#sure i loved driving around los santos but it didn’t calm me like this does

[iamthekarmapolice]

also cyberpunk is weirdly just utterly relaxing to me? like when I play the game before bed and i walk around the streets I can actually feel my eyelids get heavy and everything. i used to play bg3 before bed too but that game did not wind me down at all and i’d end up having weird dreams about turn-based combat. since i started playing cp2077, exactly a week now, there hasn’t been a night where i haven’t taken more than 10 minutes to fall asleep. so sincerely, thank you cyberpunk 2077

[biisexualemma]

family first. oscar diaz

word count: 1795

warnings: no

requested: "can I please ask for an Oscar Diaz imagine where he's in love with Jasmine cousin? and Jasmine is...Jasmine😂I adore her"

plot: you’re dating oscar in secret

a/n: hello it’s been a while but i’ve been back at work and i’ve been super uninspired when it comes to writing for oscar lately so sorry about the lack of content oop i am workinf my way through peoples requests i promise i’m just taking my time hehe. anyway. here you go, thank you for requesting! love you guys and hope everyone is well 🤍

masterlist

"'sup mami," you crossed your arms over your chest as you walked up the path to his house. you tried to ignore the stares from the group of boys sitting around holding their dicks. instead, you looked at oscar only, paying no attention to his friends. "can't stay away?"

"is my cousin here?" you asked, ignoring his comment.

oscar was sat on one of the steps leading up to the house, his eyes hadn't moved from you since he saw you walking up the street. he wore a smirk, he always did when you were around, he couldn't help it.

"come 'ere and i'll tell you," he patted his lap. you gritted your teeth. he was such an asshole around his friends but you were getting used to it. it didn't phase you as much now because you knew what he was really like. this was just an act. didn't mean it didn't piss you off.

oscar was a nice guy. you'd been seeing him for months now and it was good. it was secret and private and good. the only other person who knew was jasmine, and that was because she couldn't mind her own business if her life depended on it. she wasn't thrilled to find out you were dating the head of los santos, but you were sure she'd come around once she really got to know him.

"is jasmine here?" you repeated. you tried hard to say it without any of the attitude, but the feminist in you was screaming at you to put him in his place.

he hissed. "watch your tone, mami," the other santos members sneered, watching with amusement. you wanted to slap the smirk off of all their faces. he was pushing his luck.

before you could rage at him, he cut you off. "she's not here, mami," you hated him teasing you like this. you rolled your eyes muttering a exasperated thanks before turning to walk away. was it so hard for him to just tell you that in the first place.

as you turned though you felt a hand slap your ass. before you could register, you turned back around and smacked oscar across the face. he raised his eyebrow, tilting his head up to look at you. he was taken aback. but you were stern. he knew he was gonna get a mouthful from you later.

"asshole," you mumbled, turning your back on him and his friends so you could continue your search for your cousin.

"damn, i don't know how anyone could put up with her— she's loca," one of the santos sneered but you were already walking away and out of earshot. oscar, on the other hand, slapped him over the head.

—

please don't be jasmine. please don't be jasmine—

"oh hell no," oscar rolled his eyes when jasmine answered the door, instead of you. he sighed, looking at her pleadingly, ready to make his case but she shook her head. "you might as well leave now, spooky. if that's even your real name."

he gave a quick look of confusion. she really was something else. he knew where you got your crazy from. "are you still mad 'cause i said i'd kill you after i smashed you? 'cause that was a game."

"no," she folded she arms across her chest. "but that was pretty rude," she raised her eyebrows, placing her hand on the doorframe, stressing that she was not letting him in any time soon.

"it was a stupid game," jasmine was having none of it. "come on, just let me see her—" he pleaded with her, but she quickly cut him off.

"uh-uh. she doesn't wanna see your sorry ass," she quirked one eyebrow, letting out a humph. jasmine never really liked oscar. she thought he was hot, of course everyone did, but he was an asshole. a real asshole. and in her eyes he would never be good enough for you. she was fiercely protective over her family and friends. when you told her how he'd treated you earlier, she vowed he wouldn't be stepping foot in this house again. you thought she was being dramatic, but clearly, she was deadly serious. jasmine let a lot of things slide, but the objectification of women wasn't one of them.

"i think she does— ask her," he was pushing it. but he needed to see you. he didn't wanna leave things the way they were earlier.

"i asked, she's over it and you."

oscar knew she was lying. he was used to jasmine's overdramatic and protective nature by now. but deep down he wanted jasmine to like him, just because her opinion meant so much to you. you and jasmine were really close growing up, and even closer now you'd been living with her for the past year. but she really made it hard to be nice to her sometimes.

"come on—"

"go home, pendejo," she slammed the door in his face.

-

you looked up from your book, seeing oscar at your window, knocking quietly. you clenched your jaw, you were still pretty pissed at him. part of you wanted to leave him out there in the cold, but instead you went over and shoved the window open so he could climb in.

"forgiven me yet?" he followed you to where you were you'd climbed back onto your bed, he stood in front of you. he nudged your knees apart, placing himself in between your legs. "'cause jasmine hasn't," he rested his hands on your shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze. oscar often touched you like this, just to have some sort of physical contact. even when you were mad at him.

you frowned as you tilted your head upwards to look at him. "you're an asshole," you mumbled. oscar couldn't help but smile. you were pretty hot when you were mad at him.

"yeah, you said," he teased. he moved his hands to either side of your face, rubbing his thumb across your cheek. he couldn't help being in awe of you all the time. i mean, he thought you were hot before, but now that he knew you, you were even more.

but you just frowned, pushing his hands away from your face. "sorry," he mumbled. "i'm really sorry, nena— promise."

he still stood between your legs, his arms back resting on your shoulders. your head was resting against his stomach. you mumbled. "do you know how annoying you are?"

"you slapped me mami, so, yeah, i have an idea," he wore a small smirk.

you rolled your eyes, moving your hands to his stomach and pushing him away. "you deserved it," your frown deepened.

"i know," he agreed. "sorry," he repeated. he wore an expression on his face that made you soften a little. he really knew how to make you melt when you were alone. you wished he would just treat you like this all time.

you sighed. "you're lucky i like you so much."

he chuckled, moving closer to you and wrapping his arms around you tightly, squeezing you.

"yeah," he laughed quietly. "i know i'm lucky."

"damn right, you are."

"hey y/n— oscar came over—" oscars eyes widened, instinctively moving away from you. "oh my god are you kidding me?" he was caught sneaking into her house after she specifically told him to get lost. he was definitely not going to get on jasmines good side this way.

"jas— calm down ok—"

"i just wanted to talk to her," oscar pleaded. he turned to mush when it came to you. he had to ignore jasmines orders so he could apologise properly to you. "alright? so chill."

"chill?" she raised her eyebrows. oscar gulped. he really knew how to put his foot in it. "i'm a junior officer in training— this is breaking and entering— i could have your ass arrested— again."

"jasmine!" you stopped her from going any further. you choked out a laugh, you couldn't believe she was acting like this. she had her arms crossed over her chest, and her eyes piercing into oscars, who desperately tried to look anywhere but at jasmine. "i love you, but please give a rest!"

oscar let out a quiet snort. jasmine let out a humph, squinting her eyes at oscar who looked away. "i've got eyes everywhere," she warned, before listening to you for once and leaving you two alone again.

"sorry," you mumbled, laughing slightly. "she's a little intense— i mean you know— you've dealt with her first hand," you shook your head. "she means well," you tried to justify her actions. she was just being protective.

"i get it," and he did, he was protective of you too. he knew jasmine was trying to keep you safe, but so was oscar. the sooner she realised that, the better.

you hummed, almost content. "what?" oscar nudged your side. you shrugged your shoulders.

you sighed. "you think this is a good idea?" you didn't like to admit it but you didn't know if you could deal with everything that came with being oscar's girlfriend, out in the open.

oscar's hands rested on your hips, tugging you closer to him. "positive," he pressed a kiss to your forehead. you eased into him, letting him hold you for a little while. he could feel you overthinking. he sighed. "stop it."

"i can't help it," you looked up at him, his arms still tightly wrapped around you. you wore a slight frown as you thought it over. "i just don't know how people will react.”

"who cares," he shrugged. "they deal with it or they don't. not my problem."

"i guess," you hummed.

"stop overthinking," he nudged you. you sighed again. "you like me?"

"yeah," you nodded.

"ok," he shrugged. his hands moved to your face, forcing you to look up at him when your eyes kept wandering. "i like you too, think about that. not about what other people think of it."

your expression relaxed. you knew he was right. you just had to let go of what other people thought of you. you'd drive yourself crazy thinking up every possible scenario. you just had to focus on your relationship, and not let what other people think affect you.

"ok," you tiptoed, kissing his lips quickly and softly. "you're right. maybe we should stop hiding."

"finally," he wore a smirk on his lips. "everyone will know you're mine."

you laughed, softly. oscar leaned down and kissed you again, you smiled into the kiss. having to pull away to catch your breath. "at least girls will stop hitting on you in front of me now," you smiled, looking at the up side. "or, i can put them in their place if they do."

"that's my girl."

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

COSAS DE NIÑOS.

Marcus Alvarez x Che Taza Romero's daughter!Reader

Word count: 2k

Thanks to my lovely beta reader @chibsytelford 💖

Author Comments: Just something I needed to write about, I hope you all enjoy. Gif credits: @fromthesixteenthfloor

Tag list: @starrynite7114 ​ @chibsytelford ​ @dazzledamazon ​ @mara-mpou ​ @sammskellington ​ @gemini0410 ​ @1-800-imagines ​ @briana-mishell24 ​ @sassymox @whyisgmora @aquamento @sadeyesgf @viviansafizada @samcrobae @jade770 ✨ (if you wanna be tagged, send me a message!)

“FUCK!”

You spit your coffee turning over your barefoot, looking at your daughter through the american kitchen, without repairing in the mess you have done all around the tile floor. Lucia is painting in one of her color books and apparently she came out of the line.

“What was that, ah?”

She glances at you somewhat confused, pausing her important task.

“It's my new favorite word”.

The girl shrugs her shoulders playing the innocent one.

“No, it's not. And don' say that again”.

“Fuck”. She repeats challenging you, narrowing the big brown eyes.

“¿Qué dijo, señorita?” (What did you say?)

“You hea'me, mama”.

“Okay… Pack your things”.

“Where we goen'?” Her confusion comes back to her face, getting up from the chair.

“You're gonna say it to El Padrino”.

“No! No, mama! I'm sorre'!” She runs at you terrified, tangling her tiny arms around your right leg.

“I said ‘pack your things’, señorita”. There's no way back. Not even when Lucia starts to cry begging you with all her efforts.

Ignoring your daughter, you end your coffee as she put her case and her book inside the pink bag, with the tears wetting the shirt she's wearing. Sometimes is painful act like you don't care that she's sad, nor upset, nor unhappy, but she has to learn what se can say and what she can't. It would be easy if her father was there, with you two, but you can't try to fuck up the MC if you don't wanna be buried somewhere in the Sonoran desert. At least, you have your father who usually helps you with Lucia constantly. But Marcus is the one she loves. No one can mess with him is your daughter is around. And of course, no one can mess with your daughter without suffering by El Padrino. You know him since ever, practically, and when the Mayans killed Lucia's father, he promised you that he would take care of both at all cost. You didn't even love that man, so make him disappear was also a god's gift.

Your daughter is crying inconsolably while you tie up the seat belt around her body in the back seat. She stills begging you. Whenever she does something bad, you resort to Marcus. He always knows what to say and what to do with her. And you sometimes feel you shouldn't put that weight on his shoulders, but he seems so delighted when he does that it melts your heart. By turning on your car, you drive through the south border from Santa Madre to Santo Padre, and it only takes you some minutes where your headache starts to grow because of your child's weeping.

“Mama, plez', I'm sorre'”. Bawling full of pain, whilst grabbing her hand as soon as she gets out from the car.

All the bikes are parked there, what it means that the whole crew is inside the clubhouse. This is just getting better and better. Usually, when she misbehaves, the Mayans makes a completely show with it only to support your decisions to correct her bad behavior. Crossing the main door, as her cries get loud, the guys stare at you frowning in your daughter's direction. Leaving in the background whatever they were doing before you came, all of them cross their arms above their chests adopting that position they call “mad tíos”.

“Wha' happen', princesa?” Marcus asks with hidden curiosity.

“Mama, plez'”. She turns at you showing her best puppy-eyes reddened and filled with tears.

“I told ya', señorita. Now, tell Padrino”. You push her into the man, walking with small and slow steps towards him.

The girl has her head down, sobbing and shaking a little with her tiny hands tangled under her belly.

“What did you do, mija?” He says leaning with his arms supported on his lap.

Lucia turns at you for a second, waiting for a last minute redemption. However, you raise your chin pouting in a serious look. She sighs cleaning her tears with the back of her hands, ahead she looks at El Padrino.

“I ju—I just say som—somethen'… bad”.

The mexican nods thoughtful before the next question.

“About me?”

“No! ’Cors' no!” She shakes her head in a dramatic way, taking some more steps close to him.

Your father places himself by your side, giving you a funny look as you're trying not to laugh watching the heart-break faces the crew has.

“I sa-said… ‘fuck’”.

The Mayans continue the show, making a surprised sound before clicking their tongues in disagreement. Good Lord, it's costing you your whole life not to break in laughter.

“Why do I think you didn't just say it once?” Marcus gesture gets somewhat rude and angry, but with that calm position he always has.

“I said it… twice”. When your girl sees how disappointed is her true love, she tries to fix it.

“Dammit, mami!” Coco and Angel says, as the guys pretend that they're whispering about Lucia just to make her feel worse. You all are going to burn in hell.

“But 'am sorre'! I'll not say tha'gain! I promise!”

Marcus, lying on his chair, cross his arms on his chest putting his gaze away your daughter, but in you for a second.

“Wait outside and think about what you did. I'm gonna talk with mama in the meantime”.

Your daughter's cheek are being runned by some tears, so long as she nods.

“Can I hug you?”

You can notice who every heart in the room stops for a second, yours included. Sometimes is so hard to not comfort her that you feel extra bad. But she has to learn one way or another.

“No, mija. Estoy triste por lo que hiciste”. (No, mija. I'm sad for what you did). Marcus gets up of his chair, putting well on his kutte whilst turning to the Templo.

“Sit outside and think about what you did”. You say to your daughter as soon as she walks close to you.

“Mama… do ya' think he coul' be happe' if I draw somethen'?” Lucia asks you with a broken voice and her eyes on her foots.

“I don' know. Try it”.

This sounds like seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, so she practically runs to your car to take her bag and get to work, sitting on the couch in the porch.

“Jeez, my heart…” EZ says, while you chuckles and the rest seems agreed.

“She only listens to Marcus”.

And that's true. Sometimes it bothers you and pushes you to the limit, but you're thankful for having him in your life. Passing away the men who continue with whatever they were doing, you close Templo's door behind your back resting it there. You're laughing slightly like he's doing also shaking his head.

“You're a good mother”. He says then, pulling away the main chair at the table, so he can support his body against the edge.

“Yea', I think so… But sometimes it just… It's difficult”. That's all you can say, because you're not sure how explain it, even if you know he understand you perfectly.

The man offers you a hand, lifted on air, tangling your fingers with his and coming closer till your chests meet. He kisses you, pressing your lips so dearly and gently that your legs are about to fail. Traveling your hands to both sides of the man's neck, his reach your low back. Having a deep breathe after some seconds, Marcus rest his forehead against yours, touching your nose with his in a soft caress.

“You know? I was thinking about tellin' Lucia that we're together”. The mexican says looking for your eyes, and noticing somekind of surprise in them.

“Did you?”.

“Yes”. He just say. “With respect and your permission, I'm already like her father”.

“Yea', you are, Marcus”.

“And it's been eight month since we started”. He adds. “What do you think about having dinner together, maybe… drop it to her”.

“Yes, we could”. Your lips are pursed in brief smile, kissing him again as much as you missed him after three days out of Cali.

“Outside?” Marcus gets up from the table, holding one of your hand and leaving a gentle kiss on the back of it.

“Yea', she thought you would be happy, if she draws something for you”.

El Padrino beams at you, walking towards the colorful glass door to cross it. He lets go your hand to continue with his steps outside, where your daughter is waiting for him.

“Are you gonna tell her?” Taza asks you, putting an arm on your shoulders.

“Yep. We think it's time”. You raise your eyes to your father. He looks good with the idea, knowing how much Marcus loves you and respects you.

┅┅ ┅ ┅ ┅┅

Salsa music floods the restaurant terrace, full of people, families and children that just meet playing and running around the tables decorated with white and small candles. It's a good temperature outside, and Lucia looks happy sitting in front of you, looking everything surrounding her. Drinking of her lemon soda by the straw whilst dancing her hips on the chair, you look at Marcus. You can't help but feeling terrified. You're nervous, not sure if it's going to end well or if it's going to be a chaos. Your daughter is extremely jealous with the mexican.

“So… corazón, we have to tell you something”. You say finally with trembling voice, even if the man is holding and narrowing your hand under the table.

“Are ya' gonna have a baby?”

You're pretty sure your mouth could touch the floor whilst your heart jumping about give you an attack. Marcus breaks in laughter, but you don't see the funny point on it.

“No, mija, we're not gonna have a baby”.

“Oh”. That sounded like a letdown.

“You would like it…?” You ask confused, leaning on the table, with your free arm supported in.

“Yes! It would be cool!”.

“Yes?” Marcus is confused too, with his gaze in your daughter's.

“Yea', I think I coul' sher' ma' dad”.

Sweet Jesus, you're about to die because of a terrible shame. The mexican is about to drown with his own saliva, coughing for a while.

“But, if it's not a baby, what is, mama?” Lucia turns her attention to you, waiting for another thing.

“Well, ahm… Marcus and I…”

“We're together”. He says, knowing that it's costing you a lot to tell her.

“Ya', I knew it”.

“Did you?” Frowning your eyebrows and licking your lips somewhat more relaxed, you twist your neck.

“Yep, you're too obvious, mama”.

You're sure that your boyfriend can't laugh louder than right now, covering his mouth with a hand because of her words. Lucia laughs too, as you chuckle having a sip of your beer.

“I hear' ya' tell tia Letti ‘fuck, we should get married’. That's why it's my favorite word, 'cuz I would like't too, mama”.

“Jesus Christ…” Your hands covering your face as you nail your elbows on the table, and your cheeks getting red as hell.

“Did you?” Marcus ask with some kind of mirth.

“Canna' go to play?” The innocence in her voice overwhelms you, while she's asking directly to her ‘new dad’.

“Claro, mija, ve. Te avisamos cuando llegue la orden”. (Sure, mija, go. We'll tell you when the food is here).

As soon as Lucia jumps off of her chair, Marcus turns at you without letting go your hand, and by supporting the other arm on the table.

“Did you?” He asks again very interested in your answer.

“Maybe”. You reply with pursed lips trying not to laugh because of the bashfulness.

The man, leaning above you and reaching one of your flushed cheeks, catches your lips between his in a sweet and silky kiss. Slowly, enjoying the peace that has just arrived to your life after having the agreement of your daughter.

“I'll keep it in mind, mi amor”.

[zilbea]

Some FAHC freewood headcanons I promised! (kinda long)

Gavin has a back thing - it’s inconvenient, really. He’ll arch away from the touch of the occasional Fake accidentally brushing his back in passing. It throws him for loops, sending shivers shooting both up his spine and to his groin. Some might say it’s why he’s always fronting on people - exuding such arrogance and nosiness; no one can get extort his hypersensitivity if he faces them - no one can make him look vulnerable. No one except Ryan, who caresses Gavin’s back with strong warm hands after a long day of heisting. No one except Ryan can make The Golden Boy melt under their touch, and as Ryan pulls Gavin into a kiss, trailing his fingers up and down that tanned back, he’s the only one Gavin leans towards.

Gavin brings a kitten into the penthouse one day. Most of the Fakes don’t much care for it, but it brings The Golden Boy absolute joy. Gavin stumbles into the penthouse late one night, bruised and exhausted from a side job. The main room appears empty and Gavin blindly flops onto a couch, begging for sleep to swallow him. It almost does, until Gavin hears a low voice mumbling from the other couch. Opening his eyes, Gavin sees The Vagabond, still in heist face paint, cradling the small dark tabby. The kitten looks comically minuscule in Ryan’s large arms, and Gavin can’t help but smile. The tabby lets out a small mewl and kneads at Ryan’s belly. Ryan scratches the kitten’s head, chuckling softly. “Gavin,” he says, not looking up, “You’ve got some competition for my affections”

Ryan knows he’s scary. He knows The Vagabond is notorious around Los Santos, and he does little to downplay this fact. During missions, Ryan rarely checks his rage, letting it boil over and unfurl with vicious ferocity onto victims. Even so, Ryan thinks, as he watches the Golden Boy calmly snap the neck of a traitor of the Fakes, that Gavin Free should be the talk of terror. He carries out jobs with such silent offhanded energy and always manages to keep his clothes unmarred. Ryan won’t ever tell Gavin, but he looks up to The Golden Boy. Clean, calm, casual, and horribly cute. Ryan’s brain drops to his lap when Gavin winks at him - the dead traitor’s head between two pristine hands.

The Fakes know to give Ryan his space after big heists or dangerous jobs. They’ve seen the hostility that still burns in his eyes as he stalks around the penthouse, having killed and tortured just hours before. Ryan knows his limits, and for fear of lashing out at the crew, he often locks himself in his room to regain a sense of normalcy. None of the crew questions it, not necessarily willing to find out how the Vagabond de-stresses. One night, after a risky heist, Gavin realizes that Ryan’s door is cracked. He leans in close to the door and ragged shuddering breaths echo forth. Gavin peers through the crack - drawing lewd conclusions - but to his surprise, he finds the Vagabond hunched over on his bed, head in his hands. Gavin slips through the door against his better judgment, settling on the bed next to Ryan. Gavin puts an arm around Ryan’s shaking shoulders, and Ryan draws a slow, tense breath. He stares up at The Golden Boy with anguish in his eyes, face paint melted and smeared by tears. Gavin just gives Ryan a gentle nod, rubbing circles into The Vagabond’s shoulders until shaky breaths become measured once more.

           (I could go on and on about this one alone)

During heists, Gavin likes to switch to a separate intercom channel as he hacks from a distance. He taps into Ryan’s mic and listens to the sounds of Ryan’s carnage, offering unwelcome commentary directly into Ryan’s earpiece. Gavin hears Ryan grunting in a fistfight struggle and puts on his best pout. “Ryan, I thought those noises were only for me, Ryan!” Ryan grits his teeth and knocks his victim unconscious. Later, fingers flying across the keys, Gavin hears Ryan snarl, “Be good for me, and I won’t have to do this,” followed by a strangled scream. Gavin grins, saying “Not the first time I’ve heard that one.” Ryan, covered in blood that isn’t his, closes his eyes and sighs in irritation as Gavin loudly reminisces Ryan tying him to the bed. Gavin hears Michael and Geoff’s voices through Ryan’s mic; he types a line of code on screen and says, “Ryan, a million dollars, but every time you roll your eyes, a very small bald man hits your bum with a sexy paddle.” Ryan growls a shut up into his mic, and Gavin just grins when he hears Michael ask who the hell Ryan’s talking to. During the heist’s climax Gavin is left with little to do but monitor the crew - so of course he talks Ryan’s ear off. He asks Ryan if he’s a psychopath, when’s the last time he got off, why he didn’t water the plants, if he wanted to get a dog, how it feels to be buried deep inside Gavin - Ryan cuts him off with another growl into the mic; “If you don’t shut your smarmy fucking mouth right this minute I’m going to come back there and give you a reason to not talk for days.” Gavin quirks an eyebrow at this, languidly kicking his feet up onto the desk. “Ryan,” he says innocently, “If you want to fuck my mouth all you have to do is ask!” Ryan’s eye twitches.

Ryan really loves to dance. It’s a fact he never planned on sharing with the Fakes, but sometimes, after most of the crew have gone to bed, he’ll pull Gavin close - swaying to easy jazz music and the wail of sirens far below. With a smile, he spins the Golden Boy into a twirl, dipping him into a kiss as sax and sirens crescendo. 

Ryan isn’t known for his sense of danger during heists, and he and Jeremy are notorious for escaping bruised, bloodied, and battered. Ryan hates showing weakness and often refuses to seek treatment for his wounds. Because of this, Gavin corners Ryan on the couch one night, first aid supplies in his arms. Ryan frowns at the greeting, opening his mouth to protest, but Gavin just kisses him quiet. Gavin sinks to his knees between Ryan’s legs,  gingerly grabbing the larger man’s bloody hands in his. Begrudgingly, Ryan holds still as Gavin cleans his knuckles. Gavin’s eyes flick to Ryan’s as he smears ointment across the cuts, content to see the spark of agony fade from those icy blue eyes. Gavin kisses Ryan’s fingertips slowly and Ryan bites his lip. He gazes at Gavin kneeling between his legs, bandaging his wounds with a tenderness Ryan had never yet seen, and maybe, just maybe, The Vagabond is falling in love.

Ryan was a football star back before he turned to a life of crime and glory and sometimes when provoked, a little bit of his old offensive side creeps through. Gavin gets in rowdy moods sometimes, assaulting Michael or Jeremy with a surprise tackle in the penthouse’s main room, or running headlong into a mutual shove. Ryan usually stands by as the shenanigans unfold, shaking his head and laughing, but when Gavin runs at him, he’s prepared. He catches the Brit in strong arms, hoisting the squealing man onto a shoulder. Michael and Jeremy collapse into a fit of laughter as Ryan parades Gavin around. Gavin flails and squawks in Ryan’s grasp, putting up a monumental fuss, but really, he loves the attention.

During a heist getaway, there’s not enough seats in the small van to securely hold the whole crew. Geoff drives with Jack shotgun (literally). Trevor sits on Alfredo’s lap, Michael sprawls across Jeremy, and Gavin is seated on Ryan. The crew is in high spirits; blaring music and overlapping chatter recalling their best moments almost drowns out the police sirens. It’s a bumpy chase and Gavin is a malicious tease, accentuating each jostling pothole with an extra movement of his hips. The van rattles over a grassy hill and Gavin grinds his ass against Ryan’s lap. Ryan’s face is flushed and he just hopes the Fakes are too caught up in their conversations to notice. He places his hands on Gavin’s waist to settle the Brit’s squirming and leans forward, lips brushing Gavin’s ear. “Don’t do this here, Gavin, please.” His voice is low and he’s not sure if he really means his words. Gavin just cranes his head around, staring slyly at the Vagabond. He reaches backwards and grabs Ryan’s neck, moving his hips hard into Ryan’s lap as Geoff yanks the van off-road. His lips brush the larger man’s, speaking softly. “What’s wrong, lovely Ryan?”

[vagrantblvrd]

Touch of Gray (1/1)

Summary: Its probably not a good sign that Michael’s gotten used to being approached by people in parking garages.

Notes: Prompt fill for Anon who asked for Crinkle Dot with Michael getting kidnapped (again) based on a line from Small Hours of the Night.: 

Today it was Trevor, but they all know there will be a day when Michael’s on his own when someone decides they want to hurt the big bad Vagabond where it’ll do the most damage.

(Read on AO3)

Its probably not a good sign that Michael’s gotten used to being approached by people in parking garages.

Just.

An in general sort of thing, because he lives in Los Santos and all kinds of fuckery goes on in places like that. Especially this late at night, and okay, okay, okay, maybe Ryan’s right about Michael being a dumbass.

Because he hears the guy walking up to him, hears him stop a few feet away. Hard-soled shoes clip-clopping on the hard cement like that, of course he does.

But because he’s Michael and coming off working a double shift, he doesn’t pay all that much attention to it. (He does, just not the right kind. Preoccupied with this he needs to do because he has a date later, so you know.)

Hears the guy clear his throat, something aggressive to it that pings Michael's radar too late, but it’s really the part that follows after that makes him realize he should have been more alert.

The whole, “Hey, pal,” and “You Michael Jones?” and “Rudy sends his regards,” which.

First of all, Michael has no goddamn clue who the hell Rudy is, so there’s that.

Second of all, talk about being dramatic as hell, and also a great way to preface sucker punching someone when they turn around to ask you what the fuck you want.

No matter how many times Ryan or the others drag him down to the gym to teach him how to defend himself, he won’t be fast enough to react when someone blindsides him like that. A for effort on their parts and all that shit, but Michael's only human and there’s that whole dumbass thing too, so.

Yeah.

Michael sees a meaty fist coming straight at him before pain explodes in his face and he drops like a ragdoll.

========

He wakes up who knows how many hours later tied up like a damsel in distress in those movies his mom denies she watches. All melodrama and other movie clichés as far as the eye could see.

Big Vinewood hero, dashing and brave and his spunky sidekick. Gorgeous love interest who was all fired up with determination to stand toe-to-toe with every asshole she came across until it came time for the villain to get one over on the hero, and then everything fell apart.

“Guilty pleasures,”she’d tell him, embarrassed as hell and only half serious with her threats. “If I find out you’re telling people I watch them you’re grounded, you little shit.”

Mich looks around, tries to figure out where he’s been taken this time.

“Look at me now, ma,” he mutters, “just like your movies.”

He’s in a bland little room that’s gone neglected for who knows how long. Peeling paint and the smell of mildew and wood rot. Water stains in the ceiling and garbage and whatever else piled in the corners. Old furniture like you’d find in a typical office building that’s a few years out of date and seen some hard times.

Nothing new there, nothing to give away a particular area in Los Santos.

The train whistle he hears in the distance is a little more helpful, but doesn’t help him pin the place down.

So, yeah.

Not great.

His head hurts like hell and he can feel dried blood flaking away under his node, down his lips and chin. His nose doesn’t feel broken, which is always nice.

Aside from a few aches and pains nothing else does either.

Whoever sucker punched him in the garage isn’t around to ask questions, and there’s no sign of anyone else.

Either they’re went to the trouble of grabbing him just to let him rot here where no one’s supposed to find him, or they’re letting him stew.

“No one has any goddamned imagination with this shit,” Michael says, annoyance rising because fucking seriously.

He’s been grabbed a few times before this. Assholes who think he’ll roll over for them, hand them everything they want in exchange for letting him go like that’s what they have planned.

Like he’s just that stupid.

Sure, he’s not thrilled about the part that comes after being grabbed, the whole tough guy act these kind of assholes put on.

Smile at him like it’s just business kid, you know how it is, right? And then the ugly shit starts, a punch here, another one there. Things to soften him up and get him talking, babbling for them to stop, he’ll talk, he’ll talk, only Michael doesn’t play along.

Doesn’t follow the script like they expect him to.

So they bring out their shiny little knives and flashy guns. Get in his face and ask him if he’s sure he wants to keep the Fake AH Crew’s secrets. Doesn’t he know he’s just another tool to them? Convenient little asset and all that, but c’mon kid, you’re smarter than that, aren’t you?

All that fancy education to get where you are in life, and you’re gonna throw it away on scumbags like them?

He’s heard variations on that since the wrong people found out about him from an ally of the Fakes with loose lips and no goddamn common sense to speak of. Idiot kid who should have known better, but you know. Idiot kid.

Last Michael heard, he’s off somewhere the Roosters can keep an eye on him. Far away from Ryan and the others who hold grudges like nobody’s business. (Got this sideways look from Geoff and Burnie who was visiting at the time. Both of them probably thinking Michael’s a bigger idiot than expected, but whatever. The crew’s always telling him they owe him, and it was a small enough favor.)

Got a broken nose out of it before Michael managed to get everyone calmed down. Drew attention to the fact he was kind of bleeding a little, and oh, hey, anyone want to return the favor of stitching him back together for fuck’s sake, or did he have to do it himself?

(He kind of did, though. Ryan all wound up and freaked out as Michael told him what to do like the big doof hadn’t been  - badly – stitching himself back together for years.)

Michael sighs because he hates this part. Boring as fuck and wasting his time.

“Goddammit,” Michael sighs, because Ryan’s going to be a goddamn pain about this.

(Michael’s got a thing about being punctual, and the fact he’s late for their date will be a source of grief for him.)

========

It takes a couple of hours before this Rudy asshole shows his face.

Beanpole of a guy with beady little eyes and something about him that makes Michael think about snakes. (Might be the way he puts emphasis on his sibilants, the way Jeremy does sometimes when he’s fucking around in a death match back at the penthouse.)

Ridiculously into his bad guy cliches from the way he circles around Michael to clasping his hands behind his back once he’s standing in front of Michael.

Pair of enforcers flanking the door because assholes like him can’t not with the intimidation tactics.

“So,” he says – hisses? - giving Michael a once-over. “You’re this Michael Jones I’ve heard so much about.”

Michael doesn’t know what the fuck is going on here, but sure.

Why not.

“I mean,” Michael says, because he’s an idiot and hanging around the Fakes has just brought that out in him even more. “It’s a pretty common name when you think about it.”

Might as well cal himself John Smith, the amount of people who go around with the same name.

Rudy’s one of those people who doesn’t seem to find that amusing, and Michael knows it’s going to be a long night because he goes straight into douchebag mode.

Raises his hand like an asshole and snaps his fingers, eyes on Michael the whole time as one of the bruisers leaves his station by the door and steps forward. (Cracks his knuckles like you see in the movies, all intimidation factor and unbelievably assholish.)

Rudy smiles, mean edge to it.

“I get it now,” he says, turning to leave. “You’re just like them.”

Michael rolls his eyes because no, he’s really not.

Well.

He didn’t used to be anyway. Had common sense they didn’t, but the fuckers have been chipping away at that until he ends up in situations like this and making all the wrong choices.

He looks to the bruiser who’s looking at Michael with his head cocked like he can see all his weak points.

“Can we just get this over with?” Michael asks. “Places to be and all that.”

The bruiser smirks like a man who loves his job and yeah, yeah.

Long goddamned night ahead of him.

========

When the bruiser’s done with their first session, Michael’s nose is broken and he’s has a loose tooth. Maybe more than one, it’s hard to keep track.

He hurts like fuck and there’s this leaky pipe at the back of the room that’s driving him nuts.

Rudy’s staring him down, this bland little smile on his face.

“It doesn’t have to be this way, you know,” he says. Just a businessman looking out for his own interests, nothing personal to any of this. “Tell me what I want to know, and we’ll send you on your way.”

Michael stares at him because it’s the usual load of horseshit guys like him peddle. Empty promises with threats of violence behind them and honestly?

Michael’s tired of it.

“Alright,” he says, licks blood off his lips, cracks his neck because he has to look up at the asshole ad his bruisers and it’s putting a crick in his neck. “You want me to talk? I’ll talk.”

He has a lot of grievances against the Fake AH Crew with all the shit they put him through on a regular basis. Just one thing after another with those assholes.

Michael starts out with something that’s been bugging him for a long goddamn time.

“Who the fuck decides to call themselves Rimmy Tim? Like fucking really. Did the asshole just have a bunch of kids write-in suggestions he picked out of a hat or something?”

Speaking of.

“What the fuck is up with the cowboy hat?”

The color scheme, okay, yeah. Michael gets that because Jeremy’s a disaster, so why not pick the worst color combination he could, but the cowboy hat?

Michael bites back a laugh at the way Rudy’s expression goes from smug satisfaction to something approaching apoplectic rage. Tiny bit of disbelief, like most people in Michael’s situation aren’t this stupid.

Asshole uncoils, sneer on his face like this isn’t something he usually does himself but he’ll make an exception for Michael.

Backhands him, heavy rings on his fingers leaving a cut behind, blood spilling down Michael’s cheek as his head snaps to the side.

“You might want to rethink your position, Jones,” he says, sharp and clear, no extra emphasis on the sibilants this time.

Michael shakes his head, and looks back at good old Rudy. Sees the anger in his eyes, blood he’s shaking off his hand.

“Yeah?” Michael asks. Cocks his head as he hears noise outside the room they’ve got him in. Sounds a little like unexpected trouble coming Rudy’s way, what with the yelling. Sees Rudy straighten up, head turning towards the noise as it draws closer. “I could say the same for you, asshole.”

Rudy snarls, mouth opening to snap out orders to his bruisers but it’s too little too late as someone kicks the door open.

Smoke rushing in and sight of fire behind the figure in the doorway.

Dramatic bastard in his leather jacket and ridiculous mask.

Also, you know.

Mini-gun.

Rudy takes a step back, closer to Michael, and the Vagabond aims the mini-gun at him.

Just that.

Aims that monster of a gun at Rudy and lets him think things over. No rush, the Vagabond’s got plenty of time now that he’s here. Wouldn’t want to pressure Rudy or anything like that.

There’s this moment where Rudy glances over at Michael like he’s weighing the odds of him getting close enough to use Michael as a bargaining chip – but he’s one of the smarter ones. Gives up that line of thinking as he raises his hands and turns back to face the Vagabond.

The bruisers follow his lead, hands in the air as a familiar figure ducks around the Vagabond and plucks the guns out of the bruiser’s shoulder holsters. Ejects the magazines and tosses them in a corner of the room. Goes on to pat them down for any hidden weapons that end up in in the same corner, but he pockets their wallets with a little smirk.

Moves over to Rudy who is visibly seething, and flashes him this bright little grin. Pats his cheek before giving him the same treatment. (Shoots Michael a look, eyes narrowing as he spots the cut on Michael’s cheek and slips Rudy’s rings off his fingers.)

Rudy and his bruisers are glaring at Gavin, but Michael’s attention is on the Vagabond standing so very, very still, mini-gun humming away.

“Well, don’t you look a sight,” Gavin murmurs, hand on Michael’s shoulder as he slips around behind him to cut through the ropes tying him to the chair.

Rough stuff, Michael’s wrists rubbed raw from trying to get out of them earlier with no luck.

Michael snorts, lets Gavin help him to his feet. Hand on his elbow as he leads him towards the door. Michael digs his heels in when they draw even with the Vagabond. (Asshole doesn’t acknowledge them, focus on Rudy and his bruisers.)

“I’m okay,” Michael says, just loud enough for the idiot. “I’m fine.”

Little bit battered, bruised, but nothing he won’t heal from.

“Michael,” Gavin says, tugging on his elbow.

Michael sighs and lets Gavin escort him out of the building.

They pass by Jeremy and members of B-Team along the way having what looks like a pointed discussion with the handful of Rudy’s people still standing. (Offering them a choice.)

Michael pulls back against Gavin’s hold when he hears the first gunshots, scowls when the assholes tightens it for a moment before his hand drops away.

Gavin sighs.

“It’s not just about you,” he says quietly. “If bastards like him think they can get away with something like this, it’ll mean trouble for the crew.”

Michael knows that.

Knew that when he considered the risks involved in pursuing a relationship with Ryan. Sat down and thought about it, news on in the background and all the shit he saw on the job. Thought about everything he’d heard about the Fake AH Crew after moving to Los Santos, the shit they got up to. (Enemies they’d made and the ones they’ll make because they’re all idiots.)

Some days all that knowing hits harder than others, has a more direct impact.

“Come on,” Gavin says, walking ahead. “Let’s get you back to the penthouse where we can get you taken care of.”

========

The Vagabond shows up at the penthouse about an hour later.

Knocks on the door to Ryan’s suite and doesn’t let himself in afterwards, so Michael has to open it for him.

He’s still wearing the mask, but something about the way he’s standing makes it seem less like an intimidation tactic and more like something to hide behind. (Or maybe Michael’s full of bullshit.)

“Hey,” Michael says, stepping back to let him in.

He gets a grunt by way of greeting and a whiff of smoke as the Vagabond walks past. (Burning building with a touch of cigarette smoke tossed in.)

Watches the asshole look around like he’s expecting trouble, and sighs. (Long night for everyone.)

“I could use some help,” he says, brushes his fingers under the cut on his face. “Can’t get the fucking things on right.”

Always easier to for him when he’s treating someone else than himself and all that.

Michael had help resetting his nose because that’s always a bitch to do yourself, but insisted he could handle the rest. Minor stuff, just needed to clean up and slap a few band-aids on and call it a day.

No going back to his own place until the Fakes decide it’s safe, and this is as good as anywhere they’d let him go off after tonight. (Ryan’s place would have been a nice second-best, but he knows they want to keep him close until they shake off the what could have beens.)

Took the time to grab a quick shower, change out of his uniform and into a spare set of clothes he keeps here. Was just trying to decide where to start when he heard the knock at the door.

The Vagabond stares at him like he’s having trouble understanding him, so Michael walks over. Gives him this look, and cocks his head.

“You going to take that thing off?” he asks, and waits to see if the Vagabond’s done for the night or if he’s going to be sticking around for a while yet.

Hard to tell with him sometimes, you know? Guy’s got a lot of shit packed away in that head of his and this thing with Michael just adds to it some days. (Ones like this.)

The Vagabond keeps staring at him and Michael shrugs. Goes back to the bathroom to path himself up and breathes easier when he hears a tired sigh behind him. (Squeak of leather and this quiet noise of something landing on the coffee table.)

He’s sorting through Ryan’s first-aide kit when he hears shuffling footsteps, looks up to see another reflection in the mirror over his shoulder.

No face paint tonight, like he couldn’t be bothered with it. (Intricate design like that? Takes time to get it right.)

“You’re running low on a few things,” Michael says, which is ridiculous.

The Fakes have all that shit tucked away on one of the lower floors and Trevor making sure they stay stocked up because God knows they need it, the trouble they get into all the damn time.

There’s a little stare down until the idiot standing behind him sighs again, shaky little thing.

“I’m alright,” Michael says, because he is.

Going to hurt for a while maybe, but it could have been worse. (Might be, someday with his luck, but he’s going to think about that right now with the way the idiot’s looking at him.)

“You look like shit,” and it’s not so much the Vagabond telling Michael that as it’s someone closer to being Ryan.

Not quite there yet, but he’s losing that hard look in his eyes. The tension(guilt) he’s carrying around on his shoulders like it’s something that’s gonna bring him low one of these days.

“Yeah, well,” Michael says, and shrugs. “Shitty genetics.”

Another sigh with all this exasperation to it, and there Ryan is. Buried under a shitload of issues and misplaced guilt, regret, who even knows anymore.

“Michael - “

Michael's real stupid these days. Somehow got into a relationship with an idiot in the weirdest fucking way, got all tangled up with the group of misfits he calls a crew. (Sounds more like family when he says it though, has all those complicated feelings behind it.)

Forgets to be smart about things sometimes, and it gets him in trouble all over the place.

“Doesn’t look like it’ll leave a scar,” Michael says, studying his reflection. “Kind of sucks, guy at work keeps telling me chicks dig ‘em.”

The cut’s not that deep, more of a scratch. Looked worse than it is, all that blood and the general situation. All it needs is a butterfly band-aid or two and it’ll heal just fine.

Looking up at the idiot’s reflection, he can’t help but smile a little at the way his eyes narrow just the tiniest bit. (Knows Michael’s fucking with him and trying not to take the bait.)

Michael’s also more of an asshole these days. Must be the company he’s keeping.

“Is that so,” Michael hears, bit of strain to it.

Too soon, maybe, to be making light of things, but what else is he supposed to do with an idiot who insists on blaming himself for every shitty thing to happen to Michael like he’s got sole rights to it.

Michael’s the one who fucked up, let his guard down. Ryan’s just...fuck, who knows.

Maybe it is his fault people are looking at Michael like he’s an easy target, way to get at the Fakes. Maybe it would have happened anyway after Michael landed himself in Phil’s old spot looking after these assholes. Maybe things could have gone another way and Michael would have gotten suckered into helping some other bastard bleeding all over his stuff who’d leave Michael to fend for himself when trouble came calling.

Ryan’s going to want to talk about it, like he think he’s making a logical point about Michael being safer if he had nothing to do with the crew. (With him.)

Worried about the shit he puts Michael through. Shit he’s forced to deal with, know about, because it’s not like Ryan and the others hold down normal jobs. No ignoring what they do. Things they’ve done and things they’ll do. (Forgets no one has clean hands here in Los Santos, though.)

And then, because Michael's not a moron, he’ll to tell Ryan to go fuck himself if he thinks that’s the right answer to things in any world. Cat’s out of the bag on that one anyway, and even if he agreed with Ryan, went along with that stupidity, it wouldn’t magically fix things.

Assholes like Rudy would still target Michael because they’d know he’s still a link to the crew. Someone to be used against them still and making Ryan and Michael miserable for no goddamned reason. (They’ve been over this before, and yet.)

It’s late though, and they’ve had a long, shitty day. Michael would rather save the arguing for later, when he has the energy to tell Ryan all the ways he’s wrong and hopefully – maybe – have some of it stick in that thick skull of his.

So.

Michael shrugs and picks up one of the butterfly bandages, waves it at the idiot behind him who sighs again before taking it.

Small steps with this one, but worth it.

========

“What are we doing right now?”

Kind of a dumb question because there’s a really terrible movie playing on the television. Awful special effects with some poor bastard in a rubber monster suit terrorizing college co-eds.

Empty takeout containers on the coffee table and a bowl of popcorn and drinks for the two of them.

Comfortable couch and Ryan a decent stand-in for a pillow. (Ryan’s still a little shaky, mindset taking time to tick over, but Michael’s working on it.)

“Well,” Michael says, feeling comfortably fuzzy. “I kind of had a date tonight.”

Not quite dinner and a movie level thing because they’re boring as fuck when it comes to this shit, but he was promised enchiladas and that’s got to mean something.

“But then a thing came up,” Michael says, still running his mouth. “And I missed it.”

Ryan makes this little noise in the back of his throat, hums to himself. (Knows better than to bring up his stupid argument tonight because Michael’s not having it.)

“And then,” Michael goes on, rambling like an idiot. “I remembered you love to bitch about the science in these movies, so I figured it would be better than an IOU or something.”

Michael may be more than a little comfortably fuzzy, but what the hell right?

Ryan’s making this other noise now, body shaking with it. Michael’s no expert, be he’s thinking the asshole’s laughing at him.

Quiet little wheezing thing, with IOU mixed in, along with what the hell does that even mean? and Jesus Christ.

It. Yeah. Fuck if Michael knows.

“Shut the fuck up,” he hisses as the scene on the television switches to what’s supposed to be a high-tech lab for a corrupt corporation hoping to sell their abomination to the military for a shit-ton of money. All shiny and white and cliché as hell. “We’re getting to the first exposition dump.”

Ryan wheezes one last time before he quiets down, and Michael grins to himself as he feels the idiot getting more and more indignant about the blatant science bullshit the actors are spewing.

“Oh my God,” Ryan bursts out, sounding more himself than he has all night. “I don’t - No. That’s not how that works!”

Michael shoves a handful of popcorn in his mouth and smiles to himself because yes, okay. Terrible movies and bad science isn’t quite the way to Ryan’s heart, but damn if it doesn’t piss him off enough to forget to be an idiot for a bit.

“I don’t know,” Michael says. “Makes sense to me.”

Why not splice animal DNA together in ways that wouldn’t work in the real world to create the perfect killing machine? What could possibly go wrong?

Ryan’s glaring at him, has to be, because Michael loves to do this to him. Make him watch the worst movies and go along with the terrible science just to annoy the fuck out of him.

It’s not the way he thought their night would go, but given the kind of city Los Santos is and their luck in general it’s a hell of a lot better than he expected and far more entertaining to boot.

==================================

Where the Heart Is

[missfeisty199]

I had a dream that jimmy got shot in the head, stan obviously freaks out as the paramedics quickly drive him to the hospital, but it turns out that the bullet only grazed his temple and never actually entered the body, so he lives. Maybe ya can do somethin with that idk. There was more to it but you know how dreams go. Pfft. Love your work! ~🌟

Awww, thanks Star Anon!!!!! :) I’m glad that you love my work, haha. (to be honest, it still amazes me that people take the time to read my stuff :3)

—-

Stan only remembered it as a delivery run that had gone wrong. Far wrong. 

There had been an altercation between Jimmy and the buyer. 

Then there was a loud pop.

Then the buyer fled.

Then there was Jimmy…on the ground…screaming…and there was blood everywhere. 

Now, Stan is currently trembling with severe anxiety, a heavy flood of tears streaming down his face as he audibly sobs. There are people all around him, attempting to calm his nerves and get him under control. It’s without prevail though, as Stan obviously doesn’t pay them any mind. Not even one of the EMTs enveloping a blanket around Stan and handing him a water bottle is helping. 

Even though they are in an ambulance truck speeding down the road, it feels as if time is at a slow still. 

Panic does that to a person. 

Stan doesn’t know how long they have left to get to Pillbox Hospital. All he does know is that there’s the shouting of a bunch of medical codes that he doesn’t quite understand what they mean, bandages being taken out of cabinets, the constant beeping of some monitor or whatever, and then there’s Jimmy…Stan’s best friend not only in Los Santos, but in the entire world…

On a gurney.

His eyes are covered up by the bandages and gauze for the time being.

He isn’t talking.

He isn’t moving.

There’s still blood coming from his head. 

There’s still blood.

Blood.

Blood.

Blood…

It just doesn’t stop coming out from his head. 

Before Stan even realizes anything else, the double doors to the back of the ambulance open up. Still in a panic and slow-motion daze, Stan watches as Jimmy’s gurney is pulled away and out onto the pavement. Stan couldn’t move on his own, so one of the EMTs had to pull him to his feet and gently walk him out of the ambulance truck. 

The EMT, who’s a woman, says to him that everything will be fine and that they’re going to continue to work on Jimmy. 

At least, that’s what Stan thinks the female EMT is telling him. He’s still in a daze, but he now knows that they have arrived at the hospital. 

They must have whisked Jimmy away and taken him into a room in a matter of seconds, because when Stan is brought into the lobby, he doesn’t see any sign of his best friend. He does, however, see Brenda at the reception desk. The EMT who had generously escorted Stan in is now talking to her, probably letting her know what the deal is for why he is in hysterics. He sees the two of them glance back at him every few seconds, possibly making sure that Stan doesn’t escape to find Jimmy in all of the rooms. 

Brenda and the female EMT seem to be finished talking now, as Brenda nods and the EMT walks away. Maybe to go meet up with the other EMTs and get back to the ambulance truck to resume their paramedic duty. Brenda walks up to Stan, looking like she is ready to dish out one of her many sarcastic insults to Stan. 

However, and maybe because she’s been informed about everything from the female EMT, Brenda sighs and puts a hand on Stan’s shoulder. 

He flinches at the sudden contact, but at least it finally gets Stan out of his anxious state. He even looks into Brenda’s eyes, seeing what could be empathy in those light brown irises. 

Then again, this is Brenda Pancake after all. 

“Come on, Stan,” she says softly. “Have a seat. The EMT says she tried to give you some water to drink, but you didn’t want to take it from her. You change your mind and want to drink some, now that you’re at the hospital?” Brenda is guiding Stan to a seat and sits him down as she talks to him. 

Stan would never drink water from his competitors, but his lips and throat felt dry from all of the sobbing and coughing he had done during the ride to the hospital. He’s really parched right now. He could drink most about anything at the moment. 

“T-that…that would b-be lovely. Thank y-you, B-Brenda.” 

Brenda walks off to the water fountain across the large room, and returns with a paper cup filled to the brim within seconds. “Here you are,” she says.

Stan takes the cup from her hand and immediately guzzles down the water. It doesn’t even faze him that it tastes different than his own water. 

“Jesus Christ. You want to just fucking take the entire water jug instead?” Brenda scoffs. 

“N-no. That was fine for now,” Stan replies. 

“Well,” Brenda begins, “looks like the EMT left you a blanket from the ambulance truck, so you should at least try to relax for now because it’s going to be a long while before they let you know of Jimmy’s status.” 

Stan had already forgotten about the warm cotton blanket wrapped over his shoulders, and it did bring some comfort to him as he feels up the material. However, he wishes she hadn’t brought up Jimmy, along with the fact that his status is unknown for now. 

—–

He doesn’t know how he managed to do it, but Stan figures that he must have succeeded in falling asleep. All of the panic must have really exhausted him. He’s awoken by Brenda, who is standing over him and gently nudging his shoulder. 

Immediately Stan assumes the worse. “I-Is he…he…” 

For a moment, Brenda looks like she is contemplating something, but she just sighs.* “Jimmy’s fine, Stan. He’s okay now. They said you could see him right now if you’d like.” 

A breath that Stan hadn’t realized he was holding is exhaled in relief, and he nods as he slowly gets out of his seat, grunting off the uncomfortable feeling of having slept in a chair for who knows how long. 

“Leave the blanket here, Wheeler. Hospital property,” Brenda teases. 

Stan lets it drop from his grasp, and Brenda escorts him to the room where they have Jimmy. He doesn’t ask her about anything, figuring that the doctors or nurses will inform him on everything. 

When they arrive, Stan sees Jimmy laying on the hospital bed with a cloth bandage securely tapped in place on the side of his head. He appears to be aware of his surroundings perfectly, even evident in how his eyes light up when he sees Stan at the foot of the bed. Jimmy even flashes a faint, but still lovely, smile at Stan. “Hey, Fannypack,” he softly greets. 

“OH, JIMMY!” Stan exclaims. “O-OH BOY, AM I JUST ECSTATIC TO SEE THAT YOU’RE-” 

“Hey hey hey, could you…keep your voice down to a minimum range,” Jimmy winces. “My ears still hurt from the ringing of the gunshot.” 

Stan widens his eyes. “O-oh. So-sorry, Friendly J.” 

The female doctor on the other side of Jimmy’s bed, who Stan hadn’t realized was there until just now, sweetly laughs before catching Stan up on everything. 

“As you can see, Mr. Bending here is just fine. He’s a lucky one today, as well! The bullet hadn’t caused any brain damage because it actually never entered the inside of his head; it just simply grazed his temple. We managed to stop the bleeding as well, although we had to administer some to him since he lost quite a bit. He could have lost more if you hadn’t called for paramedics in time!” 

“You hear that, Staniel? You’re a real hero,” Jimmy jokes around. “Well, besides the staff here of course.” 

“No, you’re right, Mr. Jimmy. He’s a hero alright. I’d say that you’ve got a real keeper here.” The doctor says this with a wink and another laugh as she and Brenda leave the two men to be alone, announcing that she’ll have the discharge papers ready in a moment. 

Stan glances at Jimmy, who is still smiling up at him. 

Neither of them is saying anything, though. 

Instead, Jimmy scoots an inch to his left on the bed, and he pats the empty side next to him. Stan doesn’t need to be told anything else, and he makes his way over to the other side of the hospital bed. After being cautious as he got in, he lay next to Jimmy as the latter put his arm around Stan. Thankfully it isn’t the side where the bandage on his temple is at, so Stan freely rests his head on the pillow, close to Jimmy. 

They both look like they are searching for things to say, but then decide that they don’t necessarily have to talk. They could just lay next to one another in the comforting silence, get lost in the other’s eyes, and just be relieved that they get to live another day by each other’s side. 

So that’s what they do for the time being. 

—-

* Brenda was going to be her usual bitchy self and joke that Jimmy was dead, just to see Stan’s reaction hahahahahahaha >:3 please don’t hurt me.

[vagrantblvrd]

(Sending another fic i wish you'd write meme you don't gotta do it if you don't wanna) a fic where battle buddies was a thing long before either of them joined the fahc. and they don't join at the same time but whoever joined first just sorta dragged the other in like oh hey guys i know a guy who can help out and depending on who joined first i feel like the reactions would be very different

Okay, so the whole Battle Buddies in the FAHC universe thing makes me so happy?

Like, what were they before they decided the criminal life was the way to go?

Special ops? SWAT officers? Freaking mall cops? A couple of nerds who got a little too into a game of laser tag on their lunch break and somehow ended up criminals through a series of improbable wacky shenanigans?

WHO KNOWS.

Thing is, they’re somewhat “normal” on their own, right? (Aside from Jeremy and his whole thing with Rimmy Tim and Ryan with the Vagabond shtick.)

The crew hears about this ~spooky figure in Ryan, right? This guy who’s terrifyingly good at his job. Who everyone’s heard of with a high success rate and this reputation for not taking being double-crossed well, not that anyone does that anymore after what happened with the last guy to try that.

(Thing is, though, there’s always someone who thinks they can get away with it, so there’s always a new “last guy” and after people hear what happened to him, you’d think they’d learn, but they don’t, so….)

Geoff wants to hire him for a job, needs the extra muscle and with his reputation behind him they might  pull this off without anyone dying horribly.

They meet in some abandoned warehouse or an parking garage that has some overhead light about to die flickering and making that buzzing noise because ~atmosphere.

At least that’s what the crew thinks, Geoff muttering about this Vagabond guy being a fucking dramatic bastard because seriously? But in reality Jeremy’s around somewhere with his sniper rifle because the whole double-cross thing, you know?

And, sure, the Fakes have a reputation for dealing fairly with their allies and various freelancers and the like, but still.

Geoff’s talking to Gavin who’s taking in the place they’re supposed to meet, casually notes that there are a few prime spots for a sniper to set up.

Hands in his pockets, shades pushed into his hair as he glances around, says, “That’s a lovely spot,” and, “Oh, that’s nice,” and so on and Geoff’s watching him because Gavin would know, wouldn’t he.

Spent a lot of time up high for the crew before Ray happened along. While he plays a different role in the crew now, he likes to keep his hand in. Stay sharp, and there’s more than one reason Geoff brings him to things like this.

Still, Gavin doesn’t seem concerned, so Geoff’s bitching about waiting for the damn Vagabond in this shithole of a warehouse or some parking garage in the middle of the night.

And then the Vagabond’s just there.

Geoff turning around when Gavin stops talking mid-sentence, eyes moving to track the Vagabond behind him, and is just like, of course.

Sees the Vagabond standing there watching them, waiting for them to get on with it, and lays out the job offer he has for him.

Ryan accepts and the crew deals with him being a creepy weirdo for a while because he’s good at what he does so they keep bringing him in on things.

He fits in pretty well, deals with Gavin surprisingly well even through the most ridiculous shenanigans and unbelievable questions. Works well with the others, and deals with Jack needling him every now and then as time goes on.

Of course they’re all a little curious as to why he heads out as soon as he gets paid after a job/gets his cut for a heist he’s gone, you know? Not like it’s a requirement for any of them to hangout at Geoff’s penthouse to wind down after something like that, but still.

They wonder, but no one wants to pry (well, maybe Gavin but even he’s not dumb enough to cross that boundary – yet.)

And then someone puts out bounties on the crew – new ones, just one more than enough to set someone up for life – but they just don’t realize for a bit because someone’s usually trying to kill them.

For the notoriety of taking one of the Fakes out or some past slight of old grudge, it doesn’t matter what the reason.

But then it’s Ryan and Michael playing muscle for Gavin at a meet, and someone goes after Gavin, and throws the whole thing into chaos.

A sniper, and after they get to over there’s yelling and stand-offs because the Fakes don’t know if the people Gavin was negotiating are in on or not (they’re not). Ryan being all Vagabond-y at these guys with Michael as his foil and Gavin trying to de-escalate -

And then there’s a commotion outside the area they’ve taken cover and someone kicks the door in. Throws some asshole through the door and everyone freezes.

A moment later a guy in some ridiculous ensemble walks in dusting his hands off (no, really) and is like, “Nailed it.”

All pleased with himself and whatnot and it comes out that Jeremy just got back in ton after a job of his own. Heard about the bounties someone put out on the Fakes and got all curious, ended up doing a little  investigating and shit.

What he tells the others, though, is that he was in the neighborhood just happened to stumble on this asshole with a sniper rifle – real shitty one, too, fuckin’ amateur – and oh, hey. How’s it’s going, Battle Buddy?

And then everyone’s freaking out about whoever put the bounties out on them, and Jeremy’s like, “Uh…”

Because this certain area of Los Santos is now on fire, and roughly half a block is just gone, and Ryan sighs because they’ve talked about this. No blowing shit up without him and all that.

After that he’s just part of the crew, although they think his name is Rimmy Tim for the longest time. Find out Ryan’s living with some guy named Jeremy, that they’ve been together for years, but think he’s cheating on him with Rimmy Tim when someone catches them doing the “holy shit, we almost died, guess it’s time to make out” thing.

Have no idea what to do, and try to approach Rimmy Tim and Ryan separately, both of those assholes keeping the lie going until Ryan fucking loses it. Breaks down laughing when the crew puts together a fucking intervention, wondering why Jeremy won’t answer his phone and the ~truth comes out.

NOW.

If Jeremy’s the one to join the crew first he gets hired on as additional muscle when Michael’s hurt and the crew’s under pressure. Maybe rival crews and whatnot are testing boundaries, pushing and testing just to see how the Fakes reacts.

Michael gets hurt in an altercation, and while they make the people responsible for it very, very sorry, it leaves them a man down.

So they find Jeremy, Geoff leaving it up to Gavin if he wants this weirdo in the purple and orange as backup while Michael recovers. And Gavin, okay. Gavin’s got Jack too, and this Jeremy guy is likable enough. Comes highly recommended from their allies, so he says sure.

And it’s awesome because he not only goes along with Gavin’s terrible ideas, he improves upon them.

They wreak havoc for a bit, terrify the Fake AH Crew’s enemies and new and terrifying ways and eventually things calm down. Go back to normal-ish for Los Santos and this trial run they’ve given Jeremy during all of it comes to an end. They decide to keep him, because he fits in with the crew and everyone loves him and also he’s awesome, right?

Things go on for a while and one day Jeremy’s crappy little car breaks down and he needs a ride, gets one from his old buddy from way back.

And for whatever reason the crew just happens to be hanging around outside the building waiting on Jeremy before heading up to the penthouse.

See this sweet little Zentorno pull up and Jeremy get out, all smiley and laughing and when he stats up the steps to the others there’s this moment, right? All of them trying to see who’s driving that car, and holy shit, it’s the goddamn Vagabond???

And Jeremy’s like, uh, yeah? Didn’t Geoff want to go over plans for the new heist?

The others are like yes, but also Vagabond???

But Jeremy’s already headed inside and the Zentorno long gone, and Jeremy’s acting like nothing is out of the ordinary.

Doesn’t say a damn thing when it keeps happening, or when the Vagabond drops by with his lunch, or baked good and whatnot and it’s so, so bizarre, but so is Jeremy and it just turns into a thing that everyone is like “fuck it” about.

Eventually they’re planning a job and Geoff’s like “We could use an extra gun on this one, anyone have suggestions?”

Everyone looks pointedly at Jeremy because by this point the Vagabond might as well be part of the crew anyway. Hangs out at the penthouse and drinks all of Geoff’s diet soda and sniffs out various candy stashes better than any bloodhound.

May or may not have taken care of some problems for the crew on the down low (only not, because the Vagabond’s a very distinctive figure in Los Santos), and really, he might as well be getting paid, you know?

Jeremy’s just like, “What? Oh, yeah. I mean, I kind of do?”

And that’s how the Vagabond joins the crew.

…A few months later this whole Rimmy Tim business starts, and no one in the crew bats an eye while the rest of Los Santos has no fucking clue what’s going on.