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eirabach · 5 years ago

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Dangerous Games [2/2]

Oh my God, finally.

This fic really really wanted to be 200k of pining and zero plot. I managed to cut it down to just under 30k. You’re... welcome? I guess? I don’t really know if anyone will read it, but if you’re brave enough to do so I wish you godspeed. See you on the flip side! I really really hope the read more works.

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go

Rating: M

Wordcount: This part, 15k give or take 80.

AO3: Here

Summary:

In which Penelope plots, and lives to regret it. Possibly.

But then again, possibly not.

[or, Pen and Ink versus TOS episode The Cham-Cham. Except with hardly anything in common with The Cham-Cham. I don’t make the rules. They do.]

He sleeps, which surprises him. So does she, and that surprises him even more.

He wakes up to find that she’s tucked herself against him in the night, her hand pillowed under his shoulder, her cheek pressed into his chest, and every muscle is screaming at him to move, move goddamnit, but there’s a pretty solid chance he’ll never move again.

Penelope shifts in her sleep, her brow furrowing, her other hand coming up to twist in the cotton of his t shirt, and honestly if he died right now he’d be a pretty happy guy. Maybe a touch too happy. He tries to shift his hips away without waking her, but she just tightens her grip, her leg curling around his, her nails sharp where they scratch against bare flesh.

Aw, shit .

He squeezes his eyes tight shut and mentally recites Four’s start up sequence until he starts to lose all feeling in his arm. And, luckily, elsewhere.

“Pen?”

Nothing.

“Penny? Lady P?”

He opens one eye and squints down at her. Her face is soft in sleep, her lips gently parted, and he feels real bad but his fingers are starting to turn blue.

“Penelope, we have a situation.”

“Wh - Gordon?”

“The very same.” She blinks up at him for a moment, then sits bolt upright, her elbow making solid contact with his stomach as she does so. “Ouch! Damn, Penny!”

“Oh! Oh, I am sorry.” She looks around, hair sticking to her cheek. “What’s the situation?”

“It’s morning?” He nods toward the windows where dawn’s red light is filtering through the voiles. “I uh - thought you might want to know.”

“Well thank you for the alarm, I think.” She moves to get out of bed, then stops and turns back to him. “I’ll be out with Vishkin most of today. He wants to go skiing.”

Gordon balks at this for at least half a dozen reasons, foremost amongst them being that he has no particular wish to have Penelope out of his sight when Vishkin is around. Of course if he dares to tell her that he’ll be subject to another possibly well-deserved tirade, so he decides to go for wounded pride instead.

“Oh come on , you know I’m a better skier than you!”

“ Alan is a better skier than me. You cheat.”

“I don’t!”

“Gordon, snowball fights?”

“Strategy, Pen.”

“Well.” She huffs, and climbs out of bed. “Once was enough. And anyway, look at you. I can’t let you out on the slopes.”

Gordon follows her eyeline to the exposed skin of his stomach. The bruises are yellow and green now, fading away at his hip, but they’re still enough to have Penny folding her arms over her chest, her eyes fire.

“I’m -”

“Don’t. Even. Try.” She reaches for Pauline’s wig and heads for the bathroom. “Besides, I have another use for you.”

---

A Saturday morning spent propping up a free bar in a beautiful location. It would have been perfect, pretty much, if it weren’t for the company.

Parker grouses at him from the end of the bar, a constant litany of displeased muttering, and the other staff aren’t exactly up for a chat. He tries to watch the holovision, but the news is barely worth the name and every panel show is a repeat.

He gives up, wanders into the kitchens around lunchtime and makes a couple of sandwiches. They’re tasteless and sit heavy in his belly. He hadn’t expected this to be so boring .

He had expected Penny to check in.

“You look cheerful.”

He almost drops the renements of his sandwich as he hops to his feet, brushing crumbs off his sweater vest before he holds out a hand to Margot Mearns.

“Ms Mearns! I - is everything okay? Can I - do you want a sandwich?”

“Tempting,” she drawls, looking down at the renements of his, “But I’m fine.”

She’s nothing like the nervous, quiet creature who’d arrived on Vishkin’s arm. She drapes herself over the bar and clicks her fingers in the direction of Parker who drops his glass cloth with the altricity of a man used to following demands.

“Gin and tonic,” she tells him, then, with a sideways look at Gordon and a little smirk. “Make that two.”

“Oh I really - “ But Parker’s already sliding two glasses along the bar and glaring balefully at Gordon over that stupid moustache. Ingratiate yourself, Penny had said. He may need the lubrication. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me.” She takes one of the glasses and knocks the drink back in a single gulp. Even Parker’s eyes widen. “I’m not paying for it.”

She signals for another, then eyes Gordon’s drink, the bubbles having barely settled. “You going to drink that?”

“Uh,” Gordon nods quickly and takes a sip. Parker hasn’t been stingy with his measures and he’s not used to much more than the odd light beer, so it’s not really surprising that he struggles to hold back a cough. “Uh - wow.”

Margot looks down at him along the length of her precision perfect nose. “Your wife says you’ve hurt yourself.”

“Yeah - yeah, a bit. I need to stay off the slopes, take it easy, y’know?”

“Colin will be delighted .” She takes a solid gulp of her second drink. “She’s very pretty.”

“Pardon?”

“Your wife, Paula?”

“P - Pauline.”

“Very pretty. Colin will be pleased to have her to himself for a bit.”

“I uh -”

She pats his hand and knocks back the rest of the gin.

“Oh don’t panic, he never keeps them.”

“Sounds like a real swell guy.”

“Where are you from, Kansas? Yeah he’s a swell guy alright.” She takes a compact from her purse then pulls a little wrap of white powder from her bra and empties its contents on to the mirror. “Want some?”

Gordon’s pretty sure that if his dad has a grave he’s spinning in it.

“Uh -”

She shrugs, and moves to cut a line. “Your loss.”

Yeah, in more ways than one.

“I was a big fan, by the way. When I was a kid.”

She looks at him then, suddenly shrewd. “You still look like a kid to me. Tell me, Gerald -”

“Greg.”

“Gerald. Tell me. What do you think my manager and your wife are up to right at this moment?”

International espionage , or at least he very much hopes so.

Stick to the script, Gordon. He shrugs, tries to keep his expression neutral. He’s not too sure how Penelope wants him to play this game, but he’s going to have to pick up strategy as he goes along.

“I mean, I’m pretty sure, skiing?”

Margot’s smile grows wider, something cat-like in the narrowing of her eyes.

“Uh huh, come here. Let me tell you a secret.” She grabs a fist full of his sweater and pulls him to her. Her breath is hot against his ear and he struggles not to recoil. “Colin has never skied in his life .” She sits back, satisfied, and cuts another line. “Why on earth would he start now.”

“She’s not that sort of girl.”

“Do you know how many times I’ve heard that? How many times I’ve said it? Lemme tell you, if Colin wants you to be something, you become it. And sharp, too.”

“Not Pauline.” He shakes his head. “She’s one of a kind.”

Margot’s smile is full of pity, and topped with a tiny smear of white powder.

“He used to say that about me, you know. Funny thing is, when you say it, I almost believe it.”

“Hey, I’m an honest guy.”

She grimaces, bitterness suffusing her every word. “No such thing.”

“Hey.” He rests his hand lightly on her wrist before she can return to the dregs on her mirror for a third time. “If you want to talk…”

She laughs, and for the first time it actually sounds like genuine amusement.

"You're cute, Gavin. I can see why she likes you."

---

Penelope has never been jealous in her life. She’s never had any need for it having never coveted anything that she couldn’t have in a heartbeat, but there’s an unwelcome seething in her stomach at the way Gordon’s hand rests on Margot Mearns’ wrist. It’s uncouth. Unbecoming. Unacceptable.

“Parker? Be a dear and escort Ms Mearns to her room will you? She looks a little overtired, and we have so very many things to arrange. Mr Vishkin is waiting."

Gordon’s leaning forward, speaking lowly enough that Penelope can’t make out the words, and Mearns laughs, high and clear. Parker raises an eyebrow.

“She looks right enough to me, milady.”

“As requested, please Parker. And tell Greg that I require his assistance post haste.”

Parer looks down his nose at her, and she stiffens her spine in the face of his obvious disapproval.

“At once, mi- Mrs Jones.”

He slopes off to do the deed, but not before Mearns leans toward Gordon and drops a kiss to his cheek. Gordon looks gobsmacked. Penelope feels her stomach turn to stone.

Some of the tension slips from her shoulders as Mearns follows him from the room but it only fades completely when Gordon approaches, waggling his eyebrows, his eyes sparkling for her. Mine , her heart snaps. Mine.

“‘Sup? I hear I’m wanted.”

She doesn’t bother replying to the innuendo, only nods after Parker’s retreating back.

“You seemed to be getting along swimmingly.”

Gordon grins. “It is my strong suit.”

“Undoubtedly. Did you discover anything about our erstwhile guests?”

"Plenty of trouble in paradise by the sounds of it. How were the slopes?"

"Powdery. Trouble you say?"

"Seems old Vishkin isn't treating his lady as well as he ought to be."

Penelope suppresses a shudder at the memory of Vishkin's hand against her lower back. "Well that is a surprise."

"I know right? Who'd have thought. But Pen, do you think we could use that?"

Before she'd decided to bring Gordon, using Vishkin's sexual inconstancy against him had absolutely been in the plan, but that doesn't make her any less shocked to have Gordon be the one to suggest it, especially after his reaction the previous night. It stings a part of her she rarely bothers to notice.

"Gordon you don't like him touching my shoulder, I can hardly expect you to keep up the cover if -"

" Whoa whoa Whoa, wait, what ? I absolutely did not mean, Jesus Pen. What do you take me for?"

And of course the thought wouldn't have occured to him. That's why she - that's why she cares so deeply for all the Tracy boys. Those ridiculously big hearts and fantastical belief in the goodness of others. She's never been entirely sure she quite fits in.

"I'm teasing, darling," she says, bright smile to hide the shadow of the lie. "Now how about I fill you in on our guest's current business plans. Would you believe he's practically bankrupt?"

---

Gordon doesn't have much to do with Tracy Industries finances. As long as there's enough money in the pot to fixup his sub every time some crazy guy smashes it to smithereens he's more than happy to leave that to Scott. Or John. Or Grandma. Anyone else.

Ten minutes in Penelope's company and he knows the ins and outs of every disastrous business deal and musical flop that Vishkin has faced in the last six years.

It's a lot. Penelope's a lot. Her face is flushed and her smile is wide and there's a horrible little slug of jealousy crawling up behind his breastbone and into his throat.

"You got all that from skiing with him?"

She beams up at him, eyes shining. He feels a bit sick. "I'm terribly good at my job, darling."

"I knew that."

"Did you indeed." She seems to find it funny. He wonders if it is. "We have fifteen guests flying in for tomorrow night. They're private charters so I need to ensure their pilots have all the correct paperwork."

"You mean make sure they're on your payroll."

She pats his cheek fondly. "You're catching on!"

"So what's the plan?"

Penelope furrows her brow, attention on something over his shoulder. There's noise in the distance - raised voices followed by the splintering of glass. When she speaks again her voice is hushed and urgent.

"What do you think about poor Ms. Mearns? Do you think she's the type to open her heart to our dear Greg?"

Gordon grimaces slightly. The whole thing is starting to leave an unpleasant taste in his mouth. "I can give it a try. I'm probably not going to - well - y'know."

Penelope wrinkles her nose in distaste. "I should hope not. Verne!" Verne, a tall dark haired guy who's been casually painting the same six square feet of walk for the past hour and a half, trots over to Penny with the sort of alcracity that only ex members of the military possess. "Verne will you be a dear and keep an eye on Greg's virtue? We are very recently married, you know. It would be a shame to spoil it."

He stares at her. Verne doesn’t seem perturbed in the least. Gordon isn’t entirely sure Verne would know how to look perturbed if his life depended on it. It’s weird. This whole thing is super weird. "Are you asking him to spy on me?"

"Gordon, darling," she says with the sort of pained patience he usually associated with Virgil after six hours out. "That is literally his job."

"It is, sir," says Verne, staring at a point three inches above Gordon's head. "If it helps sir, I think she likes you."

Gordon scoffs. "Everybody likes me."

"I don't like you," mutters Parker as he passes by, dirty glasses in hand. "I think you're a bleedin' liability."

Penny scowls. "Nonsense. Parker do keep your nose out . Gordon is doing exactly as I'd hoped."

"You hoped I'd get wasted with pop stars?"

The room seems to be spinning. Parker mixes one hell of a drink.

"If she trusts you, she's our in. You only need to encourage her."

Parker snorts. Verne's lip ticks upwards at the corner. And Gordon knows better, he does, but there’s a part of him - deep and dark and buried - that just can’t help himself. It’s the part of him that pranks Scott, that dives, that holds his breath that little bit longer, that just wants to try it and see .

"Is that what you've been doing, getting Vishkin to trust you?"

Penny goes to answer - something glib, he expects, a casual brush off - then stops. Scowls.

"I've been doing my job." She lifts her thumb and rubs at the mark Margot's left on his face. Frosted pink stains the pad of it and she looks down at it in distaste. "Parker? A word."

She stamps back outside, Parker morosely following, and Gordon is left standing in the great hall with Verne, silent protector of his virtue.

He wonders if Verne will be any better at it than Virgil ever was.

He hopes so.

---

It doesn’t take a genius to see the difference in Margot Mearns whenever Vishkin is around. They return to the bar together, Vishkin’s ruddy cheeks and booming laugh in stark contrast to the silent, wraithlike Mearns, and it’s enough to give Gordon whiplash. Where she’d been snide and bitter and a little bit scary she’s cowed and quiet and he hadn’t really liked her before, but now he really doesn’t like Vishkin one bit.

Whatever kind of person Margot really is, it’s not the person she is on Vishkin’s arm.

Verne has stopped his painting and moved to hanging great curtains of fairy lights around the bar itself - a ruse, Gordon suspects, to keep an eye on Gordon himself as he shuffles behind it and puts on what he hopes is his most ingratiating grin.

“Can’t get the staff these days I tell ya! What’ll it be, folks?”

"A hit, if you don't mind!" Vishkin laughs, his belly shaking, and Gordon notes the way Margot cringes away from the movement.

"Gin," she breathes. Vishkin deflates. Gordon does as he's told.

"Margot, sweetheart," he soothes, his big hand covering hers before she can reach for the drink. "Just try won't you? For me? I do so much for you."

Margot grabs her drink with her other hand and throws it back.

"Fine," she half whispers in a tone that suggests anything but, "you need to leave."

"Margot -"

"Now!" It's a shout do incongruous that both Vishkin and Gordon start in shock. Vishkin recovers quickly enough to eye Gordon suspiciously.

"I guess I'll go see if I can find my lovely ski instructor. Don't drink too much. You know how you get."

Margot says nothing, but mulishly finishes her drink. Gordon busies himself making another and Vishkin leaves only to be replaced almost at once by the big bald guy who appears as if from nowhere, brandishing a piano stool. Gordon wonders vaguely where they're hiding - how many of them are listening in to his every word. Still, bald guy sets the stool down and scuttles back off to god knows where, and Gordon is left to play gentleman.

"Take a seat. You wanna - you wanna talk about it?"

Margot drops heavily down on the stool and glares at the piano as though it’s mortally offended her, a single crease between her eyebrows. “I’m trying to write. I can never write when I try.”

“Oh,” he says. “Okay. Why?”

“Why?” She laughs bitterly. “Because Colin is determined to have another album out of me. That’s the whole point of this little trip. Spoil me, show me off. Remind his friends that I exist. Like anyone in the music business cares about a woman over forty. Like I can even remember how to play . God, it’s been years. Years.”

Her anger and her breath all seem to escape at once and Margot rests her fingers on the keys ever so lightly, as if to touch them would break whatever spell she’s fallen under. It’s an opportunity, he thinks, though he isn’t quite sure for what. Only that Margot Mearns looks in serious need of rescue, and well, that’s kind of his job.

“You know my brother plays the piano. He’s pretty good.”

And just like that, he breaks it for her.

“That’s cute,” she says but clearly doesn’t mean, and reaches for her drink. A discordant noise echoes through the hall. “Does he want a job?”

“Nah - I mean. He’s got one of those. Like, really got one. I guess he plays to relax. He always says you can’t force music. It’s a feeling, y’know?”

Margot snorts. “Quite the philosopher. I bet he’d be crazy annoying on tour anyway.”

“You think he’s right though? Maybe you just aren’t feeling it.”

“Do you know how I do feel? Too damn sober, that’s what.” She throws back the drink and Gordon winces.

“No offence, Ms Mearns, but I kinda don’t think that’s likely.”

She doesn’t really answer him, only clicks her fingers and points at the piano lid. Big bald guy obligingly sweeps her empty glass away and leaves a margarita in its place.

“I mean - when Vi- when Victor is feeling kinda shitty he hammers out all these old tunes my mom used to play us. Like all this folk revival stuff from when she was a kid? Maybe - I don’t know, is there something you could play to maybe… loosen those emotions up a bit?”

“I don’t know if you’re trying to help or if you’re always this annoying.”

“Pretty much both.”

“I bet you do yoga.”

“I’m very flexible.”

She sighs, and shuffles over on the piano stool. “Sit.”

“Um -”

“ Sit .” Gordon does so, and Margot hovers her hands over the keys. “If you’re going to be obnoxiously positive you can sit here and play muse to me for a bit. Your wife won’t mind. Colin’s keeping her busy.”

“Thanks for the reminder.”

She turns her head, her eyes narrowed. “You know, you really don’t act like a host. I could buy this place. I could buy you .”

Gordon knows for an absolute fact that that isn’t the case, but he attempts to look chastised anyway.

“Sorry? This isn’t really my strong point. Pauline’s the expert, I’m just here for the ride.” And that, that’s not even a lie.

“No.” Margot lifts one hand and idly tugs at a lock of hair behind his ear. Gordon’s heart rate ticks up, just briefly, and he wonders if Penny’s spies will report this back too. “No, it’s okay. I like it.”

“Maybe that’s where you should start,” he hazards. “With what you like.”

“And what will that achieve?” she half snorts.

Gordon risks a smile. “How will you know unless you try?”

“Try being happy and you will be?” She laughs. “Spoken like a true innocent.”

“Yeah, “ he says as she turns back to the keys. “Yeah. Maybe.”

---

Penelope cooks like she was taught by a cordon bleu chef, because she was.

Supper consists of a tiny tartlet drizzled in something unctuous, sides of gently grilled vegetables neatly stacked like cordwood on the fine bone china plates, and an atmosphere you could cut with a knife.

Mearns picks at her food, turning it around and around on her plate. Her eyes are bloodshot, her fingers shake, and there's a dusting of white powder in the ends of Gordon's hair. He's trying to keep up a conversation, bless him, but Mearns has nothing to say with Vishkin in the room, and Penelope is keeping Vishkin busy.

His tablet flashes constantly on the table in front of him, messages gently curated and occasionally created to ensure he's never allowed to forget even for a moment his precarious financial position. He's sweating, his food forgotten, and he speaks only to snap at Mearns as she requests another, expensive, drink.

Vishkin is getting desperate, and desperate men get sloppy.

“Colin, please -”

He stands, shoving his food away, his tablet crashing to the floor followed by half a bottle of good wine that splatters over his too shiny shoes and up the legs of his too cheap trousers. “Please? Please? Haven’t I - Don’t I do enough ?!”

“Hey!” Gordon’s on his feet now, and Vishkin’s got six inches on him but righteous anger makes him the bigger person in the room by far. “Don’t speak to her like that!”

“Who the hell do you think you are!”

“Mr Vishkin! I’m so sorry -” Her turn, her role to lay a restraining hand on Gordon’s thigh and turn a beseeching expression on the other man. She beckons to Parker, who hovers, like all good staff, just at the edge of the drama. “Let my man clean that up for you.”

“Forget it,” he spits, turning on his heel. “For get it! Margot, come.”

He leaves, all bile and dripping wine stains, and Mearns stays. Her eyes are wide and adoring as she looks up at Gordon, and Penelope buries the sickness it brings beneath the thrill of success.

“Margot?” She lowers her voice. Confidential. A confidante. Gordon turns to her, but Mearns doesn’t. Mearns has eyes only for Gordon. Penelope can see the cracks spreading across her surface.

“Do you - did you mean what you said earlier?”

“About what?”

“Being happy.”

Penelope knows this - she’d been listening, down in the little boat shed by the lake, listening through the old-fashioned radio hidden in the old boat as the man she - as Gordon told Mearns stories about his mother that she’s never heard, as he laughed along to songs she doesn’t remember. So she knows, what he said about being happy. About how you have to just try , no matter what the odds. She knows. She doesn’t know if it’s worked on Mearns the way it has worked on her. She can feel Gordon watching her but she keeps her own eyes fixed on Mearns, waiting for the opportunity to turn those cracks into a fissure.

“Does he make you happy?”

“What do you think?” It’s scoffed out, a half sob, and if Penelope could allow herself to feel anything right now it might be pity. “I can’t get away from him, Greg. I can’t.”

“Maybe,” Gordon’s voice is cautious, so she allows herself a tiny nod. Go ahead. Ask. “Maybe, we can help you?”

“You? How ?”

“Tell us, Margot. Tell us about the people. Let us help them. Let us help you .”

And Margot looks up at Thunderbird Four, her big eyes wet with tears, and Penelope -

Penelope smiles.

---

That night in the half breath before sleeping she tells him, "You know I think she's half in love with you."

"Who isn't?" he says, cocksure. Then, "She's not the one for me, Pen."

"No. No I should hope not."

It feels a bit like she might be trying, then.

---

The guests arrive in a series of private cars all with serious faced drivers who nod at Penny as they pass. The guests themselves pay them no mind, instead falling over themselves to greet Vishkin who holds court in the chalet's hall like a king.

Knowing what he does about the state of Vishkin's kingdom it reminds Gordon of the mass frenzy of little creatures that descend on the sinking corpse of a once great whale.

Penny watches too, her eyes narrow. Her hands folded neatly in front of her black satin dress, her posture perfect.

Knowing her as he dies, Gordon can sense the nerves coming from her in waves. Margot had told them between sobs of a shipment due to be dropped off tonight in the midst of the Indian Ocean, and from there to be ferried to those prepared to pay for an ounce or more of human flesh. He’d been disgusted, Penelope had been calm, Margot had asked for nothing but their secrecy - a promise he still doesn’t know if Penelope intends to keep.

"Remember. Secure the shipment, keep Vishkin distracted, notify Headquarters. Understood?"

That's all this is, now. An exercise in time wasting until the shipment is safely in GDF hands and GCHQ give permission to swoop in on Vishkin and put him away for good.

"Oh, totally. Got it. You look beautiful by the way."

She pats at the skirt of her dress, her nose wrinkling. "I'll do."

She sweeps away, the perfect hostess, and Parker appears at his elbow, a silver platter on his arm.

"Canapé, Mr Greg?"

Penelope approaches Vishkin, her arms outstretched, and Gordon's stomach sinks like lead. Distraction.

"Suit yourself," mutters Parker before stuffing one in his own mouth and disappearing into the glittering crowd. He’s caught by Margot, resplendent in sequins, and Gordon watches as she pulls him down to whisper urgently into his ear. Music strikes up from the speakers, staff whip guests coats away and return with trays of drinks, and it begins.

---

It's strange, the way there are two parties going on in one room and with Gordon both at the center and absent from both of them. It reminds him uncomfortably of the weeks of missed calls, of mission briefs given over and around him, and it makes his heart ache for island air and the roar of engines.

Penny dances at the edge of his eyeline, delivering drinks and instructions and all with a glint in her eye that smacks of a purpose Gordon misses with half his soul. The other half is lost to him, hanging in the spaces between her laughter and caught in the touch of her hand.

They've succeeded, Margot's evidence and the shipment they're to intercept enough to get Vishkin tucked away for many years, but there's still a sense of something lingering. Unfinished business.

Squid sense on high alert and a room full of liars to test it on, Gordon makes the executive decision to go get a drink. He's probably going to need it.

Luckily it's the big bald guy who makes it since his heads too much of a mess for any of Parker's overdone cocktails, and luckier still he knocks it back just as the music pauses, Penny moving toward him as Vishkin hands Margot the mic to polite applause.

She smiles like a shark, all teeth and no eyes, and he wonders if anyone else in the room even notices or if they're all too busy hiding their own secrets behind makeup and glitter and the greater good. She's good, hell give her that. She holds the room in the palm of her hand and it's hard to believe she's been dragged into this against her will.

Margot beams that liar's smile around the room and sweeps her skirts aside to sit at the piano.

"If you'll forgive me the indulgence," she says, "this is an oldie, but - ah." She laughs her tinkling laugh. A showgirls laugh, blisters and pain hidden behind the sparkle. "Someone told me it was a goodie. What would I know."

The staccato hits, and Gordon feels his heart lurch uncomfortably.

Heaven help a fool who falls in love, indeed.

Penny's half a step behind him, champagne flute in hand, and he barely even registers he's taking it from her before it's gone and her lips are pursed as though she's trying not to smile.

"Do you mind? I rather think I earned that."

He isn't denying it, but this feels like a moment and he's not letting this one pass him by.

"Dance with me?"

She's looking at him like this is definitely a moment. His heart skips once, twice…

And then his hand is in hers.

---

It would be a lie to say she thought he'd never ask; patience isn't one of her virtues.

She takes him by the hand and leads him, not to the centre of the dance floor where the guests mingle and sway, but to a shadowy corner hidden from Parker's prying eyes by the mass of the crowd. In her heels it's barely a stretch to rest her forearms on his shoulders and press her chest against his.

His eyes flicker downward at the motion and she treasures the little thrill that runs through her. Jeff Tracy raised his boys to be gentlemen, not monks .

"My team are tracking the package as we speak," she half whispers, "as soon as we have a location we'll have Vishkin."

"And Margot?" Gordon's hands hover either side of her hips, and really must a girl do everything herself? She lets her arms slip from his shoulders and run down his biceps. A gentle squeeze and a shift of her weight as the tempo changes and she rather loses her train of thought.

"Hmm?"

“Is she gonna be okay?”

Okay is a loaded term. Privately, Penelope thinks not. Margot Mearns has spent most of her life around Colin Vishkin or men very like him. Powerful men who made her powerful in turn. Covered her in diamonds and compliments and cold, hard cash. Penelope has seen enough in her own life to know that Margot’s propensity for little wraps of white powder may be the easier addiction to break.

“We will look after her,” she says instead, loathe to bring the mood down any more than she needs to. “Will that do?”

“I guess.” A beat, and his hand is firm against her lower back, drawing her closer as she allows herself to melt into him. “She tried to do the right thing in the end. That ought to count for something.”

Penelope sighs, and lets her eyes drift shut as they sway. “You do insist on thinking the best of everyone, don’t you.”

A smothered snort of laughter is followed by the gentlest of pressures on the crown of her head. “That’s me, the eternal optimist.”

“And do you find that your faith pays off?”

“I dunno.” He releases her, spins her around and pulls her back in to face him. “You tell me.”

The final notes of the song die away and leave in their wake a silence that seems to shudder within her, the ringing in her ears louder than any music. Champagne bubbles linger, tart on her tongue, and Gordon’s hand is warm and solid in hers.

From across the room, Parker gives her a nod.

Finished.

It’s finished.

And then Gordon’s squeezing her hand and Vishkin is cheering drunkenly and she thinks, no. No, it’s not.

It is, however, highly unprofessional the way she throws herself into Gordon, crushes her lips against his and swallows the shocked little sound he makes as she knocks all the air from his lungs. There’s bound to be a lot of paperwork. She does hope Parker’s taking notes.

Someone's hollering, wolf whistles echoing around the room, and if the way she pulls his tie loose serves to encourage them all the better, because he's kissing her back as though his life depends on it and she needs to get out of here.

Secure the shipment.

Create a distraction.

Call headquarters.

Two out of three is a solid start.

Gordon groans against her mouth and moves to cradle the back of her head in his hand.

He's going to pull her wig off.

She needs him to make that noise again.

"Get a room!" someone bellows, and there's a mumble of scattered laughter as she finally pulls away.

She's breathing heavily, but Gordon looks like he might faint. Oh well. In for a penny.

The music starts up again - recorded, now, Margot seems to have disappeared - and the guests turn away to look after their own interests again.

"Come with me?"

"Anywhere."

She beams. "The bedroom will do."

She half expects him to whoop, but instead there's just some little half sigh half whimper that makes her dash for the door just a little quicker.

Not quite quickly enough, unfortunately.

Parker clears his throat from the shadows, and Penelope tightens her grip.

"Pardon the intrusion," he says in a tone that suggests no such thing, "but the shipment?"

"Call it in," she says, "I'll -"

"I'll deal with it," Parker says, his expression one of abject misery. "You have… other doings, I h'xpect "

She releases Gordon just long enough to sweep Parker into a hug he has no time to return.

"Thank you, you darling man."

"Hmmph," he mumbles, expression unchanged. "Shall I tell them you were urgently called away?"

"Oh yes!" She calls over her shoulder, pulling Gordon behind her into the night as Parker disappears back into the party. "Very urgently indeed!"

---

It's bitterly cold outside, she's sure,but she doesn't feel it. The two of them stumble the hundred yards or so to their chalet in a tangle of limbs, practically falling through the door and slamming into the dresser with enough force to take Penelope's breath away - if she had any to spare.

She's torn his tie lose, shoving the jacket from his shoulders as his fingers fumble with the tiny buttons on the back of her dress.

"S'ok?" he manages as the first one comes loose and his jacket hits the floor. "Wanna stop?"

She doesn’t want to stop. Doesn’t have any intention of doing so - not now. Not when it’s taken so very terribly long to start. Not with his mouth at her throat and her hands in his hair and God but hasn’t she wondered what his laugh would feel like, puffed out in unbelieving breaths against the line of her collarbone? Hasn’t she dreamt of curling her fingers in sunbleached waves and daring him lower?

But the hair between her fingers is all wrong and it makes her hot blood freeze instantly. There's something she's forgotten, something terribly important, and she doesn’t want to stop, but she has to. She has to. Damn it all though, she just wants to try .

“Gordon -”

The worst part is how she doesn’t even have to say it.

The tiniest shift in her body, the merest trace of distress in her voice and he’s away from her in moments - half a room away and flushed the colour of Thunderbird Three. He rubs at his hair, that stupid hair, and stares, determined, at a point somewhere in the vicinity of Penelope’s left foot.

In that moment, she’s reasonably sure she feels her heart crack.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Pen - Lady Penelope - I really -”

“Don’t apologise.”

“But - I - “

“I believe I grabbed you . It ought to be me apologising.”

“Don’t.” He shifts his weight from foot to foot and scrubs at his eyes with a shaky hand. The half laugh he lets out makes her want to cry. “Jesus. Don’t apologise.”

Well now, of course, she must. And in doing so she must admit the truth of all of this - to him, even if not to herself.

Girlish nonsense, her Grandmother would have called it.

Would that it felt like it. Nonsense, she can laugh off. She cannot laugh off the look in his eyes, nor the pang in her chest.

“We mustn’t -”

“Yeah,” he holds his hands up. Surrender. She hates it. “Yeah no I super got that part, it’s fine, it’s - I mean -” he laughs again, and she hates that even more. “God I’m an idiot.”

“You’re not.”

“I really, actually think I am. It’s pathological, apparently. Ask John.”

“I could,” she says. Whispers, actually. “That's the problem you see. I could.”

---

Gordon’s spent the majority of his adult life submerged in icy water, but it’s never hit him as hard as this.

“What?”

Penny wrings her hands together, hair falling in her face, sweater askew, and he’d be amazed at seeing her so discombobulated - at having done that - if only he had the faintest clue what was going on.

“John’s watching,” she says again, and she won’t meet his eyes and she won’t make any sense because John isn’t watching. In fact Gordon can categorically state for an actual fact that John would rather blind himself with a rusty spoon than watch any of the events likely to unravel following a kiss like that. They’d hear his shrieks through the vaccuum .

Gordon knows this.

And Penny promised.

"It was the only way, you see."

" What was the only way?"

She reaches past him to the bedside table and tips up the communicator. A small green light flashes up at him.

"The disruptor?"

Penelope bites her lip. "Isn't. Not entirely."

Gordon's brain stops. Reverses. Replays the night of their arrival.

"You lied about it?"

"I didn't think it would matter. It was Scott's preference." She just out her chin, and the action sets the confusion and stymied desire bubbling in his belly until the coalesce into something like anger.

Of course it's Scott. Listening in. Probably Virgil, too. Definitely Alan.

God, they'll have been taking bets.

“So, what? What are you telling me? That we’ve been on an open comm link to the island all this time?” Gordon looks around wildly. “Are they watching now? Am I starring in one of Grandma’s Space Operas? Hey, Grandma!” He cups his hands around his mouth and calls up to the ceiling. “Hope you didn’t burn the popcorn!”

“Gordon, please - “

“Gordon please what?” his voice is cold, colder than he meant it to be, but he takes a certain grim satisfaction in the way she winces as it hits her.

“It wasn’t intentional.”

“Penelope, you astound me on a minute by minute basis, but even I can’t believe you’d accidentally keep a secure communication line running when you’ve blocked every other transmission in or out of this place.”

“No - No that was - the lie wasn’t intentional. I didn’t set out to deceive you. I was going to tell you but you seemed so happy - it's not the island. It's only John.” Penelope wrings her hands together, her eyes darting between him and the holocomm as though undecided which offers the greater threat, and Gordon’s anger deflates into something close to defeat.

Only John, she says. Like the guy running the most effective communication monitoring device in the galaxy isn't an absolute gossip hound. As though he will ever, ever let Gordon live this down.

As though there was going to be anything to live down.

“Of course I was happy. I was here with you .” He shakes his head. “Shit, Penny. It isn’t rocket science. You don’t need Brains to figure this one out.”

“You said - about John -”

“Yeah, well.” Gordon drops into the wicker chair by the window. “Yeah, it was nice to think we’d actually get to spend some time alone. You know how I feel about you. If you didn’t - if you don’t - all you had to do was say so. You don’t need John to chaperone .” He laughs bitterly. “You’ve got Parker for that.”

“He shouldn’t have come. I don't need a chaperone. I don't want one."

Gordon rubs his hand across his eyes. He’s suddenly exhausted, tired beyond measure of all of this, but mainly just tired of pretending. Scott was right. Again. He isn’t cut out for this.

“I can’t even figure out what that’s meant to mean, Pen. Not everything has to be all intrigue and secrets. Some things are just better if you just let them be .”

“I don’t know if I know how to do that.”

There’s something in her voice, something beyond guilt or unhappiness or denial or any of the dozen other things he might have expected to hear. It’s honesty, real and seering and shocking.

“Sure you do,” he says without thinking, then, as he watches her, “don’t you?”

“That’s the thing about you, Gordon,” she says, stepping up to the chair and reaching for his hand. “You’re - everything is so horribly straightforward with you. You know who you are. You know how to - you’re just so much better at this than I am, darling.” She sniffs, and he realises with dawning horror that she’s barely restraining tears. "So much better.”

"I really feel like that's not true."

Penny smiles weakly and he can't help but smile back.

"No?"

"Nah I mean - for a start if I was any good at this we really wouldn’t need this much of an excuse."

Penny looks up at him through her lashes.

“Is that what this is? I thought we were bringing down an international smuggling ring.”

He stands up, moving close enough to tangle the fingers of his left hand through the ends of her hair. He taps the side of his nose with his other hand.

“What a cover, eh?”

Penny sways into him, his wedding ring catching in the carefully constructed curls.

“A double bluff, then?”

“Something like that.” He thumbs gently at her chin. There’s a smear of lipstick at the corner of her mouth. He wonders if he has it’s twin. “Gotta play both sides to guarantee a win.”

“Spoken like a true middle child.”

“Yeah, well, in my family the middle child is John .”

“I wouldn’t do this with John.”

Penny drops the communicator to the ground and he hears the crunch of electronics underfoot, but he hasn’t the time to worry about that - not when her arms are round his neck, her mouth hot against his own.

She pushes him back towards the edge of the bed, only pulling away as his thighs hit the mattress. Pauline’s wig is discarded in a heap at her feet, followed immediately by the little black dress.

Oh.

Oh shit .

She doesn't want a chaperone.

“Well uh - no I mean - you’re not really his - “ Penny slides one pale knee onto the bed, and pushes him back with two fingers. He’s still mostly dressed in Greg’s penguin suit, the tie loose around his neck. She’s still moving, coming to hover above him to rest a single finger against his lips and Jesus Christ is he still talking? He isn’t sure how he’s still breathing.

“Darling, I ask only one favour from you tonight.”

“Anything.” Anything, God, anything.

“Be quiet.”

He mimes zipping his mouth shut, and throws away the key.

---

Gordon isn't sure when, exactly, he'd fallen asleep. He remembers pulling the sheets up over their heads to form a soft, white cocoon, and the way Penny had pressed her laughter against him as he'd sworn never to leave, ever. He remembers that her hair had tickled his nose and his side had protested, but that it had been worth it - more than worth it. He remembers thinking that he'd happily never sleep again if it meant missing a single moment of her skin against his.

Guess his body has been betraying him a lot recently.

Still, he's awake now, wrapped in a curtain of white cotton and blonde hair and wondering, just a little, if this is what heaven would have looked like. Penny's hand twitches on his belly, her head pillowed on his shoulder and he figures yeah, yeah,it probably is.

There's a full moon tonight, pouring through the open curtains and bleaching everything a stark, otherworldly silver. Penny is bathed in it, beautiful and glorious, and he's absolutely fucked. Literally, figuratively and decisively. Forever.

Still, he really ought to at least close the curtains and retrieve Pauline's wig from its Ignoble resting place on the floor. If anyone were to approach the chalet -one of the staff, Margot, Parker - they'd get an eyeful of a while bunch of things Penny would probably rather they didn't.

Penny sighs and shifts against him just enough for his ribs to protest and yeah, he should probably get up.

Just the mental image of Parker's doleful face at the window is enough to get him moving. He extradites himself from her grasp as gently as he possibly can making certain to replace his shoulder with a pillow and patting her hand gently as he lays it on the mattress. She mumbles sleepily as he drops a reassuring kiss to get forehead.

"Nothing to worry about," he whispers against the crease between her brows. "Be right back."

He pads over to the window and is reaching for the curtains when a movement catches his eye.

"Shit!" He makes a frantic grab for the curtain to cover his dignity and peers out into the night. The moon casts the valley in sparkling white and blackest shadows, and the darkest if them all is the single figure at the edge of the frozen lake. Gordon squints against the windowpane.

"Margot?"

The uneasy feeling he'd managed to quash beneath the thrill of Penelope's affections returns tenfold, hurrying his efforts to pull on a pair of pyjama pants and grab the closest coat. It's pink and smells faintly of apricots. It absolutely does not fit and he doesn't really have time to care. Instead he stuffs his feet into unlaced boots and lurches out into the cold.

It’s really goddamn cold.

He's not quiet as he stomps down to the edge of the lake,but the figure out on the ice pays him no mind, their back to him even when he calls out.

"You okay out there?"

She doesn't turn to face him, but it's definitely her. She's still dressed for the party, her beaded dress trailing from her thick jacket.

"Margot? Margot come off the ice."

At first he thinks she hasn't heard him, but then she looks over her shoulder and smiles. It's a black slash in the moonlight. Her teeth gleam.

"No, I don't think I will."

"Oh for -" Gordon toes at the edge. It's solid, but probably only a couple of inches deep and best and he has no idea whereabouts the spring that feeds it might be. "It isn't safe."

"Then go back." Harsher, "I didn't ask to be followed."

"I -"

"Oh don't bother." She laughs and the mountains seem to laugh with her. The ice creaks. "Thought you'd take a nighttime stroll in your pyjamas and a woman's coat did you? Men always take me for an idiot."

"I really don't." He hesitates, then takes one step onto the ice. Another. Another. She watches his approach with that slash of a smile. "I know this must be difficult for you."

The ice shudders, the vibration reverberating up his spine.

“You don’t have to do this.” He holds out his hand, dares to let his body weight shift ever so slightly toward her. “I can help, just -”

The answering laugh ricochets around the valley and hits him full force in the solar plexus.

“You?” She sneers, dawn breaking behind her and setting the valley aflame. “Gordon Tracy, what possible use could I have for you ?”

Oh.

Oh, now that is a turn up for the books. Swallowing hard, he wills his heart rate to kick it down a notch, concentrates on keeping his voice steady. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Really? Because you can blame your father for it, you know. So many photographs .” She bares her teeth like a shark coming in for a kill.. “Enough to drive a girl mad . A pathetic little dye job might work on an idiot like Vishkin, but it was never going to work on me. I’d have thought your little spy friends would have known that. Tell me,” she folds her hands together as if in supplication or prayer. “Oh do tell me that you love her again, it was utterly adorable. She's got you wrapped right around her little finger hasn't she? Just like another li ttle lapdog.”

There’s a lot to unpack, there. Like a whole lot. But the ice is snapping in the space between them and it won’t matter who Margot Mearns thinks he is when they’re both drowning in the depths.

“Margot, I swear, if you want to talk we can talk but we need to get off this ice -”

“And there’s that, of course. Dear, heroic Tracy boy. Trying so hard to fix me. Tell me, International Rescue , what’s it like to keep trying to save someone who doesn’t want to be saved?”

“Why wouldn’t you want to be saved?”

“Well, sweetheart, because I intend to save myself.” She opens her folded hands to reveal a little silver box. It’s pink in the dawn light. Innocent. He’d thought Margot was innocent, too. “It’s a shame. It worked so well for years. No-one looks at a woman next to a powerful man, and Vishkin was a sap and an idiot. He's outlived his usefulness. It’s no loss." She sighs as she runs a finger lightly over the detonators surface. “But you, you were cute.”

He has time for one deep breath before the mountainside explodes.

---

Penelope bolts upright, her heart thundering, the remnants of her dream skittering away from her before she can even begin to get it under control.

She isn't usually one for nightmares.

She blinks sleep from her eyes and casts her bleary gaze around the room. It's darker than it was, the curtains drawn, and although the sheets beside her are rumpled they're empty and cold. She swings her legs out of bed and eyes the discarded clothes and shattered comm innards with a professional's seasoned eye. She didn't dream him, then. Not this time.

She's a little unsteady on her feet as she picks her way through the aftermath of her decision, muscles protesting slightly after months of under use. She peeks between the curtains to see a still,perfect night, bright moonlight diffused by the frost patterns on the glass. Almost dawn, then, and Gordon can't have gone far. She swallows the rising feeling that he shouldn't have gone at all and dresses swiftly and warmly. Someone, she certainly hopes Gordon, has lain Pauline's wig on the dresser but instead she reaches for one of his hats, pulling it low over her ears. In fact when she looks around she realises almost all of his ski wear is still in the chalet. Wherever he's gone he's likely wildly under dressed. Not that she minds that, of course, but she can hardly have him getting frostbite.

It’s that blue hour before the sun rises fully, and the valley feels like holding its breath, still, watchful. There are boot prints hidden beneath the frost, and a hushed, urgent whisper that carries across the lake. She can’t make out words, only the crisp, harsh tone of breath gritted out from too-cold lungs, and she finds herself wishing she’d had the forethought to bring Gordon’s ski wear with her. A prickle down her spine, a creak slam of a door, and she wishes she’d had the forethought to bring her gun.

Fifty yards from the edge of the lake, she comes across the source of the sound. The little boat hut door is hanging slightly from its hinges, swaying to and fro beneath its own weight. She’s about to walk by - she will send the carpenters round when this is all nicely concluded - when she spots the slick stain on the ice.

Blood.

She approaches as quietly as she can, back to the wall of the little hut, her ear pressed against it for any sound of movement. She hears nothing, but still she only peeps around the corner, fists ready, and into hell.

There’s a pool of gore glistening black in the moonlight between the old boat and the doorway, and at its centre - at its centre lies realization.

Penelope steps forward until the pool, dark and sticky, laps at the toes of her boots. Colin Vishkin smiles up at her through bloodstained teeth, his unseeing eyes turned toward the faint glow of Thunderbird Five, and for the first time in her life Penelope Creighton-Ward is faced with the terrible truth.

She’s got the whole thing wrong.

She’s failed.

It hits her at the same moment the world goes dark.

---

It's been a long day. Most of John's are. He doesn't really have the time for this.

“Say that again, Parker?”

“‘Er Ladyship ‘as been unexpectedly distracted.” Parker is hissing, his face far too close to his watch, and his one huge eye seems to float, Sauron-like, above Thunderbird 5’s central conn. “Most unfortunate it is, at that. Hi'm reportin' on 'er behalf such as she wishes but if you ask me she'd be better not -”

“Yes, I got that part.” John’s eyes flit over the other readings. Nothing unusual. No sign of any of IR’s personnel alarms being triggered. “Does she need help?”

“Not ‘arf,” sniffs Parker. “Brought the wrong bleedin’ brother if you ask me.”

“Are you - are you calling me because you want me to…” John fumbles for the words then settles on, “extract Gordon?”

Parker blinks. Considers.

“Leave ‘im. Damage was done there years back. Send Mr Virgil out to recover this cargo is what ‘er ladyship said.”

“Lady P wants Virgil to fish some cargo out of the Indian Ocean. Got it. Any particular reason, or?”

“And ‘ere’s me thinking you were the smart one.” The giant eye rolls, and John barely resists the urge to cut the feed. “‘Taint just any cargo this. Ms Margot Mearns 'erself asked me to call you not the GDF. ‘Er Ladyship doesn’t muck about with small time smugglers.”

“Just employs them,” mutters John, reaching for the link that’s been kept open to Penny and Gordon. He’s not bothered to test it since their arrival - hasn’t really had the stomach for it to be quite honest - so it isn’t a complete surprise when it doesn’t immediately spring to life at his touch.

“EOS? Patch me in to Gordon. Signal disruption must be messing with the link.”

A pause, then, “I can’t do that John. The link is disabled.”

John frowns. Turns back to Parker. Somewhere beyond his great disembodied face he hears a sickeningly familiar crack and then -

Shit.

Scott’s going to lose his mind .

----

That first time, Sally heard it on the radio.

It wasn’t a radio, she knows that. Even back then there were a hundred newer, stronger, better technologies than she recalls from her twentieth century childhood. Her boy invented half of them, or paid the man that did.

Still, in her memory, she heard it on the radio.

In the chalet the little ones were tucked up, snoring, and Grant had left the supper to simmer while he headed out to the slopes to call the others home.

Supper burned, and she was on the wrong side of the mountain.

This time, she hears it from John. This time she’s on the other side of the world, tropical sun at her back, but in her heart, oh in her heart she hears it on the radio .

(And the avalanche swallows her whole.)

“Grandma? Grandma are you getting all this?”

"Loud and clear. Scott's on route."

"Scott's here ." Her eldest grandson barrels into the room, hair standing on end, shoulders stiffer than her hip. "Status, Five."

"Unknown. Communications are blocked. I've been unable to raise Parker."

"Anyone on the ground?"

"GDF won't get involved without consulting GCHQ."

" And? "

"GCHQ won't compromise the mission."

Scott presses his knuckles into the desk. Sally can feel the way his body trembles through the wood.

"Compromise the mission, " he scoffs. "Like Penelope's a soldier. "

Sally tried to keep her voice soft, her own fears tamped back in the face of Scott's furious terror.

"In their eyes, she is."

Virgil appears in the doorway,and Sally shakes her head briefly. Extra voices aren't likely to help when Scott's in this state of mind. His head dips and when he lifts it all that anger is directed at John.

"Why weren't you watching . Damn it, John! If you're not watching what's the point ."

John's expression darkens, his fury, so rare but so brutal, radiating from words muttered from behind clenched teeth.

" I'm not a spy, Scott."

"None of us are goddamn - " he runs a hand through his hair and pulls. "I shouldn't have let him go."

"You couldn't have -"

"Stopped him? I could have had him grounded on medical grounds - I could have locked him in his room - I could have- "

"No. No you couldn't." Virgil speaks slowly, tilting his head in an attempt to make eye contact with Scott as he paces. "He's an adult, Scott."

"As his commanding officer I -"

"Enough!" Sally slams her palms down onto the desk and waits for silence to follow the reverberation. "Enough."

"Grandma -"

"Grandma, nothing. We have a situation. Pull it together. John, play the call and raise Alan. We haven't got time for all this posturing."

“I’ll suit up,” says Virgil, already heading for his station, but John stops him with a single shake of his head.

“No can do, Virgil. Two is needed to pull some cargo shipment out of the Indian Ocean.”

“Excuse me, what?” Scott pauses with his shoulders already halfway into their supports. “A cargo collection?”

“It was what Parker was calling about,” says John. “This cargo, whatever it is. It’s what Lady Penelope was after.”

Scott blinks. “Will it be any use to her if she’s dead ?”

“I don’t know , Scott,” John grumbles. “All I know is -”

“If it matters enough for Parker to call it in, then it matters enough for us to do as he asks.” Her three eldest grandsons turn as one to face her. She hears Alan stumbling his way through the kitchen. “Have a little faith, boys. Virgil?”

“On it.”

He disappears. Alan blinks owlishly at her from the other side of the room.

“We go, Grandma? Scott?”

“You’re go,” she tells them, and lets their take off hide her fear.

---

"Scott, stop panicking."

Scott Tracy is the Field Commander of International Rescue, and the Field Commander of International Rescue does not panic.

"Scott?"

John, who clearly doesn't know what he's talking about, floats above One's console with his arms folded like a pissy school teacher.

"I don't panic," Scott grumbles,pushing One just that bit harder. "I'm just busy."

"Busy panicking."

"Busy looking for our brother , or have you forgotten he's already injured and now he's lost somewhere near avalanche central? Cause I'm not panicking, but you could do with looking a tad more concerned."

John's lips narrow until he's wearing what Gordon calls his 'detention face'. "We don't even know that Gordon's involved in this. All we know is that Parker was in the vicinity when -"

"Spare me the hope speech Johnny, please." Scott leans forward into the throttle and One roars in reply. "You and I both know that when Gordon's in the vicinity disaster is pretty much guaranteed."

"Where's Alan?"

"Securing the spare exosuit, why?"

"Because I don't want him listening in while I call you a prick."

Scott scowls. "Glad you're concerned about one of your baby brothers."

"Annnd there we have it." When he's feeling smug John taps his fingers again his upper arm just like dad did - does. Scott hates it. "Gordon isn't a kid, Scott."

The snow-capped peaks of the Alps appear in One's view screen, tinged pink with the dawn light, and Scott knows Gordon isn't a kid - not on paper and certainly not in Four - but in Scott's secret heart Gordon will forever be fourteen, waving his brother off to boot camp while wearing braces and sporting a recently broken nose.

Scott's last act before leaving Kansas had been to ensure the boy who broke it never, ever forgot Gordon Tracy's biggest brother.

He wishes taking vengeance on the world was that easy.

"He nearly died , John."

"But he didn't."

" John ."

" Scott ." John sighs, and Scott finally sees a little of his own fear in the way John scrubs at his tired eyes. "We get into situations like this all the time. We haven't died yet. He won't."

"No," Scott agrees, "he won't." And powers into the dawn.

----

When Gordon was five years old he’d started lifesaving classes down at the Y, and he’d decided very early on that pyjamas were a terrible piece of equipment when a life was at stake. It hadn't helped that mom had sent him with John's and they'd dragged three feet behind him as he'd tried to twist them into floats. He'd ended up tying himself into knots.

They’re not a fat lot of use now, either.

He strikes for the surface by instinct, fighting against the drag of his pants and the searing cold. His shoulder seizes from the exertion and he breaks the ice with a cry he sincerely hopes Mearns doesn't hear. Stupid body. Stupid cold. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He gasps, and chokes. The air isn't cold, it's thick and acrid and sending red embers fizzling through the ice around him. Somewhere he’s sure he hears rotor blades, but that could just be his heart trying to batter its way from his chest. He scrambles from the water, and, still on his knees, twists to scan the spot where he'd last seen Mearns.

She's gone, and in her wake the world is on fire.

The chalets have gone. Only shards of wood like dead trees and sheets of battered roofing remain, flames licking at the sky between the rivers of snow and ice that pour, even as he stares, down the mountainside to swallow them whole.

Fire. The mountain is on fire. The mountain is falling, and Gordon is running, pyjamas freezing against his skin, to try and hold it back.

He’s gotta hold it back. He’s gotta. He’s gotta -

The burning remnants of his chalet - their chalet - disappear beneath the snow with a terrible, hideous crack .

Penny.

Oh fuck, Penny.

The world burns, and Gordon Tracy burns with it.

---

Penelope has always been a great proponent of taking stock of one's surroundings. A strong believer that one should always endeavour to be thorough no matter how perturbing the circumstances might be. Her current circumstances are certainly that. The place she finds herself is dark and cramped. Further observation shows that there appears to be the majority of a wall supported millimetres from her aching head, and, perhaps most distressingly, she appears to be nose to nose with a corpse.

It is fair to say that given the choice this is not her preferred manner of spending any morning, least of all this one.

Cautiously she takes note of her limbs - attached and without any obvious sign of injury - and then of her faculties. Penelope Creighton-Ward. Lady. Twenty six years old and apparently trapped in a boatshed cum mausoleum by forces unknown.

The facts don't necessarily make her feel any better but they're always nice to have.

Vishkin’s glazed eyes peer unseeingly and unsettlingly into her own as she struggles to free herself, what little light there is casting eerie shadows over his livered skin. He’s been dead for hours, his belly swelling, the skin taut and cold as she finally manages to shuffle into a half crouch.

He’d bled to death in this boat house while, yards away, she and Gordon had seen fit to celebrate their victory .

There’s no justice in death. It gives Penelope no pleasure to look down on those black-red teeth as she struggles to steady herself against the sticky ground. And she knows, as surely as she knows her own name, that if Vishkin was already laying dead in this shed, that whatever has trapped her here with him was meant to kill them all. Parker, her team, herself.

Gordon.

Gordon, who had left their bed, under dressed and utterly unprepared for whatever Machiavellian forces awaited him. Gordon, who has no way of reaching his brothers. Gordon, who would be safe at home were it not for her own selfish wants .

It won’t do. None of it.

The air in the tiny crawlspace is thick and growing thicker, and when she dares to rest her cheek against her temporary ceiling she feels the chill of ice right down to her very bones. The only light source seems to come from a cracked wooden panel that hangs over Vishkin’s right shoulder. The air, such as it is, seems to be coming from that direction too.

“I am so very sorry,” she tells the dead man, shuffling on her knees as best she can. “Truly, I am.”

Then, niceties disposed of, she plants her elbows in his distended belly and gets to work.

---

The alpine range covers a huge geographical area, so even the limited information that John does have - they flew into Geneva and now somehow all hell has broken loose - is being rendered utterly useful by sheer scale, both of the mountains and the red tape.

"No luck, Eos?

"I have received no response to your transmission, John. Would you like me to send it again?"

He sighs, watching the little blue blip that represents Thunderbird One flicker in and out of whatever disruptor field is scrambling their communications. On the rare occasions he dies manage to reach One Scott's testy and getting worse. It's been almost an hour since Parker's call had been interrupted by the cracking of the mountainside,and neither John not Scott need a reminder of exactly how long a human being can survive being buried under a glaciers worth of ice.

It's not long enough.

He needs another plan.

"John?"

"Yeah, no. No, they're not interested."

Eos flashes. "We could increase their interest,"

They could. They absolutely could. They could have GCHQ on their knees in ten minutes flat. Four, if Eos helps him compile the code. But.

"I suppose that would be unethical?"

"You suppose correctly, plus we don't want to rescue Lady Penelope only to have to tell her we've lost her her job."

That's when it comes to him. A flash of inspiration that has his fingers skittering over the controls with a speed that makes any human companions gape, wide eyed. Eos doesn't gape. Eos understands.

"I will attempt to open the line to Scott. Co-ordinates are -"

"Close as they're gonna be," he mutters, Five's processors battering their way through the disruptors code. "Ready?"

"Scott? Thunderbird Five to Thunderbird One, Scott, come in."

Static crackles through the unit, and Scott, when he answers sounds as though he's at the bottom of a trench on a planet half a galaxy away.

"-me -n. Five. Ov- go?"

"Scott, I'm sending you my best guess coordinates. I've triangulated from Parker's call and known geographical features of the area, but it's a big area. You'll need to send the drones. Do you copy?"

More static, then "-AB"

One's symbol flickers again, and doesn't return.

John turns his attention to Virgil's progress over the Indian ocean, and watches over the only brother he has left.

---

Armageddon, or something like it.

And Gordon’s dealt with end-of-the-world before plenty of times. It’s his job. It’s his life . But this -

He has no idea what to do.

Thing is, fourth of five. You kinda forget how to be alone.

Because the other thing is, he pretty much never is, not even in the depths of the ocean. It makes no sense that he would be alone here, on semi solid ground.

No Four, no Brains, no John or Eos in his ear. No reassurance from Grandma or nagging from Scott. No Virgil hovering overhead, no jokes from Alan to lighten the mood. Nothing but him, the sagging, burning, frozen chalets, and the absolute certainty that if he doesn’t do something there's a good chance he'll never not feel alone again.

It makes no sense that he's drowning on dry land.

His hair is frozen. There’s bile at the back of his throat. There’s -

There’s a man. A man clambering between shattered, blackened walls. A man with a truly awful moustache.

“Parker?”

The man coughs bitterly and scowls the scowl of the recently and extremely put-out. “The very bleedin’ same.”

And he’ll never admit it, not to anyone , but Gordon suddenly feels hope spark somewhere in his frozen, aching chest.

He runs a rescuer's critical eye over Parker. There's ice in his moustache and his colour is high, but otherwise he seems unharmed.

"What happened?"

"'arf the bleedin' mountain 'appened!" Parker shrugs balefully further into his coat. "Ran for me bleeding life."

“How the hell did you outrun an avalanche?”

Parker narrows his eyes, his gaze fixed on one particular spot just above Gordon’s collarbone that Penny had also been oddly - if pleasantly - drawn to.

“Seems it’s been a night of unlikely successes Mr Gordon, sir.”

“Is that what you call this? Cause I think we have very different definitions.”

Parker glares at him for a moment longer, then peers over his shoulder.

“Where’s her ladyship?”

And every word Gordon’s ever known sticks in his throat. His expression must say them for him.

“Holy Christ,” spits Parker. “Fucking buggering hell. What ‘appened?”

“Bomb,” he manages, because that’s all he can imagine it could have been. “Set off an avalanche. Mearns… probably wasn’t actually the good guy.”

“You don’t fuckin’ say.” Parker grits out. “Blown up and bleedin’ buried an’ all. You go south, I’ll go north. There were ten left on site with you an’ me.”

Gordon wouldn’t know, of course. Gordon wasn’t paying attention. Gordon is a goddamn hopeless idiot.

“Communications?”

Parker just glares.

“Right.” He turns to the spot where he’d last seen Penny. It’s a smouldering, wet smear on the landscape. His feet are too cold, they won’t move. None of him moves, only his heart, every beat echoing in his ears and his throat and the tips of his burning fingers.

Penny. Penny. Penny.

“Gordon! Gordon over here!”

At the edge of where the main chalet had stood Parker is frantically pulling at pieces of plasterboard, scrabbling around until he reveals a faintly familiar bald head.

The guy. The guy with the piano stool. He can’t remember his name. He can’t remember -

“Now hold on Mr Lester, International Rescue is on the way!”

It doesn’t matter what he can remember. International Rescue. That’s him. He’s it.

Gordon skids across the snow to land on his sodden knees. “Lester! Hey, hi, can you hear me?”

Lester blinks up at him. His face is free, one hand pillowed against his cheek, but the rest of him is buried beneath a mixture of snow and ash. He’s as grey as his surroundings, his lips stained scarlet. “Lady - Lady -”

Gordon swallows, afraid to risk a glance at Parker.

“It’s me, it’s Gordon. Can you tell me where you’re hurt?”

“Every - fire.”

Lester’s eyes are unfocused, his pupils dilated. Blood runs from his nose and the corner of his mouth. Gordon slips his cold fingers between the other man’s cheek and palm and feels the way bone grinds against bone.

“Yeah we sure had some of that, and some of the other too. Can you squeeze my hand?”

He knows he won’t. This isn’t his first rodeo. He smiles encouragingly anyway.

It feels like even more of a lie than usual.

“Verne?”

“Gonna get him right out too, don’t you worry. Everything’s gonna be okay, just hang tight.”

Over the creaking and crackling of the suffocating building comes a new noise. A faint, distant thrum that gets gradually louder until -

"Looks like company." Parker sniffs, looking up. "Knowing our luck it's the bleedin' Hood."

"Hey!" Gordon jumps up, pointing to the sky, the shittiness of the whole situation momentarily forgotten as the drone buzzes it's way overhead. "I know that drone! Hey! Hey !"

The drone stops and hovers overhead long enough for both men to get a good look at the bright IR emblazoned on her side. Gordon almost collapses with relief.

"Son of a bitch, they found us."

A signal relay drops from her belly and Scott’s voice echoes around the valley.

“Gordon Tracy! What in God’s name have you been doing?”

Parker mutters under his breath, but Gordon’s too busy trying to keep his knees from buckling.

“Scotty, I swear, I’ve never been so happy to be yelled at in all my life.”

"I'm not yelling!"

"Totally yelling, but that's okay. Got at least eight trapped here and this fire and ice thing is no fun for any of them, you on it?"

"On it," then a pause. "You okay, Thunderbird Four?"

The use of his call sign makes his shoulders feel a little higher, makes the churning in his belly easier to ignore.

"FAB, One. Now get down here and help ."

“Gordon?”

Parker’s voice is quiet, small.

Lester is quieter still.

“Oh god damn .”

He drops straight back to his knees, takes Lester’s face between his hands and hovers his cheek over his slack mouth.

The only breath he feels is his own, sour and sick and far too quick. Far too quick.

Thunderbird One was too damn slow.

---

It is a truth universally acknowledged that when Scott Tracy enters a room people take notice. When he arrives at a disaster zone, Thunderbird One descending from the heavens like some super shiny Messiah, Gordon is always vaguely shocked if people don't start cheering.

Truth is, it's hard to cheer anything with a dead man's head in your hands.

"I've got this, Mr Gordon," says Parker, gently replacing Gordon's hands with his own. "You go on lad."

Gordon watches the ice crystallise on Lester's parted lips for a moment longer, and then he's running. Running like his life depends on it which, honestly, it probably does.

"Scott! Scott over here!"

Scott, to his credit, does actually engage his jetpack rather than just leaping from the cockpit but it does look to be a close run thing.

"Status?" It's snapped out, Field Commander to Operative, but his hands are already patting Gordon's shoulders, frantic blue eyes scanning him for any more injuries than he'd left with.

"Absolutely fucked," is his first answer, then, as Alan makes a more traditional departure from One's belly, "explosive brought an avalanche down on the top here. We've got at least seven missing." He looks back at Parker. "One deceased."

"Whoa," Alan is lugging the spare exosuit behind him. It's almost twice his size. "An explosion ? How did - and what are you wearing ?"

Gordon grimaces. "You know how they say never meet your heroes? Well really, really don't. "

"All right," says Scott, and whatever worries he must have had about Gordon's own safety must have been assuaged because he's finally stopped pawing at him, "Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Five. Come in John. John?"

"No signal," Gordon says, "like seriously none. Parker managed to call GCHQ but -"

"He didn't call GCHQ," Scott interrupts. "Or they didn't tell us if he did. He called us."

"Oh. Well. Lucky then, I guess "

Scott rolls his eyes. "I guess . Come on, we need lifesign readings stat. Where's Lady Penelope? I assume she set this communication blocker up so she ought to be able to turn it off."

Summoned, Parker rises to join them.

"No 'ope of getting a signal out of here at the minute. Had to climb halfway up a bleedin' mountain to call Mr John, and that was on a temporary line. When we find milady…"

"Whoa, hold up." Scott turns to Gordon with wide eyes. " Penelope's missing?"

It's not a phrase Gordon particularly wants to dwell on, the dam he's thrown up between IR calmness and hysteria creaks unpleasantly under Scott's pitying gaze.

"Yeah, I mean if… if you mean I don't know where she is then yes. Yes, she's missing."

“What are we waiting for!” Alan clamps his feet into the exosuit and stretches for the arms. “We gotta find her, right Scott?”

---

“Right,” says Scott, because that’s Scott’s job. Keep Alan on task. Co-ordinate. Encourage. Stop staring at Gordon, because Gordon is staring into the abyss. Say something. Do something. He has no John, no Virgil. No Dad. Only a brother who’s never failed a rescue, and one who he cannot possibly fail. “And the others, too. Gordon?”

Gordon, and the abyss, stare back. Alan casts a nervous glance in Scott’s direction.

“Gordon? You okay? Thunderbird Four, do you copy?”

“Christ, okay, yeah. I’m on it. Come on Al,” he moves toward the splintered remains of what was obviously once a chalet. There’s blood on the snow where Parker had been kneeling and a scarf carefully laid over a still, wet lump. Scott doesn’t want Alan anywhere near it, but the youngest trots after his elder brother and god, ain’t that always the way.

He wonders how much Gordon remembers of the night their mother died. He wonders if he knows how much of their father Scott sees in him now.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Peachy,” it’s a snarl said with a smile, the sort of smile that precedes hysterics. “We’ve no way of searching for life signs and no way of reaching them if we did. That exosuit is useless without Virgil - we could crush survivors without even knowing they’re there.”

“I’m not gonna crush anyone!” Alan protests, “Come on, we gotta try!”

Scott remembers. He remembers his father’s hands, shiny red and black at the tips. He knows what trying looks like, how futile it can be.

Gordon knows too.

Alan will learn.

God he doesn’t want Alan to learn that today.

Scott looks up to the sky, wishing desperately that he could somehow will Thunderbird Two into existence, then pulls on his gloves, and tries.

---

Thunderbird Two isn’t as quick as One, not as streamlined. She’s built for strength, not speed. Virgil chases Scott’s trails regardless, until they disappear over the horizon and he’s left scouring the ocean below.

Pick up a package. This had better be a hell of a delivery.

John’s floating above the dash, his hands busy with things Virgil can’t see. He assumes John means to be there, he doesn’t know. He’s not said a word since Two was left lumbering over the ocean in Scott’s wake.

��See anything, Five?” he asks, just in case John’s forgotten the connection. “It’s a big ocean if I’m doing this by sight.”

“Working on it,” John says tersely, and Virgil knows that’s probably not true because if John was working on it he’d have solved it by now.

“Not sure what I’m looking for.” Virgil pretends to talk to himself. Lets John off the hook. Whatever hook he’s on. “Did Parker -”

“Fifteen miles to your two o’ clock. There’s something in the water. No engine.”

“Right.” Virgil sets the controls, spares John another glance from the corner of his eye. He’s testy. Stressed. “Scott?”

“Out of range,” comes the semi-spat reply and yeah, that’ll do it.

“Hell of a disruption Lady Penelope’s set up out there.”

“Tell me about it,” John grumbles. “Kayo is going to have a field day with this one.”

Half a mile below, Twos radar picks up something small and metallic. “John?”

“Could be, hang on Two.” In moments the HUD shows the bobbing motion of a shipping container as it floats benignly between two large inflatables. It looks pretty battered. Rusty. Nothing like something Lady Penelope might need. Nothing like something worth dying for.

“You sure, Five? It looks…” like a goddamn waste of time . “Old.”

“It’s the only thing out here without a call sign or an engine.” John looks distinctly unimpressed too. “I can’t imagine what else it could be.”

“I’ll take a look.” Virgil’s already firing the magnetic grappler, already lowering the pod to reel it in. “Like tin can fishing, right?”

“Right,” says John, but his eyes are far away. “Virgil, whatever it is… what’s your eta to Geneva?”

“Forty minutes.” He rises from the pilot’s seat and heads down to the pod, waiting only to hear the metallic clang as the door shuts. John makes an unhappy sort of noise, but Virgil doesn’t hang about to listen. He’s got to check he’s picked up the right package. Could be rusty old car parts. Could be fifty thousand rubber ducks. Could be...

He opens the container with the handheld laser, and keeps it in front of him as he peers inside.

Nothing. Why would Penelope send him after nothing?

Why would she waste their time? Why, when he should be out there at Scott's back and -

Oh.

Oh, crap.

He slaps his baldric, doesn’t even wait for John’s response before he’s saying;

“I’ll be there in thirty.”

---

Her fingers are raw, stinging and bleeding with every splinter she manages to tear away. Sweat drips into her eyes and her lungs ache, but it's okay. It's okay. Gordon's here.

He's a flash of blue and yellow in the corner of her eye, his voice a whisper that scrapes along her breastbone and settles heavy on her heart.

Did you find me Pen? I think I'm lost.

"Not a chance," she spits through the smoke, "not now. I won't allow it. I won't ."

Penny? Penny?

A shove, a tumble, and she leaves him behind in the dark.

---

Nothing Alan says makes any sense.

Gordon hears him okay, he’s using that Super Chipper Here To Save You voice that he always uses when he’s scared on a rescue. Gordon knows that voice. Gordon taught him it.

Gordon doesn’t know when Alan started using it to speak in tongues. It’s irritating.

“You’re being irritating,” he tells Alan. Alan stares at him. Says something in Dutch. “Fuck off.”

Alan doesn’t take the hint. In fact, he’s worse, tugging on Gordon’s jacket, yelling something in Swahili to Dad. Jokes on Alan, Dad can’t speak Japanese.

Hallucinations. There’s something important about hallucinations. Something he ought to know, and really, really he’s going to punch Alan if he doesn’t stop yelling and this coat is too tight and what the hell is hypothermia anywa-

Ah.

“I’m okay. Alan, Alan I’m fine.”

“You’re really not,” says Alan, and it might be in Klingon but that’s okay cause Gordon can speak Klingon. “We need to get you into One and warmed up.”

“We need to get Penny.”

“I’ll get Penelope, Gordon, I promise.”

“I dun- I don’t think you will.” A smile. People like smiles. Smiles get you your own way. “See, she likes me .”

“Gordon -”

“Gordon!”

And then, there she is. The prettiest hallucination of all.

She’s crawling out of a hole in the ground, wet and filthy, and he’s probably going insane but she’s looking at him like he’s the whole world and he’d rather have that than any grasp of his faculties. She scrambles to her feet and Alan stops grumbling in German and bolts toward her.

“Don’t.” She holds up a bleeding hand. “Alan, dear. There’s no-one to save in there. Get…” She stops. Stares. “Oh, my poor team.”

There’s a tragedy here, even his poor addled brain knows that, and Gordon’s told a lot of people about tragedy. He doesn’t want to tell Penny.

“I’ll go help Scott,” Alan says, taking jerking steps backwards in his borrowed suit. “It’ll be okay, Lady Penelope. We got this.”

Alan has not had to tell a lot of people about tragedy. He won’t be the one to tell her, either. Even though Penelope speaks perfect French.

“Vishkin’s dead,” she tells Gordon. “Murdered, I believe.”

Gordon tries to hold the words in his mind, rearranges them until they make sense. His tongue is too big for his mouth, but he tries to reply anyway. It feels important. Like Penny needs him.

“Yeah that’s - that’s pretty much the theme of the day. Was he -”

“Under there? Yes, I’m afraid so.” And she shudders, just a tiny little thing, but he can’t help himself any longer. He pulls her in as tight as he dares, and buries his frozen face in her damp neck.

---

Whatever has changed between his brother and Lady Penelope, Scott’s glad it’s Parker and not him who has to interrupt their reunion to retrieve her Ladyship’s compact and send the codes for the disruptor to EOS.

What GCHQ will make of one of their own sending their data to a sentient AI with a known habit of holding a grudge, Scott doesn’t especially care. Not when his baldric lights up like a Christmas tree as every comm line seems to burst into life at once. And over them all, clear and unfathomably welcome;

"Thunderbird Five to alpine site, communications have been restored. Do you read me? Repeat, do you read me?"

Scott slaps his communicator before John even manages to draw breath

"Thunderbird One requesting immediate assistance. We still have five missing, John, scan for life signs."

"FAB," John says, all business, then, "your flock accounted for?"

Scott risks a glance over to One where Gordon, encased in half a dozen aluminium blankets, is wrapping a similarly attired Penelope's hands in gauze. She looks down at him with an expression of such fondness that Scott can't help but feel a little bit creepy.

"Yeah, the black sheep's here all right, he's currently - well. I'll tell you later."

"I strongly suspect I don't want to know. Got them! All five, but Scott some are very weak."

"Patch them through. I don't know what we're going to be able to do with the equipment we've got but -'

"Hold that thought."

"Virgil!"

Scott doesn't quite run for Thunderbird Two with outstretched arms as she lowers herself to the ground a safe distance from the danger zone,but it's a very close run thing.

"The very same. Send me those details, John. Scott, tell Alan to get out of my suit and grab a pod. We've got some digging to do."

---

Trying is one thing when you’re sharing a bed. It’s quite another when you’re barely sharing a planet. Penelope sits in her parlour, her compact set next to the cooling tea on the occasional table, her still sore hands resting in her lap.

Mearns is gone. No sign of her on the GDFs patrols. No word through MI6’s impressive grapevine. It feels more personal, somehow, to be the collateral in someone else’s game plan. So Mearns is out there somewhere and Lester and Vishkin are dead, and Penelope has nothing to show for it but a palm full of scars and the way Gordon looks at her, small and transparent, from the edge of her teacup.

The worst thing is how she can’t quite bear to think it wasn’t worth it.

He moves as though attempting to peer around her. “Parker’s not there is he?”

“Not in the immediate vicinity, no.”

Gordon lets out a relieved huff and settles back against the headboard. “Good.”

“You can’t possibly be frightened of Parker.”

“Plenty of people have very good reasons to be frightened of Parker. He sent me down the sewer, remember?”

Penelope dismisses him with a wave of her hand. “That was before. ”

“Yeah, exactly. I bet it’d be a whole bunch worse now. Now he’ll put me down there in pieces. Really tiny pieces, Pen. Like those damn canapes he’s so fond of.”

She grins. “Calamari?”

“You can go off people you know.”

Penelope hums, tilting her head to one side. “I’ll take your word for that. Your hair’s back to normal.”

“Yeah.” He ruffles a hand through sleep-flattened curls and Penelope’s fingers twitch reflexively in her lap. “John said he found it ‘deeply troubling.’”

She laughs, quiet and low.

“Poor John.”

“Yeah.” And now Gordon’s not quite looking at her. “I think I’ve stressed him out a lot recently.”

“It isn’t your fault, you know,” Penelope tells him. “None of what happened is your fault.”

“I let her blow up the building, Pen. Vishkin’s dead. You could have died.”

“But I didn’t.”

Gordon huffs. “Does that work on you when I say it?”

“Not at all, no.”

They stare at each other, half a planet apart, and Penelope is horrified to find tears pricking at the backs of her eyes.

“I’m so sorry I lied to you.”

“What, about the communications? That saved us, Pen. If John hadn't failed to get through -”

“That isn’t what I meant.”

Tiny blue Gordon balks, fizzling briefly out of existence against the edge of her teapot.

“Oh. Okay. Uh - what do you mean, then?”

“That I lied about why I wanted you to come.”

“You mean you didn’t need my impressive spycraft skills?” He presses a hand against his chest. “You wound me.”

“No I -” she shakes her head. “I was a coward. A terrible coward. I should have just told you from the start.”

He drops his hand then. Tilts his head to one side, voice soft.

“Told me what?”

“A hundred things.” She takes a deep breath. Lets the not-quite-right words fall from her on the exhale. “I miss you.”

His image crumples then reforms closer and when he smiles, oh when he smiles it’s like they’re back in their chalet, cocooned in the white sheets with nothing between them but lives built on secrets and lies so much less frightening than the truth.

“Yeah,” he says, always so very much braver than her. “Yeah, Pen. I love you, too.”

#thunderbirds are go #penelope creighton-ward #gordon tracy #pen and ink #thunderbirds are go fic #im telling you i do not make the rules around here #clare vs writers block #new fandom same bullshit

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itchapter3 · 5 years ago

Text

Here it is, my gift for this year’s It Fandom Secret Santa

Ao3 Link (x)

My Secret Santa was @dark-alice-lilith I hope you like it! I used the prompt for college au/staying in the dorms over break with the paring eddie/richie.

@itfandomsecretsanta

The door opens and a brief gust of wind bursts through as a giant shapeless blob of coats, scarves, and reusable shopping bags shuffles in. Eddie looks up from his laptop screen to see this before it disappears behind the barrier that separates the dorm rooms’ shared kitchen from the laundry room.

Going back to the work in front of him Eddie decides to ignore the interruption until-

“Fuck!”

More shuffling, the sounds of containers being stacked and moved around then, once more with feeling.

“Fuck…”

Eddie closes his laptop with a sigh and prays that this is not a huge mistake.

“You okay in there?”

Some more shuffling, then an actual human being emerges from behind the wall.

And… he’s actually kind of cute Eddie’s traitorous mind notices. Beneath all the layers of coats and scarves he’s a tall, dark haired, blue eyed dream with admittedly silly looking glasses, but bone structure that more than made up for it.

“Just debating on whether or not I should try and walk all the way back to the store to get an egg or just end it all here and now.”

“Well I’d appreciate you not turning the common area into a crime scene I really wouldn’t advise going out there again, I’ve already gotten three seperate warnings about the snowpocalypse happening outside.” Eddie gives the guy another once over, despite the hat the ends of his hair are still dripping with melted snow. Taking pity on him he continues. “I may have a carton of eggs in my mini fridge, if you tell me exactly what you’re attempting to do with them.”

The other guy smiles and holds up a bag of flour.

“How do you feel about chocolate chip cookies?”

Eddie smiles back.

“Hmm… I deem them… worthy of me walking to my room to get eggs.”

“Yes!”

His arm shoots up in victory.

Eddie grabs his keys and laptop and by the time he looks up from that there is an arm holding the door open for him. He nods and leads the way.

The guy follows him, mostly quietly, though he does hum a few notes along the way.

“Eddie.” He says as they both reach the dorm room.

“Yes?”

“I just realized we never actually introduced ourselves.” He says, pointing out the name tag still taped to the door. “I’m Richie.”

“Oh, shit.” Eddie feels like hitting himself over the head, he just basically invited a total stranger into his room. At least he seems nice enough, has a nice enough name, although it seems a little familiar for some reason. “Nice to meet you, Richie…”

He unlocks the door then, in a sudden moment of clarity whips around with an accusatory finger pointed at-

“Richie!”

“Eddie!” He tries to mirror back, but Eddie just narrows his eyes at him.

“You- You were the one that started that snowball fight last week!”

He can remember clearly now the last time he heard that name, an exasperated ‘ Richie! ’ yelled from the quad between the dorm’s two halls during finals week just before the sounds of projectiles being thrown and the window shaking crack of one hitting his own started up.

He had looked outside at the time, but all he could make out through the fog was two figures mercilessly pelting each other, alone. It would have been pretty funny had it not completely thrown off his concentration on his online Intro to Psych final.

“Guilty?” He gives Eddie a crooked grin, which shouldn’t be cute, it should be annoying right now!

“I was going to bargain for it later, but I’m officially staking claim to half of the cookies since you almost broke my window!”

Richie just nods.

“That seems… a fair and worthy payment.”

“Good, because it is.” Eddie shoots back.

He throws the laptop on his bed and goes for the fridge underneath it, pulling out a half-dozen carton of eggs.

Richie is scanning the various movie and band posters around the room with appreciation when he looks up and Eddie feels an excited dip in his stomach despite himself, he’s pleased that Richie seems to have similar tastes as him.

“Got ‘em” He says.

Richie smiles.

“My hero!”

He hums, more happily on the way back to the common area, until he clears his throat.

“So, not to sound ungrateful but who the fuck keeps eggs in a dorm room? Aren’t those specifically made to hold beer and like… a jar of pickles you only open if you’re extremely high?”

“I am feeling the strangest sense of pity for your roommate right now.”

“Don’t, he’s a monster.” He says with a fond tone that makes it obvious he’s joking.

“Well, if you must know I don’t completely trust the cleanliness of the cafeteria and scrambled eggs are pretty much the only thing I know how to make.” Truth be told since moving out he’s probably been living on way too many frozen meals than is completely healthy, but that’s still better than getting salmonella from dodgy cafeteria food.

“That… is fair enough. I once picked up a spoon from the bin that had a piece of lettuce just full on stuck to the side of it.”

“And if I hadn’t already blacklisted it, that story alone would be enough to keep me from going there.”

“That’s exactly what my roommate said when I told him! You’ve got to meet Stan the man, Eddie!”

Eddie nods agreeingly, but something makes him want to take Richie up on that offer. He also really wants to introduce Bev to him, there’s just something that makes him feel like they would get along like a house on fire.

Once they’re back in the kitchen they start up cooking and chatting. It’s easier than Eddie expected to keep up a conversation and it turns out they have a lot in common, classes, comic books, taste in movies. Eddie measures as Richie stirs and soon enough they’re getting close to done.

“Ugh… my mom always makes this look so easy.” Richie looks at the recipe, pours a little more flour, directly from the bag, into the very sticky dough, and looks at the recipe again.

Eddie hums to himself, not having experience with either baking or watching his mother bake, but happy to watch the trial and error.

“Okay, I think it may be good now.”

Eddie looks over, and it definitely looks like cookie dough, hopefully it tastes like it too.

“Looks like it.”

As the cookies are baking Eddie hears a beep from the other side of the room and remembers why he had been in there in the first place.

“Wait!”

Eddie rushes to the dryers and pulls out a pile of soft fabrics. When he gets back he hands one over to Richie who takes it immediately before he even realizes what it is.

At the recognition he moans, pressing the dryer-warmed blanket to his face.

“I literally owe you my life now, Eds”

Eddie laughs at the muffled praise.

“I forgot I put those in there, I usually put them in on ten minute cycles just to keep me warm while I’m working.”

“Mmmm,” He finally removes the blanket from his face, instead draping it over his shoulders like a cape. “So you always spend the holidays here? This is my first time, it’s deader than I expected.”

“Yeah, it’s really usually only me and the RA’s around here. So, why did you decide to stay here instead of going home for break this time?”

“Eh, didn’t have much of a reason to go home, I mean, my family’s Jewish but we don’t really celebrate, I usually just go over to my friend Stan’s house, but he abandoned me now that he’s got some new hot piece to bring home.” He sighs dramatically. “So here I am, abandoned and alone, luckily I’ve been at the mercy of a very generous and very cute stranger, so I have high hopes for not getting murdered in this ghost town of a school.”

Eddie laughs, a blush rising in his cheeks at the mention of him being called cute.

“Well, don’t hold your breath, if I wasted my eggs on mediocre cookies I have been known to strike out in anger.”

Richie lets out a whistle.

“Well, I didn’t take you for the vengeance type.” He says in what Eddie guesses is supposed to be a cowboy accent.

“You don’t know me as well as you think you do then, partner.” Eddie drawls back at him, making him laugh.

When Richie sobers up he speaks again.

“You should come help me eat these in my room. Stan’s got this mondo TV with Netflix built right in! We can watch all the classics, pretend like we’re having a real Christmas!”

“I thought you were Jewish?”

“And I am selflessly putting that aside for you today, Eddie. Think of my sacrifice and then say no to my face.” He makes a face which must be his ridiculous attempt at puppy dog eyes. “Hmmm?”

Eddie lets out a laugh despite himself.

“Fine, fine. Only because of the sacrifice you’re making though, I live to see you suffer.”

Soon enough, the oven timer beeps and Richie pulls out a baking sheet full of perfectly browned, sweet smelling, chocolate chip cookies. Eddie burns the tip of his tongue, but declares them better than mediocre and they pack them up to head to Richie’s room in the other hall.

“Wow, your hall really gets into the holiday spirit… I’m actually pretty sure this is a fire hazard.” Eddie says as he takes in the canopy of white, red, and green lights hanging from every available surface.

“Yeah, I say blame Mike, he gets really into it and he’s somehow charmed all the RA’s into looking the other way when it comes to christmas lights.” Richie sighs fondly.

“I like it, we’d never get away with something like this in my hall.”

Eddie looks around, eyes bouncing from the perfectly arranged strings, overlapping and entwining with others. It really is a beautiful scene, more festive than he imagined ever seeing, and on campus no less.

“I guess you’ll have to come over here more often then, you should see what Mikey does for Easter!” He grins.

“I might just have to take you up on that.” And Eddie meant it, honestly as much as this break had taken a turn for the better he couldn’t wait until it was over so he could meet Richie’s friends, and introduce his own in turn.

Once inside Richie’s dorm, Eddie took a minute to take it in. It’s a lot bigger than his own since it’s a double, which he knows is shared with Stan, and the two sides could not be more different. One is meticulously organized, dorm standard furniture in the pre-approved configuration, bed made to what Eddie guesses would be military standards, textbooks stacked cleanly on the desk, the few personalizations seemed to be a few bird posters and brain teaser puzzles scattered around.

“I told you Stan’s a nerd!” Richie calls, noticing him looking around.

The other half looks more lived in, much more lived in. It’s darker, the walls are almost completely covered in posters and the dark blue plaid bedspread, which is not anywhere near made up, gives it a grungy sort of look. Eddie knows before he even processes it that this side must be Richie’s, and he takes his time looking over the little details that make it his. He’s got books and binders in a pile that honestly looks like he just turned over his backpack and let things fall where they would. The posters are mostly bands, David Bowie, The Cure, Nirvana, and a few that Eddie doesn’t recognize, must be newer ones by the look of them, he’s also got tickets from shows he’s been to taped up between the posters, mostly concerts but a few musicals and even one for a local drag show.

Eddie also notices the rather large TV set up against the far wall so that it can be seen well from either bed.

Richie must have been busy while Eddie was snooping because when he turns around from looking at the TV he's got the remote in one hand and about half of the cookies they made on a plate in the other.

“Pretty sweet right?” He says, motioning for Eddie to take a seat on the bed.

Eddie nods.

“After you.”

Richie obliges, putting the plate down so he can climb up on the messy bed. He pulls the pillows up to the head as he gets himself comfortable, on top of the duvet but under the blanket Eddie had given him.

Eddie follows him up, sitting with his back up against the headboard and looks down at Richie.

“Well, what are we watching?”

As Richie rattles off the different services Stan has built into the TV and Eddie just hums along and let’s Richie choose Netflix to start while he tries to focus on the words he’s saying rather than the warmth of him lying so close. Eddie’s a little afraid if he opens his mouth to talk he’ll scream out loud about how he’s sitting in Richie’s bed right now . Richie who is very cute and very nice and even pretty funny and has friends who sound pretty great too who he can’t wait to meet, and now he’s thinking about how much Bev would like him and-

It’s a lot, Richie’s a lot. But Eddie kind of likes that about him.

After Eddie’s vetoed three separate hallmark-esque rom coms, and Richie’s vetoed an admittedly pretty horrible looking movie about cgi kittens they land on Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer which Eddie has never seen and Richie argues that that in itself is a crime.

After that’s over they decide to continue on with the series and somewhere around The Year Without Santa and Frosty the two of them conk out, the comfort and warmth lulling them asleep in Richie’s shared bed.

Richie wakes up first.

“Eddie...Eds!” He gives him a little shake as the credits music pours into the room.

He’s close enough that he can see Eddie crack an eye open.

“Mmm, lemme get your glasses.”

Richie doesn’t have time to process that because Eddie is turning around in a sleepy, cat-like stretch, reaching over the bed to where Richie really can’t see, but knows that his bedside table sits. Then he hands over the glasses and all at once Eddie comes into focus, his hair is sleep-ruffled, his eyes are still not-quite awake, there’s a red splotch on his face from where his hand must have been pillowing it, and all Richie can really focus on is how many freckles he has on his nose.

It takes Richie a minute but he realizes, once his vision is completely back to normal, that Eddie is staring at him too. His wide brown eyes are now locked onto his.

“You lookin’ at the zit on my nose?” Richie glances at him sideways before pushing himself completely up to face him. He presses a finger to the tip of his nose. “Just like Rudolph, huh?”

“I like Ruldolph! I think he’s cute…” Eddie huffs, a blush rising on his cheeks as well.

“Ohoho! I had no idea you were into beastiality, gotta say, Eds, you keep a man on his toes.”

“Shut up.” He warns.

Richie grins, he’s quickly finding that the more riled up he can get Eddie the better.

“I mean, does this thing of yours extend to Bumble, or-”

Eddie puts his warning into action and presses his lips to Richie’s, directly shutting him up.

Richie melted into the kiss, Eddie’s soft and warm against him, and he can taste the chocolate from the cookies they made together. It’s nice and sweet and a little feisty just like Eddie, but it’s also shorter than Richie would have liked, he thinks, as Eddie breaks the kiss with a heavy breath.

“I’m so glad I decided to stay here over break.”

Eddie grins, and the way he does tells Richie he is too.

#it secret santa #reddie #reddie fanfiction

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somestorywriter · 6 years ago

Text

A Christmas Surprise

Hello @awkwardlittleintrovert ! I’m your santa for the @rusame-secret-santa-2018 event! I’m so sorry I’m late, but I hope you’ll enjoy your gift!

Prompts: (I used them all)

1. Snowball fight, and when it’s over, they’re both super tired and cold (except Ivan, of course, he isn’t cold) so they go inside their house and warm up with cuddles and hot chocolate. (Human AU.) Can be slightly NSFW. 2. Alfred is super sad because he and Ivan can’t celebrate Christmas together, so Ivan flies from Russia so they can enjoy the holidays together. Can be slightly NSFW. 3. Alfred, Ivan, Matthew, Gilbert, Arthur and Francis celebrate Christmas together in the states. (Super fluffy and maybe a little bit angsty?? Just because Ivan’s never really had big family holidays.)

Title: A Christmas Surprise

Characters: Alfred, Ivan, Matthew, Gilbert, Arthur, and Francis (Human AU)

Words: 2,688

Summary: The FACE family is celebrating Christmas together, but Alfred’s sad because Ivan couldn’t make it. Little does he know, there’s a surprise for him in store...

Matthew pulled Gilbert along upstairs. "Easy there," Gilbert chuckled. "I promise I'll take off that shirt of yours at some point tonight, but it's a little early, don't you think?"

"Oh, it's not about that." Matthew closed the guest bedroom door behind them. "Haven't you seen Alfred?"

"Our sparkling host? Except he looks so sour I'm worried he'll make the punch go bad."

"Exactly." He bit his lip. "I've done something."

"You put maple syrup in the punch?"

"What? No. I've planned a surprise."

"Oh, I love surprises."

"I'm going to pop out for a moment and I need you to cover for me."

Gilbert played with Matthew's hair. "How long will you be gone?"

"About half an hour. Not that they're likely to notice..."

"I'll notice."

Matthew smiled. "After this, I'll be all yours." He stole a quick kiss before embarking on his mission.

Alfred watched his breath form clouds in the cold outside air. Normally he'd be delighted at the sight of so much snow, trying to see how many snow angels he could make before Arthur scolded him. But now it all seemed a bit too empty. Sure, it was nice celebrating Christmas with his family. Arthur, Francis, Matthew… even Gilbert had made it. He and Matthew looked really cute together and Alfred was happy for them.

But he'd have been happier if Ivan was here too.

It wouldn't have been their first Christmas together. They'd met back in university when Alfred was teamed up with the Russian exchange student for a project. One encounter with mistletoe later, they were inseparable. They saw each other a few times a year, and this year they'd planned for Ivan to come over to the States. But his boss wouldn't let him take these days off. And so, there was no romantic Christmas together for them this year.

In a cupboard upstairs, Alfred had hidden everything he'd planned for Ivan this Christmas; presents, matching sweaters, even some Christmas pillows for cheerful Holiday cuddling. But none of it would be used. In a bout of frustration, Alfred had nearly told Ivan to just move in with him already. But he didn't want to risk moving too fast and ruining their relationship, especially not around the Holidays.

It's not like Alfred wasn't enjoying himself. He loved spending the Holidays with his family. But after hours of watching Matthew and Gilbert act all lovey-dovey, he was starting to feel a bit lonely. When the radio also started playing 'Lonely this Christmas,' with Gilbert pulling Matthew along for a slow dance, Alfred decided he needed some air.

Just when his ears were beginning to freeze off, Matthew appeared with a suitcase.

"Dude, weren't you inside just now?"

"Ah, I forgot some luggage in the car."

Alfred knew that suitcase... "Isn't that..."

Matthew hurried past him. "See you inside!"

Nah, probably coincidence... Alfred blew some warm air into his hands. At least they got a white Christmas. That was something. He should take a picture and send it to—

A snowball hit him square in the face. "What the… Who did that?" He wiped his face clean and looked around, but didn't see anyone. "Come out or I'll—" Another snowball nearly knocked him off his feet. "Fine, have it your way..." He crouched by the nearest tree and gathered some snow. "Bring it on!"

Nothing.

"I'm ready for—" He got hit in the back and fell face-first into the snow. "That's it!" He started throwing snowballs at random, hoping to hit something. He got plenty in return, which gave him a clue in which direction to throw. His opponent moved fast and he could barely keep up. "Show yourself!" The answer was another snowball. Alfred retaliated and finally managed to hit something, judging by the flash of movement and the soft cursing. He quickly threw another snowball, and another, approaching the figure ducking behind the bushes. "Surrender now!"

"Never."

Alfred stopped. That voice…

Ivan got up from behind the bushes and wiped the snow off his coat. Alfred let out an unholy screech and jumped at him, making them both stumble and fall to the ground.

"Ivan! You're here!"

"Yes," Ivan managed to get out despite Alfred sitting on his lungs.

"You made it!"

"Thank your brother, he was the one to get me a hotel room on such short notice."

"Dude!"

"Surprise."

Alfred kissed him deeply, pressing him deeper into the snow. Ivan held him close but pulled away from the kiss. "Comrade, your skin is colder than my vodka in winter."

"Oh! Right, come inside!" He climbed off Ivan and pulled him up. "Come on, everyone's waiting!" He dragged Ivan along, who chuckled softly.

Once inside, Alfred nearly ripped both their coats off. "It's going to be great! We're having a huge Christmas dinner tonight, and tomorrow we'll open our presents! Though nothing can top this surprise… Come on now!" He pushed Ivan in front of him through the narrow hallway. Ivan had to be careful not to bump into just about everything. "Everyone! My boyfriend is here!"

"Hello, Ivan," Francis chuckled from the couch, holding a glass of wine.

"Alfred, you've introduced us through Skype, remember?" Arthur was holding a dish with his oven mittens. His pink apron spelled 'Kiss the chef'. A Christmas present from Francis last year, which Arthur had sworn he'd never wear.

"B-Big…" Gilbert mumbled as Alfred got on his tiptoes to peek over Ivan's shoulder. "You never told me your brother's dating a giant," he whispered to Matthew.

Ivan blushed. "I-It's nice to meet you…"

Alfred squeezed himself between Ivan and the doorframe. "Need… Dry clothes… Catch cold…"

"You two freshen up," Francis said. "Dinner will be ready in a bit."

"Aw yeah! Ivan, I made the apple pie you like so much! And Dad makes his Christmas cake again this year! Papa always jokes how, if a fight would break out, the cake would be his weapon of choice—You get it? It's because it's harder than a rock! But then Dad carries it out and it's on fire and it's the coolest thing ever!"

"Alfred, you've had enough sugar for tonight," Francis chuckled.

"Aww! Hey, Ivan, check this out!" He pressed a button on the Christmas tree lighting, making it start flickering violently. "Cool, huh? It's like one of the snowstorms at your place but cheerful!"

Arthur huffed and turned the flicker mode off, but Alfred didn't notice.

"You're cold, come on!" He pushed Ivan up the stairs to his bedroom, nearly giving him a head-on confrontation with a lamp. Alfred got out everything he'd hidden away. "These are presents… Here, put this on!" He quickly removed Ivan's shirt and helped him into a Christmas sweater. It had a polar bear on it surrounded by holly. Alfred squealed. "It looks so good on you! Hang on…" He searched around until he found a button, turning on the shirt's lights. "It's perfect! One more thing…"

Ivan rolled his eyes and pulled Alfred in for a deep kiss. Alfred let out a sound and jumped up, wrapping his legs around Ivan's waist. Ivan chuckled and gently laid him down on the bed, crawling over him, sneaking his hands under Alfred's equally obscene Christmas sweater.

"W-Wait…" Alfred breathed.

"Christmas stuff later, eating you now."

"What about dinner?"

"You're the first course."

"Actually, the first course is meat—"

"No, it's you." Ivan continued kissing him, nearly pulling off his sweater.

"Boys?" Francis called from downstairs. "I know you two must be having so much fun, but dinner's on the table."

"Coming!" Alfred called, climbing off the bed. "Ivan, I promise we'll have time together, but first we need to eat." He pulled Ivan along, nearly making him walk into the lamp again. "Where do you want to sit? Oh, sit here!" He pushed Ivan into a chair and sat down on the one next to him. The others gathered at the table too, with Arthur putting a big meat pie on the table.

"Is that edible?" Gilbert whispered to Matthew.

"Take a small portion, eat two bites, and hide the rest in your napkin. I have stomach medicine for the aftermath."

"It smells delicious," Ivan said.

"I know," Arthur said, cutting it up with a smug smile.

"Let's start!" Alfred scooped up a big slice for Ivan and then for himself.

Ivan took a tentative bite, and then another, and then dug in. "It's delicious…! Could I get some more?"

Everyone at the table looked surprised, Arthur most of all. "Of course." He put a big piece on Ivan's plate. "You seem like a fine gentleman. Alfred should invite you over more often."

"I'll be very eager to come if there's such delicious food."

"Are we sure he's human?" Gilbert whispered as Ivan finished his second plate with delight.

Throughout the next courses, Alfred chatted away while Ivan nodded with his mouth full. Gilbert studied the Russian bear for signs of alien DNA. Matthew talked to Francis, who rubbed his drunk husband's shoulder.

For dessert, Matthew carried in the burning Christmas cake as Arthur was too likely to stumble and fall. He put a piece on Ivan's plate. "Dad's drunk, so he won't notice if you don't eat it," he whispered.

"Why would I not eat it?"

"Have a small taste and discover for yourself. Careful, there's lots of alcohol in it. It's the secret behind the whole fire act, as well as the only edible component."

Ivan poked it for a bit before biting down on a piece. Gilbert was about to hide his own slice in his napkin, but he stopped and watched with big eyes how Ivan munched away on the rock-like dessert. "Not human…"

"Everything here is so delicious!" Ivan beamed, Alfred bouncing with joy next to him.

"You're bloody right it is," Arthur slurred. "Ivan, you are my new son."

"Darling, you're drunk," Francis said, his own cheeks red from the wine as well.

Arthur reached behind him and grabbed a box.

"Christmas crackers!" Alfred cheered.

Arthur held one side up for him and Alfred pulled it with a loud bang. He put on the little paper crown that came out of it. Matthew grabbed a cracker from the box as well. "Papa, we're next."

Ivan sat back a little. They were having a family moment and he shouldn't interfere. He watched them laugh and put on their crowns, and thought about how lovely it would be to have a family like this… He wiped his mouth with his napkin and tried to remain still. He didn't want to disturb them, after all.

"Ivan?"

He looked up. Gilbert was holding up a cracker. "Do you want to pop one with me? As new members of the family?"

"I…"

"Go on, pull it!" Alfred urged.

Ivan carefully grabbed an end.

"Hold very tight and pull it!"

Ivan pulled and dragged Gilbert across the table. "Oh!" He quickly let go. "I'm so sorry!"

"It's okay," Gilbert said, rubbing his sore shoulder. "What do those Russians feed their kids…"

"Try again," Alfred said. "Come, I'll help you." He grabbed one end of the cracker. "There's a trigger inside. You need to squeeze it as you pull."

Ivan nodded and gripped his end.

"Ready?"

He nodded.

Alfred pulled and Ivan held on tight, startled by the pop. "You did it!" Alfred took the paper crown and planted it on Ivan's head. "There you go! You're a king now!" He kissed Ivan's cheek.

Ivan touched the crown and blushed. A king… That made him sound pretty cool…

"Do you think your family likes me?" Ivan asked, watching the whipped cream dissolve in his hot chocolate. Everyone had gone to bed already and it was just the two of them on the couch, curled in a blanket.

Alfred got more comfortable on Ivan's lap. "Like you? They'd adopt you if they could."

"R-Really?"

"Yeah."

"…Me?"

"Yes, you." He looked into Ivan's confused eyes. "Believe it or not, but you're not that hard to like."

"But… I don't really have much of a family…"

"Then you can become a part of mine."

"They'd let me?"

"I'm not sure they'll even let you leave here anymore. Especially Dad." Ivan hugged him happily. Alfred chuckled and stroked his hair. "How long are you staying for?"

"Well, I haven't bought a plane ticket back to Russia yet, so until then…"

"You'll be here with new year's?"

"If you'll have me."

Alfred hugged him. "I'd have you all the time if I could."

"We could…"

"Mm?"

"N-Nothing…"

"Tell me." Alfred rubbed Ivan's blushing cheek with his thumb.

"Well, Russian Christmas is on January 7…"

"Did you have plans?"

"Not yet."

"I could try to come over if I can get some days off work. Hopefully, my boss will be more lenient than yours."

Ivan stayed quiet.

"If you want to, of course."

"I do…"

"But?"

He bit his lip.

"Ivan, what is it?"

"I may have done something stupid…"

"What did you do?" Alfred set his cup down on the table and pulled the blanket closer around them.

"I quit my job."

"What? Why?"

"They wouldn't let me take these days off. You looked so sad when I told you I couldn't come. So, in a moment of impulsivity, I quit my job and bought a ticket to America."

"Ivan…"

"I know."

"What will you do when you get back?"

"I haven't made any solid plans yet. I just wanted to be with you."

Alfred sighed. "Stay until at least January 7. We can look into new jobs for you together if you want to. I don't feel comfortable sending you back without being sure you'll be able to pay for food and rent." If Ivan would just move in with him... But this really wasn't the time to bring that up.

"About that…"

"What?"

"I've been thinking in my hotel room… Nothing substantial, just throwing ideas around..."

"And?"

"It's not like I haven't worked in America before, during my time studying here…"

"Are you saying…"

"I should be able to find a job here. I don't think the paperwork will be a problem either. I could try to find a place to live nearby."

"Or you could move in with me." It was out before he could stop himself.

"You… You'd want that?"

"Ivan, when will you learn that I love you very, very much?"

"I don't know, I'm a tough learner. Maybe you should say it a few times more," he said with a cheeky grin.

Alfred rolled his eyes and kissed him. "I love you, Ivan. Please move in with me."

"How can I say no to you. Yes, I'll move in with you."

Alfred kissed him and Ivan barely managed to put his cup aside. He laid Alfred down on the couch and kissed down along his neck. "You're still cold…"

Alfred shivered. "Well, it's like minus one hundred out there…"

"Just a chill breeze. But we should do something about it. You can't catch a cold on Christmas."

"Then hurry and warm me up."

"Working on it." Ivan pulled off both their shirts and kissed Alfred deeply, pulling his body close. Alfred moaned and wrapped his legs around Ivan's waist.

"Ivan?"

"Mm?"

"You're the best Christmas present ever."

"And this is the best Christmas I've ever had."

"Merry Christmas, Ivan."

"Merry Christmas."

#hetalia #rusame #aph rusame #aph america #aph russia #aph face family #aph fruk #fruk #aph england #aph france #aph prucan #prucan #aph canada #aph prussia #secret santa #rusame secret santa 2018

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northernrainforest · 6 years ago

Text

Windows

If you’ve ever stayed in a European youth hostel, you can picture the kind of room I’m in right now. It’s windowless and Spartan: twin beds, lumpy pillows, an ancient phone on a beat up nightstand between the beds. It’s cold in here because the air is cranked up too high, but there’s no thermostat. There’s also no clock. Time doesn’t matter here, and time also matters a great deal. The main difference between this room and a room at a cheap pensione in Florence is that when you step outside you’re not greeted by the picturesque banks of the Arno. This room is one of the two “sleeping rooms” in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit at Providence Pavilion for Women and Children in Everett, Washington, and I’m here because my baby is across the hall, hooked up to machines.

I was 35 weeks and 5 days pregnant when I woke up at 1:18 am.

“My water just broke,” I said to Flo, and my heart sank. They had told me several days prior that I should “chill out” and “take it easy,” when I visited labor and delivery to talk about the symptoms I was having, which felt suspiciously like pre-term labor. I did do things differently: I stopped going to the gym. I started doing dishes while sitting on a bar stool (for what it’s worth, we should all be doing this. It’s comfortable.) But at the same time, a small voice inside me was egging me on: reminding me to finish little tasks, to tidy up loose ends. By Saturday, I was walking through Safeway with Ladybug slower than I’ve ever walked anywhere. I almost could have predicted I’d go into labor that night. But I was at the grocery store, because we needed milk. (It’s currently turning into yogurt in the fridge. Turns out, we’d never drink the milk after all.)

Regardless, there I was at 1:18 am, trying to be clearheaded about what to do next. I packed a few things (real talk: mostly snacks) and tried calling a couple of friends before realizing that Ladybug would be joining us at the hospital. Unsurprisingly, she was thrilled. She had already packed a bag in case she needed to stay at a friend’s house. But staying at the hospital? Even better. (The next morning she did head to a friend’s for the day, and stayed there that night as well. I’m all for including the family in life events, but I don’t need to be managing a five-year-old between earth-shattering contractions.)

Earlier that week I had gotten a pregnancy update email (baby was the length of a head of Romaine lettuce at that point, I think) which highlighted the need to map out the best route to the hospital. Flo and I giggled about this, thinking back on our interminable drives to and from UCLA Medical Center as we waited for Ladybug to arrive. To get to PeaceHealth Ketchikan, by contrast, the directions were straighforward: turn left out of driveway. Turn right on Carlanna Lake Road. Turn left into the ER. It took us a minute and a half to get there from our house, where we parked steps from the entrance of the ER by a sign that said “Reserved for Patients.”

I will not bore you with my birth story. Was it Chekhov who said, “Every happy family…?” Forget it, I just googled the phrase and will spare you my version (it’s Tolstoy, by the way. Also Russian, so arguably I was close.) “All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.” This is true for childbirth too. Every birth story is unique and gnarly and often funny, and the ones that go haywire are unhappy in their own ways. But if you’ve heard one birth story you kind of get the idea: the built-in spoiler alert is that it ends with the birth of a baby. As wild as the story may be, the ending is almost universally the same. All I will say is that Flo and I were holding our son at 5:43 pm, sixteen hours after we packed up our little bag and our little girl and left for the hospital. I am in love with the name we chose for him, but for the purposes of this blog he will be known as Bronson. (Long story. Ask Flo.)

Anyway, in our case it wasn’t labor and delivery that made for the interesting story. A few hours after birth, after the little man had crawled his way up my chest like his sister had done and rooted around for some dinner, the nurses noticed he was struggling to breathe. So began several days of cannulas in his nose to send air more easily to the lungs, and then an IV drip to regulate his blood sugar, and then a 24-hour moratorium on breastfeeding so he wouldn’t aspirate, and then and then and then. In the same way that they say one intervention in labor can lead to a snowball effect, it felt as though Bronson was encountering more and more obstacles day by day. But he seemed well enough by Thursday morning that we were talking about being discharged the next day. Then he stopped breathing. He was in my arms in the tiny nursery—he’d been in my arms most of the night—and he suddenly seemed sleepy. The night shift nurse stared hard at the monitor, adjusting the leads that connected him to it. Within moments, our quiet night together turned loud, bright, busy. A team of nurses, doctors, anesthesiologists, respiratory specialists—they all got to work, drawing blood, inserting a new IV, pumping air back into his lungs. It was quickly decided we would need to be medevaced to to a bigger facility with a proper NICU, which meant Flo raced home to pack me a bag. Ladybug and I cried softly in each other’s arms.

Bronson and I were loaded onto an ambulance, which drove onto the airport ferry, which then headed around the backside of the airport to a police escort and a waiting Lear jet. Bronson’s tiny body was dwarfed by the enormity of his incubator. The kind man who worked for LifeMed and sat next to me on the plane briefed me on flying in a Lear jet: basically, it goes very fast, and might make you sick, and you’ll get there in no time.

The whole time we were in the air, I honestly felt like I was dying. I was semi-reclined (perhaps in a nod to my recently revoked status as a patient.) I couldn’t breathe well, and it felt as though the top of the plane was pressing down on my chest. I stared out the window at the clouds and drifted off, out of exhaustion and terror. I couldn’t see my baby, but partway through the flight, the EMT who was sitting next to him asked for my phone. She took a picture of my beautiful boy, his eyes open and bright. He seemed to be doing better than I was.

We landed in an airfield in Everett and a firefighter walked me to the bathroom in a huge hanger. The whole thing felt so absurd that I wanted to make a joke, but for once in my life I really couldn’t think of anything to say. So I said thank you. En route to the hospital, the ambulance driver pointed through the window at the largest building in the world (so he said); a huge sign on the front of it said Boeing. I felt like I did the first time I stepped off the subway in Tokyo—that everything was big, foreign, pulsing with life in a language I didn’t understand. Bronson had another apnea episode when we arrived at the hospital but I wasn’t there to see it. I had been shunted upstairs to Admitting, where a woman who looked exactly like Iris Apfel spent ten minutes misunderstanding our primary insurance. (I think it’s in the middle of Mr. and Mrs. Smith that Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt get into an elevator and hear The Girl From Ipanema; after a few seconds of calm and muzak, they get to the next floor and step out, guns blazing. This is what it felt like in Admitting.) Soon, though, I was back downstairs, staring into Bronson’s room as a soft spoken doctor stood next to me and plied me for information about what had happened. I turned to him.

“To be clear,” I said, asking the thing I realized I’d been wondering all day. “This isn’t a question of, ‘My baby may not make it.’ Right…?”

“No,” he said firmly. “He will be fine.”

Still. After my baby settled down for the night, his room buzzing with machines, his body a tangle of wires, I wandered across the hall to the sleeping room and made a few sobbing phone calls. I was decidedly not okay, because I was pretty sure my baby wasn’t either.

That was ten days ago. It’s been two weeks since I glanced around my living room to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything, turned off the lights and drove away. Two weeks since I wandered the halls of PeaceHealth Ketchikan, looking through the windows at the wintry darkness between mind bending contractions. Two weeks since they said, “Pushpushpushpushpushpush,” and I did and I did and I did and then I held a small red-faced boy in my arms and cried. Two weeks of living in hospitals, he and I — and things seem easier. I chatted with a couple of nurses just now, using words I didn’t know two weeks ago, talking diagnoses and comparing the opinions and temperaments of attending neonatologists. Bronson can breathe on his own, though we’re still figuring out the root cause of his problem, which (it’s becoming clear) may extend beyond his prematurity and into something congenital or structural. Stay tuned; when I know, you’ll know. He’s eating, and sleeping, and pooping, and generally doing all the things babies do.

The other day, Flo smiled a little when he saw the blankets in the sleeping room. (He and Ladybug and my mom are staying at a Hampton Inn a few blocks away, which feels like the premise of a bad sitcom.) “We used to have these blankets in our house,” he said. This baby, our baby, who lives in a crisp clean room in a state of the art hospital — his grandfather raised five children as a single dad cleaning hospitals like this one. Our little guy has his middle name. There’s been so much talk in the last few years about privilege, but I’ve come to realize from this experience that privilege extends beyond race, class, gender, and so much else that we’ve addressed in the conversation. Privilege extends to access. Privilege extends to the ability to be relieved of pain and suffering. (That is, at least as far as medically possible.) Privilege means a shared language, and the ability to speak up for ourselves. Privilege gives us a window to look through: we can choose to see all the beauty others seem to have that we have been denied, or we could recognize the beauty we ourselves have been given that others may not have access to. All we have to do is open the window, and breathe. It’s the breathing, of course, that is the hard part. But we’re working on it.

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multishipper-baby · 6 years ago

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OT27 Madness

I'm starting this post by saying I'm sorry I can't put a read more. Computer is broken and stuff so you'll have to deal with this. I'll see if I can steal my dad's laptop later to fix this.

Also, @fnafhs-aesthetics asked me to tag them so. Tagged.

Anyway, here's my dumb OT27 idea. And yes, you read that number right. Buckle up, this is going to be a wild ride.

The ones that start it all are the Animotronics.

At first Chica just tells everybody that she's dating all the boys, and all of the school is to afraid to anger her and her bfs so they just deal with it.

But after a while the rest of the students began to notice the guys are weirdly close to each other and get suspicious.

Eventually a rumor comes out that they're secretly gay and, to avoid drama, they just tell the truth: They are dating Chica, but they're also all dating each other.

(At this point everybody in the band knows about Fred btw, tho they don't fully understand exactly what he is. What I can assure you is that they don't mind having 2 bfs for the price of 1)

Now everybody in school is even more confused, but Fox threatens them so they just shut up.

The next ones to get together are the Toys.

When Joy and Freddy get together, both Meg and Bon get jealous.

(Bon: OK, Freddy, first you start dating Bonnie, and now you're dating Joy too?? Stop stealing all my crushes!)

(Alsooo, Joy knows about Fred too, even if she doesn't really understand what he is she loves him)

They don't say anything for a while bc they don't want to ruin their friendship with Joy, but eventually Bon tells Bonnie, who tells Freddy, who then tells Joy.

"You do know that my boyfriend is dating five other people, don't you? Like he of all people would have an issue with me having other partners!"

So now Joy has three bfs and a gf.

(Meg and Bon don't date each other, but they are the very best metamours)

((ALSO, Toddie joins them eventually. She isn't sure about dating Joy at first but ignoring her cuteness is way to hard for anyone))

Meanwhile, Deuz been watching all of this unfold from the sidelines and it's given him an idea.

Well, if those losers can date all of their band members, we can't he?

The rest of the Nightmares are kind of unsure about it, but they do decide to give it a try and end up enjoying it way too much.

Fox accuses Deuz of copying them and they have a childish fight. Fox of course wins bc he has more strength (And more bfs).

By this point, the twins are already pretty interested in what's happening and decide to see if they can help each other get inside that already slightly complicated polycule.

The only issue is that they're both awful as wingmans. But they still persevere.

Somehow Mai manages to get together with Freddy, and Puppet winds up dating Bon.

(Also, Puppet is a transguy. Not saying it for any reason really, just letting you know)

After a lot of insistence from his partners and friends, Bon finally gathers up enough courage to ask Bonnie out. And of course Bonnie agrees bc who wouldn't?

Since their polycule seems pretty open about including new people instead of just being the five (And a shadow ghost thingy) of them, Fox decides to see if he can include another person: Springtrap. Everybody is fine with them dating, since Spring's a nice guy and all. That is, until he comments about getting another bf.

"YOU WANT TO DATE DEUZ?! HE'S AWFUL" "We talked things out and he's really sorry about everyth-" "WHY WOULD YOU EVEN LIKE HIM?!"

But, at the end of the day, nobody can really force Springtrap to stay silent about his crush and forget about it. So eventually he gets together with Deuz.

Fox is not pleased about the fact that now they're metamours but he guesses he can always punch him in the face if he breaks his "bro's" heart.

(At this point Freddy already has made a diagram to keep track of everybody. Fred insists that it's unnecessary, even tho he also tends to get a little lost sometimes)

Now we go with Loon and Usagi. After a lot of pinning, they're finally together! Much celebration. But what does that have to do with the polycule?

Well, it seems that little Loon has caught the attention of the Nightmares.

He's afraid of them at first (Mostly bc Oxy's literally 1.97 m tall and Onnie has fucking shark teeth) so he tries to avoid them.

After a while he notices that they're actually flirting with him instead of threatening him and he's. Confused, to say the least.

It takes a long while for him to get comfortable with the idea of dating a bunch of guys that look like 20-something gang members but eventually Deuz wins his trust and he gives them a try.

Usagi isn't sure how the heck his tiny bf managed to get THREE intimidating guys to pay attention to him but now he looks pretty happy with them so she just lets him have fun.

The rest of the polycule welcome both of them with open arms, tho they're kind of surprised about how many they're now.

And just when they think that maybe they're too many already, Bon starts dating Felix, who is also dating Fede. Who, mind you, is also dating Abby. Who is also also dating Lily. And just with that we add four more people to the group .

Nobody in the polycule is sure of how it got that big but now the teachers are as lost as ever with them.

(Also, I didn't mention this before but Maggie is definitely seeing both Mai and Meg. She's cool, she deserves to date cute girls)

Despite everybody joking about how now they're huge and they shouldn't bring more people in, everybody is supportive of Freddy when he starts going out with Cami.

The thing? Cami is seeing Towntrap. And Towntrap is dating Eak.

(Is everybody in this goddamn school polyamourous? Yes, the answer is yes)

By this point they're all sure finding a place to spend Valentine's day is going to be pretty fricking difficult, but eh, they'll find a way.

Freddy's diagram proves to be a lot more useful now that they're literally 26 people together.

But wait! I promised a OT27, right? Where's the last person?

Well, the last one to join is Owynn.

One day when the polycule meets up he just appears, holding Eak's hand. They're both trying to look casual but it's obvious that they're internally dying.

The rest is kind of silently debating whether they should say something or not, considering all the caos that Owynn made in the past. But, after a small chat, they decided to give him a chance.

It's kind of awkward at first. And it's quite hard for Freddy and Towntrap to get fully comfortable with him.

As time passes, though, they notice that he's making an active effort to better himself. And, despite him not being a very romantic person, it's easy to notice he actually does care for Eak and he isn't using him or something like that. Which basically wins him a place in the polycule.

Now that the entire story is written, here's some ideas:

♡ Freddy's mom is the most supportive of them, even if she's kind of surprised by the fact that his little boy has three gfs and five bfs.

♡ Most group dates are done in parks bc finding a restaurant that would actually make a table for 27 people is kind of difficult.

♡ Only people that date Freddy know about Fred, so the rest of the polycule get confused when they heard them talk about him. Freddy eventually tells them who Fred is, tho he isn't happy about it.

♡ Finding a day where they're all free is hard af. Most of the time there are at least two or three people that are missing bc they had other things to do.

♡ Talks about marriage get really awkward really fast.

♡ Some of them want to marry which gets hard bc they can't marry more than one person and they don't want to show favoritism, so they mostly avoid the subject.

♡ TALKS ABOUT CHILDREN ON THE OTHER HAND. Not everybody in the polycule wants to be a mom/dad but they all agree that if any of them ever wants to have a kid they'll be fine with it and they'll offer support.

♡ You bet your ass at the very least the Animotronics love the idea of having a baby someday (Golden is the most excited bc of course he is).

♡ When two people seriously fight like half the polycule becomes a mess.

♡ Literally everybody's biggest fear regarding their relationship is two people have a nasty breakup and the situation snowballing to the point it ruins everybody else's relationships.

♡ But so far most conflicts could be resolved by talking things out.

♡ Speaking about communication, whenever one of them is dealing with jealousy they try to help by giving them tips to deal with it in healthy ways.

♡ At first everybody in the polycule is mostly "im just here for my partners the rest I don't care about" but the more time they spend together the more protective they start to become. You hurt one? Be prepared to deal with 26 pissed off teenagers.

♡ Basically now they're a tiny army.

♡ Everybody who's an outsider is probably completely lost and just kind of goes along with anything that happens. They used to pay close attention to who is dating who but now they're so many it's incredibly hard to remember that stuff.

♡ Sometime people who don't know about the polycule go to one of them and tell them "hey I think your partner is cheating" only to get a laugh in response.

♡ Explaining their relationship can get pretty difficult.

♡ "You see, I'm dating Chica, Fox, Bonnie, Joy, Golden and Cami. Chica, Fox, Bonnie and Golden all are also dating each other, but Fox also has another boyfriend called Springtrap and Bonnie is also seeing Bon. Joy is also dating Bon and she has two other girlfriends, and Cami... You're already lost aren't you?"

♡ Despite the difficulties that come with being polyamourous they're still very happy together and very in love.

I'm shipping trash and I don't even care.

#fnafhs #fnafhs freddy #fnafhs golden #fnafhs fred #fnafhs fox #fnafhs bonnie #i won't tag them all lol #otp #ot27 #mystuff #writing

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honeyedhoseok · 7 years ago

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besitos| ta!jimin 02

genre: fluff/slightly smutty

word count: 8k

summary: Switching to a new major is always nerve-wracking, but having a totally hot TA to look at for the rest of the semester sure does ease the pain…

|01|

As the semester trudged on, you were soon thrown into the whirlwind that was midterms, but you didn’t suffer nearly as much as you thought you would due to your newfound distraction: Jimin.

For weeks on end, your phone was a constant flurry of text messages back and forth about anything and everything. You talked periodically throughout the day whenever one of you had a break or a spare moment, and surprisingly, the conversation never turned dull. Thought you wished you could hear his voice more often than you did, Jimin did a good job of texting exactly as he would talk—pauses, hesitation, and all.

Your roommates noticed your distractions, of course, and you blamed it most of the time on a study group chat for psychology—which technically wasn’t a lie because you did have one of those. But you could tell they were getting fed up with that excuse because of the increasing amount of groans whenever your phone went off, so you started keeping it on silent to avoid that altogether.

Other than Jimin himself, Taehyung was the only one to know about your secret romance, so he quickly became your confidant and advice-giver all in one. It also helped that he was just as eager to hear about it as you were to tell him.

“Soooo….” he said one day after class, giving you a pointed look and a quirky smile. “How are things?”

You sighed. “Taehyung you asked me this on Tuesday. Everything is fine.”

“But fine doesn’t mean anything, Y/N!” he whined, plopping into his desk chair. The room was completely cleared out except for you two—it was a common occurrence for you to stay after class and chat with Taehyung nowadays—so your things were still splayed out on the table around you. “I need details! Details are important—don’t you remember me writing that on your last assignment?”

You gave him a deadly look, but he continued grinning at you. “Taehyung.”

“Yes, Y/N?”

“Are you asking me because you want to know? Or because Jimin does?”

He gave you his signature sly smile, his normally animated expression turning fox-like in nature in a matter of seconds. “Oh, Y/N. What kind of wingman would I be if I told you that?”

You sighed rolling your eyes. “Fine. Things are…slow.”

“Slow?” his eyebrows shot up on his forehead. “What do you mean? I thought that was what you wanted?”

“It was, at first,” you admitted. “But now it seems almost like…we’re sort of—“

“—friends with no benefits?” Taehyung finished for you, a mocking smile playing around the edge of his lips.

You shrugged, “Sure, but that’s not exactly the word choice I would have used.”

“That’s because you always beat around the bush,” Taehyung beamed, patting your hand. “But that’s okay, that’s what I’m here for, Y/N! Say no more.”

“Wait, wait, what are you gonna do?”

“I’m gonna tell Jimin to step it up. You guys need some alone time, obviously. When’s the last time you hung out?”

You looked away sheepishly, suddenly finding extreme interest in your cuticles. You heard the smack of Taehyung’s mouth as it dropped open in shock.

“You’re telling me that you guys haven’t hung out since that night? Y/N, this is unacceptable—“

“I’ve been busy with mid-terms!” you exclaimed. “And Jimin is a teacher, Taehyung. He has a schedule as well.” You paused. “Did I mention he’s a teacher? Where are we supposed to see each other?”

“You guys are fucking amateurs,” Taehyung muttered sourly, his eyes diminishing into slits. “Jimin has an apartment. Off-campus. By himself. Is this rocket science for you two? Jesus.”

Taehyung slid back in his chair, standing up and grabbing his stuff. “Follow me.”

You scrambled to gather your things and shove them in your bookbag, flittering after Taehyung into the hallway and towards Jimin’s cracked door. “Taehyung—“ you warned, but he was already knocking, poking his head around the frame.

“You busy, Park? I just wanted to talk for a few minutes.”

“Nah, I’m free, what’s up?”

You slowly walked into the classroom behind Taehyung, watching as Jimin’s face lit up once he saw you. “Y/N,” he said, grinning. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this surprise visit?”

He was as stylish as ever, sitting behind his desk in a loose-fitting striped sweater, his hair split effortlessly down the middle, strands falling aimlessly on the smooth expanse of his forehead. His plump lips pulled back over his teeth as he gave you a splitting grin, eyes crinkling in the corners and shining with all the light of the stars in the sky. Why did you go so long without seeing such a masterpiece of a face, of a smile? Or better yet, how?

“Let’s do dinner this week. Your place. Me, you, Y/N, and Jenny. Kind of like a double date,” he whispered the last part, making sure to flash you an encouraging smile. “What do you say?”

Jimin was already nodding eagerly, “Sounds amazing. Tomorrow night, around 7?”

“Yep, and Y/N can get there early to make sure you have some help so dinner will be on time. Right, Y/N?” Taehyung nudged you, raising an eyebrow. You nodded slowly, and you could have sworn you saw Jimin swallow harshly at the proposition. “Great! See you guys then!”

Taehyung walked out of the classroom, throwing up a peace sign to the both of you as a goodbye, his work obviously done. Jimin chuckled, standing up from his seat. “Are you okay with dinner? I know Taehyung tends to make plans and just assumes everyone is okay with them with checking first…”

“Dinner sounds great,” you grinned. You were just happy to finally have plans with Jimin after a long absence. Hearing him talk now was making you realize how much you missed his voice. “What should we cook? I can pick up some groceries before I head over.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Jimin said quickly, shaking his head. “You just bring yourself and a pair of hands that can use a knife.”

You nodded once. “Got it. So, I’ll see you around five thirty?”

Jimin looked like he wanted to come from behind the desk, but he stopped himself, choosing instead to keep his hands busy with picking a pen out of the holder by his hip, clicking it nonchalantly. “Yeah…see you then, Y/N.”

You were feeling the same way, itching to bring Jimin close, to smell all the delicious scents that wafted off his clothes, to diminish the distance between your lips that had been apart for far too long. But you also knew this was his classroom, and with the door open it was much too easy to see inside, so you hitched your book bag into a comfortable spot on your back, throwing Jimin one last small smile before leaving.

“I’m going out tonight with some people from my Psychology class for dinner. I don’t know how long I’ll be out because it’ll probably turn into a drinking thing, so don’t wait up for me.”

You were sitting at the counter, a chocolate chip bagel pinched between your fingers as you told Sana and Jihyo about your plans for Friday. Sana raised an inquisitive eyebrow at you, pausing in spreading honey butter on her own bagel to point the end of the butter knife at you. “You’re ditching us for psych nerds?”

You rolled your eyes. “Technically, I’m a psych nerd since it’s my major. Why do you always forget that? And we didn’t have plans anyway!”

Jihyo sidled up to Sana, taking the knife out of her hand to butter her own bagel. “Are you mad at us or something? You’ve been kind of distant lately.”

“Yeah, if it’s something we did you can tell us, Y/N,” Sana added.

You suddenly felt a wave of guilt wash over you. You’d been lying to Sana and Jihyo for weeks about Jimin—and you weren’t sure why. It wasn’t like you couldn’t trust them because they surely wouldn’t tell anyone when it was about something as serious as Jimin’s job. But once you lied to them the first time, they just kept coming, bundling together and getting bigger and bigger like a snowball effect; there was no stopping a roll once it got going.

“It’s nothing, honestly. I just really want to make a good grade in this class, is all.” There it was, another lie rolling effortlessly off your tongue. You could give two shits about psychology at this point because you were positive you’d be switching majors at the end of the semester due to how well you were doing in Taehyung’s class. “You guys know I’m trying to pull my GPA up.”

Sana nodded, lowering her butter knife as she steered the conversation in another direction, and you let out a long breath of air through your nose in relief. No wonder you didn’t lie much—it was exhausting.

The rest of the day went by extremely slow for you, making you look countless times at the clock. You spent the afternoon with Sana and Jihyo in the living room watching a movie, waiting with a growing knot in your stomach for the right time to slip off to your room and get dressed for dinner. Thankfully, the movie ended at the perfect time, and while they were in the kitchen grabbing another snack you removed yourself, quickly taking off your comfortable clothes and throwing on jeans, a nice shirt and a thick jacket.

You exited the apartment after saying goodbye, pulling out your phone once you were outside to find the address Jimin had sent you earlier in the day. It was only a twelve-minute walk from your apartment so you decided to do that instead of driving, and set out in the direction the GPS was telling you.

Jimin lived in a relatively nice apartment for it to be so close to campus—normally the apartments looked nice on the outside but the residents would tell you the opposite of the inside—and you could tell this wasn’t the case as you clicked a button on the sleek outside panel, waiting as it buzzed to Jimin’s apartment. None of the students around campus had an intercom system, nor did they have anything like the updated exterior that you took in as you waited for Jimin to answer.

“Yes? Who’s there?” he chirped, sounding somewhat giddy through the speaker.

“It’s me, can you let me in?”

It was quiet for a few seconds before his voice sounded through the speaker again. “How do I know it’s really you? You might be a Y/N-impersonator.”

“Jimin!” you groaned. “Just let me in.”

He laughed a delicate, tinkling laugh that made your mouth twitch with the threat of a smile. Jimin was in an unusually good mood, and it made you wonder what the cause of such a joking manner could be coming from.

“Tell me something only Y/N would know.”

You rolled your eyes, wracking your brain quickly for a response. “Um…your favorite pair of shoes are your black combat boots.”

“Too easy,” came his quick reply.

“Okay, fine,” you thought again, “The first time we hung out…you told me about civil twilight.”

“And?” he quipped.

“And…you said it was fucked up for you to like me, and then…you kissed me,” you said shyly, looking over your shoulder to make sure no one was witnessing the conversation that was unfolding between the two of you through an apartment intercom.

“Correction,” Jimin said, and you could see him holding up a finger in a teacher-like manner. “I said I was waiting for you to tell me you like me like I liked you, and that that in itself was fucked up. But anyways, what about the kiss?”

“What about it?” you said immediately, and you knew you’d spoken too soon when Jimin clicked his tongue condescendingly.

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N. If you don’t think these lips are the center of the universe, the sole reason for your existence, if they aren’t flower petals gracing your lips when I kiss you, similar to that poem you wrote for class—“

“Jimin, for Christ’s sake, just let me in!” you insisted, raising your voice to cut him off. He laughed again childishly, obviously enjoying his little game way too much. Finally, there was a loud buzzing, and you were let into the apartment stairwell to begin climbing up to the third floor where Jimin’s apartment was. You let yourself in, the door already unlocked, peeling off your coat and kicking your shoes off at the entrance, treading on the soft carpet of the hallway into the tiled flooring of the kitchen. Jimin stood poised by his intercom, arms crossed over his chest and a sly smile playing around the edge of his lips.

You swung your purse strap over your head, slinging it onto a barstool before walking over to him. His eyes followed you, grazing over you from head to toe until you were standing in front of him, now half-lidded as he looked down his nose at you.

Just being in such close proximity, completely alone, for the first time since you two had met had your stomach doing backflips, your palms sweaty and itching to snatch Jimin’s face down to yours. You swallowed harshly, looking up into the dark chocolate orbs that were watching your every move, almost predator-like.

“Hi,” you said breathlessly.

“Hello, beautiful,” Jimin murmured, unfolding his arms to snake an arm around your waist and bring you closer. Electricity skittered across your skin underneath your shirt as his hand pressed to your lower back, sending a delicious tingle up your spine. You hummed a small noise of content at the warmth, burying your face in the crook of Jimin’s neck for a few moments and breathing in deeply. You stayed like that until you remembered your recent conversation over the intercom.

“What was all that talk about kissing just a few moments ago?” you teased, pulling back to look at him. You licked your lips suggestively, watching Jimin’s eyes dart down to your mouth. “I think you said you owed me a few…or something like that?”

“Owing you a few?” Jimin shrugged, his gaze drifting back upwards to your eyes. “I don’t remember that part.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t play with me, boy.”

Jimin grinned down at you but his eyes darkened, making you cautious of his next move as he dipped his head down, trailing his way up your jawline with his nose, each breath he took sending a cool wave of air over your neck and collarbones. In seconds he had you completely under his spell, your weak hands coming to rest on his chest as his other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you completely against his body.

“I invited you into my humble abode,” he began, his breath ghosting over the hollow beneath your ear, “And the first thing you bring up is a supposed debt?” He tsked, tucking your hair so that he could speak directly into your ear. “Do you really think that’s how this works, Y/N?”

“Technically, Taehyung invited me over,” you responded cheekily. You gasped embarrassingly loud at the sharp feeling of Jimin’s canines grazing over the juncture between your neck and shoulder in warning. He chuckled at your response, obviously enjoying every second of his torment.

“Ah, yes. Speaking of Taehyung—“ his hands moved up from your lower back until they were at your middle, Jimin’s thumbs hooking into the space right below your ribcage, his fingers splayed out on your sides. “He said something to me before you got here…”

“And what would that be?”

He rubbed his nose against yours, his eyes closing briefly before opening to look down at you with a mischievous glint. You could have sworn you saw his pupils dilate as your eyes met. “Something about—oh, I don’t know—things being…slow? Between us?”

“Oh,” you reddened, unsure of what to say.

“Oh?” Jimin repeated, taking a hand off your waist to tilt your chin up so that he could fully gauge your reaction. “If I remember correctly, that’s what you wanted. Isn’t that right?”

“At first…and then we didn’t see each other for a long time and, well, I don’t know…”

“Hmmm,” Jimin mused. “I see.”

“Taehyung is so unfair,” you murmured, pouting. “He’s always telling on me.”

“He’s my best friend and wingman first, your confidant second. Remember that,” Jimin laughed quietly before turning serious again. “So, how would you like your repayment?”

“Repayment?” you repeated curiously, though your stomach flip-flopped anyways at the word.

“For making you wait so long that you changed your mind about wanting things to be slow,” Jimin said, his gaze flickering down to your mouth again. “All at once or spread out?”

“Both,” you replied quickly.

Jimin grinned, “Greedy!” You licked your lips anxiously as one of his hands kept its place on your side, burning warmth through your shirt straight to your stomach, while the other snaked into your hair. “But I like it.”

Just like the first time, your brain fogged over as Jimin’s lips found yours, like flipping a switch on your hormones that allowed them to do all your thinking. These kisses were hard and needy, the opposite of what you were used to with Jimin. His mouth moved fluidly against yours, plump lips completely dominating the conversation your mouths were having while his hand curled in your hair, fingertips lightly grazing against your scalp. You whimpered a little at the feeling and in return Jimin growled deep in his throat, using the opportunity of your slightly parted mouth to delve his tongue in, poking tentatively at yours until you responded.

Your hands balled into fists on his shirt, yanking him closer to you in any way you could, not wanting to separate your mouths for even a moment. Jimin’s mouth was somewhat bitter--probably from his tendency to drink coffee at all times of the day--but the taste to you was heavenly as his tongue laved over your own, fingers drawing patterns into your sides and back.

While Jimin distracted you with his mouth, he was slowly backing you out of the kitchen and towards the L-shaped couch that was positioned in front of the TV in his living room. Your knees hit the side and Jimin released his hold on you, pushing you slightly so that you fell onto your back on the cushions. A wave of Jimin’s cologne hit your nostrils, wafting up from the couch, and then an even bigger wave hit you as he climbed on top of you, pressing his body into yours once more before you could react to being dropped onto the soft surface. You could feel his hardened member pressing into your hip bone as he laid down, his mouth darting for your neck, peppering kisses there. Your eyes closed immediately, and your head tipped back in bliss, hands coming to rest in Jimin’s raven hair as he switched between nipping at your neck and sucking lightly on the areas.

“Oh, god,” you groaned as he roamed his mouth over a particular spot that sent another harsh shiver down your spine, the hotness of your skin mixing with the incredible warmth of his mouth. “Jimin—”

You twitched underneath him involuntarily as he sucked harder based off of your reaction, accidently grinding your hips against the hardness protruding from Jimin’s jeans and coaxing a small moan out of him. The noise licked fire along your insides, sparking a warmth inside your stomach that made you never want Jimin to stop as he sucked and pecked his way towards your collarbones. But your brain got the better of you, a thought crossing your mind that had you ruining the moment.

“Wait,” you said breathlessly, closing your eyes as Jimin nudged his way across your chest with kisses. “What about cooking dinner?”

“Taehyung’s coming over,” he nipped at your shoulder playfully, making you jump at the tingle that skittered across your skin. “He’s bringing takeout from the Italian place down the street.”

You straightened up a little, bumping your collarbone into Jimin’s teeth and making him cringe. He pouted at you while you talked. “So...why did I come over so early?”

Jimin shrugged, his pout shifting into a shit-eating grin. “I told you, Taehyung’s my wingman. He may seem like a mindless puppy, but he’s actually a pretty smart guy.”

“Hm,” you murmured, nodding your head slowly. “Wow, he really is…”

Jimin groaned suddenly, grabbing your face with both hands to squish your cheeks together, pouting your lips manually so that he could press small kisses to them over and over. “I—can’t—stop—doing—this—”

“Can’t or won’t?” you murmured, giggling as he continued to assault your face with his lips. The steamy moment from before quickly shifted to less intimate conversation and then right back as he pressed his body against yours again so that you were laying down on the couch, his arms barricading you from moving as he leaned his face close.

“What are you doing to me, huh?”

“I don’t know. But I kinda like it...maybe I should do more of it. Whatever it is.”

“Mmm,” Jimin mused, a grin dusting his features as he leaned in to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “You’re dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” you asked. “How so?”

“I just—” he murmured, pausing to sink his teeth into the soft flesh of his lower lip. His eyes darkened just slightly as he rolled his hips into yours in a small, controlled movement. He didn’t even have to say anything—the flames licking at your belly and traveling down to your wet center told you everything he couldn’t manage—you felt it too.

You licked your lips, swallowing to coat your suddenly-dry throat as you fought to speak, Jimin’s half-lidded eyes boring into yours. “Oh...well, maybe, I could help you, with that—”

You were cut off by a loud buzzing sounding throughout the apartment, making Jimin frown and sigh above you. “Interrupted right at the good part, huh? Taehyung’s not as much of a wing-man as he thought he was.” He pushed himself off of you, offering you a hand and pulling you off the couch before he walked over to the intercom. You watched him subtly adjust the tent protruding from the front of his pants as he talked and it made you giggle. “Yeah?”

Taehyung’s voice came through the speaker loud and clear: “Open up, ugly.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jimin rolled his eyes, pushing the button to unlock the door downstairs. You were distributing plates at the circular table in Jimin’s kitchen when Taehyung walked in, a giant brown bag settled into his hands and a petite girl following behind him.

“They took forever, dude. How long does it take to make fucking spaghetti? It’s noodles, sauce and cheese, not rocket science,” he complained, looking over at you. “Sup, Y/N.”

You grinned a hello as he stepped aside, motioning to the girl that was putting bottles of wine into Jimin’s freezer. “This is Jenny. Jenny, Y/N.”

“Hey,” she said, waving as she shut the door to the fridge. She looked at you through rounded spectacles, her bangs just brushing the top of them. She looked like the book-ish type, and you wondered if Taehyung met her while he was in college. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

You frowned. “Good things, I hope?”

“Oh of course,” she nodded enthusiastically, a smile playing around the edges of her mouth. “You’re the student Jimin seduced, right?”

“Hey, I did not seduce her!” Jimin protested, holding up a hand. “Y/N seduced me, I’m the victim here!”

“Yeah right,” you muttered, cutting your eyes at him as your face heated in embarrassment. “Victim, my ass.”

“Hey, it doesn’t matter who seduced who to me,” Taehyung said, settling into his chair at the table. He tucked his napkin into the collar of his shirt dramatically. “What does matter, however, is how much pasta I can eat until I pass out on Jimin’s sofa with a food baby—and I intend to find out tonight. Let’s eat!”

“I really don’t feel like it should be considered a great piece of fiction from our time,” Taehyung argued, sticking a breadstick in his mouth and biting the end off, crumbs flying everywhere as he spoke. “She wrote fucking Harry Potter fanfiction before writing Fifty Shades.”

“So? She had to get a start somewhere, Tae,” Jimin countered. “Who cares what or where that was. Try telling her she’s not a real fiction writer and she’ll slap you in the face with her millions and her movie deals.”

You and Jenny glanced at each other over the table, exchanging bored looks. Taehyung and Jimin had been debating modern fiction for the past twenty minutes. Every time either of you tried to steer the conversation in a different direction they somehow circled it back around to whether erotic novels could be considered “good” fiction.

“That’s because it became a craze!” Taehyung turned the bitten end of his breadstick to Jimin, jabbing the air with it emphasize his point. “Smut doesn’t equal quality writing. Show me a plot, some dialogue, some character development, a story arc. Then I’ll be impressed and maybe consider it a piece of fiction, at the least.”

“May I add a comment to this discussion, as a budding creative writing major?” you asked, raising your eyebrows hopefully.

“No.”

“Absolutely not.”

You slumped back in your chair, crossing your arms over your chest in defeat. Jenny chose that time to slide back in hers, excusing herself from the table. “Alright, I’m going to go crack open a wine bottle now since you two dweebs don’t want to talk to us. Y/N, you coming?”

“Yes!” you quickly got up, following Jenny back into the kitchen as Jimin and Taehyung’s argument died out in the background. She grabbed two glasses, sitting one down in front of you and filling it with the cool, golden liquid from the wine bottle.

“Riesling is the best, isn’t?” she hummed, taking an appreciative sip from her own glass. “Sorry about those two, by the way. They do this all the time.”

“Really?” you asked, wide-eyed. “Wow, that would drive me fucking insane.”

She shrugged, shooting you a teasing smile. “You better get used to it. You know, being Jimin’s girl and all.”

You smiled shyly, your gaze drifting down the countertop. Jimin’s girl. It had a nice ring to it. But a part of you still felt weird knowing that you were a college student, still taking intro classes in your major, hanging out with a bunch of graduate students who had full time jobs.

“About that…” you started, and Jenny raised her eyebrows as you took a nervous sip from your glass. “So, since Jimin is a TA...us being together…its--”

“--it’s difficult, yes,” Jenny nodded. “And certainly not recommended.” Your heart dropped at the reality of her words, a sinking feeling settling into your chest. “But...Jimin is taking extra precautions with your relationship so that everything goes smoothly. Don’t worry, okay? As soon as you’re out of the intro class, you’re allowed to do whatever--well, kind of. Just keep a low profile for a while and everything will be fine.”

You gave her a grateful smile as she tipped back the rest of her glass. “What do your friends think?”

You cleared your throat awkwardly, speaking in a small voice, “I...haven’t told them.”

“Why not?” she cocked an perfectly sculpted eyebrow above her round spectacles. “You don’t trust them?”

“No, it’s not that,” you shook your head. You trusted Sana and Jihyo with everything, and had for a long time. “It’s more like since I’ve kept it from them this long...why tell them now?”

Jenny hummed in thought, pouring more wine into both of your glasses before settling onto a bar stool with hers in hand, swirling the golden contents around absentmindedly. “Well, I guess I see your point. But it’s also nice to have someone to talk to about stuff...girls need to vent, right? If you ever need someone to talk to until you decided to tell them, you can definitely come to me.”

Taehyung and Jimin filed into the kitchen then, Taehyung quickly plucking Jenny’s glass out of her hand and taking a sip. “Come to you about what?”

“Nothing,” she frowned, reaching for it only for Taehyung to stretch his hand out further away from himself. “Give that back.”

“Why can’t I have some?” Taehyung pouted cutely. “You bought three bottles!”

“Two for me and one for Y/N!” she giggled, slapping him on the chest. “Who’s gonna drive us home if you drink?”

“Let’s just stay here. Jimin has a spare bedroom--”

Before Taehyung could finish the sentence, Jimin was already shaking his head in disagreement. “That’s my office.”

“It has a futon in it.”

“Yeah, in case I get tired from grading papers!”

Jimin was giving Taehyung a look that you couldn’t quite decipher, his stare strong enough to bore holes into the oblivious boy’s head. But Taehyung was too focused on the conversation at hand, completely ignoring the message Jimin was trying to sign to him from across the room.

“What about Y/N?” Taehyung argued, pointing in your direction. “She’s drinking, are you gonna kick her out, too?”

“I can walk home,” you held up your hands in defense. “It’s no big deal, really—”

“No,” Jimin said quickly, giving you a pointed look. “You can stay here. I don’t have a problem with you, I just don’t want Taehyung here.” Jimin finished the statement by crossing his arms over his chest in annoyance.

You watched as Taehyung narrowed his eyes and tipped back the rest of Jenny’s glass as she yelled out at him, quickly downing it before placing it back on the counter and burping loudly. “Too late, dick. I’m drinking and I’m staying.”

“Idiot,” Jimin muttered, but moved from his place to grab some blankets out of the hall closet, heading towards his office to dress up the futon.

The rest of the night passed somewhat quickly. The four of you managed to finish the three single bottles along with half of one Taehyung found stashed in the back of Jimin’s refrigerator. You realized the more that Taehyung drank, the quieter and more broody he became, complaining about the horrible plot lines in the movies and how they could have spiced up the relationship of the two main characters more.

“How could they not kiss the whole movie but be in love?” Taehyung muttered, pausing to hiccup. “What if I did that to Jenny, and then she kissed me and I was fucking horrible with my mouth. That would change her whole perspective on me!”

“You are horrible with your mouth, Taehyung,” Jenny snapped, smacking him on the leg. “Now shut up and stop interrupting, there’s only a few minutes left!”

Taehyung turned his attention back to the screen, pouting slightly. He was only quiet for a few moments before he was spouting off another complaint, unable to keep his watery words behind the dam that was his closed lips, “And why are their houses always so nice? There’s no way she can afford that nice ass apartment on her desk job salary.”

“Taehyung,” Jimin groaned, throwing his head back on the couch cushion. He stood up, turning the lights on in the living room and pressing stop on the DVD player just as the last scene ended. “Alright, I’m going to bed, and so are you,” he pointed at his friend who was looking at him through half-lidded eyes, “Before I kill you.”

Jimin helped you off the couch, keeping your hand interlocked with his as he made his way to the back bedroom, locking his door to make a show out of keeping Taehyung away. “That should do the trick,” he giggled drunkenly, falling back on his bed.

You stood awkwardly by the door, eyes zoning in on the way that Jimin’s shirt lifted a little as he fell, giving you a glimpse of the soft skin of his stomach as he laid on his back. The reality of the situation was closing in on you--you drank, and now you were going to have to stay at Jimin’s until tomorrow morning unless you wanted to pay for an Uber back to campus--and for some reason you couldn’t shake the nervous feeling in your stomach. Obviously you would sleep with him, in his room, in his bed. Why didn’t you think of that before?

Jimin lifted his head, peeking at you through one open eye. “You okay?” When you didn’t answer right away, he hopped up, holding up a finger. “Right, pajamas! Hold on a sec.”

He began rummaging through his bureau drawers until he conjured up a big white t-shirt, one that you were sure you’d seen him sport in class before. “Do you need pants?” he asked curiously, eyeing your legs. You flushed, shaking your head quickly and taking the shirt from him.

You walked into the bathroom joined to his bedroom, quickly ridding yourself of your shirt, bra and jeans. You pulled Jimin’s white tee over your head, taking a deep breath as the fabric caught on your nose before settling over your neck. It smelled just like him, clean and sweet and mostly certainly intoxicating.

Your heart beat a mile a minute in your chest as you walked out, noticing Jimin already changed and in bed, scrolling on his phone. He was shirtless, only sporting a pair of plain, grey sweatpants, the band of his briefs visible above the cotton material of his sleeping attire. The sight had you swallowing nervously as you drank in his appearance, moving from his already messy hair, to the toned muscles of his chest, to the pants that clung a little to his thighs. How was he not shy at all around you? You were a sweating, nervous mess and Jimin was acting as though he got shirtless in front of people all the time. But, maybe there were some things you didn’t know about him. The thought made you a little sick to the stomach, so you pushed it away just as quickly as it had come. Who were you to judge him when you only had on your underwear underneath his shirt?

You crawled into bed beside Jimin, shoving your legs under the blanket and settling back against the fluffy pillows that rested against his headboard. He put his phone on the charger, clicked the chain to the bedside lamp and shrouded the room in darkness. The only light was from the moon outside, casting the room in a barely-lit teal glow.

“I’m sorry about Taehyung,” he murmured, turning on his side immediately so he could trace your outline in the shadows with his gaze. “Sometimes he thinks he’s helping when in reality he’s being the biggest cock block known to man.”

“Cock block?” you asked, a giggle lacing your words. Jimin just grinned and reached out to you, pulling you close. Your noses were almost touching now, each breath in and out a wave of air over your faces and a reminder of how little effort it would take to close the distance between your lips. “He’s doing that to you?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice low as his hands crept their way under the comforter and towards your sides, goose-flesh erupting in their wake as they slid along your lower back. “Somethin’ like that.”

You grinned again, enjoying the new warmth of Jimin’s body pressing against yours. “Tonight was fun though,” you offered, trying to make him feel better. “I’m glad we got to see each other outside of school for once.”

“Mhm, me too.”

“But do you and Taehyung always argue so much?” you giggled, and watched as Jimin’s face lit up in the darkness. “I thought you two had an unbreakable bond.”

“We do,” Jimin said, “It’s just that…I don’t know, he’s a little much. I can’t explain it. Even your best friends get on your nerves sometimes, you know?”

“Yeah, I understand. My roommates are like that too, especially when they’re drinking. Although it’s some of my best memories with them, it’s also some of the worst.”

Jimin laughed quietly in agreement. Your mind drifted to the conversation you’d had earlier with Jenny at the mention of Sana and Jihyo. They were probably wondering where you were, and you were surprised that your cellphone on the nightstand wasn’t being blown up that very moment. They would understand about Jimin, why couldn’t you just tell them? Why were you so afraid?

Jimin, noticing you lost in thought, grabbed your hand that was resting under the blanket and pulled it up to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to your palm. “What’s wrong?”

You sighed. “It’s—nothing.”

“You can tell me,” Jimin coaxed, pressing his lips to your knuckles this time. “Is it me? I can take you home if you’re uncomfortable.”

“No!” you said quickly, and relished in the way Jimin’s once furrowed brow softened at your words. “It’s not that, it’s just—okay, this is gonna sound stupid but I haven’t told my roommates about us. And they’re my best friends and I tell them everything but…It’s just—this is just different. I don’t know. I’m scared.”

Jimin was quiet for a few moments and he closed his eyes in thought. You almost assumed he’d drifted off to sleep when he murmured lowly, “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“Sorry?” You sat up in bed. The streetlamp outside of Jimin’s apartment clicked on, flooding his bedroom with warm orange light through his blinds, streaming in rays across his floor and bedspread. “Jimin, what are you sorry for?”

“For putting you in this situation,” he replied defeatedly, putting and arm over his face so you couldn’t look at his eyes anymore. “I’m overstepping my boundaries because I’m selfish, and I keep dragging you with me. I’m sorry.”

“Jimin…” you said, but he continued to lay there with his face covered. When you attempted to move his arm, he flexed, keeping it in place even as you wrapped your fingers around his forearm, tugging harder. “Jimin, it’s not like that. That’s not what I meant…hey, look at me. Don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad at you, Y/N, I’m mad at myself!”

Jimin attempted to roll over then and you moved quickly, swinging a leg over his torso to keep him from turning his back on you. He wriggled around, throwing you off balance and you struggled to push on his shoulders, forcing him down flat onto the mattress. “Come…here!”

He finally gave in and you squeezed your legs around his middle, pointing a finger at with a firm tone. “Stay. Still.”

“Yes ma’am,” he murmured sourly, but you could see the grin playing around the edges of his mouth. He was thoroughly enjoying your rough-housing, and you were just happy he wasn’t really upset.

You placed your hands on Jimin’s stomach, keeping yourself centered on his lap as you spoke. He lay on his back with his hands behind his head, looking up at you with curious eyes and his lips slightly parted. You tried not to focus on the plump flesh as you gathered your thoughts, choosing instead to look at the darkness of his irises boring into yours.

“When are you gonna stop beating yourself up for this, huh? You’re not in this alone. Okay? I’m in it with you,” you leaned down a little closer, starting to feel shy with the way the conversation was going, but you kept talking, “I’m not going anywhere, and there’s no need to feel guilty or sorry. I like you, Jimin.”

The last part was said just barely above a whisper, but you hoped that your small voice didn’t stop you from conveying the emotions that were flowing from you suddenly. You didn’t want Jimin to feel bad, you didn’t want him to feel like he was burdening you or bringing you into a situation that you didn’t want to be in. You really liked him, and you didn’t know how else to show him—besides leaning down and connecting your lips with his in a soft kiss.

Jimin closed his eyes at the contact, leaving his hands behind his head at first and just letting you move your mouth against his softly. The kiss was warm and sweet and gentle and no tongue, and you let yourself get lost for a few moments just to feel the excited thrill you always got when you kissed him.

Jimin moved his hands from behind his head as you shifted on his lap, placing your hands beside his head as his moved to your waist. He squeezed the flesh there lightly, sliding the t-shirt out of the way to rest his hot palms on your bare skin. You sighed at the contact and pulled back for a second to look at his expression—all blown-out pupils and swollen lips that were tilted slightly up—and realized you were mimicking him.

“I like you too,” he said in a quiet voice, smiling as he moved his hands to your upper back to pull your mouth back to him.

Somewhere along the lines you mumbled Good against his lips, but you were too lost in the kneading of his hands and the sudden hardness between your legs to really focus. Jimin’s kisses were a little more feverish, the temperature between your bodies rising as your shirt slipped more and you found yourself pressed against his bare chest. The toned muscles rippled as he moved hand up your stomach and over your ribcage to cup your breast, squeezing it in his palm. You groaned a little as his thumb flicked over the hard bud, the soft pad of his finger teasing you and making your body heighten with desire.

You removed your mouth from Jimin’s, trailing a wet, hot trail down his jaw-line to the space beneath his ear, giving the spot a small lick to test the waters. Jimin grunted and his hips bucked beneath yours. You grinned, grazing your teeth over the spot. “Oh? What was that?” you teased.

“Y/N—” he fell short of words as you sucked on the spot a little. His hand tightened around your breast while his other squeezed your hip, his hardened member now straining against the material of his sweatpants and digging into your thigh.

You placed wet, open-mouthed kisses against the skin of his neck, enjoying all the breathy noises that he was releasing until he’d had enough. Jimin took one hand and gripped your jaw, bringing your lips back to his as he roughly stuck his tongue into your mouth, tasting every bit of the leftover wine that may have been there. With his other hand, he pushed your shoulder until you were slipping off of him and onto your back in your original spot on the bed, crawling over you and trapping you in his embrace.

His hands skimmed your inner thigh, lips latching onto the skin of your neck as he sucked shades of pink and red into the flesh. You tilted your head back in bliss, giving Jimin access to everything you had as the heat between your legs swelled. He ran a finger over your cotton underwear right along your slit and you gasped soft, a shudder racking your body as he touched you through the material.

You weren’t inexperienced. You’d had a few rendezvous in college at frat parties and had taken someone back to your apartment once or twice after a long night of drinking at the KGB.

But this was different, Jimin was different.

As his fingers traced over your most sensitive area you were suddenly shy, an inexperienced and nervous woman underneath him, and you found yourself biting your lip in uncertainty as your mind raced.

“Y/N,” Jimin said, reading your body and bringing his gaze eyelevel with yours. His eyebrows were furrowed as he took in your expression and he took his hand away from you. “We don’t—I’m sorry, we don’t have to, I just thought—”

“No, no, I’m sorry,” you pulled his face to yours with both hands, cupping his cheeks as you pecked his lips a few times, “I just spaced out for a moment. I’m here now.”

Jimin grinned at you, pressing his lips to yours as he tried to get both of you back in the mood. You ran your fingers through the soft strands of his hair, pushing it away from his forehead as his mouth moved against yours, once more trapping you under his unbreakable spell.

His fingers fiddled with your underwear again and you sighed a little at him finally pushing the material to the side. He slid a finger up your slit, gathering the wetness there before he slipped it inside you and you both closed your eyes—Jimin from relishing in how wet you were for him, you at the relief of finally having him touching you.

You bucked into his hand and he pulled out a little before sliding back in, causing you to groan and yank at his hair. “Ugh, Jimin, faster—”

He quickly set a pace, pulling out only to dive back up to his knuckle. It was only one finger, but damn did it felt like heaven to you. You closed your eyes, tilting your head back as Jimin pulled the shirt you were wearing above your breasts so he could latch on with his hot mouth. He rolled your nipple around with his tongue as his finger worked you to an incredibly fast orgasm, unable to stop the breathy noises spilling from your mouth.

“Jimin, ah, ah, right there, please—”

Groaning against your breast, he added another finger into your soaking heat, watching as your back arched off the bed in pleasure.

“God you’re so hot,” he murmured, trailing his mouth away from your nipple as he placed kisses down the center of your chest. You wanted him closer, to move his hand faster, to bring his lips back up to yours, to keep going further down until they latched onto your trembling core—so many things at once, but one thing that stayed at the center of your attention was how much you were clenching around his fingers, getting closer and closer to sweet relief.

Your head was somewhere else and so was Jimin’s obviously, because neither of you realized how un-quiet you were being as you enjoyed the moment together. Jimin was ravishing your chest with his mouth, kissing and sucking anywhere he could as you writhed underneath him, egging you on with his groans to get louder and louder. Just as you squeezed your eyes shut, your walls pulsing around Jimin’s fingers as he drove you to your high, a loud banging came through the wall behind you that Jimin’s headboard was pressed up against.

Your movements had caused it to thud against the wall a few times, waking up Taehyung in the other room. You jumped as his fist collided with the wall with ferocity, and Jimin’s fingers stilled inside of you.

“Fucking keep it down, would you? Jesus Christ!”

Jimin grinned devilishly down at you, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly at getting caught. “Oops,” he whispered.

You brought your hands up to your eyes, covering them for the sake of not completely losing your shit at the thought of Taehyung knowing exactly what was going on between you two. Jimin moved away, placing your panties back in their proper position and cleaning his fingers off on his t-shirt that was thrown haphazardly on the floor. He rejoined you in bed a few seconds later, removing the hands shielding your tightly squeezed eyes and burning cheeks. He rested his head on your chest, looking up at you with all of his boyish charm, lips swollen from kissing, hair mussed from your fingers running through it so many times.

“Well,” he said, sighing, humor lacing his words, “Once a cock-block, always a cock block, I guess?”

#busanboysnet #jimin x reader #bts x reader #jimin fluff #jimin smut #helloblamebts #bts scenarios #bts smut #bts fluff #besitos

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hxh-secretsanta-2017 · 7 years ago

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Merry xmas @milkboxe. Hope the holidays treated you well :) - @shalnarkonice ***

Whale island…was a summer paradise.

It was the perfect location one could escape to after a long, gruesome winter, or a particularly draining adventure. It was a town that held tradesfolk of all types. From Fishers to butchers, to shopkeepers and bar owners, and of course, a handful of cooks that filled day markets with goods.

It was an island where one generation would pass down all they knew to the next, and then the next after that. Family recipes became dirty little secrets. Each last name had a story and a past.

It was a humble and simple town, despite the beasts and the hunters, and the town lore about a family of Freecs.

There was something nice about being able to venture out onto the streets of whale island at any hour and find familiar faces chatting over coffee and sweets. Or to see the young adults of the town amble out of pubs in a dizzy haze, laughing and grinning and knowing that the only work they had the next day was for the family business.

It was lax. Much easier than city’s like yorknew and Blelike that were busy with the amount of people that shoved themselves into small units of the city, woke early, and stayed out late.

There was nothing like that here.

Nothing ever seemed rushed.

Even now, come the end of the year when it was a time of celebration and relaxation, the residents of Whale island seemed ignorant of the level of effort larger cities went through in order to ensure a lively and expensive holiday.

Killua was used to big spectacles. He had grown up in a home that (amongst the family job) offered him many perks such as gifts at every season as well a variety of inherited traditions from his grandfather’s travels around the world.

Killua was sure that the holiday season wouldn’t be the same here, on an island so remote, but that wasn’t going to stop him from celebrating it with Gon. That, and he had really wanted Alluka to experience the joy of the holiday season without having to be influenced by money, or advertisements, or gimmicks.

Was it that hard to ask for an authentic experience? Big cities seemed to ask too much from people.

Plus, Gon and Mito had accepted the two Zoldycks into their home with open arms. A week long getaway seemed to be what everyone needed.

Killua had come to learn quite quickly that Gon had become somewhat of a celebrity on whale island, not that Gon wasn’t known and adored by the inhabitants of this island already. Ironically, no one had ever heard the Zoldyck name. It was surprisingly refreshing.

Alluka had been overjoyed when she learned that they would be spending a week under the sun and near an ocean. Ever since starting their travels after visiting the world tree, Alluka and Killua had never been able to truly enjoy the seaside, too busy visiting the largest cities and most known landmarks that small pleasures often went forgotten.

Alluka, ever the eager one, had accepted camping as the norm, and for the first night the three pitched their tent near the shore and enjoyed a meal by the fire. The fish, to killuas horror, had been caught by gon’s own efforts, and grilled over an open flame on their campsite.

For a little bit, the nostalgia of travel stung and Killua knew that somewhere underneath the smiles and the effortless stories, Gon must resent killua for leaving (if even just by a little bit).

The next morning they had picked up a meal from the local market, sailed with the fishermen, and bought bags of snacks and drinks to share as they told great stories and recalled the past with vigor.

It had been around the third or fourth day where Killua had decided that as much as he enjoyed the simple bliss that Gon’s home had offered, a desire to do something wild overcame him.

With a grin on his face, Killua offered gon a proposition. A game of sorts.

Perhaps it would remind killua of the winter holidays he had spent at home as a kid.

“Killua are you sure?” Gon asks, slightly doubtful.

“Yea! Why, what’s the worst that could happen? You lose?” Killua barks back.

It didn’t take long of him to eat his words.

A fistful of sand in the face wasn’t nearly as fun as a snowball to one, Killua realized. Spitting and sputtering, Killua couldn’t even bring himself to be mad at Gon, who was apologizing nervously now as he rubbed the back of his head, realizing Killua’s idea to have a sand fight instead if snow may have been a terrible idea.

Even Alluka didn’t seem impressed with her brothers lack of common sense, and left him to flood his eyes with water from Gon’s water bottle in shame.

Whale island wasn’t the deal location to celebrate the holidays like how people did it in the movies. There was no snow. No green pine trees. No fireplaces in any of the homes to drink hot cocoa around or roast marshmallows around.

Not only did Killua have to deal with the burn of disappointment, but also the burn of gritty white sand to the eyes.

“I mean I did ask you.” Gon hides a smile, watching Killua struggle to keep his composure and not throw a fist.

“Yea well! I didn’t think you would hit me in the face. Cheap shot!”

Alluka snorts in amusement, “I don’t know what you wanted him to do. Ah! Are you going to eat that?” she asks, having already dug into killua’s bag of chocolate, helping herself.

“Yes I was!” Killua spins around, hair soaked. He grimaces, feeling the front of his shirt cling to his chest as water runs down his shirt. At least he could see now. “and I was trying to…ya know…celebrate the holidays. But we don’t have snow ok. I have to work with what we got!”

Alluka tosses a small coin sized chocolate into her mouth and takes a seat on the sand. Her usual skirt and shirt have been replaced by shorts and a tank top, as well as a simple black baseball cap. “Snow? I’m not sure what that is.”

Killua crosses his arms and takes a seat beside her, eyeing his bag of sweets but not daring to tear it out of her hands. He could never do something like that. Even if the chocolate did melt in his mouth in that oh so sweet way…

“Snow is kind of like sand,” Gon grabs a handful, “but softer. Fluffy. It doesn’t burn of you get hit in the face.”

Killua burns red in embarrassment. “You know if there was really snow here I would have-“

Gon falls backwards onto the sand, a cloud of dust picking up before settling. “One of the fun things you can do is make shapes!” he motions as his arms and legs move against the sand, making sand hunters (as Gon called them).

Killua could only watch in slight amusement as Gon sat up, covered in sand from head to toe. His usual dark hair was tinged with white.

“It’s not the same.” Killua cracks a smile, “but pretty close.”

“Why the big ol fascination with snow?” Gon questions knowingly, “not that I don’t love celebrating the holidays with family and friends, but there’s lots you can do even in a warm place like this.”

Killua, with the sun hot on his back, had a hard time believing that. “But there aren’t places to get sweet candies from, or places to get big trees to bring inside. There aren’t even decent Wi-Fi connections here to play games around a table of homemade snacks and eggnog.”

Alluka perks up at the mention of games.

Gon chuckles, sitting up and looking at Killua with amusement. “Sure, that might be true, but we have other things here too. Like baking our own sweet bread, or leaving fruit by the doors before we sleep so gifts can find their way to our shoes. We have big parties where we head to the lake and watch the fireflies and tiny dragonbirds dance across the sky like lights. And ya know, sometimes eating a good meal is a good time too.”

“I want to bake bread,” Alluka hums, “and Nanika wants to see the fireflies and lights.”

“We can!” Gon’s eyes gleam. “We can even do that thing they do on tv with socks nailed to the wall!”

Killua burst out laughing, “Do you mean hanging stockings over the mantel?”

“Yea those!” Gon nods but stops as he tries to think of where exactly he could get a pair of socks that big. It takes a moment, but he snaps his fingers and grabs one of his long green boots, “here, we can use these. I’m sure they’re big enough, Killua!”

“No way! They day I’d eat candy that’s been anywhere close to your feet!”

“Don’t be rude!” Gon hides his own laugh, “or I’m gonna beat you in a sand fight for the second time today!”

“Like hel-” Killua clears his voice, “like heck you will!”

“I won’t go easy!”

“Fine! Game on!”

Alluka, enjoying the warmth that came with an ocean view sighs in content, ignores the chaos of her brother and his best friend having it out through yells and bouts of laughter. They were enjoying their argument, perhaps a nostalgic reminder of another time.

It was nice to see them having fun. It made her think of how pretty the holiday season is, even without snow. At least she had good company, and really, that’s all she needed.

Whale island…was a summer paradise, after all.

#hxh #hunter x hunter #killua zoldyck #gon freccs #alluka zoldyck #fanfic #submission

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rogerrachel1995 · 4 years ago

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fanficofmanyagenre · 7 years ago

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A Long Trip

(3,419 words)

“Dad I’m leaving!” Hiccup yelled towards his home, knowing his brute of a father probably didn’t hear it. The Chieftain didn’t like that the dragon rider was leaving for so long, but if he trusted the other riders enough then it would have to be enough for Stoick. Gods know he’s as stubborn as his father. Sometimes that was a good thing.

“all right, all right, I’m coming!” The chief’s voice bellowed from the house moments before he came outside. Hiccup was getting up so early lately he beat the sun and nest of dragons. He was still spry and wide eyed, a lot like Toothless. They’d been eager to get some flying time. Genuine, active, run-of-the-mill exploring. No one could stop him now that he had his mind set on it; he’d done more than enough to help the village recently. It was nice to see him so excited to do something, especially as just the two of them.

“I’m all set.” Hiccup said with a grin as his father walked up.

“Are you sure you can’t leave later, son? Everyone in the village will miss sending you off.”

“I know dad, but I don’t want to waste anyone’s time. Besides, I don’t think either of us can wait any longer to get going.” Stoick smiled softly at his son. It’s been awhile since he’d seen that smile on his son.

“All right, son. Best of luck, and come back in one piece!”

“I will dad, don’t worry. I’ve got Toothless, after all.” On queue Toothless bounded up to the father and son, his tail wagging in excitement. Hiccup pulled himself up onto the saddle and did a few last checks to make sure all the gear would hold. Then the pair took off, Hiccup waving back to his father one last time before he was out of sight. He was slightly sad he would be away for a whole week, but he also knew that the fun he would have and the things they could find would be well worth it. Maybe even something to help Berk! One could dream.

“You sure took your time.” A voice said from behind Hiccup. Cocky as ever, but that was in his nature as the Spirit of Fun. Hiccup just shook his head as the one and only Jack Frost “seated” himself behind him. It didn’t really count when he could fly and float at will, but it looked like it at least. Toothless would have a fit if it added more weight, that’s for sure.

“Aww what, not happy to see me?” The spirit asked with a small smirk, looking up at the clear sky. He already knew the answer to that question but it would be out of the ordinary if he didn’t tease his boyfriend. The grunt from Toothless gave him the answer he expected, at least from the dragon. Some dragons liked him, but Toothless didn’t favor him that much. Maybe it was because he was weaselling in on his relationship with Hiccup, or maybe he didn’t like the cold. Maybe both, but he was sure Hiccup knew and wouldn’t tell him.

“Of course, I’m happy to see you, you dork.” Hiccup said over his shoulder, paying attention to the map in his lap more than speaking. Toothless could fly easily on his own, but he had to make sure they were on the right course.

“Dork? How dare you, you’re totally the dork here, Mr. Dragon-rider! I don’t invent gadgets every second.” Jack said and turned to face his back, hand over his chest with an expression of mock offense. His smirk returned when he heard the human chuckle.

“Yeah, well I don’t nail people in the head with magic snowballs just to make them start snowball fights, or sled races.” Hiccup retorted and folded his map back up, stuffing it in a side pocket.

“Touché.” Jack said and floated down again back into his previous position. They were both dorks.

“So, where we are heading, boss?” He asked simply and put his hands behind his head.

“The horizon and beyond, like usual. Only this time let’s head…west.” The pause was all but fake, the rider having already determined their path when he put the map away. It made for better conversation, though.

“West it is.” Jack said and closed his eyes, flicking his staff towards the west. He could call on the wind to help him fly, so asking it to help Toothless out wasn’t much more to ask. Now with the wind at most of their backs, the gliding went smoothly and quickly. The pair sat in silence, listening to the waves and ocean currents. Sometimes they could talk for hours on end, never getting tired of the other. This was not one of those times. Now was the time for peace and relaxation while the Night Fury flew effortlessly. The only time anything eventful happened was when a pack of Thunderdrums emerged from the waters to fly with them for a brief time before heading down a different course. By sunset they were still flying, now actively looking for an island to make camp on. At half-crest, they finally found a small island with a few trees and nothing else. It was the only option for miles and Hiccup didn’t want to fly for days on end.

Jack helped him set up camp as Toothless rested, the single tent up and fire roaring in no time. Hiccup could have done it on his own easily, but help was always appreciated. Besides, Jack slept with Hiccup so he might as well help set up the bed. As Hiccup began to prepare a small meal for himself, the spirit drew designs with ice on the ground.

“You an artist, now?” Hiccup asked and chuckled a bit, glancing over at his boyfriend. The slight blush that spread over Jack’s cheeks only made Hiccup grin wider.

“More than you, at least. As much as inventing is an art form, I think my ice looks a bit nicer.” At that the human rolled his eyes and looked back to his food.

“Maybe, but mine has much more use.” Jack looked at him with slight shock at the comment, but was surprised further by the kiss planted on his lips. He kissed back and sighed as Hiccup pulled away with a cocky smirk.

“Fine, you win. Gadgets are better than ice.” Toothless decided it was a good time to fire a bolt of plasma at Jack’s “drawing,” making him jump a foot in the air. The dragon and rider laughed at this, making Jack’s blush deepen. Their routine continued as normal, Hiccup and Toothless eating while the two boyfriends chatted. Sleep overtook Hiccup quickly once in the bedroll with Jack. The spirit didn’t need sleep, instead opting instead to watch the dragon tamer breathe and sleep peacefully. It wasn’t creepy, he just enjoyed seeing him in any peaceful state.

When morning woke Hiccup up, Jack was already packing the excess gear up. It was a surprise to Hiccup, but a pleasant one none the less. After a quick breakfast for the two mortals, they were off again. Jack was more talkative today, speculating on what they would find. Normally they found a new type of dragon, one that never ceased to amaze. After being with Hiccup for years the dragon obsession had started to rub off on him. He didn’t have it as bad as his boyfriend, but it was definitely there.

Before they knew it, the next day had passed and then the next. Aside from a few islands to add to the map, there was nothing new. Come to think of it, they hadn’t even seen any dragons. The Thunderdrums on the first day out were the last dragons they saw at all on their trip.

“Hiccup, don’t you think it’s unusually barren out here?” Jack asked and looked over the rider’s shoulder.

“Yeah, it is. Normally there are some dragons, at least. Or birds.” It was as if the entire area was picked clean of life aside from plants. Unsettling to say the least. It would have made sense to see a barren island or two, but for three days’ travel and still nothing? Not a good sign.

“We should set down and inspect the next island we-“ In the middle of his sentence, Hiccup was interrupted by a fireball whizzing past them. The two snapped their heads around to look behind them. Out of the air a few dragons began to materialize; Changewings. About 5 in count, they seemed to be tailing the rider and Night Fury. For hours at least, if they had picked them up from the last island they saw. Hiccup and Toothless were a dangerous duo, but so were Changewings that had numbers on their side. Jack could help quite a bit as well, but it still wouldn’t be easy. Fireballs began to hurl past them in succession as the hostile dragons gained on them. Toothless was disoriented from the first close shot, but soon regained balance and dodged the rest much easier. One stray shot went straight for Hiccup, but Jack managed to disrupt it with a quick burst of ice.

“They must be hungry if they’re attacking a dragon in the middle of nowhere with no land on the horizon!” Hiccup commented and helped guide Toothless.

“You think they’re why the whole area is barren? Maybe they ended up starving themselves by accident?” Jack called back and deflected another lucky shot. By now the Changewings were on top of them, they shots getting harder to dodge and deflect. It was painfully obvious they couldn’t outrun them with the expedition gear. Hiccup took a sharp turn to the right to throw them off, hoping to get a shot in back at their pursuers. Toothless went upright and fired back at them, managing to hit one in the back. The others turned and fired back, recovering much quicker than their disoriented ally. Jack tried to help as much as he could, but there were too many fireballs for the three of them to handle. It’s not like Hiccup could do much more than help guide Toothless, and Jack could only do so much without getting in the way of Toothless’ own shots.

“We won’t last out here!” Hiccup called to Jack. Out in the middle of the ocean was not exactly he best place to fight, not without a ship or somewhere nearby to seek refuge.

“Try to head back towards the last island we saw, it’s our best bet!” Just as Jack finished shouting he was nailed in the chest by a fireball, knocking him out of the air.

“Jack!” Hiccup quickly pulled Toothless down into a divebomb, going to catch the Spirit before he hit the water. The Changewings followed, still shooting. Just as Jack opened his eyes and began to float again, he caught a glimpse of a fireball heading straight for the rider and his dragon. It was as if time slowed as the firebolt hit Toothless in the tail, the resulting splash of fire catching the prosthetic fin on fire. Jack cried out as he watched the two hit the water and begin to sink. Hiccup was still firmly attached to Toothless and their gear only suck them quicker. Jack stopped right at the surface and froze up. He didn’t remember much about how he became a Guardian, but he did remember how he drowned in a frozen over lake. A fireball to the back reminded him of the hostile dragons. He had to trust that Hiccup and Toothless could make it to the surface on their own. If he didn’t take care of the Changewings they would surface to fireballs. As he righted himself, he fired blasts of ice at the dragons. Each dodge only brought more anger to him, making his attacks more powerful. After he hit two and caused ice to cover parts of their body, the others saw the challenge before them. They quickly helped their injured allies thaw the ice before fleeing from the Spirit.

Jack quickly turned and looked down at the water frantically. They hadn’t surfaced. Even with everything he felt, even as the realization dawned on him that they had been underwater for too long, he couldn’t bring himself to dive and look. He couldn’t drown again, it wouldn’t harm him, but he couldn’t bring himself to even touch the calm water. Tears welled in his eyes as he covered his mouth. How could this happen? It was supposed to be like any other expedition. Not a barren trip and pathetic end. How could he let them drown, all because of a few hungry dragons? He didn’t know what to do now. It’s not like he had anyone else, and no one at Berk could see him. After almost half an hour Jack began to make his way back to Berk. He had to try to convey that Hiccup was gone, somehow. He flew at a much slower pace than Toothless had, but he continued at night, making up the time. He arrived at Berk the day Hiccup had been set to come back. He couldn’t look at anyone. Everyone was waiting for them to return. As they day went on their looks of hope turned darker into looks of worry. The next day almost the entire village searched the waters for him. Jack hoped desperately he could get someone’s attention, but it was fruitless. The children were distracted so he couldn’t get any of them to have fun, to potentially see him.

On the fourth day, the search teams dwindled as the village feared the worst. None of them were taking it well, but that was to be expected. That morning Jack had built up the courage to go to Hiccup’s house. Everything was how it was left; neat and tidy. Only it felt infinitely more empty without the owner. When the door opened it made Jack jump, not expecting to see Stoick up in his room. He was out searching almost day and night.

“Son…please, just a sign. Anything, just tell us you’re ok.” The Chieftain muttered to himself and walked towards the desk, running a hand over the edge. Jack felt his heart jump into his throat again. He wished desperately to tell Stoick what happened, that it was all his fault that Hiccup was dead. He leaned against the wall with a hand, his staff in the other. Caught in his grief, he didn’t notice the ice extending on the wall from his hand. Slowly but surely, it spread across the wall towards the desk. When Stoick saw it, all of the ice had formed into the Dragon Rider symbol Hiccup used on Toothless’ prosthetic fin.

“What the…?” Jack looked up from the floor to make eye contact with Stoick, both of their eyes widening.

“Who, a spirit? Jack Frost?” The Chieftain exclaimed and took a step back, while so did Jack.

“You can see me? But how…?” As his gaze fell on the wall he gasped in realization. He got his chance.

“What are you doing here? Do you know what happened to my son?” Stoick asked, hope dawning in his voice.

Jack paused for a moment and felt a pit of dread form in his stomach. How was he going to react? Was he going to be angry at Jack? Would he break down? Would he be able to lead the village properly? No, he needed to know. He wanted to tell them what happened to Hiccup, and this was his chance.

“Stoick…Hiccup is…” Jack felt tears welling up in his eyes as the look on Stoick darkened again.

“No…he, but he has Toothless…” Stoick sat in the chair at the desk almost by falling as realization dawned on him.

“W-we left for the expedition like everything was normal and headed west. After a-about two days we realized any islands we came across were barren. When I mentioned it to him a whole pack of Changewings…we tried to lose them but there was no land in sight. T-they hit me and when I came to, I saw them hit Toothless in the tail. I tried to fend them off, I thought they could get back to the surface but when the Dragons were gone and I still couldn’t see them…” By now tears were dripping down Jack’s cheeks, his breathing irregular with sobs.

“I’m sorry, i-it’s all my fault. I-I tried to help but I couldn’t-“ The spirit was stopped by Stoick wrapping his arms around him.

“I didn’t know much about Hiccup, obviously not enough to know that he could see you. But I can promise you that he wouldn’t have blamed you for what happened, and I won’t either.” Stoick wanted to cry, but he knew that he needed to be strong for everyone else. His grief could come later when the village was over the death of his son. Jack just hugged him back and sobbed, letting all his emotion out for once. After a moment, he let go and Stoick smiled sadly at him.

“I’ll go tell the village the Gods told me of their fate.” Stoick said and started towards the door. With a small laugh and wipe of the eyes, Jack replied.

“I’m no God, Stoick. Just a dorky spirit.”

“I know you’re a spirit, but who else let me see you?” With that the Chieftain left the room, leaving Jack wide eyed and dumbfounded.

Jack stayed and watched the village grieve, watch them have a ship burial for Hiccup and Toothless even without the bodies. They were with Ran, now, but with what they did in their short lives, they deserved every ounce of it. As the ship burned, Jack decided to head for the grotto where it all started. Maybe that would help him along a little with his grief. When he landed at the edge of the cliff leading in, he swore he could hear a voice. No, voices. As he jumped down, the sight before him made him think he’d died a second time. Standing there before him was Hiccup and Toothless, but different. Hiccup’s normal vest was made of gold, brown, and yellow leaves. His skin seemed tan, and his peg leg was gone; replaced by a normal leg and foot. Toothless seemed to glow bright, even though his scales were still pitch black. The end points on his wings and fins seemed to flicker and sway like flames, and his prosthetic fin was replaced with a real one. Jack blinked a few times before rubbing his eyes. He had to be hallucinating, it was the only explanation.

“We’re real.” Hiccup said, his voice still the same. Those two words made tears fall down Jack’s cheeks before he ran forward and hugged Hiccup as tightly as he could. Hiccup laughed a little and hugged him back, surprised at the strength behind it.

“B-but you drowned, I-I saw you!” Jack exclaimed and looked at him, tears still falling freely.

“Yeah…we did. The gear brought us down quickly and I got caught on it, pulling Toothless down quicker too. We died.” There was a pause as Jack realized what he was saying.

“I’m Hiccup Amber III, now. Toothless didn’t get a special name, but I think that’s fine. I’m the Spirit of Autumn, and he’s the Spirit of Summer.” Hiccup smiled nervously at Jack, unsure how he would react.

“Doesn’t mean I like you anymore now we’re both spirits, Icicle.” Jack looked over in astonishment. Toothless spoke! And he had a nickname for him! Wait, that nickname wasn’t meant to be a compliment.

“I’m sorry Jack, I didn’t mean to-“ Before he could finish Jack kissed him, making the new Autumn spirit gasp and Summer spirit groan.

“I don’t care, I’m just so glad you’re back. I know you’re not alive, but maybe this is better. Now I won’t outlive you.” With a small smile, Jack looked at his newly revived boyfriend. Hiccup smiled back and nodded.

“Ok, when you two are done with the mushy-mushy stuff, we have a village to look after?” Toothless snapped the pair out of their stares and caused them both to blush. As much as he disliked the Winter Spirit, he made Hiccup happy which was enough. Kind of like how he tolerated Astrid. At least he didn’t have to worry about both of them now.

#Hijack #RotG #Httyd #Character Death #Major Angst #Hella Gay

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