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herstarburststories · 4 years ago

Text

He didn’t make it to 42

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Summary: it’s Dean’s birthday, you go to visit him with some news and things that need to be said.

A/N: Happy bday, De.

Warnings: so much angst, mentions of sex, hopeful/happy ending (?)

Dean’s dead. It’s Dean’s birthday and he’s dead. You can’t argue much.

Sam denied the demon blood inside him, and that didn’t stop its evil nature from growing and gasping for his fresh air to the point he was almost shocked alive. Dean denied his dad’s destructive methods’ results for the longest time, and that didn’t stop the cicatrixes in every emotion he had ever shown. You denied the absence of Dean and that didn’t stop the bricks cracking in your soul. There’s only so far you can go with your eyes closed.

So here you are. Standing in front of an empty grave. You are bigger than the dull tombstone, yet you can’t help but not to feel tall, at all. How can you even start to talk? Talking to Dean used to be easy even when it got hard and now you’re feeling like a lost kid in a supermarket. Your snide thinking spells out his name with venom, saying it isn’t easy for you to open your barmy mouth and spill out contrarian shit because this isn’t Dean, just another meaningless symbolism that Sam promises that will help. The real Dean died almost a year ago, he was burned in a hunter’s funeral, the flames dancing over his body as the smell of burnt meat invaded your nostrils. Whenever you try to remember his fragrance, that manly aroma which you loved to scent each morning, all your brain can come up with is the odor of his skin and guts burning. The smell lingers like bad perfume, it doesn’t matter how many times you wash yourself with his soap-- that only broke your heart worse.

But today is Dean’s birthday. He deserves a visit, even if it’s not him. Then you go and attempt to deal with the desolation, push it away just a little, and pick up something from the enormous pile of things you wish to tell Dean. You glance at the cold tombstone: Dean Winchester. 1979 - 2020. Beloved son, big brother, and husband. Hunter. A hero. Simple definitions that can never make it up for who he was and what he meant. You purse your lips and cough a little, a gentle wind touches your cheek so tenderly. If you were still a believer, you’d think this is some sort of sign, Dean’s presence or some other pious hoax. All you do now is to remain in quietude, a deep breath. Ultimately, your voice comes:

‘’You didn’t make it to forty two, huh?’’ You scoff humorless, reminiscing to the multiple days that Dean said he wouldn’t go past 35. He did live each year like it was the last--- you aren’t sure if it's such a good thing. If you carry on like your days are outnumbered, you are silently entertaining yourself until death's knock on your door. ‘’I always hated when you were right. Let’s be honest, you had the words of a pessimist and the wants of an optimist. Still, if you were to be right about something, it would be about a bad situation. A nest with too many vampires, how crappy the motel’s bedroom would be, or how that third glass of wine would make me tipsy. So yeah, I always hated when you were right. And look at you now! You aren’t right, you aren’t wrong. You are dead! And I’m the crazy girl screaming at an empty tombstone.’’

You let out a laugh empty of joy. That’s how a hunter’s life is: you die and people stop talking about you because it’s too sad or too long gone to hold any pity, meanwhile the ones who recall about you go loud with all the spirits in their heads. You put your hand in the pockets of the heavy leather jacket that once belonged to a green eyed man who would be turning 42 today, some strange force causing you to speak again.

‘’Wow.’’ You shake your head to the blue way you paint the scene until you notice that you never greeted him. ‘’Hey.’’ The simple word adds a comical insult to injury. ‘’Guess the dead don’t care about manners, huh?’’ You arch your eyebrows with a grin that demonstrates anything but happiness. ‘’Miracle died. Sam digged a hole next to the bunker and buried him there. He isn’t the same since you died, you know? Not the deceased dog-- Well, he wasn’t the same either. Always whining and scratching your door like a fucking cat, and sniffing your old boots. He made me company in your bed and I whined as much as he did when you didn’t come back home that day. He stood by the door most days, waiting for you to appear. I can’t judge him, I did the same.’’ You shrug, not caring about how risible that confession may look. It's true. You became as irrational as a loyal dog at some point in this sorrow. ‘’And Sam, your baby brother… I think he died with you right there, Dean. He didn’t try to bring you back as he promised, but I shouted and screamed so much. I said I would burn the bunker and throw Baby over a cliff if he didn’t-- if he didn’t let me try. I lived up to the mad woman title.’’

You are crestfallen, pacing on top of where the eldest Winchester - Sam’s brand new nomination - supposedly was buried. You know your boots barely touch an infected land, there's no deceased man under your steps. The dead thing is in you.

‘’I spent days dragging your body everywhere and nowhere, anywhere I could catch a crumb of relief in hope to bring you back. But I couldn’t. Jack could, but that ungrateful idiot doesn’t wanna follow his grandpa steps and get too attached to mere humans, the creation or whatever. As if we are just some skin and bone to him, as if you are just another human.’’

You sit down on the tombstone, some tender solace in being close to a thing that's supposed to represent him, like sleeping hugged to a pillow or waking up to a photograph of his. Your nails sink against the gelid concrete at the thought of screaming into the sky for the new God that seemed as deaf as the last one. His calm answer to your burning pain. How he dared to tell you he knew what he was doing— as if he was the original lord and not a three years old. You can't make him do it, so you hold on the fury of some overthrown nation.

‘’Anyway, I couldn’t bring you back. Your body, well, you know how human anatomy works. Your body started to smell like death. We tried to stop with human and magic ways, and it wouldn’t work because you were dead. You should’ve seen the doctor’s face when we got you in that fancy hospital tha night. I think we traumatized the doctor with so much violence and trauma. She didn’t even give us a false hope or anything, you know? She just asked about organ donation of what was left. She just wanted to take every little thing out of you, as if you were just another accident on a Tuesday night.’’ Your shake your head as the memories and your points start to mix, it's hard to discern things and keep a straight line when you have an open wound in your insides. ‘’Well, they couldn’t bring you back to life, and neither could Rowena or whatever I looked for. Don’t be mad because I tried, Winchester. You know I’m too stubborn for my own good. I had to try.’’ you refuse to apologize, yet adds the playful words in his eulogy. ‘’But then your body started to stink and God, how could I continue to be so violent to your corpse? That was when I decided to listen to you for the first time and to Sam, so I let you go. I hate you for asking that.’’ What an ambiguous, contradictory truth to bare. You are glimpses of a person for months because of Dean Winchester, still have the energy to argue his selfless logic, just to love him even more. He's got your devotion, but man you can hate him sometimes. ‘’I hate you for going on that stupid hunt. I hate you for being dead, you giant idiot that I love so much.’’ You can't bring your mouth to say loved. "I was always telling you to let the past go and now I’m in love with a dead thing. What a comic way to end our history. I told you that Miracle died, right? I don’t know if dogs go to heaven, but I hope he’s in there with you. I wonder what your heaven is like. I bet it has Whiskey.''

Your dry chuckle makes your notice the tears in your eyes, glistening your orbs as they go like a waterfall to be absorbed by the thirsty land after leaving your cheeks.

"Sam and I-- We tried to make some sense out of this cruelty, but we can’t. You are dead and I can’t seem to put it past me. I still sleep in your bed, and I can still taste your body burning on the roof of my mouth in the quiet nights. I cried this morning because someone asked for a burger, can you believe that? It was so stupid since I used to shake my head and argue with you about cholesterol. Suddenly I was crying at lunch in a restaurant because some stupid kid asked for a burger with extra bacon. They sang Happy birthday to this dumbass child, and I interrupted with my awful crying, and wished that you were celebrating your birthday and not that kid. I guess you could say I wish death upon an innocent child with a problematic eating routine.’’ That was a whole new level of low, as if you are the one wrapped with the sentiment of laying six feet under.

‘’Everyone tells you about how grief is singular and particular with similar emotions that bring people who went through this together. They even have that crap stages thing and all that. You know what they don’t tell you?’’ Your mouth shuts for a moment, like you are waiting some response. You nod as if whatever you were expecting is handed to you. ‘’Grief can be fucking ridiculous. Who cries because of a burger full of oil and cardiac diseases? Who cries because they found a grocery store recipe under her dead boyfriend’s bed? Who falls on the ground screaming in the middle of the mall because they saw a flannel? Who? Those things are so stupid.’’ You smile like there's no tomorrow and the laugh leaving your lips is a treacherous tone. Perhaps you just aren't build up to express joy anymore. ‘’You see it in the movies and in the books and you think, you know, you think to yourself that grieving is being sad on special dates and randomly remembering the loved ones because of some screaming memory, like a flannel or their perfume. Thing is, it’s not just that. All your body seems so small, so tight for all the ache and agony inside it. Your senses go wild, you are not just one person in one place. You’re just the pain everywhere, like being pulled apart and you beg to jump in the fucking grave with them. At least you would be together, at least you would feel like one person and not suffering edges of a broken earthy thing. And--And you start remembering things you didn’t even know you had mesmerized. I look at the ceiling and remember you saying you’d paint it someday. I look at the kitchen and remember me screaming at you for giving Miracle the rest of the food. I smell Sam’s clothes and started crying because hey, they don’t smell like alcohol. You don’t iron them while drinking anymore, so of course they don’t smell like cheap beer.’’ You are chuckling through the tears and it only makes it more monstrous. ‘’Everything is you now that you are gone. Every man has something similar to you, every garden is green as your eyes, and each step sounds like you are coming home. They didn’t prepare me, not for this.’’ You said breathless. A soft single follows. The knife cuts both ways; the empty breeze and the words hurt. Where's the middle term? Where's the limbo? Where's the only safe place for you to rest your weary head?

Out of nowhere, you blurt out, ‘’I can’t masturbate,’’ I know it’s something stupid and even selfish to say, but I think you’d like to know. I can’t masturbate. That’s a part of the whole losing someone process that people are too ashamed to discuss, or maybe they don’t have the urge to be touched anymore because after someone you love dies, after someone-- the hands who touched are dead and cold, you become a haunted object. That’s how I feel most days, like I’m a haunted house because you touched me and now you’re dead and some days I believe I am too.’’ You look around the places. It's beautiful. It's lonely. It has trees and flowers and green. Not as green as Dean's eyes, but it doesn't matter anymore. He doesn't even have eyes at this point. ‘’Well, I can’t masturbate. I can’t touch myself. And I can’t ask someone else either. I tried and ended up punching the guy, Dean. I swear. I panicked when he was between my legs and just punched his nose. You’d have liked it, you were always the jealous kind. I won’t admit that, but I thought it was kinda hot. Especially when you got possessive in sex.’’ A dirty grin appeared on your lips, the echoes of luxury lasting in your eyes for a brief moment. ‘’I don’t think I can be cared for anymore, honestly. Sam tried to hug me when Miracle died and I… It was like I wasn't there. I got frozen in time, and I live in my sleep. In my nightmares you are alive. I dream about the day you died every week and I used to wake up screaming, but now those nightmares are the only proof you were alive now that you’re as dead as the police report says this time. It was the most painful, calamitous moment for you and I swear it was a nightmare for me, but then I realized that at least I had you there, egoistical or not, I made my nightmare into a dream.’’ You aren't sure which opinion Dean would have on that. Would he understand? Would he shake his head? You wish you can ask him just this one more thing, just beg him to write it down for you on how to be without him here.

You raise on your feet, glaring at the name craved in the concrete. The tears go by still, although they're as usual as the blood in glir veins at this point. ‘’Death is so silly. What it takes, anyway?" Each word conquers more inches of pure wrath. ''People die because they stumbled on their own feet and hit their head somewhere, or they drove their car too close and too fast to the cliff, or because they were giving birth, or because they dated the wrong person, or because they were hunting a fucking vampire and got impaled. What are the chances? How stupid, and idiotic is death? Always creeping and waiting to bite and chew a piece of you-- Taking every scrap of you from me like that’s its right.’’ You are screaming, starting to kick and punch the tombstone with any piece of straight you have. Your limbs hurt and the blood is visible, but you keep going. ‘’YOUR STUPID DOG DIED, DEAN! AND YOU DIED! AND I DIED! SAMMY DIED! YEAH, IS SAID SAMMY! GO AHEAD, TELL ME ONLY YOU CAN CALL HIM THAT.’’ Another punch, your knuckles are ripped. Another kick, your boot as a hole. ‘’DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT.’’ Kick. ‘’SAMMY, SAMMY, SAMMY!’’ A punch to each name. Anything to get a reaction, to get comfort. Anything. ‘’YOU CAN’T BECAUSE YOU ARE DEAD.’’ Gasping for something you don't need anymore, sweet oxygen, your eyes are on the tombstone again. And the definitions. And the trees. Your body is sore and aching. It is the kind and coercion no person wants which you needed; the freedom of feeling outside the exact pain that was inside. ‘’You can’t because you are dead. I’ve been playing some sick games in my mind, you know? Sam stopped hunting and had his closure. He was always better at letting go than you and I, but he’s still hurting. I never saw him hurting so much. I think he knows you won’t come back this time, how could you make us promise something like that? Well, my twisted game is a bunch of misleading what ifs. What if you hadn’t gone after John? What if you hadn’t gone on that last hunt? What if you had stayed with Lisa? At first I didn’t like her much. Jealous, I admit that. But she grew on me. She gave you something I couldn’t back then and I’ll always be thankful for that. And even though it would rip me apart, I’d rather you to die at sixth after living your suburban dream with her. Have another kid besides Ben, maybe a girl this time, and just have that apple pie life. You and Sam would live close and your kids would always play. They’d be as close as brothers. Maybe I’d get a guy and bring my own kids and we could’ve a barbecue and everyone would be happy. But we don’t get soft epilogues here. It ends how it starts, right? Bloody and desperate. I thought maybe, maybe Lisa could understand what’s going through my head now. I drove to her new address and parked close to her house. I must have spent hours there, thinking if I should come in or not, If she somehow remembered after Castiel died or if I could make her brain work again if I told her the truth. But then I just drove back home and fell asleep wrapped in that stupid lumberjack flannel of yours. The one I always mocked, yeah? She may understand me, but I know you wouldn’t want that. You want her, you want me and Sam to be happy. I don’t know if I can do that, Dean. It’s like myt brittle soul shrewd and my body is just waiting to collapse.’’ You signed, overwhelmed by the battle without an anthem. The victory with no triumph. Is it still a win when you don't have someone to come home too? ‘’Your dog died, it’s the first birthday you didn’t live to see, and I bought all the things you told Mrs Butters you wanted for your birthday because it’s your birthday. I just don’t know how to celebrate it with you dead. People stop counting after they die, right? They just say he’d have been 42 or he died at 41. They give melancholy smiles when they wake up and check the day on their phones and a woe atmosphere swallows them for the rest of the day. Then they get better the next day. I think everyday is your birthday.’’ You attempt to wipe away your tears, which only causes your pulsating hand to stain your face red. ‘’Dean, for the first time, what died stayed dead! Congrats.’’ Once again, a hysterical laugh. ‘’I wish but no. What died didn’t stay dead, you are alive, so alive in my head. I swear you are there some days. I wake and watch the door, so sure you’ll come back. Sam says I’m living in delusion and I have to wake up and keep going since that's what you would want. That's enough to make him keep going, but it only makes me angry. Everyone we know and some strangers looks at me like I'm a house on fire and no longer a warm home, like I'm a car accident. They think I don't notice but I do.’’ You look at your boots, the whole is rolling out blood like your hands. You feel closer to Dean. How sick.

‘’Help, I’m still right where you left me." You plea, his love lingering like a bruise. ''I think gravity is overwhelming and it keeps me here. Sometimes it’s like I’m one of those dusted books Sam used to read. Or those Bukowski ones that you hid, so we wouldn’t see how smart you’re. You tried so hard to hide your intelligence because you didn’t think you were entitled to it. You saw yourself as the protector and never the valuable one for protection. You, the man who made an EMF out of an old radio, who rebuilt the Impala from the ground multiple times, and who knew patterns better than any detective. The man who showed me I could rely on someone other than myself. The dude with a lopsided grin, tough hands and a heart of gold. I miss you so much. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were singing all those classic rock songs and Taylor Swift pop hits, while I drove here. I would think you were home, smelling like guts because you wanted to eat before taking a shower after a hunt. I would think that you are in the Deancave, waiting for me to curl up on your lap to watch Scooby Doo or Doctor Sexy MD until we aren’t watching anymore. If I didn’t know better I would think no death could take you from me. There would be no tear us apart in our vows.’’ The only thing that keeps your organism working is that Dean died knowing how much you loved him. You never let this talk for later or never. No tomorrow is promised. That's a nice comfort, maybe that's what will help you to let go in the future. ‘’But yesterday your stupid, skink dog died and I lost the last living thing that I had from you. You know what’s more angerting? I cried and Sam cried and I noticed we were the living things you left behind and all we have is each other. All your closets of backlogged dreams were left for us-- so yeah. Sam is done hunting and he’s met a lovely girl, and they are moving in like in your domestic dreams. I’m taking care of the family business like your other contradictory dream and making sure Sam is safe enough to be normal. Because I have to, we have too. Stupidly enough, I still wait for the day you’ll burst out the door and tell us to hit the road again. I still watch every episode of your dumb tv shows to make sure I’ll know everything that happened when you ask. I still drive around in your car and close my eyes when the street is calm, only picturing you driving as Baby’s engineers go wild but those are my hands on the steering wheel. If I didn't know better, I’d think you are still around. But I know better. I still feel you all around. I love you.’’

Your monologuing ends as astutely as it stated. You get up, press a kiss to your ruined for the next weeks hands and place it on the rock with writings. You turn around and walk back to the car that you parked near, only in case of Dean wanting to see Baby. How knows? You and your clandestine faith. You lick your lip and get in the car.

You swear you the AC/DC cassette wasn't there before, but when you turn on the car and the radio it starts playing. It's the first true smile that comes to your mouth, it's bloodstained and you look like a shameless woman. With that you can deal.

It hurts a bearable hurt for now. You didn't think it was possible. Maybe someday.

The end.

(she takes a little longer to arive in heaven than sammy. his baby brother says that women are most likely to live around six years more than men. it doesn't ease him up, though. dean waited sam for too long, his platonic soulmate. and now he has to wait his romantic one too? the eldest Winchester considers it the best earthly present when the he sense you around, that smell of orange and apples. it's you, he knows before even turning around. he can't wait to love you again. your name rolls off your tongue so naturally, as if you had seen each other just yesterday: ‘’hey, y/n.’’)

But then again, nothing ever really ends, does it?

REBLOG AND COMMENT. Feedback is magic and helps me!

Starburst's footnote: It just didn't feel right to make an author's note on the top. I wanted it all only to be an arrow to the story. So, this is my side note: it's six am and I'm up writing this after inspiration kissed me with a bruise in the middle of the night. Or more like grabbed my throat. Anyway, I had to write and finish this one to post today, even pushing sleep aside. Hey, we are writers, that's what we do! I've been watching the show since I was eleven and I cried like a baby with the finale. This series was just so important and crucial to molde aspects of relationships for me. The song marjorie by Taylor Swift was used here, and so was the line "you got my devotion/ but man, I can hate you sometimes" by Harry Styles. I told you guys I would use it somewhere! A special thanks to @msmarvelouswinchester who helped me with her encouraging and opinon. You are the best! And with all of this I wanna say: Happy bday, Dean Winchester!

REBLOG AND COMMENT! Feedback is magic! Especially about this fic, I’d like to know your opinion. Tags in the reblog! Send an ask or dm to get in the taglist.

#dean winchester #dean's birthday #dean winchester x reader #dean x you #dean winchester's birthday #dean winchester x you #supernatural #spn #dean winchester imagine #supernatural imagines #spn reader insert #dean winchester headcanon #dean winchester imagines

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jawabear · 4 years ago

Note

Hello, can I request a fic for Whiskey with prompts 58 and 70 from your prompt list

Brick Wall (Agent Whiskey x Reader)

Not my GIF

A/N: Hi. Sorry this took so long Anon! And I’m sorry it sucks! I’ve been super stressed lately and my brain is all over the place. But I hope you enjoy it. It got better as I went which is good but...I don’t know. I just feel a little all over the place. But writing helps me :) hope you enjoy it! Sorry for any mistakes. Stay safe.

Prompts: 58. Please don’t cry 70. I have feelings you know

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Warnings: fem!reader, crying, drinking, coldness, I don’t really know, not a lot I don’t think

Summary: Finally, he gets to go on a mission with the girl he loves, but she’s not exactly gifted in the social graces like he is

“Tell me again why I’m the one who has to do this” (Y/N) groaned as she adjusted her dress. It was far too snug for her liking. But her like was to not be in a dress at all. But when attending a fancy charity ball got the sake of a mission, she was a little out of options.

“Because all other female agents are currently otherwise occupied” Ginger explained for what felt like the hundredth time to her. (Y/N) wasn’t entirely thrilled about being pulled onto a mission with the most obnoxious agent in the agency.

“You hurt me darlin’. Thought we were going to have a nice time tonight” talk of the devil. Agent Whiskey, Jack Daniels, stood in the door way of Ginger’s office.

As much as he annoyed (Y/N), she had to admit, he cleaned up good.

He stood there dressed in a specially tailored sleek black suit with a nicely pressed white shirt and black tie. He didn’t wear his signature Stetson which was a little off outing actually. But his hair was neatly slicked back, he looked pretty dashing.

But (Y/N) was good at hiding her emotions and gave him no expression as she looked him up and down.

Jack on the other hand was not as good at hiding his emotions. And when he look at her, you could read him like a book. His face said what his words couldn’t. He stared at her with his mouth open, his eyes raking up and down her body, loving the way the red dress hugged her body so perfectly. Showing off those beautiful curves she had. He had never seen her dress as such, mainly because she never had.

“Wow sweetheart..” his voice was low “you look...wow”

“Thanks” she muttered “but I feel ridiculous. Let’s just go and get it over with so I can take this stupid thing off” she slipped her gun into her thigh holster and walk past him.

Jack turned to look at Ginger who gave him a soft look in return. “What am I supposed to do?” He sighed “the woman despises me. How the fuck am I ever going to tell her how I feel?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say Jack” Ginger shrugged “she’s a complicated person. And as frustrating as it may be for you, you may have to either give it up, or just tell her”

“I can’t...give it up. She’s...I’m head over heals for her”

“Then tell her. This is your chance. The perfect opportunity to tell her how you feel because it will be just the two of you”

“Yeah...I guess you’re right...”

“But in between that, make sure you complete the mission this time”

“This is a fucking shit-show” (Y/N) hisses under her breath “we’ve been here for nearly three hours and still no sign of any of them”

Jack downed the rest of his whiskey and placed his now empty glass on the bar he was leaning on, it being swiftly taken away by the bar tender but Jack was waved off the offer of another.

“Let’s face it Jack” she said to him “this mission is a bust. They’re not coming”

Jack nodded in agreement “I guess you’re right” he reached over and grabbed her hands pulling her towards the dance floor.

“What are you doing?” She asked him, slight anger in her voice at being dragged against her will.

“Just because they’re not going to show up, doesn’t mean we can enjoy tonight” he assumed the classic dance position. One hand joined with her and his other arm snaking around her waist in a firm grip to keep her there, but he knew she was string enough to get out of his hold without using much of her effort.

She said nothing but just glared at him. This didn’t deter him from beginning to waltz her in a small circle to the slow beat of the music being played. For a while she allowed him to dance with her, if you could really call it that. She wasn’t exactly making it easy for him. Her body was stiff, he wicked been better off dancing with a brick wall at this point. But despite that, he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

Even if she was being difficult, he couldn’t deny the joy just being with her brought him. How he was the one who got to see her dressed up so nicely. He didn’t have the words to describe how beautiful she looked. How well she seemed to fit in with all the stuck up rich people surrounding them, calling themselves beautiful. But no one was more deserving of that word than she was.

Still, his frustration at her lack of cooperation was growing inside him. He wasn’t one to get angry, especially not to those he liked, but she admitted herself that the mission was a bust, there was no reason why she couldn’t let her guard down.

“There’s no one here you need to impress. So you can stop being so uptight and cold” his mouth betrayed him. He didn’t want to say anything to her about it. But the words slipped out without his consent.

Her eyes went wide at his words. Her body tensed. But her shock soon switched to anger. Anger he had never seen in her eyes before, it was more of a hurt anger than anything.

“Fuck you Jack” she hissed before yanking her hands from him and turning sharply, cleverly weaving herself through the crowd of people.

He immediately regretted what he said. He didn’t mean it. Well, not really anyway. He wanted her to relax, to feel comfortable around him. He should’ve worded it better, not just straight up insult her.

For a moment he just stood there awkwardly, none of the surrounding guests seemed to pay him any attention as he stood there. But when he finally came to his senses again, he stormed off in her footsteps. He had to apologise. He had to tell her how he felt before he fucked it up even more.

The trail lead him out on to a balcony where she lent against the stone wall, the moonlight outlined her perfect body so beautifully he almost didn’t want to approach her. He just wanted to look at her for a little while longer.

But he had to say something to her. He swallowed thickly and took cautious steps in her direction. When he looked at her, he saw her head hanging low as she stared at the ground way down under them. He felt so guilty that it was because of him she looked so...hurt.

“Sweetheart-“ he tried, reaching out his hand to stroke her cheek but she swatted it away and gave him a sharp look.

“I know I don’t always act like it but I have feelings you know” she turned back away from him and lent against the railing. “I’m not...just the heartless person everyone thinks I am..”

“You’re not heartless (Y/N), no one thinks you are-“

“Oh Jack. Just fucking stop okay? You know as well as I do that everyone hates me. Everyone thinks I’m heartless and...and cold. And yeah, maybe I am. But it’s not my fault. It...it wasn’t my fault...”

Jack didn’t need her to explained herself. He knew her story inside and out. He knew about all the traumas in her past. And he knew that anyone who faced close to what she did would find it difficult to smile again.

He noticed, when he looked back at her, that a tear fell down her cheek, perfectly reflecting the pale light of the full moon above them. “(Y/N)” He said her name quietly and reached over to her cheek again, but this time she didn’t shoo him away, she let him touch her. Jack took her face in both hands, tilting her head up so their eyes met. “Please don’t cry” his thumbs brushed gently under her eyes, wiping her tears away.

In perhaps a strange way, she looked beautiful when she cried. He had never seen her cry before. The way her eyes sparkled in the moon light made his heart flutter. There was no one more beautiful than her. He could feel himself getting lost in her eyes. Just getting lost. Getting closer, closer, closer to her...

She drew in a sharp breath and pulled her face from his hands. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hands and looked away from him “we should...get back to the mission” she muttered before taking a few steps away from him back towards the inside of the building.

But she was stopped when a firm hand took her arm. “Fuck the mission” he told her. She looked at his over her shoulder and saw the slight glimpse of desperation in his eyes.

“What?” She whispered, a little shocked but his sudden words “Jack...we have a job to do” she didn’t attempt to worm her way from his sturdy grasp, she quite enjoyed the warm of his ridiculously large hands on her bare arm.

“Fuck the mission” he said again, “you said it yourself, it’s a bust. A shit-show. So now I just wanna spend tonight with you” Jack carefully pulled her back into his chest and resumed the dancing position from earlier.

“Jack-“ she tried but she didn’t exactly know what she wanted to say. She wasn’t going to turn down an opportunity to spend a lovely night with Agent Whiskey, but they had a job to do.

“Fuck it, (Y/N). For tonight. Fuck ‘em all. I just want it to be me and you tonight. I want to show you that not everyone thinks you’re heartless. Some think you are the sweetest, most beautiful girl in the world”

“And who among the people think that, Jack?” She asked with a slightly laugh as he began to gently sway them from side to side, going in circles as well, but slowly.

“I do” he admitted “I think you’re amazing. And you are sweet. You’re kind, you’re funny, you have a mind that puts Ginger’s to shame. And you’re just the prettiest damn girl there ever has been in this world. And I-“ he cut himself of abruptly. The hopeful look in her eyes was too much for him. It made his heart pound in his chest and he would be surprised if she couldn’t hear it.

“You what?” She whispered as she gently ran her thumb over the back of his hand.

He blinked a few times and didn’t answer with words. Instead he leaned down and pressed his lips to her in a soft kiss. Into the kiss he poured every ounce of love he had for her. And she did the same back. Her hand squeezing his as she pushed her lips against his. He pulled his hand and his arm from her and took her face between them instead. Holding her lips against his for as long as possible. Her hands rested on his hips, unsure of where else to put them.

His lips fell from her, but their foreheads pressed together. “I’ve fallen for you” He whispered, stroking his thumbs over her cheeks.

She smiled. It was a faint smile, but it was there. And it was beautiful.

“I’ve fallen for you too, Jack” she said “I’m...I’m sorry about what I said...”

“It was my fault. I should be the one apologising. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said what I did”

“Jack?”

“Yeah darlin’?”

“Kiss me again”

He let out a soft chuckled and brought his lips back down onto hers “anything for you beautiful”

22/01/21

Taglist: @linkpk88 @phoenixhalliwell @lunaserenade @harrys-stan (let me know if you wanted to be added or removed from the list)

#agent whiskey #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey fanfic #jack daniels #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels fanfic #kingsman: the golden circle #angst #fluff #pedro pascal #fanfic

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thatmultifandomhoe · 4 years ago

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Knitting You a Home - 9

Pairing: Wolf Hybrid Namjoon and Human Reader

Word Count: 2,557

Genre/Rating: Hybrid AU - Established Relationship - Angst - Fluff - Smut - Rated PG-13

Overview: Things have changed for you and Namjoon. It’s been a year since the two of you got together, and despite a rocky start, it was impossible to deny the bond and love you shared for each other. But ever since Hoseok had been separated from his Mate, Namjoon has been withdrawing himself from you and doesn’t come home until late at night.

With questions far larger than either of you imagined, you can’t help but wonder if he’s let his past and old fears come back to haunt him. You had shown him that it was possible to have a home and be loved once before, but will you be able to do it again?

Warning: A brief implication of drugs - shit’s about to go down in this part - sorry - not sorry.

Music Playlist:

Main Master List:

Knitting You a Home Master List:

Mated Love is Never Easy Series Master List:

Sneak Peak - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14 - Part 15 - ?

©thatmultifandomhoe 2021. Do not repost, translate, or use my stories without permission.

Namjoon’s chest was heaving as he got off the stage, the strobe lights swirling around the room as the bounced up and down. Whoever decided that having the Underground under a night club was perhaps the smartest person alive.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about!” Jackson shouted, handing Namjoon a towel to wipe away the sweat. “You have them eating out of your hands man.”

Letting himself be led to the lounge area, Namjoon laughed as Jackson continued praising him. His ears felt warm as he ducked his head, taking a moment to focus on drying off and collecting his thoughts, a habit he engaged in since the first time he went up on stage.

The Underground lasted until dawn every night. After that first encounter with Jackson, Namjoon found himself coming to Lotus after work on the nights they had rap battles, and this was his fourth time rapping against someone. Apparently after he told Jackson about wanting to be on stage, the jacked up blond man had self-appointed himself as his own personal manager and by the next night when Namjoon came by, he had a clipboard tossed in his face. Written in black pen was his name on a sign-up sheet. Fourth spot.

There was a part of him that felt guilty for not telling you about this. He was still playing it off as late nights at work, which was partially true. Yoongi and him were still at odds with the artist, the unspeakable song was now a thorn in their sides along with the unwanted girlfriend. She was coming to all the meetings now. Her perfume tainted their workspace to the point that Namjoon had to ask Yoongi if they could share studios for a bit.

But now instead of catching the bus or a ride with Yoongi to go home, he found himself going to Lotus, a flame within burning to get up on the stage again. He had years of material and with it memorized, it was only the nerves he had to shove away before walking up those short steps.

No one had cheered for him when he was announced that first night. The other contender had been new as well, but by the end of their round, the crowd was cheering for Rap Monster even after Jackson led him away for some air.

“Hey man, you feeling okay?” Jackson suddenly asked, the door creaking as he led Namjoon out a side door.

Namjoon lifted his head, breathing in a lungful of the warm summer air. “Yeah,” he said, leaning against the brick wall when the door shut. The loud music was muffled then, giving him the peace that he needed for that moment. The high he got from being up there was, out of this world, but the last thing he wanted was for it to get to his head.

What he wanted, was for you to be there.

To be cheering him on and being the one for him to hug after each round. To breathe in your scent and go on a mental trip to fall where there were crisp apples and nutmeg, all while standing out in the middle of a summer night. You were the one who grounded him, the most important person in the world, all while reminding him that he was living out his dreams.

“Just catching my breath,” Namjoon reassured.

Jackson pointed a finger at him and joined his side against the wall. “Man, I knew I had a good feeling about you since that first night.”

“Are you sure you don’t have any dog DNA in you?” Namjoon asked, still amazed with how much energy Jackson possessed.

The blond just laughed though. “Yeah, I’m sure. There’s just something I don’t get though.” He handed over a water bottle, not without stealing a sip first.

“And what’s that?”

“Why the hell don’t you have an album out if you work for a recording company?” Jackson frowned as he looked at Namjoon. The question had been bothering Jackson since he first learned about where he worked.

However, Namjoon just shrugged, gulping down some of the lukewarm water. “It wasn’t a priority when I first started working there,” he explained, passing the bottle back to Jackson. “Yes, I wrote songs and after I met Angel, the dream of putting out an album finally came back, but I wasn’t ready for anyone to hear it.”

Jackson nodded in understanding, but came to a pause as he thought over something that confused him. “Wait, you saw an Angel? Man, do I need to know something? Maybe start carrying a little something in-case things go sideways?”

Grateful to not have taken a drink, Namjoon grinned. Although, when you entered his life, he swore that angels were suddenly real and walked among everyone on Earth, they were just well hidden. Only revealing themselves to a special few. He knew that considering his life and the things that he’s done, he didn’t deserve you, but he was a selfish bastard and he didn’t want to let you go.

“No, no. You’re fine. Angel is just a nickname for my…”

His voice softened, torn between saying the truth, and what he so longed to say. His wife. That word alone managed to free and strangle him at the same time, because as true as it was, it wasn’t a legal binding marriage. Not for humans at least.

“Your Mate?” Jackson said, figuring that was what he meant.

“Yeah,” he said. “My Mate.”

Pointing at the door, Jackson smiled. “Is she here? What the hell man, why’d you let me take you outside if she’s inside? Shit, I feel bad, we ditched her without a second thought. Look I know a girl who works at this florist shop, she does some amazing work and I can get you a discount if your girl’s upset –”

“Angel’s not here,” Namjoon interrupted, waving his hands to catch his attention. It truly was shocking that the guy wasn’t a hybrid.

Jackson’s eyes widened as his mouth dropped open, the snap-back that he wore sliding down until he shoved it around backwards. “Oh shit, is she sick?”

“No, she just…”

How does he say that you had no idea that he was even here? That if he was being honest, you were probably certain that he was still at work and because you trusted him, hadn’t thought to call Yoongi and ask where he was. Namjoon knew that you listened to rap on occasion, so it wasn’t as if you would outright hate the music.

It was just…no one knew who he was here.

Sure, he was quickly becoming friends with Jackson, but Jackson never knew him before their first meeting. No one knew about his past, or the hybrid that he had been forced to be to survive. They only knew what he told them, and the songs he wrote and performed.

The idea of you not approving, or worse, being disappointed in him, made the hard decision only slightly easier. It was better that you didn’t know. He was already unable to do the one thing he knew you longed for, why add another to that list?

The side door opened, strobe lights brightening the darkness as a group of girls walked outside, their high-pitched laughter hitting Namjoon’s ears in a way that had them flattening against his skull. They served as the distraction that he needed though. One glance at Jackson revealed that his new friend was already grinning, even finger waving, at one of the brunettes.

Namjoon raised an eyebrow, fighting back a smile as he clapped Jackson’s shoulder. “Alright Romeo, I’m calling it a night.”

“Yeah,” Jackson murmured, glancing back at Namjoon. “I’ll see you for the next battle?”

“I’ll be here. Night man.”

“Night.”

Walking around his friend, Namjoon opened the door and glanced backwards, chuckling as Jackson nodded for the girl to join him. Not wanting to get in the way of his friend perhaps meeting the one, he let the door close behind him and headed his way towards the hallway that would lead out of the Underground and the Lotus.

There was certainly a benefit to knowing that for every Hybrid, each one had their own Mate, destined to be their one and only for eternity. There was too much uncertainty with humans, always the possibility that they didn’t love you as much as you loved them. Granted, finding your Mate was never always an easy thing to do, but even on the coldest night when the entire world appeared in black and white, it had been a comforting thought to know that someone was out there waiting for him.

He never would have thought he’d end up with an angel though.

Leaving the swarm of club goers behind him, he deeply inhaled, double patting his back pocket to guarantee that his notebook was still there – which it was thankfully – and began the long walk home. The last bus running had stopped hours ago. Even Jerry was starting to ask where he went now that he was getting off at a new stop. Every time he asked, the concern and worry rolled off of him like freshly baked bread, and the lies came too easily.

I’m meeting up with Angel for a late night out.

It had worked for the first couple times, but Namjoon knew it wouldn’t last forever. There were only so many places that the someone could go to this late at night.

His ears flattened against the curve of his skull, his tail coming to a halt as he walked. When did it become easier to lie to you than tell the truth? This wasn’t a life that you deserved, but as much as he hated to admit it, there was no ending in sight for him. He…he couldn’t give up the rap battles. Not when he was getting so much attention, when so many people were enjoying and listening to what he had to say.

He finally found a place where he felt like he belonged.

Deep within, his heart ached in confusion and longing. After so long, he was getting the recognition and acknowledgement that his dreams had a possibility of being a reality. On the other side however, he knew he wasn’t supposed to be doing this alone. There was an empty place that could only be filled by one person and one person only, and you were sleeping in bed.

Carefully shutting the front door behind him, Namjoon yawned as he removed his ear buds with one hand, pausing the music on his phone with the other, all while carefully kicking his shoes off and on to the rack in the hallway.

It was well after three in the morning, and limbs heavy from the long walk, all he wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep with you before returning back to work in a few hours. If it weren’t for the fact that he knew he couldn’t sleep without you anymore, he would have gladly passed out on the couch that was only a handful of steps away.

His exhaustion dulled his senses and as a result, he didn’t pick up on the way that your scent was stronger than it usually was. Granted, this was your home and you spent a majority of your time here, but the living room and kitchen were bathing in nutmeg. He hummed at the way it tickled his memories, vaguely recalling the last time it had been this strong so late at night.

A bang in the kitchen revived him from his daze, frowning as he hurried his way to the kitchen, only then noticing how all the lights in the living room and kitchen were on. He stopped short though, only reaching the kitchen table which was currently hidden underneath the many plates of baked goods that covered it.

You were standing at oven with you back to him, the screen of your phone lit up as your fingers quickly tapped on it before removing a cookie sheet off the stove top and on to a cooling rack. It was a pie. A deep breath on his part and not only was he smelling you, or the apple pie that you baked at three in the morning, but the saltiness of tears being shed.

“Angel?”

Stepping around the table, Namjoon suddenly felt wide awake knowing that you were in pain. His instincts screamed at him to go to you, to hold and comfort you until you were able to tell him what was wrong. To protect you from whatever was hurting you.

At the sound of his voice, you whirled around to face him, the tears turning your eyes into mini oceans when you met his gaze. But you held a palm up and shook your head. His heart came to sudden halt. You didn’t want him to come to you.

“I…I can’t do this,” you said. Your voice was cracking, your free hand curling into a fist by your side.

He felt your pain coming off of you in waves, every emotion seeming to hit Namjoon from every angle but when he tried to go to you once again, a choked cry escaped your lips as you shook your head again.

“Sweetheart,” he whined, his ears now completely flat as he reached out for the back of the chair. You never turned away his hugs and touch before. Usually, you told him how much his presence was more than enough to comfort you. “What’s wrong? What happened Angel?”

A quick glance away from you revealed that even on the counters there were more baked goods. The last time you had done this…Sue had taken Hoseok away from Sarah. He bit down on the inside of his mouth, trying to push that memory away. No. You were his Mate. You had promised that what happened to them would never happen to the two of you.

He watched your tongue dart out to wet your lips, your shaky breaths loud as your tried to collect yourself without his help, his own tears slipping out when you covered your face with your hands for a moment.

“Who is she?” Your voice was muffled by your hands, but you lifted your head to repeat yourself. “Who is she?”

“Who’s who?” He asked, not understanding who you were talking about.

That must have been the wrong thing to say however, because your face scrunched up as another sob left your shoulders shaking and bent you forward. Despite not wanting him near, he couldn’t let you collapse in on yourself. Catching you, he gently guided you to one of the chairs, crouching down on the floor in front of you to be able to look up at you.

“Please, sweetheart. What’s going on? Please tell me.”

“Who is she?” You asked, staring at him with all the pain laid out in your eyes for him to see, sending his own heart cracking at the agony you had been hiding from him. He didn’t think anything could be more painful than seeing you hurting so much. His entire being and purpose felt like it was shattering to a million pieces.

“Who’s the woman that you’re having an affair with Namjoon? Who is she?”

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birdhaslostit · 4 years ago

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🦇💀🕷🕸 What the Lupin Gang would do/wear for Halloween! 🕸🕷🍬🍭

This may be OOC, but it’s Halloween, and nobody is themselves on Halloween. That’s the whole point. It’s time to let loose babey

🎃 Lupin:

Lupin would wear something suave yet spooky. (A vampire is a tried-and-true option.) Whatever it is, it has to leave some of his face showing- how else is he supposed to woo the ladies at the party? Other costume choices include a pirate captain, Jack Skellington, and a joint costume with Fujiko as Victor and Emily from Corpse Bride.

Lupin has ABSOLUTELY dressed up as Dr. Frank N Furter from Rocky Horror Picture show. Definitely more than once.

Lupin would definitely get WAAAAAAY into Halloween. Like, the first of October, BAM. Orange jacket with a black shirt and an orange tie. He makes all of his October heists Halloween-themed, but he doesn’t steal on Halloween because that’s when he goes ALL. OUT.

Each year he picks a different city to celebrate in. He spaces out wherever he goes so he doesn’t get caught, but rumors about Lupin spread, so each year people make a guessing game of where he’s gonna go for Halloween. Each year, he picks a hideout in the most popular trick-or-treating area of that city and decks it OUT with Halloween decorations. A large chunk of the decor expenses was probably taken from the Halloween Jacket heists from that year.

Lupin never sends invitations for it though- this is the one time he won’t do it. He insists that it adds to the “illusion of mystique.” He leaves it up to the trick-or-treaters to spread the word. News quickly gets around that the cool house down the street might be Lupin, and without fail, it turns into a block party within the first 2 hours or less.

On Halloween, he gives out candy to literally everyone. He spoils the little kids with king-size candy bars. He encourages the teens to go egg/TP houses of rude people in the area (he staked them out in advance specifically to do this.) He hypes up the costumed adults and hands out Halloween-themed drinks.

The day after Halloween, the hideout looks deserted, like nobody was ever there. Nobody can ever figure out how he packs it all up so quickly, without anyone noticing. The only thing he leaves, every single time, is a jack-o-lantern with his face on it.

🎃 Jigen:

Something classic and/or low-effort. First thing that comes to mind is a werewolf.

Lupin might bug him about stealing his trademark, but Jigen fits the image better. He’s gruff and hairy and may perhaps shoot you if you make fun of his costume.

Jigen might also go for a classic Dracula if Lupin isn’t a vampire that year. He’s also been a cowboy several times.

He doesn’t really interact with the crowd unless they come up to him first (which is rare because he doesn’t exactly exude “friendly,” and it’s usually a little kid, because they don’t really notice.)

If it’s a little kid though, Jigen’s always nice to them. Especially little boys who like his cowboy costume. (He wears that one the most as an excuse to carry his magnum around without people getting suspicious.) He’ll put on the southern drawl and everything. He doesn’t want to break the illusion for a kid, especially not on Halloween.

One time a little boy called him Woody, Lupin overheard, and teased him about it the whole night because he thought it would bug Jigen. Jigen secretly thought it was the funniest/sweetest thing ever, and snuck the kid extra candy in his bucket before he left with his mom.

Jigen won’t take any crap from teenage trick-or-treaters who are rude. You know, the ones who take too much from the bucket so there’s none left for the little kids. He’ll turn them away at the door. It’s never come down to him having to pull out the Magnum, because his glare alone is enough to scare the crap out of them so they’ll leave. Same goes for tipsy adults who’ve had one too many Halloween-themed drinks and get too rowdy.

One year Lupin made a joke about how Jigen should give some candy cigarettes out to kids for Halloween, and Jigen shut it down FAST. He doesn’t want to encourage kids to start his bad habit, so he doesn’t smoke around other people at the party, and makes extra sure that kids aren’t around when he does.

One year, Jigen gave out out tiny water pistols with the candy. Lupin got some for him to hand out because they reminded him of Jigen at the store, and even though Jigen brushed it off at the time, he appreciated it.

🎃 Goemon:

Goemon secretly loves Halloween, but will literally die before admitting it to anyone. It took him a while to warm up to it, though.

He still sticks to tradition- his costumes all have something to do with Japan. Kabuki Ishikawa Goemon is a classic that he returns to often. He’s dressed up as various oni/yōkai/yūrei before, and several figures from Japanese folklore.

Goemon has also been a samurai for Halloween, even though it’s just his regular clothes. It’s for the kids, really- he secretly enjoys the attention.

He will make jack-o-lanterns with Zantetsuken, but only for little kids that he thinks are especially polite. Lupin whines every time because Goemon won’t make him one too.

He always insists on getting Japanese candies for the candy bowl, like Pocky and the various flavored Kit Kats they have in Japan. At first he insisted on more traditional treats, then he realized they might not keep well and opted for these. Plus, it’s for the kids.

He does keep things like konpeitō and wagashi for himself to snack on throughout the night. He’ll share, but the same rule applies as the jack-o-lanterns- only for the super polite kids.

One time Lupin made a bet with Goemon, and if he lost, he had to be a geisha for Halloween.

He lost.

He doesn’t like to talk about it.

Everyone else does, every single year, without fail.

Goemon has also become the de facto Guardian of the Punch Bowls. Lupin keeps them out for both the trick-or-treaters and the partygoers. One bowl for the kids, and an alcoholic one for the adults. The adult punch is clearly labeled. Now, you should never drink the punch at a party because you don’t know what’s in it, but Lupin is the exception in this regard. No funny business is happening with that punch bowl. And Goemon will make damn sure of that.

Nobody ever assigned him the position of Punch Bowl Guardian, he just picked it up himself. Before Halloween one year, Lupin was (rightfully) worried at first that someone would try to put something dangerous in it, and was about to opt out of having a communal punch bowl. Then, Goemon spoke up that he had it covered, and thus, he was made the Punch Bowl Guardian.

Nobody has ever tried to spike it with anything, and nobody ever will. Lupin gets to mingle instead of guarding the bowl, and Goemon gets to relax away from the crowd. Everybody wins.

🎃 Fujiko:

If you don’t think Fujiko hasn’t been a Playboy bunny at least once, you’re lying to yourself. She has also been a mouse, à la Mean Girls, and basically a sexy version of anything you can think of. Except for a cop. She wouldn’t stoop that low.

Occasionally, it wasn’t originally supposed to be a sexy version of the outfit/character. Lupin sometimes replaces the original with a raunchier outfit the night before, and waits to see if she notices.

She always does.

Sometimes she likes that version better and sticks with it, and if Lupin ever asks about it on Halloween, she denies it all. If she doesn’t like it, she knows that Lupin kept the original and will put it back before she wakes up on Halloween. They’ve been playing this game for years, and there’s never any malice behind it. It’s just their customary brand of Halloween trickery.

One time she planned to dress up as Lupin, purely to see if he’d replace his outfit with a risqué version the night before.

Of course he did, why would you expect anything less???

She laughed so hard at it that she tripped and fell, and he rushed in to see if she was okay and also to see if she was wearing it because he wanted a peek

She then made HIM wear it on Halloween, while she wore his regular clothes. He was cool with it, had a blast, got blasted on too many cups of adult punch, and then got a little too into the outfit, so Jigen had to bribe him to take it off at the end of night.

Her favorite costume that wasn’t ‘edited’ by Lupin is from the year she dressed up as Pops. She swiped it from his disguise collection, and hid it where he wouldn’t find it before he could notice it was gone. Her decoy costume was a bumblebee. She’s just as good at disguises as Lupin is, so when she showed up as Zenigata, Lupin nearly shit a brick.

Goemon will never let him forget it.

🎃 Zenigata:

Zenigata probably dresses up as an old-school detective or Sherlock Holmes, which isn’t really too different from his normal attire, but it makes him happy regardless.

He will not arrest Lupin on Halloween.

Zenigata knows about the parties, but turns a blind eye to them at this point, because it’s a fruitless endeavor trying to catch a master of disguise on Halloween. He has tried in the past, but only once. When Zenigata first discovered that Lupin threw these parties, he found out where Lupin was on Halloween and came to arrest him.

He walked up to the hideout and saw Lupin handing out candy to a pair of kids. He couldn’t go through with it, because wouldn’t you know it, their costumes were tiny versions of him and Lupin.

He immediately did a 180 and started to leave, since Lupin wasn’t technically breaking the law at the time, and he’s a sucker for kids. (He got a little misty-eyed at the sight of a tiny little girl drowning in a trenchcoat that looked just like his, with a pair of cheap plastic handcuffs in the pocket. He’d hate to show it in front of Lupin though.)

Lupin, of course, knew Zenigata was coming before he even arrived, grabbed his shoulder, and stopped him from walking away. The girls were too young to see past Lupin’s costume and had no idea that it was him, and they had assumed that Zenigata was also in costume. Zenigata told them it was really him, and, of course, they are THRILLED.

They ask him about his adventures with Lupin, and he tells them the G-rated versions of the stories. Lupin joins in, after leaving for a ‘bathroom break’ and coming back as himself. The two spend the night answering their questions, telling stories, and doing party tricks. Zenigata shows how quickly he can handcuff Lupin while blindfolded, and Lupin shows how he can dislocate his joints to get out/pick the lock.

When the girls’ parents show up, they see their kids sitting next to these two adults in the same ‘costumes.’ They seem to be good people, so the parents compliment their costumes and go home with their kids. The girls insist that the two men were the real Lupin and Pops, but the parents brush it off.

Every year since, Lupin leaves another jack-o-lantern with his face on it besides the one he leaves at the hideout once he’s gone. No matter where the party is, or how far it is from where Zenigata is staying, Pops always gets one too. Usually with a piece of candy next to it, and a calling card for his next, non-Halloween-themed heist.

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puckmeupfam · 4 years ago

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Sap | Jeff Skinner

Word Count: 2287

Note: My autumnal aesthetic piece that I started in July. Title is based on the fact that this is entirely fluff without plot, and because it takes place in the Northeast with references to maple syrup, cider donuts, and leaf-peeping.

Zipping your newly packed suitcase and pulling it off the bed, you heard the front door open signaling that Jeff arrived home from practice. It was a rare time when he had the weekend off. No games, no practices after the one he just finished, just free time which he chose to devote to spending with you. The two of you loved going on short trips whenever possible to escape the monotony of work and grocery shopping and Buffalo. Honestly, you could spend the weekend in Lackawanna and be happy as long as you were with Jeff. This particular weekend was special because it was now solidly fall. The temperatures were dropping. The leaves were changing. Swimsuits were being swapped out for sweaters. And golf was being replaced by hockey.

You had spent most of the summer in Markham. Coming from a smaller family, you were always enamored by Jeff’s. At this point, you honestly considered them to be your family, too. You loved talking to Jillian about her time in law school or asking Ben about his hockey career in Germany. It was also hilarious to watch the five siblings tease Jeff about his competitiveness or on-ice gaffs, but he was always a good sport about it and just laughed with bright red cheeks. You knew how much it meant to Jeff when he got to spend time with his family and experience that warmth and joy. The both of you were incredibly lucky that Buffalo isn’t too far away, but with his schedule, the uninterrupted summer was extra special.

As you were lost in your thoughts, you missed Jeff coming up the stairs and into your shared bedroom. His arms wrapped around your waist and his face found its way into the crook of your neck. The action brought an unconscious smile to your face as you leaned back into him.

“Whatcha thinking about?” he asked you, voice muffled against your skin as he lightly swayed. You shrugged in response, “We should probably get Andrea a birthday gift while we’re gone, something nice you know? Show we were thinking about her.” Jeff hummed in response. He rocked the two of you a bit before speaking, “Are you ready to leave?” You took a deep breath, inhaling his cologne. Turning your body to look him in the eye you smiled softly, “Almost,” you whispered, “we should probably get going before they decide they need you to individually kiss each fan.” This elicited a booming laugh from Jeff that you felt throughout your body, “The only person I’m kissing is you.”

After another minute of contentment, you shuffled him away from you to grab some chargers and last-minute necessities. He chuckled as he started pulling your suitcase down to the car, he knew how much you were looking forward to this trip. You had spent the last week researching and talking about all the spots you wanted to visit while you were away. Grabbing your purse and hoisting it over your shoulder you did a last-minute sweep of the house to make sure that everything was unplugged and you weren’t leaving candles lit or stovetops on. After your anxieties were quelled you went outside and joined Jeff in the car. He had already put your B&B into the GPS and he flashed you a large grin which you eagerly matched as he pulled out of the driveway.

This trip the two of you were going to Western Massachusetts. It was about a five and a half hour drive, probably longer since you knew you would be stopping for lunch and every state park that came your way. You synched your phone and started playing music, knowing that you had a playlist with the perfect ambiance. Jeff always teased you for making playlists for every mood, weather pattern, task, or aesthetic that came in your head. But when the soft chords came through the speakers and his fingers started a gentle tap against the steering wheel to the beat, you knew that it was appreciated.

In Buffalo, the weather was just cool enough that the seat warmers got turned on but not yet so cold that you were shivering. You were cruising down the highway, close to crossing city lines. When you glanced over at Jeff he had a small smile, like he wasn’t even thinking about it. Just watching the road with an underlying well of happiness. You took a minute to look at him, to take him in. His smile turned out to be infectious and you knew your face was probably spread with a dopey grin.

“You’re staring,” Jeff said, breaking the silence.

��You didn’t even look over. How would you know?” you complained.

“I could feel your stare,” he responded, looking over at you with a grin that took over his whole face. His statement made you burst out laughing. While the whole thing was funny and, you were sure that he really did get that weird feeling you get when someone’s looking at you, it made you think about how you were always so aware of each other. The two of you could be in a crowd of people at some Sabres bruncheon and someway somehow you could always glance up and see him already looking at you. Or when you would go to some team party, you always had a tendency to reach for each other’s hands at the same time.

“You would stare at you too,” was your response after you had realized that you went a few beats too long just staring into space.

It was Jeff’s turn to laugh, “what does that even mean?”

“It means,” you started, drawing out the word, “that you’re cute and potentially the embodiment of sunshine and everyone would stare at you if they could and I will simply not defend myself further.”

Jeff rolled his eyes at your dramatic tone and faux-seriousness. He swung his arm out over to you, holding it in the air until you grabbed his hand in both of yours. You pulled his hand into your lap and leaned further back into the passenger seat. Turning your head to the side to watch the city escape, your eyes unfocused and your brain turned to elevator music as your temple rested against the window. After a few minutes of contented silence, Jeff’s hand made its way to your thigh and squeezed, drawing your attention.

“Look at the leaves, babe,” he told you. The passing trees were dotted with warm-colored leaves of crimson, tangerine, marigold, and honey. It was absolutely gorgeous and seemed like a sign that your trip was only going to get better. You stared in awe for about a mile before you looked back at Jeff. His eyes flickered from the road to your face and the look he gave you, full of love and peace, made you feel so warm.

“They’re so pretty,” you said softly. You moved your hand to twine your fingers together and you watched his dimples come out in full force as he forced his eyes to stay on the road. After a few moments of contentment, you spoke again, “do you want me to tell you about the plant pigments that make these colors possible?”

Jeff chuckled, but you knew that your joke didn’t ruin the moment or anything else that you might think if you were talking to someone else. Because Jeff knew you, he loved you. He loved your bad jokes, your stories that you’ve already told him multiple times but just like telling again and again, the way you go into lectures to explain things that he had never thought twice about, your urge to talk during movies to comment on the scene or the actor’s personal life. He loved the best parts of you and he loved the worst parts of you. And this moment? Where you feel the light beaming out of your heart. It isn’t the moment. It’s just a moment in a string of hundreds of thousands of moments that you’ll experience with your favorite person.

After about two hours in the car, you were close to Syracuse and decided to stop for lunch. The two of you decided on a cute, local diner. Jeff parked the car and as you stepped out, you stretched your legs to rid yourself of the wobbly feeling from being in a car too long. The sidewalks were made of a red brick and there was a quiet hustle with people walking their dogs and couples going in and out of shops. The two of you walked side-by-side, but right when you were about to reach the door Jeff stepped ahead to hold it open for you. Stepping through you smiled at him and he followed you in. There seemed to be a typical lunch rush, but the restaurant wasn’t crowded. A waitress pointed you towards a booth and you slumped into it as Jeff sat across from you.

You both ordered coffees before cracking the menu open to see what they had. The pages were lined with different sandwiches, egg dishes, pancakes, and all the typical diner food that you loved. You settled on your order fairly quickly but Jeff scanned the pages until the coffees were brought out and the waitress was asking for your order. Handing her your menu, you explained what you wanted before both of you turned your attention towards your boyfriend.

“Could I have the brownie french toast?”

At that you raised your eyebrows at him incredulously. As the waitress walked away, scribbling your orders down as she went, Jeff looked back at you and laughed at your expression. “Cheat weekend,” was his explanation. He shrugged with an expression on his face like he was being forced to order what was likely the sugariest option on the menu. You threw your hands up to say you weren’t judging. Jeff quickly launched into a story about something Jack did at practice and that filled your wait until the food was brought to your table. Your boyfriend’s eyes widened comically when his food came out. It looked like there had been a blizzard of powdered sugar. It was topped with a whopping pile of whipped cream and a generous amount of rainbow sprinkles, just in case the brownie batter wasn't sweet enough.

Neither of you wasted any time in diving into your food and when you glanced up at Jeff after a few minutes you giggled when you saw that some of that whipped cream had ended up on his nose. You stealthily pulled out your phone to snap a picture of him. Once he heard the click of your camera he looked up at you which reignited your laughter.

“What?” he asked, chuckling lightly with you even without knowing the reason.

Without explaining yourself, you just reached out and swiped the sweet substance off his face before licking it off your finger. His response was just a sharp laugh with rolled eyes, head thrown back a bit at your antics. He knew full well that you were going to tease him for a long time for his choice of ridiculously confectionary lunch. You returned to your food with a shake of your head, but when you turned to take a sip of your coffee you noticed that Jeff had absolutely demolished his plate of french toast and was now trying to collect the remnant of whipped cream with his fork.

“It’s not going to be my fault when you crash from all that sugar,” you told him. He watched you dig your teeth into your lip to try and conceal the smile that was threatening to break through.

“Honestly, (Y/N), I’ve never felt better in my life. The sprinkles fuel me. I think I’ll make this my pre-game meal,” Jeff said with an air of seriousness. Sadly for him, but luckily for you, he had a genetic inability to suppress his smiles. You leaned back in the booth until your head hit the pleather upholstery and kicked your feet up to rest in his lap underneath the table.

“Don’t overwhelm yourself, I’m taking you to the Sugar Shack tomorrow and we’re getting the cider donuts.”

Jeff pulled a shocked and aghast face in response, “How dare you insinuate that I would ever be anything other than thrilled at the very prospect of cider donuts? You know, just because you said that I’m going to get two orders and we’ll see what you say when I eat those and yours too.”

You rolled your eyes so dramatically that you knew, if your mom were there, she would be telling you that they’d get stuck like that. Under the table, you kicked your legs up to rest in Jeff’s lap as he waved his arm to flag down the waitress for the bill. You sat quietly, just watching as he went through the monotony of thanking the waitress and putting his card in the sleeve of the bill. When he looked back at you, he smiled knowing that he caught you staring for the second time that day.

“You ready?” He asked you. A simple question, given that you were on a roadtrip with a predetermined destination. But with the opportunity to just appreciate him and your relationship, without the stress of your schedules or outside influences, it just felt meaningful. There was no one you would rather be with, during the happiest moments of your life or the worst. You felt a little misty with the joy of having him by your side.

“With you? Always.”

Pulling yourself out of the booth, you extended your hand for him to grasp and continued onwards.

#Jeff skinner #Jeff skinner imagine #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #hockey imagine #hockey fanfiction #nhl fic #buffalo sabres imagine #j.skinner #based in the fall started in the summer posting in the winter #not proofread #tw food

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just-a-fangirl13 · 4 years ago

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Why s5 *might* be the season MacRiley happens

Okay so...Hear me out! I'm not crazy I promise!!

Firstly, after 5x03 (and probably 5x04) it may seem very unlikely that MacRiley could ever happen. But I thought of a few reasons why they might actually happen by the end of s5 after all.... (it gets a lil long winded and kinda complicated but just stick with me till the end!)

1. All the MacRiley moments including the ones in 5x03.

[this Mac smile could not be an accident or something that slipped through both production and post-production right?! that in itself is a whole reason!]

Every Macriley moment we have ever had- whether it's the hugs, Riley saving Mac, Mac saving Riley, the ultimate show of loyalty when Riley went after Mac during Codex or even just the looks exchanged between the two- to any outsider it would seem pretty obvious that they are dating or at least in love. Keep in mind the writers would have written each of those scenes and Lucas and Tristan have acted them out with a specific build up in mind aka MacRiley.(think about the date episode: Riley just got dumped but was still thinking about how Mac might be hungry. She didnt have to do that. She could have just shown up at his place..) I mean how can they write two people so perfectly in sync and so perfect for each other and not have them end up together? It would just be a waste of all that tension and slow burn. (not to mention all the hugs and glances)

2. They know we exist.

The MacRiley fam is very active on twitter with the writers and while they were writing 5x01 they knew we were around. They know we are a huge group. They would not want to risk pissing 90% of the fandom off by not making MacRiley endgame.

[P.S.yes 5x03 was a bait and switch but if you were paying attention you would have noticed that neither Lucas not Tristan live tweeted or hyped up the episode. They knew we would probably hate it so they didnt publicise it too much! so in the future if you have doubts about the episode being a MacRiley one just check their stories or posts on twitter/intstagram]

3. Yes 5x03 happened.

I really think it was an episode they HAD to write. Ok so after 4x13 they had 7 more episodes planned and were filming 4x20 (aka the finale) when the pandemic struck. So they have these 6 episodes but no finale for it. [Idk if anyone else has noticed but in 5x01 there were clearly some parts cut out. For example the conversation between Desi and Riley towards the end seemed a bit jilted. Riley asking Desi to forgive her but Desi replied with yeah we are cool (still no apology ofc) I feel like something happened during that which ended up getting cut out so it could fit with the final story.]

This makes me think that they have rewritten a few bits to tie into the new finale episode. In 5x03 when Mac asked Desi to come fishing with him which was clearly something very personal to him she was like no do better.. then we see Mac's disappointed expression. She could have easily said okay but maybe not for our first date? Or its not really my thing? Or just about anything else rather than laughing in his face like that. Eventhough MD is together they still arent compatible. Mac’s final words in 5x03 was him being desperate. I truly think he is so broken and lost that Desi is the only safe thing left, the only thing he feels like he can fix right now. Once he finds himself again and heals...then it's going to hit him like a pile of bricks!!

4. But Riley doesn't have feelings anymore...WELL doesnt she?

When it comes to Mac, Riley is always in denial. We saw it in s4 when she tells Bozer not to make her say it. I think s5 will show her finally accepting it. Finally accepting that she is in love with her best friend and that it definitely isnt Codex adrenaline because she caught the feels when Codex wasnt even around. While Mac's arc would include realising he and Desi are never going to work and that he is unhappy and that RILEY is the one for him.

[why else would they give Riley feelings for Mac? Something has to come of it.]

5. The slow burn rule.[this point is a lil complicated]

Now season 5 is rumoured to have 13 episodes. So here’s what I think: If MacGyver follows the pattern that most shows do when it comes to slow burns, then technically MacRIley should have happened at the end of season 4. But since the season got cut short and they didnt get to air/finish their final episode the writers had to improvise.

From what I know, 4x19 which is 5x04 for us is the episode where Mac meets Desi’s parents and 4x20 was supposed to be the finale that was left unfinished.(they are definitely moving the timeline ahead if a pre finale episode is suddenly a mid season one.) There might have been a 4x21 or 4x22 but I haven't heard anything about those....EVER.

So what I think they have decided to do instead is extend the MD storyline a bit longer just so they dont end up scrapping all their s4 episodes where they would be together and write a new finale that ties everything together, aka MacRiley.

If you think about episode counts, s4 and s5 together would have 26 episodes which is a how long a normal season runs. Basically what im trying to say is if we follow the ‘slow burns end by s4’ and take season 5 as an extension of 4 then MacRiley should get together in the season 5 finale or maybe the episode just before. (IM REALLY TRYING TO GET SOME LOGIC INTO THIS)

This would be a typical TV thing too where the couple finds out about each other’s feelings while the main arc of the show is also at its peak, which perfectly sets up a future season where fans are hyped but still has a satisfying ending.

6. So what about MacDesi?

So far the macgyver writers have given us characters we love. Think of every character on the show apart from maybe Desi... Mac, Riley, Bozer, Jack, Matty, Leanna, Samantha, Russ and even Murdoc. WE LOVE EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM. So then why is Desi such a strange character? I think shes purposely been written as an opposite to Mac or even Riley (I get she’s supposed to kinda replace Jack but Jack is really irreplaceable).

It's not necessarily a bad thing its just not a great thing to do or have great execution. People have said things like Desi is a badass and shouldnt have to apologise or say I love you back to her boyfriend because she is a strong woman...I'm sorry but your opinion of who a strong woman is, is EXTREMELY skewed. A strong woman is someone who can make mistakes and when she does, she is ‘strong’ enough to own up to it, she is loyal and fierce and also caring while being a badass who can take down bad guys. And for GODS SAKE, RILEY DAVIS IS A STRONG WOMAN...people have called her mushy and feminine on twitter and I'm just very confused by that.....

Anyways before I go off on a rant, it seems like Desi is intentionally being written this way. Every opportunity they get to redeem her and make her more relatable or just a better person they just dont take it. While Rileys character arc is one of the best I've ever seen. Either its intentional or they’ve forgotten how to write characters...which is worrisome but ill give them the benefit of the doubt.

The writers also know we dont like Desi. The amount of times we've tagged them in the toxic posts or pointed out problematic things we can be sure they've seen at least half of those. So theres no way they dont know. RIGHT?

So why then is MD still a thing you may ask??

Well for one they cant break them up again off screen because of those unreleased s4 episodes. (not to mention the other parts of the audience who arent as invested in mac’s love life would probably be very confused.)

Secondly Mac has to be the one to pull the plug, not Desi. 4x13 made it seem like Desi was the annoyed one not Mac. He apologised to her which meant he wanted to fix things.

Thirdly, they are opening the chpt one last time before they permanently close it. MD is going to be a stark contrast to macriley(it already is in every way possible). Every issue Mac and Desi had can be used to show how amazing macriley really is as two people who arent even dating yet.

Fourthly, MD being together is a sort of commentary on Macs mental health as well. We can see how happy he is with Riley but around Desi he becomes some one else. If the writers are doing this on purpose or subconsciously still remains to be seen.

And Yes keeping MD around for a few more episodes seems like a necessary risk right now but I have a feeling its going to be worth it later.

[I know we have had like 4 desi entered episodes already but I really think 5x04 will be the last of it since 5x05 is the Jack episode and 5x06 is Mac+Riley+Bozer episode with no mention of Desi at all!]

The writers know we are a dedicated bunch and they know that once MD breaks up for the last time the entire fandom will be waiting and watching. That's when the show will be at its peak. That will be the perfect moment to bring in MacRiley’s arc to a new start!

Congrats if you stuck with me through this whole thing! if you agree/disgaree with any of these or have other reasons why they could be endgame in s5 let me know!!

#MacGyver #Angus MacGyver #macgyvercbs #Riley davis #macriley #cbs #macxriley #macriley is endgame #otp #wilt bozer #Matilda webber #Lucas till #Tristin Mays #cbsmacgyer #russ taylor #macisback #macgyver season 5

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echo-three-one · 4 years ago

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Whatever It Takes : RELOADED

Augustus' burner phone is the key to locating Nero but the team discovers that it's more than just Nero that's behind all of this. Will the former 141 soldiers find out what Nero is up to? Will Alex rescue Samantha?

Table of Contents

Hello! Ray's Back in his game!

Chapter 16 to another story made by Ray (echo-three-one) Comments and Reviews appreciated! I hope you enjoy! Love you all ❤️

My Damsel in Distress

"Alex"

Task Force 141 - Disbanded

On a plane off to somewhere

General Shepherd.

The name sent Alex's blood boiling from rage. He couldn't believe that a high ranking official would actually betray them and could still run away from it.

It's no secret that he wanted 141 out of the Nero scene. But why? He knew full well that Samantha doesn't have access over the address but he still took her? And he also knew that this little team won't walk away without her safe. Alex wondered what's running inside the snow-caterpillar-stache's little brain. He couldn't even say his name now.

He clenched his fists, feeling the thick leather gloves he wore for battle. It was a devastating day for him. They just bonded for a few moments here and there and now she’s already taken away from him. He couldn’t keep count how many times it happened. It was frustrating.

“So, which safehouse are you bringing us today?” Alex joked with his former CO. Jack looked serious as always, he never gets these kinds of humor.

“Same one in Brazil. It’s the most forgotten and spacious. No one’s going to come looking for us in South America.” Jack replied, looking worriedly at Alex.

“I know when you’re preoccupied Alex. What happened afterward?” Jack turned to him and Alex knew he had to open up. He deserved the truth anyway.

“I uh… I fell for her, Jack. I know I told you that I won’t but it just hit me.”

“Like a fucking brick…” Jack interrupted and chuckled.

“All I can say is that you’ve done a better job than I did when I fell in love. I could still see your determination towards your work. Or maybe because she’s still involved in all of this.” he added, causing Alex to relax his tensed shoulders.

“It’s good to have you back, old man.” Alex shook his hand and smiled. With all the problems around him, it was good to have someone close to him to talk to. He was glad Nero didn't kill him back in the Gulag.

“Yeah. Me too, and it looks like you’ve got yourselves a determined bunch. Especially that guy.” he noted, pointing to Soap who was sitting with France. Alex remembered how the two of them met at the Gulag and in that short span of time Jack was able to read the whole guy’s personality.

“Soap? Yeah, he’s an achiever. Heard he’s top of every obstacle course back at the base.” Alex mused, looking at the two. They were sitting together quietly but Alex felt jealous. He could've been doing that with Samantha right now. Now that she's ready to hear the truth about them.

"Yeah. He's got some fight in him. I'm sure we'll defeat Nero even with this little band right here. And I'll do my best to be of assistance to you." he patted Alex's shoulder and went back to check on Nikolai.

Safehouse 110197, Brazil

Alex remembered that this place was compromised, but then again that was the CIA mole's henchmen that found them here and they're no longer affiliated with Nero. Or he picked this place because no one would think of going back here after being compromised. The Reverse Psychology card. Either way, Alex didn't mind.

As the team slowly scattered around the house and prepared everything, Alex took note of some changes since his last visit. More beds were added and supplies got restocked. Even the bullet cache looked reloaded.

The team loaded off everything they salvaged, or stole, from the 141 and set it all up. Ghost prioritized the tech stuff while the women fixed the bedrooms. Alex offered help but was denied by Gary saying "Your face still hurts so don't over exert yourself, we can do this on our own."

So Alex plopped by the central couch as Ghost untangle the wires, putting them on their respective slots.

"You holding up okay?" The masked man asked as soon as Alex released a deep sigh.

"I'm worried about Samantha." he replied, resting his hands on the back of his head.

"She doesn't have the address, what does Shepherd want from her?" Alex added, his tone raised like a kid complaining.

"I have no idea. But I do have something else. Information on the surprise attack at the 141." Ghost said, as Jack and Price moved toward them and discussed the contents of Augustus' phone.

"That bastard gave away our location." Price cursed.

"So his plan to disband us would be successful." Alex added and Ghost nodded.

"Why get Samantha though? He knows we'll be coming for him." Ghost added and the rest of them speculated their theories.

"Augustus failed to get her so Shepherd did it for him? For what?" Jack noted, reviewing their whole mission for reference.

"Something bigger, I presume." Price spat and everyone fell silent. The rest of the team except for Gary and Maxine gathered for a short briefing. Everyone gave away their take as to why, some of them made sense while some reasons don't add up. And thinking about it was only making them more frustrated.

Everyone looked serious until they inhaled the fresh aroma of dinner from the kitchen. Alex turned and saw Gary and Maxine, smiling while serving up the team's dinner. He could sense something him and Samantha once shared in this place and it looked like the Safe house did it's charm once again.

"Now that's bloody good cookin'" Price announced and everyone laughed. He wasn't the kind of person to say those kinds of things, but he did, and it was all they needed to ease the tension of not knowing what's next.

They never gathered like this before, together, happy and noisy. The two oldies sat on the opposite edges of the round table while Soap, France, Gary and Maxine sat beside each other on the left. Simon and Alex sat on the other side, an empty chair resided beside them.

"Don't worry lad, we'll rescue her." Price muttered and Jack nodded. Alex smiled as they started to eat some food.

"Hold on a minute!" Soap exclaimed causing everyone to halt.

"Thank you Lord for thy blessings which we are about to receive. Amen." he muttered while everyone looked at him.

"Amen!" they all said in unison and wolfed down Gary and Maxine's delicious meal.

"This tastes so good! Just like Mom used to make!" Francine chewed happily. Maxine stared at her supposed to be sister and smiled.

"It does?" she breathed.

"Mmhmm.. I was always jealous that you two were so close together in the kitchen, everything I touch turns to a culinary mess." she frowned and made everyone else laugh. Soap stared at her in amazement.

"You and me both, France." Jack agreed. The gang bonded throughout dinner and enjoyed the company. Alex volunteered on the dishes and France offered to help.

"You think she's going to be fine?" Maxine asked as she checked the contents of the fridge, looking at Alex who looked very focused on the dishes he's cleaning.

"She's been kidnapped a lot of times now. I think she's used to it." Alex attempted to joke, but the tone of his voice was far from kidding.

"Aye, That lassie's a tough one. Don't worry Alex. We'll get her, Shepherd's bound to make a mistake anytime soon." Soap commented from behind him while leaning on the kitchen island.

"I told you I can handle assisting Alex on my own!" France giggled as she wiped the plates dry.

"Aye! I know! Can't a man just enjoy some time with his girlfriend?" he raised his hand mocking surrender. France turned back and crossed her arms.

"Ahem. Girl space Friend. There's a space in between." she scolded and MacTavish just chuckled.

"Whatever you say, Babe." he joked once again as he stepped out of the kitchen.

"Ugh. That guy's so full of himself." France groaned. Alex and Maxine exchanged glances and laughed, causing the female soldier to worry.

"What?" she asked.

"You two look cute together." Maxine chuckled, closed the fridge and walked away.

"We're not together!" France yelled, making sure Maxine would hear it wherever she went.

"We will be soon!" Soap exclaimed from outside, followed by collective laughter from the group of men with him.

Alex groaned and looked at his watch. It's already 3:36 am and he couldn't sleep. He slowly got up and looked around. On the huge bed, Jack and Price slept peacefully as evidenced by the loud snoring. Beside him on the floor was Soap, Roach and an empty spot where Ghost was supposed to sleep. The girls occupied the guest room.

Alex slowly got up and carefully assisted his metal leg, trying not to make noise as he waltzed to the balcony where he suspected Ghost to be.

And he was right, Ghost sat by the railings on the terrace, not a single expression of fear etched on his face. A face Alex saw for the first time.

"Can't sleep?" the former CIA asked. Ghost slowly turned his head and nodded.

"I'm just contemplating…" he muttered, the tone of his voice sound defeated.

"We caught ourselves in a crazy situation, huh?" Alex chuckled trying to make the best of the situation. Ghost didn't seem to like the vote of happiness as he clicked his tongue and sighed.

"I'm into France… but it looked like she's happier with John." he spat. From what Alex heard from Roach, Ghost was not the kind of person to open up. And this was all too surprising for him.

"I… uh…" Alex stammered.

"Look, I'm also sorry… You don't have to reply… I was about to vent to Gary about this but he seemed too preoccupied with Maxine and I didn't want to bother him."

"Look, it's okay. Ghost."

"It's Simon, Simon Riley."

"It's okay Simon. That's life. You win some, you lose some." he consoled. He tried to make it as positive as possible but he was also down in the dumps, like him.

"Thanks for the honesty. I just realized how devastated you must be. I never got to hear your story until Gary told me. It must've been tough losing her over and over again." Gary talked without looking at him.

"It's like I've been cursed to lose her and save her all over again." Alex complained.

"Like Link." Simon announced like it's a great metaphor which Alex didn't get.

"Link?"

"Like from the video game. Where this knight was always out to save her damsel in distress. It's got many different variations but it's always the same name. Generations have passed and Link was always destined to save Zelda." he said in amusement.

"My damsel in distress…" Alex noted and looked up at the stars, wishing that wherever Samantha may be, he hoped she's safe and also thinking of him.

Next Chapter : Delayed Flight

Notification Squad my beloved

@smokeywhalee @samatedeansbroccoli @enderio @whimsywispsblog @beemybee @ricinbach

#horRAYfic #whateverittakes #reloaded #alex echo 3 1 #john soap mactavish #john price #gary roach sanderson #simon ghost riley #i miss yall

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sunflovverharry · 4 years ago

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Allegiance - Fakedating!Harry

Finally decided to make a new tumblr for my writing as I’ve been wanting to start posting forever ago, but my former blog was marked explicit for no reason!! BUT here I am, shitting bricks that I’m actually posting my work.. Let me present to you; Fakedating!Harry

word count: 4.4k warnings: language, drinking, angst, fluff summary: harry and y/n go through the ups and downs of their slowly changing relationship pairing: harry x reader

!!!!! it’s my first time releasing anything I’ve ever written and i’m shitting my pants. this was so fun to write and I hope you enjoy it! please reblog, like or tell me what you liked about it, i’ll greatly appreciate it🥺 i have a series i’m working on atm that’ll be out soon (hopefully), along with multiple one-shots so look out for that if you enjoyed this piece (the series is fwb!harry if that’ll help you want to read it hahah). enjoy my first one-shot of fakedating!harry (might put out a part 2 to this sometime but don’t take my word for it)

It wasn’t the first family gathering I had to come with him to. Not even the tenth. No, it was probably more like the fiftieth I couldn’t say no to coming to during the last two tears. Two years of playing his loving and devoting girlfriend. His family and friends have known us as the perfect couple since he first introduced me a warm july evening two years ago. Apart from it being a fake relationship, it seems pretty fucking real to the outside world. Maybe we’re just that great actors.

July 19th 2018

Harry took a hold of my hand as we walked through the luxurious modern home in the outskirts of London. It is the first time I’ve stepped foot in this house - eager to catch every little detail as I slowly walked beside Harry. It was gorgeous and I hoped to get a tour sometime. Not that I even know if I’ll ever come back here after tonight. It might be a one-night thing for all I know, only agreeing to come with Harry because I literally could not find an excuse to save my life.

Being at a function where you know next to nobody except your supposed boyfriend is terrifying, but at the same time I had to hide my nerves in case anyone caught on.

Our family has never had any big parties or get-togethers except for weddings - which there weren’t many of. Most of my cousins decided they were off fine without a marriage certificate to validate their relationships. I supported them in their decision, but ultimately I want to marry the one I one day want to spend the rest of my life with. Not having the best relationship reputation it’ll probably be a while until a wedding where I’m the bride takes place.

The large double french doors leading out to the expansive garden were open for guests to go in and out of the house and to the garden where mostly everyone were mingling when we arrived. The engagement celebration of Harry’s sister and her fiancée was in full swing and it looked as if we were the last ones missing. That made it all the more terrifying. How on earth are we going to keep up the façade of us being in a relationship all night?

We’d talked about details on the way here deciding to go with our friends setting us up on a blind date a few months back. It isn’t far from the truth, but we were definitely not on a date. We had to accompany our best mates who were on a date, but for the most part we ignored each other only letting the talk and get to know each other. The worst thing is, it wasn’t even worth it as they literally shagged and didn’t see each other again.

As to how we’re now here together - I accidentally walked into him and spilt my tea all over his fancy suit clinging to his body. Cliché, I know. To repay him for the spill, he asked me to be his pretend girlfriend and like I said I suck at excuses so here we are about to be introduced to his whole family it seems. Way to take away the attention from the happy couple.

«Mum.» Harry’s hand slipped from mine as we closed up on the group to the left. I didn’t want to interrupt a reunion between Harry and his mum so I kept my stance a few feet behind him and waited for Harry to take the lead as he hugged his mum saying a quick hello to the rest of the people standing in the small circle.

«Y/n, mum. Mum, y/n.» Harry stepped to the side so I could take the short steps forward to greet his mother. It was the first time I was meeting a guy of any sort parents and I’m sure I was shaking as she pulled me in for a hug. It was warm and welcoming as she whispered in my ear.

«It’s so lovely to meet you finally, y/n.» I smiled at her as we parted. She kept her hands on my upper arms taking me in with her moving eyes. «Harry hasn’t told us anything or answered a single question about you, but now I can ask you myself!» She cheered as Harry groaned in the background. How was this lovely lady basically getting pulled into a trap by her 26 year old son?

The next few greetings went above and beyond my expectations. With knowing how insensitive and closed off Harry, I had imagined his family was the same - which looking back was unkind of me as his family are the complete opposite. Being here accompanied by his loved ones also showed me that maybe Harry isn’t as hard as he comes off as, he just doesn’t like to open up to the wrong people. I can tolerate and understand that, but he hasn’t exactly made an effort to get to know me, so I wouldn’t say he has a right to be heartless towards me. Not after I’ve done him a massive favor.

«How long have you been together then?» Harry had gone to talk to his future brother-in-law and sister and I was left seated with some family friends of theirs. I didn’t mind one bit spending time with other people than Harry. It was freeing not having to pretend and have his hand caressing my thigh and asking if I wanted anything from the bar. Sure, I would have reveled in it if we were anything close to friends or even lovers, but just knowing it’s him makes me want to shake him off.

«It’ll be six months on the 27th. We had our second date on his birthday actually and he didn’t even tell me! Can you believe that?» I asked incredulously. It wasn’t true, we hadn’t even met up on his birthday nevertheless been on a fucking date.

We sat in comfortable conversation for a couple minutes talking about Harry and me before he came back sliding his arm over the back of my chair. His fingertips trailed up and down my arm as he quickly got back into the conversation.

It felt oddly normal when we were conversing about day-to-day subject and talking about solely ourselves, but then I’m brought right back into the plain lie about our relationship.

July 2nd 2020

This time it wasn’t an engagement party though, it was a celebration of Marie and Jack having been married for 30 years. It’s a huge accomplishment and compared to every other gathering, I’m happy to be here. Though the fake relationship between Harry and I hasn’t been the best, we’ve certainly tried our best and his family still seem to believe it.

We’ve had our ups and downs in private, but always been on our best behavior out with his family - holding hands, laying my head on his shoulder, him kissing my temple and squeezing my waist. It didn’t happen all too often, thank god, but we’d shared the odd kiss or two at times where it deemed right to do so. I’m not sure I could bear getting a taste of his lips more than I had to. At his sister's wedding last summer when we were slow dancing somewhere in the midst of all his family and their friends we slowly leaned in - whether in the heat of the moment or because it seemed we had to i’m still not sure. Either way, it was a nice kiss shared between us when we were both drunk off of champagne and the love we felt around us.

Since, there’s been a few pecks here and there, but mostly keeping to placing our lips on the others cheek, forehead or hand. I do think Harry’s opened up, though only slightly, it still warmed my heart. We’ve had quite a few enjoyable chats whilst driving home or sitting in a corner of the garden we’ve spent most our time in at his parents home. I still don’t know where he lives, him picking me up and only going to wherever the dinner or party would be held.

We haven’t discussed how much longer we’re keeping the lie going about us, but it was starting to gnaw at me knowing we would probably part ways in not too long and never meet again. He had become a part of my life I’m not sure I want to lose. The beginning was horrible and we didn’t get along in private, but after that kiss at the wedding something turned in the both of us (I hope).

Up until recently we’ve been really fucking lucky to have avoided all questions about moving in together and a possible ring on my finger. Weeks ago when we had dinner with his parents the questions surely weren’t held away though. Babies, apartments, rings and everything of the sort were brought up. It was heavy subject for two people who barely could stand each other a year ago and by the end of the dinner I was more than ready to put an end to this extremely complicated lie. It’s turned into much more than the one party I agreed to the first time he asked me.

We had a nice chat about how we were excited to see his nieces again in the car, giggling about our memories with them these last two years. It was nice being so open and comfortable with him not having to worry about him being angry or quiet. He talked back and laughed with me and even told me a couple stories from before I was in their life. I’ll miss them and the rest of his family when we inevitably end us.

Marie greeted us just like she does every time we come by, for dinner, a party or game night I just couldn’t refuse to join in on - with a kind smile grazing her lips and the same welcoming hug she’d given me the first time we met and ever since. It was really something I was looking forward to when I knew I’d be seeing her.

«Harry, y/n! You look fabulous, did you force him to match his tie to your dress?» Marie squinted her eyes at me in a ‘I know he’d never do it if he wasn’t forced to’ look. And of course, she knew her son way better than I did and only laughed with her as I told her yes, indeed I even had to put it on him myself. Which was the truth for once.

«Hopefully we’ll be throwing you some kind of celebration sometime soon, yeah? Engagement, pregnancy?» She hinted at the subjects we tried our very best to steer away from at all times as we followed her back to the garden I was falling more and more in love with. For the most part we’d been able to laugh our way out of it.

Harry laughed as he took two glasses of champagne from a server for the both of us to sip. It would definitely clear any pregnancy rumours which I’m sure there were swirling around between his family members. This family does not like to take their time with anything, saying life is too short to fool around. I’m sure they’re concerned and suspicious of why we’re taking things slow not even living together when his sisters all got engaged or married within the two first years, but they’ll be let in on our secret soon enough I hope.

In one way I’d love for this all to be over and continue to live my life as I did before Harry - but to be honest I’m not quite sure how I’ll ever go back to that. Life with Harry sure has its pros and I would enjoy it as long as it lasted. Especially the expensive champagne they always seemed to have at every function.

A couple hours or so later the speeches were in full swing. I knew Harry wasn’t doing one as I’m sure everyone would think he’d propose to me at the end of it, so he decided to forget about it. After his sisters had said some lines each, Marie and Jack stood up at the head table right next to us. They looked as in love now as they did two years ago and it was incredible witnessing how the spark between them never seemed to die. I can only wish to have a marriage as wonderful.

«You want more to drink? Can have mine if you want.» Harry offered quietly before Jack asked everyone about how gorgeous his wife looks tonight. He truly adores her and it shows in every way he acts and speaks to her.

«Yes, please. Thank you.» I grabbed the glass of some sort of concoction from his much larger hand. Smiling up at him, I sipped the drink from the straw feeling his hand squeeze my waist to pull me closer though I’m not sure how much closer I could get unless I sat on his lap. We’d been touching each other considerably more than usual during the night. It felt good and with how friendly we’ve been lately I almost wanted more, just like how I’ve been wanting for the last couple months. More touching my thigh, more squeezing my waist, more kisses on my temple, more brushing my hair away from my face. He was addicting, inexplicably so.

Harry put his lips to my cheek as we listened to his parents speak about how their love was at an all time high, even after thirty years of marriage, four children and a couple of granddaughters to show for it. The softness to their voices as they spoke passionate, kind, loving words to each other was absolutely remarkable. It brought my deepest feelings out and I couldn’t help but shed a tear or two. I hadn’t noticed they were falling before I felt Harry’s thumb whisking them away and pulling my head to rest on his shoulder, another kiss planted on my forehead this time.

I savored the moment, the love I felt all too much for me while thinking about how this would be over far too soon for my liking. His family were growing on me. Harry was growing on me. I enjoyed his company, when he would open up without me asking or begging to know a small detail that probably didn’t matter to him as much as it did to me. He had become a huge part of my everyday life by now, texting him on days we weren’t meeting up.

I firmly remember the first day we hung out just us two. It was a Tuesday evening and we had gone out to eat - really only to grab a photo we could give to his parents who had been begging for one. This was around halloween last year, so we were on solid grounds by then.

At first it was awkward as hell, neither knowing what to say or how to start the conversation, but after we had ordered we soon got into conversation and we didn’t stop until we’d been sat there for three hours. It still baffles my mind how nice that dinner was and how I didn’t ever think ‘can this be over soon?’. Thinking back, I think that’s the exact moment I realized I might’ve grown feelings for the man.

The night had gone by in a blink of the eye, suddenly it was nearing midnight and we had just said goodbye and were making our way to his car. Sitting down and watching the house as Harry reversed out of the parking spot, I thought about what a lovely night it’s been. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed myself and this one party will forever be the reason I won’t ever regret fake dating Harry Styles. His mum made it all worth it when he didn’t.

«Would you like to come to mine for a drink before heading home? It’s still quite early for a Saturday, innit?» Harry didn’t come off as nervous or scared to ask me to join him at his place before sending me home. There was no way I could deny his request as I’d finally get to see the flat he resides in and I’ve imagined for two years.

It only took us around ten minutes to get to his flat, shocked to see that it isn’t as far from mine as I thought. He’s got enough money to live in a nicer area, but this definitely has charm to it and maybe that’s why he wants to live here.

The flat itself was victorian but with a modern upgrade. A luxurious kitchen with all the appliances one could need, a lovely island serving as his dining table that led into the living room. I wanted to jump onto the couch and lay there for eternity by only looking at how soft and comfortable it seems. The rather large L-shaped couch took up most of the room, but he’d made sure to have enough space for tall, wide bookshelves filled with anything but books behind it.

Don’t get me started on the dark wood flooring that looked as original as it could get. They brought character to the flat and blended the old victorian feel in nicely with the more modern look of the walls and kitchen. I’d love to have a place like this someday.

«You can sit down and I’ll grab a bottle of wine, sound alright?» Harry hung his suit jacket that he hadn’t worn at all on one of the chairs lined by the island counter. He moved into the corner of the kitchen where I couldn’t see him any longer as I stepped off my shoes before tiptoeing to the couch falling down into it. I was right about it being soft and comfortable. It was as if I was being lulled to sleep all I needed was a light blanket tucking me in and I’d be set for a good night's sleep.

Harry chuckled when he came out from the kitchen, a bottle of red in one hand and two glasses in the other, to see me cuddling into his couch. I don’t know what he does in his free time or if he usually has girls around his flat and this is a normal view for him, but right now I didn’t care. He was giving me wine and a comfy place to sit which honestly is enough for now. I don’t want to scare him away by talking about my feelings for him past midnight, half drunk after all the drinks I’d already had tonight.

Chatting to Harry was a breeze. We giggled before getting serious and then struggling to breath as we laughed harder than ever before. It felt light and good, like we were the best of friends and for a moment I thought I could live with that. As long as I got to continue having moments like these with him, I could deal with only being friends. Then I had another glass of wine and decided that I couldn’t bear him not knowing how I feel for one more second.

«Harry.. we can’t keep doing this. It’s not fair to the people involved, and it’s absolutely not fair to us.» My eyes were watching my finger trailing the pattern of one of his pillows I was holding in my lap. There was no foreshadowing to tell Harry that I would bring this up and I could tell he wasn’t ready for it by the sharp intake of breath that could be heard from him.

«I’ve thought about it recently and obviously we both knew this couldn’t last forever. I’ve grown a lot the past two years and I know what I want now. A fake relationship isn’t it, no matter how much I adore your family.» I could feel my throat burning as I tried to keep my tears at bay. The last thing I wanted to sit in front of him crying my eyes out. Still not daring to let my eyes reach his, I closed my eyes as I continued talking.

«The first year was awful. You weren’t nice to me and after doing you a huge fucking favour, which I still don’t know why you needed a fake girlfriend, you were still treating me just like how you did the first time we met. Then after your sisters wedding, it started getting better and by winter we were good friends. Something shifted in us, in me at least that night and I can’t overlook it anymore. It’s fine if this is it for us, ‘cause I can’t lie to your family anymore, but I need you to know one thing before I leave.» It felt so good telling him how I’d felt for so long, only one last thing to tell him.

Pushing myself to look up at him, I took a deep breath and opened my eyes. I couldn’t hold back the tears. He looked so vulnerable though he wasn’t the one holding his breath with a heavy heart trying to tell someone they have stronger feelings for them than might be reciprocated. He looked worried seeing me cry, but didn’t do anything knowing I didn’t want a hand to hold or a hug at this moment.

«I realized tonight that the night we first went out for dinner to take that picture for your parents was also the first time I understood my feelings towards you. It’s fucking insane that even after a year of basically hating your company, three months of us being friends was all it took for me to get feelings for you. I don’t want a fake relationship and I don’t want to be just your friend. I’m not going to say I’m sorry if this ruins things completely between us because I’m finally being true to myself and to you.»

Harry looked as if someone had just punched him in the face. His mouth was hanging open, jaw slack, eyes wide filled with curiosity. I had never let myself take in his gorgeous face completely. It’d only do me more pain than pleasure. Now though, I’m taking in every single detail I can before he either tells me to please leave or throw me out.

I removed my eyes from his face when his phone made a noise telling him someone sent a text message. It being close to one thirty in the morning made me incredibly curious as to who could be texting him now.

He apparently took his time to read it instead of responding to me as it was dead silent for another minute or so. Maybe he was replying or it was a really long fucking text.

Letting out a long sigh he dropped his phone back down on the table. It seemed he wasn’t quite sure what to do or say with how he dragged his hands over his face before standing up only to sit back down again five seconds later.

«Mum wants you to know that she loves you and thanks you for being with me, not just today but in general. This is how it’s been for the last two years for me, y/n. My family adores the shit out of you and I get at least two texts a day from mum asking how you’re doing and when she’ll see you next. It’s always y/n this and y/n that. You’ve invaded everyone’s minds and they’re obsessed with you.» Though it was nice hearing how much of an impact I’ve made, it almost made me more sad than happy. A couple more tears fell as I listened to him go on.

«The first year I tried so fucking hard to make you want to end it. Every time I asked you to come with me I hoped you’d say no and end it just so I could get you out of my head. You invaded my mind just like you did everyone elses and I couldn’t fucking bear it knowing we weren’t a real couple. After that kiss at the wedding I couldn’t keep my act together. It was excruciating being mean to you so I tried being your friend. I still to this day don’t know which was worse, being closed off or close to you.» Harry took one last breath before moving slightly so that he could reach over to hold my hands in his. This isn’t what I had expected and I still don’t want to get my hopes up.

«I want what my sisters have, what my parents have. I’ve wanted that so badly that I began thinking it wouldn’t happen as I’m 28 and still haven’t had one long-lasting relationship. I’d started to believe that it wasn’t in the cards for me - having a wife and a family. Then you came around and I these two years have showed me how fucking perfect you are and how you deserve so much better than me. But I’m a selfish man and I want you, y/n. Want you so much.» Not being able to keep away longer, I swiftly closed the gap between us, slotting my lips with his as I moved to straddle his waist.

It felt unbelievably good to kiss him like this, passion and lust clear as day as our tongues met for the first time. He wants me. I couldn’t stop saying the three words in my head as I let go to catch my breath. How in the world could I be so lucky to be wanted by the man I want?

I laughed as I wiped at my cheeks, removing the tear stains as well as I could without a wet washcloth to clean them off. Harry guided his lips from my jaw up to my cheek ending with a kiss to my shut eyelid. I had never experienced Harry being this soft and attentive, but it was all the more to look forward to.

«Maybe we can turn the fake relationship into a real one and not tell my whole family about it?» There was a cheeky smile playing on his lips as I let out another laugh. If this is what I have to look forward to - jokes, laugher and passionate kisses possibly leading to something more - then I couldn’t wait.

«Of course, Harry. And tell your mum I love her back and give her my number, will you? I’m still looking for a tour of their house after two years of you not giving me one.»

#harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fiction #harry styles writing #allegiance

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littlefreya · 5 years ago

Text

The Way to Hell - Part 6

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it or parts of the source material and claiming it as your own*

Summary: Post Mi6 - August manages to escape with his face intact and just won himself the title of being the most dangerous man on earth. With every agent in the world on the hunt for him, life became a living hell, but that’s okay because hell is where he reigns.

Too bad for the woman who’ll stand in his way.

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Ingvild) | August Walker x ofc Suzy

Word count: 5K

Warnings: Dark themes, rough oral sex, gagging, hinted anal, mentions of rough sex, and August twisted thoughts.

A/N: The adventures of August and Ingvild continue 💖 thanks again for reading and giving me your feedback, it keeps me fueled so keep it up :D! Of course thanks @agniavateira for editing my work and being my muse.

Title: Stargazer

The love boat sets sail through the icy water of the North Sea. The apostle, Knight_of_Cockn3ss, or whatever that kid’s name is, wasn’t joking when he mentioned a romantic cruise.

The traitorous sun hangs mid-sky as August trails across the deck. A beige fedora covers his dark curls and a matching cream-coloured suit over his sturdy body. In his right hand rests his laptop, he is not daring to leave it out of sight even for a minute. His eyes observe the surroundings; he must be the only single person on this trip, surrounded by timid couples on the verge of divorce and sugar daddies with their sugar babies.

‘At least the young girls are pretty.’ August greets a tall blonde, holding one hand behind his back and giving her a small bow before continuing on his way.

He’ll have to endure this trip for a couple more days, which isn’t ideal by any means, but he can’t risk getting caught or killed. Airports all over the world are swarming with security guards, agents, and assassins on really fucking high alert by now, all of them waiting for him.

The irony of the situation is that a long time ago used to be one of them. A wanted target on a scale of world catastrophe would spin a web of agents worldwide and Agent Walker would always get there first. That’s why they called him “The Hammer” - he nailed each target on the head, among other things.

No one cared about torture and extreme violence. He once brought back a target in such a dire condition that Erica was forced to send him to psych evaluation. He bluntly told the psychiatrist he enjoys the violence for no particular reason why, and then fucked her over the desk.

He scoffs at the memory, breaking into a wolfish grin.

Standing on the rail, his gaze is glued to the blue horizon, following the trail of sea-foam left by the boat as it slices through the water, disturbing the peaceful life beneath the sea. Slowly, his chaotic mind begins to drift, reveries of the CIA reminding him of her.

Golden locks of hair glow like hot sand on a summer day. Sweetly, she jokes about buying a yacht, telling Erica to fuck off so they can leave everything behind, and sail into freedom.

Memories are perfidious. Why has she been on his mind so much as of late? She’s been dead for years, flesh eaten by worms and the insects.

She is no more but a sack of rotting bones.

To condemn her memory is more than she deserves.

August’s nostrils flare. For whatever reason, his mind wanders to the girl who lived. Gently snorting, he shakes his head, remembering the condition of how he left ‘poor little’ Ingvild; half-naked, wrists tied up to the bed, probably crying to whatever father figure she has.

After what he did to her, she’ll probably retire from Icarus.

“I’m coming after you,” he mimics her voice in his head, and laughs while making his way toward the stack of beach lounge chairs. The section is nearly empty as most of the lovebirds are dinning in the main hall and unlike the degenerated visitors of this cruise, he is here solely on business.

Much work is left to be done. “Knight” has promised to meet him in London’s sky tower, suggesting he may or may not have a source of plutonium. Whether he’s a broker, a source, or a possible troll matters very little to a man on the run. Desperate times are ahead; he may be sticking his neck out, might be stepping into an obvious trap, but choice is scarce at the moment.

‘This is not the type of anarchy I dreamed of.’

That little girl, Ingvild, was the first to come. There will be others, endless more until the world will fall apart.

“I’ll keep coming after you.” Her voice hinges on his troubled mind.

He opens his laptop with a groan, trying to ignore the truth that lies on his mind like a pile of heavy brick.

‘You should have left her pretty face to die in the bottom of the lake.’

“Oh, but to miss out on all the fun that followed in that bedroom?” he speaks to himself quietly, unlocking his laptop with a retinal scan.

Luckily, his old drive is still accessible on the cloud he encrypted. Years of work and dirt collected on the CIA and the government nestles on a single server. The ugly truth, the lies, the corruptness. Thick and black like a pit filled of tar.

Erica Sloane has her own dedicated special folder. Personal vendetta was never on his agenda, it was never about revenge, it was about a cause but sweet Erica deserves whatever damnation he could think of. He hopes that when he detonates his nuclear bombs, that once this world falls apart, she’ll sit on a front-row seat to see her failures raining down like fire from the sky.

A vicious smirk paints his face as his fingertips slide onto the touchpad. August scans through his many folders, seeking a specific one regarding illegal weapon deals. It would be a lovely afternoon at the CIA had one of these recordings or documents would find their way to the public eye.

August slides the cursor around, entering one of the CIA’s subfolders when his smile fades away.

He thought he deleted her folder a long time ago, but it seems like mistakenly, he placed it in another section instead.

And now here it is. A name he thought he’d never see again: Lacey.

Strange, he hardly remembers what she looked like. How long has it been? Six? Seven years ago? In his dreams, she’s nothing but a rotting corpse, but the mind has a tendency to alter one’s memory, doesn’t it?

Was she even sweet at all?

‘Manipulation was her strongest trait anyway.’

Without mustering a mother breath, he deletes the folder, and proceeds to search for the files he means to leak. He muses if they caught up with the notion that it was him who poisoned the well this entire time. Years of stirring chaos while sitting with his laptop of his bed while Sloane and her high-ranking management freaked out and did all that’s in their power to cover shit up.

It was so hard to keep a poker face and pretend he is trying to help. One particular time, he got so ecstatic he had to go and jack off in the men’s room.

‘That was a good one.’

Something abruptly disturbs his attention, making his heart nearly drop.

‘It can’t be, is that...?’

A petite brunette passes through the lounge, joyfully trodding along the deck. Her hair is tucked back into a ponytail. No, it can’t be her, not in the situation he left her at. By what sort of dark magic would she exactly appear here out of nowhere?

‘I wouldn’t be surprised if the little Valkyrie turns out to be some sort of a witch.’

The brunette feels his gaze upon her figure and turns. He is met with a brown, warm gaze, rather than the sharp icy lustre that is Ingvild’s trademark. Less pretty as well, but looks about the same age, perhaps a year or two younger.

Another sugar baby, weary and discontent.

August realises he must have been staring with a dumbfounded look as she decides to smile back and make her way to him.

“Good afternoon,” she greets in a Midwestern accent. August’s eyes focus on her painted lips and in his mind, he imagines wiping that cotton candy pink lipstick by his thumb.

“Afternoon,” he smiles kindly, tipping his fedora with a welcoming bow.

Always the gentleman.

The young woman moves to sit on the seat in front of him, crossing her legs together as she takes in his sight. She observes and assesses how old he is and how much money he must own.

Probably looking for a new target.

‘Not old enough to be your daddy, but you can still call me that if it floats your boat.’

“Are you a secret agent?” She jokes, peering at his laptop before he smooths his hand on the lid to shuts it. He pretends to be intrigued by her senseless, obvious seduction when his mind once again forced him to go back and compare her to living-dead girl.

It seems like he can’t get away from her. Perhaps her threats were a curse? Even halfway across the sea, this total stranger reignites his curiosity.

‘Does Ingvild has any values? Any empathy toward others?’

She did experience fear in those little moments when his knife penetrated her soft little gut - that look in her eyes; like a virgin, fucked extremely rough for the very first time.

Thinking of those big, terrified eyes light up a snarl on his bewhiskered lip.

There was an inch of vulnerability in that sweet farewell kiss, a sense lost look on her face as if she couldn’t fit that emotion into any drawer inside her brain. It made her look so much more beautiful.

He wonders what she would have looked like if he went ahead with his besser urges and fucked her.

‘Maybe she’d finally break into tears. Fuck, I’d love to see her cry.’

“Sorry, I didn’t catch your name?” He interrupts the sassy brunette as she speaks of Lord-knows-what. It seems that she doesn’t even realise he wasn't listening to her for the last 5 minutes she been babbling . The girl smiles sweetly, tucking a brown lock of hair behind her ear. The diamond bracelet that decorated her wrist dangles as she does.

“Suzy.”

“Suzy,” August repeats and smiles charmingly before giving his lips a quick flick of a tongue. “Would you like to join me in my room?”

The brunette pretends to blush beneath the layers of foundation on her face and fakes an argument inside her mind as if she actually considers refusing his bold suggestion.

~*~

Back in his room, he pushes the petite brunette to her knees. He wipes away her makeup, smearing the pink paint with the crudeness of thumb. Suzy giggles, thinking she probably had men do worse than that by now.

‘Oh, darling, we haven’t even started yet.’

August’s large hand traces her rounded face, knuckles brushing against her cheek tenderly while running down to meet her lips again.

“Open up sweetheart,” he commands in a relaxed voice, his index finger demanding entrance to her velvety mouth. She spreads her lips open slowly, allowing him to slip in his long digit to explore the wet cavern while his thumb caresses her chin. Much to his delight, she sucks on his finger obediently, moaning as he slowly pumps in and out of her hot mouth.

“Good girl,” he praises, his free hand reaching to unbuckle his belt urgently and free his aching cock from his trousers. He tugs at himself for a second, staring how she suckles on his finger with fake devotion. She probably do want his cock, but it’s his money that she’d care for more later.

‘Oh, how disappointed you are going to be once I’m off this boat, baby.’

“How about I’ll fuck that pretty little throat, hmm?” August asks and without waiting for an answer, pulls his soaked finger away and clasps his hand around the hollows of her cheeks instead, forcing her to keep her mouth open.

She voices no protest, only her eyes staring at him wide and helpless. He pays no attention, preferring the sight of his cock sliding in between those puffy lips and pushing into the warm depths instead. A prolong groan slips out of his mouth, emphasising the relief of finally getting his dick wet.

Usually, he loves to watch, yet he lets his eyes roll back and shuts them tightly this time while she in the background. It only makes him fuck her throat more vigorously, his hands cradling and saddling her head, forcing her to meet the violent thrust of his hips.

“Don’t touch me,” he rasps breathlessly, as her her dirty paws snake for his waist. Terrified, she pulls away, intimidated by his voice. August’s eyes remain shut yet he can feel the wetness on her cheeks as his thumbs dig into them. Those tears are enough to send him over the edge, and he comes into her throat without any warning, grunting a couple of times and lingering inside her mouth to make sure she’ll swallow him clean.

‘That’s right little Valkyrie angel, you’ll take what I’ll give you.’

The mists of fantasy fade as August blinks his eyes open. Debunked by the plastic-type of woman. Slowly, he pulls his cock out, impressed by the mascara that’s smeared beneath Suzy’s now glassy red eyes. He wipes her lower lip clean and then gives her chin a gentle pinch with a soft grin.

Suzy gives out a weak smile in return, trying to look satisfied while remaining on her knees. He can tell that her little brain is pretty much half-through into realising she made a mistake by following the devil into his room.

Tall and menacing, he looks at her drenched by vile mischief. August moves to sit on the queen sized bed, petting the empty spot next to him. She follows, fighting her instinct to put a hand on his knee as she is used to, afraid that he will bark at her again.

“Tell me, Suzy,” he coaxes, reaching for the wallet in his pocket and drawing out a Trojan condom.

“Have you ever tried anal sex?”

****

“Ingvild,” the old man calls her name once he brings her to her new home. It’s a simple, minimalist apartment with naked walls and generic black IKEA furniture.

Silent, she peers at him, holding her small luggage between sinewy fingers. Everything that she possesses in the world is in that suitcase; a bunch of plaid skirts, white buttoned shirts, and a few books about fairies and monsters.

This man called Liam, is he to be her new father? He never even offered her a smile and hardly bothers looking into her eyes. Instead he grunts and sighs while making his way around the house and gesturing for her to follow.

At least he is kinder than Mother Superior. At least in here, no girl is going to pick any fights with her and get her into trouble.

“This is your room,” Liam gestures. The pubescent girl sneaks closer, peeking inside with curiosity. It’s not what someone would call a girl’s room by any means, very much like the rooms they had at the orphanage. It contains a single bed with a thin mattress and white metal bars and on the bed rest some casual clothes for her to wear.

At least she won’t have to wear skirts anymore.

As little Ingvild continues to scan the room, she picks on a small library housing some books and a learning desk with a computer. Probably for her to gain some knowledge of the world. She never had any of that at the orphanage, just the bible and the “forbidden” books of fairytales she stole from one of the nuns.

“Today you can rest,” Liam speaks, watching the little girl as she moves to place her luggage inside and sits on the bed.

“Tomorrow, you will start your first day of training.”

‘Training?’

Ingvild says nothing, only glares at him back quietly. It’s quite clear no woman is present in the house which makes her wonder; the orphanage doesn’t allow single parents to adopt, especially not men. Was Mother Superior this desperate to get rid of her that she decided to throw her at the first person who asked?

“Just so we’re clear, girl,” Liam grumbles, “I am not your father. You call me Liam and that’s that.”

She nods silently and watches him leave the room, shutting the door behind. Sighing, she falls back to the mattress, her silver eyes fixing at the ceiling in wonders of what sort of new life has she been sold ito.

“Ingvild...”

A low, velvety voice calls for her again, the mattress dipping, shifting with the weight of the one who joins her. As she turns her face aside, she is met with hungry eyes and a smile so cold it makes her heart shrivel.

August.

*~*

A loud thud wakes her with a sharp inhale. Though her face remain stoic, quickly readjusting to the sight of moving ground as the plane’s wheels make their landing. ‘Arrogant August Walker, invading my dreams’, she curses but pays no more thought to why he was there. Analysing dreams was never her thing. They were just memories of random things that happened to her in her childhood and August is no different as he had been on her mind for the last 72 hours.

He was a job.

One that she needed to get over with.

Liam was at her throat with this one specifically, nagging her like an old shrew. He wasn’t used for her taking her time with it, not his special girl.

Massaging her strained neck, she waits for the last person to leave the plane, observing the empty cabin and noticing how used it appears with all the crumpled, empty snack bags lying on the floor.

‘Ungrateful’, she thinks before exiting her seat and tip-toeing to get her luggage.

The arrivals terminal is infested with agents. Having been trained for years, she sees right through their casual attire, so fake they almost look like B-movie actors. It’s those badly selected outfits and their observant gazes - eyes obsessively fixed on every gate. Every airport in the world must be the same right now, desperate to catch this nightmare of a terrorist.

‘As if he would be stupid enough to travel by plane.’

With a high profile target like August on the loose, it almost feels like the world is on the brink of war.

‘Is that what he wants? To be an anarchistic god that plows chaos everywhere?’

Maybe that’s why he gave her back her life, to humiliate her, to show her how easily he can twist everyone’s life and disrupt the world people know.

‘Mephisto, Lucifer, Hades, Hel.’

“Remember that you’re only alive because I have allowed it.”

A sudden shard of pain sears through her torso, the wound reacting to the phantasm of his low timbre which plays in her mind. It makes her slow on her steps and chews on her inner cheek to suppress a moan that has been begging to escape her lips since yesterday afternoon.

“August Walker”, the name rolls on the tip of her tongue.

Her very first failure, the very first man who killed her.

It almost feels like a bond now, intimate and twisted. August went deeper than any other man ever did - he fucked her internal organs.

‘Is that is why you “performed” for him in the shower? Why you thought about him, slipping inside you with his cock rather than his knife?’

Ingvild huffs tenderly and passes in-between a couple reuniting with passion, her shoulder sharply bumping against the woman, who yells at her while she remains indifferent, never bothering to look back.

Putting on her shades, she continues to head for the exit. The wound in her gut throbs even further, all of a sudden and just when she is tempted to give into the pain and acknowledge it, the new mobile device in her jacket’s pocket begins to vibrate.

Liam, who else?

“Papa?” She answers, the big exit sign finally flickering in front of her eyes.

She can see Liam rolling his eyes without having to see his grumpy old face.

“What progress do you hope to make with this lead? Someone says they saw him in Singapore yesterday, you should be following these threads instead.”

Ingvild holds her breath, knowing very well the lead is false. August was with her a night ago, so close she tasted him, so near his fingers dug deep into her flesh, leaving an imprint on her bones and even though there is something quite demonic about him, she doubts he can be at two different places at once.

“I need access to his world, I need to pick up the clues,” she explains, yet the sad truth is that she has no idea what to look for. August is not a rookie idiot, he did a fine job leaving zero clues back at the bed&breakfast room they “shared”. Not even the receptionist who ogled her oddly when she left could tell her where he was heading.

“Just get it done, Ingvild. You’re acting like a child, this isn’t like you,” Liam mutters before hanging up.

‘He is right, this isn’t like you.’

Ingvild feels hooks clutching her guts, not just the pain August inflicted upon her, but something deeper, something desperate, leaving a void in that same spot. The fact that he slipped between her fingers seems to torments, just as much as the fact that she lied to Liam for the first time. It makes her feel like a rebellious teenager. She never keeps secrets from him and there she is, lying through every word.

Absentmindedly, her fingers press against her lips as she exits the airport.

~*~

The address led her to a small suburban house in southern London. It’s the type of house that has large glass windows where anyone standing outside can ogle freely. Rich people houses, as she likes to call it. She had a few missions in the past with people living in homes like this one - always an easy kill.

A blond woman meanders about inside the house, wearing a grey silk nightgown, preparing for bedtime probably. According to Walker’s file, she’s the most recent ex - Sydney. They broke up a couple of months before he decided to go on what he thought would be his final mission, his deathstrike.

‘If only.’

Glancing from the gravel path that leads to large metal doors, she learns the woman’s delicate manoeuvres, her mind reciting every graceful gestures as she crouches down to place food for a large Maine coon cat.

‘Is that the type of woman he likes?’

August would strikes her as a man who would fuck anything with a heartbeat but he did have more than a few relationships. She can’t help but wonder if he has a type, noticing how Sydney is more of a woman than a girl; solid income, big name lawyer, a woman who can take care of herself, a woman to start a family with.

Not that she imagines Walker starting a family anytime soon.

She is pretty too, with her mid-length straight golden hair, bright eyes and a shapely body. Ingvild looks at her own outfit: jeans, sneakers and a black sleeved shirt, nowhere as classy as beautiful Sydney.

The hour is late, still she walks toward the door and rings the bell.

“Can I help you?”

Ingvild is greeted by green eyes and a subtle Welsh accent. She gives her one of her fake smiles, trying to look as charming and pleasant as a sweet doll.

“Sydney Bedford?” She asks, while briefly scanning her body. She tries to imagine what August liked about her the most; her figure? Her angelic face? Her emerald stare?

“I have some questions about August Walker, he used to…”

Sydney shakes her head vehemently, waving her hands in the air. Something in her eyes drastically changes the moment the name “August” slaps her across the face.

“Are you MI6!? Please, I don’t want to speak about that psychotic loser anymore.”

Ingvild smiles calmly, a soft chuckle leaving her throat.

“Oh you see, he disappeared…”

“Good riddance!” Sydney replies, her eyes filling with anger, her face turning red within seconds. “Listen. I already told them everything I know.”

“Please,” Ingvild begs, batting her long lashes and tilting her head like a cute little kitten. “I’m new in this and my superior will be mad if I don’t at least speak to you. May I please come in? It’s important for my investigation.”

The same childlike charm that works on men might as well work on women, for different reasons in this occasion. Sydney is a single 36-38-year old woman who lives alone with her cat.

She must have wanted a family, perhaps with Walker, no wonder she’s furious.

Leaning against the door frame, Sydney scrutinises the young girl, believing she is younger than she really is with that pale smooth face and big innocent greyish eyes.

“Come on in, dear.” She opens the door wide, letting Ingvild step inside before closing it behind her.

The main entrance leads into a large living room, furnished with a black leather sofas and a glass coffee table. She owns a TV that is larger than Ingvild's entire living room and the walls are moulded with grey bricks, shiny from some cut stone.

Ingvild imagines how lovely it would feel to crack the shimmering stone with August’s skull.

“Would you like some tea?” Sydney offers while heading toward her luxurious kitchen.

“Please,” Ingvild answers, walking around the house and examining every corner to learn of the woman who invited her in. She nearly stumbles as the large cat rubs against her foot. “Oh,” she exclaims, lowering herself to pick the chubby feline to her arms.

She never owned a pet. Liam said it’s unnecessary.

“So like I said,” Sydney calls from the kitchen, putting the kettle on the stove. “I don’t know anything about August and where he is. All I can tell you is that he was weird.”

“Weird? How?” Ingvild asks, stroking the cat behind his ears and while it purr against her chest.

Sydney places two mugs on the black marble counter in the kitchen and opens a cabinet, looking for some tea bags. “He would disappear and then return after weeks, telling me not to ask any questions. Then, he would go away and come back in crazy hours. He was a gentleman of course but arrogant and demanding, never taking no for an answer.”

Ingvild turns to look at Sydney, arching her eyebrow as if she is surprised to learn this about the man who stabbed and drowned her in an icy lake. “Is that so?”

“Yes!” Sydney shouts back, her chest heaving as she throws the bags into the mugs and turns toward Ingvild.

“Everything had to go his way, and I won’t be surprised if he had a mistress or another family, or god! Maybe an illegal drug practice.”

The cat jumps down from Ingvild’s embrace, and she brushes the grey hairs off her black shirt. “What makes you think this way?”

“Like I said; disappearing in the middle of the night, coming back... I knew something was off so I went and... wait I… I shouldn’t tell you this, you’re an agent!” Sydney looks around her, as if she’s afraid someone might be listening to their conversation.

Ingvild takes a step forward into the kitchen, her grey eyes seeking Sydney’s, giving her a warm, kind smile. “You can tell me anything Sydney, you are not in danger, I promise. We just want to locate Walker, he hasn't reported to HQ in a while.”

Sydney observes her gaze, trying to determine her personality. She thinks the young woman seem gentle with those unique eyes and the hair that’s tucked back to a strict ponytail.

“I had him traced,” she whispers. “I know I wasn’t supposed to because he is CIA, and trust me I was scared but I had to know.”

“How did you do that?” Ingvild asks, tilting her head with curiosity and slight disbelief. It seems odd that a man like Walker was bugged by some dumb lawyer woman.

“I did his laundry, it wasn’t hard to hide something inside the pocket of his jacket. I mean, inside the fabric, where he can’t find it.”

Ingvild can’t help but let out a small snort, amused by the fact that the infamous CIA agent got made so easily. She covers her mouth with her fist, shyly smiling into it, but it’s noticed by Sydney who stands in front of her, staring oddly.

“Where would he go?”

“Some place in South Kensington, almost every day for the last month of our relationship. He would vanish there for hours and then come back. I have the address, hold on.” Sydney leaves the kitchen and walks through a long corridor.

Not bothering with politeness, Ingvild follows her, easy off her feet like the big grey cat, carefully exploring this new territory. She imagines the fights August would have with this woman and then the passionate sex afterwards while her hand runs against the texture of the garnet.

“Oh!” Sydney exclaims, confused to see Ingvild in the doorway of her bedroom. The young woman looks around curiously, trying to find any memorabilia from August; a photo, a clothing article, man cologne. It seems like he was never even been here, though there is a certain coldness in this room that feels strangely familiar.

‘No, not August, his touch is warm.’

“He did trading or something,” Sydney says as she hands her over a small yellow note that was hidden in her purse. It has the address to August’s “secret lover”.

Ingvild takes the notes, memorizing the address before placing it in her jeans pocket. “Trading? Can you elaborate?”

She shrugs. “He asked me to not disturb him while he was doing some dealing, I don’t know what it was… it looked fishy but it might just be CIA stuff.”

Ingvild nods silently, scanning the room again and again and eventually taking in the sight of the empty bed. Her mind fills in the gaps, painting an image of August fucking Sydney into oblivion, his muscular body ramming into hers, one leg held over his shoulder while the blond little bitch screams in ecstasy.

“How was he in bed? Would you say he performed well?” Ingvild asks, her eyes gesturing toward the mattress.

Sydney frowns, giving her a slight repulsed face as she finds her question remarkably rude.

“How is this relevant to the investigation?”

She means to berate her when she witnesses Ingvild’s kind smile growing remarkably cold.

The young woman remains silent, taking a step closer and making Sydney almost stumble back as sudden fear creeps in. Grey frigid eyes, like icy shards, her nostrils slightly flares as she catches up the scent of her expensive perfume.

“How is this relevant to the MI6?!” Sydney asks again, trying to dismiss the tension yet continues to draw distance from the young agent.

“I never said I am MI6.”

Sydney’s back hits the wall with a soft thud, she attempts to flee but Ingvild’s hands lock around her shoulders, forcing her against the wall with a thud. As small as this woman is, she is way stronger than she appears.

“How was he in bed?” she repeats, her voice becoming more demanding while her glare threatening to spear into Sydney’s skull. “Would you say he satisfies you?”

Puny gasps peal from Sydney’s mouth, her green eyes becoming moist with pure fear.

“Please, don’t... He was... Rough.”

“Bondage?”

“He... he..he choked me,” she answers in a trembling voice, her lower lip quivering, much to Ingvild’s delight.

“He was too rough, he was big and he didn’t care, it was as if he enjoyed my pain...”

Ingvild licks her bottom lip, imagining Sydney thrown on the bed with August treating her like a rag doll, wrecking her completely. Bruises left everywhere, tattoos on her skin for the world to see this fine artist’s work. A cold flame licks at her spine, crawling down to the small of her back.

She’s uncertain why.

“Would you say he loved you?”

Sydney’s peers at her quietly, thinking of her answer for a few seconds while Ingvild’s fingers bury into her collarbone, voicelessly demanding a response.

“August Walker is incapable of love. He is dead inside.”

________________________________________________________

Disclaimer: I don’t own August Walker or the Mission Impossible Frenchise

#august walker #Henry Cavill #August Walker Fanfiction #Henry Cavill Fanfiction #August Walker x ofc #Henry Cavill x ofc #August Walker Fanfic #augustwalker #henrycavill

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zacc-attacc · 4 years ago

Note

Firstly - I really love good puns, so your username made my day xD

Then, for your request thing - would you maybe write a Sprace OneShot that plays in the canon era? Maybe some sort of friends-to-lovers thing?

Thanks :)

First of all, thank you for the request! And for the compliment, of course.

ANYWAYS, HISTORICAL SPRACE, HERE WE GO BABS.

Sweet-Talker- A Historical Sprace Fic

Word Count: 2k

I wasn’t supposed to fall in love. Period. Especially with a boy. I was Spot Conlon, the King of Brooklyn. Not some blithering idiot who brings flowers to some idiot boy halfway across New York. I had made a pledge, not only to myself but to the others. I was responsible for them.

So why was I falling for a stupid blond Manhattan boy with an addiction to soggy cigars?

I still remember the first time I saw him-- on a pape I was selling to a regular buyer. It was just a black and white picture, which hardly did any justice to how handsome he was in color. But even among 20 or so other newsboys, I felt a flutter in my stomach when I looked into his eyes.

Disgusting, I thought as I sold the paper. Is this what the boys were talking about? Sparks flying and all that sappy shit?

If I had been smart, I would’ve sold all my papes and kept my distance from the strike. From Cigar Boy.

Brooklyn don’t get caught up in things that ain’t our deal, I reminded myself.

But Race, as I learned later, tends to bring out the worst in me. So I did the dumb thing. I sold all but one of my papes (I couldn’t bring myself to just… Give him away like that. For what? A penny?) and ran to Manhattan.

Where it was a full-blown war. Pulitzer had called in dozens of goons (but, of course, couldn’t be bothered to show up himself), an army of policemen, and the only cop the newsboys truly feared-- Snyder. The only man who had succeeded in locking up the two most resilient Newsies of New York- Jack Kelly, and yours truly.

I watched in horror as bottles were thrown, teenage boys were hit by adults, even a smaller boy who needed a crutch to walk was beaten with his own crutch. And I knew I couldn’t do the smart thing, the Brooklyn thing ever again. Not for this.

I ran to join my brethren, letting myself give in to the adrenaline of a battle. Luckily for me, most people were too lost in the chaos to notice me.

All except for one.

As cops ran, chasing boys as if they were prey that they would likely never catch, who other than Cigar Boy walked over to me, spitting blood out of his mouth and extending his hand for a handshake.

“Well, well, well, to whats do we owe the pleasure of Spot Conlon of Brooklyn?” He said, giving me a tired grin. He didn’t have a cigar between his lips, but he did have one sticking out of his pocket. I shook his hand, noticing that even after he had literally been beaten up for an hour plus, his handshake was firm.

“Okay there, Sluggo, we’ll talk when you ain’t bleeding from the head,” I said gruffly, turning and starting to walk back towards Brooklyn. If I could convince the boys, we could come back later and tell Manhattan we were joining the strike.

“The lodge is this was,” the boy pointed to the opposite direction of where I was heading. I gave a light laugh.

“No, no. I’s best get goin’ so you’s can patch up.”

“There ain’t no way I’s letting you walk halfway across New York after getting beaten up,” the boy protested, grabbing my arm and pulling me towards the lodge.

“I’ve been through worse,” I protested, attempting to dislodge my arm from his grasp.

“Well, ya’int goin’ through that again. Now c’mon. We has some bandages back at the lodge for that cut of yours,” he said, gesturing to the deep cut in my upper arm. I sighed in defeat and started walking.

“Just so you know… This is just to make sure yous don’t pass out in the streets on the way there,” I clarified. The boy just rolled his eyes and chuckled.

“For New York’s most feared Newsie, you sure is worried about someone you just met today.”

“I’m feared, but I an’t heartless, sweet-talker. I don’t want another life on my conscience.” Now it was my turn to roll my eyes. What kind of monster did he think I was? Race stopped walking. I looked up and saw a complex setup of fire escapes, rails, and a rooftop where a newsboy who could only be Jack Kelly was pacing.

“Fair enough. Well, we’s here… So I’s just gonna swing up, grab my stuff, I can meet you down here,” the boy said, grabbing onto some rungs of a fire escape and climbing up with surprising nimbleness. It was as if the battle had barely affected him. That, or he was still riding the adrenaline rush.

“No, no. Take care of your boys. I won’t die,” I said, hearing the panic in my tone. If Jack saw me with no reinforcements, he’d start to think we were fully on board. And if Brooklyn wasn’t, and word got around that I had already fought… It wouldn’t be good. They would accuse me of being a traitor. I couldn’t risk that.

“Ey, no, that wasn’t part of our agreement!” he yelled as I walked away. I could hear the smile in his voice.

“Next time, have me shake on it, sweet-talker!” I shouted back, turning around to see his impish grin. My muscles were screaming in protest from overuse, but I had to get home before dark.

“The name’s Racetrack Higgins!” was the last I heard before breaking into a sprint.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

And here we are now. Strike over, prices back, nobody dead, everyone happy.

Except for me.

Because I wasn’t supposed to fall in love, but here it came. Striding down the hill with a cigar in its mouth.

I could feel the unease in the boys beside me. We weren’t used to soloing Newsboys in our area, barely after selling hours, no less.

“Don’t worry, I’ll handle it,” I muttered to them, walking towards Race.

“What. Are. You. Doing. Here,” I hissed, grabbing his shoulders and fake-shoving him to look like I was giving him a serious talking-to. He couldn’t know we knew each other. It had to look like we were fighting.

“Well, Conlon, I thought we’d had a moment there,” Race whisper-shouted back, shoving me as well. I lowered my voice to an even quieter tone.

“Meet me in your alleyway after sundown.”

He looked at me, confusion on his face, but nodded numbly and ran away.

I heaved a sigh and turned to go spin some fake tale about why he was there.

That boy is going to be the death of me.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

“Why’d you chase me out like that, Conlon?” Race asked, leaning against the brick wall of the Newsboy lodge. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest.

I hated it.

“Because, Higgins, the boys don’t like strange Manhattan Newsies on our turf,” I half-spat. How stupid could he get? Didn’t he understand what was at stake here?

“You’re mad at me,” he said, his eyes flashing with realization.

“Yeah, no shit,” I muttered, starting to pace. This was a bad idea. Why did I keep letting myself come back to him? Why was I constantly subjecting myself to the one thing I couldn’t have?

“Why? I just wanted to see you again,” he protested, walking towards me. I turned around to face him, my nose practically touching his chin.

“‘Cause we ain’t supposed to be friends. The boys see you hangin’ around Brooklyn, they’ll think yous tryin’ to prove something. And you know what they do to boys that ain’t ours? They beat ‘em up. Then, they bring them to me. And I decide if they’s gets a real pounding. But do I have a choice? No! Once they’s decides yous getting beat, my say hardly matters. If I randomly tell them to let someone go, I’m considered soft. Then we both get beat. Do you see what they’ve done to some boys? I ain’t letting that happen to you, Race! I’m not patching up your wounds because I couldn’t control-”

“Spot.,” Race cut me off. I froze. It was the first time he had used my full name.

“What?” I asked bitterly. I noticed my eyes were burning. Why were they burning? What was this hellish sensation?

I felt something warm trickle down my face.

Oh. My. God. I was crying. Crying! I hadn’t cried in four years! All about some idiot boy who had lovely eyes and blond hair and was empathetic and made me genuinely laugh and feel safe for the first time in years-

Race stepped forward, crushing the distance between us in one stride (damn tall people), and then… Hugged me.

I hadn’t been really hugged in seven years, since I had made it to Brooklyn. Well, I had received bro hugs. Light ‘ey, whaddup’ hugs. But this… This was the type of hug that I hadn’t received since my parents had died. The type of hug that shields you from the outside world, that makes you feel like an atomic bomb could go off and they could protect you from it.

It was so strange, so human. I hadn’t been treated like a real person for so long.

“It’s really like that, huh,” Race whispered, stroking my back. I felt goosebumps appear on my skin. How much feeling had I forced myself to miss out on?

“It’s just… A lot. I mean… I’ve always known I would give my life for those boys, they’re my everything. But… I don’t know if they would for me. I don’t even know how much they truly respect me. I can’t even say if they’d respect this new rule I’ve been thinking of putting in place,” I said, not moving from my place in Race’s grasp.

“And what would that be?” Race muttered, rocking back and forth. It was… nice.

“No beating up on Racetrack Higgins ‘cause he deserves the world,” I said, my voice still muffled in his shirt. He chuckled.

“I hardly deserve the world… But… Could I have you?” there was this caution in his voice, so different from the constant suave tone he took on while talking with me. But, then again, I of all people was sobbing into a boy’s chest, so this night turned out to be the night of all the unthinkable.

“I don’t know if that’s what you really want, but… You can have me, sweet-talker,” I said, tipping up my head and meeting his lips in a kiss.

It wasn’t sudden, or brash like most would’ve thought our first kiss would be like. No, it was slow and sweet. Because even if our relationship was loud and chaotic, we could take pieces of it as slow as we wanted.

And now, I can say that my sweet-talkers lips are just as sweet as his words.

A/N: Thank y’all so much for reading! if you have any sort of prompts, pop on over to my asks! Love y’all! <3

#newsies #spot conlon #racetrack higgins #historical #newsies the broadway musical #fanfiction #spot conlon x racetrack higgins #sprace #racetrack higgins X spot conlon #strike #newsies fanfiction #sprace fanfiction #dice writes

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phykios · 4 years ago

Text

honesty and promise me, part 3 [read on ao3] [co-written with @darkmagyk]

Several more weeks and hookups later, Annabeth thinks she should probably come clean. Some people might bury it deep, and for sure, Annabeth’s considered it, but, well. It is kind of embarrassing that she didn’t know Percy’s name at first. Stuff like that doesn’t usually bother her--she’s had nameless one night stands in the past, and despite Thalia’s ribbing, she knows that Thalia doesn’t really care either. It’s just that, you know, he’s Thalia’s family, and they’ve seen each other a few more times, and they are planning to continue to see each other a few more times in the future. Or more than a few times.

Anyway, she kind of feels like she owes it to him. Like he deserves this small nugget of truth, payment for all the times he’s fucked her blind. It’s nagging at her, and she hates feeling like she owes anyone anything.

Piper certainly seemed to think so, when Annabeth had told her over their monthly brunch date.

“It’s just common courtesy at this point,” she said. “Like, what if you guys end up married and then sell your story to Hollywood, they cast my dad as the male lead, and it comes out in interviews that you didn’t know his name for like a month? He’s gonna get the wrong idea.”

Annabeth wasn’t sure which part was more ridiculous: the movie, Piper’s dad being involved, or them being married.

Anyway, sharing some of her avocado fries, Piper had reminded her that being mean wasn't very punk rock, shutting her up effectively.

She’s out on site in the Lower East Side, taking measurements for plots of land, writing down sun angles and measuring the wind velocity between the brick buildings, when she gets a text from him.

I’m on a break and I’m starving 😩 Want to grab something to eat?

It’s 2pm on a Thursday and he wants to grab something to eat. If Annabeth didn’t know any better, she’d say that that sounds like a real, honest-to-goodness, bona fide date. (Meeting up at and subsequently leaving bars together does not count as a date, she’s pretty sure. Neither do the booty calls.) He’s been getting a little free with his texts, that boy, sending her selfies and memes and questions about her day, and now this? An invitation to their first, actual date? She should block him on principle, just for the sheer audacity.

sure, wya

520 8th, text me when you get here 😁

That’s another thing: Percy loves his emojis. If this is going to continue, they’re going to need to have a serious talk about that.

She doesn’t need to text him when she gets there; he’s already outside, leaning on the stone edifice of the building like a particularly jacked rent boy in his tight t-shirt and broody look, cigarette between his fingers. The sweatpants sort of ruin the image, though. He looks particularly comfortable in a way that warms Annabeth right from the inside out. “You know, when Nico said you smoked, I honestly didn’t believe it.” she says, not even bothering to say hi.

He looks up from his phone and smiles, the sun behind his teeth. “Hey!”

“Hey, yourself.” She doesn’t even hesitate--she plucks the cigarette out of his hand, taking a drag off it herself. “You been smoking for a long time?”

“Who do you think taught Thalia how?” He raises an eyebrow, bemused. “Is that a problem?”

It is, but it’s not like she can tell him that without losing some of her credibility. “Wouldn’t smoking fuck with your cardio?”

Percy shrugs, conceding. “A little. I used to be a lot worse, but I just can’t quite kick the habit. It’s mostly a stress thing, anyway.”

“Rough practice?” she asks, putting just enough effort into her lip wobble to make it abundantly clear that she’s making fun of him. “Were the other boys being mean to you because of your tights?”

He grins at her, saucy. “Annabeth Chase, do you really think that NYCB rehearses here? In the Garment District?” But he laughs before she can stammer out an answer (and thank God, she’s lived here three years and can barely keep the boroughs straight, let alone the neighborhoods). “I just wrapped up teaching a class. I don’t have to be at rehearsal until 5, I was thinking we could hang out? Bryant Park?”

A first date at the New York Public Library. She almost hates to admit it, but Percy Jackson might be kind of her dream man. “I believe I was promised food,” she sniffs, but she does hold out her hand, and when he takes it, lacing his fingers through hers, she’s sure that he can feel her heart beating, palm to palm.

Twenty minutes later they’re settled on a bench in the corner of the green, Annabeth halfway into a ham sandwich and Percy juggling a salad and an iced coffee. He’s been regaling her with tales from the more exciting side of ballet, a side she hadn’t even imagined could actually exist. “So by the time I land in Paris,” he says, taking a sip of coffee, “the guy’s foot has swollen up to, like, twice its original size, and when I finally managed to find some wifi to check my phone, there’s, like, eight missed calls from my mom and my agent, and an email from her that just says ‘READ THIS,’ in all caps, and of course the article is in French, which I didn’t really speak at the time, and I was so stressed that my ADHD made it so I couldn’t even read the Google translation, and I had to ask someone to translate it for me.”

“Oh my god,” she says, struggling to keep it in.

“And that’s how I found out that I’d been moved up to first cast in Le Corsaire, from the poor barista at a coffee shop in Charles de Gaule!” He laughs.

“That’s insane,” Annabeth says. “And the show was the next day?”

“It was that night! I had to haul ass to the opera house and get warmed up, because I was going on in about four hours. You should have seen the looks on everyone’s faces when I stumbled in, I’m sure that they all wanted to kill me.” Percy chuckles, taking a bite of leafy greens. “Now I wasn’t just the twenty-year-old upstart American, I was the twenty-year-old upstart American who skipped town when I wasn’t supposed to.”

“How did it go?”

“Killed it, of course,” he says, deservedly smug.

Despite her best efforts, she’s absolutely entranced; he’s a great storyteller. “I bet you break that story out at parties all the time, don’t you.”

He laughs. “Whatever gets the donors to open their checkbooks, right?”

“I can’t believe you lived in Paris. I’ve always wanted to see it.” She’d had a few chances to when she was in college, the semester she’d studied abroad in Rome, but she just never got around to it. Just another item on her long, long list of regrets, placed somewhere between the sketchy burrito from last week and not telling her mom to fuck off earlier when she’d had the chance. “If I were you, I’d never leave.”

Percy shrugs. “It was amazing, I won’t lie. But towards the end I just really, really missed it here. All my family is in NYC, you know? My mom, step-dad, and my sister live here, and Thalia and Nico and Hazel, too. I tried to come back and visit whenever I could, but being away from them was really hard.” There’s something soft and inviting in his expression when he says, “I’m really happy to be back home.”

“What are they like?” Annabeth asks. “Your family. Your non-mob family, I mean.”

He rolls his eyes, but he grins another one of those blinding grins, too. “My mom is the most amazing person you will ever meet. Not only did she support my dance habit, she did it as a single working mother who had to raise an angry, ADHD asshole of a son who didn’t always appreciate her. I don’t even want to know how many hours she had to work or how many scholarships and grants she had to track down in order to pay for me to go to SAB, but somehow she made it work, and managed to write her novel at the same time. She married my step-dad the summer I turned sixteen, and my baby sister was born the next year.”

Even Annabeth, cynical and black-hearted as she is, has to smile back. The love he has for his mom is so palpable, so tangible, she can practically see him glowing. “And the…” What had Thalia called them? “The ‘Cousin Consortium’?”

At that, Percy laughs, full-bellied, unrestrained. “The name was Nico’s idea. I didn’t really have many close friends when I was a kid, apart from my buddy Grover--he had to wear this really gnarly leg brace and I liked to dance, so you can imagine how much we got picked on--but we were all really close growing up, since our dads were all assholes. They may have left us emotionally scarred, but at least we had each other’s backs the whole time.”

This is a very Percy thing, she’s starting to realize: he can not and will not hold back on his feelings. He simply refuses to. Where most guys might try to hide or downplay their affection for their friends, Percy’s is written all over his face. Maybe it’s a byproduct of doing ballet, but he’s so unashamed of his love for his friends and his family and his art, that maybe Annabeth kind of wishes she could be included in that love too, if it always feels this warm and joyful.

“I think it’s amazing that you guys are so close. I only had the one cousin when I was growing up, and we didn’t really talk all that much,” Annabeth says, almost without her permission. Something about him, it’s just so easy to talk to him. He makes it safe to open up.

“The med school guy, right?”

Annabeth nods. “Magnus. Fifth generation Harvard student. We’re all very proud.”

Ugh. Even she has to wince at the false cheer in her voice. Percy gives her a half-smile, sympathetic and soft. “Harvard not really for you, then?” he asks, picking up the threads of a long and complicated story, and one that she absolutely does not want to get into right now. Or ever, if she can help it.

“More like I wasn’t really for Harvard.” Which wasn’t entirely untrue. She had been good enough for the university in Cambridge, Mass--good enough for two degrees and graduation with honors--but she had never been good enough for her mother’s capital-H Harvard. Never good enough for her mother at all, really.

Percy takes her hand. His fingers are cold from his iced coffee. “Hey. It’s their loss,” he says, with a sincerity and an intensity that makes her blush.

Every part of her wants to pull away. His thumb is rubbing against the joint of her finger, soothing and sweet, and she thinks she may break out in hives from it. “Damn right it is,” she mumbles.

He is so nice. So nice and hot and sweet. Objectively, what she’s about to do is a terrible idea, and might torpedo a really good thing that they have, but if she doesn’t come clean now her own guilt is going to drive her insane.

“Okay, I have a confession to make.” Percy raises his eyebrows, slurping the last dregs of his drink. “When we met… and then when we hooked up the first time… I may have… thoughtyouwereJason.”

He blinks. “Pardon?” he asks, mumbled around the straw.

Annabeth buries her head in her hands. “Please don’t make me say it again.”

“You… thought I was Jason?”

“Well,” she sputters, glaring at him through her fingers, “you were being all bro-y with Thalia!”

He is valiantly trying to hold in a smile. “You know, I distinctly remember telling you my name that morning.”

“I was really hungover,” she whines, “and you were shirtless and making breakfast so I wasn’t really… paying attention.”

“For a whole week?”

This is so embarrassing, why couldn’t she just keep her stupid mouth shut? “Yeah.” She slumps her shoulders, stuffing her hands into her jacket pocket. “Sorry.”

She’s not entirely sure what she expected: at best a couple of weird looks and a tentative promise to meet up later that would end up not working out, at worst she thinks he’ll just get up and leave her here at Bryant Park. Either way, they’d be doomed to months of awkward interactions, until eventually they wouldn’t be able to be around each other, and Thalia would have to pick a side--and Annabeth’s seen what Thalia does to people who cross her family. She’s seen Thalia beat a dude to pulp for calling Nico the f-slur. Picking Percy over Annabeth? That’s nothing.

So when he starts laughing, Annabeth is completely at a loss. Slowly, at first, then all at once, he’s laughing so hard his shoulders are shaking, and he has to put down his salad so it doesn’t topple over onto the grass. His head is tilted back in joy, the grey, late afternoon light adamant that Annabeth can see all of his features clearly, from his screwed up eyes to his bright, white teeth to the single dimple in his cheek.

Of course, even his laughter is hot. Asshole.

“You thought I was Jason!” He shrieks.

Annabeth crosses her arms, scowling.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I really don’t mean to laugh,” he giggles. Annabeth can feel her own giggle rising in response, and she ruthlessly quashes it. “I can definitely say I’ve never heard that one before. You do know Jason is blond, right?”

“As a matter of fact, I did not. Besides, you and Thalia look exactly alike.”

He scoffs. “No we don’t.”

“Uh, yeah you do. You, Thalia, and Nico are all basically clones of each other.”

“Okay, Captain Glasses, whatever you say.” He rolls his eyes, but there’s no heat behind it.

“I’m sorry,” Annabeth feels like she has to say again.

He cocks his head. “For what? For thinking I was Jason? He’s a pretty cool guy.”

“No, for,” she blushes again. All this blood rushing to her head can’t be good for her. “For sleeping with you when I still thought you were Jason.”

Percy scoots closer to her, throwing her a grin and slinging his arm over her shoulders. Without even realizing that she’s doing it, she settles in beside him like she’s been doing it her whole life, slotted up against his torso, tucking her booted feet beneath her legs. “I am choosing to take that as a compliment,” he says, smirking. “You couldn’t resist my charms, even when you thought I was a brogrammer.”

Annabeth can’t help herself. She kisses him, wiping that smug grin right off his face, and when she finally retreats, after what feels like hours, he looks so dazed she could probably keep calling him by any name she wanted and he wouldn’t even realize it.

After their lunch, they meander for hours, headed in a vaguely southerly direction, holding hands the whole time, a steady, uninterrupted flow that took them all the way from Midtown to Greenwich Village. He tells her about his first day at ballet school; she tells him about her favorite monuments. “There are two architectural environments in America,” she says, ranting, speaking with enough force that she might forget the feeling of his hand in hers, “endless dead suburbia, or cities where every single building is either a concrete or a glass block--and not even Brutalist concrete, just shitty, poorly designed, paint-by-numbers concrete. It is an absolute travesty of modern government that they don’t fund any public works projects anymore.”

“That’s why all the gardens and stuff?” he asks.

“Nowadays everything is built by the lowest bidder. At least I get to add some beauty back into the city.”

“I know what you mean,” Percy says. “Paris is practically overflowing with public works, you almost forget about it sometimes.”

She sighs. “You’re so fucking lucky. Paris is so beautiful and everything in New York is just hideous.”

“Aw, come on,” he says. “Not everything. What about the Empire State Building, or Central Park?”

“Well, obviously, those,” she says, just a teensy bit flustered, but she’s not about to give up the argument without a fight. “I just mean like, normal, every day buildings: offices and apartments and stuff. It’s all so samey and boring.”

He looks to her right, pointing at the building they are passing. “What about this one?”

She turns.

If she had known they were headed this way, she never would have taken them past here.

“It’s… okay, I guess,” she mumbles, staring up at the arched windows, pedimented doors, and Rococo details of Miss Minerva’s Private Pre-College Prep School. A shudder goes down her spine, like someone walking over her grave. “There are better Beaux-Arts buildings.”

Sensing her discomfort, he picks up the pace, and changes the subject.

Finally, he stops outside a nondescript building, turning to face her. “This is me,” he says, a little bit mournfully, squeezing her hand. “Are you okay to get home safely?”

This man is ridiculous; it’s not even dark out. “I think I can manage a few blocks,” she says, lightly swatting him. “Isn’t it kind of early for you, though? It’s only four o’clock.”

He flushes faintly, one hand coming up to rub at his neck. “Uh, well, I always give myself a little extra time--you know, time blindness and everything.”

“You baked in extra time in case I wanted you to walk me home, didn’t you?” She mock-gasps, secretly delighted. “Scandal!”

“Guilty,” he grins. “You’ve been to mine so many times, I was curious.”

She just barely stops herself from laughing out loud at the very idea of Percy coming to her apartment--as if. Thalia hasn’t even been to her apartment. Nobody knows where she lives, none of her neighbors know who she is, and this is entirely by design. “Cut me some slack; a girl’s gotta have some mystery. Can’t make it too easy for you, can I?”

“I have a feeling you’ll never make things easy for me,” he says, white teeth gleaming.

“You better believe it,” she smiles back. “Now that I’ve foiled your plans, are you going to be too bored?”

“Oh, I’ll think of something,” he shrugs. “I’m very resourceful when it comes to boredom.”

Inspiration strikes, and she grasps his hand, pulling him down the alleyway. She almost hates to admit it, but she has something of a Pavlovian response when it comes to hanging out with Percy. Annabeth has come to expect some really excellent sex whenever the two of them meet up, and maybe spending all afternoon with him has made her a little bit horny.

She presses him up against the brick wall, hidden from the street by the long afternoon shadows, and kisses him. His hands flounder for a second, before coming up to rest on her shoulders, this thumbs tapping against the base of her neck, fingers fluttering on her jacket. It’s an intimate touch, kind of chaste and very respectful, and he holds her with precision and grace. He wouldn’t do anything she wouldn’t want to. This is a date with no expectation of sex on his part. But Annabeth does not want grace right now, spooked by the ghost of her old school. She does not want precision. She just wants him. She just wants to keep him on his toes, keep him interested, blow his mind a little.

She just wants to blow him, to be honest.

He squeaks into her mouth as her hands fly to his belt, deft fingers practically ripping it off of him in an increasingly familiar motion. “H-hey,” he says, squeezing her shoulders, “this is--”

“Do you not want me to?” she asks, one hand playing at the top line of his underwear.

“No--I mean, are you sure? I’m-I’m okay with this, I just want to--”

“I know.” She kisses his cheek, then drops to her knees. “But we’ve got some time to kill, don’t we.”

Afterwards, when she’s finished with him, Annabeth wipes her mouth, and he whimpers.

“Ho… holy shit,” he pants, flushed and trembling.

She tucks him back into his boxers, doing up his fly. “There we go. That was better than being bored, right?”

He nods wordlessly, swallowing, shaking. His eyes are glassy and glazed, stupid like he’s just shot out his brain through his dick.

In the short time they’ve been together (though, honestly, this might be the longest relationship she’s ever been in before… and they haven’t even broached the “dating” conversation yet) Annabeth has been on the receiving end of several different Percy looks. His face will light up with joy when he first lays his eyes on her, so happy to see her (though she can’t really fathom why), glinting like the sun on the water. His eyes will narrow, glaring, even as he furiously tamps down on his growing smile when they start arguing over something stupid, like Annabeth’s affinity for olives. He’ll grin at her, knife sharp and slanted, licking his lips and looming over her after she comes down from yet another orgasm via his mouth or his hands.

Percy looks at her now like someone took a bat to his head, and instead of seeing stars, he sees little miniature Annabeths flying around.

He pulls her to him and kisses her, entirely too sweet for what she’s just done to him, but that is also a very Percy thing. And when she leaves him with a final kiss on his cheek and squeeze of his ass, she can feel that look burning a hole through her jacket, following her down the alley and around the corner, and she finds that she doesn’t mind the weight of it at all.

#my fic #percabeth #pjo #the rivalry ends here #ballet au #darkmagyk #woot!!!!

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somedayonbroadway · 4 years ago

Note

It’s spooky season so... Coraline AU?

Ooooooh this is gonna be a fun one.

Coraline AU

Characters

Racetrack Higgins — Coraline Jones

Jack Kelly — Mel Jones

Katherine Plumber — Charlie Jones

Crutchie Morris — Wyborn Lovat

The Bowery Beauties — April and Miriam

Obadiah Weisel — Mr. B

Todd Kloppman — The Cat

The Spider — The Other Mother

JoJo De La Gurra, Specs, Henry — The Ghost Children

Medda Larkin — Mrs. Lovet

Albert DaSilva and Spot Conlon — Manhattan Friends

Okay, so…

Tyler “Racetrack” Higgins-Kelly is a curious eleven year old boy, drawn to odd and peculiar things. Growing up, the boy can often be found reading books on witchcraft and the unexplained, which is one of the main reasons he had such trouble making friends. No one wants to hear him talk about ghosts or alternate dimensions or witches. But Race loves it.

This all worries Jack, his half-brother and guardian who adopted him when he was five years old. See, Jack was never under the impression that his baby brother was a normal little boy who would be into superheroes and action figures, but he’d hoped Race would grow into being a little more extroverted and happy. Race has a lot of energy and likes to talk a lot which makes caseworker visits a bit hard on Jack who doesn’t want his baby brother talking so freely about somewhat violent and ridiculous things. But they get by.

Throughout elementary school, this odd little boy only manages to make two friends, Spot and Albert, who help him fight off bullies and such. He adores his friends and is just about destroyed when Jack and his fiancé Katherine sit him down to explain to him that they would soon be leaving Manhattan for Santa Fe, all the way across the country, for Jack’s new job as an animator.

Race is angry with his brother, claiming that he’s ruined his life by making this decision, not knowing that Jack has been dreaming of having this job for years. Katherine, a young writer who is working on her own novel, tries to sit him down and explain why this was happening, that Race would make new friends and maybe even find new places to explore. Race still resents both Jack and Katherine, Katherine who had just officially adopted him as she and Jack were engaged to be married.

Still, Race has no choice but to say goodbye to his friends and sit by while Jack forcibly packs away all of his things into boxes, trying desperately to cheer him up by telling him about the mansion they’ll be moving into, a house that had been divided into three separate apartments. He tries to hint at his baby brother that it might be haunted or peculiar, but Race is not interested in hearing this, not even as they’re driving away from their old apartment.

When they arrive at their new home and Katherine and Jack help their hired movers to arrange everything in their new apartment, Race is told by his brother, whom he’d been bothering by grumbling and complaining to him all the way, to go outside and explore, but to not wander too far. Race does as he’s told, still angry, but glad he at least has a chance to test out water witching.

The boy finds a dowsing rod and lets it lead him to a hidden well, scared half to death by a black cat who’d been following him since he’d stepped foot off of his porch and another odd boy, only a year older than him who informs a confused Race who can’t find the water his rod had led him too that if he stomps too hard, he’d fall into it.

The well Race had stumbled upon is said to be so deep that if fallen into, one could see the stars in the middle of the day. Race is immediately drawn to it. The odd boy, Charlie, offers to push him in, but Race just shoves him in the shoulder, explaining that he doesn’t like to be stalked by psycho nerds and their cats. Charlie tries to tell Race the cat doesn’t actually belong to him, but he does feed it every night and give it baths sometimes. The cat doesn’t like to get dirty or wet. Race calls Charlie’s cat a wusspuss.

This odd boy is very observant and has things of his own creation saddled all over him, most of them looking to be dangerous weapons, and, even if Race doesn’t necessarily like it when this kid runs his mouth, he can’t help but admit to himself that those gadgets are pretty cool. He does note that Charlie walks with a limp, and finds the boy has a metal leg. Charlie asks Race where he’s from, guessing LA or Chicago, based on Race’s mannerisms and clear uncomfort to the quiet that surrounded them. Race just shrugs it off and tells Charlie that he’s from Manhattan.

Charlie explained that he’s shocked that Race lives in the “The Lodge” which is what folks around the place call the old mansion. Charlie’s adoptive grandmother and caretaker, Miss Medda, made it clear that she doesn’t rent out the apartment to people with kids. Race thinks nothing of this and tries to move on, but after noting that Race was out water witching, Charlie inspects the dowsing rod the younger boy had chosen and instructs him to wear gloves next time, as the rod Race is holding is poison oak. It doesn’t take long for a rash to spread on Tyler’s hands.

Later, back at home, Tyler tries to tell Jack about his day, rambling on about how he’s almost fallen into a well and died, but stressed out with all the work from his new job, Jack brushed him off, asking him to unpack and entertain himself rather that go back outside now that it’s raining. Jack really doesn’t like mud. But, Katherine comes inside not too long after, holding a gift for Racer, a little doll with button eyes that looks just like him. Race is at first a bit creeped out, but then figures Charlie altered the doll to look just like him, on account of him wanting them to be friends even though Race finds Charlie slightly annoying.

Either way, he takes the doll with him through the house, even after telling his guardians that he’s much too old for dolls anyway.

A couple hours after that, Race begs his big brother to let him go outside once again but Jack refuses, telling him this apartment is filthy enough and he can continue unpacking more than the single box of snow globes that he’d unpacked when they’d first arrived or find a way to entertain himself because Jack is busy working and is brand new at his job and has a project due and doesn’t want to get fired before he’s survived a week. So Race goes to bother Katherine instead.

Katherine, has just gotten over a writer’s block and is on a spree. She is writing a graphic novel (that Jack is illustrating for her) and she really doesn’t need any distraction, but when Race walks in to ask if he can play outside, she brushes him off, asking what the boss said. When Race admits that Jack said, no she says no too and Race starts playing with the creaky door behind her, just to try and get a rise out of her.

See, since this whole thing started, Jack and Katherine both had been somewhat ignoring him, for a lack of better words. Both stressed out from artistic deadlines, they leave Race alone for the most part and Race has never really been good at being alone. He misses when Jack used to play with him and when Katherine used to read with them and make him laugh. He missed them and, as he is a small child, the only way he knows how to display these emotions is to get very frustrated and angry.

When Katherine suggests Race explore the house, as it’s about a hundred and fifty years old, Race does, knowing that no matter what he says, Jack and Katherine are still gonna have to do their work.

He takes his doll with him on his explorations where he finds boring paintings, boring windows and a disgusting shower. He accidentally hits a switch that turns off the electricity in the house and he hears Katherine screaming, as she’d been working on her novel on her desktop. The boy feels guilty but flicks the switch back and runs away, as though he’d never done any such thing.

Still he continues on, counting the windows as Katherine had instructed until he sets his doll down and turns to find it gone. When he finds it, it’s still in the same room, only it’s hiding behind an old painting that’s leaning against the wall. Upon moving the painting, Race sees a door encased behind horrible wallpaper and calls out to Jack to figure out where the tiny door leads. Though he tries to explain that he’s very busy, Jack eventually caves asking Race that, if he were to do this for him, he’d leave him alone and let him and Katherine get some actual work done. Race agrees.

In the kitchen, Jack finds a drawer full of forgotten keys and rummages around, trying to find whatever key it was that would unlock that door for his baby brother. He finds an odd looking key, one that’s top looks like a button. Jack’s not sure why, but he knows that must be the one that unlocks that small door. He unlocks it, only for Race to pull it open and find a brick wall. Disappointed, Race begins whining again only for Jack to tell him that they made a deal and to quiet down so that he can do some work because his deadline is in a couple of days and he has to finish this project.

Later that night, after Katherine cooks a dinner that Race doesn’t like, he pesters Jack about why Jack doesn’t cook anymore. Jack is a really good cook, and he used to cook for him all the time before they’d moved, even when he’d worked two jobs. But Jack tells Race to be grateful to Katherine who always sings him a sweet little song before giving him food. He promises Race that he’ll go shopping soon and get him something he likes. The boy just rolls his eyes and grumbles so Jack makes him take a few bites before sending him off to bed.

Race goes, taking his little look alike with him and snuggling it as he drifts off to sleep, as the little doll makes him feel a little less alone.

In the middle of the night, Racer is woken up by squeaks sounding from beneath him. He finds that there are four little mice running around his room. Rather than being scared of them, he follows them out into the hallway, down through the apartment, past Jack and Katherine’s room, into that little door.

When he opens the thing, he finds the brick wall gone. Instead, there’s a twisting, glowing blue tunnel. Race gapes at it, believing this to be some kind of dream. Still, he crawls through to the other side, rolling through a door at the end and finding himself in a lit up apartment that exactly mirrors his own. And something smells amazing.

Following his nose to the kitchen, Race finds Jack cooking in the kitchen. Only, it’s not Jack. The man looks just like his brother in every aspect but one.

He has black buttons where his eyes should be.

Race is stunned by this, but, upon asking where he was and why Jack was cooking in the middle of the night, the man responds that he is in fact Race’s big brother; The Other Jack. The Other Jack explains that everyone has another family, but doesn’t go into depth about it. He just smiles at Race and excitedly states that he’s been waiting for him and that he cooked this dinner to celebrate his arrival. He then asks Race to go get The Other Katherine, who is in her study.

In Katherine’s study, Race finds The Other Katherine playing the piano and singing, something she used to do for him when he’d first started to understand she’d be becoming a big part of his life. Race finds that she too has buttoned eyes too as she whirls around to pull him into her lap and helps him play the keys like they used to. Race is sad to end this moment, but does tell The Other Katherine that The Other Jack says it’s time to eat. Not even a little upset by this, The Other Katherine scoops the boy up and takes him back to the kitchen where The Other Jack has set up a beautiful meal of steak, potatoes, corn on the cob and rolls, complete with a literal gravy train and a milkshake chandelier. Afterwards, The Other Jack surprises Race with a cake that decorates itself right in front of him, a special “Welcome Home” message written across it. Race is a little hesitant, but can’t help but feel happy here, where he doesn’t feel so alone.

Noting his hesitation, The Other Jack suggests they play a game. Maybe, hide and seek in the rain. It’s only when Race mentions that it’s not raining that the sky opens up and rain pours down. The Other Jack and Katherine claim they love mud and want nothing more than for him to be happy. The Other Jack even states that mud is good for poison oak, something Race never mentioned he had. A bit nervous at this, Race suggests he should get back to the other Jack, his first big brother. When The Other Jack says that he can stay as long as he wants, Race states he’s tired and should get to bed.

Upon arriving in his backwards bedroom, Race finds that the picture he had on his dresser of Spot and Albert is moving and they’re talking to him. His bed is completely made up, unlike the cot he has at home as they haven’t gotten that far in the ways of unpacking. While talking to his button eyed friends in the photo, The Other Jack spreads mud over Race’s rashes gently and lovingly. Then, The Other Jack tucks him in and kisses him goodnight and he and The Other Katherine stay with him until he drifts off.

Waking back up in his own room, his poison oak completely gone, Race rushes to tell Jack what happened and Jack let’s him ramble on as he pours his brother a bowl of cereal, letting him eat before he tells Race about their crazy neighbors, telling Race he should meet them and tell them about his odd dreams, that the actresses downstairs might be curious about hearing his wild stories. Katherine, however, does joke with Race about having The Other Jack making her some kind of remedy to help her sleep through Jack’s snoring at night, but Jack sarcastically laughs and brushes her off and tells her that if the real Katherine wants her illustrations done she better get writing.

Race does go off to explore, going downstairs to meet two former actresses, Kaitlyn and Beth (named after the two actresses who play The Bowery Beauties in Newsies Live). Even though Jack has instinctively made fun of his neighbors already, calling the actresses old bats and the old man upstairs a drunk, Race gives into his curiosity and knocks on the door downstairs, finding that the two old actresses are nearly crazy. They claim to be somewhat psychic, though, and Race finds that interesting.

When Beth reads his tea leaves, she sees that he’s in terrible danger, even though Kaitlyn claims she must be reading it wrong.

Still, Race goes along like nothing is wrong, wandering back to his apartment and finding mail that doesn’t belong to his guardians sitting on the porch. He goes to return it, finding an eccentric old man that Race believes is a little creepy. The old man says his name is Weisel, but Race purposely gets it wrong, calling the man Weasel, instead, just to get a rise out of him. Weasel states that he is training mice to put on a circus. Realizing this man must be a little crazy, he goes to leave before the old man tells him that the mice have a message for him.

Don’t go through the little door.

Weasel shrugs it off, telling Race that the mice are a little bit crazy. But Race knows exactly what they’re talking about.

On his way back down to his door, Race is stopped by Charlie who is out slug hunting with his feral cat. Race asks if Charlie made that doll look like him to which Charlie replies that he found the doll that way. He also says that if his Grandma found out that he was near The Lodge that she’d kill him. Medda says this house is dangerous.

He then goes off to tell Race that Medda had a twin brother when she was little that disappeared and was never found. Medda claims that he was stolen.

Race gets annoyed with Charlie when Charlie rambles on and on and won’t listen to a word Race says about the Other World inside his house or The Other Jack. Even though he has fun with Charlie for a half an hour he still finds him a bit annoying, even if he is nearly as off as Race himself.

That night, despite all the warnings he’d gotten throughout the day, Race leaves some cheddar cheese out for the mice that lead him to the small door the night before. When he wakes up to hear them again, he excitedly follows them back through the door and finds The Other Jack readily waiting for him, lifting him up as he cooks, pressing a kiss to his head to thank him for the cheddar he brought them. Then he tells Race to go fetch The Other “Better” Katherine, letting him know that she’s out in the garden.

When Race finds The Other Katherine outside, he finds that she has made the garden look perfectly like a replica of Race’s own face. She explains that The Other Jack said he’d love it because he knows Racer like the back of his hand. Race can’t help but admire the gift before The Other Katherine takes him back to his Other Home and The Other Jack reveals that he’s made breakfast for dinner. They eat before explaining that Mr. Wiesel from upstairs invited Race and Charlie to see a mouse circus.

Race is annoyed that there’s another Charlie, but The Other Jack reveals that this Charlie can’t talk and is always smiling. That he fixed him. So Race goes with The Other Charlie to see the circus, marveling at the circus where they’re given popcorn and all the candy they can eat. Well, Race eats it. The Other Charlie just smiles and holds it all. After this, they head downstairs and Race is carried to bed by The Other Jack and his Other Family stays with him while he drifts off to sleep.

The next day, Race rushes to the door, just to see if it really is just a dream. But it’s locked. Later, as Jack places him in the car, explaining to him that Katherine has a meeting with an editor back in New York and that they need to go shopping for new school clothes, Jack lets Race ramble on about this Other World on their way to the airport to drop off Katherine. But when it comes to school shopping, Race immediately whines about the boring, colorless clothes Jack picking out for him.

He does ask for one thing. A newsboy cap that he finds at the store they’re at. Jack tells him he doesn’t need it, even though Race tries to explain that everyone else will be wearing the same clothes as him but no one else will be wearing that hat. Jack tells him to put it back. When Race comments that The Other Jack would buy them for him, Jack does his best to hide the hurt but he then shoots back that maybe The Other Jack should buy all of Racer’s clothes.

Race asks Jack why he locked the door to which Jack responds he thought Race might feel safer because he found rat droppings in that room. Jack doesn’t like these dreams of Race and is starting to think it might be dangerous to indulge them. But the boy insists they’re the most fun he’s had since they moved.

Those words hurt Jack even more. But he knows he can’t argue. He hasn’t been spending a lot of time with the kid.

When they get home, Jack reveals he needs to grab some groceries and asks Race to come with him, promising to let him pick out something he liked, but when Race gives him attitude, Jack just sighs and leaves him alone, telling him that he’d be back and that he loved Race. Race just lets him go.

When Jack’s gone, he immediately goes searching for the key to the little door, unlocking the thing and finding the glowing blue tunnel to be waiting for him. He knew it wasn’t just a dream.

Crawling through to the other side, Race finds a note waiting for him. He’s been invited down for an acrobatics show at the apartment of the two actresses and The Other Jack would be back later to cook him dinner. Race smiles at this and heads down to meet Charlie and see the show.

Before he can get there, however, he meets a cat, a cat that looks much too similar to the one the real Charlie has following him everywhere. Believing him to be The Other Cat, Race addresses him like he would any other cat, but when the thing starts speaking to him, he jumps and scrambles back, confused. The cat informs him that he’s not some Other. He’s just him. He tells Race that this is something that he and The Spider did sometimes. It was a game. When Race asks who The Spider is, the cat ignores him. He hints at the fact that he was once friends with The Spider, having found this world as a young man and finding it interesting until he’d made a mistake. Race doesn’t get to ask anymore questions before the cat who’d said his name was Todd Kloppman catches a mouse that turns out to be a rat.

Race, a bit nervous by all of this, still continues on to meet The Other Charlie.

The show is spectacular. Beth and Kaitlyn go from being their old selves to their younger selves in an instant and even bring Race in to be part of the show. He loves it.

Charlie silently walks Race home and Race is excited to see The Other Jack at the door. He doesn’t see the silent warning The Other Jack gives The Other Charlie when he sees the boy not smiling.

At the dinner table, The Other Jack and The Other Katherine tell Race that they have a surprise for him and push him a small gift wrapped box. The Other Jack explains that Race could stay forever if he’d like, but he’d have to do something first. Inside the box, Race finds. Two buttons and a needle.

The Other Jack wants to sew buttons into his eyes.

He explains that black is traditional, but Race could have any color he’d like. Suddenly, all of the warnings Race had been given rush to the front of his mind. He tells The Other Jack that he can’t see buttons in his eyes and then tries to laugh off the offer and go to bed, hoping he’d wake back up in his real home. But when he wakes up too soon, he’s still in The Other World.

He goes to try and get back to the little door but finds it locked. When he finds The Other Katherine, she’s mindlessly playing the piano and rambling about how The Other Jack is losing his strength and needs it back and that’s why she’s so tired. He rushes out to go find The Other Charlie, despite The Other Katherine’s insistence that it would do no good.

He runs out of the house and finds Todd lurking about. He walks with the cat into nothingness as he walks away from the house, while Todd explains to him that The Other Jack has alternative motives. He jokingly suggests that maybe The Other Jack lured him here because he was looking for something to eat.

They walk around the small world, ending up back at the house where Todd finds another rat and The Other Jack comes out to meet Race and offer him chocolate, seeming to notice his hesitation. He informs Race that even the toughest of spirits can be broken with love. But Race tells The Other Jack that he wants to get home to the real Jack.

As he continues to ask the buttoned eyed Jack to let him go home, The Other Jack gets angry and demands an apology. When he doesn’t get one, his true form begins to show.

As he grows angrier, he grows taller and thinner until he has a spider-like figure that Race is horrified by. The Other Jack, yells and drags Race towards a mirror, throwing him inside and telling him that he can come out when he’s learned to love him. Race is trapped.

Realizing that there’s no way out, the boy tries to lay down on the small bed inside this dark, windowless chamber. He’s terrified when he sees three ghosts curled up on the bed, all three having buttons for eyes. They ask Race if he’s next and Race doesn’t fully understand what they mean. He asks their names and they reveal they don’t remember them but they miss their real families. The ghost children explain that The Other Jack is a type of witch that can appear however it wants to to lure children to it because it feeds off of curiosity and the best source is the eyes of curious children. They explain that they were given a doll that had their likeness so it could spy on them. That The Spider is an entity that finds where a child is the most unhappy and lures it into this fantasy world to eat its eyes. The eyes then become a part of the world as the world is a part of The Spider, the entity that lives there.

They tell Race that their souls are trapped in this world because they don’t have their eyes but if they were able to find them, they’d be able to escape. They ask Race to find their eyes if he can, but to worry about escaping first and foremost lest he wanted to end up like them.

Only a few minutes later, gloved hands reach through the mirror and pull him out. It’s The Other Charlie, trying to rush him back through the door. The Other Jack hears them and Race tries to pull his silent friend with him but The Other Charlie shows Race that he’s only made of sand before he pushes the boy through the tunnel that is now a creaky dark wooden crawl space lined with spider webs. But Race forces himself through and slams the door in his real home screaming out for Jack.

No one comes running.

Race runs around the apartment, longing for safe arms and reassuring words but Jack’s just not there.

Upon realizing this, Race rushes to his neighbors, telling them that his brother was missing only for them to brush him off and tell him that Jack was probably just out running an errand. Beth, however, does give a Race a little trinket, a triangle with an eye whole in the middle of it. She says it’s for finding lost things.

Charlie finds him and asks for the doll he gave him back and Racer tries to tell him what the ghost children told him, and he realizes that he met Medda’s twin brother. Charlie is confused by this and calls Race crazy before running (limping) away towards his home.

Race tries to call Katherine. The phone won’t connect. He cries, begging for Jack to stop playing this joke on him because he doesn’t like it, but Jack doesn’t pop out to comfort him.

Race is all alone.

So he curls up on Jack and Katherine’s bed, shaking and crying, trying to wake up.

He’s woken not too long after that, by a cat pawing at his nose. Confused and scared, Race asks if Todd knew where his brother was, shocking to find that the cat nods at him. He follows the kitty to a full length mirror in the hall, watching the thing swirl in a mystic blue before he can see snow blowing harshly all around a shivering young man who’s only wearing a t-shirt and jeans.

Jack rushes to the glass when he can see the little boy. Race gasps and tries to get to him, but finds that he doesn’t know how. Jack pressed his hand against the mirror, tears in his eyes as he has no idea what’s happening, but he knows his baby is on the other side of that glass.

In a fit of panic, Race bangs on the glass and the mirror shatters around him. He knows that The Spider is behind this. And he knows he has to go back to The Other World.

As he crawls back through the tunnel, Todd follows him, instructing that he should make this into a game. The Spider loves games. So Race takes his advice, though the cat warns him that The Spider won’t play fair.

The other door opens and someone who appears to be Jack shouts for him, nearly in tears as he reaches for the boy. But, upon touching him, Race realizes that it’s just another one of The Spider’s tricks.

The Spider asks why Race would run away from him while dragging the boy to the kitchen to make him breakfast. Race demands his real brother be returned to him but the Spider claims that Jack must’ve just run away and gotten bored of him. After The Spider sends The Other Katherine away, Race proposes that they play a game, anger rising in him at the entity pretending to be his brother, but more at himself for wanting to get away from Jack and Katherine in the first place.

The Spider is intrigued by the prospect of a game, unable to back down from a challenge. So Race explains that he’d find the eyes of the ghost children and his real brother and that if he did, The Spider had to let him and everyone else go.

The Spider accepts.

But Race demands a hint.

“In each of three wonders I've made just for you, a ghost's eye is lost in plain sight,” is all he gets before The Spider vanishes and leaves him alone.

The little boy does his best to explore, needing to find the eyes of the ghost children. The first in the garden The Other Katherine had made for him, the second in the theater Beth and Kaitlyn had cheered for him, and the third in the mouse circus where rats were now crawling over spilled candy and popcorn.

Race uses the small thing Beth had given him to fight his way towards those treasures, nearly getting swallowed by the small world, torn apart by the puppet twins and eaten alive by the rats that made up a Weasel. But he finds every eye. All that’s left is finding Jack.

However, as the night settles over The Other World, The Spider claims Race might be too late. Ever clever, Race manages to trick The Spider into unlocking the small door he’s locked up already, claiming that he knew that’s where the which had hidden his big brother, all the while knowing that Jack was trapped in a snow globe on the mantle, something he’d figured out after seeing a tiny handprint on the glass.

He grabs the glass and tumbles through the tunnel, leaving The Spider behind after an epic battle that the ghost children, finally free, help him win. They help him back inside his own home where Race hastily locks the door and goes to run, only to slip on something.

One of the snow globes is broken.

The front door opens and Jack calls into the house, saying that he’d just picked up Katherine from the airport. When he sees his baby brother kneeling in glass and water, he immediately rushes to him, still covered in snow, though he has no idea what Race is talking about when he hugs him tight, sobbing about him being free. Jack just helps him to the kitchen and cleans him up, apologizing to him because he knows this has been an adjustment for Race and he knows it’s been hard on him, but he just wants to make it up to him.

Race just hugs him and Katherine so tightly, never wanting to let go.

After his guardians tuck him into bed, Todd curls up next to him as he drifts off. He dreams of the ghost children, who thank him refusely for setting him free. But it’s not over, they tell him. Race is still not safe.

As there is only one key to that door, The Spider will find it and Race needs to hide it where he’ll never be able to get it.

So, in the middle of the night, Race runs out into the woods to that old, forgotten well with his cat, nervously humming the song Katherine would sing to him all the time and planning to drop the key down the well. Little does he know, one of The Spider’s crawling hands is following him, ready to strike before Charlie rushes to save him, nearly getting pushed into the well himself. But the slightly older boy manages to crush the hand with a stone and together he and Racer drop the key down into the never ending well.

And Race is finally free.

He grows to love the neighborhood and the mansion he gets to live in. Jack and Katherine even host a barbecue on his insistence, inviting everyone, including Charlie and Miss Medda who Charlie explains he’s never seen so at peace.

And though Race refuses to go anywhere near that little door again, all is well.

Race has his real family who love him dearly. And that’s all he’ll ever need.

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@racetrackhigg

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datawyrms · 4 years ago

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The thrilling conclusion. (may not actually be thrilling/a conclusion) Part 1 and 2 respectively. Why was she actually doing this? Standing outside of FentonWorks and it’s eye searing sign in full ghost fighting gear, preparing to knock on the door. It had to be a trap, the ghost kid must have done something to the ghost hunters to make them want to help it. ‘Wanting to talk’, as if. Yet here she was, blundering right into the obvious bear trap anyway. Danny still hadn’t returned to school, even though Sam and Tucker had been acting like they knew where he was, so they had to be in on it too. If Phantom thought he could use her friend against her, he’d have another thing coming. Several very painful things, even. She clenched her fist hard to stop the slight tremor before knocking on the door.

Jack always struck her as more of a brick wall than a man, towering and orange as the door swung open. He looked puzzled for half a second before beaming. “HA! I was right, you did show up! See Mads, she totally did!” He seemed more like an excited puppy than anything, neck craning back to talk to his wife.

“Yes Jack, I see her.” Maddie still had the hood of her suit up, adjusting the goggles as she peered out to their doorstep at the teenage ghost hunter. “You did come to talk, right?”

“Course she did! He’s gotta trust his friends more, like I do!”

Even with her face obscured, Maddie clearly wasn’t a fan of the ‘trusting friends’ line, lips pursed before patting the boisterous man on the back. “How about you go let him know sweetie, while I let her in?”

“Great idea! I’ll even get some discussion fudge!” He zipped away faster than Valerie thought he could manage, the oppressive positivity swept away with him as the blue jumpsuited hunter crossed her arms.

“You don’t have any weapons? We have more than enough ourselves if you’re worried about your safety.”

“I won’t do anything if that ghost doesn’t.” It was hard to keep the disgust out of her voice, watching them act like this. Maddie had always struck her as the more reasonable Fenton, yet she seemed far more worried about some ghost than Jack did, for all his positivity.

“That isn’t what I asked. So I’ll repeat it. Do you have any weapons on you? If you do, just hand them over and then we can talk.”

She was talking like she was more of a threat than that monster in the basement! Whatever that ghost did, it must have been powerful. Maddie Fenton, worried for a ghost she’d gladly spoken about cutting open in the name of science only a month ago. It felt like she’d walked into bizarro world. Maybe if she waited long enough a white rabbit would run by screaming about the time.

“I didn’t bring any weapons. Even though I should have.”

Maddie watched her for a long moment, as if trying to see past the mask and figure out if the red suited ghost hunter was trying to lie. With the smallest sigh, she stepped aside to allow her into the home that doubled as a laboratory. “Follow me. You’ll be perfectly safe.”

She doubted anyone could be perfectly safe in a lab with a portal to another dimension filled with ectoplasmic fiends in it, adding the most dangerous ghost that liked to play ‘innocent’ just made it worse. She wouldn’t be alone down there, judging by the snippets of conversation that were floating up the stairs.

“-not gonna eat that, just take it.”

“Aww, but it’s the good stuff!”

“You need to try-” Jazz stopped speaking at the sound of footsteps on the stairs, turning to glare at the ghost hunter.

Phantom barely even reacted, only the eerie green eyes flicking towards the entrance. Apparently he was too busy sitting comfortably in what looked like a recliner they’d brought down for the ghost to bother with more than that. It just seemed off, having a ghost looking so grounded. “Left it to the last day, huh?” The confident grin didn’t reach his eyes, and even that vanished after a few seconds, like it had been more of a habit than wanting to act like that.

“Only because I know you’re up to something.”

“Yup. That’s me, plotting evil deeds. Maybe next time I won’t get punched through a wall!” He had the energy to roll his eyes, but didn’t cross his arms like she expected him to. “You can go guys, it’s just a chat. Probably.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea-” Maddie’s concern was sickening, watching someone she could respect sometimes just fawning over a playacting ghost.

“I’ll be fine. This is between us.”

“Sure thing! Oh, if you have any symptoms just yell and I’ll be right there kiddo.” The huge man mussed the ghost’s hair, grin wide despite how wrong it looked. “I totally thought of a new approach, so just sit tight!” He was halfway up the stairs by the time he finished talking, not that the distance made him any less audible. Maddie hesitated a moment longer, but followed the loud love of her life.

The only unjumpsuited Fenton seemed to disagree. “I’m not leaving.”

“Yes you are Jazz!”

“I don’t care if she stays, ghost. You can quit stalling.” Valerie interrupted before the two of them could make her wait for ages with some pointless bickering.

Instead the redhead rounded on her. “He has a name. Use it.”

“Jazz, I really don’t care. Just go already.” He looked almost as irritated as she felt . “I just want to get this over with.”

“I don’t trust her not to do something.”

Didn’t trust her? Over the destructive white haired menace? That was just insulting. “You said you’d talk, so start explaining” she did her best to ignore Danny’s sister, it was probably just whatever the ghost was holding over their heads making her act like this.

“Won’t help if you don’t actually listen for a change.” His eyes narrowed, but more at Jazz than Valerie. “You don’t need to hear this Jazz. Okay?”

“If you think I don’t, I definitely do.” She scowled right back, acting as if they were a bratty younger kid than a ghost that could rip her face off. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Fine! Whatever, be stubborn. Can’t do anything about it.” His eyes seemed to glow more strongly before the ghost slumped back more in the chair. “So what do you think I did then? Since you keep trying to bother my friends.”

“There’s no way you got the Fentons and those two on your side without leverage. Sure, some kids actually buy that hero crap, but the Fentons don’t.” Only having a finger to point at the ghost made her feel unprepared.

The glowing teenager looked bored. “So you think I’m a kidnapper.”

“I know you did something to Danny. The timing matches up too well. So out with it.”

“Or what, you’ll kill me faster?” He seemed to freeze up after the words were out, smacking himself in the face. “Habit. I didn’t do anything, but it’s going to be hard to explain.”

This was such a waste of time. “Because it’s all made up nonsense?”

“It’ll sound like it! But it’s not. I can prove it.” the ghost stopped as if he needed to catch his breath. “At least I think I can. You left this really, really late.”

“You’re getting off track.” Jazz spoke up before Valerie could say something similar but with far less charitable phrasing.

“Right. Just trying to figure out how to say it.” A gloved hand rubbed at his forehead, brow furrowed as the ghost muttered. “You know what ghosts are made of, right?”

“Ectoplasm and bad attitudes. Duh, anyone in Amity could tell you that.” What was this, quiz time? Some sort of ‘How long can I annoy the ghost hunter before she shoots and makes me look good’ plan?

His shoulders barely move, a negative effort shrug. “Close enough.”

“It really isn’t! Ectoplasm might be what a ghost builds their body out of but-”

Phantom cut her off, leaning forward with the air of absolute exhaustion. “Jazz I do not have time to explain the specific inner workings of ghosts to someone who hates me right now!”

“It’ll help with the next bit, but fine. Go ahead and get all confused.” The redhead sat back, arms crossed.

“Thank you.” Green eyes shifted to find Valerie again before the ghost continued. “Thing is, I’m not all ectoplasm.”

“Is that why you’re extra obnoxious? Have some dirt mixed in there?”

The ghost actually laughed. “Probably!” He did hold up a hand while the laugh subsided, apparently having something more to add. “Not all dirt. But you got the important bit. I’m not a proper ghost, exactly.”

“I don’t run some endangered petting zoo, ghost. So why should I care?” Though it did explain the hunter ghost that was always after the obnoxious white haired creep.

“You should care because right now, I’m doing the whole ‘post human consciousness’ thing completely wrong.” He was watching her closely, a strange look on that dead face. Dread, anxiety? It didn’t look right on his face. “In that I’m not post human. Yet.”

Maybe the ghost was just trying to see if he could get a funny reaction. “Sorry Phantom, you look really dead to me.”

“Oh I feel real dead! But nope. Ah- I said I can prove it, don’t start yelling.” he muttered the last bit quickly, eyes flicking away from her obvious disbelieving glare. “Probably. Hurts. Gimme a sec-”

“I just wanted an answer to what you were doing, not this inane story.”

“Inane story very important answering that.” the ghost didn’t seem to even notice he was just dropping words from his sentence, more focused at staring at his own hand.

Jazz got up, hovering over the ghost as if deeply concerned for the absurdity spouting spirit. “I can back you up, you don’t need to prove it.”

“She’ll never believe it without seeing it. Which is why we’re doing this at all. Before I can’t.”

“Mom and Dad are still working on it, they’ll figure out a way to fix it.”

“No they won’t Jazz! I want them to, but they won’t! Not with how they explained it.”

“You’re just letting the worst outcome seem like the most likely one.”

“No, I’m actually understanding what they mean and being realistic!”

Honestly, this entire little exchange felt like something private she’d barged in on. She gave a loud cough, which seemed to startle both of them, heads jerking to look in her direction. They almost looked related, being that in sync.

The psychology lover recovered first. “Urgh. Just say it out loud, you’re obviously struggling.”

Which snapped the ghost boy out of it. “And you’re obviously not helping!”

“So what, you threatened the Fentons with a really bad comedy act?” The ghost winced at the angry rebuke, but she wasn’t done. “I get you being obnoxious, but dragging Jazz into it? You’re pretty sick.”

“He’s Danny.” There was no amusement in her voice, no hint of the concerned smile she kept giving the ectoplasmic pest.

“Jazz!” There was a genuine note of anger, and the temperature seemed to dip as the ghost glared at the one that didn’t want him blasted out of existence.

“I don’t really care what you call him, that doesn’t answer-”

Jazz cut her off, ignoring the cold glare being thrown at her. “It does. Danny isn’t missing, he’s right here.”

“You managed to trick the Fentons into thinking you’re their kid? What did you do to Danny?” Valarie rounded on the ghost, hand reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there.

“Nothing!” His hands were up even as his eyes stayed fixed on the elder Fenton child. “I told you she won’t believe it!”

“Nothing’s happened to Danny. This is him. Only grumpier.”

“You can’t honestly think that thing is your brother!”

“Wow Jazz, you managed to get me called a thing. Great assist, keep it up.” Phantom was muttering, settling back as if he planned to just take a nap. “If you keep this up, maybe she’ll shoot me!”

“You could try standing up for yourself, Danny.”

“Oh no, you dug this hole. You lie in it. I’d say your grave, but I have dibs in that department. Twiceover!”

She was going to punch this ghost. Even if the creature could just phase through it. She wanted to clobber it for whatever THIS was. “So you killed Danny, and took his place. That’s what you’re saying?” At least she had the satisfaction of the ghost looking like it wanted to vanish as she stepped forward.

“Hey, I didn’t say anything. That was Jazz.”

“No! Danny’s always been both. I’ve known for a while, but he had to tell Mom and Dad. That’s why they’re suddenly fine with Phantom.” Jazz insisted, trying to look Valerie in the eye. “He isn’t missing, and hasn’t done anything to us.”

“Danny is not a life ruining monster. I don’t care how convincing that thing seems to you, that ghost is NOT my friend.” Danny was sweet, big hearted and a bit of a shy little dork. Phantom was nothing but a snide, cocky creep that insisted you should just forget anything that made him look like the scummy ghost he was. They were nothing alike.

“And this is why I just wanted to make things quick.” The ghost seemed to fold in on himself, not looking at either of the humans in the room. “You can hate me all you want, just let me explain.”

“There’s nothing to explain! You aren’t Danny.”

“He is. It explains everything. Think about it logically. Danny goes ‘missing’. He tries to fix the problem himself, but he can’t. We convince him he has to tell our parents. He finally does, and even though Danny is still ‘missing’ they stop saying things like a ghost kidnapped him. Because we know where he is.”

“Or he’s still missing and you’ve bought some nonsense story to feel better about it when this ghost probably just tortured him for information.” Jazz didn’t back down from her snappy response, but did seem to be at a loss.

“Hey! I do not do torture. That’s literally everyone who isn’t me.” the ghost sounded offended, shaking his hand as if trying to get it to do something. “Anyway, this is going to suck. I blame you Jazz.”

“Excuse me for thinking friends of yours can be logical with the truth in their faces!”

“Nah. I get to say I told you so for a change.”

Valrie planned to make the two quit their pointless bickering, but words died in her throat as a set of rings appeared near the ghost’s wrist. It wasn’t an attack she’d seen the menace use before and she was already settling into a fighting stance to combat it. Yet it stayed around the ghost, slowly down his arm. It seemed a bit much as a way to take off a ghostly jumpsuit, but she preferred that first thought to how the ghost changed as it swept over his face.

Black hair, blue eyes. Her friend’s face, Danny’s face set in a grimace of pain as the rings snuffed out, a boy that looked pale and sickly while struggling to breathe where the blight of a ghost had been.

“Yup. Sucks. Ow.” Danny wheezed, eyes unfocused even though he knew the two of them were still there.

Jazz was there in seconds. “You need to switch back. Mom said-”

“S-she’s gotta know it isn’t a trick first.” the boy insisted, and his voice was right. It was Danny’s, without the horrid echo or slimy snaps the ghost made.

Yet it had to be a trick. There was no way her friend had been a lie. Just some rotten ghost who’d gotten close to her as some sort of joke. A ghost that had tricked her after making sure she knew he was nothing but a monster in one disguise. “Who are you.” The question was weak.

“Just Danny. Been this way since the accident.” He looked like he was going to say more but was cut off by a coughing fit, flecks of ectoplasm making his pale skin look even closer to dead as it splattered on his hastily raised hand. “That’s new.” His laugh set her teeth on edge.

Her brain wouldn’t work. It was impossible, it couldn’t be true. She didn’t want it to be true. She’d liked him well enough before. This-she wasn’t sure how else she could take this. “So why are you telling me now.”

“I wanted you to know while I could still prove it.”

“Why? Did you think this would help you? Think I might pity you if you look sick?”

“No.” Blue eyes looked away as the rings returned the ghost to the chair. “I told you so you’d leave my friends alone. Since I don’t think I’m going to stop being missing.”

He’d revealed his nasty trick, but wasn’t mocking her about it, or lording over her with it. It didn’t fit. They couldn’t be the same person. You couldn’t be alive and dead at the same time! She wanted to choke him, but also wanted to help. She hated this, she hated him for making this complicated. “Stay missing?” The sickness had to be an act, right? Like how he pretended he was a friend.

“Yeah. I got lucky in the accident. I wasn’t quite a ghost, and not exactly a human.” Phantom wasn’t looking at her as he spoke, apparently preferring to stare at the wall. “It was a balance thing, I guess. I didn’t really notice at first. Like the obvious I did, the whole having ghost powers thing, being able to switch back and forth.” The rambling didn’t stop even as he started scratching at the back of his neck. “I didn’t notice even as a human I needed ectoplasm to keep my heart going, or as a ghost I could use more than just ectoplasm to keep my energy up. I need both halves, I can’t survive without both.” He hesitated again, getting a reassuring hand on the shoulder from Jazz. “Problem is I managed to get that balance screwed up. Ran myself ragged fighting ghosts, didn’t get enough sleep, basically coasted on my ghost half to keep functioning. And I’m a strong ghost now, I guess. Too strong for my weak human body to manage anymore. So I’m basically eating myself alive and falling apart. It’s great. This is when I have a quip about work life balance or something, but I’m too tired to think of one.”

“He wasn’t hiding this out of maliciousness you know. He was afraid.” Jazz was frowning as she watched how the ghost hunter hadn’t really relaxed, still stiff and angry looking. “He couldn’t even make himself tell Mom and Dad until we basically forced him to.”

“She doesn’t care, Jazz.” he grunted, still not looking, “But you know now. So you don’t need to go after anyone to find out what happened. It’s self inflicted.”

It was too much. The whole thing was absurd. What could she even say to something like this? To have the world invert to show ugly stains you didn’t see before? They would need to talk again. About this. About what he actually was, or wasn’t. Now though?

She could only leave without a word.

#Danny Phantom #fanfic #valerie gray #jazz fenton #jack fenton #Maddie Fenton #reposting because yet again the tags eat it #apparently i only speak ambiguous endings

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violetwolfraven · 4 years ago

Text

Then I See You Again

33 w/ sprace— requested by @livininmyhead

You’re in the hospital and I’m pleading with you not to leave me and to please just wake up.

Rad. *cracks knuckles* Angst time. I’m gonna write this in a modern AU. Also, don’t fret about this now, but for future reference, to request fics, please, send me asks. Commenting your requests makes it harder for me. I will fill them, anyway, but please use asks in the future.

Tw: Injuries, I guess?

...

Spot was thanking God that Race’s foster mom was so chill, and he didn’t even believe in God.

He had been planning on sneaking into the hospital room if he had to, but Medda just signed him in as a visitor completely legally, meaning he didn’t have to scale two stories worth of brick to even get to the window. He was definitely grateful for that.

Since the second Spot met him, Race had never once been still. He was always in motion in some way, running dance choreography, moving through the five ballet positions under his desk, fidgeting with a pencil or pen or the hem of his shirt...

He was still, now.

It was a stupid mistake. It wasn’t even a mistake caused by human error. It was caused by insufficient funding to the drama club and lighting equipment that needed upgrading and it might cost Race his life.

Spot was going to kill those morons who didn’t give the club the money they needed.

He was sure he could get away with it. Sure, it would take planning, but Hotshot, Bart, Rafaela, and all his shifty friends on the stage crew would help him and confirm his alibi.

Spot forced himself to take a deep breath. Murder wasn’t the answer this time. Not unless Race actually died, and... and he wasn’t going to die. Race was not going to die.

He was not going to die.

A portion of the stage’s lighting had fallen on him in the middle of rehearsal, but it would take more than that to take out Anthony ‘Racetrack’ Higgins.

Even knowing that, believing that, Spot had never been afraid the way he was today.

Spot had looked down from the catwalk to see what could possibly make Jack Kelly scream like that and seen... seen...

Race, pinned under a huge chunk of metal, moving a little but clearly hurt and scared.

In hindsight, the next scream might have been Spot. He wasn’t sure. But suddenly, Kath had 911 on the phone and everyone else was trying to lift the fallen lighting equipment off Race but Spot was frozen.

Everyone else was trying to save Race, but Spot couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t even breathe.

When someone finally shouted his name, Spot didn’t know who it was. All he knew was that he was running down and grabbing Race by his shoulders so he could pull him out while the others lifted the set piece and then he was holding his boyfriend’s hand and his head in his lap and trying so hard to keep his voice calm for him as Race was choking on broken sobs and crying it hurts, Spottie, it hurts, help, please, Jack, Crutchie, Romeo, Spot, help, it hurts—

And everyone thought he was going to pass out, but he didn’t. He just kept drifting somewhere in between, sobbing in pain and keeping a death grip on Spot’s hand but not making much sense or really responding when anyone tried to talk to him.

“Most things just are what they are and not what we wish they could be. But then I see you again and a new world starts spinning.”

Spot had ignored everyone’s shock as he started singing quietly, trying to keep his boyfriend calm, trying to distract him, just... anything to make him more comfortable, knowing how much Race loved musical theatre and the songs that came with it.

“Filled with light, filled with you, and the crazy belief that tomorrow is something worth winning. Keeping faith with a new beginning.”

It was a song he’d heard Katherine singing more than once. Some song he didn’t recognize, maybe from some obscure musical or one Kath was writing herself. He didn’t know. He had to sing it an octave lower, but he sang it anyway, and Race untensed a bit, getting quiet and calmer, at least.

“Most things just are what they are, so why not give in and let go? And then I see you again and I know...”

Then the paramedics got there and Race was taken away from him and even though Spot really should have felt good about that, because Race needed a doctor and the paramedics would get him there, it only made him more panicked and he didn’t register that Jack Kelly was hugging him until he realized he was crying, and what the hell, Spot Conlon doesn’t cry, especially not in front of people.

He felt a little better, now, but also worse.

Because Race had a broken leg and several broken ribs, a few of which had damaged internal organs while breaking. Even if he recovered, it would take months of physical therapy to get back to where he was before this happened.

He was going to recover. Spot had to believe he was going to recover. But...

He knew how much Race loved acting. How much he loved dancing and singing. He wouldn’t be able to do any of it for a long time, now.

He couldn’t even start down that long road to recovery until he woke up, damn it.

“Taken out by lightin’ equipment?” he whispered, “Nope. No. No, Racer, you’re not allowed to leave me like this. If you’re dyin’ before your time, or even gettin’ stuck in a coma, at least make it by somethin’ interestin’. Certainly not by some stupid accident that ain’t even anyone’s fault. Race, come on, wake up.”

Race didn’t respond, and he didn’t wake up.

“Asshole. Are ya tryin’ to get me to sing again?”

Race made a pained noise in his sleep and Spot froze.

Judging by the amount of meds the doctors had him on, it wasn’t physical pain. More likely, a nightmare. Spot grabbed his boyfriend’s hand, wishing he could pull him out of it.

“I never said this out loud. But sometimes I just, I get scared. And then I see you again, and it’s like I’m protected.”

Race settled, but Spot kept singing. Because everything he was singing was actually fairly accurate, and... being sappy sometimes was okay, maybe.

It was true that Race had a way of calming him down, whether it was fear he was feeling, anger, or whatever. Race made Spot quiet.

“Seems unreal, you don’t know. Seeing me in your eyes is a prize I ain’t never expected. Makes me feel... what’s the word? Connected.”

Spot had definitely never expected to find someone like Race, who saw his flaws, his rough edges, and cared anyway. Someone who convinced his friends to give Spot a chance. In turn, Spot introduced Race to his crew friends, which meant they both had more people supporting them.

“Most things they are what they are, so why not just pick up and go? And then I see you again, and I know...”

Spot had never been able to admit when he really cared about people. Even friends were just allies, no strings attached, no real caring.

Until Race. Race who blew past all of Spot’s walls and found a way to matter to him so much that he couldn’t deny it. That he felt comfortable starting to let other people in as more than just allies, one by one.

“Up this high, if you try, you could almost believe that our problems are small. Almost believe they’re not problems at all.”

Race was breathing evenly now, his face calm. Spot would never get used to the thought that someone like this, someone who looked like an angel and sure as hell had saved Spot like one, wanted to be with him, some broken kid from Brooklyn.

Well, Race was a little broken, too, but he still managed to mend some of Spot’s fractures and make him feel like nothing was wrong even when everything was.

Spot really wanted to help with the fractures Race had, but... he didn’t really know how. He was still willing to try, though.

“What if we stay really still, and don’t even look at the ground? Not a soul for miles around. We are at the beginning.

How to start, got no clue...

But I know when I’m up here, it’s not about losing or winning. Would you care if the Earth stopped spinning?”

Spot wouldn’t care if the world ended if Race could just be okay, if he could just wake up and heal and smile the way he did when he was actually happy, when he wasn’t performing for anyone and was feeling genuine, unbridled joy.

A truly happy Racetrack Higgins was rarer that it should be, but when you actually got to see it... his smile was like starlight on a clear night, like a sky so blue it’s almost purple, like the warmest kind of sunshine that made everything else just... drop away for a second.

“Not much is certain down there. One thing’s for sure even so. I admit I don’t know when, or how time will pass ‘til then. But I will see you again, this I know.”

That last line felt like a promise. A vow that no matter how long it took, he’d wait for Race to wake up. And no matter how frustrated he got or how much he took out that frustration on Spot while recovering, Spot would stick by him, anyway.

He loved Race enough to stay, no matter what, even when he wasn’t okay, but he really, really wanted him to be okay.

“Please, please, wake up, Racer,” Spot whispered, “Don’t leave me like this. Race, I love you too much lose you like this. Please wake up. Please.”

Amazingly, by some stroke of luck or fate or theatre kid magic, after only a few seconds, Race groaned quietly and opened his eyes.

“Hey,” he said softly, and Spot wanted to laugh at the cliche of it all, but he didn’t.

“Hey. How you feelin’?”

“Better, seein’ you.”

At that, Spot couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“Where’s my family?” Race asked.

“They went to go get some coffee so’s we could have some time alone. I can go find—“

“No,” Race interrupted, “Stay. Please.”

Spot nodded, “Of course. If ya want me to.”

Race was silent for a few seconds, and Spot wasn’t sure if it was because he was preparing to say something difficult or because the pain meds were making him slow.

“How bad is it?”

“You should probably hear it from—“

“No. My mom and brothers’ll try to make it seem better than it is. I know you won’t lie to me, Spot, so tell me. How bad is it?”

Spot took a deep breath, knowing how much Race was trusting him, here, to tell him the truth exactly as it was. He squeezed his hand gently.

“Your right leg is broken in two places,” he said, carefully keeping his voice level, “You’ve got several cracked ribs and some internal damage from where they broke against organs. It’s bad. It might take surgery, and even if it doesn’t, it’ll be months of physical therapy and a lot of drugs to manage the pain.”

Race inhaled shakily, looking hard out the window.

“Hey,” Spot said, “Hey. Yeah, it’s bad, but—“

“Who’s gonna take my role in the musical?”

“That’s what you’re worried about?”

“No, you idiot,” Race chided, “It’s just easier to focus on that cause if I don’t, I have to focus on...”

“Yeah, okay,” Spot said, hoping to interrupt whatever thoughts got Race close to tears, “Okay. Um... we don’t got official understudies, but... I think Jojo could get your part down within a couple weeks. He’s in most of your scenes as ensemble already. He probably knows all your lines.”

Race nodded, “They’ll have to switch around some dance choreography, but... oh, shit. Shit. I’m dance captain. Who will—“

“Tommy Boy. He can nail down more turns than you, anyway.”

“Ya really think Tommy Boy’s a better dancer than me?”

Spot shook his head quickly, “No, no, I—“

“Relax. I’m messin’ with ya. You’re right. Tommy’s better’n me at turns. I’m better at everything else, but... but you’ll all do alright with him leadin’.”

Spot chuckled, “Only you could joke around at a time like this. Jesus, Anthony.”

“Hmm. Anthony? You must be mad at me if you’re callin’ me Anthony. Well, whatever I did to piss you off, I’m sorry.”

Spot scoffed, “Whatever you did? You didn’t do anything. And I wasn’t angry, Racer. I was scared.”

“Scared?”

They both knew how often Spot actually said that he was scared, even if he was.

“I was terrified,” he admitted, “I thought I was gonna lose you.”

“To some fallin’ lightin’ equipment? It takes more’n that to do me in.”

It took Race a couple seconds to realize how serious he was really being.

“I’m sorry I scared ya, but Spottie, you ain’t gonna lose me.”

“Ya can’t be sure of that,” Spot muttered, “This time a stupid accident almost killed you. What about next time?”

“That ain’t gonna happen, Spot,” Race insisted, “Never. I promise.”

“You shouldn’t make promises ya ain’t sure you can keep.”

Race squeezed his hand, smiling softly, “You’re right. I shouldn’t.”

Spot sighed. Not being able to think of the right thing to say, he settled for kissing the back of his boyfriend’s hand.

“I can’t promise forever,” Race admitted, “But I can promise right now that as long as you want me, you have me. And I’ll do my damn best not to leave you as long as you try not to leave me.”

“If you think you’re gettin’ rid of me before it’s my time to go, you’re crazy, Racer.”

“Well, I am probably crazy.”

Spot rolled his eyes, “My idiot.”

Race smiled sleepily, “Damn right.”

...

In case anyone was wondering, the song is Then I See You Again, a deleted song that was once the jatherine duet instead of Something To Believe In. Personally, I think it would have been a great sprace duet instead. (:

#newsies #sprace #spot conlon #racetrack higgins #race x spot #modern au #angst #violet’s writing

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