#if anyone even so much as chokes up geoff is having to hide his face haha babyyyy

[miafic]

pretty sure i’ve said this before, but one of my favorite things about geoff is the fact that he cries whenever anyone else does

#literally #if anyone even so much as chokes up geoff is having to hide his face haha babyyyy #geoff #not asks

[jemmydoolz]

Edgar Has Always Been Kind of a Bitch

hi okay so it's a little after midnight but I'm posting a fic rn bc it's the first fic I've written in like,, a yr and a half and also I'm rlly excited abt it??

anyway battle buddies/fahc jeremwood angst based on ramblings in a gc

(warning for minor assault implications at the beginning, and brief mentions of a suicide attempt at the end)!!!

Fiona and Gavin decide that what Jeremy needs is a night of bevs, and, to put it simply, get wasted, so the crew settles on going to a club that Friday. Jeremy only has one or two drinks, but boy does he get fucked up.

Ryan’s sitting and talking with Geoff and Jack in a booth, sipping a diet coke. He looks over Jack’s shoulder to see Jeremy standing at the bar with a much taller, more intimidating man looming over him. The guy reaches out toward Jeremy, who leans away from the touch. Jeremy nervously laughs and his eyes frantically dart around for someone, anyone who might be able to help him.

“Hello? Earth to Ryan?” Jack waves her hand in front of Ryan’s face.

“Oh, yeah. Yeah. sorry. Hey, um, I’m gonna go home, I’m just not really feeling great,” Ryan murmurs as he slides out of the booth, already heading toward Jeremy.

“Um, alright, I guess? Drive safe,” Jack calls after him.

Ryan speeds up when he sees the man grab Jeremy’s arm. Jeremy’s face flipped through a thousand emotions at once when he saw Ryan approaching, but eventually landed on confused but grateful. He gave Jeremy a look that said just go with what I’m about to say.

“Hey, babe,” Ryan says. The man immediately drops his grip on Jeremy’s arm. Jeremy does his best not to choke on his own spit when he hears the word babe come out of Ryan’s mouth. He hadn’t heard it in so long, and he didn’t think it would still hurt so much.

“Oh, hey!” Jeremy turns to Ryan and reaches up to peck him on the lips. “Where’d Edgar go? It’s his birthday, I figured he would wanna hang out with his friends!”

Fuck. Mentioning something about their friend ‘Edgar’ was always code for I don’t feel good about this, let’s leave. Edgar’s birthday meant I’m having a panic attack, I need your help. Ryan wanted to punch the guy that was practically feeling Jeremy up. No—he wanted to fucking kill that bastard. He and Jeremy may have had a severe falling out, they may have suffered years of heartache and longing, but he still felt responsible to make sure Jeremy was safe.

“He said he kinda wanted to go home. He went to the bathroom while I found you. You, uh, just about ready?” Ryan’s eyes flitted between Jeremy and the other man, who cleared his throat and mumbled something about needing to go find his friends before walking off.

Jeremy and Ryan both sigh in relief once he’s gone.

“Wanna head outside for some fresh air for a minute?” Ryan asks, getting a meek, obviously shaken-up nod in return.

Jeremy says something that Ryan can’t quite hear over the music as they walk outside.

“Hm?”

“Oh, nothing. It was dumb.” Jeremy shakes his head. Ryan has had enough experience to know that it was better to just leave it alone. They both wordlessly come to a stop and lean against the wall of the building a few yards from the door. Almost as if they had been working as partners for years. They spend a few minutes saying nothing, watching people on the street, looking at the stars in the sky. Ryan can’t help but study the intricacies of Jeremy, realizing that so many things have changed, but somehow almost nothing about him is different. Jeremy’s hair is just a tad bit more grown out than it ever was at the agency (also, it’s bright purple and orange, which is not exactly the most appealing color combination, but that’s a topic for another day), but he still runs his hands through it when he’s lost in thought. It’s curlier than it used to be, but maybe that’s just because it’s longer. He still clenches his jaw so hard it seems like he’s going to break his teeth when he’s scared. He still wears a tank top under his shirt, no matter how hot it is outside. His eyes still crinkle at the corners when he lets out a bark of laughter that Ryan still swears up and down sounds exactly like a squeaky toy. He’s changed, though. Ryan can see in his eyes that he’s become aware of reality. He knows the responsibility he carries, the heavy consequences that come with his actions, that death is around the corner at every moment.

“D’you- d’you want me to take you home?” Ryan says barely above a whisper, but loud enough for Jeremy to hear. “You can go back inside if you want, but I know you always used to want to go home and be alone after Edgar shows up.” Jeremy lets out the tiniest breathy chuckle.

“Edgar has always been kind of a bitch, hasn’t he?” Jeremy says as he looks away from the sky to meet Ryan’s gaze, and his heart falls apart all over again for the thousandth time. That fond look of reminiscence and joy was one Ryan donned frequently at the agency. “I- Yeah. yeah. I’d really appreciate a ride home. I’m just a little too drunk to drive, I think.”

“Alright. I parked just down the street. Penthouse or your apartment?” Ryan hadn’t even noticed that Jeremy did seem somewhat tipsy; his Boston accent slipping in occasionally and his words slurring the tiniest bit.

“Um, apartment,” Jeremy says. “D’you rem-”

“Yes, I remember where your apartment is, Jeremy.”

It’s only a few minutes into the drive to the other side of town when Jeremy pipes up. “I honestly didn’t really expect you to help me. I didn’t expect you to remember Edgar, either. I dunno why I said it, I guess just vaguely hoping you would even though it’s been, what, three years?” he pauses for a moment and just takes in Ryan's profile. “I always hope you remember things from then. I know it went to shit, but we still had so much fun. We made so many memories and did so much dumb shit there. But I’m glad that stupid fuckin’ place collapsed. All of it was complete bullshit. I just wish it all fell apart before we did.”

Ryan doesn’t know how to respond. So he doesn’t.

“All those meetings I had to stay late for? Fuckin’ useless. They served no purpose, and I don't know why I was forced to go to them. I feel like the only reason I had to go to those meetings was because someone was hiding something from me. It was obvious that so many things were kept from us.” Jeremy stops for a second to try to will away the lump rising in his throat. “I thought you were cheating on me. For the longest time. I still don’t know whether you actually were. You were always out on ‘special missions’ and shit.”

The moment Ryan hears Jeremy let out a shaky breath his heart breaks.

“Was it me? Was I not good enough? I promise I tried my hardest to be what you needed. I’m sorry if I wasn’t. All I wanted was the best for you, Ryan. Even now, I just want you to be happy. If you're happier with someone else, then that’s what I want. I don’t blame you, though. I don’t deserve someone like you. You deserve so much better than me. I would do anything for you, Rye. We were together for so long. We did everything together! I thought I was gonna marry you. I was saving up money to get a ring. I guess I was too stupid to see that you didn’t want me anymore.”

Ryan looks over to see the tears staining Jeremy’s cheeks reflecting the soft orange glow of the streetlamps. Is this really what Jeremy thinks?

“I was so in love with you, Ryan Haywood. I’m- I’m still in love with you. I love you so goddamn much it hurts sometimes. Every time I see you hurt, upset, angry, anything other than healthy and happy my heart aches. I’m sorry I wasn't enough. I promise I tried. Fuck, I tried so hard.”

With every sob Jeremy lets out, Ryan's heart breaks just a little bit more. The short distance left until Ryan pulls up to Jeremy’s apartment building is spent wordlessly. Jeremy’s clambering out of the car and reaching to grab the door when Ryan speaks.

“Hey, Jer, do you want me to walk you up? I just want to make sure you’re safe.”

“No. I’m fine. I’ll be fine. I’ve already been a pain in your ass tonight, I don't need to waste even more of your time. I’m sorry. I’m sorry about everything.” Jeremy sniffles and wipes his cheeks, giving a half-hearted smile before shutting the door and walking away.

Ryan sits there for a second, unable to process fully what he just heard. He starts driving without even knowing where he was going, and he’s so lost in his thoughts that suddenly he’s sitting in his car in front of the boardwalk along the beach and crying. He can’t believe anything he was just told—there is no way in hell that the brilliant, witty, talented Jeremy Dooley ever doubts his worth. It’s jarring to think that part of it was because of Ryan. He was going on extra missions because the agency was growing more and more demanding. For months they tormented Ryan with the threat of kicking out Jeremy. They said they’d do other things to him that Ryan doesn’t want to remember. Why did Jeremy never bring it up? Why did he just accept that Ryan had ‘moved on?’ Their lives were so intertwined with one another that Ryan never felt truly whole again. The only reason Ryan went with the break up was that he saw how distant and cold Jeremy had gotten. Ryan had assumed that, for whatever reason, Jeremy had changed his mind. He hated it, he was devastated, but he didn't know how to fix it.

Ryan decides he doesn’t want to go back to the penthouse tonight. He pulls up to the nearest crew safehouse, and suddenly things click.

Jeremy had always struggled with bad self-image and depression. He had gone to Ryan for comfort, which he was always more than willing to give. Jeremy was doing better. At least he told Ryan he was.

Jack had mentioned a while ago that when Jeremy first joined the crew, she had found him after a suicide attempt and barely left his side until he recovered. The only reason for it Jack had told Ryan about was ‘emotional trauma from a past relationship, that he didn’t really want to talk about.’

Ryan did that to him.

Ryan did that to him.

Ryan made the love of his life want to die.

The pieces left of his heart fall into more shards than there are grains of sand in this world.

He collapses onto the couch inside, too exhausted to even get to the bed. He knows he’s not going to be able to sleep, though.

To: Geoff

Dropped Jeremy off at his place, he was pretty drunk though so check on him please

To: Geoff

I’m staying at kung fu safehouse for the night

#my fic #holy fuck #i did that !!! #thats a whole ass 1874 words babeyyy!!!!! #fahc #fahc ryan #fahc jeremy #fahc au #angst #battle buddies #fake ah ryan #fake ah jeremy #fake ah crew #fake ah au #minor suicide mention #suicide mention tw #ragehappy

[fanficwritingrequests]

I Hate Sand

What exactly does an ex-master assassin get up to in his free time? Murder? Puzzles? Cooking? Nope! He goes to the beach of course!

~

Daud never thought he would live past the age of fifty. He was an assassin after all, and he was good at his job. He’d made a lot of powerful enemies in the past, and a lot of people were out for his blood. It was only his reputation and sheer fear that kept them from striking. He’d expected to die at the edge of a blade or perhaps at the hands of one of his own whalers. Never in his wildest dreams would he have expected to receive any other fate than that.

And yet here he was, against all odds, and despite everything he’d done.

The infamous Knife of Dunwall, who’d taken out innumerable nobles for nothing but coin, who once caught the attention of the Outsider himself, and almost singlehandedly brought about the fall of an empire, now lived as a vintner in Karnaca. The man who had risen to infamy through his own wit and skill, albeit some supernatural help, and whose very name struck fear into the hearts of every man and woman in Dunwall, now grew grapes and made wine for a living.

He didn’t even have the comfort of being alone in his misery. When he left Dunwall, most of his whalers had insisted on following, despite all his protests. They even went so far as to sneak onto the boat he was riding to Serkonos. He tried to send them back, he really did, but even that backfired on him. It only ended with them finding more and more ridiculous ways to tail Daud wherever he went.

He once caught them in his vineyard, wearing these horrendous disguises, trying to pass off as trees or grass or whatever piece of nature was nearby. He nearly stepped on one of them. A lot of the whalers hid in the trees, perching on the uppermost branches where the foliage was thickest. At first, he decided to ignore them, see how long they lasted before they gave up. He spent an entire week with those idiots hiding in his trees.

He eventually realized his mistake.

Grapes, apples, and various other fruits were going missing by the dozen. He eventually lost his patience and threatened to pull them out one by one, only then did they finally get the hint and left the property.

Unfortunately for him, it was too much too hope for them to leave permanently. He soon found out that they somehow managed to acquire the house next door and were now using it to keep tabs on him. At this point, he just gave up and let them stick around. It wasn’t so bad. It was just like the old days, barring the assassinations and plague.

A year later, his vineyard was flourishing with the help of the other whalers. They had surprisingly taken up the art of winemaking with much gusto, and now their wine was well on its way to becoming one of the most well known in Karnaca. The merry band of ex-assassins were doing well themselves, even Daud had to admit that.

Life in Serkonos was simple. Calm. Quaint. And despite this, they had enough to keep themselves busy. They still took up missions for espionage, robbery, and similar conquests, but no more assassinations. Old habits were hard to break, and it made it easier for the whalers to get used to their new life. The thrill that came along with their previous occupation had planted a seed of adventure in each and every one of their hearts, and none of them really wanted to live a normal life anymore.

Some of the whalers took up hobbies, to while away the time when there were no missions to finish. Thomas learned how to bake (he was surprisingly good at it), Rulfio learned how to crochet of all things, a fact that the others teased him endlessly about, and Desmond took up writing again. He was currently working on a short novel. Daud himself took up wood carving, though considering the quality of his works so far, he might as well give it up.

In all his life, this was the first time he’d ever been truly content. He didn’t believe in happiness anymore, but if there was one word that could describe how he felt day after day, it would be contentment. He realized how fortunate he was. People like him didn’t get second chance. They didn’t deserve to. But by some twist of fate, he was spared from the punishment. Some inner part of him vowed to live a better life.  One that was worthy of the mercy Corvo had deigned to bestow upon him.

He told Thomas about this once, as a fleeting comment in one of their many conversations, and the younger man took this as permission to force him to try ‘new’ things, and as Rulfio said, to ‘Stop brooding and get out of the damn house for once.’

And so one sunny morning, he found himself being dragged out onto the beach along with the others despite his protests.

“The water won’t kill you,” Geoff reassured him as they sat in the cart.

“I’m not afraid of the damned water,” Daud retorted. “I grew up in Serkonos, you idiot. I learned how to swim the same time I learned how to walk. Do you really think I’d be afraid of the bloody ocean?” He glared at the man, who shrugged.

“Then why do you hate going to the beach so much?” A small voice piped up from the rear of the cart. It was Aidan, an orphan they had picked up in the market. He must have been around thirteen, or fourteen at the most.

“None of your business.”

Aidan pouted and turned away from him. He sullenly took a bite out of the apple slice he pulled out from his pocket, and the rest of the whalers rolled their eyes. They were used to his sulking and the mock arguments that he and Daud usually had. It was a daily occurrence that didn’t really bewilder anyone anymore.

Eventually, they arrived at the beach. Fortunately, not many other people were there at the time. But the few that were, had their eyes trained on the former assassins as they stepped into view. None of them knew what they were of course, but that didn’t stop them. They watched from afar, subtly staring from beneath parasols, above handkerchiefs and behind fans.

Daud realized how menacing they must have looked. Fifteen well-built men who moved with an unintentional predatory grace, walking down the beach front. What a sight they must have made. The heavy silence was broken by the sound of Aidan whooping and running to jump into the water. The others soon followed suit, leaving Daud alone with the food and discarded clothing, for people to gawk at. He sighed exasperatedly.

Several hours later, everyone, even Daud, was soaked to the bone. The sun was setting on the horizon. Their laughter and chatter caught his attention, and despite himself, the corners of his mouth turned upwards. It was hard to imagine that only a few months ago, these men were assassins for hire. Now they seemed completely different people altogether.

Muffled footfalls pulled him out of his thoughts. Out of pure instinct, he whipped around and-

“Ack!”

He received a faceful of sand. He spluttered and choked on the dry, salty, material even as the others began to laugh. It took him a while to finally get rid of the sand, and even then he could still feel some moving in his clothes. Aidan stood a long way away from him and had the nerve to even giggle. The cheeky little-

“You-” Daud began, and glared at the child. Aidan immediately took off in the opposite direction, leaving Daud to roll his eyes and mutter, “I hate sand.” and run off after him. The whalers’ laughter followed the two as they played a game of cat and mouse around the beach.

#dishonored #daud #the whalers #thomas dishonored #fluff #crack #low chaos

[vagrantblvrd]

As Far As You and Me (1/1)

Summary: There really should be some kind of orientation for new crew members when they make the cut. A pamphlet, maybe, just a little something something about what to do when shit goes wrong and all the crew’s meticulous plans fall apart.

Notes: For @miss-ingno​ who asked for this bit inspired by the G.T.Aliens video: Ryan: Why do people run away from me screaming!? - Michael: Oh, I dunno, might be the reputation. *gestures at his face to indicate the skull facepaint, deadpan*

(Read on AO3)

There really should be some kind of orientation for new crew members when they make the cut. A pamphlet, maybe, just a little something something about what to do when shit goes wrong and all the crew’s meticulous plans fall apart.

God knows it would have been nice to have a head’s up about that kind of shit when Geoff conned him into signing up. Given him a better idea of what to expect and all, considering he’s never known shit to go so spectacularly wrong the way it tends to for the Fake AH Crew

Just saying.

Another brilliant heist of theirs going sideways on them in the escape stage of things. Gavin and the others going one way while Michael and Ryan crawled into the bones of an old apartment building gutted by a fire a few months back.

“So,” Michael says, ducking back into cover as a spray of bullets comes his way to pepper the wall inches above his head. “This isn’t great.”

Fucking Merryweather.

Better shots than the usual crop of security guards, and meaner too. More likely to play with their food, drag things out for shits and giggles.

The Merryweather goons split Michael and Ryan up soon after they’d made their way into the building, forcing Michael up a few floors, nipping at his heels the whole way.

He’s managed to pick a few of them off but there are still a lot of the fuckers left, and they’re all wearying serious body armor. Not ideal when he’s down to a handgun and a few knives. A shotgun better used as a club with no ammo for it.

Grenades would be fantastic, but he used his last one as the distraction that let them get away from the first batch of Merryweather goons.

There’s a thoughtful little hum over the comms, muffled sound of gunfire and screaming. The usual sort of mayhem that seems to happen wherever Ryan goes.

“I dunno,” Ryan says, just as one of those terrified screams suddenly cuts off. “It’s not so bad.”

Michael squeezes between an overturned shelving unit and the wall as the Merryweather goons spread out to search the room for him. Eases past one struggling with inner demons or whatever the fuck because he is kicking the shit out of an access panel along the wall like he thinks anything remotely human-sized could fit through it. (Well, Jeremy maybe.)

A few harrowing moments later and he’s put of the room and creeping along a dark hallway, doing his best not to let his footsteps give him away.

“Yeah, but you’re a psychopath,” Michael mutters, little bit of hope filtering through the gloom and doom of his situation because there’s less screaming on Ryan’s end. “You love this shit.”

Ryan chuckles because he likes it when they point out he’s a fucking freak, not exactly bloodthirsty the way the rumors make him out to be, just...very, very Ryan.

“You need a hand?” he asks, like he’s not working his way towards Michael’s position as they speak, dealing with whatever – whoever – has the bad luck to cross his path with ruthless efficiency.

Michael snorts, cocking his head when he hears a door creak open somewhere down the hall behind him, catches sound of voices.

“Nah,” he says, smirking a little.”I’m good.”

Merryweather is known for hiring vicious fuckers, lean and mean, and while they’re better than most rent-a-cops, they’re still real dumb. Love their guns a little too much, go for the brute force method every goddamned time.

Easy to run rings around if you’re smart and can keep a level head in a shitty position like theirs, and predictable as hell.

Michael spots a stairwell ahead of him, security door in sad shape from the fire that gutted this building a few months back. Slips from the shadows he’s using as cover through the gap there and checks to make sure none of the goons have gotten clever, are waiting for him before he starts down them.

“I’m good.”

Ryan doesn’t answer, but Michael’s betting he’s more focused on whatever he’s doing – it seems to involve Ryan shooting people, more of those choked off yells and bodies hitting the floor.

Michael rolls his eyes and stops when fallen debris blocks his way and backtracks to the landing above him. Checks to make sure it’s clear before he opens the door, and winces as the fucking thing shrieks.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, because there’s nowhere else for him to go.

The goons have to realize he’s gone back down by now, and the stairwell below him is blocked, so.

Michael psyches himself up and yanks the door open, tortured metal screaming, and throws himself through the doorway, leading with his handgun. Quickly scans the hallway for enemies before darting down the hallway to slip through an open doorway, and presses up against the wall inside, heart pounding.

“Michael?”

Michael swears at Ryan’s voice in his ear after that display of bad times all around for his heart and breathes out, long and slow. Moves his gun to his left hand to shake out his right and back again.

“Ryan?” he mimics, grins at the long-suffering sigh it causes as he pushes off from the wall to examine the room he’s in.

Probably used to be a cute little apartment before the fire, and further investigation shows a window connected to a – mostly – intact fire escape. Damaged in the fire or shitty maintenance, who knows.

Possible way out, although he’s going to need a Tetanus shot when it’s over.

“What’s your situation?”

Michael moves back from the window, listening for trouble as he fills Ryan in on the latest with him. Gets a quick picture of Ryan’s own thrilling adventures to this point.

He’s on the floor below Michael and looking at an equally dodgy escape route.

Not the greatest options, but a hell of a lot better than playing cat and mouse with a bunch of Merryweather bastards.

Odds are good someone’s noticed all the gunshots by now, and the cops will show up eventually. (Not too soon though, because this isn’t a great part of Los Santos, but definitely before any news crews think any possible risk outweighs the potential gains for them.

There’s thoughtful silence when Ryan stops talking, Michael circling back the window and the world’s shittiest fire escape.

“Meet you downstairs?” he asks, already moving because he knows Ryan.

“Okay,” Ryan says, unnervingly cheerfully.

Michael snorts, and climbs out the window to make his way down the fire escape. Heart in his throat as it groans and shudders under his weight. Freezes when the whole damn thing shifts when he hops from one end of the broken section to the next. Half expects the whole thing coming away from the building and taking him down with it with perfect clarity until it finally settles.

Eventually his feet hit the ground, cracked concrete and scraggly weeds. Bits of trash and debris scattered about.

“I’m outside,” Michael says, straightening from his crouch as he double-times it away from the building.

Angles for street he can see at the end of the alley, cars and other traffic passing with the kind of frequency that indicates a busy street and better chance of losing the Merryweather goons. Remembers to tuck his gun out of sight before he hits the sidewalk and pauses to orient himself.

No signs of Merryweather goons yet, and he wants to keep it that way, keep moving until he’s sure they’ve lost them.

“Ditto,” Ryan says, and Michael breathes a little easier when he gets a faint stereo effect through the comms, glances to the side to see Ryan coming out of a nearby alley, head turned in his direction.

Michael watches him start his way, takes in the people instinctively shifting aside to make room for him before they realize he’s not just another pedestrian. Finally fucking noticing the bogeyman in their midst who remembered to take his stupid mask off and forgotten about the face paint under it everyone in the city knows.

The screaming starts up just after Ryan falls into step with Michael, both of them on the lookout for a car they can borrow to get the fuck out of here.

It’s all high-pitched and honestly kind of overkill considering the fact Ryan isn’t giving any of them the time of day, focused on getting the hell away.

“Oh, look at that,” Michael says flashing him a little grin. “Your adoring public.”

Ryan sighs, stepping aside as some guy in a shitty suit pelts by yelling about his begonias needing him and something about being too young to die? Something like that, anyway.

“Why do people run away from me screaming!?” he asks, like he honestly has no idea why anyone would be scared of a guy his size running around with a skull painted on his face and blood spatter on his person even if they didn’t know who he is.

“Oh, I dunno, might be the reputation?” Michael muses, gesturing at the damn face paint that isn’t quite in pristine condition at the moment.

The lines of the skull are smeared, blood and dust and God knows what caking it, and the rest of Ryan’s  in shitty shape as well. Slight limp he’s trying to hide and this tightness to his words despite the light tone he’s going for.

Ryan snorts, sliding Michael a sidelong glance as they move to an intersection crossing a few streets away to wait for the light. There’s a small group of panicked pedestrians with them who aren’t quite rebellious enough to flee from the presence of the goddamned Vagabond to risk jaywalking.

“Rude,” Ryan says, bumping his shoulder against Michael’s as the crosswalk sign changes and the crowd rolls forward.\

Michael drops behind him a half step, just enough for his elbow to – accidentally, of course – make contact with Ryan’s ribs, pull a grunt from him along with an annoyed look.

“Sorry,” Michael apologizes, not meaning it one goddamn bit. “You know what a clumsy bastard I can be.”

Ryan actually stops, turns to scowl down at him ignore the terrified bleating of people streaming past them.

“Michael.”

Michael grins up at him.

“Ryan.”

Their little stare down goes on for a few moments, long enough for the lights to turn and for impatient drivers to start honking their horns in the split-second immediately afterwards.

Ryan growls, and Michael laughs as he wraps a hand around his arm to get him moving again.

Probably real fucking stupid of them to be this dumb so close to the Merryweather goons, but no one ever said they were bright.

Ryan shakes Michael's hand off after  few feet, but he sticks close until they finally find a car worth stealing, soft curl to his mouth as he gestures for Michael to do the honors. Laughs like a goddamned idiot when they pull into traffic and pass a couple of Merryweather vans cruising past them in the opposite direction looking for them in all the wrong places, police sirens in the distance.

Michael cuts a glance at Ryan as they pass a slow-moving bus.

Feels his own lips pull up into a grin at the look on Ryan’s face, the sound of his laughter as he leans back in his seat, wind through his open window playing the hair that’s come loose from the ponytail he has it in. Trusting Michael to get them home safely.

Bright and open and so fucking delighted at puling off yet another daring escape to ride off into the sunset once again and trusting Michael to get them home safely, because yeah.

This is the kind of thing they should warn the newbies about.

Give them a head’s up, let them know what they’re in for, because goddamn is it a beautiful thing.

#myan #ragehappy #miss-ingno #Prompt Fills #Kings of Nowhere #vagrant fic

[marlahey]

we stumbled in the dark; I knew we’d be alright (part eleven)

a shawn mendes rpf fic rating/warnings: frank references to the attack at Ariana Grande’s show in Manchester last year. I was living in London when it happened and Shawn was touring Europe and both fictional he and I wanted to commemorate it, because I still think about it and I know Shawn will actually be there in the spring, and it’s also straight up inspiration for Youth.  notes: ignore my disregard for how people are employed because I care more about there being a very clearly equitable relationship here with as little potential for imbalances of power as possible. HAPPY BIRTHDAY SHAWN. I love you. I was hoping to finish this part for today and I’m super happy I did.  (previously; start at part one here; find all parts here)

dublin; now You make rules. No one says you have to, per se, but something in you needs this, this modicum of control in a situation that feels like it could spin out at any moment. 

One: Nothing but casual friends in front of the crew, extended team, Ava, and especially Andrew. Two: Don’t be any more weird than Kristin and Parker are when the just the gang's together. (“Weird?” Shawn asks, raising an eyebrow. You wave, slightly nonsensically, at him. “You know what I mean. Like, not–” “Not all over each other?” “Right.” “Even though Park is really bad at hiding his I’m undressing you with my eyes face?” Your cheeks heat. You’re torn between two responses – are you saying you’ve ever undressed me with your eyes? and besides that, obviously – but before you can choose, Shawn laughs, though not exactly at you. “Sorry, yes I know what you mean. Go on.”) Three: No extended physical contact unless you’re completely alone and will be for at least ten minutes. Four: No accidental eye contact lasting longer than three seconds during shows. Five: Unless completely unavoidable, absolutely no interaction in front of fans. Six (unofficial): Pretend you don’t know that everyone is pretending they don’t know. To his credit, Shawn, while not at all aloof about the affair, is easily accommodating to your pacing and fretting, catching you mid-turn without leaving his seat at the foot of his bed. “Easy El,” he says, his eyes still laughing just a little. “You’re gonna wear a hole in the floor.” You huff at him, but you don’t resist when he pulls you closer, pushing your hair back before you can lift your own hand. You should curse Shawn’s long limbs that bracket you without effort, his relaxed expression, but the truth is that you need it, his calm, his certainty. “I’m not going to tell you that you’re being irrational,” he continues. A press of both anxiety and affection duke it out inside your chest. “Because I agree that we should be careful.” “But?” you prompt. Your own hands land on his shoulders, fiddling restlessly with the collar of his jean jacket. Shawn shakes his head. “No buts.” In your boots you have just enough height that you’re barely taller while he’s sitting down, which is a nice change of pace. (Though he might be slouching a little for you.) “I just know that we have twenty minutes before anyone’s expecting us for our dinner reservation.” Your stomach flutters. There’s nothing especially lewd in his face, no expectation, just a gently raised eyebrow and an almost polite, silent invitation. If you want to. The last rule is an invisible asterisk tacked to the end of number three, one that you’d never say aloud: don’t spend too much time alone in Shawn’s hotel room. The problem of course, is that you obviously want to. Of course you want to kiss him. (And while you’re being honest, of course you want to do all manner of other things with him, beginning with curling up in a comfortable tangle of limbs and ending somewhere involving significantly less clothing.) It’s not so much a matter of wanting as it is a matter of whether you should, if you can really temper all these desires rolling around inside you with the cold arm of rationality and logic – especially when that arm is tattooed with a cruel reminder: I’m probably the only one who could out you as a fucking groupie on Shawn’s tour. You know, deep down, that if you ever admitted this insecurity to Shawn, this nagging fear that everyone who knows now looks at you differently because they assume– you know he’d understand. You know he’d immediately drop his hands from your waist and pull his legs back without so much as a questioning glance (he’d probably apologize) which only makes you want to crowd yourself as close to Shawn as you can and drag that probable calm acquiescence from his mouth with yours. “What is it?” he asks, so gently that you almost can’t speak. There’s no use in lying, because Shawn’s tilted his head with that soft knowing expression; you wonder what your tell is. “Does everyone think that we’re–” It comes out in a rush – like tearing off a bandaid – but you cower at the edge of the question. Shawn raises his eyebrows. “Think that we’re…” This is an all consuming kind of embarrassment, that makes your stomach riot, your face heat, and your heart race. All you can manage in the end is a vague gesture between both of you and at the bed. When you drag your eyes back up to Shawn’s you can see a kaleidoscope of emotion flicker over his face: confusion, dawning understanding, surprise, mirrored embarrassment, and then, in a flash almost too fast to see: desire. That last one nearly undoes you. “Oh.” You feel very much like crawling into a dark hole. “Oh my god…” “Hey, El.” Shawn ducks his chin and anchors your roving, mortified eyes with a warm hand. “Hey. No, okay? No one thinks that.” “How do you know?” It’s a slightly childish and probably unfair question, but to your great surprise it’s Shawn’s turn to flush red. “Shawn,” you start, not meaning to sound quite so alarmed. “Don’t freak out.” You gape at him, as if that’s supposed to help you not freak out. “But Geoff–” “What about Geoff?” It comes out like a squeak. Shawn looks torn, briefly, like he wants to cover his own nerves and comfort you but can’t manage both. So he slides his hands down to your own and squeezes, as if that will have to do. “We talked, okay?” He tightens his grip before your squirm of mortification can drag you away from him. “Before– before all of this. Before this tour started. He wanted to make sure that I…” When Shawn lifts his chin again, his eyes are that particular dark shade of seriousness. “That if we ever, you know, that I got what it might mean. For you. For people to–” A shadow twists his mouth. Your heart is racing again, though with a deeper kind of panic. “El.” Before this tour started. Your mind spins. You force yourself to meet his eye, to keep it, even though you’re already bending under the weight of what he means – what Geoff foresaw enough to say aloud before either you had the courage to face it. How long has he– “Shawn, I–” “I could never take advantage of you. I would never pressure you to–” Shawn stops like the idea literally chokes him. “I need you to know that, okay? Not here,” He motions with his head at the empty room, at the bed, and out the door. “Not out there. Not ever.” “I know,” you say, and your voice only trembles a little. “I know you wouldn’t.” “This isn’t because you’re…” Shawn’s eyes tighten, like he has so many protests but can’t get them all out fast enough. “Shawn–” “The tour isn’t why I–” “Shawn.” It’s your turn to be the magnet, the sure one, and it’s a strange feeling, to have his eyes snap to yours and see his uncertainty, his urgency, his fear. There are too many words to sort through and you’re not sure you can get through any of them without either shouting or possibly crying, so you pull your arms up and slide them around Shawn’s neck, pulling him in for a kiss instead. You wish you could press your words into him like that, but you can’t. You lean back; he chases your lips blindly and your stomach flips. “Sorry,” he murmurs, sounding chastised. When Shawn lifts his eyes, you smile gently at him, thumbing at the lingering frown around his mouth. “I know, okay?” Nerves squeezes as you continue, but you force the words out anyway. “I know what this looks like. I know what people will probably say when they find out. But none of that is your fault.” Shawn’s face screws up in (adorable) objection, but you leap over it. “They’re gonna find out, Shawn. We’re kidding ourselves thinking we can hide this forever– London is one of your biggest stops and we’re doing two nights, after Manchester on Wednesday.” It moves you, the look on his face whenever that city comes up. The setlist has already been adjusted for the night, and even though you’re a good month shy of the two year anniversary, Shawn broke a string on the instrumental intro into Youth at soundcheck this morning. Just thinking about it makes your stomach clench painfully. You’ve seen him look serious before – he’s perfectly serious now – but this is more. Part of you is strangely worried. “You shouldn’t have to deal with it El,” Shawn says, pulling you out of your thoughts. “I never want you to feel–to feel judged. It’s why I didn’t…” I should have kissed you. You take a deep, steadying breath. “I need you to listen to me, kay?” You lift your hands to his shoulders, drawing your thumb over the sharp jut of his collarbone until he looks up. It’s oddly intimidating sometimes, to be the singular focus of Shawn’s attention, but you swallow back the urge to look away. “I would be lying if I told you that I wasn’t nervous about what might happen when this gets out. What people might say or think.” His dismayed frown makes your heart stumble. “But I’m not nervous about this.” You gesture again between you, less of a frazzled, anxious motion this time than something that warms you all over. “You don’t make me nervous, Shawn, or at least–” His eyes widen. You smile tentatively. “Not in a bad way.” Shawn blinks, then raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth lifting in a way that makes your insides twist, oddly pleasantly. “Are you saying I make you nervous in a good way?” You make a face and pretend to consider his question, stepping deliberately further into the open V of his legs. “I mean...yeah.” You recall your conversation with Ava. Just means you care. Shawn’s smile blooms and his arms find your waist again, wrapping you even closer. You’re really caged in by him now, but you’re the furthest thing from bothered by it. “In a cool way.” Shawn rolls his eyes. “Should I be worried that you’ve seen Harry’s Carpool Karaoke at least twice as many times as mine?” You shrug. “Jealous?” He snorts a laugh, but when Shawn trails his fingers up your side, making you jump, his eyes are a just a shade darker than caramel. That flash from earlier simmers now: desire. A thrill lurches your in your gut; his fingers make their way all the way up to your chin, and keep you still. He’s not quite smiling. You’re frozen in a delicious anticipation. Shawn looks with firm intent from your eyes to your mouth. “Not unless Harry Styles gets to do this.” It’s a kiss you feel all the way down to your toes. You’re almost late for dinner. * @Shawn Mendes Updates: Shawn outside his hotel in Dublin! [Vertical video of Shawn holding the front door open for his band and several crew members. “Hi Shawn!” says a breathless voice off camera. “Hi guys!” He smiles brightly, pulling his hand from the pocket of his jacket. “Can I get a picture?” He looks from the other girl into the camera of the person filming, and then over his shoulder at the group that has started down the sidewalk. A few heads glance back but they keep walking, albeit a little slower. “I can do a quick picture guys, but we have a reservation so I can’t stay long, I’m sorry!” “That’s okay!” Shawn leans in for the selfie with the first girl, who manages to contain herself until he smiles at the girl still filming, and a frantic “ohmygod!” offscreen is followed by a burst of giggles. The girl filming twists her phone and Shawn leans down so their heads touch. “Oh!” he laughs, “Are you filming?” “Yes, sorry!” “Do you want a–” “Oh no, don’t worry this is great. Thank you!” “Are you guys coming to the show tonight?” he asks, and the phone bobs as Shawn’s met with nods and enthusiastic ‘Yes!’es. “Great, see you there!” “Bye Shawn!” camera girl shouts, still trained on him as he waves and jogs to catch up with the group, who have stopped at a crossing. Parker and Geoff part so Shawn can slide up behind two of the girls, a redhead and a brunette, who both smile at him. The group crosses together and disappear around the corner. likes: 214; retweets: 84]

birmingham; now For some reason Shawn’s been trying to catch you alone all night, but the usual flurry of pre-show activity draws you both apart. The closest you get, in fact, is a shot from behind Charlie on stage during Mutual. “Thank you so much guys!” Andrew shouts ten minutes into take down. “Could I just really quickly grab everyone’s attention?” You look at Kelsey, who raises her eyebrows with a shrug. You put your camera back into the kit and close the equipment box with a firm snap before you both wander over to mainstage, where the band is pulling away from their instruments and Shawn has reappeared in a fresh t shirt, his hair damp. Everyone stops what they’re doing to convene on the floor; you feel distinctly like you’re sitting in a school assembly. “As you all know, we’re headed back to North America after our London dates. Our New York show isn’t until the end of the month, so everyone should take this time to take a well-deserved break.” There’s a murmur of appreciative laughter from the crew. You can tell Shawn is looking at you, staring really, but you keep your eyes on Andrew. “But I just wanted to let you all know that Shawn, myself, and Ava will actually be spending that week leading up to Madison Square Garden in New York doing a bunch of promo, so if you need to get in touch that’s where we’ll be, and I apologize in advance if I’m not on top of my emails.” Your stomach plummets. Shawn’s eyes are searing into the side of your head. You don’t dare look. You think of all the conversations you’d been planning to have, at home, in the relative safety of Toronto where people with cameras didn’t make it their life’s mission to be as obnoxious as possible, where you can come over to mine, where we can finally have that date. You get it now, that look on his face after dinner, all these meetings Andrew’s been hauling him into with furtive, secret glances. The magnet pulls. The apology you didn’t want to see in Ireland stings. Takedown takes hours. You refuse to leave until both Kristin and Kelsey are done, so of course by the time you hitch a ride back to the hotel, barely keeping your eyes open, Shawn has long gone. shawnmendes: Can we talk about this? Tomorrow, maybe? lennysinclair17: Yes. Absolutely. shawnmendes: You’re not mad are you? lennysinclair17: Never. Promise. Go to sleep Shawn. I’ll see you in the morning. shawnmendes: Sweet dreams El. 

manchester; now You land before the sun, blinking blearily awake from Ava’s shoulder to see Shawn just across from you, staring pensively out the window. He doesn’t say anything when he catches you looking, just smiles softly in a way that, for some reason, breaks your heart a little. All you want to do is talk to him, and not even about New York. But something tells you that you won’t get the chance today. Even though you’re still exhausted when you make it to the hotel and drop your bags at the foot of the bed, you lay there awake till there’s a knock at the door. Ava is sound asleep in her bed. You’re unsurprised to find him, the band, and the girls in the hall. Paul though, is a welcome addition. “We’re gonna go down to the square,” Shawn says quietly. “If you want to come.” You’re already shoving your feet back into your boots. All of you manage to fit into the elevator at once; you watch the doors close over Charlie’s shoulder and realize you only have about a minute if you want any actual contact with Shawn this morning. He must have the same thought, because his fingers slide between yours and pull your palms flush together. You want to look at him but you can’t quite work up the nerve. You squeeze instead, until the doors ping open on the main floor. Shawn doesn’t let go till you’re both all the way out. Dawn is still yawning across the sky when Geoff pulls out his phone to navigate, which makes you glad that you never took off your sweater from the plane. St. Ann’s Square is maybe a fifteen minute walk from your hotel, and most of that is spent in comfortable silence with your arm looped through Kelsey’s. Some stores are just beginning to open when you arrive, including the Starbucks, which seems – like many Starbucks in Europe – oddly modern encased in stone that’s been there longer than coffee shops as a concept. Paul disappears up the steps of St. Ann’s Church with a gruff, “Don’t have to wait for me.” To the left of the statue of Richard Cobden in the centre of the square, a florist is pulling enormous buckets of flowers into her doorway. Parker and Kristin exchange a look and jog across the street to help her. Minutes later, as you’re trying not to stare at Shawn’s hand flipping a tour pic restlessly between his fingers, they reappear. Kristin is carrying three single white roses. She hands one to Shawn. “You,” she says, then to Geoff, “the band,” and to you. “And the crew.” You’re grateful that it’s early in the morning in the middle of the week. The square is largely deserted, save for an elderly woman on a bench across the street, sitting with her dog and watching you with polite curiosity. “I’m not really religious,” Shawn says, his left hand sliding back and forth across Saint Christopher’s chain. His eyes flick up to the top of the statue and back down again. “But I feel like we should…” He trails off. “Say something?” “How bout this.” Geoff leans down and places his rose at the base of the statue. “We’ve all been thinking about the people who lost their lives, were injured, or were changed by what happened here. I think we all were.” He looks at each of you gathered there in turn. “And I think the best way we can honour them is by giving it our all tonight. Hopefully we can make every person in that audience feel safe and happy, and give them a good memory to help deal with the bad one.” Geoff looks at Shawn the longest. “Good?” The younger man nods. He looks as moved as you feel, and the desire to touch him is like a sparking current beneath your skin. But you lay your rose down instead, closing your eyes just a moment before you stand back up. Shawn lingers close to the ground for a long time. It seems impossible that he can fold himself down that small, to the height of a child. Charlie lays a warm hand on your shoulder, squeezing gently. Everyone seems to be watching you more closely than normal, you and Shawn, and you realize with a lurch in your stomach that while it could have been anyone at Ariana’s show two years ago, you’re the youngest in the group by at least seven years. Shawn looks up at you then, and your breath catches in your throat. He looks lost. So you do the only thing you can think of: you hold out your hand. Shawn lets you pull him to his feet, lets you hang onto a touch longer than strictly necessary, and doesn’t speak when you have to brush your wrist over your face. In fact, no one speaks, until Brian steps forward and pulls both of you in by the shoulders. “How much will you two pay me to eat blood pudding at breakfast today?” You snort. “Only if you don’t make a single vampire joke the rest of the trip.” The bassist sighs. “Always killing the vibe, Sinclair.” * @oneloveshawn: GUYS I WAS WALKING HOME FROM SCHOOL AND GUESS WHAT I SAW. @ShawnMendes you are absolutely wonderful and I can’t wait to see you tonight and guess what I’m crying. #OneLoveManchester #SM3Manchester [Photos: at the foot of the Robert Cobden statue is three white roses, an SM World Tour pick, and a piece of paper kept safe beneath a small, smooth rock. It reads: We love you – Shawn followed by seven signatures. likes: 625; retweets: 381] Replies: @mutualinmyblood: excuse me while I sob @mendesstyles1: HIS HANDWRITING THOUGH??? @eeveelove: Thank you @ShawnMendes. We love you too. You are everything. Shawn takes Taylor’s advice about making every show unique, so the setlist for each tour stop varies just a little from night to night. Tonight, however, is the biggest changed. You’re at the edge of the stage just behind the stairs when he pretends to leave before the encore to thunderous applause. His fans aren’t stupid of course; they know what hasn’t been sung yet.   Sam hands over a water bottle and takes the electric; Shawn downs half of it in one breath while the crowd cheers and shouts and chants. In the semi-darkness you can see him swallow, the adrenaline pulsing still in the too-quick way he drops the bottle at the foot of the stairs and has to bend to pick it up again. You busy yourself pretending to check a level. “You can do this.” You’re worried, briefly, that he can’t hear you over the din, but Shawn lifts his head. You break the eye contact rule because you must. “You can. I’ll be right here.” He holds your eyes; the white of them is striking and feeling stirs in the pit of your stomach. Ninety seconds is up; the roar is getting louder. Parker is unnervingly good at sneaking back on stage without being noticed. At the first drum beat, you definitely owe Sam a beer for handing you earplugs at the beginning of the show. Shawn nods, just once, takes his electric back with a grateful “Thanks,” and the first notes of TNHMB reverberate in your chest.   Three songs later, in the extended musical interlude at the end of In My Blood, Shawn acknowledges his bandmates one at a time to the loudest screams of the night. As the last notes crash down, so do the lights; how Sam manages to cross the stage in the black, holding Shawn’s acoustic and without colliding with Geoff or Charlie who scamper down the stairs, will always be a mystery to you. The lights fade up a few moments later to reveal Shawn, alone on stage with his guitar in a single spotlight. “I’ve got one more for you guys,” he says. Despite the plugs, your hearing will definitely never be the same after tonight. This, apparently, is what everyone’s been waiting for; you can feel the building’s clapped rhythm as Shawn ramps up the guitar intro for Youth all the way through the floor. He steps up to the mic while the opening notes of the song float out; you can’t see his face but you can imagine Shawn’s expression when he looks out to a sea of pink lights. There’s an equipment box tucked beneath the stage. You drag it out carefully, flashing a grateful smile at Geoff who steadies you with a solid grip on your elbow. Once on top, you’re finally level with the men several heads taller than you, and when you lift your camera you can see the hundreds of outstretched arms on the arena floor, all holding pink roses and white signs, that read in huge black font THANK YOU FOR HELPING US KEEP OUR YOUTH. You can barely hear Shawn over the crowd’s singular unified voice. He doesn’t sing the bridge, yanking out one of his ear pieces, but extends the guitar riff as he does every night, leaning into the mic. “I say this a lot,” he begins, “and I know a lot of you know this, that this song was never about just one event, and that I’ve always thought that the idea of youth was more than just age. Every time something terrible shakes us, more of what makes us good and innocent and free gets pulled away.” A row of four girls at the very front of the barricade are lifting a One Love Manchester flag with joined hands, tears streaming down all of their faces. You have to wipe at your own eyes before you can see through the viewfinder, but your hands shake. You don’t dare move from your spot; you can only hope Kelsey has it more together than you. “The world can be a really scary place,” Shawn continues. “But I really, truly believe that if we stick together, if we hang onto our love for each other and all the things that give us joy and make us feel alive, if we refuse to let go of our youth, that we’ll be okay.” You can’t pull your eyes away from the back of Shawn’s head, the tension across his shoulders. He looks otherworldly, standing there alone. “And no one has shown me that more than you guys, here tonight.” His voice wavers, just for a second, beneath the roar. “And I just want to thank you for that, Manchester. It has been a true honour to play for you here, and I will never forget tonight as long as I live.” You couldn’t even join in on the screaming if you wanted to. Shawn ducks his chin. “If this room were smaller I’d step away from the mic and sing for you, but you guys have been so amazing all night, you don’t even need me for this last chorus.” His head turns to every section of the crowd. His eyes are so bright. “I know this isn’t really a normal closing song, but this what I want to leave you with. I want everyone in this room to sing these words and really feel them, really believe them. Because I believe in you, and in us, and I always will.” Shawn plucks at the opening of the chorus, breathes “You can’t,” into the mic, and steps back. You feel goosebumps all the way down your legs as Manchester Arena sings without him. You can’t take my youth away Soul of mine will never break As long as I wake up today You can’t take my youth away. “One more time, Manchester.” He lets go of the strings. When the last note fades away only to be replaced by screams, Shawn lifts both of his hands to his mouth and throws his gratitude to the crowd. “I love you so much. Good night.” He leans one hand against his heart and you know, without being able to really see or hear, what he’s saying as he takes his bows. Thank you. I love you. I love you. Thank you. Thank you. You can also feel, somehow, that when Shawn finally reaches the edge of the stage, that tonight is different. He hits the bottom of the stairs and hands off his guitar. When Shawn’s eyes find yours, you know. Before you can speak, Geoff has plucked your camera from your grip; Shawn’s face crumples and everything narrows and goes silent except for him. His shoulders shake; the back of your t shirt bunches up in his grip, revealing your skin to the overwarm air; something deep inside your chest trembles at the feeling of tears skidding over your collarbone.  It’s a wonder you haven’t fallen backwards over the box, bearing the weight of him collapsed into you so carefully your knees almost buckle. You’re both covered in sweat but you don’t care. “I’m here,” you murmur, sliding your hand into the damp curls at the nape of Shawn’s neck. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Shh, it’s okay.” Around you, lights are coming up all over the arena as the crowd files out. The sudden appearance of the rolling guitar rack blocks your view of the stage and the floor, hiding you from prying eyes; you cast Sam an indebted and silent thank you over Shawn’s shoulder and the crewman just nods. Something bangs against the floor, making you jump. “I’m sorry,” Shawn chokes out. When the shiver is gone you manage to look at him, and your heart sinks at his frantic expression. He reels back. “I’m–” Shawn’s eyes flit around the emptying arena; noises reaches your ears again like someone has cranked the volume dial. You’re reaching for him before you even realize what you’re doing. “Shawn–” He disappears behind the stage. You almost shout after him, the syllable of his name clawing at the inside of your throat, but you catch yourself at the last moment. You also nearly fall off the equipment box, but by the time you’ve scrambled past a bewildered Geoff and Charlie and returned your camera to Kelsey’s kit, you practically run straight into Cam. “Hey, Cam.” You skid to a stop and fail miserably at playing casual. “Did you see–” “Oh yeah,” the guard says, but your relief is short lived. “The kid grabbed Paul, said he felt really sick. Asked if he could go straight back to the hotel.” The cold shock leaves you breathless. “Did you need him for something?” “No,” you manage, rocking back on your heels. “No that’s okay. I uh,” You force yourself to shake your head. Cam smiles briefly. “I’ll just catch up with him later.” “Hey Ellie!” Mike is waving you down. “Can I get your help with something?” Your heart feels like it’s beating unevenly in your chest. “Yeah,” you reply, scraping your falling ponytail off your neck to hide your shaking hands. “Yeah of course you can.” Kelsey insists you go back with her, halfway through takedown. “You look like you’re going to be sick.” Paul I got him. But I think he needs you.  * @liketobeyouth: CAN WE JUST TALK ABOUT HOW SHAWN CRIED AT THE END OF THE SHOW TONIGHT BECAUSE I’M HYSTERICAL AND HERE’S A VIDEO. Replies: @shawnfan2: I also want to hug him I’m so fucking jealous of that girl @lostallinshawn: Do we know who that is because that was just ??? not platonic??? WHO IS SHE SHAWN?? @rosesforyouth: does anyone else feel kind of bad for watching this cause like...let him have this moment in privacy how bout? @nervousaroundyou: Umm she needs to get her hands off my man k thx It’s past one when you drag yourself out of the shower, resigning yourself to sleeping with damp hair for fear of waking Ava with the blow dryer. Your Instagram pings, a silent wash of brightness in the dark room. shawnmendes: I’m so sorry. A flash of – you’re not sure, exactly what –  incredulity or maybe even frustration sears your chest hot. lennysinclair17: I have no idea what you’re sorry for. Maybe it’s the adrenaline or the emotion of the night, but as the tiny bubble blips on your screen, some small, visceral part of you wants to fight. You’ve never fought with Shawn before; you haven’t so much as gotten into an argument with him, but in a strange irrationality you also can’t imagine a greater cause for an argument than how not mad at him you are. (alternatively, you might also really need a proper night’s sleep.) shawnmendes: Come over. shawnmendes: I hate texting you from the other side of a wall. You probably shouldn’t, of course. The asterisked rule is like a neon sign behind your eyes. But you’re tired. And you want to see him. lennysinclair17: Only if you let me blow dry my hair in your bathroom. He replies before you even pull the towel from your head. shawnmendes: Done. You pull the tiny travel dryer from your suitcase and are twisting the adjoining door knob before you can talk yourself out of it. The carpet is soft beneath your bare feet. You don’t have the energy to consider what Shawn thinks of you from his bed, padding into his room with damp hair in shorts and the Lost In Japan single tee, only available in large by the time Ava thought to bring you one home, so it never sees the outside of your bedroom. He doesn’t say anything, just points at the doorway to his bathroom, and while he’s not quite smiling, that knot of tension in the pit of your stomach finally loosens. You leave the door open a crack; you can see Shawn watching you in the mirror from the closest side of the bed. It’s a thing, maybe, you and him and bedrooms and these silent intimacies you’ve never really given a real name. They’re possibly something different now, not quite ten minutes later when you’re finished and your arms ache a little from the combined exertions of the night. Because Shawn’s held the softest part of your waist. He’s curled his fingers into the hair at the nape of your neck, and quite memorably once, laid his mouth on the nebulous space between your jaw and your ear. But it’s the look that does you in. You don’t know what to do when he looks at you like that – your thoughts from Paris last week reflected back as though Shawn himself is a mirror –  as if you’re the most interesting thing in every city and country you’ve stopped in, more inspiring than all the history, more impressive than any monument, more comforting perhaps, than the medal he wears constantly around his neck. Shawn’s expression closes the semi-darkness of the room even tighter around you, and as you approach you see something new: something in the depth of his eyes that makes you think, you could break my heart and I’d probably ask you to sign your name over the fault lines. You might see the thought in him, too, if you were brave enough. But you’re not that brave tonight. Shawn draws you into the safe space of him with one long arm, though you go willingly. It’s a familiar spot, the V of his legs; ghostly edges of other hotel rooms whisper, but as you wrap your arms around Shawn’s neck and his elbows press firmly into your hips in an answering grip, he sighs. Shawn leans his forehead into your shoulder and beneath your somewhat stunned hands, his whole body relaxes into yours. It’s so unlike the moment offstage that you almost wonder if that really happened. “I’m sorry,” he says again (a reminder) like he’s looking for something in your skin, an answer or an absolution for something you’re not even sure you understand enough to forgive. You have to swallow before you can speak. “If you tell me you’re sorry for crying, you’re gonna have to go look for someone else because I’m just not going to accept that apology.” He huffs a laugh over the too-big collar of your shirt. “Otherwise you’re gonna need to explain yourself a little more.” When Shawn pulls back you cup his face in your hands, vaguely afraid that he’s going to leave you again. But he just wraps his long fingers around your wrists as though he has the same fear. “Tell me,” you say softly, going for commanding but it really comes out more like a plea. “The rules, El.” You nearly choke on your indignation. “God, I don’t care about the rules. They were stupid anyway.” His jaw sets. “They weren’t. They were smart and I–” “Hey.” It’s still a strange sensation, this role reversal. “Stop. What was I gonna do, Shawn, push you away?” You’re the one ducking your chin now, which is funny because he’s still infuriatingly taller than you. “I’m never going to push you away.” Shawn looks, just for a second, like he had early this morning in St. Ann’s Square, a bit lost. You step closer, leaning your forehead against his, threading both of your hands up into his hair just to make your point; it’s so soft that you want to be mad at him. He closes his eyes briefly, some of the tension easing from his face, and that rush of feeling from before almost swallows you whole. “There’s video,” he says. You tense without meaning to and you know he notices. Shawn laughs humourlessly. “Someone’s camera had a really great fucking zoom.” His arms keep you standing. “Is that why you’re really sorry?” you ask. His eyes give you the answer. It’s your turn to sigh, a horrible dread twisting in your stomach no matter how hard you want to ignore it. “God, I’m glad I never got a twitter. I don’t need to see myself sweaty and crying.” You also don’t need to see yourself and Shawn from the outside, in a moment that wasn’t meant to be seen at all. You don’t want to know what people are labeling and deciding is between you, before you’ve even had a chance to decide for yourselves. Most of all, you want to tear down anyone who might show Shawn unkindness when all he felt was love. “You’re calm about this,” he remarks. You shrug. Best not to tell him you wanna fight his fans. “We knew it was coming. It’s not like a video of us hugging tells them who I am, right?” Shawn bites his lip. You draw your thumb over the concerned furrow between his eyebrows. “It’s not your fault. I’d do it again.” He looks up at you then, and you wish you were still in Paris, in that moment. “Please believe me.” When he nods you smile at him, only teasing a little. “Gotta say it, Shawn.” He swallows. You’re as transfixed as ever by the bob of his throat. “I believe you.” He averts his eyes for just a second. “Sorry I freaked out and ditched you.” You lean forward and plant an impulsive kiss on Shawn’s forehead. “S’ok. We can’t change it now,” you reason, as much for yourself as it is for him. “And you need sleep.” He honest to god pouts. “What if I don’t wanna sleep?” You roll your eyes. “At least lie down a bit. It’s late.” You go to push him back with a hand on his chest, but a glimmer of mischief hooks his arm around your waist, pulling you forward with him. It’s Spain all over again, but not: your heart still races, but the bedspread is soft, the room dim in hazy light, and Shawn only holds your shocked eyes for a moment before pulling your head down with one warm hand on the back of your neck. He kisses you until you melt into him, until you’re jolted back to the reality of laying on top of Shawn, half on and half off the bed. He has a handful of his own merch gripped in his fist; you’re thrown back to earlier in the night and wonder what the cooler air of this room would feel like against your skin. A slumbering desire almost ignites in the pit of your belly. “That’s what you want to do instead of sleeping?” You shouldn’t be this out of breath. He blinks up at you, sleepy and smiling faintly. “Maybe.” You attempt disapproval, but he just laughs at your frown. In a move that should be neither possible nor quite so thrilling, Shawn wraps one strong arm around your waist, supporting himself with the other and twisting deftly  so you land on your back in the centre of the bed. You stop bouncing after a moment, but your stomach doesn’t stop flipping, especially when he leans over you. “Okay?” he asks, and you nod mutely. “I’m not...This isn’t–” Shawn shakes his head, and when he finds your eyes again, the vulnerability in his expression snuffs out that ember of want. “I don’t want to have sex. I mean–” You shouldn’t smile at his incoherence, but it’s a strangely inadvertent reaction. His frustration at himself is oddly endearing. “I do, want that.” He swallows again. Shawn’s eyes are so dark, suddenly; you shiver. “I want to.” “Me too.” You don’t mean to sound so breathless. “Someday.” There’s probably another, longer conversation to be had here, but you shelve the reminder for another time. “Can we just…” Shawn exhales. He lifts one hand and twists your hair around his fingers and off your neck. His palm is so warm against your cheek. “Can we just be here, a minute?” You nod, and it’s your turn to pull him down. Definitely longer than a minute later, when Shawn’s nose dips beneath the huge collar of your shirt, you can’t help the hitch of your breath. He pauses, his breath still close and warm. Your heart is beating a little too fast. “Sorry,” he murmurs against your skin. Goosebumps ripple and you hate your body for betraying you. “S’fine.” You swallow carefully. “We should probably…” “Right.” Shawn leans up and away from you; you watch him blink away that deepened caramel shade of his eyes. “So I wanted to ask you something.” “Hmm?” He looks oddly nervous, which only serves to make you much of the same. “How would you feel about coming to New York with me?” Shawn’s gaze flicks away and back again. “If I asked you to?” You feel your jaw go slack. “Are we sure that’s a good idea?” He shrugs. “You’d come back anyway, right? For the show.” Fair point. “I wanted to ask you before Andrew announced it to literally everyone, but I didn’t get the chance. And I know it’s not home, but…” There’s something earnest and open in his expression, and you’re reminded of a simple, still breathtaking truth. He likes you. “I want to spend time with you.” “And the video?” you ask. What looks like resignation clouds his gaze, but when it clears, the certainty in Shawn’s eyes is undeniable. “You were right,” he says. “We can’t change it now. And they’re gonna think what they’re gonna think, so we may as well choose what they see next, right? If everyone probably thinks we’re dating…” Your heart does a sharp twist in your chest. “Shouldn’t we at least get a real date?” He makes a convincing argument. Or maybe you just want it, more than you know how to reason yourself out of. Shawn can see your hesitation; you wish you had a better poker face. “If you’re worried about Andrew,” he says, “Technically Kelsey is independently contracted to me and he has no say in you working for her. And I have no control over your pay.” “She’s not paying me,” you remind him. “We’re pretending this is a slightly unethical internship.” Shawn snorts. “There you go, then.” You’re running out of objections. “How long are you in New York for?” “Five days. On and off promo, and then the show.” Shawn’s eyes go soft, and some part of you is frustrated at being so afraid. “How ‘bout we just take it one day at a time? If it gets too much, I’ll drop you off at JFK myself. You don’t–” And here, he looks vulnerable again. “You don’t have to come back, if you don’t want to.” The thought actually causes you pain. You reach up and catch Saint Christopher, who dangles down silently from Shawn’s neck, curling your hand around the medal tight enough that you can feel the shape of the man against your fingers. He comforts Shawn, you know, so far away from home. You hope he can do the same for you. “Okay.” He looks so happy you can almost forget how tired you are. “Okay.” Before you can decide what else to say or do, Shawn leans down to kiss you softly on the mouth before dropping all the way down onto the bed beside you on his stomach, pressing his face into the slope of your neck and pulling you closer with one arm flung over your waist. “Hi,” you breathe around a laugh. “Alright?” he asks, sounding smaller than you’ve ever heard. You hum a yes. Shawn’s knee brushes yours and that’s strangely all you can think about. When it turns out you aren’t in fact, dreaming, you lift the arm that’s half cushioning Shawn’s head, threading your fingers up against the back of his scalp. He shivers. As your brain catalogues the reaction as that’s a thing, Shawn breathes deeply, relaxing into you a second time. The weight of him should be overbearing, but there’s something comforting about the pressure. It feels good, to keep carding your fingers through his hair, to soothe and be soothed at the same time. “Do you want to go back to your room?” he asks, sounding sleepy and hoarse.  You wonder what time it is. You think about his request, to just be here. “Do you want me to go?” You can feel him breathing, slow and steady. “No.” Beneath the hotel soap and shampoo you both used tonight, you can pick out the warm, familiar smell of his skin. Despite everything, you feel safe. So you say, “Okay,” and you put your hand on the back of Shawn’s neck. He tightens his grip, and you consider the very strong likelihood that your arm will go numb at some point. You also consider asking about getting under the blanket. You fall asleep before either of those things happen.   (part twelve)

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes writing #shawn mendes angst #wsitd #mine: fic #SURPRISE GUYS #HAVE A NEW PART FOR SHAWN'S BIRTHDAY

[selfsaving]

               MAYBE  THE  VAGABOND  HAS  NEVER  BEEN  AS  CAREFUL  AS  RYAN  IS.  he  has  patterns   //   habits  that  can  be  followed  if  you  know  what  you’re  looking  for.  and  hearing  news  that  a  firetruck  has  been  abandoned ,  SOMEHOW ,  atop  the  mountain  is  bait  the  vagabond  cannot  resist.  maybe  it  makes  it  too  easy  for  assailants  lying  in  wait  there  for  a  MASKED  MAN.  oh ,  not  that  it’s  easy   !     a  fight  was  expected  and  a  fight  is  received  but  even  the  vagabond  can  be  outnumbered.  taken  down  by  a  gun  to  the  back  of  his  head.

     HE  WAKES  greeted  by  every  stereotype  of  a  KIDNAPPING.  tiny ,  dimly  lit  room   //   arms   &   legs  ziptied  to  a  chair  that  makes  for  the  only  object  there.  he  knows  what’s  happening  before  anyone  else  arrives.  and  what  he  has  to  do.  three  men  enter  after  a  few  minutes  ——  a  rat - faced ,  SCRAWNY  little  guy  with  a  stack  of  muscle  on  either  side     (   brains   &   brawn ,  he  can  assume   ).     ‘  YOU  KNOW ,  WITH  YOUR  REPUTATION ,  I  THOUGHT  YOU’D  BE  A  LITTLE  HARDER  TO  CATCH ——   ’     he  starts  to  smirk  through  yellow  teeth  but  doesn’t  get  very  far.  the  mask  is  off   //   it’s  the  full ,  sarcastic ,  self - destructive  onslaught  of  RYAN  that  he’s  treated  to.     “   and  i  thought  you  could’a  loaded  a  few  more  shitty  stereotypes  into  your  kidnapping  me.  what ,  no  table  full  of  scalpels   ?     i’m  disappointed.   ”     he’s  rewarded ,  pretty  much  as  expected ,  with  one  of  the  big  guys  throwing  a  fist  into  his  JAW.  the  little  guy  doesn’t  make  a  move  but  his  smirk  is  gone.  replaced  with  a  pistol  he  now  aims  at  ryan.     ‘   YOU  WANNA  TALK  SHIT ,  I  GOT  ALL  THE  TIME  IN  THE  WORLD.  BUT  IT’D  BE  BETTER  FOR  YOU ,  VAGABOND ,  IF  YOU  TELL  US  WHAT  WE  WANNA  KNOW.  LIKE  THE  NAMES  OF  YOUR  CREW.   ’     ryan  shrugs.     “   not  gonna  happen.  and  you  made  a  BIG  mistake  starting  with  the  gun ,  because  now  you  gotta  blow  my  brains  out  or  you  gotta  back  off  and  show  me  you  don’t  mean  shit.   ”     reward  this  time  is  a  bullet  to  the  shoulder   //   and  that’s  a  little  more  unexpected.  teeth  bite  into  the  side  of  his  mouth   &   manage  to  suppress  a  yell ,  exchanged  instead  for  a  hissed     “   pussy.   ”     and  rat - face  starts  to  smirk again.     ‘   DON’T  WORRY  ABOUT  IT  ——  I’M  JUST  GETTING  STARTED.   ’

                         ANOTHER  CHAIR  is  pulled  into  the  room  for  his  interrogator ,  whose  next  weapon  is  a  knife  and  he’s  a  lot  more  inventive  with  that  than  he  was  with  the  gun.     ‘   WE’LL  START  REAL  SIMPLE.   ’     he  says.     ‘   I’LL  GO  THROUGH  THE  ALPHABET.  YOU  PICK  YOUR  LEAST  FAVOURITE  GUY  AND  WE’LL  SPELL  OUT  HIS  NAME ,  HMM   ?   ’     and  with  each  letter  his  knife  pokes  into  ryan’s  skin   //   draws  blood  in  one  place  or  another.  goes  through  the  alphabet  twice  and  ryan  stays  silent  while  frustration  begins  to  PRICKLE  in  the  air.  but  ryan’s  not  going  to  talk.  he  wonders  if  this  guy  already  knows  that.  that  whatever  happens  here ,  he  would  rather  take  it  than  let  any  of  the  crew  be  in  his  place.  that  whatever  HORRORS  this  guy  can  think  up ,  it’d  be  NOTHING  compared  to  their  deaths  on  his  conscience.

          THE  ALPHABET  STARTS  AGAIN  and  ryan  chimes  in.     “   y’know ,  i’m  starting  to  think  you  don’t  give  a  shit  about  my  crew  and  you  actually  just  need  spelling  practise.  no  shame ,  man   !     the  alphabet’s  HARD ,  you  just  gotta ——   ”     knuckles  drive  into  his  nose  with  more  force  than  he’d  given  rat - face  credit  for.  coughs  as  blood  immediately  starts  to  pour  while  wiry  fingers  snatch  into  his  hair  to  pull  him  backwards.  space  between  their  faces  uncomfortably  hot  as  the  little  guy  stands  to  HISS  down  at  him ,  knife  digging  against  one  cheek.     ‘   I  FEEL  LIKE  YOU’RE  NOT  UNDERSTANDING  ME ,  VAGABOND.  YOU’RE  GONNA  TELL  ME  WHAT  I  FUCKIN’  WANT  OR  I’M  GONNA  CUT  YOU  UP  INTO  LITTLE  PIECES  AND  FEED  YOUR  DICK  TO  MY  DOGS.   ’     “   now  that  can’t  possibly  be  good  for  th ——   ”     knee  drives  forwards  between  his  legs  and  ryan  is  cut  off  as  he  gasps.  there’s  a  gesture  and  one  of  the  big  guys  moves  to  stand  behind  him ;  holds  his  head  still  between  two  enormous  arms.  the  interrogator  sits  back  down  wordlessly  and  works  his  knife  slowly  under  the  smallest  fingernail  on  ryan’s  right  hand.     “   yep ,  get  that  thing  off   !     ”     ryan’s  face  hides  no  pain  any  more  but  he’ll  be  damned  if  he  ever  shuts  the  fuck  up.  voice  begins  to  strain  beneath  the  bouncer’s  tightening  grip.     “   YEA ,  that  feels  great ,  i’ve  never  liked ——   ”     knife  slams  forwards  and  the  whole  nail  rips  off  in  one.  no  respite  before  blade  drives  straight  through  the  back  of  his  hand.  sticks  into  the  wooden  chair  beneath.  and  then  ryan  yells.  voice  cracking  halfway  through  his  sentence   //   white  hot  pain  jolting  up  his  arm.  the  little  guy  is  saying  something  to  him ,  he  thinks.  mouth  real  close  to  his  ear ,  but  he  can’t  tell  what  it  is.  there’s  a  ringing  in  his  head  and  the  arm  around  his  throat  squeezes  so  tight  he  can’t  pull  in  air  any  more.  the  knife  is  pulled  out  of  his  hand  and  he  barely  notices.  and  when  suddenly  he’s  BREATHING  again ,  all  he  can  do  is  let  his  head  lay  backwards  and  vision  swim  into  some  half - focus.  only  halfway  through  the  alphabet  does  he  even  realise  what’s  happening ,  score  of  neat  little  lines  this  time  running  parallel  down  one  arm  with  each  letter  repeated  a  THIRD  TIME.  it  gets  to   ‘  R  ’   and  ryan  lifts  his  head.  the  utter  shit - eating  look  on  that  rat  face  one  he  barely  registers.  it’s  a  long  wait  to  get  around  to   ‘  Y  ’   for  the  next  letter  and  then  on   ‘  A  ’   does  his  interrogator  lean  forwards  in  triumph.     ‘   GOOD  BOY.  WHICH  BITCH  IS  RYAN   ?   ’     ryan  doesn’t  lift  his  head.  cracks  the  tiniest  of  smiles.     “   that’s  me.   ”     it’s  his  middle  name  anyway.  it’ll  do  them  no  good  at  all.  he  doesn’t  flinch  as  knuckles  crack  into  the  side  of  his  face  once  more  and  the  door  SLAMS  as  he’s  left  alone.

                                    THE  NEXT  TIME  HE  COMES  IN  it’s  with  a  lighter  and  ryan  doesn’t  say  a  goddamn  word.  doesn’t  resist  for  one  second.  dissociation’s  kicked  in  to  try ,  for  once ,  to  save  his  ass.  every  time  fire  touches  his  skin   //   it  doesn’t  feel  like  him.  nothing  REGISTERS  through  the  self - made  fog  in  his  head.  until  one  sentence.     ‘   YOU’RE  MAKING  THIS  REAL  FUCKIN’  DIFFICULT ,  RYAN.   ’     and  then  he  stirs   //   blinks   //   rejoins  reality  again.  and  he  doesn’t  remember  anything  since  the  knife  in  his  hand.  ryan  looks  down  over  himself  as  if  he’s  looking  at  someone  else.  shredded  t - shirt   //   right  hand  in  a  mangled  STATE   //   just  about  everything  bloodied  crimson.  half  remembers  where  some  of  it  came  from.

                         HE  LOOKS  UP  and  realises  that  rat - face  is  watching  him  sorta  strangely.     “   what   ?   ”     he  expects  no  answer   //   most  of  the  question  going  unspoken.  what  have  i  told  you   ?     he  called  him  ryan.  he  knows  his  name.  ryan  told  him.  voice  is  hoarse  and  he  realises  his  head  is  POUNDING.  he  hasn’t ——  he  can’t  have.  no ,  he  wouldn’t  give  them  up.  the  vagabond  wouldn’t  give  them  up  . . .   would  he   ?     the  interrogator  guy  is  smoking  something  and  the  haze  around  them  makes  ryan  feel  dizzy.  he  wonders  how  pale  he  is  underneath  all  the  blood.  he  feels  like  he’s  been  drugged.  maybe  he  has.  he  wouldn’t  remember.

     THERE’S  A  SILENT  MOMENT  where  rat - face  seems  to  be  trying  to  put  his  finger  on  something  going  on  inside  ryan’s  head.     ‘   PRETTY  SHITTY  NAME.  SEE  WHY  YOU  WENT  WITH  VAGABOND.   ’     he  leans  forwards   //   blows  smoke  into  ryan’s  face.     ‘   CREW  FULL  OF  SHITTY  NAMES.   ’     ryan  feels  his  heart  go  cold.  fuck  fuck  FUCK  he  told  him  he  told  him  he  did  it  HE’S  KILLED  THEM ——  whatever  panic  shows  in  ryan’s  delirious ,  bloodstained  expression  seems  to  confirm  a  suspicion  in  his  interrogator’s  mind.  he  stands   //   puts  out  what’s  left  of  his  cigarette  on  ryan’s  collarbone.     ‘   THE  VAGABOND.  TRUSSED  UP  IN  MY  CHAIR  LIKE  A  LITTLE  BITCH.   ’     hand  latches  around  his  throat  and  all  ryan  can  do  is  groan.  fight  taken  out  of  him.  head  spinning.     ‘   NOT  SO  TOUGH  WITHOUT  YOUR  CREW ,  HUH   ?     AND  YOU’VE  FUCKED  ‘EM.  AND  WHEN  I’M  DONE  WITH  YOU ——   ’

                                   IN  THE  DISTANCE  THERE’S  AN  ENORMOUS  CRASH.  maybe  exactly  like  the  sound  of  five  dumb  criminals  driving  through  the  side  of  a  building.  ryan’s  head  lifts ,  something  disbelieving  as  he  looks  towards  the  door.  not  for  long ,  as  scrawny  hands  latch  over  his  nose   &   mouth.  head  pushed  back  and  cartilage  CRUNCHING ,  blood  starting  up  again     (   feels  it  running  down  inside  his  throat   //   tries  to  cough  and  can’t   ).     the  two  big  guys  have  GONE  now  and  whatever’s  happening  outside ,  clearly  priorities  have  changed  for  the  one  remaining.  priority  to  see  ryan  dead.  face  wavering  in  his  vision ,  even  as  CLOSE  as  it  is.     ‘   I’LL  STILL  KILL  THEM.  YOU  AND  THEN  ALL  OF  THEM.  ONE  BY  ONE ,  THE  SAME  THING  I  DID  TO  YOU ——   ’

               DOORS  SLAMS   //   FOLLOWED  BY  ONE  GUNSHOT.  weight  drops  off  him  and  rat - face  slumps  unmoving  to  the  floor.  but  ryan  hardly  glances  at  him ,  only  looking  to  the  door  where  michael  stands  with  pistol  raised.  takes  one  look  at  ryan ,  goes  sheet  white  and  fires  THREE  MORE  SHOTS  into  the  man’s  body.     “   mi ——   ”     relief  comes  like  an  ocean  pouring  over  him.  they’re  alive.  he  can  still  hardly  bring  himself  to  say  michael’s  name.  just  in  case.     “   MICHAEL.   ”     word  is  hardly  audible ,  comes  out  more  of  a  choked  sort  of  sob.  they’re  alive  they’re  alive  they’re  alive.     “   i  didn’t ——   ”     michael  comes  forwards  to  cut  the  zipties  off  him ,  expression  something  horrified.     ‘   holy  shit ,  ryan.   ’     “   i  didn’t  tell  them  anything.   ”     ‘   it’s ——  fuck ,  man.  GAVIN   !   ’     “   i  wouldn’t  tell  them.   ”     there’s  tears  tracking  over  bloodstained  cheeks  and  his  hands  SHAKE  when  they  reach  for  michael.     ‘   i  know ,  man ——  it’s  ok.  we  got  you.   ’     michael  tries  his  best  but  doesn’t  seem  to  know  what  to  do   //   because  this  ryan  seems  nothing  like  the  one  they  know.     “   you’re  all  alive.   ”     ‘   we’re  all  here.  geoff  and  jack  are  waiting  outside ,  you’re  ok.  i  promise.  just ——  here ,  put  your  weight  on  me.   ’     he  hooks  one  of  ryan’s  arms  over  his  shoulders  and  hauls  him  to  his  feet.  gavin  shows  up  in  the  door  and  offers  an  expression  pretty  similar  to  michael’s.  doesn’t  take  much  prompting  for  him  to  take  weight  as  best  he  can  on  the  other  side.  three  of  them  stagger  out  to  the  waiting  getaway  car  and  all  the  time  all  he  can  do  is  repeat  the  same  words.     “   i  didn’t  tell  them  anything.  i  didn’t  tell  them.  i  didn’t  tell  them.   ”

#PERSONALS PLEASE DONT REBLOG ! #RYAN. #* & → DRABBLES . #alriHG TLAIRHG TALRIGHT this is my uh . Ordeal of the last 3 days :^) #not pictured is uh afterwards whn ryans lying in the back seat and shaking and . gavins sitting on the floor next to him holding his hand . #michaels trying to tell him its all ok . jacks trying her best to drive carefully . no ones really saying Anything bc . they dont know wh #at to d o i hate this ok bye <3 does ryan deserve it ? no but im doin it anyway #* & → ON A MURDER BREAK >> RYAN HAYWOOD ☠☠ IN CHARACTER . #* & → TRYING TO SCARE DEATH AWAY >> RYAN HAYWOOD VERSES ☠☠ FAHC . #torture mention // #blood mention // #choking mention // #dissociation mention // #drugs mention // #gaslighting mention // #death mention // #long post // #ask to tag // #f u c kk man

[theghostofashton]

“i won’t let anyone hurt you, you’re safe with me.”

i honestly love how this came out so fucking much this is some of my best writing

it’s kinda a sequel to the “i can’t sleep, can i stay here?” prompt if y’all read that

13. "I won't let anyone hurt you, you're safe with me."

They've stopped talking about it.

He finds himself at Geoff's apartment every night, so often that Geoff clears out a drawer for him to stash some sweats in my pants are so big on you, love. I want you to be comfortable when you sleep and doesn't question it. If he has a problem with it, he doesn't voice it. Geoff crawls into bed every night and pulls him against him, buries his face in the back of his neck and wraps his arms around his stomach, squeezes him close and kisses right against the shell of his ear, and he sleeps.

He sleeps and it feels like a breath of fresh air, like new life was breathed into him every morning when he wakes. He sleeps and a darkness he feared for so long slowly starts to dissolve from disconcerting to desirable. He sleeps and the snarling demons go quiet, retract their claws and lower their hackles and fold themselves back into the ground where they came from.

He sleeps.

And it is warm and tight and safe and he feels for the first time like he can extend himself, cracked and all, because Geoff is right there to breathe encouragement against his skin, to hold him together when he's so close to falling apart.

And some nights he does. Some nights he feels them crawling all over him, ripping at his skin, stinging his eyes, reaching inside his chest and tearing his heart out. Some nights it feels like his skin is vibrating, like the bugs underneath been roused by the force of them and are out for blood, like the demons in his head and the critters in his body are fighting a war inside of him and he's merely on the sidelines, trying to calm and referee and stop, but he never can.

And those are the nights he blinks and pushes against Geoff's arm and feels the cold dripping down his face like someone poured ice water over his head. Geoff sleeps and he wakes, heart racing, hands shaking, it was a dream everything's fine you're fine itwasadreamitwasadreamitwasadream.

He squirms in Geoff's grip so he can turn onto his other side and bury his face in Geoff's chest and let out that heaving breath, the one laced with fresh tears and punctuated by sobs. Sometimes it wakes Geoff up and other times it doesn't and he's okay either way, okay to intoxicate himself on Geoff's scent and feel his heartbeat and remind himself it's okay you have Geoff he's here it's okay.

And some nights it works.

But there are others where they're chasing him, following, running, sprinting, to catch him, leaping onto his back and digging their talons into his shoulders, bypassing every layer of skin until they hit bone.

And he screams.

He shoots up, hand on his heart.

His vision is blurry and the room is spinning he can't see anything it's all mixing together he doesn't have his glasses but he should be able to see faint outlines of everything and he can't hecan'thecan'thefuckingcan't.

His heart is going so fast he's gonna die it's gonna stop it's too fast everything's too fast it's all spinning it's so fast he can't breathe nonono leave me alone get away from me stay back nonono.

"Hey Aws, love, sweetheart, hey. It's okay. You're okay. It was just a dream love, everything's fine. We're gonna take some deep breaths, okay? Watch me." Geoff's voice sounds distant. It's like he's saying the words from the apartment across the hall. His head is spinning the room is moving he can't stop it it won't stop why won't it stop.

"C-Can't," he forces out. His throat feels like it's closing up everything is tight it's all closing he's gonna suffocate he can't breathe fuckfuckfuck.

"Yes you can." He feels a hand on his back. He blinks rapidly, tries to focus. The panic is starting to die down slightly, the bands around his chest are starting to loosen, but his heart is still racing he still can't see straight he still can't breathe. "In." He moves his gaze over to Geoff, who's making a big show of exaggerating the movement of his chest. "And out. Copy me."

He tries. He forces himself to inhale and coughs violently at first, having sucked air in too quickly. Geoff keeps up his show and he follows, albeit shakier, but then it's ten minutes later and his heart is still racing but it doesn't feel like he's on the worst roller coaster in the world anymore.

"There you go," Geoff says. A pair of lips land on his forehead, soft and slightly warm. "You okay?"

He ducks his head to stare at the mess of blankets. There's no way either of them is getting back to sleep anytime soon. "Yeah. Sorry."

"You don't have anything to be sorry for."

"Woke you up."

Geoff doesn't respond for a few moments. He pulls his teeth in with his lip. He knew he was an inconvenience but he didn't think Geoff agreed with him fuck what if he says he can't sleep over anymore what if he kicks him out he can't sleep without him he doesn't know how to do it he needs Geoff he needs him.

And then he feels an arm wrap around his chest from behind and pull him backward. He lands against Geoff's chest and slumps into him, letting his head fall back against Geoff's shoulder and closing his eyes. "M'sorry."

"Stop it," Geoff repeats. "I told you I didn't mind, Aws. I want to help you. I'm glad I can be here when you're not okay."

"M'never okay."

"That's okay," Geoff promises. Another kiss to his head. Higher this time, buried his hair. Geoff's fingers follow it, starting at the base of his neck and rubbing at his scalp gently as they trail upward. He leans into the touch, bringing one arm around to wrap around Geoff's waist. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

He swallows, lifts his head and turns to meet Geoff's eyes. He owes Geoff an explanation. He deserves to know what the hell he was woken up at half two in the morning for.

There's steel wool in his mouth when he speaks next, "they were chasing me. Gonna kill me. It-" Another swallow. "Hurt so bad I-"

"It's okay." Geoff cuts him off gently. He turns his entire body, scooting up and onto Geoff's lap so he can hide his face in the crook of his neck. The tears come before he even registers he has them, a sob tearing out of his raw throat. "It's gonna be okay love. I won't let anyone hurt you. You're safe with me."

"I hate this," he chokes out. "I just wanna sleep."

Geoff rubs his back and drops another kiss in his hair. "We'll figure this out baby, I promise. You're gonna be okay."

"Don't leave me," he cries. "Please, I know this is a lot but I don't have anyone else."

"Awsten." Geoff pushes him back slightly. He bites his lip again, looking into Geoff's eyes. Geoff reaches forward and brushes tears off his cheeks with his thumbs. "I'm not going anywhere, okay? You got me. For good. I am never leaving you."

"I love you." He swallows again and repositions his head on Geoff's shoulder.

"I love you too," Geoff murmurs. "What can I do, sunshine? How can I help? I hate seeing you like this. I hate seeing you cry."

"Just stay," he whispers. "Don't go. Hold me. Please."

"I'll hold you as long as you need."

Another kiss against his head. He breathes out. He barely feels the hand clenched around his heart anymore.

"I'm not going anywhere, sunshine. I love you so much."

"I love you."

And when he does fall asleep again, it's with his nose buried in Geoff's neck and his arms wrapped around his waist and Geoff rubbing his back in those small, soft circles.

And they stay quiet.

#one of the best things i've written in a while #im so proud of this #waterparks #waterparks fanfiction #awsten knight #geoff wigington #gawsten #gawsten fanfiction #neha writes

[sathtrash]

I wrote this up at the beginning of the month when you mentioned Trevor angst and as soon as I wrote the last sentence, I went to bed and I immediately lost all ideas of how to write the ending to it. I needed to do SOMETHING with it, though or it was gonna sit in my notes app, unseen for the rest of eternity, and since I wrote it referencing A LOT from your AU, I’ll pass it on to you:

“—— I imagine that some subtle comments are made about "does your boss here treat you as good as I/we did?” and “you look like you’ve moved up in the world…who-I-mean-what did you have to do?” /

The crew is no stranger to nightmares. They all have them from time to time. Nightmares about their pasts, heists gone wrong, close calls, new fears…the list never ends. And while everyone in the crew is used to helping each other afterwards, Jack is usually the first person to be woken up to help. So when Trevor begins yelling and crying in his sleep, Jeremy bolts from the bed in the room he shares with Trevor, and down to Jack and Geoff’s room. Jack is dazed and bleary eyed at first in the light from her bedside lamp, but she snaps awake as Trevor screams again, and then she’s out of the bed and rushing down the hall.

The crew is used to Jack shaking them awake and talking them back into reality again, but the crying doesn’t stop after Jack wakes Trevor up. Instead, it gets worse. He’s choking and gasping and soon the rest of the lads and Ryan and Geoff are awake and standing silently in the hall, out of sight of the open bedroom door. And then Trevor starts talking.

Between sobs, Trevor manages to tell Jack about his last gang…the gang that they met today. He tells her how they treated him. How they abused him. He tells her how he planned to escape it all, that him being at the heist site and getting caught in Michael’s explosion was no accident or coincidence. He tells her that he was nineteen and wanted to die after what his crew did to him. Everyone in the hall looks at each other in shock and then there’s a loud crack and they turn in time to see Geoff storming into his office, and the hole in the wall that his fist just made.

Trevor looks up, Jack is on her feet and rushes to the door to see her boys standing there in the shadows. Without a word, she motions for them to disperse and then closes the bedroom door.

They hear her give some half assed excuse to Trevor about one of them must have thrown something at the wall in one of their rooms. The lads and Ryan head down the hall to see Geoff sitting at his desk with his head in his hands. Ryan herds the group the rest of the way down the hall to the living room and turns on the lights over the sink in the kitchen. Michael sits on one of the couches, stunned at Trevor’s confession that he purposely went to the site hoping to be killed by Michael’s bomb. Jeremy’s sitting at the table clenching and unclenching his fists and trying not to think about how he actually complimented Trevor’s former gang on their intimidation techniques. Ryan stands by the sliding glass door, looking out at the city lights, but also looking down the hall every so often. Gavin leans on the counter by the stove, a kettle on the stovetop and three mugs lined up nearby. After the water is done boiling, he pours it in one mug and then carries it down the hall to Geoff’s office.

As if on cue, as Gavin is leaving the office, Trevor’s bedroom door opens. Everyone freezes, but Jack exits alone and closes the door behind her. She glances at Geoff as she passes his doorway, but continues on, ushering Gavin back to the living room and making her way to the stove. She offers a small smile to him as she makes her tea and then pushes the third mug toward him.

“Trevor-” he looks down at it.

“Trevor’s sleeping. Drink.” she says, before looking at the rest of her boys.

“Look at me.” Jack quietly commands. They do, and she sees the mix of emotions on each of their faces in the low lighting.

“Trevor doesn’t know that you all know. You can not…no…you WILL NOT do anything about that crew until Trevor tells you himself what happened. You will not let Trevor know that you know, and you will give him the dignity of letting him be the one to tell his story.” She starts.

“Jackie! You heard what-” Michael interrupts, before Jack holds up her hand to silence him.

“Yes, I heard. I heard everything that you heard. Trust me, I want to run out that door right now all the way back to that sick fuck’s building and put him through the worst pain he’s ever felt, but that’s not going to help anything right now. I don’t need to remind you that some of you took time coming out of your shells and telling your stories at your own pace, and we owe it to him to be allowed the same thing. Until then, please…just treat him the way you always have, like you didn’t just hear everything that he said tonight. No kid gloves, just that openness and support you gave him since day one…he’s going to need that more than ever soon.” After Jack finishes, and everyone nods, she takes a long sip of her tea and then looks up at the clock.

“Now…everyone back to bed.” she says, looking at the light still coming from Geoff’s office. Ryan and Gavin do as she says and with quiet “goodnight"s, head back to their rooms. Jeremy and Michael remain where they are for a few moments longer before doing the same and disappearing to their rooms.

Jack, with mug in hand, turns off the light and heads to the office. Geoff is still sitting at his desk, but with his hands wrapped around the mug instead of tangled in his hair. He’s staring blankly at one of the black and white pictures of the crew that Jack had hung up. It was a candid of all of their "kids”, the main and support crews, laughing and dressed up in their finest before heading to dinner one New Years Eve.

“I didn’t know. I never would’ve agreed to this meeting if I had known.” he manages to say as Jack sits on his desk next to him.

“I know.” She says quietly.

“I’m the reason he went back there today, I practically forced him to see them again, Jackie. I basically took the shovel from him and uncovered all of the things he had buried!” Geoff moves his hands to tangle them back in his hair, but Jack is quicker, taking them in her own.

“First of all, your metaphors are running away from you. And second and most importantly, like you just said: you didn’t know. I don’t think for a second that Trevor blames you for anything.” She brushes her thumbs over his knuckles.

“Why didn’t he say something? I would’ve cut off contact at the start of this, I could’ve…” he trails off, looking up at her.

“I asked him that, Geoff. He said he knew how important these alliances could be when trying to solve a problem, that if he had spoken up, even though it would’ve been the right thing to do, he knew that crew would’ve launched some kind of attack on us. But most of all…he said he thought he could handle it. That knowing now how a real crew has each others backs and how a real boss looks out for his own people…he thought it would be enough and erase what his old crew had done to him.” Jack explains.

“It wasn’t enough, though.” Geoff mumbles.

“Not today or tonight, no. Not the way he thought it would be. But he’ll get there, Geoff.” She assures him.

“You know I’ve always admired your positivity, but how can you say that so…certainly?” He asks, pulling one hand away from hers to rub at his forehead.

“Remember when Ryan showed up? Completely mute, sleeping with a knife under his pillow, his back always had to be against a wall, always sticking to the outside edges of any group just in case he needed to run? How it took him a long time of writing notes and sign language before he finally spoke? He got there, Geoff. He stopped hiding.”

“Remember each one of our kids when they first came to us, and then think about them now. Jeremy, ducking away from any attention and now he commands it wherever he goes with his Rimmy Tim colors. Gavin, being so careful to never leave a hint of him being somewhere, and now there’s glitter and gold accessories and computer parts all over the apartment. Even Trevor, jumping at shadows and staying out of the dark as much as possible, and now that boy seems to thrive in the dark. Literally, sometimes I think he’s part owl.” She chuckles before smoothing Geoff’s hair down with her free hand.

“Whatever we did, whatever each of our kids saw in the rest of the crew was enough to bring those changes, but remember, that didn’t happen overnight. It took time. We need to give him that time.”

“What about these fucks that want to align with us? They can’t get away with what they did to him.” Geoff says as his face contorts into anger once more. Jack puts her hand under his chin to make him look at her.

“They won’t. I know you won’t let them get away with it. If you want to wipe them off the face of the earth, I won’t stop you. But this isn’t the right time. Not yet. Not until we hear the story from Trevor.” She says.

“What if he doesn’t say anything? He didn’t tell anyone before this meeting, what if he continues keeping this to himself? What do I do then? I can’t let those guys near this crew.” Geoff asks. Jack takes a moment to turn and look at the picture that Geoff had been staring at. Their kids. She would go to hell and back for all of them.

“…I didn’t trust that crew from the second we walked in. I don’t like the way they talked about doing business. I don’t like the way they talked about their own guys. I definitely didn’t like the way they looked at our kids.” Jack wheels back around to face Geoff, now staring at her in confusion.

“We have connections to other crews that we know are good at what they do and we know are good to us. I don’t see the reason in taking a chance on a crew that would be more than happy to stab us in the back as soon as their end of the job is complete. I think forming this alliance is a bad idea, Geoff. And if they don’t like it, we’ll cut them down.” She finishes.

“Jackie…why are you telling me this?” Geoff asks.

“So you can tell Trevor that I was the one that forced you to call off this deal. So you can roll your eyes and chuckle with him about "mothers intuition” and “following her gut”. So he doesn’t feel like he’s letting you down. If he’s not ready to tell his story, let me be the reason the deal ends before it ever starts.“ Jack replies.

"You don’t really think he’ll believe that, do you?” Geoff asks in disbelief.

“It’s not a lie. The way they looked at Trevor in that warehouse, I could’ve taken a knife to all of their throats. So it’s settled. The deal is off, Trevor doesn’t have to feel like a weight is on his shoulders and gets to move forward at his own pace, and you and the rest of the crew can take down that slime as you see fit. But for now,” Jack slides off of the desk and picks up the now empty mugs in one hand, the other pulling at Geoff’s. “It’s time for bed.” ——-“

I had planned on there being more: Trevor sitting the crew down and telling them, and then Geoff and/or Jack’s revenge on his former crew…but I went to bed after writing this much and haven’t touched it since then (like everything else I’ve ever started writing)

__

Kristen I am crying, I have been awake for an hour and I was not expecting these FEELS today I have been SLAIN

[jawnsjournal]

so... ive kind of come down from the high of the last three days or so. things have been great. but i asked geoff why he liked me tonight because he’s so sweet and he means well, but sometimes i feel like he doesn’t know anything about me. if i don’t volunteer information, he’ll never ask. and it’s not like shit about scott or will or the mermaid instagram. it’s like me. sometimes i feel like he hardly knows me even though we’re together all the time. so yeah, i went out on a limb and asked him why he liked me. and he gave me a list that was exactly what i was afraid of. exactly. 

out of curiosity, i asked about awsten and otto too, and while i was standing there listening to him it physically hurt. god, i think i was starting to feel something. not a crush, but like... maybe a little bit of one. but now i’m just confused. and honestly, i’m sad.

he had all these great things to say about awsten as a person. that he’s funny and smart and a great musician. that he’ll do anything for the people he cares about. the stuff he said about otto was way more in line with what he said about me, so at least i felt a little better about that, but i‘m going to go ahead and fucking amend what geoff said about him. 

otto is great because he’s wild. you never know what to expect with him. he will keep you on your toes, whether that’s because he’s disappearing for two solid hours with no warning or grabbing you from behind and launching the both of you into the pool with no warning. he has an awesome smile and an even better laugh. i love his fashion quirks - the bandanas, the crop tops, the short shorts, the shoes with no socks (even if that gets gross). he’s confident as hell and super humble at the same time. i love seeing him try to talk with a toothpick in his mouth. he’s got puns for days. he has a huge heart for animals and for his family. he’s the first one to offer to help if he notices literally anyone in need.

fuck, i’ll write about awsten, too. that dude is the smartest person i know. he’s also the most driven person i know. he works his ass off and makes sure to earn what he gets. he feels everything so much. he’s affectionate and witty and he can write a great damn song. he knows how to model too haha. i can be with him for days on end and not get sick of him because - despite what people may think - he does know when to tone it down (most of the time). he paints his nails with glitter polish and he cares about taking care of himself and he’s always encouraging everyone to try new things. he says no whenever he senses any kind of bullshit. sometimes i think he’s not afraid of anything, but every once in a while he lets me see just how scared he really is. it’s like he lets me see into his soul. 

so. 

when i asked geoff why he liked me and he did exactly what i was afraid that he would do, i made sure to hide my eyes so he wouldn’t see into my soul. i didn’t want him to see how hurt i was. how unsurprised i was. he really almost had me, but i’m glad i listened to my gut.

one of the most valuable things i ever learned is that when you ask a person what they like about someone and they list a bunch of things that are supposedly about you but are really just about how you make them feel, something’s not right. and that’s what geoff did. to me. 

he doesn’t see me. he doesn’t know me. 

he likes who he thinks i am, who he wants me to be.

not me. 

he said he likes that i’m kind. caring. i look out for people. i love rory. im nice. im there for him. i have a good smile. i make him feel good. 

i feel like crying. i want seaweed. hang on. 

ok got her. 

these are things that he could say about anybody. lucas checks all these boxes. eevee checks all these boxes. 

yeah, it’s all nice. but it’s not about me. it’s about the idea of me. 

i don’t even know what i wanted him to say. maybe that’s all there is, though. just stuff i can give other people. maybe there’s not more to me than just being the nice guy. 

fuck i’m getting choked up again. 

you know what i like about geoff? geoff is passionate. he’s passionate about rory and about video games and about guitar. he steps up and faces his responsibilities. he’s pretty honest. he has fucking great hair. he puts in effort to be a good dad, to be a good friend, to be a good bandmate, and just to be a good person. he’s usually chill and relaxed but when he’s excited or energetic, there’s no stopping him. he’ll work hard to learn a new guitar part until he gets it just right, and then he’s genuinely proud of himself. he’s warm, thoughtful, genuine, consistent. he values strength and bravery in every area of his life. he’s trustworthy, and he gives that trust out, too - but you have to earn it.

i came up with all that in less than two minutes. but he couldn’t come up with anything about me.

zakk isn’t here but he would tell me that there’s good stuff about me. i know he would... i just don’t know what. 

i didn’t write in here yesterday but the last thing i did before bed last night was cry. not hard, and just for a second, but it shook me up. i think it shook geoff up a little too. we went right to bed but i was awake for hours. 

i think i’m gonna call daddy. maybe he’ll have something nice to say if i ask him the same question. or maybe i’ll message will. 

yeah. i’m gonna get in the bath. 

#g #o #a #z #sc #wi #mm #sw #thoughts

[strawberryfiction]

Two Tones (part 6 End)

Pairing: Raywod

Warning: heterochromia!Ryan

Summary: Ray was working nights at probably the safest bar in Los Santos. One night a man comes in not looking for alcohol, and its the first thing Ray’s never seen int he bar before. The second is the mans eyes, one green and one blue. They haunt Ray until he meets the man again in different circumstances.

Ray’s heart stopped when he saw the dark skull mask march towards him. The cheap rubber smell mixed with mint haunted Ray’s nose. It was always him, the man with the skull mask and a dark leather jacket. People were running and screaming, someone shouted that the man had a gun. Ray hadn’t even noticed the gun; he’d been stunned by the sight of just the masked man.

Taking a few steps back Ray bumped into a display of oranges raised from the ground. One of the fruits rolled past Ray, and he’d never been so happy to be in the produce section before. He scrambled underneath the display without thinking for another second. The gun hadn’t scared him as much as the man recognizing him.

The masked man was shouting, something about money, a robbery. Ray was dizzy, his hands clammy and sweaty.  He felt like at any minute he would pass out, blinking he tried to calm his vision. Breathing in and out- he couldn’t stop shaking- but he had to call someone. Ray’s fingers wouldn’t stop hovering over the buttons, who was he supposed to call? He figured someone had already contacted the police, should he try Michael? No, Ray knew who he needed to call – Ryan. If anyone could stop the blood pounding in Ray’s ears it would be Ryan to pull him from the fear rushing through his veins.

Ray pressed the call button praying that Ryan would answer. As the phone rang a black heavy boot stomped down right in front of Ray’s hiding spot. He worried instantly he’d peed himself. His eyes cleared right up as he watched the robber with careful movements.

The man in the skull masked checked his phone and slid his finger across the button.

Ray pressed redial as he got Ryan’s voicemail. He got the voicemail again and he decided the third- or fourth- time would be the charm. He couldn’t help but notice that every time he called Ryan the man in the mask checked his phone, his jacket squeaked each time. The man in the mask started to type something, and when Ray’s phone rang he could feel the bile rise in his throat.

It was a text from Ryan saying he was busy.

Ray couldn’t feel his fingers, he put the phone down and blocked out the man in the skull mask marching to the cash registers at the other end of the store- Ryan marching to the cash registers at the end of the store.

Opening his eyes Ray saw officers walking around the store, one was shaking him awake asking him if he had been injured. Ray just shook his head, it felt like he was underwater. The officer helped him stand, and Ray tried to show he wasn’t wobbling he just wanted to go home. He gave the officer his phone number saying he hadn’t seen the mans face and had no idea who he was.

Walking in the door Ray let his legs drag, his shoes scuffing across the floor. He just couldn’t believe what he’d seen, it had to be some crazy coincidence. Ray could feel his phone vibrating in his pocket - he ignored it.

Ray was glad for his dark curtains that made it night in the middle of the day, he was exhausted, and his bed was calling his name.

Sliding under the sheets Ray knew immediately getting to bed would be a challenge. His mind was racing, it had to be a coincidence, it couldn’t be anything else. Ryan wasn’t a convict; he wasn’t a thief. Remembering how they first met though, Ryan was a scary guy at first. Ray though his life was in danger when he first met Ryan. Ray closed his eyes and sighed, what were the color of the skull mans eyes? He couldn’t remember, they were obscured by the mask.

A knock on the door jolted Ray awake from what must have been a bad dream. It was already fading, and he couldn’t remember a thing about it, but the sweat on his sheets gave it away. He didn’t even remember falling asleep.

Shuffling towards the door Ray yawned and tried to make sure the pit stains on his shirt weren’t too noticeable. He hoped whoever was at the door wouldn’t point them out.

Opening the door Ray was assaulted from the front with a hug with enough force to knock him back. He just managed to catch himself on his heels while two spindly arms latched tighter around his waist.

“You’re okay!” Gavin sobbed leaning into Ray’s chest.

Ray didn’t know what to do, he was caught off guard by the strong affection from Gavin. He patted the mans head looking back to the door where Michael stood, a somber expression on his face.

“I –I’m okay Gav,” Ray reassured the man squeezing the life from him.

Gavin slowly stood up straightening his spine and took a step back, his emerald eyes glossy.

“I promise,” Ray could feel the smile cracking across his face, it felt different from normal.

Michael walked in with stiff steps on the hardwood.

“We freaked out a little when we heard, and you didn’t check your phone.”

“News travels fast,” Ray shrugged.

“The internet is a wonderful thing,” Michael shrugged back.

There was an awkward pause as Ray looked at Michael, his hands looked fidgety, he was never fidgety. Ray didn’t know what to say watching Michael’s face. He kept looking like he wanted to say something, but the words never came out. That also wasn’t like Michael, for him to hold back anything that was on his mind meant he was thinking a lot about it.

Ray opened his mouth to do something about the silence engulfing the apartment.

“Have you heard form Ryan?” Michael broke it first.

Ray felt his throat constrict, “U-U-n-not yet,” he choked on his words.

Michael frowned.

“How could he not be here right now?” Gavin was confused.

“Maybe he’s busy and he hasn’t seen,” Ray started shrinking in on himself, he wanted to go back to bed.

“Are you going to work tomorrow?” Michael asked.

Ray didn’t know what he was going to do, if the robbery was just that, he wouldn’t even be sulking. He’d be shaken, but it wouldn’t hurt this much. The answer would be a no brainer.  He had questions that needed answers before life could even start to rearrange itself.

Ray shrugged. He hated responding like this to his worried friends.

“Do you need us to get you anything?” All of Michaels words were awkward.

“I’m okay, probably going to play video games tonight and order take out.”

Gavin gave Michael a look that only Ray saw, he wanted to stay.

“Glad you’re okay Ray,” Michael nodded turning stiffly on his heels.

“Let us know if you need anything,” Gavin waved quickly following his boyfriend.

Ray stood there for a solid minute listening to them go down the hall. He thought he heard Michael’s booming voice before he actually walked over to close the door. His heart was bobbing around heavy in his chest. He didn’t even really feel like food or video games. Checking his phone made him feel worse, Ryan hadn’t said a word to him. While his phone was out Ray sent a text to Geoff, he knew his body, he wasn’t getting out of bed tomorrow either.

It couldn’t be Ryan, it could be a billion other people, but not Ryan.

Ray stayed home after getting the okay from Geoff. He forced himself out of bed amazed he could still be sleepy at 11 after sleeping all night. Thinking back on it he may not have really slept though, just starred at the wall. There was still nothing on his phone from Ryan.

Pouring himself a bowl of cereal Ray was still on edge waiting for his phone to ring with what may have been the most important phone call of his life. Walking the few steps from the kitchen to the couch had Ray exhausted already. He kept peeking at his phone, he needed some sort of distraction. Video games all of a sudden seemed like work. TV it was.

Hours passed before there was a knock on the door. Ray jumped up fast his feet almost slipping on the hardwood.

“Damn it Ryan, wh-“ Ray stumbled over his sentence, “-at took you so long,” his voice trailed off into a whisper.

“Was he supposed to come over?” Michael asked.

Ray threaded his fingers through his mop of hair, “I still, haven’t even heard from him.”

Michaels lips curved into a sneer.

Ray felt awkward, the same air from yesterday hung between the two, now with a hint of anger.

“It’s not a big deal, Ryan used to disappear all the time remember?” Ray shrugged again- his shoulders were tired of making excuses. “Maybe he just doesn’t know.”

Michael stomped his foot, “How can he not know?”

Ray jumped at the sudden intrusion of Michael’s foot inviting itself over the line of the door. Ray stared at Michael’s foot for what felt like ages, he could feel the anger radiating off of Michael like the rays of the sun. He begged his bottom lip to stop quivering.

“I don’t know,” He whispered, “I don’t know.”

The foot on the floor became fuzzy, but it came closer as well. In the blink of an eye the foot became feet, and Ray felt himself being squeezed. It was different then last night, laying in bed trying to put together a puzzle that had an impossible solution.

Ray buried his head into Michael’s shoulder feeling Michael’s collar become wet, it was strange. He could feel Michael’s arms tighten like protection. Ray tried to say something, but all that came out was a gasp and it scared him. He’d never cried in front of anyone let alone Michael. Ray had never cried in front of his best friend.

The air from yesterday cleared as Ray left a puddle on Michael’s shirt gripping onto the fabric like it was all he had.

“Where is he?” Ray blubbered, he felt so pathetic. Crying over a man who may have just pretended to love him, who may be a criminal, who may be long gone by now.

Michael said nothing, and Ray just listened to his breathing.

“I didn’t even get hurt, and here I am. The robbery could have gone so much worse.”

Michael gently pushed Ray out to arms length.

Ray hung his head, he didn’t want Michael to see his puffy red eyes.

“Dude,” Michael’s voice was softer then Ray had ever heard, “You’re traumatized, what happened must have been fucking terrifying, and your boyfriend has said nothing to comfort you. It’s not about the robbery anymore, you’re wondering why the man you love doesn’t seem to care that you were in danger.”

Ray could feel his lip trembling again.

Michael squeezed Ray’s shoulders, “Fuck Ryan and his multicolored eyed ass. If he can’t be here Gavin and I will be here ten times over.”

Ray nodded lifting his head slightly as he wiped straggling tears away.

Having Michael there took away the loneliness of the day. He offered to stay and cook for the night with what Ray had on hand. A lot of it was leftover stuff that Ryan had brought, and Ray wanted it gone – petty as that was. It felt like a step in the right direction.

“You gonna call Gavin?” Ray asked hanging out near the counter trying no to check his phone with dwindling hope.

“Is that okay, we kinda had a moment,” Michael shrugged, “Would it ruin it? To like see me and Gav?”

“I think having both of you here would be better.”

Michael lit up.

Dinner was fun, Michael was a fantastic cook, and Gavin was just as good as Ray at pre-tasting everything. Michael complained there wouldn’t be anything left for dinner. It felt natural to have just two guests inside the apartment, but Ray could still feel the sting in the bottom of his heart. Ryan had to roll back around, he had to.

Ray combed his fingers through his messy hair trying to tame the stray hairs. He walked through the bar doors and inhaled the smell of cleaner, it was the middle of switch off time. When the day restaurant became a bar for those still wandering the city at night.

“Hey boss,” Ray greeted the mustachioed man cleaned the wooden bar.

Geoff said nothing and Ray leaned against the bar frowning.

“Look sorry for-“

Geoff thumped Ray in the back of his head.

“Hey!” Ray frowned.

“Gavin told me the real reason you didn’t come in yesterday.” Geoff sighed, “You could have had today off too.”

Ray smiled, “Didn’t need it, and you know how much I miss this place even after a day off.”

Geoff sighed his sleepy sigh, “What am I gonna do when you get smart enough to leave this place?”

“You really think that’s gonna happen?” Ray walked behind the bar grapping an apron, “You have some high faith in me.”

“You know the drill, don’t burn anything down,” Geoff only half warned.

Ray grabbed his burger from the warming station, “I’ve got Bruce to keep me in line. At least until 1.”

“Yea, then I wake up in a cold sweat waiting for a bad call,” Geoff folded up his apron, “You sure you’re okay?”

Ray pulled a shrug, “Not sure,” he answered honestly, “But routine will help.”

Geoff looked like he wanted to say something else, but instead he smiled his sleepy smile and headed for the door, “Have a good night guys.”

Ray let out a heavy sigh as he looked over the empty wood surface of the bar. It was going to be a long night and Ray could feel in in his bones. He had to go back though, another night in bed would have driven him crazy. There was also some stupid hope inside of him that the man in the skull mask would show himself again. It happened twice why not a third time?

People came in, they didn’t stay long. Ray knew he wasn’t giving off his usual charm, he barley gave a friendly face tot eh people coming in. Groups of girls walked in and looked around confused, Ray wanted to tell them to get in line. They left once they realized the hot bouncer wasn’t around. Ray’s hand was itching to check his phone even though he knew it hadn’t gone off. He just wanted to make sure, maybe he’d accidentally set it to silent.

Bruce left letting Ray know there was a snack in the kitchen for him, Ray nodded in thanks before he stood in the empty bar by himself.

Twenty minutes went by before Ray grabbed a glass and poured a diet coke, before holding his breath as he watched out the window. Any minute Ryan would walk in and take a seat. Any minute Ray would get his explanation.

It never came, and Ray picked up the glass drinking the coke for himself. He downed it all at once feeling it sit sourly in his belly. Ray took off his apron and put it on a peg to hang. He shad barley done anything all night, and yet he felt exhausted. Yet when he ran busy night with Ryan before he was never even tired, he could have gone on forever.

Ray locked up the front door as the sun started to turn the sky from black to navy blue. The lights of the city were still shining brighter then the stars in the sky. Work was an okay distraction while it lasted. Ray decided is was better that the bar was quiet. If it was as crowded as it had been getting lately Ray wasn’t sure he could deal with it the same way alone.

Walking through the parking lot and towards the city Ray checked his phone, there was a message from Michael asking how Ray was doing at work. Nothing else. Ray started to answer the text when he heard a motorcycle rev behind him.

Looking back Ray had expected to see a blur as the bike whirred past to blend into the horizon, but it wasn’t the case. The bike revved again as Ray watched it pull up tot eh sidewalk next to him where he stood part of the cement.

The man in the skull mask sat on the motorcycle his eyes as undistinguishable as ever. He sat with the engine running the dark sockets looking at Ray. Taking a deep breath Ray stepped up to the bike and hauled himself on.

As soon as the engine revved Ray threw his arms around the masked mans body squeezing tight as the building whizzed past them in streams of light. He could feel tears start to leak from his eyes and he told himself it was just the wind.

The motorcycle came to a stop outside of Ray’s apartment. Slowly Ray got off the bike and stood watching the man with the skull mask park the bike.

“It is you,” Ray blurted out.

The man looked at him.

“Where have you been? You didn’t call me or text me.” Ray was stumbling over his words.

There was more silence.

“Tell me why!” Ray shouted his voice echoing.

Nothing but dark eye sockets staring.

“Ryan I know it’s you!” Ray shouted rage replacing the sadness.

Slowly the man took off the skull mask – Ryan took of the skull mask.

Still he sat in silence.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Rays voice was smaller.

“What was I supposed to say? Hey, I’m the guy that terrorized you for a few nights, wanna hang out?” Ryan mocked.

“Is that why you apologized to me in the store?”

Ryan shrugged, “I felt kind of bad. Look,” he huffed, “I couldn’t tell you, member the money I said I owed? I never worked in landscaping, I borrowed some money from some bad people while I was still naïve to how the criminal game worked. They pretty much owned me from that day. When we started hanging out I knew I had to clear up my debt fast. I wanted the Vagabond to stop existing when we started to get serious. Then I would never have to tell you how fucked up I am. Ray I’ve stolen, and killed, and,” Ryan pushed his bangs from his face, “I should have told you. I was scared I guess to give up an identity like that. It could have meant my life had you turned me in- and I wasn’t going out that way.”

“I could still turn you in,” the words were bitter on Ray’s tongue.

“If you decide to I think it means I deserve to die.”

Ray felt like he’d been punched in the gut. He didn’t want to hear that.

“I saw you at the robbery,” Ryan’s green and blue eyes were staring right at ray, “I saw you and I wanted to just leave, but you can’t exactly just stop a thing like that. You kept calling and texting me, I could only imagine how scared you were. How terrified you must have been and you reached out to the very person who was making you feel this way. You expected me to save you and I was the danger. All I had was a lame excuse, I figured you get pissed and forget about me –at least I hoped you would. I couldn’t face you. How did you know it was me under the mask?”

“Every time I called and texted the robber looked at his phone. Then he finally typed on it and your message came through. My brain kinda just ran with that.” Ray didn’t admit he was hoping he was wrong, “Am I supposed to forgive you now?”

Ryan shook his head, “You’re not supposed to do anything. I fucked up.” He started his bike back up.

“W-wait!” Ray shouted over the engine scared that he’d disappear again, “Um- uh- um, it’s supposed to rain tomorrow. Could you, pick me up form work?”

Ray cocked a brow, “With my motorcycle?”

Ray just nodded stiffly, “I don’t forgive you,” He blurted.

Ryan watched him speak with curious eyes.

“But a ride would be nice.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, I promise.”

With that Ray watched Ryan ride off into the night. There was a tug at the bottom of his heart, but he knew he would be on that motorcycle tomorrow, and he already knew he was going to forgive Ryan. He knew the moment he realized who the man in the skull mask was. He loved him from the first diet coke.

#raywood #two tones

[armadil-lo]

Hey, im the original annon that started the whole fakes lay low thing.... sorry! Anyways i absolutly love your additions and i never thought it'd get this big. Your tags kill me. I am curious however how do you think the rest of the crew might react when they finally meet Jeremy? Maybe geoff already had him on his radar. Maybe he is apart of funhuas which is a subsidiary of of sorts to the fahc. (1/?)

Maybe he is apart of funhaus which is a rival gang,maybe that was part of the big battle that caused the fakes to go underground.Like FH found and revealed the location of the penthouse the LSPD, because ifthey’re going down damn it so will the fakes. so Jeremy is just trying to getby after his gang is completely destroyed. And sure he wasnt a very big memeberbut he needed that extra cash to pay rent. And no other gang dare touch anyonethat the fakes may have a beef with (2/?)

So that is why he started joining the fights andstuff…. sorry i kinda got off topic… but the fact that ryan is with someonefrom a rival gang the very gang thay got them into this mess gahhhhhh!!!!! Theangest in the fahc would be so intense. (3/3) p.s. I’ve been follwing your blogfor a while so to see my ask be rebloged by another great person and comeacross my dash really made my day thank you for all you’ve added

OMG hello!!! Don’t be sorry, you’ve given birth tosomething wonderful :D Thank you so so much for the kind words omg, I’m sohappy you enjoy what I added!

OOOH I do like the idea of him being part ofFunhaus or another rival gang - I think I’mma go with another random rival gangthough since I like the idea of Funhaus/Fakehaus being on good terms with theFAHC haha :’) 

Most of it’s under a read more because this got insanely long oops… Also just gonna tag @shadeofazmeinya​ and @miss-ingno​ bc Ifeel like that’s just a given for this AU haha

Jeremy who’s made his living off of undergroundfighting rings finally getting hired to do some grunt work for a crew whosename he actually recognises. He thinks he’s moving up in the world, thinks he’sfinally going to get his big break in crime, actually have a steady cash flow.He never even meets the head honcho of this crew in fact, but he’s only beenworking with them for a short time when he hears the boss just sold out theFakes. He has no idea how that was something a smaller crew like theirs couldeven accomplish, but next thing he knows it’s all over the news how the Fake AHCrew’s official penthouse has been found, how hackers are currently lookinginto the phones and credit cards they left behind, how the LSPD are on a manhunt and they’recertain they’ll be at one of many locations that they’ve now been able to traceback to the crew. And see the thing is, Jeremy always admired the Fakes. Alwayslooked up to them, appreciated what they stood for as a crew. They alwaysseemed so close and it was something Jeremy dreamed about having one day. He’salmost sad that they’ve been taken down by his boss. Scratch that, he isactually kind of upset.

And thenhe learns that the reason his boss fucking did it is because their own gang isgoing under. Only a couple days later and they’re under attack themselves,Jeremy fleeing before things get too intense. There’s a viral clip going aroundof his ex-boss being dragged into a cop car boasting about how “I took down the Fakes before I went down, Idon’t give a shit what you do to me now!” And welp, if Jeremy wasn’t in a rough patchbefore, he sure as hell is now. He goes back to fighting rings and small crimeson the side. It’s all he knows how to do.

Skipping past the rest of the posts that’vealready been made about FAHC going in hiding, Ryan working at Starbucks, Jeremybeing a regular customer there, them falling for each other obviously, etc etcetc…

I imagine it doesn’t take very long afterJeremy finds out Ryan is the Vagabond for Ryan to take Jeremy to the safehouse.Jeremy didn’t run, Jeremy didn’t slam the door in his face. He actually helpedRyan out, even after knowing exactly who he is and what he has done. Ryantrusts him infinitesimally more after that. Ryan is too injured to go back tothe safehouse the day after the return-heist-gone-wrong (I imagine a couplebroken ribs and a bullet graze at the least) and he wakes up to a blanket overtop of him and Jeremy is asleep on the floor beside him and if he hadn’tfallen for him already, boy is that the moment he realises it. Jeremy wakesup and he makes them breakfast and sits by Ryan’s side and Ryan just findshimself spilling everything. What it was like when they got taken down, howtense it’s been in the household for all these months, how fucking ridiculouslyshitty it is to work in Starbucks but that Jeremy is always the best part ofhis day, that this heist felt like it was going to make everything better somehow, like it was just goingto magically solve all their problems and the Fakes would be back on top in notime. How he’s actually quite scared that things will never be that way againafter what happened yesterday. Jeremy listens, and he understands. He knowsthat feeling so, so well. Hope just being shattered in an instant. They spendthe day getting to know each other – actuallygetting to know each other, no veils or masks or secrets anymore. And it’sreally nice.

But then Ryan turns on his latest phone andsees the string of increasingly worried and frantic texts from the others. He finallylets them know he’s okay, which only really increases their panic tenfold aboutwhere he is. Jeremy has been readingover his shoulder (okay so his head is leaning on Ryan’s shoulder actually) andhe asks how far away their tiny base is. Ryan bites his lip and says it’sacross town and immediately starts mumbling about how his motorbike waswrecked, he doesn’t have a car, he walked here from the heist, stealing avehicle now is just impractical probably- and Jeremy interrupts like “Dude. Youdisguised yourself as a citizen for almost a whole fucking year. A shower and a changeof clothes and you could easily just take a taxi.” Ryan protests immediatelythat then the taxi driver will know where their only safehouse left is, towhich Jeremy says, “Then we’ll ask him to stop a block away and I’ll walk youthe rest of the way.”

“…You’re coming?”

“Well I’m guessing you don’t have any moneyon you. And I’m not fucking letting you go alone when you’re hurt like this.”

And if it were anyone else, anyone else, Ryan would probably have toslit their throat for knowing so much. But it’s Jeremy. So that’s that.

Jeremy helps Ryan to the shower (and out ofhis clothes - awkward avoiding looking at his body ensues, because it’s different when he’s not fixing up wounds with Ryan half passed out) and tries to findsome clothes that fit him. He thinks a baggy shirt will do, and the longestpair of sweatpants he owns (which actually belonged to an old friend namedTrevor once upon a time). The clothes cling a little bit, but hugging Ryan’sfigure isn’t a bad thing tbh. Ryan shoves his gear in an old, torn backpack ofJeremy’s and they call a taxi. Ryan tells the driver to go to a street that’s alittle ways away from the safehouse (three blocks actually, just to be careful,plus there’s shortcuts through backalleys and whatnot). Jeremy winces a littlebit at the final cost of the taxi and Ryan feels really bad, he’s known for a while now that money istight for Jeremy, but Li’l J produces what is needed for payment and off theygo, the smaller man helping Ryan walk the rest of the way.

Ryan’s ribs and other wounds are aching bythe time they reach the safehouse but they’re here and they made it and heknocks on the door because he lost his key and it swings open after a secondand Jack is pulling him into a fierce hug. He chokes out a small noise of painbut then hugs her back, albeit a bit awkwardly because he still had one armaround Jeremy for support. Then, from the doorway, Gavin is asking “Who areyou?” And Jack takes a step back and Ryan sees them all crowded behind her now,looking at Jeremy in equal parts confusion, surprise and distrust. Jeremyhimself looks stunned tbh. I mean, c’mon, it’s the Fakes. They’re famous. They were practically his crime idols. Evenif he didn’t know Ryan when he first saw him (or in the many months following)and it took him a second or two to place Jack, he knows Ramsey, and Mogar, andthe Golden Boy. Who in Los Santos doesn’t have their faces burned into theirminds?

So Ryan clears his throat and introduces him.“This is Jeremy. He’s a.. friend.” Jeremy glances over at Ryan and snapshimself out of it to give them a hesitant smile. The Fakes all look fuckingweirded out at that tbfh because since when does Ryan refer to people otherthan them as friends lol? They overlook that for now and pull the both of theminto the safehouse and gather in their little living room around the diningtable and the couch to hound Ryan with questions about what happened to him,where he was, how he got here, if anyone suspects where they are, etc etc.Which Ryan all answers calmly and truthfully, asking them similar questions inreturn and letting Jack hover over his wounds. Jeremy sits by his sideawkwardly through all of this, internally freaking the fuck out that he’s in aroom with the Fake AH Crew and tryinghis best not to pass out, lbr. Also he’s trying to ignore the fact that Geoffhasn’t spoken one word yet and is staring at him with the weirdest look on hisface.

Eventually the questions turn to Jeremy ofcourse. Who are you, how do you know Ryan, what are you doing here, what do youdo for a living. Ryan answers most of these so that he can deflect what heknows Jeremy won’t want to answer more easily, though Jeremy pipes up quietlynow and then. They��re both grateful that the others don’t tell him to leave orthreaten to kill him or anything drastic like that. Until suddenly Geoffinterrupts something Gavin is saying to ask, “You’re not Jeremy Dooley, are you? Rimmy Tim?” Jack sitsup a little straighter at that, face going hard, and the others look at Geoffquestioningly. Jeremy coughs a small laugh, genuinely shocked that Geoff fucking Ramsey actually knows who he is. “Yep, that’s me,” he replies, dazed. He thinksthat this is a good thing for a fleeting moment. He does not know that that is avery, very bad thing.

Geoff immediately leaps up from where he wassitting and slams a fist on the table, fuming in an instant. “I fucking knew it! I’ve had the names, photos and aliasesof all of you fuckers that got away from dayfucking one.” The others are alert in an instant, Jeremy’s blood turningcold at his anger, slowly starting to shake his head, eyes wide. “Are youwired? Who knows we’re here?” Jeremy just starts spluttering nonsense, nothaving a clue what to say. Jack backs away. Ryan looks up at Jeremy with asmall frown. When Jeremy can’t produce a coherent response, Geoff takes a fewsteps closer. “You were with the [gang] when we went down. You assholes fuckingruined us! Look at us! Are you fucking happynow?” Jeremy’s shaking his head frantically now, starting up a whispered chant of ‘no,no, no’ but not able to cut into Geoff practically spitting in his face now. “Weknow exactly how many of you got away, exactlywho you are, and the first fucking thing we’re going to do if we get back ontop is take you and your little buddies out. Rimmy Tim is number seven.”

“He’s about to be number one when I blow hisfucking brains out,” comes Michael’s voice from behind Geoff. Michael may stillbe limping from where cops shot him in the leg, but he was still quick enoughto grab a gun and be pointing it right at Jeremy’s head. Jeremy goes numb andsqueaks out, “I swear, I didn’t-“ Geoff holds up a hand to Michael. Michaeldoesn’t shoot, but he doesn’t put the gun down either. And then Geoff ispicking Jeremy up by the collar and shoving him against the wall. “Are. You.Wired?” Jeremy shakes his head. “Are your friendson their way? To finish up the fucking job their boss started?”

“They’re n- I’m- I didn’t-“

Michael explodes. “Answer the fucking question!”

“N-No. No, nobody’s coming.”

“So whatthen? You found out who Ryan was on your own? Stalked him for however long,finally managed to follow him here? Gonna round them up to kill us all when we’resleeping?”

“Geoff,” Ryan quietly calls from where he’ssitting.

“No,I-I swear, I’d never-“

“You were gonna take us out by yourself?”

“I didn’tknow!” Jeremy cuts in, breathing heavily, absolutely fucking terrified.That makes Geoff pause, his grip loosening a little bit and he squints insuspicion. Michael only takes a small step closer with the pistol. “I swear tofucking God, I didn’t know. I justdid grunt work for them, f-for like two weeks. I don’t even know who was in onit, or where the hell they got the information from, I was sad when you- It felt wrong, it always felt wrong. I haven’t heardfrom anyone else who got out, I didn’t even know anyone else did. I swear, I promise. Please,I didn’t know who Ryan was, I had no fucking idea, not until last night. I’mnot going to tell anyone, I’m not going to do anything, I didn’t know. I didn’t know.” Somewhere in his brokenpleading, Ryan had called Geoff’s name again, and suddenly the older man isripped away from Jeremy and he slumps against the wall a little. Ryan hasgotten up, grabbed Geoff by the shoulder and yanked him away. His expression isgrim and Jeremy has never seen him look this deadly serious. Geoff opens hismouth to protest, but doesn’t. After a moment of tense silence, Ryan speaks up.

“If Jeremy says he didn’t know, then he didn’tknow.”

Nobody in the room speaks after that. Geoffand Ryan stare at each other, Ryan’s hand still on Geoff’s shoulder, Geoffdefiantly setting his jaw. Jeremy glances around the room, sees Michael slowlylowering the gun and staring at Ryan with a bewildered expression, sees Gavinin the corner looking vaguely horrified (he’s kicking himself really, becauseRyan had him look into Jeremy all those months ago didn’t he, but he thoughtnothing of it, only did a surface check. If only he’d looked a little deeper, maybe Ryan wouldn’t have endedup bloody bringing the guy here), sees Jack hovering near Gavin glancing withopen curiosity between Ryan and Jeremy. Because, you see, calling Jeremy afriend is one thing, but the only people Ryan has ever truly trusted in his life as far as the Fakesknow is them. And earning Ryan’strust is not an easy feat to accomplish, either. Really, the fact that Jeremyhas somehow wormed his way into Ryan’s heart enough for the man to totally andcompletely trust him is one thing, but the fact that the others have never heard Ryan breathe so much of aword about him is extremely telling of how much damage these past months have doneto them. Not just as a crew, but as a family.

Eventually, Geoff lets out a long sigh andnods. Whatever facial expression conversation the two of them were having seemsto be over and apparently Ryan trusting that Jeremy isn’t about to stab themall in the back is enough for now. Geoff wordlessly walks into the kitchen andsnags Jack’s arm on the way out, pulling her along with him. “What the fuck,Ryan?” Michael snaps, more out of confusion than genuine anger now. Ryan glaresover at him and Michael mumbles, “wow, okay, fine” before shoving the gun inthe back of his jeans and limping as angrily as possible after Geoff and Jackas well. Ryan’s gaze turns to Gavin, who purses his lips and takes a stepforward. Ryan doesn’t want to talk to him right now though, doesn’t want totalk to any of them really for leaping to conclusions about Jeremy like that, fucking hell, they don’t even know him. Maybe that’s partially hisfault, but shit, when was he meant to bring up that he had a massive crush on aguy while they were meant to be undercover? He looks over at Jeremy now,leaning against the wall, still looking half scared to death, pale as a sheetand shaking. Ryan deflates a little bit at the sight and reaches for him. Jeremyseems to jerk into reality, and looks up at Ryan’s face with wide eyes,standing up and reaching out towards him too. Ryan pulls him in for a hug,cradling him against his chest, careless of how it jostles his ribs. Jeremytakes a few deep breaths and Ryan lightly squeezes him reassuringly. He knows Gavin iswatching, he knows Gavin wants to talk to him. He can’t bring himself to care.He gently pries Jeremy off of him and holds him by the shoulders, leading himback outside. Gavin says his name softly but Ryan ignores him and closes thefront door behind them.

They’re standing on the porch and it’sstarted raining lightly outside and poor Jeremy still looks shell-shocked andRyan just wants to hug the shit out of him. But that would probably hurt themboth so instead he settles for asking, “Are you okay?”

Jeremy looks at him with a tiny frown. “I…”He opens and closes his mouth a few times, not seeming to be able to form thewords. Ryan doesn’t blame him. He knows Geoff – Ramsey – is a terrifying man to have on your bad side. Ryan heardJeremy talking not even a few hours ago about how he had always looked up tothe Fakes – another one of Jeremy’s hopes he supposes has just been shattered.Ryan gives him a sad smile. “Go home, Jeremy. My wallet’s inside. I’ll pay forthe taxi. Go home and try to get some rest. I’ll sort this out.”

Jeremy shakes his head. “What if they don’tbelieve you, Ryan?”

“They will,” he says firmly. He knows he canconvince the others to trust him – but Jeremy doesn’t.

“But what if they don’t? What if they didn’t believe me? Shit, I know theydidn’t. What if they come after me? What if you can’t stop them? I didn’t knowanything about what my boss was doing, Ryan, but they have me on a fucking hit list! I don’t have anywhere to go,Ryan, how am I supposed to go home? Gavin already looked up where I live, Jesus Christ, what if they think I’m-“

Ryan breaks off Jeremy’s ramblings by kissinghim.

They haven’t kissed before, not even comeclose, but it feels like it’s been a long time coming. Ryan presses his lips toJeremy’s and the shorter man melts instantly, tilting his head back andreaching for Ryan, fingers tangling in his shirt. Ryan cups Jeremy’s neck with one hand and the other man leans up on his tip toes as theydeepen the kiss. Jeremy tastes sweet and the air smells like rain and theirbeards scratch together and god, Ryanhas been craving this.

They break apart and Ryan half expects Jeremyto go catatonic, but it’s the complete opposite. Jeremy has stopped shaking,his shoulders have relaxed, and he’s giving Ryan a small smile. Ryan returns itwith a smile of his own. They don’t say anything more. They don’t need toreally. Jeremy trusts Ryan, and Ryan trusts Jeremy.

#fahc #fake ah crew #ragehappy #jeremwood #armadillos can write #this might as well go under my fanfic too #my fanfic #ask #prompt fill #jeremwood coffeeshop fahc au #this is like 6 pages on word fuck me #it is legit 3.1k words #this escalated from headcanon to drabble to practically a fic very quickly omg #thank you so much anon though like you might be the first one who’s ever sent me a bunch of asks wanting to share headcanons before <3 #I appreciate you a lot haha thank you again :')

[kingsofchaos]

If you wanted to i'd love to see Gav using his charm and wiles to get the others lads out of trouble somehow, maybe flirting them out of some kind of mess or something?

Michael and Jeremy have been dealingwith a particularly unpleasant crew, forced into a fake civility every coupleof weeks when they go together to collect shipments or demand payments. It’sthe sort of thing Gavin would normally be involved with, at least in the earlydays of establishing a relationship, but no one really wants him near this oneat all; the crew in question is incredibly unstable, more mercenaries in anever-shifting arrangement than anything like the close-knit loyalty of theFAHC, and their leader is absolutely the worst of them. Some smarmy bastardwith a stupid name neither Jeremy nor Michael deign to remember – Taylor orTristen or Troy – he’s always intentionally rude, stopping just shy of openlymocking the Fake’s with an arrogance that even his own people seem to despise.Itwould be so much easier to just kill him and move on but no matter how muchMichael and Jeremy argue Geoff won’t have it. Something about relations, how forall Toby(?) is an asshole he’s got enough power, a nasty enough crew, that it’ssmarter to just wait them out for now, get whatever they can out of them beforeit all goes south. Which is easy enough to say when Geoff’s got very little todo with them, but nonetheless Michael and Jeremy suck it up, go to everydealing with clenched teeth and itchy trigger fingers, and life goes on.After one such meeting, maybe threemonths after this unwilling relationship began, Michael and Jeremy drive out tomeet Gavin for drinks, Jeremy tuning out as Michael rants the whole way to thebar because all he wants is a beer or twelve, wanted to just go to their normaldive but Gavin had insisted on coming out to this fancy yuppie shithole. It’s stillfull of crooks but mostly the rich, stuck-up variety instead of honest thugs, thekind of place that likely only stocks pretentious brews, but Gavin offered topay so here they were.Gavin’s already there when they arrive,leaning carelessly against the bar, all fake flirty smiles and inviting anglesas he holds court, surrounded by half a dozen admirers - though two inparticular seem to be jockeying for his attention. Thing One had just turned togrowl something at Thing Two when Gavin notices his Lads coming through thedoor, lazy showman grin brightening into something more genuine as he shakesoff his fans and flounces over. The group is less than pleased, more than onethrowing absolutely filthy looks that have Michael sneering nastily back whileJeremy not-so-innocently flexes beside him, neither making any effort to hidetheir weapons and quickly sending the one idiot who tried to follow into a hastyretreat. Gavin just laughs, grabs a tray of beers before towing his boys backtowards a booth.That should really be that, except apparentlyGavin’s not quite finished with whatever game he’s playing. It’s clear his focusis still on Thing’s One and Two rather than the conversation happening aroundhim; he asks all the right questions, hums sympathetically in all the rightplaces, but nothing gives away Gavin’s drifting interests quite as much as thepalpable feeling of having his undivided attention.  Michael asks, Gavin ignores him in favour of throwingan all too familiar smile towards the bar, and Jeremy groans, thunking his headagainst the table and wishing he’d just gone home.It’s not genuine interest, there’snothing honest in the way Gavin’s eyes narrow, nothing sweet in the sharpnessof his grin, which is just as well really because Gavin certainly knows how topick them. Thing One is gorgeous in a poisonous kind of way, tight blackclothes and blood red lips only accentuated by the wicked looking scar curvingacross her cheek. Thing Two isn’t quite so put together but is no lessimposing, big and blonde and definitely armed.They both tracked Gavin’s movementacross the room like starving dogs, sneering and snapping at one another asthey turn back to their place at the bar where they’d obviously been sittingtogether before Gavin stuck his big nose between them. Jeremy and Michael tosseach other a glance, long suffering but confident; it wouldn’t be pretty butpresuming it was two on two they could take them. That’s the grim reality ofdrinking with Gavin when he’s in one of these moods; there’s no saying there willbe a fight, but you’ve always got to be ready for the moment he tires ofcivilised society and pushes someone into violence just because he can.And Gavin is definitely in a mood, openlyplaying the two against each other every time he passes on his way to the bar;brushing against one, flashing her a secret little smile, only to make eyes atthe other on his way back, the man half rising from his stool as Gavin laughsand trots back to the booth. When Thing One ducks into the bathroom Gavinsteals her seat, leans right into Two’s space and orders them each three shotsbefore slinking off again. When Thing Two walks off to answer his phone Gavin’sback to buy One a drink, something straight and dark and far more impressivethan his own neon cocktail.So goes the rest of the hour; it’s blindinglyobvious by now, at least to anyone on the outside, that Gavin is drivingheadfirst into one hell of a fight with no sign of hitting the breaks. Hisadmirers are getting steadily drunker, louder and nastier with one another asthey try to compete, and Gavin just keeps throwing fuel on the fire.It finally comes to a head when, on yetanother bar run, Gavin brushes past them both and zeroes in on a third man who’d just arrived, abandoningcoy touches and heated looks for his thickest accent and most charming smile. Thethree at the bar clearly knew one another, the Things had been friendly enough whengreeting the third, but the longer Gavin stands there chattering away thecooler their interactions become, shoulders growing stiff and tight as fistsclench and voices rise.Seemingly oblivious Gavin keeps stirringthe pot, whispering something to one, winking at another, brushing off someone’sreaching hand only to skate fingers down the other’s arm, until eventually hetosses his head and stalks off in a huff, triumphant little smirk sneakingacross his face as an all-out fight breaks out behind him.Michael, who’d been growing snippier andsnippier all night, is fed up with pandering to Gavin’s nonsense when he andJeremy actually had to work today. He gets himself going on tirade about justwanting to drink and forget the assholes Geoff has them dealing with, not watchGavin flutter his eyes at idiots and destroy their friendships for his own sickamusement. Jeremy tries to agree wholeheartedly but Gavin interrupts him withan exaggerated pout that quickly bubbles into laughter as he croons back, asinfuriating as ever, aw Bois, don’t I alwaysdo right by you?Timing as spot on as always Michael doesn’teven get to snap a reply before an almighty crash has the three of themspinning around just in time to see Mystery Man #3 tripping over the flooredbar stool, turning just far enough in their direction to reveal himself as noneother than Todd (Tommy? Theo?). He’s reaching into his jacket in a way that hashalf the bar twitching towards their own holsters but its already over, Thing Twograbbing at his arms while Thing One ducks in from behind, rapid jerky motionof her arm unmistakable as she makes good use of a knife.There’s shouting now, people moving inevery direction as even the bartenders pull out weapons but Michael and Jeremyjust turn back to Gavin, eerily synchronized in their surprise, and Gavinsmiles. Climbs to his feet and buttons his jacket as casual as you please, all C’mon lads it’s getting a bit too loud inhere innit? Like the bane of their last few months isn’t bleeding out onthe floor, like Jeremy isn’t still open mouthed in shock, like Michael isn’t chokingback laughter all vicious and brilliant, adoring affection so familiar on his grinningface.Tomorrow Geoff will get a phone call.Will hear that Travis was taken out in some kind of scuffle, died slow andbloody in a bar just outside the city. He’ll hear that it was an inside job,some escalation of a drunken argument between Travis’ people, that their wholecrew is in uproar and already splintering apart, not much of a threat to anyonebesides each other. Geoff will know that despite their desire Michael andJeremy couldn’t have had anything to do with it, death witnessed by far toomany to be a frame-up, will know that even Gavin, who’d been sniffing aroundthe deal ever since his precious Lads started complaining, can’t possibly haveforced Travis’ crewmates to kill him. And yet, tomorrowGeoff will glare at the three flopped all over his couch, faux surprise at thenews doing nothing to hide the way they’re as unapologetically self-satisfiedas overgrown cats, and will know with the absolute surety of any harried parentthat somehow, in some way, this mess was absolutely their fault.For now, though, three friends spill laughingout of the bar, hopped up on petty vengeance and unmatched camaraderie, on thesweet victory of their chosen reality; the night is young, the city is theirs,and the Lad’s remain untouchable.

#FAHC #This is not really what you wanted #also you may have died of old age waiting #but have a mountain of utter nonsense #and awkward imagery #because why would I want to prepare for my workshop #sorry friend! #'wiles' made me laugh #shouldn't have but it did #Ask #Anonymous #The Longest of Posts #Loaded Guns and Sharp Teeth #Ain't Never Had A Friend Like Me #Golden Guns And Glitter Bombs