn’t want her, that it’s all just over. The words are like knives in her own chest, but she forces them out because she has no choice. If Paige knew the truth—about the camp, about her father’s threats, about everything—Paige would fight for her. She’d try to save Dani from it all. And Dani can’t let that happen. Everything would just get worse. It wouldn’t help anything.
Besides, whatever Paige and Dani have is wrong. It’s wrong, it’s wrong, it’s wrong. Dani repeats it in her head. She fiddles with her necklace, her eyes flit to the crucifix on the wall, she thinks about how God doesn’t appreciate girls loving other girls. It’s wrong.
Nevertheless, when Paige finally leaves, when she turns her back and walks out the door, it’s like Dani’s entire world collapses in on itself. She’s built a wall around herself for weeks, convincing herself that this is what she’s needed to do. But the second the door closes behind Paige, it all comes tumbling to the ground. The numbness she’s been clinging to melts away, leaving behind raw, unbearable pain.
It’s wrong anyways, she tries to remind herself. It would’ve never worked out. God doesn’t permit it.
But that doesn’t seem to matter. Because no matter how wrong it is, it fucking hurts.
Dani presses her forehead against the door, her whole body trembling as the sobs begin to escape. She didn’t cry in front of Paige. She held it together, made sure to be strong, made sure that Paige wasn’t aware of what’s truly going on. But now, with no one watching, Dani just breaks. Her shoulders shake as the tears come hard and fast, her chest heaving as she lets it all out. The sobs are uncontrollable, wracking her body as she finally allows herself to feel everything she’s been holding back since the day she was dropped off at camp back at the beginning of June.
She cries for the years of friendship she’s just destroyed. For the love she has for Paige that she has to—and will continue to—deny. For the fact that she has to pretend not to care when every fiber of her being screams that she still does. She cries because she knows she’s just shattered Paige’s heart, and in doing so, she’s shattered her own.
Her father’s voice echoes in the back of her mind, a cruel reminder of why she’s done this. She can’t be with Paige, can’t even be her friend. Not if she wants to keep Paige safe from the consequences, not if she wants to keep them both pure in God’s eyes. Besides, if Dani even tried to slightly interact with the blonde, her father would never allow it, and Dani knows the lengths he’ll go to if he thinks Dani’s stepping out of line. The threats he made over the summer, the way he sent her to that camp to “fix” her—it isn’t something she can let Paige be part of. And it’s certainly not something she’ll let herself be subject to again.
(Besides, she has Beau. She likes Beau.) (Enough.)
But the knowledge doesn’t make it hurt any less. It doesn’t make it easier to breathe through the sobs that wrack her chest. Dani feels like she’s drowning, suffocating under the weight of everything she’s just lost. Paige has been her best friend for over a decade. She’s been the one constant in Dani’s life, the person who has understood her better than anyone else. And now, Dani’s pushed her away, and she doesn’t know if she’ll ever be able to get her back.
Eventually, the sobs slow, leaving Dani feeling hollow and empty. Her tears soak through the fabric of her tank top, and her throat is raw from crying. She doesn’t know how long she stands there, leaning against the door, but it feels like an eternity. All she can think about is Paige’s face as she left, the way her eyes had looked so broken, so betrayed.
Dani did this. She has to live with it.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers to the empty room, though the words are meant for Paige.
OCTOBER 2019 (PRESENT DAY)
Paige was right. Dani is a coward.
She knows she is. She thinks about it constantly. She thinks about that night, at the party, where she and Paige fought. She thinks about what Beau called her. She thinks about how she didn’t step in, how she didn’t defend Paige. She thinks about how she’s settled into a routine that feels like she’s merely a spectator in her own life. She thinks about how she hasn’t done anything to try and change it. She thinks, she thinks, she thinks.
She thinks a lot.
About certain things.
Certain people.
(Paige.)
She tries and tries to fight it, but her mind is rogue, a resistance that always has a mantra of Paige, Paige, Paige whether it’s in the front, the corner, or the back of her cerebrum.
She dates Beau. That doesn’t change. She knows who he is—not a good person. He’s arrogant, dismissive, and often cruel, but Dani finds herself in his company night after night. It’s not that she doesn’t recognize his red flags; she does. But there’s a twisted sense of comfort in being with someone who embodies the superficial, the expected. Beau is a mask she can wear, something to hide what’s beneath. What she doesn’t want people to see.
So, she dates Beau. She kisses him. They do other stuff a lot, too. He always initiates it, but she never stops it. It’s okay—not great, not terrible. It’s not exactly who she’d prefer to do that kind of thing with—but, who she would exhibits every single little thing that’s wrong with her. Every single little thing that she’s been trying to shake out of her, off of her, since she arrived at that camp. God doesn’t appreciate it. And so neither does Dani.
School has become her other distraction. A good one, too.
She retakes the ACT. When she gets her score back, she’s happy with it, a rare moment of relief and pride.
College applications weigh on her as well, and she’s certainly had the time to do them. She only applies to two school. Minnesota—her dad wants her to stay in-state, somewhere close. And, trust her, she knows how deluded it sounds, but—she applies to Connecticut, too. Don’t ask her. She doesn’t even really know why.
She focuses heavily on her Calc class, her AP Bio class, her AP Lit work. She focuses, she gets good grades, she makes her teachers and maybe even her father proud. She’s just doing her best, distracting herself. (Though it doesn’t help that, without fail, every single day Paige’s stare bores holes into Dani’s back in Lit. All she wants is to continue her distractions, to continue her streak of nearly perfect scores, but those baby blues burn into her skin from behind and it makes Dani’s heart race.)
She continues on with photography, too. She goes to the football games and some of the other sports—soccer, field hockey, etc.—and takes her photos for yearbook. It’s a good distraction until she spots Paige in the student section (this happens every Friday night), and Dani’s mood seems to simmer out.
Paige is everywhere. Fucking everywhere. School, games, Dani’s head. It doesn’t matter. She never leaves.
Dani wishes she would go and wishes she would stay all at once.
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threepandas · 3 months ago
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Sun Burnt: Part 3
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When a legendary hitman Eye Threatens to break both your fucking legs?
They Are Not Joking.
FUCKING OW.
Still! Jokes on HIM! I'm in to that sh-! Wait, no, not the time for memes! Or is it jokes? Irrelevant! I can still fuckin RUN, is the thing. Sucks to SUCK, Sun boy! Us Lightnings are BUILT DIFFERENT!
And I BETTER not hear any snide "yeah I BET they are" from the peanut gallery!
My Flame type ROCKS! I am a TAZER who can put my fist through WALLS. Stand dead center of a road and just? Fuckin TANK a speeding car! Can YOU? Didn't THINK so! Lightning supremacy! One of you fuckers gimme a highfive! HELL YEAH!
But also? Like... I take back EVERYTHING I ever said about the Carcassa.
ALL OF IT.
They are the GEMS of the Mafia. The SHINING HEARTS of raw compassion! Skull-sama's willingness to PERSONALLY piss off The "I AM The Dread God Lesser Deity's Fear" Reborn? An inspiration to us all. I... I would steal for this man. Like? For FREE. Not DIE for him or anything, God no, but? I would steal really REALLY expensive shit for him!
The man's an absolute mad lad. A LEGEND.
I will NEVER forget this... assuming I survive.
Because somehow HE already has my name, face, and multiple alias plastered OUT FOR THE WORLD TO SEE. Ha ha... oh god. Thaaaaat is a bounty. BIG bounty. Lots of zeros. G...gonna die.
My phone chimes.
"You know exactly who this is. Pick up." The screen reads, right before it rings.
HA HA, NOPE!
I stand, well more like shoot to my feet, from my seat on the ground. Quuuuick steps too the blimp windows. Wrench those open. Sim card out! Crush the phone. AND YEET!!! BeGONE DEMOOOON!
We shall NOT be engaging with The Devil today! No Sir!
.....Skull's phone starts ringing.
I whine like a cornered animal. So... this is what a real life horror movie feels like. NEAT. I hate it! I watch, probably shaking, as Skull-sama casually drags out his phone. Glances down at it. Then over his shoulder at me. He doesn't even fully turn his head. Just one Cloud flame purple eye that seems to light up from within.
He's a happy go lucky guy. Cool dude. But like all Clouds? Fucking HATES cages. Being or SEEING other imprisoned. Trapped. Cornered and forced to do something against their will. And as the planet's STRONGEST Cloud?
He's always had exactly zero problems telling Reborn to fuck off to his face. Even when it gets him shot at. Everyone knew that.
"Sempai! Calling the GREAT Skull De Mort just to CHAT~♡? I KNEW you loved me BESTEST!" He PROJECTS into the phone, his speaking cadence shifting.
He'd been gregarious, bombastic even, the whole time I'd been on board. The sort of guy you can't help but want to buy street food with and check out some weird local sight you heard about. The guy that turns an event into a PARTY. A get together into a memory you TREASURE. Larger then life and unashamedly so.
But this? THIS was the SHOWMAN.
And this was the Showman being Obnoxious and MEAN.
Loud, intentionally grating voice. No break in the endless flood of mind numbing chatter that went no where. Bellowing cackling that even the best of speakers would be hard pressed to handle. Standing near machines and windows so the background noise garbled EVERYTHING.
Let no one say Clouds are not PETTY.
"Hmmmmm~? Your WHAT? Sempai! Don't be SILLY! You can't OWN people! That's SLAVERY! It's against~...!" He turned, leaning like a rock star of old against some navigation compartment. Casually examining his nails with a MEAN and wolfish smile on his face. "Waaaaa! Don't be maaad~ Don't be MAAAAAD~!! You know I'd NEVER lie to YOU, Sempai! I'd never DARE! I promise I'll keep a look out, m'kay? What? Don't hang up? Sorry! Can-KRRRRSHK! n't quite KKKKKRRRRRSK! Heeeeear yoooouuuuu~☆!"
Click.
He casually tossed his phone to one of his men. Ignored it even as it rang and rang. With an excited clap of his hand, he hopped up, out of his loose legged splay to stride over. According to him? We should eat! Have I had Burmese food? It's delicious! One of his guys just got "into" the whole cooking thing! So everyone is being supportive!
I can't help but laugh. Everyone politely ignores how wet it is, as Skull-sama throws an arm over my shoulders and drags me from the cockpit.
I know I'm not safe. But for now? Fuck it. Good enough. Maybe Skull-sama knows someplace Reborn might not IMMEDIATELY find me. And who knows? When this all blows over? Maybe I should join up with his crew. Reborn can't be THAT obsessed. Right? It was just the initial harmony high. With no Sky to actually bind us, he'll lose interest.
Behind me... the phone rings.
And rings.
And RINGS.
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sweetandsoursaws · 2 months ago
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Lark started the day at 4AM. He woke up with an anger deep in his bones, outrage that he was awake and he knew he wouldn't be getting anymore sleep tonight. This was the sort of thing that usually only happened if he had somewhere to be that day, like an hourly job or some appointed commitment, but he was very unemployed and very not going to any sorts of doctors these days.
Envy didn't need anything from him today (they really didn't need much from him most days, he's essentially on call). He has nowhere to be. But he couldn't sleep, so he rolled out of bed and stomped around his house in the dark, cat-eyes more than sufficient to navigate by moonlight filtering through the windows.
Coffee, leftover hotdog breakfast, then he pulled up a stool in his garage, seated himself, and stared soullessly at the many partially-finished woodworking projects he had going. A chair he will likely never finish, fuck that. A few cutting boards, boring. Another shark, because that TV guy looked so delighted by the shark that Lark felt like he needed to give him another if he saw him again.
And a mailbox. Cat mailbox to-be. Fuck him.
Lark got back up and reentered the house, turning on all the lights. 5AM, sun won't be up quick enough. Time to stuff wads of tissues in his oversensitive cat ears and start vacuuming every room of the house. Got about halfway through that when he started organizing a set of bookshelves by color. Halfway through that when he decided now was the time to unbox his 100 pack of tiny plastic ducks and distribute them all over his house. Halfway through the bag when he stood in the doorway of the garage and stared at that mailbox again.
6am. Is it too early in the morning for a chainsaw? Lake has the kitten until noon. Probably a great time to be chainsawing without any cats in the house.
7am. He's finished one shark, started another. What if Lark's being too narrow-minded with the great whites? What if TV guy's favorite shark is a hammerhead?
8am. He has a pile of tiny wooden sharks of various states of quality. Mailbox is still untouched.
Okay, time to do the mailbox. You've got this. You want to do it, you CAN do it, you're excited for it to be done! Lark picked up the chainsaw, stood right in front of it. All you have to do is turn on the chainsaw and start doing the work. Just pick up your leaden hands and stop listening to sandpaper brain and do the thing.
9am. He's getting really good at sharks. The mailbox sits two inches to the left of where it was earlier.
10am. You have two hours before Lake drops off Slinky. You cannot start drinking at 10am right before it's your turn with the kitten.
11am. He's not drunk. Nahhhh. This doesn't count as drunk. And you fuckin KNOW he can use a chainsaw NOW.
12pm. Lake is keeping Slinky today. Lark is going to ice his jaw from where he beaned himself in the face with a mailbox.
The rest of the day was a blur after that.
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whoretan · 2 years ago
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You | Three
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masterlist.exe
Summary: Jeongguk fills you in on what’s going on, and you realize you’ve gotten yourself into a mess much bigger than you’ll ever be.
Pairing: Jeongguk x Reader
Genre: Eventual Smut, Psychological, Angst, Eventual Romance (Unhealthy and Obsessive)
Tags and Notes: dont trust anyone, breaking the fourth wall (reader has DID), sorry, reply to be added to taglist
WC: 2.5k
chap2_trojan.exe | chap3_r3d.mp4
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“She’s not ready, Taehyung,” I say, shoving Jeongguk off of your body and to the seat beside me. 
He lands with a soft groan and passes his phone to me. I happily grab the device, immediately putting Taehyung on speaker so we’re all on the same page.
“And why the fuck not?” Taehyung hisses into the phone, probably taking a drag of a joint since his capability of functioning like a normal human being is nearly impossible without weed.
I sigh because I’m surrounded by idiots who are only valuable when they code. “Well for one because Jeongguk over here just tried to dry hump her in the fuckin’ backseat of my car. And two because she’s being irrational. We have no idea how she’ll react to me and we can’t risk that until she’s fully on board.” 
Jeongguk opens his mouth in defense, but I quickly place your hand out in front of his face, shutting him up. I’m already talking to one idiot, I don’t need another one ringing in my ear. 
I don’t let Taehyung respond because I already know his answer is either going to give me a headache or be of no use at all. 
I continue, “Jeongguk will fill her in when they’re at the Cafe. Do not mention me and if I find out you did, you’re out. Permanently, Taehyung.” 
Taehyung blows air into the speaker. I do not threaten without reason, so, he’ll choose his words carefully to not piss me off any more than he already has. 
When he doesn’t speak, I press the red button, hang up on him and toss the phone in Jeongguk’s direction where he catches the device mid-air. 
“Are you gonna let her back out?” Jeongguk shoves his phone into his sweats, where he palms at the cloth and does a shit job of trying to hide his very evident hard-on. 
I nod and contort my face, this is more than I’ve signed up for. 
Jeongguk presses himself into the chair and looks out the window. A typical Jeongguk sign of ‘our conversation has come to an end.’ 
Now— I deal with you.
Yes, you. 
You’ve been here this entire time, right? From when “you” met Taehyung, to about five minutes ago when Jeongguk was dry humping you in the backseat. You’ve been watching everything unfold like some overseeing narrator. Yeah. I know you’ve been here.
And you’re probably confused, too. Wondering, what? I thought I was the main character here? 
And you are sort of, I mean as main as I allow it of course.
Besides, I can’t let the other you know about you, at least not yet. So for now, do a good little job and don’t intervene, no matter how irrational the other you gets. And trust me, she can become a handful. We’re part of something much bigger here. And if you mess with my plans, you’re out, too. 
“I’ll let her out when we’re at the Cafe, don’t let her find out where we’re located you know it’ll cause problems.” I peer over at Jeongguk, who nods once, never tearing his gaze from the flashes of passing skyscrapers. 
“And Jeongguk,” I place your hand on his thigh and the muscle tenses underneath my hold.  “Be extra sweet to her, say what you have to say to get her to join. You know how she is when it comes to you,” I watch Jeongguk’s Adam’s Apple bob up and down and I smile. 
He’s fucking terrified. 
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Light flashes in hues of white and yellow, and you wince from the blinding and scorching rays penetrating your eyes. Your arm rushes to the top of your eyes to cover them and you sigh in relief as blackness takes over your vision.
Jeongguk must’ve noticed you moving because he pushes the light away from your face and mutters, “Fuckin finally.” 
Where the fuck are you? 
You squeeze your eyes, taking off your arm shield and when they open flashes of red and yellow appear, then disappear and reappear until the blurriness disappears and you can see ahead of you. 
“Where am I?” You lift yourself from the sofa. 
Ahead of you are three tables, all full of computers. There are six per table, three on each side. From where you’re seated, you can’t find any windows and the only source of light are the four overhead lamps attached to the ceiling. The lamps are small and circular, but the bulb is bright. So bright, that you have to look away after a few seconds so your head doesn’t start spinning. 
During your inspection of the room, Jeongguk’s walked over to one of the chairs, which has a set of six wheels attached to the bottom and rolls the chair near you. When you look at it and furrow your brows, he points and grits, “Sit.”
Someone woke up with his balls on the wrong side of the bed. 
Still, you get up and plop onto the chair. Jeongguk doesn’t say anything, instead, he rolls you over to the desktop in the corner of the middle table. 
The screen is lit, and on it is a code running a list of networks running within an IP address’s proximity. Okay, so he’s hacking into someone’s computer. 
“What am I looking at?” 
There’s warmth next to you, and you look over your shoulder to see Jeongguk’s leaning forward so your heads are aligned to one another. He nods his head at the screen and you look back to it, “I’ve exploited the network and I need to show you why.”
You suck your cheek in, continuing to watch until the script ends and Jeongguk enters the sudo password. He gets command line access to the machine, and types in the exploit to view the desktop of whoever he’s hacked. 
The screen flashes and a white page opens. 
You immediately recognize the platform, since you dabbled in the Dark Web your freshman year. What you don’t recognize is this type of page. Your eyes scan the upper corners and in red font, a title reads, “M&B Red”. 
Your stomach churns and you look back to Jeongguk who’s already staring at you, “It’s a red room isn’t it?”
Jeongguk nods slowly, looking back to the screen, and you follow. 
To the right is a chat log that reads ‘LIVE’ next to a flashing red circle. In the log are hundreds, if not thousands of users typing various messages which flow too fast for you to pick up on their contents. 
The desktop user, who you and Jeongguk are watching the stream through moves his mouse and clicks on the empty box below the chat log. 
You grip the edges of the seat, and Jeongguk nudges you, “Watch.”
And you do. You watch so intently it feels like you’re the one typing in the fucking chat. The person writes antagonizing slow, but you can’t tear your eyes from their words. 
[Host] M&B: Let the show begin, donations are sent through the link attached to the email you were sent earlier today.
He hacked the host. Holy shit.
“H-how?” You want to turn from the screen, face Jeongguk and ask the question again. But, the black rectangle flashes red, and suddenly a woman tied to a chair, with her hands tied behind her back and her legs tapped together appears.
“You know who that is?” Jeongguk whispers in your ear. He’s moved from your side, to behind your back, engulfing you completely. He’s at the shell of your ear, but you feel his chest pressed to your back, his cheek on the bottom of your skull, and the warmth of his breath tickling your ear.
You shake your head, and Jeongguk wraps his arms around your shoulders.
In the stream, a man with a Bunny mask, and a rounded belly appears, moving toward the girl, who’s now fighting against the rope that binds her to the chair. 
“Hello ladies and gentlemen, tonight we have Rene Jacobs with us. A Harvard student, studying software engineering. You probably heard about her disappearance last summer, the media made it a huge mess. Smart little girl, isn’t she?” The voice of the man has an added filter to distort his natural voice. 
Rene? Your old roommate Rene? The same Rene that they said ran off after being caught selling drugs through the school’s network? 
You attempt to push Jeongguk’s hands off you, to take access to the desktop and type in the chat log. To penetrate the Livestream and route the GEO location of where the stream is being held.
“Nuh-uh, baby. We can’t do that,” Jeongguk tightens his grip on you and you shake in the chair. “I need you to understand why we have to do this.” 
Jeongguk presses a tender kiss to your cheek and you tilt to the other side, trying to deny him any access to your skin. He shoves you back to the center, flat on your ass. 
A ping sounds from the computer. And a new, larger, red box with white text appears in flashing letters. 
User IHEARTBADGIRLS has donated 3 Bitcoins to: 
Request: Cut her nipple off. 
Your throat tightens, and the breakfast taco you ate earlier tries to hurl out. You swallow the sour acid and fight against the steel grip Jeongguk has around your arms, “Jeongguk please, I need to save her, please.” 
For a second, Jeongguk’s grip loosens, and you bolt out of it, going directly for the keyboard. He grabs the end of the chair and shoves it in the opposite direction, sending you flying.
You shriek as the chair collides with the left table, and you fall off of it, landing on all fours. From the middle table, the sound of keyboards clacking awakens something in you, and you look at Jeongguk. He’s hunched over the screen, typing something into the terminal. 
A scream erupts from the speakers and you bolt upward, sprinting toward Jeongguk. By the time you’ve reached him, the Livestream flashes black, and the PC you were watching has been terminated. 
“Are you fucking crazy?” You punch at Jeongguk’s back, landing a slew of hits you know have no real effect on him.
Jeongguk spins around, grabbing both of your wrists, and his eyes glisten against the light, “We can’t do fucking anything.” 
You settle in the grip, watching as waters wells in the brim of Jeongguk’s lids. His eyes shake but he refuses to blink. He doesn’t want you to see him cry, so, you tear your gaze away from his and look to your left, at the grey, cracked floor. 
“We- there’s a group of us working on stopping this. We’ve hacked their IP and have the locations but the problem is these aren’t regular people. They’re politicians, scientists, lawyers, even Presidents.” 
Jeongguk lets go of your wrists, hands flying to grab the side of your face to push your face to face his. His cheeks have two streams of wet lines, and you inhale deeply. 
You were wrong about him. He’s just like you. 
“I-“
Jeongguk’s hands shake against your face, and as he speaks his voice croaks, “We’ve been, trying to recruit people who understand this type of code. And you’re— you’re a coding genius.” 
You blink, Jeongguk blurs in your vision, and two, then three blurry versions of him rotate ahead of you. All three, lean in, but you feel the press of one forehead against yours. 
“We need you,” Jeongguk’s warm breath tickles your lips, “I need you.”
There’s a rush of pulsing in your stomach, and you close your eyes because the dizziness is getting to you. 
The side of Jeongguk’s nose glides against yours until he’s stopped by the barrier of your skin. Your breath hitches and Jeongguk presses his lips to yours, gliding his tongue against your bottom lip before sealing them.
Why is he kissing you? Why the hell is he kissing you? And more importantly, why are you kissing him back?
Jeongguk’s hand moves from the sides of your face to grip the back of your hair. The other falls to your side where he squeezes at the flesh of your hip. 
Jeongguk briefly pulls away and groans, “Tell me you’re in.”
“I’m in.”
The words are shoved back into your mouth because Jeongguk slams his lips onto yours again. This time, he pushes his body completely flat against yours, taking a step forward, driving you backward. 
He does this till the back of your calves hits something hard and Jeongguk pushes you down. You land on the cushion with a thud and Jeongguk places one hand on the top of the couch while the other rests by your face to steady himself. 
He licks his lips and drives his knee between your legs, tearing them apart so he can position himself directly in between. When they’ve opened, he lifts his hips so they meet yours and you audibly moan as something hard grinds against the outer rim of your pussy.
Jeongguk’s near-mullet-length hair flashes short, and the piercings on his eyebrows disappear for a moment before reappearing. Your hand flies to his chest, and your mouth drops. Jeongguk clicks his tongue. 
No, there’s no way he switched faces. Fuck, your therapist was right. You’re going clinically insane. 
Jeongguk blinks, brows knitting together until realization settles and he sighs in irritation. The hand on the top of the couch lifts, and he pinches the bridge of his nose. 
“Fuck.”
Jeongguk glitches in front of you, the face you’ve grown to recognize immediately transforms to one you’d never seen before in a series of flashes.
You begin to claw at the stranger in front of you, doing your best to lift your knee and kick them in the groin. You do anything possible to get them off of you: scream, kick, pull, but, they don't react.
The man tsks, and you sink into the couch, “Lights out for you, cupcake.” 
You shriek when the man twists his hip and places both of his palms flat against the wall that the sofa is pressed on and suddenly slams his head against the wall. You're knocked out, cold.
Wow, look at us, meeting twice in one day. 
I suspect you’re beginning to see the problem too, right?
Our little friend is unreliable, yet somehow everyone around us has put all of their trust in her. I mean, how are you and I supposed to run this operation when she can’t even keep it together while watching a live stream?
And before you say anything about my decision tonight, I did what had to be done. Jeongguk will be back in an hour and I'm sure he'll be beyond pissed at what I did. But, he'll convince her it was him. I’ll make sure of it.
In the meantime, keep an eye on her— or should I mean the other you— for me, will you? Jeongguk will need to be watched too, before—well, leave him up to me for now. Besides, that’s a different story for another day.
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athenasbloodyspear · 3 years ago
Text
Don’t Make Me Beg Now Baby
CHAPTER ONE: EDGE OF DARKNESS
Hello fellow Greta Van Freaks. This is my very first Greta fic! I hope you enjoy.
MASTERLIST
Note: This fic contains mature themes, discussions of past non-con (no members of GVF involved) and drug use. Minors DNI. 18+ only and please take care of yourselves. (See Ao3 for full tag list)
You can also read this fic on Ao3 if you prefer!
Jake Kiszka x Original Female Character
Picture this: The boys are in Northern Michigan to write the new album and they meet a wild young woman who works at a local record store who has a rough history with rock bands.
She doesn’t want to fall into the same traps she fell into before. He doesn’t want to hurt her.
The rest of them just want them to figure their shit out.
Note: While this fic is based on the members of Greta Van Fleet, I obviously do not know them personally (lol) and nearly 99% of this is a fever dream I decided to write down. Some tid bits are based on things said in interviews/photos/songs but please do not come for my neck if you dislike my portrayals as this is a STORY that I have entirely made up.
This will be a slow burn, overly dramatic, cliché fest of me missing my Mitten State and wishing more than anything I could move back home. Their music makes me homesick and for that I’ll never forgive them. ;)
Chapter Under the Cut
CHAPTER ONE: EDGE OF DARKNESS
The tiny bell on the door to “The Edge” clanked as Jake pushed his way in, followed by Josh, Sam and Danny. The afternoon sun streamed through the slats in the windows at a harsh angle, illuminating the swirling dust. The boys all immediately took a deep breath. They all loved the smell of this place. A mix of dusty old vinyl's, incense and weed. 
The Edge was the shop owned by an old friend, Levi, who had been a longtime family friend of the Kiszka’s. The boys had made the near three hour drive to the shop whenever they had a spare weekend in their younger years. They bought Levi out of his guitar strings and drumsticks and always looked through the boxes of vinyl's hoping to find treasures. Levi sold an eclectic mix of music equipment, records, books, home goods and comically horrific coffee. 
The Edge is where they had each bought their very first instruments, had their first beers and even smoked their first joint. It was a special place for them. 
The old wood floors creaked with every step, the wood walls were covered with old articles from Rolling Stone, photos Levi had taken and autographs from the artists who had cycled through the place over the years. There were stacks upon stacks of vinyl's. Shelves of old autobiographies and music theory books. There were speakers stacked from floor to ceiling, and the whole right side of the store was jam packed with basses and guitars. The back corner had a few keyboards and a drum set, but plenty of catalogues to pick even more instruments from. There were cases of drumsticks and guitar picks and strings. The middle of the store had tables full of incense, candles and interesting home goods. There were tables where local artists sold jewelry, art pieces and furniture. It was full to the brim, most shelves rising way up to the ceiling. Most needed a ladder to reach the top. The basement had a sound studio with even more equipment set up to be used to record, or to test out. 
Levi had inherited the place from his father, who had built up quite a legendary roster of friends over his years. The shop was just off Front Street on the main drag of Traverse City. Levi’s father had made a name for himself as a great host to bands looking to escape to northern Michigan to hole up in cabins and write albums. Levi continued the tradition and took it a step further by buying the space next door and turning it into a club with live music on the weekends. 
If you were lucky, you could catch some super huge bands playing for only about 100 people in the dark side room of The Edge. 
“You bastards finally made it!” Levi called out as he came sauntering out of the back room. Levi looked the exact same as the last time the boys had seen him. Tanned skin from his days paddle boarding and hiking along the Lake Michigan shore, sandy blonde hair that was brighter in the summer, perpetual 5-o-clock shadow because he just couldn’t be bothered to shave, shell necklace around his neck, light wash jeans low on his hips with the same old cowboy boots he’d been wearing since the boys were 12. 
“Is that grey hair I see Levi?” Josh leaned forward with an exaggerated squint. Levi laughed, snagging Josh’s head to give him a noogie. 
“I may be older than you punks by a few years, but I’m not greying yet.” Levi released Josh from his headlock and gave him a shove. 
“I’d say 37 is more than a few years older than us, grandpa.” Sam snarked. 
“You’re makin me regret extending my hospitality, kid.” 
Jake felt himself relax fully for the first time in a really long time. It was just like old times. Exactly what the boys needed. 
“Welcome back dudes. I’m surprised I’m still cool enough for you Rockstar types.” Levi crossed his legs and leaned back against the front counter. 
“We’ll never be too cool for The Edge. This place will always be way cooler than we could ever be.” Danny piped up, walking forward to wrap Levi in a hug. 
“It’s been too long man.” Levi commented as he smacked Danny on the back. 
“We know.” Sam said “Way too fuckin long.” He hugged Levi next. Josh and Jake followed up with hugs next. The room was heavy with a tinge of melancholy. Old friends who had missed each other finally reunited. 
“Well, have you guys been to the house yet?” Levi stepped around the counter and started pouring four cups of the famous nasty coffee. 
“Yeah we dropped our bags off before we headed into town.” Danny spoke up. 
“Isn’t it sweet?” Levi asked enthusiastically. 
“It’s wicked man. Thanks so much for getting that set up for us.” Josh grinned as he snagged a cup off the counter. 
The house was a mid century modern cabin right on the east bay shore. It came equipped with a huge garage studio, front deck and a dock out into the bay. Levi had bought the house in foreclosure and along with help from a bunch of locals (in exchange for beer of course) they turned the house into a perfect getaway for any artists looking to come take a break up north. The place had five bedrooms and three bathrooms with a giant living room with overstuffed couches and velvet chairs. The walls were covered in art and the shelves were full to bursting with plants. It was a kaleidoscope of colors and textures,  with mix matched rugs and lamps. It was Levi’s pride and joy. 
“I’m so glad you guys like it.” Levi smiled even bigger as he passed coffees to the rest of the boys. “Once you’re a little more settled, feel free to send me a list of equipment you want me to set up downstairs and you can start coming in whenever to work. But also, I think you should probably take a week or two off first. You all look about two seconds away from collapsing.” 
“Yeah we’re pretty fuckin beat dude. But we’ll send you a list ASAP.” Jake said, taking a burning sip of the coffee. It singed his nerve endings and he couldn’t have been happier about it. 
Levi opened his mouth to speak again, when a voice filtered through the window to the loft above the store. 
“Yo Levi!” the person shouted “Can you please get off your fuckin ass and pick music to play? I know Wednesdays are your day to pick but if you take forever I’m just gonna put on whatever I want and you can suck it.”
All four boys' heads snapped up to the window to the loft, but whoever was up there couldn’t be seen. All they could see was that the loft had clearly gotten a makeover. What used to be an upper level where Levi stored surplus supplies now looked like it had a plush velvet couch, lava lamps and plants in it. 
“Alright alright! I’ll get on it.” Levi called back up, shaking his head and chuckling to himself as he walked toward the central sound system behind the counter to scroll through Spotify playlists. 
“Who the fuck is that and what have you done to the loft?” Josh asked, hopping up to sit on the counter. 
“That would be the very best thing that’s ever fallen into my lap. A.k.a my new store and venue manager Maven. She moved back to the area after living in Hollywood for a few years managing bands and she completely changed my life. We finally have consistent stock, a longstanding line up at the club and I have had the time to start photography again. Truly a godsend, if not occasionally a pain in my ass. She turned the loft into a breakroom of sorts.  There’s a couch and table up there now. She practically lives up there sometimes.” 
“Damn she must be some woman if she finally got you to get your shit together with that club.” Sammy piped up. 
“She’s hellfire, I’ll tell yah that.” Levi chuckled, finally hitting play on a playlist. The first bars of Surfin USA by the Beach Boys came on the surround system and matching groans came out of Jake downstairs and Maven upstairs. 
“Not this shit again!” Maven yells. Jake chuckled to himself. Hellfire indeed. 
“It’s my day to pick so suck it!” Levi called back before faux stage whispering to the boys “I mostly just play this to piss her off.”
Levi clapped his hands together once “Well boys, It’s close enough to five o'clock and I owe you a beer. Let’s head over to Little Fleet for some grub and beers and we can catch up.” 
Josh grimaced as he sucked down the last bit of his coffee before lobbing the empty cup into the trash at the end of the counter. “You still make shit coffee Levi.” 
“It’s the one thing I wouldn’t let Maven fix.” Levi said with a grin as all five men exited out the back door. 
                                                           ~0~
The boys took a week to relax, as per Levi’s request. They spent the days hiking the shore, kayaking and drinking beer around the fire. It had been way too long since they’d done this. The release of The Battle at Garden’s Gate had been exhilarating and the fans' response had been everything they’d hoped for. People seemed to love the album and they were all so proud. But with press interviews and touring, they hadn’t gotten more than a day or two to relax at a time. And they certainly hadn’t gotten a chance to get back to their favorite old haunts in years. 
They stopped by the store almost every morning for a cup of coffee strong enough to jumpstart their hearts. Sometimes Levi joined them on their escapades, and sometimes he stayed behind to help out at the store. The boys spent a few afternoons sifting through albums and strumming on some of Levi’s vintage guitars. 
Mostly they caught up on each other's lives. The boys recounted their more personal lives that happened outside the coverage of the album and Levi talked about the past few years of his life in Traverse City. Levi told them all about Maven and how she was practically his little sister. They laughed. They drank. They had a blast. 
The boys noticed Levi was a little on edge occasionally, typically when they heard someone shuffling upstairs or equipment moving around in the backroom of the shop. They assumed it was Maven but weren’t sure, since they had yet to see her in the flesh. A week from their arrival they were all sitting in lawn chairs in the alley behind the store, smoking cigs and drinking their coffee when Sam finally asked. 
“So, why haven’t we met your precious Maven yet? Hiding her from us or something?” 
Levi shifted a bit in his chair. “Um..” he coughed out a laugh. “I am actually. Yes. But it’s the other way around, I’m hiding you from her.” 
“Afraid she’ll fan-girl or something?” Josh commented as he ashed his cigarette.  
“In… a sense.” Levi coughed. “But in quite the opposite way you’re imagining.” 
“She’s a fan then?” Sammy piped up.
“She loves your music. A lot.” Levi sniffed and coughed again. “It’s a real safe haven for her. When she’s having a bad day I catch her upstairs laying on the floor smoking a J with sound cancelling headphones blasting your albums as loud as she can.” 
“Exactly how it’s meant to be enjoyed. With a joint in hand.” Jake chimes in.  
“Yeah..” Levi toes the asphalt a bit with his boots, but doesn’t continue.
“Soooo” Sammy drawls “Why can’t we meet her? We’re no stranger to super fans. I’m sure she’s cool.” 
“Um, well. It’s a bit complicated.” Levi heaves a sigh before flicking his cigarette butt into the coffee canister at the center of their little circle. “I suppose I can trust you guys. You’re friends. Do you remember the huge lawsuit that the band Undercover Heart went through last year? The one about the um” He coughs again, “Rape of one of their staff members by the lead singer Ryan?” 
“Yes. That shit was horrific man.” Danny spoke up. “I read all the details I could. They kept the poor girl's identity private but goddamn I felt so bad for her. She was a badass for filing that suit though.” 
“Yeah. She was.” Levi breathed. “So, this is strictly off record and if you repeat this to anyone I will skin you all alive, famous rock stars be damned.” 
“Jesus Levi.” Jake said. 
“It was her.” Levi choked out. “Maven. That’s why she ran back from Hollywood and ended up here. That dude messed her up and she just… she struggles with meeting famous bands now. You know how many people cycle through this joint writing stuff. She just… has a really fuckin hard time with it sometimes. Particularly bands she likes. I think it’s because once you meet someone, and in her case, discover how much of a monster they can be, their music isn’t… safe anymore.” 
“Fuck.” Jake said, flicking his cigarette into the canister. 
“Well I feel terrible for joking about her being a fangirl.” Josh mutters. 
“She just genuinely loves you guys a lot. I never really told her I was an old friend because I didn’t want her to be worried about y’all stopping by. I just know that if she knows you’re here she’ll take off and avoid coming by the shop as much as she can and not only do I need her here, but I think she needs the safety of the shop too. I didn’t want to wreck it.” Levi sighs again. “I know she’ll find out you’re here eventually, it’s inevitable. I just was a coward and didn’t want to break the news to her.” 
“She was a pretty well known band manager wasn’t she?” Danny asks. “She like… completely made Undercover Heart what it was. Before they hired her they were slated to be a one hit wonder but she hauled them into relevancy basically by her will alone.” 
“Yeah. She basically built that man's career for him. She gave him everything, and he took everything from her. If I ever see the man I’m liable to get my ass thrown in prison.” Levi mutters.
“I’ll help.” Danny says immediately. 
All five sit in silence for a few minutes, smoking the last of their cigarettes. When they’d all finished, they stood and stretched to head back inside the shop. 
“So yeah. Anyway, If you see her that’s fine, just… well now you have context for… her.” Levi says as he yanks open the door. 
A few steps into the back hallway, Levi suddenly halts, causing all four boys to nearly bash into each other. The front door to the shop had crashed open and there were footsteps stomping across the store toward the front desk. 
“Listen Levi,” Maven’s tense voice carried down the back hall. “I know Wednesdays are usually your day for music but I’m having an absolute shit fucking day so I’m playing Greta all day and there’s absolutely nothing you can fucking do about it, kapeesh?” 
The very opening chords of Edge of Darkness scratch through the speakers after she finishes her sentence and the boys all exchange a slightly amused look, grins spread on all of their faces. 
“Kapeesh.” Levi calls out to her. He spins and silently nods to the boys to head toward the back door. The boys attempt to be as quiet as they can as they creep toward the door. 
“Also, Levi?” Maven calls again. Everyone halts in their tracks. “You said there was a band coming in soon. Are they here yet? Do you need me to set up the backroom?” 
“Uh, yeah they’re here.” Levi squeaks. All five men share nervous looks. “They’re uh… up at the house.” He cringes at his lie. “I’m getting an equipment list from them today and then you can get started. 
“Cool cool.” Maven calls back. “Do you think I’ll like their stuff?” 
“Uh. Yeah.” Levi grins then. “I think you will.” 
“Wicked.” Maven calls back. 
All five men repress giggles as they skedaddle out the back door and into the alley. 
                                                        ~0~
The next morning the boys wake up to a group text from Levi. 
COME BY THE SHOP ASAP. COME IN BACK DOOR. HEAD DOWN THE STAIRS TO THE BOOTH. BE AS QUIET AS YOU CAN. 
A weird request, but they did as they were told. They all piled into the SUV they had rented and headed to the shop. Danny peeled open the back door as quietly as he could, and Sammy opened the door to the stairs. They tiptoed down and through the door at the end of the stairs that opened into the booth of a sound studio. Levi sat in front of all the mixing boards with a cup of coffee to his lips. He glanced over at them and softly said “coffees on the table.” 
“Why the weird text?” Jake asked. 
“Because of that.” Levi responded softly, pointing through the dark glass into the soundstage. 
The sound stage was littered with mismatched rugs, and a few milk crates that doubled as tables. There was a gorgeous seafoam green drum set toward the back wall and stands full of various guitars and basses. Along the left wall was a piano and a Mellotron set up exactly to the specifications Sam sent over. However, with all these beautiful instruments to look at that would normally catch their eye, it was the woman sitting on stool in the center, cradling a dark purple Fender guitar that made Jake stop in his tracks. 
Maven, Jake had to guess that’s who it was, was wearing checkered distressed pants, with a ripped up old band t-shirt cropped at her ribs, revealing a sliver of the rounded part of her stomach. Over top she was wearing an orange leopard print cardigan that ran down to her thighs. Around her neck was a series of long necklaces, and her wrists were adorned with interlacing leather bands. 
She was plucking out a melody with her eyes closed, rocking back and forth on the stool. Jake had seen countless numbers of people playing the guitar before. On the road, in the studio, studying old masters on YouTube. There was nothing overly special about the way she was sitting or playing, but he felt a little bit like he couldn’t breathe. 
“She never fuckin plays anymore man.” Levi whispered. “It felt like magic hearing music coming out of the basement this morning. I just felt like you should see it.” 
The melody she was playing was sad. Haunting is a better way to put it, and Jake couldn’t look away. Not even when Sammy placed a cup of burning hot coffee into his hands. She was moving her head along with her playing, the strands of her dark messy hair shaking back and forth. The group watched in silence as she played out the riff a few times, Levi cranked the volume of the mics in the space and they could hear her humming softly. 
“She has a strong presence.” Josh murmured. 
Maven suddenly stopped. Everyone froze as she heaved a sigh and stood from the stool to put the guitar back on it’s rack. 
“You in there Levi?” Maven said then. The boys still didn’t move a muscle. Jake’s head was spinning, having finally seen the face that went with the voice he’d heard in the loft for a week. She was beautiful. He couldn’t even really put his finger on why, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Even seeing her through the thick dark glass of the studio. 
Levi hit the button to the mic in the booth and responded “Yah.” He paused before adding. “Sounded good.” 
Maven snorted in a self-deprecating way and said “Thanks.” 
Levi hit the mic button again and said “You should play more.”
“Don’t push it Levi.” Maven snapped back. Levi released the button to his mic and let out a heavy sigh. “Can you check some levels on the lines for me? I think I have everything pretty good but I want to make sure before they get here today.” 
“Sure.” Levi replied. 
Maven pulled the amp cord out of the Fender she had been playing on and plugged it into another guitar, one more similar to the guitars that Jake regularly used while they wrote. 
“Are we looking for a punk or a rock-y sound?” Maven asked. 
“Um.” Levi hesitated. “Rock. Their sound is like…” He tossed a small smile over his shoulder at the boys. “Like Greta’s actually.” 
“Dope. I hope they’re not just copying the boys. They’ve got a mellotron in here and everything.” The boys smiled. She pounded out a few chords on the guitar. “Good?” 
Levi looked over at Jake for confirmation. Jake, who still had not taken his eyes off Maven, nodded. 
“Yeah, that should be good for raw sound. They can play with stuff too. They’re a pretty well educated bunch.” Levi called back.
“Thank god.” Maven snorted. “Not like that indie punk bunch you booked last month who needed me to do fucking all their sound mixing for them.” 
“Maven, I don’t think they kept asking you down here because they need help with their sound.” 
Maven just rolled her eyes at that.  
They repeated the process with each instrument, Levi silently asking for confirmation from the respective Greta member until they were sure the sound lines were all functioning properly. 
“Great work kid.” Levi called into the studio. 
“Ew don’t call me kid. I’m a 27 year old woman.” Maven called back. 
Levi chuckled. “You’re a kid to me.” 
“Whatever.” Maven muttered. “I’m gonna go take a walk along the beach. Smoke a little. Text me if they need me.” 
“Will do.” Levi called back. The boys all tensed, looking for places to hide, or to run up the stairs and back into the alley. Luckily, Maven took the back door out of the studio and up another hallway instead.
“Well boys, it’s all you.” Levi said. “Text if you need anything.” 
Sam piped up and said “Yeah actually, can you pick my brother’s jaw up off the floor?” 
“Jake see pretty lady play guitar and Jake brain break.” Josh teased. 
“You guys suck.” Jake grumbled. 
Levi cackled. “I thought you’d like her.”  
                                                        ~0~
Maven walked along the coast of the bay and absentmindedly smoked a joint. It was an overcast and drizzly day which meant there was no one around, which she preferred anyway. She was feeling on edge. The drizzle was very slowly building a small sheen of water on her arms and hair, but she didn’t mind. The cool water and gentle breeze combination was perfect. 
Maven sat her butt down in the sand and stared out at the waves. She normally wore headphones on her walks, her world was a near constant stream of music, but she had opted for silence today. 
Levi was being weird. He was edgy around her all week, sending her out every morning for tasks and disappearing without saying where he was going around 4:30 every day. She had come to the conclusion that whatever band was in town this week was a pretty big name. Or big enough that he was nervous about her being around them. She sighed. She hated when he tiptoed around her. Maven didn’t blame him. When she first started working at the shop she had had a couple pretty bad PTSD episodes that had scared the shit out of him. She owed him everything for staying with her, talking her down and making sure she was fed and had water when she got into one of her states. 
Levi was her best friend, to put it mildly. He cared for her, kept her safe and in return she busted her ass at his store making sure they had the best products, the best shows and that their artist getaway was something that people would go back and tell their friends about. She loved Levi like an older brother, and he cared for her like his little sister. She would forever be grateful to whatever power in the universe made her stumble into The Edge two years ago. 
She had been high out of her mind, as she had been most days after she came running back to Michigan with her tail between  her legs, and Levi had been struggling with an amp in the shop. She had walked in, spotted his struggle and didn’t even say a word to him, just walked over and fixed the wiring so that it was functional again. Levi had looked up from where he sat on the floor and said “You don’t happen to need a job do you?” 
The rest was essentially history. It only took two months of seeing him every single day, and him not letting her sour moods go by unnoticed, for her to spill her guts over some bourbon one night. About Ryan and Undercover Heart and how badly the whole situation fucked her up. How after she’d recorded her testimony she’d boarded the next flight to Grand Rapids and hightailed it up north. She came crash landing into Traverse City because she’d always loved it as a kid, and figured it would be a great place to start over. The small town she’d grown up in had too many people who knew her. 
He was extra careful with bands for a while. Never letting her be alone in a room with too many male band members, and carefully vetting everyone who came through. Eventually she told him off about treating her like a porcelain doll and he backed down a bit, giving her free reign over lots of the equipment set ups and giving her plenty of hours in the shop by herself. She was happy to do so, so Levi could focus on fixing up the artist house and starting his photography again. 
But he was still very gentle with her sometimes, and she’d always love him for it even when it pissed her the fuck off. 
Once she’d smoked the joint down to the roach, she tucked the end into her pocket. It was sacrilegious to litter near the lake. It was too precious to be fucked with. She meandered back toward the shop. Her plan was to grab her bag and head back to let her Pitbull, Stacy, out for a walk and pee. The girl had been cooped up all morning and Maven felt bad. 
She threw her whole body against the front door, as the latch often stuck, and the loud sound of the chimes clanged in the empty space. She rolled her eyes. Of course Levi left the shop unattended and unlocked. It was Traverse City, no one was gonna rob them, but what if someone wanted to buy something? 
She was humming softly to herself as she made her way around the edge of the counter and plopped down on the stool by the register. She whipped out her phone to ask Levi where he was. She had the message halfway typed when the door behind her, the one that led to the staff restroom, popped open. 
“You know, crime is especially low in this town but that doesn’t mean someone wouldn’t come in here and try to steal your precious coffee maker.” She tossed over her shoulder. 
“Oh.” Was all that came back. It was decidedly not Levi’s voice. Maven spun back quickly. 
“Sorry I…” But that’s as far as she got. She was suddenly face to face with Jake Kizska and all thoughts quickly left her brain. 
They both stared at each other for a long moment. Maven couldn’t quite figure out why he looked just as shocked to see her as she was to see him. He also almost looked afraid for some reason that Maven couldn’t figure out.
He was dressed in an outfit she’d seen him wear plenty of times. A black button up, half unbuttoned, loose fitting light wash jeans and a pair of well worn boots. His wrists were full of bracelets and his hair was longer than the last time she’d seen footage of their concerts, well past his collarbones at this point. 
“Hi.” Jake finally broke the silence. “I’m Jake.” He reached out his hand for a handshake. 
“I know.” Maven replied, and then coughed. Why did you say that you freak? 
Suddenly the front door bell chimed again, and Maven whipped her head to see Levi coming in the front door. She stood abruptly from her stool, skirted around Jake’s outstretched hand, and out from behind the counter. She scooped up her leather satchel on her way. 
She headed straight at Levi. He glanced over his shoulder and saw an apologetic Jake looking forlorn and lowering his hand back to his side. 
“Oh hey Maven-” 
“Hey dumbass, don’t leave the store unattended again. I’m going home to check on Stacy. Probably won’t be back for the rest of the day.” Maven spit as she stormed past him toward the front door. 
“Maven wait-” 
But she was already outside, the hinges bringing the heavy wood crashing back into the frame. The chime of the bells rang through the space. 
“Sorry.” Jake muttered. 
“Not your fault. I knew she’d find out eventually. Right now she’s probably just pissed I didn’t tell her. Which she has every right to be.” Levi sighed. 
After a few more beats of silence Jake spoke again. “Who’s Stacy?” 
Levi huffed a laugh. “That would be her Pitbull.” 
“Oh.” Jake said again. He felt crazy because his brain couldn’t come up with anything else to say. She was prettier up close. She smelled like the Lake and weed and sandalwood. He really wished she’d taken his hand. He shook his head trying to find his brain in it somewhere. 
The other three boys came clambering up the stairs and into the store. They all looked between Levi, who was still standing in the middle of the shop, and Jake behind the counter. 
“Are you two playing freeze tag or something?” Sam quipped. 
“Jake met Maven.” Levi responded. The boys' heads whipped toward Jake. 
“And… I’m guessing it… went well?” Danny questioned.
Levi finally walked back toward the counter. “She left for the day. This is on me. I should have told her y’all were here.” He snagged his keys from below the counter and walked toward the front door to lock up. “I’m closing early, boys. Let’s go get a beer.” 
“Kowabunga baby.” Josh said with a grin.  
                                                     ~0~
Maven sat curled up on her velvet couch, Stacy was her little spoon. There was incense burning, a bottle of wine open on the side table and a lit joint in the ashtray. She had changed into a giant t-shirt and boxer shorts. The soft sounds of John Denver playing off her record player. 
However, none of these things were easing her mind. 
She was pissed, mostly. At herself. At Levi. She was pissed he didn’t tell her they were coming. She was pissed that he felt he couldn’t tell her. She was pissed that she had acted like a freak in front of Jake. 
The anxiety was an endless pit in her stomach. She couldn’t go back there tomorrow. She couldn’t see any of those people. Not when she felt like this. 
She whipped out her phone and quickly shot a message to Levi, before chugging her whole glass of red wine and snagging the joint out of the ashtray. 
                                                        ~0~
Levi’s phone dinged on the table where all of the guys sat drinking beers and chatting. Levi glanced at it and quickly picked it up when he saw her name.��
“It’s Maven.” He said. 
“What did she say?” Jake asked, sitting up a bit in his chair. 
“Fuck.” Levi said, tossing his phone on the table, still unlocked. 
All four boys leaned in to read the screen. 
CASHING IN ALL MY VACATION DAYS. I’LL BE OUT FOR TWO WEEKS. 
“Fuck indeed.” Josh said, pounding back the rest of his beer.
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Text
Fic: Pepsi Raspberry
Fandom: Triple Frontier
Ship: Francisco “Catfish” Morales x Reader/you
Warnings: There's a fight and Reader's ex left her with some issues, but nothing super traumatic. Frankie is super cute (and a little needy). I just threw this together on a slow day at work, apologies in advance for errors.
Summary: You fight with Frankie. That's it that's the plot.
A/N: This was honestly supposed to be a piece about feminism and female independence in a relationship but I can't be trusted around Frankie, he totally bippity-boppity-booped me into forgivance. Dickhead. Also I struggled for two and a half hours with the title and that's why it's shit. I hate titles.
Words: 2,416
A loud noise wakes you up, your heart missing a beat. For a moment, you're completely still in bed, scared out of your mind. That was definitely the sound of the front door opening and closing, and someone crashing into a chair. You're as stiff as a board, your first thought being that this is it, this is how you'll die, by the hand of a home invader who's probably going to assault you first and then kill you, or maybe kidnap you and do god knows what to you…
You hear cursing and as you recognize the voice you also realize that if someone wanted to break in, they'd probably at least try to be stealthy about it.
"Frankie?" You mean for it to be a call but it's just a breathless whimper. You wet your lips, finding your mouth too dry.
Heavy, staggering footsteps bring the unknown visitor to the bedroom door and you reach out to turn on your bedside lamp. Blinking blearily towards the soft light is indeed Frankie, a sheepish smile on his face.
"The hell are you doing?" Your fright-induced stiffness leaving your body, you sit up in bed and glare at your boyfriend who was supposed to sleep at his own place tonight after his night out with the boys. His eyes are unfocused and his face shiny, and it's clearly been a good night. You glance at the nightstand, where the red light diodes of the clock tell you that the time is barely three am.
“Sorry, baby. Did I wake ya? There was… there was a chair in the entry. Did you move a chair? There never was a chair there before. Stubbed my toe.”
He limps over to the bed, trying to look as sober as possible while unbuttoning his shirt – “trying” being the operative word, as he’s clearly lost control of his fine motoric skills. He ends up pulling the flannel over his head, but it gets stuck, and he topples over his side of the bed. You draw back a little, wrinkling your nose. He smells of stale beer and cigarettes and moreover: he was supposed to go home. You had both agreed that you'd spend Saturday night apart for once, him catching up with his friends, you with yours, and he'd go home where he could spend Sunday nursing his hangover while you got some cleaning done in your apartment.
“What you are doing here?” you demand again, anger replacing fear. “Can I send you to the shower or will you drown?”
“I’m not a good swimmer,” Frankie acknowledges ruefully as he clumsily rolls over in bed and attempts the next step of getting undressed: undoing his fly and getting his tight jeans off. “Here, baby, gimme a hand, you’re so good at this…” “You deal with it yourself,” you say sternly, in no mood to help. The whole idea of spending one night apart was to get a good night’s sleep – something you rarely get in the same bed as Frankie as both of you are usually too voracious for each other to think about sleep – and for you not to have to worry about a hung-over boyfriend the following morning. On top of that, you’re furious with him for scaring the shit out of you by stumbling in at three in the morning. You almost regret giving him a key but then again: if he didn’t have one it could have been even worse, he could have gone full on Stanley Kowalski outside your window.
“Ah, baby, c’mon… Don’t be like that. Help an old man out.”
Frankie tilts his head up and looks at you with imploring eyes, upside down from you. Half of him is hanging outside the bed and the rest is slipping off, and he looks like he might fall asleep any second. You might as well help him before he goes limp and ends up on the floor.
“Jesus Christ,” you mutter and crawl over to his side of the bed before climbing out. As you bend over to pick up his legs and lift them onto the mattress, Frankie manages to slap your ass.
“Baby. Hey, baby. Let’s have sex.”
“Not gonna happen.”
You unzip his jeans and yank them down carelessly, pulling Frankie down the bed in the process.
“Whoa, wild thing,” he murmurs thickly, his eyes falling shut. “Careful of the joystick, you don’ wanna damage that or you won’ be able to fly anymore…”
You don’t bother with an answer, he’s not going to remember it anyway. You help him off with the t-shirt as well and when you’re about to tuck him in, he grabs you by your wrist with a move much quicker than you had thought him capable of in his state. He pulls you down over him, the other hand squeezing your ass.
“Sex,” he mumbles. “Love you, baby, and I wanna be in you fo’eva.”
You try to avoid the smelly, wet kisses that he keeps pressing to your neck and shoulder. While you can appreciate him being horny for you in any situation, you’re still mad about him being here at all.
“You need sleep and I want it,” you tell him as you squirm out of his hold. Returning to your side of bed, you ignore the puppy eyes look he gives you as you turn off the lights.
“Not sleepy,” Frankie protests weakly before he’s out cold. He starts to snore loudly and you sigh in exasperation.
You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.
You barely sleep for the remainder of the night and when you finally give up and get out of bed, you're in a pissy mood. Not even two cups of coffee and the fancy bread rolls you bought at the bakery yesterday to treat yourself this Sunday morning make you feel better. You down a painkiller to combat the beginnings of the headache you feel creeping up on you before starting on your chore list. The clearing of the closets in the hall is the first task and you get to it, trying to find some satisfaction in the fact that you're getting your things in order.
As the hours pass by, you do your best to work around the tasks on your list that would generate noise, such as vacuuming. You may be pissed at Frankie but you're decent enough to let him sleep for a little while longer. However, you finally face the fact that if you're to get everything done in time for you to actually enjoy the rest of your day off and open that novel you've been dying to read, you're going to have to start the vacuum cleaer. If Frankie wanted to sleep until three pm he should have gone home.
When you turn off the vacuum cleaner, you hear Frankie groan in the bedroom.
“Babe?”
You're not really in the mood to talk to him but you go check on him, just in case he needs help to get to the bathroom. Nursing his hangover is the last thing you want to do today but you also don't want to clean up vomit.
He looks like a wreck with his hair standing out in every direction where it's not plastered to his skull, puffy eyes, and pale face.
“Morning.” Your tone is short but he doesn't seem to notice. He grunts and rubs his forehead with one hand, the other reaching out of bed towards you.
“C'mere. I wanna cuddle.”
“You smell,” you shake your head. “Get up already, I want to change the sheets.”
He groans again and retracts his arm, draping it over his forehead.
“One more minute. Or hour. It's so early and my head is killing me.”
“Not my problem, Frankie.”
Frowning, he looks at you, clearly bothered by the sunlight washing the room in light. You don't offer any explanations.
“Is there coffee?” he asks eventually.
“No.”
“Can you make some?”
“Make it yourself.”
He blinks at you, surprised.
“What's wrong, baby?”
You go to the other side of the bed, grab the pillow and start to take off the pillowcase.
“Just get out of bed. I have shit to do.”
Frankie sits up slowly, his head clearly bothering him when he moves from a horizontal recline to a vertical seat. He takes a moment, eyes closed and hand on his bare, soft stomach, before looking up at you.
“What's up with you?”
There's a hint of accusation in his voice and that does it for you. You slam down the pillow onto the bed and cross your arms in front of your chest as you glare at him.
“You scared the shit out of me last night, Frankie! I thought I was being burglared!”
“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you,” he mumbles, his apology meaning nothing to you because you can clearly see that he doesn't understand the terror you felt last night.
“We agreed that we'd spend the night apart, what the hell did you come here for and ruin my sleep and my morning?” you demand, raising your voice a little despite yourself. Frankie hates yelling. “Did you think I'd take care of you, tip-toe around you all day, serve you coffee in bed and junk food on the couch while you get to feel sorry for drinking too much?”
“What, no, what are you – “ Frankie seems utterly confused, the state of him most likely partly to blame. “Can you please keep your voice down?”
You pull at the duvet, stuck partly underneath him. “Move.”
“Jesus...” he mutters as he slowly gets out of bed. He stands still for a moment as if to recalibrate as he adjusts his boxers, before sluggishly dragging himself to the bathroom. You strip the bed and as soon as Frankie's out of the bathroom and heading into the kitchen, you take the sheets to the washing-machine and start it. And just because you're feeling like a bitch, you throw Frankie's clothes out of the bedroom, letting them land on the floor, before vacuuming.
When you're stowing away the vacuum cleaner into the cleaning closet, Frankie confronts you. He's now dressed but that doesn't help his half-dead appearance.
“Why are you being like this?” He's still struggling to understand you. It's typical Frankie: he always tries to talk about things, bring clarity into every issue.
“Like what? What am I like?"” You're being a brat, you know, but you have no desire to be an adult right now. Frankie really doesn't seem to understand: the frown seems permanently etched into his face and he looks so different from his usual soft, easy-going self.
“Mean. You're being mean!” The last word comes out harshly and you can tell Frankie's losing his customary cool.
“So when I have plans to spend a day apart from you and be my own person, I'm being mean?” you spit. He looks at you like you're suddenly speaking in a foreign language.
“What are you even talking about?” The exasperation is plain to see, and it somehow makes you even angrier.
“This isn't your mama's bed and breakfast that you can just check into whenever you feel like it, Frankie!”
“Fuck,” he mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I can't deal with this right now.” He pulls out his phone. “I'm getting an Uber.”
“Good!” you quip. “Fuck off home, like you should've done at three in the fucking morning!”
Without waiting for a reply, you stomp into the bedroom and slam the door. A few seconds later, you hear the front door slam as well.
[+++]
Sorry I showed up unannounced in the middle of the night. I just missed you. Didn’t want to go home and sleep without you. Call me, okay? I Love you.
You stare at the text message and feel bad, no, not bad: really fucking awful. It took you a few hours to calm down; hours that you spent playing angry music while finishing your list of chores. Afterwards, you didn’t feel that satisfying sense of accomplishment you usually experience after a good cleaning. Your head still hurt, so you went to your newly made bed which smelled fresh and nice even with the spread on top. You slept until late afternoon and woke up by the beep signaling the text.
You’re conflicted. The fact that he missed you is so sweet but there’s something about the statement that annoys you. He’s a grown-ass man, for chrissakes, and he should be able to be without his girlfriend for one single fucking night. And then guilting you into calling him with I-love-you’s and his fragile feelings? Fuck that noise.
And still. You know what Frankie’s like: physical, devoted, kind. He’s not like anyone you’ve ever been with. Not like your last boyfriend, who would pull shit like this all the time: show up at your place at all hours of the day (or night) whenever he wanted something from you. Sex. Comfort. Sympathy. Who would text and call you all the time when you were out with friends because he couldn’t find his way to the fridge without your help.
Reluctantly, you hit the speed dial button to Frankie, and he picks up almost immediately, saying your name with barely contained urgency.
“Hi,” you say quietly.
“Hi. You okay?” Such a Frankie thing to do, make sure you’re okay after a fight where, technically, he’s the injured party.
“Not really. You?”
“I’ve had worse.”
“You mean the hangover or this morning?”
You hear the smile in his voice. “Both, but I meant the hangover.”
You exhale in an amused little sniff.
“I’m sorry, Frankie. Do you… wanna come over?”
“I’d love to. Have you eaten?”
“No.”
“Neither have I. I’ll pick something up. Burgers from that place you like?”
Your stomach rumbles at the mention of burgers but you’re more concerned with the sudden tears that rise in your eyes. Oh, Frankie.
“That would be great,” you manage, wiping at your eyes. Get a fucking grip!
“Parmesan fries?” he queries, but all he gets from you is a sob. “Baby?”
“I love you,” you sniffle. “You’re the best.”
“Aww, babe. I love you, too.”
You draw a deep breath to calm down, a little embarrassed at your emotional outburst. It’s not like you, but it’s been a weird day.
“You still there?” he asks.
“Sure.”
“Pepsi Raspberry for you?”
You start crying.
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apocalypticgargoyle · 3 years ago
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"9-1-1, what is your emergency?"
I've heard that on TV shows all the time, but hearing it with my own ears is new. I'm scared.
"Hello, hi, uhm." What do I say? How do I do this? "I'm on interstate four, right by the exit to route 408 and I just watched a car go over the side." It feels not real, feels like I'm watching an action movie or one of those dashcam tiktoks that find their way onto my for you page from time to time.
"What interstate four, northbound or south?"
I look to the sign, forgetting that I've driven on this road a million times, still reeling. "North- northbound on four."
"I've dispatched emergency services to you. Can you see the driver?"
I can't even see the car, just the chunks taken out of the concrete barrier where the car hopped it, can see the brake lights still though. "Not where I am but I'm- I pulled off to the shoulder, I can get out and go see if they're okay."
"You don't have to do that, ma'am." A million things are running through my mind, but one sticks out.
"I'm, uh, I'm first aid trained, and I took an EMT class for extra credit in college, I might be able to help?" I turn my keys in the ignition, make sure to keep my hazards on and pocket them, dig through my glove box for the bare bones first aid kit I got when I got the car last year.
"Emergency services are 5 minutes out. I can walk you through helping and give them a better picture if you go over there, but you don't have to. Help is on the way."
"I'm going to see if I can help." Opening the driver's side door seems much too scary, with cars whizzing past going well over the 65 miles per hour speed limit. It's 3 in the morning, and there are no speed traps on this stretch of the interstate. People speed, and they go way over. Instead, I opt to climb over to the passenger seat, careful not to accidentally turn off my hazards, and start over to the crumbled concrete and brake lights. I can hear the driver before I see him, yelling for help. I call out to him.
"Thank god, can you call 911?" He yells, and then I see him. He's laid up between the dash and a cracked but not shattered windshield, curled to see me through the passenger side window, which is gone.
"I'm on the phone with them now, they're, how many minutes is it, 911 lady?"
"Gigi, two minutes out. Can you see the driver? Does he have any visible injuries?"
"Two minutes out, yeah, he's got cuts on his face and his arms, and-" It registers then, that I can see the bones of his arm jutting out of his elbow, and his leg is bent at an impossible angle, and his nose is much too bloody to still be intact. "I think a couple broken bones, too." It's then that I hear the sirens, loud honking, and look to see flashing lights moving down the road. "They're almost here, dude, just keep hanging out."
There's really not all that much distance between where he went over and the ground, so it's easy to clear the wall and land on the ground. Up closer, I can see the puddle of blood he's laying in, bubbling steady out of a large cut in his leg. A flash of my EMT class comes through, it's an artery, somewhere in his leg, and you need to tourniquet it, like ASAP. The truck is still honking, backed up in the saturday night orlando traffic and people pulling to the side to let them through and while I can see and hear it, there's a good half mile wall of bumper to bumper pulling off to give space. No clear path.
"Hey, are you, how do you feel?"
"I feel like shit for crashing my buddy's car, but that's about it right now. Why?" Asking that after you hopped an embankment crashing a car seems kinda weird, but ok?
"I think I need to, like, help you with your leg? Can I?" He nods. I close the distance between me and his car door and manage to open it enough so I can get in the car. It's awkward and there's no real good footing, but I manage to wedge myself in enough to get in a stable spot. "Let's see if I can remember how to do this. I need-"
Ever the helpful phone call, Gigi reminds me. "You need to tie something just above where he's bleeding, tight as you can. A cut seatbelt, a t shirt, something like that." There is nothing like that in my immediate vicinity except for my own shirt, which, I can give up my shirt for this guy, there's another one shoved somewhere in my trunk. It gets stripped off quickly and Gigi helps with directions all the way through. My hands shake vigorously, but I manage to get it to the point where I can't visibly see volumes of blood pour out of him, so I count it as a win.
I look at the truck, still pretty stuck where it is, but the ambulance is getting through, still huge but better able to work through the gaps between the large quantity of cars.
"Am I going to die? Is that why you keep looking to see where they are? Cause I'm going to die?"
"No." I speak firmly despite the panic coursing through my veins, the fear that I might be lying right to his face. "No. The paramedics are almost here and they're gonna help you and get you to the hospital and all that. You're not gonna die." I read somewhere once that in that situation you have to reassure people. They don't fight to live if they think they might die.
The stretch of time that passes before there's an EMT in front of me feels like a lifetime, even if it's only a couple of minutes. And the first thing I notice is that his gaze travels down my body, catching at my chest and oh, yeah, I gave my shirt to the bleeding guy and should probably get out of the paramedic's way. I make to go back and get the extra shirt I know I have in my backseat but I get stopped on my way by another EMT who wants to check and make sure I'm okay.
"I wasn't in the car, I called it in." I wave my phone, which still has 911 on the line, but the paramedic insists, points to a cut on my arm I hadn't realized I'd gotten. I get led to sit on the tailgate of an ambulance, watching firefighters run past from the truck that finally got through carrying loads of stuff, heavy equipment with ease. Nimble fingers clean out the cut before deciding it's not deep enough for stitches, just using steri-strips and wrapping it in gauze with gentle hands and a reserved smile.
"Jade, we need to get going with him!" The first EMT I saw calls while running with a gurney, the guy from the accident strapped against a yellow board with my work shirt still tied around his leg. The paramedic helping me jumps into action, ushers me into the ambulance and helps the guy get the gurney in.
"Sit down, buckle up." He says, looking at me. Jade turns and gives me a bit of a sympathetic look.
"He's always like this. You have to get that checked in the ER still." Oh. Okay. I sit down, strap into the seat, and the ambulance starts moving before the doors are fully closed. They get the car guy all hooked up to all kinds of machines and fuss over him, till the monitor beeping with what I assume is his heart rate steadies, and then the EMT guy visibly relaxes, eyes landing on me again. I cross my arms over my chest, much more self conscious of my state of dress with his gaze on me. He's, unfairly attractive, wavy blonde hair and toned skin, wrapped in an unbelievably tight uniform.
"D'you- here." And then he starts unbuttoning his uniform shirt, and I'm sure my eyes go wide. There's another shirt on under, just as tight with the fire department logo emblazoned on the chest of it. He shrugs off the button down and pulls the t shirt over his head and dear lord, why the hell do men feel so called to wear wife beaters under their clothes, I wanna see how fucking hot he is. The t shirt gets tossed into my lap. He really just- gave me the shirt off his back. My gaze locks on to it, only being torn away from the offending garment when he clears his throat and I snap back up to see him, button up back on his shoulders but undone, face sheepish and what I'd guess to be a blush tinting his skin further in the half dark of the ambulance. "You looked uncomfortable."
It's my turn to go red, flush covering most of my skin and incredibly visible. "Thanks." It takes a moment of maneuvering to get the shirt on with the seatbelt, but it's warm and smells of laundry detergent and a hint of cologne.
"Dream, only fuckin' you." His head whips to the other EMT.
"Only fuckin' me what? Huh?" Jade just laughs, head shaking from side to side.
"Only fuckin' you would give the first girl your age on a call the shirt off your damn back." If he wasn't blushing before, he is now, reaching a hand up to rub at the back of his neck.
"Sorry if that's weird."
"No, it's- I appreciate it." I do.
"Good work, with the tourniquet. He'd be dead by now without it." Is that really the best thing to say while the guy can hear us? Maybe not. Speaking of the guy,
"Is his leg supposed to turn blue like that?" The relaxation in his face vanishes that instant as he hauls up, moves to where he can look up close at the leg, tearing up the leg of the guy's pants.
"Jade, I need to set it so he can keep the leg, can you keep him still?" A distinct yes, and then I get to watch as his muscles flex, hands gripping tight to the broken leg of this guy, and then an audible crack resounds through the small space of the ambulance as he pushes his body forward. The car guy's closed eyes shoot open, mouth gaping in a yell of pain underneath of an oxygen mask. I'm sure that probably hurts like a bitch, and suddenly I am very grateful that I've never broken a bone.
There's not much left in the ride. The two EMTs, Jade and Dream, mainly continuing to work on keeping his monitor from making the erratic beeping it has been letting out from time to time. The ER is a blur of people bustling around the guy, but I get led from the ambulance by a doctor to check the cut on my arm before he comes to the same conclusion that no, I do not need stitches, but that I do need to change the dressing once a day and gives me some disinfectant cream to put on it when I do. While he cleans the wound out, he asks in a lilted british accent. "Did you really tourniquet the guy with your shirt?"
"Yeah, I did. The one thing I remembered from my EMT class, really came in handy." I joke, and he laughs.
"Well the guy is lucky you did. You're an EMT?" I shake my head, and wince a bit when he presses a bit too hard.
"Nah, I wait tables at the Waterfront in South Orange. Took an EMT class for a summer course cause I thought it'd be fun." He hums, turning to grab more bandages to rewrap my forearm.
"Well maybe you should look into it. Quick thinking like that would get you far there."
"I might." It's a real possibility. My accounting major proved to get me the single most boring desk job ever, and I've been looking into other career paths recently. He smiles at me when he finishes wrapping, pulls a card out of his pocket and a pen, scribbles something on the back of it.
"Put me as a reference if you decide you want to." That's, incredibly nice.
"I will, thank you, uhm," The name stitched into his coat is hard to make out. "Doctor Davidson?"
"George. You're good to go, just need to fill out a little paperwork and then you can leave." He walks over to grab a clipboard and a form, brings it back to me, and then heads over to another bed with a little girl in it, pulling a curtain closed behind him.
A week later, I find myself outside of the massive firehouse on Central Boulevard. There's a couple guys in shirts that match the one in my hand outside washing a firetruck, and one notices me and comes over. He's cute. Dark hair that's a little longer than a boys regular, scraps of facial hair on his cheeks, and brown eyes that crinkle at the edges when he smiles.
"Y'need help with something?" His voice confirms the fact that he's young, and it takes me a minute to pull my eyes away from the way his sleeves are tight around the muscle of his arms.
"Uh, yeah, I'm looking for Dream?" I hold up the shirt and the brownies I made as a last minute addition for the firehouse.
"Ahh, shirt girl. Follow me." He heads into the building through one of the massive garage doors, and it is remarkably clean inside. He heads up some stairs to a balcony that overlooks the firetrucks, and both of the paramedics who had helped me are sitting there, talking over plates of pasta. The guy leading me clears his throat and they both look up.
"Hi." I say awkwardly with a small wave. "I brought your shirt back." Dream flusters, standing up to take the shirt from my hands with a thank you and I give him the brownies, too.
"Dream, cough them up, I want one."
"Sap, shut the hell up, here." He places them gently on the table.
"Okay, what's with your guy's names? No way his name is Sap." All three of them laugh.
"They're nicknames." Dream laughs. "My real name is Clay, and his is Nick. Jade is just Jade though, haven't gotten a nickname for them yet." He looks over his shoulder back at his coworker. "Coward." I feel like there's a story here that I don't know, but I don't press for it.
"I mean, I told you my last station called me Storm, so unless you can top that you can call me Jade and nothing else." I like Jade. Jade's funny.
Clay just rolls his eyes, no real malice behind it. "It's gotta be one we give to you. I'm thinking something about you being our getaway driver."
"Dream if you make a baby driver joke right now I swear you will not live to see tomorrow." He laughs, hard and wheezing, sounding nearly painful.
"Fine, fine." He turns to me. "Thank you for returning this." There's a distinct red flush creeping up his neck, but his smile is genuine, green eyes bright with it. Shit. Why do they have to be unfairly attractive? Who's idea was it? Huh? "I'll walk you out."
He walks me all the way to my car, standing awkwardly next to the door of my car.
"Well, I'll let you get back to work. You got lives to save."
"Wait," He says, pulling his phone out of his pocket. "I'm sorry if this is too forward, but could I get your number?" Oh. Oh.
"Yeah, of course." He hands me his phone and I punch in my contact, handing his phone back to him. "You should text me so I have yours."
The smile on his face is fitting, full of white teeth and bright happiness. "I will."
I don't think I put my phone down for a week. Clay and I text nearly non stop, and I learn a lot about him in the process. He has a cat (a beautiful tabby named patches who purrs very loudly), he's from Orlando (born and raised, baby.), he wanted to be a firefighter because his dad was one, but his mom who's a nurse had him take EMT training instead (I owe her everything for that), and that he's off work this Friday and wants to head out for drinks with a couple of his fire station buddies and me. I also start getting snapchats from that cute coworker of his, Nick.
I can't tell if Nick intends to be flirting with me or is just trying to get to know the girl his "best fucking friend" is talking to, but... I am definitely feeling some type of way about both of them. It's great, the attention is nice, until Nick invites me out to drinks with them on Friday night not three hours after Clay does.
I feel like my best bet is to be honest with them. I'm not one for lying. And then a new groupchat shows up on my phone. It's got Clay and a number I don't have saved in my phone, and there's a message sent, and then another. I'm scared to open it.
I expect it to be both of them mad that I'm talking to the other and instead it's not? There's a message from Clay and it's-
Dreamie
Hey, I just talked to Nick and wanted to make this groupchat with the three of us. I'm not mad you're talking with him, and he's not mad you're talking to me. We both really like you, and are open to letting you make the decision for yourself if you end up with one of us. Just wanted to communicate that with you :)
And another from who I'm assuming is Nick that says:
Unknown Number
its up to you what happens and if your not ok with this then just tell us and we'll back off.
It's not something I've experienced before talking with two guys at once. Talking with two guys at once that know and work with each other with their consent? Never would have imagined it in a million years. But this is probably the best way to go about it.
Three more days pass before I see either of them in person, still having plans to go out for drinks with Clay on Friday. I end up sandwiched in between the two of them in a both of some firefighter bar on the south side of the city. I feel awkward tucked between them until I get a bit of alcohol flowing through my veins, and then conversation comes like second nature. It's not crazy eventful, feels like I'm hanging out with close friends rather than basically strangers, and it's nice.
The night passes quick, but it's still fun, especially when Clay drives me home and drops me at the bottom of my apartment building with a promise of more plans and a quick kiss that leaves him blushing all the way to the tips of his ears.
In the morning, I wake up to go into work and see a text from Nick, inviting me to dinner with him tonight. I shoot back with a sure, I'd love to. Getting off work at four so that's perfect. and he just sends back a :) and an "I'll pick you up at 7." that makes my shift drag on and on. True to his word, he's outside my apartment building at 7 pm sharp in a button down with his hair brushed neatly behind the wheel of a toyota corolla.
"Where are we even going for dinner?" Nick just shoots me a smile and fucking winks at me.
"You'll see. It's a surprise."
It ends up being some hole in the wall chinese restaurant with what Nick claims is "the best moo goo gai pan in the city". It's fucking amazing, that's for sure, a steaming wok full of it in front of the two of us with plates of fried rice to go with it. It's not an experience I've had at a restaurant before and it's insanely fun. Nick pokes fun at my inability to use chopsticks, tells stories about his friend making fun of him for not being able to use them and learning how at three o'clock in the morning. We're constantly laughing between bites of amazing food, and this easily makes my top three first dates of all time. He refuses to let me pay for my half, but he does let me get the tip after I insist several times that its the least I could do. 
We're halfway through a really good conversation about something that doesn't matter when he pulls up to my apartment, and, not wanting that to end, I invite him upstairs with me. 
"Oh? It's my turn to come up with you?" He teases, and I'm confused for a second before I realize, oh yeah, I'm essentially talking with him and his best friend. 
"What do you mean turn? Clay didn't come up with me, he-" It's probably not the best idea to say he kissed me, I don't want to make Nick jealous. "He dropped me off at the door and he said goodbye." It's not- a lie, per say, but the second it passes my lips I feel guilty, knowing that we need to be honest for this to even have a shot at working. "He kissed me goodbye though." Honesty. We need honesty.
I don't really know what to expect as a reaction from him, but it's not a smile, cocky as ever. 
"Does that mean if I go up with you that I get a kiss too?" Nice, easy, no drama with honesty. 
"Maybe. You'd have to come find out." The grin he's got stays plastered to his face the whole time we're in the elevator, the whole time he's talking mindlessly about the distinct lack of fire safety in the building, the whole time I'm fighting with the works half the time lock on my door. "It's probably too late for coffee, but I have tea in the fridge or coke, or water if you want it." I say, turning to close the door behind us. 
"I'm all good, thank you though." The smile's still there, crinkling his eyes and baring white teeth. "Could go for a kiss, now that I think about it." I shake my head, but still, I laugh. 
"What is it that they call it?"
"Kissing? Lip locking? Smooching?"
"One track mind." That one earns a laugh, a hearty one from deep in his throat.
"You're funny." He says, grabbing my hand and gently tugging me to come sit on the couch with him. "And cute." He sits, pulls me with him so I end up sideways in his lap. The hand he led me over with comes up to brush some of the hair out of my face. "And unbelievably pretty. How could I think about anything else?" 
Smooth. Smooth as fucking butter. Smooth enough for him to earn a quick press of my lips to his own. I can feel him smiling before I pull back, but he chases, returning with a kiss just as chaste before leaning back into the couch, looking like the cat who got the cream.
"I'm winning. I got two kisses." I roll my eyes.
"Isn't it quality over quantity?" He hums, eyes playing from my lips to my own. 
"Why not both?"
"Haha, funny." They're playful, his eyes, as we talk. His bottom lip juts out in a joking pout, and I lean in to kiss at it. He moves at the last second, though, closes the last little bit of space between us when he moves forward to kiss me, soft and slow. His lips are slightly chapped, ever so gentle as the press against mine. My hands press into his thighs to keep me up as his hands come to wrap loosely around my shoulders and he pushes further into the kiss before pulling back. 
"Quality?" 
"Need more data." I say before our lips meet again. He's sweet with it, the way he kisses me. It's nice, easy, feels familiar even though it isn't, not yet. One of his hands moves to rub soft at the nape of my neck. 
I'm just getting comfortable in it when he deepens the kiss, tongue soft against the seam of my lips. It draws a gasp, just what he needs to push further, licking into my mouth before catching my bottom lip between his teeth, worrying at it. He's a good fucking kisser, hahh's into my mouth when I bring my hands up to tug at the dark strands of hair on the back of his head. 
But like all good things, it must come to an end. Unfortunately, that end is when my phone starts blaring the insanely annoying ringtone my friend set it as that I don't know how to change. 
"Nick, I gotta-" 
"Yeah." His arms drop, letting me stand so I can grab my phone and answer whoever is calling. 
"Hello?" 
"We have new information regarding student loan repayment in your area." Is loud in my ear, so I just pull back and press the red end call button.
Nick laughs a little. "Not important?"
"Spam call. Can't be assed to get put on the do not call list right now. I was doing research."
"Yeah? You happy with the results you're getting?" 
This motherfucker I swear.
"This motherfucker I swear." Is also the first thing I say in the morning when I wake up for work and there's a fat hickey on the side of my neck, dark purple and blatantly obvious. I send him a snap of it, just saying really? and he sends back a picture of himself and Clay sitting on the tailgate of a ladder truck with a :) and I am instantly worried that one, Clay saw the snap I sent him and two, that I won't be able to cover it for work. Pushing the first thought out of my mind to focus on the second, I try to get it as normal looking as I can before my shift. It's not perfect, not by a long shot, but it's good enough.
I'm riding the high of not getting comments on it at work when that first thought comes back, catalysted by a snapchat from Clay, a picture barely of his hair with the geotag from the gym down the street from the firehouse with text across it that says "purple looks good on you." I don't know how to respond to that, just send back the floor in front of me. oh come on now  pops up in the chat, and he's still typing. not mad. excited for my turn.  Right.
sorry  I shoot back. this is all pretty new to me
trying to be careful cause i dont wanna mess this up
The little bitmoji he has attached to his account pops up in the corner, lurking for a moment before he starts typing
having these chats is what makes it work. I don't go bragging to Nick about what you and I do, and he doesn't do that to me, but we don't lie about what happens. 
its alot, and none of us have done this before
but keeping communication open and honest is how it works
and that means feelings talks 
He's right. 
youre right
He is. I don't want to make them jealous of each other and that's probably the best way to combat that.
we also have to keep things fair ;) so i get a date too
That has me smiling like an idiot at my phone.
yeah? you got one planned?
not exactly. you doing anything rn though?
I was going to make a sandwich and watch She's the Man for the third time this month.
was gonna watch a movie if you wanna join?
I get a sure, would love to  and a could i trouble you for a pick up from the station?  that has me grabbing my keys and jogging to the elevator faster than I would like to admit.
When I get there, I head inside to say hi to Nick and collect Clay after both of them have assured me that I'm allowed to do so. I don't see Nick when I first walk in, but I do see Clay and jesus, mary, and joseph his hands. He's working over a slab of what seems to be silicon with those massive fingers moving with the utmost precision. When I get a little closer I can see that he's making sutures to close gashes and holes in the mat. I'm impressed with how uniform they are, each a perfect match of the one before it, and with the speed that his hands were moving, I'd say its even more impressive. I'm- not a perfect person, and the thought of what those hands could do to me has me flushing. 
He's pretty wrapped up in what he's doing so I don't want to bother him, but I'm watching so intently that I don't notice Nick come up to me until he hugs me from behind. It makes me jump.
“Shit, Nick, you scared me.”
-gg w the 911 au update
Gg I'm 😩😩😩 you are an amazing writer 🛐 teach me
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yikesharringrove · 4 years ago
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Not sure if you’re still taking prompts but can you maybe write something about Billy and Steve and the 5 love languages please? Thank you!
1. Giving and Receiving Gifts
Steve just stared at the box.
He had found it in his mother’s closet, obviously placed in there by a maid.
His birthday was next week, and his parents were giving him a record player.
The same one they had given him last Christmas.
Steve figures his father’s assistant picked it out. He’s had four since Christmas.
He sighed at the box. Maybe he could sell the record player, maybe he could buy himself something with the money.
He knows he’ll end up giving it to Dustin, or maybe Will.
-
There was a carton of cigarettes on the kitchen table.
Unopened Marlboro reds. Next to a plate of pancakes. Susan’s yearly peace offering.
Billy slid into the table quietly.
“Thank you, Dad.”
Neil just hummed.
2. Physical Touch
Steve sighed as he sank into the crisp sheets.
His parents’ bed was huge, far larger than two people needed.
He had sprayed his mother’s perfume on one of the pillows, curled up in their silk sheets.
If he pretended hard enough, he could imagine being held.
Someone caring for him enough to touch him, run fingers through his hair, pet down his back.
He set up one of the down feather pillows behind him, felt like someone was there.
-
Billy spat into the sink.
His tooth had chipped, but hadn’t come out completely.
His lip was split and he could feel the bruises forming on his back.
He rinsed the blood out of his mouth, cataloging dark fingerprints on his wrist.
He should head to the quarry, be alone for a little bit.
He pushed out of the bathroom, nearly colliding into Max on his way to the door.
She reached for his wrist, the one already marked by another hand.
Billy dodged out of the way, kept going to his car.
3. Acts of Service
“Look, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t an emergency-”
“Hey, don’t sweat it. You know I never mind driving him.”
Mrs. Henderson sighed in relief.
“Thank you, Sweetheart. You’re a life saver.”
It was true though, he really didn’t mind driving Dustin around. Gave him something to do. Helping felt good, made him forget about things for a little while.
-
He had only been in Max’s room once before.
It had been to yell at her about stealing his Walkman.
It hadn’t changed since then, still just as cluttered, still as California beachy as before.
He placed the skateboard on the unmade bed.
He noticed her wheels were getting torn up on the shitty roads, installed new ones for her.
It was as close to an apology as he could get.
4. Quality time
Steve’s house was empty.
And he hated it.
No matter how loud he turned on the television, no matter how much music he played, or how many lights he turned on, it was still an empty house, with no one but a sad lonely boy rattling away inside.
-
Billy doesn’t like sitting in silence.
He guesses Susan doesn’t either, as she shakily tries to fill the dinner table with a poor anecdote from her day.
Billy smiles where he should, and eats quickly, but not too wuickly, and compliments Susan’s cooking, and only leaves the table when his father dismisses him.
He retreats to his room, listening to music to drown out whatever game Neil’s watching in the next room.
5. Words of Affirmation
“You’re not stupid.”
Billy’s brows were furrowed.
“Yeah, I am. But it’s okay though I’m-”
“No, you’re not.” He said it with an air of finality. “Your mind just works different. But you’re really smart.” Steve smiled weakly. “I mean it. You’ve got this creative brain, always thinking outside the box. You have a knack for detail other people miss. You’re smart”
It was the first time anyone ever told him that.
Fitting, as he’d had a lot of firsts with Billy already.
-
“You’re not a monster.”
Steve’s voice had an air of authority. His eyes were wide.
“Steve, I, I hurt-I killed so many-”
“You weren’t you, though. You were, were possessed. You couldn’t have stood a chance against that thing.”
“I should’ve fought it sooner.”
“It took all your energy to fight it off. And you did, in the end. You saved us all. You’re not a monster. You’re a hero.” Billy’s nose twitched. “You’re selfless, and brave, and a fucking hero.”
4. Quality Time
Steve’s house wasn’t empty.
And he loved it.
Billy seemed to take up every room, fill the space with snide remarks about the decor in Steve’s house, or laugh loudly at family portraits.
He had put music on in the living room, and turned on lights as he looked through his house.
Steve felt warm, and for once, for fucking once, he didn’t feel lonely.
-
Billy likes the quarry, although he would never say that to another human being.
It’s quiet there, and if he closes his eyes, he can pretend the water lapping at the rocky shore is the ocean, that he never left California.
But then he looked to his left, and smiled at the sight.
Steve was always pretty, but something about moonlight made him ethereal.
He was quiet, looking out over the water.
Billy liked that Steve knows when to let the moment sit, when quiet is okay.
3. Acts of Service
“Noticed your breaks were starting to whine, so I changed your break pads. Ended up doing the oil and wiper fluid, too.”
Steve stared at the car.
“You didn’t have to do all that.”
“Good for pt.” Billy’s hands were working much better, he had more articulation these days.
And rebuilding things, fixing things, it made him feel better than any talk session ever had.
It was nice seeing Billy like this, a little closer to his new self.
It made Steve’s stomach flip over.
-
“I finished unpacking your stuff while you were out applying places. I don’t know how you like things organized, so you’ll probably want to redo it I just thought-” Steve was rambling away, all nervous.
“Thanks, Stevie. I appreciate it.” Steve’s face went red.
They had moved into a two-bedroom apartment in the shitty part of town. Billy’s window opened onto a dingy parking lot, while Steve’s showed the gas station below.
“I was just finished, thought I would move your along, too.”
He tamped down the way his gut rolled, the way his heart pounded against his ribs at Steve’s slight flush.
2. Physical Touch
“Do you, uh, do you think I could sleep in here?”
Steve felt like he was going to throw up his heart, hands still shaking from his nightmare.
“‘Course.” Billy’s voice was gruff in the darkness, but he held up the side of his blanket.
Steve slipped underneath it with him.
He was still breathing too fast, stiff as a board on Billy’s bed.
“It’s okay.” And then Billy’s arm was around him, and his back was against a warm, solid chest, and it was all too easy to melt into the touch, maybe let a few tears fall.
Billy was warm, and grounding.
And Steve felt a tiny bit better.
-
Billy tossed himself down onto the couch.
It was two small for how both of them sprawled across it at once, their bodies pressed together.
Steve wiggled his way out from under Billy, leaning against his side, legs tucked up under his hips.
“Long day?”
Billy never replied.
He turned his head to look at Steve, and he was so close, his breath fanning over Billy’s cheeks, dark eyes nearly going cross eyes as they dropped down to look at his lips.
His hair was soft as Billy sank a hand into it, guiding their kiss.
It was a long time coming, the soft brush of their lips.
Steve pressed his body closer to Billy, who let out a desperate whine.
Steve’s hands were soft and warm, one cupping his cheek, one gripping his wrist.
They took shaky breaths after parting, still close enough to feel the other’s breath, neither boy wanting to break their soft little bubble.
They kissed all night.
1. Giving and Receiving Gifts
“Happy birthday, you pain in my ass.”Steve laughed as he accepted the small box from Billy.
“You’re a terror.” He leaned forward to press a kiss to Billy’s cheek.
It was Steve’s first birthday since they moved to California.
He tore open the wrapping paper, tossing the lid of the box onto their bed.
He gasped.
“Bill, this is, thank you.”
It was Billy’s necklace. Steve didn’t even realize he wasn’t wearing it.
“Wanted you to have it. Since you’re my guy, and all that.” His smile was dazzling, lazy and warm.
Steve turned around, placed his palm over the pendant as Billy clasped it for him.
“I love you.” Billy pressed a kiss to the back of his neck, right over the clasp.
“Love you too, Pretty Boy.”
-
“Uh, here.”
Steve’s cheeks were flaming as he pushed the small box into Billy’s hands.
“Happy Birthday.”
Billy just smiled up at him, taking his time with the neat wrapping.
It was a ring, a simple gold band.
“You know, it’s been eight years since we got together. And I know we can’t get married, or whatever, but I thought, we could, we could have this.”
Billy was fucking speechless.
“Sorry, it’s dumb.” Steve reached for the ring, but Billy clutched it to his chest.
“Do you have one too?”
“Yeah. Matching set.”
“Go get it.” Steve looked nervous as he re-entered their living room with a matching gold band.
Billy took it from him. He took his left hand, slowly sliding the ring on his finger.
“With this ring, I thee wed.”
Steve barked a laugh, happy and bright. He slid Billy’s ring onto his finger in the same fashion.
“With this ring, I thee wed.” Billy’s smile was hurting his cheeks.
“Now with the power invested in me, by the great state of California, and the fact that no one can tell us fuck all, I pronounce us, husband and husband. Now gimme a fuckin’ kiss!”
They both laughed into the kiss, the sun setting outside their apartment, dousing the little makeshift wedding in gold.
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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years ago
Note
77. a prophecy said that we’ll save the world together but I’ll be damned if I enjoy your company while we do because you insulted my best friend the first time we met
Ot4, sfw, please!
Here you go! I'm very pleased with this one
The drive hasn’t changed. The road into Kepler goes under the same covered bridges and winds up the same hills it always has. Even the views from driveway to the October House are the same one’s he watched through back windows with rising delight. He’d hoped to get here when the fall colors were still crisp and bright, but they droop from the branches like mourners from the weight of the grey rain.
No one batted an eye when he said he was moving North on Joe’s invitation; Joseph Stern inherited the ancestral home in Vermont, with its sprawling grounds and stately decay. It would make sense that he’d ask the friend who spent so many summers with him there to take up the role of groundskeeper.
Duck pulls his truck into the carport next to a languishing Chrysler Imperial. He runs his finger over the black curves, raindrops plinking on the tin roof as he wonders whether he could coax Joe into taking him for a ride.
He leaves his bags in the car for now. Letting his friend know he’s here is the top priority.
The house is just as tall and mismatched as he remembers, turrets and wide windows mixed with sloping eaves and a sun room. It’s patchwork quilt character extends to it’s color; some walls are red, others goldenrod, and the door is bright as a ripe pumpkin.
Joe christened it the October House the first summer he and Duck visited there. Joseph’s aunt, a proud spinster, suggested his transplant parents send him to the family farm for a few months of growth. When Joe showed his characteristic skepticism about spending his summer alone in Vermont, she offered to let him bring a friend. He chose Duck every year.
The October House was the last thing they spoke about the night before Duck left for basic training (and, soon after, Normandy). Joe was already slipping off the map, recruited for secret purposes by men who valued his intelligence over his humanity. He told Duck to remember the summer they were thirteen, to remember he was brave.
It wasn’t Duck Newton’s first war, but it was for damn sure his last.
He opens the door with the tarnished key Joe sent him. Anywhere else, he’d call out to find his host. But he knows where he’ll be.
One flight of creaking stairs, a left turn down the hallway of faded photos, a right into the room with the mural of Noah’s Ark on the wall, and there he is. Black hair slicked back, blue silk robe covering old scars and new, and eyes that are bluer still turning to take him in.
That’s Joe alright; immaculate even in his madness.
“You’re here.” He stands, dazzling smile reflecting the firelight.
“Told you I’d come. Can’t leave you here to get buried alive in books.” He opens his arms, unsure even as he commits to the movement. Joe hesitates, then steps across crumpled maps of stars and seas to hug him.
“I missed you.” He whispers. Duck doesn’t mention that Joe was the one to disappear once the war was over. They had one night in Huntington celebrating the boys who made it home; Joe’s smile stayed painted on the whole time, but Duck couldn’t get him alone to ask why. Then he fled north and didn’t respond to letters.
“Missed you too, Joe.” He peers over the taller man’s shoulder, takes in the mural and all the materials on the floor. Duck steps from the hug, paper crunching under his boots as he goes to trace the door of the ark, “you’re tryin to go back.”
“I want proof Sylvain was real. I, I want to see it again, to know we didn’t dream it.”
“Got a scar on belly that says we didn’t.” Duck turns, slips his hands into his pockets, “why are you really tryin to go back? They told us we couldn’t, said that if we came home the gate would shut for good.”
Joe doesn’t answer right away, runs his fingers over the badgers and bears fleeing the flood, “Do you ever wish we’d stayed?”
Duck thinks about bloody sand. Then about Jane getting married. His folks celebrating their twentieth anniversary.
“No. Christ, Joe, we were thirteen. It was fucked up to ask us to. Who the fuck asks two kids to rule a kingdom?”
A weak laugh, “and people say I’m the smart one.”
“You are.” Duck touches his shoulder, “now c’mon, smart guy, you don’t show me where my room is, I’m takin yours.”
------------------------------------------------
“You sure this is the spot?” Barclay keeps a close eye on the gathering darkness for any bursts of sickly white.
“Yes. The maps align with the stories that they emerged near “a stone like that of a broken heart.” Indrid draws hurriedly in the dirt with his claws, his lower hands uncorking bottles as he does, “come closer, if this catalyzes before I expect, I do not want you to be left behind.”
Barclay sets a hand on his shoulder. Feels his feathers shudder as he inhales.
“It’s time. I, if this does not work, I am sorry.”
He bends, kisses Indrid between his antenna, “I trust you, little moth.”
Indrid hums as amber light fills the clearing, and then everything he knows and loves dissolves into heat and empty air.
---------------------------------------------------
It's the same static, the rush of heat like wind in a wildfire. The hairs on Duck’s arm snap to attention as Joe leaps from his chair. The door on the ark shimmers and glows with alien majesty. Then two figures fall face-first on the floor and the light is gone.
“Are you alright?” Joe bends to help the first, feathered shape but it stands in a flurry of down, the hairy figure following suit.
“Yesyes, we are fine.” The feathery one looks like a massive moth with some human features.
“Oh.” Joe grins, “I’ve never seen a Sylph like you before. This, this is incredible.”
“You know what we are?” The other asks hopefully.
“We do. We, I’m, I’m Joseph Stern, and this is Duck Newton-”
“Thank the stars.” The mothman bends one knee, his friend doing the same, “yes, we are humble emissaries of the kingdom of Sylvain. We have searched for months to find our way to you. You, who prophecy says will aid us, return and take your rightful place as kings, and save our home once more.”
“No. Nuh-uh, not a fuckin chance.” Duck steps back, spots conflict in Joe’s eyes.
“What do you mean?” The mothman stands, “you, the prophecy, my visions showed you-”
“Then they showed fuckin wrong. I just got my life into some kind of order, I’m not letting you and some giant fuckin ape-thing drag me into another mess.”
Red eyes narrow, “Do not speak of Barclay that way.”
“I’ll speak about him however I damn well please because this is my house!”
“Technically, it’s my house.” Joe sighs, “But Duck is right. We almost died saving Sylvain once before. As, as much as I miss it, I’m not sure I can go back if it means risking our lives again. I was sort of hoping for a middle ground between being stuck here and a near-death adventure.”
“Please-” Barclay steps towards Joe.
“Hey, he said no, so fuck off.” Duck growls. The Sylph growls back.
“Buddy, do you have any idea how much we risked to get here? How much energy Indrid just used to open the gate. Oh, and, by the way, without the stuff we came here for we can’t go home. We’ll be stuck here.”
“Then you shoulda had a back-up plan instead of assumin you could just say a few fancy words and get us to go back. Oughta get some brains to go with the brawn there, big fella.”
“Enough” Indrid hisses, glaring at Duck. “I do not care if you are a chosen one, nothing gives you the right to speak to him, or to me, so callously. We came to you, you who are--if I did not make it clear--our last hope, and you respond with cruelty. I ought to teach you manners, but I will restrain myself.”
“Like to see you try.” He turns to where Joe is carding a hand through his hair, expression lost, “it’s your place, so you decide how we get rid of ‘em. But I’m done here.” With that, he stomps down the stairs, already suspecting Joe will let the Sylphs stay. When it becomes clear that’s the plan, Duck heads into the garden to work and stays there until all the lights are off.
It’s just after midnight when he wakes from a dream, slicing at the air while weak cries die on his tongue. He sits up, then goes gravestone still as the door opens. Indrid’s eyes are warning lights in the dark hall.
“Are you hurt? It did not seem fair to leave your calls unanswered.”
“No. Just had a, uh, a bad dream.”
The Sylph steps through the door, turning on the small, standing lamp, “It is strange to be the only one not waking in terror for once. Well, I suppose Barclay doesn’t.”
Duck tosses off the blanket, “Fuck, is Joe-”
“He is fine now. Barclay was up looking at cookbooks when he started screaming and went to him. Your friend did not wish to wake you, but was so shaken Barclay offered to stay with him.” A little smile, “he is very comforting. Soft, too.”
“You’re sure he was just dreamin? Not sick or anythin?”
“Positive. He was yelling in some other language.” Indrid fiddles with the knick-knacks on a shelf.
Duck runs a hand across his face, “Probably German.”
Indrid cocks his head.
“He had to learn it when he was a, uh, a spy in the last war. The one here. He...he got caught, I only know that because everyone talked about how miraculous it was that he escaped. Joe never talks about it.”
“One can imagine why.” Indrid murmurs.
“Then ‘one’ can probably imagine why I don’t want either of us near a goddamn battlefield.” Duck snaps.
“Is...oh dear, you think that is what we’re asking of you? Nono, we came here for help in preventing a war, one that may destroy both our worlds.”
“You coulda led with that, y’know?”
“I suppose. I, I am, or was, the court seer. But as the evil spread across our kingdom, it disrupted my powers. Now they’re gone entirely. It’s as if I am navigating the woods with no compass and no stars.” His antenna droop. Duck turns the chair near his bed in invitation. The Sylph moves quietly across the worn boards, “The last vision I received before they disappeared was of you two helping us; I saw a new timeline of futures, bright and hopeful, unfurl before it was gone. When you said you would not help us, it was like ripping my wings from my body mid-flight. That is why I was angry. Well, that and how you spoke to Barclay.”
“Sorry about that.” Duck scratches the back of his neck, “I just...when y’all showed up, all I could think about was bein back in the middle of a fight. Of, of seein Joe die.”
“I am sorry too. I did not know you had suffered such things.” Indrid picks at the blanket with chipped claws, “I cannot promise there would not be danger if you aid us. But I give you my word that you shall hear no more of it from me. I only wish for you to accept this quest if you wish to.”
“Thanks. That already puts you ahead of the last time.”
Indrid hums, then peers at Duck’s arm where a tattoo peeks from his shirt, “What is that?”
Duck rolls up his sleeve to reveal the pine tree, “got it because it helped me think of home.”
“Yes but how? To wear art on one’s skin, that is amazing. Do you think they could do it on mine?” He holds out his upper right arm. Duck runs a finger up it, thinking of the polished cherrywood on the table downstairs.
“Might be tricky. You need skin for it to work.”
“Blast.” Wings flutter once, “do you have more I may see?”
Duck unbuttons his shirt as Indrid scoots closer; if he’s not going to sleep tonight, at the very least he can make someone happy.
-------------------------------------
“Gotta say, y’all bein’ here is doin’ wonders for him.” Duck hands Barclay a glass of water as he joins him on the porch. Joseph and Indrid are sitting on a sunny path of lawn, Indrid showing the human his wings and explaining them in detail so he can make notes.
“Seems to go both ways. Indrid hasn’t been this animated since we left to find you two. He’s even more talkative.”
“Joe’s always been good at that. He can get anyone talkin, and can make almost anythin sound interestin.”
Barclay sneaks a glance at the human; he’s much friendlier these last two weeks, but his protectiveness of Joseph hasn’t waned.
“I wouldn’t say him cheering up is all on us. From what he told me, the week you got here made him feel like his cares were washing away.”
“Really?”
Barclay nods.
Duck sips his water, rubs the condensation with his thumb, “In, uh, in Sylvain, am I rememberin right that men could marry men? Ain’t always easy to tell when there’s so many kinds of beings runnin’ around.”
“Why wouldn’t that be okay? Some kinds of Sylphs, like Indrid’s, don’t even have things like men and women. I mean, when they offered you and Joseph a chance to rule as kings, the records make it sound like the two of you would have gotten married.”
Duck chokes on his water, splutters as Barclay pats his back, “I, fuck, I’d never, we’d never, I, fuck, definitely never ever didn’t think about it.”
Barclay lets the horrible excuse for a lie slide, “It’s a way bigger deal that Indrid chose me for this; being a seer makes him noble and I’m just a cook. Going off into the wild with me? Trusting me? Thought some of the ministers were gonna faint.”
“Was it just you helpin him or are you two, uh, y’know?”
“Yeah, I do. Can you blame me? Look at him” he gestures to where Indrid is spreading his wings so Joseph can study them. Stars would he like to go down there and hold the human tight while he taught him how to make Indrid purr.
“He really is somethin.” By the look on his face, Duck wants to do the same thing, just in reverse. After a moment, he murmurs, “the night before we were supposed to face the Red Devourer Joe and I were in the tent by the battlefield. Curled back to front, my arms around him and I could feel his heart beating hard as mine. Shoulda been thinkin about strategy, or prayin, or somethin’ like that, but all I could think was that I oughta kiss him, just in case we didn’t survive. But I didn’t. There were chances after that. I never took ‘em.”
“It’s not too late.”
“If you found out Indrid wanted to kiss you for years and was too chicken to, even when he thought he was gonna die, would you really let him?”
Barclay thinks of claws in his fur, of Indrid huddled against him and chirping softly when Barclay asked to kiss him.
“Of course I would.”
--------------------------------
“How long until the summer?” Indrid tosses the wool scarf Duck lent him over one wing.
“Months. Y’all got here in October, which means we ain’t even into the worst of the winter yet.”
An annoyed chirr, “We need more blankets.”
“Get you more when we’re in town tomorrow, fluffball. Hah, here’s some.” Duck kneels to cut some surviving leaves from a wild yarrow. They’re out in the woods because Indrid is running low on his feather oil, which keeps him from being miserable and itchy. He described what it did and let Duck smell some (it’s a bit like aloe and vanilla) so the human could reverse engineer what earth plants might do the trick.
Duck brushes off his pants, looks around, “Huh, we made it to the Maples. Joe’s aunt said she never got much from ‘em, but I don’t think she ever really tried.”
“What is special about them?”
“It’s how you get maple syrup. It’s in these trees.” Duck smirks, remembering Indrid licking the dregs from the bottle at the house with his long, long tongue.
Crunch
He whirls to his left, finds Indrid with both rows of teeth sunk into a maple branch. He giggles, then guffaws as the Sylph pulls off with an indignant chirp.
“You, you gotta, hee, you gotta tap the trunk, n-hee” he doubles over as Indrid bites the same branch while drumming his claws on the trunk, “not quite, need some other tools.”
“Perhaps lead with that?” Indrid grumbles, wiping bark from his face.
“S-sorry just, just didn’t expect you to go to town on it like that, heee”
Indrid grins, “It was worth it to hear you laugh like this.”
God, when was the last time he laughed this hard? The thought sobers him, his joy faltering like a bird in a storm. Then he cackles as four spindly arms hoist him into the air.
“ACKhey, put me down fluffball! Ahhno thatheee, that tickles.” He laughs louder as Indrid holds him to his chest and rubs his fuzzy face against his neck.
“I thought that might do the trick” Indrid purrs, nuzzles his cheek, “no more despair, Duck Newton. Not today.”
Duck turns his face so they’re eye to eye, pine green to ruby red, “Deal.”
---------------------------------------------
“I found everything on the list.” Joseph crumples the note paper and tosses it away as Barclay gleefully unpacks the shopping bags.
“This is so fucking great, I can’t wait for you guys to try this, and Indrid is going to lose his mind when he sees what I made. This dessert is his favorite.” He tucks the heavy cream and pears into the fridge.
“I’m excited to try it. We definitely didn’t eat any tarts when we were in Sylvain. The badgers who hid us from the red mist were, I think, pretty poor.”
“Yeah, the borderlands were bad off in those days. I was just a kid too but I remember digging out roots to try and make some kind of soup.” The Sylph turns those endearing brown eyes on him, “up for being my kitchen assistant again?”
“Always.” Joseph tucks a dishcloth into his belt. He’s very proud of himself for finding earth equivalents to all the ingredients Barclay needed to make a fall dinner from home. Having the Sylphs living with them means he goes into Kepler more often for groceries or goods to fix up the house. Everyone in town thinks his childhood friend is a good influence, getting him out of the stuffy confines of the October House.
They’re not wrong. When Joseph saw Duck in the doorway, a little world-worn but just as kind, just as practical as he always was, he decided that if the other man didn’t want to return to Sylvain, Joseph would set the project aside. He’d focus on the world he was in, because with Duck there he might yet find things to marvel at, things to discover that weren’t mired in the mundanity of human evil. They’d make the October House into a home, live out their days as bachelors.
Then Barclay had come through, auburn-furred and so gentle Joseph wanted to make like butter in the sun and melt. And Indrid, magnificent and vulnerable (and very infatuated with Duck). When Duck announced he’d help them look for clues to stopping the war, Joseph felt buried bits of his mind rising to the light of the new challenge.
After dinner, they take a pot of coffee into the living room. Indrid is delighted by records, is already putting one on as Barclay puts wood on the fire. The seer lays on the rug, head in his lovers lap and purring low.
Love me like there's no tomorrow
kiss me like it's goin' out of style
“You know, I wonder how one dances to this. It is not fast, but the rhythm is not like the formal dances at court.”
“Here, I’ll show you.” Duck stands, offering Joseph his hand. Lord, he’s pictured this so many times but still has to coax his own hand to move, “Joe, you’re leadin.”
He settles his hand on Duck’s hip and holds the other, concentrates on swaying them to the beat.
Hold me like you're afraid I might get away
Love like I've been gone for quite a while
“You can come closer, Joe. I ain’t gonna bite. Not in front of company.”
“I’m holding you to that.” He presses closer, prays for Duck to rest his head on his shoulder.
Take and wrap me in the package
my future my presence and my past
And love me like there's no tomorrow
and each day might be our last
“Dearest, I am rather tired from that lovely meal you made. Shall we retire?”
“Good thinking, little moth.”
Love me like there's no tomorrow
Make each night one more remembered
we will let the heaven be our guide
“Seems they didn’t need much of a demonstration.”
“Not sure that was Indrid’s endgame.”
Just love me like there's no tomorrow
and keep me right by your side
Joseph tips his head down, whispering, “What was?”
Keep me right by your side
“Duck?”
In the crackle of silence between songs, Duck brings their lips together. Joseph forgoes their stance and pulls him against him, their hearts magnets that were finally turned the right way. Then his feet stumble on the rug, Duck pushing him back with a ferocity he didn’t know he possessed.
Joseph drops into the chair, Duck pouncing before as he breathes. Joseph growls, the hunger that’s been chained threatening to crack his chest from the inside, and nips Duck’s lower lip.
“I said no bitin.”
“You said you wouldn’t bite.”
“You're right, darlin’” Duck cups his cheek as Joseph grips his thighs, “I’m gonna do so much more than bite.”
----------------------------------------
It never gets easier, waking from these dreams steeped in shame, fear, and sweat. Except this time someone’s arms are around him.
“I’m right here Joe, we’re here, we’re safe.”
“Very safe.” Indrid stands behind Barclay in the doorway, “another dream?’
“Yes. I, um, I-” he reaches for Barclay without meaning to, is ready to apologize when the Sylph slides into bed beside him.
“Is this okay?” It’s directed at both the humans.
“Yes.”
“Uh huh.”
Barclay adjusts so Joseph can hide his face in his chest. He should ask Indrid if he wants to be on the bed as well, the poor Sylph might think he’s not wanted-
“C’mon fluffball, my back is gettin cold.”
A delighted chirp and then a wing, black with a grey and red eyespot, drapes across him and Duck.
“Mmmmmm, I knew you would be lovely to hold.”
“Aim to please, sugar.”
“What happens now?” Barclay murmurs.
“My vote is we all get some sleep and work out the particulars in the mornin’.”
“Seconded” Joseph mumbles.
“We will need a good night’s rest; tomorrow I make the disguises for myself and Barclay so that we may begin our wider search.”
“Hope you guys like them.”
Joseph squeezes Barclay, smiling as Duck wiggles closer and Indrid’s wing grows heavier, “We’ll love them no matter what, big guy.”
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boognish-worshipper · 3 years ago
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Midnight City AU
i’ve been having fun writing this story, all these lil snippets n pieces comin together n shit,,, but i also find myself getting so frustrated writing sometimes even tho ik that’s a given with literally creating anything 😭 anyway uhhhh scheming shit ensues in this chapter, and we see another familiar pal pop up 🙏 also included obligatory reference to those aesthetic photos with song lyrics 🏃‍♀️💥
//Chapter 2: Oblivion
The vinyl store was a short walk from Sterling Lake, but Ron and Trevor decided to run there like idiots. Trevor was out of breath by the time they got there placing his hands on his knees, while Ron looked ready to keel over and pass out, pressing a hand against the front of the store.
“Remind me why we chose to run here?”
“So we could,” Ron wheezed out a breath, inhaling deep to stable himself.
“So we could hurry up and get Wade.”
“It was a rhetorical question.”
“Right. Sorry Trevor.”
Trevor swung the door open hastily, calling out for Wade right away. A head with muddy locs popped up in their direction.
“Hey Trevor! Hi Ron!”
“Wade! Get over here, no time for pleasantries!”
Wade rushed over to meet them outside.
“Get out of my G-damn store Trevor!”
“I’m going, Debra. Say hi to lovely Floyd for me, will ya?”
“Get out!”
The trio walked away from the place, not knowing where to head next.
“Let’s go talk in my truck, where we won’t be… disturbed by any fuckwad wearing Andés brand sherpa jackets. Why do they even need jackets out here? It’s like 90 degrees all the time!”
He was parked across the way from Sterling Lake, and as he went, he tried his best to avoid running into the clique of phony fucks. The minute they all piled in, Trevor peeled out so loudly it was surprising he tried being discrete at all.
“So, Ron. Fill Wade in.”
“What’s goin’ on?”
“It’s the Merryweather Night Club.”
“Ooh, are we goin’ in to see them pretty girls dance?”
“No, Wade.” Trevor interjected.
“Then what-“
“It’s about Steve.”
“Who?”
Trevor impatiently shot out a breath, trying his best to breakdown the situation to Wade. He put a hand to his face briefly before speaking again.
“Haines, Wade. Steven fuckin’ Haines.”
“Ohh him! That fancy dude at the park.”
“Yeah. The fancy dude at the park.”
“What about him?”
“Well Ron here caught word that Devin Weston is hosting some big event there for Haines and his crew.”
“We invited or somethin’?”
“For fucks sake- No, Wade. We’re gonna plan out how to completely crash and wreck the party, so we can get that club the fuck out of here.”
“How’re we gonna do that?”
“Well first, we’re gonna scope the place out. Get a better idea of what we’re dealing with here.”
Trevor thought to himself that if he didn’t have a good look from the outside, that’d he’d have to get a layout of the floor plans himself. It’s not like he hadn’t visited the club before, but he hadn’t been… sober exactly when he dropped by those few times. So it was basically like seeing it for the first time. If he couldn’t get much from the outside, he knew only one person who could accomplish getting the layout of the place.
“We’re almost there, get ready to do some creeping boys.”
The sun was setting, and soon it would be dark out. And when it got dark in Los Santos, it got dark. The only way the city could be visible was from the surplus of lights that were nearly everywhere, except for a few places. They at least had some darkness to rely on so they wouldn’t be spotted right away. Trevor parked a block away, and the three of them hid on the rooftop of the building across the way. Neon lights flickered on, reading “MERRYWEATHER’S SUNNY DAYS NIGHT CLUB”.
“Such a stupid fucking name. I mean, why is it called Sunny Days if it’s a night club?!” Trevor angrily muttered.
As the sky grew dark, the club began to stir, with some random rhythmic song starting up. Ron lifted a pair of binoculars he brought with him, and gasped.
“There he is! Mr. Weston himself!”
Trevor snatched the binoculars from Ron, causing him to crash into his side.
“Uh, Trevor, it’s still around my neck.”
“Then take it the fuck off, before I take it off for you.”
He fumbled around with it, tossing it into Trevor’s hands. Below them, he saw Devin standing outside, with a pristine woman beside him. Trevor whistled lowly, so they wouldn’t be heard.
“That lady’s wayyy out of that fucker’s league.”
He watched them speak to the bouncer outside, hearing them laugh about something before heading in.
“They’re probably laughing it up now, plotting their next move to take over the city!”
“Shut up Ron, we lost them.”
He growled in frustration, handing the binoculars back to Ron.
“Let’s sneak ‘round back, maybe we’ll see something there.”
As they left, Trevor made a mental note of where the Merryweather bouncers were placed. Two burly men guarded the entrance, with a thick velvety rope not too far in front of it. They had to avoid the streetlights, seeing as people like them were sure to raise suspicion being near one of the hottest night clubs in LS. He couldn’t be made, not when he already had a reputation there.
“Alright Ron, you see anything?”
They hid near a dumpster, away from the lights.
“Not really, it’s too dark-“
Suddenly, the back door swung open. Ron and Trevor ducked while Wade’s eyes were transfixed on who was coming out. Trevor yanked him down, holding a finger to his lips.
“So I says to him, ‘You ain’t payin’ me enough to stay on this failure of a fuckin’ show Solomon!’, old guy flipped the fuck out.”
“That’s that Pelosi actor though!” Wade said, rather loudly.
“Wade! Shh!”
“And then I- wait a minute. The fuck was that?”
“Shit! Shit!” Ron panicked.
“Yo!” Pelosi started to walk in their direction.
“We better get out of here. Now.”
All three of them scrambled up to run off back to Trevor’s truck.
“Get back here! Security!” The actor began to chase them, along with one of the Merryweather guards.
They continued to run down the block, Trevor breaking into a sprint so he could start the car up before anyone caught up to them.
“Get in! Get the fuck in!”
The truck revved up, and Trevor drove off in a haste. Even though it didn’t go as planned, Trevor couldn’t help but laugh out loud.
“Whew! What a rush, huh?”
“Rush?! We almost got caught, Trevor!”
“Yeah, only because Wade couldn’t keep it down for 5 fuckin’ seconds.”
“I’m sorry! That Pelosi guy is famous! I ain’t ever seen a actor up close.”
“Yeah, but he’s already washed up. Nothing special.”
“Isn’t he our age? How can he be washed up if he’s still-“
“Can it, Wade.”
Trevor came to the conclusion that there wasn’t enough visibility of the place from the outside. It didn’t have a single window. He mumbled to himself that he needed to go see a friend of his. The travel to El Burro Heights didn’t take long, with Trevor telling the other two to wait in the truck.
“Ron, please make sure he doesn’t do anything dumb.”
“Got it.”
“It was one time!”
He made his way up the steps, banging on the door. He lifted his head up to the outdoor camera, snarling at it.
“Let me the fuck in Wheels!”
The front door clicked open, and Trevor walked right in. He shut it behind him, and trotted over to a bedroom.
“Trevor. Didn’t think I’d see much of you again.”
“Neither did I old friend.”
“What is it. What do you want.”
The room was lit up with aqua and pink shades, a visual of a permanent sunset on his computer. Some kind of synth music played faintly. A nerdy looking guy was seated in a wheelchair next to a set up that looked like it was pulled right from the 90s, various posters and novelty items strewn about.
“Let me cut to the chase. It’s Merryweather again.”
“Again? Trevor, I thought we agreed you’d leave them alone!”
“Ah ah ah! I didn’t finish, Lest. Get this, there’s some big event going on soon. Steve Haines- some big get together with him and his posse of lame-os.”
“Really? Devin’s letting those guys in? I thought it was all big name people.”
“Yeah, well Steve isn’t exactly poor Lester. I thought we both knew that.”
“Duh, but still. He’s not exactly Devin’s type of crowd.”
“No no no, I think they might be in kahoots. Planning something.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Hmm. Let me see…”
He turned to the computer, clacking away on his keyboard. It was rather vintage looking, and Trevor was surprised it worked at all. Lester was into technology more than he was though, so he probably worked some kind of magic on it.
“Hm. You’re right. Seems like they’ve known one another for quite some time. Guess their dads work together.”
“Fuckin’ daddy’s boys.”
“But, I still don’t think interfering with that party is a good idea.”
“Why the fuck not?”
“You’ve had enough run ins with the both of them already.”
“But if we infiltrated the club, we could get it shut down!”
“What are you planning, some sort of raid? You and your buddies? 2 other people isn’t much to work with if you wanna take down one of the most popular clubs here.”
“That’s why I came to you!”
“For what?”
“So you could do your cyber shit, find the floor plans or something!”
“You know that’s gonna take a long time, right? I mean, getting the blueprints, not to mention finding other people who’re on board with the idea of it all-”
“Well no shit.”
“Are you paying me?”
“What?”
“I said, are you paying me?”
“What the fuck would I need to pay you for?”
“Taking time out of my day to get that done for you.”
“Right. Because you’re sooo busy.”
Lester frowned slightly, upset by the remark.
“I’m gonna just ignore that. Anyway, I’m not asking for a whole lot. Just something for the effort I’m putting in to find the plans.”
“So you’ll do it?”
“What choice do I have?”
“Absolutely none my friend!” He said, grin wide.
“Y’know you’re still gonna need to assemble a crew that doesn’t consist of only your… minions or whatever. That’s your part. Now shoo, let me do my thing.”
“Oh Lester the Molester you never let me down!” He said, clapping a hand on his shoulder.
“I told you to stop calling me that!”
“Aww, and here I thought you liked it!”
“Just go already. If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right. No funny business.”
“But funny business is my specialty!”
“Oh my God, go!”
He made his way back over to the truck, seeing Wade passed out in the back. Slamming a hand on the truck bed, he yelled for him to wake up.
“Boys! We got some recruiting to do.”
“Wh-what? What d’ya mean? Who are we gonna find? I thought it was just gonna be us-”
“We’re not taking out one of the biggest clubs in LS on our own, Ron.”
“But I-”
“No buts! Now let’s go.”
They all drove across the city, back to the apartment complex Floyd lived in, Wade’s place being the first one you see pulling in. He had been nice enough to pitch in some cash to pay his rent, seeing as Wade basically had no money to begin with. The trio brainstormed for a bit, chattering away about needing to find people who hated those guys just as much as they did, before Wade and Ron promptly passed out. Trevor threw on a random shuffled playlist to keep him occupied as they slept, and some song he’d never heard before played. Some artist called Grimes? The intro was wobbly, like someone was shaking laminated paper. He kept it on, liking how funky it sounded. The music reverberated loud in his ears, the singer’s voice light and dreamlike compared to the dark, heavy tone of the song. It was the experimental stuff Trevor was into. He opened nosedivr, scrolling through his usual feed. This was a thing he did often when he couldn’t sleep. As he kept going through posts, he noticed he still followed Amanda; they stopped being friends long ago and the task of removing her on there slipped his mind. She had posted a new photo though, and he instantly recognized who she was with just from the shoes. It was that Michael guy.
@krystal-klear-tears
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𝔦 𝔱𝔢��𝔩 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢, 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔳𝔢𝔫 𝔦𝔰 𝔞 ��𝔩𝔞𝔠𝔢 𝔬𝔫 𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔥 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔶𝔬𝔲.
#grunge aesthetic #lana del rey #lyrics #black and white aesthetic
His finger hovered over the reblog button, and he hesitated. What was he doing right now? He didn’t give a shit who Amanda was with anymore. Michael was just another name, another face, another person she was just gonna dump later on. She could never do commitment. That was the one thing he knew for sure in the period of time they had been friends. Amanda wasn’t exactly a bad person for it, she just didn’t express her feelings in the best way. It was why she jumped from guy to guy. They didn’t need anything more than her facade, her surface level personality. So when the time came that she would be close to showing her true colors, she’d cut them off. Trevor didn’t like that. If there was one thing he truly could not stand, it was people being two-faced. He wished Amanda embraced herself more. But like he said, it was whatever now. Soon enough, he wouldn’t see anymore posts like that.
Still, he figured he could unfollow her another day. Part of him did wanna see how long this one would last. Was that bad? Maybe. Who cares. By the time he had finished scrolling mindlessly on his phone, he’d finally grown tired. He wanted to dream about tomorrow, because tomorrow promised a plan in the works, and it was fucking spectacular. He couldn’t let something so meaningless like a new boyfriend of hers distract him. Yet despite that, he still found himself wanting to know more. This was the first guy in a while that Amanda got with that she didn’t run to tell him about. It felt… strange. But again, he couldn’t let that distract him from what was at the front of his mind. He didn’t have time for that. He had to focus on Merryweather first and foremost. Shutting his eyes, a smile grew on his face. He was finally gonna take those stupid fucks down.
//sorry if these seem short rn,,, it’s gonna be a slow build up tbh. it’ll be worth it later on when i complete future chapters lol. don’t wanna rush it too much ,, also i feel like i’m gonna accidentally make this sound all over the place so uh apologies in advance 💯 i will go into more detail abt amanda n trevor’s friendship in this too btw so expect that eventually ig
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anactualcaseofthetruth · 4 years ago
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Friends Can Break Your Heart Too > Chapter 3 Archive Of Our Own Link
Catch Up:  Chapter 2 Chapter 1
Summary:  Mia Flores flees to Santo Padre for one reason and one reason only: her godfather and the man who raised her, Bishop Losa. The last thing she expects is for Angel Reyes to come into her chaotic life and just maybe be the one thing that starts to make sense.
Chapter 3:
“Pizza!” Letty calls out as she enters the house just a few steps ahead of Mia.
Immediately, all construction noises cease, the small hand tools are dropped, and they are closing in.
“Fucking finally,” Coco says as he takes the pizzas from his daughter. “I was starting to feel like we’re working in a real fucking sweatshop, like no food or breaks until you’re done, you know?”
“Dude, you take a smoke break every fucking five minutes, calm down,” Angel instructs while freeing Mia’s own hands of the small pizza and box of Styrofoam on top without a word.
“Hey! These are for me and Letty, you each got your own pizza,” Mia complains with hands out.
“What, I’m not allowed to help? Be nice?” he questions and holds the food above his head so she can’t reach.
“Fine. Thank you, now give it back!” she whines and follows him to the kitchen to join the others, jumping for it the whole way.
“No, I don’t like your attitude.”
“Angel! C’mon, I’m hungry!” Mia exclaims with hands on her hips and a frown on her face
“Apologize first,” he says, and their audience laughs.
“I’m going to slap you,” she counters grumpily.
He looks her up and down, noting her ripped jeans and a tight, white tee matched with a black jacket and black and white sneakers on her feet. “Can you even reach without heels on?”
Mia’s eyes turn to slits before tapping him in the balls. It’s not so hard to hurt him, but enough to put him into defensive mode and lower the food. “Now, was that so hard?” she asks sweetly while handing the Styrofoam off to Letty.
“You better watch your back, Flores,” he warns, ignoring the snickers around them, and reaches for his pizza.
“Oh, but you’re so much better at it than I am,” Mia teases in return.
Angel nods as he swallows. “Can’t argue that. Hey, prospect, beer?” he asks of his brother a moment later.
EZ turns from his own pizza and takes enough out of the fridge for all of them besides Letty. She gets a bottle of Coke instead.
“Wait, you guys have beer here? While you’re working? I’m doing to die in a house fire, aren’t I?” Mia sighs while looking down at her white spinach pizza.
“Nah, there was nothing wrong with the wiring, so we haven’t had to mess with it. You’re safe from house fires,” EZ assures her.
Coco, on the other hand, makes an unsure noise and shrugs. "That’s not saying the crackheads who lived here before didn’t fuck with it. So, if you do die, it wouldn’t be on our consciences."
“That is what I was worried about, how you all would feel if something happened, not about actually dying,” Mia tells him in monotone.
“Good looking out, no worries, we’d be alright,” Coco insists, and the group laughs some more.
Upon further inspection to Bishop’s rental, her godfather decided a small remodel was in order before she could move in. “Nothing huge,” he promised her, “just some paint and maybe new carpet.” Well that was a month ago, and she has yet to move in.
What he meant by ��nothing huge’ is repainting every single room, new molding, replacing over half the light fixtures, a few new windows, and a completely redone bathroom upstairs.  Then, after finding hardwood in good condition under said carpet he decided he wanted certain rooms without carpet at all which meant pulling up good carpet that wouldn’t have even needed replaced. The kitchen, luckily, was the best-looking room in the house when they started, having been redone before the last tenants moved in, so all he insisted on was a fresh coat of paint, a few new appliances, a couple tiles replaced, and a good cleaning.
Mia’s been told the upstairs is ‘almost done’ and they are finishing up the living room now.
She has also noticed new pieces of furniture showing up when she isn’t around. Which, that isn’t hard to do since she only stops by once or twice a day to feed the guys and ‘make sure they are doing their fucking work’ at Bishop’s request. A new queen-sized bed appeared two weeks ago, a dining set a few days later, and after commenting on how comfy his couch is one similar has taken residence in the garage, not that she is supposed to know about it.
Mia's done her best to not argue with Bishop about all of it. She knows he means well, however, when she looks around all she sees is her godfather silently pleading with her to stay, possibly forever, but when asked about long-term plans she avoids giving any real answer.
It’s not dependent on her, not really, it depends on whether her past catches up with her.
“So how much longer until you guys are finally done with this place?” Letty asks as she eats her chicken fingers. “I can’t wait to have a sleepover.”
Mia smiles at the younger girl and pushes all thoughts of her ex away. Over the past month the two of them have formed a close bond. She sees a piece of herself in Leticia—being one of the few Mayan daughters, having mothers who barely cared, and men who aren’t quite their fathers as their sole parent. Coco is actually Letty’s dad, but she didn’t know that until a couple months ago, so it’s still ‘completely weird’ according to her.
She hopes to be the female figure she needed when she was stupid teenager for Letty. Growing up around these guys isn’t easy. It’s certainly never dull, but Mia remembers how kids at school used to look at her, with that mixture of fear and pity, of jealousy and hate. She remembers what boys thought of her, that because of how women are around the MC that she would be both easy to sleep with and manipulate.
That last part wasn’t entirely wrong, but she wants it to be different for Letty.
“Well, Prez is supposed to have a walk-through in a day or two. If he doesn’t see anything else wrong with it, hopefully next week,” Gilly says when no one speaks up.
Mia likes Gilly, she likes all the guys, but these four are a package deal. Angel is the ringleader, EZ his sounding board, Coco the one who challenges him when necessary, and Gilly is the silent partner. He only really speaks when spoken to, but is always listening, and is very much a protector.
“You guys said that last week,” Letty reminds them.
“Girl, you know we had the Vegas run and it set us back. Stop pushing,” Coco warns her. “It ain’t even your house.”
“No, but we’re going to have a sleepover the weekend she moves in,” Letty tells him like its common knowledge. And honestly, she’s been talking about it so much it practically is.
“Really?" Angel questions with a playful look towards Mia, never one to pass up an opportunity to give her shit, or flirt with her. Sometimes both happen in the same sentence. "Anyone else invited to this sleepover?”
As always, she decides to play along. “Why? You need a facial? We can buy extra masks.”
“It’d be nice to be thought of, that’s all,” he insists. “Besides, it’s not me that needs the facial. EZ’s skin is shit compared to mine.”
“Hey,” his little brother speaks up and it sounds so pitiful Mia can’t help but laugh.
“Shoulda seen his face in junior high. Pimple fuckin’ city,” Angel goes on. “Our mom had to buy him special cream and everything.”
“Can we stop? Like, that’s the point of this?” EZ asks as he turns just a little red.
“The point is mine was clear and yours wasn’t,” Angel responds.
“And when we were kids you were fat and I wasn’t,” EZ says with arms crossed. “So, shut up.”
Everyone laughs as they eat, but Mia is practically jumping up and down with joy. “Oh, my God, please tell me you have pictures. I want to see pictures of little chunky Angel,” she pleads.
“Stop, it wasn’t that I was fat exactly,” Angel tries to stop her giggles. “I wasn’t! I was a little late to puberty, alright?”
“Dude, you were definitely chunky,” EZ states. “Accept it.”
“No, I just didn’t grow for, like, a year, that’s all,” Angel argues. “You, quit laughing,” he demands while staring Mia down. “I’m serious, I was pretty much the same height for a year. Ezekiel was almost as fuckin’ tall as me, and he’s two years younger than me. Then, I shot up, like, six fuckin’ inches.”
“And you lost all your baby fat?” Mia asks, still snickering.
“As a matter of fact, yes, I did, and now look, all muscle, baby,” Angel says and lifts his shirt to show the abs that he knows she’s fond of. And, sadly, she’s not allowed to touch them because no one knows they are sleeping together.
“Damn,” they all hear Letty mumble and Mia can’t stop the laugh from bubbling up her throat. She would have said the same thing if she hadn’t seen them before.
“Alright, put that shit away, I got a kid here,” Coco urges and throws a napkin at Angel’s chest.
“What, this shit?” EZ asks while lifting his shirt too.
“Hold on, I gotta get a picture of this,” Letty says, her phone already in her hands.
Coco smacks it away. “Stop, they are like your uncles.”
“No, they definitely aren’t,” she counters, making the brothers laugh while dropping their shirts.
Mia gives Letty a pointed look that the girl ignores. She knows all about the younger girl’s crush on EZ, and she also knows how completely unattainable and stupid it is. Letty will grow out of it eventually, probably when she gets a crush her own age. At least, her next crush better be someone her own age.
“You’re real funny. You get that shit you needed for school?” Coco questions as he stands having eaten his whole pizza save three slices. Letty nods with her mouth full. “Good, we should get going. You got school in the morning and I got my own shit to do.”
“Yeah, what’s her name?” Angel asks innocently while picking up another slice.
“Ew,” Letty mutters as the others laugh. “Let’s go before this conversation continues. Is your car unlocked, Mia? The stuff for my project is still in it.”
“Yeah, it’s open, help yourself.”
“I’m going to head out too. I told Pop I’d stop by before he went to sleep,” EZ mentions.
“Let me know if there’s anything good on the history channel,” Angel jokes.
“Don’t worry, I know how you feel about a good Vietnam documentary,” EZ assures him and the brothers share a laugh.
Everyone starts getting up and throwing away their paper plates and saying their goodbyes. For now, anyways, since most of them will meet up back at the clubhouse before the night is over.
Mia’s just finishing up putting all the leftover pizza slices into one box for the boys to fight over tomorrow before she brings over their lunch when Angel comes back into the kitchen.
“I locked your car,” he says, and she jumps about a foot in the air. “I know it’s a piece, but you still shouldn’t leave it unlocked like that.”
She turns with a hand over her heart. “Don’t do that, I thought you were leaving,” she scolds him.
“When did I say that?” he questions with a crinkle to his eyebrows.
Mia rolls her eyes. “I don’t know, maybe when everyone said they were leaving, and you walked out with them?”
“I never said I was leaving. Besides,” he starts while approaching her and sets his hands on her hips, “I can’t say goodbye before I get a proper hello.”
“Oh, a proper hello?” Mia asks as his head dips in closer to hers. “What would that entail, exactly?”
“This,” he says and lifts her onto the island, their lips already connected and tongues threatening to meet.
His beard brushes against her chin and she reaches up to lightly scratch at it. “Mm, scruffy,” she murmurs, having admitted her liking his beard to him before. He does, in fact, use a special beard shampoo and pomade in it.
He smiles at her and lifts his chin so she can have better access. “I swear, if I was a dog this shit would make me do that kicking leg thing,” he mutters with his eyes closed.
“Hm, you’re cute,” she tells him as his chin practically sits in her hands, his face the picture of peace.
She’s not ashamed to admit that Angel quickly has become her best friend, not only in Santo Padre, but in general. Of course, she’s never been one to have many friends. Growing up other kids were weary of her, of Bishop rolling up in a Harley to pick her up from school, and their parents only saw the kutte on his back.
When it came to the club, there weren’t many other Mayan kids. Most of them, like Coco with his other two that aren’t Letty, pay for them but aren’t really involved in raising them. Sometimes, when it was a son, they’d come back around during their teen years, want to be like their biker dad, and prospect once they hit eighteen.
Her best friend was Marcus Alverez’s son Esai, but she hasn’t spoken to him since she left Oakland when her and Bishop had their big blowout. Cutting the club out of her life included Esai, and no matter how much he tried to claw his way back in she didn’t let him. That’s a bridge she hasn’t repaired yet.
“You look tired, osito,” she whispers and his eyes pop open.
Angel smiles lazily. “Is that what I am to you, huh? A teddy bear?”
“My teddy bear,” she corrects.
“Let’s keep that between us, huh?” he murmurs when his eyes slide closed again as she continues to scratch at his chin. “Wouldn’t want the guys to know how sweet I am on ya.”
Mia holds back a laugh. “As far as they're concerned the only thing you’re sweet on is my ass.”
“Ain’t no hiding that, querida,” he agrees. After a few minutes Angel’s eyes open and his face breaks out into a smile. “I have a surprise for you.”
“Is it shiny or is it chocolate?” she immediately asks, making him laugh and lift his chin from her hands.
“Neither it’s upstairs,” he replies and turns around to signal for her to jump onto his back, and she does, happily.
Mia tightens her hold around his shoulders. “Ooh, a sex swing? I’m in, but Bishop might be pissed."
Angel's laugh in return is loud and boisterous. “Nah, not that, but I can always add one later if you want,” he says and begins making his way up the steps. “Remember last week when Bishop told you to think about colors for the house? And you weren’t sure about what you wanted to paint your bedroom?”
“Uh, yes,” Mia confirms as they reach the top. “But Bishop said I had time to choose, that painting was the last thing you guys were going to do and I had colors for all the other rooms so you guys could get started.”
“It is, but” Angel stops at the master bedroom and lets her slide down his back until her feet touch the ground. “I got an idea. If you hate it, I can fix it, make it whatever you want, I just,” he sighs, his nerves obvious.
“Hey,” Mia says and grabs his hands so both of them are intertwined, “I’m sure I’ll love it, whatever it is, just because you did it,” she assures him. “Unless it’s just plain white, then that’s kinda lame and I’ll probably laugh.”
Angel chuckles and shakes his head at her. “It’s not white, promise.” He opens the door hesitantly with an unsteady breath. “Just… don’t lie if you don’t like it, okay?”
“Promise,” she echoes back to him and he flicks the lights on before ushering her inside.
Mia finds the room painted a pink-orange shade, the kind in a sunset, but it’s the ceiling that makes her gasp. It’s blue, dark blue, with slashes of different shades throughout to resemble the night sky, along with some yellow and gold. It’s very Van Gogh, but of course not Van Gogh.
“Oh, my God,” she whispers with hands over her mouth.
“And, uh, there’s this too,” Angel tells her before slapping the lights off and the ceiling lights up. There are glow in the dark stars on it. Not enough to be childish or make the room bright, but just enough to look like stars faraway in the sky.
“Angel,” Mia sniffs.
“I remembered how much you liked looking at the stars when you first moved here,” he explains. “And I woke up last week to some stupid infomercial on the TV in the middle of the night. They were selling some Starry Night knockoffs and the idea came to me. I hope you don’t mind or, I don’t know, if you don’t like it I can—”
“Stop,” she insists with a hand on his chest as she looks up. “It’s… it’s—I don’t even know what to say, Angel.”
“You like it?” he asks, and his voice is so soft, so vulnerable Mia’s heart tightens.
For a moment all she can do is nod. “I love it,” she finally manages and blinks to stop the tears from forming. “I’ve never had anyone go out of their way for me like this except Bishop, at least, not unless it was some sort of apology from a boyfriend at the time.” The lights come back on and Mia turns to face him, but Angel is looking anywhere but her. “Did you do this yourself?”
He nods and looks up at the artwork, still avoiding eye contact. “Yeah.”
“How did you—I mean, how?” she asks with a knot in her throat.
“I used to paint when I was a kid, and into high school. I, uh, stopped when my mom died,” he confesses with his eyes now on his hands as he plays with his rings. “I was rusty as fuck, but I don’t know, I think it turned out pretty good.”
“Hey,” Mia urges and lifts his chin until their eyes meet. “I love it.”
Angel nods and licks his bottom lip. “Really?”
“I absolutely adore it,” she promises, her voice low and gets on her tip toes while wrapping an arm around his neck to pull until their foreheads are touching. “And the fact that you did it yourself? That makes it so much better. You’re very talented, mi osito.”
“Again, with the teddy bear? You’re gonna fuck up my rep, querida,” he teases.
“Well, the rep you have with me is being almost too good in bed and possibly the sweetest man I know, so,” she stops with a shrug and starts backing him up until he hits the bed half-covered in plastic.
Angel falls on the bed with a laugh and shoves at the plastic covering until it hits the floor. “Almost too good? Damn, gotta step up my game then.”
Mia moves to straddle him. “Please don’t,” she replies with her hands on his chest. “I would end up ugly crying, like, all the time.”
“Ugly crying, huh?” he asks and removes her hands from underneath his shirt where she had been trying to push it up. “Now I know what the goal is.”
“I am serious, Angel Reyes, do not,” she warns and starts fighting for control of her hands so she can continue to undress him. “Let me go! I want to make it up to you,” she insists as they begin to wrestle.
Angel rolls them over and pins her hands above her bed. She tries extremely hard not to get turned on, but fails miserably. “I don’t want you to make it up to me,” he tells her once she stops struggling. “I did this out of the goodness of my heart and making it up to me implies that I did it for something in return.”
Warmth spreads from Mia’s chest down to her toes. “Okay, then, can we fuck just because I’m horny then? It has nothing to do with me being incredibly grateful for what you’ve done.”
“You sure?” he questions and tightens his hold when she begins to resist again.
“Nothing at all,” she confirms as she squirms. “I just realized why you’re so good with your hands and I want to feel them all over me.”
“Alright then,” Angel lets go and sits back on his haunches. “Strip, everything off.”
“You’re sitting on me,” Mia reminds him with a raised eyebrow.
“I’ll help with the bottom stuff, but I think you can handle the top,” he tells her while pulling his own shirt off. “Hurry up, I wanna see if I can get you to do that ugly crying thing.”
Mia glares at him once the top is over her head. “Do not. This mascara is not waterproof.”
“Not my problem. I’m always prepared,” he replies while flashing a condom in front of her face, “it’s time you start to be too.”
She rolls her eyes while undoing her bra. “I can’t believe you’re about to get laid after saying that.”
Angel grins and starts to take off her pants. “I’ve gotten laid after saying tons of dumb shit. It’s the pretty face that gets the panties to drop,” he says before sliding her cheeky lace underwear down. “What my mouth can do helps though. So, get up, you’re gonna sit on my face.”
“Geez, bossy,” she mumbles but readily slips out from underneath him and onto her knees.
“You’re into it,” he murmurs before pressing his lips against hers as his hands slide down her bare sides.
“Only when your mouth or dick are involved,” Mia says, breathless, when they pull away.
Angel grins as his hand slides between her legs. “We’ll see about that.”
About an hour later, Mia makes her way downstairs looking for Angel. Guys have it so much easier, she thinks. All they gotta do after sex is get dressed. Being the handsy motherfucker her boy is, Mia looks like she’s been through a tornado after they’re done, and needs put together, not to mention a moment to pee. He just throws away the condom and zips up before sauntering off.
“Angel?” she calls after not seeing him in the living room or upon entering the kitchen.
“Outside!” she hears and notices the back door slightly ajar.
Mia finds him outside on a lawn chair, the kind people lay out on next to a pool, apparently something else she has inherited from Bishop’s previous tenants. Angel is holding a beer in one hand, a cigarette in the other. “Room for me?”
Angel tilts his head back to look at her before parting his legs. “Always for you.” She lifts a leg of her own and swings it around to straddle his hips. “Beer?”
She nods and takes a sip before handing it back. “So,” she starts and stares at him expectantly.
“Sooo?” he echoes while taking a swig.
“So, you paint?”
Suddenly, the beer becomes interesting, as it’s all he can look at now. “I did.”
“Osito, you just pulled a Michelangelo on my bedroom ceiling. You paint, present tense,” Mia insists.
“I… relapsed,” he attempts to joke, but Mia shakes her head and lifts his chin.
“You know you can talk to me, right? We don’t just have sex, at least, that’s not all this is for me,” she admits with a tint of pink in her cheeks. “You’re like my best friend and I don’t say that easily. I’m not really one for friends.”
“I don’t believe that shit for a second,” Angel immediately disagrees with one last puff of his cigarette before flicking the cherry off the tip and turning his head so the gray smoke doesn’t hit her face. “But, if you gotta know, and I know you won’t shut the fuck up until I tell you,” he goes on and she grins in triumph, “my mom liked to paint. It was her thing. It was mainly religious shit, you know,” he says with a shrug, “but she was really good. She even has a piece hanging in the church we went to growing up.” He stops to smile, and Mia can’t help but mirror it, the genuine happiness coming from him infectious. “I remember when it first got displayed, my dad told everyone his wife painted it. I swear, he worked it into every single fucking conversation somehow.”
“And she passed it on to you?”
Angel puts the beer bottle down and wraps his arms around her waist, his hands resting on her ass. “Not really, I mean, not intentionally, I guess. I was an angry kid, it started in junior high, back when I was a chubby fuck. I punched a few holes in the walls, and every time they made me fix it, but that just made me angrier,” he says and looks passed her head. “I don’t know, I guess it pissed me off that they made me patch them up without really asking what was wrong? My mom tried, but—” he stops and shakes his head, “she wasn’t the one I wanted to open up to.”
“You wanted your dad,” Mia states and Angel nods, his eyes meeting hers again.
“One day I got sent home from school for fighting and my mom had to come get me. Pop wouldn’t leave the shop, said it wouldn’t matter if he did, that I wouldn’t listen to him anyway,” he continued, “maybe he was right, I don’t know.”
Mia slips her hands under his shirt, her fingers drawing endless loops and shapes on his bare skin. “What was the fight about, do you remember?”
Angel nods slowly. “They used to call EZ Kodak because of his memory. Some asshole cornered him in the bathroom, had a friend hold him down while he pushed some sleazy magazine in his face and told him to remember it because it would be the only naked girl he ever saw or some shit. I was chubby, but EZ was as thin as a fucking rail. That kid’s metabolism is no joke,” he comments with a faraway look in his eyes, like he’s reliving the memory. “I found out and took the fucker down. I remember being pulled off him and looking at EZ, he was so embarrassed. Before they took me away, he asked me not to tell, so I didn’t. I didn’t tell what the kid did to him, and the little dick didn’t fess up to what he did either, so all they knew was that I held him down and kicked his ass.”
“That… sucks. It definitely made you look bad,” Mia points out with a stink face. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m his big brother, I do what I gotta do,” Angel says easily, and she knows without a second thought he would do it again. “I expected to come home and go straight to my room or have a list of shit to do around the house. Instead, Mom brought me outside to the patio. There was this big, white canvas and a bunch of paint. She told me to paint my feelings. I thought it was stupid as fuck.”
Mia smiles, picturing little Angel looking at his mom with his ‘the fuck is this?’ expression and it’s definitely a funny image. “But you started painting?”
“I did it to just get it over with so I could go to my room, but I don’t know, it helped me get aggression out,” he admits. “My mom did religious realism, but I was super into abstract. I was throwing fucking paint around so fast my chubby ass worked up a sweat,” he chuckles at the memory. “It didn’t turn into anything, just a big shit colored blur, but it was better than punching a hole in the wall I had to fix the next day. Every time I got angry my mom had a canvas for me. I learned, I developed my own style, and I started taking classes at school. Sometimes I even watched my mom, asked her questions, and helped her a little bit. It became our thing.”
“That’s sweet,” Mia comments, her fingers now scratching at his happy trail as they often do.
Angel’s lips slowly stretch into a wistful smile. “I got real into charcoal for a while. Fuck, everything was covered in it. EZ hated it since we shared a room. My mom was annoyed because of the laundry, but she never said anything. Eventually, I settled on acrylic as my main medium. I would have so many fucking layers that it would take so fucking long to dry. I kept stealing her hair dryer to make it dry faster. She got so annoyed she bought me my own.”
“What did you do with all your work? I would like to see them, but I don’t think there is anything hanging at your place, or the clubhouse, or—”
“When she died, I quit,” Angel cuts her off. “It was our thing, and without her…” he trails off with a shake of his head, “I didn’t want to do it anymore, or be reminded of it. I stashed all my shit in the basement, it’s still there unless Pop tossed it.”
“What about her stuff?”
“It’s at the house, Pop still has a few displayed, has all her supplies exactly where she left them. I swear he turned parts of the house into a shrine. I could barely go in there right after she died and—” he falters, his voice deep and his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Um, I kept what she made for me in my old bedroom. I couldn’t look at it every day, I still can’t,” he admits. “I don’t know how Pop does it.”
Mia’s hands move to rest on his chest, rubbing softly to comfort him. “It’s okay that it still hurts, osito,” she assures him, and he drops his head while nodding. “The more you bury it, the more it hurts when it come out,” she whispers and kisses his head, her hands framing his face now.
“I didn’t—” Angel stammers and coughs to clear the knot in his throat. “EZ and I weren’t as close when we were teenagers, we had different shit going on in our lives, but I always had my ma. Sometimes I told her shit she didn’t even wanna hear, you know,” he chokes out and keeps shaking his head, but Mia keeps her hands firm. “We were closer than they know. Pop and EZ had each other, they talked all the time, but she was the person I talked to. With her gone…”
“I know,” she murmurs and kisses his forehead, his temple, anything she can while he refuses to look at her. “I’m here, mi angelito, I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere,” she promises over and over, her voice soft and hopefully soothing to him. She knows he’s settled a bit when he takes one of her hands in his and opens it to kiss the palm, a silent thank you she accepts. “Did your dad or EZ ever mention anything about it? About you not painting anymore?”
Angel shrugs nonchalantly and picks his head up. His eyes are glassy, and his cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but she simply kisses each one chastely to let him know it’s okay. “EZ mentioned it a few times, but I told him to shut the fuck up and he did. I told him to shut the fuck up a lot when she died. He learned to stop pushing and I stopped giving a fuck about pretty much everything.”
“Is that why he went after the person who killed her, and you didn’t?” Mia asks, and instantly regrets it, but Angel doesn’t move or retreat into himself, even if he does tense up considerably.
His hands find her ass again, a way of comforting himself, she thinks. “EZ kept wanting it to be more than a robbery, more than just a senseless murder. It was like he couldn’t see anyone wanting to do wrong by her because she was like a saint.”
“But you could?”
Angel looks her in the eye now. “There’s a lot of evil people in the world. Our mother wasn’t spared because she was a good person. Good people get the shit end of the stick all the time. Ezekiel is the smartest person I know, but he couldn’t wrap his head around that. It ate at him. Sometimes I think if I didn’t push him away I could have helped him, stopped him, something. But I was too busy doing anything I could to not think about it, about her, what happened, that my little brother had to be the one to find her, that my father got his heart broken, and how fucking lonely I was with her gone.”
“Hey, everyone deals with shit in their own way,” Mia assures him. “EZ wanted to fix it, bring her killer to justice. You tried to ignore it because you couldn’t deal with the pain. What happened isn’t your fault, it’s not your brother’s either. And EZ doing what he did… he’s too headstrong to have let it go. It probably still would have gone down, but instead of your dad losing one son to the prison system, he would have lost two.”
Angel chuckles and licks his lips. “He lost me a long time ago. Ever since EZ was a toddler I lived in his shadow. He was the golden boy, the sports star, he was supposed to get out of here, be someone important. There were no aspirations for me, no dream to follow, it was all on EZ. He and Pop were always close, always reading shit, having these meaningful conversations that would stop as soon as I walked into the room. When EZ got locked up it was like Pop had nothing left because not only was his wife gone, but his best friend was too.”
“Angel—”
“It was the loneliest fucking year of my life until the club came to town,” he cuts her off, his hands pulling her closer. “I started to prospect as soon as possible. It’s a family, and I hadn’t had one since my mom died, and fuck, I needed something, anything, to hold on to. It wasn’t what my mom would have wanted, but I had to stop pretending things were gonna be different between me and Pop. I’m never gonna be like EZ and he never tried to understand me, even after EZ went away. Every Sunday I went to the house for dinner and we barely said five words to each other that weren’t about sports. Every holiday was a letdown. I’d stop at the shop a few times a week to check in, just to make sure he was okay. He’d give me meat and send me away.”
“What about now that EZ’s home?”
He sighs. “It’s better, I guess. He has his buddy back. Sunday dinners are more lively. He accepts the club a bit more now that EZ’s a prospect, but it’s still the same with me and him.”
“But now you have your brother back,” Mia insists, her voice hopeful.
At that, Angel smiles, and it’s real. “I do. I forgot how much I missed him, how much I love him. The MC kept me busy, but having him back, and prospecting? Sometimes I feel like we’ve never been closer.”
“At least you have that. Only child over here, remember?” she reminds him. “Bishop’s done so much for me that I can never thank him enough, but having a sibling is different. I would be in a room full of people and still feel completely alone. There’s just stuff you can’t tell your dad.”
“I asked Bishop what happened to your dad, to Valentino,” Angel confesses, and Mia’s eyebrows raise. “All he said was that he was shot.”
Mia looks down at their laps and nods. “He was. Eleven times.”
“Damn.”
She peers back up and shrugs. “The risk comes with the life, and my dad wanted to be part of the Mayans ever since Tio started it, Bishop too.”
“Wait, you call Marcus Alvarez Tio?” Angel asks, his face almost comical.
Mia can’t help but smile, even with their topic of conversation being what it is. “Yeah, I know you guys all see him as your beloved Padrino, but to me, he’s the guy who did something completely over the top at every single birthday of mine until I was, like, sixteen,” she explains, her lips still curved upwards. “I mean, when I was eight, he brought a pony to my party. A fucking pony. When I turned eleven, he got me a trampoline and put it at the clubhouse. It was broken before I turned twelve, but it was fun while it lasted.”
“Well, now I know what to ask him for my birthday,” Angel comments and she barks out a laugh. “Your pop was from Oakland?”
“Yep, born and raised. He and Bop grew up together, and what Bishop wanted my dad wanted too. They had similar backgrounds—immigrant parents, hard home lives, just not an easy upbringing. They came up together and quickly became part of Tio’s inner circle once they were patched in.”
“What happened?”
Mia moves her hands his chest and starts wringing them together. “There was some new MC trying to make a name for themselves,” she starts, and Angel’s hands make their way to hers, linking them together. “I guess they figured what better way to do that than to take out the president of the mother chapter of the Mayans?”
“Dumb fucks,” Angel swears with a shake of his head. “That shit doesn’t make you legit, it starts fucking wars.”
“Yeah,” Mia murmurs. “They were in Oakland doing business and my dad saw the windows go down. He pushed Tio to the ground and pulled out his gun. He took most of the hit. Bishop took one in the arm himself. My dad was dead within a few minutes, before the police even got there, or so I’m told.”
“I’m sorry,” Angel says quietly. “You were five, right?”
She nods. “Bishop insisted on being the one to tell me and my mom. I remember her screaming and falling to the ground, then Bishop coming over to me,” she recalls, blinking to keep her eyes clear. “He told me, and I refused to believe him. I started hitting him actually, and he had just gotten shot so even though I was five it had to of fucking hurt. Eventually he just bear hugged me until I started crying.”
“And then he stepped up for your dad.”
Mia nods. “After the funeral, I wouldn’t let Bishop leave my sight. I would throw the biggest tantrum if he left. And my tantrums weren’t just screaming and crying like other kids. I went fucking postal. I threw shit, broke whatever was in my way. I would get so worked up I made myself sick. Tio gave Bop some time off from club stuff to help me and my mom, to spend time with me so I wouldn’t turn into the Tasmanian Devil every time he left the room.”
“You know, I’ve heard you talk about Bishop raising you, what you remember about your dad, but this is the most I’ve heard about your mom,” Angel mentions. “There a reason for that?”
“There isn’t much to know about her. Personally, I think it should take more than giving birth to make you a mother, because she gave birth to me, but that’s all she ever did. She’s no mother,” Mia states.
“It was like that even before your dad died?”
“She was there? I don’t know, I mean, Bishop says she was involved, but I have no memories of it. Maybe I held onto what I remember of my dad because I knew I wouldn’t be able to make more memories. But after he died, she just spiraled. Started drinking a lot, when that stopped doing the trick she turned to pills, and then graduated to heroin by the time I was ten.”
“She never got with anyone else?” he questions, his fingers playing with hers.
“Oh, she got with plenty,” Mia assures him. “Whatever she had to do to get her fix, she did.”
“I meant, not another Mayan?” he corrects.
Mia makes a face. “The thing about my mom is, well, she’s a user. She liked being with someone in the club, the respect you got from the girls who weren’t, the looks on the street when someone knew you were an old lady. My parents don’t have this big romantic love story like yours,” she goes on. “My mom was going back and forth between my dad and Bishop before she got pregnant. She would fight with my dad then get with Bishop, when that went south she’d go back to my dad. When she got pregnant she actually didn’t know who the father was.”
“Oh.”
Mia smiles a little. “Bop used to joke that I was one of the luckiest girls in the world because most guys bail in that situation, but they fought over me. They both wanted me, and they both wanted her too. Eventually, they got a test and Valentino Flores was crowned lucky winner of the sperm race. They got married when she was six months pregnant.”
“Bish didn’t want her after?”
“He did, actually,” she answers. “But the heroin got in the way. It turns out that is my mom’s one true love, not my dad, not Bishop, and certainly not me. Bishop refused to make her his old lady until she got clean and was able to take care of me. And, with her and Bop’s history, not to mention my dad’s, no other Mayan would get with her out of respect. It kinda pissed her off because she liked being a kept woman, you know.”
“She’s still not clean now, I’m gathering,” Angel pieces together.
“Nah. She never is. The longest she’s made it is six months. Every couple years or so she comes around wanting to be with Bishop, wanting to get clean, wanting to be together ‘as a family’. He falls for it every time, but I know better. I hate it because he get his hopes up, wastes so much money putting her through rehab, getting her everything she wants when she says she’s clean, then a few weeks later she’s gone and takes everything she can with her. His cash, whatever valuables she could get her hands on. She even sold one of his guns once, one of the .45s that had the Mayan insignia on it and shit.”
“Damn,” Angel swears. “Pop and I were never close, but he was still there. I knew no matter what happened he’d bail me out of whatever jam I got myself into, that I’d always have somewhere to go, a warm meal to eat,” he goes on with a shake of his head. “I couldn’t imagine not being close with my ma. That sucks, I’m sorry.”
Mia shrugs and leans against his chest, her arms snuggled between them. “My mom needs to be the center of attention, something she stopped being when I was born. The only thing she loves as much as heroin, is herself. I was never more than dollar signs to her, the Mayans supported her because of me, and she knew it,” she exhales, content as his large, warm hands rub up and down her back. “I’ve never known different. It was Bishop who made sure I stayed in school, got me into dance classes when I wanted them, signed me up for kickboxing because he wanted me to be able to protect myself. He’s the reason I’m alive,” she admits. “Well, him and Esai.”
“Esai Alvarez Esai?” Angel asks, pulling away enough to look her in the eye.
Mia nods with a ghost of a smile on her face. “Yeah, we were raised together. I think they wanted us to be like brother and sister. I mean, we have pictures of us in the bath when we were little, but that’s not the way it went.”
“You and Esai Alvarez?” he questions, his expression dumbfounded.
“Do you know another one?” she wonders in a giggle.
“No, I just—he, I mean, he’s fucking married to the club. He’s gonna be king, you know,” he comments and pulls her back against his chest. “I’ve never seen him with the same girl for more than a couple hours.”
“That was one of our problems. I couldn’t,” she stops and sighs, “I get there are rules. What happens on a run stays on a run, he could get his dick sucked whenever I wasn’t around, that shit happens but I—I never got right with it. It’s why we were on and off for about seven years. He’d go on a run and he’d come home looking so fucking guilty and would deny it up and down, but I knew. He’d admit it, we’d break up, he’d fight to win me back, and eventually I would give in,” she goes on and shakes her head. “He was my first everything, I couldn’t let go, I wouldn’t at the time. I had only two people I truly let in my life that I knew would love me no matter what, and he was one of them.”
“Wait,” Angel says, his mind churning. “La que se escapo,” he whispers to himself.
“Oh, fuck,” Mia groans.
“You’re the tattoo on his arm, the one that got away,” he continues. “Gilly asked once, he told him to fuck off.”
“Sounds about right,” she laughs. “He got the tattoo for my birthday. My birthday, his tattoo, fucked up, right? But he didn’t get ‘the one that got away’ until we broke up for the final time. I was pissed, but—he had to do something with it. I covered mine up.”
“You had one? Of him, I mean?”
“Kind of, I had the, uh, the old lady tattoo on my arm,” she answers as she shifts to reveal her skull tattoo to him, the one that got them talking in the first place. “I covered it with the tattoo for my dads. I’d always wanted something for them, and a guy I knew said he’d be able to cover it easily enough,” she says and pulls her jacket back up. “Fuck, that pissed him off. To Sai, that meant we were really over. He refused to cover his, did that instead,” she goes on. “Told me that I would be the only woman he would ever marry, so if it wasn’t me, it wouldn’t be anyone, and so there was no reason to get rid of the tat. I’m sure he’ll get someone knocked up one day and she’ll be his old lady, and she’ll be able to accept the shit I wasn’t able to.”
“Not the life for you, huh?” Angel asks with an eyebrow raised.
“It could be,” Mia insists. “I understand being in the club, loving it, putting it above most of the things in your life, but I need to be the one thing that it’s more important than. Not that I would ever make him choose, I respect the MC too much for that, but—I need to know that I’m number one. Sai couldn’t do that, no matter how hard he tried. I realized I was trying making him into someone he wasn’t, and I loved him too much to do that,” she explains. “He really tried the last two years. He’d opt out of runs, spend every spare moment he had with me, was completely transparent, but—he would get so angry sometimes. It made him feel like I was keeping him from the club, but I wasn’t, not intentionally, I just didn’t trust him. He had too curious of a dick.”
“I can’t believe I didn’t piece this together sooner. Of course, you knew E, why wouldn’t you? And that tattoo, it’s really you,” Angel mutters more to himself than her. “I feel like a fucking idiot.”
“He got it when I turned eighteen and he asked me to be his old lady. I was so happy, I thought that things would be different, and they were for a little. Bishop was pissed off because I moved in with him, but I was eighteen, he couldn’t stop me. Of course, I was back and forth between break-ups,” she mentions as an afterthought.
“This relationship, it sounds great, by the way,” he teases.
Mia laughs a little. “When it was great, it really fucking was. When it wasn’t, we were toxic, and I didn’t see it until later. He never hit me or shit like that, Bishop would have killed him if he did, but I saw what he did as cheating, and he didn’t. It made me feel like I wasn’t enough even though he swore up and down it wasn’t about me,” she continues. “And, like you said, he’s gonna be king. There is nothing he would choose over the club, and even though I would never ask, I needed to know I meant more, but I never would. When I finally accepted that I ended it. There were a few hiccups, and it was one of the hardest things I ever did. He was my best friend, he knew every single piece of me, you know?”
Angel shakes his head. “No, I don’t. I’ve never been with anyone like that.”
“You’ve never had a serious girlfriend?” Mia asks, biting her lip when Angel’s hands roam across her ribs, his fingers brushing against her bra. “I don’t believe that.”
“I’ve had girlfriends, but never like you’re talking about. The most serious one was in high school, which sounds fucked up when you’re thirty-one,” he says, a hint of a chuckle in his voice. “But I also haven’t been looking for anything serious.”
“What happened to her?”
“Her name was Adelita. I knew her from school, we were in the same year, but I guess you could say we met at church. Mom made us go every Sunday, rain or shine, sick or healthy,” he states, but then rethinks it. “Well, if we were, like, projectile vomiting or some shit we got out of it, but that meant she had to stay home too, and we knew how much church meant to her.”
“You were pickin’ up girls at church, Reyes?” Mia teases with a rock of her hips.
“Querida, I can pick up girls anywhere,” he answers with a knowing smile. “Anyways, she helped out a lot at church, and my mom would always guilt me and EZ into helping with whatever fundraiser or cause they were involved in every few months. We were working a booth together during the end of summer carnival and I was doing more flirting than working—”
“What? I do not believe that for a second. You have to be lying—ah!” Mia stops in a squeak when Angel tickles her sides.
“It’s my love language, mi dulce, literally,” he jokes. “One minute we’re working the booth, the next my mom is there and inviting her to dinner. It just kind of escalated from there. She wasn’t my first girlfriend, but she was the first I think I actually loved.”
“You think?”
“Looking back, I think I was trying so hard to be someone I wasn’t for her. I tried to be into the things she was, I wanted to care as much as she did about everything she did, but—I think I just wanted my mom to be proud of me for something, to have something for her to gush about to her friends what was about me for once and not EZ,” he admits.
“I didn’t know your mom,” Mia states the obvious, “but I know she had things to be proud of you for. It’s easy to see how much you loved your mother, how you would do anything for her, you even shared a hobby with her. So, I know damn well she gushed about you, Angel Reyes, so you shush right now.”
Angel smiles and presses a soft kiss to her lips. “Thank you.”
“What happened? With Adelita?” she asks.
“Just didn’t work out. We really didn’t have all that much in common. I mean, I like helping people, I still donate to the church and to causes and shit, but spending every waking hour asking people for money, going door to door to give out pamphlets and shit? Man, I felt like I couldn’t fuck my girlfriend without getting money from someone else first,” he says, and Mia can’t help but laugh. “Besides, she went into the Peace Corps after high school and I knew that shit was not for me. We ended with no hard feelings.”
“And nothing since? No one serious?” Mia asks.
“After Mom died, I didn’t want serious. I just picked up girls to fuck ‘em. And ever since I’ve been in the club, I’ve been happy to sleep with whatever hang around was paying attention,” he answers honestly. “Besides, it takes a lot to be with someone in the club, you gotta deal with more than the average bullshit a guy puts you through.”
“Oh, I know,” she confirms.
“You also don’t know who actually wants you for you or because of the leather,” he adds on. “Like your mom, being an old lady is all some chicks want, it doesn’t matter who gets them the title.”
“So many girls hated me when I was with Esai, even after we broke up because they knew how much we still meant to each other. None of the girls understood, to them I had everything. If Esai was going to be king, I would have been queen, but being an old lady wasn’t my end goal. Being with Esai was. This one particular puta, Bianca, fuck, every time she could she was tryin’ to get her nails in him. When we broke up, she thought it was like open season. I was in more than one fight with that bitch,” she says with a vengeful look in her eye.
“I would pay to see that shit,” Angel insists, and Mia pushes on his shoulder as he laughs. “What? I know you can fight, Bishop’s gone on about it, how many matches you won when you were in kickboxing.”
“Yeah, that’s why they guys were always quick to hold me back, they knew I could do some serious damage,” she mutters grimly. “All I wanted was five minutes alone with her, still do. She was all talk and I hate that.”
“You’re still close with E, then?”
Mia looks down, mostly out of shame. “I was. When Bop and I had our falling out I wanted away from all things having to do with the MC. I was so sick of him bailing out my mom and never taking my side with her. Esai tries to stay out of shit when it comes to my mom. He fucking hates her, but he respects Bop’s feelings about her, so he didn’t back me up. I cut him out too and haven’t had the lady balls to reach back out. This is the longest we’ve gone without talking since we broke up. I needed time away from him then to get over him, you know. That, and every time we hung out right after we ended up fucking.”
“I don’t know if I want to be in love like that,” Angel admits and starts to light another cigarette.
“Like me and E?”
“Maybe, I guess, more like my parents,” he answers before inhaling. “I saw what happens when it ends. My dad still isn’t the same, almost ten years later.”
“That’s where we differ—you don’t know if you want it, but I don’t know if I’m capable of it,” Mia confesses.
“I don’t know if I believe that,” Angel comments.
Mia’s eyebrows raise as she makes a face at him. “I loved Esai, but—I never trusted him so I never completely let myself go with him. I trust him with my life, but my heart? I barely trust myself with that shit,” she stops and shakes her head in shame. “The relationship I ended when I came out here…” she trails off and holds her face in her hands so he can't see her shame.
“Hey,” Angel pulls on her wrists softly, but they don’t budge. “Hey, talk to me, baby,” he pleads quietly. “You’re my best friend too, you never have to be afraid to tell me shit.”
“It was bad,” she confesses, her voice barely above a whisper. “It didn’t start that way, and—fuck,” she swears while trying to hold back tears, hating herself for getting so upset. “When Bishop and I had our falling out, he was brought into the fight.”
“Your ex?” he questions while finally removing her palms from her cheeks.
“Yeah, his name’s Jay—Jason, actually,” she corrects herself. “We had just started dating when my mom OD’ed, again, and we weren’t serious, but,” she stops and shakes her head, “I mentioned it when we got into it, how the guy I was dating was a normal law-abiding citizen and being there, trying to figure out what detox program to get my mom in, it shouldn’t have to be my normal, his either.”
“What did Bish say?”
“That it didn’t matter, she’s family and you do what you have to for family,” Mia recites from memory. “I said that she wasn’t my family, and she didn’t give a shit about him, and until she decided to get help herself nothing he did would matter,” she pauses to wipe at the corners of her eyes in an attempt to rid the pool of tears. “And he said he raised me better than to not care about my own mother and he was ashamed of me.”
“Hey, hey, hey,” Angel coos when tears start to fall. “It’s alright, c’mere,” he murmurs while pulling her into a hug.
“He’d never said that before, that he was ashamed of me,” she manages to get out in between shaky breaths. “I’d been arrested, kept in holding cells, tried drugs I told him I never would, made so many bad decisions he found about after the fact, but he’d never said he was ashamed of me.”
“He wasn’t, he’s not,” he assures her. “You don’t hear the way he talks about you when you’re not around, the joy in his eyes, how excited her gets. He loves you more than anything, mi dulce, please believe that.”
Mia nods against his chest, sniffling. “It hurt. What he said hurt, it hurt that it felt like he kept choosing her over me hurt, that he continued to believe her and not even listen to me, it really hurt. And I wanted to make him hurt too, so I said that I was done with it all—her, him, the MC, and that I would be better off with my cookie-cutter new boyfriend who would be able to give me a normal life.”
“It was a fight, everyone says shit during fights,” Angel responds in an attempt to console her.
“Yeah, but I made good on it. I stopped going to the clubhouse, I ignored Esai’s calls and texts, I didn’t check in with Bop the way I used to. I dug my heels in, and so did he,” she sniffs. “I fucked up. I made Jay out to be like Captain America and he wasn’t, I was just so angry, and so I tried everything to make it work to prove I was right. I gave in way too much, let him make me feel like I was crazy, isolate me, and control everything, and I mean everything,” she stops as her eyes well up again. “Fuck.”
Angel holds her tighter and presses kisses against her hair, shoulders, anywhere he has access to. “I’m right here, baby, I’m not going anywhere,” he promises.
“If Bishop knew what happened between me and Jay,” Mia says while wiping her cheeks, “he would be ashamed of me, it wouldn’t just be words.”
“Why do you say that?” Angel asks after a silent moment, his voice firm, cautious.
Mia shakes her head. “Never mind, forget I said anything,” she says and makes a move to get up, but he holds her down.
“No, I ain’t forgetting shit,” he tells her. “Talk to me.”
“It doesn’t matter, okay?” Mia insists and pulls free from his hold. “I got out of it, that’s what’s important. I’m here and made things right with Bishop and, and,” she falters and looks him in the eye, “I met you. My best friend.”
“I know you want me to let this shit go, babe, but—”
“No, no buts,” she cuts him off. “I need you to trust me when I say I handled it.”
Angel takes in a deep breath and stands with her. “Alright.”
“That’s it?” Mia asks, surprised.
“We’re best friends, right? If you say you handled it, then I believe you. That’s what best friends do,” he answers. “Especially ones that sleep together.”
“See, this is why we’re perfect for each other,” she insists while wrapping arms around his middle. “We’re best friends, we trust each other, and you don’t want to fall in love while I don’t think I ever truly can. We get the fun without the responsibilities of the relationship.”
Angel smiles softly before kissing her. “Well, when you put it that way…” he trails off and kisses her again.
They are interrupted by Angel’s phone buzzing in his pocket. He tugs it out and answers it immediately after looking at the caller. The conversation is quick, one she’s heard too many times before, but understands all the same. He’s needed at the clubhouse.
“I gotta go,” he sighs, but makes no move to let her go. “Thanks.”
“For what?” Mia asks, her chin resting on his chest as she looks up at him.
“Thanks for listening,” he whispers before kissing her gently. “I haven’t—I don’t talk about my mom, it’s just something I avoid, but it felt good talking about her with you.”
“Any time,” Mia says and pushes her lips against his in a barely-there kiss. “Me and Bop talk about my dad all the time. It was hard at first, but it makes it easier, I think. It helps keep your memories too.”
He nods. “Noted. You coming to the clubhouse?” he asks as they start to make their way back through the house and to their vehicles.
She shakes her head while leaning against her car. “Nah. If you got called in that means you guys are gonna be in templo for a bit and I’m tired. I was running around with Letty all day, remember?”
Angel puts his helmet on as he nods. “That girl does tire you out. Her mouth alone never stops moving.”
“Shut up, she loves you guys,” Mia scolds him with a smack to his chest.
“I never said she ain’t family, she’s just a teenage girl. I stopped being interested in them once I hit twenty,” he replies.
“Coming from your current sex partner, that’s good to know,” she jokes in return.
“Ooh, sex partner, I love it when you talk dirty. Say it again,” Angel instructs.
“Sex partner,” Mia says in a sultry tone.
They start to move closer to kiss again, but his phone goes off. “Fuckin’ Boy Scout,” he swears and pulls his phone out and declines his brother’s phone all. “Such a fuckin’ pissant.”
“You love him. Go, they’ll start to wonder where you are,” she encourages. “Thank you, again, for my ceiling.”
Angel’s leg swings over his bike and with a kick the engine roars to life. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just made the call to get it done when you asked, remember?” he says with a wink.
Mia nods with a knowing smile and watches him pull away while berating herself for even bringing up Jay, let alone talking about what their relationship was like with Angel.
She makes a mental note. It will never happen again.
CHAPTER 4
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tamakiamajikistentacles · 4 years ago
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Disappearance 1: The Beginning {Katsuki Bakugo}
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A/N: Please be sure to reblog, comment, review, and like if you enjoy! Feedback is what keeps me motivated! Been working on this one for a while so I’m eager to know what everyone thinks!
Disappearance Masterlist
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Slinging a towel around the back of his neck he looked out at the group of men in front of him beginning to pack up their gym bags. Some had their soaked hair held back with sweatbands while others dabbed at their faces with their own towels, the sign of a class well spent.
“You all did well,” he said loudly, catching their attention. “We’ll meet back here on Wednesday to work on more escape techniques for violent physical attacks. That’s our focus from here on out since this is your last full week of this course and next Monday will be our last meeting. Get home safe and get some rest, the work ain’t done yet.”
He smirked at the excited affirmatives shouted back as they continued to pack up—“You got it, Bakugo sensei!” and “See you Wednesday, sir!”
When everyone was gone he made his way into the small men’s locker room of the community center and pulled his civilian clothes out of his locker to change into. He also grabbed his work bag and hefted it over his shoulder as he closed the tiny locker, spinning the combination lock haphazardly.
The cool breeze felt amazing on his flushed skin as he exited the building and began his walk to the train station, the need to keep his quirk under control lifting slightly now that he was in open air; he let out a few small pops as he walked, the discharge soothing. It made him antsy to build up so much sweat and not be able to burn it off.
Most of what he’d built up during class had been taken care of by the time he reached the station and boarded his train, the stops scrolling on an LED board. It wasn’t a long journey with only six stops passing before he was stepping onto another platform, the still present breeze ruffling his hair as he set out for his building.
He wished that opening the door and stepping into the darkened apartment brought some sort of relief to him. The only positive he had was the silent appearance of the brown tabby cat at the end of the genkan, green eyes shining in the shadows as he toed off his shoes.
Flipping on the light he approached her and have her head an affectionate pat, smiling softly at the tiny mewl he received in return. “Hi, Miki.”
Setting his bag aside he made sure the door was locked behind him before checking over all the windows and the balcony doors. Miki watched him move around the room and then followed him into the bathroom as he started the shower, jumping up onto the counter and curling up in the sink.
The warmth of the water felt amazing on his sore muscles, a full day of patrol and both of his classes back to back having worn him out. In reality he should’ve been used to it since it was his schedule every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday to teach self-defense for the 5:30 women’s class and the 7:30 men’s class at the community center. It had been his schedule for over three years yet his body simply wouldn’t adjust.
Lacking adjustment seemed to be a reoccurring theme in his life over the past few years if he was honest with himself. He hadn’t adjusted to living alone, at least not fully. He wasn’t surprised when the apartment was empty at the end of the day but there were times he still got down two plates for the extra portion he’d long ago become accustomed to making. He started the night in the middle of the bed but inevitably drifted to the right side as he slept, as if making room for a body to lie beside him that never took their place.
It’s just how his life went now.
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His fellow heroes were very good at keeping villains in check. They were also very good at pushing his buttons. Deku in particular (to the surprise of no one) fit these facts better than anyone else he’d ever known.
They had been out on a team up assignment for a small-time villain group that had recently been formed under a similar doctrine as the Paranormal Liberation Front, something commonplace since the original organization had folded years ago. The hero players from Deku’s agency included him, Shoto, and Uravity while his own were himself, Red Riot, and Chargebolt.
It was a simple mission that took thirty-six hours to complete and when they all entered Deku’s agency all twenty-two members of the villain group were on their way to a maximum-security prison.
As the heads of the two agencies involved, he and Deku were holed up in his office discussing the reports they would need to provide for the raid and arrests when the bullshit started with flushed cheeks and a slight stutter.
“Kacchan… you’re not yourself,” he began hesitantly.
Katsuki’s eyes snapped up to meet his and his face went bright red.
“I just—you’re too clinical about all this! What happened to the Dynamight that finished one raid and would rather blast off to the next instead of sit down and do a report? You used to take hours to calm down after a fight but now? You drop your shoulders, throw your gauntlets, and start the boring part. Then it’s onto the next like you’re checking off a list!”
“You’re criticizing me for growing up and dealing with all aspects of my damn job? You do the same fucking thing!”
“I always have!”
He clicked his tongue and stood from the chair, grabbing his notes for the report and jamming them into his hero bag as he turned to the door. “I’m not listening to this bullshit.”
“Kacchan, it’s not bullshit!”
He made his way down the short hallway and into the lobby area where he could see the lavender haired secretary keeping an eye on the camera flashes beyond the front door. He braced himself to face the vultures, a long sigh heaving his shoulders.
Deku had followed him, though, and tried continuing the conversation, “You’ve been getting worse and we can all see it!”
“I ain’t getting worse at my job you fuckin’ nerd,” he ground out, patience rapidly thinning.
“You’re not worse, you’re detached,” he argued. “You’re letting your personal life affect your hero life and when you’re detached you’re more likely to make a mistake!”
“I don’t have a damn personal life, there’s nothing to affect my being Dynamight!” he hissed, mindful of the secretary’s probable interest in hero gossip.
"Exactly! Kacchan, you can't keep hurting yourself like this. I liked Chiasa as much as anyone and I thought she was good for you, but you're in pain. It's been four years and you've barely faced the fact that she's gone."
"Do you know what I've faced?" he asked quietly, the low tone more frightening than any threat he’d ever bellowed. "The hurt. The hurt to hope that one day she's going to come back to that apartment when every statistic out there says that's essentially impossible. Do you know what's painful? Watching you and Uraraka get married without having Chiasa beside me so I can tell her that it'll be us next. I'm very fucking aware that she's gone and I've tried to deal with that but I can't have closure when the entire thing doesn't make any sense in the first place. I stay in that apartment because I hope every day that I'll find the missing piece of the puzzle for how or why she disappeared.”
Deku’s jaw dropped, his lips twitching uselessly as they tried to form a response to the raw pain in the admission. It was enough to make him scoff—leave it to the nerd who still cried at the drop of a hat to not be able to handle someone else’s emotions.
“Send your report to my people by tomorrow morning. Hikari will take care of it,” he said dismissively, turning to exit the small agency lobby. He didn’t have the time or the patience to wait for some bumbling attempt at a discussion about feelings.
“Hik—but—wha—Kacchan!” came the sputter behind him but he continued walking until the double doors closed behind him and the sunshine was warming his skin. He wasn’t going to have that conversation go any farther today, especially not with Deku.
Outside the building both Kirishima and Kaminari were taking press questions alongside Uravity, their personalities best for the public and hellbent on fielding everything they could to make his life easier as the microphones and camera’s rounded on him.
“THANK YOU ALL FOR THE SUPPORT!” Kirishima all but bellowed, catching all of the media attention as he parted them with his larger stature as the three men made their way to the waiting company car. “Those will be all the questions for today!”
Katsuki was so fucking thankful for the redhead.
The three heroes slid into the car and began their journey across town to his agency, the plush seats welcoming after the tiring past two days they’d had. It seemed like this had also caused both Kirishima and Kaminari to, for once, forego conversation and the ride was silent. He was actually able to attempt to relax but the ghost of his conversation with Deku lingered uncomfortably in his mind.
When they pulled up to the agency building it seemed that the media had either beaten them there or sent out their cohorts to intercept them. Regardless of who or how they got there, he cursed them internally from behind the tinted window.
“I don’t wanna talk to them again,” Kaminari whined as he scrubbed his hands across his face.
“It’ll be easy, man, all we gotta do is say we’ve already given our statements to the press,” Kirishima assured with a tired smile. “I’ll handle ‘em.”
Thankful wasn’t a strong enough word when it came to him.
They exited the car and true to his word Kirishima shot down the inquiries politely and with a smile as he paved the way towards the large set of doors. Inside the lobby was so much quieter. A silent nod of greeting from his secretary Hikari welcomed them and he returned it, informing her that reports for the mission would be coming over from Deku’s agency by the morning.
Kaminari headed straight for the locker room to change and get his phone, surely ready to break out in hives since he hadn’t spoken to Jiro in over a day. Kirishima surprisingly didn’t follow, instead choosing to walk with him to his office where he planned to finish his half of the paperwork.
The redhead all but collapsed into one of the chairs opposite the desk as he rounded it and sat in his ageing office chair. The cracked leather was a comfort after a long few days.
But it was too quiet.
“Spit it out.”
Kirishima wasn’t surprised by the gruff order. “You and Midoriya went over that report pretty quick.”
“Wasn’t hard.”
“And you looked pissed when you came outside. Like, more than usual after talking to him.”
“He had some shit to say.”
He fixed him with one of his concerned puppy-eyed looks. “Some shit we’ve all been thinking, Bakugo. Some shit that needs addressed before things get bad. We’re worried about you.”
His lip curled up in a sneer. Maybe he wasn’t as thankful for him as he originally thought.
“I know it’s not what you want to hear, man, but you don’t see how much you’ve changed in the last few years. Between throwing yourself into work and extra cases and the community service stuff, you’ve practically lost yourself.”
“I’m still exactly who I’m supposed to be,” he snapped. “I’m Dynamight, the last number one hero and the best fuckin’ thing to happen to this damn hero system since All Might in his prime!”
“Yes you are,” he agreed. “But we’re worried that you’re doing too much and losing focus, and you lose focus in a fight against a villain for one second and you’re done!”
“I don’t lose focus,” he ground out, eyes narrowed.
“And we don’t want you to!”
He stared at his longtime friend for a long moment before simply advising, “Get out.”
“Bak—”
“I said. Get. Out,” he repeated. “Deku’s one thing but you? Get the fuck out.”
Kirishima sighed in defeat as he stood and made his way to the door of the office. “We’re just worried about you, you know?”
He stayed silent as he began working on the report once again, the lead weight on his chest getting just a bit heavier when he heard another sigh and retreating footsteps.
Of course they cared and of course they worried but what the hell was the use? He was getting his work done, saving people and fighting villains, and he was doing well in the eyes of the public. Less surly than in his earlier hero career he was still far from the talk show host’s dream guest, but he did the rounds when necessary. He was good professionally.
Personally… well, he didn’t exactly have a personal life anymore, did he? It was a bitter musing to consider but a true one nonetheless.
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Another night coming home to a dark apartment, another mewled greeting from Miki, and another feeling of hollow sadness awaited him. It felt even worse after the two emotional ambushes he’d endured during the day. He didn’t need more reminders that she was gone and that he was alone now—that was ever-present.
As if to make him feel worse, he found Miki curled up in the linen basket next to the sofa, head low and morose as she laid atop the green blanket that haunted them both.
“I know,” he sighed when he saw her, “I miss her too.”
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It had been a bad fucking day on patrol.
Normally any day he got to blast a villain straight into quirk cancelling cuffs was a good one but not when they had a quirk like Phantom Hands. The bitch had been able to create a dozen ghostly grey hands that followed her every direction; it hadn’t been a problem until they were around his neck and squeezing hard enough to cut off his air supply, but even before the pressure was applied he had panicked enough to lose his breath on his own.
The feel of anyone or anything foreign around his neck had been a problem for almost a decade by then but it just wasn’t something he could shake. He’d tried his own exposure therapy and at one point even consulted a therapist about the issue, but the trauma of his teenage years persisted.
Red Riot was the one to take the villain down and allow him to breathe which, of course he was—wasn’t exactly manly to let your best friend suffer. His complaints and insults aside, he was grateful for the air that filled his lungs as soon as he had her in the cuffs.
But it was still a shit day.
He only wanted to be home and in the kitchen starting the ginger pork recipe his girlfriend had requested they try making sometime that week. “They” really meant he cooked and she stirred what he directed, but he enjoyed it regardless. His schedule didn’t often give them extended time together and when it did she possibly could be in the middle of a project that she couldn’t walk away from. So he cherished the domestic moments they had when he could and always looked forward to them.
Relief flooded him as soon as he had the apartment door open and a tiny brown kitten trotted up to him, putting her paws on his shin and batting at his knee.
“Ease up on the claws, Miki,” he said, gently guiding her down on all fours. She chirped and butted her head against his hand, purring happily when he scratched under her chin.
He half expected his girlfriend to pop around the corner from the bedroom and start teasing him like usual, baby talking about how much of a daddy’s girl the kitten was despite him being reluctant to get her in the first place. But instead, it was quiet.
Noting that the lights were off, he caught sight of her blanket pooled in the corner of the couch and absently started folding it, dropping it into the small basket with the others before heading into their bedroom. Normally when he came home to a dark apartment it was because she was sleeping off a headache; for someone who worked on a computer almost every day, it wasn’t an uncommon occurrence.
Except that the bedroom was empty. And so was the bathroom, and the kitchen, and the office.
Coming back into the living area his eyes swept across the room. He took in what he hadn’t noticed before: the half full mug of green tea on the kotatsu with one of her novels next to it, her reading glasses perched on the arm of the couch, her cellphone facedown and dipping between the cushions.
A pit began to form in his stomach as he glanced back at the genkan where her shoes still sat untouched. He thought back to her wallet on the bedside table where it had been since they went out the weekend before and the open closet door from when he had gotten dressed that morning, not a single thing different than when left.
He did another lap around the apartment checking all three windows and the balcony doors to find that they were all locked. Their front door was keycard access only and he knew they were the only two who had them, his in the pocket of his work bag and hers sitting on their dresser. The apartment was essentially a fortress accessible only to them.
So why the hell did it look like she’d vanished into thin air?
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A/N: Please be sure to reblog, comment, review, and like if you enjoy! Feedback is what keeps me motivated!
Disappearance Masterlist
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violetsdicaprio · 5 years ago
Note
“You!” with Tommy Shelby x Shelby sister angst please? If not then that’s fine ahaha🖤
Anon: Request where Tommy Shelby finds out his daughters been sleeping and sneaking out with a rival gangsta please
Romeo and Juliet      
-Part 1
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Pairings: Tommy Shelby x Sister! Reader
Warnings: Swearing, drinking, just Peaky Blinders themes.
A/N: I thought these two requests blended well, so here’s what I came up with! Also, when this request popped up, i thought i was in trouble 😂
“WHERE IS SHE?” THE VOICE OF Arthur Shelby boomed as he entered the den. Groups of men scrambled towards the 4 walls, trying to avoid the wrath of the man with the brutal reputation. “John! Have you seen Y/N?” He asked as he approached the boy by the black board. 
“Upstairs.” John replied, shaking his head at whatever rivalry had got into: again.
Bolting up the stairs, his heavy footfall could be heard against the rotting wood as he called, “Y/N!”
A faint voice mumbled, “Shit.” then an “Out, out.” before the slamming of a window. “What do you want, Artie?” The same voice called back, almost mocking him with the nickname she came up with when she was 3. 
“Open the fuckin’ door.” Arthur demanded as he tried to jiggle the door open but it was locked.
“I’m changing.” She snapped back, which was true but wasn’t the only reason. The heavy foot falls was once again heard trailing back downstairs as he sulked away, allowing Y/N to crack the window open revealing the dashing boy she’d been sneaking around with for the last year. “Sorry.” She whispered, a smirk played on the boys lips.
“Was worth it.” His deep voice replied before he winked, causing the girl to blush lightly and giggle. No one else but Mattia Sabini -Eldest son of Darby Sabini- had ever made her feel this way, it was corny, she thought. Yet it was true; her hard exterior completely dissolved when around him and it was the same with him…
“See you at the cut, later?” he asked and when the sudden movement from the hallways began to make them both panic, she pecked his lips.
“See you there.” she smiled as he jumped down and she closed and locked the window. Combing through her hair, she took the crazy strands behind her ear and zipped up the back of her dress, making sure she looked presentable…
Gracefully, she walked down the stairs, earning tilts of caps and bows of head from the men in the shop. Unlike the brothers who were feared, Y/N was respected, she was selfless and polite towards everyone -much to her brothers dismay- but she was the beam of light Small Heath needed to keep going!
“There you are.” Polly stated, her nose flared: oh she was mad. Y/N was quick to spin around to see her Aunt and Brother, cross armed staring at her. 
“What now?” The 18 year old rolled her eyes aggressively looking severely unimpressed by her family. Polly went to speak when Ada came marching in, followed by a red faced Finn and an out of breathe Isiah. “Yeyyy!” She spoke in a monotone voice. “One big happy family: reunited.” She added in a sarcastic tone, before her face dropped blank. A cold sneer on her face as she looked between them all, never mind the boys, her coldness sent a chill down Polly’s spine…
“Family meeting.” Arthur grumbled, all of them draped into the kitchen whilst Y/N held back, wanting to get away. You see, Y/N used to be close with her family, she really did but war changed them; all of them. Over time, she watched her Aunt deteriorate with fear, Ada got rid of the blanket - seeing how truly vile the world is. The boys came back almost unrecognisable, it hurt her more then anything else. Y/N hadn’t changed, still kind and caring as ever. It was only since there changed ways started to have an influence, she turned colder then the bleak midwinter. That’s the only way to survive this family, you see they tried to protect her, even more so then Finn! It drove her crazy, they acted as if they were the victim but with recent events her own family were becoming the enemy. So along with her cold exterior came her rebelliousness, her and Mattia were supposed to be temporary, they both wanted to break from their families hold but when the two were together it was a great enough escape as it was. However, the Shelby’s had one thing they all still had in common was their hatred to a certain Inspector Campbell.
Tiptoeing away from her family, she saw the one pig that made her blood turn cold and the colour to wash from her face. His sickening smirk was upon his lips, directed towards the young girl. Shivering as her chest began to rise rapidly, she knew he had a certain reputation with women and he hadn’t tried to hide his feeble attempts towards the young girl. Just as his eyes lingered on her, she felt completely dirty. Before she could say something, he flashed a chain she knew all too well.
Y/N’s eyes widened in slight horror, the silver cross gleamed in the dull sunlight as the family gem stone of the Sabini’s flashed in front of her eyes. Oh shit. He’s been watching, probably for months, watching me. She thought. Her heart was pumping so fast the girl presumed she would explode. Y/N knew if her dirty secret got out, it’d collapse the whole family and any progress they’d made -even if she didn’t agree with what they did. To be honest, she was the core to this family. Y/N kept them all sane and in order, Polly knew this, that’s why she pushed her niece away, that’s what she thought would be best for Y/N and the family. Yet Y/N just wanted to feel loved, like before…
Without realising, the Inspector had approached her. Gulping at the closeness, she tumbled back.
“Now, Miss Shelby, seems you have been busy.” His thick Irish accent filled her ears, causing her to shiver. 
“Leave me alone.” She expressed weakly, internally scolding herself for it.
“But I think you could be great for the cause. Smart and clearly” he paused, holding up the chain. “Sly.” 
Snatching the chain, she glared at the man who continued to smirk. “I don’t know where you fucking got this but you dare utter a single word of this, I’ll cut off your hands and bury you face down in a ditch.” She snarled, she done it once before, Campbell could be next for all she cared.
“Ah, maybe not the brightest. Threatening an Inspector.” he tutted, edging even closer.
A burst of anger fuelled her confidence as she leaned in, whispering “I don’t think the court would care, you didn’t even fight for your country. Your as good as dead to them already.” She whispered maliciously, the devilish smirk and twinkle in her eye reminded all that she was a fucking Shelby.
Walking backwards she watched his face fall flat, almost embarrassed. About to laugh, her body collided with another causing her to turn rapidly. Fuck. Thomas Shelby stood there slightly amused at the Inspectors reaction but his face faltered. Before she could slip away, he spoke “You!” he spoke harshly, “Family meeting.” Simply, she groaned.
“Don’t make me go, Tom.” She huffed, but it was too late she was already dragged by the arm. “Look! I found him.” Y/N announced as if she hadn’t tried to escape, slumping in the seat by John who she still got along with - slightly. “Alright Jo-Jo” she teased him with the old nickname.
“Yeeah, Yeah, shurrup.” he muttered back in a jokingly tone. The two sat and watched as the rest argued back and forth until Tommy turned to stare in their direction when Ada stormed out, scanning over his two younger siblings. Y/N never looked more interested in her life. 
“Right, everyone out.” he called. “Not you.” he directed at Y/N who sat back down with a huff. She even noticed Pol linger by the door, not sure if she wanted to leave the two alone: she did. 
“What do you want Tom?” she asked cautiously.
“What was Campbell speaking to you about?” he asked calmly, sitting down opposite her whilst lighting a cigarette and she did the same. Inhaling quickly.
“Oh you know, just casual chitter chatter.” She remarked sarcastically, not wanting this conversation to continue. Simply laughing at his intense glare as she did the same. Piercing blue eyes clashing with each other. 
“Am I Laughing?” He asked rhetorically.
“No but you should, might melt your cold heart.” She snapped back, had enough of his games. Although he didn’t show it, her comments did nip. everyone who was on the receiving end felt the nip, she was brutal and more importantly very personal. “Now, excuse me.” She spoke.
“I know what your fuckin’ doing.” He seethed, not one to let out his anger but she could easily pull everyone’s trigger, it was a gift. “Your gonna end up dead with him, probably thrown to the bottom of the cut.” 
Stopping dead in her tracks, her heart pricked repeatedly. Her wrists curled into balls. “What i’m doing?” She exclaimed. “I’ve done nothing.” 
“The Sabini’s are dangerous, I thought you of all people would understand.” He returned to his calm state after a few puffs of tobacco.
Y/N just scoffed. “Sounds familiar doesn’t it, Tom? Falling for the enemy. I thought you of all people would understand.” She reiterated, causing a moment of silence. 
Tommy huffed, “I’m worried for ya. You’re my sister.”
Y/N exhaled in a chuckle. “You care?” she shook her head. “No, all you fucking care about is business.”
“Y/N/N.”
“Don’t you fucking dare.” Her voice cracked slightly. “I tried. I fucking tried with you all. You pretend to care about family. All you want is power and money. If i turned up dead in the cut, you wouldn’t even shed a single fucking tear.” Y/N boomed, her temper rising and with the look on Tommy’s face, she was satisfied. Picking up her coat, she ran out to the den frantically. Tears streaming down her cheeks. Pol was quick to see Tommy who was sat there with his head in his hands. 
“Y/N?” Arthur asked, placing his arm on his sisters’ shoulder only to be shoved away.
“Fuck off!” She screamed, causing the whole place to fall silent never seeing the girl so angry; an angel soon turned the devil. In a split second she was gone. 
 Bang. 
Everyone stared at the door then turned to Arthur who was now on his way to Tommy with a murderous look plastered across his face…
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tomdiddlyumptious · 4 years ago
Text
TH| You Monster
Summary: you want a peircing and Thomas says no at first, but let’s switch the language
Warning: exposed breasts, language and a bit of anger. Nibbling and white t-shirts.
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You and Tom sat on the couch, eyes glued to your phones and sitting in silence. You bit your lip thinking about something that you want to do, but Tom might call it a stupid idea.
Jacob, jake, and zendaya left about 20 minutes ago, you guys were playing board games and having cold beers.
“Hey babe?” You ask, looking up at Tom. You finally had the courage to ask because it wasn’t that big of a deal, what’s the worst he can possibly say?
“Hm?” He looks up from his phone, eyes immediately scanning your face, “I know that face, you're either nervous or wanting to do something. Come sit!”
He smiles but squints his eyes, trying to read you as you give a big grin and stand, walking over and sitting next to him.
“Soooo” you smile, slapping your hands together before putting them on your lap. You look over and Tom who has his eyebrows raised, completely confused but amused wanting to find out what you wanna do.
“Would you hurry up? I feel like your breaking- wait are you breaking up with me!” He rambles, his eyes widening and his hands go to his hair. You scrunch up your face at his stupidity, shaking you head no as he looks at you and sighs in relief, placing a hand on his heart.
“Okay, I know your probably gonna think I’m fucking crazy or something buttt” you hold on to the t, biting the side of your lip before speaking up.
“I want nipple piercings”
One eye is squinted as his neck expands, his mouth open and the side of his lip sticking up. Obviously confused, but he laughs and shakes his head.
“No”
You smack your lips as his face relaxes, your head jerking back and to the side, You wanna pop him in the back of his head as hard as you can. But you decide it’s not a good look, but also you fume and lift your engulfed fists and look at them.
“And why the hell not?” You ask, fake hitting him and he jumps up, covering the back of his head knowing what about to come up. He slowly retracts himself and sits up straight letting out a hmph before explaining.
“Because I should be the only one looking at your breast-“
“That’s the most dumbest shit I’ve ever heard, Thomas” you say, crossing your arms and tilting your head.
“Well my answer is still no”
“Well since when did the fuck I ask? I just told you what I wanted”
“Then I’m coming with you”
There he sat in the car, lumped in the passenger seat with his jaw clenched and his arms crossed tight across his chest. Muttering things you couldn’t really catch as he was looking at the road, clearly annoyed that you're paying no attention to him.
Right now you are in the zone, bumping to your most littlest music while sitting up in your seat, only arching your back when the beat drops, your face scrunched as you bopped your head to the beat also, banging you hand on the steering wheel.
You turned to him as you stopped at the red light, lip singing to him, pointing at him as he just continued to look forward, his jaw only tighter. You laughed as you lifted your finger to his neck and digged in there, he’s currently trying his hardest not to laugh as he puts his shoulder to his ear. You twirl you finger and bite your lip trying to find a spot and break him.
“Come on babe! Loosen up a bit!” You giggles, grunting as you squeezed your finger between his shoulder and ear, he busts out laughing, “now there’s the man I know”
“Whatever, green light” he mutters, ripping your finger from his neck and sitting up straight, a large smile slapped across his face.
“Calm down Thomas, I’m pretty sure it’s a girl anyway” you say trying to cheer him up, he’s a bit self conscious because he knows you have a soft spot for people with tattoos and piercings, and the only tattoo he has is on his foot.
“Oh and that makes it so much better, I don’t forget that easily that you like girls also, let’s go please” he mutters the last part, reaching up and pinching the roof of his nose, slowly calming himself because your no help at this fuckin point.
You sigh and roll your eyes, opening and stepping out of the car, shutting it softly behind you.
“There’s no way in hell im letting this lil boy get to me” you whisper to yourself as the toddler steps out of the car, following you with a fake small grin on his face.
As you step in the tatto shop you see there’s a Asian male, young 20s with that glowing but inked skin. Holy shit, you thought.
He gave you both a smile, sitting behind a little stance waiting for you both to get there.
“Woah, this is so cool!” You walk up as you look around at the different styles, the tattoo guns and the rine stone little shop for your teeth.
He chuckles and taps the tall desk “what can I do for ya?” He says in a rather American accent.
“Oh, god I don’t know how to say this” you close your eyes tight, Thomas chuckling but putting on his bold face, trying to stand tall but he’s short… as fuck. Kinda
“I’m guessing the nips?” The worker chuckled.
“Yeah! How did you know?”
“Because you looked at the rings for it” you giggled as you looked away from them, finding his eyes and nodding.
“Alright, right this way” he stands up and moves from behind the desk, putting his hands out to gesture to the back room. Tom starts to slowly calm down, thinking that the worker is nice because he involved him.
“The names jordan by the way” he smiles and entering the room. It has black walls with designs on it with the window open, the sun beaming in the room for brightness and a nice percent of wind, two seats next to the table that you’re supposed to lay on.
Jordan goes to the room connected to the current one, shutting the door behind him.
“See! Jordan is nice, he isn’t after you!” You whisper yell, smacking the side of Toms arm as he bites his lip, still hesitant.
“We will see when he asks you to pull the shirt off, Y/n” he death stares you, his lips pursed as You smack your lips and roll your eyes, sitting on the table while he sits next to you. Silently waiting for Jordan to come back.
“Let’s get that shirt off- wait that sounds wierd” he cuts himself off, laughing off his stupid comment as he sits down with his hands in his pokets.
You smile and take off your shirt casually, not trying to impress anyone. Your breasts slap against your chest as Tom scrunch’s his lips waiting for Jordan’s reaction or response. Jordan puts on his clean rubber gloves and stares at your nipple, turning his head side to side.
“Mind if I?” He asks looking up and Tom, Tom raises his eyebrows, not knowing what he’s asking.
“Touching?” He corrects himself, his day going great, or atleast it looks like it. Not annoyed at all, buster.
“Y-yeah, g-go ahead” Tom stutters, jordan letting out a distant chuckle and lifting his hand to cup your boob.
Tom is instantly fuming but he knows better not to do anything, or else a hard ass slap on the back of his head. Which is very unpleasant, to him that’s a fucking understatement. His face a bit red, trying to think of something else other then the obvious sight of another man cupping your boob and moving it around. He silently balls his hands when really all jordan wants is really to go is find the right size.
“Alright I think we’re gonna go for the medium size” he lets them go carefully, picking up the medium sized ring peircing that has a ball on the middle of them and moving it to a little tray before picking up a needle.
“Oh shit, I don’t think I was prepared for this” you whisper as Jordan laughs, picking up any other necessary tools for your perky nipples.
“It’s gonna be a little pinch alright?” He asks, grabbing a little achol wipe and brushing over them, the coldness making you jump and let out and crackly “oh!”
And no, it isn’t sexually, youre suprised form the contact.
“I feel like your lying, hold my hand” you reach out your hand for Thomas that he gladly accepts, you give him a smile and a reassuring squeeze.
He smiles and stares at Jordan’s covered hands as he grabs the tools that look like scissors, but not a sharp tip, just squeeze thingies.
The clips it to one of your nipples and you really, like really, AINT feelin that coldness, your back jolts and Tom laughs at you, making you glare at him.
“Alright this let this over with” Jordan mutters before putting the needle next to your nipple.
“1, 2-“ he pierces them, you wince and suck a hard breath, only squeezing Toms hand a little, before repeating the process again.
Tom hurries and lays, taking the keys from you and driving home.
When he got there, he wanted to rip your shirt off but you continuesly told him he can’t because they need to heal first, he pulled you in the house and shut the door, taking you to the couch reminding himself to lock the door later.
“Can I finally see them!” He smiles before looking at your white t-shirt, the loop sticking through the shirt.
“Yeah yeah Thomas, hold on” you softly pulled off your shirt and set it to the side, Thomas’s mouth falling agape and slightly drooling from your breasts falling on your stomach, a noise made in the process. He admired them and carefully played with them.
You both didn’t even notice the door open as Harrison enters with some KFC in his hand, quietly placing it on the kitchen counter as starting to walk to the livingroom wanting to scare the both of you, once he’s right there.
“Boo!” He scares the both of you, you turn around finding Harrison, his face beat red as he notices youre topless.
“Oi fuck off mate!” Tom scolds, using his hand to cup your breasts harshfuly.
You shriek in pain “OW! Thomas!” You slap his hand away, along it hirt only more as you almost sob in pain. You put your t-shirt back on as Harrison’s eyes are closed shut, leaning on the wall for support.
Its been a while and they healed, Tom only falling more in love with them, knowing he can change them when he pleases.
Now for fun he nibbles on them, when you sit on that same couch and watch Disney channel he plops beside you, casually pulling out his phone before draping a leg over your lap and behind your back, him getting closer and reaching down to chew on them while he scrolls through Instagram as you wrap a arm around his hard and play with his hair, his favorite type of piercing on your nips is a steel barbell with marijuana flowers on the sides of them, it really complements your skin he always thinks but says “they make my teeth feel better”.
Your friends saying that they seen your t-shirt with a large wet spot around your nipples is normal is a understatement.
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stardust-walker · 4 years ago
Text
High Hopes
word count: 2767
If anyone wants to be added to my taglist, just let a girl know!
Previous Chapters: 1 2 3 4
Chapter 5
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Dove felt the blood drain from her face. Her stomach turned as she closed her eyes to keep from spilling the already minimal contents of her stomach onto the rooftop. A sudden shout followed by a click caused her eyes to shoot open. The brunette nudged her way past Glenn as she stared down at the other men in their group, weapons all pulled on each other except for T-Dog. Her heart sank before she heard Rick’s voice. “Drop it. Or I swear I’ll do it. I don’t care if every walker in the city hears it.”
There was an audible exhale from Glenn as the crossbow was lowered, but the way Daryl stared at T-Dog still made Dove uneasy. She stood on the edge of the platform as Daryl finally spoke. “Ya got a do-rag or something?” Much to her surprise, T-Dog reached into his pocket in order to provide Daryl with a blue bandana.
Finally feeling safe enough to descend, Dove to the few steps down to the rooftop slowly. Backpack straps clutched tight in her hand as the cool metal almost dug into the palm of her right hand, she came to a stop between T-Dog and Rick. It was like a train crash, you want to look away but you can’t.
“I guess the saw blade was too dull for the handcuffs,” Daryl spoke as he picked up his brother’s hand in a surprisingly delicate way, “Ain’t that a bitch.”
“I mean if I ever saw anything that looked like the definition of ‘ain’t that a bitch’ it might be that hand,” Dove whispered to Rick. Her stomach lurched again and she swallowed hard as she watched the hand be deposited in Glenn’s backpack. Glenn didn’t look pleased, but it wasn’t like any of them were going to stop Daryl Dixon anytime soon.
“Must have used a tourniquet. Maybe his belt? Would have been much more blood if he didn’t,” Daryl pointed towards the ground and Dove’s eyes scanned the fresh blood stains. Daryl began to walk off and with a nod from Rick, the others followed.
“I’m just going to pretend that Merle Dixon’s hand isn’t in my backpack right now,” Glenn said through gritted teeth as T-Dog walked off to collect Dale’s tools.
“I’m tellin’ you right now, if that shit starts stinkin’, I’m taking it out and using it for batting practice,” Dove shook her head. “Man this fuckin sucks.”
Daryl’s sudden shouts for his brother were definitely startling. Not only for the volume, but for the fact that they didn’t know if there were any walkers in the building that might hear him. She prayed there weren’t any.
As they walked into a room and saw two walkers down for the count, Dove let out an appreciative whistle.
“Had enough in him to take these two out one handed,” Daryl said as they all surveyed the room.
“That’s one tough son of a bitch,” Dove mumbled as she tiptoed past one of the walkers on the ground.
“Toughest asshole I ever met. Feed him a hammer, he’d crap out nails,” Daryl nodded as he reloaded his crossbow.
Dove walked slowly around the room, a quick peek out the window showed her there was nothing to see outside except the walkers roaming. Not that she expected much different.
“Any man can pass out from blood loss, no matter how tough he is,” Rick raised his gun and began to walk through the room.
“Plus, he was probably running on pure adrenaline. He might have crashed at some point. But like you said. Toughest asshole you ever met, right?” Dove raised an eyebrow at Daryl as she went to walk past him into the next room. “I mean I’m sure he’s fine,” her apology was lost as Daryl clenched his jaw, shook his head, and walked forward into the next room.
“Nice going,” Glenn shot her a thumbs up as he came up next to her.
“Shut up,” Dove grunted and stomped ahead, not wanting to fall behind too much.
 ~
The smell from the stove hit her before she even entered the room. Dove coughed and covered her mouth.
T-Dog covered the lower half of his face, “God what is that?”
Dove’s answer was muffled through her hand, “Burnt skin.” She caught the wary glance of her friend and shrugged. “What? I used to work in a crisis unit right out of college. Saw a lot of shit. But the smells would always be the thing that got me,” she shivered slightly as she stepped into the room just in time to see Rick approaching the stove.
Glenn approached from the side asking what it was and Rick just confirmed her suspicions. “Skin. He cauterized the stump.” That was it. Dove retched and ducked back out of the room. The contents of her stomach spilled out on the floor in front of her as she placed her hands on her knees to recover.
She heard footsteps approach and held a hand out into the room. “’m fine. Just give me a second.” Another cough echoed through the hallway before she was able to straighten up and reenter the room as she wiped her face on the sleeve of her shirt. “Sorry…”
The looks she got ranged from annoyed to sympathetic before Daryl shook his head and broke the silence. “He ain't dead. Nothin can kill Merle but Merle.”
Dove had to appreciate how much faith the man had in his brother. It was admirable. Just like she had to admire the fact that, in spite of an injury that could take another man out, Merle Dixon had somehow made it out of the building.
“Why the hell would he do that,” Glenn squinted at the bright light from the broken window.
“Why wouldn’t he? He’s out there alone as far as he knows,” Daryl mused as he pulled back from the window.
“You call that surviving? What are his odds out there,” T-Dog motioned towards the window.
“He’s right. Any sane man would assume that people who left him chained to the roof wouldn’t come back. Not that ya’ll didn’t have your reasons,” Dove shifted from foot to foot as T-Dog stared at her. She didn’t mean anything by it, but to her it seemed like nothing but facts.
“You couldn’t kill em,” Daryl stepped up to Rick. “Not so worried bout a dumb dead bastard.”
“What about 1,000 dumb dead bastards,” Rick snapped back. “Different story?”
“Take a tally, do what you want. I’m gonna go get him.” Daryl went to march off before Rick was able to stop him.
Dove’s wide eyes met Glenn’s shocked gaze as the two men argued about whether Daryl was going on not.
“You can’t stop me,” Daryl practically shouted.
The next thought that went through Dove’s head was that maybe Rick was actually a good cop as he was able to empathize with the other man. “He’s family, I get that. I went through hell to find mine. I know exactly how you feel.” It actually seemed to get through as Daryl stopped pacing like a caged animal. “He won’t get far with the injury. We could help you check a few blocks around but only if we keep a level head.”
T-Dog spoke as the attention turned to him, “Alright but only if we get those guns first. I’m not roaming the streets of Atlanta with just my good intentions.”
Rick turned his head and nodded towards Dove. The young woman paused for a moment. “T’s right. I’m in but…I mean if it comes down to it, a gun is much faster than a crowbar and I would just feel a lot safer if we got the guns first.” Her hazel eyes glanced towards Daryl and she furrowed her eyebrows. “But I do want to help you find your brother. Because if it was my sister, I wouldn’t stop lookin until I found her or I knew she was dead.”
The expression on Daryl’s face was unreadable as he nodded his head. “Alright. But we best go get those guns, then. Don’t want Merle bleedin out,” his eyes narrowed at Rick again before he shouldered his crossbow. This might be the most agreeable that they had ever seen him, even if he still looked like he was ready to fight.
~
The five of them had settled down in another room so that Glenn could look at the map. He knew where the guns were and he knew the city best. Dove had perched herself on the edge of a desk and it was there she sat, legs crossed, when Glenn mentioned his plan about going out to find the guns. Alone.
Rick immediately interrupted, “You’re not doing this alone.” Dove’s hands shook as she ran a hand down her face.
“Even I think it’s a bad idea and I don’t even like you much,” Daryl agreed.
“It’s a good idea,” Glenn interjected from his spot on the floor.
Dove threw a thumbtack from the desk in his direction. “It’s a fucking awful idea! What do you got a death wish or somethin’,” she hissed at the younger man as she bounced her leg and shook her head.
“If you just hear me out,” Glenn almost pleaded. She couldn’t even believe they were having this discussion. “If we go out in a group, we’re slow. We draw more attention. If I’m alone, I can move fast.”
She hated the fact that he sounded right. She tuned out the mapping of the city until she heard it. “That’s where Daryl, Dove, and I will go.” Her head snapped up as she looked across at Daryl. He looked equally confused.
“Why me?”
“You’re crossbow is quieter than his gun,” Glenn shrugged his shoulders.
Dove sighed, hopped down from the desk, and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Yeah but why me?”
Glenn stared up at her, “Next to me, you’re the fastest. I mean you played sports.”
“Yeah like ten years ago in high school!” Dove rolled her eyes.
“But, you’re fast. If things go wrong, you run for the guns. They're the most important thing.” Glenn pointed to the map on the floor.
Dove’s eyes scanned the crudely drawn diagram of the streets with narrowed eyes before finally letting out a sigh. “Alright. I guess I’m in.”
“While they wait here in the alley,” Glenn placed a gum wrapper on the board, “I run up the street, grab the bag.” He then explained the positioning of the others in the group. It sounded way too easy and usually when things sound that easy, they aren’t. “Whichever direction I go, I got you in both places to cover me.” Dove nodded her head in appreciation as he finished his explanation.
“Hey kid,” Daryl finally spoke up, “What’d you do before all this?”
Glenn squinted, “Delivered pizzas. Why?”
Dove’s eyes widened as she let out a quiet snort of laughter before she nodded her head. “Makes sense. Gotta learn the backstreets to make those thirty minutes or less, ain’t that right?”
~
The ladder that they had to climb down was less than ideal. Dove sighed as she looked down at it before she held a hand out in front of Glenn. “Uh uh. Didn’t you ever hear of ladies first? Plus, I don’t exactly feel like having anyone check out my ass,” she held two fingers up to her eyes before turning her hand to point at the two men. She swung her leg over the edge of the building and placed a foot on the top rung of the ladder as she heard Daryl speak up.
“Not much to check out,” he said just loud enough for her to hear.
Dove smirked wickedly for a moment. “Then check this out,” she raised her middle finger at both of them before she began her descent.
She heard Glenn say something about being nice to Daryl before beginning his own descent. Wouldn’t that be the day.
A few rungs from the ground, Dove hopped off the ladder and landed with a quiet grunt before she stepped to the side.
Glenn stepped past her once they were all on the ground. “C’mon,” he motioned down the alley.
Dove followed close behind Daryl, crowbar raised slightly as she stood next to the dumpster. She still didn’t like this.
“You got some balls for a Chinaman,” Daryl stated.
“I’m Korean,” Glenn corrected.
“Is now really the time for this,” Dove hissed through gritted teeth
Then Glenn was off. Dove moved forward slightly before she felt a tight grip on her arm. Her knees hit the ground as she was pulled behind the dumpster, a retort lost on her lips as Daryl motioned for her to keep quiet. As quietly as she could, Dove moved to position herself between Daryl and the wall. Back against the dumpster, she said in a barely audible whisper, “What the fuck was that?”
“Someone’s comin,” Daryl whispered just as quietly. Before she could even think about anything else, he had jumped to his feet, crossbow raised.
“Whoa don’t shoot me,” another voice shouted as Dove jumped to her feet, “What do you want!”
“I’m looking for my brother. He’s hurt real bad, you seen em?” Daryl didn’t lower his crossbow. Dove’s gaze shifted quickly between the two men. Or rather, Daryl and the boy.
Suddenly the boy shouted in Spanish.
“Shut up! You’re gonna bring the geeks down on us! Answer me,” Daryl growled as he approached with the crossbow. Dove stepped out from behind the dumpster.
“Daryl stop it! He doesn’t know what you’re talking about,” she snapped at him. She hoped she was right. All of a sudden, the boy wouldn’t stop screaming for help. Dove ran towards Daryl just in time to see him hit the boy in the face with the crossbow. “Ah, shit.”
“Shut up,” Daryl repeated as he held a hand over the boy’s mouth. A yelp of surprise slipped through Dove’s lips as two men came barreling down the alley. The shoulder of one of the men connecting with her own as he ran past her. Her back slammed against the wall, the world started to spin as she hit her head. The crowbar was wrenched from her hand and she watched as the two men started to beat Daryl.
A quick burst of adrenaline hit her like a truck and she mumbled a quiet, “Motherfucker,” as she stumbled to her feet. The one closest held her crowbar in his hands. She took two quick steps towards him and grabbed the crowbar, her hands wrapped around the man’s own. “Stop it,” she grunted through gritted teeth as the man fought to get control of the crowbar back. The woman’s nails dug into his fingers and she thought she had it for a second before she felt the air leave her lungs. An elbow to the stomach sent her reeling back. 
A commotion near the entrance to the alley stopped the two men. Her eyes went wide as she saw him. She was hoping he would have to take the other alley. One of the men screamed, “There’s the bag! Take it, take it.”
Dove shook her head and attempted to stumble to her feet again, the crowbar was close by. She thought about throwing it, but then the screams of one of the men drew her attention back. Daryl was up on his knees. He had shot the guy right in the ass. Any other time, she might have laughed. Glenn’s screams for help chilled her to the bone as she scrambled to regain her footing. Even when she did, the elbow to the stomach was really messing with her. “Glenn, run!” But it was useless, because they already had him. She was hot on Daryl’s heels as the car pulled away from the alley with Glenn and the men inside.
“Come back here! You sumbitches,” Daryl shouted as he started to pull the gate shut.
Dove tried to slip through the hole in the gate. She wanted to run after the car, run after Glenn. It was stupid and she wasn’t thinking straight, but she couldn’t let her friend die.  A strong grip on her arm was the only thing that made her stop. She spun around, a wild look in her eye and met Daryl’s angry gaze as he shook his head. Dove’s attention turned back to the gate as the walkers began to pile against it. She couldn’t even hear the car anymore.
Glenn was gone.
 ----
@crossbowking​
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