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riverdalesfangirl · 3 years

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Melody Andrews ~ FP Jones

Melody Andrews - Home Sweet Hell - Drinks - You Need a Break - But a Number - Trouble - Whatever We Make It - The Mole Hole - Beep Beep - Killer

~ Bad Luck Birthday

-0o0-

Fred Andrews sticks his head inside his son's room. Jug and Archie playing video games. "I'm, uh... I'm headed out. Sorry to be missing your birthday this weekend, Jug." Jughead shrugs, focusing on the screen. "Oh, you will not be missing anything, Mr. Andrews, I barely acknowledge my own birthday." Fred shows a small smile. "Arch, can you give me a hand downstairs?"

As Archie and Fred make their way to the steps Melody comes in loudly. "I'm home!" Archie smiles, stifling a laugh. "Same, Mel." Fred nods. "Hasn't changed." The two men walk down the steps and meet Melody in the kitchen. "How'd you get here?" Fred asks his daughter. "You better not have driven," Fred says noticing her barefoot sway as she digs in the pizza box. "Of crouse not! Jackson and FP helped me get home." "FP?" Archie raised a brow. "Well, Jack wasn't going to stay. He needed a ride back." "Oh." He quickly shuts up.

"I'm heading out, Mel." "So soon?" Fred laughs hugging his daughter. "You're in charge this weekend." Melody looks at Archie and points a finger. "Ha!" "You're letting the drunk one be the boss." Fred shrugs. "She had the sense not to drive home." "Yeah!" Melody shouts as she walks up the stairs.

"Hey, Jug!" "Hi, Mel!" They yell to each other in passing

I roll over to Archie poking my face. "What do you want?" "Can we have a ride to school? We're late and don't want to walk the entire way." I open one eye to see both boys pleading at me. "Yeah, give me a minute." They fistbump and walk out, causing me to shake my head.

"This is so weird," I say pulling up to the school. "I bet. Thanks for the ride, sis." "You're welcome, guys."

Since I'm out I might as well get out for a bit, shop around, take FP a surprise at the construction. I pick up one of the famous turkey clubs from the old cafe and packed the man a nice lunch. I drove to the site, going inside the trailer. "Melody," I scream almost losing grip of the boxed lunch I have. "Betty! What the hell!" She smiles, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you." I wave my hands. "It's okay, it's okay. I was just-" The door opens and FP walks in. "Melody." He smiles, not seeing Betty yet.

I move out of the way allowing her to be ins sight. "Mr. Jones, I didn't mean to ambush you." He nods, switching eyes between me and her. "I know you don't do birthdays, but Archie and I are having a few of Jughead's friends over at Archie's house." "He is?" I scoff. I cross my arms. "I'm supposed to be in charge. Uh, go on, sorry, Betty."

"I bet it would mean so much to Jughead if you came." FP smiles, "Man, you don't quit, do you?" Betty smiles proudly. "Rarely, if ever."

"I really wanna do something special for him. And you being there... That would be special."

I press my hands together. "Aw, I'm going to cry."

FP nods. "Thank you, Betty." She nods leaving the trailer.

As the door shuts I let out a sigh. "This is difficult," I say tapping at the box. He replies, "You're telling me." He looks at the box in my hands. "What you got there?" I shake it in front of his face. "Something special for you, if you want it." He takes it from my hands opening it up and gasping. "Melody, you saved me from a 3-hour old grilled cheese." "I'm glad I could help."

He lays his lunch out, taking a seat at the desk. "So, Jug's party. I guess I'll be seeing you there too." He smiles nodding. "I assume so, hotshot." I kiss his head, ruffling his hair. "I'll wear something cute for you." He rolls his eyes. "Yeah, have me throwing around high schoolers."

I tie the last balloon and clap in satisfaction. "This place looks so cute!" I shut off the lights, hearing footsteps approaching. The door opens and a dark-headed beauty walks in. "Surprise!" Veronica scoffs, "Do I look like Jughead to you?" Okay. Someone is in a mood.

"Oh. Betty just texted me. They're almost here." Kevin says jumping. "You've met Joaquin, right?" He asks Veronica. "I haven't had the pleasure. Also I thought it was inner-circle only tonight?" I narrow my brows. What is up with her? "Joaquin's his boyfriend, that makes him inner-circle." "Uh-huh, well, I just came from the most insane meeting with my dad's lawyer. Between his upcoming hearing and his

potential involvement in Jason's murder, not to mention my mom's, I'm in a foul mood."

"Well, now that makes sense. Honey, follow me." Veronica follows me into the kitchen. I pull out two glasses and pour a drink into each. "Cheers."

"Guys, they're really coming this time."

"Surprise!" We yell popping out at Jug and Betty. "This is why we left the double feature?"

"Happy birthday, bro."

"You really shouldn't have. Ugh, you reek. Are you drunk?" Jug asks Archie. He shakes his head, "No." I nod behind him. "Yes, yes he is."

"Thanks, Veronica. Thanks, everyone."

"Oh, it's Kevin!" "Happy birthday, bud. This is my boyfriend, Joaquin." "Hey, nice to meet you." Jug looks up around the room. "Um, has anyone seen Betty?" Suddenly Betty rounds the corner with a lit cake.

♪ Happy birthday to you ♪

♪ Happy birthday dear Jughead ♪

♪ Happy birthday to you ♪

She passes the cake to Jug. "That was haunting, Betty."

"Blow out the candles and make a wish."

"I wish it were just the two of us right now."

Archie and Veronica split away, Jug and Betty wander off, and Kevin, Joaquin, and Ethel are all hanging out on the couch. "Well, this is relaxing in my opinion. You want to watch a movie?" I drown the rest of my drink before looking down at the disk collection.

A rhythmical knock sounds at the door. FP coming to mind I swing the door open with a smile. "Hey!" The instant my eyes make contact with the red-haired devil my blood runs cold. "What are you doing here?"

"Did you really think you could have a party without inviting moi?" Cheryl asks with an evil smile. "Or me?" Chuck asks with eyes of the devil.

"Archie, where do you want the kegs?" Two football players ask. "No! We're not-" "Screw it! One in the kitchen, one in the backyard." I turn around glaring at my brother. "Are you fucking kidding me, Archibald?" He rolls his eyes. "What? You're all good now?" He pushes me away and ventures deep into the crowd.

Jughead passes me grabbing my wrist and pulling me and Archie to the back. "Archie, as my blood-brother, and Melody as the closest thing I have to a big sister, it was your sole responsibility to ensure that something like

this never happened on my birthday. And now we're here. In the middle of a Seth Rogen movie." I raise my hands in defense. "Woah! I didn't have any part in this."

"This was Betty's idea, okay? I just went along with it."

"It's so not me."

"It doesn't matter, Jughead, you're her boyfriend now."

"What does that mean?"

Archie flings his arm over his friend. "It means you're getting your birthday party whether you want one or not."

The door to the garage opens and FP is revealed. His expression explains he has already been inside. "Dad, hey."

"Happy birthday, Jughead."

"How are you, Mr. Jones?" Archie asks smiling. "Hey, FP." I nod with a smile. "Happy to be here, celebrating with my son. Didn't realize you had so many friends."

"I don't. And fair warning. You're the only adult here." I throw my hands up. "I guess I'm an almond then."

"Where can I put this?" I wave my hand through, "There's a table in the den. I can take it." "No, Melody. It's alright." He nods, looking directly in my eyes, maybe for a second longer than he should have.

"Dad. Did Betty call you?"

"Yeah, she came by too. She knows what she wants, that one. I'll be back." FP places his hand on the small of my back, leading me away. "This is quite the party." I shrug leaning back on his very lightly. "I've had better." I laugh going inside the house. We enter the kitchen where Kevin and Joaquin are getting close. "You can cut the sexual tension in here with a knife." I scoff, covering my mouth. "I'll say!"

FP nods, "What's up, Joaquin?" "Nothing. Kevin, you know FP, Jughead's dad?" "Yeah, we've met. You kicked me out of the Whyte Wyrm." FP nods again, chin high. "Good times. Joaquin... You wanna show me where the can is?"

"It's um... I'll show you."

Veronica leans against the counter next to me. "What is that middle-aged Serpent doing at a high school kegger?" "Are you serious? You don't know?" Kevin looks at her surprised. "V, that's Jughead's Dad."

Jughead pushes through the crowd, knocking into me. "Jug, are you okay?" Ethel calls to him, "You didn't have a piece of cake. It's bad luck." He shakes his head, "This whole night is bad luck. I'm ghosting. I'll see you at school." Jug tries to open the door but Chuck and Cherly stand in his way. "Hey. Whoa." "Where you going, guest of honor?"

"Get out of my way, Chuck."

"Oh, but you can't leave now. We haven't even played our game yet."

Cheryl goes in the middle of the room calling out, "Listen up, party people. Everyone has their secrets. And we've all done our fair share of sinning. That's one thing my dear brother's death has revealed. So let's play a little game to get those secrets out in the open."

"What the hell is Secrets and Sins?"

"It's a variation on Truth or Dare. In which we own our truths. By telling it like it is. I'll start the game with Veronica Lodge." She rolls her eyes, "Naturally."

"Let's begin with the day you and your mob wife of a mother came to town for a so-called “fresh start.” Tell us, Veronica, what's so fresh about defiling Archie Andrews in a closet?" "That was your doing." "Moving on to dear Daddy Lodge... Isn't it true that your father, from prison, illegally purchased the drive-in land? Which makes me wonder. What else is he doing from behind bars?"

"Well, I can't speak for my father, but I can think of someone with a very dirty secret. Specifically, Cheryl killing her very own brother."

"Everyone knows how much I loved my brother."

"Exactly. But did you love him maybe in ways that a sister shouldn't love a brother? And as you got older, Jason started to think it was strange, unnatural. So he chose Polly over you. So you shot him between the eyes with one of your father's many hunting rifles."

"This game is sick," I whisper leaning back on FP as we watch. His hand moving ever so close to my pocket.

A boy shouts, "I wanna go next." Cheryl smiles, "That's the spirit, Doiley. What secrets do you have to reveal to us?"

"I saw Ms. Grundy's car by Sweetwater River, the day Jason went missing. I told Betty and Jughead, and then, Ms. Grundy quit her job and left Riverdale, like, two days later. And let's not forget that Archie was

also at the Sweetwater that morning." I walk closer looking over to Archie. His eye meeting the floor. He did not!

"Oh, my God, color me shocked, Archie Andrews. Is that why you became a mediocre musician overnight? Because you and Ms. Foureyes were pulling a Mary Kay Letourneau?" I step in front of my brother. "This is over. Get out of my house." Cheryl grins at me with red lips.

“I have another secret no one here knows. I know exactly why Melody Andrews came running back to Riverdale.” I stare at Cheryl with daggers. “I came here to be with my family.” She scoffs, “Oh, please. Don’t start lying now. You know the rules. It doesn’t take a genius to do some digging. Thankfully my daddy has some friends at Hollis, and they had a field day just telling us the story of a young girl named Melody Montgomery.” My eyes nearly pop out of my head.

“Cheryl, stop,” I warn, but she simply smirks and carries on. “It looks like little brother gets the lust for oldies from his sister. Weird DNA, Andrews. Anyways, you weren’t doing too good in psychology, were you? Professor Hardy, senior year, ring a bell?” I stand to charge at her, but my brother holds me back. FP watches intensely from the stairs, interested in my background as well.

“Oh, someone’s getting all bothered. As I was saying. You just were not cutting it were you? So like any good teacher would do he allowed tutor sessions… after-hours… in his home office… while his wife was just upstairs.” The room howls and tears rim my eyes. “He spoiled you with anything you needed. He kept you drugged up to string you along the way, and you just kept saying yes, yes, yes.”

I shake my head letting a single tear fall. “No. It wasn’t my-” “I’m not done, homewrecker. Mrs. Hardy found those texts where her husband kept begging you to come over. How he planned to leave his wife for a brand new addition. What did she do next?” I meet her eyes and quiver my lip. Cheryl smirks and picks at my chin. “What did she do, Melody?” I slap her hand away and force my way through everyone and towards the stairs. As I speed away the crowd goes wild in Cherly’s win.

I feel someone grab my wrist and I look up to meet deep brown eyes. “Melody.” His face thick with worry. Everyone’s eyes watch as he’s stricken sick over my tears. “I can’t,” I whisper and dash to my room locking the door and falling against it. I cover my eyes as the tears spill and I slide down to the floor. Everything about that day is so clear.

The three knocks on the apartment ring out loudly. I looked up at Sandy from the couch where I was studying my notes. “Did one of you dingbats forget your keys again? What have I said? Clip it on your nipp-” She opens the door stopping her statement short. “Melody Montgomery?” A strong voice asks.

I stand and walk overseeing who this visitor is. “Yes?” Two cops stand in the doorway looking at me with hard eyes. “Ms. Montgomory, we would like to ask you a few questions.”

They sit me down and advise me to brace myself. “We are aware that you and William Hardy were close.” I hold my breath. My mouth dries. My tongue swells. “Yes. He tutored me regularly. He helped me a lot this year.” The cop hums in understanding. “I hate to inform you of this, but William Hardy was the victim in a murder-suicide. This was addressed to you from Jessica Hardy.” I widen my eyes as I process what they’re telling me. “Will? Mr. Hardy was… Did Jessica…”

They slide over a white envelope with my name. “Why?”

“We were hoping you could tell us.”

I bite the inside of my cheek and gulp with tears running down my face silently. “I don’t know. I - I have no clue.” They nod standing. “It’s none of my business, but off record, I think you should get outside of Rosewood as quick as you can, Ms. Montgomory.” They let themselves out without another word.

#archie andrews #betty cooper #fp jones #fp jones imagine #fp trash #fp x oc #riverdale x reader #riverdale imagine #skeet ulrich

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ibis-gt · 3 years

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moooore boxer au, directly following my little drabble from last night. there's good reason boxer cam and boxer laz haven't fought before, cos 6'8 heavyweight cam and 5'6 welterweight laz aren't even close to the same weight class, but laz is confident-leaning-to-arrogant enough that he thinks he can land some solid hits and dodge enough of cam's to at least not suffer a knockout loss in this supposedly-friendly spar.

he is wrong. 3600 words. warnings for a little blood and violence, disclaimer that i literally only know boxing from anime and webcomics so some of this is gonna be Incorrect Terminology

~~~

Laz and Sal step into the gym's arena and see Cam chatting animatedly with a short, curly-haired guy. Cam glances over his shoulder when he hears the door open and somehow lights up even brighter. He waves and calls out to them, then plants a hand on the turnbuckle and vaults over the top rope, easily swinging his 300-some pound bulk in a graceful arc clear.

Laz's throat tightens and his already racing heart starts working overtime. This guy shouldn't be anywhere near as nimble as all that. He's an aging slugger whose most famous matches involved him sitting still and tanking hits.

He's just showing off, Laz reassures himself. It's an intimidation tactic. Let's see him three rounds into the match when I've given him a couple straights.

"Hey, great to see you!" Cam's voice booms out as he crosses the gym floor. "I'm so glad you took my offer. I've been watching you pretty closely as of late - you've got real skill! But I just had to find out how you are firsthand." He extends his hand for a shake, then pauses as he sees Laz already has his gloves on. Cam laughs, a short, booming sound that seems to shake the room. "Okay, down to business already, huh? That's fine! Let me get changed and I'll join you."

He settles for slapping Laz on the back, which nearly knocks him over, and offering Sal a fistbump, which Sal returns shakily. Cam ambles off towards a changing room. As he passes by the mat, he holds up a hand, and the curly-haired guy tosses his gloves at him, which he catches deftly. Then he stops on his heel and whirls around, clapping a hand to his forehead.

"Oh! How rude of me. You probably don't know Luther, he's my boyfriend and occasional second.''

Luther waves. "That's me! Nice to meet you." Laz nods, and Sal waves back.

"Lazarus...'' Sal begins, but Laz cuts him off.

"Don't worry so much. Just a friendly fight, right? That means he'll take it easy, and I'll knock his head off while his guard is down.''

Sal can't help but laugh, a high-pitched, almost frantic giggle that explodes out of him without warning. Laz is always so keyed up, like he turned the dial to 11 and snapped it off. He's deadly serious of course, but he’s not bothered by Sal's laughter. He starts to bounce on his toes, swaying side to side a little, then takes a swift step to the left, back to the right, circles an invisible opponent, and - onetwothree, quick jabs in succession that trail down his phantom foe's body, no doubt leaving them stunned.

Cam comes back out of the changing room, now outfitted in a pair of black shorts and classic red gloves. He smacks them against each other a few times and beams at Laz.

They climb up into the ring together. Sal hovers behind one corner, while Luther calls out from the other side.

“We’re goin’ three rounds, one minute between each! Standard ten count, three downs in one round is a TKO. Keep it clean, fellas! And go!” He dings the bell to start the round and leans on the turnbuckle, watching intently.

Laz moves side to side, keeping his eyes on Cam. The larger man has a gentle smile on his face. Well, he’d soon wipe that clear. Laz just needs to wait for an opportunity and slip inside his guard. They’d see how that legendary endurance stacked up against Laz’s counter.

Cam moves forward and closes the distance, leading with a jab. It’s almost offensively lazy, clearly just testing Laz’s reflexes. He dodges around it and lets out a huff. I’m not going in on something that obvious, he thinks to himself. Give me something real, old man, this isn’t kindergarten.

Cam grins as though he can hear Laz’s thoughts. He lets loose with a quick combo, faster than Laz would have expected from a slugger his size. Laz dances around the first hit, blocks the second, and steps in under the third, landing a hit on Cam’s stomach. It’s his first sign that he might be in over his head. It’s like punching a concrete wall. That layer of fat must hide a solid slab of muscle. Cam barely moves, even though Laz put most of his weight behind the blow. Laz dances back out of his reach as quickly as he can, narrowly avoiding a right hook.

Okay, okay, okay. Your opponent’s bigger and stronger than you, he’s got the longer reach, and he can take what you’re throwing at him. Stay on the defensive, don’t let him get you riled up. Laz tosses his head to get his hair out of his face - how many times had Sal urged him to wear a headband? Well, too late now - and starts circling, trying to get a better angle. Cam turns with him. That smile from earlier has settled in and kicked its feet up now. It’s going to take some doing to wipe it off his face. Laz can feel his temper start to rise. It’s something he’s struggled with his whole life - he just gets so angry sometimes. He’s usually able to channel it into something productive, cool anger instead of burning rage, but something in Cam’s demeanor is starting to set him off. Cam’s guard isn’t fully up. It’s like he’s taunting Laz - you’re so small, your reach is so short, I bet you can’t even hit me up here. Try it. Laz slows his breathing and focuses on Cam’s hands instead of his face. Try and knock his head off and you’ll only prove him right. You’ve got to keep it together now and explode later when it won’t get you clobbered.

Cam comes at him with a few more jabs, putting on some pressure. Laz slips them each in turn, backing up and watching him whiff. He’s starting to catch on to Cam’s rhythm. It’s pretty simple - two jabs with the left, one with the right. Two left, one right. Two left, one right. Laz is trying to keep the ring in mind and not let himself get backed into a corner, and that’s why Cam’s sudden change in rhythm takes him by surprise. One left, and suddenly a right that catches him just as he’s shifting to anticipate the second left. He blocks it - he’s no rookie, he knows to keep his guard up - but it shudders through his body like a cymbal crash. Jesus - if I'd taken that straight on - but there’s no time to think about the hypotheticals. He’s stuttered in his movements and Cam is closing in on the opening, backing him up against the ropes. Laz ducks left, right, blocks another hit that makes his arms ring with pain, and then ducks right under Cam’s arm and spins around him, dancing away with quick hops. By the time Cam’s turned to face him, Laz is bouncing in the middle of the ring again.

“Good!” Cam calls out, and Laz wants to hit him so bad he could scream. “You’re slippery as all hell. That little trick’s won me a match or two, y’know.”

Laz grits his teeth and resumes his defensive stance.

“More of the strong silent type, huh?” Cam says conversationally. “I like a little chatter myself. Good to touch base every now and then. Anyway!” He makes a sudden lunge forward, winding up for a devastating straight. Laz sees his opening and takes it.

He slips under Cam’s punch, using his short stature to his advantage. Just inside Cam’s guard, he crouches low and explodes upwards, slamming an uppercut into Cam’s chin. Cam stumbles back, head tilted to the ceiling. Laz closes on the opening, landing blow after blow now that his guard is down. He’s about to go for a straight when Cam’s head snaps back up along with his hands. Laz doesn’t have time to slip or dodge, he’s already committed to the punch, and time seems to crawl to a halt as Cam’s right glove speeds towards his face. Red fills his vision and he has time to think: ah, fuck.

He gets up. He does not start swinging just yet, opting to hang back a moment and take stock. Cam looks a little ruffled, a few hairs loose from his immaculate bun, some red marks on his body that will no doubt bloom into bruises later on. He shifts his jaw from side to side and licks his lip, which has split open, letting a trickle of blood down his chin. Laz is much worse for wear in their exchange. Sweat drips down his forehead and nose, and his cheek is throbbing with pain.

Lazarus has been punched in the face many times before; getting your nose broken in practice a few times is how you learn to block your head. Cam’s right couner feels like all those nose-breaking punches joined together Voltron-style to fuck his specific shit up. It connects with his left cheek and eye, which almost immediately begin to swell. Laz staggers backwards, head reeling, trying to keep lucid enough to avoid a follow-up. Cam hangs back and watches, which is almost worse for Laz’s pride than if he’d kept trying to beat Laz into the mat. Cam is breathing hard, though, and clearly he felt some of those blows. Laz leans against the ropes and tries to see through the haze of pain that’s settled over his vision. His head feels like it’s been encased in concrete. God dammit, push through, he growls in his head. You’re not made of glass. Get up and get swinging. Show him why he should take you seriously.

The bell dings. Round one is over.

Cam grins and heads to his corner, where Luther is waiting to give him a kiss and fret over his injuries. Laz slumps back against the ropes again, letting out a heavy sigh. He trudges to his corner, where Sal is biting his thumbnail down to a stub.

“Well, how’m I doing?” Laz asks.

“I’m surprised you’re still standing!” Sal quavers. “It looked like he was going to smash you into dust! I mean, did you see that counter? I could hear the impact from here! And the way you fell back, I thought for sure you were going to hit the canvas. Lazarus, you’ve got to play this safe!”

“Encouraging as always,” Laz grumbles. “I’m not doing that bad, c’mon. He’s only landed the one hit. Y’know, if you don’t count the ones I blocked.”

“Sorry, I just - you know you have the Leeroy match coming up, and he’s no pushover. It’s really important if you’re trying for a shot at the title, and I can’t have you getting injured here. But you’re doing really well at slipping his jabs and you’re clearly the faster and more maneuverable fighter. You just need to know when to quit. I could see him recovering from a mile away, and his core’s really strong. Those gut punches aren’t going to do much good unless you can land a hit on his solar plex, that’ll take anyone out of commission for a moment. The punch to his chin was good, keep an eye out for his slower swings and try to slip inside his guard a few more times. You’re not going to win this by knockout, probably not even by downs, but you can give him something to think about at least.” The longer Sal talked, the calmer he got. The gears had started spinning in his head, grinding the raw anxiety into the grist of innovation. “Frankly, I don’t think you can win this fight,” he said, voice steady and sure now. “I mean, you’re simply outclassed in weight. Best you can do is stall it out and go for a tie. Just as long as you don’t go down, you’ll be fine.”

Laz tilted his head to one side, thinking it over. “Not too optimistic, there.”

“It’s just a friendly,” Sal said weakly. “And he’s several weight classes above you. Don’t take it too seriously? Please?”

“Fine,” Laz sighs, conceding at last. But you mark my words, I’m gonna give him at least one more hit that cleans his clock. He smiles too much.”

“This is exactly what got you in trouble in the Miyata match,” Sal groans.

“No it’s not! It’s nothing like that! And anyway, I’m still proud of that match, I don’t know what you’re talking about, ‘trouble’,” Laz lied. “Look, one more good hit. That’s my goal for this round, and then I back off and play defense til the bell rings.”

Sal doesn’t look convinced, but their minute to talk shop is up. The bell rings for round two, and Cam strides forward, smacking his gloves together with a loud thwack. Laz rises to meet him, jaw set. One more good hit. He’ll wait as long as it takes. That anger is back but it’s cold now, no longer the bubbling cauldron in his gut, rather a cool composure settling over his mind. His objective is clear, his goal is right in front of him, and he’s got all the patience in the world.

That is, he had all the patience in the world, right up to the point when Cam winks at him.

What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Winking? Winking?! Who does he think he is? Who does he think I am? Well, he’ll be winking permanently when I drill him in the eye so hard it closes up for good.

Cam actually laughs as Laz lunges forward, sharp jabs bouncing off of Cam’s raised gloves. But it’s the laughter that clues Laz in. Cam is toying with him, of course he is. He can’t take the bait, he’ll only play right into Cam’s hands. He has to relax. The angry boil is reduced to a simmer as Laz’s calmer analytic mind takes over. He’s no fool and he won’t rise to the bait. He backs off again, dancing out of range. Come and get me, big guy, he thinks, and when your sloppy footwork betrays you, I’ll nail you between the eyes.

Cam advances, not willing to let him out of range. He seems a little more cautious now, though - he won’t forget that uppercut in a hurry. They trade careful jabs, each blocking or ducking the other’s strikes, and for a moment it seems like they’re both playing it safe. Then Cam goes for a sneaky gut shot that Laz deflects, and Laz slips in under Cam’s guard and lands another shot on his chin. He slips back out as quick as he can, not wanting to get caught committing again, and Cam presses, shaking his head sharply to clear it. Laz notes with satisfaction that Cam is no longer smiling. He doesn’t look upset, though, merely focused. Good. Take me seriously.

Cam starts up his rhythm again. He’s been pressing a little more aggressively than Laz had expected all match. It makes some sense - a swarmer is a good counter to Laz’s more careful fighting style, and having to fend off constant attacks doesn’t leave him much room for mistakes. But Cam is a slugger, used to ending fights quickly with a few punches, and the strain of keeping up this offense is starting to show. He’s just a little slower, and the blows that land are just a little lighter. A bubble of excitement rises in his gut. If Cam keeps trying to overwhelm him, he could potentially wear him down and win this. He’d agreed to stall, but…

There it is. Just for a moment, Cam’s guard goes down. Laz steps in and drives a straight right at his nose, but Cam gets a hand up and it glances off. Laz bounces back, dodging a wild swipe, and goes for a body shot while Cam’s still in the followthrough. It lands, and Cam grunts. Laz is starting to sport a grin of his own. Finally, a sound out of the big guy that isn’t snark. He skips forward, aiming jabs at Cam’s head. The relentless pace is really taking the wind out of Cam’s sails; he eats punch after punch before he’s finally able to get his hands up and defend again. He staggers back in a defensive position, and Laz presses hard. He’s not about to let Cam get a second to breathe, if he can keep the pressure on and land some good hits he could actually win -

Too late, he realizes Cam’s game. It happens again. He commits to a straight, just in time to see Cam’s right coming for him. He gets his hit in first, the advantage of his proximity and speed closing the gap before Cam can, but a split second later Cam’s glove knocks into his chin enough to lift him off his feet. He feels one brief moment of weightlessness before he sinks into darkness.

~~~

“Ten!” someone shouts.

“Whuh,” Laz says, opening his eyes. For some reason, he’s lying down. And his face hurts really bad. Then it all comes flooding back and he sits up, his vision blacking out in protest. “Fuck.”

“Oooh, just missed the count!” Cam says, walking over and holding out a hand. “Good show, though. For a zippy little pipsqueak, you sure can throw a punch! I was seein' stars for a minute there. How’s your jaw?”

“Fuckin’ hurts,” Laz says. “How’s your ribs?”

“Fuckin’ hurt!” Cam laughs. “C’mon, let’s get some ice on that and talk shop.” Laz takes his hand and tries to pull himself upright, but his legs don’t want to take his weight. Cam takes notice and kneels down, getting Laz’s arm around his shoulder.

“Up we get,” he grunts, straightening up. Then he looks down and sees Laz’s feet dangling a good six inches off the ground and bursts out laughing. “You really are tiny,” he guffaws. “Why the hell’d you agree to fight me?”

“Why the hell’d you offer?” Laz grumbles.

“Well, to tell you the truth,” Cam says, walking the two of them towards the corner, where Luther and Sal have stepped onto the mat. “I hate retirement. I miss the ring. I wanna get back into the game somehow, so I figured I’d see how the up-and-coming competitors are doing. And frankly, kid, you’re not half bad.” He unslings Laz’s arm from his shoulders and guides him over to the little chair set up against the turnbuckle. Sal holds a bag of ice to the swelling on his eye and cheek. Cam sighs as though admitting defeat. “So fine, I’ll do it. I’ll train you.”

Sal and Laz gape at him for a moment. Luther clasps his hands to his chest and sighs dreamily.

“I already have a trainer,” Laz sputters. “And there’s nothing I want to learn from you. No offense or anything, but look, you’re not - “

“You’re in shock,” Cam said, nodding solemnly. “I get it. It’s fine, take a few minutes to really let it sink in. Cam Mersharc, five time world champion, agreeing to train you, I mean, it would throw anyone for a loop.”

“Listen, you deluded old man,” Laz starts to growl, but Sal puts a hand on his shoulder.

“What we mean to say is, of course we’re flattered and thrilled by the offer, but there’s a contract, you see, so it’s really legally out of our hands…”

“Oh, sure, no problem. Luther, honey, you still friends with that lawyer?”

“Sure am,” Luther chirps. “I’ll give her a call, schedule a chat, we’ll have you out of that in no time.”

Sal glances at Laz and shrugs. “Could be useful just to see what he has to offer..?”

Laz scowls and glares up at Cam. “Okay, old man, what’re you thinking?”

“Obviously your footwork’s impeccable and your speed is top notch. You’ve got a brain in there, too, I could see it working the whole time. Your strength is okay for someone your size, and your endurance could use some work. You train with me, I’m gonna round you out. Technically and physically,” he says, playfully tapping Laz’s chest. “Put some meat on those bones, tighten your core, bulk up those arms. Don’t give me that look, you won’t move out of your weight class. Just a little extra padding so when someone gives you one of these - “ His fist stops a half inch from plowing right through Laz’s gut. He’d barely seen Cam’s arm move - had he been holding back in the fight? Or was that head injury messing with his vision? “ - you don’t fold like an omelette. Whaddya say?”

Laz weighs his options. It never hurt to round out a little. It almost sounds like Cam’s offering to shift him towards being a boxer-puncher instead of an out fighter.

“Well… can’t hurt. But if I think you’re full of shit, I’ll tell you to your face. Don’t expect me to start fawning and kissing the ground you walk on just ‘cause you beat me.”

Cam laughs and slaps Laz on the back, nearly knocking him to the mat again.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, pipsqueak! Now, get down and give me twenty.”

“What? Now? I still have my gloves on.”

“Sorry, was I not clear? On the mat. Twenty push-ups. If you’re doing them wrong, I’ll make your friend sit on your back. Go.”

Laz drops to the mat, cursing up a storm. Cam nods as he watches him bob up and down.

“Oh, yes. This is going to be the start of something wonderful.”

#writing #cam and luther #underbelly #boxing au #not gt #size diff tho uwu #writing fight scenes is so hard ;-;#i will improve i promise....

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jeonsduck · 4 years

Text

Smoke and Mirrors Pt 2

You meet Choi San for the first time. He’s.... a character.

Today is the 18th. It’s 11:30 AM. At 11:45, a car would be picking you up to take you to the restaurant where you and Mr.Choi will be meeting. He had insisted on sending a car to pick you up (totally not helping his ‘not a mobster’ image). You’d already talked to your supervisor and Agent Heejin and received a rather rousing pep talk from Jacob.

Your objective for this meeting was just to inform Mr. Choi of the audit, which of his clients were being investigated, and what information you would need from him initially. And you were to, under no circumstances, disclose that this audit was part of an FBI investigation. Simple enough.

But now you had 15 minutes left until the car was supposed to come and you had nothing to do. It was too early to go downstairs and wait for the car, but too late to go over your notes again. You checked and double checked your briefcase to make sure you had all your warrants and other documents, and all you could do was sit at your cubicle and watch time tick by and get nervous. Sick to your stomach type nervous. You could feel your acid reflux acting up and started rooting through your desk for some TUMS. Did this have to be a lunch meeting?

You’d communicated with Mr. Choi only a few more times, mostly through email. He’d called you once at the beginning of the week to remind you of your appointment. As if you’d forget, with this case taking up all of your time and focus. The scant correspondences left you with no idea what kind of person Mr. Choi was. Agent Heejin had officers tailing him for the past six months and told you he wasn’t anything to be afraid of. Nothing to shake a stick at. He had a fear of guns, the ocean, and large dogs. He had questionable fashion sense. The file Heejin showed you looked more like a dating profile than a criminal record. If his six friends were the bad boys of their town, Mr. Choi was like the teacher’s pet that kept him out of trouble. Not a very imposing or threatening, dorky, and rather scatterbrained for an accountant of such important people, but his work was quite detailed. There wasn’t a single flaw in any of his work since his graduation from college. It was like he was some sort of math savant. Perfect person to run the accounts of the rich, famous, and politically powerful.

You looked at the clock again, seeing that five minutes had passed. You supposed it was time to head downstairs. You gathered your briefcase and phone, accepted a final good luck fistbump from Jacob and headed for the elevators. You tried to calm yourself down by breathing deeply and evenly. You were not about to meet some hulking guy in a suit with a thousand-yard stare, the way he’d been described, you were going to meet a little kid in a man’s body. Hopefully, that would hold true.

The elevator dinged, the doors opening on the first floor. You walked out of the elevator and rounded the reception desk, when the car Mr. Choi had sent came into view. A solid black Maserati Ghibli, and two suited men with earpieces, one holding a printed placard with your name on it.

“Hi, I’m Agent Y/N… did Mr. Choi send you?” you ask, timid all over again. Who were these guys?

“Yes, we’ll be bringing you to your meeting.” one said, while the other opened the back seat for you.

You climbed into the car, still a little blown away by the obvious show of wealth. You were a little nervous about stepping into such an expensive car with your shoes on. The man (bodyguard?) closed the door behind you, and walked around the car to get in the driver’s seat. The other bodyguard(???) got into the passenger side and started programming the GPS. For five whole minutes, the car is absolutely silent. No radio, no talking, no phone alerts, not even the sound of the car, just the silence of luxury. You decided to distract yourself with checking your social media, but after checking every platform you’re on, it’s only been another ten minutes. The GPS is putting your ETA at 15 more minutes. A little small talk couldn’t hurt, right?

“This is a little bit over the top for an IRS agent, don’t you think?” you joked, lightly.

The driving bodyguard caught your eyes in the mirror while his partner shook his head.

“No, this is standard procedure for us. Mr. Choi has a lot of high profile clients, and it’s much safer for us to come get them than for them to come to us.” the passenger explains.

You quirk an eyebrow at him. “Safer how?”, you prompt.

“Our company cars have a few advanced safety features that don’t come standard. Bulletproof body, tires, and windows, et cetera. Luxury, discretion, and protection.” he continues.

“What is that, like a code of honor or something?” you’re joking, but it appears the bodyguards are not.

“The mission statement for MY Security.” the driver corrects.

So these men work for Mingi and Yunho, not Mr. Choi? Well, it would be weirder for him to find his security contract with anyone other than his friends. Like buying your Girl Scout cookies from anyone other than Belinda from analysis.

“Ah, you’re from the security firm, so you don’t work for Mr. Choi, do you?” you ask.

The passenger bodyguard shakes his head.

“We work exclusively for Mr. Choi, and our orders come from him. All of the security personnel for Mr. Choi were handpicked by Mr. Song and Mr. Jung.” the other corrects.

“Hmm.” was all you said in reply, looking out the window.

It’s wasn’t a crime, not by far. It wasn’t evidence either. It wasn’t even that weird. It was completely normal for people to use their friend’s companies and services. It was also normal to give particularly good service to your friends. It was utterly normal for Mingi and Yunho to not only supply security for their friend, but also to offer him the deluxe package.

But, handpicking your most talented and trusted staff to guard the man that dealt with your possibly shady finances, was just a little bit suspect you had to admit.

Ugh, you weren’t even two weeks in and this stupid case was fraying your nerves already. The sooner this was over the better.

~~~

Choi San was, quite determinedly, not a triad member.

You had been friends with people in high school shadier than Choi San.

When you had arrived at the restaurant, Mr. Choi had also just arrived. And eccentric was a mild way to describe his wardrobe. You had no idea where to start with his outfit. His brown oxford shoes were just about the only solid colored thing he was wearing. His socks had the pattern of public transportation upholstery. His pants were brown with purple(PURPLE?) pinstripes, held up with diamond printed Y suspenders. His shirt was checkered, two different patterns in red and green on his right and left side respectively. The contrast was lost under the most absolutely atrocious sweater vest (who wears sweater vests? Were they ever cool?) you’ve ever seen. The outfit was tied to get with a white (and blessedly plain) ribbon tie. He had a mullet for God’s sake, and those Napoleon Dynamite style glasses(without lenses?!). You were sure looking at his outfit would make you dizzy after too long. And yet. Choi San was one of the most attractive people you’d ever met. How he managed to pull that off looking like a cross between Ronald McDonald, Billy Ray Cyrus and a stock image of an accountant, you’d never know, but he still looked amazing. When he noticed you standing there on the curb, staring kind of slack jawed he immediately walked over and hugged you. Like actually full on hugged you. What even is this guy?

“Hello, Agent Y/N, it's my pleasure to meet you.” he said when he let you go.

He shook your hand as well, ever kissed the back of your palm, which what? You were a bit too shell-shocked to catch up. Wow, his smile was dazzling.

“Oh, yes. It’s a pleasure to meet you as well Mr. Choi.” you managed to reply without your voice breaking.

Choi San pouts. A grown man, is pouting at you. In public.

“Oh, please, call me San.”

“Oh, no I couldn’t-” but San cuts your protest off, bringing his hand up in front of your face.

His hand is folded into a fist with his pinkie sticking out towards you.

“Come on. I promise not to tell on you. The only people who call me Mr. Choi are my employees. We’re more like…. Colleagues aren’t we?” he says.

You look at his hand and pack at his face. A pinkie promise? Really?

You sighed and wrapped your pinkie around his.

“I suppose we ar, Mr.- I man, San.”

He smiled again, unhooking your hands and gesturing for you to enter the restaurant. One of the security guards that came with him opened the door for the both of you. The maitre’d recognized San automatically.

“Ah, Mr. Choi. Your usual room?” he asks, grabbing a pair of menus.

“Oh no, a regular table will be fine today. And menus for the security detail as well, this is their lunch hour.” he corrected with a smile.

The maitre’d nodded before grabbing a few more menus and leading you to your tables. The restaurant was rather fancy, and you found yourself quite taken with the decor.

“Do you take most of your lunch meetings here?” you ask, attempting to make small talk.

“Oh, no. Just you. My regular place wasn’t available, but honestly, this place is much better.” San replies.

“Oh, so you come here often on…. social calls?” you say dates, but San understands your meaning.

“I’m a rather busy man. I’m afraid I don’t have much time for relationships. This restaurant belongs to my good friend.” he explained and your eyes widened.

“Jung Wooyoung? This is one of his establishments?” you question, looking around the restaurant with a new set of eyes.

“You know Wooyoung?” San asks, surprised.

“Ah, well Wooyoung is one of the clients I’m auditing. All of them are your childhood friends I believe.” you said.

San nodded his understanding.

“I’m not surprised.” he started, “They’re getting a pretty big, the six of them. It’s not uncommon to audit people like them, suddenly making a lot of money. We get audits like this all the time. But since they’re my friends, you get to spend the entire audit working with yours truly.” he says, flashing you another blinding smile. You’re pretty sure your cheeks are never going to stop being red.

“Are you still close to them?” you ask.

San sighs, resting his chin on his hand.

“You’ll never be as close as you were when you were kids. You probably had a crew you ran around with in grade school too right? That was us. We managed to stick together through high school, college, even after that. We make time to see each other when we can. But it’ll never be like it was when we were kids again. But, I do see Wooyoung just about every week. In fact, he might be here today.” he said, waving down the waiter.

“Oh, are you ready to order? We can wait a few more minutes if you want.” he said.

“Uh, yeah a couple of minutes? No offense to you or Wooyoung, but this place is stupid expensive. We can just go to Olive Garden or something next time.” you joked, perusing the menu for something that wouldn’t break the bank to order.

“Oh, I forgot! Order whatever you want, I’ll pay.’ he said, waving it away.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly let you do that!” you protested but San arched an eyebrow at you.

“No, it’s on me. I invited you out, so I should pay. Besides, I can afford it. My services aren’t cheap. Now, let me buy you lunch.” You sigh and concede him.

“Fine, but the next one’s on me.” you say.

San smiles again, “Of course, Y/N. You know what you want?” he asks.

“Uhm… no actually. Anything you can recommend?” you ask.

“The ravioli is great. And it pairs really well with a dry white wine.” he says.

You look down at the ravioli, and it does sound really good. Pasta and sauce made in house, Italian sausage and five cheeses? That sounds delightful.

“I love ravioli! It sounds delicious too, so I’ll get that. No wine though, I have to go back to work after this.” you remind him.

San smacks his own forehead and laughs.

“Of course, silly me. Speaking of work, why don’t we get the formalities out of the way before the food comes? Serve me, baby.” he says, shooting finger guns at you.

The ‘baby’ takes you off guard, but you just shake your head and pull out your briefcase.

“Here are the warrants. Choi San, you have been officially served.” you said, handing over the documents.

San pulls a monocle out of his pocket (because having prescription lenses in his glasses apparently wasn’t the answer to his bad vision), and squinted at the documents, even holding them up to the light.

“Everything appears to be in order. I will comply with the warrant and provide any financial documents deemed necessary by the IRS.” he said, sounding much more business-like.

So he did have a serious side.

“Here is a list of those documents, I would ask that you have them prepared for our next meeting.” you said, handing over a mile long list.

“These for all six clients?” he confirmed and you nodded.

“I’ll have them put together ASAP.” he said.

Then his posture relaxed and he took a sip from his wine glass.

“Now that that’s out of the way, let’s enjoy ourselves, shall we?”

Lunch with San was nice. It was better than nice. It almost felt like a date. He seemed really attuned to you, guessing that you had a cat instead of a dog, Coke instead of Pepsi, coffee instead of tea. He told you a bit about growing up with his friends, talked about what troublemakers they could be. When you’d finished dessert and had your leftovers boxed up, you were regretting going back to work. You had to report back to your supervisor and the FBI agent. You kind of just wanted to keep talking with San all day.

“Well, Y/N I will see you again soon, and if you see me around town, don’t be a stranger.” he says with a wink, before sliding back into his car.

The two bodyguards that picked you up drive you back to your office, where you report successfully delivering your warrants.

“And how long until he has those documents for you?” she asks.

“I’m expecting them by tomorrow.” you reply.

“Good work, Y/N. Follow up with the FBI and you can go home early today.” she said.

You were feeling great when you called Agent Heejin. Too bad that wasn’t going to last long.

“Yeah, well, just send me over the recording of the meeting.” she said and you cocked you head to the side in confusion.

“The what?” you asked.

“The audio recording of the meeting.” she said again.

“What audio recording?”

“You didn’t record the meeting?!” she screeched through the phone.

You held the hone away from your ear, ringing with the loudness of Agent Heejin’s voice.

“Why would I?”you asked.

Agent Heejin had not asked you for a recording of the meeting prior to now, so what was all this about?

“BECAUSE I SENT YOU AN EMAIL TELLING YOU TO RECORD THE MEETING!” she yelled.

“Agent Heejin, I never received that email.” you explained.

“Check again.” she hissed, and you opened your email.

And while you hadn’t recieved an email in any of your primary folders, Agent Heejin’s email was sitting in your Spam folder. Claiming to be from the FBI was a common phishing scheme, so that explained why the email had ended up in junk mail.

Heejin sighed through their nose.

“Fine, just come over here, we’ll cross examine you. Let me know when you make it.”, she hung up the phone rather abruptly. You sigh and stand up from your desk, gathering your things.

“You got this. Call me if you need me to come beat Heejin’s ass.” Jacob said.

“Thanks. See you tomorrow.” you said, heading for the elevators again.

~~~

You didn’t get home that night until nearly midnight. Heejin and another agent had questioned you for any and every detail about your lunch meeting with San. It had gone on for hours and without break to ensure you didn’t forget anything. They even asked you the same questions over and over again to ensure you weren’t making things up or forgetting details. It had been tedious to say the least. You were exhausted. And your cat, Noodles, was hungry. He meowed angrily when you opened the door to your apartment.

“Sorry dude. Work kept me late, I hate it too.”

You went to the pantry to feed your cat, and crashed on your bed, still in your work clothes while he ate. Afterwards, he jumped onto the bed, snuggling close to you.

“Thanks, Noodles. Love you too. Goodnight, buddy.”

You fell asleep a few moments later, dead to the world.

#ateez #san #choi san #san x reader #ateez x reader #ateez san #ateez fan fic #San fanfic #san imagines #san scenarios

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jordmacwriting · 6 years

Text

Summer Break {Part 6}{modern!r.h. x reader}

Author’s Note: ayyyyyyyy here’s PART 6 i’m so happy. it’s loosely based off of a couple scenes, one from 13RW and the other from 13 Going On 30

Masterlist//Part 1//Part 2//Part 3//Part 4//Part 5//Part 6//Part 7//Part 8//Part 9//Part 10//Part 11//Part 12//Part 13//Part 14//

Requested: no

Warnings: nothing

Word Count: 1364

You walked alongside Race with a smile wider than an ocean.

“You look stunning, (Y/N).”

“Thanks Racer.”

He planted a quick kiss on your temple and the two of you continued to walk.

It wasn’t long before you stopped at Central Park.

“Let’s find a place to sit.” He said.

You looked around the green until you saw an empty spot, perfectly placed in the shade and the sun.

“Over there Race.”

You grabbed his hand and dragged him along to the spot.

He placed the basket on the ground and knelt down. He opened the basket and pulled out a blanket. He stood up again and placed the blanket on the ground, then motioned for you to sit down.

You sat down and he sat down close to you. His arm was soon slung around your shoulder.

“So, what’d you get us Racer?”

He moved his arm and pulled the basket closer.

“I made us some sandwiches, since we both know I’m not exactly skilled in the kitchen.”

You laughed quietly in agreement. Trying to cook with Race was the most fun you ever had, and also the most dangerous thing you had ever done.

You grabbed one of the sandwiches, unwrapped it and took a bite.

“Very good Race.” You said.

“Yeah, Jack helped me...just a bit.”

Race was infamous for not being able to cook, and Jack was famous for being one of the best cooks in the group.

You continued to eat, and Race just sat and watched, occasionally nibbling on his sandwich.

You looked up from your sandwich. You could have melted from the way Race was looking at you.

“Hey, Anthony. Stop looking at me that way. You need to eat.”

He shook his head and smiled.

The two of you then ate, him cracking jokes making you laugh hard. He loved hearing you laugh, so he kept on trying to make jokes.

You finished all the food in the basket. It wasn’t even close to being dark, and Race didn’t want the date to end. He threw away all the trash, then picked up the blanket, folded it back up and placed it back in the basket.

“You want to go to the old children’s park by the apartment.”

“Sounds good Racer.”

You grabbed his hand and the two of you walked to the park.

“So Race, what encouraged you to ask me out?”

Race bit his lip and looked down at you.

“That kiss. Holy, that kiss was the best kiss I’ve ever had. Of course...it was my first.”

You looked at him with an open mouth.

“Shut up, there’s no way that was your first kiss!”

“It so was.”

“But you were so...so good. No experience and you can kiss like that?”

He shook his head.

“Well let’s be honest, that was my first kiss as well.”

“Yeah, you didn’t have to tell me that doll.”

You continued in small talk until you reached the park. It was around 8:30, and surprisingly for the summer night, the sun was starting to set. On the way to the park, you had passed the apartment. You didn’t know this, but the whole group sat in Jack’s mini van, watching for the two of you. The minute they saw you pass the apartment, they started to follow you, Katherine’s wishes.

You let go of Race’s hand and immediately ran to the swings. Race set the picnic basket down on a bench and ran to the set to join you.

“Hey Race, competition, right now. Who can jump farther.”

“You’re on doll.”

The two of you continued to swing, trying to see who got higher, trying to gain momentum and speed to beat the other in the competition.

“Alright on three,” Race started.

“One, two, three.”

The two of you flew through the air, Race landing first on the wood chips. You landed right after him. The two of you had tied in the competition, landing right next to him. You rolled a bit after that, your hand on his chest. You almost leaned into kiss him, when car lights passed you.

Now car lights wouldn’t really stop you from kissing Race, but you had a suspicious feeling that Katherine might have something to do with it. You knew Katherine to well, and she was too calm when she left for your date.

So you pushed yourself up, and ran over to the slides.

Race pushed himself around and watched you run away from him. He looked back to where the car lights flashed.

In the parking lot, there was a minivan with nobody in it. So he let it be.

He ran over to the slide and waited for you to slide down. As you pushed yourself down the slide, you found yourself laughing. You hadn’t been on a slide for a while.

Race smiled as you slid down, eventually coming down right next to him. You stood at the slide’s end, and Race peered down at you with his signature smirk.

“(Y/N), I got to tell you something.”

You pushed yourself off the slide so you stood face to face to him. He couldn’t make eye contact with you, so he looked up at the sky.

“What is it, Anthony?”

“I….I like you, a lot. Have since I met you, and I just want to know if you feel the same way,” he stammered. “The way that you kissed me last night, that gave me a feeling that maybe, just maybe you like me back. But I want to hear you say it if you do.”

“Oh Race, you know I like you a lot.”

Screw Katherine spying on me, screw that car, I wanna kiss that boy.

You grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him down to you, his lips crashing on yours. His hands went to the small of your back, pulling you into him. Your hand reached into his blond curls, knocking the hat off his head.

He pulled back, gasping for air.

“My heck Race.”

“You’re taking my breath away doll,” he moved closer, leaning his forehead on to yours. “Will you be my girlfriend, (Y/N).”

You pulled him back to you, kissing him with a bit more passion before, as if answering his question.

You then continued to kiss for what was probably longer than 3 minutes, but it felt like seconds, until was Race was pulled away from you.

“Are you serious Anthony? Making out with my sister, in a park.”

Race looked at the ground sheepishly. His cheeks were red, and his lips were starting to look a bit swollen. You had no doubt in your mind that in this moment, you were twinning in looks.

You grabbed his hat off the wood chips, brushed off the remaining dust and chips, then slowly handed it to Race.

“Katherine, calm down, alright. You never would have known if you didn’t follow us here.”

The rest of the group filed towards Katherine. Albert tried to get Race to fistbump him, but the blond declined. You definitely could hear the boys silently chanting “Closet round three”.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N), I just don’t want you to sleep with some guy in a park!”

“Katherine, you’re overreacting, Race and I weren’t gonna sleep together. You got that? Plus, you can’t control us completely anymore,” You bravely walked towards Race and slid your hand into his. “He’s my boyfriend now.”

At the word boyfriend, the boys cat called and whooped. Race looked down at you and smiled. Katherine rolled her eyes.

“Sorry, (Y/N), I guess I can respect that if you’re dating….” Katherine’s voice drowned off.

“You’re serious?”

You didn’t catch any sarcasm in her voice. She was smiling at you and Race.

“Yes I’m serious (Y/N)! You look happy.”

You broke away from Race and jumped into Katherine’s arms, laughing.

After the hug, you turned around to Race and pulled him in for another kiss, causing whistles, claps, and hollers.

You pulled away and smiled big, Race’s face matching yours.

He pulled you close and whispered in year: “I have no regrets.”

tag// @king-of-newyork @ben-cook-can-cook @infinity-fandom-trash @and-a-snip @maiawakening @broadwayandbookblog @kingsofyewnork @blytheandherbrain @newsienewsie @verymerrycherry @newsies-seize-the-day @races-erster @king-of-new-yoirk @rainbow-anon

#newsies #modern newsies #modernnewsies #racetrackhiggins #racetrack higgins #race higgins #racehiggins #race x reader #racexreader #racetrack x reader #racetrackxreader

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