devil in the mirror. @dombaccari - Tumblr Blog

khalilhassan:

***

His truths seemed to fall flat, but he noticed the way the other pulled back ever so slightly. It was the truth; he didn’t know a damn thing about Sean and he assumed it was for the best. His loyalty didn’t side with the Crane’s cause, but he had a part ot play and if he didn’t, people were going to continue to get hurt.

With that knowledge in mind, he had no intention of fighting back. If the anger that raged within the other finally won, he’d only defend himself. “If that’s what you think,” he countered, tone hushed as he looked back at the mechanic. He couldn’t even blame Dom for the anger that flooded his system. Had Khalil been on the receiving end of the watch, he wouldn’t have hesitated to throw a punch to get what he wanted.

“Believe it or not, I’m not here to pick sides.” He was working an angle, one that just so happened to put him in the middle of something much bigger than him. “You want to know what happened to your friend? Let me figure that out.” He wasn’t asking Dom to trust him, but if he’d give him a chance, he’d show a little good faith effort for the sake of showing he wasn’t entirely leashed up.

A moment of stillness seemed to settle over Dom. It came nowhere near peace but he took a moment to catch his breath anyway. He felt ragged and worn down, firing at every side in a war that he’d started; one he’d hoped would have claimed him by now. But somehow he was still fighting, the Cranes giving him more to fight for.

So he stepped back, looking Khal up and down as if he might find what he was looking for written somewhere in the lines between. It seemed an easy enough conciliation. What more could he lose by agreeing? He worked his jaw, taking a step back, putting space between them. “Alright,” he agreed, nodding once. He’d give him this much. This much, and that was it. Because Dominic didn’t make the same mistake twice.

#we could probably wrap this here and move on?#c: khal

dylan-westwick:

Her eyes widened as she had just been listening to this album the night prior. She felt like she probably looked like she was a ghost. The tattoo on her back feeling a little bit more painful for a moment. Clearing her throat she gave a nod. “That we’re just two lost souls swimmin’ in a fish bowl year after year.” She remembered her line of thinking last night. She knew technically what the song was about as her father had told her. But it still felt like his memory as she’d listened to it. He’d loved Pink Floyd and there were a few lyrics that stuck with her but the ones she’d said aloud were the first of the two couplets at the end of the lyrics. And she felt a heaviness in her heart again, alone in the way she felt like all she did was run over the same old ground and finding the same old fears. She wet her lips, a bit, trying to ease the dryness in her throat. “I like ‘em a lot.” She added as the instrumental intro still played.

He pretended not to catch the reaction the song seemed to cause, his eyes remaining fixed on the road even as a slight wrinkle formed in his brow. He was curious to tug on that thread, watch it unravel. He could use it, could find common ground and exploit it. But he found he didn’t want to do that, didn’t want to disturb those memories. They were finite now, precious. “Agreeable instead of contrary,” he commented instead, the bar just now coming into view, “if I were a better man, I’d probably ask if you were alright.” He purposefully didn’t, the unspoken words just as clear as if they had come out of his mouth. I’m not a better man. Warnings, if she chose to take them as such. Part of him still hoped that she would.

#c: dylan

everdaugherty:

—

“Thank you.” Ever said blankly, not in the mood to discuss much of anything now. If anything he would prefer somehow to just go back to the way things were before the stupid argument they had. “And we haven’t had a housewarming party.” Walking up the stairs he turned into the living room, fully expecting Dom to follow behind him.

“No, I’ve gotten over everything. Just wondering when you would decide to show up to kiss and make up over it.” It was a bit forced, but he really did miss Dom despite how he felt about the whole situation that had ended up playing out. Though he assumed it was still going on at the moment, Dom wasn’t one to take a threat and backdown. “I thought maybe you forgot where I worked or something which would have been odd, but I guess you were just waiting for a good time to get a tour of the new house, right?” Sitting on the couch his blue eyes focused in on Dominic who seemed a bit out of place at the moment. “What else is happening now?”

“Not really my style,” Dom said, fingers trailing over the wall, the counters, anything he passed as if he were leaving his mark behind. “I’ve always liked it best when it’s easy.” He lifted his eyes to meet Ever’s, something almost soft within them. It wasn’t vulnerability, would never be vulnerability, but it was something. A small step to bridge the chasm between them, maybe. But Dom would never beg, he was far too proud for that.

He pursed his lips together to hold back an eye roll. Ever had always been the more dramatic of the two of them, and apparently he intended to see this through to the end. “Forget where you worked?” He chuckled, though no humor existed within it. “Not with that hot little number working behind the desk.” Dom remained standing as Ever took a seat. Mere feet separated them as Dom remained on the opposite side of the room, leaning casually against the wall. He let Ever’s question go unanswered, let it hang in the air for a long moment. And then he decided to give just a little. Because— and only because— it was Ever. “Matteo has a kid.”

#c: ever

selinakdemirs:

☾

His gaze stripped her bare, and she let him.

Because if he had been shaped and molded into serrated edges and sharp teeth, then she had been shaped by water — ancient; flowing since the beginning of time like the bloodline that had shackled her since birth, polishing her edges until they became smooth, refined. But still, did the rock not remember the pain it took to be molded into statue? ( Did that make it more, or less beautiful? )

And so, Selin simply met his distrusting eyes; let them search hers with a candor that stood opposite to the look in his — half a promise and a threat.

Because in their world, was there anything more terrifying than vulnerability?

“You ask not about the baby, or the father, but of why I’m here — what I want.” She repeated his words carefully. Curiously — but not quite incredulously. A soft, humorless laugh escaped her lips. “You must think the entire world is against you. Isn’t it tiring? Does the anger make it feel any lighter?”

Was she inciting him or consoling him? She was no longer sure.

“I don’t want much,” Selin hummed after a moment. “Merely to — what do they call it these days? — get to know you.” She gave a caricature of an innocent smile. “I hope you have an extra room. I don’t have much luggage, but sofa beds are not good for the back.”

Dominic did not tend to do things by halves. He was all in, for better or for worse, and that meant that, right now, she had coaxed out every ounce of his mistrust. It would take a hell of a lot more than a pocket watch to sway him. He didn’t doubt the Cranes reach, would never doubt them again, so until proven otherwise, it was just as likely this was all a set up.

He stiffened at her accusations, at the precision of them, and he clenched his teeth so hard he was certain they’d crack. The baby. The thought brought with it a visceral sort of reaction. He hadn’t processed it— couldn’t process it. Not here, not now. Certainly not in front of this stranger who had bulldozed into his life and shaken the rubble down to its very foundation.

His walls came up even higher if it were possible, a smile that held nothing of amusement within it tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Try to therapize me, see how far that gets you,” he suggested with a wicked sort of dare dancing between his words.

The smile fell, however, as she continued speaking and his cool exterior cracked as something icy slithered in. Normally skilled at reading people, he found himself off-kilter as he hunted her eyes for answers too well guarded. “I run a garage, not a hotel. I’ve no interest in getting to know you.” He nodded his chin in the direction of the front. “I trust you can find the door.”

#c: selin

seykacar

❝ at the garage with @dombaccari —

A bottle of whiskey, a tiny mint tin filled with some pre-rolled joints, and a (literally) cheeky polaroid picture of the new tattoo on her ass— as far as care packages went it was a bit of an odd one, but perfectly suited to the recipient if you asked Shay.

Not that she wanted to come off as if she’d actually given the ‘gift’ much thought. Or as if she’d taken the time to snap the photo just for him - which she did, but that was irrelevant.

That’s why it was all neatly, not so neatly tossed into the bottom of a plain, crumbled brown bag that’d originally come along with the Jack. You could call her a lot of things, but at least the girl was fucking resourceful in a pinch.

“— hello?” Nothing but silence answered back. She listlessly picked up an abandoned wrench in the parking lot, inspected a spot of grease on its worn metal, and then let it drop to the pavement with a dull clang. Admittedly, she hadn’t announced she was stopping by and it’s not like they were on speaking terms lately… but she knew in her gut he was around somewhere.

Even now, all these years later, she still had a sick (and often unwanted) sixth sense with it came to him. Besides, the Camaro sat not twenty feet away. Not a fucking chance it’d be there unattended after the damage done to his garage.

“I come bearing gifts, asshole.” More silence. She jostled around the bag in her hand, letting the contents clash and bang together in some dissonant symphony.

Bored with attempting to resurrect Dom from whatever depths of hell he’d disappeared to, she flounced over to the Camaro. It really was a beautiful car. Be a damn shame if something - or someone - ruined the paint.

Temptation reigned but in the end she only chose to make it her throne, and that’s exactly how he inevitably found her. Sprawled out across the hood— knees bent, head hanging off the edge, hair freefalling to the floor, and a book in her hands. His book, a well worn copy of Fahrenheit 451, stolen from the passenger seat.

“Have you reached chapter sixteen yet?” Her eyes slid to the upside down boots directly in front of her face, then back to the page. “I never took you for a fairy porn kinda guy, but— whew. I’m almost impressed.” The novel folded over the bookmark of her finger, nestled somewhere within chapter three of what she knew damn well was NOTa smutty,supernatural read.

“You should really lock your car.” Shay smiled, saccharine sweet. Then, expression blanking, she flipped up to sitting. “But thankfully I came to maybe make your day a little better, not run off with your one true wife.”

Her ‘heard you’ve had a shit go of it lately’ gift thrust forward, held only by the edges of her fingertips lest their skin accidentally touch. “Here. Merry Chrisma-what-the-fuck-happened?”

dombaccari

Dom didn’t normally bring his work to work, but he also wasn’t normally down one Sean Roberts, either. He’d been fucking with this code for weeks now, editing and revising until it was perfect, until he was sure it could cause some damage.

His fingers flew over the keys on his laptop, tucked away in his office like some sort of moleperson. It’d been a mercy that the damage to the shop had been successful at driving most people away. It wasn’t like he needed the money and he definitely didn’t need the headache. He’d barely possessed patience as it was, but between the lack of sleep and revenge planning, he’d been worn thin as tissue paper.

Emerging from his office, he was struck with the sense that he wasn’t alone. He hadn’t heard the clattering or Shay’s taunting voice, so his hand slid to the gun tucked in his pants. He hoped it was a Crane— though he knew it wouldn’t be. Ivory tower assholes couldn’t be assed to scuff up their own boots— but hoped all the same. Self defense, he’d claim. And he wouldn’t even be lying. Not entirely.

Instead, he was met with cascading dark tresses as they fell over the hood of his Camaro, eyes settling on Shay.

His heart was a fist in his chest, jaw clenching as he stopped where he was, a good several feet between them. Why now? Why, when he was dealing with the mess Matteo had left behind, dealing with the war with the Cranes, why was she here to situate herself directly in the middle of it all?

His brows furrowed, eyes roving the cover of his book in her hand before sliding back to her face, hard and impassive. “What are you doing here, Shay?”

Though she was already answering that question, sitting up with arms outstretched. His eyes fixed on her for a long moment before they fell to the gift in her hands, but he made no move to take it.

She couldn’t be here, couldn’t be seen here. He’d left her behind years ago for this very reason. Ice, serrated like a knife, sliced through his lungs as he hardened himself against the sight of her, hardened that sliver of his heart that had been malleable beneath her hands and her hands alone. He wouldn’t risk anyone else. Refused. “I’m not interested in...” He waved a hand in her general direction, “whatever this is. Take your shit and go. You know where to find the door.”

#c: shay

📱Lena ↹ Dom

Lena: If you weren't lying you wouldn't change the subject.

Lena: Delete them or I'm showing up.

Dom: attention, then.

#c: lena #text: lena

📱Lena ↹ Dom

Lena: That's a fucking lie

Lena: And the fucking video too

Dom: is there a point to all this or do you just need attention

#c: lena #text: lena

📱Lena ↹ Dom

Lena: delete my nudes, too

Dom: never saved them

#c: lena #text: lena

📱Lena ↹ Dom

Lena: Literally will never fuck you again.

Lena: Delete my god damn number.

Dom: ok

#c: lena #text: lena #i'm sry

📱Lena ↹ Dom

Lena: Is it exhausting being such a fucking pendejo all the god damn time?

Dom: just say you need to get laid

#c: lena #text: lena

📱Lena ↹ Dom

Lena: If someone asked me who I hate most in the world right now I'd say you.

Dom: I'm not really in the mood for foreplay but thanks for thinking of me

#c: lena #text: lena

everdaugherty:

—

Ever stood still as Dom walked into his house without being let in. He was angry and upset but he watched without attempting to stop him. It would be pointless to try anyway. “So you’ve got them watching me now? Afraid I’m going to do something stupid?” He asked, not actually wanting an answer to either question.

Studying the man in front of him it was hard for him to believe that they had let something come between them. They had been friends for so long and had known everything about each other that this all still felt extremely wrong. And even knowing that he didn’t want to be in a fight with Dom he wasn’t about to try and fix things. Not after everything that he had learned. Turning to shut his front door he leaned against the wall beside it before speaking. “Are you going to explain why you’ve shown up uninvited or do I not need to know that? You see, normally I like surprise visits, but I could have gone without this one.”

“So dramatic,” Dom tsked, though the implication was irritating. It was as though Ever had forgotten everything just because he hadn’t been kept in the loop this one fucking time. Or maybe it was willful ignorance which was even worse. Ever was not a stupid guy, but Dom would struggle finding an argument against it when it came to all this.

“Can’t a guy just stop by to wish his friend well on his engagement? And his new home? I guess my invite to the housewarming got lost in the mail.” He crossed his arms over his chest, a shield between him and the man he’d called a brother. “And I was curious to see if you were still holding onto that righteous indignation of yours. It’s not your best look, I have to say.”

#c: ever

khalilhassan:

***

Dom dropped his arms, letting Khal go, and took a step back. His eyes were hard and narrowed, disbelief and mistrust clear as they pinned him to the spot. “What do you call being their little errand boy, then?” But something had shifted, some intuition that told him to shut up for once and listen. He didn’t have to trust the guy, but maybe he could be useful.

Or maybe Dom had grown used to making all the wrong moves.

“Not,” he answered immediately, crossing his arms over his chest. “So, what? You want to help? Out of the goodness of your heart?” He spat on the ground to let Khal know exactly what he thought about that. “You’ll forgive me if I think you’re full of shit.”

#c: khal

aksel-polat:

Aksel sucked in the hollows of her cheeks, a chasm in the center of her chest reminding her of how he made her skin prickle and burn. She’d suspected it was purposeful for a while, but she bit her tongue and lulled her head towards her shoulder, nothing giving away the inner rolling of thunder beneath her bone except for the flush of color against her cheeks. Aksel hated it almost as much as she told herself to hate him. “I’d rather not give you the satisfaction.” She exhaled and cast a sad look down at Buttercup, “C'mon, try harder. Shower poof.” She scoffed and scooped the dog up, closing the space between them, “I found it.” She replied, blinking up, “Him, Buttercup.” Her eyes roved over his face for a small beat of silence, “You can manage to at least be nice to the dog- he’s had a rough life.” She spoke lightly despite her nerves, “So- is my car useless or have you been able to pull off the impossible?” She asked quickly finding it rather difficult to stand where she’d found him screaming, a sound she’d not forgotten and still had no answers for, but as little as she knew Aksel knew better than to assume she’d ever have a satisfying answer.

He liked watching her squirm, something like smug satisfaction in the tight press of his lips as color rose to her cheeks. Was she remembering their night together? He imagined she was. It seemed he had found his way beneath her skin and she’d yet to find a way to rid herself of him completely. He smirked, eyes dark and cruel. “Mop, then?”

His eyes cut back to the direction of the garage and back. “I’m a little shorthanded these days,” his fist tightened at his side, “so I need some more time to work on it. It’s a piece of shit, but I’ve done more with less.” He wiggled his fingers in the space between them, taunting. “I’ve got the magic touch after all.”

#c: aksel

rachelhargrove:

It seemed like they were possibly playing the same game. Trying to figure out ways into which in her case she could gather a little information or for his case avoid giving any information. Were they just at a stalemate now? She listened to his critique and gave a faux wince. “Oof, six out of ten? Hopefully that’s not what you’d score our night together.” Rachel commented, hoping either to get some rapport built with him. If anything she could at least share what she had seen here. Which looked like it was highly probable that something intentional had happened. She could slice together that and police reports and still have a bit of a piece. She wasn’t going to put her journalistic integrity into question though by sleeping with someone to possibly get a story. And the emphasis was on possibly, because Rachel didn’t even know if this man would share anything with her.

Dom’s eyebrows arched, unsurprised at her forwardness though finding it didn’t quite fit in this space the way it had that night at the bar. He gave her a once-over, eyes dragging down the length of her as if in recollection of the night in question. Faces tended to blend together, names long since forgotten. But he remembered. And he hadn’t been left disappointed. A half smirk threatened at the corner of his mouth, but never quite seemed to find its place. “I didn’t realize I was supposed to keep score. Maybe a refresher?” Though the joke was obvious enough, there as no teasing lilt to his voice, no underlying haha unless to be found. It was impossible to feel much of anything standing among the wreckage of all the things he’d fought so hard for and lost. A nod of his chin in her direction. “When does the article come out? You know, so I can at least make sure I have all my ducks in a row here before the locals come storming in with pitchforks.”

#c: rachel

dylan-westwick:

“Oh I wasn’t callin’ you a piece of work, I was statin’ a fact that you are one.” Dylan clarified as she gave him a smirk. It was hard to be upset in being in this car. She looked over at him, if she squinted enough she could see that maybe he was actually doing something with his face other than frowning. But she laughed at his sarcastic remark. “Well I wouldn’t pass up that opportunity.” Dylan held her hand out to Dom as if to tell him to give her the keys. She knew that would not be happening in a lifetime. If he wouldn’t even let her be in the driver seat of a vehicle and him in the passenger seat, why would he ever let her be in control of his car on her own? But she found it amusing to tease him nonetheless. Putting her hand back and buckling her seatbelt, she placed her feet far enough away from the book so as to not absentmindedly step on it and relaxed back in the seat as much as her fresh ink would let her. “Alright maestro, what’re we listenin’ to today?”

Dom only offered a blank, hard stare in response to her outstretched hand. “Not a chance,” he said, sliding the keys into the ignition, the car roaring to life with a familiar, rumbling purr. As if in answer to her question, the speakers came alive, Pink Floyd’s Wish You Were Here filling the car as he took off towards The Jagged Yard. He shot a single look her way, brows arched expectantly. “Any big opinions on Pink Floyd?”

#c: dylan

elena-taylor:

It was a sight to behold — Dominic Baccari just as he was. Undone of pretenses and bravado in no shirt but with boots on his feet and a joint in his hand. Her eyes took him in as his did her. No shame in their rich, mahogany hue, even as they mentally appreciated his lack of clothes and how his tongue swept across the joint’s thin, white paper. They didn’t really have a friendship to speak of, but the physical connection was undeniable.

Once inside a townhouse Lena knew well, from parties and late night exchanges like this, she turned back to hug Dominic. Their was a considerable difference in their statures, which made it hard but not impossible to get her arms around his neck. Her chin rested in the crook of his bare shoulder for a couple heartbeats before her toes couldn’t hold her up anymore and she dropped back down onto flat feet.

The closeness of their faces made the air around her feel hot. Lena’s lips rolled together to subdue what would’ve been a smile. She was tempted to kiss him, which would’ve made for a record start time, but when her hands found his something else came to mind. ‘Thank you’, Lena mouthed before her withheld smile bloomed wide and she snagged the joint from Dom’s fingers. Brazenly, she lit up right in front of him, letting the smoke plume in both their faces.

Dominic kicked the door closed with the toe of his boot, turning to follow her into the living room and nearly colliding with her back in time for her to turn and pull him into a hug. He didn’t return it, back straightening and arms hanging limply at his sides. He wanted to recoil, uncomfortable with intimacy that had nothing to do with the physical. It was only the fact that this was for her— that it had nothing to do with him— that kept him in place.

Something loosened in him infinitesimally. Touch starved for connection that had nothing to do with plots or plans, no pretending or masquerading. A white flag raised on his war, if only for the night.

His eyes narrowed as she plucked the joint from his hands, lighting up his work like she’d earned it. He took a single, threatening step forward, though violence didn’t own the movement. A dark sort of promise, instead, seemed to glitter in his eyes as he reached out, pinching the joint between his fingers and claiming it once more. “You sure you want to pick a fight you can’t win?”

#c: elena

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