heart out | george/matty oneshots

Robbers

pain seared through Matty's hip, clawing it's way up to his ribcage, leaving the curly haired male in utter agony.

Tears blurred his vision, rendering him practically blind in the wake of all this... mess. He was unable to make out the simplest of of details, only the outline of his boyfriend's frizzy, unkept hair and broad shoulders.

Once upon a time, this situation wouldn't have had nearly the same context. Once upon a time they hadn't been wanted criminals.

George loomed over him in the back seat of the stolen Ford, one hand planted on Matty's hip, the other trying to stop the bleeding oozing out the other's wound, as Matty squirmed beneath his boyfriend.

He'd been shot, a direct hit to his hip bone. Some kid behind some convenience store counter had shot at him, and the poor bastard hadn't lived to tell the tail. George had shot him directly in the head - he'd shot a kid in the head. Killed him. Put an end to any kind of future he might have had.

Oh fuck, Matty felt sick. Both with the thought that george had murdered someone who looked no older than 16, and with the pain in his side.

Really, Matty had been anticipating something like this from the start. He'd be a fool if he hadn't. Or maybe just mad. He and george were criminals - known criminals at that. A modern day Bonnie and Clyde. Or maybe a real life Alabama and Clarence. He'd been in love with that idea from the beginning.

Of course something like this had happened. Of course it'd happened to Matty. George had always been two steps ahead of Matty, and three in front of the police. Matty wouldn't be surprised if George pointed a gun at his head for personal gain one day.

That had been the way of their relationship from the start, though. George lead, both angry and apathetic at once, with a lasting vendetta against the law, leaving Matty to follow to his own fucking grave, like a lovesick puppy, genuinely believing George deserved his revenge for being treated so terribly in prison.

He'd been told - warned by multiple friends that George was trouble. Told that that boy, that thug, would only get him in trouble. They had been right, too, for Matty was bleeding in the back of a stolen car, bleeding and sobbing, sweat coated limbs sticking to the interior of the car.

"God - George, we have to get him to a hospital," Marika told the tallest of the trio, her voice shaking with anxiety as she gripped the side of the driver's seat. She craned her upper-half around the seat to grab Matty's hand with her free hand.

They'd seen this - this exact scene only a week prior. With Amber. Lovely, gorgeous Amber. She'd been shot by a police officer, and both she and George had been too stubborn to get professional help.

They'd all been injured leading this 'lifestyle'; Marika had suffered acid burns down her leg early on, and george didn't have all his toes, but Amber had been the first death they'd actually suffered. Marika didn't want Matty to be the second.

"No - no, i've got it. He's fine, it's fine. Shut up," George snapped sharply over to Marika, his words not reaffirming her in the slightest. He was beyond desperate, and more than willing to put a gun in his mouth if it meant avoiding the law and it's enforcers. It was common knowledge that George cared about avoiding prison than he cared about Matty.

He wouldn't listen to Marika - he was forever too stubborn, too apathetic. His objective way of thinking didn't help either - to George Marika was nothing more than a getaway car. An accomplice. Even Matty was no more than a toy at the best of times - the curly haired man had just been too lovestruck to notice.

Matty tossed his head back against the car door, groaning in both frustration and pain, as long, dark curls fell over brown eyes and sweat-slicked cheeks.

He had a bullet in his side; he needed a hospital, to get stitched up by a proper doctor, and given proper pain medication. Jesus fuck, George truly wasn't what he needed in that moment.

"Georgie," he managed, despite the waves of pain it sent through him, despite the light headedness that made him fear for his life. "I have to go to hospital-"

"No, you don't. It's fine, Matty." His tone was harsh, as was the grip on his uninjured hip. Painfully so. "You're fine."

George had the nerve to make Matty feel like wanting proper medical attention, the medical attention he needed was ridiculous. Like he'd gotten himself into this mess, and would have to get himself out. Like he should've known that kid had a gun behind the register.

Robbing the store hadn't been Matty's idea. It had been George's. He had planned everything. Down to the tiniest of details. Here he was acting like Matty was selfish for wanting to go to blasted hospital.

Matty was done following him around.

Yes, george had managed to get the bullet out by then, and stop the bleeding for the moment, despite all Matty's screaming and squirming. He'd still need stitches, though. He doubted they were even slightly equipped to do that.

Matty scrambled back from his boyfriend, and propped himself up against the car door opposite George, despite the screaming pain in his side.

"It's fucking not," the words were meek sounding, and anything but what Matty sounded like. "It's really fucking not. You're willing to watch me bleed out to save your own skin,"

Matty met his boyfriend's eyes as best he could, wiping his eyes with the hand that wasn't in Marika's. "You've gone and fucked me over." the words were stronger, firmer than last time, newly conjured anger seeping into them.

George looked to him in what could only be described as shock, his hollow cheeks and bleak eyes deeply contrasting the springtime green against the gentle grey skies, light leaking through them.

For a moment, hardly a few seconds, Matty remembered why he'd fallen so very hard for the asshole in front of him. He was beautiful, not in the way a model was, but in his own, heart wrenching way.

But, the moment passed like they all do, and Matty was left with nothing but anger.

"You," he spat across to his boyfriend, a certain ferocity overcoming his voice. "You fucked me over so bad," it's really just a reiteration, but it seems too important to say. The words are full of anger, and spite, so much of it, it seems to stun George to silence, like he didn't know his boyfriend was capable of such an emotion.

"This crime thing, it's, it's a dead end street! You're running to nowhere and it's going to get us all fucking killed!"

"It's not like I made you run off with -"

"Shut up!"

"Matty-" George looked to him with big, sad eyes and what could only be described as a pout.

"Get fucked, George,"

x

this is the longest thing i've written in a while, i'm quite proud of myself lmao

also, finally an update !! After YEARS i hope people are still reading this

also, if you are reading this you should go check out my We Slept At Last series ;)

another also, here's my profile pic since one or two people asked for it :)