1. Riders of Mutiny

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IMPORTANT:
If you did not read the description, PLEASE READ THIS!🚨
I wanted to try combining my two favorite things: Music & Writing. When I listen to music I always imagine crazy scenarios as to how the song could have come about and I thought it would be fun to try and write a story based off those different scenarios.

*I DO NOT OWN ANY MUSIC IN THIS STORY. FULL CREDIT GOES TO THE ARTISTS.
*THIS IS STRICTLY FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES.
*FYI: You might notice that I changed some of the lyrics to fit the storyline better.

ONE MORE THING: This is a dd/lg book, I've read quite a few books involving this and thought they were adorable and really interesting so, again, decided to write it for fun. I did a little research to try and make sure it's explained well enough. But if you see anything that could be added, or something wrong, please comment and I'm happy to change it.

ALSO, main couple's relationship moves FAST. Just a head up!

I think that's all, this has honestly been ridiculously fun to write, so I hope you enjoy it!! ♥️

*UNEDITED*

⚠️*trigger warning*⚠️ (suicidal thoughts and actions are mentioned in this chapter)

***

It was a quiet, lifeless evening in the Mutiny men's household. Every man but one, who occupied the house were out making a delivery for a business they were collectively a part of. The one who stayed behind, their leader, did so for most deliveries that were deemed safe. Nothing safe ever seemed remotely interesting to the man.

He sat in his room at the top of the stairs, to the far right of the hall, situated away from everyone else. He was a private person, kept his thoughts, experiences, almost everything to himself. Most of the time, the only genuine emotion anyone saw out of the man was either lust or anger. No one was sure if he even had any other filters. It was as if he was meant to live his life in between someone's thighs or beating someone, sometimes to death.

The other men, the ones he considered family, brothers, viewed his brute personality as a strength, but he couldn't disagree more. He hated just about everything in the world, but most of all himself. There was one thing that had kept him going this long, but not a soul knew about it and he would keep it that way. Maybe if he had been able to have his little secret for longer or gotten to know it better, things would be different, but that wasn't the case.

That was probably why every night he found himself alone in the house, he usually clutched a pistol in his hand debating on whether to eat it. He gripped his shoulder-length, raven black hair in one hand as he leaned forward in his seated position on the edge of the bed. His gun tapped against his knee as he stared down at it in a daze. His mind flicking back and forth over what he should do, his finger hovering heavily over the trigger.

If anyone ever saw him in this position, they might think him depressed or maybe question any past trauma to see what might have led him to these moments. The truth was, he wasn't sad or lonely, sure some shit may have happened to him, but he didn't give a fuck about any of it. The fact that he felt next to nothing was what caused him to sit here day in and day out. He questioned his existence, his purpose if he had one, down to why he woke up every morning.

There was no happiness in his life, it was an endless loop of grey static and it pissed him off. Anger was the one thing he could definitively say he felt. In fact, he thrived in it, the slightest annoyance sent him off the rails. He pushed people's buttons, looked for reasons to get mad, to fight. He felt pain, he wasn't inhuman, but it never surpassed the rage that fighting seemed to fuel within him. Besides, most people couldn't touch him considering he was a 6'3, muscled, literal fighting machine.

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