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elusivewildflower · 2 years ago

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The Other Fitzroy | Part 3

Pairing: Court Gentry/Six x Fitzroy!Reader

Summary: You, Claire and your daughter have been held hostage by the CIA in Virginia for 2 weeks before Court finally shows up to rescue you again. Court gets to meet his daughter for the first time and your little family heads off to a safe house in the woods to lay low for a few days.

Warnings: Mentions of scars, gunfire, blood, but otherwise you may need tissues. It gets very heartwarming and sad at times.

Word Count: 5.8k

A/N: I am so sorry this took so long to get out! I’ve been a bit busy with work, and honestly I had a hard time starting this chapter as I knew it was gonna be feels-inducing. Even while writing I had to keep taking breaks because my heart couldn’t take it. I hope that this was worth the wait, and as always, I thank my beta @truesblue for helping me shape this out to what it is when you guys read it.

Part One | Part Two

Well, you certainly hadn’t expected to be wrapped up in another hostage situation by the CIA when Court came to rescue you in Croatia, but you couldn’t say that you were all that surprised. After stumbling out of the hedge maze, you spent a day in the hospital being treated for your gunshot wound and concussion. However, as soon as you were back on your own feet, you fell right back into the hands of the CIA. They forced you to confess where you had hidden your daughter, and then they brought you along for the plane ride to retrieve her. While you were relieved to see your daughter unharmed after everything you had been through, you wished it could’ve been under better circumstances. One where she wasn’t dragged headfirst into the danger you had desperately tried to keep her out of. A part of you deeply wished you could go back to the way your life used to be, though you knew that could never happen. Your heart hurt over the loss of your uncle, and it only ached further when you thought of having to break that news to your toddler. You weren’t even sure how you’d explain his disappearance to her, but maybe she’d believe that he was busy with work for just a while longer, at least until you could figure it out.

After reuniting with your daughter, the both of you joined Claire at an estate in Virginia. You had traded the historic splendor of the room in the castle for a much plainer one inside of the manor. The only respite of the four walls closing you in was being escorted out to the kitchen for every meal. You had to admit, the agents that held you weren’t as aggressive as the ones in Croatia, which could easily be explained because they weren’t mercenaries hired by Lloyd. Still, after spending almost two weeks trapped in a room, the three of you were growing restless. Lyla couldn’t understand why she wasn’t allowed to go outside and play, or even take trips to the park like you had used to, and Claire was just ready to go home. You didn’t have the heart to tell her that would never be an option–she had already been through enough. Really, the both of you had–but just like when your parents died, you had to be the one to hold it together, to be strong so that she didn’t have to be. Now, you also have to be strong for your daughter. You may have already realized that you were once again, completely and utterly trapped, waiting for a rescue mission that could very well never come, but you’d never crush their hopes like that.

A knock on the door pulled you from your thoughts, breaking your gaze from studying the same pair of trees out of the window, and had you turning towards the door as it opened. An agent’s head popped through the gap. “Lunchtime.” He spoke, pushing the door open further.

You lifted yourself from the blue chair you had been sitting on, moving to pick up your daughter, who had been playing with some toys on the carpet. “Come on, sweetie,” you murmured to her as you hoisted her into your arms, letting her rest upon your hip. Claire was the last to rise to her feet, having been preoccupied by shuffling through her records. The agent escorted the three of you down the long hallway until you reached the kitchen, where three plates were laid out on the dining table. Two grilled cheese sandwiches awaited you and Claire, while the third plate had chicken nuggets for Lyla. You were grateful that the agent who prepared your food at least understood what toddlers preferred to eat. The three of you ate your lunch mostly in silence, just like every other meal you’ve had in the last two weeks. However, today, you could tell Claire was exceptionally restless. She pushed her half-eaten sandwich back and forth across her plate, shifting in her seat. Her attention turned towards the agent that was still standing by the island in the kitchen.

“When do we get to go home?” She asked. Her question was only met with silence from the agent. Not even any of the other agents that stood within the room, guarding all entrances and exits, spoke up. “I asked you a question.” Claire announced, a bit louder this time.

“Claire…” You began in a warning tone.

“No!” Her head snapped towards you. “They always ignore my questions. I just want someone to answer me!” She aimed her ire back at the agent. “When are we going home?” Again, her question was only met by even more silence as the agent busied himself with cleaning the kitchen counter. Claire slumped in her seat, letting out a defeated sigh. “I just wanna go home…” She whispered, tears welling in her eyes.

You looked at her sadly, reaching out to give her shoulder a squeeze. “I know.” You spoke in a comforting tone, but it didn’t seem to help. She gently shrugged your hand off and stood up from her seat, signaling that she was done eating. You let out a soft sigh, moving to stand with her, but not before grabbing Lyla from her high chair. The agent led the three of you back to your room in silence, and the second that the door was shut behind you, the click of the lock could be heard. You were back to being trapped within the same four walls.

The chirping of birds drew your attention away from the door behind you, and it was clear that Claire had heard it too, as she began walking towards the french doors that were usually locked shut. However, now, one of the doors was pushed open, letting in a soft breeze. You followed right behind her, glancing outside as your heart raced in your chest. There’s no way one of the agents had opened that door, so that could only mean one thing. Court was alive–and he was here.

Claire was the first one to step away from the door, and when you followed her gaze, you knew why. Her beloved record of ‘Silver Bird’ had been moved from the floor and was resting against a lamp, something yellow peeking out from inside. When she pulled the piece of paper out, you read it from over her shoulder. ‘Play me loud.’ She turned towards you, her face lit up with hope. You were sure that your expression reflected the same.

“He’s come to save us,” she voiced, quickly moving to place the record onto the player.

You nodded, chuckling softly as tears sprang in your eyes. “Again.” You emphasized as she cranked the volume all of the way up. Not even a second later and the sounds of men shouting and suppressed gunfire could be heard over the music. It wasn’t as noticeable as it should’ve been, had the record not been playing, but you could still hear it. The two of you took a seat on the edge of the bed, Claire’s hands raising to cover her ears as tears rolled over her cheeks. Your hands moved to cover your daughter’s ears, caring more about her hearing than your own, as she buried her face into your chest. You rested your chin on top of her head, murmuring comforting words to try to keep her calm as you rocked back and forth gently.

Soon, the gunshots grew louder, closer, and a second later the door was pushed open, revealing Court’s face. You breathed a sigh of relief, one that you heard Claire echo as she rose to her feet. You removed your hands from your daughter’s ears and reached to turn down the music to a tolerable level.

“Am I allowed to chew gum in here?” Court asked, a little inside joke between him and Claire as she gave him crap for chewing gum in the Fitzroy house. In response, you and your sister chuckled before Claire launched herself towards him, wrapping her arms around him in an embrace. Court’s eyes settled on you as he returned the hug, trailing downwards, where Lyla had pulled away from your chest now that the music and gunfire had ceased. Their eyes met, and while he obviously knew that his daughter would be there, to see his blue eyes staring back at him must’ve been a surprise. His mouth dropped open in shock, the gum long forgotten. You smiled softly at his reaction and moved to stand, raising Lyla up onto your hip. As you close the gap between you, Claire steps back from Court’s embrace, letting you and Lyla have his attention.

You cleared your throat gently, trying to find your voice. “Lyla, baby, this is your daddy.” You introduced, gesturing towards Court as your voice wavered, thick with emotion. Lyla’s attention turns to Court, the toddler peering up at him.

“Daddy?” Lyla questions, reaching her arms out to him to be held. Court’s eyes dart from her to you, nervously. The sight of him being nervous over anything, let alone over holding his daughter, had butterflies swirling in your stomach. You give him an encouraging nod before passing his daughter off to him. He takes her into his arms, holding her gingerly.

“A-am I holding her correctly?” Court stutters out, looking to you for advice.

Fresh tears well in your eyes as you let out a hushed chuckle, “Yeah. You’re doing good.” Your praise seems to instill confidence in him, and his attention returns to Lyla, who has begun rubbing her hands all over his face, poking him experimentally and tugging on his beard.

As she seemed to be busy taking in his appearance, Lyla’s small voice once again repeated, “Daddy?”

Court lets out a chuckle of his own, followed by a slight sniffle, bouncing her gently in his arms. “Yeah, baby, I’m your daddy.” He confirms with a nod, and your heart swells in your chest. Lyla beams as she begins to play with the collar of his jacket and shirt.

You wipe away a few tears that had fallen down your cheeks, completely overwhelmed by the feeling of happiness you felt from Court finally being able to meet his daughter. The fact that he had tears brimming in his own eyes had you about ready to bawl, but you tried to hold your composure. You spared a glance over towards Claire, catching a large smile on her face for the first time in a long time. You threw your arm across her shoulders, bringing her in for a side hug that she happily returned. Court’s attention broke away from tearfully inspecting the child he had produced to you and Claire. His free arm beckoned the two of you closer, and for a good, long moment, you all embraced in a group hug. After all that you had been through in the last month, it felt good to feel happy again. When you pulled away just enough to peer up at Court, you saw something you had never seen before–a genuine smile on his face. He leaned down, the best he could with his three girls in his arms, and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Alright, we gotta get moving. Go pack up whatever you need, quickly.” Court instructed, breaking up the group hug. Claire was the first to move, turning to grab the bag that had been left halfway unpacked in a corner ever since she’d been brought to the estate. You wanted to take Lyla from Court, but he shook his head at you. “I’ve got her. You’ll be able to pack quicker,” he explained, shooing you off. You hesitated for a moment, but when your daughter looked perfectly content with her head resting on his shoulder, you gave him a smile and turned on your heel. Grabbing the bag you had dropped off with Lyla to your friend’s house several weeks ago, you began repacking everything that had been in it. Her toys, a few outfits, diapers, wipes, blankets, and other items of need were haphazardly shoved inside before you zipped it shut. Now, it was your turn to pack. Thankfully, you didn’t have nearly as many things with you as Claire and your daughter did, and you were able to finish packing at the same time as Claire. You slung both bags over your shoulders and moved to take Lyla back from Court as he led the way out of the estate and to the car parked out front.

As Court opened the door to the backseat of the passenger side, he spoke. “I hope this works,” he gestured towards the car seat a bit sheepishly. “I had to ask the sales lady for help,” he admitted.

You couldn’t help but laugh at the thought of Court asking a stranger for help picking out a car seat for his daughter. “It’s perfect,” you assured, taking the time to strap Lyla in appropriately. You took note of how Court watched your every move, as if he was trying to learn how to buckle her in if he ever needed to. When you finished, you leaned back up to your full height outside of the car. Court shut the back door and moved to open the front passenger side door for you. Before getting into your seat, you leaned up on the tips of your toes to press a kiss to his cheek–but Court turned his head just in time to capture your lips instead. You let out a gasp, caught off guard, and he simply responded with a wink. He shut the door behind you as you settled into your seat and jogged around to the driver’s side, hopping in and starting the engine. Within seconds he was flooring down on the gas, determined to get you all the hell out of there before anyone could find you again.

The road trip to the safe house that Court had chosen– one he swore only he and your uncle Fitz knew about– was a long one, but otherwise relatively uneventful. You had only stopped a handful of times along the way, mostly for gas, bathroom breaks, or to grab food. You knew that Court would have survived without the last two, but having a toddler and a twelve-year-old meant those stops were necessary. The safe house was a cabin tucked way out into the woods. It wasn’t very large, having only two bedrooms and one bathroom, a small kitchen and a living room with no TV–but it was cozy, and safe. It also came with the freedom to move around whenever you wanted to without an escort and to not be confined to one room anymore. You knew that you were far from being in the clear, and would always need to look over your shoulder for the threat of danger, but you were glad to have put some distance between you and the CIA for now.

While you occupied yourself with settling Claire and Lyla, Court headed off to check the perimeter of the property and to make sure no one had followed your trail. He made sure to leave you with a handgun before he left, just in case, that you had tucked into the back of your waistband. Claire claimed the first shower and you slipped into the kitchen to prepare something for everyone to eat. Lyla played with her toys in the living room, easily within sight. By the time Claire strolled back into the kitchen, a towel slung over her shoulders and donning fresh clothes, you’d finished cooking a few hot dogs and mac ‘n’ cheese for them. Not a five-star meal, but it would do. After Lyla declared herself full, you gave her a quick bath before dropping her off in the second bedroom to play with her toys. Your sister was already curled up with a book on the bed, so you cleared your throat to catch her attention. “Will you watch Lyla while I clean up?” You asked pleadingly, even though you already knew she wouldn’t say no. Claire nodded her head in response, and you quickly left the room.

Returning to the kitchen, you were surprised to see Court standing there. “Jesus, I didn’t even hear you come back in. Everything good?” You asked, moving to grab yourself a plate of food.

He nodded, “Yeah, we’re all good for now.” He responded, following behind you to grab himself a plate.

“Sorry it’s not the best meal, it’s not easy finding stuff that kids will eat,” you apologized, referring to Claire and Lyla as you moved to take a seat at the table.

Court shook his head, waving off your apology. “It’s perfect,” he assured, taking a seat across from you as he dug into his food.

The two of you ate in a comfortable silence. When you were finished with your food, you began cleaning up all of the used dishes. Court moved to join you, forcing you to let him dry the dishes that you washed. After all of the, now clean, dishes were put away, you turned towards him. “I’m gonna go take a shower. Do you wanna join me?”

Court shook his head. “I really shouldn’t. What if--”

You cut him off. “Court, you just spent an hour checking the perimeter and God knows what else. I think we’ll survive twenty minutes in the shower.” You then leaned in and gave a dramatic sniff, your nose scrunched up in disgust. “And you definitely need a shower.” Your words were teasing, but you weren’t being dishonest–he did stink.

He heaved a sigh, but an amused smile spread across his face. “Alright,” he conceded, ushering you in the direction of the bathroom. After the door was shut behind the two of you, Court shrugged off his jacket and yanked his shirt over his head. Your eyes raked over his torso, drinking in a sight you hadn’t seen in two years. He caught your gaze and raised a brow. “What?”

You shook your head, “Just more scars than I remember you having.” You commented as you pulled your own shirt off, tossing it to the floor. Your bra follows shortly after.

He huffed out a laugh, but there was no humor behind it. “Yeah, the last two years have been a bit rough.” He said as he reached into the shower and turned the knob, letting the water flow so it had time to warm up. He then unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, kicked off his shoes and socks before tugging his jeans and boxers down in one go.

“I’m sorry,” you stated, slipping off your own shoes and the rest of your clothes, kicking them to the corner to join your discarded shirt and bra.

His attention turned back to you, eyeing your naked form over for a moment before giving a shake of his head. “Nothing you did, sweetheart.”

You shrugged, giving his body a glance as well—you had certainly missed that view. “That doesn’t mean I’m not still sorry you had to go through that.”

Court seemed like he wasn’t too sure how to respond to that, but after a moment he managed to deflect. “What about you? You raised a baby the last two years. I’m sure that wasn’t easy.”

“It wasn’t,” you began, “but I had Donald to help me.” You smiled fondly as you remembered your uncle, even if doing so had your heart clenching in your chest.

Court nodded in response before speaking, “Fitz was a good man.” His words were spoken softly, almost as if he didn’t have the strength to say the man’s name aloud.

You nodded in agreement, and a moment of silence fell between you. You presumed he was thinking about your uncle just as you were, wishing that the outcome in Croatia could’ve gone differently.

Court stuck his hand into the shower, checking the temperature of the water before pushing the curtain back when he found it was warm enough. He gestured for you to step in first, which you complied with, and he followed right behind you. The feeling of the water hitting your back was already enough to relax you.

“How are you, by the way?” Court spoke up after a moment of silence, drawing your attention towards him.

“I’m fine,” you replied a bit too quickly.

Court eyed you over for a moment before responding, “You know that I can see through you, right?”

You let out a sigh. “Then why even ask?”

He shrugged, “Out of courtesy, I guess.” You huffed out a laugh, but gave no other response. Court raised a hand to gently cup your jaw, his calloused thumb brushing against your wet cheek. “I heard you managed to kill a few of Lloyd’s men before they grabbed you up.”

“Yeah,” you confirmed in a soft voice with a nod, your thoughts drifting back to what felt like ages ago to the day that you and Claire were kidnapped by Lloyd’s men. You remembered watching the blood seep out onto the wooden floors from the two men you had downed with a gun, and the third who’s neck you had slashed open. Tears began to well in your eyes and you knew exactly what he was trying to do. He was trying to get you to drop your façade, to finally process what you had been through.

“And then you lost your uncle,” he reminded gently, his thumb still stroking your cheek as his other hand moved to rest upon your waist. You squeezed your eyes shut as a few tears escaped, your bottom lip trembling as you tried to stay composed.

“You lost him too,” you reminded him as well, “and Margaret Cahill.” Your eyes fluttered back open as you looked up into his blue eyes.

He nodded, the hand that was on your hip raising to cup the other side of your face, both of his thumbs now brushing away the tears that leaked from your eyes. “I know, but this isn’t about me right now, this is about you. You don’t have to be strong around me, baby.”

Those words were the final straw for you, and he knew it. Before the first sob even broke free, he had you pulled tightly against his chest. The last time he held you like this was shortly after your parents had died, when you finally broke down in the middle of a sparring session–the weight of being strong for everyone in a difficult time became too much to bear. Much like it had right now. He was the only one who had ever seen you cry like this, sobbing so hard you could barely breathe. He rested his chin on top of your head, the hard muscles of his arms shielding you from the water while his hands comfortingly rubbed up and down your back. After several long minutes, your sobs had settled down into soft whimpers and sniffles. Court’s grip on you loosened as you moved to pull away. “Thank you,” you murmured softly as you looked up at him.

He leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead, “Any time.” You then reached for one of the loofahs you had thrown into the shower earlier, and grabbed the neutral-scented body wash you picked up from one of your stops along the way to the safe house. Squeezing a drop onto the loofah, you lathered it until it was covered in suds, and then you hovered it just above Court’s skin.

“Can I…?” You trailed off, imagining he’d get the hint without you having to say the words. He gave you a soft smile and nodded, giving you permission to wash his body for him. You pressed the loofah to his chest, gently scrubbing his torso before moving to his arms. You started with his left arm first, dragging the loofah down his scarred shoulder and bicep, even making him raise his arm so that you could scrub his armpit. You were moving at a languid pace, massaging circles into his skin as you cleaned him. He let out a soft hum of approval, clearly enjoying the attention you were giving to him–taking care of him in a way that he probably hadn’t experienced in a while–if ever. When you took his right wrist in your grasp, your thumb gingerly rubbed over the burn mark he had. Your mind flashed back to the time he had opened up to you during a training session, telling you the story behind it. Your eyes connected with his as you brought his wrist to your face, pressing a soft kiss over the raised skin. An unrecognizable look flashed in his eyes as he looked down at you—was that lovingly? You honestly weren’t sure, having never experienced that before, but whatever it was spread a warmth through your chest. You tore your eyes from his, moving to continue washing him until he was fully cleaned.

After he had rinsed off, he reached to take the loofah from you, adding a drop of more soap. “Your turn,” he murmured, pressing the loofah on your skin and cleaning you at the same languid pace. You let your eyes drift close as you enjoyed his gentle touch, letting him move your limbs in whatever way he needed in order to scrub you clean. He crouched down to wash your legs, but as he did, he pressed a kiss to the one scar that you had on your upper thigh. The one you had received from the graze of a bullet that night in your route to escape the castle in Croatia. When he finished scrubbing your legs, he rose back to his full height. He then moved from the stream of water so that you could wash off. Court rinsed the loofah and hung it back up, reaching for the bottle of shampoo next. “Can I wash your hair?”

You chuckled softly, “Only if I can wash yours.”

He nodded. “Deal,” he agreed, pouring a generous drop of shampoo into his hand. He ushered you to turn around, your back facing him, as he threaded his fingers in your hair. His fingertips massage your scalp, eliciting a moan from you at the feeling. His deep chuckle rumbled in his chest and you slapped his arm gently in response.

“Don’t laugh at me, it feels good.” You scolded, a smile growing on your face that he couldn’t see.

He continued his ministrations. “I’m sure that it does,” he replied, voice still alight with laughter. You shook your head with a scoff, but otherwise gave no response. You simply let him lather your hair with shampoo until he deemed it clean enough, and then you let him lead you backwards into the stream of warm water. Once your hair was rinsed of the suds, you stepped out of the spray and reached for the shampoo bottle. Court moved to sit on the edge of the tub so that you’d be able to reach his hair without any issues. As you massaged his scalp, his eyes fluttered shut and he let out a groan of his own. Your fingers froze in their movements, a smug smile pulling at your lips.

“See?!” You teased him.

He cracked one of his eyes open, looking up at you. “Alright, it does feel pretty good. Now, keep going.” He instructed, raising a hand to grasp your wrist, tugging it up and down so that your fingertips would begin moving again. You let out a laugh at that, but resumed pressing in circles on his scalp. Court’s shoulders sagged and he breathed out a sigh as your fingers shifted to massage behind his ears, and then down the base of his neck. He finally seemed to let himself relax, pushing all worries out of his mind for a bit. When you pulled your fingertips away, his eyes popped open, a look of disappointment within them.

You chuckled softly. “We’re gonna run out of hot water soon,” you explained, already feeling the temperature begin to dip in the drops of water that were cascading down your back. Court sighed and stood up, moving to stand under the shower head so that he could rinse his hair. Once he was finished, he cut off the water and reached his hand outside of the curtain to find towels. He handed you one first, and then grabbed one for himself. You each dried yourselves off and then wrapped the towel around your bodies. You hadn’t thought to bring in a change of clothes, so you’d have to walk to your shared bedroom to find a clean set. Court pushed the curtain back so that the two of you could step out, and then you led the way to the bedroom.

You put on another pair of leggings and slipped a sweatshirt over your head–not bothering with a bra this late in the day. Court even put on a pair of sweatpants that you had picked out from him when you forced him to stop by a clothing store on the way here, and a black t-shirt. Once the two of you were all dressed, you padded barefoot out into the hallway to check in on the girls. What you found brought a smile to your face as you leaned against the doorway. Claire and Lyla were fast asleep, underneath the covers. Court crept up behind you, his arm wrapping around your waist as he peered into the room from over your shoulder. He pressed a kiss to your neck, the only patch of skin available to him from where he stood.

“Wanna make some coffee?” He whispered into your ear, not wanting to risk waking the girls. You nodded in response, reaching for the doorknob to shut the door to the room as you moved to follow after him and into the kitchen. As you waited for the coffee to brew, Court wrapped his arms around you. The two of you stood in the middle of the kitchen in a comforting embrace, the only sounds in the cabin were of your breathing and the steady drip of coffee filling the pot. You begrudgingly pushed yourself out of his arms to grab two mugs and a container of creamer from the fridge. Remembering that Court liked his coffee black, because of course he did, you poured his plain before making your own. With the mugs filled to the brim, the two of you moved to the living room. You sat knee to knee on the couch as you looked over at him.

“So, what’s the plan?” You asked after taking the first sip, almost burning your tongue.

Court hummed softly. “Well, hopefully staying here for a few days until I get the last few pieces squared away. There’s another safe house I have here in the states until I can get us out of the country, if it’s needed.” He raised his mug to his lips, taking a long sip of the bitter, caffeinated, goodness.

You nodded and remained quiet for a few moments. The two of you sipping on your coffee in a companionable silence. You loved how effortlessly you fell back into the same ease, even after not seeing him for such a long time. Though, a question did invade your mind that brought forth a flood of sorrow. “Do you ever wish it was just you?” You asked softly, almost quiet enough that you weren’t sure if he’d hear you.

Court’s ears were trained better than that, of course he would hear you. His brows furrowed as he gazed at you. “What?” He asked, a bit confused.

You paused for a moment, licking your lips as you thought of how to explain your question. “I mean,” you began, “You used to only have to worry about your own survival. Now, you have the three of us to look out for. I mean, sure, I can kind of handle my own, but Claire and Lyla are just kids…” You trailed off, dropping your gaze to the floor.

You felt a hand grasp your chin gently, raising your head up so that you could meet Court’s gaze once more. “Baby, no.” He shook his head. “Claire’s said it before, we’re like family because of Fitz. Hell, you gave birth to my child, we are a family.” He spoke firmly, pausing for a moment as he carefully chose his next words. “You’ve given me everything I thought I could never have, and I don’t plan on giving any of that up without a fight.” He put his mug down on the coffee table and you did the same, each only missing a few sips worth. Fresh tears brimmed in your eyes from his words, and you began to feel like a wrung-out dish towel, about to cry for the millionth time that day. His grip on your chin slid to your jaw as he leaned in to close the distance between you. His lips brushed over yours. “I’m not ever leaving you, baby.” His words held so much conviction that you couldn’t help the few tears that trailed down your cheeks. Court was quick to brush them away just as he had done earlier.

When his lips finally pressed against yours with an unbridled passion, you felt your heart swell in your chest. Your hand tangled itself in his short, damp, hair as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding between your lips. You let out a soft moan at the taste of him, and Court responded by laying you back against the couch, his body hovering over yours. The feeling of his body heat and gentle press of his weight stoked a fire within you, but you were perfectly content to just enjoy the moment. It had been far too long since you’d been able to kiss him like this without any distractions, and you loved how he was devouring you in such a familiar way.

When the two of you finally broke the kiss for air, you rested your foreheads against each other. You had never felt happier than at that very moment, in your own little world with Court where no one could touch you. You weren’t sure how much longer that feeling would last, or for how long your little family would be safe from the threats of the outside world, but you were going to enjoy the moment for as long as you could. Court seemed to have the same idea as he slipped his hands beneath you, shifting until he was the one with his back pressed into the couch and you were resting on top of him. You nuzzled your face into his chest and he let out a short sigh of content, his hand moving to rub your back gently. You knew he wouldn’t plan on falling asleep, but your eyes were quick to flutter shut, drifting off into a comfortable sleep.

#court gentry #sierra six #court gentry x reader #court gentry fic #sierra six fic #sierra six x reader #ryan gosling #ryan gosling fic #the gray man fic #courtland gentry #courtland gentry x reader #myfics #the other fitzroy

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bad-bitch-beauchamp · 4 years ago

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Songs About Me - Chapter Three

After karaoke night and Claire's impromptu performance, both Claire and Jamie spend the next day reconciling with their choices from the night before.

Read on AO3

“Stay, Sassenach! One more drink!”

“One more drink might be the death of me, Mr. Fraser, and if you’d like to watch me embarrass myself again next week, I can’t be on my deathbed tonight!”

He had tried to convince her to let him walk her home, but she waved him off and pulled the sweater that had fallen off her shoulder back up to its rightful place at the junction of neck and shoulder -- a place Jamie couldn’t tear himself away from until that moment. She wrangled a loose curl behind her ear, tugged on her coat, and caught Jamie watching her every move, drink at his lips, eyes just over the rim of the glass. She could’ve stayed, could’ve responded, could’ve reacted to what she was feeling right then… no. A couple of hours together in a bar and a poor excuse for a solo at closing time did not change the fact she didn’t know this man. This very handsome man, she reminded herself. No. You came out here for yourself. Leave by yourself.

She met his eyes one last time, gave a nervous laugh, declared “Hope to see you next weekend!” all too loudly, and spun on her heel. She had stepped over the threshold when she thought she heard her name from inside, but she didn’t turn to find out.

———

Claire realized exactly three things when she awoke the next morning: The sun was shining too brightly, the street musician playing on the corner directly below her bedroom window was playing too loudly, and the memories of the last night with the redhead who loved music and books were coming on too fast. Somehow, in the span of a few hours, he had literally become her waking thoughts. She sat up in bed, still cocooned in a cloud of white cotton sheets and linen comforters. What do you even know about him? Probably not even anything. She pulled herself from the warmth of the bed, her feet landing on a soft oriental rug in shades of blues and greens. His eyes were the colors in this rug. Just like the ocean itself. Okay, she remembered one thing about him. The woven textile gave way to worn hardwood floors, on to cool hexagon tiles lining her bathroom floor as she passed through glass french doors between bookshelves on the wall.

When Claire inherited her Uncle Lamb’s brownstone, she could remember only one thing about the place from her visits: the upstairs was magical. Quentin Lambert Beauchamp was an archaeologist, and although it rarely happened, he had decided he needed a home base to work from. In the historic brownstone, he neglected to update much besides the upper level. As the brownstone was on a corner lot, Lamb declared it must have every window possible to let in the light. Days were too gloomy and cloudy in England, and he would soak up all the light he could while teaching here at Harvard, thank you very much. The most magical room in the entire home (according to both Beauchamps) was lined from front to back with alternating windows and storage -- wide bookshelves on the top, long cabinets on the bottom. The opposite side was almost entirely made of the same bookshelves, save for two sets of french doors leading to a large closet and a larger master bathroom, respectively. The bookshelves traveled up to a curved ceiling, rails and ladders lined the walls to reach the highest and most precious of his belongs (now hers as well). Claire had painted the walls and trim shades of white and cream and ivory. The shelves were stripped and stained with a neutral-tone light wood with white filler. The brass fixtures and ladder rails sparkled in the warm morning light. Claire placed plants wherever she could fit them, and donned the shelves with memories to mingle with the ones Lamb left behind. This room, this place, was her favorite in the whole world.

Back in the bathroom and walking to the walk-in shower, Claire bent down to reach the sweater she tossed aside the night before. The underside of his hair is this color. Right at the base of his neck, with the extra curls. She shook her head and started the tap. Maybe all his curls would turn that color when he got wet. She turned the faucet as hot as she could stand it, reached an arm for her phone, and set Spotify to only play Blink-182. We’re done with those feelings! No feelings, only the angst possible with punk rock!

Cold tile brought her down to earth again when she stepped out of the shower, the trails of water dripping down her back and breasts a refreshing break from the onslaught of pounding heat. He felt like a breath of fresh air. Just like this.

With a towel wrapped around head and a t-shirt tossed on, she made her way back to the bedroom and took a seat on her bed. She desperately wished she had stayed for that last drink. Or at least got his number? Why didn’t I get his number?! Now, she’d have to wait another six days before seeing him again. Maybe her attraction to him was nothing more than lust, but if she could text with him, get to know him better, maybe she could find out. With no way of reaching him, she opted to get dressed and head out to clear her head. Maybe find a place to write? Since her decision to put herself first, she’d put letting off steam by writing and singing. It fell in live with the general creativity that fueled her life, while still being different enough from the greenhouse to give her a bit of rest and peace. As she contemplated where to adventure off that morning and pondered the correct way to lace her Doc Marten boots, her phone rang. A photo of three fresh faces graced her screen, a woman with wild dark curls with her mouth gaping with laughter, another woman with a waterfall of red hair and piercing green eyes made less intimidating by the crinkles at the edges, and a man with deep dimples surrounding his smile and an eyebrow raised in surprise at the camera taking their picture. Claire hit the accept button on the call, and thus the inquisition arrived.

“We need to talk about last night!” The screen was split in two, with Geillis’ video on top and Joe’s on the bottom with Claire’s in the corner.

“What about last night? I honestly thought our song was pretty good! I was thinking next week we could do--”

“That’s obviously not what we’re talking about, LJ! But agreed, we did a damn good job.”

“Will you two quit it?” Geillis cut them off and brought her face closer to her screen. “We need to talk about Claire, that viking, and the unreal chemistry. Spill it ALL, Claire.”

———

Jamie had woke nursing a headache, but alas, today would not be the day for rest. He flipped the sign in the window of Fraser Literature from closed to open, and began to check off the list of opening duties. On the list was to water the plants. Set on a table in a small alcove, on top of side table next to an worn leather chair for patrons to sit and peruse a story in, hanging from simple planters in the window that stretched from edge to edge in front of the shop, guarding the aisles of books ready to be enjoyed by people who hadn’t read them yet. Jamie often visited a greenhouse just outside town for the shop’s plants. While a small place, it was teeming with love, peacefulness, and a sense of adventure with green as far as the eye could see, boarding the windows with giant leaves and trailing vines. The feeling inside was something he wanted to emulate in his own place, and so he started adding a wee bit of flora here and there. Rupert and Angus initially laughed off his efforts, claiming Jamie was “destroying the manly vibe” they were aiming for. With every bit of decoration, every little bit of effort however, the shop grew in reputation and success. Jamie was immensely proud of the shop he built, and even more grateful he was able to spend his days surrounded by the words of great men and women, constantly inspired and in awe of the endless stories at his fingertips.

The boys -- Angus and Rupert, that is -- had brought up the idea of expanding into a few other fine art ideas within the shop. Jamie had been reluctant to agree to anything that wasn’t directly related to literature. As they stood around the front counter, Rupert led the charge:

“Jamie, man. The people who like books are also the ones who like art and music and such. Why not try to bring them all together?”

“What if they don’t care about the books? What if they don’t even look at them, and don’t care? What’s the point in having the shop, then?”

It was Angus’ turn to reply with, “Well the point is getting people in the door, and letting your “wee shop” as ye always call it speak for itself, aye?”

Jamie had to agree with that point. He settled for telling the lads that if they could come up with a suitable idea, he’d agree to it. Twenty minutes later, Angus and Rupert stood in his office doorway saying they would be asking for local musicians to come and perform.

“Doesn’t seem like yer asking for approval.”

Jamie didn’t look up from his computer, but could hear the grin in Rupert’s voice as he replied, “‘Tis because ye know it’s a good idea, and ye wouldn’t refuse a good idea.”

Jamie sat back in the rolling leather chair behind his antique desk and sighed, then laughed. “Why do I even try to control what ye two do? Yer jes’ going to do it anyway.” The lads grinned at each other and shrugged. “Go on then, see if ye can have some posters made up to put in the window.”

He stood as Rupert saluted him and Angus muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Aye aye, captain,” and stretched his long, lean, muscles. He needed to get a few errands completed, so opted to spend the next few hours outside both to complete his tasks and to get out in the fresh air. He told his friends he’d be back soon, and to let them know if he needed anything.

With one step out into the sunlight, he immediately regretted the amount he had drunk the night before. Two in the morning was not a suitable time to be out, but for the lass with the dark curls and the whisky eyes, he’d give every moment of his time. From the moment he woke, he thought of her. Thought of how she made him laugh. Thought of how bonny she felt under his fingers, her hips on the barstool as she wiggled back into place, her thigh touching his under the booth table. He thought of how she’d gone up on stage as an act of defiance against him for the insult to her friend’s song, but how instead she ended up showing a piece of her soul to him, and him alone. He thought of how her eyes matched the swirling liquid in his glass. He thought of her abrupt departure after he had asked her to stay, and how he almost ran out after. He thought of how he was so incredibly stupid as to not have asked for her number before she ran. Look what ye did -- now ye have to wait to see her, and yer barely functional as it is. While Angus and Rupert had been gauging his interest for the musical talent in his office earlier, he had been searching the Facebook page for the 21st Amendment, combing it for references to her. To Claire. Maybe she had performed there? Perhaps she and her friends had tagged the place in one of their pictures? There was no sign of her, and she hadn’t told him her last name. Six days to go, mate. Ye can do this. She’s just a lass. Ye don’t know her.

After a few hours of tedious tasks (could the post office ever be efficient, just this once?), he made his way back to Fraser Literature. It was a warm day for autumn, and the shop would have a cart with discount books out on the sidewalk and the door propped open for fresh air. He would never tire of seeing his name on something he built, something he was so proud of. As he neared the shop however, it wasn’t the name on the window that drew his attention -- it was the many people standing inside, facing the window, looking outside. Jamie stopped and looked around, but not finding anything out of place around him. He took a few steps closer. They weren’t looking outside, but rather at the inside corner of the shop, the corner where the window meets the wall. He was only a few steps away when he saw it, when he heard it. A woman with bouncy curls and a round arse, sitting with her back to the window at a keyboard bench. He didn’t have to see her face to know. Her voice was enough. It was enough at two in the morning to imprint on him forever.

She was there, in his shop. His place. Claire. God, his Claire.

With one shaky step and an attempt at a steadying breath, he moved inside his sanctuary.

#songs about me fic #in which tessaactually tries fan fic #outlander prompt exchange #outlander fan fic #outlander fan fiction

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maevefiction · 6 years ago

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Your Light in the Mist - Chapter 43

We departed London for LA on June 22nd, spent a single night in town, then flew out the following morning en route to Kauai. Since March, we’d divided our time between promo, work, checking in on wedding planning and enjoying London. By mid-April Manageall had reached eight thousand subscribers, and we’d outgrown both our server and office space. Phaedra and Diana had begun work on a downtown studio and gallery space they’d decided to go in on together, and they graciously upped their timeline for us so we could take over the ground floor attached to Prosper, with Prosper planning on overflowing into the basement-level by the start of 2017. There was construction to be completed by the end of summer which would upgrade both floors from open loft to more compartmentalized professional workspace, but Manageall’s infrastructure was easy to relocate upstairs and Trudy and I had become accustomed to working out in the open, as had our five employees, so we made do. A door had been put in place between my Prosper office and the Manageall area at the start of May, and the first day I stopped short and couldn’t remember which company I was doing my next task for, Luke and I sat down to discuss the best way to proceed. Prosper was growing rapidly, though not at the alarming rate Manageall was, and the deciding factor wound up being Trudy. In one scenario I had a Trudy that the company couldn’t function without, and in the other I was Trudy…so, surprisingly without hesitation, I agreed to turn the reins over, naming Trudy the Operations Manager of Manageall and keeping my own Trudy-ness with Prosper, where it was needed most.

Early June brought exciting news in the form of Simon screeching so loudly that Tom and I actually heard it through out bedroom wall, followed by a frantic knock at our door at nine AM on a Saturday… both of their chosen embryos had successfully implanted in Lisa’s uterus. They’d harvested ten eggs in total from the surrogate so far, with eight remaining viable after being fertilized…five with Luke’s sperm and three with Simon’s. She’d waited until she was twelve weeks in to tell them, just in case, and if everything continued to progress normally December would deliver the progeny of two of my very favorite people into the world.

There’d been no new developments on that front for Tom and me as yet, and while realistically I hadn’t expected there to have been, I still found myself occasionally drowning silently in anxiety over the matter. Mainly when Simon talked baby, which was essentially every moment he wasn’t talking wedding. Which also caused anxiety. As did the coffee, which I’d begun drinking because it was really the only thing that allowed me to pull off the illusion that I was a fully conscious, functional human being when in fact I was a bundle of nerves and exhausted because said nerves were keeping me up at night. Or on flights. Like this one. Wherein Tom was out cold next to me and I was telling myself that all this worrying bullshit wasn’t doing my fertility prospects any favors. I dug in my messenger bag for my phone, checked the calendar, and realized that my period was due in ten days or so, which made blaming everything I was feeling on PMS seem like the most logical choice. My cycle so far varied between 28 and 32 days, which also was, you know, less than helpful. A heavy sigh escaped me and I felt a thunk on the back of my aisle seat, followed by Simon poking his head around to whisper loudly in my ear.

“Maude! Wedding! Happy! Heavy sighing NOT ALLOWED!”

“Dude, you are NOT the boss of me. It’s my party and I’ll sigh if I want to. Wow, that was way funnier in my head.” I craned my neck to look at him. “Simon. I’m getting married in seven days and I’m pretty sure I’m losing my motherfucking mind.”

“Six days.”

I counted on my fingers. “No, it’s seven. Today’s the 22nd.”

He shoved his own phone in my face, the home screen displaying the current date and time prominently. “Sorry, sunshine. It’s the 23rd. Six days.”

“My god, I just looked at my calendar and I swear it said the 22nd. Six. Okay then. I’m just going to go lock myself in the bathroom now. And I’m not coming out until August. Maybe September. Have someone slip me cold cuts under the door.” I sighed again, then again. “I’m a mess, Simon. Is this normal? Shouldn’t I be like Cinderella or some shit, all happy with mice or whatever? You are my wedding honor person, Simon. You’ve done this before. HELP. ME.”

The smirk on his face made me want to scream. “I love you, Maudiekins. Of course I’ll help you…but let me just take a minute or two to revel in the fact that I’m actually witnessing you admitting that you need my help, m’kay?”

“You know it’s not too late to find a replacement for you, right?”

He chuckled. “Honey, trust me…there isn’t another person walking this green earth that would take this job.” I rolled my eyes, though I knew his point was entirely valid. He reached around to take my hand. “Yes, it’s normal. You remember what I was like, don’t you? And don’t you DARE say I’m like that all the time even though I sort of am because that was way worse and you know it. It’s stressful. There’s all this pressure for it to be perfect because that moment is THE MOMENT, the one that everyone will view as a validation and valuation of how much you love each other and if it’s not perfect you mustn’t love each other enough…” I could feel my eyes widening and my chest beginning to tighten. “But what anyone else thinks DOES. NOT. MATTER. All that matters is the love you share with Sleeping Beauty there next to you. This wedding is for notifying the world that it’s forever, and that you’re so fucking thrilled about it that a massive celebration is required. Love shack, baby. You hired Melanie Hall so you could relax and enjoy the party. We’ve given her all she needs. She’s got this. So…RELAX.”

“Simon, if you don’t leap up out of your seat and start singing some Frankie Goes to Hollywood right now I’m going to be horribly disappointed.”

Pouting, he crossed his arms and leaned back. “Well now I WANT to but people are SLEEPING and it would be RUDE…thanks for NOTHING, so-called FRIEND.”

I held up my phone. “It’s going on the wedding karaoke list. Because I need to see that shit. Even more so since you’ll be wearing a purple suit. Also, thank you. I’ve been obsessing over everything lately and it’s harshed my mellow completely. And probably Melanie’s. I need to text her and apologize for checking in so often and wanting to going over the same details with her a million times…” He leaned forward again, placing one hand on either side of my head, gently guiding me to turn and look in Tom’s direction while whispering in my ear.

“Look at him. You’re marrying that man. Six days from now, he’ll be your husband him. Look, Maude. Look with your non-vampire eyes.” I snorted, readying a witty comeback, but then Tom smiled softly in his sleep and I thought of Outlander and Jamie and Claire and how I’d go back and forth in time over and over and over again until the end of everything just to see this man’s face once more, to hold him once more, to kiss him once more…and as I fought back tears Simon whispered one more sentence.

“It’ll happen for you, I know it will.”

He kissed my cheek and left me to my own devices, which included shoving my phone bag into my bag and staring at Tom while trying not to weep, overwhelmed by emotion and chastising myself for getting caught up in the little details while diminishing my joy in the process. Hopefully I hadn’t diminished any of his. Tom’s eyes flew open, and I knew he had no idea where he was or what was happening. I smiled, and he blinked several times, opening his arms to groggily wave me in for a squeeze. He got more than he bargained for, with me being unable to resist the urge to spring from my own seat and into his lap. His arms wrapped around me as he pulled me to his chest, burying his face in my hair as I rested my head on his shoulder, my legs hanging over the armrest, feet resting where my posterior had just been. We enjoyed each other in silence for a spell, until I broke it by lifting my head so we were eye to eye. I reached out, briefly caressing his jawline with my fingertips.

“I’m very sorry if I’ve been a complete killjoy lately.”

He tilted his head, puzzled. “You? I thought I’d been playing the part of the killjoy.”

“Dude, really?”

“Yes, really.”

I was genuinely puzzled, and concerned. I knew what been plaguing me, but had no idea that something had been bothering him. “Well, you haven’t, but…”

Smiling softly, he began rubbing my thigh. “Well YOU haven’t, but…”

My gaze turned downward, then rose to meet his again. “I let all the little things pile up in my mind where they grew and thrived in my brain soil and became big things and it eclipsed the amazing, wonderful things right in front of me. Little things like work and wedding planning and other people conceiving and not me and I’m glad that my stress wasn’t rubbing off on you or bringing you down but hey, what’s been on your mind?”

He grimaced, voice low so no one else could clearly hear it. “I know that back in LA I said I wasn’t going to dwell on things and I haven’t been dwelling, exactly, but that evening has crossed my mind more than a few times and I’ve been worried that it’s been worrying you, but it appears it hasn’t, and I’m very glad for that. But boy, do I ever feel like a tit for not noticing that you WERE worried about other matters.”

“Same. Same, same, same plus some more same. And honestly, I did think about it for a week or two after, but then I got so busy that I couldn’t tell my ass from a hole in the ground and it went POOF. Right now, I’m just grateful nothing has come of it, and if the universe would please hold off until after the wedding to rain fuckery down upon us, I’d deeply appreciate it. But if not, whatever. Full steam ahead. Right?”

He laughed. “Right indeed. Nothing’s going to stop this train. I liked it, and I’m gonna put a ring on it.”

“Oh my god. Tom. Single Ladies. I…I…can’t even.” I dissolved into giggles, which inevitably led to both of us laugh-crying until the first class attendant came over to ask us if we needed anything, which was a passive-aggressive way of indicating that we weren’t being the passengers Mr. Rogers knew we could be. I slithered back into my own seat, allowing Tom to be the apologist. He beamed at her, one hand over his heart.

“Terribly sorry if we disturbed anyone. I’m afraid we’re a smidge more excitable than usual as the result of our upcoming nuptials.”

She returned the smile. “Oh my! Well then, congratulations in advance. When’s the big day?”

We answered in unison, as idiots in love often do. “The 29th.”

She laughed. “Perfectly in synch. Best of luck to you both!”

As she walked back down the aisle another attendant fell into step with her and I could make out the words ‘knew they were engaged’ and ‘had no idea it was happening so soon’ and ‘wow, a Kauai wedding’. Tom and I both turned to face each other, again speaking in unison.

“Shit.”

We’d kept the date under wraps all this time, yet managed to fuck it up in the space of two minutes when we were SO CLOSE to pulling the whole thing off under the radar. Two flight attendants, not a big deal, but if they each told two people, and so on, it would likely end up on social media somewhere. Which also wasn’t a big deal, but it could absolutely clog up the works with members of the press. I sighed.

“A quote from Hackers comes to mind – ‘Where are your brains, in your ass?’ to which I would respond that I doubt it because I think they are gone, baby, GONE. Luke’s gonna take my PR card away, and I don’t blame him one bit.”

I heard his deep chuckle from behind us, then him clearing his throat before he spoke. “Oh no I won’t. Mainly because I have no desire to perform your job functions, but also because I don’t think it’s a significant problem. I figured it was practically inevitable that someone from the hotel would let it slip, but this is better, in a way, because I’m aware of the leak when it’s still a potential leak.”

It was weird having a conversation with someone I couldn’t see, so I reclined my seat all the way back, much to Simon’s displeasure.

“Mauuuudeee you’re crushing my kneeeeesss.”

“Simon, you’d better be good or you’re going to surpass Tom and me and rocket into first place for the Most Annoying Passenger. Hmm, maybe there’s an award. You love awards!”

Luke laughed again, then kissed Simon on the cheek. “You’d best move your seat upright, Maude. We can discuss what, if anything, you want to after we land. You know how it is…if Simon’s unhappy…”

Simon chimed in, entirely too loudly. “EVERYONE IS UNHAPPY.”

As soon as I finished adjusting the seat, the flight attendant was back, asking Simon if he needed anything, and Tom and I dissolved once more into giggles, quiet giggles, that is, and when we finally sobered up he whispered in my ear.

“Don’t worry, my love. It’ll happen.” I felt his hand on my lower belly, thumb stroking up and down. “Who knows, it might already BE happening and we just don’t know it yet.”

I placed my hand over his as he rested his head on my shoulder. “Thomas, the eternal optimist. Thank you.”

He raised his head in order to place a single kiss behind my ear, then resumed snuggling. We spent the rest of the flight touching each other, even if it was just pinkies linking, and when the sunshine and warmth of Kauai connected with my skin as we disembarked, I felt like myself again. Or, rather, the self I’d re-discovered not quite twelve months ago. Grateful, and joyful. More than ready to celebrate the blessing this island had bestowed upon me…that sense of wholeness and completeness that finding someone to love who loves you back evokes. We held hands as we crossed the tarmac, then picked up our luggage, piled it into the Range Rover we’d rented, and headed for the Marriott, where friends and family would soon be joining us for what I hoped was one party of fucking epic proportions.

****************************************

We spent as much of the weekend as possible either on the beach or locked away in our room…not the honeymoon suite that had been recommended to us, but number 203, which we referred to as ‘ours’ in spite of the fact that countless strangers had stayed in it as well over the past year and would after we were gone. It was where we’d consummated our coupledom, and it was the only acceptable place to consummate our marriage as far as we were both concerned. I had my doubts that we’d make it out of Talk Story after our private ceremony – that bathroom would likely be calling my name – but Tom insisted that he’d hold out until we were back where we belonged. I figured it would be fun testing his resolve if nothing else, so I went with it.

Sunday was our last meeting with Melanie before the actual ‘day of’, and she’d done such an incredible job that I had nothing to add. The ceremony would take place at five PM, followed by an hour of hors d'oeuvres, then a sit-down family-style dinner. Ahi Poke salad would already be on the table, and Hawaiian Saimin Soup would be offered as soon as everyone was seated. The next course, and the only additional course other than cake, was set to include Chicken Hawaiian, Hawaiian Roast Beef, Kalua Pork, blackened Mahi Mahi, and, because I couldn’t help myself, fettuccine alfredo. No one had responded that they were vegan, but a chef would be available if we need anything last-minute. We’d chosen to go with mainly regional recipes since it technically was a ‘destination wedding’, and also because it was apparently unacceptable to serve chips, dip, pizza and bacon as a meal to people who’d travelled thousands of miles to share your special day. Fortunately, those things made for perfect appetizers…the universe created pizza bagels for a reason, and that reason was for me to snack on them and probably get sauce all over my dress. The cake…my god, the cake. The shop Melanie had chosen had been working on it for weeks, planning, creating a model, ensuring it would balance properly…it made my head spin. It had been Tom’s idea, inspired by our bookish centerpieces. There would be two four-tier round cakes, alternating layers of chocolate and vanilla, iced white and decorated to take on the appearance of a ring of books, the spines hand drawn, colored and lettered. One stack would have titles from my collection, the other from Tom’s, with a bookshelf ‘bridge’ from the top of one to the other that merged our favorites. In the center of the bridge there was to be an open book mini-cake decorated with the Tree of Life on one side, our names and the date on the other, and, of course, the bride and groom topper. We’d had those 3-D printed in our likeness, and Melanie had brought them with her for us to see, a choice I’m certain she regretted because she eventually had to ask us kindly but firmly to surrender them before they were damaged by our Wedding Preview Theater playtime.

Guests began arriving Monday morning, and a steady stream continued throughout the day. Tom’s family had been first, followed by Chris and Elsa, then Ben and Sophie, Robert and Susan, and a host of other folks I didn’t technically know but felt like I did because I’d seen them on the big screen, the small screen, or Tom had shown me pictures as we came up with our guest list. There were stories to go with the pictures, of course, for which I was grateful because I could almost match names with faces. Though we hadn’t seen anything leaked online, Luke had opted to send out a press release on Saturday in order to prevent the chaos of outlets scrambling for a scoop, and according to everyone who had turned up so far it was working. The media was camped out at the airport and the hotel, but were keeping their distance, allowing those who didn’t wish to pose pass by without being cajoled and/or yelled at. Tom and I hung around in the lobby between meals in order to be accessible. Most of the few folks I’d invited were also members of the wedding party…Trudy and Veronica, who had come to say hello and gone on to unpack in their rooms already, which left me waiting on Anne. Our final fittings were scheduled for 5:30 in one of the smaller conference rooms, and it was nearly ten after when I heard her shouting from across the lobby when she spotted me.

“MAUDIE! THERE YOU ARE!”

I hadn’t seen her in person since New Orleans, though we’d Skyped a few times…and then she’d talked to Tom almost as much as she’d spoken to me. The Vampire Chronicles project had shifted from a feature film to an episodic streaming venture, which Tom was on board with, but additional writing was required and he wouldn’t be able to begin shooting until late 2017 or early 2018. I left Tom with Chris Evans and jog-walked to meet her, surprised as always at the power behind the hugs of such a slender being when she embraced me. We released each other quickly, both leaning back to inspect the other’s outfit. She shook her head.

“You’re too thin. Are you eating? Don’t let the stress get to you, kiddo.”

My eyes rolled, and I allowed my head to loll back in exasperation. “Yes, I dropped some poundage. Not because I’m not eating, that’s for fucking sure. Personally, I believe the extreme increase in my physical activity over the past year is to blame. And coffee. And yeah, maybe stress. But mostly the activity. Which I don’t plan on modifying anytime soon, thank you very much.”

She laughed. “I wouldn’t if I were you, either.”

“Your endorsement is appreciated. Can we talk about the fact that you’re wearing a shirt with palm trees and coconuts printed all over it and Bermuda shorts and sandals right now? This might be the first time I’ve ever seen your legs.”

“Soon you’ll get a good look at my arms, too. And my back.” The bridesmaid dresses I’d chosen were deemed flattering by all the gals, made of silk chiffon in a gradient of green to purple from top to bottom. They were sleeveless, floor length with a semi-pleated skirt, ribbon at the waist and the neck and a cape that attached at the front throat area and hung over the left shoulder and covered most of the open back. The cape could easily be pinned to cover all of the back of the wearer chose, which I thought was important because not everyone deems going braless socially acceptable. Anne chuckled, looking down at herself, then back up at me. “I’m so pale I might have to write myself into the next book as a lost ancient. What a bonus that I’ll have pictures to work from!”

As I gazed past her shoulder I caught sight of Christopher, pulling a very full luggage dolly behind him. He waved as he drew closer, finally abandoning it to embrace me briefly.

“Maude, it’s been forever. You look beautiful. And, congratulations. Though you getting married has ramped up someone’s matchmaking efforts a hundred times over…” Anne reached out and tugged his earlobe, and he sighed. ”I’m going to just marry the first guy I see to put an end to it all, I guess.”

Tom’s voice sounded out from behind me. “So sorry, but I’m already spoken for.” He moved to stand at my side, his hand extended in greeting. “Hello, Christopher. Lovely to finally meet you.”

Christopher sighed, feigning exasperation. “The good ones are ALWAYS spoken for.” He reached out and shook Tom’s hand vigorously. “Lovely to meet you as well. Mom and I are delighted you’re still interested in stepping into the shoes of the Brat Prince. Knowing who’s portraying him has actually made it easier for us to get the scripts rolling.”

My mouth dropped open. “Wait, what? You’re BOTH working on this? Together? Writing.”

They exchanged a conspiratorial glance, then Anne grinned. “We are. It’s so much fun, especially because his style is so very different than mine, yet there are echoes…”

“Mother, the only echo is your voice throughout the house every time I try to sneak outside for a break. Seriously, Maude. She’s the most demanding boss I’ve ever had and…”

Anne cut him off, right index finger raised. “I’m the ONLY boss you’ve ever had.” As Christopher rolled his eyes and mouthed ‘see what I put up with’ in my direction, Anne stepped forward to hug Tom. “Hello there, handsome.”

He returned the hug, planting a kiss on each of her cheeks as he pulled away. She grinned up at him, and my phone beeped. I pulled it from my pocket and cleared the alarm. “We have to move it, lady, or we’ll be extra late for the fitting.”

She offered me her arm. “Let’s boogie, kiddo.”

Tom kissed me and lingered more than a few seconds too long, clearing his throat as he backed away sheepishly. “I’ll see you at dinner, my love.”

I nodded. “Yep. You sure will.” He offered to help Christopher with the luggage, and they strode off in the opposite direction as Anne and I headed for the conference room. She poked me in the ribs.

“Maude, has anyone ever told you you’re a terrible liar?”

“Oh my god Anne, seriously? What are you, a wizard?”

“No, just incredibly perceptive. Plus, I’ve known you since you were ten.”

“Mmm hmm. God, I HATE lying to him. And I obviously suck at it. But his surprise bachelor party is tonight and I was sworn to secrecy. Of course he just HAD to say he’d see me. Fucker.” Ben had contacted me nearly two months earlier, asking if I was okay with the idea, and I’d said yes because even though Tom and I had agreed that neither of us wanted such a thing, the opportunities for all of them to be in the same place at the same time were incredibly limited, so why not take advantage of such a rare occurrence? I’d given Ben Melanie’s number, and she’d arranged everything. There’d be food, drink, and karaoke in the Makai Lounge…and I pitied the staff who’d thought it would be awesome to work the event because I had a feeling they were about to discover that it would be akin to dealing with a roomful of kindergartners who’d binged on chocolate espresso beans. The walk to the Hokulea Suite was a short one, and Simon was waiting impatiently in the doorway and wearing one of the hotel’s white terrycloth robes.

“Nice of you to grace us with your presence, future Mrs. Hiddleston. For a minute I thought you’d gotten cold feet…oh. Oh my god. Oh.”

With that, I knew he’d noticed my companion. Everyone was aware that Anne was in the bridal party, but no one had actually met her as yet. Simon, despite interacting with famous folk on a regular basis, was completely and thoroughly star struck at the sight of his favorite author in the flesh. I glanced her way, finding her smirking gleefully as Simon proceeded to lose his shit, right hand on his chest, which was heaving with excitement.

“Anne…can I call you Anne? Or do you prefer Ms. Rice? Oh my god. I’m SUCH a fan…a life-long fan…of your work and here you are and lordy I think I may die…” He began fanning his face with the hand that had previously rested upon his chest, and Anne went right in for the kill, stepping forward and wrapping her arms around him, then kissing him on the cheek.

“Dearest Simon, Anne will do just fine. Maudie has told me so much about you, and goodness, I’m just the luckiest woman to have such devoted fans. Bless you for supporting my work.” He stood, blinking, as she continued. “Part of that ‘told me so much about you’ was how entertaining and hilarious you are. And petty. Let’s just say I’m very much looking forward to getting to know you myself.”

His mouth dropped open and a screechy cackle escaped him as he threw his arms around her, one finger pointing at me from behind her back. “You’ve been replaced. Anne is my new bestest friend ever.”

I gave him a double thumbs-up. “Fucking A, man. You are EXHAUSTING.”

Faces began to appear behind him, first Trudy, then Emma, then Sarah…at which point I pushed past the new dynamic duo and entered the suite. It wasn’t huge, 24’ x 18’ or so, but it was a wide open space beyond the private bathroom and kitchen right inside the door, on the left and right respectively. It was ours for the duration of our stay and would serve as the dressing area the day of the ceremony. Two couches had been placed along the shared walls of the bathroom and kitchen, facing the rest of the room. The remainder of my bridal party leapt off of said couches and proceeded to embrace me all at once, and I’m certain the look on my face was one of sheer terror as they squealed with delight. I heard Simon’s voice as he drew closer.

“Ladies, ladies, what did we discuss earlier? The bride must be approached cautiosly, VERY cautiously. She’s anxiety ridden, easily overwhelmed and if her flight or fight kicks in we could all be in really deep shit. Back away now, and do it slowly. Don’t be distracted by the fact that Anne Rice is, like, RIGHT HERE.”

They turned away, releasing me, and I waited a beat for Simon to introduce everyone. He just stood there staring at her, enraptured, so I figured I’d best do it on my own.

“Anne, this is Trudy, Veronica, Emma and Sarah.” I wave-pointed in their direction. “You people, this is Anne. I’m going to use the restroom now. Chat away.”

The room had begun to buzz with the sounds of excited conversation as I closed the door behind me. I quickly did my business, then splashed cold water on my face, pausing to take a breath as I started at my reflection. The lighting didn’t do me any favors, and I groaned while attempting to figure out if I looked pale because of the dark circles, or if the circles looked dark because I was, in fact, pale. Veronica, who had been instrumental in the process of choosing every item of clothing worn by bridesmaids and groomsmen alike, had brought her favorite hair and makeup people along, for which I was now all kinds of glad. I leaned in closer, my nose almost touching the mirror.

“You look like you’ve been out on the town for two days straight, woman. Sleep. Look into it. Christ.”

Simon shouted unnecessarily loudly from outside the door. “MAUDE! STOP TALKING TO YOURSELF AND GET OUT HERE SO YOU CAN PUT ON THE MOST BEAUTIFUL WEDDING DRESS IN THE HISTORY OF ALL WEDDING DRESSES BECAUSE I NEED TO SEE YOU IN IT!”

I opened the door just enough to stick my hand out and flipped him off. He snorted.

“Anne, she’s being rude. Make her stop.”

Sighing, I opened the door the rest of the way and stepped back into the entry area, pretending he didn’t exist as I walked back to the open space. Seven privacy screens had been set up along the edges of the room, and I had no clue which one was mine until Veronica poked her head out from around the one furthest away and waved at me.

“Honey, come on back. My dress is good to go, so you’re up.”

On a rack against the wall behind the screen, there it was. The Dress. After discovering that such a thing as a convertible day-to-night design existed, I’d scoured the internet for weeks in search of one that didn’t look like it belonged in a Disney movie. And then, on someone’s Pinterest board, there it was. The Dress. Next was the task of determining where the image had originated from, and two reverse searches later I’d located the Israeli designer. Made of crepe and satin, it was form fitting and thigh-length with a boat-neck front and deep open V to the waist in the back. The sides were crepe, and there was a satin strip with a subtle lace overlay that ran down the front. There were no sleeves, per se, only triangular pieces of fabric that mimicked epaulets and went over the shoulder and down the sides of the back in a sort of obtuse triangle. In the front, just above the chest area, were two inverted triangle cut-outs beneath the shoulder caps, creating a futuristic geometric silhouette – straight across at the collarbone, angling in, then back out again at the breast. That, though, was the ‘night’ bit of it. The day part consisted of a lightly-pleated crepe maxi-skirt that hung to the floor with a short train in the back and a slit all the way up to the pelvic area in the front. And, it had pockets. POCKETS. I knew it was perfect the moment I saw it, I knew it would make me feel amazing, and, right now, it made me burst into tears. I wiped them off my cheeks quickly, waving Veronica away as she moved to comfort me.

“Shit. Sorry. I’m fine. It’s just…it’s so…beautiful. And you’re beautiful for doing all this for me, and I’m marrying such a beautiful man in such a beautiful place…”

She placed a hand on my shoulder. “And YOU are beautiful, and you’re going to be BEYOND beautiful on Wednesday. Now strip for me, sweetie. Off with it all.” I snorted as I slipped out of my shorts. “Oh, and you’ll be pleased to know that I managed to find someone able to add some support to the front for you so you can be braless minus the sag AND pasties.”

I pulled my Game of Thrones T-shirt over my head and dropped it onto the floor, then undid my bra and slipped out of my shorts. “Well that’s good news. That pastie glue sucks, and hard.”

She nodded as I removed my Birkis, holding the dress out for me to step into, then helped me slip my arms through the holes. “Did it for all of the bridesmaids, too. They’re removable if need be, too. Stay still while I zip you up.”

It was a tiny zipper at the back near my waist, the rest of the dress very form-fitting and essentially holding itself in place. The support lining was much like a bathing suit, and it helped immensely. When prompted, I lifted first one foot, then the other, trying not to breathe as Veronica wiggled the maxi-skirt into place around my waist. She stepped back, one hand moving upward, fingers open and partially covering her mouth.

“You look like a princess, Maude. Royal.”

Gazing down at myself, I snorted. “More like the Royal Princess. The cruise ship. It’s all so…white. And…vast. And WHITE. Can I get one of those awesomely loud horns to blast as I walk down the aisle?”

Frowning at me, she grasped my upper arms gently and turned me around to face the mirror. I stared at my reflection, realizing she was correct. My head snapped to the left, noting her concern as our eyes met.

“Veronica, I DO look like a princess. Absofuckingloutely I do. Princess LEIA. You know, that dress she wears at the end of A New Hope? During the medal ceremony? I mean, this is a different cut and it’s got some lace and whatever but…okay fine, it’s totally different, but she’s who came to mind when I saw myself and have I mentioned how much I loved The Force Awakens and Leia’s a GENERAL now and…yep, this needs to come of immediately because I’m going to cry again and shit…well not actually shit…”

Simon voice rang out from the other side of the screen. “For fuck’s sake, is she losing it again? No worries, me to the rescue…” He stepped into view, stunned into silence at the sight of me. Like everyone else in the bridal party except for Veronica, he’d only seen photos of my gown. A smile spread across his face, slowly, eyes shining with tears about to be shed. His voice was uncharacteristically soft, one hand lifted up to rest next to his face, his fingers splayed.

“Maude Gallagher, you’re so beautiful I can’t even look at you. It’s like staring at the sun.” The smile morphed into an evil grin. “Tom is going to DIE. Or at least pass out. For real. Have the paramedics on standby.’

I bit my lip, sniffling in a very un-princess like manner. “This does not feel like a rescue, Simon. I guess I’ll have to rescue myself, just like LEIA.” The laugh-crying began then, leaving Veronica scrambling to wrap a disposable protective cape the make-up team typically used around me. At some point I noticed that Simon was wearing his suit…his light purple suit, just a few shades off from the official wedding purple. It was linen, the jacket sporting two white pearl buttons, three side pockets, a breast pocket with a white square perfectly folded in place, and pointed lapels. Underneath was an open-collared white dress shirt with dark purple buttons. There would be a purple bow tie the day of, but no socks to accompany his white leather shoes, which were dotted along the seams with ventilation holes. He smiled, and I wiped away my tears again, this time with the back of one hand.

“You look okay too, Simon. I guess.” His eyebrows rose, then he turned on his heel and sauntered toward his own changing area, calling back to me when he was halfway there.

“Not good, Maude. Fabulous. You meant FAB-U-LOUS.”

I called out in return. “I love you, dumbass.”

He snorted and flipped double birds at me behind his back, which for some reason restored my emotional equilibrium. Veronica helped me into my silver gladiator sandals…they were flats, incredibly simple and lightweight, with ties that wound up to nearly reach my knees. We’d all be wearing them, since they paired well with our dresses, and were also wicked comfortable. And, awesome for dancing. I panicked again for a moment, speeding through my mental checklist to determine if I’d remembered to send the song playlist to Sammy, relieved when I could actually recall doing so weeks prior. Veronica pinched and prodded and examined me from all angles, announcing afterward that no additional alterations would be needed. She’d travelled to London once the dresses had arrived from Israel and done the initial fitting, and her skills proved to be impressive as always…right on the money, right from the start. Once I was successfully disrobed and back into my shorts and T-shirt, I padded over to sit on one of the couches and put my Birkis back on. The others were done shortly thereafter, and I’d prepared myself in advance for what I thought might happen next. Simon plopped down next to me.

“Soooo, Miss Maude, since your betrothed is going to be out living it up tonight, we thought we’d ask if you wanted to do…you know…something. Dinner? Dessert? Dancing? All the ‘D’ things? Hmm???”

I smiled, shaking my head. “I very much appreciate the thought, and I’m going to be pissed off at myself at some point for passing up an opportunity for free food, but tonight…I’m just going to go back to my room and kinda…peace out. Put everything on pause. Reflect. Right after I finish writing the vows I should have finished months ago, that is. Or, you know, START writing them. So thank you, kind friends, but I fear I must beg off this time around.”

Simon leaned in to kiss my cheek. “It’s better to wait until the last minute. Your perspective of what you’re about to do is entirely different, fresher. And your feelings…stronger. I can’t wait to hear what your heart conjures up.” He snorted. “But hey, no pressure!”

Hugs from everyone followed, and they headed off in search of a meal while I took the stairs up to room 203. The first item of business after entering was opening the balcony doors. We’d requested lounge chairs, and the promise of staring out at the water before it got dark was going to serve as my motivation for getting the vow thing out of the way. I sat at the desk, laptop open in front of me, blank Word document ready to go…and then it occurred to me that I couldn’t print anything without a hassle, that I’d need to memorize it all anyway, and that I actually needed TWO versions of vows. As I laughed manically at my current predicament, Simon’s words popped into my head – ‘what your heart conjures up’ – and I decided fuck preparing in advance, I was just going to wing it. It might wind up being messy, long, incoherent…but it would be REAL. Which seemed important, to me, in that moment. Some things are meant to be off script. Improvised. Imperfect. Like our lives.

I ordered in a pizza, tipped the delivery guy entirely too much, ate half of it, then settled into one of the loungers. As long as I kept the back upright I could see the ocean clearly, as well as a decent slice of the sand. Activity was minimal as it was still technically dinner time, and the sun would be going down within the hour. Other than an occasional distant shout or muffled conversation from those crossing the property near the ground floor patios below me, the sounds of the waves breaking and the birds singing were all I heard. As I breathed in the salt air, I could feel the corners of my mouth turning upward. As it grew darker, a sense of great peace washed over me. Worries faded, anxiety dissipated, and it was just…me, alone for the first time in a long while, able to view things with a logic and rationality that was often absent when my introverted self spent too much time with the humans sans a sufficient break.

Chuckling, I quoted the Dude to myself. “I can’t be worried about that shit. Life goes on, man.”

After the sun set fully, I used the bathroom, turned off all the lights in the room, then used the conveniently provided hotel matches to light the three cylindrical candles on the patio table. I’d left my phone in the room, but went back in to retrieve it just in case Tom decided to tipsy-text me. Or plain text me. I honestly didn’t know how he’d approach this time with his friends, but I was expecting him to at least have a few beers or a whiskey or two. Someone having to carry him back to the room at the end of the night was certainly within the realm of possibility.

Once the stars came out, I lowered the back of the lounge chair enough so I could gaze upon them without craning my neck, and the next thing I knew I was being carried into a well-lit space and lowered onto the bed by a gorgeous man. I reached upward, patting his cheek sleepily.

“Tommy. You’re not s’posed to carry me over thresholds until after we’re married, ya silly.”

He grinned as he sat down next to me. “Well, after four unsuccessful attempts to rouse you, this was really my only option.”

I sat up, groaning. “Seriously? Wow. That’s crazy. I guess I really took the whole ‘peace out’ thing to heart.” His head tilted in confusion. “Oh. Right. You weren’t at the fitting. They asked me to go out tonight, but I said I was going to come back here and peace out. Mission accomplished, I guess. Did you have fun? Oh my god, WHAT is on your SHIRT?”

He was wearing a white tee, with an old fashioned ‘wanted’ poster printed on the front…his smiling face as the mug shot, with jail cell bars over the top and the word ‘CAPTURED’ emblazoned across it all. Smirking, he turned his back to me, where there was a photo from Luke and Simon’s wedding of both of us making goofy faces for the camera, the text beneath it stating ‘Perfect Match Is Perfect’.

Snorting, I poked his chest. “Well, I was all set to be mildly offended but the back is adorable…”

His lips met mine, tongue seeking entrance. He tasted faintly of whiskey, but mainly of smoky, peppery pineapple. I laughed, causing him to pull away.

“Dare I ask what’s so amusing?”

“Pineapple pizza, huh?”

He smiled, touching a fingertip to my nose. “You’re truly missing out, you know. It’s delicious.”

“Oh, it may be…but it’s an ABOMINATION. Wrong. So very wrong.”

Licking his lips, he leaned forward so his left shoulder touched my right. “Thank you, for tonight. It was such a wonderful surprise, and I’m not sure we’ve ever all been together like this when we weren’t filming. We had a spectacular time, though I’m afraid even the guests on the top floor heard us…”

“You’re welcome. I figured it might be a once in a great while kinda thing, and Ben was so gracious when he asked that I couldn’t say no. I hated lying to you, though.”

His arms wound around me, and I reciprocated. He grinned. “I apologize unreservedly for causing you to have to do so. Perhaps an orgasm or two will somehow rectify the situation?”

My face scrunched up. “Mmm…how about six?”

He clucked his tongue at me. “Now, now. No need to be greedy.”

“It’s not greed. It’s ambition.”

“Well, that has merit. We’d best get at it, then.”

I pulled the hem of his shirt upward. “Agreed. Totally. Let’s get at it.”

Four hours, one very long shower, and barely any sleep later we were startled by the sound of someone pounding on our room door. I sat up, glancing at the clock on the night table…ten minutes after six. I turned back to Tom, who was already standing and pulling on the shorts he’d worn yesterday.

“What the actual fuck? That’s like, ridiculously loud for so early…” Tossing aside the covers, I got up and grabbed my black silk robe out of the armoire and slipped into it quickly. Tom, shirtless, beat me to the door, opening it cautiously. Standing in the hallway was Luke, his jaw set, eyes blazing, phone in hand. He pushed past Tom, then closed the door behind him.

“She did it. This morning. It’s everywhere. I wanted you to hear it from me first.” He held out his phone for Tom and me to see. He had the Daily Mail pulled up, the featured top story showing.

FIFTY SHADES OF SEXCAPADES – Claudia Heidrich, 25, former flame of Tom Hiddleston, 35, reveals just how he managed her nights by posting DOZENS of videos of the couple online, exposing his penchant for heavy drinking, swinging, threesomes, foursomes and moresomes, public sex and BDSM just as he’s set to wed fiancé Maude Gallagher, 38, TOMORROW.

#your light in the mist #chapter 43

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imagineclaireandjamie · 7 years ago

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Hello ! Would someone consider writing a piece where Claire struggles with addiction? xx

Castle of Glass:

She was a silent fighter,

With a demon in her lung,

That stole her breaths right from her,

Before they’d hardly passed her tongue,

He was a silent fighter,

Who was always taught to share,

And held his breath when he was with her,

Just so she could have his air.

Erin Hanson.

Pulling the duvet up and over her head with a shaky hand, Claire curled her feet up towards her chest. Her skin ached. It was an almost indescribable feeling that swept over her fragile body like a rash and settled, pulsing deep into her bones as she tried to coax herself awake.

Cracking one eye open, she slipped the top of her head out from under the covers and then quickly cocooned herself once more when the bright daylight pierced her eyes.

“Can I get ye some breakfast before I leave?” Jamie whispered, placing his hand gently over the blankets - resting his palm across her hip as he rubbed through the duvet.

“I’m fine, thanks Jamie.” She replied, her voice muffled as she hid beneath a mountain of fabric layers, her fingers twitching as she held them around her knees.

Leaning over, Jamie kissed the top of her head - the only part of her that he could actually see as she shifted a little in their bed. It had been a bad night. He wasn’t about to ask her about it because he knew that she’d brush it off for now. But he made a mental note to bring her something colourful on his way home to make her feel a little better.

“I can call back in at lunch?” He said, standing and grabbing his jacket as he headed for the door. “Unless you have plans today.”

“No,” she said sighing softly as she spoke, “no plans but you don’t need to come all that way just to check on me. Honestly.”

She waited until she’d heard the clear click of the front door downstairs before she emerged, but the tight ball she’d had herself curled up in meant that her joints creeked as she unfurled herself. Though she hadn’t wanted to share them, Claire did have plans for the day but they weren’t the sort she could openly share with Jamie.

Crawling out from beneath the bedcovers she padded quietly around the bedroom, collecting boxes that she’d scattered in various hiding places. Since the robbery, Claire hadn’t been back to work at the small independent pharmacy she’d worked in before. Instead she’d lived under the watchful eye of her friend and (now ex) colleague, Joe Abernathy. Early on in their cohabitation, she’d learned how to hide anything she didn’t want him to find, quickly learning how to squirrel away the addiction she so desperately needed to hide but Joe was smart and he’d figured out her secret before she could reenact her plan.

That’s how she’d first met Jamie.

The break in had been the catalyst for Claire’s OxyCodone dependency. It had ripped through her life causing her world to shatter into tiny pieces at her feet. Virtually left for dead by two armed burglars, Claire had been taken captive by the drug fuelled men as they attempted to clear the shelves of the pharmacy - probably to fund a more vicious drug habit - dragging her halfway across the Glaswegian suburbs before beating her hard enough to crush her pelvis and break her leg in three places.

Knocked unconscious by the blows, Claire couldn’t remember all of the attack, but the doctors at the hospital had discussed various aspects of it with her when she’d woken after nearly a week spent unconscious in the intensive care ward. She didn’t remember half of the physical assault and when her attending physicians had talked at length about the sexual assault, she’d envisioned someone else in her place and ignored most of the conversation going on around her.

The medication had helped greatly. Numbing the pain of her injuries, they also had the power to eradicate the lingering depression she felt gnawing at her insides.

Later, with her external wounds healing, she’d been released with a repeat prescription for the meds, enabling her to escape the watchful eye of the nurses and hide herself away at home. But that hadn’t lasted long. Unable to leave the house successfully, Joe had virtually demanded Claire move in with him to get herself away from the confines of her own company. It was there that the GP had begun to decrease her prescription to OxyContin and she’d worked hard to hide as much as she could in order to retain the unnaturally high dose she’d needed when the incident had first occurred.

Falsifying numbers, she quickly learned how to trick her local Boots pharmacy into prescribing her the same dose - 25mg twice a day - and for a couple of months she managed to get away with taking what she needed to get by.

But Joe had fast put an end to that. It only took one misstep - a rookie mistake really, leaving one stray (heavily altered) prescription lying around - for him to start pulling away the layers of her deceit. The first time he’d approached her about it, Claire had tried to brush it off. But then he’d watched her carefully - making sure she only took the amount she was supposed to take until she’d physically been unable to cope with the withdrawal.

Holding back the tears, Claire clutched her arm around her middle as she lined up an array of over the counter pills, her memories of the awful day that Joe had checked her into rehab rising to the surface and (briefly) eclipsing the shadows of the nightmares she’d had the night before.

Rupert, the large black labrador that Jamie had adopted as a companion for Claire during the day, gave a mournful half-howl, watching from the entrance to the kitchen as she wiped the moisture from her cheeks and continued silently with her task.

She’d done it, of course. Not wanting to disappoint her only real friend, Claire had tried to overcome her dependence to the opiates whilst battling the demons that clawed at her insides. There had been months of withdrawal followed by counselling for the addiction and more counselling for the psychological scars that continued to affect her. And then she’d met Jamie.

A volunteer at the private clinic to which she was admitted, he had quickly and deftly stolen her heavily battered heart. The incentive to heal suddenly increased and Claire began to respond more positively to treatment. With Jamie’s increased attention, she battled through the nausea, the crippling feelings of inadequacy that surrounded her now the numbness had been lifted and the night terrors that kept her awake.

It wasn’t a quick process nor a simple one but between Jamie and Joe, Claire worked harder at bringing herself back to life.

Freed from the rehabilitation unit with the doctors permission she decided she needed to move back into her own home instead of going back to Joe’s. It was a struggle; Jamie and Joe both swept her flat to make sure there was no temptation left lying around and, in turn, Claire promised to call either of them should anything cause her to falter as well as attending weekly counselling sessions.

But she’d tried.

Through good days and bad, Claire and Jamie grew closer until finally Claire felt ready to move in with Jamie and move on with her life.

From the counter the tablets mocked her. Vivid colours mixed with white. Long unpronounceable names that contained various amounts of varying narcotics.

Digging her fingernails into her palms, Claire tried to breathe through the pain.

Today was not a good day, she sobbed internally, running her fingers along the length of the countertop in front of the line of pills.

Since moving in with Jamie, Claire had managed to carefully balance her life so that the need for the relief the Oxy brought her was almost just a dull hum at the back of her mind. She had forced herself out of bed even on the toughest days when the cloud of depression clung to her flesh, suffocating her. And although she hadn’t yet managed to recover enough to go back to work, she was existing.

But as she’d hit the two year anniversary mark of her attack so the memories she’d either forgotten or repressed began to surface with increased severity.

Now, six months on, Claire had finally recalled the one part of the assault she’d managed to successfully - fully - suppress.

“Oh God.” She whispered, her whole body shaking as the all too intense vision appeared behind her closed lids. Taking a step backwards she tried to swallow back the bile that rose up her throat leaving the acrid taste of acid and burning in her mouth as she fought to keep the harsh liquid down.

“Claire!” Jamie hissed, the slam of the door making her heart skip a beat as she jumped and skittered backwards. “Jesus, lass, what are ye doing?” He asked in a harsh whisper, rapidly cleaning up the array of pharmaceuticals from the kitchen counter and dumping them down the sink without much thought. Turning the hot water tap on, he turned, his hands holding the side of the sink to keep himself upright. “Christ, Claire. I kent ye werena doing well this morning. But why didn’t you call me, something, *anything* rather than this madness? You promised.” He said, punctuating his words with the heavy hint of sorrow in his voice.

Walking backwards, Claire slammed her back against the large fridge and slid to the floor in a heap. She was actively sobbing now, her hands trembling so hard that it made her teeth chatter. Seeing her cry made Rupert anxious, pacing in front of her, he looked between Jamie and Claire mournfully before curling up beside Claire’s legs and laying his head against her.

“I remember…” she hiccuped, her words muffled by her knees as she curled closer to Rupert. “ I h-hadn’t before. But last night some of it came back to me. I felt him, Jamie, his hands...his breath against my skin. But I couldn’t move. Whatever I did, whether I thrashed or pulled away, I was stuck. I know what he did to me and I got to feel it all over again.”

Jamie knelt calmly by Claire's side. Running his hand gently over Rupert’s head, he moved the dog over and gathered Claire in his arms. She flinched slightly at first touch, but then melted against his chest as he carried her through to the lounge and away from the stale, suffocating air of the kitchen. Away from the now empty medicine boxes that seemed to taunt him from the countertops.

“You’re so brave, Claire,” he said as he sat on the large sofa and pulled the comforter off the back and around them both, “stronger than anyone else I know, aye? Ye had those tablets in front of you and ye didna take any. I ken you felt ye might, but you didn’t. Whatever brought on the nightmares last night, I’m here. Ye just need to talk to me. I canna change what happened, though, lord, I wish I could. But I can love ye and care for ye, no matter what.”

“I think I know what triggered it.” Claire said softly, her tears ebbing now as the faint whiff of their soap encased her, the scent of it rising from Jamie’s warm skin as she lay bonelessly against him.

“Aye?” He sighed, his lips brushing against her forehead as he spoke. “Do ye want to tell me?”

“Yes.” She replied quietly, taking a deep breath before she continued. “I’m pregnant, Jamie.”

#;Mod MBD #jamie x claire #addiction #Trigger Warning #substance abuse #well the mention of #Castle of Glass #addiction to opiates AU

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worryinglyinnocent · 6 years ago

Text

Fic: Starting Over (9/10)

Summary: A Lost/Once Upon A Time crossover.Three years after leaving the island, Kate and Claire’s search for a quiet town in which to make their permanent home brings them to the peaceful idyll of Storybrooke, Maine, where new friendships are forged and new relationships tentatively kindled - although nothing is ever plain sailing.

Eventual Claire/Gold, Kate/Ruby, with appearances from lots of Lost and OUAT characters.

Rated: T

[One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [Five] [Six] [Seven] [Eight] [AO3]

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Starting Over

Nine

Claire was at a loss. She knew what she wanted to do, but she was torn between listening to the bold part of her that was telling her to go for it and listening to the scared part that was offering her all kinds of excuses not to do it. The bold part was currently winning, because when Claire wanted something, she really, really wanted it, like peanut butter at three o’clock in the morning, which was a craving that had existed long before pregnancy and continued long after it.

She and Aaron were alone in the house this evening; Kate had gone to spend the night with Ruby and would be back for breakfast tomorrow. Aaron was sitting on the living room floor in his pyjamas, happily watching the last of the day’s kid’s programming, and it would soon be his bedtime, leaving Claire alone for the rest of the evening and night. This wasn’t the first time that Kate had gone to Ruby’s, and it wasn’t as if Claire was scared of being alone in the house at night, far from it. It was more that tonight, she craved company. From one specific individual in particular.

“Aaron?”

“Yes Mom?” He had just started experimenting with calling her and Kate both simply ‘Mom’ when he was alone with them, instead of always differentiating between them, and it always made Claire smile whenever she heard it.

“I’m going to ask Aiden - Mr Gold - to come over whilst Mommy Kate’s not here, ok?”

He nodded genially and went back to what he was doing. “Ok.”

She grabbed her phone, turning it over and over in her hands before biting the bullet and tapping out a message.

What are you up to tonight?

I’m incredibly busy lamenting the fact there’s nothing decent on TV. You?

Same. She paused before adding the next line. Would you like to come over?

What about Kate and Aaron?

Kate’s out tonight, and Aaron’s always happy to see you. Besides, it’s his bedtime soon.

There was a long pause before the reply, and Claire was beginning to wonder if she would ever get one when her phone pinged again.

I’ll be right over.

The kid’s channel finished broadcasting just as the doorbell rang, and whilst Claire was happy that Aiden had arrived, she realised that the timing could have been better. Aaron jumped up and rushed to answer the door, Claire following as fast as she could.

Whenever she saw Aaron and Aiden together, she could honestly say that she didn’t know where Aiden’s reputation as the beast of Storybrooke had come from. It was clear that he loved children and that even though his own son was now grown and off at college, his paternal instinct had never gone away. He was completely at ease around Aaron and let himself be led into the house like any of their other friends would.

“Yeah, maybe I should have waited until after he was in bed to invite you over,” Claire muttered as she tried to corral her son up the stairs towards his room. Aiden just chuckled. “Please make yourself at home. Put the kettle on. I think I could use a cup of tea.”

Aaron finally gave in and accepted that he wasn’t going to be allowed to stay up and talk to Mr Gold, so he went upstairs with good grace and Claire came to tuck him in.

“So, what are you and Mr Gold going to do?” he asked. Even though it was a completely innocent question, Claire felt the heat rise at the back of her neck, because she had a very good idea of what she wanted them to be doing by the end of the evening.

“Probably just watch a movie, you know. The same things I do with Mommy Kate when she’s here.”

“So, he’s come over to make sure that you’re not lonely.”

“Erm, yes, you could say that.”

“Good.” Aaron closed his eyes as she turned on the nightlight by the door. He kept insisting that he was a big boy now and didn’t need one, but on all the nights that Claire had acquiesced and left it off, he had turned it on again himself by morning. “You shouldn’t be lonely, Mommy Claire.”

Claire thought about the words as she left the room, leaning against the wall just outside and letting them sink in. She didn’t want to be lonely. She’d been alone for too long, both literally whilst on the island, and then more figuratively after she’d left it. She’d always had Kate and the rest of the island family, but she’d never had someone like Aiden. She didn’t want to be lonely, but deep down she knew that it was not solitude that was pushing her towards him. It wasn’t so much that she didn’t want to be lonely, as that she wanted to be happy, and she knew that Aiden would make her so.

Tonight, she was ready for that final step towards a lasting happiness with him; perhaps a lifetime’s worth of it if everything went well.

She returned downstairs to find him sitting on the sofa, a tray of tea things on the table balanced neatly on top of all her astrology and art magazines. A part of her chastised herself for not tidying up a bit more before he came over, but he’d been in the house often enough whilst it was a mess to know that was the status quo. Doing something special this evening felt like she was attaching more weight to the occasion than it warranted. The more she made a big thing out of it, the more nervous she was going to be.

This was an evening like any other. She wasn’t dressed up nicely, she didn’t have any make-up on, and her hair was in a messy ponytail. This was about as far from a planned seduction as she could get, and yet her end goal was the same.

Aiden poured her a cup of tea as she sat down beside him on the sofa, and she leaned in close to him.

“You know, the only time that we ever use this teapot is when you’re here,” she said. “I ought to get a cosy for it.”

“I simply appreciate the importance of proper tea etiquette.” Aiden’s voice was prim, but it was clear that he was trying very hard not to laugh.

“You’re not even English!”

“I’m Scottish. The influence has rubbed off from over the border.” He looked at her deadpan for a moment, then finally gave into laughter. “All right, all right. I just get through a lot of tea and it’s easier to make a pot than keep brewing individual mugs. Less teabag wastage.”

Claire curled her feet up under her on the sofa and started channel-hopping until they found something vaguely watchable, an old black and white comedy that neither of them paid all that much attention to, preferring to keep the sound low as they talked over the dialogue, pointing out inconsistencies in the set-building and enjoying each other’s company more than the film. Claire would have switched it off, but there was something inside her that was waiting for the right moment. The end of the film would be a natural breaking point. Anything before that would seem too forced and obvious, and Claire wanted more than anything for tonight to be a natural transition.

She snuck a glance sideways at Aiden during a quiet moment, and she wondered if his thoughts were wending in the same direction as hers. She’d heard it said that men thought about sex way more than women, but right now, she had it on the brain, blushing at the film’s innuendoes more than she would ordinarily.

At length, the movie finished, and they were just staring at the blank TV screen in the dim light from the lamp in the corner. It was so similar to their previous date at the drive-in that Claire had to smile. Aiden’s arm was warm around her shoulders, and then his lips were soft and eager against hers.

This time, there was nothing holding her back. She was ready this time, perhaps more comfortable in her own home than with the unknown of Aiden’s bedroom hanging over her. She was absolutely sure that this was what she wanted; that this was the right thing to do.

“Do you want to stay the night?” she asked once they broke away. “With me, I mean. In my bed.” She cringed, had he really needed that clarification?

Aiden smiled, and oh, how she loved the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he did.

“I want that very much.”

Claire didn’t want to move. Every available inch of her was pressed in close against Aiden and whilst she was almost uncomfortably warm, it was so long since she had been this intimate with someone that she never wanted to let go of him.

For all they were both out of practice, she thought that it had been very successful. They’d kept the lights off, both more comfortable in the darkness for this first time, although Claire knew she’d be happy to let him see every inch of her in broad daylight. She remembered the touch of his tongue gently tracing over the scars on her chest and shoulders, healing her wounds with love and desire. She buried her face in against his neck, breathing in the faint scent of his cologne, his fingers interlacing with hers and bringing her hand up to press a kiss to her palm. No, she did not want to move at all.

Practicality would eventually win out, though, and she reluctantly pulled away, rooting about under her pillow for her nightshirt. If she’d thought this through, she would have made sure that the slinky lace number she’d bought with a bright red face earlier in the week was to hand, but that was hanging up in the wardrobe and she didn’t want to get out of bed. Besides, as warm as Aiden was, it was the middle of December and the house always cooled down overnight. Lace wasn’t the most sensible of sleeping attire in such conditions.

“You don’t mind putting some clothes back on, do you?” she asked. “It’s just with Aaron, you know. If I shout in the middle of the night he comes in to check if I’m ok, or if he gets nightmares himself.”

“Of course.” Aiden slipped out of bed to poke about in the mess of their clothes, pulling his undershirt and boxers back on.

“It’s strange.” Claire nestled back in against him, welcoming his hands stroking up and down her back. “Ever since I came back into his life, he’s always come to me when he has nightmares, rather than Kate, even though obviously she was the only one before. Maybe he realised that I was just as scared as he was, and we could be brave together.”

“I like that way of looking at it.”

Aaron had always helped her to be brave, even before he’d been reintroduced to her. She’d needed a couple of months to stabilise before she trusted herself around him, still screaming herself awake every night and flinching at every unexpected noise, but the thought of getting back to him, and the knowledge that she was damn well going to be his mother again come hell or high water, had spurred her onwards, somehow managing to convince her in the quagmire of her anxiety, depression and debilitating panic, that everything was going to be all right in the end, because Aaron would be there, and no matter how long and hard the road would be, they would reconcile.

Aiden pressed a soft kiss to her temple.

“You’re a very special, very lovely woman, Claire.”

There were more unspoken words; the air was heavy with them, but Claire wasn’t ready to hear them yet. She certainly wasn’t ready to say them back. Everything was still very new. Absolutely wonderful, but still new. There was no uncertainty clouding her judgement any more, but after everything that had happened, Claire knew that accepting her overwhelming feelings was going to take time.

The words remained unsaid, and Claire smiled. It would happen, in her own time. She trusted Aiden to go along at her pace, and she trusted herself not to sabotage her chance at happiness. She felt his arms pull her a little closer as she drifted off into sleep, wholly content.

When she woke later with a start, half-sitting up to catch her breath, her immediate thought was whether she’d screamed and woken anyone else. She hadn’t been screaming in the dream; at least, she didn’t think so. Now that she’d woken up, the threads of her nightmare were slipping away from her. She was grateful not to have the memory, but not so grateful for the disturbed night. She sat up fully and ran a hand through her hair, breathing in and out slowly to try and calm her racing heart.

“Claire?”

Aiden was looking up at her blearily beside her.

“Just a nightmare,” she whispered. “I’m ok.”

He nodded, and it looked like he was about to go back to sleep, but then he reached across her ungracefully and turned the bedside lamp on, before levering himself upright beside her and taking her in his arms.

“You’re safe,” he murmured to her, stroking her hair. He didn’t say anything else, but that was all she needed to hear. Whatever happened, she knew that Aiden would keep her safe. She looked over at the clock; it was three am. Maybe in the movies, this was where they’d go for round two, but her heart was already racing, cold sweat sticking her hair to the back of her neck. She was feeling decidedly unsexy, and she just wanted to be held and feel Aiden’s warm embrace enveloping her like a safety blanket keeping out the rest of the harsh world.

She let him slide them down under the covers again, and she was asleep again long before he turned the light off.

Kate felt like she was walking on sunshine and had she not been driving, she would probably have started dancing down the street. As it was, she settled for tapping her fingers on the steering wheel.

She was in love. Last night had been one of the best nights of her life. Ruby had met her at the door with breathless enthusiasm; she had finally bitten the bullet and booked her flights to Europe in the spring. They’d spent most of the evening planning her itinerary, and even though Kate was not going with her, she still felt like she was a huge part of this trip, with Ruby asking her for places that she wanted her to go and take pictures of. They were going to be separated for two months, but the thought didn’t give either of them any fear. Ruby was going away, but she was coming back again, and she wanted to share as much of her life and her future with Kate as she could. There was so much enthusiasm in the atmosphere, so much life and love, and it had just slipped out.

I love you.

There had been no awkward silence after Ruby had made her confession.

I love you too.

It was the first time that Kate had ever said it back to anyone without hesitation, and looking back, she knew the reason why. There was no pressure with Ruby. As she’d said to James, on all of the other occasions when she’d fallen in love with someone, they’d ended up hurt, but this time, there was nothing to get in the way. This time, she was herself. She wasn’t pretending to be someone else; she wasn’t on the run; she wasn’t on a godforsaken island fighting for survival every step of the way; she wasn’t trying to keep the lie of the Oceanic Six alive and raise Aaron whilst dealing with the guilt of having left Claire to her fate. She was just Kate, and she was free to live and love however she pleased.

And she loved Ruby, and Ruby loved her, and she didn’t think that anything could go wrong with her world right now. Not even Claire having a complete breakdown. She was on top of the world, and nothing would bring her down. She could conquer anything.

Kate was aware that something monumental had happened as soon as she turned into Shell Drive, because there was a familiar black Cadillac parked up outside her house. For anyone else, the sight of the landlord’s car in the drive would be a cause for concern, but Kate just grinned to herself. Claire would have texted her if they’d had some kind of leak or other catastrophe that would require said landlord’s presence to sort out, so Gold was evidently here for pleasure rather than business. The rime of ice on the car roof and windows told her that he’d been there for quite some time. Claire had had an impromptu sleepover of her own, it seemed.

She let herself into the house, already hearing the sounds of breakfast happening in the kitchen, and she peered around the door, not announcing her presence for a minute or so and watching the scene within.

It was definitely the most casual that she had ever seen Gold, in (rather crumpled) shirtsleeves and no tie. She’d seen him smile like that occasionally before, but only ever when he was with Claire.

Claire herself was positively glowing with happiness, stealing little kisses when Aaron was distracted with his breakfast, and the intricate little dance that the two of them made together whilst they moved around each other making pancakes was so natural, it was as if they’d made breakfast together every morning for the last ten years. It was so good to see Claire being her old tactile self again.

Presently Aaron looked up and saw her in the doorway.

“Mommy Kate! Did you have fun on your sleepover? Mr Gold came over for a sleepover here too!”

The blush rose in Claire’s cheeks when she realised that she’d been caught in the act, but she showed no shame in it. They were both active young women in new relationships; this was bound to happen sooner rather than later, and Kate was quietly cheering Claire’s corner.

She sat down at the table as Gold brought the stack of pancakes over. She’d already grabbed a bite at the diner before Ruby had started her shift and the usual breakfast rush came in, but no-one could ever turn down freshly made pancakes and breakfast with family.

The meal was a happy one, Aaron doing most of the talking and Kate trying to get out of Claire exactly what had happened last night without the need for words, resulting in a lot of giggles and Gold looking slightly worried. By the time Aaron was playing in the living room and Gold had gone home for a shower and change of clothes, Kate was practically bursting at the seams to speak to Claire alone. Finding Gold in the house had momentarily put the thoughts of her own relationship to one side, but now they were back.

“So…” Claire said. “I think you can guess the major step that was taken in my love life last night, and no I will not be giving details, but what about you? You’re almost bouncing up and down.”

“We said I love you. Both of us. I don’t think I’ve ever said it this quickly and been so sure of it.”

“Oh Kate! That’s fantastic!” Claire threw her arms around her, dancing a happy little jig on the spot. “You deserve this, both of you. I’m so happy for you!”

“And I’m very happy for you as well. The sexual tension was becoming unbearable, you know.”

Claire rolled her eyes and smacked Kate’s arm playfully.

“Ow!”

“Come on, I barely touched you.”

“You know, you always tell me it’s bad to fight.” Aaron was looking at them disapprovingly from the doorway, and Kate had to stifle a laugh. It was back to business as usual, and everything was well with the world.

#Lost Fanfic #Claire Littleton #Kate Austen #Mr Gold #GoldxClaire #Fic: Starting Over

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seenashwrite · 7 years ago

Text

SNIPED (Part Five)

Status: Complete (Part 5 of 5) Word Count: 7K Rating: 18+/Mature/Explicit for Adult Themes including - Graphic sexual situations; Mild-to-moderate violence; Coarse language Categories: Drama; Action; Romance; Porn-with-Plot; Smut; On-the-hunt Character(s): Dean; Sam; Reader/O.C. Female; Jody; Crowley [briefly]; Alex & Claire [mentioned]; Castiel [mentioned] Pairings: Dean x Reader/OC Female [Pts. 2 & 5]; Sam x Reader/OC Female [Pt. 3] Warning(s): See “Rating” section above Author’s Note(s): See Part One & post-story Overall Summary: The Winchesters receive assistance on their case from a sniper. Part Four & Five Summary: The sniper gets the answers she’s been waiting - and almost dying - for, regarding both her past and, potentially, her future.

|| SNIPED Master Post ||

A deep, guttural howl hit my ears as I fell. It wasn't mine; never saw much point in screaming when I got hurt. Then I recall seeing a bright light, as if a star went nova right in front of me. Windows shattering, snowflakes of glass pricking the side of my face and neck.

There was soft cottony fabric against my face. Dean's smell. A metal smell. Feeling like half of me was lying in a warm bath. Feeling ice cold at the same time.

Jody's tearful voice. The roar of the Impala's engine as it was gunning, over and over. Sam saying something. Dean shouting castor... catty... casty... something.

An awful whistling sound, then a gurgling sound, then I was gagging into the fabric at my face, a mouthful of liquid pouring out, but not enough to stop the choking, and I couldn't make my throat do anything about it. I remember realizing Dean must've been holding me, that I was fighting to bring a hand up, feeling stickiness on his chest and belly, wondering if he was bleeding, how badly he was hurt.

And then I became aware I was lying on a hard surface. Felt my back arching away from it, shooting upwards at the waist, sitting bolt straight. I remember sucking in a massive amount of air, so much it hurt my throat and rattled my entire upper body. An odd, slightly monotone, but calming voice I'd never heard before. Dean's voice, sounding muddied, far away, my vision caked in shadows, until....

Everything went black this time.

But now..... Now I blinked, slowly opening my eyes, carefully easing into a sitting position, trying to get my bearings.

"MOM!"

Glancing to my right, Jody's kid - the blonde one - scrambled from her seated position on the floor where she'd been reading, tripping over her books - and her own feet - ricocheting into the hallway off of the door frame, startled into clumsiness and calling Jody something I'd have bet the farm she'd never done voluntarily before.

I looked around and saw that I was in Jody's house, in her bedroom, in her bed, bundled with far too many blankets and pillows. I looked down, running my hands over my torso, which was clad in an old concert t-shirt I recognized as Jody's, and saw I’d also been outfitted in pastel flower-patterned pajama pants that must've been the brunette kid's, and then I took in the sight of my thumb. I wiggled it in front of my face. My broken and dislocated thumb was... perfect. I immediately pulled up the shirt, mashing and pressing. No soreness, no pain, no gunshot, no bandage, no blood. Nothing.

I touched my face - my cheek was fine. I felt my chin - no cut. And I dreaded moving, wondering how long I'd been stuck horizontal, knowing my back was going to punish me for it. But I peeled back the bedding and stood right up without an ache, without a hitch. I was frowning and pushing pretty hard on my lower vertebrae when brisk footfalls approached.

"Oh thank christ!" Jody exclaimed, throwing the dishrag she held to the floor as she rushed in, enveloped me in a huge hug. She smelled of fried chicken grease. It was the best thing ever.

I hugged her back, but then her squeezing got a little ridiculous. "Okay, Jo," I said with a chuckle.

Jody pulled away, placed her hands on either side of my face, then adopted her don't-you-cross-me look. "Never. Again."

I felt my eyes get misty. "No, ma'am," I whispered.

She picked up the dishtowel, threw it over her shoulder. "Move it. Dinner's almost ready."

It had been almost thirty-six hours exactly. Jody and the girls told me that - minus one slightly comatose trip to the bathroom which had taken all three to manage - I'd slept through all of them. I was ravenous for the first time in months, ate two helpings of everything. And though I couldn't imagine being able to sleep more, I found myself groggily piling into Jody's bed with her as night fell. We were turned towards each other, speaking quietly. Well, Jody was speaking. I was listening. Crowley had been hurt, she assured me, but he was so powerful, it had likely been a lost cause from the start.

"I know, silly," I told her with a sad sort of smile.

"Then why the hell--"

"He threatened Dean," I answered simply.

And Jody nodded. All the answer she needed. She'd seen love on me before, and she recognized it now. "You haven't asked where he and Sam are," she pointed out.

"Ah, well... they aren't here, so... that's all I need to know."

Jody gave me a look. "Don't pull that nothing-impacts-me-because-I'm-a-stone-cold-bitch routine on me. I invented that before you even thought to. You can't bullshit a bullshitter, as they say."

I just looked at her calmly, a tiny smile on my lips. I knew she was going to tell me, anyway. And part of me did want to know how furious Dean was with me. Prepare myself to leave Jody's physically, leave Dean mentally. Move on.

She sighed. "What do you remember?"

"I thought I was dying," I admitted. "I've been shot before, but shit. Saw the white light and everything."

Jody raised an eyebrow. "Oh, that was Castiel."

And then my eyebrows shot up. "The angel?"

She nodded. "He couldn't get in, they'd warded and sigiled and had actually lit a ring of holy fire around the whole place before we got there. So he stood across the street, took out some of Crowley's pricks, then---"

"And then the glory of the lord shone 'round about me?" I finished with a wry grin.

Jody snickered. "Oh, yeah. You've got nothing on his breaching prowess, my friend. He's also the reason you're alive. Healed you right up."

"Wow," I said under my breath. Then - "He fixed my back while he was at it."

"You're kidding me."

I shook my head. "It feels like... like before. I feel like before. I mean, just not... not..."

"Not your heart," Jody said, finishing for me. A few moments of silence. "It worked him over good. Dean. He went into shock, froze on the spot. And Sam, he just scooped you up and ran to the car."

"Oh?" I whispered.

She nodded. "We put you in the back with Dean, Sam punched it, got us the hell outta there. And Dean just wouldn't let you go, I kept trying to help hold your wound, but... he had you so, so tight."

Tears were in both my eyes and hers.

"Kiddo, don't give up on him. After Cas healed you, Dean was begging him to wake you up, just so he could know for sure you were all there. But Cas said you were in, and I quote, 'Dire need of rest'. Apparently you've been burning the ol' candle at both ends, huh?"

I nodded.

Jody looked at me seriously. "Promise me you're done with Crowley."

"Jo, I---"

"I mean it," she said, tears sliding down her cheeks. "I can't. Not again. If anything happened to you or the girls---"

"I know," I told her, and for the first time in our long friendship, I hugged her instead of the other way around. We pulled apart and while she was wiping her eyes, she continued.

"But then Dean started practically climbing the walls, just couldn't stay. Sam wanted to. There was almost a round two. Glad Cas had hung around, I was just wandering around in a haze by that point. The girls told me they'd taken off while I was in the shower."

"Back to Kansas?"

Jody gave me a one-shouldered shrug. "Wish I could say." A pause. "Can I text him to let him know you're awake?"

"Um..." I thought for a second. I had no clue where my phone was anyway, probably still with my rifle. "Yeah. Yeah, sure."

Jody nodded, turned briefly to the night stand, grabbed her phone. A few taps, then a whoosh as the text zipped away. She settled back on her side to face me again, phone between us on the bed. She watched me carefully.

"I don't have my hopes up," I told her calmly and honestly.

If I were Dean - after my mistake with Sam, after all the pushing away I'd done, going after Crowley when he'd warned me not to, then after essentially dying in his arms - hell, if I were him I'd be halfway to Alaska by now, fuck Kansas. It was maybe two minutes before Jody's phone dinged and we looked down at the screen simultaneously.

O.K.

I went back home, back to a normal routine, back to teaching, even back to a morning jogging regimen. Kept Crowley's gift on me at all times. Retired the wedding bands to a box at the back of a drawer.

It was a little over a month later while I was in the midst of walking the line at the range, giving the occasional instruction, that I felt my phone vibrate. I couldn't check it til the end of the session. I'd received a voice mail from Jody.

Sam came through. Just talked to him, and they're done with the marathon of dead-end leads Dean insisted they check out. They'll be at the bunker for the foreseeable future, according to Sam, and it sure as shit sounds like he means business. I'll pick up your mail for you. Let me know you got there safe.

Dean had only seen me in camouflage and a slutty cocktail dress. And naked. And mostly dead. So it was I found myself once again in a random bathroom, this time closer to the Kansas-Nebraska state line, pants around my ankles.

Except now, I was changing into black slacks that emphasized my waist, very form-fitting, but only to a point. They hugged just the top and a little more than halfway down the curves of my asscheeks before they shot downward with sharp creases, loosening up around my newly re-acquired thick runner's thighs, growing wider til they almost hit the floor, were it not for a pair of black kitten-heeled ankle boots. I liked how the cuffs swished around my feet when I walked, as close as I'd ever get to a ballgown, no doubt.

And the wide-collared, dark grey button-down I wore on top was just as crisply creased. It resembled a man's dress shirt, though it was cut just right for a woman's curves. It was nearly skin tight, only a bit of blousing occurring at the top of the pants. My boobs had shrunk a little, of course, because the universe couldn't have possibly assigned the weight loss to my hips first, but I didn't mind. I hated bras anyway, and though I probably still could've used one, I opted for a lacy black camisole. And I purposefully left one extra button of the blouse undone. Not for flirting. Only to show I'd retired my necklace. I hoped I'd get the opportunity to tell him it was permanent.

I still rolled the cuffs up my forearms, and I still wore crazily-patterned knee-high socks underneath, and I still couldn't be bothered to do much more than muted brownish-pink lipstick and mascara. Waterproof, by way of warding off my personal demons. But I left my hair loose how he'd liked it. I'd even used scented shampoo. I wanted to be as put-together on the outside as I desperately wanted to be on the inside. I wanted Dean to see - if Dean would choose to see me - that I was trying. That I cared. That if he really wanted to go for some sort of normal, then I was in.

I was in all the way.

I got there around eight. The Impala was parked just outside the door Jody had described as the one I'd need to go to. I parked so I wouldn't block them in, just in case Dean - or Sam - decided to make a run for it.

At the ready.

Make a tight fist.

Breathe in.

Let out.

Now knock.

I was standing with my hands in my pockets, half turned away from the door, glancing up and behind me at my surroundings while I waited. I'd been counting; it had been three minutes. Three-thirty. Three-forty-five. Three---

The hinges creaked, and I turned.

Dean stood there with widened eyes but a furrowed brow. His maroon-colored button-down was loose atop a black t-shirt. He was wearing a pair of his darker denim, and the same brown boots as always on his feet. He needed a shave, possibly a haircut.

No. No, not really. He was stunning.

And he was still. Not happy, not sad, not angry, not looking me up-and-down. Just there.

"Hi," I tried.

Dean met my eye. Then he exhaled a long breath. He still didn't speak.

"I, uh..."

I was crumbling already. Shit.

I pulled a hand from my pocket and jabbed a thumb over my shoulder towards my car, saying, "I shouldn't have shown up like this, I guess I was just afraid you'd, ah..." I let out a nervous little chuckle. "That you'd take off. But, um. Still. Bad idea." Now I looked at my shoes. I felt the wetness coming to my eyes. I nodded my head, still looking down. "Okay. Um. Okay."

A final nod, from myself to myself, an encouragement I was making the right call. I turned on my heel and headed back up the concrete steps.

Dean jerked me around and into his arms so quickly I almost fell - then suddenly, out of nowhere, I was wracked with sobs.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I put you through that," I managed to choke out, gripping him as tightly as he gripped me, so much so I thought we might break each other.

Dean sniffled, and when he pulled away to bring his hands up to either side of my face, I saw tears slowly streaming down his. And then his brow knitted together, his face clenched up, on the verge of full-on crying. But he smashed his mouth onto mine, and we fell into a hungry, desperate sort of kiss, both of us letting out hitched breaths as we allowed our pain to ease away.

"You were so cold and pale," he whispered against my skin, now planting kisses around random spots on my face. "I thought every drop of your blood had come out."

"Oh, Dean. Oh, I'm so sorry," I whispered back, putting my hands atop Dean's, which were still clutching my face, keeping it close to his.

"I thought Cas wouldn't get to you in time," Dean said, starting to weep, his voice cracking on his last few words, and there went my tears again as he brought his lips back to me, kissing a trail along my jaw.

This couldn't keep on. We were going to be piles of goo. I didn't want to melt down.

"Is the Impala alright?"

Dean pulled back from his kisses, blinked. Another sniffle. He looked confused. "What?"

"Did I ruin your car?"

"Did you... what?"

"I'm worried you won't be able to get all my mess cleaned up," I replied, the corner of my mouth tweaking up.

A touch of a twinkle came to his eyes.

"It's why I drove down here," I continued. "I'm very concerned about the condition of that gorgeous hunk of machinery. I'm ashamed of the state I left it in."

There was that beautiful smile. "Well, uh, that car's tough. Been through worse."

"Still. The guilt's killing me. Can I write you a check?"

"Shut up," he muttered as he leaned in.

And then another kiss, a deep, slow one, absent of anguish, only filled with desire. Dean pressed against me, pulling our bodies close. I could feel him getting harder and harder.

"Come inside with me," he said, just like he had so long ago back when we sat in Jody's driveway, back before we were nearly torn apart.

"Oh, Mr. Winchester. I'll go anywhere with you," I told him softly, bringing a hand up and gently brushing hair away from his forehead. Dean's eyes closed and he tilted his head, kissing the inside of my wrist.

"We're about to have the place to ourselves, Sammy's headed out soon," he informed me as we went in, then shut the door. Grabbing me by the waist, pulling me in again, he added, "So we can make as much noise as we want."

I grinned as he grasped my hand tightly, pulling me along at a quick pace into his room.

Another one of those slow, deep kisses. Dean ran his hand inside the top of my shirt, cupping a breast through the lace, gently squeezing. I gingerly raised one leg after the other as we kissed, balancing carefully as I unzipped my boots and kicked them away. Then I ran my hands up his chest to his shoulders as he moved on to my other breast, pushing his shirt off as much as I could. Dean went to pull my blouse apart even more, when the next button popped, shooting off and making a tink-tink-tink sound as it hop-skipped away.

He met my eye with a crooked grin and a shrug, then removed his shirt. I followed suit, and he tossed them somewhere, moved on to running his hands along my waist. "How do you..." he muttered with a little frown, studying my slacks, apparently disinterested in my top half for now, ready to move on to the next stage of my undressing.

I laughed. "Here," I said, guiding his hand to the zipper running up the back.

Dean crushed himself against me again as he unzipped and I slid my hands under his t-shirt, stroking his muscular back and looking up into his eyes with I know what must have been a goofy smile on my face. He grinned back, those crinkles at the corners of his eyes making an appearance, and god, I just wanted to plant kisses on them. Unzipped now, he went to guide my slacks down, running his hands beyond the hem of my cami to cup my ass, when he gasped.

"Underwear slows things down," I explained.

"Oh fuck," he moaned into my mouth as he kissed me again, pulling me close, hands gently caressing my asscheeks with every swirl of his tongue.

"You're so hard," I whispered when his lips moved to my neck.

Then he suddenly squatted, pulling my slacks down, guiding me into raising one foot after the other as he removed them completely, then tossed them over to a chair. He missed. I didn't give a shit.

The hem of the long camisole landed just barely above my pussy. Dean moved from the squat into a kneeling position, first pressing his face into the fabric, inhaling and exhaling several times. His breath swept under the hem as his face eased lower, and I felt chills.

"I remember this smell," he said. "I dreamt of this smell, of this taste."

And after that last part, Dean's tongue drug along the creases where my thighs met my pussy, one after another. I let out an involuntary groan, my knees getting a little weak. He gripped the back of my legs and I raised the hem of the cami, holding the fabric up higher, looking down so I could watch every moment. He hadn't eaten me out last time, we were too spent, only ran his tongue over and around lightly after we'd masturbated for each other. I was getting wetter and wetter just thinking about what he would do now.

Dean's tongue was flat and wide, pushing aside my puffy lips, dragging it slowly over my clit, then starting over, this time curving to the right, focusing on just that side of my clit, repeating it with the left side, back to running over the top. His hands had gradually moved from the back of my legs around to the front, and he sat back on his heels, looking at my clit so tenderly as he used his thumbs to push my lips up and to the side, exposing it fully.

He gently blew a little stream of air on it. I shivered. He leaned in closer, did it again. My breaths were getting shallow. I felt wetness beginning to seep out of me at an ever-increasing rate. And when Dean put his mouth on me again, he only gave my clit a mild suck before going after it rapidly with the tip of his tongue, wrapping his arms around my legs to steady me, batting my clit up, down, around like a punching bag.

"I'm... I'm... gonna... f-fall... D-Dean..." I stuttered out, reaching down to touch his head and get his attention.

And he planted a hand on my lower back as he rose, the other hooked under one of my knees, spun us both around, letting me sit down on the bed. I laid back, let him keep my leg pushed up and back with his hand, then he was kneeling again, his lips almost immediately latching onto my throbbing clit once more. Then his other hand, goddamn, those hands, came to my dripping core. I felt his index and middle finger glide in with ease.

"Mmmmm," Dean growled against me, the vibrations sending a telltale shiver through me.

"I'm so close," I panted, grabbing onto however much bedding I possibly could. I never came easily, not even for myself. It was a small miracle I'd been able to come for him on my last visit. But just watching him from across the room had made it happen much more quickly. Now I was about to explode.

Dean's fingers were methodical, prodding firmly but not roughly, a third finger sneaking in gently and it felt so good when he started almost clutching my cunt, his hand curving, the heel of his palm against my taint, bumping it as his fingers went in and out.

My thighs began to shake. I heard myself whimpering. Felt my other leg go up and to the side of its own accord. Dean removed his hand from me, damp against my skin as it moved to help my leg stay back. I felt the quivers building inside.

"Come for me, honey," I heard his husky voice say, before that long stroke of his tongue went over my clit for what would be the final time. My eyes slammed shut, my jaw clenched to the point of soreness.

Never been a screamer or a wailer, never. Didn't plan on starting now. It was too porn-y. But god almighty, did a deep groan come from somewhere and I didn't fully realize it was me until I noted Dean's mouth was still occupied, gently lapping at my cunt as I came.

Gasping for air, feeling like I was on fire, my eyes still closed, I felt Dean move from in between my legs. All I could think was that there was too much on me, and I was struggling to manipulate the stupid cami over my stupid head.

"Errrrr," I fussed, feeling a frown come to my brow, still too spent to sit up or even bother to open my eyes.

I heard rustling, a zipper, then Dean chuckled from somewhere nearby. I felt the mattress move, felt his naked body next to me, then he playfully batted my hands away.

"Hang tight, I got this," he said, remnants of the chuckle still floating over his words.

"Sadists made this," I stated flatly, my eyes still closed as I let my arms flop out to either side.

Dean laughed, and then I felt the cami rise as his hands ran up my torso, slip under my arms, pulling me up the bed, and then over onto him, as he rolled to his back.

I sat up, finally opening my eyes, looking down at him as I straddled his thigh and took off the last bit of clothing standing between us. His hand had drifted to the small of my back, rubbing it gently, occasionally alternating with slow scratching. He put his other arm behind his head, propping it up a bit, looking at me with a cat-that-ate-the-canary close-lipped smile.

"You look awful proud of yourself," I noted, tossing the cami... somewhere, who knows.

He responded with a little shrug.

I grinned, then crawled up his body, placed my hands on either side of his face, kissing him til I absolutely had to stop to breathe.

"Whoo," Dean muttered, eyes widening, apparently having almost been robbed of his breath, as well. He was still rubbing my back as I eased away. I moved my leg so that I was straddling both his thighs.

I was looking down at my hands as they slowly ran over his cock, no pressure right now, just caressing, base to tip. The uptick in his breathing let me know I was doing something right. He was still watching my face intently. I could always tell when he was, didn't even have to look.

"I'd appreciate you thanking your angel friend for me," I said, now beginning to apply bits of pressure to my strokes here-and-there. I was watching his tip like a hawk for the first sign of pre-cum.

"Whu... wha... huh?" Dean said, and I glanced up to see one of those montages of facial expressions.

I shook my head and chuckled. "You reminded me---"

His eyebrows shot up. "What has happened in here that could possibly---"

I gave him a look, then removed one of my hands from his dick, brought it behind me briefly to pat his hand. "He took away five years of pain overnight. I mean, yeah, the gunshot," I went on, returning my hand to its current mission.

"Yeah, the gunshot," Dean repeated in a semi-sarcastic tone, but his eyes were crinkly and sparkling when I glanced at him, which brought a wide smile to my face.

"Well, because, typically I'd prefer you standing or in a chair, so I could have room to fidget," I continued, moving from my straddle and scooting up the bed on my knees, then turning, my lower back and ass next to his chest, still gently stroking as I went. "But see, now," I went on, looking him dead in the eye, increasing the pressure of my touch before leaving my right hand at the base and putting my left hand on his left thigh.

A sharp intake of breath from Dean.

"Now I've got the right angle. And will absolutely ruin you for other women." With a wink, I leaned over and plunged his cock a little more than three-quarters of the way down my throat.

A huge gulp of breath behind me. His pelvis actually jolted and the thigh on which my hand rested went into a few small spasms. Incoherent mutterings from behind me drifted to my ear. Dean wasn't even on the planet, I could tell by the way he was halfheartedly running his hand up my back with no discernible pattern or plan whatsoever.

I hadn't yet taken him all in. I was determined to do it. It would be a challenge, to be sure, but after all - challenges were my specialty. Focus, concentration, controlling my gag reflex versus letting it control me. Dean was well above average in both length and girth, and I knew from last time the girth had still yet to meet its potential. And I aimed to see what I could do to motivate his cock to be all it could be. Quickly licking his length then distributing the moisture with my hand to give my lips a little more help to slide, I paused at the tip, peppering it with little kisses as I looked back to him.

"God, you're beautiful," he whispered.

"Can I tell you a secret?" I whispered back in between kisses.

"Yes."

"This is going to be my favorite thing to do to you."

I had him completely down my throat in two tries. Dean's heels had almost immediately come up to flatten against the bed near his ass. I felt his hands disappear completely but then heard them smack against something, I assume the headboard. He was fighting hard to keep from thrusting his hips into my face, I could tell, bless him, so I only kept to deep-throating for a few plunges. I wanted Dean happy, but I also wanted him to fuck me, so him having an orgasm at this point was not on the docket.

I worked the top third of his cock with my mouth, the rest with my hand, rotating and stroking, but not pumping - that would be addressed soon enough. His legs had relaxed and I took the opportunity to gently stroke his balls, the insides of his thighs, when I felt his hips begin to shift closer to the middle of the bed. Then his hands on my right leg, lifting it and settling it to his right. And then his hands on either hip, urging me backwards as his own hips slid down.

"Ah!" I gasped around his engorged dick, momentarily distracted from my mission as it seemed Dean was on a mission of his own - he'd buried his face in my pussy again, his scruffy face scratching over my bare mound and inner thighs every time his jaw moved to take in more and more, his chin rubbing against my sore clit, his nose pressed against my taint while he plunged his tongue into me, then ran it around the edges of my weeping entrance.

He groaned as I sped up my strokes, increased the sucks, my lips making the occasional pop as they left his dripping tip, only to go back for more. I couldn't really take him into my mouth any longer, his girth at its peak, too large to risk the delicate skin running against my teeth. My mouth physically could no longer accommodate his size, and my fingers were only just making contact around his cock.

I carefully disengaged from his mouth, easing off to his left. He helped me settle back, his hand guiding my ass, as I pulled my leg across his chest, turning to face him again. Dean was wiping his hand across his damp chin and mouth as I leaned over, planting kisses randomly across his chest.

"Shit," he commented, and I glanced up. His hand was still at his face, but now he was rubbing his jawline. "Was this hurting you?" he asked, his expression one of concern.

I felt the corners of my mouth curl up. "In a good way."

He grinned. "You're right. You're ruining me."

Then both of our faces grew more solemn as we looked at each other. I brought myself up closer, lying on my right side and he did the same, on his left, facing me, reaching up and brushing fly-aways from my face, then letting his hand linger as he came in close, giving me another one of those sweet, slow, soft first kisses.

I brought my left leg up, gently laid it over his hip. He scooted in closer and closer. We didn't speak. Never took our eyes off each other. Not even as I guided him into me.I was caught off-guard, letting my eyes flutter shut and my mouth fall open a bit, squeezing his shoulder and gasping as he slowly tried to push further inside of me. Seeing it was one thing; stroking it, another; even the blow job didn't prepare me for this, for the stretch, for the feeling of fullness, and he hadn't even gotten close to full penetration.

"Holy shit, holy shit," I babbled, my voice shaky.

Dean replaced my hand with his, continuing the process. His lips pressed to mine, silencing me momentarily, then he paused - both the kiss and his entry, letting himself ease out - to look at me. "This is perfect," he whispered. "I don't want this to stop."

"It doesn't have to," I whispered back. I pulled on his shoulder a bit and he responded, kissing me again as he moved himself to hover over me, to settle between my legs. But before he did was I was dying for him to do----

"At Jody's... when you were talking about what you were, how I didn't know what..."

He looked nervous, pained, so I reached up, stroked the side of his face. "I know who you are, Dean."

A small shake of his head. "Sometimes I don't. And what I was---"

"What did you tell me? About your soul? You told me you felt this, us, in your soul. And that's all I ever need to know about it."

Another round of breathless kisses, then Dean and I once more stared at each other as he positioned the head of his cock.

"I wanna do this slow," I told him, and he nodded.

We were going to make this last.

Concentrating, his eyes closing for the moment, he pushed past my entry and we both sighed. We were watching each other carefully as he pushed further, never jabbing, never thrusting. I tilted my pelvis as I opened my legs even wider and the angle allowed for a small, but abrupt amount of progress towards my core.

I inhaled sharply, bit my lip; I felt like a goddamned virgin.

"Ssssh, sshh," Dean whispered. "I got you, baby."

I willed myself to relax. Then there was more. A little more. More. And finally I felt Dean fully flush against me, completely inside of me, stretching my walls, and already I felt like I was going to float away. He pressed down onto me then, his forearms against the mattress so as not to put his full weight on me. I had one arm around his shoulders and one across his back. We kissed.

"Tell me," Dean said softly, ever-so-slightly moving his pelvis to-and-fro.

"Tell you what, gorgeous?"

He actually blushed a bit at that. "Pretty to gorgeous, huh?"

I grinned, relaxing even more, allowing him to move freely. His eyes closed, a hiss passed through his teeth, then he looked at me again. Slowly rocking, a barely-there rhythm began to emerge.

"Tell me," he repeated.

A tiny furrow of my brow. "Tell you what?"

Dean sighed against my mouth as he pulled back almost to the point of emerging, his eyes hooded, desire streaming off of him. "Tell me you won't let anyone else touch you like this."

"Oh, love. How could I?"

He buried his head between my shoulder and my neck, then he buried his cock in me with one solid push, both of us crying out in unison, gripping onto each other tightly, as his rhythm hit a still slow, but steady rate. It felt like he was growing even larger inside me, my walls contracting, pulling him in with each thrust.

"Tell me we're not just fucking," Dean panted into my ear, his arms leaving the bed, now gripping my hips, my ass, fingers digging into my flesh, tilting my pelvis even more, plunging even deeper though it didn't seem possible.

My hands flew up to his head and I pulled his face up, away from my neck so I could look him in the eyes. I shook my head a tiny bit. I spoke firmly. "Never with you."

Dean's face looked like it was about to crumble, and he smashed his lips to mine, his tongue exploring every bit of my mouth, and mine his, my back arching with ease as I matched his rhythm and we sped up in unison, completely connected and moving as one.

His hands left my hips, his forearms coming to rest beside me higher than before, my new back allowing me to curl up with such ease I could've just kissed that angel. Dean's hands came up to either side of my head. My hands were on his ass, holding him, pressing him into me, encouraging him to pump harder, faster. We were both sweaty and sticky and lost, no longer kissing, just sighing and moaning into each others' parted lips.

"Are you..." I asked, trailing off.

Dean couldn't manage even one word, merely nodded.

I removed my hands from his ass, leaving one on his back, sliding the other between us, rubbing my clit vigorously. I was already so close. Just having Dean inside of me would've been enough. But I wanted this to be everything for him.

"I want you to come inside me," I gasped, feeling the orgasm beginning to overtake me.

"Oh fuck oh yes oh fuck," he chanted as he started to feel me clamping down around him.

I cried out as I came on his throbbing cock, and he groaned moments later, and I felt the pulsing as he spilled over. Dean virtually collapsed on top of me, both of us spent, panting like animals, my thighs still twitching as my orgasm subsided. My pussy ached. My hips ached. But my heart... not there. Not any longer.

Dean started to move.

"No, no," I whispered, "stay. Just a little while."

And he did.

Every time we kissed it felt new. That night, the next morning in the shower, then that night when we made love again. I ended up staying at the bunker for a week. Sam went off to tackle a minor case on his own. We barely noticed.

"This is such a bad idea," I said, chuckling.

On another random morning, after breakfast, I still had on Dean's bathrobe - which I’d essentially claimed as mine - and was standing at the foot of the stairs with my arms crossed, watching him, naked as a jay bird, getting situated atop a towel he'd placed on one of the steps.

It was way too far up the staircase.

"What?" he asked, looking at me with a big smile and wide, innocent eyes.

"Ha! No. You fucking well know 'what'. Don't put on the act." I pointed to the first few steps. "Plant your ass there, and your feet on the floor, so I don't get thrown down a flight of stairs and crack my skull."

"You don't trust me to keep a hold on you, that's what this is," Dean declared, but he was grinning and doing as he was told, semi-erect and the picture of bliss.

"That is absolutely accurate," I replied, letting the robe fall to the floor as he took his seat, now much more trustworthy and stable.

Dean stroked himself, eyed me up and down as I came closer. "Wait a minute," he said as I moved to straddle him.

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, for - I swear to god..."

Dean looked at me seriously. "I've fallen in love with you."

I went completely numb.

"You don't have to say it back," he continued, his tone growing a little gruffer, like he was giving an order. "Hell, I don't want you to say it back. Not right now. Or I'll think you did, because I did."

I nodded my understanding.

Wow.

After a single, firm nod in acknowledgment, Dean reached out, drew me in, kissed me as he helped guide me onto his lap, then onto his cock.

"This was such a great idea," I said minutes later, chasing it with a satisfied moan.

I was riding him, able to push off the stairs with my feet for some excellent leverage, grab the railings, and lean back far enough to get a fantastic view of his cock plunging in and out of my cunt. And I wasn't the only one mesmerized. Dean's hands were sometimes on my hips, sometimes kneading my breasts, sometimes working my clit, but mostly, like me, he was staring down, watching the point where we connected.

"Told you so," he replied, catching my eye and giving me a little wink. Then he watched me as my chest heaved and my hips moved in quicker gyrations when he began playing with my clit.

I let go of the rails, scooting in closer to him, draping my arms around his shoulders, using Dean for leverage now. His arms went around my back, holding me firmly while he eased my upper body backwards, leaning forward a bit with me, kissed around my chest, suckled at my breasts til both nipples were beyond erect. I was totally secure. Safe. I wasn't going to fall.

"I'm not falling in love with you, you know," I told him in between heavy breaths.

Dean paused, looked to me with a mixture of surprise and confusion, and perhaps a little hurt, passing over his face before he resumed his kisses. But I began to tilt, wanting to sit up, Dean not hesitating to help me come back close to him with his strong arms, letting me envelop his cock completely once more. I kissed his temple, then an eyebrow, then the sprinkling of freckles to the side of his nose. Softly stroking the back of his neck, trailing my fingers out to his shoulders and repeating the motions as I spoke in his ear.

"I think I started to love you---"

His grip on me tightened.

"---when you fucked up that hunt."

A burst of laughter from him, then back to our mild panting for a few moments. That, and the gentle noises of skin slapping together, were the only sounds in the bunker. They echoed a bit off the walls.

But I wondered if he thought I was joking, so I chose to tell him more.

"I was so pissed you'd shot at that thing... til I realized later that there would've been no way..." My thrusts sped up. He matched them, driving deeper into me. My thighs began clenching his waist. "I thought I could've whipped around in time, hit my knee and gotten off a shot when it came from the side..."

Tiny moans emerged from his lips, his head against me, forehead propped where my neck met my shoulder. His hot breath against my skin made me shiver. I swirled my hips, lifted up a bit, slowly rode his length back down.

"...but you'd seen... knew... knew it would've torn.. t-torn... torn r-right... through me..."

We were sweaty, my pelvis aching from grinding into his, the tip of his impossibly thick cock banging into that heavenly spot over and over, undoing me.

"...and you looked at me, s-so... you were so... n-nobody's ever looked that... sad to have dis... disappointed me," I managed to gasp out, the trembles in my core beginning to reach, spread to the rest of my body. "...even though... y-you... you saved my life."

"I w-wanted... just wanted you t-to like... like me," Dean panted.

Our heads tilted towards each other, our eyes were locked, not anywhere else in the world but with each other. I kissed him gently on the lips. We came together. And as we settled, still on those stairs and wrapped around each other, I spoke again.

"Well, I'm sorry about that whole liking you thing," I mumbled against the side of his head, back to running my fingers over the skin at the nape of his neck.

A small chuckle. "What?"

"I couldn't help it. Skipping right to love."

Dean moved his head, looked at me with that glint in his eye that instantly made me ache all over. "Snipes, you nut. You're not making any sense."

But I was.

"Dean. You know I can't pass up the perfect shot."

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Author’s Note #2: Yeah, so, uh - bet aside, couldn’t let the tale end on a sour note, I finished it of my own volition. But my “editor” [ha! punishment-dealer] insisted on more descriptors in the smut portion of our tale, therefore I condone virtually *none* of the action verbs/adverbs/whatnots in that general vicinity that you’ve read above. Ahem. Hope you enjoyed!

#Supernatural Fanfiction #SPN Fanfic #Dean x Reader #Sam x Reader #as Chuck as my witness #unless I get a hella good crossroads deal #I shall never go smuttin' again!

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betweensceneswriter · 7 years ago

Text

Jimjeran-Chapter 22 : Autle (Outlay)

Heading to a deserted island for their honeymoon! Click Here to Hop to the Table of Contents

Previously on Jimjeran-Chapter 21 : The Morning After These two kids are adorable.

My parents showed up hesitantly around ten, but Jamie and I were fully clothed and bringing out our duffle bags, snorkeling gear, and the few food items I thought of adding to the list of food Jamie said he’d sent on ahead. The town’s truck, which I had since learned was one of three motorized vehicles on the island, was going to drive us down to the end of the island, where the Rosa family owned a boat that they were renting to us for the weekend.

Once again, my dad and Jamie headed off together, this time to go summon the truck. My mom requested a tour of the clinic, so I showed her my primitive medical set-up.

“Dougal is leaving this afternoon,” my mom said, after she’d tried out my pump “faucet.” “But your dad and I were wondering if we could stick around until Monday.”

“Where would you stay?” I asked. “Still at the Iroij’s palace?”

“That’s the thing,” Mom answered. “We would like to stay here, if you don’t mind.” She indicated the wall toward our apartment. “Enjoy the quiet, clean and fix things up a little,” she shrugged her shoulders. “You know how we like to make ourselves useful.”

Mom wasn’t kidding. Every time she visited us in Boston, the next time I was in my kitchen my refrigerator would have been cleaned out and my stove top and oven scrubbed.

“We only have the one pair of sheets,” I said to her, wrinkling my nose in distaste.

“I could wash them,” she said. “But I could also just air them out today. I mean, honestly—last night I saw something a mother-in-law should never have to see, which I’m guessing was a lot fresher than anything still there. And we don’t have a black light or anything.”

“Yuck, Mom,” I groaned, covering my face. “I’m sorry. I should have warned you or sent you away.”

“Oh, I knew what was happening,” she said. “Besides what I could hear,” (I buried my face deeper in my hands) “which was an indication that you have married quite an enthusiastic lover, Moneo told me all about the custom, with plenty of time to head somewhere else for a while.”

“Why did you stay, then?” I whimpered, disturbed by the entire conversation.

“I thought it would be an interesting cultural experience,” she said, surprisingly earnestly, “And such an amazing conversation starter when anyone tries to start one-upping their kids’ wedding stories at my book club.”

“You will not!” I exclaimed, coming out of hiding to see her facial expression, obviously pleased with herself for being so hilarious.

“Claire, I would never,” she said, shaking her head and smiling. “Though if Stacy Harrow starts telling me about her daughter’s shocking ceremony, I will probably have to work extra hard to resist the temptation to share yours.”

I shook my head in stunned silence, as I ushered my mom out of the clinic.

“Besides,” my mom said, “Jamie already set it up with your dad. He’s got something he wanted us to do while you are gone.”

“What’s the deal with Jamie and Daddy?” I asked. We could see the pick-up truck appearing from a distance off. “I’m starting to feel like Dad prefers him to me.”

“It was just so sudden, Claire,” My mom ran her fingers through her hair, pulling the curls away from her face. “I just think Daddy couldn’t let this happen without feeling like he knows Jamie a little. I know you’re a grown-up. But you’re still his little girl.”

“How do you really feel, Mom?” I asked. “Was this the stupidest thing I’ve ever done?”

“Oh, certainly not,” she said, hugging me around the waist. “You’ve done plenty of stupider things.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I asked.

“Actually, Claire,” she said, “Impulsive, yes. Sudden, definitely. But stupid, sweetie? Love is never stupid.”

I was torn when the time came to leave. I hadn’t seen my parents in six months or more, so it was a challenge to say goodbye. But as we were packing up the truck, there were several times Jamie had touched me, just brushing his hand across my back, or stepping close behind me when I was loading something in the truck so I could clearly feel that he was aroused. Once he leaned over and breathed on my neck beneath my ear, and I about jumped out of my skin. The way he kept looking at me, I felt naked already; and I was beginning to feel quite ready to be naked again.

Fulfilling that desire was delayed by my parents deciding to ride on the truck to see us off; otherwise I had a very strong feeling there would have been some major below-the-waist touching in the back of the truck as we rode to the end of the island.

I had a sense of anticipation as we left Matolen behind and headed across the lagoon. In thirty minutes, we were pulling the boat up to the beach at Autle, and Jamie handed boxes and bags out to me to put on the grassy bank above the beach. Despite taking motion sickness pills before the journey, he was looking queasy; however, he muscled through and helped to carry our luggage to the little sandy clearing where we would be staying.

“The tent is already set up,” I said gratefully, “and it’s like a little house.”

“Ye can thank Rupert and Angus for that,” Jamie said. “I couldn’t make this trip twice in a day and still be of any use to my wife.”

“Did they make the bed, too?” I asked, skeptically peeking in a window of the boxy, tall, room-sized tent.

“Yes,” said Jamie, “But we can certainly inspect it before we use it. Unfortunately, lass, I dinna feel very good right now, and I think I should lie down for a time before I do anything else.”

“Are you still a little seasick?” I asked. He didn’t look like he was feeling well at all.

“Aye,” he groaned, kicking off his flip-flops and unzipping the tent flap.

“Well, I guess I can get us moved in and set up our camp,” I said, looking around the campsite, feeling a little disappointed and needing to keep myself busy.

“Nah,” he said, shaking his head and opening the door of the tent. “Itok, Ripālle. You’re going to take off your clothes and lie next to me. I want to touch yer body wi’ my eyes closed.”

We went into the tent and Jamie reclined on the air mattress, which despite having been set up by Rupert and Angus, didn’t seem to be booby-trapped or poisoned.

“Will ye undress for me? I’d like to watch you.” Jamie spoke from the bed, one eye open just a slit. Somehow having his eyes closed seemed to help his nausea, but there were certain things that warranted opening them.

I felt a little shy in the full light of day—the tent did nothing to darken the room. I had actually chosen my outfit for the day considering which clothes would look the best coming off, so I’d chosen a short sleeved floral dress with buttons down the front. I decided I’d take my time—just to drive Jamie mad—and it worked. When I’d unbuttoned the buttons down past my hips, with my tiny panties and lack-of-bra showing clearly, Jamie groaned.

“I’m not well, lass! Dinna torture me!” He looked at me, grinning, “But dinna take anything else off, either. Just come here now.”

I lay down next to him, still wearing the dress. I watched his face as with closed eyes he reached over and slipped his hand inside the bodice of my dress, groaning as his fingertips traced their way around my breast and then closed to surround my nipple.

“Mmmmm. I like second base,” he whispered, cupping my breast in his substantial palm. I leaned over to kiss him, and he slipped his hand behind my neck to draw me closer to him. “I like first base, too, for that matter,” he said, yawning.

His yawn was contagious. It had been a long and somewhat sleepless night, so I lay my head on his chest, Jamie stroked my back, and we fell asleep.

When I woke up, Jamie wasn’t in bed with me. He’d brought our suitcases inside, and I could hear footsteps moving around in the gravel outside and what sounded like a machete hacking away at something. With a sense of jittery excitement I pulled something I’d bought in Majuro out of my suitcase, finished taking off my dress and panties, and put it on.

Jamie had his back to me when I slipped out of the tent. He was standing by the stump of a coconut tree, apparently opening a young coconut, evidenced by the pieces of green husk on the gravel at his feet.

“Are you feeling better, Jamie?” I asked, disappointed when he didn’t turn around right away.

“Aye,” he answered with one final hack, then turned around and nearly dropped the coconut he was holding. His eyes told me I had chosen well.

“I’m going native,” I said. “Look, I’m super decent! My thighs are completely covered!”

Jamie raised his eyebrows in amusement.

In one of the shops, I had found short sarongs meant as cover-ups for swimsuits or bikinis. I had purchased one, but right now I was wearing it alone, tied around my hips, topless.

Jamie watched me with great intensity as I walked over and took the coconut from him, lifting it to my mouth to sip the coconut water.

I handed it back to him, and said, “Okay, what shall we do now? Do we need to go spear fishing for our dinner?”

“No,” said Jamie, looking down at my body. He stepped toward me.

“Should we grate up a coconut for cooking our rice?”

“Jab,” he said.

“What shall we do, then?” I asked, looking teasingly up at him.

“I am going to find out if you’re wearing anything under that sarong,” Jamie said, bending to kiss me. “And then I am going to make love to my wife.”

Jamie was an enthusiastic lover, and so joyful and generous during every part of the process that it seemed wrong to find fault with his technique. I did need him to learn to enjoy going slow, which I managed by spending some time on top.

After our exhausting afternoon love-making session, we ate a snack of bananas, peanut butter and bread Jamie had baked for us before the wedding. Then we put on our snorkeling gear and went out to hunt for our supper. I wore a bikini for the first time since arriving, and Jamie again held my hand while snorkeling out to go spear fishing, though on occasion his hands had a mind of their own, straying elsewhere on my body. At one point, he giddily untied my bikini top, stealing it and sticking it in his pocket. While I felt a little manhandled, I also felt desired and sexy.

When we’d caught eight fish, we headed back to camp. I measured water and rice into the big cast iron pot, and Jamie scraped mature coconut onto a kerchief that I used as I had seen Maria use the cheesecloth. There was something so delicious about the flavor of the coconut with the salty fish that I couldn’t imagine cooking the rice without it.

Jamie gathered wood and built up the fire for roasting the fish, gutting them and prepping them while the wood burnt down to coals and the rice started simmering.

The fish were delicious with bites of rice. Jamie had brought along cans of soda from Mr. Ogawa’s store, which were refreshing despite being less than cold. After eating, we put the lid on the rice to protect it from flies and set it in the shade where it could cool so we could eat it for breakfast.

The sun was shining, and it was a gorgeous day on the island. I didn’t realize it was just the calm before the storm.

Couldn’t find any actual pictures of Autle, but this is Enedrik, another uninhabited island on the Arno Atoll, directly across the lagoon from Ine.

Chapter "truisms”–We went to Autle during Spring Break, just for a day. It’s actually much closer to Ine than this chapter indicates, but I wanted Jamie to get seasick… The pictures at the end of the chapter are of Enedrik (except for the hammock pic), which is an island in the Arno atoll that can actually be rented!

On to Chapter 23 : The Storm Rough winds are coming.

#alternate universe #jamie x claire #Marshallislands #Outlander fanfic #BetweenSceneswriter

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seraephicssaved-blog · 7 years ago

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me , @ myself for being SO incredibly late to the party : what the hell , carl ? regardless , hello ! my name’s claire , i’m 18 , i live in the aest and honestly ? i’m a big old mess but it’s fine !! i love conspiracy theories , any kind of book i can get my hands on , eating and generally being a bit of an idiot ----- - anywhomst ! i’m not interesting , and i’m certainly not the star of this post ! instead of doing separate posts for all three of my muses , i’ve combined them all into a SUPER LONG INTRO ! it’s a bit long , but i’m beyond excited to be introducing you to CADE RAHUL MEHTA , GRACE CHAU CHUONG and RHYS DANIEL MACDOUGALL !

— avan jogia. twenty-five. cismale. pronouns. ↷ well if it isn’t cade rahul mehta, augustine’s very own icarian who’s been living here for twenty-five years in the emerson townhouses. he is currently working as a surfing instructor and has been known to be sardonic and insouciant. → sea salt curls burnished locks, and they giggle at the swathes of brilliant ink that dare to caress a toned bicep ; halcyon grin and soaked-through shorts that dip just a bit too low. gentle hands, calloused but strong — guide them onto the waves, draw them into the world that swallowed you whole when you were barely a child. tanned back, tanned arms, tanned everything ; green smoothies in the morning, water through the afternoon, chai tea in the evening when you finally stop to let yourself think about the life they left behind in order for you to live the way you do now. you haven’t visited their graves recently. ( the note on your phone, urgent, reminds you of it ; you try not to notice. )

you are born to two gujurati indians ; a doctor and a schoolteacher, they were determined that their infant son should have the best life possible. they bundle their belongings up and move to augustine the minute that your mother realises that there is life prospering inside of her.

your birth is simply a foreshadowing of your entire life ; your cries are soft, and they last only briefly before you start giggling and waving chubby little newborn hands around. that sunny disposition is something that you carry with you for the entirety of your life --- you are never not known to have a warm smile on carved features and nothing but kind words for everybody.

you take an early liking to the beach, and for your sixth birthday you receive a tiny little bodyboard. the minute you are out in the water, you decide that you’re never going back. your love for surfing progresses through your adolescence, and the day that you get your first professional surfboard is one that you’re not likely to forget anytime soon.

at eighteen, tragedy strikes. your parents are killed in a collision, and your world shatters the moment you find out --- they leave you everything, and it only makes it worse. your townhouse feels so lonely without their presences, and you can’t stand the pervasive emptiness that perpetually lingers.

you barely stay inside the house now. the tan that you wear like a medal is the result of days spent teaching children just like you how to fall deeply in love with the ocean. wide smile constantly in place, you’ve come to terms with your loneliness and every so often, you visit your parents and place fresh flowers on their final resting places.

— lana condor. twenty. cisfemale. she/her. ↷ well if it isn’t grace chau chuong, augustine’s very own cynosure who’s been living here for two months in the downtown augustine apartments. she is currently working as a sales assistant at blackbird boutique and has been known to be histrionic and munificent. → millennial pink, an aesthetically pleasing instagram feed that you try so hard to keep up with ; freud gathers dust upon a desk you haven’t dared to set eyes upon. raspberry vodka burns highways the minute it passes cherry-chapstick brims, leather jackets and floral sundresses, lana del rey sings dulcet tones from the depths of your bedroom. fairy lights and a self-love drawer in your bedside table, chipped pink nail varnish and piercings your mothers don’t know about — would they scream if they knew what you were up to, my love ?

originally born in ho chi minh city, vietnam, you are adopted by a lesbian couple who swiftly move you to the united states. you spend most of your childhood growing up in salem, massachussetts, but your mothers take you on regular holidays to vietnam so that you can learn about your culture and your origins.

all throughout your childhood, you are a brilliant child with obvious ambitions. you’re reading novels by the time you’re 3, speaking coherently and with ease when you were even younger. bright eyes and brilliant smile are matched equally, if not more so, with superb brains and sharp sense --- your mothers are so proud of you.

adolescence is a progression into a whole new world: you discover first kisses under the shade of old trees, clove cigarettes that leave sweet kisses upon glossy brims, sips of alcohol that has your face scrunching and body shaking. your focus on your education wavers, but you pull a strong 4.0 the entirety of your high school career. teachers adore your individual takes on essays and the skill you have with language. you dip in and out of debate teams, art groups, even do a short stint in a bad band --- it seems like whatever you try your hand at, you manage with ease.

at nineteen, you start making the conscious decision to move and a small beachside town catches your interest --- it’s far from home, and

since leaving home, your ‘wild side’ has emerged --- there are six new piercings in your ear, a few on your body, and you’re contemplating a tattoo. you’ve yet to even think about applying to colleges, and really, you’re not all that sure you’re even willing to apply. you just want to have fun, and frankly, that’s what you’re doing.

— charlie heaton. twenty-three. cismale. pronouns. ↷ well if it isn’t rhys daniel macdougall, augustine’s very own quandary who’s been living here for two years in the melvin heights trailer park. he is currently studying as a fine arts student and has been known to be deleterious and lackadaisical. → sandy beaches are so far away from home, so far away from glacial, bitter english streets ; pinched scowl and muted, choked-out syllables, ink-stained stems and evanescent smiles that condense just like the smoke that unfurls off of your cheap cigarettes. flannels with holes in the sleeves, jeans that you’ve torn to pieces through overuse and overlove, a collection of bottles you find on the shore and sketch when insomnia chases you into what passes for a living room. vinyl records ( your father’s collection ), burning ardor for organised chaos and cheap wine ( all your mother’s ), six feet deep in vintage sadness and antique wanderlust ( a product all of your own, my dearest. )

you’re born british through and through --- weaned onto weak tea that grows progressively stronger, your art gallery curator father and socialite mother only want the best for you. from the moment you can walk, you’re enrolled in only the best --- private kindergartens, private primary schools ; an array of tutors leave you painfully bored and painfully clever.

you have everything you could ever want or need, and you only get progressively more bored with your life. gala functions are no source of entertainment anymore, not until you start sneaking glasses of champagne and smoking in the bathrooms with a window cracked open. as you grow older, you realise that your parents love the idea of children rather than having children --- they lie and say they care and want the best, but you’ve been left to the care of nannies for as long as you dare to remember.

embittered by what seems like a lack of emotional love and too much of the material kind, you set out to destroy the own public image that they have cultivated for you --- drug scandals, boozy nights, you are eighteen and you taste nothing but revenge on plush brims. your plan works, because by the time you turn twenty-one, your name is nothing but ash and they exile you to america. you’ve never been happier than when you step on the plane that leads away from what you’ve come to view as your own personal hell.

you get to reinvent yourself in augustine, and that’s exactly what you do. you make a conscious decision to lock yourself away in your cheap little trailer, cover it with art and the relics of a past life. you enroll yourself in university when you first move, and you develop a strong affinity for the fine arts. you find yourself stained with paint most every day, and you’ve yet to tire of it.

#* ▬▬▬▬ ( claire . › intro . )#augustine:intro #death tw #car crash tw

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takemeawaytocamelot · 8 years ago

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Red Jamie and the White Lady - Part 5

Here’s the next chapter! I’m honestly so in love with this AU and I have no idea where it’s going. Massive thank you to @diversemediums for letting me steal her brain vomit and helping me bounce ideas. As always, let me know what you think of the chapter!

Catch up on the previous part HERE

With a great struggle, Claire got her eyes open and looked around. She wasn’t home and she wasn’t at Frank’s. So where the hell was she? How long had she been asleep? Rubbing her eyes with the backs of her hands, she pushed herself up.

After shaking her head, everything came back to her. She’d returned to Jamie Fraser’s house only to find him stabbed and bleeding in his panic room. But she couldn’t remember falling asleep, or how she’d-

“Oh! You’re awake!”

Yelping, she leapt away from the direction of the voice and promptly fell over the side of the bed. Struggling to her feet, she whirled around and looked at Jamie who sat in a chair, eyes wide.

“What the hell?!”

“Sorry, Sassenach! Didna mean to frighten ye. Ye’ve been asleep for a while.”

“Damn it! Where’s Murtagh? I need to check his head wound. And you. How’s your stab wound? And your head? Shoulder? Ribs?”

Jamie smiled at her, softening the lines in his face despite the bruises.

“Murtagh’s brewing tea in the kitchen. I made sure he stayed awake, per yer instructions. Dinna fash, lass. He and I are alright.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said, trying to tame her hair a little. “I can’t believe I fell asleep. I don’t have any idea why I did. I can usually keep myself up.”

“I’m sure Murtagh would like to sleep soon, but he willna wi’out yer permission. Can ye walk?”

Nodding, she staggered around the bed, shooting her hand out to brace on the wall.

“Sassenach?”

“Sorry, I’m alright. Just… I’m a little dizzy. Give me a moment.”

Blinking rapidly, Claire tried to get herself to focus.

“Christ, I canna imagine how tired ye must be. Come on, let me help ye to the kitchen. A sturdy cuppa will help ye.”

“I’m fine,” she said, vision still swimming slightly.

A warm, large hand rested on the small of her back.

“Please,” he said softly. “After all ye’ve done for me and for Murtagh, let me help ye.”

Realizing she probably wouldn’t make it to the kitchen under her own power, she nodded in agreement.

“Alright. But on the other side. I don’t want you to irritate your bad shoulder.”

“As ye say, Sassenach.”

Between the two of them, they stumbled down to the kitchen. True enough, the tea things were out and waiting, Murtagh sitting at the table.

“Ah, and so she wakes.”

“How’s your head? I’m so sorry I fell asleep. I was trying to stay awake to make sure you were alright.”

“I’m shocked ye stayed on yer feet as long as ye did, after-”

Jamie coughed loudly, interrupting his godfather.

“She needs some tea,” he said.

Claire looked up at him just in time to catch the glare he’d shot the other man. Still, Jamie helped her into a chair and fixed her tea. To her surprise, he put in a dash of cream and nothing else, exactly the way she preferred.

“How did you know that… Right,” she said, shaking her head again. “Psychic.”

While she let the warm liquid infuse her with comfort and strength, she realized the two men were speaking in Gaelic. She didn’t know what they were saying, but it seemed heated and a maybe a little hostile.

Eventually, Murtagh turned to her and met her eyes.

“How do ye feel, lass?” Murtagh asked.

“Alright. I really don’t know why I passed out.”

“Ach,” Jamie said dismissively. “Dinna fash about it. Ye came and did work ye werena expecting.”

As she took a long drink of her tea, the cell phone in her pocket began buzzing. Setting the cup down, she pulled the phone out and saw Geillis’ was calling.

“I’m sorry, it’s my roommate. She’s probably worried, I should answer.”

Claire got up and stepped away for a moment.

“Geillis?”

“Claire! Where are you? I woke up and saw your note but you weren’t home. What the hell happened to you?!”

“I’m sorry Geillis. I’ll be home soon and I’ll explain everything then. Drink the water by your bed and take the aspirin.”

Geillis snorted.

“I have. This isn’t my first hangover. Come home soon. I’m worried.”

“I’ll be back soon.”

Ending the call, she slid the phone back into her pocket before looking back at the two Scotsmen, offering an apologetic smile.

“I’m so sorry,” she started.

“Dinna fash,” Jamie said as he stood and cleared is throat. “You’ve got a life to return to.”

Claire blinked at his sudden change of accent. Once again, he’d adopted the false identity flawlessly.

“Feel free to come back any time,” he said, giving her a warm smile.

“Thank you. Um… Look, if you get into trouble again and need help, you can give me a call.”

Glancing around, she realized she didn’t have anything to write with. Jamie opened a drawer in the small cabinet and handed her a pen and pad of paper.

“Thank you. This is my cell. Give me a ring if you need anything. If that wound starts to get infected you need to go to the hospital.”

“Thank you,” Jamie said softy. “Would you like me to walk you home?”

Claire shook her head, trying to hide the wince it caused.

“No, I’m alright. Thank you.”

Jamie stood close to her, eyes searching hers.

“Are you sure? You nearly fell down the stairs earlier. I’d hate if something happened to you.”

Murtagh said something gruff, but Jamie ignored him.

“Quite sure. Thank you, Mr. Fraser.”

For a moment, he looked like he didn’t believe her. But then he bowed his head a little and smiled.

“Have a lovely day, Miss Beauchamp.”

Hearing her name confused her for a moment. She’d gotten used to hearing him call her Sassenach. After glancing at both men one last time, Claire nodded to herself and started the walk home.

***

“Do ye mind tellin’ me just what the hell that was? Claire doesna ken what she’s capable of! She needs to be aware of her gift!”

Jamie glared at his godfather.

“No. She doesna. No’ yet. And ye canna just spring that sort of information on someone!”

“She needs to know.”

“No.”

Murtagh glared back.

“It is my job to protect ye and keep ye alive as long as I can. From what ye told me of the visions, they’re getting worse. Like Brian’s did. Ye need her. Like Brian needed Ellen.”

“I canna have her remain here out of an obligation to me. I…”

Two dark eyes narrowed at him.

“Ye care for the lass, then?”

Jamie began pacing, running his hands over his head.

“Of course I do! But…”

Turning, he met his godfather’s eye.

“Ye canna do a thing about it.”

“How could I no’ feel something for her? Ye saw how she was. Dove right in and saved our lives. And then the things I’ve seen…”

Jamie trailed off, swallowing hard.

“What have ye seen, lad? Ye’ve never said?”

“Her past. Our past. A past life? I dinna ken. But I’ve seen her, seen… I’ve felt her when she…”

Murtagh stood and put away the tea things.

“I think we need something a wee bit stronger than tea, lad.”

After pouring them each a small glass of whisky, Murtagh sat back in his seat.

“Start from the beginning, then. Tell me what ye’ve seen.”

Jamie exhaled, seeing not the whisky in his glass but the whisky colored eyes of his visions.

“Her. God I’ve felt what it’s like to lie wi’ her. Seen what she looks like when she’s happy and laughing. I ken why she’s afraid of love, afraid of growing close to people. I ken why she’s chosen a predictable life.”

“Ye love her?”

“No!” Jamie paused. “Yes. I… I dinna ken.”

Murtagh nodded slowly.

“I see now, why ye didna want to tell her of her gift. It would mean she’s here to keep ye alive, no’ by her choice. She could still be wi’ her man.”

Jamie pinched his eyes closed.

“I… Sometimes it’s hard for me to ken what’s me and what’s the vision. It’s like… Sometimes I canna tell the difference between what I truly feel and what I feel through the vision.”

“So ye’ve had visions of her, no’ just a past life? Any of her future or just her past?”

“Past. I dinna want to ken her future. No’ if… if it’s wi’ someone else.”

Murtagh nodded thoughtfully, setting down his empty glass as he yawned.

“Aye. I understand ye now. But ye need her, mind. No’ just because of yer feelings. It’s her power alone that kept yer visions from getting any worse. If she hadna been there, there’s no way to ken how bad it might ha’ gotten. So, eventually, ye need to tell her who she is. Tell her what she is.”

“Aye. I will. Just… No’ yet.”

***

Claire inserted her key into the door just as it pulled open. With a gasp, she leapt back and stared up at the man exiting.

“Sorry!” he blurted.

The man was tall, easily over six foot, with a bushy gray and white beard. He was unusual, if he was one of Geillis’ latest conquests. She usually went for younger more… athletic men.

“It’s alright,” Claire answered as he rushed down the stairs.

Inside her flat, Claire approached Geillis, who looked content and a little smug.

“Who was that?”

“Oh him? I’m not sure what his full name is. Dougal… something.”

“You didn’t have him when you came home last night.”

Geillis giggled.

“No. I didn’t. He called some time and well… One thing lead to another and…”

One delicate brow ticked up, allowing Claire to use her imagination to fill in the rest.

“At least you have part of a name. More than most.”

“How about we talk about where you’ve been all night.”

Her first instinct was to lie about where she’d been. She could say she’d gone to Frank’s, but they’d had no dinner plans.

“I… Went back to that psychic.”

“You did?! Why the hell didn’t you tell me??”

“I just wanted to prove he was a fraud.”

Geillis’ mouth dropped open.

“And? Did you get another reading!?”

“I did. He said I’d fall in love and live happily ever after with a tall, dark-haired man.”

Her roommate’s eyes rolled.

“He did not.”

“He did. So, he’s a fraud. Like all the others.”

Pushing past Geillis, Claire headed for her room. If she kept the lies short and simple, they might just pass undetected. But she had to get away before she was discovered.

In her room, Claire stood in front of her dresser frowning. Something wasn’t quite right. The photographs on top were slightly out of place. Her jewelry box was on the wrong side.

“Geillis?”

A moment later, her roommate leaned on the doorframe.

“Yes?”

“My room… Why have things moved?”

“Oh, that. I tidied up a bit. You know. Vacuumed and such.”

Casting Geillis a disbelieving look, Claire snorted.

“Geillis Duncan, you don’t even know where the vacuum is. The only thing you know how to clean is the liquor cabinet.”

With a shrug, the other woman disappeared to her own room.

***

Closing the door behind her, Geillis locked it and pulled out her cell phone.

“What?” came the gruff voice on the other end.

“I was right. She went back.”

“And?”

“Claims he’s a fraud.”

Pause.

“Is she lying?”

“I think so.”

“Think?”

Geillis rolled her eyes.

“She’s easy to read when she’s looking at you.”

“Is it working?”

Picking up the clock radio on her nightstand, she fiddled with the stations until she heard a muffled crackle.

“Cleaning? Like hell. And in my room no less! She can’t possibly think I’m that gullible.”

“It’s working.”

“Good. Make contact when you have information.”

The line went dead and Geillis put the phone down. Hopefully she would get useful information soon.

Continue to Part 6

#outlander #outlander fanfic #takemeawaytocamelot #red jamie and the white lady au #jamie x claire #also featuring: murtagh #also featuring: geillis duncan #also featuring: dougal

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imagineclaireandjamie · 7 years ago

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A Hundred Lesser Faces: Sixteen

Section One {A Hundred Lesser Faces} what if Voyager!Claire had gone first to Lallybroch instead of directly to the print shop in Edinburgh? : [(One) (Two) (Three) (Four) (Five) (Six) (Seven)

Section Two {A Hundred More}, the aftermath of Claire and Jamie’s reunion, following their journey as they work to build a new life together [(Eight) (Nine) (Ten) (Eleven) (Twelve) (Thirteen) (Fourteen) ]

Section Three {Begin and Tell}, Now with EVEN MOAR AFTERMATH! [(Fifteen) ]

Sixteen

“Oh Jesus, Claire, I’ve been—I thought ye were—I canna believe—”

I yelped as Jenny, oblivious to my injured arm (Jesus, maybe I had fractured something), flung both her own around me, kneeling before me in the road and clinging like she would never, ever let go, gasping. “He isna—The marriage isna happy—The bairns are no’ his—He’s—Oh, God—Claire! Ye came back!”

I didn’t push her away. I didn’t even move, come to that. I was too bloody stunned to do anything except sit like a stone, arms pinned to my sides, absolutely dumbfounded as the words poured out of my tiny sister-in-law in frantic sobs.

“Jamie, he—he read your letter and went straight after ye—Ran out wi’ his soul afire but it was —Each day that’s passed, I kent deeper and deeper in my heart that he’d lost ye for good and that it was all my FAULT and—Oh my God....”

This last was a whimper as she held me tighter and fell completely to pieces against my shoulder. “I’m—so—sorry—Claire,” I heard faintly as she shook. “So—verra—Even before I told Jamie, all the day before he arrived, it was eatin’ me alive wi’ SHAME, and—”

I managed to pry her loose and hold her back by the wrists to look her in the eye. A creature more different than the cold, vicious woman who had sent me away from Lallybroch three weeks ago could scarcely be imagined. There were deep, dark circles under her eyes, and she looked as though she’d lost a frightening amount of weight in a short time. She looked pale, thin, and utterly defeated. There was no steel of biting judgement in those Fraser eyes, now, no seething poisonous anger—just an open wound of regret and relief, from which her jumble of half-coherent thoughts kept running out in bursts.

“I tried to tell him—tell Jamie—how truly sorry I—but he wouldna—He was so angry wi’ me, Claire—blazin’ and—ANIMAL wi’ rage and—” She shuddered, violently, the panic written in every line and twitching muscle. “ — and he had every right, but—And then he was gone, so sudden-like, burstin’ out the door after ye — Ridin’ like he’d race to hell to get ye back—But he kent ye might already be lost, forever, ag — again, and—” She sobbed harder. “And I didna have the chance to make him hear how sorry—How much I hated mys — HATE myself for—”

“Jenny?”

She flinched at the word as violently as if I’d slapped her, though I’d spoken it with painstaking gentleness, scarcely more than a whisper. In fact, I felt almost beatifically calm. Between Jamie’s recent fury and Jenny’s obvious devastation over what she’d done, my own rage and need for revenge seemed very distant in my heart, at present. It was shocking, honestly, how steady I felt in asking it, as though I were only mildly curious: “Just tell me why.”

“I was angry,” Jenny said at once, the words tumbling out in a choked, breathy rush. “Angry that ye’d left us wi’out a word—left Jamie alone.”

That much I’d known already, but I couldn’t ignore the need to be justified. “Jenny, I didn’t lea—”

“I know.” She took my face in both her hands, and for the first time in all the years I’d known her, I felt like the smaller of us. Her eyes were soft with sorrow, wide with the need to be heard. “I do ken it, Claire. Or...rather....I believe ye— that there must be more to things than they seem. I trust your word.”

There was such sincerity in her eyes, such tenderness and love in her touch, that I felt my throat tighten—at the sheer childlike relief of having this woman’s warm light stretched out to cover me at last, after such a devastating first reunion. Still....I couldn’t simply forget.

“Why couldn’t you believe it then?” Still calm, my voice, but it trembled as I struggled to suppress my own tears. “When I was telling you so to your face—why couldn’t you trust in me, then?”

She had withdrawn her hands and closed her eyes at the first question, lips pursed, head bowed, like a convicted offender, submitting to the axe. I didn’t think she was going to answer at all, but then a small voice—

“Maybe I was jealous.”

“....Of me?”

“Aye.”

For one blazing moment of disgust, all thought of tears vanished, and I wondered if I could take back every single word to Jamie about the necessity of reconciliation. If this woman was honestly mad enough to begrudge a brother’s love toward his wife—

But I saw her expression as she struggled to catch her breath to speak, and my heart quieted at once.

“Not only do ye appear out of the clear blue sky, Claire—after so many long years, but ye show up lookin’ all— so — ” She gestured helplessly to my person. “So damned beautiful and young and healthy and—And life has clearly been far kinder to ye than it had been for us, and....When I saw ye in the dooryard— I could feel it in my body, ken? As though it were a fire, set off at the edges of my mind, burnin’ up my decency and compassion and—Christ, all my good sense, and — I kent it was wicked .... heartless..... but I couldna help meself.”

“And that—that jealousy,” I said carefully, still levelly, with no scorn, “was enough to make you want to take Jamie away from me? Me away from him?”

“Yes — NO! — No, it wasna—I canna—It was EVERYTHIN’, Claire! All of it together! And perhaps most of all, there was the fact that — ” She looked up at the sky as though for help, a little moan of despair escaping her lips. “I’d been the one to push Jamie into the damned marriage in the first place, see? ME. And I’d kent even then that it wasna blessed. I saw your own fetch at the weddin’, for Bride’s sake, and I was fool enough to ignore it, and—And if ye’d come back, now, it would mean I’d been wrong to have him go through wi’ it, when I’d been given plain warning from above, and the GUILT of it—” She heaved a breath to choke down the rising panic, and I had to give her credit for looking me dead in the eye as she said it. “I made up my mind that it was better to act as though ye’d never been there. I‘d bury the the letter and no one would be any the wiser....It was reckless, shortsighted....cruel....I was lookin’ after my own selfish heart....I did ye both so much wrong, unforgivably...I’ll never stop tryin’ to make it right...if ye’ll let me.”

The shame of admission hung heavy on her shoulders. I could see it, weighing her down like a cross, all those wrongs. Anger. Indignant rage. Petty resentment run amok. Crippling guilt. Didn’t I know the power of those things, too? To wound and damage?

I reached out and took her hand, squeezing.

She looked up at me at once, eyes still brimming, clinging to the tentative hope my touch promised. “Everything can be well again, Claire, I swear it. Ye came back, and once he kens it, Jamie will put aside Laoghaire at once, I know he—OH!”

Before I could interrupt and tell her that I knew, she was standing and trying to pull me to my feet, too. “We’ll go after him, together, at once! I’ll leave a message for the family in town and we’ll ride until we find him. Ye’ve no idea—NONE—how overjoyed he’ll be to see—”

“Jenny—Jenny, stop!” I gasped. She was so alight with the fire of promised action, redemption, that she didn’t notice I was resisting, nor that she was hurting me. Yes, I must have had a hairline fracture or some sort of damage beyond bruising, for my vision was going black around the edges as I tried to get free of her grip. “Jenny, there’s no need! Jamie and I—”

“GET AWAY FROM HER!”

Jenny jumped, and though Jamie’s shout had startled me as much as her, I was also deeply touched to see that her immediate reflex was to shield me, flinging her arms out wide to face the attacker.

When she realized who it was, though, saw him leaping down from the horse, she started sobbing harder and was running toward him, flying on a wind of breathtaking joy. “JAMIE! Oh, Ja—”

But he brushed past her as though she weren’t even there, leaving her standing in the road.

“What has she done to ye, mo chridhe?” he demanded as he dropped to his knees next to me, hands jarring more than gentling in his haste to check me over. His voice was urgent but cold in his alarm. “She hurt ye?”

“I’m fine,” I panted, “just landed on my shoulder, but I’m fine. An accident”

“I heard the screams—and you’re bleeding,” he said, voice still frighteningly alien, and sure enough, the fingers he brushed over my hairline had blood on them. “What did she do?” he demanded again.

“She didn’t do it on purpose,” I said at once, “the horse got spooked and threw me and—It was a complete accident, Jamie, truly, Jenny didn’t—”

“Ye’d—already—found him?”

Both our heads swiveled to watch the hoarse, broken voice. Jenny was surveying the pair of us with such a symphony of emotion and realization moving over her face and body, it was both beautiful and painful to witness. “Oh, God be praised,” she whispered, crossing herself, beaming beneath her sobs. “Jamie, mo chridhe—Ye found her in time!”

Her barely-contained joy drained ounce by ounce as Jamie stood.

“Tell me what it is you’re doing here, Janet.” His voice was deathly quiet. Dangerous. “Why it is ye came to encounter my wife today and cause her harm.”

She was pale, but determined. “I was on my way to visit Maggie, and just happened to come across her on the path and—Jamie, I tried to tell ye at the house,” she blurted suddenly, stepping toward him as though she couldn’t control her own body. “How sorry I was. I meant it, trul— Jamie? JAMIE, stop this moment, where are ye going?”

For the moment she’d confirmed that our meeting had been pure coincidence, Jamie had turned to help me to my feet, ushering me firmly toward the horses.

“Jamie, ye canna go!” Jenny was begging. “Wait!”

“Jamie, wait,” I echoed, panting, head spinning in more ways than one as Jamie helped me get my foot into the stirrup. “W—”

“Ye must stay and hear me out!” Jenny was hovering at Jamie’s elbow as he lifted me bodily up into the saddle. She was getting more desperate with every word. “Ye canna turn your back on me like this, brother! Ye must—”

He whirled and she leapt backward. “Tell me what it is, precisely, that I MUST do for your sake, Janet.”

From my forced vantage point in the saddle, I had a clear view of the heartbreaking scene on the roadway. Jamie, enraged, drawn up to his full height, like a bear about to attack; Jenny, ten feet away but all but cowering before him, eyes tight-shut, lips pursed and shaking, waiting for the slicing of claws. He would never physically harm her, I would have sworn to that; but there were sharp edges in his voice, and no mistaking them, deadly enough to slice and maim, leaving permanent scars.

“Would I EVER have kept Ian from ye so?” His teeth were clenched tight, as were his shaking fists. “Would I EVER have turned him away? Your very heart, the breath of your body? Shunned him at the door, as though he were worthy of less hospitality than a stranger? Wi’out a thought for your heart or happiness, let alone his?”

“No...ye wouldna....Never could ye have done such a terrible thing......No decent person...” She was sobbing again; it was a wonder she was able to speak at all. “But Jamie, mo chridhe, listen to me, let me apol—”

“Ye LIED to her!” Jamie bellowed, lunging a step forward before he could stop himself. “Deliberately deceived her into believing me happy with Laoghaire—” this he spat with the utmost contempt, “then let hour upon HOUR pass upon my arrival before telling me a GODDAMNED word about her having been there! That there was still a chance I could catch her!”

“I’m so—”

“It came down to a matter of MOMENTS, woman—the difference between reaching Claire in time and losing her forever. Had ye waited two minutes longer to tell me, it would have been as though you’d slit her throat before my eyes. And I dinna think I shall ever be able to look upon ye and see aught but that very knife in your hand. The fact that I caught her in the end doesna change what ye meant to do—what ye did—to me.” He leaned forward and snarled, contempt and hatred in every syllable. “So tell me what it is I MUST do, this day. What I owe you.”

“What I did—was—wrong—Evil,” Jenny gasped out, coughing and struggling to get enough breath, “I kent it then, and I ken it now. I’ve scarcely eaten nor slept since ye left to go after her, nor been able to leave my bed for the shame of it—But ye found one another,” she gasped out again, trying to smile and move slowly toward him. “God restored your true heart to ye at last, despite my terrible actions.” She was nearly close enough to touch him, and she reached up to lay a hand on his cheek. “I’ll do anythin’, whatever ye demand for the rest of my life—to make it right wi’ ye both, mo chr—”

He turned his back before she could touch him, and was mounted on his horse the next moment, turning us in the direction Broch Morda.

“Jamie,” she moaned, both arms clutching round herself, as if they didn’t know what else to do. “Please.”

“Jamie, wait,” I said quietly, but then stopped. I knew that now was not the time for forcing rapprochement, but my heart was absolutely breaking for both brother and sister. But I had to say something, to give him one more chance to stay. “Aren’t you going to Balriggan? To settle with L—?”

“Not today.” He kicked up and galloped off toward town without a backward glance.

I did look back, though, and the look on Jenny’s face as she crumpled haunted me long past the time she disappeared from view over my shoulder.

#;mod bonnie #A Hundred Lesser Faces

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