Happy Saturday everyone. I just wanted to tell anyone who cares that I have a second blog now focused on hockey. It’s @thathockeyshit in case anyone wants to follow me there to see all my hockey rambling
“Had to cut a man down to get where I am // But someone had to tumble and someone had to stand”
Summary: As the Serpents face a new threat, you’re tasked with being the one on the inside. As if being a new Serpent wasn’t difficult enough, you find yourself constantly having to prove yourself to one Serpent in particular.
Part One
Warnings (warnings listed are for the entire fic, warnings in bold are included in this part): Drinking, drug use, gambling, criminal gang activity, smut, assault, murder. (Vague mention of murder in this part, nothing detailed)
Thank you to @steve-harringtonnn for editing this for me!
Word Count: 4,447
You had managed to rake in a fair amount of cash at La Bonne Nuit over the next few days. Coupled with the money from Jughead you had surpassed the minimum buy-in and were completely set for the game on Friday. Thursday night you pull up in front of your house, walking to the door and freezing when you spot a box sitting in front of the door. Something about it made your stomach twist into knots and prompted you to glance around you, half expecting someone to be watching you. Hesitantly you pick it up, immediately noticing it didn’t have any indication that it had been shipped to your house, unlocking your door you carry it to the kitchen table where you pull it open. Blinking a few times you take in what you were looking at. A silky, black dress folded carefully in a box, a cream coloured card sitting delicately on top of it. Cautiously you pick up the piece of paper, unfolding it and scanning over the words written in dark ink. ‘I forgot to mention the evening is formal. See you tomorrow.’ The card didn’t need a name, you knew exactly who it was from. But you didn’t know how he knew where you lived. Slowly you back away from the table, as if the dress posed some kind of sudden danger, your heart pounding in your chest. Fiddling with your jacket pocket you manage to free your phone, opening up the text message thread you had with Jughead.
You: ‘Dominick sent me a dress’
You: ‘To my house. I don’t know how he knows where I live’
You: ‘What should I do?’
You walk back to your living room, dropping down on the couch as you wait for a response. If Dominick wasn’t the leader of a gang or if you weren’t in a rival gang, things would be different. But they weren’t different and all you could focus on were the ‘what ifs’. What if he found out you were a Serpent? What if he realized that the plan was for you to try to get inside information from him? What if he came back?
You check your phone every few minutes for the better part of an hour, getting nothing in response from him. Finally you send another text message, to Fangs this time.
You: ‘Have you heard from Jughead recently? Need to talk to him ASAP’
Fangs replies almost immediately, with a response time significantly more impressive that Jughead.
Fangs: ‘Not since this morning. What’s going on?’
You: ‘Dominick knows where I live. I don’t know how. I don’t know what to do.’
Your phone’s ringtone startles you as you gaze down at the screen, Fangs’ name written across the top of it. Sliding your finger across the screen you bring your phone to your ear. “Hi,” you say quietly.
“What do you mean he knows where you live, Y/N? Is he at your house?”
“No,” you say quickly, hoping to calm him down at bit. “No, he left a dress at my door. I just got home and found it. I’m sure everything’s fine. I just feel a little, I don’t know ... weird about it.”
There’s muffled talking on the other end of the line and you furrow your eyebrows as you stare across the room. “Fangs?” you ask. “Are you busy? You can get back to whatever you were doing.”
“Hm?” Fangs hums, a second to process what you were saying before continuing. “No, it’s fine. I’m just a little drunk,” Fangs admits. “Sweet Pea’s DD’ing tonight though, so we’re going to come and get you, okay?”
“Come and get me?” you question, sitting up straighter on the couch, lifting your feet off the coffee table and planting them on the ground.
“Oh, yeah. Just stay at our place tonight,” Fangs says it with finality and you sigh, squeezing your eyes shut for a second. Fangs and Sweet Pea lived in one of the smallest apartments you had ever seen, to call it a two bedroom apartment was generous. But, to be fair, you weren’t sure just how much sleep you would be able to get at your own place and you needed to be in top form for tomorrow.
“Okay,” you say, standing up from your couch and heading towards your bedroom hesitantly, flicking on every light you could possibly turn on.
“We’re leaving now,” Fangs tells you. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Thanks, Fangs,” you say genuinely before hanging up the phone, walking into your bedroom and grabbing a bag from your closet, stuffing a change of clothes and something to sleep in into it. Making your way to the bathroom you grab a few essentials for the night. You would come back here to get ready the next day before the game, so you didn’t need to take much.
A knock on the door makes your heart race for a second, your phone vibrating a minute later.
Sweet pea: ‘It’s just me’
Letting out a relieved breath you hurry to the door, unlocking it and pulling it open. “Hey,” you say to him, quickly pulling on a pair of shoes and taking your keys and bag from where they were sitting by the door. “Sorry for disrupting your night.”
“It’s fine, we were going to leave the bar soon anyway,” he tells you casually, his hands jammed in his pockets as he waits in the doorway for you to gather your things. Things hadn’t improved much between the two of you. Though he did seem to be doubting your commitment to the Serpents a little less as each day went by, which was better than nothing.
You lock the door behind you, walking with Sweet Pea in silence to the truck sitting at the end of the driveway. The drive to Sweet Pea and Fang’s apartment is quick, you had only been there once, a stop to pick up Fangs for a drug run you had been doing and you were surprised at how close it really was to your place.
Walking inside you set your bag down on the floor by the couch, glancing around and taking in the apartment. Sparsely decorated, though in a space this small that was probably for the best. “I’m going to bed,” Fangs slurs tiredly, walking through the living room towards the hallway.
“Goodnight,” you comment, laughing softly as you sit down on the couch. “Thank you for letting me stay here,” you call, watching him disappear down the hallway. Turning your attention in the other direction you make eye contact with Sweet Pea, leaning against the entranceway of the living room.
“You tired?” he asks.
Shrugging you lean back on the couch, pulling your legs up and crossing them. “Not really.”
“Do you want a beer?” he asks, pushing himself away from the doorframe, walking towards the kitchen.
“Sure,” you reply, waiting in silence for him to return with two bottles of beer, handing you one before sitting down on the other end of the couch. Lifting the bottle to your lips you take a sip, the silence in the room feeling heavy and uncomfortable. “How do you feel about tomorrow?” you ask quietly.
Sweet Pea turns his head to look at you, hand wrapped around his bottle of beer, resting the bottom of it on his knee. “Fine. You’re the one who’s going to be doing the work. I’m just there for backup ... How do you feel?”
You swallow hard, staring at the living room floor. “Fine, yeah, it’s not a big deal. Just some poker,” you mutter, trying to disguise the anxiety you were feeling about it. A couple seconds pass in silence, the lack of response seeming to spur you on. “I’m a little nervous,” you admit, forcing yourself to look over at him to gauge his reaction.
“Why?”
“It’s a lot of money, a lot of money that the Serpents are letting me put on the line. What if I screw it up? You made it pretty clear that me losing the original two-hundred would have looked bad enough. What if I lose five-thousand dollars?”
Sweet Pea is quiet for a minute, not seeming to know what to say. “You made a lot of that money,” he points out. “You turned two hundred into two thousand in a few days.”
“But it’s not my money.” You bring the bottle back to your lips, taking a larger drink this time. “It didn’t start out as my money, it isn’t my money now.”
“Look,” Sweet Pea huffs, sitting up straighter on the couch and angling his body towards you. “There isn’t a single Serpent who hasn’t fucked something up for the Serpents at one point or another. I have, Fangs has, Jughead, Hog Eye, Byrdie,” he says sincerely, pausing to take a drink of his beer. “Most of us haven’t made five-thousand dollar fuck-ups, but who’s keeping track?” he adds with a chuckle.
You laugh softly, rolling your eyes at his last comment. “What did you do?”
Sweet Pea hesitates, his fingers suddenly tapping nervously on the side of his bottle. Clearly he wasn’t sure whether or not he wanted to tell you. “Fangs and I, we, uh ... we were supposed to be watching a guy we were trying to get information from, just making sure he stayed there, that he didn’t try to get away and that nobody tried to rescue him. That sort of shit. Should have been easy enough. He tried to escape and things got out of control and he ended up dead ... It’s not like he was a good guy, honestly I think he deserved it, but it wasn’t how it was supposed to go down.”
You nod slowly, listening to his story. “Well, here’s to hoping nobody dies tomorrow night,” you mumble, extending your bottle towards Sweet Pea and waiting for him to clink his against yours before taking another drink, needing some more liquor in your system to lighten the situation.
“Do you want to watch a movie or something?” Sweet Pea suddenly asks, both of you uncomfortable with the tenseness that had developed in the room.
“Yeah, sounds good.”
Sweet Pea picks up the remote, turning the small tv in the corner on and flicking through the categories on Netflix. Sweet Pea settles for your suggestion of Good Will Hunting, putting the remote down after the movie begins to play.
Halfway through the movie you feel yourself beginning to fade, having to fight off the heaviness in your eyelids as you adjust on the couch, laying across it with your legs bent at the knees, unable to stretch out with Sweet Pea on the other end of the couch. You feel Sweet Pea’s hands on your calves, pulling your legs over his lap, drawing your attention from the tv screen to him. “Thanks,” you whisper, uncertain of what else to say.
Sweet Pea chuckles, returning his attention to the movie without saying anything more.
At what point you drifted to sleep, you’re not sure, unable to remember exactly what the last thing in the movie you watched was. But a stirring at the end of the couch draws you awake and you look down, seeing Sweet Pea trying to navigate his way out from under your legs while trying not to wake you. You giggle softly and he looks over. “Sorry,” he mumbles and you pull your legs back, sitting up on the couch with a yawn.
“Don’t be,” you tell him, reaching for where your phone had ended up sitting on the floor, fallen from the couch at some point. 12:48am. “I’m going to get changed.” You reach over, grasping the bag you had brought before standing up.
“Bathroom’s down the hall,” Sweet Pea tells you, gesturing for the hallway while he shuts the TV off.
You nod and head in that direction, pushing open a half-open door and looking into it, quickly realizing it wasn’t the bathroom.
“That’s my room,” a quiet voice says behind you, startling you as your fingers grasp harder onto the doorknob.
“Jesus Christ,” you mutter, heart beating quickly as you turn around to face Sweet Pea. “I could have figured that out myself.”
“Do you, um, want to sleep in here?” he asks, seeming unsure of himself.
“With-.”
“No,” he interjects, chuckling. “No, I can sleep on the couch. You can take the bed.”
You look up at him, trying to hide the smile on your lips. Since when was Sweet Pea such a gentleman? “You’re way too tall to sleep on the couch,” you comment, brushing past him as you head to find the bathroom. “I’m fine with the couch,” you tell him, pushing the only other door that wasn’t fully closed open, thankfully finding the bathroom.
After changing and brushing your teeth you head back out towards the living room, Sweet Pea emerging from his bedroom as you walk down the hall. “Seriously, take my bed. I’ll feel better. If Dominick could figure out where you live I’m sure he can figure out where Fangs and I live too.”
You narrow your eyes at Sweet Pea, shaking your head. “He doesn’t even know who you are,” you point out.
“Maybe he followed us here,” Sweet Pea suggests.
“I think we would have noticed someone tailing us. And your apartment is what? Eight hundred square feet? If he shows up you won’t miss it,” you assure him, laughing softly. “I’ll see you in the morning,” you tell him before walking back down to the living room, grabbing a blanket that was strewn over the back of the couch, laying down and wrapping yourself up in the surprisingly soft and cozy blanket. Sleep overtakes you quickly, already halfway there after falling asleep on the couch during the movie.
The next morning you wake up to a quiet apartment, Sweet Pea and Fangs still asleep. You pull yourself off the couch, shuffling to the bathroom and brushing your teeth. Standing in their small bathroom you can’t shake the strange feeling that had come over you. A few days ago you were constantly ready to fight with Sweet Pea, not even about anything in particular, you just felt so much pent up anger about how he was acting towards you. But now, now you were sleeping at his house, had to convince him not to give up his bedroom for you. Like you guys were friends. Maybe you were. Leaving the bathroom you make your way to the kitchen, scrounging through the cupboards till you find everything you needed to make pancakes. Hopefully they wouldn’t mind you going through their kitchen if it meant a breakfast would come from it. As you pour some pancake batter into the frying pan you catch movement out of the corner of your eye, watching a tired Fangs walk into the room.
“You’re making breakfast,” he comments, walking to the counter and starting to make a pot of coffee.
Flipping the couple pancakes you turn around, watching Fangs turn the coffee maker on. “I hope that’s okay.”
Fangs chuckles, turning around and leaning against the counter while he waits for the coffee to brew. “Yeah, more than okay. You should stay over more often,” he jokes.
Rolling your eyes playfully you turn back to the stove, checking on the pancakes in the pan. “I’m not sure Sweet Pea would be okay with that.”
“You know he doesn’t dislike you, right?” Fangs asks, his tone suddenly more serious. “Sweet Pea,” he clarifies and you keep your back to him, staring down at the pancakes.
“He has a weird way of showing that he likes people then,” you mutter, flipping the pancakes onto a plate and turning around with it in your hand, extending them to Fangs.
Fangs takes the plate from you happily, reaching over for the bottle of syrup you had placed on the counter. “I’m not going to lie to you, he wasn’t sure about you when you first joined the Serpents,” he tells you, pouring some syrup onto the pancakes before grabbing a fork. “I think he’s starting to like you now though, proved you can take charge of shit. He can be standoffish, not great at talking about his feelings. You’ll get used to it.”
You nod, turning back around to the stove and adding more batter to the pan. A few minutes pass and Fangs heads to the table to eat his breakfast, the sluggishness of his movements making it very clear he was a lot more than ‘a little drunk’ the night before.
“‘Morning,” Sweet Pea says, walking into the kitchen and pausing when he sees you in front of the stove. “Sleep okay?” he asks you, walking over and glancing at the pancakes in the pan.
“I did,” you tell him, checking the bottom of the pancakes before scooping them onto a plate and handing them to Sweet Pea with a smile. Somehow he seemed different to you now. Whether it was something that happened the night before or something Fangs said, you weren’t sure.
“Thanks,” Sweet Pea tells you, taking the plate and the bottle of syrup to the table.
After making a few more pancakes you shut the stove off, carrying your plate to the table and sitting down with Fangs and Sweet Pea who were both already almost done with their breakfasts. “We need to cover your tattoo for tonight,” you say to Sweet Pea, watching him from across the table.
He hesitates, clearly fighting off an immediate reaction of saying no. “Nobody will even notice.”
You snort, rolling your eyes. “You have a tattoo on your neck, Sweet Pea. Everyone is going to notice. We can get some makeup.”
Sweet Pea sighs heavily before nodding in agreement. “Fine.”
You smile contentedly, knowing how badly he wanted to disagree with you. But you were right about this one, you knew it, he knew it, Fangs knew it.
“Sit down,” you tell him, gesturing towards the toilet. You pick up the bottle of concealer that the two of you had picked out for him earlier that day. You had spent half an hour in the drugstore, searching for the perfect colour while he insisted that they were all ‘good enough’.
“You know how to do this?” Sweet Pea asks, sitting on the toilet seat.
“You sure love to doubt me, Sweet Pea,” you mutter, tossing the packaging into the garbage can and walking closer to him. “Yes, I know how to use concealer,” you add.
Standing in front of him you step to the side, closer, further away, leaning down slightly, pulling back, trying to figure out what the easiest way to do this was going to be. “Turn your head that way,” you instruct, placing your fingers under his jaw and guiding his head to the side slightly, exposing the tattoo on his neck. You begin to cover it up, little bit at a time to try and keep it looking as natural as possible. You knew it would be just as suspicious for him to have a noticeable patch of concealer on the side of his neck as it would to just have a tattoo, so you were being careful about it. A slight pain in your back reminds you of how long you had been hunched over and you bite your bottom lip in contemplation before lifting one of your legs over his and sitting down on his lap.
“Whoa,” Sweet Pea mutters, pulling his hands back so he wasn’t touching you.
“Don’t be weird about it,” you whisper your fingers catching underneath his jaw as he turns his head to look back towards you. You use the leverage on his face to turn his head back away, your hand resting ever so slightly against his throat. You feel his throat bob with a heavy swallow and quickly pull your hand back. “Put your hands down,” you tell him as you notice he’s still hovering them out by his sides.
“Where?” he questions, starting to look back at you before remembering he was supposed to be looking the other way and turning his head back in that direction.
“My legs, dumbass,” you tell him, laughing softly before continuing to blend out the concealer in thin layers, stopping to check on it every couple seconds. You feel his hands rest on your thighs, tentatively, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to do it even though you had explicitly told him to. You blend out the concealer a bit more, leaning back and taking in the work you had done, pleased with it. Your fingers brush over his skin and you press down a little harder, a mischievous smile spreading on your lips. “Your heart is beating so fast,” you whisper to him after feeling his pulse for a few seconds, releasing the pressure against his neck.
“Are you actually covering my tattoo or are you just torturing me?”
You place your fingers under his jaw again, pulling his face to look at you this time. “You caught me,” you whisper, a smirk on your lips as you stare into his eyes. A couple seconds pass before you say anything more. “It’s done,” you tell him, dissolving the intensity with a soft smile. Placing your hands on his shoulders you get off his lap and turn to face the bathroom sink. Pulling open a bathroom drawer, you dig through it to find your primer and foundation. You finish your makeup and hair in record time, a slight anxiety building inside of you. Being honest with yourself, you just wanted the night to be over with.
“You okay?” Sweet Pea asks, noticing that you were no longer getting ready. Your hands were gripping around the edge of the bathroom counter, knuckles turning white as you take large, deep breaths.
You force your hands to relax, releasing the counter. “Yeah ... yeah, I’m alright. Just, a little ... worried about tonight,” you admit, remembering your conversation from the night before and taking another deep breath, forcing a smile onto your face. You turn back to the counter, busying yourself with putting your makeup back into the bathroom drawer.
Sweet Pea stands up, walking over and standing beside you at the counter, his hand resting on your lower back. “Hey, I’m going to be with you the whole time. It’s going to be fine,” he says, voice soft and reassuring.
Your eyebrows furrow as you pull back from him, laughing softly. “Yeah, I know it’s going to be fine,” you state despite not truly believing it. You were just feeling so uncertain about the sudden kindness Sweet Pea was expressing, feeling a strange need to make it stop.
Sweet Pea doesn’t say anything more as you turn around, walking out of the bathroom and heading for your room where the dress Dominick had left for you was laid out across your bed. Closing the door behind you, you quickly shed the clothes you were wearing, exchanging them for the dress. Stepping over to the mirror in your room you look at the reflection. The dress somehow fit perfectly, he had guessed your size impeccably well based on the limited amount of time he had seen you. It was an incredibly simple dress. Hemline that fell halfway down your thighs, the black fabric wrapped around your body delicately, held up by two incredibly thin straps. So simple and yet it felt like the classiest thing you had every put on your body. You add a simple pair of black heels to the outfit, pulling the door open.
“We should get going. I looked it up, Fairview Crest is a twenty minute drive from here and I don’t think Dom will be pleased if we’re late,” you call out, walking down the hallway towards the living room where you assumed you would find Sweet Pea.
“You’re still calling him Dom?” Sweet Pea replies, glancing up from where he was sitting on the couch, also having gotten changed while you were changing in your room. You can’t help but admire how good he looked in the black button down. Of course he had the sleeves rolled up, some break from looking too done up.
“That’s what he told me to call him,” you reply, feeling a little flustered as Sweet Pea stares at you, his phone having all but actually fallen from his hands when he saw you standing there in the dress.
“That’s the dress he bought you?”
You glance down at it before nodding, returning your gaze to Sweet Pea. “Yeah, it is.”
Sweet Pea scoffs, standing up and gesturing towards the door in indication that you two should go.
“What was with that reaction?” You follow him towards the door, grasping the small purse beside it, the purse that contained more cash than you had ever had in your possession in your life. More cash than you ever thought you would be carrying around.
“Nothing, let’s just go,” Sweet Pea says, opening your front door and stepping out. The sun was setting and despite the evening being like any other evening, you felt the sinking sun filling you with a slight dread. You lock the door behind you, double checking that it was secure before descending the steps in front of your house.
You follow him, your fingers wrapping around his wrist and forcing him to stop before getting too far from you. “It’s not nothing. We have to be on the same page going into this. So quit acting so fucking weird.”
“I’m not being weird,” Sweet Pea replies, turning back to look at you. “But this guy, he isn’t just expecting you to play poker tonight.”
It doesn’t take much more than a second for what he’s insinuating to sink in. “I can handle myself, Sweet Pea.”
Sweet Pea nods and slides his arm from your grasp, slipping your hand free from his wrist and encapsulating your hand in his. You look down at the connection before being guided along by Sweet Pea to your car, watching him open the passenger’s side door for you. You give him a look, silently asking ‘what’s the deal?’ as you walk towards the open door.
“We have to be on the same page,” he repeats your words, closing the door for you once you were securely in the car. Pulling your seatbelt on slowly you watch him walk around the front of your car, your stomach filled with butterflies. You weren’t sure if it was because of nerves or excitement. Choosing nerves was the much less complicated decision.
Would anyone want me to post a New Blood inspired playlist? I pretty much already have one, but I have no idea if that’s something anyone is interested in.
Alright, I’m done reblogging those posts now. Mostly because I need to stop giggling to myself alone in my dark bedroom and go to sleep but also because I’m sure nobody else is finding them near as funny as my stupid ass self is.
gummygunk
jimmyeatworldofficial
izzy806
amandla
turnnoffyourmind
