#very inspired by my real life shitty pet store job | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

omniscientprostitute · 6 years

Text

Young Gun

Relationship: Trevor Collins x fem!Reader

Summary: You meet one of the infamous Fakes

Warnings: cursing, mild violence, random plot directions

Word Count: 2835

A/N: This is set in the FAHC universe. I took some liberties. Also, this work was inspired by a fic I read a few years ago called “down to ride (till the happy end)” by raewastaken (IWriteLove) on Archive of Our Own.http://archiveofourown.org/works/5838430

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It wasn’t a secret that Los Santos wasn’t the best place to live The city was full of gangs and corrupt cops. It was impossible to be sure who was civilian and who was criminal. It didn’t help that your apartment was in a sketchy part of town. It wasn’t your fault you were trying to pay off a college tuition and pay rent on a minimum wage paycheck. You worked at a cute little bookstore a few blocks from your apartment. You long twelve hour shifts caused you to fall into bed exhausted most nights. That meant you could normally sleep through police sirens, but they seemed closer tonight, as if the police were circling the neighborhood. You could have sworn someone was at the window in the living room. You held your breath and laid perfectly still, while you listened to the latch on your window click. There was silence, then soft footsteps creeping towards your room. You grabbed the book off of your nightstand and scurried behind your bedroom door. There was a tense moment before the door cautiously squeaked open. You swung the book, catching the tall man on the arm. He spun, and you looked down the barrel of a handgun. You squeaked, dropping the book and putting your hands up. The man moved you to the living room, where he turned on the lights after closing all of the drapes and blinds. He wore a black bandana over the majority of his face, but his brown eyes were soft and expressive. “Do you have a phone?”

“Right bedside table.” You instructed. “The password is Alexander Pope’s death date.”

“Am I supposed to know what that is?” The man sassed.

“Are you supposed to be in my apartment?” You automatically snapped back. “It’s May thirtieth seventeen-forty-four.”

The man rolled his eyes. “Stay here.” You did as he instructed. Your fingers playing with the hem of your sleeping shirt. He returned to the room with your phone pressed to his cheek. The person on the other end of the phone didn’t seem happy. The man said his general whereabouts before slipping the phone into his pocket.

“Excuse me.”

“I can’t have you going to the police and tracing back the number I called.”

“Then I need a couple hundred dollars, so I can buy myself a new phone tomorrow.” You took pleasure in his surprised raised eyebrows. “I work a minimum wage job and have to pay off student loans and pay rent; it’s going to take me months to make enough to afford a phone. I’m a petite, twenty-two year old female without a car; my phone is the only protection I have. So, unless you’re going to escort me around the city, I need enough money for a new phone.” The staring contest between you and the man was interrupted by a short honk from outside your apartment. Without addressing you, the man exited the apartment with your phone.

The first thing you did when you got back to your apartment after work was take your bra off and open the fridge. You settled for reheating Mac N’ Cheese, craving some comfort food after the last twenty-four hours of stress. You didn’t notice the little wrapped box sitting on the coffee table, until you plopped down on the couch. The box was rectangular and heavy, wrapped neatly in Happy Birthday wrapping paper. You carefully ripped the paper, exposing the newest smartphone on the market. You almost dropped it to fumble for the little card that was tucked in the box:

I can’t afford to escort you around the

city, but you’re too cute to leave helpless.

The password is Alexander Pope’s death.

~Zed

You smiled at the note despite the fact that it was written by a dangerous criminal who broke into your apartment and stole your phone. Despite everything, you unlocked the phone anyway and found that all of your contacts, photos, and applications had been transferred over. Reopening the card, you considered the name Zed. It was most likely an alias. Using your new phone, you googled “Zed in Los Santos”. The most likely result was a series of police reports linking Zed with various robberies as well as the Fake AH Crew. One of the articles had a picture included. The man had been caught on video robbing a gas station, and the man in the grainy image was definitely the same guy who had broken into your apartment. The new information did make the prior evening even more terrifying, but you figured you would never see Zed again. You didn’t have anything he would want.

Forty-three minutes. You had been sitting at the counter of one of the less seedy bars in Los Santos for forty-three minutes, waiting for a date that most likely wasn’t going to show. You hadn’t been on a date in years, which was supposedly some sort of social sin based on the way your coworker reacted. So, you had let yourself be set up on a blind date. Now you felt stupid, and slightly insulted, sitting alone at a bar in a nice black dress, playing games on your phone and drinking shitty beer. You were also sort of on edge due to the group of rowdy guys huddled around the pool table by the door. There was a woman with them, but she was obviously one of them. You pushed your finished beer away and checked the time. It was eight-ten; you weren’t comfortable being out alone after nine-thirty. You knew there was no point waiting around, but it was sort of nice being out of the apartment. You looked up as the bartender set a drink down in front of you. “Courtesy of Zed.” You startled at the name and fought the urge to jerk around and search for him. Instead, you brought the glass to your lips, pleased that he had sent you something decent to drink.

You left the bar after finishing the drink. It was closing in on ten o’clock which made you nervous, but you began your walk anyway. You were a few buildings down from the bar when you felt a hand gently grab your elbow. Jerking away, you lifted your bag to hit whoever had grabbed you. You thumped the man a few times in the chest with your purse before recognizing the bandana and the brown eyes. “Jesus, Zed.”

He seemed to perk up at the use of his alias. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t want you to walk home alone. It’s not safe. You should take a cab.”

“That’s sweet, thank you.” You began walking, not wanting to be out on the street any longer than you had to.

“So, why were you all alone at a bar?”

“I got stood up.” You admitted. “Then you bought me a drink, but didn’t come to say hello.”

“I don’t really want my friends to know about you.”

“Yet you ditch them to walk me home?”

“I told them I was going to get something to eat.”

You decided to change the conversation. “So, is the bandana a crew thing?”

“No. They prefer masks, but masks mess up my hair.” Zed ran a hand through his hair. You laughed politely, but allowed yourself to appreciate the fluffy brown hair. The tips were a bit lighter, like it had been dyed. “You look very nice by the way.”

You blushed. “Thank you. I’m glad someone appreciated the work I put in.” You obnoxiously flipper your hair making Zed laugh.

“Did you know the guy?”

“No. He’s my coworker’s friend.” You noted that you were closing in on your apartment. You were a little sad that your walk was ending. “It’s not that big of a deal. I mostly agreed to humor her.”

“Really?” Zed inquired; his right eyebrow raising.

You didn’t know why you were being so open with Zed. He was a dangerous criminal, but he also seemed like a real person. “I’ve been single for over six months. I get a little lonely sometimes.” Zed walked you up to your apartment. “Thank you for walking me home. Even though you broke into my apartment, you made me feel safe.” You made it obvious that you were teasing. “Have a good evening Zed.” You suppressed the urge to kiss his cloth covered cheek before retreating into your apartment.

For the next month, you life returned to it’s calm state. Work ruled your life. Despite you coworker’s further pressing, you declined any other dates. You wouldn’t say you fell into a depression, but there was definitely a dullness that took over your life. If your landlord would have allowed it, you would have gotten a pet, probably a dog that would require you to leave the apartment for walks or get off the couch to play.

You were sitting on your couch eating a salad with limp lettuce and watching The Twilight Zone, when your living room window slid open. A short but wide shouldered man slid in before collapsing to the floor. You sprinted over, closing the window, and drawing the curtains The man rolled onto his back: “You’re Treyco’s girlfriend right?”

“Who?” You stepped back as the man got to his feet.

“I thought this was the right apartment.”

“The only criminal I know is Zed, and I haven’t seen him in over a month.”

“So you are her!” The man pumped his fist in the air. “Zed is Treyco.” He explained. “And, I’m Rimmy Tim, but you can call me Lil J. I’m Treyco’s best friend.”

“Umm, it’s nice to meet you.”

“I should be saying that to you.” Lil J followed you into the kitchen, where you began fixing yourself more salad since most of yours had ended up on the floor. “He hasn’t stopped talking about you, since he broke into your apartment to avoid the cops. God, it’s so annoying. ‘Oh Jeremy, she was so adorable. She’s so smart and she wears Batman boxers to bed. Her name is Y/N, and she works at a book store.” Lil J suddenly dropped the high pitched voice he had adopted. “it’s so gross. I just had to check you out.” You knew your face was bright red. You were flattered by the compliments, although it seemed like Zed or Treyco was stalking you. “I gotta’ admit; you are pretty cute.”

“Thank you?”

“Well, I’ve gotta’ run. See you around Y/N.” Lil J then walked out the front door.

The next morning you found a vase of flowers on your counter with a note that said:

Sorry about Lil J.

~Zed

You were in the middle of straightening the children’s books when the bell over the front entrance tinkled softly. “Welcome to Marlee’s Books. Holler if you need anything.” You called before peeking your head around the bookshelf. The most attractive man ever was looking at the display of new releases in the front. He was tall but not lanky. He wore light brown leather boots, fitted dark wash jeans, and a light gray jacket over a pale green shirt. His hair and the tips of his ears were tucked under a black beanie. He looked like a model. You hid back behind the stacks and internally screamed as you moved from the children’s section to non-fiction. A man that gorgeous probably already had a girlfriend.

“Hey.” You jumped at the voice that almost sounded familiar. “I was wondering if you had any Alexander Pope?” You nodded, quickly setting aside the books you were straightening and hurried out of the aisle. You didn’t make eye-contact with the man as he followed you through the store.

“All of our Neoclassical authors are in this area.” You stopped in front of the shelf housing works by Alexander Pope. “My personal favorite is The Complete Collection; it’s a little expensive, but it includes a partial biography and all of his literary criticisms. Most collections only include his poems and essays.”

“Thank you.” You took that as a dismissal and returned to the non-fiction section.

The man perused the store for more than an hour before approaching the counter. He had selected three books, one of which was the collection that you had recommended. “Did you find everything you were looking for?”

“Yes, thank you.” In a lapse of self-awareness, you made eye-contact with the man. He had brown eyes that looked like pools of melted dark chocolate.

“Your total is sixty-five forty-eight.” The man handed you a fancy black card with the name Trevor Collins engraved in gold on it. “Have a nice day Mr. Collins.”

“You too.”

The rest of your shift was uneventful. A few of the regulars came in to buy some of the new releases, but other than that the store was quiet. The lack of patrons allowed you to complete your duties earlier than usual. You vacuumed and dusted before clocking out and handing your keys to the closing manager. Knowing that you had no food in your apartment, you decided to stop by a Mexican place on the way home. Had you been paying attention, you wouldn’t have gone in. Gang territory disputes could happen anywhere at anytime. Sometimes they happened in the middle of the street. Sometimes they happened in a Mexican restaurant. You were immediately knocked over the head with the but of a gun and bound with rubber hosing. The gang member waived a gun in your face as a warning to be quiet, then they shoved you in the back. There were three employees in the back, all of which had been killed by a bullet to the forehead.

They seemed to have forgotten about you until the cops showed up. You were forced over bodies of the losing gang and pressed against the storefront window. A gun was pressed to your head. You could see about three cop cars and a handful of reporters with cameras outside of the restaurant. You wondered if they were live, if somewhere hot guy Trevor Collins, or criminal nice-guy Zed was watching you be used as a hostage. Everyone was yelling, but you weren’t understanding what was being said. You figured they were negotiating with your life.

Suddenly the window in front of you shattered, and the guy who had been holding you dropped with a bullet in his head. You had enough mind to fall onto your stomach as the night’s second shoot out occurred over your head. You curled into a ball and waited for the police to get you. You were put in an ambulance and taken to the hospital, but you were sent home before midnight.

You entered your apartment to find the hot guy Trevor Collins standing in your kitchen with a familiar bandana hanging around his neck. “I should have figured you were gorgeous.” You walked past Trevor to throw yourself onto the couch. “So, were you there or did you see it on the news?”

“I saw it on the news.” You felt the couch dip by your feet.

“Why are you here Zed, or Treyco, or Trevor, whoever you are right now?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then leave!” You jerked into a sitting position. “You’re whole--I’m going to be everywhere for a week then disappear for a month--thing is incredibly confusing, especially with you detached but protective attitude. Either take me on a date or leave me alone!” Your stomach dropped as Trevor got up from the couch.

“You should probably take off work tomorrow. Tonight must have been really stressful.”

Despite you being unable to close your eyes without getting vivid flashbacks, you didn’t call into work. Your manager and coworkers who had seen the news sent you home, but you didn’t return to your apartment you hunkered down in a cafe around the corner. Alone was the worst thing for you at the moment. You stared into the black mil of your coffee. You couldn’t tell if Trevor had been hurt or angered by your outburst. He definitely closed himself off, but you hoped that didn’t mean he was leaving you alone. Bot that he owed you anything. Trevor was probably busy with criminal stuff; he didn’t need to be messing around with you. “You are supposed to be at home.” You looked up, a small smile gracing your lips at Trevor’s exasperated tone. “Do you mind if I sit?” You shook your head. “So, coffee shop?”

“Didn’t really want to be alone.” You admitted. “I’m sorry about last night. That was out of line.”

“No, I needed to hear it.” Trevor looked down into his own coffee. “I like you a lot; I was just unsure what with my profession, but I talked to some friends, and I would really like to take you on a date.”

“Does this count?” You asked, nudging Trevor’s cup with your own.

“Only if you let me buy your next one.”

“I think we can make that happen.”

#trevor collins imagine #fahc trevor #reader insert

32 notes · View notes