#private eye's keys go jingle jangle | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lu-undy · 4 years ago

Text

New Sniper/Spy long story!

Aaaand I am back with a new Sniper/Spy story!

It’s called “Un-alone�� and can be found here!

Hope you enjoy! :D

"I need a minute, if that is possible." The French accent would have sounded pleasant and exotic if not for the circumstances.

"Of course. If you need a drink, help yourself. I will be back to give you more details."

The man in the suit nodded and the notary left the room. He waited for the door to click shut before sighing and loosening his tie. He looked around him, the wooden and serious walls seemed to close on him, as the walls of his skull pressed painfully on his brain. He lowered his head and held his hair in his hands.

After a sigh, he slid on the sofa to the table at the corner of the room. He pushed the flower vase aside and looked at the tray with bottles and glasses. Water? Wine? Non, he needed something stronger. That whiskey would do. The glass cap yielded with a pop and he poured some in the glass. He didn't add any of the ice cubes. Non, he felt cold enough.

The bitter whiskey burnt the back of his throat down to his knotted stomach. The Frenchman held his head low. What should he do? Cry? Punch? Destroy?

Not yet. The notary gave a short knock before entering the room again. His eyebrows jumped when he realised that he had left a proper and prim man, to come back to what he could tell was a man barely holding himself back, to protect his dignity. He was used to being the bearer of bad news, he was used to seeing people cry, shout, get in all sorts of states. But experience also taught him that those who remain like marble are the most dangerous to themselves.

"You mentioned details?" The French accent asked.

The notary nodded, a distraught expression on his face, before he sat back at his desk.

"She left a letter for you." He put his glasses on. "I understand you were married?"

The man sitting on the sofa took another quick yet generous swig of his whiskey, the burning liquid making him almost gag.

“Oui.” He simply answered after taking a deep breath to soothe himself, his fingers only ending up clenching harder on the glass he was holding.

“But you were not living together, if what I heard is correct.”

The man on the sofa nodded, his head still lowered, his grey front tuft of hair waved in the air.

“I also understand that only her family was at her side in the end.” The notary said and the poor man frowned. “They were surprised to learn that all along she was actually married. They did not know of this union.”

“Non, they did not.”

The notary knew he was dealing with no ordinary man but this…? This added up to the exception.

“The ceremony will take place tomorrow. Her family will be there.”

The Frenchman nodded and stored this somewhere in his mind before asking what he had been burning to.

“May I see the letter?” A shaking voice asked before the man lit up a cigarette, his gaze still evading the notary’s.

“Of course. Here is a copy.”

“Do you have the original?”

“Yes but I cannot let you see it, it is-”

The notary’s voice stopped when the man sitting on the sofa finally raised his eyes to him. His face was dark, furious, boiling. His light blue eyes sliced the shadow cast by his front tuft, a menacing curtain falling on his forehead, and the tip of his cigarette shone in a more fierce shade of orange.

He handed him the original.

Instantly the man took it to his nose and smelt it. Tears came to his eyes that he prudely closed for a moment. Rose water and a hint of jasmine. Oui, that was her. Thank God the perfume hadn’t faded yet! He smiled, but his body and his face were screaming bittersweetness, nostalgia and deeper down, something he hated to show, like a weakness.

Love.

He loved her with all the fibres of his body. There wasn’t a sight more pleasant than her smile, a song more melodious than her voice, a taste more forbidden than her lips’.

He raised a shaking gloved hand to his forehead and opened his eyes to read the will. The handwriting was unmistakingly hers. He recognised it. It was a bit more shaky than when he last saw it, but it was hers.

“My sweetheart Lulu,”

The man clenched his jaw further, feeling the strain on his cheeks and grinding his teeth to hold back what he would let out later, in his own private time.

“I am sorry I couldn’t tell you earlier. I didn’t know how to, I didn’t know where you were, how you were. But I knew you never forgot about me. As long as I received the flowers, the gifts for Jay, the chocolates and sometimes, the cassettes, I knew you were alive and well.

The last letter I received from you dates back to my birthday and I kept it under my pillow until the very end. If you are reading this, my family then knows about you, they must be wondering about a million things. But I didn’t answer anything. I couldn't tell them that Jeremy’s father is a French spy, that we got married in secret more than twenty years ago, that when Jeremy came into our lives, we decided to live separately with as little contact as possible to protect the boy, now a man. I couldn’t tell my family that I miss you everyday, yet I love you more by the day.

My Lulu, I am not leaving you at all. I might even be closer to you now than before, who knows? Maybe the warmth you feel in your cheeks now is my touch? Maybe the tears you are hiding right now, I will dry, when you finally let them go.

My love, everything I have, I have left it to our son. It isn’t much and I am afraid it is more debt than help…

I ask of you two things, please, my sweetest of hearts. The first is to help Jeremy. Help him with a job, please. He still doesn’t know you, I never told him who you were. I think it is your call to make. If you ever decide to know him, I know you will see how much he got from you...

The second is please, never stop singing. Promise me to sing more, I want to hear you now, more than ever.

Je t’aime and goodbye,

Your little flower, Marie.”

The Frenchman’s heart was in his throat. He was on the sofa, in this wooden room where the sun didn’t shine, where the flowers in the vase next to him where fake, where he wished he could bite in his glass of whiskey and chew on the glass shards, crush them and let them slice through him, let the pain be physical, anywhere on his body, his face, anything but this. It was harder to bear with each second.

He didn’t realise it but his hands were trembling on the letter. He stared at it a bit more and cleanly folded it before putting it in his inner pocket.

“Sir, I-”

Again, the sheen of the light blue eyes left very little room for discussion.

“I am sorry but I must ask you to give me back the original, it is an official document for this procedure and I can hardly-argh!”

In the blink of an eye, the Frenchman had leapt in the air from the sofa to the desk, overlooking it. His face was less than an inch away from the notary’s astonished one.

“I will keep her letter.” The French accent threateningly said, his teeth clenched like a furious panther’s.

“B-But Sir-argh?!”

Something cold was against the notary’s throat. Something cold and pointy. It was pressing against his fragile column of air.

“A-Alright, y-you can keep it…”

The Frenchman backed off from the desk and the notary watched him flick some sort of blade between his fingers before he dropped it in one of his pockets. His jaw dropped. He had just been threatened with a knife.

“I was not asking.”

“W-well…” The notary pulled on his collar to have a bit more air come to his lungs. He wiped the sweat off his brow. “W-why threaten me then?”

The Frenchman took his jacket again and put it on before heading to the door. He left without adding a word.

It was still the afternoon of that late September day and in Boston, the weather started to get colder but was still very bearable.

Lucien took a deep breath and sighed when he was finally out of the notary’s practice and into the street. The light breeze did not help get more oxygen to his lungs. Or maybe it did, but no amount of air could help. He slipped back into the taxi and the driver took him back to his hotel.

As soon as he set foot in the five-star establishment, a young man in a red and golden uniform came to him.

“Sir, there has been a phone call for you, they said it was urgent and you should call back, here is the number.” He was holding a tray on which was a card. Lucien took it and read the number that he recognised only too well. He nodded and headed to the elevator.

As it took off and hovered higher and higher, Lucien could see more and more of the city underneath him through the windows. He saw it all. The restaurant they had met in, while undercover as a singer, the park he had taken her to, the movie theatre he had invited her to, where they had shared their first kiss, the streets of her city, the roads, streets, avenues that were once so familiar. They now looked like grey, narrow valleys dug in the concrete of buildings, slithering like the bed of dead rivers.

Ding ding.

The jingle of the bell in the elevator broke his train of thought.

“Here we are, Sir.”

Lucien turned away from the windows to face the doors that slid open. He entered the carpeted corridor and soon found his door. The keys jangled as they exited his pocket and the next thing he knew, he was inside.

He had rented an en-suite room with a double bed - habits die hard - and went straight to the minibar to help himself to some more strong alcohol. He didn't mind the taste and just wanted the burn and bitterness; anything really to move his pain from his heart to his body.

He grabbed a bottle of God knows what and poured some before drinking, chugging the entire glass down his throat in one go, before the glass hit the counter again loudly. He hissed under the unpleasant feeling of the alcohol scorching as it glided through his oesophagus and stomach.

Lucien removed his jacket and threw it on the coathanger before he undid his tie. He only fished out the letter and slipped it in his trousers' pocket.

“Mon Dieu…”

He grabbed the bottle and the glass, and headed to the sofa. On his way, he kicked his shoes off and frowned. He hated seeing people do that - remove their shoes with their feet, damaging the leather. But he couldn't be asked to do it properly with his hands. For all he knew, those shoes could go to hell.

He flopped down on the sofa and poured himself some more whiskey. The glass and the bottle shone under the flames of the fireplace opposite him. It caught his eye for an instant and blinded him. He grumbled and looked away, to his left and - oh, the bedroom door.

His eyes hung there for a while, the bottle and glass hanging in mid-air.

From where he was sitting, he could only see the bed, large and empty, cold even, he could feel it.

He would have killed for one more night with her. He would have…

Lucien sighed and drank some more before lighting another cigarette and sucking his anger away at it.

His eyes came back in front of him, and he saw the letter. His mind rolled back more than two decades ago. Meeting Marie, falling in love with her, falling in love for the first time.

But his job as a spy was way too dangerous for her, for him, and soon, for the little boy that Lucien was delighted to hold in his arms for the first time. And it was soon decided. A wedding, in secret, just him, her and two witnesses, people who happened to be in the church praying that day. They didn't even know them. They got married and Lucien stayed long enough for baby Jérémy to have a vague souvenir of his father.

He loved them. Lucien loved Marie and Jérémy. He loved them so much that he left them, and it broke his heart. Everyday he wished he could hold them in his heart. But he was too good at his job and wanted to keep it. It paid him a fortune and he could send some money to help.

Another sigh that failed to take his frustration and his guilt out of him.

Lucien stood up and walked to the window that he opened wide. He looked at the tiny city, busy underneath him. To all these people, today was a normal day. Some of them might even be happy…

But for him, today felt awful.

His eyes swept across the streets as he walked back in time to where he had met her. Mary, his Marie. It had been a busy night in the restaurant he was working at. He was undercover, a singer, trying to get closer to a frequent client. He had worked hard for months to approach his target. But that night wasn’t the one he managed to sit and dine with that shady nobody. Instead, an angel crossed his path.

Marie.

She wasn’t shy and he liked her boldness. He thought it was very American of her to be this way, to think that she could get whatever she wanted, if only she worked hard enough for it. Mon Dieu… She had come to his changing room, backstage, with her blue dress and matching headband, her lips were glossy red and her eyelashes, more beautiful than a butterfly’s wings in summer, fluttering to half hide the deep blue irises that he saw too vividly now.

She had knocked at his door and the moment he had opened it, the sight of her seized him like a hand to the throat. She raised her eyes to him and gave him a smile that still burnt his insides. Without hesitation, she started talking as if they had known each other for a long time, asking him a million questions.

Of course, back in those days, Lucien was quite valued on the market of love. Tall and slim, his hair still all black and combed back, light blue, almost grey eyes that looked in the deepest corners of one’s mind, impeccable manners, a smirk that weakened the knees of any woman in sight and a French accent that made them fall in his arms effortlessly…

He remembered that she kept coming to listen to him night after night. They would enjoy something to eat together. She had tried to invite him but he always insisted.

Une aussi jolie fleur que toi ne paie pas.

Such a beautiful flower as you are does not pay.

It had started as a distraction, a pleasant surprise in his life. But soon, Lucien found himself waiting for those knocks at his door, in the changing room backstage. He realised that on the few nights she wouldn’t come, he would feel uncomfortable. Something was odd, something wasn’t right, like a pebble in his shoe, something he could live with but…

And looking inside him he understood that in fact, he was missing her. Him, the man with more love conquests than there were stars in the night sky. He had fallen. In love oui, but he had fallen. Fallen under those eyes, fallen on his knees for her, always looking for her when he sang now. His eyes would frantically scan his audience, the crowd who came to applaud him, he did not hear them! Of course not! Oh! There she was! Ah, Marie…

His eyes would stop on her and from the moment he found her, his secret flower, he would sing and dance for her. Oui, he would even stand up from his piano and dance, make a fool of himself in front of a full room of guests. He would smile only after he would see her grin and wished oh so dearly the whole room would fall silent to hear only her beautiful laughter...

Oh he remembered how they stayed so late in the restaurant that countless times, they had to be pushed out of it. It had happened a few times before Lucien one night asked her to stay.

“Marie?”

“Yeah?” She raised her round eyes to him.

“Stay, please. Don’t walk back home so soon.”

“It… It’s very late, Lucien.” She chuckled and wrapped her arms around herself tighter against the cold.

Oui, with Marie, he had given her his real name straight ahead. Something in his guts had told him that it was safe to do so. He knew it was wrong and dangerous, foolish even! But non, with Marie, it felt wrong to lie.

“Please, ma petite fleur.”

[my little flower]

She had blushed. He could barely see it in the darkness of the night, but the street light was enough and he did see it!

“Fine,” She yielded and Lucien never knew, but of course she wanted to stay. “What is it?” She asked.

“Let us wait for a few minutes. Are you cold?”

“A bit, yeah.”

“Here.” Lucien removed his coat and wrapped her in it.

“Aren’t you cold?” She asked and he smiled.

“Jamais quand tu es près de moi.”

[Never when you are near me.]

“You know I don’t get French, right?”

“Oui, I do.”

“Then say it in English.”

“Non.” He chuckled and blushed, turning slightly away to hide himself.

“Come on…! It’s unfair!” She pulled him back from the panes of his jacket.

“I cannot.” He confessed, still looking away from her.

“Why not? I’m sure you know the words and all. Your English is perfect, c’mon!”

“Non, Marie, please, don’t make me say it…” He looked down and his front tuft of hair, the same one that is grey now, it fell on his forehead.

“Lucien…”

The Frenchman closed his eyes when he felt her cold hand on his cheek. He raised his eyes to her.

“Please…?”

And for the first time in his life he understood what it felt like to be the one who is in love, to be the one who feels ill when the other one isn’t here, and to feel blessed when they were together.

“My little flower, I’m never cold when you are near me.” He yielded eventually and to his greatest delight, her grin widened before she hugged him, like that, unexpectedly. She had just leapt to him and held on to the panes of his jacket dearly, with her head and her black hair right below his chin. He wrapped his arms around her and kept her close. He was freezing but he didn’t feel it. All he knew was that he held in his arms the first and only person he ever loved.

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy #unalone

23 notes · View notes

svtskneecaps · 6 years ago

Text

Walls Could Talk Part 12 ~ something i need to tell you

(Seventeen Fic, Superpower! Non-Idol! High school! AU)

You’re just a high school kid trying to survive your senior year. Seems simple enough. Problem is, you landed a major crush on a good looking transfer student, and unfortunately, the both of you are hiding some abilities that are a bit less than normal, and there’s a ghost you thought you buried in your past that’s rearing his ugly head. So… maybe this won’t be as easy as you were hoping.

< Prev | First | Masterlist | Next >

warnings: descriptions of anxiety attacks. skip from the marker (2) to the end (you’re not missing much crucial information but i can and will summarize if you're concerned)

feel free to tell me if i need to extend the section, i thought i got the worst of it but as someone with mild issues i have no real experience and want it to be as safe as possible for people; and tell me if i need to add another section (i’ll be out of state when this goes up so i might not be able to get to it right away..... i’m sorry)

“Is there anywhere private we can talk here?”

What the hell are you supposed to say to that?

Faced with Jun’s earnest and almost concerned expression, you stammer out something about outside during lunch. He gives the window an appraising glance. It’s been cooling down quickly, hovering in the low forties most days. He must've seen something he liked, because he turned back to you and said, “Lunch then?”

No really, what the hell are you supposed to say to that?

You drop into your seat as the bell rings, breathless and terrified, your stomach churning like a hurricane as you whip out the math homework due a week ago, the numbers doing little to settle your nerves. That could mean any number of things. Did he notice your none-too-subtle crush? Was he doing this to kindly turn you down? Did he share the sentiment? Or did he--you buried your face behind a tangle of hands and hair, trying to hide the trembling wracking your shoulders--did he find the article from all those years ago and want to confront you about it, forgetting that it was public, that it was immortalized in the online archives? You were joking when you texted 8; no matter how approachable Jun was you had never, never considered telling him. You’d thought it was buried so deep they could never find it.

But it would never really be buried far enough. And, as you dragged yourself out of your protective cocoon for a cursory google of your name, there it was. The first result, since you had long pulled accounts with your name on them off the search results after constant reminders. The unpleasant feeling leaked out of your stomach, lead infecting your veins.

“Last Friday, a local teen was hospitalized after--”

You slammed the computer shut on instinct as it began to read the article aloud to you, like a setting you couldn't shut off. A flush spread across your cheeks as everyone looked back at you. Their gazes lasted only a second, but they tore worse than claws. This whole damn thing was bringing up more memories than you cared to admit, you should've shut down the train before it left the station, should've shut up and sat down and stifled it. He was probably just going to turn your crush down (and in light of the alternatives, it was almost a relief to think that).

You shoved the computer in your backpack as it continued reading, words for your ears alone, muffled and distorted but you’d stared at that damn article for hours after that first day back enough that every word was ingrained in your memory and every rumor rattled in your brain and whispered in your ears when it was quiet, overpowering the comforting chatter of all the objects around you. You put your headphones in and played music as loud as you dared. “Ten minutes,” the clock helpfully reminded you. Ten minutes to the reckoning, for everything to come collapsing down on you. You made a mental note to ask Miss Mendes if you could go to the nurse after lunch; you didn't dare come back here.

Two minutes to Armageddon. You’d asked Miss Mendes. You must've looked sicker than you thought because she didn't hesitate to agree. You'd long finished your math homework, even though you kept breaking your pencil lead and ripping holes in the paper. You fiddled with your pencil, staring at the clock with no small amount of apprehension, trying not to think.

You could hear the class in the background working on a worksheet together, Seokmin’s excited voice rising to the top and making you drowsy, against all logic (not that you particularly minded). Time blurred as your head slumped onto your arms.

The bell broke through your dazed stupor, sending everything crashing back. Your hands started to shake again as you fumbled with your ID, keys jingling against it as you stood. Jun was waiting by the door already, and you lead the way through the halls.

Out by the mascot statue on the side lawn, you’d heard, was the best place to talk privately. From there you could see all angles, and between the mascot’s feet was a small space where one could conceal oneself from all angles. Nobody tended to use it for talking, exactly, but you were banking on Jun not knowing the usual implications of the spot.

“So,” you said, crammed into a spot behind the mascot’s knee, back pressed against the cold statue, speaking in a vain attempt to cover your mounting terror, “what’s up?”

“I--” he started. And then stopped. And then hesitated. And oh no.

Your nerves jangled like your keys, and you had to tear your eyes away, forcing yourself to trace over the graffiti keyed into the statue before you spilled some beans that shouldn't go in the soup. If he didn't know about the article, or your crush, or your-- other thing, then you didn't want to tip him off.

“You-- speak Korean, don't you?”

Your eyebrows shoot up. Of everything, that? “That's what we had to talk about?”

“Well, no,” he said (and boy if that didn't send you spiraling back). “I just-- I don't trust my English. And this is important.”

Do you admit it? The secret you’ve held this whole semester? Lay your cards before you? It wasn't really even a question. “Well, my speaking isn't-- I’m not comfortable speaking it,” you said, starting over before you diss yourself because by god you're trying not to. “But if you speak slowly I should understand most things.”

He nodded, and then stared out across the lawn. You went back to tracing the graffiti, hearts with initials from the eighties and the sixties and the twenty tens scratched on the mascot’s heels. An anarchy symbol between the toes. A--

“I’mamindreader,” Jun exploded.

Your head shoots up. “Slower?”

“I--” he shook his head. “I’m sorry, I can't think of a delicate way of putting this. I’m a mind reader.”

Oh.

(2)

Should you have guessed? Maybe you should have guessed. But- no, what kind of crazy assumption would that have been?? Yes, you talked to objects that didn't have voices on a daily basis but that didn't mean you were just up and guessing what strange power your friends would have, especially after- no he might be listening don't you dare but your heart jumped into your throat unbidden. He was saying something but you felt miles away, watching his mouth move through a telescope because how much did he know?? With the guilt on his face you were sure it was everything and it was like everything you feared most had collided, the car crash morphing into a t-bone between a gas tanker and a train because he knew about your crush knew about the Bad Place knew about Derek knew knew knew he’d violated the one space you’d thought was sacred you wanted to throw up.

“I need space,” you choked out, hands reaching clumsily to pull yourself out of the alcove, and it wasn't the graceful exit you wanted and you felt like every emotion was plastered on your face and you didn't even hear his response as you all but sprinted across the lawn, running for your car as fast as humanly possible.

You collapsed into the driver’s seat and hid your head behind the steering wheel and your hair and your hands, desperately trying not to cry. You already regretted your harsh exit (he’d bared his soul to you and this was how you repaid it? god, you were just vying for the worst, weren’t you, you ranked up there with Derek) but if you'd stayed longer--

You couldn't. You’d done enough harm just by admitting it in the first place. He was your friend, he’d brought you into the fold, and you were terrified of an aspect of himself he couldn't change? And with your reaction, he probably thought you hated him, would never speak to him again. How was he to know you’d panicked on the spot? (unless he was in your mind again but you didn't want to think about it because that was much much worse than him just seeing hatred; he didn't deserve to be dragged into a panic attack no one did it was the most selfish thing you’d ever done).

You sent Miss Mendes a shakily typed email, wishing you’d thought to grab your stuff before leaving. You just thought you'd feel well enough to grab your stuff, no matter which bomb he dropped on you. She shot back a response immediately, concerned but not prying. She promised to leave your stuff by the door, and honestly the twelve thank yous you typed in your response didn't even cover it (what had a person like you done to deserve an understanding angel of a teacher like her?).

Your car threatened to run them over a couple times before realizing it wasn't helping and subsided. There wasn’t much she could offer, right then. You didn't want to talk (you’d explode if you even dared open your mouth).

The walk back up to the building was excruciating. Every step was a chore. Against all logic you felt eyes on you the whole time, judging, whispering, pitying, The hallways were empty, and the feeling just persisted. Each step echoed off the walls, impossibly loud.

True to her word, Miss Mendes had left your things just inside the door. You avoided eye contact, hiding your face with the door and only opening it wide enough to grab your things (you knew what you’d find if you looked up, hatred and betrayal and just the thought made you nauseous).

You spent the remainder of the day in the counseling center. (they let you alphabetize the files in the back room, with the lights off, once you said you couldn't talk about it and just needed a place to hide calm down)

#seventeen #wen junhui #seventeen au #wen junhui au #junhui #seventeen scenarios #junhui scenario #wen junhui imagines #seventeen imajines #seventeen fluff #wen junhui fluff #seventeen angst #wen junhui angst

69 notes · View notes

smidgen-of-hotboy · 6 months ago

Text

NO FOR REAL WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT THIS!!!!!

Rita from Season1 would've never said smth right then to Juno. Rita is given so little screen time the entire series it is very difficult to imagine her character growth off screen. I've gone into it in my own Rita Rant about how she's not really given the respect she deserves and is often benched and nudged aside (especially in her own fucking episode in Season 3). BUT THIS- BOY HOWDY I'LL TAKE THIS!!!

“Mista Steel, you can’t talk to me like that.”

Hey yeah! You can’t talk to her like that >:(

#i wanna see more fics now exploring this side of rita #the one with growing confidence. the rita that reminds juno “you cant talk to me like that” the one who gets back into her tangent whenever #he cuts her off. rita that so often talks to frannie about her boss so poorly that frannie's idea of juno is skewed so badly shes thrown off #upon meeting him for the first time.#idk idk #i wish we got more of this sooner. i wish there was more time for rita to actually be confident on screen and take no shit #tpp spoilers #private eye's keys go jingle jangle

106 notes · View notes

littlebookreader · 3 years ago

Conversation

Juno : I fell—

Peter: From heaven?

Juno : No, I literally fell—

Peter: In love with me the moment you saw me?

Juno : MY ARM IS BROKEN!

Peter: Okay, but do you think I'm pretty? Be honest.

#the penumbra podcast #juno steel #peter nureyev #incorrect quotes #but is it really #haha #private eyes keys go jingle jangle #poor little juno #the lady fell and peter isnt even helping him up #anyway #here you go #eat your heart out #not literally

113 notes · View notes

smidgen-of-hotboy · 1 year ago

Text

The Smell. The Cologne. Nureyev’s Axe Body Spray.

They are trapped together in a broom closet. If Juno doesn't mention it next episode I- I don't know what will happen but I think it might make me sob

#the penumbra podcast #his smell is very important to me #THE ORCHIDS NUREYEV #WHERE ARE THEY??#private eye's keys go jingle jangle #tpp spoilers #sorta.

95 notes · View notes

smidgen-of-hotboy · 10 months ago

Text

HE CARES HE CARES HE CARES-

#HIS CALLING CARD #tpp spoilers #private eye's keys go jingle jangle

218 notes · View notes

lu-undy · 4 years ago

Note

(This is my second time requesting after you opened your askbox, but you wouldn't know that :)) Lu and Medic play a violin and piano duet together (or Demo plays the piano and Lu sings) and Mundy kinda has a bruh moment wherein he realizes he loves Lucien

Hey there! Glad to see you come back :D !! Here it is, Spy sings like a God, hope you enjoy!

"So, what did you prepare for tonight, fancypants?"

"Scout, ask me one more time and what you will need to prepare for tonight is your will."

"Alright, alright…" Scout sighed. "You party pooper…" He mumbled to himself.

Sniper smothered his chuckle. Around the dinner table, the mercenaries were enjoying their dinner, their dessert to be more precise.

"Pardon?" Spy asked menacingly in his native tongue.

"N-nothing…" Scout hid behind his yogurt, scared.

"So, tonight is Spy's turn, right?" Engie asked, to brighten things up.

"Oui. I asked Demo for some help."

"You yelled at me for the entire week, mate. Please, Engie, never let him rehearse his stuff with me, send anyone else but me!" Demo took a swig of his beloved scrumpy.

"I only pushed you to give your best for our performance tonight." Spy simply answered and he saw Sniper roll his eyes with a smile.

"Alrighty then, if we're finished with dinner, you guys go and get ready, we'll come in about half an hour."

"Very well. Demoman, I will not wait for you."

[Très bien.]

"Someone please save me from him…" Demo exaggerated his plea.

"C'mon, mate, how hard can it be?" Sniper said to comfort him.

"Well, very hard! Next time, you go and work with him!"

Sniper blushed as Demo and Spy left the room.

It was a habit now. Every couple of nights, one mercenary would prepare something to entertain his colleagues. It could be a movie, a game of whatever to play or watch all together, anything. They had put that in place in order to spend less dull evenings in that harsh winter. Being the only building for miles around in the blizzard meant that they were stuck for the entire winter there.

Pyro and Scout finished washing the dishes while people slowly gathered in the training room. It had been turned into a second living room with seats and a TV screen, if one could forget the boxing ring and other sports accessories and installations.

"Right, I think we're all here. Sniper, the lights, please?"

Sniper nodded and flipped the switch before taking a seat at the back of course, given how tall he was. The main light turned off and Pyro switched on a spotlight.

Silence fell for a moment and then, footsteps. Spy appeared, better dressed than usual, which Sniper thought was barely even possible. He was wearing a black tuxedo and black and white polished leather shoes. His eyes shone beautifully under the spotlight.

Suddenly, a few piano notes. A second light switched on and showed Demo on the piano behind Spy. The latter propped himself up to sit on the piano and grabbed the nearby microphone to start singing as the piano carried his voice.

{To the reader: the song is "Windmills of your mind" as sung by Noel Harrison}

"Round, like a circle in a spiral,

Like a wheel within a wheel,

Never ending or beginning

On an ever-spinning reel."

Sniper's eyes snapped wide. Spy was speaking more than he was singing and it was so pleasant to hear… His accent helped to make it more true somehow, more mellow.

The notes on the piano accompanied the Frenchman's voice beautifully, coming and going again, in an endless and cyclic arpeggio…

Spy was saying the words like he would declaim a poem, his voice ever so slightly flowing on the notes, the syllables stressed as they should be, the rhythm impeccably followed. His brow would furrow at times, and relax at others, and if at first he started with open eyes, by now, his eyes were shut and he was drinking the meaning of the words he was saying as if it was the air he needed to breathe.

Suddenly he elegantly dropped down from the piano and stood proud in front of his audience. He held the microphone a bit further from his lips and opened his arms, revealing a vest that Sniper had never seen him wear before. Black with satin cashmere motifs that glimmered under the spotlight...

"Keys that jingle in your pocket,

Words that jangle in your head."

Spy's voice was slightly more powerful, it was only a small difference in volume, but Sniper felt his ribcage and his knees tremble. He shook his head to shoo those feelings away and took a deep breath.

"Why did summer go so quickly?

Was it something that you said?

Lovers walk along the shore

And leave their footprints in the sand.

Is the sound of distant drumming

Just the fingers of your hand?

Pictures hanging in a hallway,

And the fragment of a song,

Half remembered names and faces,

But to whom do they belong?"

Spy opened his eyes and Sniper's snapped wide open. His long, dark eyelashes seemed different, were they wet? His light blue, almost grey irises were glistening…

"When I knew that it was over,

I was suddenly aware

That the autumn leaves were turning

To the color

Of his hair."

Spy's keen eyes never left Sniper's half mesmerised and three quarters thrilled ones. The poor Aussie felt as if he was the only person in the audience to a concert that suddenly became very private. His heart was pumping fast, unlike Spy's rhythm which slowed down. He was back to whispering, a gloved hand on his heart, and said, much more slowly this time:

"The autumn leaves were turning

To the colour

Of his hair."

Demo concluded with a few bars on the piano and then came to a halt. Spy nodded to him and new chords rolled in the air. The rhythm was a samba's, much more lively and light-hearted. Spy snapped his fingers in rhythm.

{To the reader: the song is "So Nice" I recommend the version by Sangah Noona}

"Someone to hold me tight,

That would be very nice,

Someone to love me right,

That would be very nice.

Someone to understand

Each little dream in me,

Someone to take my hand,

To be a team with me.

So nice,

Life would be so nice,

If one day I find

Someone who would take my hand and samba through life with me."

Soldier started rocking left and right on his seat, dragging Engie with him. Medic joined them and Spy, seeing that his rhythmic song was dragging everyone in a good mood, started smiling. Not only did his lips purse up but his eyes were expressing genuine delight somehow.

Sniper was smiling too, a dreamy grin as he rested his chin on his hand and his elbow on his armrest, slowly melting on his chair.

"What the hell…." He mumbled to himself as he straightened his back on his chair and tried to resume a more normal posture.

The music accelerated as Medic dragged Heavy to swinging on his chair too.

"Someone to cling to me

stay with me right or wrong,"

The Aussie couldn't believe it. Spy was dancing. The man with a sense of humor as big as a green pea was dancing. And God those hips! He was swinging them almost seductively and Sniper's heart skipped a beat… How come the Frenchman was so flexible with his hips?!

Sniper opened the first button of his polo shirt as a sweat started breaking on his brow.

"Someone to sing to me

Some little samba song!

Someone to take my heart and give his heart to me,

Someone who's ready to give love a start with me!"

Spy winked at Sniper who blushed and looked left and right to see if it was for someone else.

"Oh yes,

That would be so nice."

Sniper now breathed heavily, the room was hot, way too hot.

"Should it be you and me?

I could see it would be nice!"

He removed his hat and carded his hair, feeling some fresh air flow through it to cool down his scalp. Sniper was blushing way beyond his ears. He looked down for a second, as Demo improvised on the piano and when he raised his head up again, Spy had disappeared from the improvised stage. The rest of the mercenaries had stood up and were dancing to Demo playing.

Sniper was panting. The image of Spy, his piercing eyes riveted on him, dancing slowly, swinging his hips was carved on his eyes as if it was marble. And that wink...

He shook his head again as he started to realise why he was sweating like that, why he had enjoyed every second of Spy staring at him even though he would never admit so...

A whistle caught his attention.

Sniper turned his head. It had come from the door. He barely saw a silhouette slip away. Without thinking, he stood up and followed it. He pushed the door and exited the training room. The sound of the music and dancing was deafened by the closed door now and Sniper focused on knowing where that shadow went.

The corridor was very dark. He reached for a switch but didn't flip it. Something told him that it was better that way.

The whistle again.

Sniper went to find its source but as he came to find it, he heard the base's main door shut. He went there and exited himself.

The night was pitch dark and the wind was howling. Sniper looked around him and saw nothing. But he heard the slam of a metallic door that he instantly recognised. Whoever he was following, they had entered his van. Sniper followed suit and found himself inside in no time.

It was pitch dark inside but there was a tiny orange glimmering light and the smell of a menthol cigarette soon found his nose.

"I see you enjoyed the show." The voice with the French accent said.

The orange light came from the end of Spy's cigarette.

"Yeah, well, it was pretty good."

"Good enough for you to follow a shadow all the way here…"

"Yeah, it was decent."

"...without this." Spy finished his sentence and Sniper felt something land on his head. His pupils shrank as he realised he had forgotten his very hat.

"Y-yeah well… I had to make sure it was one of us and not… an intruder or something."

Spy spotted the bad lie as he would an elephant in a porcelain shop.

"How would anyone come to the base through this blizzard? Even the Mann Co. supplies have stopped coming. The roads are blocked, airdrop is impossible. No intruders can come here, by no means."

"Y-you never know." Sniper answered.

"Non, but you did."

"What?"

"You knew it was me you were following. You didn't know where I was going and why I kept whistling at you for you to follow me, but you did and here we are: in that ridiculous dwelling of yours that you dare call a home."

"Oi, my van's the perfect place."

"For what?"

Sniper felt Spy get closer to him. They were face to face in the dark and Sniper saw Spy's eyes reflect the faint lights coming from the base.

"You tell me." Spy answered with a smirk that Sniper heard somehow.

"What d'you want?" Sniper asked.

"An honest answer."

"What's your question?"

"Why do you think I chose those songs to sing to you?"

Sniper felt hot as he was put on the spot.

"What d'you mean?"

"I sang for you, that, you have noticed. But why those songs in particular? What was their message?"

Sniper sighed. He moved to sit on his worn out couch.

"I-I don't know, okay? And that's a lot of questions. J-just go and leave me here."

Spy sat next to him.

"Let me ask you something else then, how did you find my suit tonight?"

Sniper's eyes snapped wide when he felt Spy's hand on his forearm. It soothed him as much as it made him anxious.

"Elegant, beautiful, classy."

"Thank you." Spy said with a smile. "I did try to make an effort."

"Y-yeah, I noticed."

"Did you notice my mask?"

"N-no, I mean… It's the same one as usual."

"Not exactly." Spy answered. "Switch on the light, you will see it better."

Sniper stood up and flipped the switch. When he turned again to face the Frenchman, he choked on his saliva and coughed multiple times. He put a hand on his eyes and another on his chest to ease his cough while Spy chuckled.

"Mon pauvre ami… I half apologise for this."

[My poor friend]

"Oh, Lord, Spook…" Sniper said between two fits of cough as he still hid his eyes behind his hand.

Spy giggled.

"You did have your mask back there, right? I didn't just imagine it?"

"I did have it. I removed it as I entered your van. You may look if you want."

"B-but, isn't that against your rules or something?"

"My rules?" Spy repeated, amused.

"Yeah, I don't know, whatever rules or codes or whatever you Spooks have."

Spy chuckled.

"There are no such things, Sniper. If I hide my face, it is because I would rather people not see me and recognise me. It is better that way."

"Then why show me your face?" Sniper asked his hand still hiding his eyes to not see his friend.

"Because I am still a free man and I do what I want."

"And you want to show me your face?"

"Why not?"

"Spook, I swear… You're a whole new level of complicated."

Spy put his hand on Sniper's and pulled it away, slowly. Sniper couldn't help but stare. It seemed as though he was discovering a whole new person. It wasn't Spy, it was… well, someone else.

"Do I have something on my face for you to stare like this?" Spy teased.

"Well," Sniper felt himself sweating again, "I'd say you're missin' something on your face, but eh, who am I to say?"

Spy chuckled.

"Would you rather I put the mask back?" He cheekily asked.

"No - I mean, if you're more comfy with it, put it on but…"

"But?" Spy pushed his luck.

Sniper was staring at his hair. It was mostly black but there was a front grey tuft and the temples too betrayed Spy's age.

"But I-I don't know… Thanks, I guess."

"For what?" Spy asked.

"For feeling like you can show me your face. I guess that means you think you can trust me - oh."

Spy had taken Sniper's hand off his face but he wasn't letting go of it. Non, instead he laced his fingers through it.

"And now?" Spy asked.

"And now what?"

"Now, do you know why I chose to sing these songs for you?"

Sniper blushed.

"I-I don't know… I'm not sure. Can't you just say it? It'd be a lot easier for the both of us!"

"For you, oui, for me however, it would be quite difficult."

Sniper rolled his eyes.

"How hard can it be?" He asked.

"Almost as hard as what I'm about to do is foolish…" Spy closed the gap between the two of them and pushed his lips against Sniper's.

Sniper froze. His muscles froze, his blood froze, his heart stopped sharp, like a watch stops at the time of death, Sniper's body burst alive all at once. His hands flew forward to hold Spy closer, his eyes rolled and closed, and his eyebrows slowly rose and relaxed. Spy's naked hands slid up to Sniper's cheeks and he stayed there, hanging from Sniper's lips with his own.

Eventually, they broke the kiss.

"Woah… Spook, I didn't know you, uh…"

Spy raised his light blue, almost grey eyes to Sniper.

"Did you even realise that you held those feelings for me too?"

"M-maybe."

"Sniper…?"

"Right, yeah, I realised it when you sang today. I-I just felt weird and I knew…"

Spy smiled sweetly, as he brushed Sniper's cheek with his long and slim fingers.

"I'm glad you feel the same." Spy said.

"As if you were surprised… You look gorgeous with that suit on and now, without the mask, you're just…" Sniper's eyes darted to every detail of Spy's face.

He bit his lip and suddenly pulled Spy's head to him again. He kissed Spy with such force and passion that Spy lost his legs. Thank God he was sitting down and Sniper was holding him, or he would have flowed down to the floor like a liquid.

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy #request 71

14 notes · View notes