#the day of the jackal 2024 fanfic

[our-future-is-up-to-us-2]

'Cause You're A Brand-New Species

Here's another oneeee

You're all going to be sick of me at some point but I'm gonna keep posting!!

Title is from Touch-Tone Telephone by Lemon Demon, and the idea for this fic supplied by @daeagon !

Word Count: 1.4K

Relationships: Bianca Pullman & Charles "The Jackal" Calthrop, Bianca Pullman & Vincent Pyne

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR EPISODE 9! A sprinkling of content from Episode 8 and also a tad from the beginning of Episode 10/Season 1 Finale.

This is a post-episode 9 fic fyi!!

~ Read the fic under the cut ~

The boat chase is highly exhilarating, if the Jackal says so himself. 

UDC is dead, his minions and the authorities racing after him… It’s all a victory lap, really, to really solidify the achievement. 

As he approaches a place to dock, he turns back to face the crowd. He can spot at least six boats tailing him, out on the water. 

A crowd of law-obsessed maniacs, they are. Some are just driven by hell and high water, doing it for whatever reason fits their purpose. 

And in that crowd, he swears he recognised one or two of those authorities, talking to each other, crouching down in their vessel… 

Right. He can’t take any chances. 

In times like these, he hates thinking on his feet. He always needs a schedule, everything meticulous and prepared well in advance. 

But being The Jackal means being able to suit up for any situation, to adapt like the tides beneath his feet. 

He lets himself laugh, smiling wickedly as he drops something in the driver’s seat, docking the vessel, and escaping. 

After all, he makes everything seamless. From a boat to a car, zooming down Croatian highways… 

It’s a beautiful thing to be wild and free of burden… Well, for the most part. The authorities are connected and he’s certain they’ll find some way to trace things back to him. 

Perhaps that’s exactly what he wants. 

All he has to do now is wait, and keep his eyes focused ahead. 

***

Vincent Pyne groans as the boat halts, many others surrounding Bogdan’s. He shakes his head and tuts, exchanging a glance with Bianca. 

“Remember how I told you he’s a fucking ghost?!” He exclaims, gesturing to the vessel ostentatiously. “Motherfucker just comes and goes without a trace. We had eyes on him!” 

Bianca huffs and crosses over from their MI6 vessel to where The Jackal was. 

There is nothing to hide, The woman thinks, even as she searches every nook and cranny for a lead, a clue, anything, And The Jackal does not make mistakes…  

When she takes her attention to the driver’s seat, finding an old cell phone and a number preloaded to dial, she’s left smirking. 

This is not a mistake. Nor is this a trap, so she hopes. This is an intentional move. 

“He must be desperate,” She picks up the phone, waving it in Vincent’s direction, “There’s no way he would’ve left this without noticing.” 

The man crosses his arms and watches Bianca as she steps back over to their vessel. “Well, we have no other choice, do we?”

She shakes her head. 

The other authority boats do not leave their post, instead drawing their guns in case of sudden fire. 

She feels better with the security, with Vince as her right-hand man. So why can’t she help the tremor in her fingers as she hits the dial button? 

***

He allows the phone to ring four times before picking up. 

“There you are,” He says, soft, slow, with the same satisfaction he had before killing UDC. 

Finally, they could speak, bringing this cat-and-mouse chase closer, more personal, even. He doesn’t know why he’s thrilled by the whole scenario… She could actually find him and he’d be arrested, worse, dead, in a matter of days. 

Maybe it’s because he hears her breath now, steady, but holding back from so much worse. Maybe it’s because she’ll start speaking, then start yelling at him, losing all her MI6 professionalism. 

He eases his foot off the accelerator, just to focus on her. In his mind, she should be feeling very privileged. 

“Yeah,” Bianca hisses, “Here I am, right where you want me,” She ends up sighing, glancing over at Vince. 

His eyes tell her everything: This is our chance. Rip into him, do whatever you can. Find him, Bianca.  

“I’m here, left with Bogdan’s tarnished boat… And you’re in a car, judging by the engine I hear, driving speedily down some roads, in…” 

The Jackal scoffs, tapping his hands against the steering wheel, “You really think I’m giving myself up? Leading you right to where I am?” 

“I’d appreciate it!” She forces out a laugh, and forces herself to take a few breaths. She can’t let her ambition and zealousness get ahead of her, not this time. 

Not when the MI6 agents have him on the ropes, closer than ever before. 

“You could tell us where you’re headed. Better yet, who’s paying you millions of dollars to take out these hits. Or…” She says slyly, letting out a laugh, “Why don’t you recall something for us?” 

“Oh, yeah?” His eyebrows quirk up, but of course, she cannot see that. She’s left with his curiosity in the moment and a hint of mischief that she hates to define, “And what will I be recalling for Bianca of MI6?” 

He remembers spelling out the details to Zina, convolutedly asking for her help: First name Bianca, tall, black, mid-30s or so, and another male, white, about the same age.   

He never ended up finding the name of the other male, but he has Bianca. Bianca, a woman of MI6, on the phone with him, right on his tail. 

“Your time in the British military?” She says in a knowing tone, “Must’ve been quite the journey. Expertise, weather and all.”  

She sits down now, aware of how long this call could take. At least, that’s what she thinks: That she should be taking notes, making sure not to lose any detail. 

Vincent grunts as he sits down next to her, admiring the crystal-clear view, the water, calm and fresh. Working in the MI6 does present plentiful opportunities for sightseeing… 

Bianca simply rolls her eyes at his sudden lax behaviour. This is not a time for slacking. She tells him with furrowed brows, pointing to the phone. 

The moment of silence lasts longer than she expects, and she’s prepared to press as though she hasn’t done so throughout the entire investigation. She’s killed to get here, and she’ll threaten more if she has to, if it means finishing up the job. 

The Jackal’s voice is softer when he next speaks, “I dunno, Bianca. It’s pretty… Complicated. Expertise can come from anywhere, these days.” 

He shrugs it off like it’s nothing, because he does his best to regard it as nothing. His whole unit, taken out by his own invention, and he’s still alive, making a sharp left turn onto a desolate street?  

Well, that’s how the cookie crumbles, so he’d like to think. 

He presses his sunglasses closer to his face, “Speaking of killing, I wonder how all that guilt is treating you these days.” 

The woman clenches her fist, laughing drily, “Yeah, and I wonder the same for you. Every day, you seem to pop a bullet through someone’s body. Innocent, corrupt, billionaire… You’ve gotta care, Jackal.” 

“I care about the work and that’s all.” He smiles, “I really think that you and I are one in the same. Bye, now.” 

It’s easy to hang up, to leave her with that parting thought. He can feel the mirth in the air he breathes… Everything is oh-so effortless, and everyone is oh-so gullible! Feelings are the key to unlock necessary hope in her, while providing no substantial intel. 

Her words happen to play on his mind, however. 

… Military, must’ve been quite the journey… You’ve gotta care, Jackal. 

And perhaps, that was her intention all along. 

***

“You think we were successful?” Vincent asks, shuffling closer and peering over the phone. “Sounds like we were.” 

“Yeah, right…” Bianca rolls her eyes once more and pats Vince on the shoulder. “All we know is that he’s on the move, and that he’s potentially being chased by authorities. Knowing him, they’re either dead or exhausted.” 

“So we got jack shit. Hip hip fucking hooray.” He scowls, shaking his head. “Apologies for the optimism, Bianca.” The sarcasm in his voice is as clear as day. 

She looks between the phone and her co-worker, thoughts running through her mind. We may have never reached contact if he didn’t leave this for us…  

She shoves the phone into Vincent’s hands, determination ablaze in her eyes. 

“Not quite. We look after this phone, call him at random intervals. We judge what we can on voice, sound, and intel, along with anything from Isabel and Osi. We can’t give up on this fight.” 

Vincent nods, smiling broadly, “I never said that we were.”

[simp-ly-writes]

Favourite Face

─────── · · A 'Day of the Jackal' (TV series) FanFic

Pairing: Alexander "Jackal" Duggan x Fem!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: A former MI6 agent now on a mission for survival, you use your expertise as a weapons engineer, masquerader, and manipulator in order to take on illegal missions. After a close call on your most recent mission, you stumble into the hotel room of a fellow assassin... the last person you would expect to see.

─ · · TAGS: second person perspective used, female-pronouns used, depictions of blood, mentions of guns and violence, fighting, usage of pet-names (ex. love, sweetheart, etc) swearing, light angst.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 2,195

─ · · A/N: thank you to @calmowl2407 for this incredible ask! I had so much fun writing it that I hope you all enjoy reading it just as much. As always, your interact helps me to know what to write!

─────── · ·

Summer | Middle-of-Nowhere, Germany | 13:01 PM

A red Alfa Romeo Spider drove down bending and twisting country roads before they turned to dirt and gravel. The roof was open, your hair blowing away in the wind from underneath your sunhat. The sun was warm against your skin as you changed gears and parked the car behind a wall of trees before grabbing your leather bag from the boot of the car and slinging it over your shoulder.

With a slam and a beep, the car lights dimmed and you trekked through the rocky terrain before entering an opening in the trees, a small pond sat in the middle, a pair of ducks swimming and ruffling their feathers in the shallow waters as you knelt down behind a fallen tree and zipped open your gear.

A few cicadas hummed in your ears as your forrest green pants became brown at the knees from the wet earth. The bottom of your designer boots ruined but you couldn't find it in yourself to wince, knowing how easy it would be to just buy a new pair when you arrived back to your hotel room.

Taking off your sun glasses, allowing them to hang from the unbuttoned portion of your creme shirt before sorting through the bag, you pulled out various 3D printed pieces of a medium-distance rifle and laid them out atop the log.

Attaching the grip to the slide with a satisfying click, you twisted on the barrel and flicked back the safety on the gun before lifting it up to look down the sights and pulled back the trigger. You could hear the scream of the bullet and the muffled bag ringing through your bones as you brought the handle back to your chest, observing your skewed shot with a grunt.

Flicking the safety back on, you pulled out a roll of leather that held your tools all nicely in a line as you tinkered with the finishes that matched the diagram floating through your head. Standing up and reading yourself for another shot, your squinted your eyes to a branch threatening to fall before taking aim, flicking back the safety, and firing... bullseye.

The branch crashed, the ducks from earlier taking upwards and into the clear blue skies as the cranked your head to the side, pondering for a moment before tucking the empty gun into the back waist of your pants.

You grabbed and built the remainder of the weapons you wanted to test this afternoon ahead of your biggest mission yet in Munich. You never would have thought this to be your future, setting up an illegal firing range and testing not-to-code weaponry in the middle of a field in Germany but you were left with little choices as your husband divorced you, your family not wanting anything to do you- and it seemed that MI6 had the same thoughts. Abandoning you in the Middle East back in the early two thousands.

You work with a silent rage, eye twitching as you remember calling out from your microphone only to receive a soft apology from your handler, and then nothing... left stranded in the middle of a desert.

You remember stripping yourself of your badges, your gear, and only carrying what food and water your could carry with a small handgun hidden beneath your ripped shirt. You let your past self die in that desert, stealing from house to house, and hitchhiking, pleading and acting like your were some kidnapped tourist.

You could only scoff once reading the headlines of your platoon being "dead" when you hacked into their servers a few weeks later as you started taking on private work. The document read that you, weapons engineer and expert were "missing" and consequently, all your brothers and sisters had all died from a failed mission and planted IED. But you knew the truth... They left me out there to die. And ever since then, you worked for only yourself, and not even your morals- whatever it takes, you reminded yourself, firing off shot after shot, sweat dripping off your temples and soaking into your shirt, whatever it takes.

─────── · ·

Meanwhile in Munich, Germany...

Alexander sat on the couch within his hotel room, all the blinds closed, stopping the daylight from entering the room besides a few strands coming from the gaps, casting horizontal lines across his form.

He wore a simple tan linen suit to account for the warming temperatures, a handkerchief wrapped around his neck for an added flair. A pair of tasteful leather loafers on his feet to match his belt, his hair combed back into subtle waves as he squinted at the laptop screen, reading over a report he had requested from an old contact that read:

"Callsign: Veil. Known for having "many-faces;" master of disguise, manipulation, and seduction. Ex-military weapons engineer and weapons expert. Presumed Dead: Cause of Death: IED."

Alexander scoffed after reading that last sentence, he knew you to be alive, saw it himself when he too was running through the desert after killing his own team, leaving only his spotter alive to survive alongside side him. Duggan needed you, your expertise and abilities if he was to succeed on this next mission, one that could potentially set him up for life...

He was obsessed with finding you for weeks up until today, stalking any minuscule fault you made. Dressing up as cleaning staff and butlers to get even a potential glimpse of one of your many faces as he pinned-pointed and tracked each identity you used. And how did, the Jackal, know these people to be you? One may ask... well, the Jackal smiled to himself, finger tracing over your covered face as you cosplayed as lawyer within the airport footage. A suitcase in your hand that he smirked at before looking at his matching one, knowing the work to be your own that his current employer gifted him.

You two had worked alongside one another many years ago when you both were in training and served.

CHAT ROOM OPENED:

"$*^4^78&" said: 2005, Platoon 274, Palm Hotel. Trust. Business Opportunity.

Now all that was left to do... was wait. Something that the Jackal was exceptional at, but when it came to you, he could be described as most anxious for those who had the pleasure of viewing it beneath the five layers of coldness he hardened his features into.

─────── · ·

Munich, Germany | 7:48 PM

Your newest weaponry had worked beautifully, seven clear shots all placed right between the eyes as you walked through the crowd of running and screaming museum goers from the charity event as best as you could in your nine-inch heels.

Your deep blue silk dress carrying after you as the cold night air kissed the skin of your leg through the slit. The shawl you wore covered the wound you sustained when pushed onto a pile of glass shards. You held a panicked face, looking around as you followed the various officers yelling out directions and walked back to a nearby hotel room, the staff offering their condolences and not even taking a second look as you stepped into the elevator and broke into a random room on one of the upper floors you thought to be empty thanks to the cleaning cart blocking the doorway.

And the room was barren, blinds down and not a single item used or removed, perfect. Locking the door behind yourself, you flicked on the bathroom light and began removing parts of your prosthetic cheek "implants" and lips. The wig you wore discarded as you washed your face clean and felt around for a hand towel. Fingertips gracing the soft material you pressed it to your face, make-up smearing onto the white before looking up through the foggy mirror to find another standing just beside you, meeting your eyes through the reflection.

Instantly you hook your foot around their ankle yet feeling themself falling they pull your arm down with them as you both crash onto the tiled for. You make no reaction, watching as the mans face slams against the marble as you hike your leg over his waist and press your hands around his neck. He grabs your hips tightly, trying to throw you off as he starts to cough yet you squeeze your thighs tighter together as he curses and groans before pushing to the side- rolling you underneath him as he pins your hands above your head with a glare.

Mascara dripped down your eyes, lipstick smeared and cheeks warming, you spit at his face only for him to wipe it off with a cheeky grin by the back of his suit. "Civilized aren't you?" the man belittles you as you scoff in return.

"Let go of me," you do not plead yet demand, baring your teeth, eyes sharp as he leans down closer to your face. "Are you willing to talk?"

"Depends, you'll have to let go first to see," you counter, trying to blow the hair out of your face as they reach down to tuck it behind your ear- you shiver in disgust. "And why would I do that, knowing someone like yourself?" He tilts his head slightly, eyes searching your own, awaiting your response with sick eagerness that makes you feel sick to your stomach.

"And just who am I?" you ask, giving him an equal stare as you feel the grip on your wrists slightly loosening but before you can move, he places more of his bodyweight atop you, keeping you in place.

"Veil," he says as if an obvious thing like the weather, "weapons-smith, master engineer, ex-MI6..." he rattles off your resume off-the-top of his head as you furrow your brows, they must have been- or are a high officer, you think to yourself, knowing your files to still be accessible to a degree but what shocks you to your core is his next words, "...and 2005, Platoon 274, Palm Hotel, it's been quite the show, watching you, and is an equal delight seeing you this close." You shiver.

For once in your life, you are greatly disturbed, stopping all your sudden movements as you take in his appearance, trying to analyze and pick apart his image before he takes your chin, forcing you to look up at him. "Now, I'm going to ask again. Are you going to behave if I let go? Or must I strap you to a chair for your own wellbeing?"

You let out a deep sigh before batting your eyelashes and putting on a soft smile, "You know, I don't remember the last time I had a man on me. I wouldn't mind staying like this," you tease, offering a small giggle. Alexander hums, "Is that so, well then let us get comfortable..."

With every play you put on, he follows along, casting the line that much further from the shore. A competition of play happens between the two of you, switching between characters, accents and languages. Breaths becoming ragged before he lets you go.

You lie there for a minute, trying to catch your breath before looking up at him and taking his extended hand. Feeling a bit dizzy, you wobble in your shoes as Alexander stabilizes you, leading you towards the couch as you settle yourself, carefully observing his every movement as he pulls a suitcase you instantly recognize to be a work of your own.

Feeling your stare he calls from over his shoulder, "I am a man in awe of your talents." And in that moment a memory flickers over your vision, a young man with dusty hair and sun-kissed cheeks. Camouflage prints running up muscled arms and legs- you shake your head awake. Squinting at the man before you as he stands, suitcase in hands looking down at you.

"Cat got your tongue- hm?" the graduate of your sniping school year presses. "fuck you, Alex," is all you can spit out as you sort thought the onslaught of thoughts as your hands rip the luggage from his hands.

Alex takes a seat beside you, arm casting over the back of the couch, fingers just barley touching your shoulder as you tinker and fix the weaponry before you. You feel his stare as you silently work, dropping a screw by his next carefully chosen words, "good to see you again, (first/name) (last/name). My favourite face of them all."

You glare down at the screw, working your hands around the furnishings to fish it out before carrying on as if nothing happened. "How would you feel about a business opportunity?" You pause your work once more with a huff, annoyance growing as your shoulders rise and you cast a glare his direction.

"I'll stop here if you are not going to pay me for my work here-"

"Not even a deal for an old friend-"

"Alexander" you growl out his name, hating the way he smiles every time you say his name.

"Yes, you'll get payed for this busywork and for a new job, if you'll take it."

"What is it?"

"How does a quarter of a billion sound?"

"Perfect."

─────── · ·

─ · · JACKAL TAGLIST: @swiftietevitdrewjew @groovyponypatrollamp

[feelyxstuff]

Fan Fiction Recommendation #2

Hey everyone! 🌟

I hope you’re all having a fantastic Sunday!

I’m excited to share my second recommendation with you all today. 😊 I’m still thinking about setting a regular day for these posts—what do you think? I’d love your input!

Happy Sunday, and enjoy the recommendation! 💫

Name: Stick With You

Author: lettersinpetals

Fandom: Haikyuu!

Summary: The MSBY Black Jackals were vacationing on an island when lockdown measures were put in place due to a pandemic. While the rest of their teammates managed to get on the last flight back to Japan, Kiyoomi and Atsumu didn't make it. To be stuck in close quarters with your enemy-slash-teammate in a foreign country for an indefinite period of time…it shouldn’t be too bad, right? (Or: Due to an unfortunate series of events, Kiyoomi and Atsumu get stuck on an island together. For seven months.)

Rating: Explicit

Warning: No Arquive Warnings Apply

Category: M/M

Fandom: Haikyuu!!

Relationship: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi

Characters: Miya Atsumu; Sakusa Kiyoomi; MSBY Black Jackals

Additional Tags: #Enemies to Friends to Lovers #Slow Burn #Getting Together #Getting to Know Each Other #Falling In Love #Fluff #Travel #island adventures and stuff #lord give them patience #someone save omi #There Is Only One Bed #pray for atsumu #Panic Attacks #hypermobility #Chronic Pain #Masturbation #Atsumu has freckles #Atsumu is canonically beefy #leave me alone #Eventual Smut #general anxiety disorder #Skinny Dipping #Sexual Tension #Light Angst #Jealousy #Arguing #Alcohol #Beach Volleyball #Explicit Sexual Content #Oral Sex #Semi-Public Sex #Anal Fingering #Rimming #Anal Sex #they have sex everywhere #Edging #Overstimulation #Barebacking #Happy Ending

Language: English

Stats: Completed 2020-12-31

Link for the fan fiction: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27206239/chapters/66454693

✦✧✦✧

My thoughts:

I can’t quite remember when or why I fell for SakuAtsu, but here’s the story: I was rewatching Haikyuu in anticipation of the new movie (2024) and decided to dive into some fanfics to find new ones. That’s when I stumbled upon this intriguing character, Miya Atsumu, who I hadn’t noticed in any of the tags or stories before, and now he was in every one of them. My curiosity was piqued, and after watching the last season, I totally got why everyone was interested in Atsumu so much—and that’s when I got to know Sakusa better, too.

The fanfiction I’m sharing is actually the first long read I’ve had for this ship, and it was such a delight! The author really captures the characters’ true selves and even highlights Sakusa’s hypermobility—something I was pleasantly surprised to see. Plus, it’s written by someone from the Philippines, so you get a taste of the language, culture, and beautiful places through the story.

It’s a wonderfully complete work that explores their adventures during Covid, locked away together, and getting to know each other in the most beautiful and chaotic way, just like only them know how to do. I absolutely loved it and highly recommend giving it a read!

Happy reading! 💫

My tags: sakuatsu; haikyuu

[thelonelybrilliance]

2023 Fanfic: TolkienGirl

Delighted to say that I wrote a mix of old and new this year! May 2024 bring the end of The Figurehead, some exciting new Silmarillion Gold Rush AU installments, and the reveal of a delightful project @mapleymood and I have been crafting!

You can find all relevant updates to the Silmarillion Gold Rush AU, "All That Glitters," here. Is it a wildly niche special interest? Yes. Is it wholly addictive for both readers and authors? Sure is! Go forth and prosper, 'tis your Manifest Destiny.

Otherwise...

Friday Night Lights:

Nostos - [Tyra, S5] In the grey, quiet hours spent packing up her things, Tyra can admit that there’s something bittersweet about the ease and uncertainty that go hand-in-hand in her new life. Turns out you can mix with other people pretty easily in the day-to-day, but the friendships don’t stick at the end of a semester; the end of a year.

doubt truth to be a liar - [Tyra, Pilot] It’s a quiet exodus, for ten thousand people. Sure, there’s the thunder of footsteps—the growl of city-like traffic, a town come alive for one night only—but that’s all. There’s no victory. The loss covers everything, heavy and silent as nightfall.

elemental - [Lyla v. Tyra, S2] Summer hits hot and heavy, no chance of rain. Thunderstorms crackle along the edges of the sky sometimes, but mostly, the sun just holds the whole world in its white-hot sway.

all the worst things in life come free to us - [Tyra, S1] Tyra isn’t easy, exactly—it’s just that life is hard.

holding the matches - [Lyla, S1] There were lines between all the lives you used to live, before Jason fell—classroom life, cheer life, school life, home life. Now there’s a secret life you can never bring into the light. Now, you have to consider the difference between little white lies and the kinds of sins that damn you.

the thief of joy - [Lyla, outsider POV, S1] The thing about Lyla Garrity...

a dim light far in the distance - [Matt, Pre-Series] Matt doesn’t know if he’s more than halfway decent at anything.

nothing that still bewildered - [Tyra & the Taylors, S1] Life’s been turned on its head, and now Tyra is corrupting wide-eyed Julie Taylor and feeling weirdly protective while she does it.

Red Rising:

either way, I forgot his name by heart - [Cassius & Julian, Pre-Series] Cassius is half a whole.

something warm roars at tonight's torn edge - [Darrow/Mustang, Red Rising] Here is how the balance between them settles: he catches her gaze, when she is hiding, and he lets her go. She finds him wounded, cut down by the one who seemed to love him like a brother, and she makes a home with him.

in the interest of truth - [Mustang & Victra, Iron Gold] Virginia will never let herself be too soft for any world. It is Mustang who has become weak—the girl who survived too stubbornly to ever truly learn wisdom.

deep worlds you lived before, deep worlds hereafter - [Roque & Mustang, post-Red Rising] “The question, I suppose, is whether one can love a man one does not understand.”

Teatime - [The Jackal, Morning Star] Your whispers, your offers, must seem gift-like. Before long, the rust-stained bastard will be wholly yours, body and mind. You don’t believe in souls.

born to raise the sons of earth - [Mustang & House Telemanus, Pre-Series -> Morning Star] She’s proven Eo right. And it wasn’t because of me. It wasn’t because of love. It was because it was the right thing to do, and because mighty Kavax was more a father to her than her own ever was.

The Summer I Turned Pretty:

even a river will die of thirst - [Jeremiah, S2] “You have so much love to give,” your mom says to you—at five, at seven, at sixteen. Maybe she’ll be saying it when you’re forty. You try to imagine your mom old, with white hair and wrinkles, carrying the years like wisdom. You can never quite picture it.

till forever falls apart - [Jeremiah, post-S1] They’re going to bury your light with her.

a reminder that all mistakes are not reversible - [Jeremiah, S1] Being a Fisher is a closed-door affair.

we possess nothing certainly (except the past) - [Jeremiah, Pre-Series] Conrad comes home early on a Tuesday, and just like, the world turns upside down again.

my name a past tense (where I left my hands for good) - [Jeremiah, S2] You’ve gotten everything off your chest, which leaves your heart exposed. It sucks, coming in second place all your life.

Stranger Things:

The Figurehead - [Stancy, speculative S5] When the first flakes of living ash begin to fall, Steve isn’t ready. He’s never ready. That’s not what counts.

to the young who want to die - [Steve, S4] You don’t get used to the end of the world; you get used to the time it takes the apocalypse to actually get on with it. 

Lockwood & Co.:

Convalescence - [End of S1] Lockwood assures them that the pain is nothing, and more importantly, “They’re letting me keep the bullet.”

more heaven than a heart could hold (an exquisite extreme, I know) - Lucy considers all the contradictions that make up A. Lockwood.

Captain America: The Winter Soldier:

among the vanishing - [Steve & Bucky] How can you give what was never yours?

Middlemarch:

much ambition and an irrepressible hopefulness - [Mary Garth/Fred Vincy] Mary could not refuse a proposal he had not made, and she could not urge one that she did not believe herself able to accept.

And a fun little update to @mapleymood and my other project, Still Life!

[our-future-is-up-to-us-2]

Good People

The Day Of The Jackal fans, rise up!! Here's another fic raaaaa

[SPOILERS BEWARE THO. SPOILERS SPECIFICALLY FOR EPISODES 6 AND 7, BEWARE]

This show is not letting me fucking goooo it's real BAD, so enjoy this and I'll likely be writing more to come!

Word Count: 2.3K

Relationships: See fic below <3

Warnings: None

~ Read the fic under the cut ~

“He’s being suspicious, mi amor! ” Nuria’s mother cries. 

It’s only been a day or two since Charles stopped texting and calling Nuria back. And yet, she’s here, telling her daughter things she can’t bear to hear. 

Constant, drowning her, things like: “He’s evil! He’s scheming against you! Not telling you things, not returning your calls… Oh, God, the taxi drove the other way… With him in it. It only means one thing.” 

Her mother’s last words stir in her gut for a long time, before she finally releases a breath and asks, “Which is?” 

She places her hands firmly on her daughter’s shoulders, trying her hardest not to scare her to death with her realisation, “He’s having an affair.” 

Nuria bites back curses and stares fiercely into her mother’s eyes, “You don’t know Charles! Charles would– He would never do that! He might be sneaky, secretive, but… That’s not for an affair. I’m sure.” 

“You should check. Make sure he’s not lying to your face.” 

She nods her head slowly and steps away from her mother’s grasp. She may be harsh, but it’s all in the name of love. It’s all because she cares, because Charles is a British man, raising a child with her in Cadiz, Spain… 

And it doesn’t even feel like that is the case anymore. 

***

He’s in Amsterdam when the phone rings, loud and clear. 

“Hey,” He murmurs, flopping back against his bed, “Is everything alright?” 

Nuria’s lips withdraw into a thin line as she pauses to think about her words. The silence is almost long enough for her husband to speak again, but she doesn’t hear a word. “Where are you now?” 

The ceiling is a pristine white, and Charles takes his sweet time to stare at it, getting lost in the little things while he’s not in hitman mode. “I’m in Amsterdam.” 

She sucks in a breath, tapping her fingernails against her phone, “And in Amsterdam, do you have a woman with you?” 

And it’s those words alone that propel him into motion, making him sit upright, and think clearly, “W-What? Where’d that come from?” 

“All the avoidance. All the missed calls.” 

“Well, Nuria, the thing is, I’m very busy–” 

“With a woman?” 

“Oh, stop that.” He hisses, letting himself sigh, “There is no woman, this room is empty, and I am trying to rest after a long day. ” 

“Show me.” 

Her insistence is diabolical! The man thinks. He knows that he takes off his ring, for disguise purposes, but it doesn’t mean abandonment. It doesn’t mean leaving her for good! It just means… Well, things don’t have to mean anything in his line of work. He can lie and cheat for any reason, as long as he gets the job done. Honestly, what woman, what anyone, I am so isolated–  

“C’mon, you know I hate the video thing!” He says instead, practically pouting at the screen. If only she could see that. 

“Do it, Charles.” 

And he does. He takes his time with it, but soon enough, his hotel room is exposed, the myriad of blue and white furniture on display. He spins the phone right around, all the way to his bedside and the spot next to where he sits, before he turns the camera around. 

“Nothing.” He, a devout husband, smiles. He can practically feel Nuria’s scathing waves of fury. “No one. No woman, no clothes, no mess. I don’t know what you could ask of me.” 

Nuria laughs at that one, playing with a strand of her black hair. “You could always show me the bathroom.” 

“Fine.” 

With a grunt, Charles stands and walks over to the bathroom, trying his hardest not to look damn bored, damn tired, damn unamused by all of this. “Here it is.” He flips the camera once again. “No women, no jars, no creams, and again, no mess in sight.” 

The woman hums, her lips pursed now, “She could be an ugly woman.” 

Right. That gets a laugh out of him. A good one. 

“Yeah, and can you imagine me sleeping with ugly women?” 

***

The Kontserdisaal is a beautiful venue. Shining bright, expansive, and luxurious. That’s even before making it inside the specific concert hall. 

There’s a barrier in his way, a scanner, and he’s prepared for this. At least, he’s prepared enough to make it inside, and as he steps through– 

BEEP!  

Ah, well.  

“Sorry about that,” The Jackal smiles slightly. The man on security only shrugs. 

“It’s ok, just gonna need to pat you down.” 

He raises his arms, feeling the scanner go over him, and then, he pulls out the wallet, still sitting in his back pocket. 

“Might’ve been this.” 

“Your wallet?” 

The security man looks over it, grasping it with his free hand. His fingers brushes gently against The Jackal’s, and the security man is smiling, smiling away. The hitman should not feel this rooted to the spot. 

“That’s all fine, then.” He sighs, letting go of the wallet and putting down the scanning device. “Enjoy the concert.” 

And enjoy the concert, he will, for this is his ticket to understanding, to planning, to imagining himself holding a gun in his hands, and being the one to take down UDC. 

***

How could he be so stupid?! 

Silent and deadly, yeah, right, more like silent and clumsy. Somehow, he hangs from a cord, gripping onto it for dear life, as his phone plummets to the ground and the canopy above him is wide open. 

The Jackal just has to hope and pray for everything now: His safety, his phone’s safety, that there isn’t some story in all papers, declaring, ‘Man discovered hanging from ceiling of esteemed concert venue’. Or even worse, someone recognising him. 

Thankfully, the canopy closes. He’s able to cling more tightly to this cord now, and make his way up onto the structure, safe and breathing and alive. 

Once he’s back on solid ground, he greets the security man once again, “I’m so sorry, has anyone handed in a phone?” 

He runs a hand through his blond hair and shakes his head, “No, I’ve got nothing for you.” 

The Jackal isn’t prepared to walk away. Not now. Not with his latest recon work complete, not with the majority of his data just sitting in that device! 

“Look, I really need that phone.” He laughs, holding his hands together. Anything, anything, to keep himself concealed– 

“ Everyone needs their phone.” The security man quips back, looking between the stranger and the doors to the concert hall. “Tell you what, follow me. Let’s see if we can track down your phone.” 

Thank goodness there’s someone like you around… The Jackal stuffs his hands into his pockets, letting himself relax. Because there aren’t enough good people in this world.  

The blond hands over his phone with a hum, “Type your number in for me, and we’ll call it.” 

“Classic,” The hitman can’t help but laugh, and his phone does ring. In fact, it has not smashed to pieces from a height so great. He can breathe a slow sigh of relief as he picks it up, handing the other phone back to the security man. 

“There you go!” He chirps, “Phone’s safe and sound.” 

“Much appreciated,” He nods. But before he can let himself walk away from here, practically empty-handed, a lightbulb in his head bursts to life, “Sorry, what was your name again?” 

“Never told you,” He says quietly, “It’s Rasmus.” 

“Good to meet you, Rasmus,” The Jackal replies, “I’m Peter.”  

***

The Jackal doesn’t need any help. 

Not with the killing, not with getting people off his back… He’s killed before, ruthlessly, innocent people who don’t deserve it at all– 

But there are some things that spring to mind with the word ‘help’. 

Hearing Nuria’s voice, both vicious and kind. Seeing his son, Carlito, enjoying his life, so young and without worry. 

And then he thinks about that stranger who’s not quite a stranger anymore. Rasmus. Unusual name, but an interesting one. There’s something about Rasmus that makes him feel… Nice.  

It reminds him of innocent people he’s killed, it reminds him that there are humans in the world, doing good things, small things, and making a difference. A security guard worries about people’s health and safety, about protection, and threats. 

There’s no harm in wanting protection. Or company, for that matter. It might help to have things a little less isolating. It might help to have allies like this, giving him necessary advantages. 

He’s sighing to himself as he dials Rasmus’ number, only waiting and hoping he picks up… Otherwise, he’ll be hearing a voicemail. Probably something ordinary, like, ‘Hi, this is Rasmus. I’m busy right now, but feel free to leave a message’ , in soft and cautious tones. 

But, as expected, everything goes according to plan. 

“Hey.” 

“Oh, hi!” The Jackal is almost awkward, his heart races. He’s balancing the tightrope of work and life, professionalism and humanity, “Sorry for the unexpected call, it’s Peter. I was just wondering… Would you like to go out for a drink?” 

The word, ‘yes’ escapes from Rasmus’ mouth and rings into The Jackal’s ear, easy and free, without a hint of fear in it. 

And the next thing they both know, they’re in a cosy bar in Tallinn, squabbling about the differences in their tastes, between beers and more refined cocktails. 

Of course, Peter, in Rasmus’ eyes, is lax, and fierce, and sweet all in one. He’s a mix of things, ‘vibes’, as he tells the man, leaning forward in his seat. 

“You’re dangerous,” He says, “But in a good way.” 

“Well,” Peter practically flushes at that, “That’s a first!”

***

How can one be dangerous in a good way? The hitman thinks as his fingers are, once again, brushing against Rasmus’. 

They walk through winding roads under the cover of darkness, both of them perhaps a little drunker than they’d like to be. However, they’re mindful, not just of the world, but each other, and The Jackal doesn’t know exactly where they’re headed. 

Which, all in all, is a little unnerving. And then again, unnerving is an understatement. 

This is all new territory, and yet, it feels natural. Talking to a man, so closely, drinking everything away. He’s just a security man at the Kontserdisaal, and nothing more than that. 

But as they step into Rasmus’ place, the lights dim, and they laugh together, cosy on the couch, things shift. 

They shouldn’t shift! Things should not be taking this course. The Jackal needs space, time to think, calculations and state-of-the-art machinery. 

He doesn’t need this charming, handsome man stroking at his hair, watching him with those gorgeous eyes.

“What?” He breathes, feeling his heart rate spike.

“What?” Rasmus is smiling, always smiling . Everything about him is… Angelic. Like someone like Peter shouldn’t be deserving of it all. “Is this ok?” 

Peter chuckles breathlessly and allows himself to get swept up in the moment. A kiss, that’s all it is, gentle and reciprocal. He lets his hands wander into the blond’s hair, and he feels Rasmus’ hands wrap around his neck. 

“Yeah,” Peter mumbles as he pulls away, only for a moment, “It’s more than ok.” 

***

It’s more than ok. It’s more than ok.

He has to remind himself of those words tying into these gigantic feelings, these impulsive actions! 

The kisses only deepen, and he’s enjoying it all, the heat and passion of the moment. It feels unlike anything before, and even with Nuria—

Nuria. 

Impulsive actions, indeed.

But does The Jackal stop? Run away? Tell dearest Rasmus that he has a wife and he’s swept up in a world that’s entirely his own?

No.

He kisses him, harder, deeper, relishes in his identity. As Peter, he is free, open, and different. He doesn’t conform to all the harsh ideas of the world, the rules that he places upon himself…

He is free. And there’s nothing more that he’s wanted than to be free, better yet, be free with a good person.

Rasmus and Peter… One thing is for sure, they’re a pair of good people.   

And they don’t break away, only for a little air, laughing and laughing, soon divesting each other of their clothes, and going on well into the night. 

And it doesn’t matter how nervous Peter may be, even as he lets himself take control… Rasmus is understanding, and beautiful, and a soul unlike any other.

There’s nothing that can go wrong.

***

Rasmus wakes up the next morning, opening his eyes to see Peter there, fast asleep.

Their bodies are close, still radiating heat, and he can’t help but think of how happy he feels.

He is calm, he is caring, always caring… But he’s been too caring in the past, giving himself away to the wrong sorts of people...

But Peter? He’s a spark of electricity, the sort of jolt that’s sent right through to his core. He thinks vividly of last night, in all its clumsiness, all its control, and all its ecstasy. 

And it’s completely blissful, now, to watch him sleep, watch him breathe, as his freckles move up and down, as he wants to kiss every one of them.

Rasmus snuggles his head up to Peter’s shoulder, humming softly as he traces idle shapes over his bare skin. 

What dreams is he having? He thinks idly, hearing an occasional snore, What thoughts are in his head? Does he feel the same as me, this overwhelming positivity beyond anything else?

And then, Peter’s eyes blink awake, slow and fatigued. He’s clearly wrapped up in bliss, in warmth… And the last thing either of them want to do is get to work.

“Hey, there,” Rasmus mumbles, tracing a heart now, “Did you sleep well?” 

“Mmm,” Peter hums, shuffling closer to the other, running a hand through his curls, “Very well.” 

“Last night was fun,” He sighs.

And, in clear acknowledgment of the fact, the hitman’s blue eyes, normally dull, practically sparkle with light. 

“I wouldn’t just say that,” He moves the hand from Rasmus’ hair to his cheek, “I’d say last night was a little more than fun.” 

Peter kisses his nose, giggles with laughter, and wishes that life could be like this forever. 

[our-future-is-up-to-us-2]

Mirror

Yeaaahhhhh here I am once again!! Losing my mind over this spy thriller romance family assassin cat-and-mouse show!!

It's not even funny anymore, the finale releases in like- 3 or so hours for me and I CAN'T WAIT!

But, in the meantime, here's a fic!

Word Count: 1.2K

Relationships: Charles "The Jackal" Calthrop/Nuria

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR EPISODE 9! BEWARE!

~ Read the fic under the cut ~

The Jackal’s breath is soft and slow as he walks through the spaciousness of his own home. 

Everything is too quiet, almost devoid of all he knew before. The night air is strong and he’s just put Carlito to bed… 

And there she is. Nuria. 

He steps forward, looking into her eyes. 

Why are they so cold? He thinks, but deep down, he knows he shouldn’t be expecting everything different. 

He remembers her words, her persistence, something akin to rage that fell through the cracks. 

“And when you get back, I want to hear the fucking truth!” 

He wants to say ‘hello’, to embrace her, to close the distance. He’s just welcomed their son back into his life, arms open, receptive, truly loving. He fantasised, unable to help himself, about a beautiful yet unimaginable future… 

“What’s even real anymore?” Nuria starts. She gestures first and foremost to their surroundings. A beautiful house in Cadiz: Grand, luxurious, overlooking the water, the coastline. “Is this real, Charles?” 

His lip quirks upward, his mind racing. He plans to speak, to confirm, reassure her of everything… But he can’t find it within his heart to do so. 

The Jackal is a man with masks upon masks. A giver who also takes away. He takes lives, he kills, he’s been killing before he even met the adorable Spanish waitress– 

He is Herr Thirsk. He is Peter Gibson. He is Alexander Duggan. 

He is a multitude of strangers. He is a father. He is a lover. He is a friend. He is a married man. 

How he can live so many lives baffles him some days, and entices him on others. When he needs a boost of motivation, he reminds himself that he can blend in with a few hours of prosthetic work. He can slip away into an identity that is neither assassin nor caretaker. 

“And what about this?” Her words snap him out of his thoughts. She’s now pointing to herself, then him. 

Their relationship. 

Right. 

He’d loved her since the beginning, ever since he waltzed over to that cafe, that bar, that place of dim lighting and warm nights. He laughed at how she could just barely pronounce his name. The name he gave her, at least. Charles. More like Char-lez. 

But when she says it to him in the present day, full of longing, sometimes bite, and very often, conviction, it is flawless: Charles, Charles, what are you doing? Are you kidding me? What is this? Do you have a woman with you? When will you be back, Charles?  

She mostly poses her phrases in questions, especially when he hides so much of himself away. The job starts as ‘business’, then ‘getaways’, then ‘industrial espionage’. And that alone feels dangerous.

“And this?” She says, moving across the room now. Her eyes glare daggers into his. 

The gold wedding ring on her left hand. He remembers the night before the ceremony, getting cold feet. But she kissed it away, she told him that he was precious to her. That their love was beautiful. That he was an angel. 

An angel fallen from heaven, down into hell’s dark depths, so it has been revealed. 

Charles’ breath startles as he recalls it all. 

He can’t say a word. Not yet. 

Nuria stands by a tablet, promptly unlocking it. She holds it upright, facing him. 

A newspaper is on display, black and white. A male’s stern face is the image, and the headline is in Spanish. 

It’s her mother tongue, but he still understands. He understands completely.  

He stares back at the tablet, intense. 

Like it’s a mirror.

“Is this you?” She implores, tapping at the screen. “You’ve got one last chance to tell me the truth, so tell me now.”  

He starts by clearing his throat, his mouth opening, closing, waiting. 

There is no other time. He tells himself with a sigh. He clasps his hands together for comfort. It’s all he has in this time of uncertainty. 

“I’ll tell you the truth.” He murmurs, “Yeah, that’s me.” 

“Follow-up, then.” She adds without hesitation, “Do you kill people for money?” 

He scrunches his nose but remains resolute. There’s no other time, there’s no time for lies. She knows the gist now, he’s a liar, a motherfucker, twisted and vile. 

Charles nods. “Yeah.” 

“Say it.” 

“Say what?” 

Nuria steps closer, no longer scared, but now empowered. She’s been right all along, that he is dangerous and wicked. 

She didn’t know to what extent, and now she does. She’ll hold it up to his face, like a mirror, his body count on display. 

He’ll see it all, he’ll care for it all. His reflection stares at him without remorse. 

“Say the words.” She huffs, voice low and serious. “You say those words where I can hear them, where this whole house can hear them. Tainted by your reputation. Go on. ” Nuria has the gall to smirk, placing the tablet down on a nearby table, “I’m waiting.” 

The Jackal holds his breath and counts to three. 

“I kill people for money.” 

The veil has dropped. 

“Say it again.” 

He breathes, counts to two. 

“I kill people for money.” 

Her face does not lose its composure, and Charles’ eyes can’t help but widen. Since when has she built up this strength? Since when has she cared so deeply about what I put myself through?!  

“Again.” 

He counts to one. 

“I kill people for money.” 

The words are louder. It’s a mantra. 

“Keep saying it.” She hisses, “Listen to yourself as you’re saying it, and say it! Admit!” 

“I kill people for money.” 

He smirks now. It’s a game. 

“And again.” 

“I kill people for money.” 

“Once more.” 

He’s gritting his teeth, stepping forward, the words like a fireball in his throat, “I kill people for money. ” 

“I lied!” She laughs, and it’s mirthful to his utter disgust. She steps forward too, mimicking him like the mimic he is with others. “Go on, say it again! Say it! ¡Dime! ” 

They’re nose to nose, like they could kiss. But there’s too much distance, too much turmoil for any love to shine through. 

It’s just the horrors now, uncoiling themselves from Charles’ chest, his heart, and spiralling out of his mouth. 

He’s yelling.  

“I kill people for money! Is that what you wanna hear?! Is that enough?! ” 

Nuria’s walls start to crumble as she sucks in a breath, eyes bright and watery. 

His face is flushed red and he’s too close to her for comfort, but it doesn’t matter to him. 

She was the one that riled him up, that shook him out of his nonchalance, his coolness. Out of that facade and into the open once more. 

His lips shudder as he thinks of what to do next: To hug her, to say sorry, to step away and never return. 

He realises that she never answered his question. The silence is thick and tense before she does. 

“No… No it’s not. ” She fiercely bites, “But now, we are ready to have a conversation.” 

Because Nuria has built this house as her own. She had built up comfort and safety. A respite from all that is evil. 

She didn’t know she was keeping a shard of wickedness in her own home. 

But she’ll nurture it, because she loves him, as evil as he is. 

The Jackal is left there, speechless, taken aback by her audacity. 

Meanwhile, Charles can only stay rooted to the spot, shaking, and barely holding himself together. 

[our-future-is-up-to-us-2]

The Jackal

Whooaaaaa we're almost caught up I swearrrr WHOOAAA living on a prayerrr (Fic number 8 and it is currently the 9TH!) @narcosfandomdiscord

Enjoy <3

Prompt #11, Book Of Pit Stops: Rush

Word Count: 1.1K

Relationships: Charles "The Jackal"/Nuria

Warnings: SPOILERS! Spoilers galore!! Episodes 1-5 of this show have been watched by me, and thus, a patchwork of spoilers throughout this rambly fic! Beware if you're a spoilerphobe!

~ Read the fic under the cut ~

The Jackal lives in secret. He hides from everyone and everything.  

He dons disguises and becomes people who he’s not meant to be, for example, a certain Herr Thirsk, who, to The Jackal’s knowledge, may or may not be real. 

Passports are essential if he’s globetrotting. No one bats an eye at the switches, at the effortlessness of it all. If it says he hails from Germany, that’s where he’s from. Then France? He’ll be a Frenchman for a day, who cares?! 

The information is proper, organised, and it looks legitimate. That’s all that counts in The Jackal’s line of work: Efficiency, quality, and legitimacy. 

After all, someone is set on hiring him, paying him grand amounts of money to make as many kills as possible. A hitman does what he needs to do, whatever it takes to target the best of the best. 

He uses bespoke weaponry and state-of-the-art prosthetics. His materials, his safes, all of it, are top-notch. There’s nowhere in the business that he can fail, except for his own human error. 

He trusts his gunmaker to the ends of the earth, he trusts his aim to make the kills, and he trusts others to give him whatever he requires. 

Because, as he tells Nuria one sunny day in Cadiz, it’ll hurt the brand if people don’t pay him what he needs. It’s not all about the money, though, and even worse if people don’t follow his orders. 

If he sets instructions, they’ll be met. If someone fumbles, then they’re out of the game. 

The Jackal avoids taking unnecessary phone calls and explicitly warns his loveable Spanish relatives not to post whatever photos they take of him. As beautiful as celebrations and warmth and memories may be, he simply can’t risk being exposed. 

***

After the ordeal with Manfred Fest, a very classy and striking ordeal if he does say so himself, he’s attracted attention. Or, at least, a ‘killer’ has done so. A killer could be anyone, but only someone of his expertise could make the shot from 3815 metres away. 

He travels in taxis from one place to the next, keeping his language fluency intact with every country he visits. He passes Nuria after she’s dropped him off at the airport, but is his cover blown? 

If he’s not answering his phone, then it won’t be. 

Besides, he has a tingling, almost unwelcome feeling that his wife will find out. And, if she does? If the other Charles, Jackal’s in-law, helps her, then he’ll know.

He doesn’t have a safe without passwords, a lock without a key, or a room full of secrets without protection. 

A camera inside a prosthetic face. A marvellous touch. As his wife snoops around, horrified by what she’s seeing, he’s seeing her right back. 

It’s harmful to the relationship, detrimental, in fact, but he’ll just class it all as ‘industrial espionage’. You know how it goes, Nuria, a bit of spying, a bit of illegal activity, and… 

A lot of murder, but The Jackal doesn’t reveal that much.  

***

It’s so satisfying to see people at his mercy, to watch their trembling hands as they kneel before him. Whatever string of ‘oh, god, spare me, please, no!’ that escapes people’s mouths never deters him. Unless there’s something more to offer, The Jackal will do away with them. 

Man, woman, guilty, innocent… Doesn’t exactly matter. If they’ve misunderstood their obligations to him, then, their time is up. 

***

The Jackal bites back a laugh as he gets wind of recent news: A girl, one named Emma, dies in custody. The police are legally responsible. Whoever sent her into custody is feeling guilty for the rest of their lives. 

Isn’t it perfect, for the authorities to be in the wrong? In their attempts to catch a criminal, a killer, a hitman, they misstep. 

Well, they don’t just misstep. They’ve killed a daughter. They’ve ruined a mother, a father, a family. All of the girl’s friends will be devastated, all the good she hoped to achieve in life has been thrown into the gutter. 

He stares at the article for a while, never once losing his focus. He laughs, and laughs, and laughs. 

When Nuria catches him in the act, swiftly barging into his study, he hums and settles. The rush almost becomes too much, but he closes his laptop. 

Her gaze implores him to talk, so he does. 

Still, he demurs and deflects, “No, no, it’s nothing, really,” A certain twinkle in his eye reveals everything to her, “Well, if you must know, my work has just become very interesting. ” 

“You’re in that place again!” She hisses, but he remains unfazed, “You’re always there, and never here… Come on , Charles. Come back to me.” 

He leans back in his chair and shrugs, “I’m here, darling. I’m here. ” 

“You don’t get it,” She shakes her head, “Because, sometimes, I look at you, and I just see–” 

“What?” He intervenes with a lazy smile. A gentle tilt of his head. Charm, suaveness, everything in between, “Tell me. What do you see?” 

With a sigh, she decides she can’t help herself, walking over to him and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. She holds onto him, lets her smaller body sink into his lap. 

“I’ll tell you what I see,” She whispers, “I see a motherfucker. ” 

“Oh, fuck you!” He replies, equally as quiet, and their lips meet not long after. 

It’s just one of the many games they play. Teasing, banter, time alone, they cherish it. Nuria can tell when he’s drifting away, off with the fairies of business and stocks and, well, whatever he actually does. 

So, it’s her job to bring him back to reality, to remind him of the people he has: It’s her and her love, it’s little Carlito, turning two years old tomorrow. 

He goes for long periods of time, doesn’t come back for a few days, then a week, then two. He tells her, over and over, the same sentiments: People are too inconsiderate, they have no empathy, he’ll be back as soon as his shifts are over. 

Whatever he does, the majority of it is out of her control. 

She can only hold onto him when he’s physically here, when Charles is in her reach. 

Otherwise, she is full of doubt, confusion, and emotions that extend beyond herself. Her family can only calm her so much. 

She needs Charles, the lover, the husband, the family man… Not Charles, the sketchy, flighty businessman. 

Not Charles the hitman, Charles the plotter, Charles the ruthless manipulator and assassin. 

‘Industrial espionage’ is all it is. And hopefully, that’s all she’ll ever know. 

[our-future-is-up-to-us-2]

Community Service

Another The Day Of The Jackal fic!!

And it's multichapter, so strap in for some fun times! (mostly banter and sass LMAO)

Summary:

Blue and red, mixed with black. It’s what she wants him to be bleeding.

What if Episode 10 turned out differently, as Bianca seeks to take The Jackal alive? What if she has a plan up her sleeve that is risky, seriously boring, and exhilarating all at once?

Spoilers for Episode 10, aka the Season 1 Finale. Very heavy on canon divergence too, though!

Thank you once again to @daeagon for providing the main idea + a few more ideas that I'm planning to weave into this one.

Only posting this one on AO3, because it's multichapter and because I want to - So go enjoy it over there!

[our-future-is-up-to-us-2]

The Day Of The Jackal Fic Masterlist

Hey everyone!!

So my obsession with The Day Of The Jackal is running on overtime like OH MY GOODNESS!! This show has taken over my life atp. The cinematography, the characters, the tension, the EVERYTHING.

I have been and will continue to write fics for the show. I have decided to make this comprehensive masterlist, which will be updated with the more I write <33

Request fic ideas, prompts, and whatever else you'd like, over here!

Please be aware of spoilers if you're a spoilerphobe! But I'll make those clear either way.

~ Read the list under the cut ~

1 - The Jackal

Summary:

The Jackal lives in secret. He hides from everyone and everything.

Relationships: Charles "The Jackal" Calthrop/Nuria

Spoilers/Episode Content: Episodes 1-5

On Tumblr | On AO3

2 - Good People

Summary:

It’s only been a day or two since Charles stopped texting and calling Nuria back.

And yet, she’s here, telling her daughter things she can’t bear to hear.

Relationships: Charles "The Jackal" Calthrop/Nuria, Charles "The Jackal" Calthrop/Rasmus

Spoilers/Episode Content: Primarily Episodes 6 & 7

On Tumblr | On AO3

3 - Instincts

Summary:

Screaming, screaming, screaming!

A TLOU/TDOTJ crossover, where Bianca is Ellie's saviour at Silver Lake.

Relationships: Joel Miller & Ellie (TLOU), Joel Miller & Bianca Pullman, Ellie & Bianca Pullman

Spoilers/Episode Content: Nothing from The Day Of The Jackal, but covering TLOU's David incident at Silver Lake

On Tumblr | On AO3

4 - all of these are the prettiest things

Summary:

It’s always the quiet moments that draw them in. Peter sits about, examining blueprints, mulls over documents on his computer or phone, while Rasmus takes to watching him, or making some food.

At least, that’s when they’re not entangled in work, or each other.

Relationships: Charles "The Jackal" Calthrop/Rasmus

Spoilers/Episode Content: Based around Episodes 6 & 7

On Tumblr | On AO3

5 - Chain Reaction

Summary:

“Hey, hey– Bianca. Listen to me. Listen to me, I swear to god, you’re ok!”

Relationships: Bianca Pullman & Vincent Pyne

Spoilers/Episode Content: Episode 8 (this is a darker fic, and is canon-compliant to the darker themes of the episode)

On Tumblr | On AO3

6 - The Blueprint On My Mind

Summary:

“You’re kidding, right?”

The Jackal looks up from his bowl of cereal, met with Rasmus’ surprisingly stern gaze.

“I don’t kid about anything.”

Relationships: Charles "The Jackal" Calthrop/Rasmus

Spoilers/Episode Content: Loose canon compliance to Episodes 6 & 7

On Tumblr | On AO3

7 - Mirror

Summary:

The Jackal’s breath is soft and slow as he walks through the spaciousness of his own home.

Relationships: Charles "The Jackal" Calthrop/Nuria

Spoilers/Episode Content: Episode 9

On Tumblr | On AO3

8 - 'Cause You're A Brand-New Species

Summary:

The boat chase is highly exhilarating, if the Jackal says so himself.

Relationships: Bianca Pullman & Charles "The Jackal" Calthrop, Bianca Pullman & Vincent Pyne

Spoilers/Episode Content: Episode 9 (a what-if scenario situated post Episode 9), sprinklings of details from Episode 8 and Episode 10/Season 1 Finale

On Tumblr | On AO3

9 - Community Service

Summary:

Blue and red, mixed with black. It’s what she wants him to be bleeding.

What if Episode 10 turned out differently, as Bianca seeks to take The Jackal alive? What if she has a plan up her sleeve that is risky, seriously boring, and exhilarating all at once?

Relationships: Bianca Pullman & Charles "The Jackal" Calthrop, Bianca Pullman & Vincent Pyne, Charles "The Jackal" Calthrop/Rasmus

Spoilers/Episode Content: Episode 10, aka the Season 1 finale. You will be spoiled on that episode in the very first chapter!

This is a multichapter fic, with canon divergence within that first chapter as well.

On AO3 | (Won't be posting this one to Tumblr, so please read it over there!)

[our-future-is-up-to-us-2]

The Blueprint On My Mind

Another Day Of The Jackal fic because MY GOODNESS this show is NOT leaving me alone!!! I will continue to go feral!! Prepare yourselves!

This is my first 5+1 fic too, so enjoy that for what it's worth! The formatting might be a bit off because I tried to add extra spacing between each section. Let me know if that's a problem!

Otherwise, enjoy the fic, and feel free to go feral with me, too!

Word Count: 2.4K

Relationships: Charles "The Jackal" Calthrop/Rasmus

Warnings: None

1.

Every morning, Peter wakes up and has something to check. An email, a transaction account, a dodgy website, a weapons blog. 

He sneaks out of bed sometimes, just to make sure he can get some work done, be productive, before Rasmus awakens and he’s surrounded by domestic bliss. 

Sometimes, that involves sitting on the floor, lying down, shoddily dressed in pyjamas or whatever feels comfortable, staring at blueprints. 

He’s convinced himself that he knows what he’s doing. It helps to have that watchful eye, that pressure on him. Even if it’s only in this moment, and no other time. Peter can focus more clearly, let the dots connect… The Kontserdisaal is grand, intricate, and beautiful. 

He lets himself yawn as his fingers drag over the page, as he mumbles this and that, thinking the rest in his head. 

He can feel Rasmus lingering behind him, crouched down on the floor like it’s natural. Then, his hands press against Peter’s shoulders, soothing and yet heavy. 

Grounding him. This is where he is. This is what he’s doing. He’s an architectural engineer named Peter, and this is Rasmus, adorable Rasmus, right beside him. 

“Mornin’, sleepyhead.” The Brit laughs, turning to face the other man, “You alright?” 

“Yeah,” The blond replies, looking between his tired face and the blueprint on the floor, “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just… Why do you have to work all the time?” 

The Jackal flashes a smile as he strokes a thumb over his cheek. He knows damn well why, he’s on deadline, out to kill people. 

It excites him. Killing people. He really is a twisted motherfucker, isn’t he? 

Instead, Peter says, “It’s important, Rasmus. And work, well… It keeps my mind running. I always need something to do.” 

The security guard, cheeky as all hell, just smirks at him. 

“Yeah, yeah, you do... ” 

The brown-haired man simply rolls his eyes. 

2.

Peter lies down on the bed the next time, eyes blinking to stay awake. 

Rasmus is working a late shift tonight, so he has more time to himself.

He laughs, letting the sound reverberate and echo, filling the quiet flat. He’s tracing out the page like the security man traces his scars.

It’s stupid, and yet, delightful. Sitting here as night’s falling, and he’s enjoying these intricacies…

He can’t blame himself, though. He’s enjoyed them for years, professionally and recreationally. It’s all second-nature to him.

He hums, mulling the situation over. So many doors, but only a few designated exits. How will he make his escape?

Yes, he’ll make his escape by—

The door creaks open behind him, revealing a silhouette of the man he loves, sweaty, dishevelled and smiling.

“Sorry, love. Did I wake you?” He breathes, gesturing to the bathroom, planning to shower.

Peter rolls over with wide eyes and shakes his head, “I’ve been studying.” 

“Oh.” Rasmus mumbles, stepping forward to see… Right. This thing that he loathes. “Yeah, of course.” 

He’s an architectural engineer… This stuff is what he puts his life and soul into. He has to remind himself of the fact.

Nevertheless, he sits at the edge of the back, and Peter makes room for him. The blond laughs and cups his cheek, planting kisses all over his face, before latching onto his lips. 

Peter reciprocates, slow, careful, similarly running his hand over Rasmus’ face, his good man face, before he pulls back, making a face of semi-disgust.

“Goodness, you really are sweaty. Did they make you run laps in that venue or what?!” 

The security guard blushes, “That combined with racing around for the tech crew will do that to you.” 

“Go shower. I’ll still be here.” 

With a nod, he leaves, pulling off his jacket first and proceeding to get undressed. 

He has, unfortunately, not been successful in his task, one he’s formed so quickly and decided so keenly on. But he knows he has time, and Peter Gibson is so dangerously human.

So human, in fact, that he looks at a blueprint like it has hung the moon for him.

Well, that’s a little fucked up, if Rasmus has anything to say about it… 

3.

Rasmus rolls over and bumps into Peter’s shoulder, laughing quietly.

“You there, darling?” He asks, not without a gentle grin.

He knows his lover has the tendency to drift off after their whirlwinds of passion. And tonight is no exception. 

“I’m here,” Peter mumbles, sparing the blond a glance, before returning his gaze to the ceiling. 

He unwinds in this way, Rasmus has found. Staring at the ceiling, as though searching for something only he can see. Is he daydreaming or replaying the moments in his head? Is he living out his past or thinking of the future?

“Hey, once you’re done recharging…” He smirks, running a hand over the other’s chest, “You know, I’d be happy to go again.” 

Peter laughs at the idea, smiles softly, and snuggles in closer to Rasmus, kissing his cheek. 

Then, just like that, he’s gone and distanced himself, arms hugging his body, staring at the goddamn ceiling.

“Not tonight, beloved,” Peter whispers, blinking. “I’ve got a big day tomorrow.” 

Rasmus flushes, more taken aback than anything else, “Wh— I do too , Peter. Is there something I’ve done?” Worry laces his voice, “Have I overstepped?” 

The brown-haired man shakes his head, turning to face the other now. It’s ironic, he thinks, for the security guard to be overwhelmed like this, to be a bundle of insecurities. 

“No, you haven’t.” He runs a hand over Rasmus’ cheek. “You could never overstep. And if you do, I’ll tell you… And I assume you’d do the same with me, yeah?” He pauses for breath, watching the blond nod, “You know who I am, beloved. You really know. How we're even working in the same place is beyond my wildest dreams— So, if I’ve got a long day, I’ve got a long day. I’ve got to keep big places structurally sound.” 

Rasmus rolls his eyes, as though to say, ‘I know that!’, and he parts his lips, finding the words… But first, he gestures to the ceiling, “Are you imagining something up there? A big achievement with your engineering? Is that it?” 

Peter simply lies flat on his back again, scratching his nose before sighing. “Almost there, Rasmus.” 

And the bedroom falls silent. 

Eventually, the blond falls asleep, watching his lover somehow stay awake for so long. He stays there, watching, watching as his mouth moves, but nothing comes out… 

From a part deep within his brain, it clicks. 

Peter’s thinking about those blueprints, isn’t he? 

4.

“You’re kidding, right?” 

The Jackal looks up from his bowl of cereal, met with Rasmus’ surprisingly stern gaze. 

“I don’t kid about anything.” 

The blond pats the table, or more specifically, the page spread across it. Weighty, large, and diagrammed all over. 

He’s worked at the Kontserdisaal for most of his life… He understands the beauty behind the building, understands its worldwide acclaim, but to this extent? No, no. Any further on, and he’s just baffled. 

“So,” The security guard begins, sitting down opposite Peter, “You really never get bored of ogling this thing?” 

“Never,” He hums, sighing and letting the tension unwind in his shoulders. “I mean, it’s a job thing. You wouldn’t get sick of scanning patrons, would you?” 

“Well,” Rasmus leans forward, clasping his hands together, “Sometimes. I found you that way, so, no, not always… But there’s another high-tech scanner being installed in a few days. That’ll take some of the pressure off.” 

In a few days. The Jackal’s mind races, A few days… When UDC is holding the opening ceremony for River. 

“Oh, sure.” He replies absentmindedly, eating another spoonful of cereal before shuffling over to the page. 

Peter can’t help his intense stare at the blueprint now. As a hitman, not as a normal civilian, and even less as an architectural engineer. 

His breath hitches. The calculations stir inside his brain. How far to take the shot from, how lethal it’ll be, how to do it all and remain undetected. 

His fingers drag over from the door, to the dress circle seats, then down to the stage. 

He’ll have to take his shot from the top, somehow, whilst he lays low in what is basically a ventilation space for two days… 

Well, that’s if he’s caught. That’s if he needs a desperate last resort. 

“Peter?” Rasmus asks, his eyes wide with concern, “Is everything ok?” 

He chuckles it off and leans back in his seat, facing his lover now. He doesn’t dare to touch his cereal. 

“Yeah, everything’s alright.” He nods, letting his fingers tap against the table’s surface. “I just– It’s like an adrenaline rush, you know?” 

“I get it.” The blond replies as he strokes a thumb through Peter’s hair, “I always find there’s a thrill when scanning so many people in a row, a spike of something inside, thinking the next person will be dangerous or armed with something.” 

The Jackal simply smirks, because he’s as dangerous as they come. 

5.

Rasmus returns to his flat, shopping bags in tow. He dumps them unceremoniously on the kitchen counter and catches his breath. 

He doesn’t know where Peter is, whether he’s working, sleeping, getting dressed… It doesn’t matter. Maybe he needs some time to himself. The more that he thinks about it, the more that he realises how false that is.  

Every day with the dangerous architectural engineer feels like forever. He feels like he needs him to breathe. 

He stretches from side to side and wanders through the space, peering through the dim light. “Hey, Peter?” He calls out, “You here?” 

After a few moments of silence, he hears, “Yeah! Outside!”, and Rasmus turns on his feet. 

Goddamn Peter Gibson is indeed outside. Sitting on the balcony, glasses on, a light wind blowing. And he looks cute as all hell. 

He opens up the balcony door and sits by the man’s side. Again, he’s dealing with a blueprint, and that only causes some unusual feelings to stir inside Rasmus.  

“Come on, man…” He pouts, resting his head against Peter’s shoulder. 

He opts to kiss Rasmus’ head, laughing. “Whatever do you mean?” He bats his eyes, before turning back to the page at hand. 

The security guard lets silence fall upon them as they mingle like this, attached to the hip, as Peter’s eyes light up upon spotting particular things. 

He lets the silence run on… Or, at least, for a little while. 

It’s not long later that he’s had enough. At least, in his young, impulsive mind, he’s had enough. Peter is serious, determined, patient, and loving… He seems mature beyond his years, almost. 

But Rasmus has had enough. If the architectural engineer has to leave in a few days, he’ll milk all of this for what it’s worth. 

He leans into the brown-haired man, his head pressed against his neck before he laughs, starts leaving kisses all over. He deepens those kisses, just for a moment, feeling the blood rush through Peter’s body, before the engineer pulls away. 

He breathes in a sharp breath before exhaling slowly, filled with a pleasure that dawns upon him. A gentle sort of high. He hums noncommittally, but keeps his gaze on Rasmus. A silent signal for him to stay still. 

“Look, beloved, if you’re trying to compete, I should let you know that nothing turns me on like a blueprint, so..." 

The blond takes the hint, planting one last kiss against his neck before he sits upright, eyes sparkling. 

“Do me a favour, then, sweetheart. Show me the hot bits!” 

+1.

The Jackal huffs out a breath, staring out at the early morning sky. 

The crack of dawn. Today is the day. Off to the Kontserdisaal, going into hiding, leaving Rasmus all on his lonesome, and killing UDC– 

He’s never been this nervous for a hit before. 

After calculating everything to this moment, from his personas, passports, disguises, and masks, the nature of his true identity sinks right back into his mind. Into his bones.  

He is not Peter, the charming, playful architect. And he never will be again. 

It’s a scary thought, one that he won’t dare to admit. 

He shakes his head and shakes it off, at least, as much as he can manage. His eyes meet the blueprint, one last time, and he runs through his pointing routine: Start here, enter casually amongst the crowd, buy food and water, camp out, shoot above the glass that will protect UDC, and kill him…  

He snaps out of his thoughts when he hears a shuffling from behind him, and he gasps for breath. 

“Geez, Rasmus. That scared me.” He’s not even lying through his teeth with that one. And he’s been through war. 

The blond laughs ever so softly, “Didn't mean it, never do.” He sighs, sitting down next to Peter. “What’s going on?” 

The hitman looks up at him, conviction ablaze in his eyes, “Today’s the day that everything comes to fruition.” 

“Right.” The security guard glances down at the blueprint, and shakes his head. In one swift movement, he folds up that blueprint and shoves it well aside. 

The Jackal’s expression widens, while Rasmus’ brows furrow. 

“No more of that.” He continues, gesturing to the page, “That thing that has been haunting you for days. You don’t need to look at it anymore, because you know it inside out. It’s just like you said, ‘everything happens today’, so… Go do your job, Peter.” 

Go do your job, Peter. 

The engineer nods resolutely and shuffles closer to Rasmus, cupping his face with both hands. 

“I will.” He then adds, almost in afterthought, “You have good man face, Rasmus.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Peter lets out a laugh, “You just… Radiate this kindness, and so naturally. There needs to be more of that in the world, but I’m so lucky to have found you.” 

The blond blinks, humming quietly as a blush rises to his face. For once, he doesn’t know what to say, or do. It feels like all his charm and sway with Peter has vanished into thin air. 

In the end, it doesn’t matter, because his lips are captured in a kiss as the brown-haired man leans forward. Bodies pressed together, only pulling away for air, and the embrace is full of depth, of meaning. 

It feels like a goodbye. 

Rasmus cards his hands through Peter’s hair, and Peter’s hold on his face ceases to relent.

They breathe, sitting there in stillness, and the hitman makes the next move. 

“Take care.” He breathes, planting one last kiss against his cheek, “If I never see you again–” 

“I’ll see you again, Peter. I know I will.” 

The Jackal slowly stands and helps the blond up too, as he moves over to his suitcase, packs it away, and takes the bare essentials out to the Kontserdisaal. 

Including his metal boot, which he puts on once he’s well out of Rasmus’ sight. 

[our-future-is-up-to-us-2]

Chain Reaction

Kinda just posting fics on both Tumblr and AO3 now? It's fun <33 (I've posted WAY MORE on my AO3 tho, and I'm consistent there)

BUT BUT BUT IT'S ANOTHER DAY OF THE JACKAL FIC, YAYYYY!!!

PLEASE BEWARE THO. SPOILERS FOR EPISODE 8 ARE AHEAD. IF YOU DON'T WANNA BE SPOILED THEN DON'T READ THIS <3

Word Count: 878

Relationships: Bianca Pullman & Vincent Pyne

Warnings: Murder, blood, canon-compliant things related to episode 8 (which are triggering to most but I won't spoil)

~ Read the fic under the cut ~

“Hey, hey– Bianca. Listen to me. Listen to me, I swear to god, you’re ok!” 

The bathroom is cramped and she is shaking, trying to breathe again. She’s spinning out of control, and she hates every second. How the fuck does this happen?! And to her, of all people. 

It drives the knife right in. 

The images flash through her mind, unrelenting: Larry, there, in prison, actually talking to her, talking to her– And she swears she hears something rattling, but that could be anything, anywhere. And the poor guy scoffs at her and refuses her help, her genuine check-in on his life and wellbeing. 

Well, so much for a truly spoken apology. With her reputation, it doesn’t get her anywhere. 

It’s fair enough that Bianca Pullman, black, woman, MI6, is treated poorly. People look the other way. Most don’t expect someone like her at the investigative helm, and the rest don’t expect her to be this fucking ruthless. 

It’s in her nature, with what she’s surrounded by, and what she’s dealt with. 

This mission is worse than the last, though, by far. Her determination to track down The Jackal has led her to murdering a family, one by one. 

Emma was the first to fall. A cardiac arrest killed her, but who got her into police custody in the first place? 

Second was Alison, if she even remembers correctly. She remembers the clouds forming in the sky, grey and dismal, as they inspect the hotel where her body remained. 

“Yeah,” Bianca had said, “That’s Sparrow. My asset.” 

Not just an asset, a friend. But it doesn’t feel like that. 

She only fell thanks to Larry, and Larry wasn’t even the next one to go. 

Norman Stoke. The gunmaker. Right, he was a fine fellow. Taking his sweet time in Belarus, only to rush like the wind… Hosting The Jackal in his company, too. 

She wonders, in that moment, how people even become friends with an assassin. 

Someone killed Norman before they could get him to talk. She shudders at those dull tones that rattle through her skull, “ I don’t have the foggiest idea what you’re talkin’ about… ” 

And finally, Larry. Brothers to the end, they were. 

And he admitted it to Bianca, exactly what she’d done: The connections, she’d used Alison to get to Emma, and vice versa, and the same cycle with himself and Norman. 

That drove him to one place, a place she didn’t expect him to go. 

The rattling noise grew louder, until the man yelled something, and he was gone. 

‘Rattling noise’ was, of course, the cause of death. 

The blood is on her hands with that one, well and truly– 

“I’ve got you, Bianca.” Vincent has to repeat, “You’re in a fucking bathroom, with me, and nowhere else.” 

The MI6 agent gasps and rests a hand over her heart, hearing its erratic beats. She is alive. She is safe. Her best friend is here. 

“Fuck…” She whispers, tears blurring her vision, “Vincent, you don’t get it, I’ve got blood on my hands. Fucking blood! ” 

Vincent takes a deep breath, holding her hands tightly. He only does so because the blood has been washed away. Because Bianca stood at the sink and let the water run and did not remove her hands for thirty-odd minutes. 

“This job is difficult. It’s complicated as fuck, and you of all people would know that. I’ve never seen you this affected before.” His eyes narrow while his voice softens. 

She shakily nods her head, “I wonder why, Vince. Everything’s finally caught up to me, and I thought I’d fucking escape it! God!” 

“But you’ve dealt with the targets constantly. When you know nothing about them, you take hits, you do whatever is necessary, easy. When it’s your next-door neighbour, it’s harder. And then, imagine if it’s– I don’t know, your mum.” 

“ Bad example. ” Bianca hisses, giving his hands a forceful squeeze as though to punish him, “ Really bad example. And now I’m all out of shape, and it’s like I can’t go on.” 

“You can go on, though. I know you can. You nearly got shot the other week and took it like it was a regular Tuesday!”  

“Because it was a regular Tuesday, Vince, but this?! It’s hardly the same.” 

He lets go of her, gives her the distance she must be craving. The last thing that Bianca Pullman is, is touchy-feely. But Vincent knows her better than anyone, knows her limits and what is safe. 

“I’ve got something that might help.” He steps back towards the bathroom door, “What if I told you I had Alexander Duggan’s file in Conference Room Two?” 

Her eyes brighten as she looks down at her hands. They’re shaking, of course. She balls them into tight fists and sucks in a breath. 

“Don’t fuck around with me, Vince.” 

“No, I’m serious.” He says, “With Isabel and Osi, probably. We can always reschedule if you need more time. You’re entitled to more time.” 

“Fuck it.” She sighs, motioning her head towards the door, “You lead the way. Fucking need some advancement on this.” 

“To clear your head?” 

“Yes,” She hums, cracking a smile as he holds the door open for her, “Yes, to clear my head, mate. Why the fuck else?” 

[our-future-is-up-to-us-2]

Guys give me prompts for The Day Of The Jackal fanfic!! I have a couple of ideas I wanna write but I wanna get some inspo from what everyone wants!!

I WON'T write:

x reader or OC fics

Smut or NSFW content (implied I can write)

Anything that makes me uncomfortable <3

I WILL write:

Ships!!! Omg shiiiips (eg: Charles/Nuria, Jackal/Rasmus, Bianca/Jackal, etc.!) Happy to write Bianca/Jackal but I'm highkey holding out on writing them to see what the finale cooks up!

As much as I love ships, also love friendships/platonic dynamics and just character studies <3

Fluff

Angst

Hurt/Comfort

Sickfic

And other things!! <3

I have watched all nine episodes that have been released! Go wild with ideas if you have any <33

[simp-ly-writes]

Skyfall

─────── · · A 'Day of the Jackal' (TV series) FanFic

Pairing: Alexander "Jackal" Duggan x Fem!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: Doing everything in your power to get away from the small town you grew up in, you moved to the big city and studied to now become an overworked nurse. But there was always a small part of you that wondered whatever happened to your childhood friend (and crush) Alexander Duggan... so what happens one night when you discover a bloodied man inside your apartment?

─ · · TAGS: second person perspective used, female-pronouns used, depictions of blood and gore, mentions of guns and violence, usage of pet-names (ex. love, sweetheart, etc) swearing, fluff, light angst, hurt/comfort.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 1,814 | PART TWO

─ · · A/N: How are there not like a dozen fics on this show?!?! It's giving the Gentlemen (2024 - Series) all over again... so I must write something on it! Be sure to comment or reblog if you enjoy~

─────── · ·

You had just finished working a 48 hour shift at the hospital and after a two hour commute on delayed public transit due to the onslaught of never ending rain, you were finally at the door of your one bedroom apartment.

Eyes blurry as you fumbled for your keys, cursing under your breath as you dropped them your back-ached as you bent down and finally opened your front door. To make matters better, it appeared you had left the bathroom light on in your rush to get out of the house after waking up late. well, fuck, you said to yourself, kicking the door closed behind you.

Setting down your keys in the dish and locking the door and chain, you shuffled your coat off your shoulders and allowed it to dry before sitting down on the bench in the entrance ,shaking your boots off and changing into your slippers with a heavy sigh.

Picking yourself back up, knees feeling weak as you grip the doorway before heading into your kitchen, you feel around for the light switch, eyes hissing from the sudden change before placing the kettle on and choosing your favourite themed-mug. You open your fridge and peel open a pre-made salad, throwing the bamboo utensils aside as you grab your metal ones instead.

The kettle begins to bubble, steam rising, your ears start to ring as exhaustion clouds over your every thought and movement as you pour the blueberry's out onto the greens of your bowl and tear open a packet of sleepy-time tea.

The kettle clicks off as you breathe in the steam, closing your eyes as you lean against the counter and bring the mug up to your lips, a sudden hiss coming from the bathroom has your eyes rushing to open a moment afterwards.

That once ringing in your ears is now replaced for a rising heart rate, its beat drumming through your head. That once exhaustion you had felt now out the window as adrenaline pumps through your veins. It was too early in the morning for any of your elderly neighbours who all were retied to be up leaving only one explanation left, there was someone in my apartment- correction, there is someone in my apartment right now.

Gently setting your cup on the counter as softly as you can, you feel around the still-opened cutlery drawer for a knife and walk out of the kitchen and down into the hall. You make your breaths shallow, footsteps accounting for every squeaky floorboard you remember before pausing and pressing yourself against the wall near the door to the bathroom.

You rise the blade up from your side and for a split second, you see a tall silhouette in the warm light before the light flicks off, casting the apartment in an equal darkness and silence. All to be heard is the radiator humming in the window as your knuckles turn white around the handle of your blade.

You close your eyes, counting, one... two... but never quite making it to three as whoever the intruder was inside your apartment had suddenly turned out of the bathroom. Before you could scream, a large palm was being place over your mouth, your wrist twisted allowing the knife to hall and clatter against the floorboards.

You tried to twist, raising your leg up for a twist yet their open hand was already accounting for that, pushing your knee aside and using their bodyweight to press you flush against the wall.

You shake in place, feeling the intruders heartbeat on your chest as you both share ragged breaths. They release their hand from your mouth as you open and close it, debating of begging or not before feeling a sudden softness as your neck has you jumping as it shifts against your skin, tickling you- curly hair you can see highlighted by moonlight coming down the hall.

They rest their head against your shoulder, you can feel their shoulders move before hearing them chuckle, "Hello, love," they call out, their breath warm against your neck as your heart nearly jumping out of your chest as you more violently try and shake yourself away from their touch as their arms envelop you into a one-sided hug.

"Who... who are you?" you try and sound firm yet it comes out more shakily then you were intending. You push your hands against the strong chest, feeling the muscles underneath the thin sweater they wear, fingers extending- trying to shove them away with no avail as they stand firm in their spot.

"You know, I remember when you would shove and rough house with me on the play-equipment when we were younger. Thinking back..." the man laughs, you can feel his smile as he holds you, your fingers digging into his shirt, "...you really used to be so mean to me before changing that up so quickly the next year that I've always wondered why that was the case?"

You allow the question hang in the air, a name just on the cusp of your tongue as your hands move up from their chest to around their shoulders, you startle feeling a long metal object rather than more warm body heat. "I wouldn't touch that, love. I would have disassembled it before greeting you but I couldn't be too sure until you came home."

You nod, slowly, "Alex?" you whisper the name, unsure and nervous to get it wrong. The man grips you tighter, "yes, and... I need your help." You feel cold when he steps away, watching as reaching beside your head to turn the light switch back on before you can see his small smile... and bleeding side.

Your eyes go wide in horror as you look down to see your hand covered in a deep red liquid. "Fuck, you're bleeding!"

"It appears that I am," Alexander teases before wobbling in his stance, you rush over as he shrugs the large gun from over his shoulder, allowing it to settle on the floor before allowing you to help him over to the bathtub.

You stand there, looking down upon him for a sec, a thousand thoughts rushing through your head as you try and fathom how the man in front of you, currently bleeding out in your apartment and with what appeared to be a fucking sniper rifle was somehow also that little lanky boy who lived down the street and saved your life more than a few times before you threatened his own (with love, of course).

"I'm blushing under your attention, sweetheart. But I really must insist you put your education to use or else you'll be catching up with a corpse instead of a man," you nod again, unable to find words before running towards your kitchen in search of your workbag and first aid kit. Shit, shit, shit, fuck, fuck, fuck, you rush around your apartment, knocking into doorframes before falling to your knees and lifting his shirt up.

Not allowing yourself to become distracted by only looking towards the gunshot wound you quickly feel along his side, the bullet did not go through, its still inside of him. You look up, through your lashes at Alexander, "this is going to hurt."

"It currently hurts," he says back, "but I rather be hurting than dead." In the next series of moments, your white bathroom tiles become dotted in red as blood drips down your elbows and scrubs. Alex is breathing heavily as you dig your pair of tweezers into his side, groaning, moaning and cursing, "could you please, shut up?" you smile sarcastically, eyebrows furrowed as you can see the slight glimmer of metal from your phones flashlight, bingo.

You could only imagine if one of your neighbours woke up now, your public imagine with them now potentially tainted the next time you rode in the elevator together. "A little difficult-" Alex begins to say, you throw one of your hand towels up, "mouth, now," you demand and receive a muffled, "yes, ma'am." Your hands shake, adrenaline wearing off finally as you squeeze the bullet as it slides and Alex wines, "sorry," you murmur before going in again and this time- you are successful.

The bullet is successfully dislodged as you hold it up to the light, impressed by how small it is, "hand-gun?" you make as an offhand comment before placing it on your vanity. And moving to disinfect and bandage the wound. Alex's veins appear sharp, running up his hand that grips his knees, his head tipping backwards as you stitch him up with precision, licking your lips as your cheeks flush. Get a grip, you scold yourself before standing.

Alex looks up at you, before removing the towel from his mouth, and standing, removing his shirt before pausing halfway as you curse him out, "Fucking hell, A! Don't go messing up my stitch work!" You shake your head, telling him to sit back down as you remove the article for him.

Your eyes move down from his face to his defined chest and abs that contract with his every breath he takes before examining your work- still intact, thankfully. "I do believe I have some explaining, after some much needed sleep though," Alexander says, watching as your blinks become extended as you open your hand up for him to take as just like old times you lead him yet instead of towards the swing sets you sit him down at the edge of your bed before feeling around in your closet for clothing from your ex.

Alex watches you with a tilted head, eyes narrowing once he sees the large shirt in your hand and sweatpants in the other. He grips the sheets as you look at him with concern, "would you like some pain relievers? I can only imagine how much that must-"

"I don't think your boyfriend would be quite too happy seeing another man sleeping in your bed, love," Alex says, taking the articles of clothing into his lap as you roll your eyes. "Ex-boyfriend," you clarify before helping Alexander into his clothes and throwing his old ones into your washing machine.

You tip your head back into the bedroom, "I'm gonna wash up, try and get some rest," you speak softly watching as Alex slowly lovers himself underneath your covers. "Mhmm and you will be joining me later?"

You blink, confused, "I am uh- going to go sleep on the couch-"

"Why? There's more than enough space here," Alex opens his eyes again, looking at you with a raised brow, arm flexing underneath his head.

"Well, uh, aren't you married?" you ask, looking at the ring on his left hand as it is now his time to clarify, "divorced, still keep the ring for appearances and all." You nod, a bit confused, "I'll be back in 10."

"I'll be counting on it."

─────── · ·

─ · · PART TWO

[simp-ly-writes]

My Love Mine All Mine

─────── · · Skyfall (pt.2)

Pairing: Alexander "Jackal" Duggan x Fem!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: Alex had stayed in your apartment, he stayed in your heart, in your mind and took over every aspect of your life. So much so that you feel empty at his lack of presence after weeks... but is the "Jackal" every truly gone?

─ · · TAGS: second person perspective used, female-pronouns used, depictions of blood, gore, guns, and violence, usage of pet-names (ex. love, sweetheart, etc) swearing, fluff, HEAVY angst, hurt/comfort, dark romance, mentions of stalking , threats, and obsession.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 3,226 | PART ONE

─ · · A/N: This gets... kinda dark... hope you all enjoy lol

─────── · ·

You new that the Alexander you grew up with, played with, fought with (and bullied), was not the same man that was currently waiting for you in your bed. But you could see glimpses every time you touched and saw him smile.

Sighing and pressing your forehead against the wet tiled wall, you let the shower head rain down on the scalp, soothing your on-coming headache. You watched as the blood dripped off your hands, the stains on your tiles removed and sanitized before you shut off the water and stepped out onto them.

Patting yourself dry, you took a look through your smoky mirror and looked down to see parts of what looked to be prosthetics in your trashcan... what the fuck kinda job has Alex gotten himself into... and did I even wanna know? You thought to yourself before putting on your pyjamas and throwing your scrup's into the washing machine as your haired dried.

Checking the clock in your kitchen, it was nearing 4:00 AM as you groaned and started to pick at your salad before a voice was calling from the bedroom... it was like work never left you as your few minutes of sitting had you now rushing to the bedside.

"Is everything okay?" You ask, flinging the covers off and searching for any changes, you pick up his chin, inspecting his eyes and feeling around his head before shaking your head as he smiles, "It's been 10 minutes."

"Oh fuck off, Alex. I'm eating. You're a grown man, just wait," you lecture him, throwing the covers back on and shutting off the light. You feel his stare as you leave, stomping back and reheating the kettle again. You watch as it bubbles as you stretch out your back and shoulders. Tonight is going to be a LONG night....

Getting into bed beside Alex felt like deja vu from the sleepovers you could have at his house in order to escape your family... it felt natural how his arm snuck about your head and the way that your fingers intertwined with one another.

"Do you love me?" Alex asks, catching you off-guard. You contemplate your answer, your head not sharing what your heart speaks, "yes." He sighs out contently, "I love you too."

You listened to his breaths even out as you laid there awake... waiting for what you did not know but you stared at that rifle in your hallway, discarded in favour of... you. The metal gleamed in the moonlight, capturing its cold essence that had you shivering underneath the blankets. "Go to sleep, love," a groggy tone called out from behind you, a kiss being planted to your shoulder that has you forcing yourself to relax. Who am I laying beside?

─────── · ·

When you have woken to the sunlight coming through your sheer blinds and a record being played in your living room, you were rising in a moment, forgetting to place your slippers on as you padded your way down the hallway and towards the kitchen where an Alex was cooking eggs and pouring out coffee.

"Morning, sleepy," He teased, picking up a mug and giving to you. You warmed your hand, closing your eyes to feel the smoke upon your face before bending to look around your old friend, the dishes were done... "Thank you, A. You didn't have to do those, I mean you are injured," you say, giving him a pat on the arm before gently shoving him away to finish the cooking.

─────── · ·

By the time your done and turning back around, the sniper rifle is disassembled all across your dining table as you place plates around its pieces. Looking at the various compartments as Alex cleans them, you take a seat across from the man, watching quietly as you sip your drink and cross your legs.

"You'll need to take another dose of pain relievers with your meal in the next half hour," you say as he only nods, continuing his... work. "Alex," you call out softly, this time he looks at you, eyes waiting as they dip towards your lips and up again.

"Yes, love?"

"I...hm, why come to me now?" You ask, foot tapping underneath the table, anxious for a proper answer. You watch his nose wiggle slightly as he stares at you, "don't lie to me, Duggan."

"I wasn't planning on it," he tries to gaslight you. "Bullshit," you call out, "I know you, Alex. If you like that fact or not. And I know when and how you lie no matter what fucked up shit you put yourself through to end up like this at my doorstop. So I'll ask you again, why. are. you. here?" you ask more coldly this time, eyes sharp and cutting through the masks he tries.

He sighs, setting down the muzzle in his lap, "I knew that you could... help. I have been keeping tabs on you, making sure your safe-"

"And why wouldn't I be?" you say with a glare, "I know the profession I choose has its faults, but what are you not telling me, Alexander?"

"I just need to know it for my own sanity. I need to know where you are, who you're seeing, what you're doing day by day," He says- you start feeling sick, that coffee rising up in your throat- burning. "My work... it does not work out for people who know any part of me and I know that you know the most... and I know that I don't have it in my to remove you so I must watch instead."

"Remove me?" you raise your voice slightly, standing, chair screeching against the wooden floors, well there goes my security deposit... Alex continues, disregarding your statement.

"But thats not your question, what is it I do? Well I am a contractor. I take a job, whatever it takes, and provide my services in exchange for cash." You slowly blink, walking further and further away as he looks more comfortable and confident in his seat- as if he has you right where he wants you.

"And that involves, a gun and being shot at?" you counter, hands shaking as that little boy running around your mind blends in with your darkest of thoughts. You can feel his blood dripping down your arms again, feel his kiss on your neck.

"Yes," and with such a simple word it can have you falling over and coughing, gripping your shirt. Alex stands, walking over and crouching, rubbing your back. For a minute you accept the soft touch before shoving him away.

"You could ruin my career, fucking everything I've worked for if you're seen with me! You kill people for money!" your mind swirls with all the news articles and announcements that play in the lobby. You grip your head, everything I worked for, gone. You look up with dead eyes mirroring his own cold and calculated ones. "Yes. I kill people for money. But I also protect. That's why you are going to help me and make sure I'm not seen," Alex tells you, hands gripping the knees you bring up to your chest. You nod watching as he smiles, "thank you, love." You now hated that word.

"Now, where's those meds?" He helps you to stand, following behind you and moving into the bathroom, deja vu again... as he sits on the bathtub, throwing his head back with a glass of water before you check his stitches and clean up the minor cuts across his hands.

He watches are yours tremor still, he holds them, bringing them to his face as silent tears stream down your cheeks. He shushes you, pulling you closer, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. "Everything's going to be fine, just let me do everything and you, take care of me."

─────── · ·

Your morals were out to kill you, was all you could think while running around your usual shift as you treated the never-ending wave of patients and their problems. Your eyes burned from your unrestful sleep, your heart hammered in your ears and you stumbled into the break room and crashed against the table. You should have not taken that call-in...

You took an oath to helping the people, to helping the public and providing care and assistance. But that oath was coming after you as you entered back into your apartment as Alex was holding a plank with his shirt off. "You know what I'm going to say," you begin, slamming the door closed and kicking your boots off.

Alex doesn't even look your way, just staring at an imaginary dot, his form unwavering. You scoff yet your eyes still check his side, wincing at the bead of sweat that nears your work, infection! screaming in your ear as you head towards the shower. "Can I join you?" Alex is drying the sweat off his chest, smiling down at you. "No."

─────── · ·

As time would go on and until Alexander was fully healed. You had made zero progress on understanding any more details to his work as he somehow knew everything about you, ordering in your favourite take out, knowing just how you liked the bed made and just the right ways to hold you after work.

You felt pathetic in his touch, you knew what those hands did, what they were coated in as he played with your hair and kissed your temple with a smile. You hated the way you started to relax into his embrace and how a small part of you looked forward to his company at the dining table but that was just it... company, that you desired...

So the hurt you felt for loosing yourself combined with the lingering loss of his presence as you had not seen Alex in weeks. The last moment you shared together cuddling in bed before a kiss was planted to your forehead and he was gone, not a trace of himself left in your apartment.

Taking a day off at work, you decided to treat your own loneliness as you put on your eye-liner and flattened your dress against your form with a sigh, breathing in your perfume. All you needed to do was forget it ever happened, pretend it was all in your imagination...

You had lived without Alex for nearly three decades... the rest of your life could be a walk in the park if the guy you were meeting up with tonight clicked. James Ferdinand Vanderbilt, He was an art auctioneer and philanthropist, charming you with his smile and words when attending one of your hospitals charity auctions.

He was well-off, could support you and a future family. He was estranged form his family, building a name for himself and his own business and had multiple college educations. Locking the door behind yourself and calling for a cab, you looked out the window, skies were clear with a light wind, the long daylight hours offering its light as kissing of warmth against your face as you closed your eyes. Whatever happens tonight happens...

─────── · ·

Arriving to the venue, James was already waiting outside for you as he placed a kiss to each of your cheeks. You smiled, holding his arm as you both walked into the restaurant and got lead upstairs to a private table. "Thank you for organizing this, James," you say sitting down as he pushes you towards the table before taking off his jacket and letting it hang off the back of his chair.

He pulls his sleeves up to his forearms as you view the tattoos on display, a symbol of a snake in a circle sparks a memory you can't seem to remember as you smile at one another. "It is really no worries, I wanted us to have privacy and you some peace. I know how hard your profession works." you nod and smile before turning your head down to the menu, James orders you both a bottle of wine to start as you make small talk.

Sharing favourite vacations, movies, and things you like to do in your spare time. You find James to be a bookworm and surprisingly, an ex-military officer as he points to his tattoo. "I thought I had seen that symbol before," you extend your hand, hovering over the ink as he chuckles. "Got family or friends in there now?"

You pause for a second, your smile wavering as he takes your hand, eyes soft, "you don't have to answer that, sorry that was rude of me. I have a few... friends deployed right now is all. Its hard, I know," he says as you nod again, not finding the right words before he thankfully moves conversation on. Yet a little birdie keeps pecking at your head, telling you that something is not quite right as the meal progresses.

You take a look out the window, squirting through the sunbeams glare. "Everything alright there, love," your head snaps over at the last word before you settle your features. "Sorry, thats what my... ex used to call me."

"I am really making a fool out of myself tonight, I do apologize-"

"No! Its me, I'm sorry about this all. My minds just elsewhere with work and-"

"Its mutual then?" He offers with a hand as you grab it and laugh softly, "yes, mutual fault." You both continue to dessert as you try bites off of each others plates. You have been enjoying yourself, watching as Jame's eyes have not left your face the entire time, your cheeks warm from the booze in your system.

"I don't want tonight to end," James starts to say as he picks of the bill and offers you his coat. You shrug it over your shoulders, bringing to stand, "who's saying it-" but before you can finish your sentence you hear a scream, ears ringing as glass shatters, and then your realize that scream is coming from yourself as James lies head down on the table, a bullet through the side of his head.

You rush over to his side, looking over the scene and feeling around his head. His blood is bleeding all over your hands, covering your dress and skin... he's not going to make it, as you scream from an ambulance to be called. he's not going to make it, you feel his last breath against your arm.

You cry, shaking, confused, scared. You turn to look outside the window yet can't see anything. A voice screams out to you, everyone is running outside the restaurant. You rip your dress and run, nearly falling down the stairs, knocking your head against a wall before kicking off your heels and making a dash for the back exit

Your vision is blurry as you run through the narrow space and off onto the street. Cars are swerving, trying to get out of the way as blaring lights come crashing onto the scene. You look like an absolute mess, you can feel the blood staining and hardening against your skin, forming gloves that you cant remove as you scratch at them and sob.

You fall to your knees at the corner of the road, you shake your read, James, James, James, you say on repeat before being picked up. You thrash, scream as a voice calls out to you in an even tone, "Hey, love. Shhh, it's alright, its over now. We can go home, the job is over. Thank you for being so good, thank you, my love," they speak into your ear as they dash with you in their arms, an officer points you both in the direction to medical staff.

You feel him nod and as soon as their head tips back to the crowd, you are being turned in the opposite direction. You feel overwhelmingly tired as you grip their shoulders, feeling a suit underneath your fingers tips. "James?" you call out only to hear a scoff, "Alex." the voice tells you off that has your mind jumpstarting.

"Put me, the fuck, down, Alexander Duggan." he hisses, "shut up, don't say anything."

"I'll fucking scream your name out for everyone to hear!" you threaten, being carried into another alleyway you recognize to be behind your apartment building.

"I would love that on any other occasion, love. But not when I'm trying to remove myself from a scene," Alex retorts. Entering through the shipments door and taking the cleaners elevator before setting you down on your feet, keeping an arm around your waist as you place your spinning head against his shoulder with a groan. He unlocks your apartment, you can't be bothered to know how he got a key and bolts the door behind you both before carrying you to the tub.

The Irony, you shake your head, looking down at your hands before Alex grips your chin, forcing you to look upwards. "No," he commands you, "don't look," he says before kneeling before you and helping to wash off what remains on your arms. You silently cry as he shushes you. "You're alright now, all safe. I could not believe it was you with my target. I swore that if I had known, I-I would have waited-"

"waited," you whisper. "yes, waited, love."

"Don't call me that," you spit out.

"But it is what you represent to me," Alex explains, now wipeing down your face and examining where the glass shards cut you. A part of him looks physically pained seeing you wounded. "Are you hurt?" you ask, mind on auto-pilot with the question.

"Not physically," he explains before grabbing your medical kit. "I can do it myself-"

"No. Let me do this... please," please? You think to yourself, as you watch his cold eyes stare and dress your face and hands. His touch on you if feather-light as if worried of damaging you anymore, like he hand't damaged you before. "okay," you whisper, feeling him kiss your forehead, "thank you." You shiver.

─────── · ·

You lay there in bed, staring up at the ceiling fan, unmoving, unfeeling. You hear Alex speaking to someone over the phone followed by a dozens zeros and a "...job well done." You stare, not even looking as Alexander walks back into the room in new clothes, a bouquet of flowers by your beside as he crawls into be beside you.

You feel numb... had already called in to work telling them you were taking an extended leave and left it like that... the news would be covering the "developments" of your story but you would be the only one in the world force with this truth that came into the form of kisses down your neck and curly hair tickling your cheek.

The truth whispers into your ear like a vow as you tilt your head towards the window and look outwards to the world, "Let the sky fall, when it crumbles, we will stand tall, face it all together." Yet his words contrast the melody playing through your apartment from the stereo in the living room.

You close your eyes, becoming enveloped by the darkness as their arms surround you...

"'Cause my love is mine, all mine I love mine, mine, mine Nothing in the world belongs to me But my love, mine, all mine Nothing in the world is mine for free But my love, mine, all mine, all mine.."

─────── · ·

─ · · A/N: I have another Jackal fic coming out soon! (thank you for the ask ;) )

[simp-ly-writes]

The Assassin's Wife

─────── · · A 'Day of the Jackal' (TV series) FanFic

Pairing: Charles "Jackal" Calthrop x Wife!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: To put it simply, you are the wife of Charles Calthrop having met him at a work event over a decade ago, your romance was story-book perfection up until when you learned he kills people for a living...

─ · · TAGS: second person perspective used, female-pronouns used, fluff and angst, scenes of stalking, blood, violence, injury, guns, and obsessive behaviours, hurt/comfort, arguments, swearing, lying, kissing, the Jackal being a ultra charismatic mf, Marissa (OC), not beta read.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 5,570

─ · · A/N: post number 300! woohoo! soo... I kinda really loved this ask and wrote a whole bunch for it. Be ready for some fluff, angst, and then fluff again!

─────── · ·

─ · · You had been married to your husband, Charles, for well over a decade now. You had met him while attending a work event overseas, your job always had you traveling keeping you from starting any longterm relationships up until you met Charles that faithful night.

─ · · You remember the deep navy blue suit he wore with a light blue dress-shirt underneath. His accessories were silver and by the family signet ring on his finger, you knew him to be coming from wealth and to your surprise as he greeted you with a kiss to the back of your palm, he made his empire himself as he described to you over a few too many glasses at the bar.

─ · · Charles swept you off your feet that night with his lingering looks on your lips, the way he gently held your hand, interlacing your fingers before pulling you outside and to a cab. You remember his touch trailing up your thigh as you gasped at the back of the cab before clearing your throat and placing your head against his shoulder... much like the position you found yourself in currently as you watched your husband sleep, his arm snuggly around your side, head against his bare chest as you traced the various scars across it with curiosity.

Your husband explained to you the multitude of stories on how he obtained each scar and warp of skin as you kissed everyone the same; with love and attention as he had shown you. You simply adored how hard working he was, always away and coming back with that necklace you were eyeing in the market or a surprise vacation. But you couldn't help but miss him, want him with you, and you didn't know if that was selfish of you or not to want him with you constantly when he provided for you with utmost dedication.

─ · · But after so many years of gifts and hugs at the airport as you waved him goodbye. You felt lonely sitting in the parking lot wondering the next time you would see your husband and quite frankly, all of your friends told you he was most likely cheating on you by how often and long he was away without messaging or calling you.

You always waved away their concerns for your wellbeing as you took care of the estate, went to work for a few hours of the day before busying yourself with random hobbies and studying various topics for the off chance Charles would bring it up in conversation during one of his work rants, you liked to call them. Remembering the weight of his head in your lap, the feeling of his soft golden curls running through your fingers as he said every time, without fault, "I'd much rather be here with you, my love." But did he ever fall through with those words? no. But you loved your husband regardless.

─ · · You would always pick him up form the airport when he called the night before, waiting in a sundress with drinks and snacks ready in the car for the long ride back. Charles would place his large hand on your knee as you drove, charming you endlessly with his commentary the whole ride home, "I was beginning to forget just how beautiful you were, had to come back." "What an angel, you are. My guardian angel just meant for me." "You look as raidient as the sun in that dress, my love." "Remind me to kiss you with the same desperation I feel now when we stop."

And like clockwork, you would flush under his loving stare and words before being pulled into bed in an outward display of his love that would leave your legs weak in the morning and him bringing you both up breakfast in bed before presenting you another gift.

You held a tight smile while accepting the gift this time, not wanting to seem ungrateful yet your heart desired the non-material... and it seemed Charles understood this, had been planning something for awhile. You observed the box to be moving and to have... hole in it? You thought to yourself before looking to your husband with shock and confusion as a little bark sounded from inside.

"Charles, darling. You. Did. NOT," you gasp before throwing off the lid as a puppy comes bursting out to your chest, licking your face with gratitude before exploring the bed. Charles picks up the fluffy creature, leading it back to you before sitting near the foot on the bed, massaging your leg gently with a smile, "I know you've been feeling lonely recently and I apologize. I promise that after this next job... I won't have to work as much, this is just the last thing, I promise."

You stare into his eyes for a moment, the puppy wigging in your arms as you pet their head and scratch behind their ears with a subconscious smile growing on your face. "Really?!" you ask excitedly, blinking away tears of hope in your eyes seeing as Charles chuckles softly before you, crawling towards you both and pressing a kiss to the side of your head, catching a kiss on the chin by your new pet as well, "Yes."

─────── · ·

─ · · Charles had actually stayed for longer than you were used to, something about preparing and studying his opponent to strike the best deal. You nodded along, interested but confused on the details of this supposed interaction he had planned as you both walked the dog around the garden property line.

"When we get back, I just have to jot-down the rest of the details before I can join you two for dinner. I picked up your favourite bottle from the market earlier that I was thinking we could share?" You nod, pressing a kiss to his cheek before unclipping your new companion from their leash, watching as they run inside and to their water dish.

Charles's arms wrap around your waist as he presses a kiss to your exposed neck, feeling his smile against your skin, "I love you, darling." You rest your hands atop of his, leaning against his chest and close your eyes, enjoying the warm evenings breeze drifting across both of your forms before taking a deep breath and watching as Charles leaves you and heads to his study.

You get dinner moving, dancing and singing around the kitchen as your puppy runs between your feet, barking cheerfully and trying to dance alongside you. Giggling you pick him up, resting his upper arms on your shoulder as you use them as your partner, spinning and twirling towards the living before placing them in their back in their bed.

Your phone goes off as you rush back to the stove and take the tray out and leave it to cool in front of an open window before cutting the bread. "Smells divine in here," you jump, starting and nicking yourself on the knife, cursing softly as you watch the blood drip from the small cut with a wince before heading towards the sink.

Charles is distraught at the sight of you bleeding, taking quick long strides over to your form, holding your elbow gently as he inspects the small nick, "I'm so sorry," he mumbles a few times between kisses to your face before he moves to get the first-aid kit underneath the skin, patting the counter for you to sit upon as he stands between your legs and dresses the cut.

You smile at how softly he touches you, apologizing as you wince at the solution to cleanse the cut before kissing the bandaged finger afterwards. "I'm quite alright, Charles. Just a minor thing-" you begin to explain yet your husband just shakes his head, annoyed with myself. "I shouldn't have distracted you, got you hurt in the first place, I hate seeing you with this," he holds up your hand in front of both of your faces.

You press your forehead against his own, closing your eyes, "Charles, my love. I would forgive you even if you shot me. No need to worry," You joke in a loving tone- not understanding to the way the Jackal tenses feeling your touch. Visions of your corpse flashing before his eyes with life-like accuracy as he begins to feel queasy, shaking in your hold.

You pull away once feeling him start to breath heavily. His touch falling from your hand to grip the kitchen counter, knuckles turning white as he sees you look up at him with tear-covered eyes, his hand shakes with the trigger- "Charles?" you call out softly, hand hovering over his cheek, feeling as he flinches at the touch, taking a step away while shaking his head to himself before appearing... scarily calm again.

You watch as he smiles, brings up dinner and walks past whatever... episode he seemingly just had as if it had never happened in the first place... a mere fragment of your imagination. You furrowed your brows, jumping down from the kitchen counter before filling up both your plates and following Charles out to the patio where a table set with candles was prepared for you both.

Your heart tremors in your chest, watching as he pulls out a chair for you before pushing you in and seating himself. Pouring glasses of wine for you both with a cheers you gulp down the liquid quickly before gently placing the glass back down on the table and taking a bite of your food, debating weather or not to bring up what had just happened or not.

You ultimately decide not too, enjoying this moment that has been few and far between in recent months as your husband charms you like the first day you met, with coy smiles and charming words that have you falling into his arms and back into bed where you rest upon his chest, listening to his heart beating for you once more.

─────── · ·

─ · · Your friends call you in the morning as you invite them over before telling Charles, you rush towards his office in case he is still undressed for they all would be coming shortly to use the pool.

Knocking at the door, his voice invites you in to see the puppy in his lap as Charles fixes his glasses, looking up from the documents scattered across his desk to you with a loving smile and crinkled eyes, "good morning my love, I'm sorry I was not there to wake you."

You wave a hand on his face walking over and pulling him in for a kiss before looking over the papers and blueprints curiously, hand hovering over the smear of red ink against the corner of a crumpled page before Charles' voice redirects your attention with a hand to your hip, giving a gently squeeze, "was there something you wanted to say?"

"Oh, yes!" you jump back to your previous thoughts watching as he turns away from the desk, the dog jumping off his lap and running down the hall leaving the seat empty. You stare for a moment debating, knowing that if you sit down you might not be ready in time. The Jackal did not care about what you were thinking in the moment though, simply gabbing you by your waist and allowing you to fall into his lap.

"Marissa and my other friends are coming over shortly to use the pool, I just thought to let you know beforehand so you could get ready as well," you explain, playing with the buttons to his creme linen shirt listening to him hum. "I'm afraid that I still have-" you look at him with pleading eyes, hand brushing against the skin of his chest and trailing down, watching as the words die on his lips, "...alright. I'll be there shortly."

You quickly stand back up with a smile, cheering happily listening to him laugh before rushing back to your wardrobe to pick a swimsuit and throw-over for the occasion.

─────── · ·

─ · · A knock sounds at the door that has you nearly falling down the stairs and rushing to hug your guests. Marissa squeals in your ear, wrapping her arms around your shoulders as you both swing side to side. She presents you a bottle of wine and a platter of fresh fruits which you bring out to the deck, showing your guests to where the fridge and restrooms were.

─ · · You feel overjoyed having the house filled and to see the dog running around and jumping after their toys in the pool. You lean back in a lounge, soaking up the sun before a shadow overtakes the warmth. You peel up your sunglasses, as Marissa tits her head to the side, mouthing, follow me. You raise a brow in question but follow her nevertheless into the pool house in which she quickly closes the door and shuts the blinds on both of you.

"Marissa?" you call out her name, squinting through the darkness before flicking on the light," Is everything alright?" you ask again watching as her smile wavers, hands shaking as she moves to grip your own. "I think it's best for you to sit before I say anything..." her thumbs brush against the back of your hands soothingly, your heart races- debating of weather or not to quickly grab Charles for whatever news you were about to be it with.

Seemingly knowing your thoughts, Marissa shakes her head, taking a seat beside you on a stack of spare cushions for your outdoor furniture. "This is about Charles," she explains- you debate weather or not to roll your eyes. "Of course it is. What news do we have this time?" you ask, feeling irritated as you side your hands away from her touch. She looks at you for a moment before sighing, "I know you feel as though I am in the wrong for calling out your relationship and maybe I am, maybe I'm not but I only want you to be safe and happy... you're my best friend, hun and I don't want to see you get hurt."

You nod smiling, "same goes to you-"

"Yes," Marissa cuts you off, playing with her hair, "thats why I'm telling you that your husband isn't who you think he is." She bites her lip, waiting on your reaction. You lean your head forwards, "go on?" wanting to indulge in another one of her 'stories.' She cuts right to the chase.

"He kills people." You gasp, standing up and shaking your finger, "No, NO, Marissa! That is too far this time!" you stomp your way towards the door, shoulders rising upwards and tight, I can't believe she has the audacity to say such a thing. "PLEASE," Marissa runs up, gripping your arm, nearly on her knees begging, "let me explain... I-I have evidence." Your heat drops at her sincerity, the way her large tearful eyes grip your own, forcing you to take a seat again as she pulls open her phone- your hand flying to your mouth in shock.

You look at the various articles she has saved to her camera roll, the dates of the murders lining up with the most recent trips of your husband. "This could only be a coincidence right?" Marissa does not say a word, simply flipping her phone horizontally and pressing play to a news broadcast recording:

"Witnesses have identified the assassin to be a 6ft male with an athletic build. Crime investigators have released the following identikit based upon multiple accounts and ask that if you have any information on where the killer is or where they plan on going to contact local and world police immediately for the safety of the greater public."

You feel sick, head falling between your knees as you shake and cry, knowing that illustration to be hauntingly similar to the love of your life... or so you thought him to be.

Marissa rubs your back in soothing circling motions before looking towards the door and whispering her next words to you carefully, "Please, come with me tonight. Say that something happened with my family and that I need your support. We'll pack and bag and get you out," you nod along, lost in your thoughts and not quite catching her words- ears ringing from overstimulation, the clothes on your body soon feel to hot as you grip your skin in panic.

"I-I he wouldn't lie to me this way... he said he-he loved me?" you hiccup in between cries, now walking around in circles within the small space- wavering on the line of hysteria. "I have to go talk to him, this is a misunderstanding, they have the wrong accounts, they, they..." you shake your head, trying to clear your mind to no avail.

Marissa stands, gripping your shoulders, shaking you, begging you to listen to her, "Please, stay with me for tonight at least. I don't feel safe leaving you here with him, not with what we both know... he could kill us if he knows... we know..." You fall over, back into the cushions, your head feeling to heavy for your body as your spots of black start to cloud over your vision. "M-Marissa?" you beg for what you don't know as she hugs you, begging you to stand and move with her.

"Please, we have to go now. Stop the tears, we must leave-"

"I-I can't!" you shout before watching as her eyes widen, the sounds of the other guests dying down from your outburst. A knock sounds at the door, your heart drops... you both allow a moment to pass before another knock sounds, more rushed and heavy against the wood, "my love? are you alright in there?"

Charles. You and Marissa both share a look, you swallow deeply- clearing your throat, "I'm alright Charles, just an wardrobe malfunction." You hear as your... husband chuckles, "alright, I have a plate of food waiting for you by the pool."

"Thank you, darling!" you shout back before hearing as his footsteps become distant. You let out a breath you didn't know to be holding as Marissa pulls you up, wiping your face with her towel, determination in her eyes. "We. are. leaving." You nod, not trusting your words as you follow her outside, wincing at the light coming into your eyes and heart.

─────── · ·

─ · · You walk swiftly pass the crowd and upstairs, throwing the closet open to find a duffle bag as you begin to pack a weeks worth of clothes. You stop yourself from grabbing one of Charles shirts to sleep in, your fingers twitching as your heartaches, you bite your lip to conceal a cry as your eyes well before turning towards the ensuite bathroom.

You startle bumping into a chest as arms steady you, hand brushing against your cheek as Charles stares down at you- worry clouding over his eyes as he takes in the sight of your tears. "Whats wrong?" he asks quietly, brushing your hair as you shake in his hold... knowing what those hands have done. You close your eyes, allowing yourself to relax in the memory of his touch before pulling away and heading towards the bathroom.

Charles stands there still where you left him, glaring at his reflection in the mirror of the closet before turning around determined to find out whatever or whomever made his darling wife cry. He leans against the doorframe watching as you grab a hairbrush and a few hair ties before brushing past him and throwing them into your luggage- hands shaking as you zip it closed and place it over your shoulder.

But just before you can reach the door, Charles picks you up in his arms, you scream, and places you on the bed- standing at the foot with his arms crossed. "Running away from our issues only prolongs them. What. is. wrong?" he asks, muscles flexing as he forces himself not to physically comfort you seeing as you flinch from every slight sound you hear. Who scared you? What do I need to do in order to protect you? The Jackal thinks to himself, foot tapping in wait.

You sound out the party happening down stairs, focusing solemnly on your breathing, "I-I have to help Marissa with somethings. Her family, things went badly and she needs me?" you try and lie yet your words appear more like a question.

Your husband sighs, head tilting to the side as he analyzes your form, eye twitching... no, she couldn't know that. I've hid it well and no one else would know in the slightest... You watch every small expression tick over his features, shifting in your spot watching as he does the same, mirroring your movements- you feel trapped knowing that Charles was not going to let you leave... not without the truth nevertheless.

You look outside, hoping to catch Marissa's eyes to come and save you yet can see no sights of her. Your bag drops to your feet as you grip your hair, Am I ready to die? You ask yourself, thoughts automatically going to the darkest parts of your mind before you suddenly remember your conversation last night in the kitchen...

─────── · ·

You press your forehead against his own, closing your eyes, "Charles, my love. I would forgive you even if you shot me. No need to worry," You joke in a loving tone- not understanding to the way the Jackal tenses feeling your touch. Visions of your corpse flashing before his eyes with life-like accuracy as he begins to feel queasy, shaking in your hold.

You pull away once feeling him start to breath heavily. His touch falling from your hand to grip the kitchen counter, knuckles turning white as he sees you look up at him with tear-covered eyes, his hand shakes with the trigger- "Charles?" you call out softly, hand hovering over his cheek, feeling as he flinches at the touch, taking a step away while shaking his head to himself before appearing... scarily calm again.

─────── · ·

Shit, you think to yourself... his prior actions all making sense now. You timidly look into his eyes, purposefully trying to make yourself appear small... make him feel the heart you have loved ever-so dearly up until this point, and to some degree, you still do for the years of affections you both have shared.

"Tell me what you know," The Jackal asks calmly, your blood runs cold as he stares down at you, nose twitching, eyes daring you to try and lie again to him.

You open and close your mouth, unsure of what to say before letting lose knowing that you were not making it out of this room no matter what so you might as well do it with morals and truth. "I know you kill people," you begin to say.

The room is dead silent as you both stare into one another's eyes, "Tell me that you don't," you whisper, tears silently falling down your cheeks that you do your best to try and blink away resulting in only more coming. Yet in your husbands move not to answer you provides you with the most deafening answer yet... he does.

You shake your head, nails digging into your palms, threatening to break skin. You flinch again to his touch, feeling as the Jackal gently pulls your fingers away from hurting yourself- your heart hammers in your chest like a drum, you know he can hear it to by the way his head falls. "Tell me that you don't," you whisper-shot, shaking your head, confused as to how the soft and intelligent man you fell in love with, that you married and planed to have children with... kills people.

"I kill people for money," the Jackal whispers quietly, a part of hoping that you do not hear his words, that you would return to your smiling and loving self, taking him back with open arms- unknowing once more yet you understand what he says, "Listen to yourself and say it again," you demand of him.

The Jackal removes his touch, taking in a shaky deep breath, closing his eyes as his hands shake down by his sides into fists, you slowly crawl back on the bed, "I kill people for money," he says a bit louder. You scoff into a cry, "say it again."

"I kill people for money," the Jackal states picking up his head to look you in the eyes, his heart breaks seeing your tears, watching as you flinching when he moves to brush them away. You'e afraid of me, Charles thinks to himself. I've failed to protect you, the Jackal thinks to himself. You are shaking in your spot, "say it again, say it-"

"I KILL PEOPLE FOR MONEY. Is that what you want to hear? Is that enough? Is it enough?" The Jackal snaps at you before falling to his knees, head in your lap as an offering. You feel the way he grips your sides, sobbing into your skirt, pleading for you to love him. Yet you just stare forwards, looking out to the sun and all the people downstairs, your eyes catch Marissa's as you stand, his body rolling off of yours as he stays collapsed against the floor watching as you slowly pick up your bag and close the door on him.

─────── · ·

─ · · You felt disgusted for not being able to go to the police about your husband... or well ex-husband. You sent the divorce papers in at Marissas request after your first month out on the run from your heart but no matter where you seemed to go, what disguises or excuses you used when he would just find your new phone number again, you still loved him.

─ · · A part of you knew deep within that not every moment you shared together could be a lie. He trusted you to sleep beside him, to cook for him, to be his confidant to his "work rants," and spent his pay check on you... but he kills people... you think to yourself, 'only the bad people, promise,' you remember him telling you via letter to your mailbox during your first week in Australia where Marissa left you before returning back to Spain. You shake your head, confused with yourself; head and heart competing...

But when you saw golden locks out of the corner of your eye, green-eyes hidden behind tinted shades and tall muscular body draped in a fine linen suit... it would be an understatement to say you folded in the first seconds and fell back in love in the first moment when he picked up your hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it and refused to let go, intertwining your fingers together on the table as he payed for lunch and all your drinks without a second thought.

And when it started to rain in Amsterdam where you were currently "hiding out," he draped his jacket over your shoulders and picked you up so that your feet wouldn't get wet in all the puddles and potholes. Carrying you all the back to the apartment you were renting, waiting at the door for you to invite him inside and you did.

─ · · You watched as he unbuttoned and rolled up his sleeves to his forearms, veins flexing across his skin as he clenched and unclenched his hands when you moved past him to sit distantly on the couch. He thought about the comforting pressure of you on his lap, the feeling of your head on your shoulder and your lips against his own. He wanted nothing more than to feel your skin against his skin, to get a taste of you once more... but he allowed you space, for now... until things are safe... until the job is done, Charles thought to himself, taking a sip out of the tea you prepared for you both.

─ · · After some catching up on both of your sides, your concern grew not only for yourself and your safety, but for your husbands as he was being pinned down on two fronts. One by the police, the other by his target and his men... a part of you knew that your safety did relay on the Jackal getting his work done and knew that from you not going to the police right away, not protecting the 'public', you were in some part just as guilty as he- a participant... "let me help you.... please." And the Jackal nodded.

─────── · ·

─ · · Returning to Spain, the Jackal gave you a series of instructions and lists of where secret rooms, weapons, and security lockdown procedures he had installed for a moment that you had no clue existed before and never would have.

─ · · You shiver at how precisely Charles can check the various weapons on himself, flipping knives in his boots, checking his magazines and checking the sights down the barrel of his gun before giving you a kiss and telling you to go sit in the bedroom upstairs with the dog, waiting to flip a switch in the wardrobe at his request to cut all the power to the house through your earpiece.

You nodded, pulling him in for a second kiss, lingering before pulling away slightly and kissing all the way across his cheek to his ear, whispering, "live for me." You didn't receive a response, only a pat at your hit, silently demanding you to move as you pick up your furry companion and closed the bedroom door, putting on a record just like intersected... sitting still and looking pretty and innocent, just waiting on your husband to return.

─────── · ·

─ · · You didn't bother to look at the clock, watching as the minutes ticked over and the dog laid asleep at the foot of the bed. Your fingers running across the soft fur of their back only to startle as you hear your front door be blasted through and two pairs of boots stomp their way into your home. Your breath hitches as you quickly stand and look at the window seeing no addition people in the tree line.

You double check to ensure your door is closed before pressing down on your ear, listening closely for your queue... "Do you hear me darling?" Charle's soft tone floods your ear, you can hear him taking shallow long breaths in and out, most likely hiding somewhere in the walls. "yes," you whisper, starting to make your way into the closet- waiting... "flick the switch, gorgeous." Lights out!

─ · · You are suddenly surrounded in darkness as you tip toe your way back to the bed and place yourself on top of the covers, scrolling through your phone once hearing their boots near the door. The dog shuffles by your feet but does not move as the door creaks open and two flashlights are shined in your eyes, causing you both to stand alert. "HANDS UP!" a woman shouts, you wave your hands in the air. "P-please don't hurt me! Take whatever you want from the house!" you beg, tears starting to drown across your cheeks as you work to distract the women. "Please!" you beg over and over again dramatically, falling to your knees as your hands press against her boots.

"I'm here to protect you ma'am, just do as I say and we will have no issues," the woman in uniform tells you- you nod your head. "Stand," she demands and you oblige, rising to your feet and grabbing your pet in your arms. "Do you have any idea what your husband does?" she questions you, moving you both towards Charle's study and telling you to sit at his desk. You nod your head, hearing as her breath hitches, "he works in global sales for an insurance company," you explain.

"I can show you the new logos?" you ask confusing the woman. "No, I don't care about that... you are married to Charles Calthrop, correct?" You nod your head again, "Yes, that is my husband." The floor suddenly creaks down the hall, the woman turns around sharply, flashlight pointing down the hall as you hide underneath the desk in preparation yet hear no rounds fired.

Looking up slowly, the room and the hall now appear empty as you listen to boots run down the hall and turn down the stairs into the living room. "Stay where you are," Charles demand comes through your ear, "okay," you whisper, holding onto the dog closely as you brace, listening to the distant conversation and then... BANG... a pause... BANG BANG. Another two shots sound and then... silence once more.

"Good girl, you did your work perfectly, my love," Charles praises you before telling you to come downstairs with the luggage for you both. You feel as your husband quickly pulls you in for a hug, caressing your head in an effort for you not to see the body behind him. You feel as he kisses the top of your head, "All ready to go?" he asks you.

"I'm ready," you respond with determination.

─────── · ·

─ · · A/N: no part 2's to this one!

─ · · JACKAL TAGLIST: @swiftietevitdrewjew @groovyponypatrollamp @alelo23 @apaperflowerreader @itz-stuts

[simp-ly-writes]

THE DAY OF THE JACKAL (2024) MASTERLIST

─────── · · SERIES:

SKYFALL: Doing everything in your power to get away from the small town you grew up in, you moved to the big city and studied to now become an overworked nurse. But there was always a small part of you that wondered whatever happened to your childhood friend (and crush) Alexander Duggan... so what happens one night when you discover a bloodied man inside your apartment? (F!Reader)

(pt.1) (pt.2) (completed) word count: 5,039

─────── · · STANDALONES:

Favourite Face: A former MI6 agent now on a mission for survival, you use your expertise as a weapons engineer, masquerader, and manipulator in order to take on illegal missions. After a close call on your most recent mission, you stumble into the hotel room of a fellow assassin... the last person you would expect to see. (F!Reader)

The Jackals Companion: After a shocking turn of events, you and the Jackal become lovers-of-sorts and you both share a moment in one another warmth as a snowy London sets the backdrop to your hotel room. (F!Reader)

The Assassin's Wife: To put it simply, you are the wife of Charles Calthrop having met him at a work event over a decade ago, your romance was story-book perfection up until when you learned he kills people for a living... (F!Reader)