#I guess I just wish the lamb came out a bit better | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

padfootdaredmetoo · 2 years ago

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For the lovely Cass! @theshelbyslimited

Ment to have this done right away but they actually made me participate in my school meeting this morning! Anyway, this is a bit rough (ended up a lot more personal than I intended because I'm going thru some stuff) but I hope it gives you that fluffy feeling. Lots of hurt comfort... But honestly when do I ever not put in happy a ending, might be my biggest flaw as a writer lol

Any way! Love you 💜

Warnings: the reader is a bit depressed, description of feeling down and not being able to get out of bed, Tommy is angry at one point, but it's all just for that big fluffy ending.

Despite the warm august air floating through the open windows of arrow house, you felt cold to the bone. You didn’t know what brought it on. Years of running on tea, whiskey, and adrenaline catching up to you finally, or maybe you were coming down with a cold.

Francis helped the kids get ready for the day and Johnny Dogs dropped them off at school for you. It was kind of them to help you out on last moments notice and you silently promised yourself to make it up to them when you were feeling better.

You lay there in your bed. Staring up at the ceiling. It was a good life, well earned, but at what cost? Your husband spent more and more time in London, the family still at odds with each other. None of them were willing to speak to each other despite your efforts to try and work on things. You were the only person running around in between. Somehow free from the consequences of your husband.

Sounds of birds chirping you put on a record and got back into bed letting your mind drift as you did some deep breathing.

_________________________

“What do you mean that Johnny Dogs took the kids to school?” Esme asked over the phone. “She always takes them to school, figured she be by right after.”

“Nah, He’d said Francis asked him to take them, said she was ill.” John responded back.

“If she’s laying down somethings wrong. Poor lamb is always working on something. I’ll swing by to check on her.”

“Love you,” he said absently.

“Love you too. Now quit gossiping and do your job.” She quipped.

Esme sighed and finished the last of her coffee.

“Fucking bastard must have done something,” she muttered, thoughts of Tommy made her head hurt as she decided to see if Polly knew what was going on. She dialed the familiar number, knots forming in her stomach remembering what they’d last said to each other all those months ago.

“Shelby.” Her raspy voice answered and Esme faltered slightly.

“It’s Esme John’s said that y/n is unwell. Do you know what's happening?”

“Hardly the family doctor these days.” She answered coldly. “What did you hear?”

“Just that she’s not able to get out of bed. Sent the kids with Johnny Dogs this morning.”

“She let him drive them?” Polly responded in a shocked tone. “Best to give her space I suppose, I saw her a few days ago. Seemed fine.”

“I guess so.” Esme thought about it for a moment. “Thank you for answering.” Despite everything that had gone down between them she missed the old bat.

“Well, thanks for calling I suppose” She responded back equally uneasy. They said their polite goodbyes and Esme grabbed her coat.

__________________________________________________

“Where’s he fucking taking them then?!” Tommy snapped pinching the brigade of his nose, wishing there was a cure for this never-ending headache that was his life.

“I don't know. Packed up their things and took off. Called to check in on ya.” Charlie muttered.

“Fuck - You saw this?”

“No, Linda overheard John at the shop, then told Arthur, who came by earlier and mentioned it. Wanted to know if you're alright.” Charlie sighed and Tommy hated how aged it made him sound. “Look, Thomas, you can fuck everything up, but don't let that one go, eh?”

His head started spinning, as he hung up the phone and tried to go over every interaction he’d had with his wife.

You seemed normal, distant, tired, but not so much that you’d fucking leave.

He got up from his desk and made a brisk pace towards his car.

“Mr.Shelby! Where are you going?! The meeting is starting -” A sniveling voice called out behind him and he knew if he took one look at that man - he’d fucking cut him, right here in the entryway.

“My wife needs me,” Tommy responded coldly, taking the stairs as quickly as possible.

“Your Wife-” Mosley started and put his hand on Thomas’s shoulder. Without thinking, Tommy grabbed him by the jacket lapels.

“MY WIFE.” These were the only words he could get out as he gave the taller man a warning glare. “Is my fucking business.” He growled. He briskly moved Mosley aside and made his exit before causing a bigger mess to clean up later. He could feel the man's stunned glare follow him out the front doors.

He got into the car and purposely forgot the speed limit. Trying to get home as soon as possible to figure out where you’d run to.

____________________________________________

You lay there feeling defeated by the things you knew you should be doing. No motivation followed the sinking feeling of desperation. Your body had simply had enough of the mental stress. It was waging a war with your brain, and you wished more than anything your mind could be left out of it.

It was no use. You rolled onto your side and picked up a book that had been stacked on your night table for ages. The small paperback felt like it weighed as much as a gold brick, you felt your eyes try to resist focusing on the small black print.

Fucking useless.

You abadoned your attempt and put the book down on the bed. You were in some sort of state between awake and asleep when your husband's voice floated up through the house.

“NO - I WANT TO KNOW WHERE THE FUCK MY WIFE IS.”

Guilt shot through you at laying in bed, clearly there was something you were meant to do today and you’d forgotten. You sat bolt upright and resisted the urge to puke. His footsteps got closer and the bedroom door flew open.

His eyes looked at you in surprise. You realised your hair must be a mess, blankets wrapped around you like a cocoon of laziness. The anger rolling off of him was unavoidable, and you felt yourself start to panic. Normally you’d rise to the challenge and take him down a notch.

“Where are my kids?”

“Your kids? Our kids are at school” You whispered, unable to put any spice in your tone.

“At school?” He looked puzzled. He looked you over again like he was trying to understand some great mystery. He sighed and resisted the urge to put a hole in the wall.

To your surprise, he slipped off his shoes and undid his tie. He came over and sat on his side of the bed and took another deep breath.

“Are you alright? Sick or just-” He picked up the discarded romance novel and gave you a coy look. You tried to swat it out of his hands but he was too quick for you. He opened it and pulled himself down onto the bed next to you.

“Trapped in a hypnotic state of pleasure he freed her tender bosoms from her restrictive gown -”

“Stop! That’s enough.” You wrestled the book away from him, and he trapped you in his strong grip easily.

“Good lord, I’m your husband, not your priest.” He looked down at you trapped against his chest.

“Have you just come home to shout at everyone and then torment me, eh?”

“Charlie called me from the yard saying - well fuck -whole fucking family thinks you’ve let Johnny dogs take the kids while you - well the whole thing doesn't make any fucking sense. Should have called home is what I should have done.” He released your arms to light a cigarette.

“Didn’t realize they’d just been shipped off to school because their mother was enchanted by the spell of - whatever that bloke's name is.” You looked up at his nature, he looked relieved. You couldn't remember the last time you’d had a private moment with him in this type of mood.

“Couldn’t read - Can’t do anything. Just - my bones are tired, there's a million things I should be doing. But I just - can't” tears started to well up in your eyes and his arms found their place around your body.

“Just got the blues then.” He answered easily. Initially, you were irritated by his diagnosis. “Your mind stresses your body out to the point where it just stops. Your body needs to rest, but your mind won’t stop eating at you.

“You get like this?”

“If I didn’t feel like it was life or death all the time I would, yeah.”

“How do you fix it?” Normally he wasn’t so open with you, normally conversations were like gymnastics. Took more effort than they were worth a lot of the time. He looked into your eyes and you knew your husband well enough to know that he could feel that same statement.

“Opium.” He whispered and you tensed up in an attempt to smack him. “Lucky for you I’m here to give you a much better prescription.”

“And what's that then? Whiskey?”

“I think the pompous spell caster bloke had the right idea personally.” He wiggled his eyebrows at you and you wondered if you were still asleep. Did you fall into another world? Or did the thought of you packing up and leaving freak him out this bad? Bad enough to pause with you to ensure that you were okay.

He shifted himself and placed a soft kiss to your lips. Somehow managing to put his cigarette out on the night table.

You felt your body respond, not just to the passion but the care in his touch as he ran his hands over you.

That’s when the universe decided to play its usual cruel tricks on you. Suddenly a whole bunch of commotion erupted from downstairs. You groaned loudly in frustration as he pulled away.

“SHE’S FUCKING SICK YOU ASSHOLES. BE QUIET!” Esme’s loud irritated voice called out, but the commotion only picked up again.

“To bring her food.”

“What like you didn’t think the rest of us would come by?”

“She’s closest to me you knew I’d be here.”

“This was probably Thomas!”

“It really hurt when you put that dent in the car and you never apologized.”

You listened to snippets of the conversation as you and Tommy descended the stairs. Everyone was arguing with each other and you soon realized the whole family was there.

“Your alive!” Arthur announced. Everyone's focus shifted from you to Tommy standing behind you. You stepped on his foot in warning to keep his mouth shut and you quickly took control of the meeting before it resulted in bloodshed.

“You all came here to check on me?” tears welled up in your eyes. “How thoughtful! I really can’t express how much this means.” You let your tears fall and really tried to drive the point home, in hopes that maybe you could get them to overcome this feud.

“All my favorite people together! Excuse me” You dabbed your eyes. “ I got a bad case of the blues, I didn't mean to cause a panic.”

“Well, you're easily missed ‘round these parts,” John said giving you a smile. “Had to make sure Tommy hadn’t sold you off or anything.”

Tommy’s jaw clenched and you grabbed his arm hoping it would be enough to get him to hold his tongue.

“I’d never. No one else to put up with me these days.” He answered calmly. You watched as they took in his words, you were happy when Esme laughed at the tension allowing others to do the same.

Next thing you knew people were pilled into the kitchen whiskey poured. The rosier the faces the more they seemed to relax around each other. Esme had brought you your favorite treats from a bakery across town. Linda had a whole massive pot of your favorite soup made.

The boys just brought their hugs and whispered questions needing assurance that you were fine. Tommy was in line. They all still did business together, but you could see that they were missing this just as much as you were. Enough to let sleeping dogs lie.

Finn showed up at one point after hearing from someone else that’d you died in your sleep. Panic left his features as he embraced you tightly.

You had everyone stay for dinner, all the kids eating as fast as possible to go play.

Stories and jokes were told, which soon turned into songs. Something hit you as your chest vibrated, ears filled with the off-key singing of your family. This was what was missing. Tommy’s arm was around you, his face less grumpy looking as even he sang along.

This was the only cure for the blues.

You cried, as the feeling of belonging washed over you. Your crying made Esme cry, once she was crying Polly was crying - and Linda, though she would never admit it also looked a bit misty.

“No - come on ladies -” John started but was quickly silenced by Arthur's loud wail, pulling his brothers (as many as he could reach) into a tight embrace.

“Well if you’ve all got it out of your system. We should probably check on the kids.” Linda cleared her throat, fascinated by the edge of her napkin.

“Or we could go play around? Pretty sure they are playing hid and seek.” Tommy said easily.

John let out a whoop and everyone piled out of the kitchen.

“Why are all the lights off?”

“Charlie!” Tommy called out. He came down the stairs and became almost explosive when hearing that they wanted to play. All the kids came to the bottom of the stairs and explained they were playing hide and seek - with the lights out. You resisted laughing at how this affected them.

They had a whole system for how the game worked and who had to do what. But once realizing that they didn't have the brain capacity to follow along. Charlie just decided it was kids vs. adults.

All they had to do was hide.

So they did. All taking off in various directions. You paused down the back hallway unsure of where to go. With a house that big you could probably find a cupboard somewhere. Before you could make it to the end of the hallway large arms pulled you into the wine cellar and you resisted the urge to let out a yelp.

Tommy pulled you against him ducking down behind a large barrel. Before you could speak his lips were on yours with a fever driven from more than just need. It was a thank you. Family back together, kids happy, all of it because you were too tired to get out of bed.

________________________________________________

They all spent the night awake. Eventually moving outside to start a bonfire. Wrapped in blankets they let the kids stay up with them, realizing that the little ones wouldn't have experienced these types of gatherings before. So they told all the spooky stories. Polly managed to get a few screams out of the little ones.

Johnny dogs, Charlie, and Curly came around for the fun too.

It became a monthly type of thing moving forward.

Fancy gifts, horses, you had never seen the kids that happy. Ruby settled herself in Tommy's arms, tucking her face in his neck every time the story would get scary. You wanted to lean over and comfort her - but you could see that in her world Daddy’s arms were still the safest place in the world. She’d been having a hard time with him gone so often that you knew it was best to let her enjoy her time with him.

How on earth he thought you were taking the kids away blew his mind. Ruby still insisted he go to her room every night and pick out a dress for her. Didn't matter how late it was or if she was asleep. He had to pick out a dress and leave it hanging for her to wear the next day. Somehow she always knew if someone else had done it.

Charlie was next to his cousins laughing at the little one's reactions to his favorite stories.

#peaky blinders #tommy shelby #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders imagine #thomas shelby #shelby family

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erwinsvow · 4 years ago

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𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

summary: zeke knows it’s wrong. you know it’s wrong. yet something always brings you back to your step-dad when your mom’s not around.

warnings: step-cest, manipulation, infidelity, mommy issues, zeke is the devil incarnate and reader is an angel (figuratively.. for now), oral sex (f receiving), fingering, dacryphilia, daddy kink, praise kink, rough sex, creampie, you've been warned!

author's note: lord knows how long i've been thinking about this one. zeke fuckers, this one is for you. tagging @colossalnova ! hope everyone likes it!

“It must be so nice to have such a good daughter to take care of you,” Mr. Ksaver comments without a second thought, as you head towards the kitchen to get two cups of coffee for Zeke and his friend. Your lips turn up into a pleased smile as soon as you hear the words, delighted with the praise from someone so close to your step-father.

Zeke makes an effort to hide the smirk that comes to him so naturally, because if only Mr. Ksaver knew just how good of a daughter you were for him. But that’s a conversation for another day, he finally decides, turning back to his guest with a smile.

“Step-daughter,” he corrects with the most genuine look he can muster. He could fool a priest with that aura of ingenuity that he gives off without any effort, because after all, that’s how he had gotten you into this position in the first place.

Mr. Ksaver beams back at him, his close friend still completely in the dark.

“Oh, of course, but you two could fool anyone. Say, where’s your wife? I haven’t seen her in a while..” Tom trails off, and Zeke is glad for it. He doesn’t like talking about your mother, his new wife, if he can help it. Business trips and commitments at the salon kept much of her time occupied, leaving only brief interactions with you two, her so-called family. It didn’t take long for him to realize she had been this way most of your life, an absent parental figure since the departure of your father. As cruel as it was, he could easily see why you were the way you were.

Zeke thought you were a lot of things. Pretty was at the top of the list, along with innocent and insecure, but the biggest quality he could see in you, the one that just screamed out at him ever since that first time he had laid eyes on you, was people-pleaser.

It was so apparent in everything you did, from the modest way you dressed to the try-hard behavior you exhibited with teachers and your friends’ parents. He recognized quickly it was because your mother didn’t acknowledge any of it, not the dinners you made for the three of you or the sweet, thoughtful gifts and flowers on special occasions.

It was actually on Mother’s Day the previous year when he had been able to get you alone for the first time. The then-new Mrs. Yeager had booked a full day at the spa as a treat for herself, even though she barely had an ounce of motherly qualities in her body. She had tossed aside the bouquet you had gifted her with, skimmed the card with your sweet, handwritten note, and rolled her eyes at your own watery ones after seeing just how little she cared about this holiday that was meant for you both to celebrate.

After she had left, Zeke had knocked on your door tentatively. It was wrong of him to be as gleeful as he was on the inside, but he’d been waiting for a moment like this for the last several months. He even let twenty minutes pass before coming up to your room to make sure he would get you teary-eyed and upset, just how he wanted.

Any other girl might have told her new step-father to fuck right off, given that he had done nothing to defend you or ask your mother to be kinder towards you, but not you. Ever the people-pleaser, you wiped away your tears with the sleeves of the cardigan you’d been wearing all day, fixed yourself from the position you had been in while weeping on your bed, and told him to come in.

Zeke was fucked the minute he saw you sitting there, dressed purely like an angel in a sundress that had ridden up in your distress and with tear-lidden eyelashes blinking slowly at him. The redness of your nose and cheeks, mixed with how your hair was just a little messed up and your hiccuping whimpers painted an entirely different picture for him. At first, it had just been a game, just to see how long it would take him to seduce his new wife’s daughter, but now it was something else altogether.

But it’s the first sentence you say to him, alone in the house without your wretched mother for the first time, that breaks him.

“S-Sorry Zeke. I didn’t want to eat after that, but I can go get everything ready again for you.” For him. Your mother’s cold behavior had you crying your eyes out before noon, and yet you were still concerned about the lunch you had prepared and if he wanted to eat.

It made his heart burn in a lecherous way, with thoughts in his head about why he hadn’t married you instead of her.

“That’s okay, honey, don’t worry about me. I came to check up on you.” He’s holding up the facade well, he thinks, closing the door gently behind him and hearing the click of the latch. He’s only been in your room a handful of times, and for most of those occasions, you hadn’t been there, so he couldn’t act too comfortable. His eyes roamed around the space, taking in the sweet scent of your perfume that lingered on every object and shoving his hands into his pockets to seem as unassuming as possible.

You wipe away a stray tear, blinking quickly and looking back at him with big eyes. Damn your eyes, honestly, because he knows he doesn’t stand a chance against them, especially when they’re so watery like that.

“Check up on me?” you let out in a soft voice. It’s adorable, honestly, how you think your new step-father would be just like your mother and not care about you at all. You’re not used to this kind of affection from anyone besides your friends from school, and even they don’t know about the reality of your home life. You don’t know what it’s like to have a parent check up on you, to have them want to make sure you’re okay, and suddenly you can feel your face burning with heat at the realization that you and Zeke are all alone in your bedroom.

Zeke is handsome according to anyone’s standards, but for some reason, you can never tear your eyes away from him when he doesn’t know you’re looking. He’s old enough to be your father—your real father, that is—but that doesn’t stop you. You always find yourself staring at his golden locks that shine especially bright when he’s in the sun after his daily run, when you’re watering your garden and your mother isn’t home from work yet. Or when he’s just left the shower and every part of his body is dripping wet, walking back to his bedroom and you catch a glimpse through your open door.

It’s easy to think of him as off-limits, though, since you would never hurt your mother like that. She doesn’t show you affection, or care about you like how your friends’ mothers care for them, but she’s still your mom. Nothing would ever justify betraying her like this, by having these illicit thoughts about your step-father. So you make sure you stop staring, avoid being alone with him as much as you can and create excuses to get out of spending time with him, but you don’t think any of that is really working.

Because now, with Zeke in your bedroom and the sleeves of your cardigan wet with far too many tears, you don’t really care if this is wrong. All you care about is how Zeke is inching closer to your bed with every step.

“Yeah, sweetheart, I wanted to make sure you were okay after all that. It’s not easy, I know,” he says in such a soothing tone that you feel yourself getting lost in the daze of it.

“You know?” you question again, wondering if Zeke could really relate to you. You had always felt like such an outcast, the poor girl nobody loved or wanted, without any love in her life at all.

“Uh-huh, I know. I really hate that your mother won’t treat you better, but you know her, she’s not gonna change,” he watches your nodding face and resigned expression. “Can I-?” he motions to the space next to you on the bed.

“Oh, sure, please,” you say quickly, moving yourself over a bit and making room for him, dress exposing even more of the soft skin of your legs now. He tries not to stare, and every part of him wants to put a hand on your thigh and stroke softly, but he doesn’t want to scare you off. Not yet. He’ll take his time.

“Thank you for saying that.” Your voice is so quiet he almost doesn’t hear it.

“Of course. I mean, you are my daughter now, aren’t you?” He’s pushing his luck, but oh well. “I guess… it’s sort of my responsibility to take care of you, right?”

He sees your eyes widen a little, probably a million thoughts running through your little head. You’re so used to being alone, not having anyone’s affection, that a few simple words from Zeke have you fucked. Probably feeling the same way he is in this moment, eager and affectionate and ready. You find yourself nodding at his sweet words.

Any other day, you might have doubted the sincerity of what he was feeding you, but your mind was already a little fuzzy from the interaction with your mother. You still don’t know why you had gotten your hopes up so much, when it always led to disappointment in the end. You wish you could go back and warn yourself not to expect so much from your mother, who was almost as absent a parental figure as your father.

In that moment, Zeke’s kind words and welcoming arms didn’t seem so bad. You could only imagine that he felt the same way you did, as you doubted your mother was being a good wife to him from the interactions you observed.

“I…” you begin, but trail off when you notice the way Zeke’s eyes are looking at you. You almost instinctively lean back and away from him, like a lamb avoiding a predator, when you focus on how he’s much too close to you.

You’re entirely overwhelmed by his piercing, concerned gaze and the uncomfortable heat you feel between your thighs—your throat runs dry and you know it’s not from the crying. You think he must notice it too, with the way he leans forward, one more movement from him and you’d be trapped between Zeke’s broad figure and your bed.

He supposes that was the make-or-break moment in this little dalliance between you two. In that moment, had you been uncertain or asked him to leave, he would have listened to you and likely never bothered you again. All the same, he knew you wouldn’t.

You look back fondly on that Mother’s Day, the day you gave yourself over to Zeke without the slightest bit of regret. Your mother had returned home later that night, with nails and hair freshly done, acting as though there could have been no better way to spend Mother’s Day. She walked right past you sitting on the couch with Zeke, ignoring his tousled hair and your swollen lips.

Since then, it had been a fun sort of game. You felt guilty, of course, but nothing could compare to the thrill of the secret you had with Zeke, just for you two and no one else. He was more adventurous than you, always sneaking kisses and lingering touches when your mother was just a room away, fucking you roughly with a hand clasped over your mouth while she was on a conference call in her office down the hall.

Over time, you felt yourself becoming adventurous too. You had never done anything like this before, anything remotely bad or wrong, and it was safe to say that you were sinking further and further into the pit of corruption that Zeke had created.

Which is how you ended up here today.

You brought back two steaming cups of coffee on a platter to the living room, setting them down and mixing in cream and sugar for Zeke’s. You hand the cup to him with a sweet smile, and he takes a sip contentedly.

“Just perfect, like always.” The praise makes you smile widely, cheeks feeling warm despite the fact that you had a guest.

“How do you take your coffee, Mr. Ksaver?” you ask politely, as the elderly man laughs and takes the cup into his hand.

“Just plain black, thank you. I never had a taste for sweet things, like Zeke does.” If only he knew.

You smile again and bid goodbye, taking the tray with you as you leave and heading back to your room. You knew Zeke would be up as soon as he was done, since your mother was still out and you had precious time together, all alone.

As soon as you heard the front door close, and the sound of ignition starting from outside your window, you were alert. You could hear Zeke’s footsteps coming up the staircase, eagerly anticipating him this time.

He doesn’t knock anymore, letting himself in and closing the door gently behind him, as always. You hear the lock click quietly.

“Daddy,” you mumble from your place on your bed. You’re lying against the pillows now, fully on display for him in his favorite dress and already wet at the thought of what he would do to you once he got you alone.

“Yes, honey?” He says, in a tone that’s sincere and mocking at the same time. He’s still by the door, not coming in further like you want him to. He wants you to use your words.

“You said once we were alone..”

“Once we were alone, what? That I’d play with you?” You nod dumbly at his words. He inches closer to you, but still entirely too far away for your liking.

“I want you, Daddy. We only have a little bit before she gets back,” and you know you’re in for it now.

“Oh, is that so? We only have a little time?” Before you can process it, Zeke is hovering above you, a firm hand on your wetness teasing you and making you cry out at the sudden pressure. His hand moves slowly, just barely grazing your clothed clit and you whimper. “Let me tell you something, baby,” he whispers right next to your ear. “I’ll take as much time with you as I want, no matter who else is in this house. You got that?”

You let out a strangled moan at his words, knowing the effect they have on you and the uncomfortable wetness between your legs becoming even more prominent. You could swear that he can see how wet you are, even with your panties still on, and you desperately jerk up onto his hand to get some, any, contact.

“D-daddy, please! I-” you break off into another moan as he rubs your clit firmly. You’re not even sure when he took your panties off, but you can feel two of his fingers prodding at your slit, just waiting as he continues his work.

“Does that feel good, baby? Use your words,” he says, teasing you despite how badly you want him to stop and just be inside you already. Another strange feeling bubbles in your chest, knowing that your mother would be home soon and could be pulling into the driveway right now. You can hardly focus on those thoughts though, letting out a loud squeal when Zeke pushes two fingers into your soaking wetness, stopping at his knuckles.

“Oh god, Daddy, that feels so good, please, please keep going-” the rest of your words disappear as he pushes his thick fingers completely in, marveling at the way you’re so stretched out around them.

“Good girl, baby, you’re doing so well.” You keen at the praise, moaning loudly as he continues fingering you, scissoring his digits inside you and getting you prepared for his cock. He knows he’s on a time limit too, but he’ll be damned if he lets that rush him. No, he needs to take his time with you.

Every time he feels the tightness of your hole, it takes him back to that first time, and he refuses to hurry up.

His thumb rubbing circles on your clit as he pumps his fingers in and out quickly, filling the room with a lewd squelching noise, have you seeing stars before long. Every time Zeke touches you, you wonder how you went so long without it. Your own actions when you touch yourself are nothing compared to his anymore. He’s got you so dependent on him, so reliant that you barely want to cum by yourself anymore.

He slows his actions just for a second, just to pull down the front of your sundress and reveal your tits to him. Zeke increases his speed as he latches his mouth around your hardening nipple, flicking with his tongue and taking the pebbled bud between his teeth, tugging slightly and making you cry out as it suddenly becomes too much to handle.

You’re succumbing to the orgasm before you even know it, waves of pleasure washing over your body as the knot in your stomach finally releases and fills your core with heat.

“Good girl, baby, cum for Daddy now,” he says from his place on your chest.

“Daddy! Daddy, I-! Oh!” You know how pathetic you must sound, screaming and moaning helplessly as Zeke doesn’t let up on his actions. You finally put your hand on top of his and make him look up, into your eyes, and press his lips to yours.

A sloppy, hot kiss in the aftermath of your orgasm has you shaking under his grip, entire body feeling hot and sweaty. He pushes his fingers, slick with your wetness, to your lips and you open without any request for him, sucking and rolling your tongue over the digits until they’re all clean.

“Good girl,” he breathes into your neck, whether he places more sloppy kisses. “You ready for Daddy to fuck you?”

You nod meekly, moaning loudly as you feel Zeke align himself with your slit, and letting out a high-pitched squeal when he pushes himself into you entirely. You choke on your breath at the sudden feeling of fullness, completely ignoring the way Zeke’s focus seems to be on something else.

Perfect timing, he thinks to himself, hearing the car pull into the driveway and knowing his dear wife had arrived home. He was too deep inside of you to care, though.

Zeke pulled his hips back slowly, wanting you to feel every inch of him, and then slammed them down harshly. For every motion of his hips, you released a loud, obscene moan, babbling on without making any sense at all as Zeke fucked you.

All you could process were Zeke’s reassuring praises, calling you a good girl as he continued at a brutal pace, fucking you so hard you couldn’t figure out where you stopped and he began.

He picked up the pace and the angle of his cock stretched you out so perfectly, he was hitting against your clit with every thrust and you could swear you were seeing stars again, so close to the edge and screaming out for him, when he clasps a hand over your mouth quickly.

You reacted with a jolt, unsure of why he suddenly silenced you when he placed a kiss right next to your ear, whispering quietly.

“Looks like she’s home. Be quiet for Daddy, okay, baby?” Your eyes widen in panic, flustered with shame and another feeling you can’t put together when Zeke goes back to his quick pace, fucking you rapidly and giving your clit the contact you so desperately needed. You cum again with a stifled, broken noise leaving your mouth and your body jerking up against his, the hand that wasn’t covering your mouth holding you down in place. You feel yourself clench down on his cock, as he rides you through it, thrusting in and out and doing nothing to stop the vulgar noises that fill the room.

You can hear it now—the steps of your mother coming into the house, and probably up the stairs to her office soon enough. Your heavy breathing coupled with Zeke’s grunts are the only sound left as his hips stutter and you feel hot ropes of cum shoot inside you, filling you up. Zeke finally comes to a halt, pressing a kiss to your lips as you hear your mother walk right outside your door, talking to someone on the phone.

Your panicked eyes meet his perfectly calm ones, a devilish smirk playing at his lips as you hear the steps halt and then continue again, walking by your room as though you didn’t even exist.

You release a sigh, Zeke pressing another kiss to you that you return eagerly.

“Good girl. Now clean up while Daddy goes and deals with her.”

You feel suddenly emptier, lighter as Zeke lifts his weight off of you and adjusts his clothes. You sit back up slowly, careful to not make an even bigger mess and ruin your dress, as Zeke grabs your panties off the floor and hands them to you with a smile. You pull them up, fixing your dress and realizing that you need to run a brush through your hair before you see your mother again.

Zeke unlocks the door and leaves with one last smile gracing his face, as you sit up and feel remnants of your encounter inside you.

Moments later, your mother walks by and glances at your open door, which was locked before. She pushes it open, taking a look at you on the bed. You’re certain you look like a mess, hair disheveled and sweat on your body, with limbs feeling like jelly.

“Hi, mom,” you greet, with the most false enthusiasm you can muster. “What is it?” She looks at you coldly, almost as if she knew something was going on and couldn’t quite place it.

“Clean yourself up, honey, Uncle Eren is coming over for the weekend.”

#zeke yeager #zeke jaeger #zeke yeager x reader #zeke yeager smut #zeke yeager imagine #zeke x reader #zeke smut #zeke jaeger smut #zeke jaeger x reader #attack on titan #aot #shingeki no kyojin #snk #aot smut #fics #tw stepcest

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bruhstories · 4 years ago

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switch

summary: you and yuji have been together for three years now, but on your anniversary night, you allow your own demons to come to the surface. pairing: ryomen sukuna x female!reader (itadori yuji x female!reader, too, i guess?) | aged up characters word count: 3.5k warning & content: cheating?? (is it cheating if it's technically the same body?), unprotected sex, creampie, slight dacryphillia, vaginal fingering, blackmail, reader is kind of an asshole? (can you blame her tho, sukuna is such a daddy ugh), bit of overstimulation, slight dumbification (if you squint)

a/n: i'm back, and i can tell my writing skill is getting rusty. i took a break and it's obvious with this fic, but i need to get my head back in the game. it is what it is.

Yuji was a great boyfriend. In all honesty, he was every woman and man's dream — funny, charming, attentive and, most importantly, caring. He cared about you so much that he always made sure to control his own personal demon. You knew about Sukuna, Yuji told you after a few dates, and you were well versed in Jujutsu Sorcery, enough to know that he was not someone you could mess with. But you didn't want to give up on Yuji, and stuck with him through thick and thin. After almost three years of the beautiful and fun relationship you two had, he asked you to move in with him since you were both adults now, and you gladly accepted, because after so much time, you came to love him, despite seeing Sukuna's outbursts during fights. That thing, that monster, was beyond terrifying, but you trusted Yuji with all your heart, and that was all that mattered.

Or maybe you were unhinged, maybe you wanted Sukuna to come to the surface. Maybe, deep down in your heart, you fell in love with the switch, with the raging, brutal frenzies that you happened to witness on the rare occasions when Yuji couldn’t control the King of Curses. Maybe you weren’t meant to be a Jujutsu Sorcerer, because, as opposed to your optimistic and good-natured boyfriend, you never hesitate to kill – human or curse. Sometimes it felt as if your curiosity surpassed your love for Yuji, and that was a horrendous thought. Surely, that can’t be the real you, right?

Today is your three-year anniversary, and naturally, you want to surprise your boyfriend, so when you come home from a mission, you stop by his favourite ramen restaurant, picking up something to eat, maybe even some dessert. You tiptoe inside when you notice Yuji napping on the couch, and after silently setting up the table, careful not to wake him up, you quickly change into something... nicer. Yuji doesn't really enjoy it when you show some skin, which sucks because you want him to show you off. Nevertheless, you respect him, but tonight is special, surely it wouldn't hurt if you wear a shorter skirt. And a low-cut blouse. And heels. Fuck it, you think, adding a pair of thigh high socks as well, maybe that would rile him up. As much as you loved him, Yuji was too gentle. You liked that about him, truly, but sometimes you just need him to give you a good fuck, which was impossible, no matter how much you begged him to do it. You watch your reflection in the mirror from head to toe, proud of your skimpy outfit, but you can't help but wonder if he might be upset at your choice of attire. Even if he prefers it when you're dressed in pastels, that's not you, the real you. "You look good enough to eat." Yuji's voice breaks your trance and you turn on your heels to look at him. He stands in the doorway of the bedroom, arms folded across his chest, but there's a strange aura around him, and you can't exactly see his face through the dim lights. "You like it?" Your ears perk up, happy that he's not bothered by the clothes. "I do. You should dress like that more often." He sneers, stepping closer to you. "Alright, what kind of prank are you pulling now, Yuji? You never liked these kinds of clothes." You lower your head, your luscious lips turning into a pout. His calloused fingertips grip your chin, turning your head to face the mirror, and that's when you see the black markings on his face. Fear paralyses your entire body, eyes widening in panic and anxiety. "He might not like them, but I do." His voice is lower than Yuji's, calm yet obscenely dangerous. "I- you-" The words get caught in your throat, and you can't take your eyes off of his reflection. You know for a fact there's absolutely nothing you can do to defend yourself from Sukuna without hurting Yuji, and that thought makes you feel incredibly small and downright pathetic. "Little lamb, do you have any idea how hard it's been for me to watch this ungrateful brat take you for granted?" His hand is still leaving imprints on your chin and cheek, the other travelling down your back. "To watch you lose yourself for him, of all people?" "You don't know me!" Lips open without a thought, and you regret every syllable that came out of your mouth. "Oh, but I do." Yuji, no, Sukuna sneers, that same hand that was once on your back is now on your abdomen, painstakingly slowly creeping under your blouse. "Everything he sees, I see. Everything he smells, I smell. What he hears, I hear. But I just couldn't touch what's mine. Until now." You feel him pinching your nipple, and you're ashamed to admit how good his skin feels against yours, his hot breath fanning over your nape. "'M not yours." You grit your teeth, manicured fingernails digging into the plush of your thighs to keep your composure. "There's one thing I can smell that he can't. Wanna know what that is, sweet dove?" He whispers in your ear, and it's dotting your skin with goosebumps. "Enlighten me." "Your arousal." "You're bluffing." Is all you manage to say before Sukuna spins you around, pinning you against the mirror. "Let's see, shall we? I bet you're dripping," he shoves one of your legs to the side with his knee, and you don't stop him, "I bet you you've fantasised about this, late at night, when this brat can't please you. He's well endowed, though, it's a shame he can't use his dick." "S-stop it, please. I love him." "Pardon me if I doubt that." "Please, sir..." Sir? How should you call him? Demon? Cursed spirit? Monster? "How about master?" Sukuna barks back, as if reading your mind sarcasm dripping

down his tongue. You can't stifle a moan when his teeth sink in the crook of your neck, and you know damn well that you want this, and that every word he uttered so far was correct. You have thought about Yuji switching with Sukuna, wondered how he would fuck you, make you chant his name, but you never told your boyfriend, you couldn't. It's sinful, disgraceful and disgusting. Instinctively, you grind up his thigh, tears of shame and lust pooling at your eyes when you slowly give in to the temptation. He's already bruised your skin, one hand toying with your tits, the other lifting your skirt up. It's too late to fight him, because you never wanted to fight him in the first place. You deepest, darkest wish is finally coming to life. "That's better." Sukuna licks his lips, and your half-lidded, glossy eyes land on his tongue. "Please, m-may I kiss you?" Eyes dart away, cheeks burning with desire and embarrassment. "How polite of you to ask." He coos at you mockingly, his face inching closer to yours before absolutely crushing your lips under his. You don't hesitate to partly open your mouth, allowing his tongue to slip between your lips. Fuck, he kisses you so good that your knees give in, and all you can think is that if he's such a good kisser, he's definitely going to fuck you dumb. And you want that more than anything. When he pulls away, you lick your lips, still tasting him on your tongue, and he tastes so much better than Yuji — sweet and addictive. "I really wanted to take my time with you, after all, I waited three long years for this. But you're such an eager little slut, aren't you?" "I'm n-not a slut-" You try to protest, but you can't fool him, especially not when he's pushing your panties to the side, fingers grazing over your slit. "You are a slut. You merely buried that side of you for a pathetic little boy who can't handle a real woman." Sukuna's index finger gently brushes against your clit, enough to have you weak and needy. "Don't worry, Y/N, you don't have to hide from me. You can show me what you really want." It hurts to know that Yuji probably sees and hears everything, that he will probably break up with you after this, but you're too far gone to care about his feelings when finally someone is paying attention to yours. Your hand travels up his thigh, palming his already hard cock, and the way he groans, throwing his head back is satisfying enough for you. It hurts to think that Yuji never appreciates this side of you, and it's more painful when you consider this to be cheating — it's still his body, technically, but it's not your loving boyfriend, and you're perfectly fine with that. He slips a finger between your folds, a quiet moan escaping your lips, and Sukuna knows you won't dare say no to him, or try to reason with him. He adds another finger, but he absolutely does not move them an inch, instead you automatically fuck yourself on his hand, gripping one of his shoulders for support. "That's a good whore." Sukuna praises you, tongue lapping at your collarbone, making you delirious with lust. "You want my cock? Want me to fuck your aching cunt?" It's impossible to refuse his proposition, instead you buck your hips, your fingers gripping his t-shirt and you know you might tear it if you keep this up. "Yes..." You answer him, voice soft and quiet. "Yes what?" "P-please... Yes, please!" "Much better. Get on the bed." Sukuna commands and you obey, skirt dangerously hiked up. You proceed to take it off, but he slaps your hands away, too impatient for such formalities. He did wait a long time for this, you understand that, and so you lay on your back, blouse unbuttoned, panties on the floor and legs wide open for him to take you. Oh, and he adores this sight, how you willingly give yourself to him, your dainty fingers spreading your juices around your cunt, eager to be filled. In those three years of being with Yuji, you got used to his cock, but seeing it now seems like it's the first time. Precum leaks from the blushing tip and your mouth begins to water just by looking at him, and

this pleases Sukuna greatly. "Tell me what you want." He climbs on top of you, hands resting next to you as your fingernails graze over his chest. "I don't wanna say it..." You avert your gaze, a crumb of dignity left in you because you know Yuji hears everything. "Oh, you don't?" He quirks a brow, brown irises bearing a hint of red. "Then you won't mind me killing the brat." This garners your attention, and you feel stupid because of course he would blackmail you. Do you care? No. Do you want Yuji to think you care? Yes. "Please don't hurt him." You look back at Sukuna, tears pricking your eyes. "Why shouldn't I? We both know he doesn't deserve you." "You're wrong, I love-" "This isn't about you loving him, it's about you renouncing your true nature." His hand finds its way on your neck, fingers wrapping around it. "How many times have you begged him to choke you and he refused? How many times did you ask him to fuck you harder and he said no? You're a filthy slut, Y/N, and it's time you got what you deserve." The lack of air has your pussy clenching around nothing, and you hate him so much for being right. Yuji could never give you what you want, but Sukuna can, and it's an opportunity you can't pass. "Now, I'll say this one last time — tell me what you want." He releases the grip on your neck. "Y-you! I want you to fuck me, please, fuck me good, make me yours!" The tears that roll down your cheeks ruin your makeup, mascara mixed with eyeshadow smeared under your eyes. The tip of his cock pushes past your folds, and inch by inch he bottoms out. It feels bigger than before, stretching you open in a beautiful blend of pain and pleasure, your lips forming an O as your eyes roll back. "He doesn't deserve your tears. But I do. Cry for me." Sukuna sneers, his broad frame hovering above you and you feel so small and vulnerable. Yet again you obey, allowing more salty droplets to run down your face as you wrap your legs around his waist, feeling him go deeper. "Fuck, 's big! Oh, god-" Sukuna's palm meets your cheek, a sharp, stinging pain bringing your eyes on him. "Focus, whore. Not god, not the brat, me." He grunts, hips rocking back and forth harder and faster. "Who do you belong to?" You don't want to say it, what would Yuji think of you? He's probably already disgusted, contemplating breaking up with you once he regains control of his body. Another slap pulls you out of your thoughts and you buck your hips against his. "Answer me." "I b-belong to you! You!" "That's right, you're mine. Don't worry your pretty head, little lamb, Yuji won't be coming back any time soon." He grunts with every thrust, and his reassurance is somewhat comforting, because, god, he fucks you so good, you would kill for another opportunity like this. His teeth sink into your shoulder, fingers bruising your skin and you're delighted that he's marking you. All that matters is that you're his, chanting his name over and over again, praying to your new god, and Sukuna is beyond pleased with his work of art. When he pulls out of you, you almost cry, because it feels like a part of you is missing, but he's a merciful god, he won't let his newly devoted subject famished. Flipping you over as if you're made of feathers, he thrusts back into your aching cunt, and you yelp at the feeling of being overpowered by him. Sukuna's stamina is off the charts, because while your legs begin to feel numb, he's fucking into you with such force and intensity that the damn bed slides on the floor. It's raw, the way he's defiling your cunt, and it's sending your brain into overdrive. Your spongy walls clench around his cock, and while he doesn't say anything, the simple fact that he's going deeper and harder makes you feel special. Squirming and thrashing under him, you're desperate for some form of validation, and so you lift your ass up, pushing it back against his hips with a delightful moan escaping your lips. Sukuna takes notice of your sudden change of posture, and the way you curve your spine to try and get a look at him is adorable. "You want something,

pet?" He barely spares you a glance, and his indifference makes your pussy flutter. Your incoherent sentence almost makes him laugh, words such as good and please distinguishable between the other stutters. "Use your fucking words." A slap over your firm ass makes you yelp and jolt up. "A-am I good enough f-for you?" The question takes him by surprise, but he doesn't stop to think. Instead, he digs his sharp talons into the plush of your hips, overjoyed by your eagerness to please him. "You could do better." Sukuna teases you, but you take it personally, sadness and determination coiling inside of your heart. By this point, you don't even remember your boyfriend's name, too high on pleasure to even care. "'M sorry! P-please, I wanna be good!" You throw your head back and he wraps an arm around your neck, pressing his chest against your back. "If you wanna make me happy, you best forget about Itadori." "W-who?" "Your– never mind." Sharp canines flashed in his smirk, Sukuna tilts your head enough for you to catch a glimpse of his eyes. They're dark and vicious, and any sane person would be repulsed by them, but not you. No, you drown in them, completely absorbed by the hatred hiding behind them. The more you stare into his orbs, the closer you are to your climax. And he knows it. "Fuck fuck fuck!" "That's right, little lamb, let go of all that is moral and human." "Don't stop- oh, god, please don't s-stop!" In your frenzy, in his frantic pace, Sukuna's close, too. It would have taken any other woman hours to please him due to his insatiable nature, but you — your cunt clenching around his cock for dear life milks him dry, and inch by inch he pulls out, watching the hot liquid dripping down your trembling thighs. Art, he thinks, this is what art is — your face buried in the pillows, ass up, and his seed spilling out of your sore cunt. You come down from your haze, slowly but surely, and the realisation of what just happened begins to hit you. You want to regret everything, to feel a shred of shame, but there isn't any left. After this night, Sukuna irrevocably owns you, and you wouldn't have it any other way. He lays on the bed, lazily watching you stumble in the bathroom to clean yourself up, but with his guard up in case you want to try anything stupid. Yet when you don't come back, Sukuna wonders if you ran away out the window, which makes him laugh to himself because he could find you anywhere if he wanted to. So, he drags his feet across the room, finding you on the edge of the bathtub, watching the water pool inside with a blank stare. When you feel his presence, you get up and tug at the hem of his shirt. The man flinches, until he remembers that you are harmless and exhausted, and you don't look like you even want to put up a fight, so he allows you to take his shirt off. "Is this for me?" He points at the tub, brow quirked and a mischievous smile on his lips. "Yes." "Are you gonna clean me up?" "Yes." You sigh, wondering if you truly ever loved Yuji, wondering why you didn't even try to fight for him. "Do you want your boyfriend back?" Oh, how you dreaded this question. You cringe at the words, and don't reply. Silence is also an answer, but he's cruel. "I need to hear it." "He will also hear it." Of course he will, that's the whole point of humiliation. Sukuna steps in the tub, dipping himself in the hot water, a hand extended towards you. "Join me." You hesitate to take his hand, lips pursed and eyes narrowed at the man who looks so serene that it amazes you how brutal he was before. "I won't ask again." Complying, and not wanting to anger him, you don't waste another moment to get in the tub, back against his chest. "Can I ask you a question?" "You just did, sweet dove." "Fine, I’ll shut up." "Now, now, don't give me that attitude, or else I'll have to put you in your place. And you won't like it." His nails are pressed onto your jugular, and you know those things can cut, your hips are still bleeding. "Ask away." He lets his hands fall on your shoulders and you exhale the breath that was caught in your

throat. "Why didn't you kill me? Why don't you kill me?" "I need a pet." "Oh." Your disappointment makes Sukuna burst into laughter. What did you expect? A confession of love? "Oh?" He mocks you, tracing circles on your skin with his talons. "Don't worry, I take good care of my pets. Especially if they're loyal and obedient." His hands travel down your body, one pulling your knee to the side, the other moving up your thigh. "You are loyal and obedient, yes?" "Please, no more-" The rest of the sentence dies before you can utter it when his fingers ghost over your swollen clit. "Answer me, Y/N." "I can't come again!" "You can, and you will, because I want you to. Now answer the fucking question." Sukuna toys with you, only pushing his index finger one knuckle deep between your folds before pulling it out, and somehow you can't feel the sharpness of his nails. "Will you serve and obey me, not once questioning my authority?" He pushes the finger back in, curling it upwards and you don't fail to clench your walls once more. "Oh, f-fuck, I will, I will! But please, I can't–" When he rubs your clit, you are done for. You didn't think you could reach another climax, but those circles he's rubbing with enough pressure to both give you pleasure and pain have you melting in his arms. "Swear it, then. Make a pact with me. I can give you anything in return, maybe even the brat." "I s-swear it, S-Sukuna! I swear my loyalty to you!" You hiss between your gritted teeth, hips rolling in synchronicity with his hand. "And in return, what do you want?" "I want you! Oh, god, I only want you!" "Clever girl." The man decides to give you what you want, and with a quickened pace, you squeeze your thighs together, coming undone on his fingers. "I'm going to enjoy your company." Embracing your true nature is your salvation, and damnation. Your boyfriend is never coming back, Sukuna simply won't allow it, and from this moment on, your memories of Yuji begin to fade away, like a bad dream, because you simply must serve your beloved master, your merciful and devastatingly powerful god. That's who you really are.

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renee-writer · 2 years ago

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Out of Time Chapter Ten

AO3

Jamie does a quick assessment. The cause of the child ‘s faint was immediately clear. He is feverish. In the midst of all they had been through, his flu has gotten worse.

“Hold on love. I’ve you.” He strips him down to his underwear and places wet cloth on him. He prepares some Paracetamol. William’s eyes flutter. “Welcome back lad.” He fully opens his eyes.

“What?”

“Your temperature went up and you passed out. Here take this.” He slips the medicine in his mouth. “I am afraid with all the craziness, your flu wasn’t being treated.”

“Oh. That is why I feel queer.”

“Aye. What hurts?”

He frowns. “Everything. My head bad.”

“The paracetamol will help. The flu is just treated by medicine to control the symptoms and rest. You have had neither. Now you have a chance to.”

He nods and then winces. “Yeah my parents said the same thing. It was just my fever…” He stops, his eyes welling with tears, “I would have been all alone. When it came.” His voice raises in fear.

“Shh, you are alright. Not alone.” The child is shaking with sobs. All Jamie can do is hold him and let him grief.

“What is going on? Why is his clothes off?” He looks up to see Claire staring at him, fire in those whisky eyes.

“His temperature was back up. First thing we do to treat it is get as much clothing off as possible. His underwear remains.” He moves the, still sobbing, child out far enough so she can see. They are strangers to each other. He wishes no misunderstanding.

Her face changes to shame. “F*CK, I’m sorry.”

“Bad word.” William says.

“Oops, your right. Sorry about that too.” She shakes her head. “Not used to being around little ones.”

“Claire, it is alright. We are strangers, relatively. Your reaction was normal.”

“I guess. His temperature was up. How high? Will he be alright?” She comes over and takes a seat beside them.

“40° C. I have given him paracetamol. It is the flu. That is what he came in with. He will, with rest and medicine when he needs it.”

“Poor Lamb.” He moves over to her.

“I felt queer Claire. Then I fainted. Doctor Jamie took care of me. He promised that I wouldn’t be alone. None of us will.”

“He is a good guy.” She frowns at the heat coming off him. “I promise the same. None of you will be alone.” The little boy curls against her and closes his eyes. He is soon asleep.

“In the middle of everything I forget they were sick children.” He confesses.

“Jamie, you kept them alive. No doctor could have done better. They are lucky that they are with you.”

“Thank you. Lucky to have you too. A soldier and a doctor. They couldn’t do better.”

She nods. “Maybe that is why we survived. To take care of these children.”

He shrugs. “Could be.” Anything is possible. “I need to try to reach my people, I am just a bit afraid too.”

“Get that. Your people, does that include a wife?”

“No. A few lasses I have dated but no one that I was that serious with. My sister and brother -in-law, their children.” He blows out a breath, “My Godfather.”

“My uncle, a fiancé. My parents died when I was five.” she looks down at the little boy, half laying on her. “I can understand their grief.”

“Mine died when I was twelve and twenty.”

“Orphans all.” She sighs.

“Aye. Your fiancé, is he in the military?”

“Yes, a captain also. I need to see if anyone is out there.” He nods and lifts the, thankfully, cooler child up. He carries him into the bedroom and lays him down.

When he returns, Claire has a radio out. “This is Captain Claire Beauchamp of HRH infantry. Anyone out there?”

#my writing #outlander fanfic #out of time #chapter ten #jamie and claire #cannon divergence #outlander fandom #modern au

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my-unmanageable-mischief · 4 years ago

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Arranged Marriage Part 2

Part two of my arranged marriage series (Part 1 here, Part 3)

Draco's parents arrange a marriage for him, and at first he's pissed, but then he meets her and she's pretty and his type and he winds up really enjoying her?

If people like this I would be more then willing to write a part 3 for it! Let me know!! :)

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Draco brought you to his parents, who were currently talking to your parents, joined by Crabbe and Goyle’s parents, two men who were rather fierce looking. Draco couldn't help but think they wouldn’t look nearly as scary if they weren’t as wide as they were tall.

“Draco,” Mrs. Crabbe greeted him as you both approached, “He’s growing handsomer everyday,” She commented to Narcissa who smiled smugly at the woman.

“Isn’t he? Just like his father.” You looked to Lucius at her words and couldn’t help but notice all the differences. Draco might’ve had his platinum hair and ice grey eyes, but frankly that’s where the similarities stopped in your opinion. Draco was taller than his father, less broad and more slender. His face reminded you more of his mother’s with high cheekbones and a sharp nose. His eyes, while sharing the color of his father’s, were less narrow. Unlike the unpleasant man in front of you, Draco wasn’t stuck in a perpetual glare, there was a warmth behind his eyes that both his parents lacked.

“And Miss Y/N.” She continued, “Absolutely beautiful as always, you look so much like your mother.” You tensed, biting back a comment. You wished to tell her how that was an insult, you knew you were leagues more beautiful than your mother was, that’s why she was always so critical of you; jealousy. But you watched as your mother brimmed with pride for one of the first times in years, taking the complement for herself rather than you.

“Thank you, Mrs. Crabbe.” You curtsied politely, remembering your manners in the face of your parents. It was simply easier that way.

“Congratulations on the engagement.” Mr. Goyle extended a hand to Draco who released yours to accept it. You immediately felt colder and more vulnerable in the presents of these people whom you secretly feared.

“Thank you, I’m truly a lucky man.” He smiled, glancing sideways at his mother who seemed over the moon that you were getting along. His father’s face had yet to change, ever set in a glare.

“It’s lovely to see two fine pure-blooded families coming together in such a union.” Mr. Crabbe commented and your father nodded.

“It’s nice to create this allyship.” Allyship, you rolled the world over in your mind. Of course that’s what your father thought of it. While he was nothing to sneer at it was known that your family didn’t possess nearly as much wealth or power as the Malfoys, he was just happy his only daughter was getting him into the it crowd.

“This will be the second best thing to happen to Draco this year.” Lucius commented lightly.

“Second best?” You questioned, wondering what possibly could be the first best, while Draco at the same time asked.

“This year?” With slightly wide eyes. His mother smiled tensely.

“Yes my love, we’ve been talking. Sooner the better, we will plan the wedding for this summer, before your 7th year.”

“Before you take your oath,” His father added proudly, “He’ll be the youngest one yet.” Mr. Crabbe and Mr. Goyle smiled for their friend, raising their glasses in a cheers that your father joined in on. You tensed, fingers twitching as you fought the urge to wrap your arms around yourself for comfort. His oath, you didn’t need to ask what oath that would be. You were surrounded by death eaters and you felt sort of like a lamb being led into the lion's den. An ironic muggle saying given the situation. Draco reached for your hand again and you fought the urge to flinch and turn and run. He took it, squeezing it, and shot you a small smile. Both of your parents were watching you intently as the other’s resumed their previous, dull conversation. You returned the smile with a small one of your own before looking down at your feet.

“Getting along well?” His mother asked hopefully, you looked to Draco to see what he would say. He nodded his head at his mother and you saw some of the worry leave her features.

“Swimmingly.” He assured. You could tell that brought her joy, even if she refused to show any real emotion in front of her husband. Lucius smirked slightly glancing at his wife before looking sternly at his son.

“Frankly, it doesn’t matter how well they get along. As long as she’s been raised to be a good wife to my son, they will be fine.” He looked to your mother, “He simply needs a pure-blooded wife to keep house and raise his children. I assume you’ve managed to teach her that much.” He bit out the last sentence and you would have smirked at your mother’s face if it weren’t for the words that came from the man’s mouth. Keep house? Raise his children? Draco looked at you again, trying not to seem outwardly worried. He saw the way you had spoken to your father earlier, daring to call him daft, and he was worried you might snap in front of his parents. And his father would have no problem making an example out of you.

“She’ll make a fine wife and mother, I assure you.” Your father spoke for your mother, “Isn’t that right.” You didn’t speak immediately and Draco squeezed your hand slightly, silently pleading with you to get through this conversation.

“Yes sir,” You nodded, swallowing hard, the grip you had on his hand tightened. Lucius nodded before waving you off with a flourish of his hand.

“Gone with you two, let the adults speak.” Draco frowned. He wanted to argue with his father, to tell him if he was old enough to take the oath and get the mark then he was certainly old enough to be included in this so-called adult conversation. Merlin, maybe you were rubbing off on him. The longer he thought about it though, the less he actually wanted to stick around for the conversation, and Blaise had gotten you drinks anyways, his Fire Whiskey called to him. He bowed slightly at the group before turning and tugging you with him back towards your table.

“Alright?” Draco asked, leaning down slightly to speak to you as you walked. You wore that same blank expression you had first worn when you told him you didn’t want to marry him and he found himself worrying about you. Worrying! He mentally scoffed, Draco Bloody Malfoy did not worry, especially not about some bird he just met. Not some bird, a voice in his head reminded him, your fiance. His fiance. He looked at you and you shrugged up at him, smiling slightly but your eyes were still blank.

“Fine, thanks.” He wanted to press the issue further, but then you arrived at the table, Blaise was still seated there, and Pansy had rejoined the table, along with a few additional members; Crabbe, Goyle, and a 7th year Slytherin girl named Addia Artwell. Draco pulled your chair out for you again where you had been previously seated and you thanked him, taking the seat.

“Alright?” Blaise asked, and Draco had to chuckle at the question he had just asked himself.

“Alright, just talking with the parents.” He informed them, taking his own seat and taking a long draw of his Fire Whiskey, relishing in the feeling as it burned it’s way down his throat. You picked your own drink up taking a generous sip. You couldn’t believe this was the situation you had found yourself in. You felt like screaming and crying and ripping your hair out and the only thing you could do was shut down. Your mind drifted to Paris as the group around you chatted and chuckled amongst themselves.

“Y/N?” You looked up, raising an eyebrow when your name was called, it had come from Addia.

“Yes?” You asked, sipping from your glass, hoping at least one good thing may come from tonight- you getting piss drunk.

“You’re in Ravenclaw, right?” She asked and you nodded your head at her, setting the cup down.

“I am, why do you ask?”

“I just assumed they’d marry Draco off to a Slytherin girl.” She wasn’t as harsh as Pansy, but you noticed the other girl tuning into your conversation with a smirk. “Does that mean you’re like, really smart?”

“I do alright,” You shrugged, “As for marrying a Slytherin, I don’t know how we ended up paired up.” You admitted.

“I know my parents wanted me to marry him,” She continued, unaffected, “I guess his parents said no, so I’m marrying Clyde Inkwell, he graduated a few years back, remember him?” You didn’t not really. Only in passing at a few balls over the years, you thought you might’ve danced with him once at your mother’s request. You smiled politely and nodded your head.

“Yes, good for you, a very good family.”

“Not as good as Malfoy,” Pansy commented and both girls shot her a glare. You picked your drink up again, needing something to do to feel less awkward and out of place. Across the room you saw a few people you were relatively well acquainted with, older Ravenclaw kids whom you usually spent your time with at these kind of events, you found yourself wishing you were there and not here surrounded by snakes. Draco shifted in his seat, his arm draping back around the back of your chair. Your first reaction was to wince again at the slight brush of contact, but you scolded yourself. He had been kind to you so far, much kinder than you had expected, there was no reason to go running and screaming from him yet, besides the fact that you didn't wish to marry anyone.

“Finished?” Draco asked as you set your empty glass down again, you glanced into it and smirked slightly.

“No I was gonna sit and drink the air.” He chuckled, brushing his knuckles slightly over your shoulder.

“Want me to get you another one?” He asked, surprised at himself that he was trying to initiate even casual contact with you. You shrugged your shoulders and nodded your head, feeling the inkingly of a slight buzz coming on.

“Sure, thank you.”

“Of course,” He assured, getting up, placing a hand on your shoulder, before disappearing into the crowd. You were surprised by how you immediately missed the man’s presence. You glanced around uneasily at the group who sat around you.

“That dress makes you look wide,” Pansy commented.

“I think she looks sexy,” Goyle commented crudely, his eyes racking over your body. You flushed, not in a good way, biting down on your tongue.

“Oi piss off you lot!” Blaise announced, scooting into Draco’s empty seat and throwing his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into him as you stiffened. He was drunk and smelled like a mix of alcohol and too much aftershave.

“Slag.” Pansy muttered, Addia glanced at her before chuckling.

“Honestly, no offense,” When people said that it was usually followed with something offensive, “But really, why you? It’s not even like you’re that rich. What? Are you a good shag?”

“Excuse me?” You asked, mouth opening in slight surprise. You thought she had been nicer than Pansy, but the claws were coming out.

“Did you sleep with Lucius first?” Pansy asked and this time everyone laughed. You wanted to get up and run, you found yourself looking around wildly for an exit, for Draco, for any sort of life line.

“I bet she did,” Crabbe added, “That’s the only way someone like her would be set up to marry someone like Draco.”

“Are you going to take the oath?” Addia asked, leaning her elbows on the table and resting her chin in her hands as she stared at you like she wanted to eat you alive.

“No,” You scoffed.

“They probably won’t let her,” Pansy smirked, “She’s not pure-blooded enough. I hear they’ve got several cousins who have married below them, disgusting.”

“She’ll be at home doing the cooking and the cleaning, I bet they wanted a slave for Draco, not someone his equal, that’s the only thing that makes sense.” Goyle joked causing another bout of laughter from everyone. You stood up suddenly, your chair failing back with the sudden movement, everyone continued to look at you laughing.

“You’re just jealous, you bitter hag.” You snapped at Pansy. Draco approached the table as your chair flew back and you stood, he came to a stop beside you, two drinks in hand.

“What’s going on?”

“She’s mental,” Pansy chuckled, “You’re going to marry an imbecile.”

“I’m a hell of a lot smarter than you Parkinson,” You reached for your wand and Draco put the glasses on the table, grabbing your wrist in his own large hand.

“Y/N,” He spoke.

“I’ll show you how daft I am when your head rolls across the dance floor you blithering cow!” You shouted, causing some of the nearby tables to look towards you, Pansy had the common sense to look slightly frightened by your outburst.

“Y/N,” Draco repeated urgently, looking around to make sure your parents were far enough away they would miss the commotion. You snatched your hands from him.

“Hell, I don’t even need my wand, I could beat you with my bare hands, say it again. Say it all again while he’s here.” No one said anything.

“I don’t know what you’re going on about,” Addia spoke shrugging. Draco glanced around the table, not buying it. He’d known them for years, he could guess what type of words had been exchanged in his absence.

“Shut it, Artwell.” He snapped once again grabbing you, both hands on your shoulders as he began to steer you away from the group, sending them all a look that could kill.

“You’re just a bunch of arse kissing cowards, you hear me!” You called as Draco moved you away from the group, turning you so you were walking ahead of him, his hands firmly on your shoulders.

“My dearest future wife, let’s go.” He demanded, pushing you through the crowd back towards the french doors they had entered through earlier. He could take a punishment from his father if they were caught sneaking off, he couldn’t take you getting in trouble for ripping Parkinson limb from limb in front of everyone. He got you to the door and opened it pushing you through. You immediately stalked away from him, beginning to pace the foyer.

“Who does she think she is?” You asked rhetorically, “Bloody bitch, you should have let me hexed her, she deserves it.” Draco nodded his head, leaning against the wall as you got it all out. He hated to admit it, but you looked fit like this. Hair slightly falling from it’s previously neat braids, eyes ablaze with anger and passion.

“Won’t argue with that, but this is neither the time nor the place.” You didn’t even seem to hear him as you continued to pace wildly around the room.

“Stupid, wretched, hag! I hate this, I hate all of this, I want to bloody go home, I need- I need-” Merlin, you didn’t know what you needed, and suddenly you were crying. “I want to go home, I want my life back, I don’t want to get married, I don’t want to be some homemaker, some mindless slave to my death eater husband.” You ranted and Draco couldn’t help but wince slightly at your words, pushing himself off the wall.

“So go.”

“What?” You asked, stopping your pacing to look at him, eyes wide and red, mascara streaming down your cheeks.

“Go,” He repeated calmly, going to the front door and opening it, you winced as the cold winter air hit your bare skin, and he felt bad, but he needed to make his point, he needed you to understand. “Go to Paris.” You stood there glancing between him and the darknesses outside. “I’m sure you’ll make it there alright. Maybe even find some job at some muggle place. Maybe you’ll even find yourself a flat.” Where was he going with this, you asked yourself. He wanted you to leave? “That is, until they notice you’re gone.” He raised his voice slightly, “It won’t take long, I’m sure they’re announcing our engagement soon, they’ll notice you’ve left. They’ll hunt you down, sure it might take a few days.” You looked away from him, wrapping your arms around yourself as tears welled up again.

“Stop.”

“No, go! Let them hunt you for sport, I’m sure even your own father would join just so he didn’t seem like a trader.” You winced again, this time from his words and he felt guilt rising in his chest. But he needed you to understand - this was life or death. He came away from the door, leaving it open as he approached you, “They will hunt you down and they will kill you for being a trader.” He stated bluntly. “Or maybe you’ll get lucky and they’re simply torture you into maddness.” He put a hand on your shoulder and you allowed yourself to lean slightly into the touch. “You’ll never be a healer, you’ll never be anything. You will simply cease to exist.”

“Merlin help me,” You whispered, a few more tears falling from your eyes. He used the back of his hand to brush them away.

“I’m trying to help you.” He admitted.

“How?”

“Marry me,” He wasn’t sure if he was asking you or telling you but it certainly wasn’t a regular marriage proposal. “I will keep you safe.” He promised, and you looked up skeptically into his icy grey eyes. “I will protect you. You will be a healer, you will be my wife, a mother, perhaps a bit of a homemaker,” He smiled softly and you allowed yourself to smile watery up at him. “But never my slave.” He promised. “I’m a Malfoy, no one will lay a finger on you once you’re a Malfoy too.” You considered his words and watched as he pulled back gesturing towards the door again, “We could even see Paris someday.” You laughed, wiping at your eyes and sighing.

“Has anyone ever told you, you’re a good man?” Draco fought the urge to say ‘no’. Instead he winked and smiled again.

“What are husbands for?” He shut the door and came back to you, pulling you towards one of the hallways leading off the main foyer, to a door, “Go get cleaned up, they’re going to notice were gone soon, I don’t want them to think I wasn’t being a gentleman.” He teased and you chuckled, going into the bathroom before stopping and turning to look at him.

“Draco?” You asked, and he relished in the sound of his name coming off your lips.

“Hm?”

“Thank you,” You leaned up placing a kiss on his cheek before pulling back with a coy smile, shutting the door on his face. Draco smiled to himself, resisting the urge to touch the spot on his cheeks your lips just touched. It wasn’t a sneaky snog, like he had hoped, but somehow this was better.

#harry potter #draco Malfoy #draco Malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x ravenclaw!reader #draco malfoy arranged marriage

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fictionz · 3 years ago

Text

Short Horror Stories for the Season

I’m striving to read another 31 spooky short stories in October. I thought it’d be neat to share the stories I’ve collected from previous years since I often find myself wishing for lists like this as I research new stories and authors.

I’m not a devout genre reader so it’s a mix of stories that may not fall into traditional horror categories, but are still intense reads or appropriate to the moods of the season. I've made sure to include more than just white men from the United States and Western Europe. There’s a line from each story as well to get a sense of what’s in there.

Some stories contain disturbing, violent, and/or sexual content, so fare thee warned.

---

"His Face All Red" by Emily Carroll - “This man is not my brother.”

"The Vampyre" by John Polidori - “His peculiarities caused him to be invited to every house...”

"Lost Souls" by Clive Barker - “Hell possessed a genius for deceit.”

"The Striding Place" by Gertrude Atherton - “Weigall did not believe for a moment that Wyatt Gifford was dead...”

"Dracula's Guest" by Bram Stoker - “Ah! I see, a suicide. How interesting!”

"I am Anjuhimeko" by Hiromi Itō - “That's right, how could anyone possibly have karma as bad as mine?”

"Patient Zero" by Tananrive Due - “So I guess I’ll never have a chance to talk to the President again.”

"If you meet a strange, confident woman, she may well be a witch" by pelsmith - “By the end of the third victim, I slept like a lamb.”

"The Things" by Peter Watts - “I am being Blair. I escape out the back as the world comes in through the front.”

"In the Court of the Dragon" by Robert W. Chambers - “Poor devil! whoever he was, there seemed small hope of escape!”

"The Specialist's Hat" by Kelly Link - “Claire is better at being Dead than Samantha.”

"I want you in my mouth" by lovejoyman - “The first thing Frank noticed, of course, were her breasts...”

"A Study in Emerald" by Neil Gaiman - “I am selfish, private and easily bored. Will this be a problem?”

"The Ghost in the Mill" by Harriet Beecher Stowe - Wal, I know lots o' strange things...

"The Shadow Over Innsmouth" by H.P. Lovecraft - “And why is everybody so down on Innsmouth?”

"From a Farther Room" by David Gilbert - “Alert the media: unhappy, middle-aged white man on the loose.”

"The Overcoat" by Nikolai Gogol - “The young officials laughed at and made fun of him, so far as their official wit permitted.”

"Harold" by Alvin Schwartz - “Now and then the doll grunted, but that was all.”

"The Complete Gentleman" by Amos Tutuola - “When he reached where he hired the left foot, he pulled it out...”

"Der Erlkönig" by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, composed by Franz Schubert - “Father, don't you see the Erl-King?”

"Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?" by Joyce Carol Oates - “He wagged a finger and laughed and said, 'Gonna get you, baby.'”

"A Good Man is Hard to Find" by Flannery O'Connor - “Yes and what would you do if this fellow, The Misfit, caught you?”

"Peter Rugg, The Missing Man" by William Austin - “I have heard it asserted that Heaven sometimes sets a mark on a man, either for judgment or a trial.”

"A Rose for Emily" by William Faulkner - “Alive, Miss Emily had been a tradition, a duty, and a care...”

"Ted the Caver" by Ted - “He said it sounded like rock sliding on rock. Sort of a grinding sound.”

"The Black Cat" by Edgar Allan Poe - “The fury of a demon instantly possessed me.”

"Death and Transfiguration of a Teacher" by Maria Teresa Solari - “I took off her sock and bit into the heel.”

"Who Will Greet You At Home" by Lesley Nneka Arimah - “Her mother had formed her from mud and twigs...”

"Hungry Daughters of Starving Mothers" by Alyssa Wong - “...the rankness of his thoughts leaves a stain in the air.”

"Whole" by firmuhment - “When I first noticed the hole, it was small, really small.”

"A Distant Episode" by Paul Bowles - “The sound of the flute came up from the depths below at intervals...”

"The Apparition of Mrs. Veal" by Daniel Defoe (1706) - “If the eyes of our faith were as open as the eyes of our body, we should see numbers of angels about us for our guard.”

"The Adventure of the German Student" by Washington Irving (1824) - “He was, in a manner, a literary goul, feeding in the charnel house of decayed literature.”

"The Phantom Coach" by Amelia B. Edwards (1864) - “Against what superstition have they waged so long and obstinate a war, as against the belief in apparitions?”

"The Soul of the Great Bell" by Lafcadio Hearn (1887) - “All the workmen wrought their tasks in silence; there was no sound heard but the muttering of the fires.”

"The Damned Thing" by Ambrose Bierce (1898) - “All seemed to be waiting for something to occur; the dead man only was without expectation.”

"Afterward" by Edith Wharton (1910) - “The sunny English noon had swallowed him as completely as if he had gone out into Cimmerian night.”

"The Demon Lover" by Elizabeth Bowen (1945) - “You have no time to run from a face you do not expect.”

"The Lonesome Place" by August Derleth (1948) - “What do they know about a place and time when a boy is very small and very alone, and the night is as big as the town, and the darkness is the whole world?”

"A Visit" (prev. "The Lovely House") by Shirley Jackson (1952) - “A tile is missing from the face of Margaret, who died for love.”

"The Tower" by Marghanita Laski (1955) - “There was nothing left in her brain but the steadily mounting tally of the steps.”

"Night Surf" by Stephen King (1969) - “He said his name was Alvin Sackheim. He kept calling for his grandmother.”

"Don't Look Now" by Daphne du Maurier (1971) - “How to replace the life of a loved lost child with a dream?”

"Jacqueline Ess: Her Will and Testament" by Clive Barker (1984) - “If one has given oneself utterly, watching the beloved sleep can be a vile experience.”

"███████" by Joyce Carol Oates (1998) - “Each of us had one, in our bowls. Warm and pulsing with life and fear radiating from it like raw nerves.”

"In the Water Works (Birmingham, Alabama 1888)" by Caitlin R. Kiernan (2000) - “Fresh wound, these walls, this abscess hollowed into the world’s thin skin.”

"Vampire Princess" by Ryuki Mao (2004) - “The human will want to take you into the light, saying it’s for your own good.”

"Cruel Sistah" by Nisi Shawl (2005) - “One singing note, which he raised and lowered slowly. High and yearning. Soft and questioning. With its voice.”

"The You Train" by N.K. Jemisin (2007) - “All the defunct lines, the dead lines. I think they never really go away.”

"Wet Pain" by Terence Taylor (2007) - “It doesn’t matter whether you believe in ghosts if they believe in you.”

"Hello, Moto" by Nnedi Okorafor (2011) - “It always felt so good to take from people, not just their money but their very essence.”

"Monstro" by Junot Díaz (2012) - “Motherfuckers used to say culo would be the end of us. Well, for me it really was.”

"Pearls" by Priya Sharma (2012) - “All because you couldn't have me.”

"Bugs" by Ageha (2013) - “Hey, pinky promise you’ll play with me.”

"Out of Skin" by Emily Carroll (2013) - “A heap of wet skin and decaying cloth, crowded inside a dark pit I’d never seen before.”

"The Graveless Doll of Eric Mutis" by Karen Russell (2013) - “Yolk came oozing out of the mystery, covering all our hands, so that we became involved.”

"How to Get Back to the Forest" by Sofia Samatar (2014) - “The smell in the bathroom was terrible now--an animal smell, hot; it thrashed around and it had fur.”

"None of This Ever Happened" by Gabriela Santiago (2016) - “Someone has to write Uhura looking out the window and dreaming of home.”

"Wish You Were Here" by Nadia Bulkin (2016) - “Hopefully, by the time the world ends, you’ll be gone.”

"Sixteen Minutes" by Premee Mohamed (2016) - “I felt its breath in the night sometimes, like the warm, moist breath of my son when he’d crawl into bed with us.”

"The Taming of the Tongue" by Russell Nichols (2016) - “You don’t know what this boy wants you to see way out here, but ain’t nothing worth getting eaten alive for.”

"A Diet of Worms" by Valerie Valdes (2016) - “Hell, maybe you’ll even stay and watch the movie.”

#fiction #short fiction #stories #short stories #horror #horror fiction #speculative fiction #fantasy #fantasy fiction #reading list #short reads

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cherripeach · 3 years ago

Text

Chapter 14

Little Match Maker

Summary: Your life motto is “I have the power of god and anime on my side, don’t mess with me,” and you stand by that with your life. No human, magician, or random creature could ever stop your firm belief in it.

However, getting transported to this world that seemed to turn your already bad luck worse was not what you wanted to be in your life story, but you made the most of it. Making friends, enemies, and disasters, you were in your prime in this world, and so you decided to help as many people as you could flourish, at least what you believed to be.

Chapter 1:11-12 good credit, bad credit, you dead: ghost credit

Running to the store on campus, so cute.

Warnings: Curse words, implied violence

Words: 3.1k

Relationships: developing but future twstxreader

Ace groaned while face planting on the counter, “We finally finished peeling them all!”

Deuce moaned in pain, “My arms hurt…” He, then, stretched his arms and popped some of his knuckles while rolling his neck.

You agreed with the two boys, “Yeah, I don’t wanna move for the next decade.” You made your seat on one of the stools next to the counter to take a break after standing for what felt like hours.

Trey chuckled at your reactions, “Great work. I’m sure that your hard work will all be worth it.” While you three were sulking, Trey began cleaning up as much as possible by putting things away and putting things in the dishwasher.

Grim grumbled, “I’m getting hungry just by the smell, yanno.” The cat had tried to take as much of the ingredients as possible while you were preparing, but barely managed to get any.

Trey took a sheet of paper out from a binder and sorted some of the ingredients next to some cooking utensils, “The marron base uses butter and sugar. And then, I also added some oyster sauce as a secret ingredient.”

Ace and Deuce jumped up from their positions of dread in shock, “Oyster sauce?!”

Trey placed the sheet down and grabbed a bottle of the sauce, “Exactly. The savory flavor of the chestnuts gives the cream a rich flavor. And then, to make it better, I use this,” He motioned to the sauce in his hand, “‘Walrus-brand young oyster sauce’. There’s no famous pâtissière who doesn’t use this for their tarts, you know?” He ended it all with a closed eyed smile.

Deuce mumbled, “Really…? It’s a pretty salty sauce, isn’t it?”

“You know how they put chocolate in curry, too?” Ace gave an example, “It kinda makes sense…”

You were, on the other hand, not having it, “Naw, dude. It doesn't; sweet can't just nullify salt or reverse. It’s practically impossible.” You shook your head while the two idiots were just pouting in their confusion.

Trey chuckled while clutching his stomach, “You're right! I was just joking! There’s no way I’d put oyster sauce in a dessert, you know? How’d you know?”

The two idiots never would have guessed that.

Ace’s hand’s shot up in his defense, pointing at his senior, “What the heck!? Are you making fun of us!?”

“It’s obviously impossible if you think about it a little.” Trey’s lighthearted giggle switched to a more wise old lecture, “The moral lesson here is that you shouldn’t believe anything you’re told. Learn to doubt a bit, okay?”

You nodded your head, “See, Ace. I don’t gotta learn that because I knew right away.”

You were a genius. In all eyes besides Ace’s, that is.

Ace snorted, “I bet it was a lucky guess.”

You fought back, “Pshhhh. No way.” You knew this was just the start of one of your many squabbles.

Grim whispered to you behind his hand, “This guy looks nice, but he’s the type who can tell lies with no problem, huh…”

“I guess so.” Your eyes widened at Grim’s statement.

Trey rallied you all together to begin the next step, “Next is the fresh cream!”

A shrill scream ran through the air.

Ace bounced up and questioned Trey, “What’s wrong?”

You joined Ace with your question, “Are you okay?”

“I got carried away with the chestnuts you picked that I went overboard with making the marron base.” Trey laughed at himself and rubbed the back of his head, “We’re a little short on fresh cream.”

Deuce offered, “I’ll go buy some. Do they sell it in the school store?”

Trey explained, “That shop sells pretty much anything, so I’m sure it should be there. Can I ask you to buy some other stuff while you’re at it? Two packs of milk, two cartons of eggs, silicon cups, and five canned fruits…” He writes down the list of items and hands them to Deuce.

Deuce reads the list before commenting, “I don’t think I can carry all of that alone…”

This was your chance, “I’ll come! I need to see if they have uniforms there, anyway.” Maybe you could find some uniforms or even some other clothes for a nice price as if you had any money.

Grim interjected, “I’m going, too! I don’t wanna mix more dough!” He raised his little paw as far as his body would allow it.

“Understandable.” You did not need to lose your arms over baking.

The three of you began your walk to the grocery store on campus with only some light chatter about how excited you all were to taste the finished product and how Grim shouldn’t steal it all.

The grocery store was the size of a drug store, but apparently from what Trey said it had everything anyone at this school needed. It’s gotta be a magic store.

“We sure this is it?” You questioned Deuce because he was sure to know more than you, right?

Deuce pointed out, “I haven’t heard of any other shops here.”

Grim quickly agreed, “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Let’s get a move on!”

While still warry, you approached the place behind the two overexcited shoppers, both who had stars in their eyes as someone from a novel would say.

Deuce gazed around the place with wide eyes after opening the door where a little bell rang, “Pardon us! Whoa, what an amazing shop… Crystal skulls, magical texts, and… wh-what sort of animal is this…?” Deuce motioned to an animal’s skeleton that was just laying out on one of the shelves. Grim and Deuce took two steps closer to inspect the animal while you took two steps back.

Grim, who began to travel by himself around the store, questioned Deuce and you, “Can we really find some fresh cream here?”

“I’d be surprised if we couldn't find it.” You opened a box that was filled with dusty books while nodding to Grim.

Out of nowhere came a voice near the counter, “Hey! Little lost lambs, what can I help you with? Welcome to Mr. S’s Mystery Shop.” The man had one of the oddest outfits with a bright pink shirt but then a black and dark purple jacket. His fashion sense was certainly new, but his vibe was what shocked you the most. Almost like he knew too much. What is it that you wish for today? A charm against cheating?” He pulled out a slip of paper from his chest pocket, “ An ancient king’s mirror?” a small mirror from his sleeve, “Or maybe, some cursed tarot cards?” He even pulled a box out of thin air.

Grim was frozen in shock for a moment and joined the conversation with a breath, “Ah, you startled me!”

You added on, “He reminds me of those characters from video games and movies that are just normal store owners or vendors that have some of the oddest items.” Looking at his shop, you believed yourself for a moment.

The three of you made your way to the little counter at the back of the store.

Deuce took out the list from his pocket and handed it to the man, “Um… We would like to buy the things written on this note.”

Grim used his arms to pull his face onto the counter as to be seen and begged, “And I also want some canned tuna!”

“With what money?” You waved at him in disbelief, “And I have a question for you, Mystery man.”

Deuce pushed Grim off of the counter, “No! We will not buy any canned tuna!” which only caused Grim to growl at Deuce.

The male scanned the note while tapping his finger in his chin, “Mhmm. What do we have here? Fresh cream and eggs… Oh, my! What a pretty sweet line-up” He gave Deuce a thumbs up, “OK! I shall bring them out now. And I’ll get back to you in just a minute.” The male nodded at you with a small wink at the end of his sentence.

Totally an odd vibe.

Deuce gasped in disbelief letting go of Grim’s fur, “Whoa… Will he really have some here?”

You voiced your thoughts, “Maybe the back is just really big?”

The man returned with five bags full of items on your list, “Here, thank you for the wait. It is rather heavy, so are you sure you can carry them all?” The male, then gestured to a sign right next to the cash register about a special bag to carry all the items, “If you act now, I can throw in a special bag to carry all of those things for 30% off of its original price!” Deuce took out the money Trey gave him and handed it to the shopkeeper.

Grim blurted out, “What did you say? Hey, that sounds interesting!” The cat grabbed your clothes as he normally does pointing at the sign to get your attention focused on it.

Deuce shook his head while grabbing three of the five bags, “We. We will have to decline! Let’s go, Grim!”

“But why?! I wanna play more!” A pointing Grim was not resulting in a good day for anyone, but at this rate you couldn’t spend money on any food.

“About that question,” You brought it up to the shopkeeper.

The off-vibe man nodded, “Ok, what's the problem, little lost lamb?”

You asked, “Do you sell uniforms or at least know where I can find one?”

“I should have some, but they're all used ones. I’ll even cut the price because of how damaged they are.” He then told you the price which was great for uniforms but as someone who owned no cash, not the best.

You thanked the male as you picked up the last two bags while the other two began to walk out, “Thanks! I’m gonna come back once I have the money, but please save them for me.”

“Ok! of course, little lost lamb. I’ll have them in stock just for you.” He winked at you again, and at this point and time you’re just gonna assume it’s normal for him.

“Thank you so much!!” You responded while finally walking out of the shop.

Once outside, Deuce began a new conversation, “That was a very amazing shop, in a way…”

Grim was still pouting at the two of you for not giving him free food, “Boo, you two are so stingy.” His arms were snuggly crossed over one another and even his ears were flattened against his head.

Deuce swung around to ask Grim, “Who are you calling stingy?!” This, however, almost resulted with Grim getting a concussion because of how the bag of canned fruits and heavy cream knocked Grim to the ground.

Deuce quickly apologized, “Sorry!”

You placed your bag to check on Grim by feeling on his head for any bumps or any scrapes from the bag, “Well, no one would give a brat what they want now would they? I know you want some tuna, but money is tight right now and I can’t get you any for a while. Once I save up enough, I promise I’ll get you some.” You brushed back his hair before flicking at his forehead, “Just remember to keep that ego in check. Soon, who knows, maybe I can even buy a hairbrush and maybe even a phone.”

Deuce coughed before fixing the bags in his hold to reach his hand out to you, “The bag with the milks is heavy, isn’t it? I’ll hold it for you. I’m experienced with carrying heavy loads.”

You shook your head, “No way, lover boy, I can handle myself just so you know. And besides that's an odd area of expertise. Any reason why?” You kept walking to distract the male from taking your bag.

Deuce flushed red before starting his explanation, “Yeah, Mother always takes me with her during timed sales. She buys a lot, so I end up helping her with the bags. I’m the only man in the family, so I’m used to helping a lot with hard labor. Ah, I’m sorry… I keep talking about myself.” His face flushed even darker.

You rolled your eyes, “That is incredibly sweet of you, Deuce. Don’t be scared to talk to me about anything. We’re friends. You must care for your mother a lot with how you talk about her.”

Deuce stuttered, “No… That’s not true at all. I… Mother was…” Deuce flies back onto the ground after connecting with someone’s chest, “Ouch!”

All of the materials that Deuce was holding fell to the ground, but the biggest problem was that the eggs were now completely broken and leaking everywhere on the sidewalk.

Grim gasped and fell to his knees to try and save the groceries, “Ah, the eggs!!”

“Hey, you ok?” You reached out your hand to Deuce who grabbed it so that you could pull him up onto both of his feet.

Deuce locked eyes on the bag of now broken eggs and cursed, “Damn it!” He picked up the bag of eggs and began to check to see if any of the eggs were not broken and could be used, “All the eggs in the carton broke! The plastic bag’s now reeking with eggs…!” Deuce tossed them in the trash while Grim squirmed to grab the bag from him.

A white haired familiar looking male scoffed at the three of you, “That hurt! Where the hell’re ya lookin’ at,” His eyes darted to each member of your little group before continuing, “Wha? You’re the guys who ruined my carbonara’s soft-boiled egg during lunch today!”

Another familiar red haired student was right on his side, “Damn, it’s you guys again. Ya better give us a break.”

You grabbed as many bags as you could carry that Deuce had before, and you snorted, “And I thought I already crushed your egos, but I should have known you can't break a brick for a brain.”

The white haired boy snickered at the three of you, “Well it seems the little supervisor can’t even get us in trouble so no need for fear. You can’t harm us.”

Deuce had been standing in place for the last couple of seconds with his eyes on his feet, “…Aren’t you the ones at fault for bumping into me?” His sharp gaze met that of the duo of delinquents, “Even during lunch. The egg wasn’t really that badly harmed, but you made a huge scene out of it. Our carton of eggs is totally ruined, though.” Deuce rolled up the sleeves to his jacket.

Grim agreed standing as tall as he could across from the two upperclassmen, “He’s totally right!”

You walked over to where Deuce and Grim had made their little fighting stance, “Let’s just leave. They’re not gonna listen and we shouldn't get into a fight with idiots.” To further get Deuce’s attention, you pulled into the shoulder of his jacket to motion toward the bags, “We can always replace them. Let’s just get what we have back.”

The white haired boy swore, “The hell? You sayin’ it’s my fault, then? And idiots? I’m much smarter than any of you. Respect your elders!”

Deuce paid no mind to you or your constant poking on his shoulder, “Yes, please pay us back for the eggs. And also, please apologize to the chickens.”

“Hah?” The red haired boy quipped at Deuce, “Makin’ a ruckus over eggs, are we?”

Deuce grunts, “Hah?” before turning to you, “Remember the promise right?”

You nodded at him.

“Then, back up.” He lightly pushed you to make you back up, “And don’t get involved.” You locked eyes with the male only to see his eyebrows furrowed and a large scowl on your face. And as much as you wanted to help him and get him out of this situation, there’s nothing you can do against magic users. At least not yet.

The two other students did not realize how ready Deuce was to make this physical or how personal this was.

The whit haired boy groaned, “It didn’t hit the ground so you can still eat it. Stop makin’ a fuss over little things.” The boy slapped his friend before whispering something to him.

The other boy snickered before adding, “Ya better be thankful they broke inside the plastic bag!”

“Not only are they dumb, but blind too,” You mumbled to yourself which Grim could hear from his small chortle.

Deuce still had not lost his eye contact with the other two boys, seemingly eyeing them down to wait for the perfect moment.

Both of the boys let out the largest giggles possible that a teenage boy could without sounding like girls gossiping with their heads thrown back and their hands clutching their stomachs.

“Laughing at something that is surely your fault.” You rolled your eyes while trying to get the boy’s attention on Deuce who was in your eyes about to murder a bitch, “I think you should just pay us back for it. Maybe some extra too for having to deal with your terrible attitude to even it out.”

Neither student responded to you only grunting out stiffles of laughter for the next couple of seconds.

Deuce muttered to himself breaking eye contact with the two to gaze down at his hand which was clenched like in one of those TV shows when a character is going to do something he regrets, “... Mess with me, will you…”

White haired kid raises his eyebrows in confusion as Deuce looks to be slowly going insane, “Huh?”

Deuce exploded at the two, “I told you to stop laughing, damn it!!” His feet began to move closer and closer to the two who just stood in horror for the boy who was once silent, “You ain’t got no choice but to apologize for something that’s your fault! These eggs will be used to make a delicious tart in place of turning into chicks, bastard!! Do you understand me, huh!?”

“Wh-what’s with him all of a sudden…?!” The red haired boy was backing away from the approaching student and had a look of disbelief on his face.

Deuce grabbed his fist in one hand and cracked the knuckles of the other one, “If you’re not gonna pay me back for the 6 eggs, I got no choice but to beat the hell out of you six times.”

The white haired male faltered, “Huh!?” before seeing the blue haired male coming straight for him with his fists in a fighting position.

“Grit your teeth, you little bastards!!” And with that Deuce began his little fight by pulling at the kid’s clothes and punching them a little too hard.

“Where does that phrase even come from?” But what could you do besides stand there and wait even if you didn’t want the two to get hurt going into the fight now would be harmful.

You really need to stop getting involved in fights.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst x reader #twst grim #deuce spade #trey clover #ace trappola

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cakesunflower · 3 years ago

Text

Outer Banks Series Rewrite/JJ Maybank Fic Series [5. Midsummers]

Disclaimer: None of the characters (except for Stella) or their dialogues (for the most part) are my own, and belong to the writers & creators of Outer Banks!

Previous Parts: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Read on AO3!

Here’s episode 5 “Midsummers”!

“Dude—Mom catches you out here, and you’re dead.” Stella peeked one eye open, catching sight of her sister standing over her, arms crossed over her chest and eyebrows raised. “You’re literally out in the open.”

Kie’s concern came from the pen Stella was currently twirling between her fingers as she lay on the ground in their backyard. Stella didn’t say anything, instead took another pull from the pen, letting the familiar smoke invade her lungs before blowing it out slowly. The act did its job in calming her down, and Kiara let out a sigh before shifting to sit down next to Stella, before going down on her back, too.

Stella could feel her sister’s gaze on her as Kie turned her head to look at her, but Stella kept her gaze up at the sky. It was sort of cloudy, but there wasn’t a threat for rain. If there had been, the celebration later tonight would’ve been rescheduled ages ago.

“Look, I know you’re worried about JJ—” Kie began, but Stella cut her off.

“He willingly let himself get arrested for something he didn’t do, and he has a drug-addict, abusive dad to go back home to. We haven’t heard from him yet.” Stella looked at Kie, then, jaw hard. “Of course I’m worried.”

Kie’s gaze was soft with sympathy, but Stella could see her own concern swimming, too. After all, Kie cared about JJ as well. Maybe not in the way Stella did, but just as good. “He’ll turn up,” Kie assured. “He always does.”

Despite Kie’s efforts, Stella wasn’t all that comforted. And maybe Kie saw the deep worry that had etched itself into Stella’s features, because Kie’s face softened even more, looking at her sister gently as she asked, “What’s going on?”

Stella’s throat worked as her heart drummed in her chest, forcing herself into a sitting position while Kie kept on her back, looking up at her. For a moment, Stella hesitantly chewed on her lower lip, wondering if now was the right time to indulge, but it was Kie. It was her sister, and if Stella couldn’t tell her, she couldn’t tell anyone.

“JJ and I kissed.” There. She said it. Now it was out in the open.

Kie blinked once before her eyes widened almost comically, shooting up in a sitting position opposite of Stella as she demanded, “What? When?”

“Yesterday,” Stella admitted, stomach flipping as memories of her and JJ’s actions played through her mind like her favorite movie. She couldn’t stop the small smile from playing on her lips. “We were at John B’s, before coming to the summer series.” She fiddled with the pen between her fingers. “It just—it kind of just happened.”

Kie scoffed with a shake of her head. “It didn’t kind of just happen,” she mocked. “This has been waiting to happen for so Goddamn long.” Stella tried not to laugh at the happiness shining in Kie’s eyes, which did a lot to relax Stella. She’d been worried Kie would ram on her for breaking one of their friend group rules, but Kie seemed anything but disappointed. Her eyes widened then, shoulders lifting. “Oh, shit, John B and Pope owe me twenty bucks!”

Stella blinked. “I’m sorry—what?”

Kie snickered, looking all too delighted. “We kind of had a bet going on over how long it’d take for you and JJ to get together.” Stella’s eyes widened, jaw dropping in disbelief. “I bet it’d happen before Midsummers and would you look at that! You just made me forty bucks richer, sis.”

“Wha—” Stella cut herself off with a scoff, ripping up some grass before tossing it at Kie. She shrieked through a laugh, jerking back before brushing away the pieces of grass. “Are you kidding me?! You guys bet on us?”

“Of course we did,” Kie responded with a smirk, not at all looking apologetic. At Stella’s gaping expression, she rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on, Stel. You two have been dancing around each other for so fucking long. We were getting tired of waiting, so we thought we’d have some fun with it,” she finished with a shrug.

Stella couldn’t believe what she was hearing, cheeks heating up at the information. She wasn’t mad or upset that her sister and friends bet on when she and JJ would get together—she was just surprised, and a little bit amused. She wondered how long the bet had been going on for. But instead of asking that, she instead inquired, “So I’m guessing JJ and I are in the clear for breaking the no Pogue-on-Pogue macking rule?”

Kie waved her off, smile still in place. “You two are the exception to the rule,” she said confidently before crossing her legs and shooting Stella an expectant look. “So? Tell me how it was.” She quickly held a hand up. “But not too many details because it’s JJ and he’s like my brother and, ew, gross. But I still wanna know! How’d it happen?”

At that, the heat in Stella’s cheeks intensified into a fire as she recalled every single detail from yesterday—as if she could ever forget. “I was, uh, persuading him to come to the summer series with us.”

Kie’s eyebrows shot up. “Persuading, huh?” she repeated with an impish grin, prompting Stella to let out a giggle. “Well, looks like it worked. Not that I’m surprised. That boy is stupid for you.”

Stella pressed her lips together to keep her giddy smile from widening. “Stop.”

Kie snickered. “Man, you two are gonna be unbearable now, aren’t you? All over each other all of the time.”

“Dude, I don’t even know what we’re doing,” Stella instantly responded with a shake of her head. “All we did was kiss. We’re not suddenly together, Kie.”

She didn’t look convinced. “Only a matter of time.”

Stella’s heart fluttered in her chest. Of course she wanted to be with JJ—it was all she could think about for so long. After that kiss, it was closer to being a reality than she could ever imagine, but they needed to talk about it, first. “Maybe. But first he needs to let us know he’s okay and that his dad didn’t fucking kill him.”

Her words were tight in her throat as she said them, sending a new jolt of worry through her. JJ never really talked about it, but she knew the kind of man his dad was, knew what he was capable of. JJ getting arrested wasn’t going to go over well; it wouldn’t with any parent, but God only knew how Luke Maybank would react to it. So, yeah, Stella was sick with worry over JJ, and she just fucking wished he’d call or text her back.

Kie sighed. “Listen, maybe—”

Whatever Kie was about to say was interrupted by their mother’s voice shouting at them from the back porch. “Girls! Get in here! You need to start getting ready.” Simultaneously, both Stella and Kie threw their heads back and groaned, loudly—loud enough for Mrs. Carrera to hear them. “I don’t wanna hear it! Get your butts in here now!”

They stood up, and as Stella shoved her pen in the pocket of her shorts, Kie grumbled, “I hate everything.”

While every other soul on Figure Eight either was overjoyed to be attending Midsummers or envious that they couldn’t, Stella and Kiara were probably the only ones who hated the party. For Kie, it was more of a socialist thing that Stella respected her for, but she also knew that her sister’s disgust with Midsummers, ultimately, existed for the same reason as Stella’s: they hated the people they were surrounded by.

All of the Kooks would be gathered tonight for the party—this year a celebration for Ward Cameron, A.K.A the father of Sarah Cameron, Kie’s worst enemy. Stella didn’t care what the party was for—she despised it. The most Stella liked to dress up was in clothes of her choice, and sure that could sometimes include make-up and dresses, but not full on evening gowns with flowers in her hair. It often felt like she was getting dressed up as a lamb for a slaughter, being pushed into a crowd of Kooks who thought they were better than everyone else because of their overflowing pockets. The adults were bad enough—Stella did not want to even see the people her age.

Namely Rafe, Topper, Kelce, and anyone who was associated with them. Especially after what they did to JJ and Pope yesterday. Dicks.

But Midsummers, much to both Stella and Kie’s chagrin, was important to their parents, especially their mother. So as soon as the two girls returned inside the house, Mrs. Carrera was ushering them towards the bathrooms, like they were toddlers who needed supervised bath times.

“Hold on a second—” Mr. Carrera paused, and Stella and Kie exchanged looks when their mom sniffed the air around them. Her eyes then zeroed in on Stella, hands on her hips and eyes blazing as she demanded, “Did you just smoke, Stella?”

Knowing there was no point in lying, Stella huffed. “I needed something to take the edge off if I have to go to this stupid party.”

This wasn’t the first time their mom caught them smoking or smelling of weed, but it pissed her off just the same. While Kie tried to stifle a smile, Mrs. Carrera glared daggers at her Stella. “You’re not getting out of this, Stella. You better drown yourself in body wash and perfume when you get ready.”

Stella rolled her eyes behind her mom’s back, but listened all the same, albeit reluctantly. Kie was the first to hop into the shower in their shared bathroom, so Stella took the time to lay in her bed and unlock her phone, hoping to see a text or missed call from JJ. Her heart jumped when she saw just one text from him, chest tight as she read it quickly.

JJ: Don’t worry about me. I’m good. I’ll see u later.

That was it. Just ten words of reassurance and then nothing. Part of Stella was relieved to have received anything from him at all, but another part still felt worried and a little annoyed. She—all of them—had been worried sick over him after yesterday, and this was all he could say? Stella figured she shouldn’t be too surprised. It was typical JJ behavior. He got in a bind and somehow got himself out of it, and never really let his friends in on if anything was wrong. But the tough guy persona could only get him so far.

Chewing on her lower lip, Stella drafted a text, but not to JJ. Instead, she sent a message to John B.

Stella: You heard from JJ? Do you think he’s okay?

John B responded within moments.

John B: Yeah, it’s all good. I’m with him right now. We’ll see you guys tonight, alright? Keep an eye out.

Stella blinked at the cryptic message, wondering what the hell he was talking about. But if recent circumstances were any indicator, something was probably going down tonight. Stella’s stomach flipped in both apprehension and excitement. These boys might be the death of her.

Soon enough, Kie was out of the bathroom and it was Stella’s turn. She showered and brushed her teeth, stepping back into her room to catch sight of a satin slip dress with a halter neck waiting for her on her bed. It was a pretty golden color with a V-neck trimmed with lace, and a pair of white and gold sandals were waiting by the bed, too. Stella huffed, the towel wrapped tightly around her. She knew for a fact that her mother thought she needed to have everything out for her otherwise Stella would be useless in getting dressed for Midsummers. It was kind of insulting.

Stella expertly dried her hair, letting the natural curls come into place, before doing her makeup. She kept it light, as always, because not even Midsummers was going to make her slap on a face full of makeup, especially in the middle of summer. Some foundation, mascara, highlighter, and lipstick was as far as she went, with her jewelry consisting of a dainty diamond star necklace and the rings on her fingers.

“Oh, good, you’re dressed,” Mrs. Carrera said upon entering her room. “Come on, let me do your hair.”

Stella frowned but listened, sitting down in front of her dresser while her mom stood behind her. She worked quickly and efficiently, braiding back the two front locks of her hair and intertwining small yellow flowers in them that Stella tried not to wrinkle her nose at.

As her mom worked, Kie wandered into Stella’s room. Her slip dress was spaghetti strapped and a lavender color, a couple of layered necklaces around her neck, and her hair down in an updo with a crown of pink and purple flowers and locks of curly hair framing her face. She looked stunning, even with that scowl she wore as she stormed into the room.

“This is disgusting,” she announced without preamble.

Mrs. Carrera wove another flower into Stella’s braid, her voice dry above her as she responded, “I know. It’s just horrible. I’m asking you two to relax and go to a fun party.”

Kie scoffed, towering over their mom. They may be twins, but Kie somehow got the tall gene from their dad, standing at the elegant 5’8”, while Stella hadn’t grown past 5’5”. “We look like bourgeoisie pigs.”

Stella tried to keep the snort from escaping, covering it up with a cough as their mom finally patted down Stella’s hair, letting out a satisfied hum before stepping back. She shot Kie an exasperated look and said, “Will you please not worry about socioeconomic injustice for one night?”

Kie scowled and Stella’s face scrunched up. This was so much more than that. She twisted around in the seat and stood up, crossing her arms and siding with Kie, “Mom, people not three miles from here have no power, no running water—and we’re going to Midsummers.”

Kie nodded vigorously, gesturing to Stella. “That’s so tone deaf.”

Mrs. Carrera huffed, picking up the little pouch she’d dropped on the dressing table and pulling out the diamond earrings. As she put one in, she said, “Do you know how hard we had to work to get into the Island Club?”

Both Stella and Kie rolled their eyes, having heard this a hundred times before. “Yeah, Mom, how could we forget?” Stella sighed. “You had to grovel for, like, ten years—”

“Twelve,” Mrs. Carrera corrected, “and we also had to cough up a huge chunk of dough, and do you know why we did that?”

Kie wasn’t impressed. “To keep up with the Joneses?”

Mrs. Carrera’s hands were on her hips, looking at her daughter pointedly. “No. So you two could have the experiences that I had as a child. Sweethearts, do you know what the Island Club is?”

“A factory farm for debutantes,” Kie flatly said at the same time Stella said, “Where brain cells go to die.”

Kie gave her a subtle fist bump as their mother glared at them before smiling exasperatedly. She placed one hand on each of their cheeks, looking at both of them as she said, “It is a nice place, with nice people, where you can do fun stuff.”

Neither of them bought the company line. “With out of touch rich people,” Stella added.

Kie rightfully finished, “While the island sinks slowly into the ocean.”

Their mom dropped her hands from their cheeks, stepping back and shooting them a look. Clearly, she was done trying with her stubborn daughters. “Okay, I want you two to put on your party faces if you wanna live,” she said before walking out of the room.

Both Stella and Kie sighed, looking at each other in resigned defeat. Stella picked up her pen, offering a half hearted smile. “Wanna take a hit before we go?”

Kie scoffed, taking it from her. “Or maybe ten.”

Less than fifteen minutes later, the girls were at the Island Club with their parents, and instead of doing the polite thing and greeting the other party goers, Stella spotted a familiar face and grabbed Kie’s hand, jerking her chin to where Pope was working out on the lawn at the grill. She’d almost forgotten that he was working the party with his dad. Thank God for small miracles.

As they approached him, his back to the girls, Kie startled Stella by speaking in a terrible British accent, “Excuse me, sir. Do we have to shuck these ourselves?” Pope swiveled around as Kie grinned and Stella shook her head in bemusement. “’Cause it might mess up my costume.”

Pope chuckled. “We wouldn’t want that now, would we?” he asked and Stella stepped forward with a laugh, slapping her hand against his, front and back, before ending with a snap of her fingers. Their handshake. As he repeated the act with Kie, Pope added, “That accent was bad.”

Kie nodded. “It was. I was gonna let it go.”

Stella scoffed. “I wish you had,” she said as they came to stand next to Pope, arms folded across her chest. The three of them observed the scene before them, of all the guests gathered around in their fancy dresses and suits, drinking from flutes of champagne or drinks from the bar. “You ever seen this many Kooks in one place?”

“Yeah. Last year,” Pope answered.

Kie was squinting against the sun, but just like Stella’s, her brown skin glowed a pretty golden color against it. “We’re in the lion’s den.”

“Exactly.”

Pope glanced at the two of them, gaze lingering on Stella longer as he asked, “Have you heard from JJ?”

Kie shook her head. “No.”

“Just a text,” Stella answered, prompting Kie to look towards her, raising an eyebrow. Stella’s lips pursed. “He said he was okay and not to worry about him. But I won’t really believe it until I see him.”

“He’ll be all right,” Kie said, frowning to herself. “He’s got the survival instincts of a cockroach.”

Stella swallowed inaudibly. Kie wasn’t really wrong.

“It’s all my fault,” Pope said, the guilt thick in his tone as he frowned at nothing. He looked like he might be sick over everything that’s happened.

Stella frowned as Kie said, “Uh, you didn’t do this, Pope.”

“Yeah,” Stella chimed in firmly. “Topper almost killed you. Remember?”

He shot her a dry look. “Not something I can forget.”

Stella shot him a small smile. “JJ was just trying to do right by you. He—he knew what he was doing.” She stumbled over her words briefly because, well, she wasn’t entirely sure if she believed them. She believed that JJ thought he was doing the right thing, but getting arrested was no small thing. He was just adding onto his record, and this time for something he didn’t even do. JJ put loyalty above anything else, and it was one of her favorite things about him—until it landed him in trouble he might not be able to get out of.

Midsummers, as expected, was boring as usual. The adults drank and the teens snuck in their own alcohol in hidden flasks, dancing to the music from the live band while almost everyone kissed Ward Cameron’s ass. Stella stuck by Kie’s side, mostly because she didn’t care for anyone else there and because Kie kept glaring at Sarah Cameron, who looked like the perfect Kook princess. She was missing her not-so-Prince Charming, Topper, who seemed to be sticking by Rafe and Kelce’s sides than with Sarah. Hmm. Interesting.

At one point, Stella excused herself to go to the bathroom, walking inside the country club and down the hall. She did her business, ignoring the giggles of the few other girls inside as she washed her hands. Just as she stepped out of the bathroom, however, she let out a gasp and stumbled into the doorframe as a figure rushed off in front of her, her gaze instantly following.

She’d recognize those blonde locks anywhere.

Stella’s heart thundered, gripping the doorframe tightly as she called out, “JJ?”

*****

Despite the severity of needing to find a hiding spot or escape, the sound of Stella’s voice had JJ stopping in his tracks. He turned, catching sight of her down the hall, too far down the hall, looking every bit as breathtaking as he expected her to in a golden dress that hugged her so perfectly. And the way she was looking at him—the surprise and relief and tenderness he was sure she reserved just for him—had JJ’s heart pounding right out of his chest, and not just because he was trying to save himself at the moment.

“Stella—” JJ stopped, looking through the glass of the doors, seeing Rafe, Kelce, and three of their suited up buddies purposefully making their way over. “Shit.” His blue eyes met her concerned brown ones. “Sweetheart, I’ll explain everything later, but I gotta run right now. Just—I’ll see you in a little, okay?”

“Wait, JJ—”

But he didn’t stick around, as much as he wanted to, and instead turned and ran off just as he heard Rafe and his buddies walk in. They’d spotted him talking to Sarah because he’d needed to give her a letter from John B, after he’d spoken to and received a surprising hug from Pope, and now they were hot on his ass looking to throw more punches. JJ’d already received a beating from his dad—he didn’t need anymore, thank you very much.

Except he made his way into the men’s room, and Rafe and his buddies were pretty fast and managed to corner him no problem. Five against one—this was totally fair. Assholes.

Rafe pushed him and JJ grunted, struggling as Kelce came up behind him and locked an arm around the front of his neck, the other keeping his head in place as JJ grabbed at Kelce’s arm to loosen the grip. He struggled, heart pounding, as Rafe looked at his friends. “Hold him still. What—what do you think? A four iron, right?” He mimicked holding a golf club. “Keep his head still. I’m gonna line this up.”

JJ didn’t make it easy for Kelce to keep him still. “Very Rafe of you,” JJ said through gritted teeth. “Five on one?”

Rafe looked pristine in his stupid blue suit and bowtie. JJ hoped he’d choke on it. “If you could please stop talking? It’s very disrespectful. I’m trying to hit a ball.” Oh, fuck no. “Learn your etiquette, my friend.”

JJ kept grunting, struggling against Kelce, using his hands as much as he could to try and get away. JJ’s voice was hoarse against Kelce’s grip as he spat back, “I’m gonna kick your teeth in.” As much fire as there was in his voice, JJ wasn’t entirely sure he’d be able to deliver on his promise. Not when the odds were stacked against him.

Rafe smirked sardonically, crouching to look up at JJ with a mocking sort of sympathy. “Your face looks really bad. Starting to look like your dad a lot more.”

The insult was grating, especially given that the bruises and cuts on his face were courtesy of his father. JJ couldn’t do much more than spit in Rafe’s face. He jerked back, wiping the saliva off his face as he grinned. “Oh, shit. Alright. It was—”

The lights began flickering. “Gentlemen!” Kelce roughly let go of JJ and pushed him off, prompting the blonde to struggle before he righted himself. The security guard approached them. “Is there a problem?”

“Oh! Pardon me, officer. No, there’s not an issue. I just—” JJ cut himself off, his breathing labored as he panted to catch his breath. He looked at the others and JJ ran his fingers through his hair before deciding on a different course of action. One he knew would likely get him out of this. “Actually, yes. No, there is an issue. Uh, we got a criminal trespass in progress here. Beep!” He waved a finger around. “Call it in, right?” The others looked at him, trying to appear casual and like they weren’t doing anything wrong. “Blatant disrespect for private property.”

Rafe clicked his tongue, scratching his ear. “Yeah.”

JJ turned to the guard. “I’m in violation of all kinds of shit, sir, but these young gentlemen—” He made a show of righting Kelce’s bowtie before he jerked him away.

“Don’t touch my shit,” Kelce said lowly.

JJ continued, “Uh, caught me, sir, and they’re about to take me away. And that’s what you should do.” He held his fists up like he was ready to be handcuffed. Again. “Escort me out of here. You got me.”

The guard grabbed his arm. JJ was relieved. “Come on.”

“All right.” JJ looked over his shoulder as the guard pulled him out, looking at the Kooks. “Fix that tie, son,” he said to Kelce before looking at Rafe. “You’re lookin’ spiffy, too. You Powerpuff Girls have fun,” he turned back around.

Rafe took a step forward, his voice smug. “Tell Stella she looks pretty hot for a scarred Pogue.”

Fire erupted in JJ’s veins at Rafe’s comment, a newfound anger rushing through him at the blatant insult from the son of a bitch. JJ didn’t care who they were—nobody talked about Stella like that. Not at all, not in front of him. JJ’s body moved at his own accord, a low growl escaping him as he jerked away from the guard and tried to launch himself at Rafe, consequences be damned of a five against one. The asshole insulted Stella. JJ couldn’t just let him get away with that.

He rushed towards Rafe, only for Kelce to jump in and push him away as the guard came to his back and pulled him away. “Hey! Stop it. Come here! Let’s go! Let’s go!”

But JJ struggled, the urge to bury his fist in Rafe’s face overwhelming after his words. “You think I’m afraid of you, bro?”

The guard pulled him back. “Come on.”

JJ turned and was guided out as Rafe’s voice followed him out of the locker room. “Hey, safe travels back to the cut!”

JJ shouted back, “This ain’t over!”

The guard didn’t let his grip on JJ go as he guided him down the halls and towards the doors, his grip tight as they burst through the doors out onto the patio. “Look, man, I can walk myself!” JJ exclaimed, earning gasps and looks from the guests at him being escorted out. “I got legs. Can you see that, brother?”

The guard didn’t seem to care. “Come on.”

“I really appreciate what you did back there. Let me just walk out by myself.” He struggled against the guard’s grip before spotting the older gentleman from earlier who had asked JJ for a drink. At this point, JJ didn’t care for the attention he was drawing on himself, stumbling over to where the man stood. “Mr. Dunleavy, I see you got your drink. Good, that’s really nice of you. I’m actually gonna down that,” he said quickly before grabbing the drink and downing the whiskey in one gulp.

The man gaped at him, the guard apologized before pulling JJ away. Everyone was watching, murmuring, and JJ never had mastered the art of subtlety, so he made a commotion as he was so kindly escorted out. Might as fucking well go out with a bang.

“Let go of him!” JJ turned at the sound of Stella’s voice, standing up on the patio with Kie by her side. Their parents were behind them, quietly telling Stella to stay quiet while her gaze met JJ’s. He stopped, kind of fucking mesmerized by the sight of her. “You can’t just boot him!”

The guard stopped, still holding onto JJ, who was still watching her. “Excuse me, ma’am?” the guard asked.

“I invited him here,” Stella continued, her voice loud and carrying over the newfound silence amongst the crowd. Everyone was looking at her, but she didn’t seem to give a shit, and JJ kind of fell in love with her all over again.

Next to her, JJ could hear her mom say, “Stella, stop it.”

“No, she’s right,” Kie spoke up, glaring at her parents and then at the guard. “We’re members of this club.”

“Girls, stop it,” Mr. Carrera seemed to be saying to them.

JJ took the opportunity of the guard being distracted to jerk out of his grip and push him, wincing as the man went stumbling into a waiter carrying a tray full of glasses that went shattering on the ground. “Sorry about that!” JJ said over the commotion before looking towards the girls. He pointed at them, blonde hair falling over his shoulders. “Hey, mandatory power hour at Rixon’s, ladies.” His gaze found Pope’s amidst the crowd’s. “Pope, you as well, all right? Rixon’s cove. Let’s roll.” He was walking backwards, people making their way for him as they all gaped at him in disbelief and annoyance. JJ looked back at the girls, holding his arm up. “All right, girls, come on.” He gripped his wrist. “Workers of the world unite. Throw off your chains!”

His gaze met Stella’s, who was watching him in, what he realized with relief, was amusement. He saw the looks she and Kie exchanged, a silent communication going on between the twins while their parents most definitely murmured warnings at them. And then, much to JJ’s relief, Stella and Kie broke away before running down the stairs.

JJ grinned widely, finally facing John B, who had been watching the whole thing with a grin. “Colonel.”

John B returned the salute JJ offered him. “Captain.”

JJ grinned. “Mission accomplished, sir.”

John B laughed as JJ shouted for the girls, watching as Pope pulled off his apron and handed it to his dad before running towards John B and JJ, all the while Mr. Heyward yelled, “Don’t do this! Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

But Pope didn’t listen, instead high fived John B and JJ, before John B ran off ahead and the two of them faced the girls running over, as well. Kie and Pope ran side by side, laughing, and JJ opened his arms so Stella could run into his embrace, and he laughed into her neck as he lifted her off the ground with a spin before setting her down, grasping her hand in his, and following the others as they ran.

“Later, losers!” John B shouted over his shoulder towards the partygoers.

Stella was laughing, the sound brilliant and wonderful in JJ’s ears as Kie cheered while they ran. JJ couldn’t help but laugh as well. It may have been a shitty couple of days, but at least he had his friends.

*****

The fire crackled between them as Stella sat on a log next to JJ. The cicadas were chirping against the otherwise quiet of the night, and JJ had changed out of the waiter get up and was back in his signature hat, shirt, and shorts combo. The sight of the shark tooth necklace Stella had gifted him around his neck always made her chest tighten in the best way. She and Kie were still in their Midsummers dresses, but mosquitos and bugs never bothered Stella, so she sat comfortably as the fire warmed them.

She kept looking towards JJ, though—at the cuts and bruises on his face. The sight of him injured tightened her chest uncomfortably, made her stomach twist nauseatingly. No doubt his dad had done this to him, and it enraged her. She wished, with every fiber of her being, that she could get him as far away from his dad as possible. It hurt, so badly, to see JJ injured at the hands of his abusive father. JJ, despite what others may see as faults and flaws, was probably the best person she knew. He had such a big heart, a soul that deserved to be loved and protected instead of stepped on and beaten. She desperately wished she could protect him from the cruelty of others. He deserved someone to do that for him.

“Hey, guys. So, like, my dad’s already gonna kill me,” Pope said as he and John B dropped some sticks to feed the fire before sitting down. “So what’s this mandatory meeting about?”

Stella watched as John B looked at JJ, pointing at him as if he needed permission. JJ nodded. “Might as well tell him, man, before we’re gaffed.”

John B smiled like he held some kind of secret. “You ready for this?” he asked, looking at Kie and Stella.

The two girls nodded impatiently. “Yeah.”

The fire glowed against John B’s skin as he looked at all of them. “So, the gold never went down with the Royal Merchant.”

Stella blinked as Pope groaned. “Oh, my God. Here we go again with this.”

Next to her, JJ sat up, holding out a calming hand to Pope. “No, all right, wait. Hear him out, all right?” he asked, raising his eyebrows at Pope and the girls.

John B had a finger to his lips before continuing, “It’s been here this whole time.” He looked to Kie. “It’s on the island.”

Her expression was one of shocked disbelief. “Are you serious?” She looked at John B before laughing in astonishment. “Oh, my God.”

Pope held up a hand. “I’d like to voice my skepticism.”

Stella was still trying to wrap her head around what John B said as he stood up. “I’m sure you would, Pope, but can I please present you with my evidence, sir?”

Pope rolled his eyes. “Proceed.”

John B held up a piece of paper he pulled out from his bag, proceeding to tell them about a letter he had from Denmark Tanny, a slave who had survived the wreck of the Royal Merchant. He showed it to Pope and the girls, telling them that the slaves weren’t mentioned as crew members on the ship, but that his dad found the complete manifest—his big discovery. Stella listened attentively, mouth agape, looking towards JJ who nodded with a smile on his face. He knew all of this already, it seemed. It was probably why he and John B had been together earlier.

“So Tanny used the gold from the Merchant to buy his freedom,” John B was saying. “After that, he bought his farm. Drumroll, please, because that farm is,” he paused dramatically as the group of them slapped their knees with their hands. “Tannyhill Plantation.”

Kie stopped. “Tannyhill?”

John B nodded, standing like a professor giving a lecture. “Yeah. So, after that, he used his money to free even more slaves, and then he sold a shit-ton of rice, which pisses off all the white planters, and then they decide to lynch him. So on the day they were coming to get him, he writes a letter to his son as a farewell, and in the last line of that letter, he leaves a coded message about where to find the gold.”

John B had Stella’s attention as she hung onto his every word, shaking her head as she asked, “Where?”

John B grinned. “Harvest the wheat in parcel nine, near the water.” He held up a hand. “Except, there is no wheat. You see, wheat is code for gold. Check this out.” He walked over to Pope, pointing at something in the paper Pope was holding. Stella leaned over to look as well. “The gold is in parcel nine, near the water.”

Kie laughed in disbelief as Pope murmured, “Holy shit.”

John B slapped his arm. “All we need is an original survey map of the property and we’ve found the gold.”

He was grinning widely as JJ stood up. Pope slowly started, “Okay, so this might have a small chance of being actually true.”

Kie bounced excitedly where she sat. “Dude, it’s like King Tut!” she exclaimed, earning a laugh from Stella.

“I am a genius,” John B announced, just as JJ tackled him into a hug. “Hey, whoa!” They teetered slightly where they stood before JJ lifted John B up. “Hello! Fire! You’re near the fire. You’re gonna burn.”

JJ pulled away and Stella snickered as he said, “I’m so proud of you right now.”

John B nodded somberly. “Thank you. That’s really sweet of you.”

With a shake of her head, Stella interrupted the moment by asking, “Okay, so, guys.” They all looked towards her. “What’s the plan?”

John B pointed at her as JJ made his way back. “Good question. Sarah Cameron’s coming tonight. She’ll bring the original survey map—”

JJ sat down next to Stella just as her eyes widened, gaping at John B before her gaze instantly shot to Kie, who was frowning. “Hold on,” she interrupted. “Sarah? Wh-why Sarah?”

Stella tensed, looking between a bewildered Kie and a hesitant John B. She and Pope exchanged glances, both of them suddenly aware of the tension building in the open space. “Um—” John B trailed off.

JJ took off his head, muttering, “This is gonna be good.”

Stella looked at him, catching the wince he shot her way. Silently, she frowned at him, but JJ shook his head before nodding towards John B, who stood with his fists on his hips. “Sarah, um, she. . . She got me into the archives in Chapel Hill yesterday, and there’s where I got the letter.”

Kie’s face scrunched up even more, looking a mix of pissed off and confused, while Stella gaped up at John B. “You were in Chapel Hill with Sarah Cameron?”

John B’s throat worked. “Yeah, um. . .”

Next to her, JJ announced, “He was mackin’ on her.”

Stella gasped as she stared at him, wide eyed, and JJ nodded somberly while Pope coughed uncomfortably into his fist. Across the fire, Kie was glaring up at John B, and Stella hated the betrayal she could already see melting into Kie’s eyes. John B shot JJ a glare. “I wasn’t macking.”

JJ lifted his chin, unrelenting. “You were totally macking Sarah Cameron.”

He wasn’t helping the situation, so Stella lightly flicked his arm, prompting JJ to immediately look at her, pressing his cut lips together to keep himself from smirking. She narrowed her eyes in warning, and all JJ did was link their arms together and pull her to his side.

“I wasn’t macking on her, okay?” John B spoke up, exasperated. “I was using her for access.”

JJ scoffed lightly. “There was access, alright.”

Stella pinched his side at that, despite the inappropriate laugh threatening to burst. Kie wouldn’t appreciate it, and Stella could tell her twin was seconds away from pushing John B into the fire. “Did you tell her about the treasure?” Kie demanded.

John B’s eyes widened. “I was trying to get into the archives.”

Kie’s voice grew loud with disbelief. “Is that a yes?”

“I. . . I left out key details,” John B said, looking to the others for help. Stella pressed her lips together, pressed up against JJ. If anyone noticed, they didn’t say anything, not with the current situation going on. Poor John B wasn’t going to get help on this.

“Yo, what?” Kie scoffed with a shake of her head. “You let a Kook in on our secret? What about Pogue Lyfe? What about the T-shirt company, bro?”

Suddenly, it was a battle between Kie and John B, and all Stella, JJ, and Pope could do was sit on the sidelines silently and watch. “I was just using her for information,” John B tried.

Kie shot him a wry look. “Why don’t I believe you?”

John B was growing exasperated already, shaking his head at the unhelpfulness of the others before looking back at Kie. “I’m trying to make us filthy rich here, okay, so that we can pay off a boat, or. . . or, uh. . .” He looked towards Pope, “send you to autopsy school to study bed bodies.” Stella’s face scrunched up as JJ suppressed a snort and Pope blinked owlishly. “Look, you guys know me. Do I look like the type of person to fall for Sarah Cameron?”

JJ blinked. “Uh—”

Stella tilted her head at John B. “Do you want us to answer that?” She could guarantee neither he nor Kie would appreciate the answer.

John B held up a hand at Stella. “Just—just stop.”

Kie shook her head, her jaw tight as she frowned deeply. “Look, you don’t know her yet. I do! You can’t trust her.”

Pope chimed in, “Her brother did hit me in the back with a golf club.”

John B looked to Pope. “Rafe and Sara are different human beings.”

JJ’s cheek was resting on top of Stella’s head as he asked Kie, “What did she do to you, exactly?”

Stella sighed. Oh, boy.

Kie held up two fingers and jabbed them forward. “She’s like a. . . a spitting cobra.” Everyone blinked, bewildered. “First she—she blinds you, and then—”

Stella was already shaking her head, sitting up straight as she said to her struggling sister, “This is a bad analogy.”

“Listen to me!” Kie exclaimed, clearly fed up with the situation. “Whatever we get, she’s gonna try to take.”

Her words were met by silence, other than the crackling fire and chirping cicadas. John B stood quietly, throat working, clearly unsure of what to say as JJ and Pope stayed in their own awkward silence, too. Stella suppressed a sigh. It seemed as though it was up to her to smooth things over, even if she did slightly side with Kie in all of this. She didn’t have a begrudging hate towards Sarah like Kie did, but they were sisters, and Stella needed to show solidarity. But she could also, in some way, see John B’s side of things. God, this was gonna be tense.

“Kie,” Stella spoke up carefully, prompting Kie’s gaze to connect with hers. “Whatever John B promised Sarah, that’s his issue. But if she’s the only way we can get the map, then we need to let it happen.”

Kie’s jaw was hard. “I don’t want her involved. I don’t want to deal with her.”

“We won’t,” Stella said, glancing quickly at John B before looking at Kie again. “Let John B deal with her.” When Kie didn’t look entirely convinced, Stella let out a huff. “This is bigger than your beef with Sarah. I know you know that.”

Silence fell upon them for a few moments as they all waited for Kie to respond. She sat quietly, hands gripping the log she sat on, mulling over Stella’s words. Stella, in turn, hoped she got through to her sister. They needed Kie to be on board with this, no matter her issues with Sarah. They’d already gotten this far in their treasure hunt—an old beef shouldn’t hinder them now.

Stella remained quiet, waiting for Kie to make a decision, although she silently enjoyed the sensation of JJ’s fingers ghosting up and down her arm, their arms still linked together. It was calming when others would argue JJ was anything but.

“Fine,” Kie finally gave in and everyone instantly sat up. She glared at John B. “As long as I don’t have to speak to her.” John B pressed his hands together and brought them to his mouth, his grin already forming. “I just hope you know what you’re getting us into.”

After John B profusely thanked Kie for agreeing, they killed the fire and got up before heading back to the van, since they had to drive to meet Sarah. The twigs and leaves crunched under their shoes as they went, but as Pope, Kie, and John B chatted while walking ahead, Stella lingered back and grasped JJ’s hand to slow his pace down.

He looked at her, eyebrows raising. “What’s up?”

Stella looked up at him, her fingers ghosting on his chin. Finally, she let the worry come out in full force as she asked, “Are you okay? Did—” she stopped, throat working to get rid of the lump that formed. “Did your dad do this?”

JJ’s jaw worked, blue eyes glimmering under the moonlight as he looked down at her. “Got a good chunk of money to pay in restitution,” he told her. “The old man’s not too happy about it.”

Despite herself, Stella felt the hot tears sting in her eyes. She preferred the pink in JJ’s cheeks when they were flushed when he was happy or even drunk—not the pink and harsh reds that surrounded the cuts and marked the bruises. Stella wasn’t sure she ever hated anyone as much as she hated JJ’s dad. Her throat was tight, unable to say anything except to croak out his name, “JJ—”

“Hey, hey,” he shushed her, hands coming up to cup Stella’s that had been ghosting along his sharp jaw. He held her hand in both of his before pressing a kiss to it, blue eyes locked in her brown. “I’m okay, Stel. They’ll heal. It’s no big deal.”

Stella scoffed, though her concern remained clear. “You can’t actually expect me to believe that.” The flutters in her stomach returned when JJ kissed her hand, when he looked at her with those baby blue eyes she loved so much. She let out a breath. “You’re sleeping over at John B’s, right?”

JJ offered her a small dimpled grin. “When am I not?”

Stella pinned him with a stare. They’d stopped walking and she knew they had to move soon, but she took a breath. “Whenever you can, either sleep at John’s or you sleep at mine. Okay?”

JJ raised his eyebrows, though she could see his gaze soften at her offer. But he kept the mood light as he teased, “You inviting me to your room, shark bait?”

Her heart jumped. “Wouldn’t be the first time we shared a bed,” Stella pointed out. It was the truth. They shared hammocks, chairs, couches, and beds countless times before.

“Yeah, but it’s different now, isn’t it?” JJ questioned.

She looked at their hands before meeting his gaze again. “Is it?” she returned, throat working in anticipation. This was it. This was Stella asking JJ if whatever was happening between them was real, if something more was going to come out of it than a few kisses shared.

JJ’s gaze was intense, deep in a way she wasn’t used to as it stole her breath. “It is.” Steady, resolute, firm. No room for arguments. Thank fuckinf God.

Stella felt her grin appear before she could help it, relief warming her, and JJ mirrored her smile before ducking his head and pressing his lips to hers. She returned the kiss slowly, gently, not wanting to hurt his cut lips. Her heart jumped excitedly as he kissed her, but it was cut short, unfortunately, when John B’s voice cut through the air.

“Oi! What happened to no macking?”

The two of them pulled apart, but John B was grinning, as were Pope and Kie as they looked at the two of them. Stella’s face flushed as JJ slung his arm around her shoulders before they began walking towards their friends. “I’m sure we can make an exception,” JJ said smoothly, cockily.

John B’s grin was wicked. “If it means you’ll finally stop whining about how much you looooove Stel, then yes we will.”

Stella laughed, cheeks flushing, while JJ spluttered. “I never whined!” he protested as they joined their friends.

Pope rolled his eyes. “That’s true. You just bottled it all up inside because you’re emotionally constipated.”

“Sounds about right. I’m the one who made the first move,” Stella said, grinning widely at JJ’s betrayed expression, laughing as he used his arm around her to push her away. Stella continued laughing, along with the others, as she stumbled away, but didn’t lose her balance because JJ instantly caught her hand and pulled her back to his side.

“Whatever. I like an assertive woman,” JJ said with a charming grin, pressing a kiss to Stella’s temple as they neared the van.

Pointing at Pope and John B as they climbed inside, Kie said, “You two owe me twenty bucks, by the way.”

“No, we don’t!” John B argued as he started the van. “It’s after Midsummers.”

Pope nodded in agreement as Kie grinned wickedly before meeting Stella’s gaze as she sat on the back bench. With a giggle, Stella confessed, “It was actually yesterday. Before the summer movie series.”

John B and Pope’s gazes swung to JJ, who leaned back with his arms propped on top of the back bench casually as he said, “It’s true, boys.” John B shook his head and began driving, and JJ added, “Can’t believe you three bet on us.”

Sitting on the floor opposite of them, Pope scoffed. “Can’t believe it took you two this long to get together.”

“Okay!” Stella spoke up loudly, clapping her hands together once and shooting all of her friends a look. “We’re done talking about this.”

They reached their destination soon after that, a spot off in the middle of the woods where a tower stood, the apparent meeting spot John B had set up at Kildare Hawk’s Nest. As soon as he parked the car, Pope slid open the back van door as JJ slapped his knees. “Hit it, boys! We’re goin’. Recon mission.”

But before any of them could even get up, John B turned to face them. “Yo, uh. . . So, uh, I think I’m gonna do this one by myself. . . Tonight.”

Thunder rumbled overhead as Kie rolled her eyes and Stella and JJ fell back in their seats. She raised her eyebrows as JJ drawled a knowing, “Really?”

John B frowned. “What?”

JJ took off his head. “Nothin’.”

John B sighed, fixing his own hat atop his head. “I don’t want to spook Sarah with the peanut gallery.”

Kie shrugged, voice sharp and annoyed as she looked at John B. “I just don’t understand why we’re involving her at all.”

Stella let out a sigh as she leaned back, JJ now sitting on the ground next to her, his head resting against her leg as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Kie, we’re not involving her, okay?” John B said, exasperated. “It’s—it’s just, uh, like a—a business meeting. . . Thing.” On the ground, JJ made a crude motion with the joint he held and made a gulping sound, prompting Pope to grin in amusement while Stella rolled her eyes at John B. He was not selling this well. “Look, once we get what we need, we cut her loose, all right? Plus, we need the map.”

Yeah, okay. Stella wasn’t quite sure how much she believed that.

Kie pursed her lips, leaning forward as she stared John B dead in the eye. “Promise me nothing’s happening between you two.”

John B widened his eyes, answering breathily, “Nothing is happening, Kie.”

“I’m being serious.”

“Okay!”

Kie was still frowning, as if she was trying to get John B to get the message through her glare. “This isn’t about you. This isn’t about us. This is about her.” Stella pressed her lips together as she watched them. Kie’s beef with Sarah was so damn deep, she wondered if they would be able to do with if she wasn’t on board with Sarah helping out just this once. Personally, Stella didn’t give a shit about Sarah Cameron; she just didn’t like her out of principle for the way the end of that friendship hurt Kie. Everything else was between Kie and Sarah. “Dude, she’s gonna get inside your head. Just promise me nothing’s happening between you guys.”

John B looked at her as lightning flashed outside and thunder rolled. “I promise.”

“That was really believable,” JJ piped up.

Pope nodded. “A hundred percent believable.”

Stella lightly knocked JJ with her knee while glaring at Pope, effectively shutting both of them up. John B didn’t dignify them with a response, instead saying, “Anyways, um, I’m gonna take care of business.”

JJ shook his head, playing with the joint. “You’re gonna take care of it so well.”

Stella waved John B off dismissively. “We’ll just sit here,” she said dryly. “In the hot-ass car.”

Pope added, “While it’s lightning.”

They left the back door of the van open as John B got out, backpack on as he walked off towards the tower. The wind rustled outside, thunder rumbling every now and then to accompany the flashes of lightning that warned of a storm rolling in. “Kiara, holding onto your grudge is like drinking poison and thinking Sarah will die,” Pope said once John B was gone.

“Exactly,” JJ nodded.

Kie shot the two of them a withering stare before looking at Stella. Her twin merely shrugged. “You know I’m on your side,” Stella said. “But you can’t really tell John B what he can or can’t do.”

“I’m not trying to tell him what to do,” Kie shot back. “I’m just warning him against the kind of person I know Sarah is. She’s gonna fuck us over.”

“Look, we just—we just gotta trust that John B knows what he’s doing,” Pope tried to placate, looking between Stella and Kie. “That he’s using his head.”

Kie scoffed, not really convinced. “I know what head he’s using, and it isn’t the one on his shoulders.”

“That’s a good one,” JJ mumbled quietly where he sat.

They were quiet for a few minutes, just listening to the rumble of thunder, before conversation started up again. Pope had asked about what happened at Midsummers, and JJ launched into the story that led up to the Kooks cornering him in the men’s room while they waited for John B to return with the map.

JJ was saying, “Rafe and Kelce followed me—”

Kie cut him off. “Wait, do you guys hear that?” Her eyebrows furrowed together. “Sh.”

Stella frowned. “What?”

And then, in the distance, over the sound of the wind howling and thunder rumbling, came a girl’s voice yelling, “Please, somebody, help!”

All of their eyes widened, instantly on their feet as JJ grunted, “Oh, wait, no, I hear that.”

“Shit,” Pope cursed as they all stumbled out.

“What the fuck?” Stella muttered, gripping the skirt of her dress so it didn’t get tangled in her feet as she ran.

The voice, Stella realized, belonged to Sarah, and her heart started pounding as they ran towards the Hawk’s Nest, throat already drying in worry. The first thought in her head was that something went terribly wrong, that John B was hurt, and when they all cleared a group of trees towards the base of the Nest, Stella’s fear came true as a gasp ripped through her at the sight of John B lying on the ground, Sarah crying as she cradled his head and begged for him to wake up and open his eyes.

“Sarah! What happened?” Pope asked as they came running over, skidding to a stop, their breathing labored.

Sarah was crying, and Stella’s heart clenched at the sight of John B, unconscious, fear drenching her veins in ice as she instantly gripped Kie’s hand. “I don’t know what to do,” Sarah sobbed. “He needs help. Topper shoved him.”

Anger heated Stella’s skin, momentarily taking over the terror trembling her body as JJ demanded, “Where the hell is he?”

But Sarah just cried, “Oh, please, please, please get help. I don’t care who. Just call someone.”

Stella pushed Pope away as she panted, “Go! Call 911! Go!”

Pope took off and Kie shouted after him, “Pope, hurry!”

They all stood, breathing labored and hearts pounding, unsure of what to do as their friend lay unconscious. Worry weighed heavily on them all, to the point where Stella couldn’t even stop to question the way Sarah was holding John B to her, crying for him, kissing him and begging for him to wake up. No, nothing else mattered other than their injured friend, the tears stinging in Stella’s eyes as she prayed to anyone who was listening that he would wake up. Soon. Now. Please.

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mymelodyheart · 4 years ago

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All I Want For Christmas Is You Chapter 2 ~It’s Her Cue~

Previously in Sparks Will Fly ...

A slap on his back tore his gaze away from Claire. "Easy now lad," Willie said in a low, amused voice. "Ye look like ye could use the same drink as her."

Jamie glanced back at the subject of their conversation. "Aye, but make mine a double," he whispered.

"On it," Willie replied, laughing as he walked off.

What the bloody hell? He should be withdrawing himself away from this attraction because this mad instant bond between them was like an overloaded electrical fuse, capable of incinerating him alive. He'd already learnt his lesson from his last relationship. He'd been there and done that, but yet he didn't have the will to stop himself from finding out how their connection would play out.

Oh, Christ, this is bad. So, so bad, I'm in so much big trouble. Taking a huge sigh, he found himself a stool nearest to the pool table and watched Claire steal the show from the best snooker player in Broch Mordha.

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"Just polishing my balls for the lovely lass, here."

The people around her howled with good-natured laughter.

Claire kept her head down as she sat on the edge of the stool, chalking her stick, waiting for Hugh to stop showing off and blathering with his mates, and to finally break. She felt eyes on her, and when she looked up, she met Jamie's gaze where he sat with his brother at the high table.

Annalise leaned in from behind her and whispered, "Ginger can't stop looking at you."

Claire drew in substantial deep breaths. She'd watched Jamie play shinty earlier, and she thought he looked impressive then. Tall, strong, lithe, covered in mud and the epitome of a Highland warrior. Not that she had any idea what a Highland warrior would have looked like. After all, she only had the movie, Braveheart to go by. But who would have thought he'd show any interest in her. Perhaps, because she'd probably looked like she was about to climb him. Who could blame her, though? The moment he'd looked into her eyes, he stirred something inside her, which no man had ever done before him. And by some feat of willpower, she wondered how she'd succeeded not breaking into song right then and there. Up close earlier and now, sat only a few feet away, Jamie looked even better. Wavy auburn hair touched the collar of his plaid flannel shirt and the way his jeans hung low on hips, it shouldn't be even allowed.

"He probably thinks I'm easy. You know how some rural folks think city people like us have loose morals."

Annalise gasped. "Why do you think he would think that?"

"I think I came on too strong and flirty," she confided in a low voice. "He's a man, so of course, he'd respond, and it probably works a treat for him too since I'm only here for a holiday. But my God, he's one fine specimen of a man, isn't he? I'm even getting butterflies, and the last time I had them ...goodness, I can't even remember."

"Don't be daft ...you don't even know what he's thinking. Besides, you're single, and you're allowed to show interest if you fancy someone." The ice in Annalise's vodka and tonic clinked behind her. "This is the twenty-first century, and you're welcome to it. Flirt away and get butterflies. Let yourself go a little. I don't know if it applies here, but I'll say it anyway ...what goes on in the Highlands, stay in the Highlands."

Aww, bless her.

Claire was grateful for her friend's presence in her life. If Annalise hadn't been there to constantly coax her out of her self-consciousness and to confide in to, she'd probably still be living a secluded life, and London would have eventually eaten her whole. Now here she was, openly flirting with a handsome stranger and she'd agreed to let him take her out.

Claire smiled. "How about you? What's happening with you and Willie?"

Annalise made an exaggerated sighing sound behind her, making her laugh. What a tart!

"Hey, by the way, Jamie asked me out. So I guess, after this game and a round of drink, we're going to split. He wants to take me on a Christmas night tour. Will you be alright with Willie?" Claire asked. She had to make sure as this was their holiday together and she didn't want Annalise feeling abandoned.

"Yeah, I'll be fine. The boys seem like decent blokes, but as a precaution, I took photos of their driving licences and sent them to Geillis. She'll have them thoroughly checked out. Really handy to know someone whose boyfriend works with the police."

Claire's eyes widened, and she turned around to face her friend. "You didn't! I told Jamie I trust him." Geillis Duncan was their mutual friend they'd met in London at a party. After hitting it off, they'd forged a tight friendship, and the three of them became close until Geillis had to move back to her home city of Glasgow when she met the love of her life. Claire and Annalise were going to visit her before flying back to London.

"Of course, I did, silly. We're both on our own. Just because we're on our holidays and having fun doesn't mean we have to be lax when it comes to precaution. Don't worry, it'll be fine." Annalise reassuringly squeezed her arm. "Speaking of protection ...do you have condoms?"

What!?! Sex was the furthest thing from her mind. But she didn't have time to reply as she saw at the corner of her eye, Hugh finally, leaned across the pool table and broke. As Claire stood up to take her turn, their audience cheered and whooped.

Ignoring the hoots and whistles, she watched in concentration as the colourful balls rolled, not one of them dropping into a pocket. She began to walk around the pool table, taking in each position of the balls as she tapped her chin. Alrighty Beauchamp, let's have a look, shall we? This should be easy-peasy, lemon squeezy. We'll go for stripes.

"Ye ken how to play, hen?" Hugh teased, extracting laughter from his friends. "If not, I promise to go easy with my shaft." Another round of loud laughter ensued.

Claire ignored the innuendo, and the sally going on and focused.

First, I'll down that nine-ball hanging over the pocket and use the rail to tap out the eleven, crammed against the twelve. That'll leave open the six, thirteen, and fifteen. Once I drop the fifteen, using a little side spin, that should bring me to the other end of the table. Then I'll sink the eleven and the fourteen into the same corner pocket, gently hitting the ten off the rail in the process, so I don't get stuck later having to bank shot it. Knock in the eight, then I'm clear to finish it off. Good God, Beauchamp, you're so good.

Satisfied with her strategy, Claire leaned over the green felt and positioned herself. Although Hugh's loud wisecrack didn't rattle her, the intensity of Jamie's stare was another matter. Taking a deep breath, she redirected her concentration on her game plan and took her first shot and then another, working clinically and accurately. Unfortunately, their encounter earlier kept creeping back into her consciousness and playing in loops in her head. It didn't help that his scent stuck on to her when he'd caught her after the fall. He smelled of forest and fresh laundry. None of that heavy musky expensive perfumes London yuppies liked to bathe in. It made her want to lean in, bury her face in the crook of his neck and take a deep breath.

Bent at the waist, Claire stretched over the edge of the table and focused on the fifteen-ball and tried not to wince at the memory of openly flirting with Jamie. In her defence, it wasn't every day she was rescued by a very manly bloke who stared at her like he didn't want to let her out of his sight. She wondered if she'd appeared too eager and was totally misunderstanding the look he was giving her. There had been a hint of wariness lurking behind those beautiful translucent blue eyes when she'd agreed to go out with him. Had she said something to cause him to throw up his guard?

Having gone to a Catholic, all-girls, boarding school, her experience with the opposite sex was limited to the ones she read in romance novels. Orphaned at a young age, her guardian uncle Lamb didn't believe, dragging her across the globe with him was an ideal way to raise a girl, especially when he worked mostly with men in archaeological sites. So he'd decided the best place for her upbringing was with the nuns, right through college.

So when it finally came for her to start adulting and dating in a big, bad city like London, she'd been like a deer caught in the headlights. But she quickly found her feet with the help of her friend and flatmate, Annalise, a Parisienne by birth and a Londoner at heart. The French girl had been a mentor to her, initiating her to the trappings of singlehood and city life. Though the dating and getting-to-know-a-guy part was also an exciting discovery, she quickly realised every date she'd been to, after having gone through a handful of them, was a recycled version of the last. Same lines, same latest fashion, exaggerated backstories and trying too hard to impress instead of being themselves. So at the ripe age of twenty-five, she still had to experience what it was like to have a boyfriend. Annalise accused her of being too picky, but Claire always reasoned she just hadn't met the right one. She'd envisioned her first boyfriend to be someone endearingly awkward, not too loud and maybe a little shy. But Jamie was the least awkward man she'd ever met. He was easy on the eyes, and he lived inside his skin like a well-worn pair of jeans. He was far from a starter boyfriend she'd envision - definitely, not a boy anything.

"Go, Claire! You can do it!" Annalise shouted at the sidelines.

As she marked her shot on the eight-ball, she glanced up at Jamie and felt her focus wobble a bit. When one of the lads emitted a low whistle as she moved her hips to settle herself at a conducive angle, he didn't have a smidgen of amusement on his face. More than anything, he looked liked he was about to knock the front teeth off of the offender.

She didn't want a pub brawl to start in her honour, even if it sounded romantic in movies or books.

Straightening up from her position, she gave Jamie what she thought was a sexy smile. "Hey, Jamie," she called to him. "You got that single malt ready for me? This shouldn't take long." She tried not to blanch for sounding overconfident and cocky. It seemed cheeky for presuming she'd finished this game in a jiffy, but the pleasure of seeing his piercing blue eyes creased at the corners was definitely worth the minor discomfort her behaviour had caused her. Oh, Lordy! There were hushed oohs, followed by a round of testosterone-laced jests, making Jamie shake his head in amusement. At least, to her relief, he stopped looking like he's about to wallop anyone. Trouble averted in the knick of time!

As Jamie turned to get the attention of the bartender, she quickly lowered herself back over the table in the same position and sunk in the remaining balls. When she finished, her opponent, Hugh looked, well …not the least bit pleased about it. It probably didn't help she'd earlier acted cocksure about winning the game and might have dented his macho ego in front of his mates.

Claire watched Hugh purposely marched towards her as their audience clapped, cheered and teased him for losing to a lassie.

"Ye got me at a disadvantage. I must admit I went easy on you since ye're new around here," he said loud enough for everyone near the pool table to hear.

Claire gave him a charming smile, even though she felt like throttling him for not being man enough to congratulate her. "I know. Too bad, you assumed I couldn't play because I have a pair of boobs."

Hugh's eyes dropped down to her breast, and his cheek twitched, as he openly leered at her. "I must admit, ye have a lovely pair, and it might have distracted me from playing a good game, now that I come to think about it. Ye ken what ye need? Ye need a good ..."

"Stiff drink?" Jamie interrupted as he handed Claire a glass of single malt. "That's what ye were about to say, aye?"

Jamie's words were mildly pleasant, but she detected the underlying warning in his tone. Hugh didn't look like one to back-off, but when Jamie took a small step forward, he eyed the height and breadth before him and thought better of it. Splitting a forced smile between her and Jamie, Hugh raised both his hands as a sign of truce and slowly walked back to his mates.

With a sigh, she placed her cue stick on the pool table and faced Jamie. "This is fast becoming a habit of yours, isn't it?"

"What?" he asked, taking a step inside her personal space. It was another one of his moves to add to that growing habit list of his. Her old fashion side, the side influenced by her upbringing in the boarding school, wanted her to take a step back. But the side, that suspiciously sounded like Annalise, was shouting at her to hold her ground.

So she held her ground and arched an eyebrow at him. "You coming to my rescue. Again!"

When his mouth expanded into a smile, she couldn't help noticing his full, beautiful lips. With a cleanly shaven angular jaw, they made him looked like an angel who'd spent time in hell. Her breath caught in her throat, and she quickly looked back up, hoping he hadn't noticed her wandering eyes.

His amused expression told her he had. "Ye could say, rescuing ye is one past time that's beginning to grow on me."

She laughed out loud. It was something she did whenever she was nervous or when shyness overtook, and the most annoying part of it, it was almost always accompanied by a snort. She quickly sobered up. Acting like a loon was definitely beginning to be her nervous signature move.

As if sensing her unease, Jamie quickly changed the subject. "By the way, that was some show ye put on. Ye'll be the topic of everyone's conversation for the next few days. And Hugh the butt of jokes."

"I didn't realise I was playing with a sore loser," she said, taking a sip of her whisky. When the heat slid down her throat, she tried not to flinch. Acting cool wasn't her forte, but she was determined to work on it. "If I'd known, I would have given up my slot."

"Dinnae fash. Hugh's all mouth and no trousers, but he's harmless. So where did ye learn to play like that?" His eyes scanned her face, and he cocked his head a little like he was committing each of her features to memory.

"My uncle taught me. We'd play for hours whenever we get time to spend together."

"Ye're close to yer uncle. That's nice. I hope I'd be that type of uncle one day."

She beamed. Jamie looked like the type of uncle who would have boundless of energy playing with children. "My uncle's for the most part, both a father and mother to me when I wasn't in the boarding school. My parents died when I was young."

His face turned serious. "Sorry to hear that. My parents have always been part of my life, so I can't begin to imagine what it was like for you growing up without them."

Claire gave him a grateful smile as she pulled a vibrating phone from her pocket. "Oh, bummer," she whispered, glancing down at the screen. "I have about fifteen missed text messages. I didn't feel it going off. I must have been caught up with all the excitement of the game."

He ran a hand along his jaw. "Some lad missing ye back home?"

She hesitated, glancing up at him. "No." She shook her head, vigorously. "It's my friend, Geillis." She skimmed through the messages wondering why there were so many of them. Annalise had sent the photos of the brothers' driving licences to Geillis, and probably something had come up.

"Is everything alright?" he asked as she continued to read the messages.

"It's fine," she squeaked, looking for any incriminating data Geillis might have found. She found none. Instead, what she was reading was making her face heat up.

"Are ye sure? Ye have a troubling frown forming on yer face. Maybe I can help."

She sighed and rolled her head. "Annalise sent the photos of your driving licences to my friend Geillis. And a selfie she took with you and your brother earlier. You know ...to have you check out and see if you're legit. Geillis' boyfriend works with the police you see."

He arched an eyebrow. "And?"

Is he upset? "Don't look at me like that. I told you I trust you."

He laughed. "Like what? Ye're the one who's giving me an odd look. I told ye I was alright with it. So what did she say? Do I get her seal of approval?"

She winced. "Yeah, Geillis says it's all good."

He picked up his whisky from the nearby table. "Geillis sounds like a verra nice friend. I think I like her already. What else did she say?"

She felt the colour drain from her face. "I swear you wouldn't want to hear the rest of it. Geillis is raving mad."

"Try me."

"I think we should leave it ..."

"Come on, Sassenach. It cannae be that bad."

"I'd rather not."

"Go on, humour me." His blue eyes danced, and she marvelled for the umpteenth time at how handsome he was.

"Well, don't say I didn't warn you." She shut her eyes for a few heartbeats and puffed out a breath. "Well, she said if you're the same bloke who competed against her boyfriend at caber toss last spring and won ..." Oh dear, God. "...I ...um ...I should let you ground my corn."

He practically choked on his whisky.

She grimaced and wondered if she should thump him on the back. "I'm sorry. Geillis has an odd sense of humour. I'm afraid it's just her way of saying that her boyfriend thinks you're ace ...well, that's if you're really the bloke who he thinks you are."

He recovered quickly and grinned. "How about ye? What do ye think of me?"

She ignored the question. "You haven't confirmed anything to me yet," she said, speaking into her whisky glass. "Did you really win the caber toss competition?"

He looked smugly amused, and the smile that spread across his face already answered her question.

"So you're a tree surgeon who plays shinty and tosses poles in your spare time ...whatever next."

He nodded at her phone when it lit up again. "What else is your friend saying?"

She put her drink down and glanced at the screen. "'She said, the men who participated in this year's caber toss, including you, posed with nothing on but their kilt for a charity calendar."

He smiled. "Aye, that's right."

"And she asked me to ask you if you're wearing anything underneath the kilt because I'm getting the calendar as a stocking filler."

His booming laughter made a few heads turn their way.

"See I told you, she's raving mad." She took another sip from her glass and realised it was empty. Ah, fiddlesticks! "I thought her boyfriend would have mellowed her down a bit, but I have a feeling, she's worse than ever."

He eyed her glass and grinned. "I definitely have to meet this friend of yours."

She felt a twinge of ache in her heart, which took her by surprise. "Annalise and I are stopping at her place in Glasgow before we fly back to London on Three Kings. So you won't be seeing her."

He leaned in closer. "I ken we've only just met. Ye think ye're going to miss me when you go back?" His eyes twinkled mischievously.

Even though she was a right bumbling mess around him, she had to admit she was having too much fun in his company. So much so, she didn't really want to think about leaving yet. Her mind was already racing and wondering if Annalise would agree to celebrate Hogmanay here instead of in Edinburgh. "Well, that depends ..."

"Depends on what?"

Her curiosity to explore the dynamic between them made it difficult to keep her guard up. It was useless trying to fight whatever this was when she was so drawn to Jamie. Surely he must be feeling this too. She swallowed hard and decided to be brave. "If I'll have a reason to miss you," she blurted out before she could change her mind.

A tiny fraction of the playfulness displayed on his face was replaced by uncertainty ...and Claire's stomach coiled at the proof he wasn't prepared to act on the attraction between them. Whatever his reason was, she wasn't sure if she wanted to know as her guard began to scramble back into place. Oh, God, how could I be so dim? Maybe he's got a girlfriend or a wife ...

"Arbroath Smokies."

Stunned, she looked at him. "Wot?"

"Have ye eaten?"

"Uh, um ...not since midday."

"Weel, hard to fall in love with ..." He took a huge deep breath. "...Broch Mordha on an empty stomach."

"Huh?"

That playful smile was back on his face. "Have ye tried Arbroath Smokies?"

"No. I don't even know what that is."

"Ye have to try it. I know just the place." Jamie glanced over his shoulder. "Come on, let's have a quick drink with Willie and Annalise so we can get out of here."

And then just like that, he wove his fingers through hers and tugged her towards the bar.

#melodyheart #all I want for christmas is you #claire beauchamp #jamie fraser #Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser #outlanderfanfic

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angelqueen04 · 4 years ago

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Hamliza Month, Day 19

@megpeggs @historysalt

Pain Summary: Alexander races back to Philadelphia after receiving a terrifying letter. Warning/Note: Discussion of miscarriage, references to/implied depression (hence why there is no preview for this one and everything is under behind the Keep Reading link). The angst and sadness is strong in this one, folks. Fair warning.

Among other reasons for wishing your return is Mrs. Hamilton’s earnest desire. It seems she has had, or has been in danger of a miscarriage, which has much alarmed her. But Doctor Khun by whom she is attended with Doctor Stephens, assures that she is in no danger. However she is extremely desirous of your presence in order to tranquilize her. [1]

The words, read only once, still managed to burn through his mind. A miscarriage. This had never happened before, not once. Eliza always maintained excellent health when she was carrying their children. She seemed to blossom, keeping a rosy, healthy color about her cheeks as her belly grew. The births were always painful, that was true, but she came through each time without cause for alarm. Why was it different now? What had happened?

He really ought to be truthful with himself. He knew what had happened, what was different. Barely a year ago, both he and Eliza had nearly lost their lives during the yellow fever epidemic. It had only been thanks to the miracle of Ned’s tender care that they had survived. Then, there had been a great deal of sickness among the children, particularly little Johnny, which had only added to the stress Eliza labored under.

Then, of course, there was Alexander himself. Though he had done as much as he could to aid her in caring for their children while they were ill, he had seen even then that Eliza was not doing well. Then he had insisted on accompanying the army as they dealt with these rascals in the back country. She had asked him not to go. Just once, but she had asked. When Alexander had insisted that he had to go, if only because of Henry Knox’s lengthy and irritating absence from Philadelphia, she had fallen silent and not brought the subject up again, not bothering to argue with him.

He could still remember his last sight of her as he’d ridden off. Pale almost to the color of milk, a strange thinness about her person even though he knew she was eating regular meals. She’d looked exhausted, despite her frequent efforts to rest whenever possible.

Her condition had not improved in his absence. Mother Schuyler and his brother-in-law, Philip Jeremiah, had visited Philadelphia while Alexander had been away, and they had been much alarmed by Eliza’s fragile health. They had even tried to convince her to travel back with them to Albany, where she could rest among and be supported by the family. She refuses to leave without you, Philip wrote, and will not hear of the children leaving either.

Hurry back, brother. End this and come home.

Alexander recalled wincing when he read of Eliza’s refusal to leave the state without him accompanying her. He could guess very easily as to why she refused to go, even if she had not confessed her reasons to her mother and brother. So, he had had done his best to hurry things along, but everything could be handled only so fast. After Philip’s letter, there had been little news. Eliza wrote to him when she could, but she said little of her health, focusing instead on the children. She said nothing of him coming home either. The tone of her letters was brittle, almost wooden. It had only increased his disquiet, but there was little he could do except keep doing what he was doing so that he could return home.

And then, finally, came the letter. Knox said Eliza was ‘extremely desirous’ of Alexander’s presence. Knox wasn’t known to exaggerate in his choice of words, and really, they had only confirmed the unease he had been living more and more with as the weeks passed.

She needed him. She had needed him before, but he had still gone away, so certain that he was indispensable to ending this crisis with the whiskey rebels. So he’d left her alone in a way he had never done before while she was carrying a child.

And now that child was gone.

Alexander could feel the tears stinging his cheeks as he guided his horse onto Market Street, the setting sun shining now directly into his eyes. He barely noted passing the Presidential Mansion, his focus solely on locating a familiar gate in front of a lovely house of red brick.

He spotted the hitching post first, the one Alexander had ordered installed in front of the house for the use of guests or government officials that might arrive there on horseback. It was deserted at the moment, but that meant little. The doctors might have arrived on foot, or their horses may have been put in the barn behind the house, particularly if their stay was going to be of some duration.

Bringing his horse to a halt, Alexander vaulted off of his horse, and stumbled a bit when he landed hard. It had been a long time since he had done something like that, and he was no longer twenty-one. Getting his feet back under him, he looked toward the men of his escort, who had actually managed to keep up with him. Tossing one of them the reins of his horse, Alexander turned on his heel and strode to the front door.

Someone must have been watching for him, because the door opened before he could even reach for the knob. In the doorway stood Ned, stripped down to his waistcoat and breeches, with tired, dark-rimmed eyes. “Ham,” he greeted solemnly, stepping back to allow Alexander to enter the house.

“How is she?” he demanded as he entered the front hall. He struggled out of his military coat, both because it wasn’t needed – the house was more than sufficiently warm – and the sudden feeling that it did not belong, that it was almost insulting to be wearing it in this house of mourning. Eliza had not wanted him to go, had not wanted him out there risking his life when his family needed him here, but he had insisted on doing so, had insisted on playing soldier again, to relive the glories of his youth.

Well, he had, and now he, they, were paying the price for it.

Ned, to his credit, didn’t try to delay or prevaricate in his response. “Mrs. Hamilton is resting comfortably upstairs,” he said. “Mrs. Washington has been here for some hours, sitting with her so that she is not alone.”

Alexander barely waited for him to finish before he started to move toward the stairs, but was brought to a halt when Ned’s hand closed around his arm. “Ham, wait.”

He tugged at the other man’s grip. “Not now, Ned,” he said impatiently. “I need to see my wife.”

Ned didn’t relent, however, meeting him with an equally firm gaze. “You need to collect yourself first, Alexander,” he said. “You’ll do Mrs. Hamilton no good if you go rushing in there and disturbing her from the sleep she needs to preserve her health. Plus, there’s more that you need to know.”

Alexander wanted to shrug his old friend off and continue on his way to reassure himself of his wife’s survival, but his words struck him. Eliza needed to rest to get better. He shouldn’t disturb her. This was about what she needed, not him.

“Fine,” Alexander said through gritted teeth, and allowed Ned pull him into the dining room. There remained a fair bit of food on the table, looking like the remains of a buffet. There had been others here, but must have left before his arrival. At Ned’s gesture, he sat down at the table, eyeing the food warily. He wasn’t hungry.

“You should eat, Ham,” Ned said firmly as he joined him, seemingly reading his mind. “The last thing anyone needs is you fainting from lack of food.”

He shot his old friend an impatient look, but decided not to bother arguing. He picked at some of the meats and bread, avoiding the fruits.

“The children?” Alexander asked suddenly as he began to eat, the silence of the house falling heavy on his ears. Surely there should have been some noise coming from them? It was too early for them to have gone to bed.

“The President took them to stay at the Presidential Mansion,” Ned informed him. “He thought it best so that Mrs. Hamilton wouldn’t be disturbed.” He paused before adding, “Young Philip proved himself very responsible, keeping his younger siblings in hand.”

Alexander nodded. Under any other circumstances, he would be pleased by the news that his firstborn had handled himself so well. When he finally finished what was on his plate, he made to stand, asking, “Are you satisfied now, Ned? Can I see my wife now?”

“Just a minute, Alexander,” Ned said. “It’s important that you know her condition before you go up there.”

He stilled. Her condition? What did that mean? Was Eliza in further danger? “What is it?” he demanded.

Ned took a deep breath. “While I know that Secretary Knox’s letter intimated that Mrs. Hamilton suffered a miscarriage, Dr. Kuhn and I are more inclined to judge it a stillbirth. The babe was well formed, but was small, too small to have survived.”

Alexander closed his eyes. Poor, poor lamb, he thought, fighting back a wave of tears. He’d focused so much on Eliza that he had not given the child much thought. “What was it?” he asked. “A boy or a girl?”

“A boy,” Ned responded, his expression shifting from professional to sympathetic.

Another boy. They’d hoped for a girl this time, to give Angelica and Fanny a baby sister on which to dote, but they would have welcomed a son with equal joy. In either case, he and Eliza hadn’t had the chance to discuss names. Their poor boy would go into the grave without anything to mark his existence.[2]

Taking a deep, shaky breath to stem the tide of tears, he whispered, “I’d like to see my wife now.”

Thankfully, this time Ned didn’t try to stop him when he stood and strode toward the stairs.

Just as Ned had said, Mrs. Washington was with Eliza, having pulled a seat close to the bed. An embroidery hoop sat in her lap, but it was clear she had given up on working on it, perhaps due to the fact that only a single candle was lit in the room. The older woman looked up as he pushed the door open further and stepped into the room. A relieved expression crossed Mrs. Washington’s face.

“Ah, Colonel,” she said upon seeing him, “I’m glad to see you’ve returned.” She glanced toward the bed. “She’s been dreaming, and calling for you.”

Mrs. Washington was kind enough to quickly vacate her position and depart, leaving Alexander standing at the foot of the bed, staring down at his sleeping wife. Though the candle provided little in the way of light, he could see how, if anything, Eliza’s color seemed worse than it had been when he’d left. Her dark hair had been braided back away from her face, but that only emphasized how gaunt and haggard she looked. Even with her eyes closed in sleep, he could see the furrow of her brow, and Alexander knew that if he touched her cheek, he’d feel the clammy sensation of dried tears.

“Oh, love,” he murmured, drawing in a ragged breath. Sliding around to the side of the bed, Alexander unbuttoned his waistcoat and shrugged it off, tossing it carelessly onto the chair Mrs. Washington had left behind. After removing his boots, he crawled into their bed and curled himself around Eliza’s side, draping an arm over her and gently pulling her close. He buried his face into the crook of her neck.

Her belly was still swollen, he realized, like the baby was still there, though Alexander knew from experience that that would soon fade. Eventually, Eliza’s body would begin to return to its normal shape, and although the marks of her pregnancies would remain, there would be no other sign that there had ever been a sixth Hamilton child.

She’d had to deal with this all by herself. While Alexander recognized that she had had the support of friends like the President and Mrs. Washington, and the care of talented physicians like Ned and Dr. Kuhn, Eliza had still been alone. Who had been here that could truly share in her grief and sorrow?

Who should have been here? He should have, but he hadn’t, placing the suppression of a bunch of unruly rascals over Eliza’s health and wellbeing. Oh, there had been many good reasons, all of which Alexander listed to Eliza before he left, in his own head in the ensuing weeks he was away, and on the frantic, harried race back to Philadelphia.

But now… lying here, cradling Eliza’s frail, fragile form in his arms, he realized just how hollow those reasons were. Alexander should have been here, taking care of his wife during her time in need. But he had turned his back on this duty, the sacred duty of any husband, and now God saw fit to punish him for it.

The tears came silently and, while part of him fretted about disturbing Eliza, once they started, he had not the strength to stop them. “I’m sorry, my Betsey,” he whispered into her neck, clutching her even more tightly to him. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Alexander held her close all through the night. He must have slept at some point, because when he opened his eyes, he found, first, that the dawn’s earliest light was beginning to creep through the window, second, that he was lying on his back and, third, Eliza had shifted away and now lay on her side, her back to him. Tremors shook her body, and he could hear the sound of repressed sobs.

He sat up hurriedly and reached for her, saying, “Betsey?” He pulled at her shoulder gently, urging her to turn back to him. He could feel the stiff resistance in her body for a moment, but then it gave away and she let him bring her around to face him.

Eliza’s cheeks and eyes were flushed and red from crying, and he wished he had a handkerchief to wipe away the tears. Instead, Alexander gathered her back into his arms, cradling her close and letting her bury her face in his chest while he rested his chin on top of her head. He rocked her as he would rock one of their children when they were ill, trying to soothe her even as he struggled to keep his own grief in check.

They stayed like that for a while, remaining undisturbed by the outside world, for which Alexander was grateful. Much as he longed to see his children, right now it was their mother who had to be his first priority. She had suffered his neglect, his disrespect, for far, far too long, and this was the terrible, terrible result.

“We’re going to leave, Betsey.” The words flew from his mouth before they’d even fully formed in his head, but as they settled into his thoughts, everything began to take shape. Correspondingly, her shaking body stilled in his arms. “I’m going to start writing my resignation.[3] I’ll submit it to the President, and I’ll start making preparations for us to return to New York.” He leaned back and looked down into her face. “We can perhaps stay with your parents for a time? Would you like that?”

She stared up at him with watery eyes, and he was not blind to the naked skepticism in them. He winced, knowing that she had a right to be doubtful. Alexander had talked of resigning before, had made vague promises that they would return to private life, but he had never followed through. He had made excuses for it, citing this or that crisis that required his guiding hand. Eliza had endured and soldiered onward, even as their continued residence in a city that she had never truly warmed to wore on her. She’d even endured a scolding by letter from Angelica when she heard the rumors of Alexander’s considered resignation from public service, though he didn’t think she ever responded to it.

“It’s time to go home,” Alexander said, and then he pressed his lips to her forehead. “I know you have cause to be suspicious, darling, but I truly mean it. We’re going home.”

Eliza did not respond, but she slowly sank into him, relaxing into his embrace for the first time in months. She buried her face into his chest, and her fingers gripped his shirt in the grip of someone who had been drowning, but now had something to keep them afloat.

Alexander refused to disappoint her. Not again.

-----

[1] Henry Knox to Alexander Hamilton, 24 November 1794.

[2] In truth, we don’t know the gender of the baby Eliza and Alexander lost at this time. No record was ever left that I know of, not even where they might have buried the poor mite. I chose to go with the baby being a boy because it seemed more likely to me. Out of eight children who came from successful births, six were sons, indicating that, on a physical level, Alexander was more apt to father boys.

[3] Alexander Hamilton to George Washington, 1 December 1794. Alexander certainly did not waste time, did he? Knox’s note above was dated November 24th, and literally within 7 days, Alexander had received it, raced back to Philadelphia to Eliza, and then wrote his dated resignation, which I imagine Washington received that same day or close to it, given its important contents. One week.

#my fanfiction #hamliza month #hamliza #alexander hamilton #elizabeth schuyler hamilton #edward stevens #martha washington #tw: depression #tw: miscarriage

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nosferatvpussy · 4 years ago

Text

distorted lullabies [chapter XII]

Word count: 9,092 (heh)

Warnings: vulgar language, and uh, a teeny tiny bit smutty

Pairing: Dracula x female reader

Edit: AO3 link

A/N: Late again. I’ll stop apologising now because it’s getting a little out of hand. Ignore the caption in the gif and focus on his face (and the outfit...). I couldn’t find another gif.

And, oh, the reader remains nameless.

______________________________________________________

“Just pick one, Mal,” I complained. “They all look the same, anyway.”

Mallory fixed her green eyes on me with a sour face through the boutique’s mirror, where she had been modeling pairs of shoes for the last hour. This was the sixteenth pair, by my count, and she had reserved 4 other pairs to pick from, which she “absolutely adored and would look fantastic with other outfits”. The shop assistant was waiting by the pairs of shoes, a tiny smile frozen on her lips in pretend amity or perhaps thinking about how fat of a commission she’d earn on account of Mal’s shopaholic tendencies.

Two years had gone without much talk between Mal and I, and I found that a few things hadn’t changed: her proclivity for spending incredible amounts of money in clothes and her forgetfulness. The last of which landed me in a Gloucester boutique with her because she’d forgotten to pack high-heels for the wedding. She’d called me earlier and invited me to have lunch with her and then go shopping. Upon finding a store that appealed to her taste, though, she forced me into the store with sweet promises of delicious food later. My stomach grumbled like it was angry at me for having agreed to it.

“I’d forgotten how much of a pain in the arse you become when you’re hungry,” Mallory said as she flopped next to me on the canape where I sat. I shot her an annoyed look and she giggled as she started undoing straps around her ankles. “I’ll pay for your desert!” Instantly, I opened a large grin. And she chuckled. “Glad to see your sweet tooth remained intact.”

My grin widened to a more genuine one. Mallory and I still had a lot to catch up when it came to our friendship but it wouldn’t be too much work, not when an easy sense of familiarity permeated our banter.

My complaint was enough to make Mallory decide and pay. It wasn’t much of a decision because she still paid for three pairs of shoes. Earlier, when she’d tried on the tenth pair I pointed out that she only needed one pair of shoes for the wedding but she shrugged it off, so I knew it was pointless to tell her again. How she would fit those new additions into her suitcase, and her closet back in London, was her problem.

Once we were out of the boutique, Mallory still looking forlornly at a pair on the display that was too expensive even for her, the bright sun of midday hit our eyes, making both of us blink in surprise. Clearly the hour we spent cooped inside a store was enough for England’s weather to shift out of sorts.

Considering the unlikely sun and the pleasant temperature, we chose a restaurant that had tables on the outside where we could bask in the sunlight and watch the influx of people walking towards Gloucester Cathedral. From where I sat, I could only see part of it but towers peaked a couple of roads over, providing a glimpse of how big the structure sprawled. It looked like an entirely different place during the day. Not at all spooky and mysterious as it had appeared the past night. Watching a group of nuns filing past me towards the cathedral, I smiled, wondering how horrified they would be if the priest shared with them about the encounter he’d had. I’m sure there would be tales about the two creatures dancing and then vanishing in the blink of an eye, and how it would be ascribed to either devils or angels making their presence known. Oddly, I wished for the first.

“What are you smirking about?” Mallory asked in her best teasing tone.

“Nothing,” I said, archly.

“Uh-huh.”

She didn’t have any more time to tease me because a waiter came to our table with menus. To the surprise of nobody, after a show of reading the entire menu, Mallory chose fish and chips and a glass of white wine. It was a trustworthy dish in any part of England, she always said, but it was also her favourite. I, for once, was more adventurous and chose baked lamb with garlic accompanied by sautéed potatoes, onions and aubergines. I saved myself from alcohol. I would need it later, for courage, I told myself. And also for the tinge of regret casting pinpricks on my heart.

“So,” Mallory began, swirling the white wine on her glass as we waited for our food. “Do you have a date for tonight?”

“Yes,” I replied simply, taking a few gulps of my water.

“And…?” She prodded.

“You tell me yours first,” I said. If I could bargain with her and she mentioned someone I knew, perhaps I would have a chance to get back at the teasing that was sure to come.

“Sean Larkin. The lean blond from the adjoining finance firm?” She sighed. “He wanted me to have lunch with him today but I waved him off. I’m saving myself for the wedding.” She wiggled her eyebrows conspiratorially. As if Mallory would save anything for marriage.

“Isn’t he too young by your standards?”

“He’s older than me by a couple of years,” she retorted. “And look who’s talking about age standards! Didn’t you hook up with Ethan Prescott, our ethics professor, inside his office?”

“That was you, Mal.” I snickered at the blank look on her face. “Have you checked for Alzheimers with a doctor?”

“Oh, quit it.” She laughed into her glass, fogging it with her breath, before taking a sip. “My memory is completely fine. My body count is the problem. Now it’s your turn.”

“Maybe you don’t remember him but you know when last week you and I were supposed to go to Camden–”

“Oh my god, it’s the BMW guy!” She squealed. Her wine swung dangerously to the cup’s edges and she set the glass on the table. “Y/N, he’s your client.”

“Is not,” I countered, smiling impishly. It felt like college all over again when we would talk endlessly about boys during the early morning hours in our room. “He’s Renfield’s client. I’m just filling in for him while he’s away.”

“I bet you’re the one being filled–”

“Jesus, Mal!”

“What!” She threw her hands up in defense. “It’s just obvious you two are, you know, doing the deed.”

Clearly, Mallory also managed to preserve her crass manners when it came to guy-talk but still kept a strict rule over swearing. Figures.

“We’re not.”

She stared at me, open-mouthed.

“But but… You said he was yours. What– why not?”

“Because he’s not exactly the ideal person in mind to have as a romantic interest,” I said with a shrug.

“Well, is he nice?”

I considered it, chewing on my cheeks.

“Sometimes. Most of the time,” I corrected, wondering if my response could be linked to a case of Stockholm’s Syndrome. Perhaps I should suggest it be renamed Wallachia’s Syndrome. “But he’s in a tireless pursuit to, well, seduce me, for a lack of a better word, so of course he’s nice to me. But is he a nice person? No.”

“In what sense?”

In the sense of murdering people because he was bored, in the sense of enslaving my mentor and giving me no choice whether I want to be like him or not.

“He’s just not a nice person, Mal,” I explained poorly. “Believe me.”

“Okay. But do you like him despite that?”

I drew a big breath, shutting my eyes against the harsh sunlight. A veil of red coated my vision behind my eyelids and I thought of the red in Count Dracula’s eyes. A slight prickling on my neck reminded me of his mouth brushing the skin there before closing over it. The bond liked him, I knew that but I couldn’t explain it to Mallory.

“You know when you drink wine with an empty stomach?” I asked when I opened my eyes. She lifted her glass in a mock toast. “No, white wine is too light. Red wine, specifically. It’s like that being around him.” Mallory didn’t seem to understand, and neither was I making a lot of sense to myself, so I continued. “Everything feels a little numb and a little too hot, like I’m feverish. My lips, the tips of my fingers, my legs. And there’s a queasy feeling on my stomach, that’s not all bad, you know. It’s thrilling and also frightening,” I scoffed. “And I have the most outlandish thoughts when I’m around him. I can see myself doing things I would never do, and have done quite a few of them, actually. It’s bizarre. Like I’m drunk but not really.”

And much like wine, the bond made me do and feel things that weren’t real. Although one could argue that alcohol brought our truest selves to the surface. I shuddered at the thought.

“So you like him?” Mallory questioned, looking uncertain.

“I like how he makes me feel. And I guess I do like him, to an extent. But he scares me, Mal, he really does. And I shouldn’t like him if he scares me.”

“Has he hurt you?” She asked slowly, trying to sound gentle, I guessed, but it came out more like a snarl.

“Not really, no. Not physically. Emotionally, though, a little bit.” Seeing the somber expression on Mal’s face, I waved a hand. “Nothing to worry about, I can take care of myself. That’s beside the point. He frightens me, is all.”

“Maybe it’s not fear of him, Y/N. Maybe that queasy feeling is just fear of letting go. You were always a bit of a control freak when it came to your emotions.”

“I guess that hasn’t changed,” I muttered. “Can I have a sip of that?” I held a hand towards her wine glass.

She pushed it across the table for me. Cold, soothing liquid washed through my tongue and I swallowed it down eagerly. When I returned the glass to Mallory, less than half of it remained.

“Some sip,” she remarked.

“I needed it.”

She bobbed her head in agreement and a strand of baby blond hair escaped from her braid, coming to rest over one of her eyes. She blew it away and it fluttered behind her ear.

Our food arrived and I was glad to have something to concentrate on instead of what I felt or did not feel.

Mallory was kind enough to change the subject as we ate, so we spoke mostly of Sean, her date. They had been seeing each other for only two weeks and she was still determined into finding anything fun about him but so far she was unsuccessful. While Mal was too benign to say it, I knew Sean would be fated into following her around like a puppy until she found someone else to amuse her. Next, we spoke of Evelyn and to my surprise, and secret enjoyment, Mal didn’t seem to favour her anymore that I thought the woman deserved.

“I thought you were friends,” I said as I stole another sip of her wine.

“I thought so, too, but she’s become such a hag lately. I think it’s because she found out I have a higher score of winnings in court than her but that shouldn’t get in the way. I mean, you’ve got us all beat and you don’t see me hassling you. She just can’t admit she’s not the best at everything she does. And she didn’t invite me to be a bridesmaid, can you believe that?!”

“Bitch,” I said as a form of agreement.

“Cheers to that.”

After we finished with our lunch, I ordered a piece of blueberry pie, which I ate with Mallory’s help since I’d been sipping on her wine all throughout our meal.

We said our goodbyes not long after that. Mallory had to rush back to Berkeley, where she was staying with Chelsea and Sarah, because she hoped to be the first one to shower. According to Mal, Chelsea spent an eternity in the bathroom and wouldn’t let up even if she and Sarah almost broke the door down with all their knocking.

I watched as Mallory drove away in her car, almost hoping that we could remain stuck in that afternoon for longer, only so I wouldn’t have to think about the incoming night and the certainty that my heart would break, bond or no bond.

At least now I would have Mal to help me pick up the pieces and mend them back together.

__________________________________________________

Soft, orange clouds streaked the purplish sky in long and haphazard puffs as I waded down the slope leading to Berkeley Castle. It looked more like a fortress than a castle with how it circumvented a courtyard. Small windows decorated the austere exterior built from grey and maroon bricks. The roofs squatted low in true medieval style, with only a few chimneys disrupting the straight lines. Beyond the castle, the sky was already a deep shade of blue, casting a blanket of stars over the property. From where I stood I could see Gloucester Cathedral peaking in the distance, nothing more than a severe silhouette against the remains of daylight.

Count Dracula should be waking up now, or making himself ready for the wedding.

If by some miracle, the Sun didn’t set, he would never leave his hotel, and I wouldn’t have to carry out the plan. Dracula and I could have a little more time; just enough for him to tell me tales of times past and for him to find another impossible place to break into.

Zoe would be terminally mad at me if I skipped the plan on a mere and futile whim. And terminally dead, as well. Sparing myself from guilt shouldn’t be more important than Zoe’s chance at living. And I wasn’t about to throw away the very thing I strove for since I set that deal simply because I was having doubts.

My clutch bag, tiny as it was inside my hand, cast a heavy weight on my shoulder from the pill and the pen filled with Zoe’s blood.

“It’s the right thing to do,” I muttered quietly as I carried down the slope, hitching my dress up my ankles so I wouldn’t trip. “Because I’ve paid such care to what’s right over the past years.”

“Y/N!”

I turned my upper body to look behind me, too afraid of losing balance on my heels to fully pivot.

Mallory waved at me from the top of the hill. Even from afar I could tell she looked stunning, all long limbs showcased by a champagne coloured strapless dress. Her blond hair was slicked back tightly to her scalp, a precious stone necklace winked back at me when she motioned for me to wait for her. A shawl from the same colour of her dress was wrapped around her shoulders, twined about her forearms.

Chelsea and Sarah spilled out from a taxi behind Mallory. Chelsea had on a light blue flowy dress that complimented her golden skin nicely and Sarah wore a midnight green gown with a neckline so plunging it was a surprise I couldn’t see her bellybutton. Both of them wore their hair up in chignons. The three of them interlaced their arms for balance as they started down the slope.

We’d met the same fate of descending a slope in high heels, apparently. The line of cars intercepting the road to the castle’s gate was so ridiculously long from all the guests on the way, that I’d thought it would be faster if I abandoned my taxi and went the last couple of metres on foot. Now that sweat slicked my forehead and threatened to smear my makeup, I was regretting that choice.

My high heels dug uncomfortably on the soles of my feet but I endured the pain as I waited for them to reach me. Concentrating on not falling was an easy way to keep my mind off of what was about to come.

“Oh!” Said Chelsea, staring at me with wide eyes, when they were close enough. “From up there your dress looked black.”

“Evie will arrange your murder today, you know that, right?” Sarah told me, her eyes sweeping down on me appraisingly.

“What they mean is that you look amazing,” Mallory said, glaring to her left at both women. They made sounds of agreement.

My dress was constructed in a deep plum from silk taffeta, a lustrous fabric that made it look like it had more than a single shade, so I could understand Chelsea’s assumption. It criss-crossed over my chest and back in twisted straps that appeared black, purple and, in certain lights, violet. The dress’ bodice clung to my torso but fabric cascaded freely from the waist down. When I walked it embraced every curve of my legs as it bounced around me like it was liquid.

True to Diana’s wishes, who wanted me to make Count Dracula faint upon laying eyes on me, I would bet that was something I could probably do without the aid of Zoe’s blood. However, the prospect of knocking him to his knees didn’t seem so appealing when I knew I would never have the opportunity of doing it again.

“Thank you,” I said, trying to sound pleasant and failing miserably if I was to take their expressions as truth. “So does everybody.”

Mallory pulled me to her side and laced my arm with hers.

“Are you okay?” She whispered to me as all of us continued our journey downhill.

“Yes,” I told her.

She narrowed her eyes at me but I shook my head as a silent request for her not to pry. There were moments that Mallory’s keen perception of my mood was a blessing; this wasn’t one of them.

Locking arms with three other women proved to be a challenge, an extremely fun one, especially when Chelsea lost balance, nearly tumbling down and dragging Mallory with her. Sarah and I were left to hold them up which rendered a few belly-aching laughs from all of us. When we finally got them up on their feet, it was my turn to shift my heel at an odd angle and hold on to Mallory’s shawl for dear life, nearly strangling her. Mallory held onto Chelsea and nearly knocked Sarah off her feet. Although we were all cackling madly at our distress, a few men in tuxedos, more guests, were kind enough to provide us with an arm to balance ourselves until we reached Berkeley Castle’s main gate.

My laughter faded into nothing as I set eyes at the woman standing at the gate. Even in heels she was tiny, her head barely reaching some of the guests shoulders as she waved them in after checking each of their names on a list. Her pixie red hair was spiky at the ends and, as if I needed any more confirmation other than her height and hair, the small crystal piercing on her nostril identified her as Sylvia, the woman tasked to switch on the UV lights down on the garden later. If she knew my face, she made no movement to acknowledge me.

As Chelsea gave her our names, I peeked down the ledge and, sure enough, down a steep fall stood a garden and a rectangular artificial pond, its surface dotted with water lillies and white rose petals. My eyes traveled around, searching between bushes and trees for spotlights suggesting the possibility of UV lights but found none except tiny floor sconces, casting wavy reflections on the water.

“That staircase leads down there,” Sylvia said in a conversational tone; a clever way of letting me know everything was set up as it should. “You can reach it through that path if you want to have a stroll through the property later.”

I looked at the direction where she pointed, taking note of it, and nodded.

“Thank you. I will.”

I followed the girls through the arching gate, too absorbed in trying to level my heartbeat to pay any attention to the somber beauty of the courtyard. However, the Great Hall managed to shake me out of my stoic resignation and I gazed around me with utter admiration.

The room wasn’t particularly large but it was formidable in decor where size lacked. The ceiling hunched high above in curved wood beams, casting the illusion that we were beneath an old ship’s underbelly. Tapestries hung on the farthest wall bordering a fireplace large enough to fit 5 people standing up. Windows receded in alcoves inside the stone walls. A variety of ivory flowers, inky purples and rosés the colour of bitten lips flanked the entire room. Rows of white chairs on each side of the aisle were intertwined with purple ribbons. More flowers spiraled up into some sort of wooden gallery, engraved with several coats of arms in murky colours.

Mallory tugged on my elbow so I would sit next to her and Sean, her date, who looked absolutely smitten by her – the fool – that he barely paid any attention to my cheery hello.

“Where’s– what’s his name again?” she asked me while I smoothed my dress after sitting down.

“Dracula.” I blew out a breath. “He’ll be here for the reception.”

If I was in a better state of mind I would’ve waved the fact that he was royalty just to see Mallory squeal in joy but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

She was about to ask me something else but music suddenly sparked to life, silencing every person and as one, we all stood up. The music came from above so I turned around briefly, trying to gauge where it came from, and found that a quintet played at the top of that podium.

Evelyn’s soon-to-be husband was not at all what I expected from a woman of her calibre, gorgeous as she was, so I assumed that he had to be extremely wealthy to make up for his mousey face. One would think a bride would be more focused on walking down the aisle and gazing at her beloved but not Evelyn – she found a breach to stab daggers at my dress with her hazel eyes and, finding myself bitter, I flashed her my most goading smile. Her pace vacillated for a moment and I looked around us to see if anyone had noticed but she carried on not a second later, staring ahead of her with vicious determination. The ceremony proceeded after we were all sat and I listened to their vows absentmindedly. I knew what was coming: for poorer or richer, in sickness or in health, to love and to cherish, and at last, till death do us part. Although Evelyn and Rupert – not ashamed to say I only discovered the groom’s name when the minister mentioned it – were doing a lengthy and embellished version of it.

Till death do us part.

“Mal,” I whispered to her as Rupert was declaring his eternal love to Evelyn. Mallory bent her head closer. “Can I ask you a weird question?”

“I was always the one with the weird questions so I’d say you’ve got credit to spend,” she whispered back.

“Would you live forever if you could?”

She evaluated me for a long moment.

“What are the conditions?”

The corners of my lips tugged up. Ever the lawyers, the pair of us.

“You would have to leave everything behind. Start another life as a new person but you’ll look the same forever.”

An undead person, I meant to say.

“Yeah, I would,” she said but she answered too quickly for my liking.

“Would you kill for it?” I continued.

She gaped. Careful consideration passed through her green eyes.

“Lots of people would.”

“But would you?”

“I’m terrified of dying, Y/N,” she confided. “Of growing old and forgetting things, forgetting my own name or what something’s called. And if I’m being shallow, I’m terrified of becoming an ugly old lady. I wouldn’t really be myself if it came to that, would I? I like me as I am, now. So yeah, hypothetically speaking, I would kill someone for it. Wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t know. I mean… I’m not sure. Growing old doesn’t bother me. I just can’t think of abandoning everything that I once was and becoming someone else just so I can live forever.”

“We do it all the time.” She grinned sheepishly. “Remember what the Mad Hatter tells Alice?”

I rolled my eyes.

“You’re the one obsessed with that damn book and you know I don’t remember.”

“I’ve got a sucky memory but it’s something to the effect of Alice not being the same Alice as before and that she’s lost her muchness. Anyway, we’re constantly changing, little by little, it’s up to us if we become more than before, or less.”

“I don’t think that’s what Lewis Carroll meant by that.”

“Well, that’s how I choose to look at it. So, really, how much more can I become if I live forever? There’s lots and lots of possibilities for little old me and I don't want to die before I meet all of them.”

“So you’d kill someone for that?”

“In a heartbeat.” She nodded. “Do you plan to tell me why you’ve asked me this?”

“Maybe one day if I somehow become immortal?”

“Which is never. Got it. I’ll shut up now.”

Mallory turned and sat up straight, oblivious to the veritable chance of immortality.

Possibilities.

That was one way to look at it. An extremely optimistic and selfish way to look at it but I never claimed to be selfless. Optimistic, however, I was far from. But just as Mallory had said, we were always changing.

How far was I willing to go for change? I liked myself just as I was now and I couldn’t picture myself literally sucking the life out of people so I could have a chance at more.

Which version of me was I talking about? Me, who I’ve always been; safe, calculated, blunt. Or the one who enjoyed playing with fire as much as she did reading books?

The promise of excitement; that’s what Count Dracula said he’d found in my blood. Imagining my life for the next five years evoked no happy feelings. Where would I be? Married with kids, doing the same thing until my body shriveled and I died? A regular husband who carried groceries and did the dishes, and sometimes, when he remembered it, took me somewhere nice. How awfully… pedestrian.

A life clad in dusk, traveling places to see more than an average person could perceive and waltzing inside churches as I laughed in the face of god… That certainly sounded more appealing. And lonely.

Could I live forever with Count Dracula? Would he be all I would have for the rest of time? No Mallory, no Diana, no Renfield. No mum and dad. Just us.

A roar of applause and whooping rescued me from dwelling on that any further. Evelyn and Rupert must have sealed the deal with a kiss to cause all that commotion. I joined the raucous by sticking two fingers on the side of my mouth and whistling loudly enough to make Mallory and her date wince and laugh.

Not long afterwards, the guests were led to another chamber inside the castle, the Long Drawing Room according to the plaque, while the Great Hall was organised for the reception. When we returned, various tables were set elegantly in shades of cream and more flower arrangements in light pink and purple decorated each of them.

Locating the partner table was easy; all I had to do was look for the middle-aged white men with the most disdainful poise. Of all twelve people sitting at their table, only five were women and those were some of the partners’ wives. I made sure to make eye-contact with Evelyn as I dragged Mallory and Sean along with me and flopped down next to Talbot – Evelyn’s mentor. Mallory appeared to be on cloud-nine to be sitting there. As for me, I could barely summon pleasure at the look of utter disbelief and rage in Evelyn’s face.

Hours passed in the company of red wine, champagne and food, while I occasionally cast looks at the archway under the gallery, hoping to see Count Dracula making his entrance. I showered Mallory with compliments when I could so she could get the attention from the big bosses and deviated the subject to her whenever a partner made remarks about my work. At one point, I spotted Raoul, the “waiter” who was in on the plan, and he nodded at me solemnly. Photographers came and blinded us with their camera flash. I was certain that I would be staring in the direction of the archway in all of the photos but at least Renfield would get to see Evelyn’s sullen expression to be in the same picture with me.

A hand pressed my shoulder from behind, fingers squeezing. Swiveling my head, I saw Mallory, eyes wide.

“Hell’s bloody bells.”

That was the closest to a curse Mallory would ever get and I immediately turned my head in the direction she was looking at.

“Fuck,” I sighed. A sigh because my throat wasn’t prepared to produce a sound.

Count Dracula stood under the archway, head tilted back as he took in the surroundings, eyes ever watchful. He donned a longer coat than was usually called for in an average tuxedo, overtop of a white waistcoat and white dress shirt. Wound tightly around his neck, beneath a white bow tie, was a heavy pendant in a thick cord of silk. A wine coloured silk, which went perfectly with my dress.

The outfit did justice to his royal title flawlessly.

I stared for a long moment, willing him silently to look at me and, at the same time, wishing that he didn’t catch sight of me, turned back and left.

“He’s looking for you,” Mallory told me over my shoulder. I simply nodded. “Well, go, silly.”

She took my glass from me and shoo-ed me out of my seat.

Though my knees wobbled as if I was some lady fanning herself over him, my feet were capable enough of moving on their own and I started weaving through tables to reach him. My ears caught Sarah and Chelsea gushing over him from a couple of tables over and I picked up my pace when Sarah suggested to Chelsea that one of them went to greet him. For a moment I was distracted apologising to a waiter for nearly knocking his tray to the floor and when I looked back at Count Dracula, my breath hitched in my chest.

Dark eyes surveyed me from head to toe in what I would’ve called a leer if he were anyone else. My strides grew smaller as my cheeks burnt hot. I was blushing – actually blushing to the colour of a tomato no doubt, as if I was sixteen years old again. I hoped he would meet me halfway and spare my legs from giving out at any moment but he stood there, hands laced behind his back as he waited, openly lusting after me in front of a hundred people. The plan of making him faint was backfiring horribly and my mouth curled into a reluctant smile when I realised that I didn’t give a damn.

When I finally reached him, my hands rose voluntarily, eager to feel the texture of his attire, to measure the expanse of his chest as if my eyes weren’t enough, but, realising what I was about to do, I started lowering them. Dracula caught my hands and placed them on his chest.

“Touch,” he said, a suggestive gleam in his eyes.

And I did.

My hands ran up his shoulders, noting that his lapels were also silk and that the suit fit him impeccably, like he had it tailored. The buttons on his shirt were rubies encrusted in silver, or perhaps white gold. Either way, each of those buttons probably cost a fortune. The pendant vaguely resembled a crusader cross except it flared at the edges. I took it between my fingers to examine the design adorning its center. A dragon stood there, tail coiling and wings unfurling around its body. It looked like the dragon on his ring I’d seen a week ago and, once again, I found an inscription in latin.

“Societas Draconistarum,” I read, poorly. “ Draco – dragon, isn’t it?” Memory jogging, I glanced up at him. A small smile tugged at his mouth, an odd expression of pride on his face. “Is this the emblem of the Order of the Dragon?”

“You did your research well,” he remarked.

“Had to. How often does someone meet a historical figure?” I adjusted the pendant so it laid squarely over his collarbones. “I’m surprised I still remember the name of your secret society, it seems like it was forever ago since I read about it.”

Calling it a secret society was far from the truth; I meant to needle him so he would elaborate on it but when he didn’t, I sent my eyes away from the pendant to focus on his face. I caught him looking down at me over his nose, lips slightly parted to reveal the tip of his tongue tracing his bottom lip. I dared to believe that he hadn’t heard a word of what I’d said, too busy fantasizing about something.

His hands landed on my waist, forcing me closer. They skimmed down, exploring the curves of my hips and squeezing them briefly before moving up again.

“Everyone is watching us,” I told him, grabbing each of his wrists. I couldn’t look past him but I could feel their stares.

“Don’t care,” he said curtly, ignoring my grip. “You touched. It’s only fair I do the same. You are a vision, my darling.”

A lustful fire blazed behind his eyes and I shuddered. I dropped my hands, not minding that people were quite literally gawking at us, and allowed him to continue his investigation.

A hand slid to my back, fingers kneading my flesh gently as he examined the dress, like he was making sure this ‘vision’ of his was real. His other hand drifted up to follow the contours of the bodice, a finger tracing the seam that led up to dress’ cleavage and then its straps crossing over my chest. I gasped as warm fingers brushed my collarbones and led a path up my neck and finally stopped to caress my cheek. His touch became tender as he reached my face, stroking my skin lightly and making me lean towards his hand, like a sunflower seeks the sun.

“I’m tempted to shower you with silk and taffeta gowns so you can wear them for me every night,” he said softly. “And so I’ll have the pleasure of tearing them off.”

“There’ll be no tearing off anything.” My voice trembled. “This is an extremely expensive dress.”

“Ah, I’ll get you how many dresses you want. Don’t worry about this one. And I can be careful, if you wish. Although I want nothing more than to ravish you.” My skin crawled and he smirked as he caressed down the lengths of my arms, making me shiver. “I see. No need to be careful, then.”

“What I meant is–” I cleared my throat “–this dress isn’t coming off for you. In any shape or form.”

“You can keep it on, just as well. It’ll be no trouble.”

If he looked at me for any moment longer, I would do something drastic, such as grabbing him by the hand and taking him somewhere inside the castle where he could make good on all those fantasies.

I swallowed dryly.

“How do you like the castle?” I asked.

Dracula snorted, apparently amused by my attempt to deviate the subject, but he kept his hands on my arms, trailing up and down.

“Nervous again? Pity.” He looked around and I started breathing properly. “I prefer my own castle.”

“You still have a castle?”

“If it has remained untouched in the last century, yes.” Then he frowned. “It’s very likely it has been burnt to the ground now.”

“Why would that be?”

He grinned.

“The locals weren’t very partial to my presence in Wallachia. I imagine they burnt it as soon as they realised I wasn’t coming back.” He shrugged. “Unfortunate, if that’s the case. My library could have rivaled Captain Nemo’s.”

“Oh!” I grinned. It seemed forever ago since I had eyed Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Seas in my collection and giggled upon taking it from its shelf and shoving it inside my purse. “Did you finish reading it?”

“Just yesterday, actually. Fantastic how Jules Verne predicted most things we have today, and how some of them are already obsolete. I would’ve liked to meet him.”

“So you could’ve drank him?”

“Yes.” He smiled. “Thank you for the book, I found it very enjoyable. I’ll read it again in French if I come across an edition, I think various things were lost in translation. Captain Nemo is an interesting character, although a little too morose for me. I suppose he’s your favourite.”

“He is everyone’s favourite. Jules Verne wrote more books on him because of it.”

“I would like to read them. Do you have them in your library?”

“No but Mallory does. She lent me hers when we were in college.”

If he was to spend the next years – or the rest of his existence – caged, then perhaps I could see to it that he got a few books to entertain him. I would have to make a list.

“Ah, yes, the blond coming towards us, isn’t that she?” Count Dracula nodded, eyes fixed behind me.

I pivoted to see Mallory, dragging Sean behind her. I kept my gaze focused on hers to avoid making eye contact with one of the dozens of people staring at me and Count Dracula. We had put on quite a show to have that many sets of eyes on us.

“Y/N,” she began when she reached me. “The bride and groom will have their first dance now. You must’ve missed the announcement.” Her eyebrows jerked up trying to convey something along ‘ you rascal ’ before she looked past me, her doe eyes focusing on Count Dracula. “I’ve heard loads about you. Dracula, isn’t it?”

“Mal…” I complained.

“Did you now?” Count Dracula said, tone all honey as he placed his hands on my shoulders and squeezed. He rounded me, stopping at my side, and letting one hand drop. “I would say I’m surprised but that would be a lie.” I rolled my eyes. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Mallory. Y/N speaks greatly of you.”

Until a minute ago, I had never spoken about her to him so I knew he was being courteous, although my blood probably did speak great things of her.

Dracula accepted Mallory’s extended hand and, instead of shaking it, he turned it so he could plant a kiss on top of it. He’d done the same to me when I first met him. Her mouth fell open and Sean’s ears turned red as he pulled Mallory back by her arm. She swatted Sean away.

“He’s not British,” I said, trying to assuage them. “Eastern Europe is quite old-fashioned in some ways.”

“Forgive me,” said Dracula, looking like he wasn’t sorry at all with that smug smile plastered to his face. “I’m afraid I’m still adapting and haven’t managed to shrug off the education in which I was raised.”

“Which education was that?” Sean asked between gritted teeth.

“An aristocrat’s one.” Dracula smiled.

Mallory’s eyes widened until they were about ready to pop out of their sockets.

“Show-off,” I muttered, elbowing the Count lightly.

A group of people were converging around the dance floor and I laced my arm with Count Dracula’s.

“We’ll miss the first dance,” I said, and nudged Mallory with my hip so she would stop gawking. She nodded weakly and went ahead with Sean. “She’ll never shut up about you now,” I muttered to Count Dracula as we followed them.

“Good. From what I gather, Mallory has always been very encouraging of your endeavors. Perhaps she will give you the final push.”

“Towards you?”

“Yes, and I’ll gladly receive you.”

“With open arms and fangs,” I grumbled.

“How tragic,” he shot back, chuckling.

A waltz started as we reached the bundle of people and I saw Evelyn and Rupert entering the dancefloor just before they started swaying to it. The smile on her lips seemed genuine so I supposed that although her husband wasn’t exactly attractive, she did have feelings for him. The bitch had a heart, after all.

The guests clapped furiously when their waltz stopped. Another waltz followed, less upbeat than the previous and what sounded like more strings attacking the melody, and couples looked at each other, waiting to see who would be the first ones to join the bride and groom.

Count Dracula untangled my arm from his and took my hand inside his not a moment later. With all my training from last night, I let him lead me to the dance floor, forgetting all about Evelyn’s scathing stare, and smiling up at him as I set a hand on his shoulder. We started slowly, following the melody as more couples joined us, but when the tune’s pace picked up and Dracula moved to accompany it, I nearly twisted my ankle.

“Did you forget everything I taught you last night?” He provoked.

“No.” I furrowed my brows, offended. “I was wearing boots yesterday. High heels aren’t exactly waltz friendly for a beginner.”

Dracula’s hand on my back moved to fully encircle my body and, in one move, he lifted me and smashed my chest to his. When he set me down, my face was closer to his, closer than I ever was to him when it came to height, and my feet kept moving, although I wasn’t making an effort to. The softness under my heels proved to me that I wasn’t touching the ground and I laughed, realising me that he had set me over his own feet and had continued to dance like my weight was nothing. Guests around us snickered, prompting me to laugh more.

My nose brushed his as my laughter died down and my eyes strained to focus on something in the close proximity. I could feel every inch of his body shaped to mine and that queasy feeling I’d told Mallory about settled in my belly. A mere movement of his feet could sway me forward and brush our mouths together.

My heart threatened to burst out of my chest. It beat madly against my ribs like it was a caged animal. Could Count Dracula feel its thud inside his chest due to our nearness? As if it was his own heart, beating lively for the first time in the last five centuries?

I sighed, pressing my cheek to his. Count Dracula nuzzled closer until I felt his lips grazing my earlobe and sending a wave of arousal down my body.

“Aren’t you worried about ruining your shoes?” I said into his ear.

His chest heaved under mine and I wondered if that was him taking a deep breath of my scent.

“Not at all,” he responded. “They are disposable but I shall keep them, if only to admire the dents your high heels will leave on the leather.”

A grin took my mouth, making my cheeks hurt from opening so wide.

“Does your castle look anything like this one?” I asked him, attempting to focus less on how his body felt against mine.

“Mine has more towers and it sits far up on a mountain peak. It’s bigger than this one. Hence it was difficult to keep it to pristine condition, especially because I had no servants after I became what I am today. I frighten people, can you imagine that?” His chuckle tickled my ear. “This one was designed to be pleasing to the eye, I imagine, while serving the purpose of a fortress all the same. My home is nothing but a fortress to keep people out but, most of the time, in . It isn’t pretty.”

I pretended to not hear the part about keeping people in.

“Do you miss it?”

“No. Though, I realised today I was far more attached to that library than I remembered. There are manuscripts there, signed ones, and countless others invaluable books. Forbidden ones by the church, as well. When Renfield recovers, I’ll have him find out if my castle is still standing, and if it is I’ll have my books sent to me.”

“Maybe Captain Nemo would be jealous of your collection. I know I am,” I said. As we spun, Mallory, dancing with Sean, caught my eyes over the Count’s shoulder and grinned like an excited child as she gave me a thumbs up. I winked back at her. “I’ve seen pictures of Romania when I researched you. It’s beautiful. And the weather seems more agreeable than England’s. Why would you move here?”

“The Industrial Revolution,” he answered, shrugging as he continued our dance. His dance, to be fair. I was simply taking a ride. “England was far ahead than any other place in the world and Romania with all its superstition fell behind, always more of the same in centuries. And I wanted to see new things developing instead of just hearing about them. So I came, and missed most of them because of Agatha.” He sighed. “Unfortunate in some ways but for the best in others.” He dug his fingers on my waist to let me know what he meant.

Dracula danced with me in silence from then on. We danced until everyone was on the dance floor with us and the waltzes had been substituted by song ballads. I had my forehead resting in the crook of his neck as I breathed evenly, though my heart still seemed somewhat reluctant to beat at a normal pace.

“Y/N,” he called and I hummed in response. “Tell me what you were going to recite last night.”

I opened my mouth to recite it, and then snapped it shut. I started sliding my hand from his, freeing myself of his hold, but he clasped it and fully laced his arm around my back like he was a snake coiling around its prey.

“I can’t,” I mumbled. I remained still, head tucked on his neck as I stared at the dragon pendant.

“Why?”

“Because it’s true, and it’s one of my secrets. You don’t need to know it.”

“But I want to know it. Your every secret, your truth, I want everything. And yesterday you told me you’d tell me.”

“I lied.” I rose my head to look at him. His black eyes, unwavering in its intensity, lured me in like a raging sea. I could have drowned in them. “Couldn’t you tell?”

“No, I couldn’t.” He furrowed his brows for a second and then smiled. “I don’t know whether to be proud that you’ve learned how to lie to me or be annoyed about it. Deciphering you will be an even greater challenge from now on.”

“Good.”

Baudelaire’s words revolved in my head repeatedly. Like a song lyric, one without rhythm but all of its meaning.

‘What can an eternity of damnation matter to someone who has felt, if only for a second, the infinity of delight?’

I needed that second. As a reminder of what I was throwing away.

I glanced at Dracula’s lips and tilted my head closer. He blinked, comprehension passing his eyes as my mouth neared his. He stopped dancing and became very still, as if he was afraid to scare me away by a brusque movement. My nose bumped into his. My eyes were wide, half scared about what I was doing, half scared of missing the look on his eyes. I stood on my tiptoes, further ruining his shoes, and captured his lips with mine.

I stopped breathing and finally closed my eyes, too caught up in the feel of him to have them open. And then he freed my hand which he had been holding captive to trap me with both of his arms as he parted his mouth. In the past, his lips had been always cold when we kissed, and now, the feel of his warm tongue on mine, demanding and hungry, was what made me shudder. Unrestrained need to feel more of him, anything, just more and more, made me deepen the kiss and delve my fingers into his hair. He established a slow pace but I still struggled to gasp for air in between our short, nearly nonexistent pauses.

I heard a faint chattering that sounded suspiciously of admonishment but I didn’t care. I was doing something stupid but for the life of me, I couldn’t stop, didn’t want to stop, whether it was for my sake or for the sake of someone else’s reprisals. And I wanted to give Count Dracula this, the one thing he shouldn’t have before he went away.

When he tried to pull away to give me room to breathe, I simply grabbed his face and crushed my lips to his again. He moaned low on his throat and an ache started between my legs, rising up towards my breasts and I suddenly felt like my dress was restraining me. His hands roved my back, seeking to touch more of me as I did with him, but it wasn’t enough and I soon found myself cursing the fact that there were people watching us.

I don’t think I would’ve stopped if it wasn’t for Count Dracula grabbing the nape of my neck and tearing me away from him.

“No–” I started to protest but caught hold of myself when he, very slowly, started dancing again. And when he did, I felt a distinct stiffness pressing against my stomach. My mouth fell open for a brief second and the look on his eyes was enough to make me hide my face on the curve of his neck. “Oh.”

“Yes. Oh. ” He chuckled in my ear, and I shuddered as the throbbing between my legs intensified.

“You should’ve stopped me earlier,” I muttered.

“And miss your face when you realised what you did?”

“I didn’t do anything,” I said, trying to conceal a snicker. “Not on purpose.”

He just laughed.

I shut my eyes, doing my best to memorise the sound.

When Count Dracula stopped dancing at the end of the song, and nothing else stood between us, I slowly disentangled myself from him. The front of my body felt oddly cold and bare now that I stood apart from him and I had to swipe a hand down my dress to make sure it was still there. I glanced at him and snorted upon noticing that his lips were swollen.

“You have lipstick all over,” I said, smiling like an idiot. He bent his head closer as I cleaned the corners of his mouth with my thumb. Grabbing my jaw gently, he did the same with me, his fingers brushing my numb lips and leaving a tingly sensation where he touched. “Better?” I asked, dropping my hand when I was done.

He nodded and started leaning his head forward. Feeling suddenly modest as if I hadn’t just rubbed myself against him as two hundred people watched, I turned my head to the side and his lips touched my cheek .

“Y/N, look at me.” I did and I almost wished I didn’t. Tenderness was a peculiar thing to find in the eyes of a murderer but I found it. “Was that a yes?”

“Yes.” I nodded lightly. “Sort of.”

I could say it because it wouldn’t last long.

The crease between Dracula’s eyebrows told me he was considering my answer but if he wanted to question me about what ‘sort of’ meant, he saved it for later.

I slid from his grasp until I clasped his hand.

“I need to visit the ladies’ room. I’ll only take a minute. Why don’t I introduce you to some people so you’ll have company until I come back?”

He acquiesced.

Ignoring every judgmental look I received, I weaved my way between tables until I caught sight of Mallory’s blond head sitting at the partner’s table. If anyone at that table had witnessed us at the dance floor, nobody let it show on their faces as Count Dracula shook hands with them. I doubted anyone would have said anything either, since he towered over the entire group with a slight curl of his lips that simply dared anyone to ask. It was like a wolf making nice with the deer right before it ate it.

“Mal,” I leaned close to her so only she could hear me. “Come with me to the ladies?”

“Sure.” She set down her glass of champagne on the table and picked up our purses.

My purse felt very heavy on my hands and I was already dreading opening it. I slanted a look at Count Dracula to see that he was already sitting down and in deep conversation with Talbot about life in England.

As if I needed another reminder, Raoul came by at that moment, his white suit clinging to every muscle on his arm and making me wonder what was his true occupation. With swollen muscles like that, I doubted he was a doctor like Zoe.

“Miss, would you like a drink? If you’re not satisfied with your wine, I can prepare a cocktail, if you wish.”

I almost said ‘Manhattan’ right there but my mouth wouldn’t form the words.

“Maybe later,” I told him, and he left.

Turning to Count Dracula, I bent so I could level my mouth with his ear, and as I did so his nostrils flared, the oddest look crossing his face.

“Try not to bite anyone in the meanwhile.” I whispered, forcing myself to sound normal instead of rueful. “I’ll be right back.”

When I drew back, his face was impassive and he merely nodded at me before flashing a beguiling smile at Talbot as they resumed their conversation.

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bee-kathony · 5 years ago

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Blue Christmas | Jamie & Claire one shot

a/n: Merry Christmas! I wrote this a few weeks ago, so I thought I’d finally post it. Comes in at a whopping 13,154 words so you’ll need to brew a cup of hot chocolate and settle in for this one! Now... this will probably be my last fic for awhile, possibly ever, we’ll see how I feel after everything has settled. I hope you enjoy and Merry Christmas! xx and thank you @julesbeauchamp for the moodboard!

December 23rd, 2019

Oxford, England

The wine glass in her hand was becoming dangerously low. Dangerous, because without the warm liquid filling Claire’s belly, she’d remember just exactly why she was drinking alone.

Christmas was a time of celebration and joy. A time for families to come together, laugh and exchange presents. Everyone would gather around the fireplace and tell stories or watch a classic Christmas film.

Claire was celebrating in her own way two days before Christmas. Her divorce had been finalized this morning, which was a good thing, but not exactly something that would lift the spirits.

Her ex-husband, Frank Randall had been a kind man, emphasis on had. They’d been married a short five years, and during that time, Frank hadn’t been faithful — at all. When Claire found out about one woman, it led to another and another… and another. Frank seemed to have a string of women lined up all around the city. It made Claire feel like a fool for trusting him and believing that he truly loved her.

So, with her divorce final, Claire was celebrating Christmas alone for the first time in her life. The first several years of her life she barely remembered, and until she had married Frank, she had spent every Christmas with her aunt and uncle in London.

Uncle Lamb insisted she come and join them this year, but the thought of having to pretend she was okay was mind-numbing. Being around her family would be nice, but seeing all the cheer and jovial faces wasn’t something she could handle.

A quiet meow came from her left, and Claire looked over to see her cat Adso licking his feet. Well, she wasn’t quite alone, at least she had her cat.

“I’m becoming a crazy cat lady at the ripe age of twenty-seven,” Claire said wistfully, petting Adso on the head, making him purr gently. “Just you and me now.”

There wasn’t even a Christmas movie that Claire could watch because they usually all ended with two people falling in love, and love was not something Claire wanted to think about. It killed her to know that Frank was probably screwing some blonde university bimbo right now, while she sat alone in the dark, not a decoration in sight.

Thankfully, she had the next two weeks off to wallow in self-pity. Claire worked at the local library, where she was able to read to her heart’s content. Her best friend Geillis also worked with her, although she didn’t read all that much, which always made Claire laugh. Why take a position at a library if one didn’t like to read?

Gathering enough energy to get off the sofa, Claire set her now empty glass down in search of a new bottle. If she had to spend this Christmas alone, she certainly wouldn’t be spending it sober.

As Claire grabbed a new bottle, she passed by the fridge, which was still littered with the odd bits and pictures of her and Frank’s life. A yellow post-it note caught her attention. It read, “I’ll be out late, eat without me!”

She yanked it off, crumpling it into a small paper ball before tossing it in the trash can. “You bastard,” she said to the post-it and to Frank.

Sooner or later, she would need to get rid of all his things. The process had begun two months ago when she’d found out about his affairs. Claire had gathered up as many clothes of his that she could carry in her two arms and tossed them out the second-story window, much to Frank’s complaints.

Laughing at this memory, Claire grabbed a packet of biscuits before plopping back down on the sofa.

“Another glass for the woman who’s destined to be alone,” Claire said to herself, watching the dark liquid fill her cup.

Just as she picked it up, a loud knock came from the door, making her spill it all over her pajama pants. “Shit!” Claire stood up quickly, checking to see if any had got on her couch, and thankfully (or not so thankfully) it had all landed on her.

Another knock came from the door, “Open up!”

“Geillis?” Claire raced to the door, patting at her pants. “What on earth are you doing here?”

Her friend held up a bottle of wine and a box of pizza. “Solidarity? I wasn’t going to let you spend tonight alone. I canna be wi’ ye on Christmas, so I thought tonight would suffice.”

“Get in here,” Claire grinned, hugging her friend as she passed. “I should make you buy me a new pair of pajama bottoms! Spilled half my glass of wine all over them when you knocked.”

Geillis looked her over, wincing as she saw the dark red stain. “Och, Christ, Claire. I’m verra sorry about that.”

“You should be,” Claire crossed her arms as she leaned on the counter, the smell of the pizza making her mouth water. “But you brought sustenance so all is forgiven!”

“Go make yourself at home, I’ll just go change out of these,” Claire rolled her eyes, laughing as she went to her room. It should’ve been hard to be in the bedroom that Frank and she had shared, but he was barely home towards the end. The reason for that was clear now. They had moved into this house only two years ago after Frank accepted the teaching position at Oxford. Most of the memories Claire had made here, had been on her own.

Returning with a freshly washed pair of fuzzy bottoms, Claire sat down next to Geillis who was already on her second slice.

“So ye really didna decorate for Christmas, huh?”

It was true. The room was dark with the lack of twinkling lights and not a bauble in sight. “I didn’t feel like decorating just for myself. Not this year at least.”

“I get it,” Geillis nodded. “But I wish ye wouldn’t spend the whole holidays wallowing in self-pity. Ye should put on a fancy dress and go get yerself laid,” she winked. “Now, that will lift yer spirits, ye ken?”

“I ken,” Claire smirked. “But I don’t think anyone would want to get with this sorry lump of coal.”

“Excuse me?” Geillis nearly spit out her wine. “If yer a lump of coal, then what am I?!”

“Oh, you’re gold darling, absolute gold,” Claire laughed. “I appreciate the encouragement, but I’d rather not wake up in a strange bed with a strange man.”

“But that’s often the best kind,” Geillis nudged her in the side. “Well, if ye willna go get laid, please dinna stay here in this miserable depressing house. Go see yer uncle or go take a trip somewhere. Ye’ve earned it, Beauchamp.”

That hit her like a gut punch. Beauchamp. Her maiden name. “Guess I’ll have to get used to saying that again. A trip you say?” She sipped her wine. “But it’s two days before Christmas, where on earth could I go that would have availability?”

“Try Scotland, my homeland,” Geillis grinned and ran her finger gently down Adso’s back. “Tis just a quick hop on a plane, gets ye out of England at least.”

“I’ve never been to Scotland,” Claire said. “Do I just find a bed and breakfast in some quaint village?”

“Aye,” Geillis nodded and then whipped out her phone. “Or ye can search for a cute holiday spot in Scotland. Let’s say the highlands somewhere.”

As Claire let Geillis search for a place for her to go, she looked around at her house. While she could wallow, the idea of sitting in the dark wasn’t exactly appealing. She had the next two weeks off, and she might as well try and enjoy herself a bit. After all, she should be celebrating the fact that she’s no longer married to Frank who took every opportunity to cheat on her.

“How long do ye want to stay?” Geillis asked.

“Umm, I don’t know. Maybe four days? Five? I’ll have to find somewhere for Adso to stay,” Claire smiled as her cat purred beneath her hand.

“Oh, I’ll watch the wee cheetie,” Geillis mumbled. “So, in the highlands… with availability.”

“Oh and make sure it’s not some romantic getaway destination,” Claire added.

“Lassie,” Geillis laughed. “It’s Scotland. The whole damn country is a romantic destination! But dinna fash, I’ll find ye a good spot.”

“While you do that, I’m going to turn on the fireplace,” Claire said as she stood up. She flicked a switch that turned on the gas and immediate heat came to life. Claire stood in front of the fireplace, trying to get warm.

There was something rather exciting about traveling to a country she’d never been before. Claire fancied herself as a bit of a gypsy — her home was wherever she was. And Scotland was a place she’d always wanted to visit, it seemed like now was as good a time as any.

“Oh, I think I found it,” Geillis stood up from the sofa to show her the phone. “Tis called Fraser’s Ridge. A collection of cabins of all sizes up in the Highlands.”

“Fraser’s Ridge,” Claire repeated and began to flick through the pictures. The cabins looked very cozy and inviting. “They have availability?”

“That’s what their website says,” Geillis said. “Want me to book it? It’ll be my Christmas present to ye… since I may have forgotten to buy ye a gift,” she winced.

“You don’t have to do that, Geillis!”

“I do! Ye need to take time for yerself,” Geillis slid her arm around Claire’s waist, squeezing tight. “Ye’ve had a rough year, and now ye can go up to a cute wee cabin and relax.”

Claire looked through the pictures again, noting how charming they looked. “It says here that each cabin was hand-built by the owner and his father.”

“Oooh, the crafty type,” Geillis winked. “Ye should make sure ye get a good look at the owner then. If he’s good wi’ his hands…” she made a lewd hand motion.

“Geillis Duncan!” Claire laughed, nudging her friend in the ribs. “There will be nothing of the sort. I bet he’s in his 60’s, overweight and balding.”

“Are ye picky then?”

Claire shot her friend a look, then laughed and moved back to the sofa. “Fine, if you want to book it, then go for it. It’ll be better than me and Adso rotting away like Miss Havisham while I sit in my wedding dress.”

“Ye should give that away or somethin’,” Geillis said as she typed Claire’s details into her phone to book the holiday. “I mean, I ken it’s full of memories and such, but surely those have all been tainted.”

“I guess you’re right,” Claire sighed, leaning her head back on the sofa. “I could give it to charity. Or you. Would you like a used wedding dress, Geillis?”

“Not a chance,” Geillis smirked. “Okay, I’ve put yer name as Claire Beauchamp. It’s five days, and you leave tomorrow.”

“Christmas Eve,” Claire ran her hand through her curls. “Guess I’d better pack!”

“Will ye promise me ye’ll bring somethin’ sexy to wear? Just in case the owner turns out to be a mysterious highland hunk?”

“God, you’re insufferable,” Claire chuckled and tossed a pillow at her friend who narrowly dodged it. “For you, I’ll pack it, but it will get no use.”

“We’ll see,” Geillis smirked, forwarding Claire the confirmation email.

++++++

After Geillis went home that night, Claire went into her closet and packed a travel bag full of everything she thought she’d need. The owner said he would have a car come and pick her up at the airport, and then to get some groceries if she needed them. Besides that, she wouldn’t even need to leave the cabin. Cozy sweaters and loungewear were all that she intended to wear, but she did pack a sexy silky pajama set she had yet to wear just so when Geillis asked her about it later, she could say she brought it.

She felt nuts to be boarding a plane on Christmas Eve, but she wasn’t alone. The airport was packed with other holiday travelers flying all over the world. Claire loved to people watch — coming up with stories for people.

There was a little girl Claire had been watching for the last several minutes while she waited for the plane to take off. She sat two rows in front of Claire and kept popping her head over the seat to look back at her.

“Hi,” Claire waved. The little girl ducked back down with a shy smile before popping her head up again. This pattern went on several times before the girl’s mother told her to sit still.

The flight was a short one, but Claire always got motion sickness on flights or in cars and so she took a Dramamine to help ease the nausea she was already feeling. She was also slightly nervous to be going to a place she’d never been on her own. Every vacation in the past had been with Frank, so now she was venturing out, and so far things were going well.

Nearly two hours later, Claire woke up to the sound of the pilot telling them that they would be landing shortly. Her head felt foggy, and she stretched in her seat the best she could.

“Couldn’t have sprung for first-class, Geillis?” Claire chuckled to herself.

She only had a carry-on duffel and a large purse that held her laptop and a few books for the trip.

The email said that one of their employees would be picking her up and would have her name on a sign. So it wasn’t a surprise whenever she walked out of the gate to find a tall bearded man, holding a sign that read, “C. Beauchamp.”

“Hi,” Claire smiled at the man. “Are you from Fraser’s Ridge?”

“Aye,” he nodded. “I’m Murtagh FitzGibbons. I take it ye are C. Beauchamp?”

“That’s me. I don’t have to wait for a bag so I’m ready when you are,” Claire said.

The man made a Scottish sound in the back of his throat and then took her duffel. A slight panic crept in as she followed this stranger out to the car. She was a woman traveling alone on one of the busiest holidays. This would be the time that she could be taken advantage of, perhaps taken to some remote place and murdered.

“Christ, Beauchamp,” she shook that murderous thought out of her head and told herself everything would be fine.

“Do ye need to stop at the grocer’s for any food for yer stay?” Murtagh asked as he started the car.

“Um, yes please, if there’s one on the way,” she replied.

“Aye, there is. The Ridge is about an hour away from here, so best get comfortable,” Murtagh smiled at her as he turned on her seat heater. Fraser’s Ridge did have five-star reviews, and so far, she knew why.

Murtagh drove her to the grocery store where she picked up snacks and food she could easily prepare. Wine of course, and a bottle of whisky… two bottles of whisky. The rest of the drive was silent, as Claire took in the beautiful Scottish landscape. The rolling green hills, covered in snow as they drove further north.

By the time they reached Fraser’s Ridge, the sun was beginning to go down, even though it was just the afternoon. The air was crisp and cold, making Claire shiver as she stepped out of the warm embrace of the heated car.

“The owner, Jamie, my godson, is out tonight and tomorrow to be wi’ his sister and her family. But, I’ll help ye check-in and then see ye safe to yer cabin. Jamie will probably stop by to welcome ye properly when he gets back,” Murtagh said as he picked up her bag again.

“You’re his godfather?” Claire asked. “Why aren’t you spending Christmas with them, if you don’t mind me asking?”

He grunted, “Och, well, I’m no’ much of a holiday man. And someone had to see to the place over the holidays. Jamie did it last year and I kent he wanted to spend time wi’ his sister, Jenny.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Claire smiled warmly. “I look forward to meeting this Jamie whenever he comes back. This place is absolutely beautiful.”

“Aye, lass,” Murtagh smiled as he walked up a trail towards a small building that must be their offices.

“There’s a wee book that tells ye a bit about the place,” Murtagh said as he wrote her name down. “It also has information about wifi, if that’s somethin’ yer interested in.” He opened a drawer and pulled out a gold key. “Cabin 2,” he handed it to her. “If ye’ll just follow me.”

They walked back outside, and it was beginning to snow lightly. On the way up here, Claire noticed that they really were in a remote part of the highlands. Although, it seemed most of the highlands was remote compared to the busy streets of Oxford or London.

“Are there other people here? Or is it just me being a complete and utter loser on Christmas?” Claire chuckled sadly.

“There are a few other folks,” Murtagh looked back at her. “A few families that like to spend the holidays up here. We have ten cabins in total, and this season only three are vacant.”

“Wow,” Claire was impressed. It was an ideal location, but most people stay at home with their family’s at Christmas time. “Well, it’s really lovely.”

Her cabin was just a short walk from the office, with its own trail that led to the door. Claire could tell that it was built with skill and precision. Everything looked so intentional and yet still had that rustic element that all cabins had. Murtagh walked up to the door, waiting for her to unlock it.

She turned the key, opening the door to a dark room. Murtagh flicked on the switch and Claire gasped.

“Pretty, ain’t it?” Murtagh smirked and then set her bag down. “Jamie insisted on decorating every cabin for Christmas. I told him ‘twas a bit much, but,” the man shrugged.

There were lights strung around the room, making it sparkle. A large tree stood in the corner, fully decorated, with cranberry and popcorn and every bauble to go with it. The fireplace had greenery on top, fit with knitted stockings. It wasn’t cheesy or tacky. Claire wasn’t trying to escape Christmas, just her depressing home she had shared with her ex-husband. This… this was perfect.

“Well, I’ll leave ye to it,” Murtagh said. “Our office number is listed in the book as well if ye need anythin’. Enjoy your stay, Miss Beauchamp.”

“Thank you,” Claire smiled as Murtagh shut the door, leaving her on her own. The first order of business was to get the fireplace going, and upon first inspection, it wasn’t a gas one like Claire’s.

There was wood already set up, as well as kindling and a box of matches on top of the mantle. “Here goes nothing,” Claire muttered as she struck the match. At first, nothing happened, but soon the kindling caught the flame and began to fan out to the logs.

“First try,” she clapped her hands together.

There was a small kitchen connected to the living room, stocked with all the appliances one could need. The master bedroom was spacious, with a cozy king-sized bed that Claire was very much looking forward to getting into later. A bathroom connected to the bedroom, with a shower and clawfoot tub.

“The pictures don’t do this place justice,” Claire sighed as she walked back into the living room which was warming up nicely. There was a ladder that led up to a small loft area with plush seating. A cute little reading nook for later.

Claire continued her curious look around as she opened up the back door. There was a fire pit outside, with logs set up around it for seating. She managed to get the inside fire lit but wasn’t counting on her skills with an outdoor pit.

Before she settled onto the comfy looking sofa, Claire took her bag into the room and unpacked it. Then she put her groceries away, grabbing a packet of crisps and a plaid before snuggling in for the night.

The remote was on the coffee table and when she turned it on, The Holiday was playing.

“I can’t turn this off, now can I?” She rolled her eyes but smiled as Jude Law’s character put on his glasses.

After the movie ended, and Claire had eaten her weight in crisps, she groggily made her way to the bedroom. Not bothering with pajamas, she flopped down onto the bed face first and within moments fell fast asleep.

++++++

On Christmas morning, Claire treated herself to a cup of coffee and store bought croissants. There were no presents under the tree to open, and no one would call. Maybe her uncle Lamb, but later once his own children had opened their gifts.

“Another day of movies and crisps,” Claire sighed as she took up the corner spot on the sofa.

Hours passed in that order. One movie would end, and another would begin. She had given up on trying to avoid cheesy Christmas movies, as that seemed to be the only thing playing on virtually every station.

Claire felt herself drifting off to sleep during Elf, but was startled when a loud knock came from the front door. “What the bloody hell,” she yawned and jumped off the sofa. Grabbing the plaid, she wrapped it around her body as she shuffled to the door.

A very tall, very large, red headed man stood on the front porch. He had an axe in one hand, and a bag in the other.

“Um, are you going to murder me?” Claire glanced at the axe.

The man followed her gaze and burst into a laugh. “Oh, Christ! It does look like that. No, God no. I came to see if ye needed any wood cut for the place.”

“Perhaps,” Claire said, eyeing the man. She had to admit that he was very attractive, and his accent had that deep burr of someone who had lived in the highlands all his life, the r’s rolling off his tongue.

“Yer probably wonderin’ who this strange man is on yer front steps,” the man said as he took off his gloves and stuck out his hand. “I’m Jamie Fraser. Of Fraser’s Ridge.”

“Ah,” Claire smiled and shook his hand. “That makes a lot of sense,” she laughed. “I’m Claire Beauchamp. I just got in last night. Your godfather, Murtagh, was it? He said that you wouldn’t be around today.”

Jamie put his gloves back on his large hands. “Well, I wasna supposed to be, but then my sister Jenny’s daughter Maggie got sick after the festivities and so I was freed. Thought I’d just come back to check on everyone and to wish them a Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” Claire grinned. “I must say, this place is wonderful. Did you really build every one?”

“Aye,” Jamie’s cheeks blushed. “With my Da before he passed a few years back. We ran this place together. It was a way to show the beauty of Scotland, and remind everyone to take time for themselves. What brought ye here?”

“Oh,” Claire paused, not sure how much of her personal life to disclose to a near stranger. “Just needed a break from my life back in England.”

“I kent ye were a Sassenach,” Jamie smiled warmly.

“Sassenach?”

“English person,” he replied. “More or less.”

There was still snow falling, and Claire began to shiver in the doorway. “Would you like to come in Mr. Fraser? It’s bloody freezing out there!”

“Och,” he shook his head. “I’ll just go and chop the wood for ye and bring it back. I wouldna want to impose on ye.”

“It wouldn’t be an imposition,” Claire said, and realized that she really wouldn’t mind spending more time with this man. He had a kindness to him, one that instantly drew her to him.

“I willna be long,” Jamie turned to leave. “And call me Jamie please, Sassenach.”

She waited until he had fully gone to shut the door. He would be back.

Racing to her bedroom, she tossed the plaid on the bed and began to root around in the drawers for something more suitable to wear. Of bloody course she had only brought oversized sweaters and lounge wear. “Didn’t think you’d be meeting a handsome Scot, now would you? Didn’t listen to Geillis,” she mumbled.

Pulling out a green sweater, Claire thought it was the most presentable option and replaced it with the old t-shirt she had been wearing. She only felt a little foolish to be primping herself for his return. Licking her fingers, she tried to assemble the bird’s nest called her curly hair into order.

She was not certain how long it would take him to chop down fresh wood. An image of the man Jamie holding the axe in his hands, droplets of sweat on his brow as he struck down with force on the wood filled her mind. Claire let her eyes closed as she pictured how he would grunt with every strike, again and again. He was clearly well built, so his muscles would flex.

“Christ, Beauchamp,” she shook her head, looking back at herself in the mirror. “Would you get a bloody grip?!”

She knew she shouldn’t have changed her appearance for a man. There was nothing that would come of this, so why did she want to look good for him? After Frank, Claire thought it would take her a long time to be open to any kind of relationship, let alone whatever she was imagining with Fraser.

He said he was going to chop down wood for everyone that needed some, so it could take awhile. The sofa called to her, and Claire sat down, grabbing a book off the coffee table. Her ear was tuned to any slight sound outside, waiting for Jamie’s return.

It took several tries for Claire to focus on the pages before her. She must have read the same paragraph nearly ten times, as her mind was picturing running her fingers through Jamie’s red curls.

“My God woman,” Claire muttered, feeling herself growing flushed. “This is not a cheesy Christmas movie. You’re not going to get laid by the owner of the place who kindly brings you wood.”

If Geillis were here, she would tell Claire to be open and take risks. But Claire had exchanged a few words with the man, and while she assumed he didn’t have a wife or family of his own, there was no way of knowing he wasn’t promised to some other woman.

Soon, Claire’s attention was hooked by her book, and as the minutes turned into hours, she had nearly forgotten about Jamie coming back. One look out the window showed her that it was still snowing, nearly a blizzard too. It was also growing dark outside, and she knew enough to know that chopping wood in the dark was a recipe for disaster.

Her curiosity sparked, Claire rose from the sofa and went to find her boots. Her gut told her that she should at least check that he was okay, if she could even find him out there. Once her shoes were tied, Claire grabbed her coat off the hook near the door. The fresh cold air hit her face, making her gasp as it took her breath away.

The steps were icy as she descended slowly. Obviously, she should look in the woods behind the cabin first. What would she do if she couldn’t find him? Go to the offices, demanding to know where he was? She would look insane and probably desperate. However, he did say he would come back and it’d been nearly four hours.

As she turned the corner round the back of the house, a flash of red caught her eye and she made her way carefully over.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!”

She wouldn’t have to venture out into the icy woods after all. Jamie was lying in the snow, clearly stuck and unconscious. His axe lay nearby as did a pile of wood. He didn’t have any signs of bleeding, so he must have slipped on the ice and passed out.

Claire bent next to his body, her fingers instantly checking for his pulse at his neck. His skin was chilled, but she felt a steady thrum under her fingers, echoing her own. Jamie’s lips were a light shade of blue — he must have been out for hours. And all this time, she sat warm and inside, none the wiser.

“Jamie,” she rubbed her hand over his cheek. He didn’t stir. There was snow covering his body and she began to wipe it off. If he didn’t wake, she wasn’t sure she could lift him into the cabin to warm him up. “Jamie, please wake up!”

Rubbing her hands together for warmth, she then placed them on his cheeks to warm them up. She had no idea what else to do save strip naked and put her body next to his. Things hadn’t gotten to that point she thought sadly.

“Jamie,” she said again loudly. “Mr. Fraser, you’ve got to wake up.”

Finally, she saw a twitch near his lip, and soon his eyes slowly opened, snowflakes falling down his cheeks. “Sassenach?” He said with a dry voice.

“Oh thank God,” Claire sighed, leaning her head briefly on his chest. “You must have slipped on ice and passed out. I think you’ve been out here for hours, and the snow has really picked up.”

“Have I?” He blinked rapidly. “Aye, I can barely feel my fingers so I must have.”

“Do you think you can stand?” Claire asked, “I might be able to help get you inside.”

“Let me try,” his mouth quirked up into a smile. It seems even freezing temperatures couldn’t dampen his spirit. Jamie sat up stiffly, flexing his gloved fingers out in front of him. Rising to her feet, Claire offered him both her hands to pull him up. It took all the strength she had to lift him up. And when she did, he nearly toppled them both over again.

“Okay, let’s try walking,” Claire wrapped one arm around his waist to steady him. They took slow steps and thankfully they were very close to the cabin. The steps took a little bit longer, but with the promise of warmth inside, Jamie managed to make it.

“Och, Christ, I’m freezin’,” Jamie shivered as Claire shut the door behind them.

“Come and sit by the fire,” Claire led him over. “I’ll get you a blanket.”

She walked quickly to her bedroom to grab the plaid she’d tossed there earlier. When she came back to the living room, Jamie was standing in nothing but his trousers. His chest was gleaming, with a tuft of auburn curls, and Claire froze in her tracks as she stared at him.

“Um,” she said, her eyes greedily taking him in.

“I need to get out of these cold wet clothes,” Jamie blushed, bringing color back to his cheeks. “I’m sorry to appear so indecent before ye, but…”

She waved him away and moved closer, holding out the blanket. “No, it’s fine. You’re right, anyways. You can’t be sitting in those clothes.”

Jamie held the blanket in his hands gingerly, staring back at her. “Would ye perhaps look away for a bit just so I can get my trousers off? I swear I willna flash ye or anythin’,” he chuckled.”

“Oh, that’s fine!” Claire blurted, wondering if she meant it would be fine if he flashed her. Feeling heat creep up her chest, she turned and walked to the kitchen to heat up a cup of tea for him.

Jamie’s clothes made up a wet pile near the door, and he now sat by the fire, presumably naked.

“I’ll hang these up in the bathroom so they can dry out a bit,” Claire set his cup of steaming tea before him.

She now had a nearly naked Scotsman in her living room, clothed in a plaid with no dry clothes. What had she gotten herself into?

As Claire returned to him, she was pleased to see that his color was already returning, his skin no longer showing a startling sign of blue. “You really scared me out there,” she said as she sat down across from him on the carpeted floor.

“Who knows what would have become of me had ye not found me,” Jamie sipped the tea. “Were ye comin’ to find me or was there another reason ye were out in the blizzard?”

“I was worried,” Claire admitted freely. “It’d been nearly four hours and you hadn’t returned.”

“Tracking the time, eh?” He teased her, clearly loving to watch her squirm. “I’m glad ye did.”

“I suppose I’ll have to go back later and fetch the wood,” Claire pointed back outside. “I don’t want you to go outside until you’re fully warm and your lips are no longer blue!”

“Are they?” He touched them with his fingertips. “Christ, my balls are blue too,” he laughed.

Claire couldn’t help but laugh, and tried her hardest not to let her eyes wander down to that part of his anatomy. She had heard that old joke about how Scotsmen don’t wear anything under their kilts and she wondered…

“What’s yer story, Claire Beauchamp,” Jamie said a moment later, startling her out of her thoughts.

“My story?” Claire grabbed another plaid from the chair nearby, wrapping it around her shoulders. “I’m quite plain really, there isn’t much to say.”

“Och,” Jamie scoffed. “I dinna believe that. A beautiful English woman such as yerself is far from plain, and besides, everyone has got a story.”

“Then what’s your story, Jamie Fraser,” Claire asked, feeling completely at ease.

“Agh, that’s not fair! I asked ye first,” he laughed.

“I’ll tell you once you tell me yours,” she nudged his bare foot with her fuzzy sock clad one.

Jamie eyed her suspiciously, and Claire noticed for the first time how strikingly blue his eyes were. A stark contrast to her own dark amber ones. Everything about his was a stark contrast to her — his flaming red hair to her dull brown, his tanned skin to her pale, and his largeness to her smaller frame.

He set the cup of tea on the coffee table, careful not to let the plaid slip. “Well, ye ken about how I built this place wi’ my Da. I mentioned he passed a few years ago, and my Mam passed a few years before him.”

“I’m so sorry, Jamie,” Claire said.

“Tis hard sometimes,” he shrugged, giving her a warm smile. “Not always, as most days ye think of them randomly and wi’ a happy memory. Holidays are hard, especially this time of year for me.”

He began to tell her about his life. How he had lived in Scotland all his life, but gone to university in Paris, and earned his degree in business. He had one older sister, Jenny, who was married to his childhood best friend Ian and they had three children. As Jamie talked about his family and his childhood home, Lallybroch, Claire could picture it in her mind. His knack for telling stories was unmatched, and she figured that would be the Scottish-ness of him. Geillis was quite good at telling stories of her own.

“I’m a simple man, who only needs a few things,” Jamie continued. “I remember when we first found this land. I’ve always thought that I needed a mountain to live on, a space to call my own and this is it.”

“You live here on the property then?”

“Aye, just a five-minute drive down the road though,” he nodded, pulling the plaid tight around him. “My Da and I built that first to see if we could even build anythin’,” he laughed.

“But it was somethin’ special once we finally finished it. The first night there was everything I thought and more,” he said dreamily. “There’s somethin’ about building yer own house wi’ yer own two hands. It makes ye appreciate the walls around ye that keep ye warm and safe.”

“It’s amazing what you’ve created here, Jamie,” Claire reached out and placed her hand on his. “I’m sure if your father were here, he’d be proud of all the success.”

“I’d like to think so,” Jamie moved his fingers over hers, squeezing lightly. “Ye said that ye were plain,” he sniffed. “I feel my story is quite plain and boring.”

“It’s not,” Claire shook her head slowly. “It’s yours and that’s what matters.”

He cocked a brow at her, and she rolled her eyes playfully. “Alright, I get it. My story is important too. Although once I tell it to you, you’ll find it’s rather depressing.”

“Well, spit it out, Sassenach,” he rubbed his thumb over her fingers, still clinging on. “Dinna leave me in suspense.”

Claire took a deep breath, deciding that she would be truthful with him — after all, he had told her all about his life, it was the least she could do.

“For starters, I should tell you the real reason I’m here… alone, on Christmas,” Claire began. “I just recently got divorced, and quite frankly, I didn’t want to spend another second in my house that wasn’t decorated and that reminded me of my ex.”

“Who was daft enough to let a lass like ye go?” Jamie smirked, not making her feel pitiful like she usually did when she told people.

“Frank Randall,” Claire groaned. “That’s who. He cheated on me with nearly half the population of Oxford. I was the fool who found out five years into our marriage. I really thought he loved me, and that he was different, but I guess all men are the same deep down.”

Jamie cleared his throat at this, causing her to look up.

“Perhaps not all men,” she corrected. “But the Frank’s of the world are all cut of the same cloth. It’s a relief to not be married to him anymore, but I never thought I would be a divorced woman at the age of twenty-seven.”

“Frank Randall is an idiot,” Jamie said sternly. “He had a wonderful wife, and he clearly didna pay any attention to her. A wife is someone that should be cherished, kissed every day and respected.”

“Are you married?” Claire gulped as she asked. She had seen no ring on his finger, even now as he gripped her hand.

“No, no I havena been so lucky,” he smiled sadly. “But I watched how my parents were. I saw the love between them, the partnership they shared, and I ken that one day I want to have a love like theirs.”

Claire could see that he loved his parents very much, and was sad for him that he had lost them both. “I lost my parents when I was about five,” she said. “I don’t remember what their marriage was like, but my uncle whom I lived with told me they loved each other deeply.”

“There’s hope for ye yet, Sassenach,” Jamie grinned. “Ye’ll find a man who will treat ye as ye deserve, I ken it.”

With stories exchanged, a hush fell upon the room. Claire’s hand was still held between Jamie’s fingers, and she had no intention of letting go. She looked out the window to see that the snow was still falling, adding to the already high pile of fluff.

“It looks like you may be here for the night,” Claire said and he followed her gaze to the window. “The roads are probably covered with the stuff, and you’re still shivering.”

Jamie’s teeth chattered, proving her right. “You should take the bedroom, you’ll be much warmer in a cozy bed than on the sofa. I don’t want to be held responsible for the owner of Fraser’s Ridge losing all his toes!”

“Nah, Claire,” he shook his head. “I canna take yer room. Ye paid for it, and I wouldna feel right puttin’ ye out. I’ll sleep by the fire if I must.”

“No,” Claire stood up and held out her hand to him. “You were passed out in the snow for hours, Jamie! You’re obviously still cold, and there’s a small fireplace in their too. You would know after all.”

He seemed to be weighing his options. While the sofa was comfortable, it was nothing compared to a pocket of warmth one found in a big bed. Jamie was a large man, and Claire bet that his feet would hang off the sofa.

“If you feel so guilty, then you can comp me the night for putting me out of the room,” Claire smirked, her hand still stretched out for him to take.

With a deep grunt, Jamie took her hand and stood up, keeping the plaid wrapped tightly over his body. Claire wanted to slip her hands inside to touch him but pulled her hand away as soon as he was stable.

“There’s also a hot water bottle under the bathroom sink,” Jamie sniffed. “Would ye mind fixin’ it up for me? It seems I still canna feel the tips of my wee fingers,” he wiggled them in front of her.

“Of course,” Claire grinned. “And I’ll bring you another cup of tea once you’re settled. Who knew I would be tucking a very large scot into bed on Christmas night?!”

“Certainly no’ me,” Jamie chuckled. He turned then to go to the bedroom, leaving Claire alone to fix up a fresh cuppa.

There was no way she could fall asleep tonight knowing that he was sleeping in her bed. As she waited for the water to boil, her thoughts turned to his long limbs under the sheets — his freckled arms reaching out to pull her close while she curled into his chest. Claire had never particularly been one for physical touch, but even now, her fingers missed his touch, and it was as if her body was longing to be next to his.

Claire went into the bedroom quietly, seeing that Jamie was already in bed, his eyes closed, but she knew he wasn’t asleep. She found the hot water bottle exactly where he said it’d be, and returned to the kitchen to fill it with the hot water. With that in hand, as well as the cup of tea, she went to him.

“Delivery from Santa’s elf,” Claire whispered, and his eyes popped open, a grin on his lips. “This ought to warm you up.”

Jamie took the tea from her, his hands curling around the cup. The covers were tucked under the bed and Claire pulled them up to tuck the hot water bottle at his feet, making sure it didn’t burn him. She had to admit that it looked awfully cozy in there, and she wanted to hop in next to him.

“Ye ken tis no’ that late,” Jamie said as he sipped. “There’s a TV in here as well, we could put on a Christmas movie?”

“You mean… get into the bed with you?”

He blinked, owl-like up at her. “Aye, yer no’ goin’ to sit on the floor while I have the whole bed to myself, Sassenach,” he gave a loud pat to the spot next to him. “We’re hardly strangers, since ye saved my life, ye ken.”

She probably should have hesitated far longer than she did, but with a shrug, Claire walked around to the other side and climbed in, still quite far away from him as it was a rather large bed. The remote was on her side, and she pressed the power button, bringing It’s a Wonderful Life to the screen.

“Och, this is one of my favorites,” Jamie grinned and wiggled deeper under the covers. Claire laughed at that, and he glanced over at her with a matching smirk. “I love the old black and white ones, don’t ye?”

“Oh yes,” Claire sighed happily, and pulled up the covers. “There’s something so nostalgic about them.”

Geillis would be happy to know that Claire did, in fact, have a man in her bed. It wasn’t exactly what she had in mind, but Geillis didn’t need to know all the details.

The two of them laughed at the funny parts, and were silent as George Bailey went along with Clarence the angel. The heat from the fireplace was comforting, and the bed was soft beneath her tired body. Claire’s eyes were fluttering shut, and while her brain knew she shouldn’t fall asleep next to him, the rest of her body didn’t seem to respond. Sleep washed over her, and she heard the distant ringing of bells as she fell into a deep sleep.

When she woke a little while later, she was surprised to find it was still dark outside. She must have drifted off for only a few hours. Claire was also surprised to feel a heavy weight — Jamie’s arm — wrapped around her stomach. As Claire’s senses came back to her, she realized that her body was curved with his, and his face was nuzzled into her neck.

There was no way she could get out of his embrace without waking him, and she knew he needed to sleep. No wonder she’d woken up, his body was radiating heat now and she was now covered in a thin layer of sweat. His breathing was deep and heavy, his arm tight around her, so she went limp and tried to relax herself into going back to sleep.

But her senses were on high alert now. Her imagination running wild as she felt with her mind his body against hers. With her knees bent, he had his legs pressed against hers. They were spooning. She was the little spoon of course. It was such an intimate position to be in with someone she’d only just met that day. Although, Claire had never slept like this with Frank. He was always on the other side of the bed, with only a kiss on the cheek before he fell fast asleep.

Perhaps, Claire had been craving someone’s touch all her life, and had never found it. Jamie lightly snored and the vibration ran throughout her body. Shifting to get more comfortable, Claire froze and gasped.

Her bottom was pressed snugly against his crotch, and there was no mistaking the hardness she now felt. Claire couldn’t suppress the laughter nor the arousal she felt. Any warm-blooded male would surely get turned on with a woman’s arse wedged between his thighs.

If it was anyone but Jamie, she would have been disgusted and jumped out of the bed. But she felt safe here in his arms, and the idea that she could turn him on even while he slept was erotic.

With that part of his anatomy reminding her just what she wanted to do to him, she gave up on sleep, and simply enjoyed being in his arms, as this would most likely not be a repeat occurrence.

“Sassenach,” he mumbled sleepily, startling her. Her body was now tight as a bowstring, waiting for him to realize what position they were in.

“Oh,” his arm around her stomach slipped away, allowing her to turn and face him.

“You know what they say about body heat,” she grinned, her face barely visible in the dim glow of the dying fire. “It’s the best way to get warm. Don’t worry about it, Jamie.”

“I dinna want ye to think I was takin’ advantage of ye,” he rubbed his hand over his eyes to better see her. “I must have drifted over to ye in my sleep w’out knowin’ it.”

“Jamie,” Claire laughed softly. “We’re still on your side of the bed. If anyone drifted, it was me.”

“I do feel much warmer now,” Jamie observed as he stretched his legs. “I can go out to the sofa now so ye can sleep.”

He made to move, flipping the covers back, and without thinking, Claire grabbed his arm to pull him back.

“I want you to stay,” she whispered, as her heart hammered in her chest.

Answering her plea, Jamie fell back into the bed and turned on his side to face her. He moved his hand to settle on her waist, waiting to see if it was okay. With a slight nod from her, Jamie pulled her closer until she fit against his chest. She looked up at him, meeting his blue eyes only inches from hers. There was no going back now.

“I dinna have any mistletoe,” Jamie said softly, his arms cradling her body.

“What?” Claire laughed, not expecting him to say that.

“Mistletoe,” he said again. “The wee green stuff ye hang over yer head at Christmas so ye can kiss someone.”

Claire buried her head against his chest, laughing. “I think we can manage without the mistletoe, don’t you think?”

“Aye,” one hand came to brush back the curls from her face. Their bodies were pressed so close that kissing didn’t even seem like an intimate idea.

They found each other in the dark. Jamie cupped her cheek reverently as he pressed his lips to hers. His jaw and neck were covered with scruff that itched pleasantly against her skin, and Claire wanted to purr like a kitten as he kissed her deeper.

Guiding her hands into his curly locks, she held on tight as she parted his lips with her tongue. The heat seeped from his body to hers, but a shiver went over her body as his hand snaked down to grip her arse, squeezing lightly.

“Mmmm,” she moaned, pressing her hips against his.

Claire was not entirely certain this wasn’t just a dream, and that she would wake up alone in bed. But for the moment, Jamie felt very real and his flesh under her hands seemed to yield to her touch.

They broke apart, only so that they could push the covers out of the way before coming back together. Jamie pulled Claire on top of him, his hands finding her hips and anchoring her against him. Sadly, she found out that he had not been naked the entire evening as her fingers skimmed the edge of his boxer briefs.

Her hips moved seductively, rolling against his groin. He was hard again, and with every snap of her hips a small sound left Jamie’s throat. His hands moved from her hips to her arse to push her closer. The kiss was so deep that she could hardly breathe.

“God, Sassenach,” Jamie sighed. “I’ve never wanted anyone so badly in all my life!”

Claire peppered kisses over his neck and chest, not wanting to part with the low lusty sounds he was making.

“Jesus, lass,” he muttered between breaths as he realized what she was doing. Claire shimmied down his body, leaving a trail of kisses in her wake. “Ye dinna have to…”

Looking up at him through long thick lashes, she smirked. “I appreciate the choice, but I’m willing, that is if you are?”

He cocked a brow at her, almost as a challenge. “As long as I can return the favor,” he said smugly.

Heat flashed over her body as he stared at her. She had to tear her gaze away from him to settle to the task before her. His body was sculpted to perfection. She ran her fingers over the grooves of his abs, swirling around the wiry hairs at his belly button. His breath hitched as her hands rested on the tops of his boxers.

Claire held his gaze as she pulled them slowly down his legs. His cock sprang free as the material was removed. Her belly quivered at the sight of his impressive thick length jutting upwards towards his stomach. Reflexively, Jamie’s legs widened and she slid down further to fit herself between them.

“Sassenach,” Jamie said with a hoarse voice. “I dinna feel that ‘tis fair that I’m the one naked and yer still covered up.”

“Oh,” Claire glanced down at herself. “I didn’t even realize.” She reached for the hem of her sweater, but two hands stopped her. Jamie pulled her to straddle him again. Now his hands crept up her sweater, his skin warm on her flesh. His fingers tickled her stomach before finally pulling up the material and tossing it over the side. She saw his tongue snake out and wet his lips as he looked at her breasts, covered only now by her black bra. With his skilled fingers, he unhooked it in seconds, tossing it to join the pile of growing clothes.

“May I?” His hands drummed a tattoo against her hips as he held her body over his.

“Yes, please,” Claire blushed and threaded one hand through his hair, following his movements as he leaned down and took one of her pink nipples into his mouth. His pull was insistent, and he began to suck, his cheeks hollowing. Claire’s head fell back as he pressed her against his mouth, sucking harder. A deep cry left her throat as he flicked his tongue back and forth over the sensitive nub.

“Aye, that’s it, Sassenach,” Jamie kissed the underside of her breast. “Make those wee noises for me!”

His mouth moved to the other breast, repeating the same process. His tongue was warm and he swirled the tip around her nipple, and they puffed up, now engorged and swollen from his lips. Before she could move back down his body, Jamie’s hands found her tights and began to pull them off as well as her panties.

“I wish I could see ye in the light,” Jamie said quietly as she pulled the material off her foot, letting it fall to the floor.

“No you don’t,” Claire snorted unflatteringly. “This is enough light so you don’t see all my bumps and squiggles.”

“Bumps and squiggles,” Jamie laughed adorably and pressed his lips against her stomach. “Claire, yer so beautiful. I feel I dinna deserve to be here wi’ ye, holdin’ ye in my arms.”

“You’re one to talk,” Claire ran her finger lightly down the slope of his straight nose. “It’s like making love to a god.”

“Tcha!” Jamie rubbed his hands slowly up and down her sides. She began to rock her hips against him, feeling his length grow between her thighs.

“I’ve never felt like this, Jamie,” Claire admitted. “With anyone.”

He picked up her hand and entwined their fingers, bringing their joint hands to rest over his heart. “Neither have I, Sassenach. I think ye are my Christmas wish come true.”

At that, she shyly buried her head against his neck, her body still gently rocking against his, the friction building. Her arms wrapped around his neck, as his arms settled on her hips. Claire gasped as the tip of his cock brushed against her clit.

She felt his hand move between their bodies as he took hold of himself. Jamie pumped his cock once before sliding it along her wet center. Claire shivered, biting down gently on the padded flesh of his shoulder. He was teasing her entrance with his cock, and just the tip entered her and she clutched his hair tightly.

Her body was shaking with the need to sink down on him, and she pulled back to look into his eyes. One hand came to rest on her lower back, his other still between their bodies. From just the tip, she knew that he was huge, and would fill her completely. Her stomach tightened in anticipation, and she couldn’t help but roll her hips, hearing the sound of the wetness their bodies made.

“I must take ye, Claire,” Jamie said as his grip tightened on her. “I must or I’ll die!”

Claire felt the same, as her heart pounded fast and hard in her chest. She wanted to explode, and as she sank down on his cock, she thought she just might. Their moans mingled together in the air as he filled her.

“Christ,” he whispered. The hand that had been holding his cock found her hand and he gripped it tightly as she began to rock her hips. Claire had never felt so close to someone, not just physically but emotionally. No one had ever looked her in the eyes as they bared their soul with her. There was nothing left unsaid as they gave over to one another.

Claire kept up the slow and steady rhythm of her hips, and overcome with emotions, she pressed her face into his neck, feeling tears spring to her eyes. Jamie held her close, his other hand rubbing slowly up and down her back. He thrust upwards, hitting a spot so deep inside of her, that Claire didn’t know such pleasure existed.

“Oh God,” she panted.

“Oh Claire,” Jamie breathed heavily.

She was close, and she began to grind down faster and harder, feeling his body begin to tremble. Quickly, she pulled back so that she could watch him fall apart. His length throbbed inside of her, and his mouth opened and closed, as the words failed to come out.

With a sharp snap of her hips, Claire felt her own orgasm coming, as she clenched around his cock. Jamie’s hands squeezed her hips, helping her ride him. His eyes flicked back and forth from her bouncing breasts to her face as she came.

Jamie cried out, “Claire!” before spilling inside of her, his body spasming. Tingles shot down her spine, and she held onto him for dear life. Carefully, Claire adjusted her position so she could wrap her legs around his waist and she clung to him, almost like a monkey.

His hands were soothing on her back, lightly stroking. He stayed rooted inside of her, reluctant to leave her body.

“I didn’t know it could be like that,” Claire said softly against his chest.

“I didna either,” Jamie echoed. “Perhaps it depends on who yer wi’.”

Claire chuckled, but sighed happily at this. Whatever it was between them… it wasn’t usual.

After time passed and they both were sated, Jamie shifted and then moved Claire to lay in his arms, her head comfortably against his chest as she looked up at him.

“When I first met ye, all those hours ago,” he snorted. “I felt a… a sort of draw to ye, Sassenach. Like I just had to be close to ye. To hear yer voice, touch yer skin. I thought I’d do anythin’ to be near to ye.”

“Really?” Claire ran her fingers lightly over his stubbled chin.

“Aye,” he smiled. “Twas the strangest thing. While I was out chopping the wood, I found myself thinking about ye, and I’d known ye all of five minutes!”

“I felt the same,” Claire smiled, pleased that she hadn’t been crazy. “I was waiting for you to come back with the wood. I even changed my clothes,” she laughed quietly. “When you didn’t come back, I grew impatient and that’s when I decided to look for you. I just knew I had to see you again.”

“I dinna wish my niece any ill tidings,” Jamie stroked her cheek. “But I’m verra glad that she got sick after lunch and I came back here. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than here wi’ ye in my arms. Ye see, Claire, and this may sound hasty, but I talk to you as I talk to my own soul," he said, turning her face to him. He reached down and cupped her cheek, fingers light on her temple.

"And, Sassenach," he whispered, "your face is my heart.”

Claire closed her eyes as he kissed her, feeling like something opened up inside of her at his words.

“I certainly didn’t expect this,” she said. “I thought I would never be able to recover after my divorce. That my heart was used and not able to be loved again. But, with you, Jamie… I feel things I’ve never felt. A closeness to you, as if I could tell you anything and nothing would surprise or scare you.”

He pressed their lips together once again. “I feel as if our souls have belonged to each other far longer than our bodies have.”

“I don’t think I can part from you, Jamie,” Claire said sleepily, yawning.

“Shhh,” Jamie kissed her forehead and slid further into bed, pulling the covers around her. “Sleep, a nighean donn. When ye wake, I’ll be here.”

“Mmmm,” Claire nuzzled against him, and fell asleep to him muttering something in a language she recognized as Gaelic.

++++++

When Claire opened her eyes, she did wake in his arms. The sun filled the room, and she wasn’t shocked to see that the snow still fell outside. The fire had gone out long ago, but Jamie’s body heat kept her warm. In her sleep, she had shifted to lie curled against his body, and she placed a soft kiss to his neck, rousing him.

“Good morning, sleepy head,” she kissed his jaw.

“Yer insatiable,” Jamie groaned, all while keeping his eyes shut. His hands were locked around her back, and they slid down to rest over her arse.

“The same could be said about you,” she poked him playfully in the chest.

Before the morning could unfold like the previous night, however, a loud gurgle came from Claire’s stomach, making Jamie’s eyes pop open.

“I guess all that activity made me hungry,” she nipped at his bottom lip.

Jamie laughed and then rolled her body on top of his. “First we shall eat, and then I plan to devour ye,” he nibbled on her ear lobe, making her squirm.

Another loud gurgle sounded in the room and this time from Jamie.

A cold breeze drifted across her naked body as Jamie pushed off the covers. She rolled off his body and stood up, grabbing the plaid to wrap around her. Jamie opted for his boxers, tugging them on as he yawned.

They ventured out into the kitchen, sitting on two stools. Claire placed a bowl in front of Jamie and poured cereal into it.

“Tell me when to stop,” Claire said as she poured the milk.

“That’s good,” he smiled. “Breakfast of champions.”

“If I knew I would have company, I’d have bought proper breakfast,” Claire said as she sat down at the counter next to him.

“I dinna think this will be our last breakfast together,” Jamie’s foot nudged hers, making her grin sheepishly.

“No, I dare say it won’t.”

They ate quickly, impatient to return to each other’s arms. Food was necessary to continue making love, but Claire was shoveling the cereal down her throat as fast as she could, with only one strange look from Jamie.

“Dinna choke, Sassenach,” Jamie laughed as Claire wiped the milk from her lips. “I canna make love to ye if yer dead.”

“Sorry,” she blushed.

Jamie pushed his bowl aside, and grabbed her hand. “Dinna apologize, ’tis charming for some reason. But now that yer belly is full, I can have my way wi’ ye!”

He stood up, spinning her on the stool until she faced him. Jamie’s arms wrapped around her stomach and he lifted her into the air, plaid and all. She landed over his shoulder, and her bum was given a nice firm pat, making her giggle.

“You better not drop me, Fraser!”

“Not a chance,” he chuckled, bouncing his knees as if he was dropping her. Claire shrieked, but laughed, letting her arms dangle over his back. She slid her hands over his arse, giving it a firm squeeze.

“Enough of that,” he smirked, walking into the bathroom where he set her on her feet. His hands reached for the plaid around her shoulders and pushed it off of her. Claire returned the favor by removing his boxers, enjoying the sight of his erect cock on her way back up to kiss him.

“Just what are we doing in here?” She hooked both arms around his neck.

“I’ve fed ye,” Jamie kissed her nose, “and now I need to wash ye.”

“Do I stink?” Claire blushed, self conscious as she put her arms down.

“No,” he shook his head. “But ever since I set eyes on that curly wig of yers, I’ve wanted to get my hands into it. If that doesna sound too weird,” he bit his bottom lip.

“Oh,” she said. The shower was certainly big enough for the two of them, and she moved out of his grasp to turn on the hot water, watching as the room began to steam up.

Claire grabbed his fingers, pulling him into the shower after her. They stood under the water, letting it drench them. Once her hair was wet, Jamie grabbed the shampoo and drizzled a fair amount into the palms of his hands, lathering until suds formed.

Spinning until she faced the shower wall, Claire sighed as his hands massaged her scalp. He had large strong fingers — fingers that had explored her body the night before. Fingers that made Claire moan as she imagined them inside of her.

“Feel good?”

“Hmmm?”

Jamie laughed, still rubbing the shampoo into her hair. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Feeling like she was floating, Claire allowed Jamie to move her under the water to rinse out the shampoo. He then pushed her back against the wall, his mouth landing on her neck. The water poured down his back, cascading down his skin.

Claire’s eyes sprang open from her dreamy state as she felt his lips nibble on her breast briefly before moving south.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” Claire muttered as she looked down to find Jamie on his knees looking up at her. His hands settled on her waist, making sure that she didn’t fall down on top of him.

“I told ye I would devour ye, Sassenach,” he growled before licking slowly up her center. Claire’s legs buckled, but his hands squeezed her hips. The tip of his tongue flicked out against her clit before two of his fingers spread her lips. His tongue darted inside of her, and Claire’s head fell back against the wall.

Her hands found his head, holding on tight to his hair as he began to bop his head. Like a kitten lapping at milk, Jamie began to lick and suck her folds.

“Oh God,” Claire sighed. Jamie lifted her right leg to rest over her shoulder and he adjusted the angle, now able to insert a finger inside of her. Her thighs involuntarily clenched around his head. Jamie chuckled against her skin, sending shivers over her body.

Glancing down, she could see that his cock was hard and throbbing. His other hand left her waist to take hold of himself, the thumb moving slowly up and down his cock. Watching his head move between her thighs as well as his hand pump himself made Claire’s orgasm come quickly, her body trembling under the water.

Jamie lapped up her juices, his mouth greedy for her taste. Peppering her thighs with kisses, he stood up, watching as she swayed slowly, her body still given over to pleasure.

“I could do that all day,” Jamie kissed her gently and she tasted herself on his lips.

“And I want you to,” Claire kissed him harder. “But not before I return the favor.”

Before he could say anything, she was already sliding down onto her knees. His cock was still hard, resting against his stomach. Finally able to see all of him in the light, Claire gasped. He was bloody huge and she was impressed that he managed to fit inside her so snugly the night before.

“Like what ye see, then?” He was watching her, grinning at her fascination with his member.

“I’m just trying to work out if you really are a god,” Claire said and kissed the tip of his cock, watching his thighs clench.

“Jesus,” Jamie grunted, placing one hand against the wall to steady himself. “Ye sure ken how to flatter a man.”

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” Claire smirked, running one finger down his cock. Her thumb rubbed slowly over the head, pulling back the foreskin. Moisture dripped down and she moved her lips around the tip, tasting him.

Jamie’s buttocks clenched, and moans left his lips as Claire took more of him in. Her fingers were skating lightly down the backs of his thighs. She enjoyed the shivers that ran down his body at her touch. With one hand she cupped his heavy balls, squeezing them firmly as her other hand pumped his cock.

Her tongue snaked out, flicking quickly over the head. Jamie’s eyes were shut, but they opened, dark blue and he watched her take him in her mouth. Her cheeks hollowed, and as he hit the back of her throat, she gagged, but was too eager to please him to stop. Claire bopped her head, moaning as his hand found her hair, not pushing or forcing her, but just moving with her motions.

She felt his balls draw up close to his body, and looked up, seeing how he was breathing quickly. Claire pulled him out of her mouth, now only sucking on the tip of his cock. His head bent down to watch her again, and as she flattened her tongue against his shaft, he came in long hard spasms. She milked him, her eyes focused on his face as he spilled into her hand and she licked the head clean.

Claire stood up, her body gliding along his. She placed her hands under the water, washing his seed off.

“I could do that all day,” she smirked, returning his sentiment from moments before.

“I guess if ye bed a vixen,” Jamie leaned his forehead against hers. “Ye have to expect to get bit.”

Claire laughed as he kissed her. They finished showering with wandering hands. They simply couldn’t get enough of each other.

Not bothering with clothes, Jamie and Claire dried off and stumbled towards the living room. Claire laid down near the fireplace as Jamie lit it. The twinkling lights shined above them. Jamie rolled against her as he laid next to her.

“How much longer is yer stay?” He asked, sighing contentedly against her neck, his breath warm.

“Three days,” Claire said, her fingers brushing through his curls at the nape of his neck.

“Hmm, three days. Would ye really leave before New Year’s Eve?” Jamie smirked.

“Only if I had a good reason not to leave,” Claire looked at him.

“Do ye?”

Did she? Jamie was certainly not someone she expected to fall for, but she had. It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours since they met, but already her heart belonged to him. This Christmas would be one she would remember forever, always thinking back to the day she met the love of her life.

“Yes,” she kissed him. “I do. Is that a date?”

“Aye,” Jamie grinned. “I can show ye what a proper Hogmanay is like, Sassenach!”

“I thought this would be a blue Christmas, but the only thing that was blue was your frostbitten skin,” Claire laughed.

“And my balls,” he added, laughing.

“And those,” Claire snickered. “I’m glad you fell down in the snow.”

“So am I,” Jamie rolled his body on top of hers. “What were those lyrics again… I’ll have a blue Christmas without you. I’ll be so blue just thinkin’ about you…”

There on Fraser’s Ridge, two strangers met, and fell in love on Christmas Day. They laughed as they never had before, loved with a passion they didn’t know existed, and had a very very merry Christmas.

Five days later, after spending day and night in each other’s arms and getting to know everything there was to know about the other, Claire packed up her things and said goodbye to Fraser’s Ridge.

She wasn’t headed home just yet, however, as Jamie was eager to take her to his childhood home, Lallybroch, for a Hogmanay celebration.

“Is your sister going to be very shocked at my being there?” Claire asked as they drove. She’d called Geillis a couple of days ago to ask if she could keep watching Ados. Of course, Geillis had given her hundred questions to answer, but Claire told her she’d give her all the juicy details when she got back to Oxford in a few days.

“Probably,” Jamie chuckled, one hand on the steering wheel, the other on Claire’s thigh. “I havena brought a lass home, so she’ll want to interrogate me. The good thing,” he smiled over at her, “is that we’ll be arriving shortly before the rest of the guests do, so she willna have time to do that!”

“Ahhh,” Claire laughed. “All part of your master plan, I see. So that’s why we didn’t arrive there yesterday or the day before.”

Jamie squeezed her leg. “Tis no’ that I dinna want her to meet ye, but I still want to keep ye all to myself. Plus, I dinna want to subject ye to a million questions that she’ll ask ye. There’s no need to rush this.”

“My lad,” Claire sighed happily. “I think it’s a bit late for that.”

Jamie smiled in agreement, and they drove on. Lallybroch wasn’t too far away, and within the hour, they were pulling up to the large stone estate. Jamie was right, as there were other cars pulling up at the same time as them.

“This place is not at all what I imagined,” Claire said in awe as Jamie turned off the car.

“Tis quite charming,” Jamie smiled. “Lallybroch means lazy tower, ye ken? I suppose it does lean a bit.”

Claire tilted her head to the side, admiring the house. She left her bag in his car, they would come out later to get that to stay the night in Jamie’s old room. Sliding his fingers through hers, Jamie pulled her close and together they walked up to the house.

People were milling about inside, and the atmosphere was electric with the air of celebration. The room smelled of meats and pies and Claire’s stomach growled with the need to be filled.

“Jamie!” Came a loud voice from their left. A short, raven haired woman came running towards them and Jamie let go of Claire’s hand to embrace her. “Ye finally made it ye numptie.”

“Aye, sorry we’re late,” Jamie said, giving his sister a kiss on the cheek.

“We?” Jenny craned her neck to look behind Jamie at Claire. Her eyes went wide, and her brows shot up to her forehead. “Hello, there.”

“Janet,” Jamie eyed his sister as he wrapped an arm protectively around Claire’s waist. “This is Claire Beauchamp.”

Claire noted how he didn’t explain where or when they’d met, and she though it best to keep it that way for now. She offered Jenny her hand, and waited awkwardly before his sister wrapped her arms lovingly around Claire.

“I’ll yell at ye later for no’ tellin’ me ye were bringin’ a lass,” Jenny said to Jamie as she hugged Claire. “But I’m happy that ye did. ’Tis nice to meet ye Claire. Sadly I dinna have much time to talk wi’ ye, but we’ll have plenty of time for that tomorrow. Ye are stayin’ the night?” She directed this question at Jamie who nodded.

“Good,” Jenny squeezed Claire’s hand. “Ian is around here somewhere with the bairns. He’ll love to see ye.”

“Oh aye,” Jamie took Claire’s hand again, pulling her out of Jenny’s grasp. Jenny smirked at her brother before leaving them alone, off to fulfill her hostess duties.

“Well, that went better than expected,” Jamie sighed. “Ye must give a good first impression, Sassenach.”

“I’ve never been told I give a bad one,” Claire tapped his nose. “Now that that is out of the way, can we please get something to eat?”

“Aye,” Jamie grinned. “And to drink!”

They found the table of food easily, and filled their plates high with mountains of savories and sweets. While Claire carried their bounty, Jamie grabbed two full glasses of cider and they made their way outside into the chilly air to get away from the noise.

The sound of laughter and music could still be heard outside as they sat down on a wooden bench.

“This is lovely, Jamie,” Claire took a bite of a mince pie. “Thank you for bringing me.”

“I’m glad ye are enjoyin’ it,” Jamie grinned over his cup. “It’ll get rowdy as the night wages on. Swords dances and the like.”

“Sword dances?” Claire questioned.

“Aye,” gulped. “Ye place two swords crossed over the other, and ye dance atop them. Highlanders used to do these types of dances for celebration or before a battle to predict the outcome. It’s a tradition now.”

“Will you be partaking in these sword dances?”

Jamie’s cheeks turned bright red. “I do every year,” he took a bite of haggis. “But this year I’ll have ye to cheer me on.”

They kept eating until their stomachs were full, and while Claire wanted more of the delicious food, she felt ready to pop.

The music was drawing them back inside, but Claire took Jamie’s hand, rubbing her fingers lightly over his, not wanting to leave their peaceful cocoon.

“I didn’t expect to feel this way about someone I met only a week ago,” Claire said softly. “I came to Scotland to get away from my old life, and to make myself forget the pain.”

Jamie was silent, but his eyes were focused on her as she spoke.

“I came to escape my old life, but I found something new,” Claire grinned. “Something worth holding onto.”

One of his large hands came up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing off a bit of snow on her skin. “Something worth holdin’ onto,” he repeated. “Yer worth getting frostbite for, Sassenach. Yer worth shiverin’ until I canna feel anythin’.”

Claire smiled, “I know that you live here, and I live back in England, but I hope this won’t be the end.”

“Nah,” he leaned in close, resting his forehead against hers. “’Tis no’ the end, Claire. I reckon… it’s just the beginning.”

Snow began to fall harder, forcing them to move inside. They danced hand in hand, sang loudly and rang in the new year with a kiss, sealing their fate forever.

#blue christmas #without youuuuuu #jamie x claire #outlander fanfic #outlander fanfiction #jamie fraser #claire fraser #fraser's ridge #one shot #christmas

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