Warnings: Missing person/search request, tension, implied danger
Words: 300 words
A/N: Entry for June Jukebox Scribbles over @societynsoelsscribbles
Prompt: June 27th - “That’s where we always meet.”
The look from James Conrad told you he was suspicious the moment you started your approach. But he stayed. Sat in the corner of the hotel bar with his back to the wall, sleeves rolled to his forearms, one hand resting near a glass he had not touched.
You slid into the chair opposite him.
His eyes moved over you once. Not rudely. Practised. Taking stock of the tremor you had hidden in your hands, the dust on your shoes, the envelope tucked beneath your palm.
“You’re Conrad.” You weren’t asking a question.
“And you’re worried.”
You almost laughed. It came as scoff instead. “I need you to find someone.” You pushed the envelope across the table.
He did not open it right away. “Police?”
“No.”
“Family?”
You looked down. That was answer enough.
James’s expression gave nothing away, but his fingers flattened against the envelope like he understood it weighed more than paper.
“There’s a name in there,” you began “Last city I know he was in. A bar.”
Conrad opened it then, pulling the page free. His gaze sharpened as he read, the lazy posture draining out of him piece by piece.
“This man know you’ll be looking?” He asked casually
“He knows I always do.”
His eyes lifted.
You held his stare because looking away felt too much like fear.
“The bar,” he started “Why there?”
Your throat tightened around memories you had no intention of sharing with a stranger. Not yet.
Neon reflected in amber. A back booth. A hand closing over yours beneath the table. Promises made by someone who’d broken it anyway.
“That’s where we always meet.”
“Then we start there.” Conrad folded the paper slowly.
“We?” You’re eyes narrowed .
His mouth barely moved. “You didn’t come all this way to stay behind.”
Warnings: Sensual/erotic tension, implied sex, post-war atmosphere
Words: 299 words
A/N: Entry for June Jukebox Scribbles over @societynsoelsscribbles
Prompt: June 11th - Don’t Stop Believing - Journey / “Hidin’ somewhere in the night.”
Bangkok heat pressed through the open shutters, thick with river damp and exhaust, with jasmine from the courtyard below and cigarette smoke curling up from the street. Somewhere beneath the window, men laughed too loudly. Somewhere farther off, a motorbike coughed itself awake.
The war was supposed to be ending.
That was what men said in bars when they wanted to sound certain. Conrad never sounded certain. He lay beside you in the narrow hotel bed, one arm beneath your head, eyes open to the dark as if he knew better than to trust quiet.
Your fingers traced the old scar near his ribs.
He caught your wrist before you reached the next one.
“Careful,” he murmured.
“You always say that.”
“You never listen.”
His voice was rough with sleep and heat, with the kind of want he kept leashed until the room was dark enough to hide it. Your thigh shifted over his, slow, deliberate, and his breath caught despite all that practiced control.
Outside, the city went on.
Inside, his hand slid to your hip.
There were things hidden in dark places. Memories. Blood. The names men did not say after they came home from jungles that kept pieces of them. Conrad carried his carefully, tucked behind dry humour and steady hands.
But here, in this bed, he let you find some of them.
His mouth brushed your shoulder, then your throat. Not soft. Not gentle. Moving in the way a starving man might touch something he did not expect to keep.
“James,” you whispered.
His fingers tightened.
The streetlight cut through the shutters in thin gold lines, striping his bare chest, his lowered lashes, the hunger he could not bury.
A/N: Written for the June Jukebox Scribbles. Prompt:“I feel a premonition”
Word Count: 197
James had been in the field often enough that he could sense when something was off. He could never explain it beyond, "I feel a premonition." It was like a sixth sense telling him a predator was stalking, a venomous snake was in the vicinity, a thief is going for his wallet.
He'd hoped that being with you would help him calm his nerves, and it did. For a bit. But when your companionship turned into something romantic, his nerves picked up again. He was scared to lose you. He needed to protect you. He couldn't relax until he knew you were safe.
The only time he could rest, give his nervous system a break, was when he was in your arms. You held him with such gentle strength it was easy to melt into your touch. Your hands gently rubbing up and down his back helped ground him. Nuzzling your face against him tells him he's wanted, appreciated. He feels safe.
Your apartment is his sanctuary. Your arms are his reprieve. When you're with him, there is nothing he needs to focus on outside of you.
And he'll love you forever for that feeling of safety.
Pairing: James Conrad x Reader, featuring Jonathan Pine
Summary: The year is 1983. Soon after you have your first child together, you and James Conrad welcome Mrs. Pine, the German widow of James’s friend from the military, along with her young son Jonathan Pine.
Word Count: 977
Warnings: none
Author's Note: This crossover story is placing Jonathan’s year of birth in 1976 so he’s around 36 during the 2011 Arab Spring (when series 1 of The Night Manager takes place).
James looked after the boiling kettle in the kitchen while you led Mrs. Pine and her son into the living room. “James tells me that he knew your husband from the special forces. Is it true that at one point he was in the Special Air Services?”
“Very briefly. He also knew the late Mr. Conrad, James’s father. I think he may have been a junior to my husband in the air force.” Mrs. Pine, a beautiful German with luscious blonde curls and blue eyes so clear they looked like glass marbles, smoothed the ends of her dress before sitting next to you on the couch. “He preferred the missions where he would go undercover, and blend in with the locals before being tasked to kill them.”
You flinched at the mental picture she painted of a soldier walking into a town with a pseudonym, having to pretend to smile at the people he was ordered to hurt though he were a friend. “How much of his work did you know?”
“Not much,” Mrs. Pine shrugged. “He never told me the names of whom he killed, I doubt he knew them anyways. Only where he would be going.”
“And that’s how you knew about Belfast?”
“Hm-hm. Jonathan, schatzi?” She called her six-year-old son, who was wandering near the front door and staring at a painting of a jungle. He wore a public school uniform of a white button-up shirt, a navy tie, navy shorts, and knee-high navy socks. “You have not said hello to Mrs. Conrad yet. Where are your manners? Come here.”
The boy had certainly inherited his mother’s hair and eyes. He even had the same sad look his mother wore, though perhaps it was from the grief of losing his father at such a tender age rather than genetics. “Hello, Mrs. Conrad.”
You smoothed the flyaway hairs at the top of the boy’s head. “Hello. What’s your name?”
“Jonathan Pine,” he recited like he was reading the name from a slate.
“It’s very nice to meet you, Jonathan. Would you like to join us for tea time?” You moved to the side and patted the spot on the couch between you and Mrs. Pine. “He’s like a little gentleman,” you cooed while he sat down. “We owe your husband a great deal, Mrs. Pine. He was the one who recommended James apply for a desk job at Defense Intelligence in London, right around the time we found out I was pregnant with our daughter.”
James set out a tray of biscuits, three cups of tea, and a glass of warm milk for little Jonathan. “I get to work from eight to five in the city and come home for supper every night. It means a lot to me as a father.” Upon her insistence, James added a lump of sugar into Mrs. Pine’s tea, along with some milk.
She lifted the cup to her lips, leaving a print of dark pink lipstick along the edge of the porcelain. “Yes, the baby. How is she?”
Right on cue, a cry came from upstairs. “She seems to be finished with her nap.” You stood up from the couch. “Perhaps you can meet her.” Meanwhile, James expressed his condolences to Mrs. Pine and presented little Jonathan with a compass.
Carefully descending down the stairs, you carried your infant daughter who was dressed in a frock with navy and white flowers. She clung to your blouse and whimpered softly until you returned to the couch. “This is Maria Minh Conrad.” You stroked her soft hairs, which were the same color as James’s. “She’s seven months old.”
“Minh…that sounds a bit foreign for the daughter of an Englishman, does it not?” Mrs. Pine watched your daughter’s gaze move from her to the rest of the room. “She certainly has your eyes.”
James held Jonathan on his knee while the boy played with the compass. “That’s my favorite thing about her. And how quickly she falls asleep.”
“Her middle name was James’s idea. He lived in Vietnam for a while after serving in the army. I chose her first name after watching Maria von Trapp in The Sound of Music.” You gave your daughter a soft kiss on one of her chubby cheeks. “Jonathan? Come meet Maria.”
“Isn’t she a beautiful girl?” Mrs. Pine asked, taking a biscuit from the tray.
Jonathan approached you with the compass in his left hand. “She’s a baby. She’s little.”
“Yes, she is very little. I’m sure you were very little too once.” You turned to Maria, who was looking at Jonathan with curious, wide eyes. “Maria, this is Jonathan. He’s your very first friend. Say hello to him? Say ‘Hello, Jonathan’?“ Your daughter merely babbled, earning a sympathetic laugh from James. Then, you took one of Maria’s tiny hands and waved it, extending it forward.
To the entire room’s surprise, Jonathan kissed the back of Maria’s hand instead of shaking it. “Thank you, Jonathan!” You gasped, looking at the way Maria was now smiling at him and gurgling happily. “Look, Maria. Only seven months old, and you’ve got a best friend! Aren’t you a lucky girl?”
James and Mrs. Pine exchanged a quizzical look while you invited Jonathan to sit near you and show Maria how the compass worked. Despite being an infant, she kept her eyes on Jonathan with intense concentration as he did his best to explain the way to find north on the compass. “Mr. Conrad,” Jonathan’s mother asked, “when was the last time you saw a friend kiss his friend’s hand?”
“Perhaps if his friend were the Queen of England. Or if his friend were Caesar.” He took a bite of biscuit and finished chewing before speaking again. “Let them be children while they are, Mrs. Pine. They already grow up too quickly as it is.”
Congrats on hitting the 3k milestone! 🥳 I’m a sucker for James Conrad fics and just can’t ever seem to find enough 😍 I was thinking maybe the Beauty and the Beast theme by Céline Dion and Peabo Bryson? Maybe a dash of angst with some fluff and tenderness?
Thanks so much!
James x Beauty and the Beast
James Conrad x fem!Reader
▶️ part of the lyric-drabble-mania (3k followers celebration)
"This is ridiculous, Conrad," you huffed as you pulled the dress over your hips. From the changing both beside you came a low chuckle. "You are just saying that, because you can't stand to breathe the same air as me for more than five minutes, Y/L/N." You scoffed and adjusted the cups of the dress to fit your chest; already annoyed by your stupidly attractive 'colleague'. Forced colleague. "No. I'm saying that because this is ridiculous - and you know it. Pretending Skull Island was just a normal expedition and 'celebrating' our glorious return with a masquerade ball? C'mon..."
It was a joke. All of this. And simultaneously, you hated it. Every 'official' had decided to shut their mouth about the island - about the things you had seen. Nobody talked about it as the suicide mission it was. And the photos you took? Most of them ignored. Nevertheless you didn't believe that this was truly the case. Behind closed doors? Everybody was talking about what you saw. You were sure of it.
"I know, Y/L/N. At least try it. Not every woman I worked with got a free date with me." You suppressed a groan. You hated that man - at least that was what you tried to tell yourself. "Shut up."
James just smiled to himself and adjusted the black bowtie around his neck, before he stepped out of the changing both; mask in hand. Casually, he leaned against the marble wall; hands shoven into the pockets of his black suit pants. "Are you done soon? The event starts in five minutes." He couldn't help but tease you. Something about your spitfire-y image was just so cute.
"Next time, you try to squeeze yourself into a dress and I'll take the tux," you snapped; teeth gritted. Conrad chuckled. "My apologies. Thought you were used to such fancy things as a woman and professional photographer."
You rolled your eyes, gave yourself a last once over in the full-length mirror and ripped the door open. You had been more than ready to fire something back at the man - but your words got stuck in your throat. James was wearing a tux - of course. You had never seen him in such fancy clothing before. The problem about it? He could absolutely pull it. If anything, it made him even more attractive - and you hated that you liked it.
Together, you made your way all across the building to join the 'party'. It was even snobbier than you imagined... Expensive finger food, classical music in the background and lots of champagne. You and Conrad greeted a few people - well-behaved, and listened to several different speeches, before you parted ways for quite a while. Much to your joy. You couldn't stand him and his ego – again, that was what you told yourself at least.
Conrad, who was still standing across from you thought pretty much the same - unbeknownst to you. The tracker had never seen you in a dress before. Let alone in such a formfitting, beautiful yellowish - almost gold one. Strapless, stopping just over your ankles and with beautiful patterns woven into the fabric. He was stunned.
It took Conrad a second to get his act together again. Blinking a few times, the man took a step forward; clearing his throat. "We have to go. Unless they're gonna start this party without us." All you could do in that moment was nod.
Now you were standing close to the doors of this huge ballroom; ready to leave this circus as soon as you were able to. Luckily, you wore a mask. It hid the boredom and dislike on your face. And then you saw Conrad approaching you; shoving his body elegantly past several people. Two glasses of champagne in hand and that stupid charming smile on his lips.
You fought the urge to roll your eyes.
"What do you want?" You more or less snapped at him before he even stopped in front of you. His smile brightened, "Are we even more pissed now, huh? Must be the lack of attention from me. I apologise." and he winked at you; handing you a glass of champagne. You took it from his hand with a scoff. "Keep on telling yourself that, Conrad. Just be careful that your ego doesn't get too big to carry around someday. Not that you fall on your pretty face," you shot back; taking a sip.
James just chuckled and drank some champagne as well. His blue eyes settled on your face then. The music changed. And suddenly he reached out his hand to you again. The one without the glass now. "Dance with me?"
You didn't know how it happened. You really didn't. But suddenly was your glass standing on one of the bar tables alongside Conrad's and instead was your hand neatly tucked in his as you danced. Why did you give into this? He'd only tease you afterwards. You knew you shouldn't have - and yet was dancing with him the first thing on this evening that didn't sound and feel like complete bullshit to you. Strange.
You looked up into his smiling, halfway masked face as you moved gracefully to the music together. Why now? Why did he decide to dance with you to this specific song?
You swallowed as he twirled you in a slow circle, before his warm palm came to rest steadily on your waist again. Suddenly you felt like sucked into the princess movie this song belonged to. You felt like Belle, dancing with her beast. Conrad definitely was your beast. Hence, you even wore a similar dress. Was that a sign?
Just a little change
Small to say the least
Both a little scared
Neither one prepared
Beauty and the beast
It was this particular line which almost managed to take your breath away. His oceanic blue eyes met yours and suddenly the world around you seemed to stop. It was the moment where that one part inside you gave up the fight and surrendered. Perhaps you liked him more than you had been willing to admit. Perhaps was James not as bad as you thought. Not the asshole with the big ego you characterized him at first.
disclaimer: All the lines taken from the songs are not mine. Credits to the artists. I just used the lyrics for the plot, 'atmosphere' and inspiration in these drabbles.
