Pairing: Michael Jones x Reader
Day 23 of Fics Advent Calendar 2017. Read the others here
Prompt/Summary: MichaelxReader fluff? It’s that time of year again! Time to put up the tree and hang up the mistletoe! The reader is freaking out over which decorations go where and Michael is trying to catch her under the mistletoe. He finally does with the help of the Lads and Gents. I just recently found your blog and I love it to pieces. Your works are amazing!! Thank you for taking your time to read this!
wc: 2092
“I dunno,” shrugs Gavin, his chin buried in the red tinsel Trevor and Jeremy were encasing him in, “I haven’t seen her since lunch.”
Michael groans, bending his knees and rocking back in frustration. “I’ve been looking for her for hours!”
“Stop freaking out,” reassures Jeremy while peeking under Gavin’s arm, a wide, cheery grin plastered to his face, “she’ll turn up.”
“She better,” Michael grumbles, eyes drifting to the clock, “if she’s any later she’ll miss her own pre-party party.”
“She just likes to be organised,” dismisses Gavin, Trevor taking a step back and eyeing up his work; certain something is missing. “You know how she gets.”
“That’s what I’m worried about,” Michael sighs, his irritation simmering down into underlying concern. “She’s her own worst enemy. She’s probably at the store buying as many decoration options as possible.”
“Sounds about right, but since when’ve you cared?” The Brit eyes his friend suspiciously, the tops of Michael’s ears turning pink.
“Because I like her; asshole. I didn’t get this piece of shit for my health.” Michael holds up the small cluster of berries shrouded in leaves, Gavin’s squeaking tightening with the pressure of Trevor adding lights.
“Wait,” comes Ryan’s voice around the chocolates he was cramming into his mouth, “is that holly?”
“No,” rejects Michael indignantly, the quirk of his eyebrow giving away his uncertainty. “It’s mistletoe.”
Ryan approaches with another handful of snacks, eyes narrowing as he assesses the piece Michael holds out for inspection. He plucks a red berry, glowering before tossing it at Gavin, lodging it in his nose. “Yup,” he confirms, munching, “that’s holly.”
“Awwwhh FUCK.” Michael’s knees hit the carpet, his face defeated.
Alfredo looks up momentarily from his place in the kitchen, hands still transferring poorly decorated cookies to their display plates. His face is apologetic until Ryan attempts to swipe one of creations, earning a slapped hand. “We could go to the store and find some? The white stuff’s everywhere.”
“Yeah,” agrees Jeremy while trying to steady Gavin, making sure all of his limbs were in functioning order before leaving the man to his own devices. “I’m sure there’s mistletoe, too.”
Alfredo glares, “boo, you suck.”
“Who’s sucking?” queries Geoff from his ball atop the couch; feet angled towards the roaring fire and face having been buried deep in a book. “And how do I get in on said sucking?”
“No one’s sucking but me,” groans Michael, wobbling to standing and accepting one of the sweets Ryan offers, hands tossing the holly aside and filling with foil wrapped chocolates.
Geoff considers this fully. “I can deal with that.”
Jack’s pulls out his phone, slipping past Alfredo in the kitchen and smiling comfortingly at Michael, ignoring the laughter. “We could post mate some?”
“Jack, you’re a genius!” he exclaims, hope blooming in his chest. “That’s perfect; we could have it delivered before she gets back!”
“I’ll sort it out so we don’t end up with holly again,” Jack suggests, Michael nodding eagerly. The bearded man glances about the room, eyes lingering on the mess they’ve created. “We should probably clean up. Y/N’s gonna flip her shit if she finds her house in this state. She’s already pulling her hair out.”
Michael’s eyes brighten, but no way near as much as Gavin does. With a chorus of chuckles Jeremy plugs the lad in, Christmas lights flashing happily from beneath his tinselled body. Both Jeremy and Trevor beam at their creation, Gavin equally thrilled with the state of his handmade ugly sweater.
It’s all hands on deck as soon as Gavin begins scooping up the incredibly long cable connecting him to the wall, realising that his outfit isn’t at all practical. Ryan quickly shovels all of his wrappers into his arms, dumping them in the trash as Geoff joins Alfredo on dish duty. Jeremy works on straightening the cushions, Jack tapping away in his phone. In a confusion of cords Trevor battles with the vacuum, harshly nudging feet as he cleans.
Gavin casts Michael a reassuringly cheeky grin, looking pleased. “Don’t worry, boy; she can’t escape.”
“Why do you always have to make it weird?”
“Make what weird?”
Michael whirls at the sound of your curiosity, eyes wide as he takes in your exhausted figure, bags lining up to your elbows. You watch him closely, the rest of your friends bolting into lounging positions; Trevor tripping over the vacuum cable in an attempt to abandon it in its respective home.
“Erm...” Michael panics, eyes darting to Gavin as he smashes out a pose, motioning to flashing lights. “Gavin makes everything weird. Just look at him. He’s just a freak.”
You do, taking in his clashing tinsel wrapping and throbbing colours, holding back a wince. Still, you sigh, a tired smile working across your face.
“Ray’s gonna have a field day,” you chuckle, entering your front room and unloading the bags into Ryan’s waiting arms, thankful for the relief.
Michael’s face screws in confusion, his “what?” cut off with the purple man bounding into the space, arms equally loaded up.
“The fuck are you wearing?”
“Always a pleasure, Ray.”
“You look like a Who from the Grinch.”
Gavin doesn’t seem at all offended, grinning at his friend. “You’re one to talk.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I- I don’t know.”
Ray chortles, following you into the room and beginning to unpack the decorations. “Good one, Gav.”
Michael comes up behind you, body noticeably close and warming your back while he peaks into the bags. Instead of commenting he sighs, hands diving into the closest bag, unpacking the tiny golden reindeer. You appreciate his silence, knowing your nerves can’t take criticism. If you were honest, every thought of Christmas brings you closer to tears, the idea of donning the halls anything but festively cheerful.
He’d been the one to suggest inviting your friends over for a pre-party party to help set up – Michael, that is. He’d pushed hard for it, actually, and you can’t deny the comfort you find in their smiling faces. Every year it was difficult, and though you desperately want to throw yourself into celebrations, each time would bring about debilitating stress.
You fill their hands with decorations and minds with tasks; Alfredo contently working in the kitchen with his taste tester Ryan – who happily sucks on the brownie batter spoon – while Jack and Geoff take on table setting. Jeremy follows them, each plate being adorned with an extravagant Christmas cracker and poorly folded napkin, the young man exercising an incredibly amount of restraint to avoid pulling them early. Ray joins Trevor, the pair generously scattering ornaments across the fireplace mantle and the overhangs, Gavin dictating positioning and aesthetics as their eyes roll.
The final task is saved for Michael and yourself, his eagerness to set up the tree warming your heart. Minding the bristles, you both sit in the corner of the room and unfold the tree’s numerous prickly parts, chattering about nothing. Assembly doesn’t take long, soon seeing the tree tower to the ceiling, filling the corner. Next come the decorations, the two of you jamming rich reds, golds, and an array of purples onto its branches; tossing strings of beads, tinsel and lights as the finishing touch.
You and Michael share a proud grin, his arm winding around your shoulder as he cheers. Instinctively you curl into him, palm resting against his chest, the other around his waist. You stay like this for a moment, too caught up in each other to notice the excited whispers rippling through the rest of your friends – until there’s a knock at the door.
With a jump start you pull away, blushing a deep pink that mirrors his cheeks. Jack rushes past with a yell, stopping your advances towards the visitor.
“NO! Err, I mean, you should really pack the underside of the tree,” he stumbles, back pressed to the door.
“What’s going on?” You needle, eyes narrowing in suspicion. Jack’s face flashes pleadingly, Geoff jumping to his aide.
“Calm down, Jack,” he instructs, storming past the man and throwing back a warning glace. “This’ll only take a minute.”
The door opens and slams far too quickly, Geoff’s loud yells rattling against the wood. You take a cautionary step back, looking to anyone for an explanation.
Ryan shrugs around Alfredo, looking unconcerned. “Drama.”
“Okay... I’ll- I’ll just, err,” you turn slowly, eyeing up the guilty group. “I’ll just head upstairs and get the bags of gifts.”
“Have fun,” waves Michael as you dip behind the wall into the next room with Ray, your footsteps resonating in creaks. Then he’s rushing to the door, yanking it open to see Geoff apologising profusely to a man, handing over money and taking the giant bag. Michael snatches it from tattooed hands, rushing inside and dropping to his knees to rip it open.
The content spills, mountains of mistletoe coating the carpet. “Why the fuck is there so many?!”
Jack shrugs, stealing a cookie and passing it back to Ryan, who munches happily. “They only sold them in bulk. You’re now the proud owner of a kilo of mistletoe.”
Michael lets out a resounding sigh, combing quickly through the pile and selecting his favourite, the white berries shining with a silver gleam. He quickly forces the rest back into the container at the sound of your returning footsteps, loud bangs emanating with each stair the sacks hit.
“Seriously Ray,” you groan, rounding the corner with a peel of laughter, the man accompanying you struggling with slippery parcels, juggling them as best he can. “Why do you have to do everything the hard way?”
“Because I’m not a pussy.”
“It’s 2017,” you grumble playfully, unaware of Jack snatching the mistletoe from Michael and nudging him forward, his hands reaching to relieve some of the load. “You can’t use that in a derogatory way.”
“It’s not derogatory,” Ray denies, collapsing beneath the presents and shoving them under the tree, “if anything it’s a shame. I wish I was a pussy.”
“Just stop,” jabs Michael with a smirk, accepting the gifts you hand over, drowning in the sight of your smile, “before you hurt yourself. Better yet, stop before Y/N hurts you.”
“I’ll do it,” you warn with lopsided grin that stops Michael’s heart, “don’t think I won’t.”
Ray panics theatrically, scampering away and bumping into Trevor as he balances on a chair, the two tangling in a mess of complaining limbs. You pay them no mind, tipping out your sack and kneeling beside the tree, Michael joining you and arranging the gifts into strategically tumbling piles. Your hands brush, his fingers squeezing yours and leaving tingles.
A commotion sounds above you, Jack making small noises of effort before yelling loudly. “I think it’s about time we ordered pizza. This place is good to go for tomorrow’s party.”
There are dramatic murmurs of agreement, the shuffling of feet accompanying the creak of your knees, standing to stare at the suspicious group. “Where are you going?”
“To order pizza,” says Geoff defensively, throwing his arms in the air.
“Can’t you order it in here?”
“Jesus Christ, Mom,” exclaims Ray, quickly catching on, “do we have to explain everything to you?”
You bristle, but only momentarily. A steady sigh sees you relaxing, a gentle squeeze warming your shoulder as Michael touches it. His face is perplexed, but manages to calm your confusion and mounting need for control.
“Okay, we’ll be weird and order pizza someplace else.”
“Alright, everybody out,” calls Gavin, ushering the group towards the back door, “you heard me, outside.”
You and Michael move to join, but Gavin’s eyes flick urgently up to the ceiling and back. Michael follows his gaze with a half muttered protest before a slightly frantic gasp escapes, his confusion colouring with anxiety.
“Oh, right, okay.”
He turns to you before you can protest, your friends disappearing as Michael touches the tops of your arms. All you can see is him, caught in his caramel eyes and the warm comfort of his nervous smile. He’s holding you close, the fibres of your sweaters brushing together as his hands remain gentle on your shoulders. He glances up, urging you to do the same, your lips parting in surprise at the mistletoe hanging above your heads.
“Michael, what’s going on –”
When you return to him he’s smiling, eyes caressing the features of the most beautiful woman in the world.
“Gotcha.”
“It’s about bloody time.”
And then his lips press against yours, arms winding to hold you close as the soft kiss lingers.
AN: Oh my god I didn’t realize this took over a month for me to do, I’m so sorry to the anon that requested it *cries*. Hopefully this is still good for you. (I don’t have any requests now, so send them in, but I’ll be busy with school soon so I’ll try to get them out asap) Enjoy!
Pair-Michael x Reader
Word Count-2239
Warnings-jealousy, mentions of in-game death (gta to be specific), fluff
Summary- During a let’s play, Gavin and Y/N get too chummy to Michael’s liking and Michael is jealous for the video. It’s made up after a nice lunch and assurance that Y/N only likes Michael and not his best friend.
The loud noise of Achievement Hunter introing their newest GTA video filled the room. It was rare for me to be actually in the game doing this and not listening to them intro it through my headphones while editing or from the other room. It was louder than I expected and more distracting from my concentration of not trying to die while Ryan and Gavin drove around the people on foot.
"Hey Geoff! What are we doing?"
Jack was almost instantly answered with Geoff saying, "We're just going to mess around with some of the new vehicles that recently came out."
He added, "So let's say who's here. Geoff."
"Jack!"
"Ryan!"
"Michael."
"Gav."
I smiled and exclaimed, "And Y/N!"
I made myself jump in the game as I did it, almost getting hit by Gavin's car in the process. I saw Michael from a distance drive towards us since he went to pick up one of his cars so he can drive to get one of the new vehicles.
"Jeremy isn't here so we decided to let Y/N come in and take his spot. They had to fist fight the other editors, but they were crowned champion and able to take his seat," Geoff jokes.
Jack asked, "So who's getting what? Are we going to have a goal or something?"
Gavin exclaimed, "I want to get the new plane and fly it around. Does anyone want to come with? Y/N?"
I shrugged, "Yeah, sure. You're always the center of chaos and I think I'd like to have another perspective when something goes wrong."
I got into Gavin's car, knowing that he could possibly kill us even when he's driving. Luckily, he safely drove us to the airport and parked right next to the new plane.
I got into Gavin's car and exclaim, "To the airport!...Hopefully we won't die."
Jack laughed, "Famous last words from Y/N, 'Hopefully we won't die'."
We got into the plane, Gavin getting in just a few moments before me, so he was the pilot.
I joked, "Gavin's flying. Hopefully he won't crash into something."
Gavin pouted, "I'm a good pilot, Y/N! Just trust me."
We take off and soar through the sky. I sit in the passenger seat and look around, listening to Jack and Ryan talk about one of the many things in GTA that came out. I mostly spaced them out since I don't really play GTA so I'm not that interested in hearing it. I noticed that he was flying towards the race track, which is where everyone else is going towards.
I asked, "Hey Gav, quick question. Where are you flying?"
He laughs, "Don't worry about it. We're just going to fly by to show it off."
It didn't take long for us to see everyone and their newly customized vehicles. I laughed at the color that Geoff chose which was magenta, standing out against the blues and blacks of the others.
I didn't notice Gavin's flying because I was questioning Geoff, who just shouted, "It's a cool color, okay?"
I shrugged, "I wouldn't have guessed that you'd want a pink car, is all."
The next second later, I noticed one of the many light poles on the outside of the track. The only reason I did was because we hit the wing of my side of the plane. I sighed as I hit respawn.
"Gavin, you killed me. I'm disappointed but not surprised. I kinda regret choosing to go with you to be honest. I have nothing left to contribute to the race."
He said with a playful smile, "That hurt, you saying that. It's all good, we're close to the airport. Do you want to get another one? We could get one of the new helicopters and watch them race."
I thought and told him, "I'll fly it, but yeah sure. That sounds good."
Geoff told us, "Tell us when you're overhead. I'm almost there to the track."
The both of us talked to each other about something Gavin was curious of, specifically something about my life. We both faced each other in real life, having a real conversation about something embarrassing that happened when I was in school. The others chimed in their opinions at times, but it was mostly Gavin and I. It really showed that Gavin and I were pretty good friends around the office since we were both joking and making fun of each other.
I could tell Michael was mentally shut off during that time, silently getting his car and trying to ignore the both of us. It wasn't showing much in the video since everyone seems to be talking, but I can tell from a mile away that he was jealous. Sometimes when Gavin and I were hanging out too much with each other without him, he'd get jealous since his two best friends were interacting without him. It was something he did at times like these when he hasn't hung out with me in a week or so and I'm talking to Gavin when I could talk to the both of them.
The helicopter was quick to get to the track. I told everyone that we were here and the race started after a countdown.
Gavin acted like a reporter, announcing everyone's places as they take their three laps around the track. I kept towards the center of the track, high enough where everyone was visible. Since there were light poles around the track, I tried my best to be careful of them. It didn't last long though, since Gavin took out a grenade and threw it at the car in first, Ryan's, when he was almost at the end of the race. Ryan's car ended up being wrecked from the explosion and he lost being in first.
Laughter erupted from the crew as Ryan yelled out, "Gavin you bastard! I was about to win!"
He retaliated by shooting a rocket right at the helicopter before Gavin could utter out an excuse once he showed up to the track after responding just out of it, causing the helicopter and the both of us to explode. I just silently hit 'respawn' and called one of my cars to take me to the track, which was a little ways away.
I got into one of my character's cars after getting it. I stayed silent as I drove, trying to let everyone get their arguments out of the way.
Gavin yelled, "Why did you rocket the both of us, Ryan? Y/N had nothing to do with this."
The other three cars were driving around aimlessly, trying to yell at both Gavin and Ryan about what happened.
Ryan points out,"Well, I wouldn't have shot my rocket if you didn't destroy my new car."
I told them, "What's done is done, boys. I'm not even phased anymore. I expected this to happen basically since I went with Gavin and he had nothing else to focus on other than causing trouble."
Jack laughed, "Well, before the video started you wanted to come with me and Ryan and get the new car so we can race it, so you're the one who caused it since you changed the plan. I don't know how you would've liked coming with us since you don't have enough money for the cars."
Gavin exclaimed, "I'm going to the beach since there's a new boat and I bought one."
Michael laughs as Gavin runs towards the cars, "Gav, why don't you come with me and we can go together? We'll go Team Nice Dynamite style."
Gavin smiled, "Yeah boi! Come pick me up."
I could tell Michael was trying to separate the two of us. I didn't really care, wanting Michael to be happy more than anything.
Geoff suggests, "Why don't all of us go to the beach and we'll end the video after Gavin shows us the new boat? I gotta head to a meeting in fifteen minutes."
"Yeah sure, Geoff. Let's go."
Since it was the last video before lunch, I knew that Michael would want to get something to eat. Usually, I have to get him lunch with the rest of AH, usually something suggested and Steffie ordered ahead.
"Hey guys," Gavin asked, "What do you want for lunch?"
Suggestions were thrown around the room. Usual places like Rudy's or Pete Terry's were said, but nothing was conclusive. One person didn't want something, then everyone didn't want that since they had it yesterday for lunch.
Eventually, Michael just said, "How about we all go out and get our own? Ryan and Jack want Homeslice and I'm not feeling it. Plus Geoff won't be here so unless we're filming a four-person let's play I want to go out."
Gavin asked, "What do you want, Michael?"
He shrugged, "Could go for some Torchy's right now."
Gavin debated the two while I asked Michael if I could take a ride with him, eventually asking Michael if he can come as well. Michael agreed and that was the end of that conversation.
Everyone ended up at the beach in-game and Gavin showed off the boat after apparently killing some pedestrians. The video wasn't something different of AH; Michael and Gavin tried to shoot everyone off the boat, Ryan murdered the citizens then turned to killing everyone else, Geoff and Jack ended the video, and I just watched as it all went down, glad that the video was over.
Geoff stood up once the video was over, "Welp, I gotta go to my meeting. I'll probably be back in two hours if I'm back at all. Trevor said that you guys don't need to film anything, but you can if you want."
Everyone packed up after saving their files and sending to the main folder of unedited footage. Michael, Gavin and I went to lunch quickly after, all hungry. Gavin goofed around with Michael, who seemed to perk up at his friend's antics. I smiled as I watched Gavin and Michael play around, happy to see Michael happy.
I drove the three of us to Torchy's, Gavin and Michael arguing about something Gavin said while getting into the car. It didn't take long to get there so the argument was quickly ended as I pulled into a parking space.
We ordered our food and sat down at a table. I could tell Michael was still hot from filming but I wasn't sure how to ask him about it.
I just asked, "Michael, are you okay? You didn't seem yourself when we filmed."
Gavin added, "Yeah, Michael! You usually don't sit there and not speak much in a video."
We ate as I looked at Michael, who looked to be contemplating telling us the truth.
He just quietly said while staring at his food, "I don't like seeing you being chummy with Gavin. It seemed like you like him more than me, is all."
Gavin outright laughed at Michael's statement, causing Michael to look up from his food with an annoyed expression.
"You must be joking!"
Michael shook his head, "I'm not...I know it sounds stupid but it hurt to see my favorite boy and my favorite girl having fun without me."
I felt my heart melt at his confession. It was seriously some of the sweetest things he's said to me, even if it was his jealousy that made it.
I smiled, "You don't have to worry, okay? I'm not going to date Gavin, even for a million dollars I wouldn't."
Gavin agreed, "She's like a little sister to me. I wouldn't date her for any amount of money."
Michael nodded his head. He looked relieved after we said that, his jealousy seemingly gone from his mind. It took only a few minutes before he started acting like himself, joking around with the both of us. The rest of lunch wasn't that eventful since it was normal.
We went back to the office after lunch, getting back before the others. Gavin and Michael took their seats in the main office, turning to me.
I told them, "I'll go back to my spot. It was fun to film and go out to eat."
Michael smiled, "Yeah. I'll see you after work, yeah?"
I smiled, "Yeah. See you!"
I went to kiss his cheek, but Gavin stopped us by shouting at us that it was gross, making the both of us laugh. I quickly pecked his cheek and left before Gavin said anything, rolling my eyes at the Brit.
Going back to work, I finished the video that I was editing before I filmed. I couldn't help the smile that grew on my face whenever I thought about Michael being jealous.
I mean, it was cute to think of him being jealous of someone being with me, but Gavin? Gavin definitely wouldn't try to date me since we're friends, especially since it'd be weird to date his best friend's girlfriend. He wouldn't be able to get away from Michael if he tried that since Michael wouldn't let that happen ever. I'm flattered that Michael would even think of Gavin as someone that might think of me as someone that he'd want to date, but Michael is the only one that fits my type. I'll have to make it clear when I see him next that he's the only one for me, even if it takes more convincing.
Pairing: Geoff Ramsey x Reader
Day 17 of Fics Advent Calendar 2017. Read the others here
For the lovely Anon that requested some Geoff love <3
Summary: Abandoned in a bar, you’re alone until someone buys you a drink.
WC: 558
You fiddle with the small umbrella adorning the far too sweet drink you’d bought, displeasure furrowing your brows at the sight of the excited bubbles. Noise explodes around you, boisterous yells and painfully drunken slurs emanating from the booths as you sit alone in the small enclave, lost in your thoughts.
Long since abandoned by your best friend, you were stuck in limbo – not wanting to stay in the far too warm bar, but unwilling to go anywhere else. You can’t blame her for leaving, the guy had eyes like diamonds and a jaw line stone, but you’ll allow yourself to be bitter if only for a moment.
And that moment has stretched into an hour, dragging past as the crowd grows steadily louder and brave. You’d turned so many away, refused the number of drinks the waiter had tried to deliver, redirecting them to whoever you could see without a beverage. You didn’t want the empty sugar, but that doesn’t mean it should go to waste.
You don’t even look up when the waiter returns, the refusal already loaded on your tongue – only to stop once the cup of tea is placed before you.
“Courtesy of the tattoos,” smiles the server, motioning to the unassuming man curled over a coffee and book at the bar. He senses your gaze, glancing over and smiling sheepishly, throwing a small wave in your direction.
You pick up the drink and his face falls, lips whispering as he scolds himself into the pages of his book, illustrated fingers rubbing worry into his closed eyes. He peeks through his scrunched expression at the sound of the stool scraping out, the teacup clinking pleasantly as you settle in beside him.
Up close you can see the freckles dusting his cheeks and splattering across his crooked nose, blue eyes waiting for the rejection he feels to be surely coming.
You smile, pouring in a tube of sugar and splash of milk. “True crime or fiction?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “True crime.”
“Charles Manson or JFK conspiracies?”
Another speedy response as the cup presses against your lips, liquid filling you with warmth and relief.
“Oh god, where would I even begin?”
A smile forms as you hold out a hand, his eyes darting from your fingers and back up to your face before taking it in bewilderment. “Y/N.”
“Geoff,” he chuckles nervously, callous fingers incredibly gentle, “thanks for not yelling at me.”
“Thanks for the tea.”
“You looked like you needed it,” he teases, placing his book down and burying his hands between his knees, legs bouncing.
“You have no idea how right you are,” you laugh, his soft nature surprisingly comforting.
“Are you alright?”
The question catches you off guard, the concern unexpected and incredibly genuine. Rather than replying immediately, you sip deeply on your tea. “I’m alright as I can be, just kinda stuck existing you know?”
He sighs, relatability rattling inside, “yeah, I know all too well. That’s why I try and exist in different places, keep things interesting.”
“Does it work?”
“Kind of?”
You laugh into your tea. “I should be existing back home, I just haven’t found the motivation to get up and leave.”
“Well, can I walk you home then?”
You smile, finishing your tea as it cools in the china. “As long as I can make you a coffee.”
Pairing: Ryan Haywood x Reader & Jeremy Dooley x Reader
Universe: Fake AH Crew (Cinders)
Summary: Jeremy’s attempts to secure a gallery setting for an art show sees you roped into being his wife, a wealthy and influential art investor - much to Ryan and your family’s amusement.
WC: 4788
[Master List]
Jeremy shuffles nervously in the doorway, eyes darting uncomfortably between you and Ryan’s lounging figure splayed across the faded grey couch, hair tumbling over the cream and maroon pillows to spill off the edge. Ray perches in the centre of the muted lilac rug covering the rich wooden floors, completely engulfed in Tilly as she pounces back and forth over his chest, swiping at his nose before bouncing away playfully.
Around you the world bustles without a care, large windows opening up like panels into a narrative; each seat offering you a new outlook. The ocean gently lapping at the crisp sand, the ice cream parlour with the jovial owner who’s love of sunshine yellow cardigans knew no bounds. But in your pent house you could stop and watch others tumbling through their stresses, safe and far away.
Jeremy struggles, a trembling hand running clumsily through his freshly dyed hair, finger tips still stained purple. Your lips pull away into a glittering beam, his tensions visibly easing at the sight.
“Of course I'll come to the show, is that even a real question? You’ve worked your ass off, there's no way I'd miss it.”
Ryan hauls himself into sitting, an equally warm and supportive smile curving across his strong features, “we'll all come.”
Ray's attention darts to the conversation, apprehension shifting in the scorching depths of his eyes, hand busy scratching Tilly's ear; “what’re you volunteering me for? Every time you do that I nearly die.”
“That was once time!” he defends, body rocking back while he shoots out a hand offence.
“Three times, actually,” you pat his knee in correction before tapping Ray with your foot; having to sink down in the matching bucket chair to reach.
“Jeremy's got art show tomorrow.” The man’s face relaxes, eyes drifting back to your cat as she tries to curl on his chest.
“Look at pictures and shit? I can do that, I'm a pro.”
“For the amount of time you spend glued to video games,” Ryan muses affectionately, eyes resting on Ray’s pursed lips and raised eyebrows, “I have no doubt.”
The sound of Jeremy clearing his throat anxiously catches your attention, cheeks growing pink as he rocks on the balls of his feet; incredibly out of place and caught between the kitchen and living space. “It’s a, err, it’s a black tie event; and I sorta kinda need a date.”
"Oh c’mon, lil J,” teases Ryan smugly, leaning back with his hands behind his head, “I can't believe it’s taken you this long to ask me out. But I'm sorry to say,” his face falls, holding out his left hand and wiggling his fingers, “the opportunity's 5 years too late. I'm happily married.”
“You bet your ass you are,” you warn, watching him shrink into the pillows with his bottom lip drawn between his teeth. The sight sends your heart fluttering, his devoting smile contagious.
“I'll be your date,” interjects Ray in between Tilly's fur; grinning up at Jeremy as he moves to stand beside another empty seat, bright purple and orange classing rudely in your living room. “I’ll do anything for free food.”
Jeremy lets off an uncomfortable and irritated hum, fingers drumming against the invitations he gripped in white knuckles. Pleadingly he looks to you, your ball of sunshine now a bundle of nerves.
“See here's the thing: I kinda sorta might've told the owner of the space I was married... To our beloved news anchor's female associate... who happens to be a famous art investor?”
“Oh Jeremy,” you groan as your head falls into your hands, Ryan's deep chuckles swamped by the loud cackles emanating from Ray.
“I had to Y/N,” he cries, “it looked good on the application and it's the only reason he's letting me use the space.” With a half hearted sigh you stand, accepting the thick printed invitation and peering down at Jeremy’s most professional scrawl.
“Oh you're kidding,” you mumble into the golden lettering “Beatrice? You fucking called me Beatrice?!”
“Beatrice Von Bisurart,” he squeaks quietly, collapsing into the empty seat and curling his chest to his knees, arms hanging uselessly by his side.
“Buys your art? Jeremy I taught you better than this.”
“I panicked, okay? It was all very stressful,” the man has to increase his volume, tears now rolling down Ryan’s cheeks as he grows pink from laughter, hunching against his knees to hold in his sides. “And it asked for a significant other and I just lost it and I’m sorry; please be my date?”
“‘Von’, Jeremy!” You smack the paper with wide eyes staring at him, as though you could force some sense into the situation, “where the fuck did you get ‘Von’?”
“It sounded cool, like you’re a vampire slayer or something; I don’t know!”
“You wanted people to think you’d married a vampire slaying art investor? Jeremy, how are we supposed to get matching rings for this shit by tomorrow?”
Recovering, Ryan grins, standing with creaking knees to lay a supportive hand on his battle buddy’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ve got a plan.”
“You suck, Jeremy. I’m gonna have to find a fucking babysitter now,” you pout at the clashing monstrosity vibrating in the cream chair, small groans falling into his lap. Tossing the invitation onto the glass coffee table in defeat you glance to the sky streaked with paint as the sun sets, chuckling delicately.
“Okay, so Jeremy might suck,” Ryan admits, Jeremy letting out a deep, rattling sigh. “But nothing sucks more than being called Beatrice Von Bisurart.”
“Whatcha think of this one?” Jeremy asks, holding the ring to the flashlight's beam; glow dancing off the particles caught in the air. Ryan looks up from the display he was pilfering, joining Jeremy and staring critically at the piece through the smudged face paint. Eventually he shakes his head.
“Do you really think Von Bisurart would wear anything with less than a cluster fuck of diamonds?”
“Oh crap,” Jeremy groans in agreement, tossing the ring behind him; your fingers pinching it mid flight as you shuffle through the necklaces, “you're so right, Ryan. Von Bon is a classy bitch.”
“I dunno,” you counter, shining the light onto the ring as it shines brighter than the gold dusting your eyes, voice muffled through the bandana, “I think it's kinda nice.”
“My wife deserves more than nice,” Jeremy retaliates indignantly, Ryan nodding vigorously by his side. With a sweeping gesture Jeremy's eyes glaze over, a dreamy smile hanging from his lips, “she deserves the world.”
You're chuckling when returning to scavenge, tentatively stepping over the shattered glass sprinkling the carpet from your entrance, careful of the dangers the dark might house. Careering to the counter you rip out the draw beneath the register to reveal the products too expensive to display for the public; riches glittering in excitement as your eyes rake curiously over the sharp edges and pools of gems.
Rifling through, you're immediately drawn to the thick necklace choked with diamonds, jewels dripping to your collarbone and flush against your neck when you lift the bandana and press it to you skin. With an affectionate chuckle Ryan joins you; fingers brush the nape of your neck to sweep away stray hairs before taking the clasp and latching it, the weight heavy against the hollow of your throat.
“Oh, now that's nice,” he compliments with a hammering heart as you turn to face him; lost in the rainbows fracturing your eyes. “Beautiful.”
“Hey,” snaps Jeremy, his exaggerated frown appearing above your shoulder, “stop fraternizing with my wife, Ryan.”
“She was my wife first, Jeremy.”
“Well, this is awkward,” shuffles the younger man with a quirk of the lips, eyes drifting to the stacks of jewels you'd unearthed. With a start he lunges in to snatch a hefty ring, every inch littered with elaborate diamonds and shifting colours. Ryan's hand moves to your lower back, redirecting attention to Jeremy, the young man’s face excited as you offer him your hand to allow the incredibly loud fake wedding ring to slip neatly above the real.
“And this is perfect!”
In all the time you’d known Jeremy, he’d never been this nervous. His breath rattled with every vibration rocking through his body, hand’s either buried deep in his pockets or smoothing back his hair for the millionth time. You sigh, his anxieties lapping at your skin as you approach the gallery, lights glowing invitingly from the windows.
Though a relatively warm night, the breeze gnawed against your skin and through the tumbling royal purple skirts exploding from your waist, tracing the hems of your chest trapped tightly in a cantaloupe sweetheart neckline, arms encased in flattering sleeves but fingers exposed to the wind. Comfort came from the weighted necklace from last night, nestled in the hollows of your throat and emanating power.
Slipping your hand into his with a sense of familiarity and ease, your fingers give him a gentle and reassuring squeeze, his chestnut eyes frantically glancing between your smiling face and the fear throbbing around the final destination.
“You’ll be okay, J,” you comfort, clicking up the steps in your incredibly tall heels, “you’re an amazing artist. This is gonna be seamless, they’ll be nothing left on the walls.”
“I dunno,” he mumbles in reluctance, an invisible barrier stopping him just before the entrance. You turn to face him, hands moving to his shoulders, resting atop the floral patterns blooming with royal purple variants across his suit jacket.
“Listen to me, just breathe. You’re nervous now, but once we get through those doors you’re Benjamin Von Bisurart. A smooth talking, confident man with a stupid name, who I’m incredibly proud of.”
“You’re right,” he nods, letting you loop his arm intimately around your waist, bodies fitting together like they were fashioned with each other in mind.
“We’re all here to support you,” you continue, straightening his matching cantaloupe bowtie before resting your palm against the curve of his back. He takes a few shaky breaths, his grip tightening as he collects himself.
“Remember,” you murmur, directing him towards the large man at the entrance, his welcoming smile false and pained, “my offer to stab everyone still stands.”
“Hopefully it won’t come to that,” he whispers while removing the invitations and handing them over, the man checking them before moving aside.
“You’re such a party pooper, Von Bisurart.”
“Von, pardon? Oh, oh!” he catches himself, passing the man and entering the bustling space, overwhelmed by the crowd muttering at his art in approval, “you mean me. Right, okay.”
Inside the stiflingly warm room packed with dull shades of grey bodies, all you see are erratic splashes of colour glued to the walls. Sharp tones slashing through cool comforts, grand canvases coated in complex patterns, sculptures etched with dramatic angles. Jeremy had left a part of himself in each piece, the expanse of his emotion lain out for critique.
You could pick out which artwork tied to the different points of his life, the darker, brooding works heavy and loaded with stress, loaded with Laura. Loaded with Gareth. Splayed out across bleach white walls and curving hallways, the pieces flowed like a journey. Bright colours moving with ease and the dark pain staggered, cluttered and overwhelming.
Littered throughout the winding rooms are the family that lived the paintings, each brush stroke cutting as sharp as the knife buried in their heart, faded smoke as cold as the gun with bullets whizzing with a splash of colour. Jack’s voice reaches you first, Jeremy redirecting your gaze to the powerful woman with fire for hair and flames for soul. Towering in her signature heels, her shape is draped in elegance and freckle clusters, grape fabric pooling to the floor in fountains, long shapely legs protruding from the slits.
Beside her stands Geoff, tall and proud, incredibly neat in peach slacks and a brilliant white button down, moustache meticulously twirled to follow the curves of his smile. Beneath the cuffs and collar of his dress shirt poke the stifled narrative, seeping into his fingers and tainting his knuckles. He seems content in holding Jack’s drink while she gestures wildly, scolding voice putting a narrow minded critic back in his place. At her words Jeremy smiles, excusing himself to join them after Jack motions with a gold adorned hand, his fingers burning as they leave your waist.
As he leaves, you catch sight of Lindsay and Michael, smartly dressed in matching black attire, streaks of tangerine orange and rich purple dancing through his tie and her sheer scarf. Chatting to a waiter Michael works his charm and talks exuberantly with his hands, drinks tray being emptied behind the server’s back by Lindsay, expertly balancing brimming flute glasses between her fingers. She nods to Michael, disappearing into the shadows as he redirects the servers attention by yelling ‘hey!’ after an invisible culprit, scampering away to hide with his wife and live his best life; duel wielding champagne glasses.
Gavin wastes no time in emerging from the door to the kitchen, clutching a tray loaded with elaborate canapés. Beneath the shimmering gold of his waistcoat glares an aubergine shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and loose around the collar, legs stretching with incredible length in pastel pumpkin trousers.
Tearing your eyes away from their laughter, you can’t help but notice people avoiding the anger and pain, instead congregating around the expansive paintings splotched with happy pastels in their dull tones. Stood in an abandoned hallway, Jon in a classic sherbet orange suit jacket stares up at the suffocating piece twirling with deep blues and heavy grey tones, colours found so easily in his eyes, a hand fiddling with the delicate lavender of his shirt.
Beside the man with wild hair is a familiar face from a lifetime ago. Clinging to your brother’s hand, a suit of orchid, apricot and sunshine yellow hides the inherent clumsiness of his person. His deep olive skin glows beneath the light, hazel eyes studying the piece before him, a hand musing through his messy brunet curls as he stares in wonder. Jon mirrors the expression, though understanding and empathy flows as an undertone.
“This is incredible,” breathes Ben as you approach, eyes tearing from the piece to greet you, the long forgotten fear sparking for a moment before he settles into an easy, lopsided smile.
“I’m glad you appreciate my husband’s work,” you tease, resting a comfortable hand on his shoulder, casting a glance to Jon, who beams brightly.
“He’s very talented,” he muses, letting go of Ben’s hand and pulling you into a hug, as warm as ever, “I’m so glad it’s all worked out for him.”
“He’s been so nervous,” you admit, attention drifting from the bright eyes of your family to the dark pain of one of your best friends, agony splatter on the canvas. “The gallery owner’s been trying to get in his ass all week, apparently.”
“Oh no,” sympathises Jon, lips flattening in concern, “Mr... err, oh god what’s his name? Ermm...” He snaps his fingers; face scrunching as he turns to look up to Ben for help, the man smiling down with patience and adoration.
“Mr Vermont,” he offers, Jon’s forehead resting against his shoulder with a groan, “we’ve still got to speak to him. He invited you personally, and you promised to interview him for your news segment.”
“Thank you,” your brother breathes in relief, “what would I do without you?”
“Look a lot less attractive,” he teases, pressing a gentle kiss into Jon’s wild hair, gentle chuckles resonating from their shoulders and dancing around your feet.
You’re smiling at Ben, overwhelmingly grateful for the role he’s played in your life and the lives of those you loved; knowing you couldn’t apologise enough for the years lost to anger and confusion. Still, the joy that had returned to Jon could only be attributed to him. His patience, understanding and loving adoration leading him to devote all he had to Jon’s recovery from the trauma of memory loss. You’d never be able to thank him for bringing your brother back from the brink, certain the downward spiral would have dragged him further into self destruction.
“There’d be less ice cream,” you joke, ears pricking at the sound of youthful, girlish giggles; “that’s for sure.”
“You’ve got a point,” Ben agrees, watching your eyes scan the room for the source of the joyful noises, “it’s not as though there’s 20 other ice cream parlours in Los Santos or anything.”
“Heaven forbid!” Jon gasps, eyebrows quirking as Ben laughs, rich and deep.
“Besides, you’re conveniently within walking distance of our apartments.” You chuckle, eyes coming to land on Ray, dressed head to toe in purple bar a bright orange tie, a red haired two year old doused in a starfish orange dress sparkling as bright as her amethyst shoes perched against his hip. As soon as he appeared Ray vanishes behind Trevor and Alfredo, the pair in matching mulberry and pink ginger pinstripe suits, talking animatedly to one another.
“We should probably let you go,” admits Ben, a sweeping motion catching the entire room, “Mrs. Von What’s-your-face must have some networking to do!” Your eyes narrow at the mischievous pop of his dimples, gold glittering in his eyes.
“Careful, Benji,” you warn with a teasing smile, “I made you, and it’ll be easy to break you.”
“Go on,” he challenges as Jon laughs, coaxing away his beaming boyfriend – who can’t help but trip over his own legs, “bring it on!”
“I’ll eat you out of ice cream, don’t you think I won’t!”
A sharp, insistent tugging on your skirts makes you turn, Jon and Ben dematerialising to explore the rest of the gallery. Stood beside you is a bright girl, her eyes achingly familiar, a deep blue ocean meeting the crisp white sand, light fracturing playfully. You smile, crouching to level with her, giggles tumbling from her lips as your face scrunches; taking her hands in yours.
“Georgina, what’re you doing running around without Daddy?”
The girl shrugs, lips sharing the shape of your own as she chews the bottom, “I lost him.”
“I don’t think you did,” you state knowingly, poking her button nose, “I think you ditched him.”
“No!” she exclaims joyfully, attempting to hide the smile splitting her pretty face, eyelashes long and fluttering.
“Georgie, did you abandon Daddy?”
“... Maybe.”
“Oh sweetie,” you chuckle, brushing back the tumbling golden curls cascading over her shoulders and straightening the amethyst dress that had begun to bunch around her waist, “you know Daddy can’t manage on his own.”
“She’s right,” comes a deep and affectionate chuckle, Ryan parting through the crowd to stand behind the girl, who shrieks in delight. “What would I do without my girls?”
“You’d die!” Georgie offers, skipping in place as you straighten up, laughing while greeting Ryan’s churning eyes and adoring expression. Stood with confidence, his grey, slim fitting jacket traces his curves and angles, papaya dress shirt tucking snug into wine slacks. Taking him in, you’re breathless, hair in similar curls to those of your daughter – if not a little darker – perching atop his head in an elegant bun with spiralling locks brushing the nape of his neck and resting against his jaw bone and shoulders.
“It’s nice to meet you,” you murmur, having to shake out of the trace ensnaring you in his eyes, caught in the waves. He takes your hand, bringing it to his lips and pressing a delicate kiss that leaves your skin tingling and excited.
“Henry Lawrence.” He released your hand reluctantly, instead stroking Georgie’s hair. “Mrs. Von Bisurart, this is my eldest, Georgina.”
Your daughter waves, delighting in playing pretend and offering you a tiny hand similar to the way her father had. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss.”
You accept it, fingers curling against her warm palm, “the pleasure’s all mine.”
“Good job, Georgie,” Ryan breathes as he creaks to the ground, hands carefully lifting the small girl into his arms; a joyful smile sparkling in his eyes as she giggles. Brushing her blond hair from her face her blue eyes shine with the same light as her father’s, her dress crinkling as he supports her against his hip; flowers spilling with amethyst making up her skirt. “You’ll get your candy later.”
“Now,” she giggles, Ryan pressing his nose against hers, rocking back and forth.
“Oh no,” he smiles, “a deal’s a deal.” Georgie pouts, eyes moving to you as her eyebrows knit together.
“Mommy-”
“Ah ah aahh, you little sneak,” Ryan cuts off, looking proudly at his daughter’s triumphant expression, her hands out and eagerly awaiting her prize.
“I’m so proud.”
“She got that from you,” he sighs, planting a kiss against her forehead and pressing a noisy packet into her tiny hands, fingers clumsily ripping open the bag.
“I’m not even denying it,” you smile, reaching out a hand as Jeremy joins you, ruffling her blond curls and receiving another beautiful giggle in return, “I’m teaching her to take over the world.”
“Don’t you mean ‘take on’?”
“Oh no,” you deny the correction, smiling at Jeremy and slipping your hand into his own, Ryan beaming and bouncing your daughter; Georgie’s feet kicking with glee, “she’s going to rule the world.”
She beams, chest puffing out and face falling serious as Ryan rests his head against her own. “I’m gonna be a princess.”
“Oh really?” chuckles Jeremy, “and what will her ladyship Princess Georgina do?”
“Rule with an iron fist.”
‘“Ryan, don’t let her think dictatorship is a valuable form of governance!” you cast him a half hearted glare, the young girl cackling evilly along with Jeremy.
“Okay, yeah I taught her that. But she’ll be the cutest little dictator.”
“Mad King and Princess Georgina!” the small girl chants excitedly, Ryan swinging her in his arms and tossing her onto his shoulders; her tiny arms winding around his neck.
“That’s right, sweetie,” he smiles, “but don’t forget about your sister.”
“No,” she shakes her head in small jerks, “Corrie to the dungeons.”
Ryan draws in a dramatic gasp, peering up lovingly into her crystal blue eyes, “don’t imprison your knights! How’s she gonna defend our kingdom if she’s dead?”
“Oh,” Georgie considers this fact hard, face contorting in concentration before she sighs. “She’s no good dead.”
“That’s my girl, you’ve gotta be logical about these things. Let’s go find her and Uncle Ray.”
“Uncle Ray! He can go to the dungeons,” she squeals in delight, Ryan’s chuckling as he holds Georgie steady.
“It’ll probably be the nicest place he’s ever lived.”
“I’m a good princess.”
“The best,” agrees Ryan, the love in his eyes shifting to you and Jeremy, offering out his free hand. You take it, shaking firmly and settling back into the role you still had to pay. “It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Von Bisurart. Do you mind if I call you Bee?”
“Yes, I do Mr. Lawrence,” you grumble, Jeremy’s laughter warm against the exposed skin of your shoulder. Ryan’s eyes flash mischievously, their corners crinkling in amusement as Georgie’s feet swing playfully either side of his head.
“Bee it is,” Ryan smiles, shaking Jeremy’s hand next.
“Be good to her,” he warns warmly, motioning as you wiggling your fingers at your daughter, blowing her kisses and watching her attempt to catch them; pressing the final one clasped in her fist to Ryan’s forehead. “She’s a keeper.”
“She’s out of my league,” his sighs teasingly, watching as Ryan backs away with Georgie, her small hands grabbing at the air in a wave goodbye.
“Oh yeah she is.”
Then he’s disappearing into the crowd, Georgie’s blond curls towering above the milling guests, laughter accompanying Ryan’s joyful chuckles.
“We couldn’t find a babysitter,” you whisper to Jeremy, lips brushing against his neck as your children skip alongside Ryan and Ray; their laughter pealing through the room and weaving with the canvases.
“Understandable,” he manages, shaking himself as you pull away to beam at him beneath the watchful gaze of the patrons, his fingers gripping the fabric against your hip.
“I didn’t think their Uncle Jear Bear would mind,” you muse, the depths of your eyes shifting in the light, splashes of colour reflecting in thanks. Jeremy shrugs, a comedic smirk curving through his face before he’s interrupted by a gruff, reproachful voice.
“I didn’t realise you’d be inviting children into my Gallery, Mr. Von Bisurart.”
“Why wouldn’t children be welcome?” Your tone is harsh and belittling, anger pooling in your stomach. The man attached to the voice acknowledges your presence with wide eyes, taking in the cruelty deep beneath your vicious beauty. He doesn’t speak for a moment, his sallow face and sunken eyes dragging on as long as the silence until Jeremy wraps an arm more firmly around your waist.
“You must be Mrs. Von Bisurart,” he tried politely, but you brush his words aside; face hard and fierce.
“Why wouldn’t children be welcome?”
“Art galleries are for the prestigious, the meaning is wasted on children. All they do is kick and scream, it ruins the peace. I mean, this child and a man in a hideous purple suit were just playing on the floor!” he explains, caught off guard by your forwardness, casting a glance to Jeremy that told him to keep you in line. The same look Geoff must have experienced before Jack had lost her cool.
“That couldn’t be further from the truth, Mr..?”
“Vermont.”
“I don’t really care,” you spit cooly, enjoying the rejection flitting across his face. “I’ve met many a men like you, and I can tell you from experience, none of you deserve the spotlight you’ve directed to the self constructed pedestal you stand on.”
“Excuse me?” He splutters, Jeremy somehow finding the confidence to stand beside you.
“No one will want to invest in art with such unprofessionalism – which your husband seems talented in.”
Vermont visible flinches from your anger, Cheshire kept comfortably on her reins like she had for years, pacing in the ruts of pattern.
“It’s nothing personal,” Vermont growls, “your art just doesn’t fit the space.”
“It’s a good thing we won’t be coming back,” you snap, eyes like daggers. “You seem to have forgotten, Vermont, that I could ruin your career in the creative space within an instant. All it takes is one bad review from someone influential; and by god am I revered.”
He shakes, blubbering his apology when realising his career rested in your imaginative, art investor hands. An audience attunes to your scolding, gentle murmurs of agreement and fearful respect rippling through the crowd. Geoff’s yells of ‘hear, hear’, not going unappreciated.
“How dare you treat the talent keeping your business running so poorly. Without them, you’re nothing. A single one of his paintings will fetch more than you’re worth outside these walls, and that’s a professional’s perspective. It’s also important for you to know that you’re fucked.”
Beneath your glare he cowers, whispers of price ranges surrounding you, a young man tapping Jeremy on the shoulder to inquire about one of the larger pieces. All at once offers for purchase hurtle towards him, mind unable to juggle all the numbers as an impromptu auction breaks out. Ryan’s moves to stand beside you, arms filled with your daughters, Corrine tugging at your hair while Ray nods vigorously from your left.
Amidst the yelling and desperation to purchase Jeremy’s artwork and his excitement radiating against your back you bring Corrine into your arms, satisfied that the room was distracted while you prop the girl against your hip, hand holding her head against your chest.
At the sight Vermont’s eyes widen, hopes and dreams crashing as he realises the children he’d despised throughout the night were your own. Confusion and fear brims as he tries to understand whose work was really being housed in his gallery; and who he’d be left to deal with once everything was said and done. “Trust me; the Fakes don’t take too kindly to assholes like you.”
“J,” calls Ryan over his shoulder, the man looking to him with glee as your husband jabs a finger to the painting splattered with the colours of Ryan’s eyes, laced with Cheshire’s signature golden shimmer and ash black splotches twirling in the gleaming colourful depths of your own eyes, “we’re taking that one home!”
Yells of protest sound from the crowd, Ryan pressing a kiss to the top of Georgie’s head as Corrine cuddles into you, watching the chaos in bubbly delight.
“Sold,” yells Jeremy, hands in the air to hold back voices clambering over one another to be heard, “to the terrifying man with great hair.”
Wait, why are over 600 people following me? What mistakes are you making online?
Shit dudes, I guess we should celebrate. Party at mine?
BYO feels.
But no, seriously. I’m incredibly thankful for each of you, and although I can get deterred by the notes on fics, I know that you guys prefer to share your support in other ways. Every follow, every message, and every freak out brings me joy. I love you all, and I hope I can do you proud.
To those of you who are following our Cinders journey from fic into novel, to those who are here just for one shots, and to those of you who are questioning why you’re still following me after those three years of inactivity; thank you.
I love you guys, and there’s a surprise coming up in the new year.
A/N: Happy early Halloween! Welcome to the first installment of a 3 part special for the spookiest of holidays, brought to you by the Fakes. Each part is going to be long as dicks, so I apologise in advance (or not?). However, I worked incredibly hard on this to create something original and out of the box for the haunted house concept. I hope you have as much fun reading as I did writing.
Summary: Construction on the haunted house has been in full swing, and all that’s left to do before hair and makeup is the final walk through so that opening night can go as smoothly and spooky as possible. Not knowing what to expect, join Geoff and the rest of the crew on a journey filled with fear, surprises, and feelings (in true Cinders fashion).
WC: 6857
“Alright fuckers, let’s get this shit show on the road.”
Geoff claps his hands, rubbing them together in anticipation as he watches the remaining sets come to fruition. Brushing back your hair with a paint splotched hand you return the pallet with a clatter to the floor, stepping away from the final touches you’d been putting on the welcome sign. The man visibly vibrates in excitement, humming cheerfully as he gathers the pile of security cameras Matt is juggling; ready to scatter them throughout the warehouse you’d been working on for months. “Okay Geoff,” you throw over your shoulder at his prompts, “I’m coming.” Snatching a grubby rag you wipe away the paint smearing your skin, dumping it on the floor and collecting a fresh one to stuff into the waistband of your trackies before joining him by the side door. “Where’s Ray?” his suspicions are warranted, the young man having scampered off at the sound of Geoff’s approaching footsteps. You offer what you hope to be a convincing shrug, his mustache twitching skeptically at your response; “working on his room?”
“Why don’t I believe you?”
“I dunno, Geoff. That sounds like a you problem.”
You had to admit, you found it incredibly ironic that a man who love Halloween so much was the biggest scaredy cat you’d ever met. Still, it was the one holiday that he took in his stride. Jack had Thanksgiving, Michael and Gavin had fought it out for bonfire night, and you and Ryan had taken on the Christmas cheer. But Halloween was all Geoff, through and through. As soon as October rolled around the penthouse would be littered with plastic spiders and cobwebs, fake bones and surprisingly joyous ghosts left to haunt every corner he could find. Mechanical creatures were hidden away to guard the fridge in the dead of night, shrieking at the slightest movement and making 2am adventures to the fridge a terrifying ordeal. Finding Gavin curled into a whimpering ball with a witch cackling while he rocked in a pile of stolen cookies had been the last straw; Ryan and yourself moving back into your apartment with Ray in tow so you could raid the cupboards in peace.
That didn’t mean you spent much time in the comfortable confines of your own home. On the contrary, you had spent every night of the past week sleeping on a pile of crinkled tarps in the haunted house you’d diligently constructed; covered in paint and holiday excitement. Geoff didn’t need to tell you how thankful he was – though he did at every opportunity – because the sparkle in his eyes was enough. Every overjoyed gasp brought a smile to your lips, his gushes over your handiwork and creations making the late nights on the floor with Ryan worth it. Now’s no different, his face alight as he dances giddy from side to side while opening the door for you. “I want to do one last check of the rooms before this shit goes live,” he declares, satisfied by your nods of confirmation, “most of the guys should be nearly ready for wardrobe and makeup by now.”
You squint into the glaring sun as you emerge outside, light peeking through the clouds and dusting across a world gripped by autumn. Clusters of deep auburns and warm oranges tumble through the street, leaves dancing on the chilly wind without a care. Pride swells in your chest at the sight of the warehouse, completely transformed and near unrecognisable. The production efforts and bruises had ultimately paid off, the decrepit Victorian home being constructed over a matter of months to now loom eerily above; like it had been planted there for generations. The windows screamed down at you, rattling within the rickety boards clawing at the cracks to hold the structure steady. Inside the walls were the gnarled and battered remains of the years of pain you’d forced inside with a paintbrush and hot glue gun. No effort had been spared in creating an absolutely haunting atmosphere for your guests, every meticulously placed lantern ready to flicker and cast distorted shadows across the twisted attraction and jump in anticipation. “Are you ready to head through?” Your question accompanies the delicate raise of an eyebrow, quietly sussing out the level of bravery Geoff had managed to muster in the short walk through the warm pallet of autumn. He shudders, eyeing the building critically, “no. Let’s get on with it.”
And with that you’re pushing open the doors, wood creaking ominously to reveal the dark and dusty foyer doused in a deep, royal purple hue. A grand staircase curves elegantly up to a level that peers curiously down upon those entering the space, maroon carpet frayed and banister mistreated and tarnished. Large ornate picture frames house oil paintings of corpses dressed in their Sunday best, empty eyes peeking around the white sheets draped across the lavish furniture. Exquisite mirrors lay fractured against walls with blossoming brass flowers, distorting the room and twisting with the shimmer of your own reflection. Each step creeks, echoing softly and rattling against those occupying the room, moths fluttering from the homes they’d nested inside of cushions and coverings. A generous glittering chandelier hangs its head in disgrace in the corner, jewels tinkling faintly with the gentle breeze, a memory long since forgotten as it reminisces over the guests it never truly experienced. Strewn across the floor and crunching under foot are bundles of leaves, spinning together before dispersing into the throbbing silence as you move deeper inside. You take in the glorious fireplace, hearth filled with ash and releasing it into the air, sculptures cracked and crumbling beneath the illusion of time.
It’s through the shadows that the space is able to mourn, abandoned and lost without an owner, nothing more than a fine layer of dust as the final touch the room would ever feel. Through the thick gloom a dotting of lights struggle to flicker and fizz, dousing the room in blackness before surging with an unearthly glow, coating the space in an overwhelming heaviness, tainting the air bitter and sharp. You could almost taste the age in the dust swirling through your lungs, concentrated and stodgy. Everything almost vibrates in anticipation; every noise dull and soft as the walls absorb the haunting sounds humming through the space, floor quickly devouring the thuds of your feet, chasing your movements hungrily. You don’t have to see Geoff’s face to recognise the weight settling nervously across his shoulders, shuddering with the wails of the wind clawing through the shattered windows, bringing with it fragments of a story you’d expertly woven.
Still you turn to him, the extravagant doors slamming shut with a subtle shift of breeze fanning from your grace, Geoff jumping with a high pitched gasp to clutch his chest and glaring at the offending structure. “This is incredible, Y/N,” he praises, pressing closer to the wall and reaching out a finger to touch the dark smears splattered throughout the room “it almost looks real.”
“It is real.”
“Gah!” Panicked he bounces frantically, catching the rag you snag from your track pants and toss to him; wiping his fingers with relief. “I don’t do things by halves, Pops,” you point out, opening up your arms and spinning slowly in the space until the lights flicker out once again. With a frown you wander towards Geoff, brows furrowed in confusion and concern. A spark sees the room yet again doused in the amber glow that illuminates your skin, having ghosted to stand before him in the dark. “Geoff – please stop screaming – there’s a problem with the lights.”
“Please stop jumping out at me, that’s not nice.”
“I literally moved, like, 10 steps.”
“In the dark.”
“That makes no difference.”
“It makes all the difference,” he rebuts, hands moving to hold the air and shake it in frustration, “it makes it fucking creepy.”
You roll your eyes with a sigh, letting him win this round as the room is again plunged into darkness; lights failing to flicker as you’d programmed, the frown returning to your face. “See?” You complain into the shadows, Geoff’s breathing quickening until the room is lit again; “it’s suppose to fade every 7 to 15 seconds, go black and then flicker for another 8. We aren’t getting any flickers, just on and off.” Geoff takes notice, face clouding in concern with the creases folding his forehead. He, more than anybody, wanted everything to be perfect for the big reveal to the public - 4 hours away and counting down. “We’ll ask Matt about it when we finish the rooms,” he finally concludes, glancing around the space and rolling up the cuff on his dress shirt, crooked tattooed fingers tugging on fabric and playing with the translucent button. “Speaking of which,” you point a directing finger to the bag slumped at his feet, “don’t forget the cameras.” Geoff nods, waving a handful at you before stashing them in the corner of the entrance, between the banister, and nestled within the fire place. “Nice, we’ll be able to get everything from here. Matt’s coming through later, right?”
“That’s the plan. He’s probably still working in the kitchen. The Buzz saw’s been giving me some trouble.”
“Fucking thing nearly took Jack’s hands off this morning,” you remember, the blades cutting through your memory with a series of sharp whirls and shudders. “Exactly. Would be great for the production value, not so good for ratings.”
You laugh nervously at the thought while ascending the stairs with Geoff, knowing Jack would fully consider being torn to shreds by a buzz saw simply for the content. She was a fearless woman, and it was honestly terrifying. Still, you put her out of your mind as you ghost through the hallway steeped in cobwebs that seemingly stretches on forever, walls and floor curving at unusual angles that throw off your balance. The door at the end is modest, deep purple and reaching just above your elbows with a golden ornate handle. You stare down at it perplexed, the ceiling pressing against the top of your head and carpet scuffing up uneven beneath your feet. “You’ve got to be kidding,” you huff, falling to a crouch and opening the door as Geoff giggles in excitement. “This is so awesome.”
Working through the doorway the room expands, the underside of the bed looming before you. Dark and ominous, a soft scratching emanates from beneath it; claws catching against the rotten wood. You’re immediately on edge when you stand, not wanting to lose sight of the impenetrable darkness seething from beneath the sheets. Still, the bright orange and purple light haunts the space, uneasy as it drapes over the bedroom and burrows into the corners. Geoff follows behind you, jittery wines humming from his lips as he spots the seemingly empty space beneath the bed. He quickly scampers to your side as his eyes dart around the room, taking in the rickety wooden frame and moth-eaten sheets, tendrils of cobwebs twirling from the ceiling and catching in the faint, whispering breeze. The sizable wardrobe door creaks open before bouncing shut with a multitude of sharp taps, furniture cluttered with plumes of feathers and floorboards riddled with tiny bones. More than anything it was the low hum that pressed against your eardrums like a speaker’s feedback, raising the hair on your neck higher than the cold air sneaking past the curtains and nibbling on your fingers.
“This is fucking cool,” you breathe, inching further into the room with Geoff sticking to you like glue. Each step kicks up dust, bones rattling across the floor as you approach, making sure to keep your feet out of reach from the blank space. “I dare you to look under the bed.”
“What?” squeaks Geoff, shuddering and shaking his head frantically; “no, no you do it!”
“C’mon Geoff,” you try to reason, refusing to turn your back on the bed or shuddering wardrobe. “We have to make sure everything’s working for tonight.”
“Oh no,” his holds up a hand that trembles as feverishly as his voice, accusing you of whatever foul betrayal he was constructing in his fearful mind; “I’ll give you a raise.”
“You literally don’t pay me. It’s a first in, fight to the death, type deal.”
“And a paid week off.” You roll your eyes in astonishment, watching him shuffle anxiously as the scratching starts again. You jump slighting at the sound, body running cold and jaw setting tight in defiance. “Geoff, I’m not looking under the bed.”
“I’ll pay for your honeymoon.”
You’re on your knees in an instant, bones fracturing beneath the collision with the scuffed wooden boards. Stealing a deep breath you stretch out a hand, fingers tentatively tugging at sheet’s hem while the room creaks and moans. Your heart hammers in your ears with an uncomfortable ache, a flurry of scratches setting your teeth on edge while your nerves shoot off in a panic. Everything inside you screams for you to run, pulling aside far more difficult than you could have imagined, the strain stinging the backs of your eyes while you apprehensively search for something – anything – lurking in the darkness.
“Oh, hey guys.”
“AHHHH!”
“AHHHH!” Geoff’s shriek has you bolting upright, head smacking painfully against the lower bed frame as you scamper to you feet and whirl on Jeremy; the young man mirroring the elder’s screech. Breathing heavily and glaring with enough ferocity you could start a fire; you watch each of the two men continue to scream, Geoff bouncing in fear and Jeremy looking confused. “Hey, hey!” You yell, trying to calm them down by placing a hand on Geoff’s shoulder, lips pressing into a thin line as he jumps again but eventually settles. “Why the fuck are you screaming?” Jeremy shrugs, cheerful as ever while he glows beneath the throbbing orange and purple lights. “I dunno; we were all doing it. I just wanted to be part of something.” You frown, Geoff’s head falling into his hands as he chuckles nervously through his fingers, Jeremy patting him on the shoulder apologetically with a “sorry pal.”
“You still owe me my honeymoon,” you remind the tattooed man with a playful jab, relieved as he begins to recover and control his shaking. He grows more confident when exploring the room, Jeremy’s presence helping ease the anxiety that’d been building up in his chest and clogging his throat. “Fine, a deal’s a deal,” he huffs, poking a spider sat in one of the many webs, jumping away when he realises it wasn’t a prop, “where were you wanting to go, and how much is it going to hurt?”
“Greece, and a lot.” At your words Jeremy gives you a puzzled look, a mixture of sympathy and confusion shifting in his eyes with the unspoken questions you knew to be bubbling between his lips.
Geoff doesn’t notice, instead turning to the shorter man with hair glowing neon, a proud beam on his face. “You’ve done a great job, Lil J.” He sweeps a hand around the room, Jeremy sharing his grin. “Yeah,” you offer him a one armed hug and a compliment, “this place is fucking creepy.”
“Thanks,” he delights with a cheer, “don’t wanna brag or anything, but the end scare will be freaky as fuck.”
“You gonna tell us what you’re planning?” Geoff’s inquiry is met with a stubborn headshake, a knowing grin creeping across Jeremy’s lips; “nope, you’ll have to wait and see.” You clap Geoff on the back, signalling that it was time to move on if you were still intending to explore the other rooms before the curtains came up, his deep sigh vibrating against your fingers and burrowing into your elbow “can’t blame a man for trying.”
“Hey, when you see Michael can you give him this? Careful, its cold.” He turns to retrieve a burlap sack, its contents clinking as he presses it into your waiting hand, surprisingly heavy. “Sure,” confirms Geoff, tossing a few cameras in his direction from his own rucksack, “as long as you put these up.”
“Deal.”
With that you’re squeezing back out of the tiny door and into the constricting hallway, racing out to avoid letting the confusion keep playing havoc with your stomach. Geoff is close behind, a permanent smile on his face whenever he wasn’t utterly terrified. You had to hand it to him; you envied his bravery and love of a holiday that constantly kept him up at night. Walking together you move back downstairs, waving at Jack as she talks animatedly with a Trevor clad in a dark sweatshirt with a printed skull, his head nodding vigorously while the man beside him in a baseball tee tries his best not to seem lost. Noticing your descent Jack waves you down, a smile as broad as her shoulders adorning her freckled face, eyes sparkling warmly into your embrace. “Y/N, I’m so glad you’re here,” she exclaims, pulling away to muse Geoff’s already chaotic hair, the man blushing deeply; “I wanted to go over some stuff for the tour. I’m in your room so there’s some crap I wanted to make sure you’re cool with me doing.”
“Of course! We can talk about it during hair and makeup,” you reassure, smiling up at the woman towering over 6ft in her reliable heels before turning your attention to Trevor and his friend.
“So, who’s this?” You motion to the man beside the blond, his eyes wide and looking at you in awe. “Oh, this is Alfredo; he’s helping me us tonight. We’ve known each other since I was like, 10.”
“I dunno dude,” says Alfredo, his voice deep and warm “it feels a lot longer than that.”
“It’s because you hate me.”
“Oh that’s right,” he recalls fondly before elbowing Trevor in the side with a cheeky and bright grin, “how could I forget?”
“Ouch, maybe because you’re a gargantuan ass?” He rubs his arm, hopping from side to side before continuing, “I’ve been meaning to introduce you fuck for a while. Sauce, this is the Cheshire.”
You offer out a hand to Alfredo while expecting him to flinch away like the many others, pleasantly surprised as he takes it eagerly and shakes. “It’s really nice to meet you” he gushes before you get the chance, eyes alight with excitement as he lets your hand go and leans towards Trevor, whispering loudly; “is this the girl that nearly killed you that one time?” Trevor angles closer to him, staring you dead in the eyes with a serious expression while replying, “yeah.”
“Cool,” he breathes, ecstatic, “fight me.”
“What?”
“He’s serious,” laughs Jack, watching him fondly, “he’ll fight anything.” You roll your weight, hand making its way you your hip while raising an eyebrow, accepting his challenge. “You really think you could take me?”
“Oh god no,” he shakes his head, still smiling “but think of the story.” You laugh, peels of cheer bouncing around the foyer while lightly punching his shoulder, his hand gripping the site with a grin, “I like you.”
“Did you hear that?” He turns eagerly to Trevor, clutching the tops of his arms and shaking him, incredibly excited, “the Cheshire likes me.”
“Yeah, that’s rare. Normally she threatens every friend I bring home, and the ones I don’t. She just threatens everything in general. And, err... you do know she can hear you fangirling, right?”
“Right,” he drops his hands, facing you again with a forcibly blank expression while Trevor groans in mock embarrassment, “gotta be cool.”
“Oh lord, Fredo just stop. This hurts, this physically hurts me.”
“He’s a great shot,” comments Geoff from your right, looking at Alfredo with fatherly pride and ignoring Trevor’s displeasure, “he was our stand in sniper for the harder jobs after Ray died.”
“God rest his soul,” you chuckle, reaching a hand out to touch Trevor’s and gain his attention; “you wanna tag along?” He nods vigorously, collecting some equipment he’d stashed momentarily on one of the covered plush seats, stuffing the items into a bag. “Hell yes. Please take me away from his idiot. I’ve gotta talk with Ryan about fog machines and fire hazards.”
“He doing that ‘go hard or go home’ thing again?” You joke fondly, mind wandering to the mischievous glint that would always sparkle in his eyes; Trevor affirming your suspicion before you could even finish your sentence. You sigh, smiling affectionately at a man who had quickly become one of your closest friends during the dark period after Gareth, “what would we do without you laying down the fire code?”
“You’d probably have eaten each other by now, if I were to guess,” he teases, quickly bidding Alfredo and Jack goodbye before following Geoff and yourself to the right of the foyer, Geoff’s mustache twitching in amusement; “you’re not wrong.”
“Err, I never am?”
“But what about that time with the marshmallows?” His eyes go wide, face wiped free of emotion. “We don’t talk about that.”
You’re laughing as you push open the next door, sound catching in your throat and falling to the floor once the room comes into view. Before you can react you’re slipping across the tiled surface and landing with a painful bump, mind unable to keep up with the world tumbling around you. Confused you lift your hand to your head, fingers slick with red; liquid seeping into your trackies with a sticky nauseating warmth. Trevor slides to your side, concern furrowing his brows while you take in the pool of blood shining in the lights. “You alright?” He starts leaning down to help you up only to topple over himself, clattering to the floor with the crunch of his elbows. If you weren’t so disgusted by the smell you’d laugh, but instead the putrid stench of rotting flesh churned in your stomach and burned your nose. “I think so,” you reply while trying to stand, unsteady as Trevor follows your lead, the two of you using each other to shuffle to your feet.
“You guys need to watch where you’re going,” chuckles Geoff, inching his way carefully into the room by gripping onto the walls. “This doesn’t exactly seem safe” frowns Trevor, skidding into the centre of the kitchen before looking around. Completely white bar the metal appliances, the walls, ceiling, and floor are splattered with blood and bio matter that viscerally glug between the tile grout. Hunks of meat pile in the corners and scatter along the counter tops, the sound of flies incessant from the speakers and gnawing on the hair rising across your neck. It isn’t the wicked sharp buzz saw that adorns the back counter that catches your attention, half a human carcass slapped against it ready for dividing; nor is it the utensils and instruments mid mutilation of organs, dissections clumsy and rough. Instead it’s the prep station set up on the centre island. The white marble slab drips blood like a gruesome water feature, puddles shifting in the lights that are far too bright, glaring down and blinding. Atop the bench and marinading in the gore is a mixture of human odds and ends. Finger tips and toe nubs tossed carelessly together with peeled vegetables, parsley garishly garnishing a set of plates overflowing with what you can only describe as an unidentifiable mush.
With a lurch bile rises in the back of your throat, a sickly cold seeping across your skin and crawling with it. You try to push past the large pots boiling over on the stove, attempt to ignore spice bottles decorating the counter tops. All your thoughts form a terrified plea, fearful eyes darting to Geoff as he stands uncomfortably in the doorway. “Please tell me this isn’t real.” He doesn’t respond immediately, rather suppressing a gag behind his hand at the sight, an unpleasant noise forming in the back of his throat. “I, err... It’s not real.”
“Now say it like you mean it?” You skid as you round on him, glare losing impact as you slip again to snatch at the fridge handle. The door rips open, guts tumbling to your feet with a wet slap before you’re suddenly shrieking. Back on your hands and knees you’re scampering backwards, bumping into Geoff’s legs and tries to suppress the cowardice shaking through your being. His eyes are wide, taking it all in with a shudder he has no need to hide, “It’s not real from what I know. I don’t indiscriminately murder. But, err; I didn’t pick up the supplies.”
Trevor runs a trembling hand over his white blond hair, clumping it red as he surveys the room with appalled eyes, “who’s is this?”
“This is my station,” admits Geoff sheepishly, mustache twitching under the astonishment dancing with the disgust. Trevor’s wide eyes turn on the tattooed man, bewildered and accusing. “This is a fucking hazard,” he determines, and Geoff pulls a face, an irritated clip forming in the back of his throat, “Jesus, who anointed you the safety police?”
“You did, Geoff.”
“Oh yeah.”
You can barely hear the pair over the pounding in your ears, using all of your strength to force back the images the room was trying to drag up. It had been months since you’d seen such a raw and blatant disarray of violence and torment; having avoided it at all costs after the torture of Garry and brutal murder of Gareth. Cheshire had made life difficult, the first month after the ordeal seeing you revert back to the angry, uncontrollable force of destruction you’d feared; the woman more than capable of killing whoever stood in her way during a fit of rage. You couldn’t risk a relapse, meaning you’d done all that you possibly could to stay out of interrogations and kept to the cleanest methods possible in an attempt to suppress the Cheshire’s twisted enjoyment. Now sitting in a pool of blood surrounded by the trinkets adorning her world you can’t escape the pains of fear as they pang in your chest, mind flooding with memories that left you panicked and tight.
“Okay, so if we could just clean this mess up?” continues Trevor over the anxiety attack you were trying to fight, hearing his words swim between the numbers you were counting down; “people need to be able to run screaming. Not make a pile by the exit.” Geoff offers a defeated sigh as you shift to reciting your 7 times tables, the taste of iron rushing in your mouth as you gnaw the inside of your cheek, “alright, I’ll minimise it. But I didn’t do all of this,” he gestures to the horror show coaxing your unease “you can blame Lindsay.”
“I will blame Lindsay,” you spit with stubborn eyes, refusing to look away from the white patch of ceiling you’d found to focus on, “I’ve soaked up most of the fucking set.”
“Exactly!” Geoff retorts in triumph, Trevor rolling his eyes and looking extremely uncomfortable. “Just do your camera thing and let’s... keep moving. My clothes are starting to stiffen. I’m not gonna be able to walk by the end of this.”
You were thankful that the conversation was coming to an end so that you could leave, your breathing having become shaky and difficult to hide. You’d rather the crew didn’t know of the anxieties you housed towards gore and the key it possessed to the Cheshire’s cage; preferring to keep such private vulnerability to yourself and the small, closely knit group of men constantly by your side. Somehow Ray had already figured out your fear before it occurred, Jeremy quickly catching on after the first instance you entered the interrogation after the Gareth ordeal; the fight to stay in control catching you off guard as the Cheshire reared and refused to back down. As Jeremy clamped your favourite wire strippers around a man’s fingers the room started to spin, mind screaming throughout Cheshire’s cold smiles as they laced with the hours you were captive in your own body. Ryan had witnessed your struggles from behind the glass, sharing the memories that burnt a foul taste in his mouth and left his throat thick; angry yells amidst pacing running ruts of emotion into the room. Jon had finally smashed his cyber against the glass window once Geoff had left unaware, the sound enough to shatter through the Cheshire’s vice grip and leave you sobbing over the body you’d mutilated.
You stand quickly and snatch the bag Jeremy had tasked you with delivering, not needing to be asked twice. Rushing out of the room you slide across the floor, feet kicking open the door in a smooth motion to greet the fresh air gladly. Gasping and heaving out of sight of the two men slipping over one another you press your palms against your eyes, desperately trying to wipe away the images that clawed at your sanity; Cheshire looming dangerously just below the surface, her nails scratching beneath your skin.
You don’t notice the water logging down the carpet until it releases like a sponge beneath your feet. The gentle trickling comes next, tracing the walls with soggy wallpaper and beading across the ceiling; sagging beneath the weight. Though the hallway was only short and intended to join two horrors together, it still played havoc with the tightness in chest. Steady drips pooling uneasily in your stomach, humidity unbearable and drowning your lungs.
You can’t tear your eyes away from the water pooling out from under the next door; acutely aware of Geoff and Trevor joining you, their faces sharing your own mask of shock and welling concern. Fear rocks through you as a deep sorrowful bellow greets your first step forward; layers of mourning and loss cascading together and resonating painfully in your bones. Geoff flinches into the blond, the pair wrapping their arms around each other in defense while they keep pace from behind. You try to ignore the sight if blood clotting and cracking through the creases of your hand when you reach for the handle, nails caked and shirt sleeves stained. Apprehension catches in your throat as another inhuman moan as deep as a whale’s call shakes through the handle and fizzes against your finger tips.
The gasp of an airlock has you jumping back against the two men, door swinging open to funnel a rush of water into the hallway, debris catching in the carpet. It’s not long before your feet are submerged and tangled in seaweed. Though the expanse is dark as night the soft tinge of green encases the lonely and weighted atmosphere. Water ripples with no end, haunting greens bouncing off its surface to reflect over your skin. The room is far larger than any you remember constructing, your eyes able to make out crumbling concrete walls submerged in the water. The occasional beam of light illuminates the room and dances with dust to fracturing through the shallows, a cracked and decaying lighthouse almost entirely buried beneath the watery tomb.
“Alright kids,” claps Trevor, fishing out a clear plastic bag and holding it open, “hand in your phones.” With little resistance you’re slipping your technological lifeline into his grasp, Geoff doing the same. “Why do you have this?” Your question is met with a nonchalant shrug, the blond zipping up the bag and sliding it into his backpack along with the camera’s Geoff had been tasked to hand out. “I’m always prepared.”
“Oh god, it’s a sandwich bag from lunch,” notices Geoff, jabbing a finger at the small scrawl of Trevor’s name in the bottom right corner. “Did your Mom pack your food today?” Geoff giggles, face brightening while Trevor’s remains smooth and serious; amusement dancing in the darkness of his eyes. “Please stop asking me questions I can’t give you the answer too.”
Turning the attention back to the room, you’d long since concluded that volunteering to check the attractions was one of the worst decisions you’d ever made. You were only 3 rooms deep and facing your forth horror; knowing there were still another 2 to get through. Your chest tightens at the thought, already having had enough for one day. Intense stress and adrenaline wasn’t something your body coped with anymore, and you’d much prefer turning back. But you were stuck, no escape without pushing through the mysterious waters or retreating into the human slaughterhouse.
"Ladies first," offers Trevor from behind, voice shaking you back to reality while he peers over your shoulder to survey the depths. You turn to him in refusal and point a finger to Geoff – who panics and shakes his head frantically. "You heard the man," you push, snatching Geoff’s wrist and dethatching him from the blond whose face is overwhelmed with relief; "ladies first." Resisting Geoff enters the water, its surface lapping against his hips while he whines; another rumbling moan ricocheting across the space and chasing through the shallows. Still he wades forward, nervous trembling hums vibrating from his lips to patter into the water swelling around his movements. Elbows up and hands shielding his face, Geoff only hoped that whatever monster lurked in the depths would spare him.
Following his lead you sink into the water, waist disappearing into the pool before you’re floating in the swell; floor recoiling away from you into nothingness. Trevor apprehensively joins you, accepting the reassuring hand offered to him above the water; mirroring Geoff’s raised elbows. Clinging to one another you wade after your boss, mournful wails catching around your knees and forcing through the fabric plastered against your skin. Despite the fear bogging you down you can’t deny the relief coursing through as the blood washes away, cleansing your body of the Cheshire while she retreats back to the cage you’d built.
A shriek from Geoff halts your scan and search of the water, his body flailing back towards you in a fountain of frantic splashes. “Something grabbed me! Oh my god, oh god it touched me!"
"Geoff,” you fret, releasing Trevor’s hand to haul the boss comfortingly close; his arms winding around your waist while he cowers into your side. Trembles ripple tauntingly across the surface before something surges forward suddenly with a vicious roar, rushing straight towards you. You don’t think, instead forcing Geoff and Trevor back in with a spin before you crouch beneath the water. Blinded and ears logged you launch forward to cut through the heavy darkness like a bullet through the air, body connecting with the creature and arms clenching around it. Treading water your feet find the floor, bounding upwards to drag it to burst through the surface; catapulting into the open space. A curving back directs your feet to collide against its firm body, falling back from a kick that sees it squealing away.
“Wait, Gavin?!” Trevor’s exclamation snaps some sense into you, the fear dictating your movements ebbing away to be replaced with confusion; eyes scanning the water you’d flung your friend into. “Oh, you’re fucking kidding me,” you groan, the sound of Michael’s laughter now booming against the walls, Lindsay and Meg’s cackling quickly joining in. Splashing forward you struggle with the current swelling through your clothes, bogged down as you pass Michael in his swimming trunks and gripping a rubber ring. “Oh my god,” he gasps through his tears as you push him impatiently aside, “this is fucking incredible!” Geoff mirrors his sentiment, giggling uncontrollably while Trevor stands in the centre of the room; shock and amusement leaving his mouth hanging open and head shaking slowly. “But what if I killed him?” You panic while searching the depths, following the dull bird noises emanating from the pool. “I certainly hope so,” muses Trevor teasingly, finally regaining control of his body and paddling over to Lindsay, of who offers him a drink from the cooler stashed inside of the light house. Michael remains unfazed, clambering into the ring and floating lazily through the room. “Nah,” he smiles while waving away your words, “he had it comin’.”
And incredibly loud gasp from behind has you reeling, lashing out a fist and punching the offender without thought. As soon as you realise you retract your hand, staring at Gavin as he clutches his nose and complains through his laughs. “You fucking asshole,” you seethe, jabbing him in the chest only for him to dissolve into more giggles; Meg yelling out your point score from across the way while drifting on a floaty. Gavin simply shrugs, collecting his beer from Michael without a care in the world. Sloshing to your left Trevor makes his way over, a beam splitting across his face. “You’re lucky we have that weapons ban tonight, Gav,” he scolds, draping an arm across your shoulder and leaning in to point to your face, “she’d have stabbed your ass so hard.”
“I would have,” you admit, “you wouldn’t sit for a week.”
“He already doesn’t sit,” pipes in Geoff, swaying through the water and dragging Lindsay and Meg on their floaty towards the conversation cheerfully, “I make sure of that.”
“Hello everybody, yes yes please take your seats. Welcome to the Team Nice Dynamite-”
“and Free Willy, don’t forget about us,” interjects Lindsay, Michael waving away her words before shooting her an affectionate beam and continuing; “Nice Willy... err, Free Dynamite... Dynamite Willy – look what matters isn’t that we don’t have a team name. What matters is that we combined our rooms to make this!” Michael gestures wide and proud to the space, the green glow seeping into his skin and dusting the tops of the water. “It’s pretty coo,l” you admit, hand going to your hair to push it back, Trevor bouncing beside you. “Are you kidding?” He squeaks in amazement, peering around now that he’s safe, “this is awesome.”
“Aww, thank you,” smiles Meg warmly, sliding into the water to join you on the right, thumb coming to rest on your cheek while she rubs away the running make up.
“I can’t believe you got all this done without anyone knowing.” Lindsay cheers victoriously at your statement, hair as pink as bubblegum, “everyone loves surprises.”
“Except when stupid British assholes grab you,” you retort with a half hearted glare at the offender, who’s eyes narrow. “Or when a pisspot tries to drown you.” You frown at Gavin, eyes forming slits as he shifts uncomfortably in the realisation you’d heard him, “what did you just call me?”
“Nothing,” he squeaks while scooting away from your icy gaze, hand plunging back into the water to search for the bag Jeremy had given you, hoping it had remained intact.
“Alright, alright!” Geoff gestures sharp and dramatically, “as much as I love getting fucked by my friends my balls are starting to chafe; I’d really like to get moving.” Fingers clasping the fabric you haul it from the depths and toss it to Michael – of who falls off the floaty with a yell. “I don’t know what’s happening here,” Geoff’s hand sweeps the space before beckoning Trevor to follow his sways through the water “but I want nothing to do with it. Good job, blah, blah, and keep me outta it. Also!” He reels, jabbing a finger at Lindsay while Michael opens the bag to pull out a large dry ice container, the cold stinging his fingers. Geoff’s eyes narrow as he reaches the exit to let you pull yourself up first, wringing out your clothes. “What did you do to my room?” Lindsay shrugs innocently, as though the man’s words weren’t scornful accusations. “I did exactly what you told me to do. Go big or go home. I err, also solved our gang problem for the time being.”
“Err, hey guys?” Everyone whips round to stare at Alfredo as he stands at the edge of the room, arms filled with equipment and ropes. His eyes are pleading, the soft pout of his lips jutting out in confusion. “How and I suppose to put up Cheshire’s supports with all this water?” Gavin wastes no time in pushing one of the sturdier floats over to the entrance, Alfredo refusing loudly while Trevor paddles over to assist; the remainder of the room joining to hold the float steady. “No, this is not okay.”
“You’ll be fine,” disregards Michael, throwing you a sniggering beam and motioning for you to keep moving. “You guys go ahead,” Trevor mirrors as Alfredo gingerly places a foot onto the precarious platform before wobbling and toppling to his knees, waves rocking against your shoulders; “I’ll catch up with you.”
“You heard the boss,” claps Geoff against your back, forcing your eyes away from the man now shaking unsteadily to his feet, staring up in bewilderment at the beams he was supposed to be working with. Now behind you Gavin’s bright idea can be heard taking him under the floaty and pushing upwards to launch an unready Alfredo into the air; arms managing to snag onto a support platform. You’re laughing at the sound of his demand for someone to turn the lights on, gesturing for Geoff to follow you up and out of the room.
Currently writing a long-ass FAHC fic and I don't know how you did it with Cinders. Loved every heartbreaking second of that story and I can't wait to see what you do with the novel! I'm hoping my multi-chapter thing will be even half as compelling and interesting as the universe you created. Sending you love and tons of future success! ❤
Oh wow, good luck! It’s incredibly exhaustive and infuriating, but worth it in the end. Writing long fics can be both rewarding and rage inducing, so power to your elbow for starting, you’ve already overcome the first hurdle. I’m sending all the positive writer vibes your way, and I’d love to read it once you start posting. Shoot me a link, if you’d like. I’m all for FAHC fics with chapters (I’m not kidding. If I see something with multiple parts I’m so eager to read it). As for Cinders, ouch my heart. You’re so lovely, and I’m so glad you enjoyed the rollercoaster! I relied a lot on my friends to keep me going, second only to caffeine, obsession and tears. Even now, with editing and adding more lore it takes up all of my time; but I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’m surprised my friends still put up with me, poor @your-madqueen , @roosterteethgirl and @achievementhuntersrage must be as exhausted as I am at this point.
I dream about these fuckers, and I’m so proud of everything I’ve achieved. And as long as you’re proud with what you’ve created, support will follow. It may not come in the form of notes - something that we authors have really just had to get used to, honestly - but it comes in the squealing inbox messages and increasing family members. Never let numbers deter you like they’re bound too.
Community is important, and offers the opportunity to bounce ideas and concepts around so you can smooth out themes with others that not only understand but also aim to explore along side you. I’ve made some of my best friends through Cinders, and it’s really something I encourage. Having writer friends means the small details and hints you put into your fics are guaranteed to be noticed and appreciated. You’ll always have a friend in me, and if you ever need someone to scream about your concepts and fangirl over your brilliance, look no further. Writers are some of the most supportive, kind people you’ll ever meet. The future’s bright, my lovely. Go get it. <3
SUMMARY: You had been partners with Ray for years, the two of you raising your infamous reputation from the ground up ever since your Fake AH Crew days. Your skills were unquestionable, and just as strong as the banter. But you soon find yourself stranded in Los Santos, the threat of running into the Fakes becoming an increasingly strong, and terrifying, possibility.
WC: 2043
You swiftly dart across the sidewalk and allow for the comfortable familiarity to engulf you, the same as it had so many years ago. The faint sound of your shoes whisper across the asphalt, wind dancing through your hair in the warm glow of the city lights as you move. Ducking behind a small hot dog stand, you force your back against its cool surface. Your dark clothing shrouds you in the night while you scan the area, tugging the black bandanna away from your mouth slightly and pressing a finger to the device in your ear. “Anything?” you breathe, coming into a crouch and peering over the vendor. Across the block, you faintly see a man’s head peeking around the corner of a store, and he motions to you with an exaggerated wave and a flash of purple. “Nothing” he replies, before motioning upwards and behind you, “we’re clear for now”.
Turning to the building you leap at the brick with a powerful push from your left leg; hauling yourself up the side and onto the roof with ease. “Awesome, nice going, Ray” you say, looking down and across the street to him. You can see him smile as he pulls away his hood to reveal his beaming face, giving you a big thumbs up before disappearing into the dark alley behind him and reappearing on an opposite roof moments later. You both simultaneously draw your weapons, the air rippling in anticipation. As you perch on the edge of the roof to overlook the small, dimly lit store with the knife clutched tightly in your hand, you see Ray centring his sniper rifle. “Right” he says cheerfully, staring into the scope “you should be good all the way.” You give a tight nod as you lean further into the open space, waiting for the guards to move into position. “On my mark,” you tell him, watching as two men approach jovially and cross their arms, joking quietly with one another beneath you.
“Now,” you throw yourself gracefully off the ledge as the muffled shot rings out, the bullet hitting the guard to your left whilst you land on the back of the remaining man, who looks from his colleague’s collapsed body and up to you; his face a mask of shock. You offer him an apologetic smile before quickly running the knife across this throat, silencing the panicked noises that had begun to gurgle from his lips. Letting him fall gently you lay him on the ground before relocating the two men into the shadows, seating them against a wall. Wiping your knife on their clothing, you return it to its concealed location against your side. When you turn back to the roof Ray is grinning down upon you, and you wave. “Nice one,” you compliment, and he lets out a small chuckle as he crouches into his rifle again, “you fucking know it”. Making your way to the door you’re careful when plating your feet; pulling the lock pick from your boot. “Camera’s all sorted?” you ask absentmindedly, searching for the correctly sized instrument as you continue to approach your target. “Yup” he responds, “the feed was cut before we even hit the street.”
“And you double checked the guard route, no last minute changes?”
Ray scoffs “You doubting me?”
“I would never” you smirk, feeling his eyes watching your back; cautious and protective. “So,” he mutters into the com as you bend to the lock and begin to work, “come here often?” You roll your eyes, hearing the faint click of the tumblers before standing and gently easing the door open, pulling inside. “God, small talk is not your forte” you tease, taking in your surroundings with eager eyes. “Ooh, that explains everything,” he jives, his voice saturated with disappointment as you laugh.
Pulling a burlap sack from your backpack, you inch around the displays of glittering jewels and head towards the cash terminal to remove the final security measure. “I always wondered why I couldn’t get girls to talk to me” he continues as you reach for the security lock under the desk, hearing a faint pop as you click it off. “Oh trust me, there are other reasons” you fire back through a smile, stopping to search for him outside. “Fucking wrecked,” he says chuckling. Your smile widens into a grin as you spot him, the faint dusting of moonlight illuminating his excited eyes.
“You ready? We’ll have about eight minutes before the remaining guards notice that there’s something off with the rotation,” you state, reciting the plan you had both gone over countless times before the operation had begun. “We took out 3 groups,” he says slightly annoyed, “I still think we should have taken them all out.”
“Nah” you shrug, approaching the closest case whilst slipping a brass knuckle on to your free hand, flexing your fingers as your eyes train onto your partner. “Where’s the fun in that?” Silence now, nothing but the wind rushing to accompany the odd buzzing of a street light and the distant sounds of late night city traffic. Your eyes remain on Ray, and then you see him nod; “Go.”
With speed you apply immense force to the glass with your knuckles, hearing the satisfying shatter as glass sprays the floor. Within an instant your scooping up everything you can, quickly getting it into your bag before moving on without hesitation. Refusing to break your stride you crack other display, a sweeping motion managing to get the contents into the bag. Ray’s voice crackles in your ear as you work diligently, confident and direct. “We’ve got the first verbal response” he states, “LSPD have been alerted, they’re rounding up a team as we speak.” You lean down, ripping out some draws and tipping the jewellery onto the collection, swiftly moving on. “Guards on their way now, we removed a good portion of the local rotation so it’ll take a while. We’re looking at maybe 6 minutes, tops.”
“Great, keep me updated. When you see trouble,” another smash, another case emptied; “let me know and we’re gone.”
“No problemo”
You kick out a foot, smashing a tall stand as glass showers in fragments around you, glittering like the diamonds encased within it. Lashing out, you swipe what you can before Ray comes through again. “Lights and sirens, about 3 minutes away; police are gonna get here a lot faster that we thought. They’re on high alert.” You swear under your breath before tying your now overflowing bag hastily and stowing it away. “The fuck happened to advance notice?” you question, exiting the building smoothly and throwing your arms up at him in exasperation. You see him stand, putting his sniper away and beckoning for you frantically, “you wanted fun” he says, but you can hear the concern hiding beneath his smirk.
You run towards Ray, forcing yourself upwards and onto the exterior wall with another strong bound from your left leg to move quickly up onto the roof; slower this time and weighed down by the stolen goods. “90 seconds” Ray warns, eyes sparkling in enjoyment as the sirens grow louder. “Wait,” you look up after hearing the booming sounds of helicopter blades slashing at the clouds and heading in your direction; giving Ray a pointed glare. “Choppers?” you demand while breaking into a sprint as Ray keeps pace with you, launching across the roofs before cautiously ducking behind cover. “You weren’t gonna say anything?”
He looks at you, chest heaving slightly as he pushes his hair back into his beanie. “Didn’t even occur to you to bring it up?” you scoff, head against the wall as you see the blinding light of a helicopter sweep over head, flinching into the bricks for cover. “What did you expect?” he retorts as you begin to move across the space cautiously, seeking the ladder that you knew would take you downwards to the street. “Choppers are literally a staple here” he grumbles, crawling over to you as you swing yourself onto the rusty metal, sliding down as your hands catch and burn. You peer up at him, realising that he was in fact right. Still, unable to admit it, you hold up your hand and raise your middle finger.
“Classy, you’re a real catch,” he works his way down the ladder and you sink to your knees, hearing the screeching of wheels pulling up to the now empty jewellers. “No, really” he whispers as he presses forward, beckoning you down the alley, “like, you’re just a pleasure.” You punch him gently as you pass, light on your feet as you move towards the designated side door hideaway. “Again, proving my point!” he jokes as you yank open the door and slip inside, holding it for him. “Such a lady” he mutters, sliding down to join you on the floor.
In the dark you both wait in silence, nothing but the heavy drumming of your hearts to fill the space. Breathing heavily, you listen to the commotion outside as Ray tunes in to the police’s communication channel, monitoring them to determine when you’ll be all clear to start moving again. Rolling your head to look at him you jab him in the side, making him jump; “I’m such a fucking lady” you say to him, before sniggering. He joins you, your soft laughter mingling together and you listen to the sirens and yelling fade away.
Walking with purpose you make your way down the cluttered street and to the park, a large sunhat and sunglasses shielding your face from the throngs of curious eyes. Perching on an isolated bench you pull out a book and begin to busy yourself with pretending to read whilst looking around, waiting for the client to arrive. Time passes slowly, the heat beating down against the bare skin of your shoulders while your jeans soak in the sun. A man approaches you in a suit from the foliage, his arms opening to welcome you as if you were familiar to one another.
Standing, you force a smile onto your face and embrace him, feeling him pull away after an exaggerated moment. You bag becomes heavier as he deposits the payment in a sweeping motion, unnoticeable now that his hands delicately adorn your waist. You stare up into his muddy blue eyes, wrapping your arms around his neck to lean intimately towards the man whose name you will never remember. “Ready to go?” you tease, playing with the back of his hair. He blushes, despite himself. “Yeah” he says clumsily, touching you under the chin before moving his hand down to clasp your own. Motioning for you both to start moving, you offer him the book innocently; the goods buried inside.
“It’s a gem” you joke, swinging your hands slightly as you walk, heading towards the final stage of the interaction. After walking a few blocks in near silence you stop outside of a small cafe, bright yellow sun umbrellas decorating its outside tables. Turning to your client you give him a smile, leaning up to brush your cheek against his own in what you hope appears to be an intimate gesture. “It was nice doing business with you,” you say before he holds you out at arm’s length, smiling once more and disappearing into the crowd ruefully. Letting your face relax, you head over to an empty table, settling on to the warm wooden bench.
Moments later Ray joins you, smirking and clutching a tablet. “He didn’t even check” he says, astonished as he drops into the seat opposite you. You laugh musically as a waiter approaches, ordering drinks as so to avoid suspicion. “I’m a little disappointed” you admit, “I put a lot of work into getting them as accurate as possible.” Ray rolls his eyes, their depths sparkling in the warm glow of the day as they regard you with affectionate pride. “But just think of it” he says, folding his arms behind his head and leaning back, tilting his face to the sun; “they’ll be handed down for generations before anyone notices they’re fakes.”
“And we’ll be long gone by then” you conclude, before a monumental explosion surges through the streets, dousing the airport in flames.
