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infinitywrites · 9 months

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I Didn't Expect You Part 4 ~ Conrad Fisher

(Part 3) (Masterlist) (Part 5)

gif credit @laurens-german

synopsis: Y/N never expected it to be the summer that everything changed. Conrad, Belly and Steven were all dealing with the consequences of recent break ups while Jeremiah's wasn't acting like himself. Susannah was undergoing treatment that provided unpredictable health results and kept her loved ones on the edge of tragedy. Had they drained the well of the magic of Cousin's beach? Or could something new fulfil it again?

warnings: multichapter slow burn, warnings will update with every chapter, timeline is both POST S2 and a retelling of S2 with changes, everyone swears A LOT, 4th of July party, ANGST between Jeremiah/Conrad, ANGST between Conrad/Y/N, Nicole (sorry to this Queen), Conrad's friend Danny (made him into my own thing), hints of Belly/Jeremiah, I don't know shit about sports

word count: 4,141

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I feel like no one wants me

And I hate the way I'm perceived

I only have two real friends

'Cause I love people I don't like

All I did was try my best

Ego crush is so severe

God, it's brutal out here

Got a broken ego, broken heart

I decided I needed sustenance before heading into the lion's den and popped a bacon wrapped scallop in my mouth. Nicole sidled up next to me in no time, refilling her plate.

"Someone's got game." Her voice was low, unassuming and her eyes were focused on the desserts when I looked at her.

I almost spit out my margarita, "You're kidding, right?"

She giggled, "Nuh uh. I got to watch you in action twice now. Danny was eating out of the palm of your hand and even Cam looked weak."

"OhmiGod, Cam is Belly's ex!"

Nicole shrugged, "Okay, fair but I don't blame you for Danny cause he's definitely been working out." Our eyeline shifted to where he was laughing with Jeremiah and Steven.

"He's at school for a baseball scholarship, of course he works out." Her look of unabashed thirst would never not amuse me.

"Fuck, that's so hot." She looked like she was about to swallow her tongue.

Without another word Nicole walked off in his direction and I smiled as I watched her get her flirt game on and trail her fingers up his bicep. My mind drifted back to the house as I downed the last of my margarita before I headed inside to poke the bear.

He was in the kitchen, drinking from a dark liquor bottle when I walked in. His sullen eyes met mine for a long moment, "Where's your boyfriend?"

"Would you shut the fuck up for like a second?" The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them as I leaned against the island on my palms. Conrad rolled his eyes and turned his body away from me. That set me off again, "Since when the fuck do you talk so much anyway? My god the stupid fucking shit that flies–"

He put his bottle down, "Since when the fuck so you swear so much?" It was disconcerting how much calmer he was than me. It spurred me on.

"Since you, asshole!" I didn't even realize how angry I was until the words came flying out and the adrenaline spiked higher. "Since you make me so fucking mad I wanna tear my own hair out! And I thought we made progress the other night. How fucking stupid am I?" I took a long breath and felt the heat prickle my cheeks. I should have brought in another frozen margarita.

The look on Conrad's face changed and his voice went soft, "You've never been stupid a day in your life."

"Fuck you, I'm not done!" I wasn't done being pissed at him for trying to ruin a perfectly good day. "Do you even know who asked me to come in after you? Your friend, Danny. Sweet Danny who was genuinely worried that he hurt your feelings, you fucking–"

His eyes narrowed cruelly, "Oh, poor sweet Danny who wrangled an invitation to 4th party just to drool all over you apparently."

"Are you seriously fucking jealous right now?"

Conrad's mouth snapped shut as his eyes widened in panic for a second and I couldn't have cared less, "I didn't want to steal his attention away from you, Conrad. I was just saying hi…you know, like a nice person."

"Mhm. I'm sure he's got lots of ideas of how you can be nice to him." He took another swig from his bottle.

I couldn't even look at him anymore so I squeezed my eyes shut until I could. "Jesus, I'm not gonna date your friend, okay?!? Not if really you don't want me to."

When I opened my eyes Conrad looked shocked, "What? Seriously?"

It was the last thing I was expecting and I could feel myself start to calm down finally, "I mean, yeah. If it bugs you that much."

I could tell he was thinking about it. "Y/N…"

"Unless it really was the stupid fucking baseball shit." It was the shift in his tone of voice. I couldn't handle it.

Conrad paused, "I mean, he is a fucking liar. It's…" I spluttered a laugh and couldn't even hear his very important correction. "What? It's true." Conrad shrugged miserably and placed his bottle back on the counter.

I thought about Danny's request when I said, "I'm sure it is. I just have no idea what you're talking about."

Conrad rolled his eyes and I sighed.

"How is it I've known you my whole life and I never knew the absolute stats nerd hidden under that 90s heartthrob hair?" The second I walked into that kitchen I could barely believe the words coming out of my mouth. I was cutting myself off from another margarita even though I wanted it.

"You think I'm a 90s heartthrob?" He was leaning on the other side of the island and peering at me quizzically. I thought I could even see the hint of smirk under his misery.

"Ohmigod, that's what you got from that?" My face was screwed up in disbelief. His ego had no bounds.

"Uh, that was definitely the most important part."

"Oh so you're a delusional nerd too?" This was better than sulking Conrad or angry Conrad but only by an inch.

He paused and shrugged like he was shaking off the rest of his sour mood. And then I felt him focus his stare directly at me in a way I'd never experienced. I didn't have to look up at him to know what I'd find. Was this the shameless confidence that Belly always talked about? The silence was bad enough. He always did that; said the thing I least expected or never said anything at all after I did. He'd just wait and look at me, expectantly until I felt like I couldn't breathe.

The silence was never comfortable so I mustered the last bits of my courage and looked him square in the face, "Not everyone is flirting with you, Conrad."

His smile grew for the first time since he thought he was on a winning streak in the pool. The unsettling thing about it was it seemed like he knew something I didn't. Conrad was nodding and considering the statement as he stepped around the island to stand in front of me on the other side.

I gasped softly when his eyes flashed back to mine and muttered, "You sure?" He lingered in the moment and I felt a calloused fingertip graze the back on my hand gripping the island countertop. Just when the static in my brain started the clear and I could breathe again, Conrad leaned into my ear to whisper,

"Or do you save that for Danny now?"

He stayed close but he had to be drunker than I thought and fucking with me again so I took a breath and tried not to take the bait. Maybe it was my turn to say the thing he least expected for once. I didn't want to have to look him in the eye again after that, "I…you know, sometimes I can't tell and it's unintentional. Danny probably did the same thing. He's just a nice guy."

He scoffed and took a step back. "Sure. Not like you'd notice either way."

I looked at him then and shook my head in confusion, "What is that supposed to mean?"

Conrad opened his mouth as he stepped closer again but was shocked into place when he heard his brother calling for him from the other room. "Connie!"

He had the decency to look at me apologetically before directing him to the kitchen. When I saw Jeremiah's expression was serious and fixed on Conrad, I used that opportunity to make my exit. I took a few minutes in the bathroom to splash some water on my face and assess the pink hue in my skin as flush or sunburn. It didn't take long before I started to hear raised voices. I debated whether to investigate or leave them to it, if it was even the Fisher brothers at all, but when I thought about how Susannah wouldn't be able to deal with it like she always did, I knew I had to make sure it wouldn't get out of hand.

I caught pieces of the story as I walked back towards the kitchen. Susannah and Adam had been separated for a year now but he'd helped throughout as he should. He helped more than he did when they were together if Conrad was telling the truth. I heard Jeremiah accuse Conrad of scaring Adam away from the party altogether. It was true, Adam Fisher was nowhere to be found for the first time since I could remember. It was strange to think about now when he'd showed up for a few short hours the year before.

Jeremiah's tone was firm. "What gave you the right?"

"Get over it, Jere. They're not even together anymore." In contrast, Conrad sounded like this was the last conversation he wanted to have.

"You think I don't know that?"

"This is Mom's house and her party. You really think she wants him here?"

"I think she wanted him at Thanksgiving and Christmas and when the treatment got really bad in the Spring too. Oh, but that's right you had finals and weren't around much then, moping around after you screwed things up with Belly." My eyes squeezed shut at the dig. This could escalate badly.

"Fuck you, you know I came home every second I could!"

"I was there every day!"

"Okay?! Okay! What do you want, a medal?" I hoped the breath I huffed wasn't audible enough for them to hear.

Jeremiah shook his head out of the corner of my eye, "Did you even ask her? Cause you're right, this is her party and she should have decided. Not you." The footsteps were heavy across the tile as he left and I heard the door slam behind him.

Conrad sighed. "You heard every word of that, didn't you?"

I winced and came out of hiding around the corner to see him leaning heavy on the island like it was the only thing holding him up at this point. His liquor bottle of choice was abandoned by the sink. "I'm sorry...but not every word and I didn't mean to, I swear. I was just in the bathroom."

"It's okay. It's not your fault. Actually it's my fault. As per usual." He didn't move from his spot as his eyes carved holes into the countertop.

"Don't say that." My heart ached for him without my permission. Maybe Conrad fucked up by not inviting Adam or telling him not to show up at all but some of what Jeremiah said was unfair. And it wasn't hard to see that his brother was taking every word to heart no matter what.

"Why not? It's true. It's the only fucking thing I'm good at anymore." He looked up finally, lost.

"Connie, come on."

The words seemed to shock him out of his emotional spiral. His brows raised and while the smile on his face was immediate, it fell just as quick, "I can't remember the last time you called me Connie."

"I think I do, actually." Apparently it was infectious because now I was smiling at a memory I thought I'd lost.

When I looked his way again, he was watching me expectantly with the hint of that same sweet smile on his face. It was the least I could do since he seemed interested in the distraction from his own thoughts.

"There was this girl in my freshman year named Connie and I remember thinking it was hilarious that it was a girl's name. Kinda gross of me, honestly."

"I would say," he interrupted but was still listening.

"Do you wanna hear the story or not?" His hands raised in defeat as he chuckled. "I told Belly I was gonna torture you with it that summer; calling you every famous Connie I could come up with. TV characters and political figures but she got really upset and said you'd be mad so 'please don't'. So I tried to forget about it entirely so I wasn't tempted."

When I looked up again, Conrad was looking at me with an expression I couldn't quite figure out so I kept on. "And it must have worked too because I forgot about it until this second."

He nodded slowly, "Does that mean I get to call you Y/N/N again?"

I rolled my eyes at the old nickname and conceded, "I guess it's only fair."

We ended up heading back towards the party and paused to look outside sliding door windows at the view of the patio. He nudged me, "So you've grown to like my name."

I didn't need to look at him to know he was trying to shift his mood before we went back to everyone who was oblivious about what had gone down inside. "Damn, the confidence with which you said that completely inaccurate statement."

"Mm, say it again." He muttered and I shot him a glare so fast I couldn't believe he kept talking. "But softer."

My patience was battling against the need for physical violence but I let it out verbally. "Maybe try therapy if that gives you a nerdgasm." I was gonna get a lot of traction out of this nerd thing.

"Exposure therapy maybe." The mood shift was successful if I could base it on his teasing tone and goofy smile.

"I said I wasn't flirting with you, dummy." I didn't mean to bring it up again since it wasn't that serious but it wasn't the only thing I'd said that I was gonna regret after the fact.

Conrad scrunched his face in disbelief, "That's definitely not what you said. Actually, we decided you wouldn't know if someone was flirting with you. Case in point."

I could barely listen to him anymore and I gestured for him to quit it. "Fine, whatever, I'm saying it now. Not flirting. Can we move on?" I knew he was looking at me then but I refused to do the same.

"No." His response was immediate and I saw him register the shock, like it even surprised him a little that he'd said it.

I didn't have a choice then and could only gape in his direction, eyes struck wide by his stubborn streak.

Conrad turned to me and stepped closer like he'd made a decision. "Even if you weren't, I was. And I want you to know so I'm telling you now, straight up, to your face, so later you can't explain it away or pretend I didn't…flirt with you."

And that's when I realized he did know something I didn't. I was such an idiot. He broke his steady gaze for a second and chuckled, "I didn't mean to at first and then…I don't think I can stop now."

If all that wasn't enough, he wasn't done. "I don't want to." Conrad leant close then and his voice dropped an octave, "I mean, why does he get to when I can't?"

I heard the sliding door shift open and closed but didn't see it from my frozen state, staring at a corner piece of the door frame. I sucked in an unsteady breath and looked up just in time to see him look back at me from the edge of the pool, quickly before he jumped in.

My nerves were shot and despite the cool air inside the house compared to the heavy July sun, my hairline was damp. My mind was blank and racing at the same time; no thought coherent in the slightest so I shut it down completely. No more thinking, not that I could think myself out of this one anyway. I waited until I could breathe normally and wasn't overheating from the inside before I stepped back out to the patio and steered directly to the drinks table for my third frozen margarita.

The rest of the party was fairly uneventful in comparison but still great. No more drunken drama or broken family heirlooms to Belly's great relief. In fact, I found a lot of peace watching her for the rest of the night; giggling with her friends, swimming until her limbs cramped up and flirting with Jeremiah if I could read the signals right. He seemed elated by the development and I let myself be happy for them instead of diving into the complications of that potential. No more thinking.

At one point, I watched Conrad grab Danny's shoulder, both of them nursing their last beers of the night, and mutter something to him that looked serious enough to be an apology. Danny shook his head with a smile and gripped him in a fierce hug. I didn't even realize I was smiling at the sight until Danny's eyes caught mine and he mouthed a grateful 'thank you'. It was so sweet I had to put down my margarita and rethink my life choices. I caught Aunt Laur and Susannah sitting together and seeing it too: Laurel pouted her bottom lip at her friend and Susannah's eyes sparkled with unshed tears.

When the party got to the point of only relying on the patio and pool lights, I distracted myself with the first steps of organized clean up. Steven joined me not long after, saying that he needed an excuse for a quiet task to keep his hands busy. Usually I would have pressed for more information but I was surviving off fumes by that point. Maybe everyone was. Nicole and Danny stopped by to say goodbye and thanked us for a great party. I hugged them both and looked around to realize that it was only the family left after that. Jeremiah and Belly said something about how they'd make up for their clean up crew shift in the morning and were nowhere to be found after that.

Eventually, when Susannah's porcelain serving platter almost slipped from my hands and into pieces on the kitchen floor, Laurel told me I'd done enough and shooed me upstairs. I debated washing the day off before I crashed into bed but worried I'd actually fall asleep under the warm spray. I'd just managed to get into a baggy Cousin's Rowing t-shirt and sleep shorts before I drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

It was the creak of the old wooden drawers of Belly's dresser that pulled me out of deep slumber. The room was bright with sunlight shining through the curtains and I had slept right on anyway. I yawned as Belly made a face in my direction and grabbed her crop top.

"I'm sorry! I was just gonna change before I got to the beach. I don't wanna miss the chance on our last day."

"What time is it?" I looked around the room when my phone wasn't on my nightstand like usual. It landed on the end of my bed with a thump.

"After 10. Here. I found it on the kitchen table when I came in last night. Figured I should plug it in for you."

I smiled and saw that it was, indeed, fully charged. "You're sweet."

"The least I could do. You barely left anything for me and Jere to finish up this morning."

"Yeah, I was on a mission." I looked at her smiley face as she pulled her top over her bikini. "So. About you and Jere…"

Belly was never good at hiding things from me and her face screamed guilt even as she tried to shrug it off. "What do you mean?"

"Belly. Come on." She looked at me then, waiting. "You guys hung out all day yesterday and then you left together last night. What's going on there?"

The poor thing looked scared, "You're not mad?"

I rolled my eyes, "Is there something to be mad about? I mean, if you guys like each other…it's not gonna be easy but there are worse things."

"Wow, you should sleep in more often. Oh, don't forget to check the kitchen when you get up. Conrad went out early and got the good muffins."

"Oh, nice. But you're not off the hook about this Jere thing."

She pulled her lip balm out of her pocket and smeared it across her bottom lip. "It's not anything yet. When there's something to tell, I'll let you know."

"You better."

I took a moment to check my phone and saw an unread message from an unknown number. Hey, it's Danny. Jeremiah swore it was cool if he gave me your number so I hope that's okay. It was nice seeing you yesterday. The look on my face must have given me away because Belly was laughing at my expense in almost no time.

"Let me guess. Danny decided to text you after all." She wiggled her brows and giggled.

"Did you know about this?"

"I was there when Jere was trying to convince him. Poor guy actually thought you rejected him because of Conrad." Belly didn't seem to notice if my face reacted to that tidbit. "I told him there wasn't any reason you couldn't come back to Cousin's this summer if you had some good incentive."

She wasn't wrong. It wasn't like I had plans like Steven and Belly. I didn't need to be anywhere until the middle of August. I didn't need to shut everything down before it even started; before giving it a chance to be something to forget about at all. It was a nice thought that was almost immediately ruined by Conrad's look of relief when I told him I'd do the exact opposite. Maybe in a different world where I wasn't leaving for California in five weeks, or if I had any concrete plans of spending more time in Cousin's this summer, I'd feel different. Not to mention that I still didn't have the slightest idea where Conrad's head was at after yesterday and I wasn't sure I even wanted to. The world in which I could be excited about this didn't exist and it was time to make peace with that.

"You know he invited me to his ball game? I can't believe I have to leave before seeing him in those white pants."

"Y/N!" Belly threw her stuffed polar bear, Junior Mint, at my chest and I caught it with a laugh. "I knew you liked him. He got so much hotter this year, I'm a little jealous I didn't get there first."

I gasped dramatically, "I'm telling Jeremiah!"

"I'm kidding…kind of. I mean, I'm definitely leaving but Danny Wilder could inspire a hot girl summer."

"Mm. Period." I looked back at the text and wondered if I should just leave it altogether. My stomach grumbled and it distracted me enough to leave it be for now and wave Belly off to the beach to have her fun.

I shuffled down the stairs to the kitchen after my shower, remembering the muffins Belly said would be waiting for me. The box was on the island like always and I smiled at the small victory. I really should have missed my chance at one, let alone my favourite, coming down after 11am. I opened the box and considered my choices when I heard someone clear their throat. I looked towards the sound and found Conrad standing in the doorway.

"Uh…I uh, saved you a carrot. It's under the cake plate." He gestured to the other side of the counter where it waited for me.

"Oh. Thanks." I walked that way and saw him shift his stance uncomfortably, and look down at his feet. I forced myself to give him the credit he deserved at that moment with a look of sincerity. "You didn't have to do that."

He looked pleasantly surprised, "It's no problem. You uh…call it a thanks for cleaning up last night. My mom really appreciated it."

"Of course. Anything for Susannah."

It was the most polite we'd ever been to each other in our entire lives. I wasn't even sure it was real since there were no witnesses to prove I wasn't making the whole thing up somehow. Belly and Steven would laugh in my face if I told them. But that didn't stop the awkwardness from getting worse by the second and finally I couldn't take it anymore. Conrad looked like he wanted to say something else but I couldn't hear it, whatever it was and I was scared that I already knew. Instead of giving him the chance, I mumbled a quick 'thanks again' and 'see you later' before bolting back upstairs with my carrot muffin in hand and shut the door behind me. I leaned back against it and wondered how I'd avoid whatever that was for the next 24 hours before my time in Cousin's would come to an end.

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author's note: I hope you enjoyed part 2 of 4th of July! How are we feeling at this point? Don't worry because there's still lots more story to come even if Y/N thinks her journey is ending. Next chapter is a day at the boardwalk! Thank you again for the continued support 💚💛🧡❤️. Reply with comments and let me know if you wanna be added to my taglist. If you'd like to ask me about any upcoming chapter warnings you wanna be warned of ahead of time (angst? 18+ smut?) then come visit my blog with any questions and I'll be happy to answer!

taglist: @c4rpediem-s @jackierose902109 @lcvecstiel @h0t-as-h3ll @stylesxroyalty @fandom-addict404 @hellofutur @junnniiieee07 @shelby-x @historygeekqueen

#conrad fisher #conrad fisher x reader #conrad fisher x y/n #conrad fisher x you #team conrad #the summer i turned pretty #tsitp conrad #the summer i turned pretty au #the summer i turned pretty imagine #the summer i turned pretty fanfic #conrad fisher fanfic #conrad fisher imagine #conrad fisher au #conrad fisher x fem!reader #Spotify

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invis-o-william · 13 days

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Day 2: Wish

All Amity Parkers knew that “wish” was practically a forbidden word. Years of interactions with Desiree had all but guaranteed that. Younger children weren’t even taught the word anymore out of an abundance of caution, after all nobody wanted a repeat of the “Toddler Wish-mageddon” that had occurred just a year prior. The firemen had been cleaning chocolate syrup out of the streets for weeks afterwards. This left the naive and unassuming newcomers as targets for Desire’s power, many of whom didn’t quite believe the city moniker of “The Most Haunted Place on Earth” yet. One of those newcomers was Thomas Kincade, and one way or another he too would learn the consequences of the word “wish”.

. . .

Thomas had barely lived in Amity Park a week before his coworkers started messing with him. He had just been sitting down in the breakroom for lunch when Craig from accounting had sidled up in the next chair.

“Oh hey Tom,you’re new to town, right?” he asked while grabbing a bowl from his bag.

Thomas hummed an affirmative while digging through the box chock full of leftover lo mein that his wife had left him that morning. “Yeah, just moved from Springfield like a week and a half ago, why? Also, it's Thomas.”

Craig pointed a fork his way, “Well you should probably invest in a lunch bag or something. That box is a prime target for the Box Ghost you know. He’s usually pretty harmless, but he’ll definitely steal that thing in a heartbeat if he sees you with it man.” He accentuated his point by tapping on said box with his fork.

Thomas sighed. Although he’d only lived in the city for under two weeks, he’d already seen more than enough of the “ghost tourist trap” schtick. “You can give the “ghost” thing a rest Craig, I think I’ll be fine.” he said with a roll of his eyes.

Craig shrugged, “Alright Tommy, don’t say I didn’t warn you. You transplants never quite believe it at first anyway.”

“It’s Thomas.” Thomas said pointedly. Craig made a noncommittal noise before digging into his meal.

. . .

The next day it happened again. Thomas was working at his computer when his deskmate Maria leaned over the divider.

“Hey Tim, did you see the news this morning?” she asked excitedly.

Slightly irritated, Thomas looked up. “No, I didn’t. And it’s Thomas.”

Maria didn’t seem to hear him as she waved her hands around, “They got some footage of the fight between Phantom and that big metal ghost last night on the corner of Park Place and Amity Row! It looked so intense, and the big ghost is so cool looking!” She practically squealed the last words.

Thomas groaned and let his head fall back. “Look, I get it, you guys are pulling my leg, ‘ha-ha lets haze the newbie’ kind of stuff, but its getting old.”

Huffing, Maria crossed her arms. “How long have you been here now? Two weeks? You can’t tell me that you haven’t seen one of the ghosts yet! Hell, blob ghosts are so common I’m surprised one hasn’t popped into your yard yet” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Just hope you don’t encounter any big ones, you definitely don’t want to run into the Fenton’s with their tank-on-wheels.”

With a sigh and a shake of his head Thomas turned back to his work as Maria shrugged and did the same.

. . .

Thomas was getting fed up. Everyone kept talking about ghosts. “Phantom’s been seen here” and “The whisps have been really active lately” and all that crap. How long was everyone going to pull this? Not to mention that nobody wanted to call him anything but nicknames. Why was calling him Thomas so hard for them???

The last straw was his boss stopping by his desk an hour before quitting time.

“Hey Timbo, everyone on the floor is going to head over to the Mitty Boulevard Bistro after work for dinner, company’s treat. Want to join?” he said, leaning an arm on the desk divider.

Thomas’ eye twitched. “Yeah, sure that’s fine. And please. It’s Thomas.”

His boss smiled, “Great! Originally we were going to head over to the Mexican place on Park Place, but they’re closed for cleanup from that ghost fight last night.”

“Yeah! You can thank Phantom for that, honestly the Bistro is sooo good. I like Mexican food and all, but you gotta try the Bistro’s fries Tim!” Maria said, perking up from her seat.

Thomas had had it. “Ghosts this, ghosts that! I’m so sick of this! Just give it a rest already! And my name. Is. THOMAS. Not Tim, not Tommy, just Thomas!” he cried as he picked up his coat and lunch box. “If this is how all of you are going to treat me, then count me out of the dinner. Honestly I wish you guys would just cut it out already!”

Everyone in the office went deadly silent and stared at Thomas with wide eyes.

“Thomas,” began Maria, “you shouldn’t say that word. I’m sorry that we were teasing you so much about your name, but you really shouldn’t say that word.”

Thomas scoffed, “What word?”

Everyone looked around nervously, “The “w” word,” his boss said, “there’s a ghost who grants them, usually in the worst ways possible.”

Thomas threw his hands up in the air. “What, wish? Now you’re telling me that there’s a wish-granting ghost? If there was, I'd wish she’d make you all see sense right now because ghosts aren’t real!”

The office was deadly still and many held their breath. There was always a chance Desiree wasn’t around, but some still expected her to appear and grant the wish.

Instead the Box Ghost popped in out of nowhere, grabbed Thomas’ lunch box, shouted “BEWARE!”, and vanished.

Thomas could say he knew better now to pack his lunch in a bag.

#dannymay2024 #dannymay #danny phantom #amity park #box ghost #desiree #oc characters #wish is a forbidden word for a reason

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jazzafterhours · 6 months

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hawke is an honourable man, but the company he keeps is questionable. two apostates, one of which is a blood mage, and another that is an abomination. shady characters who likely deal in illicit, selfish affairs. guard-captain aveline has sebastian's respect, but even fenris is too accepting of the mages in their midst, despite knowing exactly how dangerous they are.

this is not the crowd sebastian expected to find himself fighting alongside when he offered to travel with hawke whenever the man had need of him. sebastian doesn't intend to go back on his word. he only wishes hawke were more selective with who he calls a friend.

the blood mage is among the worst. she is deceptive with her bright eyes and gentle smiles, with her unassuming stance and sweet words. she plays at being a pure being.

sebastian knows better. he has fought beside her at hawke's behest, seeing the dark power she wields in battle. abomination or not, she is something of a demon herself, luring them into a false sense of security so they might forget how monstrous she is beneath. she doesn't even try to hide her magic, she insists on advocating for its usefulness.

and she seems to have the others all wrapped around her finger.

isabela flirts with many, but with merrill, there is something undeniably tangible and charged. she claws her fingers and makes a noise like a wildcat, and merrill giggles, bringing two fingers up to her lips in a fleeting vulgar gesture. it's like the two of them are speaking a secret language about the private things that pass between them.

and merrill will say, "you haven't taken a break in a while, varric," and varric will hum low, considering, before saying, "tomorrow night, then."

aveline does not appear to have a standing engagement with the blood mage, but she looks the other way when it comes to merrill's dark, magical practices, and she protects merrill fiercely in battle. she seems to hold her in a high regard that sebastian can't parse.

unsurprisingly, the apostates have colluded as well. merrill sidles up close to anders and touches his wrist under the hem of his fraying sleeve, and he blushes even from such a simple contact.

she is a temptress, akin to a demon of desire.

while on a trip with hawke, isabela, and the blood mage, the two women exchange another one of their little flirtations, and sebastian feels he must comment.

"i pray that the others can yet see you for the seductress you are and free themselves from your treacherous claws."

isabela snorts. merrill tips her head to the side in that innocent-seeming way she does.

"seductress?" she echoes with a lopsided smile. "are you looking for some seducing, sebastian?"

sebastian blanches. "what? of course-- no."

merrill's expression smooths back out. "oh. i thought you were playing a game. i'm still working on telling when someone is using innuendo."

"playing..." sebastian mutters. she thought he was coming onto her. of his own free volition! vehemently, he adds, "that is not the man i am anymore."

isabela cuts in. "yeah, that's why you're acting all hot and bothered and your cheeks look like they could start a fire."

up at the front of the group, hawke sighs. "i don't suppose i could get the three of you to care about the fact that we're about to walk into a mercenary ambush? is anyone keeping an eye out for traps?"

"well," isabela says, "if you mean the kind of trap that clamps down like a vice, nice and tight--"

then a squad of mercenaries charges them, and sebastian is saved from having to address the unexpected turn this conversation has taken.

he can't stop thinking about it. of the promise she makes, of the heat in isabela's gaze and the blush on anders' face and varric's easy compliance. she has earned this from all of them, she has--

sebastian takes a knee in front of andraste's statue in the chantry and forces his mind to clear, to focus on his prayers.

this isn't the life he chose for himself, it isn't what he wanted at the time, but at the time, he hadn't known what he really wanted. he hadn't known what he needed. he'd thought of nothing but himself, of wasteful activities that served no greater good. being sent to the chantry, although not his choice initially, has turned his life around. he has been given a second chance to bathe in the maker's light.

no beautiful, trickster blood mage will draw him into the darkness.

merrill never assumes wrong again. she never says anything untoward, at least not to sebastian. she is respectful, sebastian supposes. or maybe she recognizes that she cannot manipulate him, and simply doesn't waste the effort.

sebastian doesn't always join the others for card night at the hanged man. these nights are always full of drinking and gambling, and often crude jokes. this isn't the atmosphere that's good for sebastian anymore. he doesn't wish to be tempted.

tonight, he goes. he is the only one at the table without a tankard of ale, and he has little coin to bet, so the others accept him as a non-gambling participant.

merrill is across from him at the table, and she smiles at him, but in her usual gentle way instead of that crooked, coy thing from that day when things got out of hand.

sebastian still can't stop thinking about it, no matter how much he tries.

it has been years now since he enjoyed the company of another. the vow of chastity had chafed, at first. he's grown to understand what it means to live a life without distraction and personal pleasure, but at first--

he'd been angry. shamed. humiliated. despairing for the future he never got to have, as the chantry became a cage so soon into his adulthood. he wonders, is it so wrong to--

something nudges against his shin. sebastian looks up and sees merrill watching him with her big, worried eyes, having found his leg with her foot beneath the table. her expression seems to ask if he's okay.

sebastian isn't sure that he is.

whatever merrill sees in his face, it makes her fold her hand of cards together and set them down on the table.

"it's been a long day," she says when the others glance her way in question. "i could use an early night."

then she smiles at sebastian again, wide and inviting.

she stands to a chorus of goodbyes from their friends, still looking sebastian's way while she pushes her chair back in at the table.

when she goes, sebastian waits only a handful of minutes before following her lead, claiming he needs to be back for a late service at the chantry. varric looks at him with a pointed gaze that seems to say he sees through the lie, and if he's planning any harm to merrill, he will pay for it.

not tonight, sebastian thinks.

he goes, and instead of ascending the great steps towards hightown, he turns down the streets to the alienage.

merrill is standing in front of the vhenadahl, her hands clasped together at the small of her back as she lifts her face to regard the old, sacred branches of her people's tree. she appears small in front of the wide trunk, but sebastian knows better than to ever consider her harmless.

when sebastian approaches, she steps back from the tree and gestures at him to follow. obediently, he does. he is unsure how to feel about that, but it doesn't stop him from entering her house and letting her shut the door behind them, cutting them off from the rest of the world.

"you can leave any time you like," merrill says as if she's reading his thoughts.

sebastian questions whether such a thing is possible with blood magic, but he doesn't think so. merrill is, perhaps, just good at knowing what others need.

"you took a vow, didn't you?" she asks.

it should be an accusation, but she doesn't say it like one. yes, he took a vow, and here he is planning to break it, to give in, and to her, of all people, a blood mage who sleeps around like there's nothing wrong with it, like she cares for nothing except--

"sebastian?"

"i--" he says. "i shouldn't be here."

"why not?"

because this is wrong. because it will make him an oathbreaker. because the chantry desires him chaste and focused. right now, those don't seem like very compelling reasons, and he's not sure why. they suddenly feel empty, flimsy.

"i don't know."

merrill purses her lips, regarding him. it's a minute before she speaks again. "if you want to stop, you tell me so, okay? say 'stop', at any point, and we stop."

sebastian has heard such things before. watchwords and negotiations and boundaries laid out on the table. he'd mostly only bothered when his partner wanted to do so. other times, he didn't care what his partner did with him, as long as he felt something good in the end. he'd assumed merrill to be similar--wicked and wild, hungry and insatiable. he misjudged her in at least a couple of ways.

"okay," he says, because she's pointedly waiting for him to reply.

"good." she smiles at him. "how about you start by taking off your armour?"

she words it like a suggestion, but there's an edge in her voice that sounds almost like a command. it is whatever sebastian wants to make of it.

he takes it as an order, and reaches for the straps of his bracer. while he works them loose and slips the white and gold metal off, merrill takes a seat in one of her rickety chairs, a respectful distance away, nowhere near close enough to touch. she merely observes, a soft smile on her face and a spark of interest in her eyes.

his bow and quiver next, then the pauldron. they join the bracer on merrill's area rug. sebastian tugs his gloves off, dropping them among the growing pile. he hesitates, swallowing a lump in his throat, before working off the chestpiece and the chain mail beneath it.

as he unbuckles his belt, he can't help but ask, "will you be disrobing anytime soon?"

her smile grows. "not soon, but i will. i want to focus on you for now."

sebastian blushes, unused to having such attention after years without. he forgot what it was like to have someone preoccupied with him and only him, liking the look of his body, eager to have more of it. eager to have him.

he stoops to lay his belt on the floor, then continues with his armour under merrill's watchful eye.

she finally stands when he's down to just his plain shirt and breeches, coming up in front of him. "may i?"

sebastian nods, then shivers when she slips her hands beneath his shirt and presses them to his bare chest, sliding up, taking the shirt with her as it gathers upon her wrists.

without a word, sebastian lifts his arms and lets her push the shirt up and off. she pauses again with her fingers at the strings of his breeches, but all it takes is a swift nod from him for her to untie them and push down, breeches and smallclothes together.

sebastian steps out of them when they pool on the floor, and then he's naked before merrill, a sharp contrast in their state of dress.

merrill spreads her fingers over his abdomen, feeling his muscles. she raises one hand to run it along his drawing arm, feeling those muscles as well. she looks up, meeting sebastian's eyes, then goes to the tips of her toes to kiss him.

in all his imaginings, sebastian never expected a kiss. her lips are warm and a little chapped, full and gentle. sebastian has not even had this during his years at the chantry, and a wave of need crashes over him, a dam broken down in one fell swoop. he circles his arm around her waist to pull her closer, tilting his head to kiss her deeper. she responds in kind, making a little pleased noise that stirs sebastian further.

being with another person like this is galvanizing, and he has missed it.

merrill pulls away far sooner than sebastian would like, but her smile is still kind and soothing, granting him patience.

"i would like to try something, if you're interested," she says.

equal parts apprehension and anticipation course through him. he hasn't forgotten who she is, what she's capable of, but she hasn't done a single thing to make him consider saying 'stop'.

"i might be interested," he says noncommittally, "what do you have in mind?"

merrill flits away with a bounce in her step, opening a chest to retrieve something from inside. a strip of forest green fabric. turning back to face sebastian with the cloth in her hands, she says, "i want to blindfold you."

apprehension grows to overtake anticipation, even as sebastian eyes the cloth, already considering it. not being able to see her, to see any touch before it happens, will leave him vulnerable. he hesitates to put himself in such a position around a blood mage, but right now, merrill isn't a blood mage. she's a person offering him a release he has been without for years, and has yet to take anything for herself. even this is not a demand, but an offer.

"very well," he says.

her smile broadens. "your hands will be free. you can push it off whenever you like, if you need to."

sebastian nods, that knot of apprehension slowly coming undone, quieting to a normal amount of nervousness for a first-time experience.

merrill walks around him, and already sebastian feels hyper-aware of exactly where she's standing, knowing that he will soon not be able to see her, only hear her. he can almost feel her proximity like a physical thing, the space between them carrying new energy like he has witnessed her with the others.

she rests a hand on his back, right in the middle between his shoulders, an oddly soothing touch. sebastian relaxes under it, and only then does she loop the cloth around his head to secure it across his eyes. the light leaves the room instantly, the heavy and dark fabric blocking it effectively.

the vow he recently made in the chantry floats back into his conscious mind: he would not let temptation pull him back into the darkness. now here he stands, allowing an apostate to pull the cloth over his eyes, plunging him into the void.

merrill's hand presses to his back again. "are you alright?"

sebastian sucks in a deep breath, swallowing down the tightness in his throat. he wants this, there's no denying it. he wishes he could just expel the voice in the back of his head for a little while.

a surprising amount of honesty makes its way into his response. "i am trying to be."

unexpectedly, lips press to his shoulder, warm and a little chapped. he jumps in surprise, but the shock is short-lived.

"i think your willingness to try is very admirable," she tells him, sounding just as honest. "thank you for telling me. i understand what this means for you."

sebastian's next exhale comes out stuttered, a wave of emotion crashing through him. she is so much more understanding than he thought--at most, he has always interpreted her demeanour to be a manipulation, but if that were the case, she's already sufficiently caught him in her web, and all she's doing is praising him. she's allowing him to process at his own pace, which isn't something sebastian thinks anyone else has ever done for him.

on unsteady but determined steps, sebastian turns, holding his hands out to find merrill and guide himself. he manages to find her hips, the warm fabric and leather of her armour beneath his palms. he ducks down, only a little, aware that he can't be exactly sure of where her face is, and he'd rather not embarrass himself with clumsiness.

she doesn't leave him unmoored. her hand cups the side of his neck, and she responds to his wordless plea for a kiss. it's a deep kiss, wet and hot and encompassing. she nips at his bottom lip, curls her tongue across the roof of his mouth, exploring him, and it leaves him shivering, growing hard between his legs.

when they part to catch their breath, he hears her take a step back, feels her hands sweep down his arms to his hands. sebastian lets her tug him across the room, unable to see where they're going.

she leads him far enough, with a bit of a turn, that he thinks they've left the main room. the wood panelling floor is rough on his soles, but her hands are soft, and she doesn't let him trip, doesn't let him stumble into anything.

they come to a stop, and sebastian hears the light creak of a bed frame. after a moment, merrill pulls him closer again, and he knows to move carefully, until he can rest a knee onto the mattress and follow her.

she guides him to lie down, careful urging rather than shoving. sebastian ends up on his back, laid straight out, while she seems to be sitting by his hip, from the dip in the mattress and the touch of her knee against his side.

the shifting of weight signals when she leans over him. her hand presses to his abdomen, and her lips brush over his collarbone. she leaves a series of chaste kisses across his skin: the hollow of his throat, the slope of his shoulder, right on his sternum, just below a nipple. tingling sensation remains like a mapped constellation.

although his hands are free, he's unsure what to do with them other than curling his fingers in the blanket beneath them; he wouldn't know where to reach for her, and doesn't want to disrupt her.

her fingers trace his hip bone, coming to his side and sliding down to his thigh. he doesn't expect her next kiss above his navel.

"you're very lovely," she murmurs against his flushed skin.

'lovely' isn't a word sebastian has ever received before. he's had partners compliment his body or how he uses it, but he was more often the one doing the complimenting, and still, no one ever chose the word merrill does. the way she says it, it feels good.

her hand pushes harder against him as she moves, and a moment later, sebastian finds her seated comfortably on his thighs. she's still fully clothed, her wrapped leather leggings smooth to the touch.

she drifts her fingers down both his arms, taking one of his wrists to lift it off the bed. she kisses a line along the inside of his forearm, then over his knuckles.

sebastian gasps in surprise when her mouth closes around two fingers, silky tongue fit between them. experimentally, he curls his fingertips down on it and drags them back to the tip before pushing them deeper into her mouth again. he's rewarded with a faint sound of pleasure that reverberates around his fingers.

her reaction amplifies his own; he has always found satisfaction in sharing such intimacy. his parents would call it a shameful indulgence. the chantry would call it a selfish distraction. he only wants to connect with another, to know someone inside and out, to feel good, and to make someone else feel good with him.

after a few more passes of her tongue along his fingers, merrill pulls back, though she keeps holding onto his hand, her index finger across his pulse point. his heartbeat is loud in his ears, even more so for his lack of sight to distract him from it.

"i'm going to get undressed now," she tells him.

it's something of a promise that makes need flow through him. he wets his bottom lip, clutches the blanket between his fingers. he nods against the pillow.

he feels her move, and expects her to stand, but not to press a firm parting kiss to his lips before she does so.

then her presence is out of his reach, but not gone. her footsteps don't recede far, and he can hear the shift of fabric as she removes her clothes. he turns his face towards her, even though the blindfold obscures everything; he just can't help but seek her out in some way.

she steps further away, perhaps to set her clothes aside. sebastian shifts on the bed, feeling untethered and restless without her touch. the darkness feels more prominent when he's alone, waiting and anticipating, thinking too much.

"sebastian," she says from a slight distance away. "i'm still here."

unconsciously, he relaxes, soothed. her voice is lyrical, light, like a wind chime rustled gently in the breeze. he isn't alone here at all, and he knows she will not leave him. he cannot see her, but he trusts that she's there, and that she will remain.

footsteps approach, and her hand comes to settle on his chest. sebastian instinctively relaxes further, lifting his face to where she must approximately be standing.

"do you want to continue?" she asks.

the question is a surprise; he hasn't said stop, his cock is hard between his legs from her leaving kisses and touches all across his body, just his being here at all is a declaration in itself that he wants this enough to break a vow and seek the company of an apostate.

but she asked it with a weight of seriousness, and so he pays it its due, taking a moment to think, truly, about what he wants.

and he realizes that what he wants hasn't mattered in a long time. he was sent away because it was what his parents wanted. grand cleric elthina was understanding to begin with, but she made her disapproval well-known in the end, too, when he chose to prioritize avenging his family over his service to the chantry. he has been shaped, he has been at the whim of others, he has not even allowed himself to think about seeking personal pleasure, until merrill.

"yes," he says breathily. "yes, i want to... to feel--"

words fail him, as he's no longer used to asking for what he wants, suddenly overwhelmed with merrill's consideration.

her hand comes to his face, startling him, but not in a bad way. she draws her knuckles from his cheekbone down along his jaw, caressing him like no one has done before.

unexpectedly, sebastian feels safe. in the darkness, there is only her closeness, her touch, her care. he need not think of anything but her. in the maker's light, he is on display, scrutinized, forced to act a certain way, but in the calm dark with merrill, she only asks him to be true to himself. "please," he murmurs.

her thumb passes over his cheek, then she pulls away, but sebastian doesn't feel the loss of her like he did when she got undressed. he knows she's still there, that she is only moving to join him.

it was wrong of him to liken her to a desire demon. he has felt the cloying touch of a desire demon, and it had been twisted and sharp, insidious, sticking in him like barbs. merrill is soft and grounding, she offers him all this without it leaving gouges, without it coming at a price. he is not relinquishing anything to her, not in the same way he has to the chantry. he is not relinquishing part of himself, he is only putting himself in her gentle hands.

knees settle on either side of his waist, bare skin to bare skin. her hand curls around his cock, an action that he should have anticipated, and yet takes him enough by surprise that he jolts up hard, groaning as the sensation sparks through him. no one has touched him this intimately in so long that he's already left breathless, feeling like he would be rendered unseeing even without the blindfold, as overcome as he is.

"merrill," he gasps, a storm of swirling winds inside of him. need and elation and shame and confusion. he wants, shouldn't want, doesn't want to disappoint, isn't sure who he doesn't want to disappoint--

"it's alright, lethallin," merrill says as she continues sweeping her palm along his length. "let go. i have you."

sebastian bucks into her hand, a whine falling from his lips. there is nothing but her touch and a sense of being cared for, all of it mounting quickly with each caress.

it has been too long for him to resist his climax, as much as the blush across his cheeks is tinged with some embarrassment alongside the desire and warmth. it overflows from him almost without warning, leaving him bowed taut and enraptured. merrill just continues sliding her fingers around him to ease him through it, gentling when she correctly suspects that he's becoming oversensitive.

the conflicting thoughts return as his body relaxes, mind clearing enough to think of more than just merrill's touch. with this, he has officially, fully broken his vow. he has done the very thing that played a part in his family sending him away. he has turned his back on all his growth, has given into temptation.

and he has not felt so good, so at peace, in years.

it's backwards.

"sebastian?"

her voice draws his focus, calming the storm. he makes a faint noise, words still beyond him.

merrill rubs her thumbs into his hips in soothing circles. "you did very well. you've been so open with me. i like seeing you have pleasure, i like seeing the real you. being able to experience this with you is wonderful, you know."

the words flow over him like cleansing water, steadily sluicing away the tumultuous thoughts. she's right--this version of him is more real than the one the chantry made him into, for better or worse. she even approves, and her opinion means much more to him than he ever thought possible before tonight.

"i was a disgrace," sebastian whispers.

her hand cups his cheek. "i did not know you back then, but i sincerely doubt it."

she has such conviction. in hindsight, sebastian does know that he was going too far back then, but it was more complicated than him simply being an unruly young man ruining his family's reputation. he wants to believe he would have listened, if his parents merely expressed concern instead of sending him away, but that was not their way. it never had been, and he had always been a spare, easy to cast away. perhaps merrill is more right than they ever were.

tentatively, he reaches out for her, finding her thighs braced on either side of him. he runs his hands up them to her waist, pausing there just to hold her.

"i'm sorry i ever thought so ill of you, merrill."

he feels her shifting, and lifts his face to meet what he can feel will be a kiss. it's light and sweet. "i understand," she says, her lips still ghosting against his own. "you still gave this a chance."

she is more forgiving than anyone he has ever known. sebastian captures her lips again, pouring his gratitude and affection into it, wanting to show her that he doesn't regret this, that she has given him something good, and he knows that, despite the confusion his time with chantry has wrought. the ingrained shame is already fading, replaced with the assurance that there is nothing harmful in what they're doing, when she has been so careful and encouraging with him.

sebastian intends to be kinder to her in return. he slides his hands around her hips to her back, drawing her closer into an embrace as he kisses her again, able to sink into the sensation of their closeness without being conflicted about it. her body is warm, and strong even in her litheness. she is holding herself in such a way to avoid pressing her cunt to his cock--so, so careful and considerate--but he doesn't need her to do that anymore. he wants to feel her, and give her pleasure.

wrapping an arm around her hips, he pulls them together, feeling the curls of hair and gathered slick. at his wordless invitation, she rolls against him, breathing out a sigh against his lips. they keep kissing and roving their hands over each other, slowly moving together.

it doesn't take much to bring him back to full hardness, his body still aching for more after long years of denial. sebastian presses his thumbs into merrill's hips, guiding her, and she responds easily, taking him in hand to align them.

a silent gasp builds in sebastian's throat. the blindfold makes the sensation more acute; for a breathless moment, his mind blanks, hooked only on merrill tight and wet around him.

she kisses him, teeth dragging across his bottom lip when she pulls back, after. her hands press to his chest, sliding downward, and he can feel her straightening up, her thighs clenching against his hips. slowly, she begins to move, and sebastian matches her languid pace, thrusting up to meet her. he settles his hands on her thighs, kneading his fingers into her skin, feeling his way upward to her waist. in his mind's eye, he creates the vague image of her, beautifully poised above him, skin flush. he hasn't gotten to see her naked, yet--he feels her, instead, finding the curves of her muscles, the jut of her hipbones, a couple spots that are rougher with scar tissue.

he can hear her breath shudder as he runs his hands over her, feel her push down harder on his cock. sebastian wishes he could see her, and yet he doesn't regret the cloth over his eyes, accentuating every touch and allowing him to be one with her, to think of nothing but her and how good it feels.

he draws his hands up to her breasts, delighting in the moan he gets when he thumbs over her nipples. she leans forward into his hands as she grinds her hips down, fingers clawing on his abdomen.

they both move a little quicker, merrill's thighs squeezing hard around him and him snapping his hips up to meet her. he presses his fingertips into the soft skin of her breasts, then drags them down to sweep through the hair around her folds, wet with her slick. her hips stutter when he pushes his thumb against her; she thrusts down and forward, her weight shifting in a way that makes him imagine her arching back, seeking the exact right position of their bodies together.

her palms land on his thighs, arms back to hold herself up. sebastian thrusts hard, and she lets out a needy cry, her nails digging into his skin again. sebastian's heartbeat strikes hard, breath caught at the sounds of her pleasure.

"merrill," he breathes like a prayer, clutching at her hips. "let me feel you, you feel so good."

she jolts, sinking down and clenching around him. each of her breaths is like a gasp, shaky and desperate.

and she comes with a shiver sebastian can feel radiating between them, her body tight with it. sebastian slows his thrusts to a coaxing roll as her climax comes in waves, a wondrous wet heat around his cock.

when she begins to settle, sebastian leans up and wraps his arms around her back, need driving him. he flips them over, pinning merrill into her mattress, and fucks into her slick, still wrapped around her--wanting her close, fully against him.

she readily hooks her legs around his hips, holding him in return, urging him on. her hands dive into his hair, mussing the strands around the knot of the blindfold. with all his senses--save sight--full of her, sebastian finds his second release, clutching her close and pressing his face into the curve of her neck. he breathes against her skin, laboured and satisfied.

this time, his mind is not divided. he feels more whole than ever.

gently, he draws away from her, shifting to lie at her side. she rolls with him, keeping her arm around his back.

for a moment, they catch their breath together, merrill's fingers sweeping lightly along his spine. then, merrill brings her hand up to his nape.

"i'm going to take the blindfold off now, okay?"

sebastian nods, tilting his head back into her touch. he feels her reach for the knot in the fabric, careful not to pull at his hair when she works it loose.

when it's pulled away, sebastian squints his eyes open, but the room is lit only with candles, and doesn't pain him. in the faint glow, he regards merrill's face right in front of his own, her skin flushed and hair dishevelled, a sweet smile on her face.

it's an infectious smile, and sebastian feels lighter than he has in a long time; he smiles back.

even so, she asks, "how are you feeling?"

he understands that she wants to check on him, just as she wanted to be sure he knew he could stop this at any time. "incredible," he answers honestly. "and yourself?"

she beams. "much the same."

she brushes her fingers along his jaw, nearly making him want to close his eyes, but as soothing as it is, he wants to take in the sight of her now that he can.

they lie together for another minute before merrill leans in to kiss him on the forehead, then turns and stands up, going to a table on the other side of the room. sebastian watches her retrieve a pitcher of water and two cups, filling them both and bringing them back, holding one out.

propping himself up on his elbow, sebastian accepts the cup gratefully, only now realizing how parched he is.

merrill sits beside him, both of them sipping the water until the cups are empty and set away on the nightstand.

"i'm glad we could do this," merrill says. "it's much nicer to have an understanding, isn't it?"

it is. sebastian still doesn't know what to think of blood magic, but he has a good idea of what to think of merrill, and she doesn't line up with the story the chantry tells. she is no manipulative temptress--she is every bit the kind woman she has always seemed. he has now felt something with her that he has never felt with another, has never felt before at all. he can't thank her enough for that, he can only do better to understand her. she has earned his trust; if she is as careful with her magic as she was with him, that is something to be respected.

"the version of you i had in my head is but a pale mirage," he says. that version was born of chantry creed and cautionary tales. there are many things about his service to the chantry that he has a new perspective on--or an old perspective that was quashed and buried, now brought to the surface again. "it's good to see you with my own eyes."

merrill grins, reaching out to run her thumb along his cheekbone, just beneath where the blindfold sat. "you are welcome to come see me whenever you like."

it hadn't occurred to sebastian to wonder at whether or not this was a one-time thing. from what he can tell, merrill and their friends enjoy time together on a regular basis. he could not have fathomed that he might fit into that equation. when he came home with merrill earlier in the night, he wasn't even sure he'd follow through with this once, let alone make a habit of it.

but he does want to, and wanting doesn't make him feel as wrong as it did before tonight. he isn't the same man he was in starkhaven, nor is he exactly what the chantry made him into. he'd like to explore who he can be when he's honest with himself, and he sees that merrill is someone he can be himself around.

"then i will," he promises.

merrill smiles again, drawing her fingers down his arm. "would you like to stay the night?"

he shouldn't, as returning to the chantry in the morning will raise questions, but sebastian doesn't want to worry about that right now. "i would."

she leans down to kiss him, just a light, brief thing, a fleeting contact, before she stands again to approach a wash basin. wordlessly, they clean up, then merrill blows out the candles, leaving them in gentle darkness as she slips back into the bed beside him.

sebastian wraps his arm around her, and she settles against his side. entirely at ease, sebastian quickly falls asleep in her comforting presence.

#the merrill fucks series #this is 6k. oops.#finally. finally it is done. and possibly full of typos but im too impatient to keep editing. YEET

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hyunlixhart · 2 years

Text

I've been working on a Call Me By Your Name AU for SF9 and am planning on releasing it chapter by chapter!

I wrote this with fictional original character pairings for Rowoon, Chani, and Taeyang! I'm going to post the Prologue below. This is my first time releasing an original piece so please be kind! I'm super open to feedback as well from my fellow writers

Characters: RowoonxSimona, ChanixAllegra, TaeyangxVerona! (the rest of SF9 is eventually featured!)

First Glances

The car windows had been darkened, as per the request of the Korean embassy. Rowoon was glad for the privacy as he watched the unassuming Italian natives amble past his window where the chauffeur had stopped for a gas-up. He noticed that most of the natives had similar features. Dark curly hair, tied back against the summer heat. Tanned olive skin, not unlike his own. Everyone walked about the small hamlet as if there was nowhere to be and nothing to do. Old women sidled in and out of the open market, old men wandered into the town’s bar to sit under the fans and play poker. Most everyone in sight was above the age of 40.

The boy next to him, Chani, stirred. He had fallen asleep minutes into their journey from Rome, leaving the older boy in blissful silence.

Rowoon glanced down at the younger boy and chuckled. “You’re drooling.”

“Shut up,” Chani grumbled back in Korean, light hair falling into his eyes as he lounged back against the leather seats. “Why were we picked to come here? There’s nothing happening in this little town.”

Chani was right. There was little to do other than swim and have dinner parties with important political personalities who owned vacation homes across the coastline. The other six members of the Korean embassy were lucky to be spread out throughout Italy’s boot in Rome, Sicily, Florence…

“We aren’t here to have fun anyway,” Rowoon replied politically.

“Everyone here is a hundred years old!” Chani shook his head, glaring out the window. “I wanted to go to Rome with Taeyang and Zuho.”

Rowoon rolled his eyes and elbowed Chani in the side.

“Say that one more time and I’ll--” his voice drifted off as he caught sight of someone out Chani’s window.

“Or you’ll what?" Chani was waiting for the older boy to finish his thought. He turned his confused gaze in the direction Rowoon was looking and understood what had shut the older boy up, or rather who.

A golden head bobbed out of the sea of dark Italian curls in line at the market. The girl was young; likely closer to Chani’s age. She wore a red dress that hugged her wispy frame in all the right places. A fresh sea breeze tossed her blonde locks from side to side as she unassumingly examined the fresh crop of the day.

The girl’s skin shone like porcelain, almost frightfully pale, to the point where Rowoon felt the urge to hold an umbrella over her to ensure that she did not catch fire. Something about the girl’s face intrigued him. He wasn’t sure whether it was the furrow of her brow against the sunlight or the determined set of her lips as she sought out the perfect peach. Either way, he couldn’t peel his eyes from her until she was completely out of sight. Even out of sight, her delicate features were imprinted in his brain.

“Did you see that girl?” Chani exclaimed excitedly, pressing a hand to the glass.

“Who?” Rowoon was jarred from his moment.

“Didn’t you see that younger girl? She must have friends, and she must know what goes on around here.”

Chani clearly had not been as impacted by the girl’s pure angelic glow as Rowoon had been.

“Oh,” Rowoon shook his head, black hair falling delicately into his eyes, “right, yes. That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

“Mhmm.” Chani lifted a suspicious brow, leaving Rowoon to scan the sea of bodies hopelessly for one last glance.

#sf9 #cmbyn au #rowoon #chani #taeyang #original piece #sf9 au #sf9 imagine #call my by your name #italy au #kpop au #kpop fanfic #sf9 fanfic #kpop original au

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sumpix · 7 months

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The secret lives of New York’s doormen

They know your secrets — for good or ill

The first test was the audacious cockroach that sidled into our apartment about three days after we moved in.

Hardly enough of a native Manhattanite to calmly swat it and flush it and go on eating my pizza, I pollyannaish-ly sprinted downstairs instead. “Excuse me,” I breathlessly announced to the crossword-solving bald guy manning the front desk — I hadn’t even had the courtesy of introducing myself to him yet. “There’s a cockroach in my living room.”

Visibly unimpressed but with an air of professional politeness that almost hid what he actually wanted to say (“suck it up, princess”), he looked up at me sympathetically: “The exterminator comes Tuesdays.” It was Friday. In the five seconds that followed, my desperation thickened the silent air between us until he buckled: “OK, OK, OK, OK, OK. I’ll be right up.” He was and minutes later the roach was history.

In years to come, when I eventually move away from New York, I will remember many charmingly unique — and not charming but very unique — things about this vibrant, pungent, unapologetic, ragbag of a city.

High up on that eclectic list, though, will likely be the weird and wonderful kings of discretion who are privy to your secrets — your sordid affairs, habits and addictions — but about whom you know absolutely nothing; creatures who are as enigmatic as secret service agents, as polymathic as Swiss army knives, but as unassuming as the dude next door whose name could literally be anything. The heroes of the free world, the invisible cogs that keep the wheel spinning: New York City’s doormen.

Doormen in the Big Apple have a deep and storied past. By some accounts, they’ve patrolled apartment buildings for more than a century and a half. Nobody seems to have an exact count, but estimates put the number of union doormen across the five boroughs at over 25,000, spread across more than 3,000 apartment buildings.

They’re everywhere. And yet, it’s rare that anyone actually ever stops to consider who they are, and the real value — beyond opening doors and handing out Amazon hauls and takeout — they actually offer. Bulldozing the social etiquette that suggests it might be inappropriate to ask someone you don’t know a personal question, I quizzed one of the doormen in the large apartment building where I live why he chose this profession. His response? The money — unionized doormen make about $60,000 a year — and the job stability. Before becoming a doorman he was an aerial gymnast. “It was fun for a while,” he explained a little wistfully. “I sometimes miss the glitter.” When I asked several dozen of my friends and acquaintances across the city to share stories about their doormen, a few recurring themes emerged. If you’re a man dating women in New York, don’t worry too much about an overprotective male friend, or brother, or father: consider the doormen to be the real gatekeepers you need in your corner. Someone told me that her doorman had physically stopped several unwanted visits from a potential suitor. Others shared how their doormen had valiantly lied about them not being at home, or being sick, to make a caller go away. One woman told me she’s made an agreement with her doorman under which he judges any male visitors she brings home and then shares his impressions and assessments with her. “He has a high bar,” she said. “Most of them he’s deemed not worthy.” Cockroaches come in all shapes and sizes, I suppose.

Whatever services and value doormen offer, it’s unequivocally a good idea to be very nice to them. They have the unique ability to make you very comfortable or very uncomfortable, and if you make an enemy of your doorman there’s a good chance that you’ll be stuck with him or her (though it’s usually a him) for your entire tenancy. Many doormen have worked in the same building for decades. Rarely are doorman jobs advertised. According to my unscientific research, the best way to get a doorman job is to know someone who knows someone who knows someone who knows someone. And then you have to be a bit lucky too.

Indeed, earlier this year a doorman named Manny Teixeira retired from a job that made him New York City’s longest-tenured doorman. He’d worked at his building on the swanky Upper East Side since 1961, according to local news. And tenants in that building certainly took my advice about being kind to your doorman to heart. One of them allegedly bequeathed a dog to Manny in his will. Her name was Lucy.

A very basic rule, I’m learning, is to greet them, know their names and pay them a holiday bonus. Occasionally, offer to bring them something back from a coffee run. If you’ve got extra-special needs — vermin that need destroying, stalkers that need repelling, regular late-night ice cream deliveries that you’d prefer to be notified about before they resemble a melted, milky mess — then throw in a baked good for good measure.

Doormen will always judge you. As someone who’s tasked with dealing with human beings all day and all night — the good, the bad and the sloppily inebriated who lose their keys every Saturday night — that’s absolutely their prerogative. But at least if they like you, and if you show them the respect they deserve, they might have the dignity to pretend they’re not judging you. Even misguided ignorance is bliss.

This article was originally published in The Spectator’s November 2023 World edition.

#new york #doormen #sociology

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mylovelies-docx · 3 years

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Silent Lovers

Inspired by THIS post.

Just a cute little fluffy piece I wrote. It hasn’t been proofed, so any mistakes are mine.

Word Count: 2350

Warnings: None. Tooth-rotting fluff!

You fell in love with him just a little bit more every day.

His actions, his mannerisms, the glimmer in his eyes spoke of a man infinitely amused and in awe of the universe around him despite everything it had put him through. Poe Dameron may have been the Resistance’s best pilot, but he was also the reason so many people joined in the fight. Including you.

_____________

You had seen him buying galactic fruit from a bazaar on an allied planet that you had called home for years. His insignia emblazoned jacket marked him as a good guy, but his smile marked him as a kind man. His straight white teeth were easily visible, and his deep smile lines indicated a lifetime of grins.

You were too far away to hear their conversation, but you could tell that the stall owner was quite taken with him. They were laughing boisterously and exchanging quips rapid fire, pulling others around them into the conversation. The gravity of Poe Dameron sucked you in as well, and you orbited the outskirts of the group.

Poe was recruiting new members to his cause using only his charisma and charm. He never faltered on reasons to join and never stumbled through the sales pitch. He was confident in himself and his ability to sell the war efforts to this small group of traders and civilians. He succeeded, too.

You gained passage on a cargo ship heading to the Resistance base to supply yourself as a new recruit. Working as a mechanic for most of your life lent itself as a boon to your placement on base, and having sufficient flight and combat skills meant you could also be a substitute pilot on missions when required. But with so many X-wings coming in damaged and in need of repair after skirmishes with the First Order, your feet were planted firmly on the ground. Which was alright by you since all of your new friends were fellow mechanics or mission control crew.

It was also fine by you since you were able to discreetly observe Poe Dameron in his natural element as Commander and pilot. There were so many talented mechanics that you weren’t able to gain access to Poe’s X-wing, and therefore you were unable to get to know him up close. But you were content to watch from the sidelines and learn who he was by watching his interactions with others.

___________________

He had a smile or a special handshake with nearly everyone when things were calm. You could tell that he genuinely enjoyed speaking with and knowing everyone he worked with; whether that be the droids helping to repair his ship or the runners that brought out rations who were too young to fight. You enjoyed seeing his smile, since it was the first little thing you fell in love with.

Poe also had a habit of singing - quite loudly - when he was working on a task and feeling particularly playful. He was actually a good singer, but when Snap or Jessika gave him a look to shut up, he purposefully sang off key and out of tune to irritate them further. They would just roll their eyes and pretend to be annoyed, but they smiled when they looked away. Poe noticed these smiles and grinned even wider when he caught them.

Poe had even gotten his little droid, BB-8, to beep along with him. Poe would start whistling a tune and BB-8 would pick up right alongside him. It was cute to see the droid sway back and forth while it was ‘singing’, but your focus was drawn to the sound of Poe’s voice as he started up the chorus.

Whether or not his singing was out of contentment or playfulness, you loved to hear it. You often hummed along to yourself, five or six stations away on the opposite side of the hangar, far out of reach of Poe’s ears and eyes.

You loved to hear him sing, because that meant everything was okay for the moment. Your heart skipped a beat every time you caught even a note.

__________________

The constantly tousled brown curls that rested on Poe’s head were disastrous to your heart, as well. Anxious or nervous, laughing or silly, Poe was notorious for running his hands through his hair and shaking out the curls. You saw him do this on many occasions, unfortunately they were mostly out of stress and fear.

Before an important mission, Poe would give his team a pep talk and try to instill a fearlessness in them. He would be serious and stoic, resting a hand on someone’s shoulder and pointing and motioning with the other. He would clap twice then rub his hands together feverishly, dismissing his squadron and turning his focus onto preparing himself. Poe would take a deep breath with his hands on his hips, then on the exhale scrub his hands frantically through his hair. His face was always set in a determined expression, but you could tell by the chaotic set of his curls how anxious he really was.

On one such ritual, Poe caught you staring from across the hangar. You froze for a second, mentally berating yourself for watching him for too long.

Heart in your throat and stomach somewhere around your knees, you gave a weak smile and two thumbs up. Your first interaction with the man you were silently in love with.

Poe gave a little huff of laughter and mimicked your gesture. With a small grin on his lips and in seemingly better spirits, he climbed into his X-wing and pulled a helmet over his beautifully disheveled hair.

******

Poe Dameron knew a lot of people, but he didn’t know you. You, who he’d never seen before until that day. You were cute in an unassuming way; flushed cheeks and messy hair, grease stains on your clothes and face. The little thumbs up you had given him was enough to get him in his cockpit and out into the fray. You had no idea how much he had needed encouragement from someone other than himself in that moment.

After that mission, Poe took to watching you. You didn’t know each other, but he liked to think he knew you just by observing.

He fell in love with you a little bit more every day.

Your expressions, your posture, your smile that lit up a room and illuminated everything within its path. You may have been one of the best mechanics on base, but you were also one of the loveliest people Poe had never met.

______________

Poe was not typically shy; he had a loud mouth, a hot temper, and no impulse control. But when it came to you, he was a nervous wreck. Every time he got up the courage to introduce himself, someone either came along and roped him into a mission or you were so busy that you didn’t hear him clearing his throat behind you. (Those times were mortifying: Snap and Jess would chortle unabashedly at his misfortune, dying over the way he would ring his hands behind his back as he waited for you to turn around and notice him. Poe only ever stuck around for a few seconds until his courage was gone, but those few seconds were embarrassing.) He couldn’t bring himself to interrupt your work when you were so invested.

Your eyebrows would furrow together and create a little line right in the middle, tempting Poe to smooth it out; your mouth would curl up like you had witnessed something distasteful, begging Poe to give you something more to your liking, but sometimes you’d bite your lower lip and stick your tongue out in concentration, sending Poe’s blood careening through every vein; you would be hunched so far over your work bench that you basically had your chin pressed against the table, but Poe loved the way your face softened as you finally figured out what was wrong with the part in your hands.

One time, Poe sat huddled in the hangar with a group of pilots, waiting on the sudden storm to pass so that they could go out and train, when he noticed you run off into the rain. He sat mesmerized with a goofy grin on his mouth as he saw you fling your arms open and raise your face into the oncoming water. Your eyes were closed and your mouth was open in a wide smile full of pretty teeth. You spun in a circle a few times and nearly lost your balance, sending you into a fit of giggles that, unbeknownst to you, Poe joined in on.

Jessika shoved an elbow into Snap’s waist when she caught their Commander with such a gooey expression. They both gave each other a look and brought Poe back into the conversation.

******

You really didn’t know what to do with yourself anymore. Poe was all you could think of in your spare time and you ran the risk every day that he would catch you watching him again. But you couldn’t help it; he was just so handsome and good. You couldn’t get over this stupid, silent crush no matter how hard you fought it.

He doesn’t even know who you are, just that you’re some nerfherder that he caught staring at him.

A few months had passed since that happened, and you were no closer to knowing Poe on a personal level. Interestingly enough, though, Jessika Pava and Snap Wexley were becoming fast friends of yours. You were a bit intimidated at first, but they were both nice and funny, so you quickly let down your guard and hung out with them. They often brought up Poe, which made your cheeks warm everytime. You didn’t miss the knowing looks they gave you when you turned your face down and away from their prying eyes.

_________

It was an uncommonly windy day on D’Qar, so all of the pilots were grounded and unable to practice maneuvers. Everyone was resting on or against a pile of supply crates in the hangar, chatting and having a good time. You didn’t want to interrupt them, but you needed some materials from the crate that Jessika was situated on. Since you knew her and knew she wouldn’t be bothered by your interruption, you made your way over to the group quietly.

Poe was standing beside Snap on Jess’s other side, so you sidled up behind her and whispered in her ear:

“Boo.”

Jessika jolted off of the box and whirled around to face you. You were laughing so hard that you were bent over at the waist with tears collecting in the corners of your eyes. You couldn’t stop yourself from seizing the prime opportunity.

“Maker! You scared me half to death!” Jessika scolded, wagging a finger at you. Her heart was still racing, but she couldn’t help but chuckle at your antics.

“I know, I’m sorry,” you apologized, wiping away the tears that were threatening to fall. “I couldn’t help myself.”

You were still grinning from ear to ear and huffing out little breaths of laughter, causing Poe’s heart to constrict in his chest at the sight. You were so cute it hurt.

You were so close it hurt. You weren’t looking at him, but he could see your face up close for the first time, and it took his breath away. He had seen a million beautiful people across the galaxy, but there was something about you that was special in a way that none of them had been.

Jessika glanced quickly away from your smiling face to catch Poe with his mouth slightly open and eyes wide with longing. Finally, she had gotten these two idiots within speaking distance.

“Whatever: I forgive you. By the way…” Jessika said. Her eyes darted towards Poe, and yours followed along. Your breath stuttered out of your lungs as Jess grabbed Poe by the arm and tugged him closer. “Have you met Commander Dameron?”

Jessika released Poe’s arm and shoved him closer towards you. Poe nearly stumbled over his feet at the sudden pressure. He turned to give Jess a quick glare, but faced you again immediately. Your eyes were wide and your face was either still flushed from laughter or from nerves; either way, Poe was enamored.

“Poe,” he introduced. He extended an open palm towards you, hoping like hell that it wasn’t sweaty. His heart was racing, but a crooked grin stretched across one side of his face in anticipation.

“I know,” you replied, extending your hand in return. You cringed at your reply, pausing your hand on its way to meet his. You made a quick finger blaster with that same hand to point out that you had caught your slip. Poe chuckled adoringly at this gesture and proceeded to clasp hands when yours returned to the correct position.

You were absolutely horrified by what came out of your mouth and whatever the Maker your hand just did. Your social anxiety was at an all time high right now, and you weren’t making it any easier on yourself. You were shaky and you just knew that your underarms were pouring liquid, so you kept your one arm extended to shake Poe’s hand and the other crossed over your chest to grasp your opposite bicep. Even through the nerves, you could feel how warm his hand was.

Poe had a large and calloused hand, proof of all the years he had spent fighting. It radiated heat into your own palm and you didn’t know whose hand was providing all the sweat. Despite the awkwardness you had shoehorned into this meeting, you were thankful that it was finally happening.

“(Y/N),” you supplied.

“I know,” Poe grinned.

You had both fallen in love from a distance and now had the opportunity to fall in love up close and personal, building on top of the foundation you had both laid together silently and without the other’s notice.

You were no longer silent lovers, appreciating and admiring from afar, but finally intimate acquaintances.

#poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #poe x reader #poe dameron/reader #poe dameron x you #poe dameron/you #poe dameron x y/n #star wars #star wars fan fiction #sequel trilogy

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gallickingun · 4 years

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reassurance || oikawa tooru

SUMMARY: You and Oikawa Tooru have become close after spending weeks partnered together in your college course. You have an unspoken relationship, nothing exclusive, but Oikawa plans to change that once he realizes a toll his other female fanatics have on you and your confidence.

PAIRING: Oikawa x Fem!Reader RATINGS: T+ WARNINGS: language, negative feelings, anxiety, etc. WORD COUNT: 3.8k+

Author’s Note: This is my very first Haikyuu!! piece. I’m not sure how it ended up being Oikawa, but here we are! In the future, if you guys want, I’ll definitely do more Oikawa but also Sugawara, Kuroo, Bokuto, and Kageyama!

The jersey sits heavy on your shoulders – as if Atlas himself had bestowed the burden of carrying the weight of the world to you personally. Your back aches but you stand when the set is thrown across the court anyway, hands held close together in preparation of a clap.

He always gives you a reason to redden your hands in praise.

When the ball slams onto the court, his eyes turn to you – dark and playful, the lilt of a smirk on his lips. His left eye drops in a wink and as you bring your hand up to wave, your body tenses at the sound of screams from just behind your position in the bleachers.

“Oikawa!” They drag out each syllable of his name for an excessive amount of time, and the flirtatious drawl of their voices makes your skin crawl. They giggle in unison, a flurry of voices trying to be louder than the last, their laughter echoing off the gym walls, “Great serve!”

Your hands wring together in your lap as you find your seat again, eyes downcast so you cannot make out the frustrated expression on his face when you back down from them. He grits his teeth and curls his fists, but anyone looking on and unaware would believe he was just pushing himself to newer limits, a higher level to achieve. He is not known for his tendency to stagnate, especially not in a game where there are newscasters and reporters present, scouts for national level teams scattered in the stands.

“I heard he’s seeing someone,” a higher-pitched voice chimes in, just across your shoulder. Before you can turn your body to defend yourself, or the girl in question can continue, another one further to the left butts in, “Yeah, but I heard it’s not exclusive. Which basically means he’s still fair game.”

“He’s not a piece of meat, guys.”

You’re thankful for whichever third voice of reason pipes up, but the sheer number of girls giggling behind you does little to quell your spiraling nerves. The pit of your stomach is in shambles, your arms wrapped around your torso in an attempt to hold yourself together while the last set of the game winds down.

They’re not wrong, per say. You and Oikawa aren’t exclusively dating, not really calling one another pet names, or holding hands across campus. At most, you’re comfortable, your bodies walking in synch from building to building, finding it easy to fill the otherwise awkward silence with talk, or comfortable just basking in the quiet. He will throw an arm around your shoulders and kiss your temple, but the actual affection is saved for when he walks you to your car or you spend the evening studying in his dorm.

The two of you started off as lab partners, forced to spend extra time outside of class together to study and put together a project that’s worth a decent amount of your semester grade. In that time, you’d grown to enjoy his company, and he started inviting you out with his teammates and their friends after practice and to parties, and even to study together for other subjects outside of the lab class you were taking.

It was not long before your mouths found one another and your hearts grew to become intertwined.

And now, here you are, stood in the stands, your body on the edge of your seat as he twirls the ball in his palms, blowing a breath through his teeth as he steps to the edge of the court. He toes the white line, as if mentally marking the spot, the start of a smirk on his lips as he grows more confident with each passing second. Your heart stalls within your chest, just as it always does, when the ball is thrown into midair, spinning so quickly you can hardly see the multi-colored stripes, rather each piece blurring together to create one dark hue.

Oikawa manages to throw another service ace, bringing the game to match point in favor of your school’s team. As the ball is rolled back underneath the net, he turns to look at you, undoubtedly gazing directly into your eyes, tilting his head in your direction and blowing a kiss from the center of his palm.

You reach your palm out into midair, stretching your digits so your hand is wide open. It is a silly thing, something the both of you started when you had to be across campus from one another, unable to meet up for lunch or coffee or studying. After a moment, your fingers wrap around your empty palm, grabbing his intangible kiss from the space between you. He watches intently as you press your digits against your lips, the ghost of his kiss on the ridges of your fingerprints. As your mouth curls upward in a smile, Oikawa’s expression lilts to match your own, the faintest hint of dimples dipping into his cheeks on either side.

“If you think that was for you, then you’re delusional,” the tinny-voiced girl from before leans down to whisper in your ear, her hand menacingly placed on your shoulder, like a weight meant to sink you to the bottom of the ocean. “It was obviously for me. I have my linguistics course with ‘kawa, and he and I were partnered up for a project this past week. He’s so totally into me, even offered to carry my books.”

Her heels look pointed enough that she could pierce your throat or your eye with the tip, so you merely shove her hand off of your shoulder and turn around, clapping as Oikawa tosses his next serve up in the air. You rally with the rest of the crowd, whooping and hollering when his hand hits the ball, a loud echo from the slap making you wince.

When you look up, the ball is in play, volleying back and forth from one side to the next. Oikawa’s face is flushed, hands at the ready as he takes his position. After a few more moments, a perfect set from Oikawa to your team’s ace lands them the final point they need to win the set.

The entire crowd goes ecstatic, everyone standing to their feet, ringing their bells and blaring their horns, clapping their hands as the boys on the court jump up and down and hug one another. Oikawa has his arm around the ace, tugging him to tell him something close in his ear, but his eyes wander to the crowd, finding you in an instant, dropping his left lid down in a wink. You can’t help the way your heart constricts within your ribs, like a caged dove desperate to fly free. Your hand are over your face as the teams both line up to thank one another for the game, and once they are released to the locker rooms, you start to gather your things.

You hear a snicker from above you, and when you turn your head, a thin, beautiful brunette with blue eyes is glaring down at you, a smirk tugging upward on her thin, peachy lips. She cackles, crossing her arms over her ample chest to multiply the appearance of her size, “I hope you’re not waiting around for ‘Kawa. Prepare to be disappointed.”

“Disappointed in what?”

The familiar, smooth voice in your ear sends your whole body into a stupor. You look over your shoulder, but he’s already so close to you that you can feel the heat of him against your side. Oikawa’s palm slides into the back pocket of your jeans and your tongue lolls back in your throat, near choked on the organ as you watch him sidle his attention to the girls stood behind you on the next row of bleachers, an unassuming expression aligning his features.

Your body flushes with heat, face warm to the touch and your backside where his hand is currently placed is practically throbbing at the attention. Oikawa pulls you in tighter, your body tucked into his side, and he smiles, eyes near-sparkling underneath the fluorescent gym lighting.

“Hey pretty girl,” he kisses the crown of your head, squeezing you with his elbow that is around your back as best he can, “did you enjoy the game?”

Glancing up at him, you make eye contact and it floods your body with a familiar warmth, your stomach doing flips and your heart pattering within your chest, “Yes, you did so well! That’s two more service aces than last game!”

“That’s my girl.” Another kiss is pressed to your temple, his lips warm and smooth against your skin. You note that he’s being even more affectionate than normal, and you have to wonder if it’s in response to seeing those girls encroaching on your space. “Now what was this about being disappointed? Not in my game, was it? I know I screwed up a couple of times, but I think I redeemed myself alright!”

You turn to the girls stood in the bleachers, their faces paling in color as their jaws hang open just slightly, his words doing little to reign them in. The expression on your face has morphed into one of self-satisfaction and smugness, lips quirked into a smirk, one brow cocked upward, “No, ‘Ru, I think you did great. These girls were just worried you weren’t paying attention during the sets, is all.”

Oikawa stifles a laugh before it can break through the aloof expression he is wearing, eyes wide as he narrows his gaze to the group of college girls now stammering and blushing in regret for sticking around this long. He reaches behind his head to rest his palm on his neck, cocking his jaw slightly to the side to relay even more of an innocent appearance. You turn your body closer to him, his chest pressed against yours from the side, your arms circled around his waist. Now his hand in your pocket is on full display, thumb jutted out from the fabric, but the other four fingers are perfectly slotted against your backside.

“I’ll admit I was a little distracted,” he scrunches his nose, eyes crinkling at the edges as he does so. He turns from them to you, sliding his other hand down your ribs to your free pocket, aligning the fronts of your bodies so your chests are flush. Oikawa’s honeyed gaze is lingering on you, and for the moment you feel like there is a spotlight on the two of you, center stage as he brushes the tip of his nose against the bridge of your face.

“I knew you were coming to the game, all decked out in my jersey. I couldn’t help but stare at you between sets.” Your cheeks burn as he kisses your forehead, but you can’t help the uneasiness that you feel swirling in your stomach, dripping down your throat like acid. You wonder if his intentions are pure – is he truly claiming you as his in front of this crowd, or is he merely trying to throw them off of his scent, using you as bait?

Oikawa tugs on the hem of the jersey adorning your torso, something akin to pride shining in his warm irises, quelling the turmoil in your belly for just a moment. “You look adorable in my clothes.”

The shrill one out of the three speaks up, pushing herself onto her tip-toes to appear taller, looming down over you both, “B-But I thought you guys weren’t allowed to let other people wear their jerseys?”

“Oh yeah,” Oikawa waves his hand in midair, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly, “I got special permission from the coach, he said since I was the one who closed our last few games with those service aces, he’d let me loan the jersey out to my girl.”

At the mention of my girl, Oikawa turns to kiss you on the forehead, tucking your head beneath his chin as he holds you closer. He smiles over the top of you at the group of girls, a smug tone seeping into his words, in spite of his innocent expression, “Are you girls here for someone?”

They all begin to stutter in jumbled tones before scrambling down the bleachers, apologizing and taking their leave. The door to the gymnasium has hardly shut before Oikawa bursts into a fit of laughter, holding you by the arms as he takes in your bashful expression. He leans down, trying to remain close despite the noisy crowds maneuvering their way through the gym, “You wanna grab something to eat? Coach gave us tomorrow off from practice, so I don’t have to head back to the dorms just yet.”

“Yeah,” you nod, your hands pressing flat to his chest, jersey stuck to his skin with sweat. You scrunch your nose in response, shaking your head and forcing a disgusted sound from the back of your throat, “You better shower first though, Tooru, cause I’m not going anywhere with your stink.”

Oikawa squeezes your backside gently with his limited grip, hands still stuffed in your pockets, “I’ll be out of the locker room in a few minutes. You can wait for me in the car, okay?”

Your hand finds his keys, jingling as you move your hip, the lanyard weighing heavy on your beltloop, “Yeah, okay.”

His eyes find you instantaneously, your tone dropped an octave as you loop your index finger through the o-ring that his car key is attached to, your knuckle crooked around the cool metal, as if you were keeping it safe from harm. Oikawa pulls you forward with a gentle tug against your backside, your body enraptured with his as he looks down at you, his nose brushing your forehead.

“Thank you for coming,” Oikawa’s lips are against the dip in your brows, running down the bridge of your nose, “I think you’re my favorite good luck charm.”

You can’t help but chuckle sarcastically, your fists curling around his jersey, “As if you need any good luck, ‘Ru.”

Oikawa withdraws his hands from your pockets, but pats your ass gently, causing you to stumble into him until your bodies are flush. He laughs into your hair, kissing the crown of your head affectionately before releasing you.

He’s walking away, but he makes sure to call over his shoulder, “Of course I don’t, I’ve got you!”

You’re trying to contain your blush all the way back to his car, wringing your hands in front of your body, twirling his car keys between your knuckles. You play with the fob attached, his name embroidered with his number and the school’s logo – a gift you bought for him a few months into the semester. He pulled you into his lap when he made out what it was, his hands cupped around your thighs as your knees settled on either side of his hips, gentle words parting his lips: “How is it you already know me so well?”

You are alone in the car for a good twenty minutes, and you pass the time by listening to the radio and scrolling through several of your social media accounts and checking your emails from various professors. Before you know it, he’s startling you when he opens the driver’s side door. You press your hand over your heart, eyes widening as he slips into the front seat, long legs slotting beneath the steering wheel.

Oikawa reaches across the console to press his palm to your thigh, squeezing the fleshiest expanse of skin gently, “Hey, pretty girl. What’s got you thinking so hard?”

Your palm finds his knuckles, a soft smile upturning your features at the gentleness of his mannerisms. Oikawa’s thumb brushes back and forth against the inner seam of your jeans, leaning his torso closer so he can nudge his nose against your cheek in a teasing motion. His smile can be felt against your skin, the corners of his lips upturned along your jawline.

“You.”

The answer is nothing short of truthful. He does not have to know in what capacity you’re thinking of him, only that you’ve given him the real reason as to why your brow is crinkled and your gaze is far-off rather than focused on him. Your heart twinges within your chest and your stomach grows sour the longer you think about those girls and what they had to say, how quickly they disregarded you.

“You’re adorable,” his mouth finds your cheek in a chaste kiss before he settles into the driver’s seat and shifts the car into reverse. Oikawa’s hand never leaves your thigh, pinned there by the immovable force of gravity, held in place by sheer will. Even as he orders at the drive-thru and maneuvers the car to the nearby park, his palm does not waver. It spreads a contagious heat, like a virus pricking at your veins, begging to be let in to devour you whole until you are nothing but a shell left behind by his affections.

Before you know it, the car is parked and Tooru is helping you out of your side of the vehicle. His hand is on yours and you almost stumble on your way to the meadow-like section of the boardwalk. You toe off your shoes and kick them to the side, sat in the grass as he straightens out a blanket he keeps in his car for times like these.

You are quiet as you nibble on your food, playing with the wrapper in between bites. Oikawa lets you stew in your own thoughts for a few minutes before he is breaking the silence, leaning his body into your personal space to shatter the box you’ve built around yourself.

“Is everything okay?” Oikawa’s hand is on your knee now, searing into your skin with the ridges of his fingertips, “You’ve been rather quiet since we left the gym.”

Immediately, your mind is thrown back to the scene you witness just before leaving. The group of girls all ganged up against you, sneering and snickering at your excitement at Oikawa’s success, as well as his affections towards you. Doubt crawls up your spine like a shadow, clutches it’s spiny claws into your shoulders and latches onto your skin, an itching starting that you know cannot be quelled with words alone.

“Wh-What did you think of those girls at the end of the game?”

You are taking a chance, stepping out onto a tightrope with no net underneath to catch you if you fall. Oikawa owes you nothing – there is no commitment, no promise that the two of you have made to one another. Is that not what the girls were saying? That you were not exclusive to one another, and therefore you have no claim to him.

The entirety of your body grows heavy as he speaks his next words, those golden brown eyes finding something off in the distance to focus on, “They were pretty, I guess. Not really my type, how about you?”

It is meant to be a joke, you think.

Oikawa is using his typical flat tone that he has to channel for when he is being overly sarcastic and must mask it before his façade falls into a fit of giggles. And still, the twitching of his lip, the telltale sign of his impending grin, does nothing to force your fear to the side. Rather, it multiplies at his false confession, building to a crescendo of acid within your belly, lapping at the innermost parts of you until you’re broken in the worst ways.

“Hey, I’m just teasing-”

A palm brushes your cheek but you are too numb to notice. Your eyes are lost, focused in on one blade of grass near your feet, trying to count the shades of green that reflect off the moonlight up above. The air surrounding you is like a balm, but you wish it were a salve; anything to help soothe the burning of your soul.

The charred ashes within your stomach start to suffocate you, floating up your esophagus until they burn the base of your throat and choke your tongue from the inside out. Tears simmer against your lashes and your face flushes with the threat of emotion taking over you like an apparition.

The feel of a knuckle against the underside of your chin, the fleshiest part, is what breaks you from your downward spiral, Oikawa’s voice quick to follow, “You can talk to me, you know.”

Your hands seek out his proximity, palms curling around his sweatshirt as the temptation to ask your questions sits on your tongue. The acid drips down the muscle to the back of your throat to meet the ashes, your jaw locked as you try to speak. Oikawa’s hand expands along your neck, thumb brushing against your jugular to coax the words from the base of your throat.

“Do you like me?”

A silence stretches between the two of you for a short moment before his fit of giggles breaks through it. Oikawa slots his hand into your hair and nuzzles your nose with his own, “Do you really think I would ask coach to break the jersey rules for me if I didn’t like you?”

You begin to babble, stuttering syllables crossing your lips as you try your best to defend yourself. Your hands go clammy and your tongue feels thick in your throat, eyes flitting across his face while you attempt to compose your emotions. Before you can force a full sentence from between your teeth, Oikawa has captured your lips in a kiss.

His mouth against yours melds your thoughts together until your mind is mush, unwilling and unable to create coherent thoughts. Your fingers shake against the fibers of his sweatshirt, shaking with the need to have him closer. He feels your desperation and smiles into the kiss, his own hands curling around your frame. He wants you closer now, as if the non-verbal confession has created something new between the two of you, a fresh bloom to admire and showcase.

As he pulls away, Tooru is still grinning, “I didn’t want to rush you, but I want you. Whatever that means for you. Relationship or not.”

“Relationship,” you are quick to answer, eager as you push yourself up on your knees, closer to his face. Your lips find his again, arms wound around his shoulders so you can be flush against his torso, fingertips brushing through his hair. He encourages you onto his lap, hands flat along your shoulders to steady you as you find your balance.

Oikawa’s nose nudges down your cheek and jaw, nipping kisses creating tiny red, aggravated marks against your skin that fade within moments of their origin, “You have nothing to be jealous of, princess. I promise.”

Your cheeks burn at his recall of your earlier admission, the insecurities eating away at your innards even through his affirmations. Oikawa licks his tongue along the column of your throat, forcing a shiver up your spine, and successfully redirecting your attention from your throttling thoughts to his warm mouth.

“If you still don’t believe me,” his fingers slip beneath the hem of your shirt, eyes full of mirth as he gazes up at you through thick lashes, “then let me show you.”

---

not gonna lie..... this is NOT my favorite piece so if you made it this far thank you! if you’d like a second piece, one a little more spicy in nature, please let me know!!! or if you have any drabble/thirst requests i’d love to answer them!!!!!

bokuto is my next victim so be on the lookout for that! hopefully we’ll have lots more haikyuu posts in the future!

#oikawa tooru #hq oikawa #oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru x reader #haikyuu x reader #morgan writes hq #my writing

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halfway-happyyy · 4 years

Text

Little Honey

good morning friends! here is a quick lil smutty blurb to get y’all through this fine Wednesday morning. Inspired by this little saucy ask someone sent in: Anonymous said: God can you imagine the jealousy seeing someone flirt with Alex like in real life? You knew this was apart of the job, apart of his life. But when a costar or interviewer is just shamelessly eye fucking your man in front of you, even after being introduced! Alex is of course the perfect gentleman. He excuses you two because he knows that look on your face. So to calm you both down he takes you in a closet and fucks you senseless 🤪

You could always feel his eyes on you.

It hardly mattered if it was from across a crowded room, or from a glimpse through the foggy bathroom mirror. His gaze had the all-encompassing power of making you feel like the most beautiful girl in the world. And, perhaps to him you were.

“You’re staring at me.” You murmured as you swiped the tapered end of a pink lipstick across your bottom lip.

“Kind of hard not to,” Alexander replied.

You turned to glance at him, pursing your lips together as you did so to make sure the pigment was evenly applied. Tonight, he was clad in a lavish, navy blue suit; a black bowtie peaked out from the crisp, white button up shirt beneath it. His sandy hair was long now; longer than you had ever seen it before and you reveled in the fact that he had no intentions of cutting it any time soon. A beard had made an appearance during quarantine. You had been weary of it at first but thanks to the many times that it had scratched the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, you had around to the idea and now you loved it. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you it was rude to stare?”

Alexander’s slow-growing smile broke into a full grin that made your stomach dip in the most wonderful way. “I’m sure she must have. But if you were seated where I was in this very moment, I imagine you would find yourself in a similar predicament.” He cleared his throat and clocked the watch on his wrist. “Done soon, kid? Our car is here.”

This would be the first time out with Alexander to an event in over a year and you could not contain the sheer excitement of it if you tried. You were elated to finally place faces and personalities to the names that he had spoken so highly of on so many previous occasions. As the vehicle glided to a halt in front of the theatre, Alexander squeezed your hand three times and exited his side to get the door for you on yours. Following him out into the balmy Los Angeles night, you could not help the nerves that had started to dance around in the pit of your belly as cameras flashed before you. No matter how many premiers, or award ceremonies, or other large-scale events you attended… you would never get used to the attention. After posing for a few photos together, and waiting while he had his own taken separately, you made your way into the brightly lit theatre together. Only once inside the comfort of the building did you allow yourself to take a deep, steadying breath. A massive, gilded clock on the wall above you told you that you were still forty-five minutes until show time, and you stole yourself for a round of inevitable introductions. You chatted warmly for a few minutes with the director of the film before he was pulled away in another direction, as promises of “We must trade stories again later!” reached you from above the buzzing crowd.

“Oh, Alex!” A female voice cried loudly, and you turned just in time to watch a woman you had never met before, wrap her arms around him. This was still normal territory for you; women had done worse things to him in your presence. But then she nuzzled her face into the hollow of his neck and sighed heavily and your cheeks instantly grew warm. While Alexander reciprocated the hug, he was unsure of where to put his hands, so he proceeded to awkwardly pat her back.

“Hello, Gianna.” He greeted her warmly and when she broke away from him, her hazel-brown eyes were alight with an intensity you had come to recognize well. Alexander cleared his throat and gestured to you. “There is someone I’d like you to meet,” He moved away from her to wrap a toned arm around your waist. “Gianna- this is my girl.”

She turned to you, the smile in which she had reserved for Alexander wilted only slightly as she took note of your unassuming figure.

“It’s nice to finally put a face to the name Alex has spoken so highly of these past few months.” You smiled and extended a hand towards her which she accepted begrudgingly.

“Isn’t it just?” She replied drily.

Alexander squeezed your hip reassuringly and jutted his chin out toward the direction of the bar. “Well, I will leave you ladies to it, hm? I think I see Tom at the bar- would you like a drink?”

“Yes, surprise me please. And whatever it is, make it a double.”

Alexander nodded his head and pressed a kiss to your temple before vanishing into the crowd.

Gianna watched him disappear and returned her attention to you, a half-empty martini glass clutched in her hand. “He’s so much sexier in reality, isn’t he?”

“I beg your pardon?” You blanched; eyebrows raised in genuine surprise.

“Alex. It’s really quite overwhelming, isn’t it?”

Suddenly you found yourself in awe of the audacity with which this woman possessed. With her flirtations and her impossibly cool cruelty- and the kicker of it all was that she really was simply stunning; you could not deny her that. Long, glossy brunette hair hung in perfect curls down her bare back, and a subtle accent that either belonged to somewhere in Spain or Italy colored her every word and you could easily see the attraction. You cleared your throat and managed a shrug. “Yes well at home, he’s just Alex. Still does the dishes. Still drools in his sleep occasionally. Rather a little boring, really.”

She levelled her gaze with yours and smiled coldly. “That may be less of his problem, and more of yours, no?” Taking a deep breath, you tried to scan the crowd for him. You finally caught sight of his impending figure at the bar across the room, deep in conversation with an older gentleman. She swilled back the rest of her vodka and smiled at you again. It was a Cheshire cat sort of grin that caused an unpleasant batch of goosebumps to rise in patterns on your arms. “You look like you’d like to leave, and I don't blame you, but before you do, I just have one question.”

“And what’s that?” You murmured, already regretting indulging her.

Gianna leaned close enough to you that you could smell the precise scent of the floral perfume on her dainty neck. “Does he fuck as good as he pretends to?”

You swallowed hard and tried to ignore the way your arm vibrated in subtle anticipation of the smack that you so badly ached to deliver to her perfectly highlighted cheek. “Hm. An interesting question indeed. And unfortunately for you, one you will never get to know the answer to.” You turned on a heel and made your way for the bar, grateful for the thickening crowd and the dimmed lighting. Sidling up next to Alexander with a heavy sigh, you caught the eye of the bartender and waved him over. “A Stoli on the rocks with a twist of lemon, please.” You had already taken your first sip when Alexander turned to you, a small frown in place on his features.

“I hadn't quite had time to order your drink yet.”

You gestured to him with your almost empty glass. “Beat you to it, Skarsgård.”

“So, it seems…” He murmured. “You alright, kid?”

You giggled humorlessly; the memory of your most recent conversation fresh in your mind. “You know… I pride myself on being a generally un-jealous partner,”

“I do know that. It's one of the many, many things that endear you to me.”

You lifted your glass in silent cheers. “But that woman back there? What a cunt.”

Alexander's sparkly blue eyes widened in shock. “Gianna?”

“The very same.”

“What did she do?”

You winced a little as the rest of the alcohol singed the back of your throat like smoke. “It's not so much what she did… but what she said.”

He turned to you fully now, brushed a stray piece of hair behind your ear, his gaze intense and utterly penetrating. “Talk to me, tell me what she said.”

You rolled your eyes and gestured with your glass to the bartender for one more. “She carries a torch for you Alex. Badly. And I can handle that…” You shrugged your shoulders. “Lord knows it's just one of the many things I signed up for. But you worked with her side by side for six months. You filmed very… intimate scenes with her. She doesn’t have to reach up on her tiptoes to hug you. I could go on.”

Alexander shook her head. “Kid, she couldn’t hold a candle to you.” He leaned ever closer to you, the heady scent of his cologne caused your mouth to water. “And between you and me, I like that you have to step up onto your tiptoes to hug me.” As he caressed a warm hand to the side of your face, you noticed an imperceptible change in the glimmer of his eyes when he reached for your hand. “Come with me.” His tone left little room for argument, so you downed the rest of your drink in one fell swoop and followed him into the crowd. He wordlessly led you down to a quieter area of the theatre and stopped in front of a women’s washroom. Checking that no one of importance was in sight, he pushed open the door and gestured for you to head in first, which you did. Once inside the privacy of the washroom, Alexander checked each stall to be sure that you were alone. He passed by you moments later to lock the door, an erection growing steadily in the crotch of his pants. Closing the distance to you, he patted the counter twice. “Jump up on here, baby.” Again, you did as you were told. He closed the distance between you, the sheer heat radiating from him caused you to shiver violently. You reached forward to palm the bulge between you, and the urge to have him inside of you was nearly all-consuming. “You feel how hard I am?” He asked, his voice already hoarse. “You can physically feel how badly I want to be inside your pussy right now, hm?” Alexander’s skilled fingers danced teasingly beneath your dress. They moved slowly up your leg, past the rounded curve of your knee, up over the silky softness of your inner thigh. “You know that only you can get me this hard, hm?” His fingers slowed when he realized you had gone panty-less this evening. “Not a single other person can do this to me, baby.” He runs a calloused thumb up over the wetness of your slit, stopping moments later to press firm circles into your clit. “Let’s see how fast I can have you falling apart for me, hm? Gotta be quick, little one.” With no warning, he inserted two thick fingers into your pussy and started pumping at a steady pace, his thumb pressing matching circles into your clit.

“Fuck, Alex…” It had hardly taken a while before he had you seeing stars behind the lids of your closed eyes. You could feel the familiar unraveling of pressure deep in your belly, the telltale signs of an orgasm near completion.

“Oh I know, baby…” Alexander groaned. “I know you’re close. I can feel you clench around my fingers. Now, are you going to come all over those, or are you going to come all over my cock?” You tossed your head back against the mirror with a dull thud, the answer to his question lost to the moan at back of your throat. “I’m just going to decide for you baby, you can’t even form coherent sentences at this point.” He pressed a chaste kiss to the base of your throat and nibbled into the soft flesh there, causing a muted cry to rip from somewhere far away. “Ah, ah, ah… you know the rules.” He whispered sternly. He pulled his fingers from your dripping heat and slid them into his mouth, sucking off everything you had to give him. He then unbuckled his belt and shimmied his boxers halfway down his legs, taking his erect cock into his hands, and jerking if off with the rest of your excess juices. You trembled as he lined himself up against your slick entrance, then wordlessly slid himself in to the hilt. “Christ almighty…” He groaned as he let you adjust to his sheer size. “No one could ever compare to you. Not ever.” You wrapped your legs around his waist as he drew away from you and slammed right back in. “Hold on tight baby, I’m about to wreck this pussy.”

“Oh my god, Alex…” You could feel a scream building at the base of your throat- and he could feel it too because a large hand fixed itself over your mouth as he plowed into you with reckless abandon. The familiar sensation of your approaching orgasm returned, and you could feel yourself clenching around his hard cock. “Alex, I…”

Alexander pressed a finger into your clit as he thrusted into you, the timing and pressure caused lightning bolts of pleasure to explode behind your eyes. “You’re going to come all over this cock right now, aren’t you? Give me a little honey, baby.”

You nodded your head fervently and whimpered loudly as you gave yourself over to the all-encompassing feeling of your orgasm overtaking your body.

“You’re going to take everything I have to give you like a good little girl,” Sweat beaded on his forehead and with a free hand, you reached up to push his sandy hair out of his eyes so that you could get a better look at them when he filled your pussy with his come. His normally bright blue orbs were dark now, his pupils dilated and blown over with unbridled lust.

As he slowed his rhythm down a bit, you could physically feel his cock throb and pulsate inside of you, and you moaned loudly.

He dropped his head to your shoulder and railed into you with such force, you feared momentarily that there might be some damage to the mirror or countertop afterward. “Oh, baby…” His hips stilled against your own and you felt him pour his release into you, the sheer feeling of being filled to the brim with his seed, utterly overwhelming. He waited a few blissful moments before pulling himself from you, and carefully tucked himself back into his boxers. Taking a few deep breaths, you watched him fix his suit so that it looked entirely as if nothing untoward had just taken place at all.

You hopped down from the counter and gestured to a stall. “Going to get fixed up quick. See you back out there in a few minutes?”

Alexander smiled and pressed a kiss to your cheek. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

When you emerged from the safety of the washroom ten minutes later, you were hardly surprised to find that Gianna had managed to seek out Alexander again. Though he had been able to keep his distance this time. Stealing yourself for what was about to happen next, you joined their conversation with a rather shit-eating grin. “Hello again.” You murmured once there was a break in the conversation. Gianna simply ignored you and was poised to ask Alexander another question. You closed the gap between her and gestured to his subtly disheveled figure. “Notice anything different about him? Go on and take a good look,” Gianna’s fiery gaze flashed to his slightly sweaty visage, to the deep breaths he was still taking, and to the afterglow that despite his best efforts, had still managed to set his skin aflame. “You see that don’t you, G? See how utterly fucked out he still looks?” She crossed her arms defiantly across her chest in response, her glittery eyes shooting daggers at you. “He looks that way because he just had his way with me like an absolute champion. And even though it is entirely none of your business, I’ll let you in on a little secret anyway,” You got ever closer to her, the last part barely above an audible whisper. “Alex fucked me so good just now, that I’ll be feeling him between my legs for the next four days, at least.”

Alexander tugged gently at your hand. “We have to find our seats, kid.”

You offered her one last beaming smile. “Have a lovely evening, Gianna.”

#long hair alex is a mooooood #tw: public sex #alexander skarsgard #alexander skarsgard x reader #alexander skarsgard oneshot #alexander skarsgard imagine #smut #writing #drabble #alex sstuff

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bisexual-inuyasha · 3 years

Text

Xingese Gold

Prompts: pining/hands/nature. “Please just hate me already.”

Wrap your arms and hold me still

I don't wanna think about what I will

Speak in tones that I can't hear

And tell me how no one knows anything in here

-- Jade Bird “What Am I Here For”

A young boy with black hair and dark eyes sat in his mother’s field. His face was serious, mouth twisted into a frown. He was a very stern child, hair pulled severely back into a bun.

For most kids his age, the object of their concentration would be something colorful and loud. Or maybe even ants crawling along the dirt or the dried out carcass of a worm. For this child, scrawny and tired, it was the flowers. His fingers--nimble, gentle, fleeting like tiny birds--brushed over the golden strands. Petals remained safely caged behind spindly stamen. His pants were soaked at the knees, his bare feet covered in broken grass and mud.

His mother had taught him about these flowers. It couldn’t have been more than a month ago, after a similar heavy bout of rains. The lesson came after the worst news in his young life. She had died only a few days later, protecting him from one of his brothers from another clan. Forty one siblings would be easier to kill than forty two. He’d written the name down in a book, tucked that book into his shirt, and watched his mother be buried in the only silk his clan could muster. It had not been a good season.

She had called these flowers Xingese gold. According to her, they were the only flowers of their kind in all the world. Other places had yellow, red and white. But only the Yao clan from Xing had golden spider lilies. They were proof, she’d said, that he was meant to ascend to the throne. Only the Emperor could wear gold, after all.

He glanced around the field and rocked back on the balls of his feet to get a better look. When he was sure the coast was clear, he plucked a flower and tucked it into the middle pages.

The list of the names in the book grew longer as more and more clans fell to assassination attempts. His mother’s children, his half-siblings, resented and revered him as their downfall and their only possible salvation. For many years, he had no true friends.

And then Lan Fan found him, visiting the now overgrown field, plucking Xingese gold. And she swore, for the price of a single flower, she would protect him. Her hands were clean and her clothes neat when he took him to the humble house she lived in. Her grandfather’s face was hard. His lessons were harder. But his kindness reminded Ling of a childhood wrapped and buried in silk. And with the old man’s guidance, and Lan Fan’s friendship, Ling’s body hardened into a weapon.

His personality sharpened like a knife, quick and cutting and so unassuming.

But it was his instincts that set him apart. He lived with his finger on the pulse, twisting around the existence of others like a hesitant snake. Curious and fleeting, never lingering long, taking only what he needed.

And this is how Ling Yao became a teenager who crossed the desert, determined to find the key to immortality.

**Amestris, before the end of the world.**

Ling lay on hot tiles, tapping his toes against the burning roof. He was waiting for the right time to drop through the open window. This golden haired alchemist was well known around this country for his search for the philosopher’s stone. The philosopher’s stone was well known for being the only alchemical way to achieve immortality. If Ling believed in fate, he’d almost think they were meant to find each other.

That wouldn’t do right now.

Ed had all the cards. Every scrap of information Ling wanted existed behind those golden eyes. Whatever Ed didn’t know about the philosopher’s stone, he knew how to find. Ling sensed that maybe, this stone and Ed’s life, were intrinsically linked. Linked in a way far more certain than fate.

Al left the room. The metal man had taken to leaving when he could tell Ed needed to rest. It was less lonely for him to spend those hours exploring the city. Or at least that was the reason Al gave. But it didn’t take the dragon’s pulse to see that Edward Elric was thinning out.

Not physically. His body was fit as ever, though no taller for having increased his intake. But Edward himself seemed more and more distant. Al may be afraid of disappearing inside his armor, but Ed was disappearing into himself. The golden hair alchemist was becoming lost in a maze of problems and responsibilities that seemed to grow new walls and corridors every day. Ling had his own knots to untangle. He couldn’t help lead Edward out of his.

“I wasn’t sure I’d get the chance to talk with you.” Ling slid through the window, grinning.

“You don’t have to do that, you know.” Ed’s metal arm was over his eyes. Ling had noticed he did this when he was too warm. The metal had to be cool against his skin.

“Do what? You can’t even see me.” Ling sidled down onto the couch. Ed’s bed was clear across the room. He could have sworn the set up was different when the boys had first settled into this room, but he wouldn’t complain. “Lan Fan and Fu want me to stay hidden for a couple of days, until Bradley loses interest.”

“What, did you get bored?” Ed snickered. “Or did they just run out of food?”

Ling patted his tummy forlornly. “Do you mean to say you have food? I do feel a little faint, now that you mention it.” He went limp, feigning unconsciousness. His stomach growled for good effect.

Ed’s footsteps padded on the hardwood floors. The metal clunk of his foot was muffled by the sock he wore over it, but it was still an unusual gait. Distinct, and comforting. It had been a signal to Ling that he was safe, since Gluttony. Since he’d listened for those footsteps in the dark, and the blood. Ling opened his eyes and stared at the moonlit ceiling. Just the thought of Gluttony made him feel slimy. Filled his nose with the scent of blood. Suddenly his appetite was gone.

He still accepted the bowl of scallion chicken soup when Ed handed it to him and took a large spoonful. “Cold.”

“Yeah, well, that is what an icebox does.” Ed pulled his hand through his hair. “Still good though.”

Ling took another large spoonful. His stomach clenched. He put the food down. He tried not to look revolted but Ed was watching him all the same. ��Good, but maybe not what I’m hungry for tonight.”

“Hm.” Ed tapped his fingers against his chair. His mouth was tense, body full of restless energy. He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. “Do you ever think about how we’re just… kids?”

Ling waited for the horror to cross Ed’s face at what would usually be a difficult confession, but tonight seemed to be a night of honesty.

“I haven’t been a kid since before I met Lan Fan. I don’t contemplate those kinds of things much any more.” Ling leaned forward to rest his chin on his hand. Ed was still in his black tanktop and work pants. He’d taken to sleeping in them more often than not. “What makes your mind so heavy today?”

Ed didn’t answer for a long moment. Outside, Ling could hear the never sleeping cars of Amestris trotting along the cobble streets. Ling followed the line where Ed’s hair met his jawline. It looked so different outside of the braid.

“I saw Al’s body. It’s just. So young.” Ed stood, pacing. Ling listened to the pad-thunk-scrape-pad-thunk of Ed’s steps. “We’re all so young. I can see it in the Colonel’s eyes when he gives me orders. I can feel it when Riza talks to me and there’s all this… this sorrow. Like she’s stealing something from me. Something I’ll never get back. And some part of me knows she’s right.”

Ling could taste the metallic stain of blood on his tongue. His fingernails still had some of Gluttony stuck in the beds. When he closed his eyes, he could still see Envy’s souls calling out to him, begging him to free them. “I’m tired, Ed. Have you been sleeping?”

Ed’s eyes narrowed. His arms crossed. In a small, miffed voice he admitted that no, he hadn’t really been sleeping. “Don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

“You’re too young to be contemplating loss of youth.” Ling grinned. It was full of too many teeth. “Come on, lighten up Ed. You probably just need a nap.”

“I don’t want to nap. I just. Want to feel like I’m going somewhere.” Ed flopped back into his seat. Ling’s response seemed to have deflated him. “I’m just trying to get back to where I was before I lost Al’s body. But what do I do then? Most people spend this time figuring that out, but I’ve just determined I don’t want to stay a State Alchemist.”

“That’s a good start.” Link chuckled, and despite his best effort, it was not as lighthearted as he usually managed. “Being able to decide you don’t want to do something is a luxury some of us don’t have.”

This was an unusual visit. Since Ling and Ed’s day spent in the belly of Gluttony, Ling had gone to see Ed whenever the sun went down and the smell of blood filled his nose. Usually, Ed gave away his leftovers and they snarked back and forth at each other until Ling fell asleep on the couch. The next morning, Ling would sneak away through the window he snuck in from.

Ling’s chest felt tight. The room was too hot. He didn’t want to think about lost childhood, lost time. He didn’t want to think about fate and choosing his destiny. Ed’s problems weren’t his problems. Ed was upset he hadn’t been utilizing his time choosing what to do after he inevitably succeeded in his goal of finding Al’s body.

If Ling didn’t succeed in becoming emperor, all of his clan's people would die. And whoever became emperor could kill a lot more than that. His success depended on a goal so outlandish that most people dismissed it as a childish fantasy. Success meant a long life of being more responsible for more people than he could count in ten lifetimes.

A heavy touch landed on his shoulder. Ed must have been talking to him, but he hadn’t heard anything at all.

“Are you ok, Ling?” Ed’s earlier anxiety was replaced by worry. Now that Ling had been pulled out from his thoughts, he could feel Ed’s other hand on his knee. Anchors to the present.

Ling smiled. He opened his mouth to assure Ed he was fine and maybe he’d take a nap since Ed wouldn’t, but Ed was already shaking his head.

“You don’t have to do that.” Ed let go of Ling’s shoulder and leaned back against the couch. He laid his head back, staring up at the window Ling came in. “I don’t have anyone I can actually talk to either, you know. Everyone expects something of me.”

“I expect something from you, too.” Ling leaned back beside Ed. Their shoulders bumped into each other on the couch, skin against skin. The smell of blood receded. Ling’s stomach growled again.

“No, you want something from me. That’s not the same as expecting something of me.”

Ling turned to look at the alchemist, surprised. “Explain.”

“Winry expects me to keep her and Al safe, to keep all my promises and then return home. Al, of course, expects me to get his body back. And I will. I want to. He should expect it of me. The Colonel and Hawkeye expect me to be an amazing alchemist, but they also expect me to be ok. Compared to all of that…” Ed sighed. “Compared to that, telling you about the philosopher’s stone is just a conversation. Just me telling you about Alchemy and my research.”

“So you’re saying you would have told me about the philosopher’s stone without me blowing up Gluttony’s head?”

Ed scoffed. “Don’t pretend you didn’t feel like a badass.”

“I was terrified. I'd like to see you stick your whole arm in that thing’s mouth.” They both laughed. Though truly, Ling was terrified of Gluttony. And Envy. All of the Homunculi who had too many souls. He thought Ed probably was, too.

“Well, you certainly looked confident. And fast, too. You’ll have to teach me some moves. Maybe I'll finally beat Al in a fight.”

They didn’t talk for so long that Ling drifted into sleep. His side pressed against Ed’s. Their legs touched hip to knee. Ling could feel the jutting edge of the automail through Ed’s jeans. To his surprise, Ed’s head leaned into his, stirring him. Ling turned to see if Ed was asleep and was greeted with a face full of golden hair.

Ling moved carefully. Ed was fast asleep. He didn’t even seem to notice Ling’s arm move to circle around his shoulders.

The memory of the dark, and the blood, and the souls crying out dimmed. Quieter, until Ling could almost convince himself those monsters had just been a bad dream. He ran his fingers through Ed’s hair and considered.

They’d grown closer, since their run in with Gluttony and the desperate run from Father’s base below Central. Since his introduction to Ling, both Envy and Wrath had been relentless in hunting him down. And still, he came here. Still, he waited out the nights with an anchor that told him the darkness was safe.

“You know, I’m going to use that stone eventually.” Ling kept his voice low. He didn’t actually want to confess anything to Ed. Not while the shorter man was sleeping so soundly. “No matter how it was made, I can’t let all my people die.”

Ed didn’t stir. Ling hummed. A thought twisted through his chest. “It would probably be better if you hated me now instead of later. But I just can’t bring myself to warn you. I’m a selfish, selfish man.”

Ling drifted off again eventually. It was hard to sleep on the couch without ending up awkwardly wrapped around Ed or falling off onto the hard wood.

When he woke in the morning, he was surprised to find Ed still leaning on his shoulder, fast asleep. The sun flooded the window and suddenly Ling was back in Xing, in his mother’s field. Strands of gold spilled between his fingertips.

“Xingese gold…” Ling murmured.

“What?” Ed yawned and sat up. “God, your breath stinks.”

Ling snorted. “You’re one to talk.”

Ling’s face burned. Every time he’d done this before, Ed had slept in his own bed. They’d come dangerously close to cuddling. With Ling’s increasing dependency on his visits with Ed, he wasn’t sure how to interpret the new developments.

“What’s Xingese gold?” Ed stood and stretched.

Ling smiled, remembering his mother sitting among the flowers. He pulled his book from his pocket. “I’ll show you.”

The flower was faded and fragile. Ling didn’t dare move the flower off the paper. “Only my clan in Xing can grow this specific shade. My mother called it Xingese gold.”

“That’s… random.” Ed shrugged.

“Just a dream, that’s all.” Ling stretched his grin wide again. “Though, your hair is the exact same shade.”

Ed’s cheeks tinged pink. “Hey, about last night…”

“No one has to know Edward Elric thought I looked cool when I fought the homunculus.” Ling patted Ed’s head, a motion he knew the short alchemist would hate. Ed fumed, but didn’t shout like Ling expected.

“Just so you know, Ling. If you accept that stone, I’ll fight it out of you.” Ed turned, picking up a new set of clothes for the day. “And if it kills you, it won’t make it to Xing to rule with your body.”

The anxiety in Ling’s chest burst. Fear, anger, worry splashed around his insides, coating his thoughts with an existential dread. Ed had heard him last night. Had heard him and rejected hating him.

Ling climbed into the window.

Edward didn’t look back to see him leave.

Besides, no matter how Ling felt about what Ed had said, they both knew he’d be back when the darkness came.

#Ed/Ling #EdLing #Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood #m/m #rarepair

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jaskiersvalley · 4 years

Text

The Mafia AU has caught my imagination a little and it definitely could do with a second part. Special shout out to @ohnomybreadsticks as my partner in crime and @raynalies who got me thinking about an OT3 that I’ve been quietly loving for a while now.

The welcome feast was a bewildering one to say the least. Geralt stuck close to Lambert and Eskel. They helped themselves to food but didn’t break rank, even when others drifted closer to talk. Jaskier in particular seemed keen to talk to them and eventually got them settled, idly nibbling at his remaining gummy rings.

“You’ve met Yennefer, my enforcer,” he said, nodding to the imposing woman who had collected them from the crime scene. “And that’s Cahir, my right hand man.” The man lounging lazily against a wall, eyeing up Lambert and Eskel waved. “Their word is my word. You’d do well to heed their instructions.”

“Especially if I demand you waltz around shirtless,” Yennefer chipped in, tossing up a grape and flicking it through the air with graceful fingers. She squawked indignantly when it was batted back easily by Cahir.

“But yes, while we don’t have a uniform, we do insist on Shirtless Thursdays.”

As much as Jaskier was entertained, he pelted both of them with a bit of bread. “Behave! Both of you.”

While both Yennefer and Cahir pouted, they did tone down their merciless teasing, keeping the most barbed comments directed at each other.

After that first meeting, Jaskier seemed to dress almost sensibly. He was still colourful, bright and over the top but at least there was a little more sense of style and fashion behind his wardrobe choices.

“New stylist?” Geralt asked one afternoon when he had been summoned, by himself, to Jaskier’s little empire.

“Nah,” Jaskier held his arms out and looked at himself critically. “Just don’t need to make an impression now. You’re mine, no need to put on airs and graces.”

The easy way he declared Geralt as his did interesting things to Geralt’s heart. Part of him basked in the idea of belonging. Since Kaer Morhen’s fall, it had been difficult to find his spot in the world.

“How is your old wolf?” Jaskier asked, breaking him out of his reverie.

Truthfully, Vesemir hadn’t been seen in months. The last they’d heard, he was being held hostage by the Cats who were demanding a ransom they could never hope to pay. Not even with taking every job, saving where they could and even resorting to petty crimes like stealing cars to strip down and sell for parts. His silence must had been too telling because Jaskier hummed.

“Who has him?”

“The Cats.”

At least that had a derisive snort coming from Jaskier, “They’ve been a thorn in my side for a while. Take Yennefer and destroy them. Get your papa wolf home.”

Much to Geralt’s surprise, Cahir was next to Yennefer, eyes dark with the promise of violence. It seemed odd that he could be there too but the more people who knew their way around the more brutal side of things with a little finesse.

It was just the five of them. Somehow, Yennefer had been able to find out where they were holding Vesemir and a whole host of other information that would only help them. Infiltrating the block of flats the Cats had claimed was surprisingly easy. They moved through the floors, Lambert out front, reckless as usual. It almost got him into trouble on the fifth floor. The previous floor had already been cleared in a short but ferocious scuffle. It had them all baying for more blood and Lambert was throwing caution to the wind. Which was his downfall and Geralt was too far away to help, as was Eskel who looked pained at the realisation. They didn’t expect the idiot looming over Lambert to suddenly clutch at his throat, knife sticking out. From the side, Cahir stood up, tucking a couple more throwing knives back into their place. There was blood pouring from a wound in his hairline but Geralt had never seen him look more vicious. Or happy for that matter.

They managed to find Vesemir who was in surprisingly good condition compared to expectations. He grumbled a little about his wolves selling out to Jaskier but once he was shown the hospitality of the mob, he was a little less disgruntled.

“When did tall and lanky throw his lot in with Lambert and Eskel?” he asked Geralt when it was just the two of them in the room. Which was a very confusing question and Geralt just stared, not understanding. “I mean-” Vesemir sighed, obviously despairing, “-when did they become a trio?”

More silence and Geralt scratched his head.

“Don’t tell me you never noticed. Lambert and Eskel? Always together, sharing clothes, food off each other’s plates, always turning up together. Geralt, are you really this dim, my boy?”

It seemed that indeed, Geralt was that dumb. He had his suspicions about Cahir but had been distrusting because he seemed to be playing with both Lambert’s and Eskel’s affections. Now that made a lot more sense.

“Next you’ll be telling be I haven’t realised someone is chasing me.” It was a joke, Geralt had meant it as self-deprecating humour but somehow it fell flat. Because, as his luck would have it, Jaskier was sidling up to him a short week later.

There were questions about Geralt settling into his new hierarchy, whether he needed anything and the like. Which was nice but Geralt didn’t understand why he head of the mob would be making a personal house call. Unless he was there for something more. Truly, Geralt was an idiot for not noticing sooner.

With that little issue cleared up, Geralt found himself with Jaskier more often than not. And, on the periphery, he often saw Cahir, Lambert and Eskel, usually lounging in a loose pile of limbs and looking very bored in meetings. Why they seemed to be able to slack off while Geralt had to sit by Jaskier like some prized trophy was beyond him. At least, until he realised he was allowed to chip in an help negotiate or threaten. It was much more effective if he glowered and growled in sharp contrast to Jaskier’s cheerful chatter. The amount the man talked was stunning.

Really, Geralt didn’t even realise that he’d become stupidly domestic with the head of the mob. To him, Jaskier was a chattering, optimistic fool who he had seen with pillow creases on his face and hair an absolute bird’s nest. It was only when there was talk of some ball or other that Geralt realised he’d been an unassuming fool yet again.

“You’ll be publicly declared as mine,” Jaskier said, showing Geralt the plans. “Would you object? Being a head of the mafia’s sweetheart.”

Truthfully, no, Geralt didn’t object. He quite liked the idea of sitting on a leather armchair next to Jaskier’s. There was only one request he had. While Jaskier’s was a dark leather, imposing and a stark contrast to his bright personality, Geralt wanted something light. It tickled him to no end that despite appearances, he was the one who was lighter because he knew that no matter what Jaskier said, one didn’t become the head of the most influential underground organisation by luck and charm. There was definitely some dark things in Jaskier’s past.

The ball itself was a bit boring in Geralt’s opinion. He sat on his armchair, fingers linked with Jaskier’s while various gangs approached with news, pledges and offers. It meant though that Geralt had time to scan the room and found Cahir, flanked by Lambert and Eskel, all three of them quietly matching in their suits with red pocket squares. Catching Vesemir’s eye in the crowd, Geralt had the grace to nod and look sheepish. Even if he was the sweetheart of the mafia’s head, he was still an idiot.

#geraskier #eskel/lambert/cahir #eskel/lambert #geralt of rivia #jaskier #eskel #lambert #cahir mawr dyffryn aep ceallach #vesemir #tldr: geralt is an idiot but it's all okay

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cheeriecherry · 4 years

Text

The Dogma Of Childhood Friends [2/4]

Shinsou Hitoshi x Reader

Warnings: fluff

Part 2/4

It’s been months since you and Hitoshi last spoke. In the beginning, you’d chalked it up to him being disappointed about the hero course, and not knowing how to react. You’d seen him in the hallways at school, and tried to talk to him.

You know, to extend the metaphorical olive branch.

But every time you were left hanging, with him pushing past you, turning away, or just flat out ignoring you.

It crossed your mind that he might be jealous, but you discarded the thought as quickly as it came. Hitoshi wasn’t that kind of person, and even if he was, it wasn’t enough to warrant his actions.

And, somehow, said actions only worsened when the students moved into the dorms. Any time you’d see your best friend -in the hallways, on campus- he’d turn on his heel and start walking in another direction. Despite him being your oldest friend, he was making it very easy to be annoyed with him.

It was to the point where even your classmates started noticing.

“So,” Mina began one morning, sidling up to your desk, “what’s with you and the purple haired guy?”

“Huh?” Maybe if you played dumb, she’d leave it alone.

Uraraka turned around in her seat and regarded you with a smile. “I think she means Shinsou,” she clarified, “and I’ve been wondering the same thing! He avoids you like the plague. Were you guys rivals in middle school, or something?”

You fidget with one of your pencils. You supposed it wasn’t really a secret, what had happened. You weren’t ashamed or scared to tell anyone. They’d just...never asked? Maybe.

“Well…” and yet saying it out loud was still difficult.

“We’ve...actually been best friends since we were little. Our classmates used to pick on him because of his quirk, y’know? I stood up for him, the day we met, and it turned out that we had a lot in common. The rest is history.”

Mina cooed softly beside you, her eyes alight with mischief. “That’s adorable!”

“But it doesn’t explain why he ignores you,” Uraraka pointed out.

You sighed.

“Fine, fine. We applied to Yuuei together, hoping to get into the hero course. When he found out I was in 1A, and he was in the general studies department...he kinda just...stopped talking to me.”

Your two friends stare at you, the beginnings of anger blossoming on their faces.

“I still send him texts from time to time,to let him know what’s going on, but he never replies. Always leaves me on read.” You had hoped to placate the situation, but your words only seemed to make it worse.

Mina stands up tall, and crosses her arms. “You still consider him your best friend?! Why?”

You shrug. “Of course. Whatever he’s going through, whatever he’s feeling, I’m not giving up on him so easily. He’sprobably got it in his stupid purple head that he’s not good enough for me, or something. I won’t let our friendship die just because he’s being a dumbass about it.”

Uraraka looks sad beside you. “That doesn’t make it okay for him to treat you the way he is.”

“I know,” you say, “and I won’t pretend it doesn’t, like, hurt or anything, but friendships can be complicated. Especially when negative feelings come into play…”

Mina looks like she has a whole lot to say, but is cut off by Mr. Aizawa sauntering into the classroom, so she takes her seat instead.

Halfway through the lesson, Uraraka passes a note back to you;

‘If you still care about him, make a gesture that will mean a lot to him. Maybe he feels bad for what he’s done, and doesn’t know how to apologize.’

A grand gesture, huh?

You think on it for the rest of class. You’ll have to consult Mina on it later.

----

‘Later’ turned out to never come.

After classes had finished for the day, you’d rushed back to the dorms to prepare the idea you’d had during English. It was a little corny, but you’d decided that a small gift and an uplifting note would be perfect for Hitoshi. It was unassuming and personal, but more than a few simple texts.

You doubted he’d accept it from you directly, though, even if you could manage to hunt him down. No, instead you waited until most of the other students had gone to bed, and then sneaked out to drop the parcel on the 1C dorms doorstep. Addressed to ‘Shinsou’, of course.

It wasn’t until the next morning that you realized your mistake.

“Y/N, did you hear?!” Mina practically dove on you the moment you entered the classroom. “That Shinsou guy has a secret admirer! Someone left a present for him in the dead of night, and one of his classmates found it this morning!”

You felt like your stomach had been filled with rocks.

“Mina…” you groaned, “that was me!”

“You have a crush on him?!”

“No!” you retaliated, voice squeakier than you would have liked it to be. No, there was no way you had a crush on him. Not a chance.

Unless.

No. No way.

You realize Mina is staring at you curiously, so you make haste and explain the genius plan you’d had last night. The peace offering gift, the uplifting note, the midnight drop off.

“I guess I forgot to sign my name on the note…”

Uraraka pats your shoulder sympathetically. “Hey, maybe it’s better this way. Shinsou might be more likely to accept your gifts if he doesn’t know they’re from you.”

You hide your face in your arms, sinking deeper into your seat. “That completely defeats the point, though. He’s supposed to know they’re from me. What if…”

...what if he thinks they’re from someone else? What if he wants them to be from someone else?

You couldn’t place why the thought left such a sour taste in your mouth. The thought of him wanting someone else, someone besides you…

“Oh my god!” you groaned, gripping at your hair and tugging. “Mina, you’re right! I like him! As more than a friend!”

Both girls attempt to soothe you, trying their best to calm your overwhelmed nerves.

There was no way you could do this.You had to keep giving him gifts, had to keep showing you cared! But now, the thought of him finding out you were behind everything? You could practically see the look of utter disappointment on his face, having expected the trinkets and letters to have been from a pretty classmate, instead.

Not you. Never you.

“Everyone, take your seats, and open your textbooks to page thirty.”

You glance up just in time to see Mr. Aizawa bumble into the room, and begrudgingly do as you’re told.

----

You decide to actually consult your friends that evening, instead of going ham with a plan you thought was good. You were bent on making sure you didn’t make any more dumb mistakes with the next gift to Hitoshi.

“I gave him licorice snaps shaped like cats yesterday, so I was thinking tonight I might go with something cute? I found a cat figurine dressed as All Might the other day, so I had to buy it. He might get a laugh out of it.”

On the floor beside you, Momo smooths the pleats in her skirt. “I think that’s a sweet idea. It’s small and simple, but I bet he’ll smile when he sees it.”

“You should do it,Y/N!”

“Yeah!”

You nod as the girls around you cheer you on. “Alright! I’ll do it! And this time, I’ll make sure to leave the note anonymous on purpose!”

The four of you giggle a bit.

It takes about twenty minutes to find the necessary wrappings for the gift, and another ten for you to decide what to write in the note.

“I don’t really want to be over the top,” you say, “he’s not on for dramatics, but he likes honesty.”

Mina reads over the several discarded notes on the floor, wincing at how choppy and blocky they were. “Why don’t you go with something personal that he’s done for you, or something about how he makes you feel?”

You chew on the end of your pen. “That could work. How about this: You’ve inspired me every day to work hard in achieving my goals. I know that one day, you and I will be great heroes!”

The pink haired girl quickly snatches the note out of your hand, folding the paper into a heart and depositing it in the gift box. “It’s perfect,” she assures, “raw and to the point, as a love note should be.”

You feel your face heat up at that, but say nothing to disregard her.

“All right, I’m going to go drop this off, but if anyone asks, I’m just getting some air.”

----

Over the next week, you continue to drop off little presents in front of Hitoshi’s dorm. Every night, it was harder and harder to get the parcel into place, the students of 1C staking out the doorway until the wee hours of the morning.

It was when you almost got caught that you realized you couldn’t keep this up. Which eventually found you at your desk on friday evening, writing your final letter.

‘Thank you for being a good sport about all this, it’s been fun to show you even a fraction of my appreciation for you. But I’m not ready to tell you who I am yet, and it’s been difficult to sneak around (though I guess it was good practice for stealth missions, huh?). Even though my gifts will stop, know that there is someone out there who loves you as you are, and admires so many things about you. By the way, congrats on officially getting into the hero course next year!’

You carefully fold the piece of paper and slide it into an envelope. Hopefully it’ll be easier to stash away than a whole gift would. You at least hoped it didn’t get overlooked.

----

The following Monday, you wake up late. Having worried all weekend about whether or not your letter was received, you’d not slept particularly well.

Thankfully, you arrived to class before the final bell, but you were certainly frazzled by the time you stepped into the classroom.

Immediately, all eyes were on you.

“What?” you ask, “I’m not late, so don’t scold me.”

A couple of the girls break out in giggles. “That’s not it at all!”

“I guess Shinsou’s secret admirer gave other people ideas!”

“Y/N has a secret admirer now too!”

You felt your face heat up, pure disbelief bubbling up in your chest.

“What?!” you exclaim, louder than intended. You all but run to your desk, almost tripping over Uraraka’s bag. Sure enough, there, on the small tabletop, is a small box with your name on it, wrapped in a pastel version of your favourite colour.

#shinsou x reader #hitoshi x reader #shinsou hitoshi x reader #reader insert #bnha x reader #bnha #mha x reader #mha #shinsou hitoshi #shinsou x you #hitoshi x you #shinsou hitoshi x you #childhood friends au

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tsarisfanfiction · 4 years

Text

Night At The Opera

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Gen Genre: Friendship Characters: Scott, Penelope, Parker, Tracy Family

So this one took forever and is my longest single contribution to @gumnut-logic‘s irrelief so far (’Toffee’ will end up longer but that’s a multichap and this is not). We’re using @darkestwolfx‘s prompt “Any characters (but maybe including Scott) – going to the opera” this time, although there’s not much opera actually in this, whoops.

Thanks to Nutty for helping me out with things to see in Sydney - any errors are my own lack of research, laziness, and the excuse “it’s 40 years in the future, things might have changed” - and how timezones work. I also seem to have transplanted TOS!Penelope’s personality into her TAG counterpart because it fit better, oops.

Surely an invitation to the opera was better suited for Virgil? Or one of his other brothers? No? Okay, then. Wait, what do you mean he had to wear a suit?

Despite reassurances to the contrary, Scott was still fairly sure there’d been a mistake. The invitation may have come from one Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward, a woman who most certainly did not make mistakes, but why a ticket to the opera would come for him rather than, say, Virgil – or even Gordon, if he was reading the air between the pair of them correctly – was utterly beyond him. Hell, it was the sort of thing he’d expect her to drag John to, for a bit of social time with no requirement to talk. An opera theatre was not exactly where you’d expect to find Scott Tracy.

An air show was more his speed, preferably as one of the performers. Not sitting in a secluded box for people of importance and expected to sit still and quietly for several hours. In a suit.

“Scott, are you ready?” Grandma rapped on his bedroom door loudly and he jumped, almost dropping the tie he was fidgeting with. “Lady Penelope’s almost here!”

He was almost ready. A crisp sharp grey suit had been dredged out of the dark part of his wardrobe – the area where clothes he disliked hid away, and all suits registered highly on the ‘disliked’ list – and pulled on with extreme reluctance. Cufflinks, silver with diamond studs and in the shape of small planes, had been begrudgingly pulled out of hiding, and additional gel had been called upon to slick his hair back entirely, rather than its usual half wind-swept style.

It all felt stifling, and once the tie went around his neck it would all be complete. The man looking back at him in the mirror was stiff, and it was only years of scoldings from Grandma that stopped him scuffing his shiny shoes on the floor, just to break the perfect gentleman look. Scott was a perfect gentleman, thank you very much. He didn’t need to dress up all fancy for that.

But Lady Penelope had insisted, and when Lady Creighton-Ward insisted, there was very little anyone could do to stop her. Just ask John.

His door hissed open, and he jumped as his grandmother entered the room, her eyes raking him up and down.

“Grandma!” he yelped, scurrying back a step or two and tugging at his jacket sleeves again, just to make sure they were absolutely perfect. The big Three-Oh might be looming in his not too distant future, and he might be the interim commander of International Rescue, but his grandmother could always reduce him to feeling like a child with his hand in the cookie jar with nothing more than a simple look. “What if I was still getting changed?”

She shrugged at him, unconcerned. “I used to change your diapers, kid. It’s nothing new.” She’d also dragged him, battered and bleeding and barely conscious, out of his uniform less than a week prior. He still had the stitches and bandages from the worst wounds, carefully hidden beneath the suit.

Neither of them mentioned that one.

“But I’d say it’s a good thing I came in,” she continued, striding forwards and plucking the tie out of his hands. “You can’t wear this one.” This one was a simple navy tie, plain and unassuming, and therefore Scott’s favourite – if he had a favourite tie. He didn’t. “Honestly, child, you know the man should complement the Lady’s attire.”

She rummaged through his collection, and years of experience led him to back off and just let her do what she wanted. When Grandma got an idea into her head, there was little chance of dissuading her.

“I’m not going as her date,” he protested, though, just to make it clear. As a friend, perhaps, work colleague at worst, but he’d seen the aftermath of Gordon’s jealousy after the charity auction and had no desire to be on the receiving end of it himself. Teasing younger brothers was all well and good until they retaliated with goop and other questionable substances at inopportune moments. John avoided the worst of it by virtue of being on Thunderbird Five, and not even Gordon was willing to ruin his entire rare stays Earthside. As a permanent resident of Tracy Island, Scott had no such escape, and he was fairly sure being the eldest brother meant anything went in their resident prankster’s eyes.

“You’re escorting her, and no grandson of mine will be embarrassing us or her by wearing the wrong colour tie,” Grandma rebuked, finally pulling out a light blue tie and approaching him with it. The height difference was no obstacle to the formidable woman as she slipped it around his neck and tied it with a flourish into a Windsor. “There.” She patted his jacket lapels down before stepping back.

“Lady Penelope’s here,” Virgil said, poking his head in through the door. “Gordon’s drooling worse than Sherbet, just so you know.”

A not insignificant part of Scott had hoped his brothers would be out on a mission when his ‘h’escort’ arrived. The raised eyebrow from Virgil and betrayed pout of Gordon had been bad enough when the tickets had arrived the previous day, and had only increased when Scott had immediately contacted their London Agent to point out the mistake, to be told there was no mistake, Scott, and we’ll be collecting you at four pm tomorrow.

For once, the world was silent, and all four brothers were there, if one holographically, to observe as he somewhat stiffly made his way into the den, where Lady Penelope was waiting in a stunning pale blue evening dress – the exact same colour as his tie; clearly someone had been co-ordinating behind the scenes, and that someone was probably Grandma – and a matching bouquet of lace and faux flowers atop her head that Scott didn’t think deserved the name of ‘hat’, but women’s fashion had never been his strong point.

Gordon was, as Virgil had said, almost entirely oblivious to anything in the room except the blonde woman, although sadly not oblivious enough to miss Scott’s matching tie. Amber eyes narrowed at him and Scott offered them an apologetic smile.

“Scott!” Perfectly manicured fingers caught his arm, Lady Penelope gracefully linking their arms together in a way that made it look like he was in control. It was an illusion – he wasn’t. Gordon’s eyes narrowed further, and Scott made a mental note to attempt to talk him down from whatever revenge he was no doubt plotting as soon as he got back. “You look amazing, dear,” she continued. “Boys, I’ll be borrowing your brother for the evening.”

“By all means.” Virgil was grinning broadly. “You two have fun.”

“Oh, we plan to, Virgil,” Lady Penelope reassured him. “Don’t wait up for him; I’ll bring him back tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Scott hadn’t heard that before, and from the strangled noise Gordon made, he wasn’t the only one who hadn’t been told that little detail. “But…”

“The performance doesn’t finish until midnight,” Lady Penelope informed him. “I’ve made all the arrangements for the overnight stay, and we’ll have you back here by this time tomorrow.”

“But-”

“No buts, young man,” Grandma cut in, her hand coming to his elbow. Between them, the two women started to steer him down towards the hangar, where Parker and FAB1 were no doubt waiting. “Go and enjoy your downtime.”

Downtime. The thing he’d been on since that mission. That thing he would still be on until Grandma and Virgil decided the stitches could be removed and that he was ready for duty again. Suddenly things started slotting into place.

“See you tomorrow, Scott!” Alan called cheerfully, echoed by Virgil. Gordon made a noise that sounded more like a grunt than words, and Scott decided the best thing to do would be to ignore it as he was led downstairs.

“h’All the bags are packed, M’Lady,” Parker greeted them as he held the door open. Sherbet yipped at them from the back seat. “Shut up, you.” Manners drilled into him by his grandmother indicated that Scott should assist Lady Penelope into the car first, but before he could even make a move, she was slipping off of his arm and sidling all the way across the back seat, scooping Sherbet up in the same fluid movement. “h’After you, Mister Scott, sir.”

With a nod to Parker, and stooping just enough for Grandma to kiss his cheek lightly in farewell, he folded himself into the remaining seat and pulled his seatbelt on.

FAB1 was not a usual Tracy ride. Scott wasn’t familiar with the car like he was their fleet of transportation – both Thunderbirds and regular craft – and had rarely had the opportunity to travel in the pink Rolls-Royce. Much of that was down to his preference to pilot himself places, rather than be a passenger, and being trapped in a suit normally didn’t stop him firmly placing himself in the pilot’s seat of whatever plane was being used.

Grounded for injury as he was, however, the option of piloting had been forcibly removed by the family medics, leaving him with no choice but to recline in the back seat as Lady Penelope gave the order for them to leave the island. Palm trees didn’t show the car the same respect as Thunderbird Two, and stayed rigidly upright as they passed between them, FAB1’s flight mode engaging with plenty of time to spare before they ran out of runway.

The car was, for obvious reasons, not as fast as his usual rides. Even the regular aircraft they kept for official non-IR business went faster than Parker was currently going, and Scott quickly found the expanse of water passing below them monotonous. No doubt Gordon would find it fascinating, if he could tear his eyes away from Lady Penelope, but Gordon wasn’t here and water wasn’t Scott’s preferred view.

“Are you sure you didn’t mean Virgil or Gordon?” he asked, glancing over at the woman beside him.

“Quite sure,” she confirmed. Sherbet let out another yip and jumped onto his lap, demanding to be petted. Scott acquiesced, running a hand over short coarse fur to the pug’s obvious pleasure. “I’m aware that the opera house is not your usual preference, but your family agreed that a change of scene would be good for you.”

“Even Gordon?” he asked, and was surprised to see a hint of colour in her cheeks.

“Gordon was not involved in the discussion,” she admitted. “It was mainly your Grandmother and John, although I believe Virgil also had some input.”

Why did that not surprise Scott in the slightest?

“Of course it was,” he sighed.

“How are your injuries?” she inquired, and he winced.

“Healing,” he evaded. She didn’t press further, not that she needed to. No doubt Grandma had filled her in on exactly what injuries he had and therefore situations to avoid until they were healed. As it happened, sitting down for extended periods of time was one of the few things he could do under her instruction. No doubt the opera would fit the bill precisely.

Small talk was not Scott’s preference, but Lady Penelope was a master of the art. Coaxed into discussions about his brothers and the newest GDF fliers, the journey to Sydney passed quickly. The fact that it was four pm when they arrived might have thrown Scott at one point, but jetting all over the world daily had long since dulled him to timezone changes and, thankfully, jet lag.

“I’ve secured reservations for dinner in our hotel,” Lady Penelope informed him as FAB1 gently set down on tarmac and folded in her wings, returning to the usual form of a regular, if expensive car. “The performance begins at nine, but the doors open at seven thirty.”

“You really have this all planned out, don’t you?” he asked, thoroughly unsurprised. She smiled and gestured towards the opera house, now visible as they headed towards it.

“’Ere we are, M’Lady, Mr Scott,” Parker said, pulling FAB1 to a gentle stop outside a hotel. It was suitably lavish for Lady Penelope’s accommodations, no doubt five star with a three star restaurant nestled inside. Diamond-studded cufflinks fit right in, and Scott viewed it with some trepidation as Parker opened the door for him. Cars were not designed for long-legged Tracys to be in for any length of time – one of the many reasons Scott adored Thunderbird One was her unlimited legroom on longer flights – and it took him a moment to straighten fully, by which time Lady Penelope had materialised on his arm.

“Shall we?” He sent a glance back at where Parker was opening FAB1’s deceptively large boot to reveal their overnight bags. “Parker will take care of the bags, Scott,” Lady Penelope assured him, and without waiting for a reply began to steer him into the building.

The interior matched the exterior, marking this as a hotel clearly aimed at the upper class upon their visits to the Opera House. Holograms gave him a changing view of the Opera House itself through the years, its iconic silhouette particularly striking in dusk views in Scott’s opinion. Undeterred by the lavish interior, Lady Penelope whisked him through to the desk, where Parker had already materialised, bags in tow, to claim both room keys.

It was easy to forget, with Parker’s h’attitude and ‘misspent youth’, that he was perfectly competent in his primary role as butler and chauffeur to the Creighton-Ward estate. Watching him in what should be an arena far outside his status – one that felt far outside Scott’s, despite the fact that he was, in fact, a multi-billionaire – never ceased to amaze Scott, who was content to let the Brits whisk him through the foyer, through some glass elevators and into a large suite with too many chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Through one open room he caught sight of a king sized bed.

Lady Penelope didn’t bother asking him if it was good enough for him – she had, once upon a time, but Scott was fairly sure she’d got fed up of being told the various rooms she found for them were excessive and now just swept them up in the extravagance and expected them to appreciate it, or at least have the good grace not to comment unprompted. Scott had learnt that lesson, too.

Still the suite was a far cry from sharing a bedroom with two brothers in a small house in Kansas, and while Scott was getting used to being dragged to such places, he still preferred to stay more down to earth. Not having to share with a brother was enough for him (sure, he loved his brothers, but personal space was nice, too).

He was abandoned with his luggage – luggage he had not packed, so he had no idea what was in it and prayed that the person responsible had packed something comfortable and not just another suit – while Parker showed Lady Penelope to her own quarters next door. Parker had told him not to touch his luggage and that he would be back soon to unpack for him, but Scott had never had a butler and no intentions of starting now.

His stitches pulled worryingly as he picked the case up and he froze. Tearing stitches and bleeding through bandages was always a nuisance, but in the stuffy suit he’d been coerced into, it would be an utter nightmare.

“h’I told you not to, Mr Scott.” Suddenly Parker was there, whisking the case out of his grip and making a beeline for the bedroom. “Your gran would ‘ave my ‘ead h’if you tore your stitches ‘ere. M’Lady, too.” Scott winced and followed him.

“At least let me unpack my own clothes,” he said, jumping in as the case opened and Parker started to pull clothes out of it – oh joy, another suit. Why? It was only one evening!

“You ‘ave h’one ‘our h’until the restaurant reservation,” Parker informed him, subtly blocking his attempts to get at his own clothes. “M’Lady h’expects you to take a walk h’around the garden with ‘er.” The older man had Scott hustled out of his own quarters before he even realised what was happening.

Lady Penelope emerged from her room at the same time, and Scott had known her far too long to even entertain the notion that it was coincidental. He didn’t bother to comment on it, allowing her manicured talons to curl around his bicep once more as she left her room key with Parker – who had never even let Scott touch his – and swept back towards the elevator, Tracy firmly in tow.

“The gardens are delightful at this time of year,” she informed him as though this was his first time in Sydney. Admittedly, it wasn’t a place he’d visited much, and when he had been there, the scenery was usually the last thing on his mind. “We shall visit them properly tomorrow, but a short stroll will do us both wonders after our journey.”

Not one to turn down fresh air at any point, Scott was willing to step outside the rear entrance of the hotel – just as grand as the front – onto neatly manicured lawns. Beyond them, the botanical garden loomed, with its trees in full bloom. Neither of them wore shoes designed for walking on grass – or far at all, in the case of Lady Penelope’s heels, although Scott knew she could do a lot more in them than appearances implied – so they restrained themselves to the paths.

It was certainly easier terrain than Tracy Island boasted. The rocky, volcanic island had been chosen precisely for being remote and inhospitable, allowing them to train in secrecy, but it lent itself less well to the walking injured. Not that Scott considered himself walking wounded, but Grandma and Virgil both did, and restricted his permitted movements accordingly. To that end, he admitted it was good to get away from the island and the worried smothering of his family for a few hours.

The company certainly didn’t hurt, either. Scott had a lot of respect for Lady Penelope, but thanks to their respective lines of work and commitment, rarely got to spend any time with her. There was also the constant worry of the paparazzi and rumours of more than just friendship flying, what with them both being filthy rich heirs and famous (even if Scott was technically not an heir anymore), but if Lady Penelope had proposed the visit, then that angle was certainly being taken care of. Kayo had been suspiciously absent over the last couple of days with no real reason given, and Scott chose to believe she was working some magic somewhere. After all, if his sister was on the case, nothing unwanted would be leaked – and even if it somehow got past her, there was John ready with a digital nuke.

He’d pulled that one before, more than once. It had proven very useful, even if its legality wasn’t even debatable and the GDF were turning an obliging blind eye to the fact that sometimes information just vanished. Or they plain hadn’t noticed; that was also possible, although Scott liked to think Colonel Casey was a little more observant than that.

Their hour in the comfortably warm Sydney sun passed quickly. Scott wasn’t the best at keeping track of time, relying on John for that when it was important, but Lady Penelope seemed to have a built-in pocket watch because they wandered into the restaurant at precisely one minute to five to be seated by a waiter in a sharp pressed suit who held out a seat for Lady Penelope and himself before Scott could even grasp the back of his own chair. Scott prided himself on his quick reflexes; serving staff were truly in a class of their own. His injuries weren’t slowing him that much, although he ruefully noticed that after an hour’s easy stroll the act of sitting down was appreciated by his body.

Maybe he did need the break from rescues, not that he’d be admitting that to anyone any time soon. Sharp blue eyes followed his every moment, but Lady Penelope had enough tact to keep her observations to herself, so Scott wasn’t unduly concerned about her.

Eating at a three star restaurant was far from Scott’s usual fare, and he left handling the waiter entirely to Lady Penelope. The idea that they’d be attending the opera later that evening didn’t phase him in the slightest as he offered them a shorter menu that would allow plenty of time for the final course to settle before they made their way towards the Opera House, and while Scott hoped that three star did not mean food arranged in an overly fancy manner but with very little actually on the plate – there was a lot of him to feed, especially in comparison to the delicate form of the Lady opposite him – he agreed with Lady Penelope’s assertion that that would be perfect, thank you.

It took some dredging up of strict lessons on dining etiquette when he was younger and Dad was making his first millions from the depths of his memory, but Scott was quite pleased with himself for not committing a faux pas during the meal. The portions had been small, as he’d feared, but still filling enough that he thought he could probably survive an evening of opera. Which, now that it had sunk in that it really was him going and not one of his brothers, didn’t seem all that terrible an idea. After all, he could appreciate good music – it was impossible to live with Virgil and not, although Alan was doing a good job at it, but that was teenagers for you – he just rarely had time to.

Time was something he had been rather forcibly given, courtesy of a rescue that had felt perfectly successful to Scott – no-one died, after all – barring an inconvenient injury that had him just coming out of forced bedrest. His family were rather unfortunately more influenced by the so-called ‘cost’ of the rescue – a fair bit of Scott’s blood, an unexpected nap for a few hours and a dozen stitches – than the success. So maybe he’d given them a fright when he’d collapsed out of his ‘bird and narrowly missed getting splattered on his own ‘bird’s hangar floor when he didn’t quite land square on the extended access ramp (apparently – he didn’t remember that bit but John was insistent), but that was nearly a week ago and he was fine now.

Well, near enough, he mentally amended as he stood up from the table and his stitches tugged threateningly again.

“Come on, dear,” Lady Penelope tutted, once more scooping his bicep into her grip and guiding him out of the room and… back upstairs? “We’re a little behind schedule, so you’ll have to get changed quickly. Parker should have your new outfit laid out for you already.”

“Get changed?” Scott looked down at his crisp suit. “Why?”

“We’re two of the richest people in Sydney right now,” she said, as though that should mean something. “Being seen in public in the same outfit twice just won’t do. Don’t worry, I’m sure Mrs Tracy has found something you’ll be comfortable in.”

Suits and comfortable were two words that did not go together, but Lady Penelope was a force to be reckoned with and subtly manhandled him into his own suite before vanishing into her own, neighbouring suite.

“There you h’are!” Parker exclaimed, ushering him forwards. To Scott’s chagrin, there was indeed another suit laid out for him. “h’I’m under h’orders from your gran to check your stitches, so h’off with those.” He gestured at the suit Scott was still wearing, and he cringed.

“Do we have to go through all this fuss, Parker?” he asked.

“h’Oh yes, Mr Scott. ‘Er Ladyship’s changing ‘er dress and h’I wouldn’t want to be the h’one to make M’Lady look bad by not wearing the right clothes, h’if you catch my drift.”

Scott did catch his drift. That didn’t mean he liked it, but both Lady Penelope and his grandmother were terrifying women when they wanted to be, and upsetting them would lead to nothing good.

There was some glee in getting rid of the tie, too, even if it was only going to be replaced by a black bow tie, by the looks of it.

According to tradition, stereotypes, and everything else, women took forever to get ready. But by the time Parker was satisfied his stitches were as they should be and got him into the new suit – a light blue waistcoat over a white shirt underneath the navy jacket, and matching trousers – Lady Penelope was waiting for him. Her dress was almost the same colour as before, but in a different cut and with a different assortment of lace and fabric perching on top of perfectly coiffed blonde curls.

“You look fantastic, dear,” she informed him as he escaped Parker and his lint brush. “Are we ready?” A matching clutch purse occupied one of her hands, but the other resumed its default position of curling around his bicep and guided him back towards the elevator.

Even amongst other ridiculously rich people in their suits, Scott felt overdressed as he pretended to escort Lady Penelope, who was very much actually escorting him, to the doorway as Parker vanished, only to reappear in FAB1 by the time they left the building. Scott had no idea how the man did it, but it was a relief to slip into the pink car and away from any watching eyes. He was conscious that he wasn’t at his best, and had no real desire to advertise to the world that the interim commander of International Rescue was injured. The suit did its job well and hid the bandaging, but Scott couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling that everyone looking at him could see.

At least at the opera no-one would be looking at him.

Getting into the Opera House, however, required once again walking in front of crowds. A pink car drew attention, even in front of a spectacular building like the Sydney Opera House, and as Parker assisted first Scott, and then Lady Penelope out there was the tell-tale flash of photography. Scott hoped Kayo and John were on top of that.

“h’I shall be ‘ere when you come h’out, M’Lady, Mr Scott,” Parker said as Lady Penelope once again positioned herself on Scott’s arm.

“Thank you, Parker,” she said.

“He’s not coming in?” Scott asked, surprised, as they made their way inside. Behind them, FAB1 drove away.

“The opera isn’t Parker’s style,” she answered, flashing their tickets at the assistant, who promptly called for someone to lead them to their box. “He’ll find his own entertainment for a few hours.”

“Doing what?”

“Oh, I’m sure I don’t know.” Scott knew a conversation end when he heard one; whatever her butler was up to, Lady Penelope knew and had no intentions of sharing. Then again, considering Parker’s so-called ‘misspent youth’, ignorance was probably a good idea. Having four younger brothers had taught Scott the value of plausible deniability long ago.

They were ushered into a small box, high above the stage, with enough room for four people to seat comfortably. Only two chairs had been set up, however, leaving Scott with the relief that he wouldn’t be sat with strangers for several hours. Lady Penelope chose her seat, sitting down elegantly and looking entirely at ease in the velvet-lined chair, with her no doubt several-thousand-pound dress (Scott had no idea if it was actually a British dress) arrayed around her without so much as a crease wrong.

In comparison, Scott felt decidedly ill at ease as he sank into the surprisingly comfortable chair in his own far too expensive suit, leaning back until he found a position where the stitches didn’t complain. The box had ample leg room even for a man over six foot in height, and Scott took full advantage of the fact that the box was almost impossible to see into, even if anyone wanted to people-watch instead of opera-watch, to stretch out his long legs.

There wasn’t even as much as a tut from his companion, and in slight surprise he looked over to her to see a smile gracing her face.

“You may as well be comfortable,” she agreed, although she remained prim in her posture.

“What about you?” he asked, and she laughed lightly.

“I’ve been taking posture lessons since before I could walk,” she reminded him. “This is perfectly comfortable for me, but thank you for your concern.” Pacified, Scott relaxed and turned his attention to the stage below them.

It was empty, the show still not due to start for another hour, according to the holographic interface on the inside of their box, ticking down the minutes until the show began. 00:59:01 ticked down to 00:59:00 and then so on, counting it down to the second.

It had been a long time since Scott had last been to the opera, or any stage performance – was it normal to have the timing of the start down to the second?

“Not everywhere,” Lady Penelope told him when he asked. “But Sydney Opera House is one of the best in the world, and when you’re the best, the timing is expected to be precise.” Scott could respect that; enough air show routines had been down to the millisecond for him to appreciate the importance. He just hadn’t expected to find it in an opera.

Lady Penelope picked up a pair of what looked like miniature binoculars and raised them to her eye delicately.

“Shall we see who’s in the crowd tonight?” she mused, training the lenses at the not-box seating below.

“Using binoculars?” Scott asked, glancing down to see many men in stuffy suits and women in fancy dresses. “Really?”

“Opera glasses, Scott, they’re called opera glasses. And of course. They have fantastic levels of magnification. Oh, that poor woman – whoever told her salmon and lemon work together like that?”

Scott blinked, lost at the sudden change in conversation.

“I thought you were supposed to put lemon on fish?” he asked, only for Lady Penelope to turn her head and stare at him for a moment, before shaking her head lightly.

“The colours, Scott, not the food. See that woman sat in the third row?”

He squinted, and she tutted before handing him the binoculars – opera glasses. Reluctantly he raised them to his eyes and peered through.

“The one dressed in pink and yellow?” he asked, finally locating someone who might have fit the vague description.

“The colours are salmon and lemon,” Lady Penelope corrected. “But yes, her. See how the lemon overpowers the salmon? It makes her complexion look quite ill. I dare say she’s wearing the wrong undertone foundation as well.”

“The wrong what?” He supposed the woman in question did look a little off colour.

“Undertone foundation,” she repeated. “The undertone of the foundation is important; using the wrong one ensures that even if you have the perfect hue, it won’t match your complexion properly.”

“If you say so,” he said dubiously, beyond relieved that Kayo barely wore any make-up to his knowledge, and didn’t expect him to know anything about it anyway. Then again, knowing Kayo her lipstick – lipgloss? Lip-thing – was probably modelled after that one Batman villain’s and was toxic.

“I do,” she said, shooting him a quick smile. “Your turn.”

“What?”

“Pick someone,” she explained, gesturing at the ever-increasing numbers finding their way to seats below. “We’re people watching.”

Scott gaped at her.

“Isn’t that supposed to be rude?” he asked, gesturing at the opera glasses they both held.

“Everyone does it.” She brushed his complaints off. “See, in the box opposite; the light just glinted off of their opera glasses.”

“But why?”

“It’s interesting,” she smiled. “And also good practice.”

Good practice for what, Scott managed to stop himself from asking, finally remembering that he was at an opera house with one of the best spies in the world. “So I just… pick someone?” he asked instead, beginning to scan the crowds with more intent.

“Anyone,” she confirmed, just as his gaze was caught by a teenage boy who clearly didn’t want to be there. He reminded Scott of Alan, for all that this teenager was a redhead and shorter than his brother. Lady Penelope laughed when he mentioned it, before finding him with her own opera glasses and agreeing.

People watching was surprisingly fun, once Scott got the hang of it, and found himself caught out when the lights dimmed and the stage was lit in spotlight. The holographic countdown declared 00:00:28 when he glanced at it, and following Lady Penelope’s lead he focused his opera glasses on the stage, where at precisely nine pm, the show began.

And at precisely midnight, three hours of singing and a short interlude where refreshments had been offered (and devoured by a hungry Tracy), the final note cut off, accompanied by the lights, plunging the entire room into darkness. The applause was genuine, if at a polite volume, echoing through the darkened arena. Scott was more than happy to join in, having enjoyed the performance more than he’d expected.

It was even worth being stuffed into a suit for several long hours, although he’d keep that part quiet from his brothers. He had something of a reputation to uphold, after all, and as much as he’d enjoyed it, it was probably still more Virgil’s thing.

The main lights slowly brightened, and Scott stretched his legs out. Even with the leg room, the lack of actually moving had stiffened his muscles up somewhat.

“So how long do we stay here?” he asked, looking at Lady Penelope only to find her already on her feet.

“No longer than necessary,” she quipped, holding a hand out to him. “How are you feeling?” It was only the second time she’d referenced his injury all day, and Scott found that after the opera he was feeling slightly more charitable towards it being mentioned. No doubt an anticipated reaction from the short woman with him.

“I’m not designed to sit still for several hours,” he shrugged, accepting her hand and hauling himself to his feet, ignoring the familiar twinge of a healing wound.

“No, I don’t suppose you are,” she agreed. “But you enjoyed the evening?” He smiled down at her as her hand once again found his bicep.

“More than I thought I would,” he admitted. “Thank you for this.”

“What are friends for?”

Parker was waiting for them, as promised, when they left the building, draping a thin fur coat over Lady Penelope’s shoulders as they were exposed to the slightly cooler midnight air.

“Thank you, Parker,” she said, gliding effortlessly into the back of her car and picking up a sleeping Sherbet – who Scott had seen surprisingly little of since their arrival in Australia, now that he thought about it. “I trust you had a successful evening?”

“h’Oh yes, M’Lady,” Parker responded gleefully as Scott got in and shut the door behind him. “Most successful.”

“Successful?” Scott asked, and Parker laughed.

“Those ‘ooligans down at the casino never knew what ‘it ‘em, Mr Scott, sir. H’It’s h’always worth taking them folk down a peg h’or two, h’if you catch my drift.”

So Parker had been cheating cheaters out of their scammed earnings while they were gone. Scott supposed that wasn’t surprising; Parker made no real secret that his underground skills remained sharp – indeed, all of the Tracys could cheat their way around cards, in no small part thanks to tricks taught to them by the butler himself.

“Well, it’s been a long day, especially with all those timezone changes, so I think I’ll turn in for the night when we get back to the hotel,” Lady Penelope said. “I’d like to see the botanical gardens properly and I did promise to get you back to your brothers by four pm Tracy Island time tomorrow, so that will mean an early start, I’m afraid.”

“I don’t mind getting up early,” Scott assured her as they arrived, and she smiled.

“Then I’ll see you for a seven o’clock breakfast?”

“Do I have to wear a suit?” She laughed.

“I’ll have Parker pick a less formal one out for you,” she promised, and Scott groaned. “Sorry, dear, but this hotel has standards, and your usual attire doesn’t quite cut it.”

Parker caught up with them before they even reached the elevator, FAB1 parked away safely for the night, and Scott wondered if he and Lady Penelope were that slow, or if Parker was that fast.

“Seven am,” Lady Penelope repeated as they reached his room, and Scott agreed. Parker opened the door for him with a “h’I’ll see you h’in a moment, M’Lady”, and followed him inside.

“h’Another stitches check, h’I’m h’afraid, Mr Scott,” he said, and Scott rolled his eyes but submitted to it with minimal protest, glad to get out of the formal clothes and, once Parker was well and truly dismissed for the night, a third suit glaring at him accusingly from where the butler had laid it out, finally into something properly comfortable for bed.

Crossing timezones tended not to bother him after so long in International Rescue, but without the adrenaline rush of a rescue he found himself wearier than he would usually be at midnight. He glanced at his communicator, which he’d discovered packed in the bottom of his case, and debated calling John for a chat before remembering the time difference. Even if John probably wasn’t asleep, Scott should not be encouraging bad sleeping habits in his brothers. The same went for the rest of them, and he had no idea where Kayo was, so contacting his family was dismissed for the moment and he sank into the soft mattress of the huge bed gratefully, only for a spike of pain to warn him that if he wanted to sleep through the night, he should take the next dose of painkillers – also packed without his knowledge, most likely by Grandma or Virgil.

Pills were thrown back with an accompaniment of Australian spring water from the minibar, and then he crawled back into bed. Sleep claimed him almost immediately.

The next morning came quickly, Scott’s internal clock disturbing him at six. He didn’t need an hour to get ready for breakfast, even if getting ready included pulling on another suit, but going back to sleep would be an exercise in futility if he wanted to be on time for breakfast.

Spying his communicator again, the timezone now worked in his favour. Six am in Sydney was a more sociable hour on Tracy Island, and he’d hooked up a line to Thunderbird Five before he’d finished considering doing it.

“Morning, Scott,” John greeted him immediately. “How was last night?”

“I could have done without the suits,” Scott admitted, rolling over onto his back. “But it wasn’t bad.” John, a brother well versed in the pains of being chosen as Lady Penelope’s arm decoration, gifted him a small smile.

“I know the feeling,” he agreed. “Are you still in bed?”

“Yup.” Scott popped the ‘p’ and made a show of stretching out, even if John could only see his head and shoulders. “Big bed. Nice bed. Comfy bed. I have an hour ‘til breakfast. There’s time.”

“Scott Tracy being lazy; I never thought I’d see the day,” John commented, and Scott scowled at him.

“I have to wear another suit for breakfast, John. For breakfast!”

“So you’re procrastinating getting dressed by calling me,” his brother surmised.

“Can’t I check on how my brothers are doing?” he asked maybe a little defensively, raising an eyebrow.

“You could, except you haven’t asked yet.” Pesky smart younger brothers.

“I’m asking now.” John raised an eyebrow at him in return, but humoured him.

“Everyone’s fine; they had a late-night rescue but that went fine, no injuries. Does mean they’re all still in bed, though.”

“Even Gordon?” It was a very tired squid that didn’t surface with the sun, regardless of what time he went to bed.

“Even Gordon, luckily for you.”

Scott blinked.

“Luckily for me?”

“The usual rumours aren’t flying around, but there are still pictures of the two of you going to the opera last night on the net. The less time between him seeing those, and seeing you, the less time he has to scheme.” Scott groaned.

“Can’t you just get rid of them?” he asked.

“It looks more suspicious if I delete everything regarding the two of you,” John told him. “All of the captions refer to you as friends or work colleagues, though. Kayo and I made sure of that.”

“Thanks.” Well, it was better than nothing, he supposed. His eyes fell on the suit Parker had laid out for him the previous evening and he groaned. “I’d better get up,” he grumbled, glaring at it. “I’m supposed to be meeting her at seven for breakfast and I want a shower first.”

“Watch your stitches.”

“Yes, Virgil.”

John chuckled. “See you later, big brother.” His hologram vanished, and Scott set aside the communicator before reluctantly leaving the bed and heading for the ensuite.

Showering with stitches was always a nuisance; they were old enough to get slightly damp without consequences, but it was still annoying to have to mind them. Still, the wound was getting better and Scott was cautiously optimistic that he’d be allowed back on duty soon – he’d have cleared himself a few days ago, but Grandma and Virgil called had that ‘nonsense’ when he’d suggested it.

Dried off, he left the room with a fluffy towel around his waist to find Parker standing there, already perfectly dressed for the day.

“Morning, Mr Scott,” he said, seemingly unfazed by the fact that Scott was wearing nothing but a towel. “h’I’ve been h’asked to check your stitches h’again before you get dressed.” Scott snatched at his underwear and beat a hasty retreat back into the ensuite to pull them on.

“Give me a minute, Parker!”

From the timing, he heavily suspected this occasion to be John’s fault, and made a mental note to complain at him later.

Parker’s presence did not vanish after the stitches check, the butler instead insisting on helping Scott with his suit and tie – a pale pink one, this time, not that Scott had known he owned one in that colour – and piling on the hair gel when Scott attempted to return to his usual style.

“Aren’t you supposed to be Lady Penelope’s butler?” Scott asked as the man wrestled the comb away from him and made him sit.

“’er Ladyship h’is less of h’a disaster when h’it comes to dressing ‘erself for the h’occasion,” Parker retorted, and Scott groaned.

“You’re not exactly aristocrat class yourself, either,” he pointed out, slumping forwards until a light jab in the back made him straighten up.

“h’I learnt from the best, Mr Scott,” the older man retorted. “h’And you should respect your h’elders.”

“Right, sorry.” There was a large mirror on the wall opposite, and Scott watched his transformation back into the perfect rich gentleman with a small amount of despair as Parker added one last dollop of hair gel, combed it in, and pronounced himself satisfied.

The clock proclaimed 06:57, and with no small amount of gratitude to his father for not employing an army of servants and putting him through that rigmarole every day, despite reaching billionaire status, Scott left his room to meet up with Lady Penelope – dressed in a pale pink to match his tie, as Scott had suspected – for breakfast.

It had always been drilled into Scott that breakfast was the most important meal of the day, and it was clear that the Australians agreed. Unlike the previous evening of small plates of food arranged artistically, breakfast was a far more hearty affair, much to the delight of Scott’s stomach. Lady Penelope offered an amused smile as he dug in.

“A change from your grandmother’s cooking?” she asked, daintily picking at her smaller breakfast.

“Definitely,” he agreed, and they both laughed. “So what’s the plan for today?”

“Nothing much, I’m afraid,” she said. “The time difference between here and your home works against us this time, so we’ll only have time to visit the gardens before we have to leave.”

“Do I have to get changed again?” he asked, and she smiled.

“No, I think we can spare you the trauma of a fourth suit,” she laughed, and Scott relaxed, finishing off his plate with gusto and draining his coffee. “Shall we go?”

“What about our rooms?” he asked. “Don’t we need to check out?”

“Parker has that all in hand,” she assured him. ��“I just need to collect Bertie from him, and then I’ll be ready for our walk.”

“Sherbet’s coming with us?” Scott asked, somewhat surprised. After the lapdog’s absence from everything the day before, he’d expected him to remain in Parker’s care.

“Of course,” Lady Penelope told him, correcting his assumption. “Bertie loves going out for walks.”

Well, Scott had no particular issue with the small dog, so he had no complaints about the additional companion as Parker materialised outside the restaurant, dog in arms and ready to be handed over to his mistress.

“We’ll be back by midday,” Lady Penelope informed him as she took her dog, Sherbet making contented little noises as he settled into her arms. “If you could arrange a packed lunch for our journey back that would be appreciated.”

“Yes, M’Lady. h’Enjoy your walk.”

“Oh, I’m sure we will. Shall we, Scott?” With her arms full of dog, there was no subtle grip on his arm, but Scott remembered the way out of the hotel well enough from the previous day, and it took very little time for them to leave the building and end up back in the manicured lawns of the hotel’s garden.

Unlike the previous day, they didn’t stick to the lawns, but headed towards the trees and other fantastic flora visible in the botanical gardens themselves. Unsurprisingly, despite the relative earliness of the day, there were already some people milling around, admiring the flowers. An unspoken agreement had the pair avoiding them, seeking somewhere more quiet after the previous evening.

The gardens were huge, however, and it was simple enough to slip past the other admirers of nature to find a quieter area.

“A nice change from your usual atmosphere,” Lady Penelope observed, and Scott laughed, thinking of noisy brothers and roaring engines.

“Less chaos, for sure,” he agreed, “a few less rocks, too.” While Tracy Island had some greenery, it was at its heart a volcanic outcrop – great for challenging exploring but not so much for casual strolls to admire nature.

If he didn’t know Lady Penelope as well as he did, he might have thought that she was picking her route at random through the large area. High heels did nothing to stop the woman from finding the less even paths amongst the trees and higher shrubs, and while she was not walking with purpose, she was steering him slowly in a single direction.

Their eventual destination, after an hour or so of very casual walking, turned out to be a carved seat, overlooking the harbour. Lady Penelope sat herself down on it gracefully, gesturing for Scott to join her. Sherbet yapped as he did so, wriggling out of his owner’s grip and landing on Scott’s lap, looking up at him expectantly. Relaxing back against the sandstone, he scratched the dog behind the ears.

Underneath the shade of the trees, protected from the Australian sun, it was easy to relax and watch the ships manoeuvring in and out of the harbour. Scott couldn’t actually remember the last time he’d just sat and watched the world go by – usually, he was having to chase after it in a Thunderbird as disasters struck, or there was the endless paperwork to juggle. With both Thunderbird and paperwork strictly forbidden and out of reach, and a very determined Lady beside him, he’d been left with very little choice and found it was actually quite peaceful.

Was this what John saw, when he got a break from calls? Maybe he should ask him about that at some point. Birds sang overhead, and a light breeze ruffled the leaves above him, although not quite strong enough to free his hair from its heavily gelled confines. For the first time in a long time, Scott just let himself exist in the moment.

“As lovely as it is here, we must be heading back.” Lady Penelope’s voice broke the silence suddenly, and Scott was startled to discover more than an hour had passed. “I would like to keep my promise to your family, so we do need to leave Sydney by midday.”

Scott could just imagine the fuss if he wasn’t back by then – not because they didn’t completely trust Lady Penelope and Parker, but because the pair had a reputation for arriving where they said, when they said. It would take more than having a single Tracy guest to delay them. A delay would be concerning, to say the least.

Still, it was with some reluctance that he found his feet again, brushing his back off and hiding a wince as painkillers decided they’d done their duty and had worn off at some point while he was distracted. Blue eyes focused on him, but Lady Penelope didn’t comment. She did, however, scoop Sherbet up with only one arm, linking her other through with his. Scott knew better than to refuse the silent aid, if only because it was Lady Penelope, and let her guide him back towards the direction of the hotel and the waiting Parker.

It was just before midday when they arrived, Penelope sliding into the car before Scott joined her.

“h’I h’obtained some sandwiches for you, M’Lady, Mr Scott,” Parker informed them as he lowered the travel table in the back of the driver’s seat and placed the paper plates laden with said sandwiches on it. “There are drinks h’in the cup ‘olders. h’I ‘ope that’ll do?”

“Indeed they will, thank you, Parker,” Lady Penelope assured him.

“Mr Scott, h’I took the liberty h’of putting your painkillers and some water h’in the door,” he continued, and Scott spotted them.

“Thanks,” he said, and reluctantly fished them out as the car began to move, trundling through the streets before the wings engaged and they lifted into the air.

Parker was no stranger to the appetite of the Tracy family – or the lack of cooking ability exhibited by their grandmother – and the sandwiches turned out to be numerous enough to keep Scott quite content as they flew over the ocean, back towards Tracy Island and the brothers that were no doubt waiting for him, provided they weren’t out on another rescue.

Sure enough, Thunderbird Two was still happily in her hangar when FAB1 trundled in at precisely four o’clock, according to the communicator Scott had strapped back to his wrist, uncaring of whether or not it belonged there while he was in a suit.

Also there was Virgil, who left his tools at the sight of them and hollered a call of “they’re back!” into his comm as he jogged over to the car. Gordon immediately tore into view, clearly having been waiting as much as doing maintenance on Module Four, and in an echo of twenty four hours previous immediately zeroed in on Scott’s tie, which matched Lady Penelope’s current dress perfectly.

“Lady Penelope, you look amazing!” he gushed, almost knocking Scott out of the way in his haste to help the woman out of the car. Sherbet yipped at him and the aquanaut flinched backwards, to Scott’s amusement.

“How are you?” Virgil asked Scott, drawing his attention to his dark haired brother as worried brown eyes looked him up and down.

“I’m fine, Virgil,” he assured him. “You can ask Parker if you don’t believe me.” Virgil had an annoying habit of never believing the words ‘I’m fine’, for some reason.

“Parker?” his brother immediately asked, and Scott sighed, drifting away as the questions about his health started again. An entire day of not being treated like a patient had been a welcome break. Unfortunately, that put him in Gordon’s line of sight, as Kayo materialised and headed straight for Lady Penelope, elbowing the blond out of the way.

Amber eyes looked him up and down in an echo of Virgil’s, only there was less worry and more scrutiny in the gaze before Gordon locked eyes with him.

“Gordon-” he started, hoping to head off whatever storm was headed his way, but Gordon interrupted him with a raised hand.

“Uh, uh.”

And then he was tackled in a hug, Gordon’s arms carefully avoiding his stitches.

“Gordon?”

“I’m still not happy you got to go and I didn’t,” his brother grumbled. “But you look better than you have all week, so it was obviously for a good cause.”

“I- thanks?”

“But the next date is mine,” Gordon added, glowering up at him. “Got it?”

“That’s not my call to make,” Scott admitted, as much as he’d like to say ‘yes’ just to get Gordon off his case. “The only one who gets to decide that is her.”

They both looked across at where the two women were discussing something in hushed tones, the words “Sydney”, “arrested”, and “GDF” floating into earshot. For some reason, that seemed to cheer Gordon up, as he released Scott and took a step back.

“Yeah, well, you look ridiculous.” Parker’s carefully crafted hairstyle was mussed up, and Gordon made a face at the amount of gel that came off onto his hands, wiping them vigorously on his shorts. “Gross. Go get yourself back to normal and stop looking like a pampered billionaire.”

Scott grinned at him. “But Gordon, didn’t you know? I am a pampered billionaire.”

Gordon whacked his arm. “Go. Change. Don’t worry about the luggage – Virgil’s already got that.” Scott whirled around and sure enough, his case was being carried towards the stairs by his brother.

“Seriously?” he sighed, leaving his younger brother to his failed attempts to get Lady Penelope’s attention away from Kayo and jogging to catch up with Virgil. “I can carry my own bag.”

“Doesn’t mean you’re going to,” Virgil retorted, moving it out of reach when Scott tried to reclaim it. “Go take the elevator up.” Scott matched him, step for step, and Virgil stopped, grumbling under his breath, before turning and heading back down. “Fine, we’ll both take the elevator. Come on.”

Admitting defeat, he followed, leaning against the wall as it carried them up to the den.

“Where’s Alan?” he asked, noticing a lack of his youngest brother.

“Freighter ran into some trouble just out of orbit,” Virgil shrugged. “Brains went with him, and John’s joined them with the exo-suit. They should be finished soon.”

“Why didn’t Kayo go?” he wondered, and Virgil laughed.

“Turns out Lady Penelope had some other business in Sydney as well as going to the opera,” he said. “Kayo’s been handling the fall out while you two had a nice walk in the park and gave Lady P. an alibi.”

Scott stared at him, making no move to get out of the elevator when it arrived.

“You mean I was playing distraction in a spy mission the whole time?”

“Seems that way, bro,” Virgil grinned, taking hold of his elbow and guiding him out, towards the final set of stairs. “Judging by the papers, you made a fantastic one. They’re full of conspiracy theories why you two were at the opera last night, although John’s culled the worst offenders.”

Scott sighed and picked at his bejewelled cufflinks morosely.

“No wonder they were so determined that I wear overpriced suits,” he moaned. “Get me out of this thing; I’ve had enough.”

Virgil laughed again, pushing his way inside Scott’s room and putting the case down on the floor.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he said even as Scott all but ripped the tie away from his neck, letting the expensive pink material fall to the floor. “See you in the den when you’re done.”

“Sure.”

It took very little time to get the offending clothes off, and his usual, comfy attire on. His hair was a lost cause that required washing to get all of the gel out, however, so Scott just left it in its Gordon-ruffled state to be dealt with later, especially as the unmistakable sound of Thunderbird Three roared through the house; a glance out of his window showed him the large rocket returning to her silo, youngest brother presumably on board.

What he hadn’t been expecting, as he made his way back down to the den to find everyone gathered there, was the third person on board.

“You look better,” John said bluntly, crossing the room and putting a hand on his shoulder, surveying him critically like two of their younger brothers already had. “I thought as much this morning, but holograms can be deceiving.”

“This morning?” he heard Gordon ask, but Alan chose that moment to leap at his two eldest brothers and hug them both, John’s recoil coming too late to escape.

“How was it?” the youngest asked excitedly. “Did you see the bridge? Was the Opera House all lit up?”

Scott didn’t get a chance to answer before John cut in.

“Get off, Alan.”

However, their youngest brother was like a limpet when he wanted to be, and with Scott not particularly trying very hard to escape, John’s struggles were fruitless, much to the amusement of everyone else in the room.

“Dog pile!” Gordon yelled suddenly, and Scott joined the laughter as Virgil got willingly dragged in, the four youngest brothers making a ring around the eldest.

“Guys!” John complained, but there was no real bite to his tone.

“Well, isn’t that just a picture,” Grandma commented. “Kayo, be a dear and take a photo of my grandsons.”

“Already done.” She flicked it up onto a holoprojector, and after a few moments the five boys disentangled enough to see it. Four of them were laughing, with the fifth wearing a reluctant smile. It was a total mess, with limbs everywhere and Gordon in danger of falling over where he was half-clinging to Virgil’s back. Alan wasn’t even facing the camera, a bright blob of blond shielding most of his face from view.

“That’s awful,” John said, at the same moment Lady Penelope asked Kayo for a copy.

The two long term friends looked at each other, one frowning, the other openly amused, before John shook his head and extracted himself entirely from the crowd of brothers. Scott watched the exchange, amused, before realising his brother was heading back towards the hangars.

“John, where are you going?” he asked.

“Back to the office, and sanity,” the redhead retorted.

“You don’t even want some cake?” Lady Penelope asked. “It’s chocolate.”

Cake? “When did we get cake?” Scott asked, turning away from where John had paused to look at her, still dressed in her posh pink dress.

“h’I did, Mr Scott,” Parker waved. “While you were h’out on your walk this morning. M’Lady h’asked that h’I pick h’up the cake she h’ordered yesterday.”

“It’s in the kitchen, ready to be eaten,” Grandma interjected, and Scott blinked as his three youngest brothers vanished in a stampede, Kayo already long gone.

“Fine, I’ll stay for the cake.” John’s reluctance was entirely put-on, in Scott’s opinion. “Come on, Scott, or the vultures will have eaten it all before we get there.”

Scott laughed, and hauled himself back out of the sofa.

“Race you!”

As he and John tore down the stairs, both slowed down by injury or gravity, he heard more laughter from the den, and the click of another photograph being taken.

#irrelief #irrelief2020 #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #scott tracy #lady penelope creighton-ward #aloysius parker #grandma tracy #virgil tracy #gordon tracy #john tracy #alan tracy #kayo kyrano #thunderfluff

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yourcoolfriendwithallthecandy · 3 years

Text

Why So Jaded? Chapter 5

FFN, AO3, Enjoy.

Why So Jaded

Chapter 5

The next week, on Thursday, Buddy noticed there was a new delivery man that dropped off his various shipments and Buddy nearly cried tears of relief when he recognized him but Buddy did his best to act nonchalant and unaffected because the delivery guy was in fact, one of his oldest and most trusted friends, partners and colleagues- John Clairborne.

"Mr. Pine?" The new delivery guy greeted, acting like he didn't know him.

"Yes, that's me. And you are?" Buddy felt the need to ask.

"Jack Reacher. Sign here please sir." He offered and Buddy barely contained his amused reaction to that name.

"Yeah I know, you have no idea how many jabs I get." Jack offered good naturedly.

"Then I won't make any." Buddy insisted as he took the device to sign that had a special screen on it so that only when you were looking directly at it, would you be able to read what was on it as Buddy took it and then there was an infrared flash that was invisible to the naked human eye but it was for a secret camera on the device that positively ID'd Buddy before it flashed him a special screen that had super quick message for just a moment but Buddy had caught it before vanished and returned to the signature screen before he signed his name on the signature screen to receive the packages as usual, using Jack's pen that doubled as a stylus to do so.

"I really like your pen." Buddy praised as he recognized his own work, this had been one of those super secret spy pens that had all kinds of extra features and hidden devices. Buddy was impressed it had made it through security.

"Keep it sir, I have plenty." Jack grinned.

"Thanks." Buddy thanked him as he took the pen and simply placed it behind his ear like he usually did with his pencils.

"You're welcome. Have a good day sir." He wished him.

"You too Mr. Reacher." Buddy thanked him before Mr. Reacher left before he went about unpacking the boxes, careful not to cut the packing slips and collected all the slips and put them aside as he double checked what he got, doing everything he could to act as normal as possible and when he was done, he took the packing slips and put them in the folder he kept, just in case he needed to return anything and when he looked at these packing slips and the others, he saw it . Coded messages in the barcodes. How had he not seen those before and went through his owner's manual for one of the first pieces of equipment he had ordered and found the cipher because the message that flashed on the reader told him to. How had he not put it together before?

According to the hidden messages. There had already been three new "employees" at SEB Industries along with new "agents" that were infiltrating all these other companies. They were gathering what they could to make a counter case against SEB and were working on getting him out. The new employees with SEB were infiltrating the tech department and one had been sent as a new security guard and the other was simply working his way through the corporate side.

"Good evening Mr. Pine." Violet greeted as she came into the lab which nearly made Buddy jump in his skin as he realized what time it was, he had lost track of time deciphering the messages and hoped and prayed he wouldn't get caught.

"Good evening Ms. Parr." Buddy greeted back as he quickly got up and came over to her, the new pen tightly in his grasp.

"So, do you have anything outstanding you would like to report?" Violet asked per usual, a little disappointed he didn't have a snack ready for her but tried to keep that disappointment to herself because his little snacks had become an extra perk to her day. They would always tide her over till she could get dinner and Buddy actually kept his snacks relatively healthy if not very delicious which she always appreciated.

"Uh, nope, all my shipments came in, so I was just squaring those away, matching the shipments to the packing slips and tickets, making sure everything is all here and accounted for and I'm not missing anything." Buddy answered because that was the closest truth he could offer because he didn't trust himself to lie to her at the moment.

"Oh good. So we don't need to mail anything back?" She asked, realizing how seriously and meticulously kept things like that and he probably got caught up in that, and it was that- that was the reason he didn't have a snack ready for her.

"Nope, not this time." Buddy answered, knowing that from now on, his packing slips were going to be used as extra communication and he was going to try his hardest to make it as discreet, unassuming and secret as possible.

"Awesome. I'm glad everything was correct." Violet nodded as she went through her checklist and notes before she noticed Buddy was still holding the pen before she looked at it just a moment longer and realized it was new.

"New pen?" She asked.

"Uh yeah, the delivery driver had it, it writes really nice and I said something to him and he let me keep it." Buddy answered before he offered it to her and she took it and used it both as a stylus and a pen.

"Ooh, that does write really nicely, I can see why you would want to keep it. I wonder who the company used to make it. Because this is obviously a company pen." She said as she gave the company logo a dismissive glance but appreciated the pen itself and it's aesthetically clean and sleek appearance but surprisingly stylish.

"I don't know." Buddy shrugged.

"Well obviously if you're envying a delivery company's pens, your pens must be lacking then, I'll put in an order to get you decent pens." Violet noted.

"Oh, don't bother Ms. Parr, it's just a pen, you're looking too far into this." Buddy tried to discourage her casually because the last thing he wanted was for anyone, especially her to be tipped off about the recent developments, but he had to play this off convincingly.

"Mr. Pine. I too would like some really nice, decent pens so this is an excuse to get myself some decent pens too and one can never have too many writing utensils, at least in my office. I've misplaced my fair share of them and all the stylus' to the point I keep several extra ones in my top drawer. I'm notorious for it in fact. The next time you get a delivery, you could ask them where they got the pens if they know. If not, it's not the end of the world. But keep this one close and don't let me or anyone else steal it from you." Violet advised with a fond smile which brought a smile to Buddy's face in turn.

"You might as well just keep that one if it'll make you happy." Buddy offered, he was helpless against her charms and she wasn't even trying to charm him.

"No, this is your pen. The next time that delivery driver comes though, if you happen to get another one, I'll take that one." Violet compromised as she put it back into his hands.

"Or you can just have this one now," Buddy pointed out as he tried to offer it back.

"I'll take the next one besides I would still probably lose it between now and then- "I have spoken"." Violet good naturedly teased as she refused, putting her tablet down on the counter so she could use both of her hands to reach out and grab his and folded his own hand around the pen as Buddy savored the small, gentle touch. It was really nice.

"Ok fine." Buddy put the pen behind his ear before he put his hands up in defeat because arguing with her was pointless.

"By the way, next Wednesday we should return to Black Orchid for the first preliminary suit fitting. Mr. Nelson will be joining us and we will have Mr. Soche accompany us instead of Mr. Leland because again, the more of the security detail that get to know you and how you behave normally, and your 'twatwaffle protocol' the better. The last thing I need is for us to have an incident and have to defend you when half of the security doesn't know it or you." She began.

"Smart." Buddy praised.

"Thank you," Violet beamed.

"By the way, if someone yells ‘twatwaffle’ at you, what would your answer be?" Buddy felt the need to ask.

"Glitter nugget." Violet answered which got them both to laugh.

"That's...that's very fitting." Buddy appraised.

"Oh that's not as bad as Phillip's." Violet murmured lowly before Buddy could help himself, he sidled up next to her as he folded his elbows and leaned on the counter next to her.

"Tell me, tell me, tell me." Buddy begged.

"No, once anyone but myself and his security knows of it, it has to be changed for his security."

"Oh come on, who would I tell? I only ever talk to you and the doctors in the medical wing. Please, I need it to live!" Buddy pleaded as he playfully grabbed her arm and shook her a little which got Violet to giggle again. Oh what a melodious and perfect sound it was.

Then she caved so she reached up and whispered it into his ear which Buddy again, relished in the close contact before his eyes got wide when he heard it as he gasped softly but couldn't help the giggle that escaped him.

"No." Buddy breathed at her before she nodded and waggled her eyebrows at him.

"Well, if that will be all, have a good evening Mr. Pine." She said before she gave him a wink before she sauntered out of there.

"Good evening Ms. Parr." Buddy beamed back. Oh she had been in a really good playful mood today. He wished he could have tempted her to stay longer.

"Oh a snack." Buddy realized after she left and rubbed his hands over his face before he realized his mistake. He didn't make her a snack, that's why she looked disappointed at first, she could have stayed longer. Tomorrow though, he was going to create an awesome one before he went to his kitchen to see what he had and could make before the thought occurred to him of what he could make before he looked up recipes and put in a grocery order and looked at his watch to make sure Leslie or Dion would get it for him tonight so it could prep overnight. And sure enough by the time he had made himself dinner, his groceries were delivered to him by Dion at the door on the apartment side of the floor.

"Thank you Dion." Buddy thanked him as he got the groceries and went back to his kitchen to begin prepping what he needed because this particular snack would be a labor of love, but a labor he wouldn't mind making, especially if she liked it because she had told him about her preference to them before.

On Friday morning Violet walked in to the smell of the lab smelling divine.

"Good morning Mr. Pine." Violet greeted.

"Good morning Ms. Parr. I realize I didn't provide you with any sustenance last night. My apologies." Buddy offered as he offered her a plate of macarons.

"Where did you get these?" Violet gasped in delight as she readily took one from the plate.

"I made them. They didn't turn out perfect but hopefully they'll taste ok." Buddy offered.

"You made these?! Macarons are like, one of the hardest things anyone can make. They're a labor of love and test of patience. I've only tried to make them a handful of times and every time I've tried, I swore of baking for months at a time. But I'm not that great in the kitchen. Only because I'm rarely ever home long enough to cook half the time. So thank you very much. I love macarons. There's a pastry shop a few blocks over that knows me and my order by name that I get every Friday to start out my weekend with. They make this white chocolate raspberry one that is to die for. When we have our outing next week, I'll have us stop there so you can get it." Violet offered before she took one and bit into it and chewed thoughtfully.

"Ooh, strawberry vanilla, very nice." She praised as Buddy beamed happily that she could taste the flavors.

"Close enough." Buddy admitted.

"Like how close?"

"Strawberry champagne." Buddy revealed.

"Oooh, the champagne is subtle but now that you mention it, I taste it now. Very well done." Violet praised. "So how did you know how to make these?" She asked thoughtfully.

"Uh, it was Mirage's favorite dessert." Buddy had to admit but there was sadness in her eyes yet a smugness to Violet's grin as she felt some vindication that her hunch was right and was hoping Phillip was watching and listening but also hurt that when Buddy was with her, he was still imagining Mirage which she knew was probably for the best because that was the only way they could keep this up without Phillip getting too suspicious or keep herself from getting to close either.

"Well I'm grateful you've kept the skills up. These are delicious." Violet praised as she took a second one.

"Here, I made you some more because when you make them, you make a tray at a time." Buddy offered as he left and went to the fridge where he had kept the container with the extras, the best ones and handed it to her since she had eagerly followed him.

"Thank you." Violet thanked him as she readily took them before they went through their usual routine before Violet saw herself out and took her prize straight to Phillip's office. And once inside the elevator Violet let her head drop as she closed her eyes, the beginnings of tears stinging them before she pushed her hurt down.

All Buddy saw was Mirage, all Phillip saw was Invisigirl. Suddenly she felt like she was 14 again with Tony, being so invisible and no one really seeing her- for her. But it was for the best wasn't it? It would be easier to walk away from all this and all of them knowing that what everyone thought and saw- was never even close to the truth. It was better this way. That's all she needed to remind herself of. She needed to stay focused. But right now- she needed to be smug in her validation and vindication that her hunch was right. That's what Phillip would expect from her as she straightened up her posture and put on the façade once again.

"I told you." Violet practically sang as she strutted up to him and presented the macarons as proof.

"You did, you did. Bravo." Phillip congratulated her as he took a macaron and ate it, particularly proud of her for her performance.

The next day Mr. Reacher came back with another delivery.

"Hey, so my supervisor and liaison really liked the pen, is there anyway we can hook her up with some more or at least point her in the right direction to get more herself? Surely this place has website where she could order them off of right?" Buddy asked, hoping that wasn't too transparent for whoever was watching him but clear enough for Jack to understand.

"Sure, keep that one for her for now." Mr. Reacher nodded in understanding.

"Thanks. Also I have this to send out, I printed off my own return slip for it." Buddy offered a box that had a part that needed to be replaced.

"Of course Mr. Pine." He assured him.

On Monday Violet came in just as Mr. Reacher was dropping off Buddy's latest shipment.

"Mr. Reacher, this is my supervisor and liaison- Ms. Parr. she's the one who liked the pen." Buddy introduced.

"He said something to me on Saturday. I asked my boss about it this morning and he still had a business card for the company who makes them. He only got a few of the premium ones as part of an advertising promotion." Mr. Reacher revealed as he pulled the business card from his pocket and handed it over to her.

"Oh thank you so much! Yeah I really loved the way that pen wrote and the built in stylus is very convenient when you deal with electronics all day." Violet thanked him as she scanned the company card and the QR code on the back and it brought up the "company website" for her before she went through the catalog that had been put together before she placed an order right there on the spot.

"Thank you so much, you can have the card back, I got all I wanted and needed." Violet grinned happily.

"I'm glad I could be of service Ma'am. You both have a good day," He bid them before he took Buddy's own shipments and left.

"That was really nice of you to mention that to him. Thank you Mr. Pine." Violet thanked Buddy gratefully.

"You're welcome. Also he gave me this one Saturday for you. So you won't have to go without a good pen until the shipment comes in." Buddy nodded in turn as he handed the pen in question over to her. Grateful that it had worked and that he was at least, for now- above Violet's suspicion as Violet gasped with a wide bright smile.

"Aww thank you." Violet cooed as she eagerly took it from it.

On Wednesday at 9:15 Violet returned with Mr. Nelson and Mr. Soche and after going through the same protocol they returned to the Black Orchid for a suit fitting and Buddy was able to pull Violet aside as they looked over the new ties that had come in while they got some of the suits that had started to come together.

"Is there any way I can talk with you privately? Where we aren't getting listened to?" Buddy managed to breathe in a whisper in her ear as Violet gave him a look before she managed to pull a shirt that would look hideous on Buddy.

"Try this on. I dare you." Violet urged him with a giggle but a meaningful look all the same.

"Really? You want me to put on yellow? With my hair?" Buddy mock complained but did as she asked as she followed him to the dressing room.

"Ms. Parr, come on, have some mercy on my soul, don't make me come out like this." Buddy pleaded as he put it on and gave himself an unimpressed look in the mirror. He looked awful which got Violet to giggle evilly as she stepped to the other side of the door.

"Just let me see then." She urged him as she used the doors on the dressing rooms on both sides of his own to box them in before she put up a forcefield around them both.

"We got thirty seconds. What?" Violet demanded.

"About the macarons," Buddy began, keeping his voice to low murmur.

"Why do we need to talk privately about macarons?" Violet pressed, completely confused as she also hushed her voice.

"Because the look you gave me when I made them for you told me that something was wrong. I saw it in your eyes. Was it because I used to make them for Ta-Mirage?" Buddy asked in a hushed whisper.

"Do you think that I think that you remind me of her? Is that why? Do you think that I think that you're Mirage Jr or something?" Buddy asked, trying to keep his voice to a hushed whisper.

"You don't?" Violet asked as she tilted her head to the side.

"No of course not! She's her and you're you and completely different individual people. Sure there are some similarities but not enough to bring her to mind and I made you the macarons because I didn't have a snack for you the day before and I felt bad and I was hoping the macarons would be a nice way to make up for it because you told me that you liked macarons." Buddy confessed before Violet blinked in surprise.

"Oh, ok, fine, here's the deal, the only reason Mr. Sebastian is ok with these outings and me being your handler for these outings and the whole you making me food and stuff and our camaraderie is because he thinks that you think that I'm Mirage 2.0. Otherwise he is super jealous and possessive and controlling and I need these outings as a break from him. So if you could actually just drop her name from time to time, just like once or twice and "slip up" to keep him thinking that every once in a while, I would be forever grateful." Violet pleaded.

"Oh, yeah you got it." Buddy nodded.

"Thank you." Violet thanked him.

"Anything else?" Violet asked.

"No." Buddy shook his head no before she nodded dropped the forcefield and shut the doors quickly and quietly.

"Oh come on, it can't be that bad, let me see Mr. Pine, please?" Violet begged just as Mr. Nelson was coming back to check in on them to see Violet leaning against the wall casually on the opposite side of the wall that Buddy's dressing room was in.

"Mr. Pine is shy." Violet giggled to Mr. Nelson from her spot before Mr. Nelson nodded and retreated again.

"Come on, let me see." She giggled again as she tapped on the door with her foot before Buddy reopened it before Violet snickered a laugh because she honestly didn't notice what he had looked like just a moment before because all she focused on was his face.

"Oh my God, it does look atrocious on you. That shade of yellow isn't good for you or your complexion. Thank you for humoring me though." Violet thanked him.

"Well I'm happy I could be of some entertainment then." Buddy pretended to grump before his suits were brought into the dressing room from the back by Mr. Sudwar before Buddy practically ripped the shirt off of himself and barred his upper body in just a wife-beater undershirt and Violet was struck by how built Buddy was. She knew he was stocky, but to realize that he had some serious, frankly gorgeous sculpted muscle because in his apartment was a personal gym that he used quite often and by the way he worked out, Violet could tell that had been part of his routine before. And while he still had a bit of a paunch left, he was frankly built like an ox and strong as one too as Buddy noticed she was staring at him and was appreciating the view at least.

"Miss Parr?" Mr. Sudwar prompted which caused her to jump and break her out of her sudden lust filled daze.

"Oh, Mr. Sudwar, the suits, yes, he's ready to try them on. Uh, let me just take that and put it back." She practically ripped the shirt out of Buddy's hands and the hanger off the wall as her cheeks stained cherry.

"Are you alright Ms. Parr?" Mr. Sudwar asked.

"Yes I'm fine, I'm fine, Mr. Pine is fine, he's fine, I'm fine, we're fine, we're fine, I need to stop saying fine, thank you." Violet quickly stuttered and stammered as she just blushed harder and quickly tried to get the shirt back on the hanger and get it back to where it was in the shop as Mr. Nelson and Mr. Soche tried their best not to laugh at her clearly flustered state.

"You ok?" Mr. Nelson asked Violet as he came to stand next to her.

"Yeah, I just got caught staring indecently at the asset. Damn it his wife-beater was showing off those guns." Violet confessed in a harsh whisper to him.

"You and arms." Mr. Nelson teased.

"Shut up. This is so embarrassing." Violet complained as she managed to get the shirt hung back up before she covered her face with her hands.

"Well I mean, I've seen your dad…" Mr. Nelson continued with a knowing grin and a playful nudge to Violet's shoulder.

"Don't! Don't you dare go there! And this incident will never be known by anyone else for as long as we all shall live." Violet harshly whispered yelled at him with a dirty glare.

"You're the boss, boss." Mr. Nelson simply grinned as he put his hands up in defeat.

"Yes I am." Violet confirmed as she took a deep cleansing breath.

"Hey Ms. Parr?" Buddy called out before Violet turned on her heel and went back to the dressing room and tried to slip back into her cool composure.

"Yes Mr. Pine?" Violet asked calmly, doing her best to be professional again.

"Why are these suits so heavy?" Buddy asked as Violet took a deep breath before she turned to Mr. Sudwar.

"Is Mr. Sanchez still in the building?" She asked.

"Yes." Mr. Sudwar confirmed.

"Can you get him for me please?" She requested.

"Of course." Mr. Sudwar nodded as he left and a few moments later Benny came out, looking like just another tailor.

"Mr. Pine, meet Mr. Sanchez. Mr. Sanchez, meet Mr. Pine, can you please explain what you've done to Mr. Pine's suits that would cause them to be heavier than normal and why?" She requested.

"Of course. Each piece of the suit, the jacket, vest and pants are lined with Kalsix, it's a special fabric that will deflect anything from bullets, to a knife to a missile. It's fireproof and resistant to most flammable liquids and other corrosive liquids as well, you can pour battery acid on it and it won't melt and because of the properties of the fabric- if you get tazed- it'll lesson the tazing because it'll absorb most of the electrical current. It's the best secret armor you can wear and it will protect you when she can't or even they can't." Mr. Sanchez announced as he nodded to Violet and then to the body guards.

"The only thing is that it's not that breathable, elastic or light. But it will keep you safe when you’re out in the open in public and possibly exposed to a threat." Violet admitted to Buddy.

"Oh, well, thank you." Buddy graciously thanked him.

"Don't thank me, thank her. She's the one who insisted on it." Mr. Sanchez nodded towards Violet.

"Thank you, that'll be all." Violet thanked him.

"No problem, I gotta get back to work." Benny excused himself.

"Job done right?" Buddy guessed as Violet nodded again.

"Exactly." Violet nodded and smiled appreciatively.

After the fitting, they stopped for lunch again before Violet had them go to the Merry Cherry Bakery where they had a whole section just for macarons.

"Ms. Parr, this is a surprise, you usually come on Fridays." Mable noted.

"I know, I was needing an extra fix this week, I also brought in a friend from work, this is Mr. Pine who also shares my love of macarons, and I of course told him that this was one of the best places to find the most amazing macarons." Violet praised as Buddy looked over the selection appreciatively.

"Ooh, they have cheese crowns." Buddy realized.

"Get whatever your heart desires Mr. Pine, my treat. Guys, same goes for you, get whatever you want." Violet offered to Mr. Nelson and Mr. Soche.

"Sweet." Mr. Soche grinned before he placed his order before Mr. Nelson did and then Buddy practically got one of every kind of macaron and along with his own personal preferences as Violet made sure to make mental notes of what Buddy liked and preferred for future reference.

A week before they had to leave for Vegas, they returned once again to the Black Orchid for a final suit check and Buddy really loved what he found in the mirror, especially when Violet came to stand beside him to check the fit herself, making sure he could move freely and comfortably in them and to feel Violet run her hands over his body was frankly heaven for Buddy. Plus they looked really good together, although if Buddy was honest, it was Violet who could make anyone and everyone look good just by standing beside them and Violet had them go back to Vers for another 'man spa day' to make sure Buddy would look and feel his best and even went and got special luggage.

"Ok, I gotta know, not that I'm complaining, but why the massages and spa treatments?" Buddy asked once they got back to his apartment as she was once again helping him put things away.

"You're an important and valuable asset to SEB, and it is currently my responsibility to make sure that you perform at the most successful rate possible. And burn out, touch starvation and lack of enrichment and the like are hindrances to your performance and we can't have that can we Mr. Pine?" Violet explained. Knowing that was the 'right answer' but again the sweet sadness she portrayed in her eyes made Buddy's heart begin to feel uncomfortably constricted as his look soon mirrored hers which in turn made Violet feel so awful and guilty for giving him that answer.

"I just...I don't want you getting touch starved. I've been there and it sucks and mentally it can push anyone into reading too much into simple, kind, and genuinely platonic gestures and make them see more meaning than is there. And the way I see it, you're a compulsory guest. Might as well make your stay as comfortable as I can because we're still just two birds in side by side gilded cages. If I can share a toy or two, then I will, if it means that you'll stay in it and won't try to break out of it every chance you get and the more you can stand and bear the confinement, the better for all of us. And if you break out, I have to hunt you down, it's my job, it's actually written in my contract that 'any asset rented or owned or otherwise by SEB Industries that is lost or stolen must be retrieved or destroyed'." Violet quoted.

"And I don't want to do that. Because when I hunt, I hunt to kill, I have to. And I don't…" Violet began as she mentally chided herself for her eyes getting glassy and Buddy was awestruck that she didn't want to kill him, that she actually cared enough and was attached enough to not want to harm him, but instead help him all the ways she could.

Violet took a sharp inhale through her nose to clear it and blinked the glassiness to her eyes away and damning herself for being so transparent but at least- hopefully- Phillip was watching this and thinking that she was just emotionally manipulating Buddy again. That would be her only saving grace.

"Hunting is a hassle and I don't want the hassle. So take pity on me and don't force my hand to do it Mr. Pine." Violet said, while her tone was forced to be light and teasing, her eyes were still sincere in their pleading with him and Buddy didn't trust his voice not to break with emotion if he tried to talk so he just nodded in understanding and agreement.

"Thank you. Good night Mr. Pine." Violet offered.

"Good night Ms. Parr." Buddy managed to get out before Violet saw herself out.

"Bravo." Phillip clapped dramatically when she returned to his office which got Violet to laugh, albeit, a bit mirthlessly.

"I was ready to promise to never run away. The way you play him and pull on every heart string is just...marvelous. You're the best, you need an Emmy." Phillip praised.

"Oh stop, you're being dramatic and embarrassing me. But, there's a reason I'm the best there is and why you pay me so much." Violet could only point out, forcing her smugness.

"What am I going to do with out you My Dear?" Phillip cooed as he enveloped her into her embrace.

"You're going to be just fine. Whoever takes my post after I leave will handle you perfectly well." Violet assured him.

"What if I don't want anyone but you to handle me?" Philip proposed as he started swaying in place as he managed to get her tablet out of her hand and start dancing with her in his office, hoping that was romantic enough for her.

"Phillip, you know I'm still under a contract with you. And while I'm cool with friends with benefits- any more than that is too dangerous, especially for you. Because I already have a big enough target on my back just being a Super, but being your handler is an even bigger one and being your romantic partner would be an even bigger one than that. Now don't get me wrong, I do thoroughly enjoy being your handler and full time babysitter." Violet teased which got Phillip to chuckle and hum before he couldn't help but kiss her and was happy she at least kissed him back.

"But everyone knows I'm important to you. If I would be your handler and your romantic partner. There's no telling what could happen, and you already have enough enemies as do I, we can't risk combining them, at least not right now. I don't want anyone to use me against you or to get to you or harm you or anything like that. That and you know as well as I do that while I'm still under contract, The Agency can pull me out at any time without anyone's say so, even my own. They can still come in here and drag me out kicking and screaming. I'm still Invisigirl for the next two years and that contract is iron clad. You know it is, because you were the one to help draw it up and the only thing harder than your contracts is perhaps maybe this." Violet managed to purr as she stroked his manhood suggestively, already feeling it harden beneath her touch, even though she was far from feeling romantic herself.

"And you shouldn't have to wait on anyone, let alone me. Because while I'm a great agent and Super and handler, I'm a shitty girlfriend and would make an even worse wife because all the things that make me awesome in the former make me lousy in the latter. It's just the way it is and it's the trade off. But it's one I gladly and happily do. If you want a girlfriend that badly, get one of your ballerina/model types. They'll look better with you anyway and they're more suited to you than I am." Violet insisted. Already having had this conversation many times before and getting sick and tired of having it but she couldn't let Phillip know that.

"Fine, for now, but the second your contract is up, be prepared to be wooed." Phillip playfully warned her.

"Woo all you want, it would still be up to me to decide to accept or not. Besides, who knows, you may even grow bored with me before then or you'll find the love of your life by then too. All we have is right now, let's just enjoy it and not spoil it." Violet urged him.

"If you insist." Phillip caved, but he was far from deterred. If anything he was even more firmly set in his belief that she was the one for him. And it would just be a matter of making her see it.

Meanwhile a new mole finally made his way into the surveillance department and he set up piggybacks on all the feeds to all the cameras. And while SEB security was top of the line, the mole's was still one step ahead while another team made it's way to Violet's apartment.

"Sir, her place is already bugged, like beyond what the CIA and FBI do, any more bugs in here and I'll have to call an exterminator. You can practically hear every neighbor piss in here. She's already under very heavy surveillance. Do you want us to piggy back these feeds too?" A henchman reported.

"Yes." Came the reply and after the piggybacks were put in place, they then traced the feeds back to the data banks it was all stored on and then the hunt began to find anything and everything they could. Useful or not.

#Why So Jaded?#Why So Jaded Chapter 5 #Synlet #Buddy Pine #Bartholomew Pine #Violet Parr #Corporate espionage AU #Modern AU

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yilingradishfairy · 4 years

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April Fools' Rush In (2063 words) by SakuraKage Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù, 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn Characters: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, April Fools' Day, Kokuhaku, Honmei choco, hope I'm using those terms right, Untamed Spring Fest 2020 Summary:

This is it. Today is the day. Lan Wangji was going to tell Wei Wuxian how he felt. He didn't have a lot of experience, but, thankfully, the anime that he watched with Wei Wuxian had taught him what to do. But why, today of all days, has everyone in the school seem to have gone crazy? Every two seconds, a prank is going off or someone is covered in apple juice. It seems like his love confession is going to get buried underneath a pile of stinking vegetables (literally). Or will it?

The prompt for Untamed Spring Fest 2020 – Day 1 was April Fools' Day. I swear, this started as a Yunmeng sibs gen fic, all shenanigans and no plot. But then I needed a mouthpiece, and a clueless LWJ sounded like the funniest way to go. And then I needed a WangXian subplot, but this is just a oneshot. So then it became the whole plot. So yeah. Enjoy :)

This is it. Today is the day. Lan Wangji was going to tell Wei Wuxian how he felt.

He didn't have a lot of experience with love or relationships, in general, platonic or otherwise. He had grown up on books and had only just started his first year at the school where his uncle teaches. At first, he had been mortified at how unruly his classmates seemed to be, so flippant and ridiculous, but he got used to ignoring them after a while.

Well, he got used to ignoring every student except one. The one named Wei Wuxian who sat next to him and bothered him at every moment. The one who insisted he call him "Wei Ying" and called him "Lan Zhan," in turn. The one who acted like he was his best friend and dragged him to his house after school and forced him to watch anime with him to "culture" him and, yeah, after a while, Lan Wangji had to admit that he wasn't being forced anymore. At some point, he had begun to look forward to Wei Wuxian’s daily Lan Zhan~ 's and Wei Wuxian’s special smiles and Wei Wuxian’s adamant resolve that Lan Wangji was his friend. Until Lan Wangji realized he no longer wanted to be just Wei Wuxian's friend.

And thanks to the anime they had binge-watched together, Lan Wangji knew what he had to do.

Lan Wangji entered the classroom several minutes early, which was not an irregularity for him. What was unusual was the small unassuming box of handmade chocolates and letter addressed to Wei Wuxian that he cradled protectively. He laid both on Wei Wuxian’s desk, and took his usual seat next to him, cracking open a textbook.

Students began to file in, and it seemed that it was an unusual day for them as well. Several of them were smuggling in food of some kind, and those that weren’t carried some sort of office supply with them. He spared them no more thought, though, when Wei Wuxian tumbled through the door.

“Lan Zhan!” As usual, Wei Wuxian paid no attention to his own desk, choosing instead to perch atop Lan Wangji’s. “Guess what happened!”

“Wei Ying,” he greeted him. “On your desk.”

“Oh!” Wei Wuxian jumped off and grabbed the chocolates. “Did you make these?”

“Mn,” he nodded, hiding how nervous energy thrummed through his veins. “For you.”

“Mm, Lan Zhan, these are amazing!” he mumbled around the chocolates he had just shoved in. “You’re really good at this!”

Arrogance is forbidden. Arrogance is forbidden. Lan Wangji repeated the rules to himself, but he could not prevent the pleased flush from spreading through his body.

“Mmm,” Wei Wuxian hummed in delight. “Wow, I love this!” He gobbled up another chocolate. “But you know,” he continued through a mouth of chocolate. “You weren’t really supposed to make good food.”

Wait, what? He knew? How did I do it wrong? What was wrong?

Although Lan Wangji did not say anything, Wei Wuxian read the quizzical set of his brow. “I don’t know how you knew about the food thing we were doing today, but it’s supposed to be prank food. And it’s kinda supposed to be for the whole class, though I can’t be mad at you for making it all for me.” He smiled charmingly, which would normally pause Lan Wangji’s brain processes, but his words set his mind racing.

What’s today? Prank food? Whole class? “Food thing?” Lan Wangji managed to get out.

“Yeah, for April Fool’s!”

“April. Fool’s,” Lan Wangji repeated slowly, waiting for him to explain.

“Look, watch,” Wei Wuxian motioned towards Mianmian, who had been circling the room and was finally approaching them.

“Hey, guys,” she winked at them, plopping down her donut box onto Wei Wuxian’s desk. Right onto his still unseen confession letter. “Can I interest you in a donut?”

“Not today,” Wei Wuxian just laughed. “Show Lan Wangji what you’ve got in there.”

She obligingly opened the case. Lan Wangji peered in. “Radishes?” he murmured to himself before turning to Wei Wuxian quizzically.

“Bleh, potatoes are better,” Wei Wuxian told MianMian, sticking his tongue out in disgust. She just shrugged and went on to Nie Huaisang, who was sitting behind Wei Wuxian.

He turned back to Lan Wangji. “Yeah, it’s April Fool’s Day! Everyone just plays pranks on each other. For fun! You get it, Lan Zhan?”

Wei Wuxian leaned in to whisper something in his ear, but he was interrupted by his brother’s arrival. “Wei Wuxian!”

Lan Wangji turned to see Jiang Wanyin huffing at the door. His clothes were all rumpled, and as he stalked closer, Lan Wangji could see that the beads of sweat rolling down his forehead had a reddish tinge.

“What happened to you?” Nie Huaisang’s mouth was hanging open.

“You-!” Jiang Wanyin grabbed the front of his brother’s shirt. “How dare you-”

“Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian laughed nervously. “Did you like your surprise?”

“What do you thi-”

“Heads up, hands down, and phones away!” Lan Qiren barked from down the hallway. “School is in session!”

All the students scurried into their seats as the honored teacher finally entered the room. Jiang Wanyin slowly released his grip on Wei Wuxian and slid into his seat behind Lan Wangji.

He could hear Nie Huaisang and Jiang Wanyin whispering behind him during class, but he ignored it. After lunch, on the way back to class, Wei Wuxian threw himself over Lan Wangji. “Lan Zhan, look what my brother did to my phone~” he whined, pushing the phone into his hands. “What an awful April Fool’s prank!”

Lan Wangji accepted the phone that was thrust into his hands and pressed the power. A picture of the tiniest, fluffiest, most adorable dog covered the screen. Knowing Wei Wuxian’s phobia, Lan Wangji immediately turned the screen off, tilting the phone so it was facing away from its owner. “How did he do this?” he asked.

Wei Wuxian pouted. “He stole it from me before class, when he grabbed me. Sneaky brother.” He wailed, “And now I can’t use my phone!”

“Tell me your passcode,” Lan Wangji said.

“Ah, Lan Zhan is the best!” Wei Wuxian immediately brightened and told him his password.

Lan Wangji clicked through his phone and changed his lockscreen to an inane picture of bunnies. “There.” He handed the phone back.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Wei Wuxian chirped. He flipped through his notifications quickly, since he had been unable to handle his phone for hours.

They made it back to the classroom and sat at their seats. Wei Wuxian began to put his books away and found the letter that had been buried beneath all the books.

"Ah, Lan Zhan, is this for me?" he waved his confession in the air cavalierly. Lan Wangji gave no answer, busily trying to calm his nerves. Wei Wuxian smirked as he opened the letter.

Lan Wangji held his breath as his eyes skimmed over the letter. Suddenly, Wei Wuxian clenched his fist and struck the table. "What a horrible joke," he hissed.

He doesn't like it. Of course, he doesn't feel the same way. This was a horrible idea. Lan Wangji swallowed thickly. "What?" he croaked eloquently. He watched as Wei Wuxian carefully hid his feelings behind a smile.

"Haha, it looks like Jiang Cheng pulled another prank on me," he forced a laugh. "He pretty much nailed your handwriting, though. Look!" Wei Wuxian waved his painstakingly crafted love confession in his face. A prank. He thinks it’s all a prank, Lan Wangji realized numbly.

“As if you’d say something like this.” Then, to his horror, Wei Wuxian read aloud his own words to him in a flat voice. Wei Wuxian gave another hollow laugh. "What does he think you are, a Japanese schoolgirl?"

"Mn," he heard himself agree from far away, unable to form words.

Wei Wuxian said something else, but he didn’t hear him. Didn’t know what he said. Couldn’t make the white noise go away. Thankfully, class started again, and he had several more hours to put his heart back together.

As they packed up at the end of class, Wei Wuxian sidled over and nudged his shoulder, eyes bright. “Are you coming over?”

No, I need to go home and nurse my broken heart. I need to get over you. "Mn," he found himself agreeing. He seemed to be addicted to pain.

Later, binging another anime with Wei Wuxian – a ninja anime this time, not one of the school ones that had led him so astray – Lan Wangji wondered if he could just ignore it. Tape over the hurt. He could just pretend today never happened.

Then Jiang Wanyin banged his way into through the door. “Wei Wuxian!”

Wei Wuxian scrambled to greet his brother at the door. “Hey, Jiang Cheng! What took you so long?”

“You know what,” Jiang Wanyin seethed. Lan Wangji stood up, edging closer to Wei Wuxian protectively. “I can’t believe you-”

“Boys,” Jiang Yanli cut in smoothly, ever the peacekeeper. “Play nice. I’m making soup.”

Jiang Wanyin calmed down, but he still shook his head derisively. “I still can’t believe you did that to me.”

Wei Wuxian bristled, “Well, I can't believe you changed my lockscreen to a murderous dog. You know how evil they are!”

“Well, I can't believe you put red hair dye in my shampoo!” Jiang Wanyin shouted back. “It took forever to wash out, and I was almost late!”

“That wasn't nearly as mean as your stupid love confession prank,” Wei Wuxian retorted.

“My love confession prank?” Jiang Wanyin made a face. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“The one you pretended was from Lan Zhan! That was really mean,” Wei Wuxian clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “He would never do something like that.” Wei Wuxian looked to Jiang Yanli for encouragement.

“Oh, A-Xian,” she sighed, looking back and forth between him and Lan Wangji. Jiang Wanyin facepalmed in the background.

Wei Wuxian turned confused eyes to Lan Wangji. "You did the prank?"

Lan Wangji shrank back against the wall, even though there was nowhere further to go. He could feel his ears blaze under Wei Wuxian's scrutiny, but he found no words.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes softened in understanding. "Lan Zhan?" Wei Wuxian whispered.

Lan Wangji swallowed thickly. "It, uh, it wasn't supposed to be a prank," he mumbled, unable to meet his eyes.

"No, you really meant it, huh?" Wei Wuxian gave him a gentle smile, looking at him in wonderment. Wait, he wasn’t disgusted by the thought? Wei Wuxian took a tentative step forward. Does that mean… “Lan Zhan?” he asked.

Oh god, am I gonna say it? "I did," he admitted, hardly daring to breathe.

"I'm sorry," Wei Wuxian apologized, stepping forward again. "I'm sorry I thought it was a joke. That must have been very cruel to you, Lan Zhan." He drew ever closer until he was standing right in front of him. He paused and looked away, vulnerability filling his eyes. "I just didn't think...I never thought that you..."

"I do," Lan Wangji breathed, waiting on bated breath for his next words.

Wei Wuxian finally looked up, and hope lit up his beautiful face. "I do, too."

Jiang Wanyin gagged loudly in the background. "Eugh, guys! Get a room!"

Wei Wuxian jolted, as if out of a spell, and backed away from where he had all but pinned Lan Wangji against the wall. He laughed awkwardly, waving his hands in the air. "Ah, sorry, Lan Zhan. I know you don't like touchi-"

Wei Wuxian cut his own words off when Lan Wangji grabbed hold of his flailing hand. Slowly, Wei Wuxian turned his wrist in his grasp and closed his fingers around Lan Wangji’s wrist in turn. He looked up into his eyes, his gaze a silent question.

“I want to touch you,” Lan Wangji nodded. “I always want to touch you.”

He distantly heard Jiang Wanyin gag again in the background, but he paid him no mind. He was too wrapped up in the person that he thought was too far out of his reach, not an hour before. “Never mind!” Jiang Wanyin shouted. “Do not get a room! And definitely don't get my room!”

Wei Wuxian laughed, squeezing Lan Wangji’s wrist gently. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

“I would love to.”

JYL: Would you like to stay forever?!

Disclaimer: I used a reference to the practice of love confessions from anime, but uh ... When I went through my anime phase, I paid way more attention to ninjas than to school slice of lifes so I probably got something wrong. But I told myself that I could get away with it because LWJ didn't totally understand it either. So sorry for any inaccuracies or misrepresentation.

Alright, I had more pranks planned, but it’s getting late so the down-low is that WWX stuck red food dye in JC’s shampoo and cream cheese in his deodorant, JC stuck a note on WWX car that made people honk at him all day (which probably isn’t much different than any other day), and someone taped over Lan Qiren’s projector remote, resulting in JC’s detention and subsequent lateness in getting home. Or maybe he was late for, like, student government reasons. IDK.

#WangjiWeek2020 #HappyBDayLWJ2020 #cql #cql fic #mdzs fic #lan wangji #fictional birthday #wei wuxian #post-canon #my writing

#untamed spring fest #mdzs fic #cql fic #the untamed fanfic #wangxian fic #lan wangji #wei wuxian #fluffy #my writing

#untamed spring fest #mdzs fic #cql fic #the untamed fanfic #wangxian fic #lan wangji #wei wuxian #fluffy #my writing #april fools day

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