#and jamie gives the clothes he’s worn all year back

[coolpointsetta]

roy: all my old kits keep going missing

jamie, wearing a kit that has a ‘u’ in sharpie over the ‘e’: weird

[bellaturner]

I Wanna Be Yours

I suck at titles, sorry 🥹

i'm not sure what this is, it doesn't have smut but its also not fluff (?)

Summary: you always had a crush on Alex, but he's your big brother's friend so you try to hide your feelings.

Warnings: none? (soft dom Alex if you squint a lot)

1,1k words (it was supposed to be a blurb, help)

Part 2 ✧ Masterlist

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The final verses of "R U Mine?" reverberated through the venue, creating an electric atmosphere. As the lights dimmed, you joined the rest of the band at the side of the stage, soaking in the energy of the crowd.

"Hey, Bear!" you exclaimed, jumping into your brother's arms and giving him a tight hug. "Congrats, Matt. You killed it!"

"Thanks, little demon," he chuckled, hugging you back. Matt, your older brother, was always close to you.

Having graduated from high school the previous year, you were still figuring out your path in life. So when Matt offered you the opportunity to join the Arctic Monkeys on their AM tour, you jumped at the chance. Who could say no to traveling the world, experiencing new places, and immersing yourself in live music almost every night? It was a dream come true, and the best part was being close to Alex, the man who made your heart skip a beat.

"You guys rocked it too!" you yelled, offering a smile to Nick and Jamie, who were enjoying a well-deserved break with cans of beer from the minibar in the corner.

You noticed Alex was missing. It was his habit to disappear for a good twenty minutes after shows, needing time to decompress.

Matt led you to the private rooms at the back of the venue. "Come on, trouble," he grinned, guiding you. "We need to gather our stuff. The bus leaves in an hour."

"Roger that, Captain!" you playfully responded, eagerly following him. Every second of this experience felt like a thrill, and you were grateful to Matt for bringing you along. The entire journey was incredible, but being able to spend time close to Alex was undoubtedly the highlight for you.

Your heart had always belonged to him, but you knew the boundaries that existed. Alex Turner, the charismatic front man and sexiest man alive, was older than you and one of your brother's closest friends. In reality, he was unattainable, being your only in dreams.

As you opened the door to the room, ready to gather your belongings for the next destination, you froze. There, seated on the sofa, was Alex. He appeared lost in thought, his hair styled back with a single strand teasingly falling on his forehead, adding to his undeniable appeal.

"Oh, fuck! I'm so sorry, Alex," you stammered, preparing to leave and give him his space.

"Don't worry about it, Y/N," he reassured you with a warm smile.

"I'll just grab my things and be out of your way in a second," you said, hurrying to pack up your makeup, which had been scattered during the band's final rehearsal.

"Well, take your time. You've already ruined my night," he joked, breaking the tension in the room.

That had become your dynamic over the years. Playful banter and teasing served as a mask for the feelings that simmered beneath the surface. It was a coping mechanism, a way to hide your emotions and maintain a sense of normalcy.

"That's for not playing my favorite tonight, mister," you shot back, a mischievous grin forming on your lips.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Is the little Helders' princess upset?" he retorted, mockingly pouting.

"Shut up, Turner!" you laughed, attempting to finish packing your makeup bag. However, your clothes were scattered all around the room.

You plopped down on the floor, gathering the articles of clothing and stuffing them into your bag. Your eyes wandered the room, searching for the dress you had worn earlier.

"Alex, have you seen my dress?" you asked.

"This one?" he said, holding up the fabric from the sofa beside him.

"Yep, that's the one," you replied, extending your arms toward him. "Throw it over, will ya?"

He playfully balled up the dress and tossed it in your direction, making you giggle.

"Found this as well," Alex whispered, his voice low and filled with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine and made you look up.

Your eyes widened as you saw him holding your bra by the strap in his hand. Heat rushed to your cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and arousal. You got up and reached for it.

"Not so fast, miss," he teased, pulling his hand back.

You let out an exasperated sigh, trying to regain your composure. "Alex, seriously? Can you just give it back?" you muttered.

His gaze held a mischievous glint as he got up and closed the distance between you, his hand still holding your bra captive. You could feel his breath on your face, sending a tingling sensation down your spine.

"Beg for it," he whispered playfully, his voice filled with a seductive undertone.

Rolling your eyes, you decided to play along. "Oh, please, dear sir, may I have my undergarment back?" you exaggeratedly pleaded, adding a touch of theatricality to your request.

He chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Well, since you asked so nicely," he said, relinquishing your bra and handing it over with a flourish.

You snatched it from him, attempting to maintain a composed facade. "Thanks," you mumbled, turning away to pack it into your bag, hoping to hide the flustered expression on your face.

Alex's playful nature always sparked a connection between you, blurring the lines of your friendship. Though you enjoyed the light-hearted banter, it sometimes made you question the true nature of your relationship.

With your belongings finally in order, you glanced at Alex, who was standing there with a lopsided grin. The tension between you was palpable, a mixture of unspoken desires and hidden emotions.

"Are you done teasing me now?" you quipped, trying to regain your composure.

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low, husky tone. "Teasing you? Oh, love, you have no idea what I'm capable of."

"Come on, Alex, cut it out," you said, flustered.

"Baby, I've noticed the way you look at me when you think I'm not watching," he confessed, his breath warm against your skin. "All this playful rudeness? Do you think you can fool me?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Alex," you protested, your hands trembling slightly.

"But I think you do, sweetheart," he whispered, his voice filled with desire.

"Alex, I can't. You're Matt's friend and…" your words trailed off as Alex's lips crashed onto yours.

His lips were soft yet demanding, and without hesitation, his tongue explored the depths of your mouth. You responded eagerly, letting all the suppressed feelings for him surge to the surface. There was no denying your desire.

Caught up in the moment, Alex's grip tightened, his fingers tangling in your hair. A soft moan escaped your lips as the kiss deepened, and all rational thought faded away.

"Hey, Y/N, have you seen my—"

Matt's voice abruptly cut through the air, freezing both you and Alex in your tracks. The room fell into an uncomfortable silence as Matt's gaze locked onto the scene before him. His expression turned from confusion to anger in a matter of seconds.

"What the fuck is going on here?" his voice was filled with disbelief.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Hiii!

Sorry for taking forever to post a new fic, I've been having a rough time lately (I have a thousand drafts but can't finish any of them lol).

This was a request by 💐anon, I hope you like it babee 💕

~ Bella

[alwritey-aphrodite]

Some more stress/comfort headcannons for @whimsical-roasting *mwah*

Jamie knows you so well, he’s able to tell when you’re starting to get stressed/burnt out, and he does everything in his power to keep you from getting to the point of no return. He knows you have work that needs to get done, but he’ll lovingly and gently demand that you take at least a morning off, that he doesn’t have training on Sundays and he passes this really cute cafe every day on his run and he thinks you’ll really enjoy it and he knows that you’ll never take a break for yourself but you’ll take one for him, so you spend your morning relaxing and laughing at a cafe with delicious pastries and much needed coffee.

Throughout the day, Jamie knows just what you need and when. Getting hungry? Perfect, because Jamie already cooked you your comfort meal and he’s bringing you some right now. Need a snack? Great, Jamie went out and stocked up on all your favorites. Getting chilly? Jamie has a collection of hoodies that are almost too soft to be real and he thinks seeing you in his clothes is the greatest thing ever. Whatever you need, Jamie will provide for you.

When you finally decide you’re done for the night, when you can’t even think straight, Jamie’s planning a relaxing evening for you, no matter how late it is, because you still deserve to feel loved and appreciated and relaxed. He’ll order your favorite take out and while you wait, he’s drawing you a bath and of course it smells like lavender and it’s the perfect temperature and he gives you one of his t-shirts to wear when you get out and it’s perfectly worn and soft. When you come back downstairs, he’s got all the food spread out on the coffee table with all your favorite snacks and your favorite movie is queued up on the TV. After you’re finished eating, Jamie will hold you and rub your sore shoulders or hands or whatever you need him too, until you fall asleep and he’ll carry you upstairs and hold you all night long.

On the subject of massages, Jamie’s naturally great at it, knowing different muscles and pressure and whatnot from all of his years as an athlete, but sometimes he watches YouTube videos on how to get better, and if your back is really bothering you from sitting at your desk all day, he’ll pull out the whole nine yards for you. He’s got the oils and lotions that all smell really good and the pressure is perfect and he changes it based on your responses and what he feels, and he’ll do it for as long as you want, making it ten times better than any professional massage from a fancy spa.

And, if everything finally gets to be too much for you and you break down, Jamie’s there to pick you back up. He’ll hold you while you cry and then do anything in his power to make you feel better. He’ll set you up in the bath or on the couch and he’ll change the sheets and clean up with bedroom and open the windows and buy some flowers. He’ll get easy to make meals if you feel up to it, but he also loves cooking for you so he doesn’t mind making you breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and he’s all stocked up on whatever snack you could possibly want. Whatever you need, he’ll do anything in his power to get it for you, all to see you smile again.

[blue-bujo]

Bowled Over (Roy Kent x Reader): Chapter Seven

You work at a bowling alley and a young girl named Phoebe has a birthday party there. You catch her uncle's eye.

Roy Kent x female reader

Will try to update roughly every two weeks

Chapter Seven: Deserving Something Good

(2.4k words)

Warnings: Roy Kent-level language (you know what you're in for), periods, past medical trauma, injury, mentions of addiction, fluff

Summary: Roy considers the results of his disastrous night out. He tells Phoebe about them, with your support.

Due to the throbbing in his very-swollen knee, Roy hardly slept. He could have taken the prescription he’d been given in hospital, but he refused because he didn’t want to get addicted; he’d seen a few rivals fall to it during his career, and he wasn’t going to let that happen to him. Plus, a small, niggling part of him felt he didn’t deserve the relief, since he knew he had felt warning signs that his knee was going to give out on him but had ignored them and kept bowling. So he spent most of the night awake and in pain.

It hadn’t been a completely horrible night, though. He’d found the fucking courage to talk to Splits, he kept thinking smugly. They were official now. And she’d said that she didn’t think he was old, which was a sweet lie. Hopefully he didn’t fuck it up with her and would be able to keep her around for a while.

Roy did manage to sleep for a few hours, which was honestly more than he expected. He naturally woke up around 3:30, when he would have gotten ready for a run with Jamie, and texted the young superstar that he wasn’t feeling up to it this morning, and to go without him. After receiving an emoji in reply, Roy battled his way up and into the downstairs bathroom for a shower. Thankfully he’d kept the shower chair from last time he’d fucked his knee.

He hit a slight snag after the shower: he hadn’t thought to ask Splits to grab him fresh clothes for this morning, so he had to put his pajamas back on. He always tried not to wear them when Phoebe stayed with him, as he wasn’t sure how appropriate it was for an 11-year-old to see her uncle in boxers. Couldn’t be helped now, though.

He hadn’t thought to replenish his supply of contacts down here, either. Roy had started wearing dailies during the pundit gig at Sky Sports, when he’d realized that he couldn’t read the prompters, but it was something he kept hidden. Not even his family knew that his vision was shit now, but that would have to change today.

Later in the morning, Roy was in the kitchen. He’d dragged a barstool in front of the stove and stress baked a loaf of quick rise bread. While it had risen, he’d dug through his junk drawer, which was the hiding place for the pair of glasses he’d bought in case he’d hated the contacts. They were simple black plastic frames, and they’d never been worn before today.

Roy was sipping coffee and reading with his back to the house while the bread finished cooling when Phoebe came out of her room. He didn’t look up, or turn his stool, when he heard her enter.

“Morning, Phoebe,” he droned. “Sleep well?”

The man heard a thunk. He swiveled the barstool and saw his niece’s head on the counter. “So that’s a ‘no,’ then?” he asked.

When Phoebe spoke, it was in a growl that would have made Roy proud under different circumstances. “I feel like shit,” she said. “Being an adult sucks.”

Roy hadn’t forgotten about her new ailment. He had a mug of coffee, which he’d never allowed Phoebe before, that he plunked down on the counter in front of her. When she raised her head, she first double-taked at it, and then at her uncle’s face.

“Since when do you wear glasses, Uncle Roy?”

“Since I got old, Pheebs. It’s been a couple of years. Now drink up; Keeley always said caffeine helped when she was on her period. I’ve got all the fancy creamers and shi- crap in the fridge.”

Phoebe hopped down from her barstool, took the mug, and lumbered to the refrigerator. As she poured out an unholy amount of vanilla creamer, Roy said one more thing that made her give him a glare.

“Erase the tab. You used a bad word. That was our deal.”

Although she glared, Phoebe knew better than to argue with Uncle Roy about the tab. Their one rule about it was that, if she got caught swearing before the end of the month, that month’s debt was reset, and he didn’t have to pay her for any of his language before the reset point, only everything after.

That didn’t stop her from going to her room, bringing back her notebook, and making a great show of ripping out, crumpling, and throwing away the page where she’d been tallying his language. It was so exaggerated that Roy couldn’t help but laugh.

“Do you want some French toast? As a peace offering? I made the bread this morning.”

Phoebe nodded and tried her vanilla creamer. Roy reached for a pan in one of the cabinets, but it was just out of reach from his barstool, and he only managed to knock it onto the floor with a metallic clatter. He and Phoebe both flinched at the noise, Roy more so. He hoped he hadn’t woken up his girlfriend upstairs.

His girlfriend. Upstairs. Fuck, Phoebe didn’t know that he’d finally gotten the balls to ask Splits out officially, or that she had spent the night in his bed. Granted, he hadn’t also been in his bed, but still. He typically tried to set a good example for Phoebe.

The noise had woken her up, it turned out. Footsteps thumped across the ceiling, and he could hear the shower running. About 20 minutes later, Splits came downstairs. Her hair was wet, and when she sat down at the bar to say good morning, Roy could smell all of his soap, shampoo, and deodorant on her.

“I hope you don’t mind I used your shower,” she said. “And your product.”

He didn’t mind, although he was embarrassed that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d cleaned the shower. But seeing her there in his stolen tee shirt and joggers, smelling like him… it felt right. His house didn’t feel empty with her and Phoebe in it. For once, it had people in it; people he was making breakfast for, surprisingly feeling like he deserved this slice of a quiet existence. Like he could smile without trying to hide it.

Phoebe was watching him with her hand over her mouth, like she was hiding her own smile. He stared at her until she looked away, and then turned his attention back to the stove, and his girls’ breakfasts. French toast was easy to make, and he quickly had three plates ready for eating.

“Right, come take yours,” grunted Roy. “I can’t carry it for you.” He looked to the woman wearing his extra pajamas, and as soon as he was close enough, pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Good morning, babe.”

“Good morning,” she returned with a peck on the forehead. “Nice glasses. Very studious.”

“Thanks, I fucking hate them. Can you grab my plate for me? I can’t manage it and the barstool and the crutches.”

She happily obliged, and even grabbed his coffee before he realized he’d need help with it. She was an angel. After Roy dragged his knee and his stool back to the bar, he sat down close enough that his arm was brushing hers. Phoebe was watching them both intently.

“You weren’t this touchy last night,” the girl observed, “and it looks like Miss Splits slept here.”

With a grunt, Roy said, “That’s because she did. It was too late for her to walk home, and I obviously couldn’t drive her.”

“Did she sleep in your room, Uncle Roy?”

Fuckin’ hell, this child. How was he going to explain this to Phoebe? Or, he realized, to his sister? He wasn’t just corrupting his niece; he was corrupting Sofia’s daughter. She would make his life a living hell if he didn’t get this right. Roy tried to think of what he could possibly say to explain this, but a gentle hand laid on his arm caused him to momentarily forget the English language.

“Yes Phoebe, I slept upstairs in your Uncle Roy’s room, but that’s only because he was a gentleman and slept downstairs on the couch,” explained Splits.

“And because I can’t drag my ass up those stairs,” Roy growled.

Phoebe marked the first tally on a new sheet in her notebook. “Okay, so she slept here. And borrowed pajamas.” Her subtext was clear; she was hinting that she knew something had happened between the two adults the previous night, but she didn’t know exactly what.

“We didn’t do anything naughty, Phoebe,” said Splits. She shot a side-eyed glance at Roy as if to ask are you going to tell her, or am I?

The man grunted to clear his throat, trying to find the words. “Okay,” he ground out, “last night, after you went to bed, I talked to Splits and asked her to be my girlfriend.”

Leaning forward eagerly, Phoebe asked, “And?”

Roy felt his face go all relaxed as the tension left it. He was aware that his smile was threatening to take over, but he didn’t seem to be able to fight it. “And we’re going out.” God, that sounded so dorky! He was definitely getting old.

Phoebe was thrilled. She hopped off of her seat and squeezed herself between the couple to hug them. “That’s wonderful! She’s amazing, Uncle Roy. She helped me a lot last night.”

“Thank goodness for that. I didn’t know what to do. Speaking of, there are napkins in the cabinet by the shower in your bathroom. Do you need anything else?”

“No, I’m okay. I don’t feel as nauseous today. I should get ready for school, though, so I’ll put some in my bookbag.”

Phoebe gave the couple one last squeeze and then left the room, leaving them alone. Splits linked her arm through Roy’s and sighed happily as she looked up at him.

“You have stuff here?”

“What?” he shrugged. “I have a little sister, and have been around women before. I may not look it, but I do have some sympathy in me.”

She laughed. “You don’t project it often. It makes you more human when you do.”

“Hmm. That, and my shit knee. Work is going to be interesting. A gaffer who can’t walk? The press are going to have a fucking field day.”

Roy was trying to make light of it, but he was worried about the logistics of the next few weeks. He couldn’t drive like this, or do hours of standing at training and matches. Some of the tension must have returned to his face, because his girlfriend started rubbing small circles on his arm.

“Do you need a driver?” she asked. “I’m not scheduled today, so I can help out if you need me.”

Yep, she was an angel. He wasn’t one to ask for help – it was uncomfortably vulnerable – so she’d asked for him.

“That would be fuckin’ great. Thanks, babe.”

They spent the next few minutes plotting out the day. Roy made a quick list of everything he’d need from upstairs for the day, which Splits was happy to fetch for him. He wasn’t ready for the team to know about her, so she’d drop him off late, after dropping Phoebe at school and stopping at her flat so she could change into clean clothes. Those delays would hopefully mean that the team would be in the weight room by the time he limped into Nelson Road, and nobody would know about Splits. He knew it was only a matter of time before they found out, but he’d protect her anonymity as long as he could.

A few hours later, the plan had gone perfectly. Splits pulled up to the doors of the Earl Greyhound Training Facility, where there wasn’t another soul around to notice her behind the wheel of Roy’s monstrous vehicle, or see how he almost fell out of it as he tried to maneuver the crutches. After he caught himself, he just stood there looking at Splits.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Just- Thank you for everything the past 12 hours. Couldn’t have done it without you handling all this girlfriend-level shit.”

“I’m glad to do it,” she smiled, and Roy almost felt guilty, like he didn’t deserve someone this great. She continued, “When do you need to be picked up?”

Tilting his head, Roy thought aloud. “You don’t have to pick me up. Jamie lives close, and he owes me for the extra training, so I can probably guilt the prick into driving.”

Splits wilted a bit, like she’d wanted to drive him. Now that he thought about it, he realized that she’d enjoyed getting to drive. And he knew she didn’t have wheels of her own.

“Do you want to borrow the car for a bit?” he blurted out.

His question surprised her. He’d surprised himself, to be honest. “Are you sure, Roy?”

“It’s not like I can fucking use it. You’d be doing me a favor, really; the battery’ll die if nobody drives it, and then I’ll have to call somebody to change it.”

“Roy, I can’t take your car. It’s…” Splits struggled to find an argument, which amused him. “I do like driving it,” she conceded.

“Then take it, babe. Use it to pick me up on the days you’re not working, and I’ll guilt Jamie into doing the rest.”

“I’ll have to meet Jamie properly, since we’ll be sharing custody of you.” Her eyes sparkled at her joke, but Roy could only roll his.

“I’m not letting you anywhere near each other,” he growled. “I’ll never have any peace.”

“Yeah, but you’ll be surrounded by people who care for you, which can’t be all bad.”

Hope blossomed in Roy’s chest as he thought about having people. He didn’t want to believe it, so he waved a dismissive hand at Splits.

“Hmm. You don’t know Tartt. Fucking annoying little prick. I should get in there, make sure he isn’t getting out of hand.”

Splits nodded, a fond smile on her face. “Okay, boyfriend. Have a good day, and let me know if you need anything.”

“You have a good day, too. Have fun driving the Beast.”

“I will!”

Roy closed the passenger door and gave a wave. She waved back and tapped the horn twice before driving away, leaving Roy to gather his courage, summon his sternest coach face, and hobble into training.

If anybody questioned the crutches, they were going to fucking get it.

Tag list: @preciousbabypeter @harry-bowie-mercury @amieinghigh @onceuponaoneshot @chewymoustachio @my-neurodivergent-world

[oh-surprise-its-me]

Roy/Jamie prompt: Jamie gets word that his father has unexpectedly passed away. On the one hand he's relieved, on the other he feels devastated because he did actually still love the sod. Jamie is stoic and made of granite during the whole thing of make arrangements and the funeral, Roy by his side as his friend. But it's when he and Roy are packing up Tartt Sr.'s apartment that Jamie finds something surprisingly poignant that his father kept of him and suddenly and finally Jamie is shattering. Roy is there to catch Jamie when his knees give out on him.

Oh lordddd okay I can do that

Jamie was a blank screen the whole time. Roy was concerned at the funeral but when Roy touched his hand Jamie just linked his finger with Roy’s pinky.

Roy offered to help Jamie clean out the apartment. Everything was going fine and smoothly until Jamie is digging around in the hall closet.

He gasps and stumbled back from the closet. Roy Sees him stumble and joins him from where he was in the kitchen. “You okay?” Jamie turns, he’s holding what looks like a kids jersey.

Roy has the realization it was probably Jamie’s jersey. He’s proven right when Jamie starts talking. “He kept it. All these years he kept something of mine. How could he.”

And just like that Jamie breaks. He starts sobbing. His knees give out but Roy catches him. They fall to the floor. Jamie is shaking uncontrollably, “why. Why did he do this to me. Why. Why. Why.” Jamie can’t breathe.

Roy puts his hand onto Jamie’s chest, “breath Jamie please.” He gets a shuddering breath in. Roy taps his chest, “out now.”

He exhales.

Roy’s not sure what to do. He just keeps holding him. Jamie keeps crying for a while. Roy just rocks him, “we are stopping for today, come on. We’re going to my place.”

Jamie just nods, he’s still gripping the jersey by the time they get to Roy’s house.

“Wanna talk about it?”

Jamie is curled on the couch. “He was so horrible to me for so long. I don’t know why I’m crying. I just crave the father I wish he was.”

Roy sits next to him. He pulls Jamie under his arm. “How old is that jersey?” Jamie winces. “It’s one of my first ones. I was probably 5.”

Roy smiles. “Even baby Jamie knew what he wanted.”

Jamie smiles. “Yeah.”

Roy thinks for a second, he knows this can’t fix it but needs to offer anyways. “You wanna sleep here tonight? We can share my bed.”

Jamie looks up at him. “You sure? I’ll be fine by myself.”

Roy touches the jersey. “Don’t want you to just be fine I want you to be great.” Jamie smiles. “Okay you’ve convinced me. Sure I’ll stay.”

They make it up to Roy’s bed. Jamie ends up in borrowed sweatpants and a shirt that’s too big for him.

He didn’t realize it but Roy’s cologne is an extremely relaxing smell to him. When they lay down Jamie let’s out a quiet laugh. “This is the most clothing I’ve worn to bed in years.” Roy lightly taps his hip, “prick. Don’t start up with that shit again.”

Jamie rolls onto his side to look at Roy. “I cuddle in my sleep. Just thought you should know that now.”

Roy smiles at him. “So do I.” There’s a beat where they are just looking at each other, “I’m sorry you’re having to deal with all of this shit Jamie. It’s not fair.”

Jamie tucks his head down. He slides closer to Roy until he can curl his head under Roy’s chin. “It’s fine. Thanks for helping me through it all.” Roy puts his hand on the back of Jamie’s neck.

“You’ll be okay.”

[gothfoxgirlboy]

Thanks to @dice-foxgirl purchasing the Monster Mash bundle, and despite my computer problems we have the first of 4 stories, say hello to Jamie

Jamie watched as the guy he had dressed up and feminized for a night lost their mind. The poor fool had been scrolling through Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, and even the all-girls university’s list of alumni trying to find who the girl whose picture suddenly became his background was.

Thinking that he had gotten drunk, and snuck over to the nearby university and flirted with a pretty girl. Jamie floated around watching the guy obsessively searching the internet for the girl he could find in the mirror. 

Like the outfit was literally stuff the guy had in his closet. So why was this dudette-to-be coping so hard? Like come on he literally complained that he wishes he was a girl because “the university has excellent programs he’d like to do”. Sure buddy, the classes are why you’re jealous of all these girls, and I’m sure you dressed as a girl for Halloween to be ironic. 

Jamie was fed up. Once more he moves into the body of this egg, moving the fool’s consciousness right out of the mind and effectively putting this guy to sleep. He pilots the body into to the closet, finding all the pieces of clothing that were worn in the image as well as some makeup and accessories.

This was always Jamie’s favorite part, the slow undressing, seeing what he has to work with. A lithe body, dark skin, shaved cleanly, and a beautiful full head of hair, it was like perfect canvas along with some wonderful paint.

Starting with a pair of pink panties, this egg didn’t need to be cracked, she needed to be scrambled. Jamie decides to really go all out, he makes sure to tuck, getting as little of a bulge as possible. 

The fishnets were cheap and hugged the legs a bit too tightly, so after putting on the thigh-highs and skirt, Jamie made sure to rip some holes that would make the thighs look even better and make the fishnets even comfier. 

Though the egg didn’t own a bra, a tanktop folded properly could be stuffed to make some decent breastforms. Though Jamie was tempted to just make the breasts absurdly large, he held back, choosing to make the breasts shapely and proportionate.

The face was always entertaining, and a lot of people had a bit of makeup, today’s lucky egg was someone who had a bit of concealer for acne, some brightly colored costume makeup, and a bit of eyeliner. It wasn’t difficult to do some contouring and a sharp eyeliner. The lipsticks however were an excessively bright red, a strange blue, and a cheap black. But Jamie wasn’t too worried until he tried to find a small bowl. As with many college students cleanliness was not the best and supplies of dishes were low. Jamie settled for rinsing a cup of noodles cup and started breaking pieces of the different lipsticks and mixing them together to make a suitable color. A dark purple would suit the dark face, and with enough mixing, it was a beautiful color. 

Finally applying the lipstick, Jamie finished up just by braiding back the long hair. Looking in the mirror Jamie saw a beautiful woman, pretty enough to stroke to, but that isn’t easy with a tucked cock. So instead Jamie simply wakes up the consciousness he took over, giving control back slowly, as he leaves the body he feels tears rolling down the cheeks of the egg. 

The pure joy was worth the world to Jamie, he’d certainly come back.

Jamie had remembered the egg he cracked around a year ago, having left himself messages online with details. When he came back to the apartment it was empty, no one lived there. However, Jamie had an idea of where the person he was looking for had moved. He heads to the all-girls college, trying to find the courses that the girl should be taking, eventually running into her. 

He waits until she’s done her classes before showing himself to her. When she notices him her eyes light up, recognizing the poltergeist that changed her life. She rushes in for a hug, before realizing her fault. The two of them laugh and talk the night away. 

Jamie is surprised at how well she has taken to HRT. Perhaps, he underestimated how big proportionate breasts would be on this confident young lady. But more than that he was surprised to recognize a lot of her outfits being his own design, even the lipstick she was wearing matched the shade he made for her.

The night went fast, they promised to keep in touch, and Jamie searched for his next egg to crack.

“Polly”

He/him

Polly is an eternally 21 ghost femboy. He is translucent and glows a pale blue color that changes to pink based on his level of arousal. His hair is scruffy looking and around ear length, it is a dirty blonde and curls slightly. He’s 5’7” and has summer-tanned skin with permanent bikini tan lines. He has crooked teeth and a wild smile. He is chubby and would weigh around 160 lbs if he was corporeal. He has very little hair on his body as he shaved often, and he has a soft butt that clearly is where the brunt of his food went. His chest is a bit bigger than flat and his puffy nipples imply that they may have been in the process of growing. He has a decent-sized cock measuring 6 inches when hard.

Polly is definitely a trickster and a pervert. He enjoys showing himself off to passersby who can’t see him in some form of exhibitionism. However, he never goes too far. He had a great love of makeup and fashion that, unlike he himself, has not died. He frequently possesses people to try on their clothing or pick out outfits for them. Spending hours of the night dressing up and doing makeup. Leaving their rooms a mess as he disappears somewhere else during the day. 

More than anything else Polly loves cracking eggs and feminization. Finding boys who hide a few pieces of “girly” clothing and seeing how much they can feminize them in a single night. Dressing up in pretty outfits, using wigs that are in the house, and doing plenty of makeup to show the person they’re possessing what could be. They usually end the night by taking pictures and nudes in the outfits, and masturbating. Making sure the body remembers the pleasure of dressing up and being so pretty. Occasionally, he’ll return to some of the eggs, oftentimes finding them now beginning their transition, whether socially or medically. When he finds the cracked eggs he possesses them once more, this time keeping their consciousness intact so that they are able to communicate. From this, Polly loves to help them dress up in more and more feminine and then more and more slutty clothing. Taking great pleasure in turning them from a boy to a full-on bimbo. To compliment this Polly will send sensations of sexual pleasure to the minds of the eggs they cracked. This pleasure is sometimes so great that his targets end up loving the feeling of being a doll, unable to control themself or choose the way they dress.

Polly was a student in a fashion school who had a tragic accident while modelling. He had another model’s heel break who then pushed him off the catwalk where the impact knocked a light down that crushed him. Upset that he didn’t ever get the chance to really showcase his art he became a ghost who wanders the world. He spends his time teasing and corrupting cuties and cracking eggs. When he isn’t doing this he enjoys designing and posting pieces of clothing online. Much to the dismay of the people who are aware he is dead. However, he is constantly growing his following. Eventually, he may be one of the most famous designers.

Kink list: Feminization, dollification, bimbofication, exhibition

Last of the Halloween adoptables. 3$ starting bid, .50$ increase.

Bidding closes on the 30th.

[hes-writer]

pov

Summary: y/n wants to know how it feels to love herself

Warnings: tw weight, angst, and a bit of fluff

Word Count: 1468 words

Pairings: plus size!reader x harry

Based on: “For all of my pretty, and all of my ugly too. I’d love to see me from your point of view” - pov, Ariana Grande

A/N: heavy themes on this one! please read the warnings

______

Y/N had always stuck out when she was in school.

She was that one girl who was thicker in circumference than other girls. The one who had a double chin without meaning to and the one who had chubby fingers that ‘looked like stubby carrots’ as one mean guy, Jamie, told her during kindergarten. Her cheeks appeared to be full—puffed out—with or without food.

Sometimes it made her blush because people often pointed out how cute she was because of it. Other times—which is most of the time—Y/N blushed because her cheekbones were practically non-existent. Contour couldn’t even save her as it only caused a breakout of tiny pimples to litter her sensitive skin.

Don’t even get her started on her arms—how flappy they were whenever she raised them. Or the way her watch had to be stretched out at the last cut hole around her wrist. She hated how everything looked on her.

“It’s okay, Y/N. He knows you’re a big girl,” She mumbled to herself, stretching the elastic of the sports bra just below her breasts. The fabric was already digging into her thick skin and causing marks to form.

Harry had invited Y/N to work out with him this morning. She thought that it was a fleeting dream, probably because Y/N was half-asleep when he raised the question. But the way Harry eagerly shook her figure awake this morning was a sign that it was reality and Y/N would have to face a very fit Harry while he faced at a not-so-fit her.

They had been together for a year now. Y/N was doubtful of her figure in clothing that did nothing to hide her ‘chunky’ silhouette. She opted for loose sweaters and high-waisted jeans most of the time. Shorts were rarely worn for the first few months of their relationship because Y/N couldn’t even imagine what Harry’s reaction would be like upon seeing her legs. Though, Harry always seemed to prove her wrong when his jaw ripped ajar and he practically salivated at the sight of them.

Y/N was aware that Harry knew that she did not look like the stick-thin models that he had a history of dating. She wasn’t the ‘normal’ size with the perfect ratio of boobs to bum, paired with a flat stomach. The fact was, Y/N had a larger chest and a thicker bottom, but that also meant that her stomach would bulge out, especially when she was bloated.

It took sometime for Y/N to be completely comfortable with herself. Even then, acceptance was a rollercoaster of loving and hating her body depending on how she felt.

Y/N was more comfortable with Harry reaching out to touch her waist. At first, Y/N would immediately shield her middle with an arm draped across or completely flinch back in fear of Harry touching any of her squishy fat. The questioning look he gave her almost made Y/N feel guilty. Now, she would only tense up for a few seconds, holding her breath to suck her tummy in before relaxing because this was Harry.

Harry never gave Y/N a reason to doubt herself. He supported her in every diet she planned to spearhead and comforted her when it didn’t exactly work out the way she wanted it to. Harry was there to take care of her when she felt too dizzy to move because she refused to take another bite solely because she went over her calorie limit for the day. He was the one with worried brows when Y/N would stare at herself in the bathroom mirror, wondering why nothing had changed when she was working so hard. Or, it felt like it.

Harry was also there for her when Y/N squealed in happiness at the sight of the scale showcasing a number that has decreased from the last time she was on it. He saw first hand how Y/N’s eyes brightly lit up from the smile on her face. The fondness of his green eyes prevailed because he was so so proud of her. Small steps.

——

Y/N was not too keen on working out with Harry because he had never seen her in that state before.

As silly as it sounds, Y/N had managed to steer Harry away when she was jogging on the treadmill or doing stationary workouts. If she didn’t like the way she looked, sweaty and out of breath, why would he?

Being in work out clothes didn’t make it any better either. He would see every crunch of her stomach fold as she struggled to do a sit up whereas he could continuously do some without a hitch in his breath. Y/N was sure that she would stumble somehow because of her stubby legs while Harry would be stoic because he was light.

And although Y/N was working on her technique, she would still get out of breath after about a minute.

It was just too . . . embarrassing to witness.

A knock on the door sounded rapidly before the door opened, revealing Harry in his short sleeved t-shirt and athletic shorts. A sweatband was keeping his curls away from his face.

‘You ready, sweetheart?” He questioned, standing behind her with his chin on her plush shoulder and hands running over the skin of her arms.

Y/N caught his gaze through the mirror. Sad, droopy eyes doing once over at her reflection before shaking her head ‘no’.

“I-I can’t let you see me like this,” Y/N admitted shyly, tugging on the band once more to snap it back in place. “I don’t look very nice,”

Harry pursed his lips in a thin line, roaming his hands over her stomach. Y/N winced at the closeness of his touch, inching her hand to grab at his. Though, Harry was quick to catch them.

“No, listen to me, Y/N,” He stared at her down. His breath was hitting her damp neck and she nodded nervously. “I do not care what you look like. You look beautiful to me everyday; with makeup without make up. In sweatpants or in skinny jeans. I don’t care,”

Y/N opened her mouth to respond because ‘that’s not really how you think of me’, she thought.

“It’s true,” Harry shrugged. “‘Know ya’ don’t believe me but it’s true. Love the way you’re plush on your stomach and everywhere else,”

Y/N laughed sarcastically, “You’re lying. There’s no way—look at me!”

“I am,” He said sternly, turning her around so that they could be face-to-face. “I’m looking at you right now, no?” Harry tilted his head to the side, raising an arm to thumb away the tears pooling beneath her eyes.

“Y-you just—how can you love me when I don’t even love myself? I can’t even look at myself in the mirror without crying,”

Harry’s heart broke with the withering sound of Y/N’s voice. Her words and tone held a truthfulness that pained him to no end. He couldn’t imagine the hatred Y/N felt for herself. Harry wished that he could make her see how beautiful she was.

“S’cause you’re not looking properly, love,” He whispered. His thumb stroked her cheek, hating the way her mouth drooped in a frown a little ways away. “Y’looking at yourself and finding things to hate,”

“There’s nothing to love, is there?”

Harry shook his head, grasping her jaw to look at her in the eye.

“There’s everything to love,” He pulled Y/N in for a hug. The feeling of her bare skin in his instantly warming his chest, toasting any sort of dilemma into a fuzzy feeling. “I wish you’d see it too,”

Y/N nodded in agreement, sniffling against his chest, “How do you do it, H?”

“Do what?”

“Love me,” She sighed, giving in to his embrace and wrapping her arms around his body. “For all of my pretty, which I doubt, and all of my ugly—you just accept everything about me. I jus’ wanna know how it feels like to love myself like you. . . like you love me,”

Harry’s heart practically melted at the whisper of her last few words—barely audible. But nonetheless, it warmed his heart that Y/N knew that she was loved. Y/N traced random patterns on his chest, zeroing in on the action to distract her from her shot of vulnerability.

“That’s how love works, no? Y’love someone despite what they think—despite what everybody thinks because it’s jus’ you and your person,”

_____

I love you guys.

[mypoisonedvine]

Ties That Bind, Debts That Burden | Curtis Everett x reader

for @stargazingfangirl18​ and @navybrat817​‘s august challenge!  my prompt was the gif!

summary: you didn’t expect the man who bought you to be so kind.  you didn’t expect to fall for him, either.

warnings: death of a parent character, kidnapping, implied noncon/mentions of noncon, sexism, sexual slavery (mentioned), dub con (but not in the way you’re expecting), implied age gap (everyone is over 18!! as always!!), semi-public sex, breeding kink, loss of virginity, pain kink (slightly)

word count: a bit over 4k (and I wrote it all in one day... hey that rhymes!)

[this is another one of those things where the fic itself is dark due to the subject matter, but the character in question is not ‘dark’ in the traditional sense.  so, curtis is a good dude, it’s everyone else that sucks; this is a dark fic tonally, but not sexually per se]

Life in the tail section was ruthless.  It was all about survival, and survival was about being stronger than others.  You weren’t strong.  What you did have was your father, and he had kept you safe all your life, even before the two of you had lived in this terrible place.  He was a sort of leader; people looked up to him, and as a result, they obeyed his wishes to stay away from you.  Even so, you could sense that a lot of the men in the train were just waiting for their chance to take you.  Women who didn’t have significant skills to offer, women like you, were seen as a commodity with only one purpose.  Less like wives and more like slaves, they were traded, sold, and bartered for like clothes or rations.  It made you feel sick, but most of all it made you terrified for what would happen when your father couldn’t protect you anymore.  He was strong, but old, and so tired.  You hated to see how hard he had to work so late into his life, just so that you wouldn’t have to suffer.  

When he died, it almost didn’t feel real.  Even though it was sort of expected with the way his health had been declining for months, it was nothing you ever could’ve imagined.  A world without your father meant a world you were truly alone in… and only now did you confront the real cruelty of life in the tail section.

You woke up to being dragged by your hair; you screamed and kicked, but there was little you could do as you were thrown down onto the floor.  Your worthless fighting was muted as rags were used to bind your wrists and ankles, and a gag silenced you.  You looked up to see you were surrounded by men, with one-- you were pretty sure his name was Jamie, you’d seen him around before-- standing up and hovering over you.

“Her father is finally dead!” he announced to the crowd with a dirty smile that was missing a few teeth.  “I got my hands on her first, but I’m willing to sell her to any reasonable bidders.”

“Five rations,” one voice quickly jutted in.

“Five-- what the fuck are you talking about, man?  Everyone’s been drooling over this little tart for years and you offer me five rations?!  Get a grip,” Jamie spat.  

“Twenty,” another called out.

“Getting warmer,” Jamie laughed.  “Come on, boys, she’s never known a man before.  This is truly a priceless opportunity.”

“Thirty!”

“Thirty-three!”

“Best I can do is thirty-five.”

“This is preposterous,” Jamie scoffed.  “She’s a virgin, and look how cute she is when she cries!  If nobody’s gonna make me a suitable offer,” he growled, suddenly grabbing you by your neck and putting his face right against yours, “maybe I’ll keep you for myself, hm?”

You sobbed and tried to squirm away but it was beyond useless, your bound limbs overpowered easily as he held you down and licked a stripe up the side of your face, just to hear you scream behind your gag.

“I’ll take her,” a deep voice boomed suddenly.  “A hundred rations.”

“A-- what?” Jamie stammered. 

You tried to look around at who it was but you couldn’t see very well in the dark.

“It’s more than enough,” the man continued.  “Hand her over.”

“Curtis,” Jamie greeted awkwardly, and your eyes went wide with recognition, “I… didn’t take you for the bartering type.”

That was an understatement.  You knew Curtis, like some of the more chivalrous men of the back car, was a long-standing boycotter of this sort of activity.  He didn’t even seem interested in the women who wanted to sleep with him, let alone those who were being sold against their will.  Seemed like his patience had worn out, and he was finally giving in to his biological needs, no matter who would suffer cruelty along the way.  Just your luck that it would be you for sale when he gave up on his morals.

“I didn’t take you for the type to stall when he’s offered a great deal,” Curtis replied coldly.  “Now give me the girl and take your payment.”

Something must have changed hands, but you were too busy staring at the corrugated steel floor and hoping it was all a dream that would end any moment.  

You lurched back as Jamie picked you up again, tossing you to Curtis who caught you awkwardly.

“Have fun with her,” Jamie encouraged, “make sure it’s loud enough so we can all hear; a little consolation prize for the rest of us.”

Curtis said nothing as he turned and dragged you to his bunk, ignoring your muffled pleas.  When he set you down, he kneeled beside you and put a hand on each shoulder to brace you.

“I’m going to take off this gag, and your ties,” he offered, “but you need to stop crying, okay?  Everything will be alright.  I won’t hurt you.”

You weren’t sure you believed that, but you tried to steady your breathing.  Maybe if you did what he said, he would be gentle with you…

You nodded slowly, and he untied the gag.  Your sore mouth appreciated the reprieve as you wiggled your mouth around to stretch your lips.  You had sort of assumed that whoever bought you would leave the restraints on, so that you wouldn’t fight back.  But Curtis was so strong and healthy, he didn’t even need to bind you: your body tensed up again at that realization.

“Shh, shh, calm down,” he requested as he worked on the knot around your feet, “you don’t need to be afraid of me.”

Finally your limbs were freed, though that freedom was wasted on exhaustedly falling to the cold steel floor.

“Use this rag to clean off a little,” he instructed, handing you a cloth that had been soaked in water, “and go back to sleep for the night.”

“You… you’re not going to…?” you murmured, confused.

“I don’t believe in enslavement,” he shook his head.  “Your father was a good man; he did a lot for me, even when I had nothing to offer him in return.  He told me to pay him back by keeping you safe after he was gone.”

You hadn’t realized your father knew Curtis so well.  You’d seen him around, sure, but he was more a stranger than anything.

“Thank you…” you whispered, your voice hoarse and ragged.

“You need to rest,” he whispered back.  “You can sleep in my bed-- someone’s already claimed yours, I’m sure.  I’ll be on the floor beside you if you need me.”

Your cheeks burned with guilt.  “Curtis, don’t do that.  You spent so much on me... I don’t want to be any more of a burden.”

“Don’t worry about that now,” he soothed, “we can talk in the morning.  Get your sleep.”

After washing yourself hastily with the rag (focusing most on wherever Jamie had touched you), you slipped into the sheets on his mattress, finding him different from the ones you were used to, but comfortable in spite of the unfamiliarity.  

Curtis settled in on the floor, and in the near-darkness you could just make out the silhouette of his face as he closed his eyes and relaxed against a roll of tattered clothes as an improvised pillow.  You’d always thought he was handsome, and the impression you’d gotten was that he was patient, and honorable, but kept to himself.  You could remember just a few nights ago when you never could’ve imagined this being your new life.  Although you did wonder if Curtis was simply waiting for the morning to claim you, in the meantime you decided to take him at his word and just be thankful that someone seemingly kind had bought you instead of Jamie or his fellow bidders.

Two weeks later...

If anything, it was odd how little Curtis had asked of you.  He didn’t even really talk to you.  Even your father expected you to help him with anything you could; sometimes it was just keeping him company, listening to him.  But Curtis all but avoided you.  All that said, his presence was rarely needed to keep you safe.  People respected your father, but they feared Curtis.  He wasn’t violent-- well, he wasn’t violent typically.  Nearly a week ago he had gone to fisticuffs for you after a man had tried to grope you.  The weird thing was that you hadn’t even realized Curtis was nearby: one moment you were alone and being pulled into a stranger’s oppressive form as he purred in your ear, the next Curtis had appeared and shoved him off of you.  That seemed to get the point across that Curtis’ things were not to be touched.

Feeling guilty, you decided to do whatever chores you could think of while he was away from his ‘room’ (which was, of course, not a room at all but a bed draped with a canopy of tattered fabric in order to create some privacy).  You waited for his return with a little smile on your face, sure he would be grateful for your service and maybe would start to warm up to you more.

“Hi, Curtis,” you greeted with a peppy grin when you saw him approaching, jumping up from where you had been sitting.

“You washed my clothes,” he noticed instantly.

Your smile fell when you realized that he wasn’t happy.  “Did I do something wrong?” you asked sheepishly.

“You are not my slave; I cannot make that more clear,” he frowned.  “Never do a chore on my behalf again.”

“Please, Curtis.  You’ve done so much for me, just let me prove my usefulness.”

“You want to be useful?  Stay out of harm’s way.”

“Oh, I see,” you sneered, “you don’t want me to do your chores because I am your chore.  Is that all you see me as?  A debt you are repaying to my father?”

He seemed confused by that question.  “What else could I see you as?”

“A partner!” you protested.  “A woman!”

He grabbed you suddenly, pulling you into him by your wrists.  “Stop talking like that.  I won’t hear any more of it.  Just stay quiet and take care of yourself.”

He dropped you as you began to cry, crumpling into a ball on the floor.

“Don’t cry,” he frowned.  “Why could you be crying, when all I told you was that you don’t have to do anything?”

“I suppose I should be thankful that you’re not sadistic,” you explained with a shaky, weak voice, “but you’re still plenty cruel to me, I hope you know that.  You ignore me completely-- and no one else will talk to me, because they’re afraid to upset you.  I’ve never been so alone.”

He sighed and sat down beside you on the floor.  “I never meant to…” he trailed off.  “I bought you to save you from them.  Not because I had any purpose for you.”

“I have no purpose,” you stated plainly, moving from sad to stoic.  “Don’t you hear how sad that sounds?  Can you blame me for being upset when you’re telling me straight to my face that I’m useless?”

He seemed to at least see where you were coming from with that, looking to the side with an oddly guilty look in his eyes.

Suddenly, he reached to pull up his shirt and you gasped when you saw a cut along his side.

“I fell,” he explained, “and scraped against something.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” you comforted to the best of your ability, “I hope it’s not giving you too much trouble.”

“It’s not, but I’m worried it’ll get infected.”

You thought for a moment.  “I could… help you clean it?”

“Sure,” he nodded, “that would be nice.  Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” you shrugged as you grabbed a rag to dampen.  “I’ll be right back.”

You cleaned his wound in silence, carefully washing away the dried blood, even when he sucked in breaths through his teeth as you touched the sensitive places.  The task at hand distracted you from your previous outburst; this was exactly proof of why you needed things to do, you’d go crazy otherwise.  

“I don’t think it’ll need stitches,” you informed him as you put the rag away and rolled his shirt back down.  “We’ll just clean it again tomorrow and I bet that’ll be enough.”

“Good,” he nodded.

The day was winding down to a close already, and you looked around to see a lot of the people nearby starting to prepare for bed, if they weren’t already on their mattresses with their eyes and ears covered to block out the distractions of those still awake.

“I think you should take the bed tonight, since you’re injured,” you offered.  Up until now, you’d been alternating nights on the floor; it was the only compromise you two could come to.

“I couldn’t ask you to sleep on the ground two nights in a row,” he shook his head.

“You’re not asking me to.  I’m telling you that I will.”

“I won’t take the bed.”

You crossed your arms and grinned stubbornly.  “Then we’ll both be on the floor.”

“Fine,” he sighed with defeat, “I’ll take the bed, but only if you share it with me.  I can never sleep well when all I can think about is how cold and uncomfortable you must be.”

You were surprised to hear that, because you had always felt the same way on the nights you were in the bed.  Seemed both of you were getting worse sleep than you let on.

“F-fine,” you stammered, realizing how little space the two of you would have to work with on the mattress, “we’ll share it then.”

“Might help with the cold anyway,” he shrugged as he stood up, removing his outermost layer of clothes before slipping behind the curtain that surrounded the bed.  You swallowed, as if you hadn’t realized until now that you were going to be in bed with him so soon.  

You removed your jacket as well; even though you normally liked to sleep in something less bulky than the dress you were wearing now, you figured he would protest if you were in any state of undress while sharing a bed with him.

As you pulled the curtain aside, you found him already on the farther side of the bed, facing away from you.  He was so far off the edge that he surely would’ve fallen if there wasn’t a wall on the other side.  

“Curtis, you’re twice my size and you’ve left nearly two-thirds of the bed for me,” you chuckled, slipping into the covers with him and noticing how much space was still left between you.  “Relax, won’t you?”

“Alright,” he relented, laying back a little as his shoulder brushed against yours.  

“Goodnight, Curtis,” you mumbled as you settled in and got as comfortable as could be reasonably expected, letting your eyes fall shut.  Sure, it took awhile, but with a forced relaxation you were able to drift to sleep and stay that way for quite some time.

At some point, you awoke to the softest noise beside you.  At first you thought it was just your dream, but then you heard it again-- Curtis was breathing strangely, and you jumped up when you heard a strained noise of pain.

“Curtis!” you hissed into the dark.  “Are you hurt?  Is everything alright?”

“What?” he stammered, jolting away from you.  

“You were--” you started to explain, but then you realized he was palming at his trousers; specifically, he was stuffing his cock back into them.  “Oh.”

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, “I didn’t-- sometimes you just-- I never meant to--”

“Are you feeling… frustrated?” you asked him softly, moving a little closer to where he was pressing himself back against the wall.

“It’s fine,” he assured you, “I’m fine.”

“Let me help you,” you pleaded.  “I wanted to help you so much, but there was nothing I could do.  Let me do this, please.  I want you to feel good…”

“Your father, I promised him--” he began, but you interrupted.

“Don’t talk about my father,” you requested.  “You kept your promise.  I’m safe.  Let me thank you for all you’ve done.”

Your hand reached out and made contact with his heaving chest through the thin layer of his shirt, beginning to trail down over his stomach and finally to the hard outline inside his trousers.

“W-wait,” he stuttered quietly, even though you felt him quietly sigh with relief as you palmed at his erection.

“I don’t want to wait anymore,” you whispered-- so quiet even you could barely hear it-- as you leaned in and your nose brushed against his cheek.  “I wanted you for so long, Curtis, did you not know?  Wanted to touch you… wanted to make love with you…”

He let out a long-held breath as you reached into his trousers and wrapped your arm around his length.  It was so hot in your palm; it warmed you in the most intoxicating way.

“R-really?” he murmured.

“Of course I did,” you answered, moving your hand and slowly stroking him.  God, the poor man must’ve been so pent-up: he was bucking into your touch already, his cock so hard that you wondered if it was hurting him.  “Every woman on the train lusts for you.  To have you so close and not be able to do anything about it, it was torture.”

“Nothing compared to what it was like,” he groaned softly, “to want to have you for so long and feel horrible for it.”

You began to pump his cock faster, seeking more of those beautiful noises he was making.  The way his length flexed against your palm made arousal tingle all throughout your body.

His hand slipped to the back of your neck, his fingertips brushing up against your hairline and making you shiver.  He whispered your name and you felt like putty in his hands, so distracted by your own need that the pace of your strokes faltered briefly.

The two of you stayed like that for a few moments longer-- foreheads pressed together, shivering and shaking and panting in each other’s arms-- before a rush of adrenaline gave you the confidence to speak.

“I want it inside me,” you whispered against his ear.  “Please, Curtis, I want you inside me.”

You swung your leg over to straddle him, pushing yourself up off of his chest.  He whispered your name with shock as you lifted your tattered dress and pulled it over your shoulders.

“Touch me,” you begged.  “Didn’t you want to?  I wondered if you did.  I wondered how your hands would feel…” you trailed off as you grabbed his wrists and guided his hands to your waist.  They were strong and rough, and so hot against your skin that you thought you might just burn up right there.  He moved them on his own then, sliding them up to your breasts which he gently grasped.  You sighed a little and melted into his touch.

His thumbs teased your nipples, which were already hard and alert.  You tried your best to suppress your moans, aware that many other passengers were sleeping nearby.  Secretly, the idea that they would hear Curtis pleasuring you was almost titillating.  You hoped it would make them all jealous.

“You’re so soft,” he whispered, “and… smooth…”

“Did you long for me?” you asked, your curiosity getting the better of you.

“Yes,” he finally admitted, “yes, I wanted you.  I want you now.”

You reached down and grasped his cock again, guiding it to your wet, swollen opening.  He made a noise that sounded something like a whimper and a groan as the head of his cock moved through your folds.

As you sunk down, you tried to ignore the burn of his cock stretching you open, though a pained whimper escaped your lips.  

Curtis’ hands gripped your hips tight enough to bruise as you slowly took more and more of him into you.  His head fell back with a groan, lost in the way your walls gripped him tighter than he thought possible.  In that moment, he wanted more than anything to hold you close and never let go.

You shivered as your hips met his, feeling full in a way you could’ve never imagined.  It still stung as he forged a new path inside you, moulded you to his shape, but you didn’t mind because it was him.  

You were so weak that you struggled to lift yourself on top of him, but he gently guided you to lessen your load.  Your body adjusted to him rather slowly, and every time you rocked your hips made you hiss with discomfort along with the sparks of pleasure burning through your gut.  Even when it hurt, you wanted more; if nothing else, the noises of his restrained ecstasy spurred you on.

Leaning down, you laid yourself on his chest so that you could hear him better, and him you.  His arms wrapped around you and you felt small; normally, feeling small meant feeling weak, vulnerable, scared… but in his arms, it was wonderful.  You felt vulnerable, yes, but protected.

Your name tumbled from his lips like a whispered chant as you moved on top of him, and you whispered his name back.  The way his cock rubbed against your insides felt so good that you couldn’t even remember that it hurt before, but then again, you couldn’t remember anything from before right now and you didn’t want to.

Your moans got louder and louder, though they were still relatively quiet, but either way they were like music to his ears, sweet and soft and all for him-- just like you.

“S-stop,” he groaned, “you have to stop.”

“Why?” you gasped, feeling a little guilty for not instantly obeying, and yet too lost in pleasure to stop moving your hips.

“If you don’t stop, I’ll come,” he explained breathlessly, “and you could get pregnant.”

You bit your lip, feeling your face warm with an emotion you were sure you hadn’t experienced before.  “What if that’s what I want?” 

“Fuck,” he sighed.

“What if I want you to come inside me?  What if I want to have your baby?” you continued.

You managed to suppress your yelp as he grabbed you and flipped you both over until you were on your back and he was hovering over you.

“Is that what you want?” he asked with a low growl. 

“Yes,” you gasped, “Curtis, it’s all I ever wanted.”

“Fuck,” he moaned, pulling back and thrusting into you again.  He lifted your legs to rest on his shoulders, nearly folding you in half as he fucked into you so deep that you could scream.  You didn’t, but you wanted to.  “Gonna fill you up so good… you’re gonna be so full,” he promised, “you’re gonna be mine.”

“I already am,” you promised, “I always was.”

He leaned down to dominate your lips with a searing kiss, fucking you deep and slow but with an increasing ferocity.  Each thrust was harder than the last until the most prominent sound was the slapping of skin, your arousal so prominent that it was beginning to leak and drip down your thighs and ass.

“Tell me who you belong to,” he growled, right against your ear.

“You,” you moaned, “I belong to you, Curtis.”

“Fuck yeah you do.”

You gripped his arms tight as you felt your walls spasming with your orgasm-- it was unlike anything you’d felt before, even though you’d touched yourself plenty of times up until now.  Already you knew you were going to be addicted to this feeling.  Poor Curtis; you were going to be begging him to fuck you day and night if this was how good it felt.

The tightening of your body around him, and the way you bit down on your lip to keep from screaming with pleasure… it was all too much for him to hold back any more, and with a stuttered groan he spilled himself into you.  

You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him into another kiss.  He relaxed on top of you as he reciprocated, both of you basking in the glow of the moment.

“Don’t pull out yet,” you pleaded as the kiss ended, “just hold me a little longer, won’t you?”

“Of course,” he smiled softly, placing one small, delicate kiss to the tip of your nose.

“Did you really want me for so long, like you said?” you pressed, remembering what he’d said and fearing it was just a sweet nothing in the heat of the moment.

“You have no idea how long,” he sighed.  “I dreamed of this; of you being mine.”

“Was it everything you imagined?”

“And more,” he assured with a soft laugh.  “Best hundred rations I ever spent.”

[novelconcepts]

Jamie & Dani short prompt- Online Dating au meeting online and being from bad past relationship. Thank u

This is probably a bad idea. It is, isn’t it? Almost certainly.

Why is she here?

Dani Clayton has been playing this particular set of thoughts--bad idea, terrible idea, why would you do this?--on repeat for three days. Ever since setting up that dating profile. Ever since realizing there isn’t much use in setting up a dating profile if you’re not going to use it. 

Oh, it’s all fun and games, building the thing. Find a photo that accentuates all the best parts of your face--Dani, after an hour of careful consideration, wound up going with one that accentuated her hair, more than anything, but she suspects the same idea counts. Then, the profile. What do you like? Teaching, long walks, new experiences, bad coffee. What don’t you like? 

Men, she’d thought, and snorted aloud into her wine before settling on: Deep water, accordion music, expectations, being called Danielle. 

A little more flourish, tipsy keystrokes, a casually-framed short-version of her life. Perfect. And then...well, then you hit the publish button, don’t you? You decide, for better or worse, to jump off this diving board and see just how far you can stand to swim before the energy gives out on you.

The faces appearing before her hadn’t been bad, certainly. Pretty, most of them. Interesting, a few. Still, she hadn’t swiped right on any--once or twice, because she’d forgotten which way meant yes please, but mostly because no one seemed quite...right. Which, she’d thought, was silly. The whole point of an app like this is to cast as many nets as possible and see what comes up. The whole point is to have fun. 

But every time she’d hovered over a promising image, a woman who likes dogs, or plays the violin, or goes rock-climbing in her spare time, she’d thought of him. Eddie. Who had taken one yes to a single date, and tried to make a whole life with her out of it. 

Eddie, who had taken her two decades to pull away from. 

What if the women here were the same? Not Eddie, exactly, but--presumptive. What if they believed a swipe-right was as good as a marriage proposal? What if she got bound up in conversation, and then a date, and then a relationship with someone else who just didn’t fit right?

Left. Left. Left. 

And then: the mistake.

She hadn’t meant to swipe right. Exactly. She hadn’t planned, maybe is the better way of putting it, on swiping right. She’d only wanted to look at the woman’s profile a little longer. Only wanted to inspect the facets this woman had put out on display with almost resigned simplicity. 

Some people, Dani had by now realized, wrote poetry and paragraphs to describe themselves. 

Jamie Taylor had bullet points.

“Gardener. English. Likes: Plants. Stories. Tea. Dislikes: Bullshit.”

The end. That had been quite literally the sum of it. Gardener. English. No bullshit.

But the picture, somehow, Dani hadn’t been able to look away from. Not because of carefully-arranged lighting, not because of a curated model-clean image--but because the woman appeared to have posted the photo almost under duress. It came in profile, as though someone else had done the job, her head turned toward the camera as if interrupted. Her hands were buried in a flower pot. Her clothes were simple--a tank top, a silver chain resting against the jut of collarbones, a pair of worn-looking jeans with holes in the knees. Her eyes--some fascinating color Dani couldn’t quite place--looked somewhere between amused and irritated. 

She looked real. 

Stupid, Dani thinks now--because that was probably the idea, wasn’t it? This woman, Jamie, had planned to look exactly this way. Real. Vexed at the idea of putting herself out there. Reluctantly available. 

It was a ploy, certainly--but one that seems to be working, because not only did Dani accidentally-not-accidentally swipe right, she found herself texting the woman. For hours. She’d expected much less, had figured this Jamie person would be as brief in text as she had been in bio, but...

Jamie had talked to her. Willingly. Teasingly, with more humor than truth, maybe, but with no sign at all that she was sick of Dani’s questions, bad jokes, nervous assessment that I really don’t do this, I honestly don’t get it. 

I don’t, either, Jamie had replied, and that had felt like enough of a reason to keep testing the waters. Enough of a reason to keep the conversation going back and forth, back and forth, until nearly two in the morning.

Shit, she’d said. I need to be at work in four hours. 

Shame, Jamie had replied, her tone already searingly familiar over text. Own your own business, make your own hours. Far wiser approach. 

I’ll make a note of it for when I found an elementary school, Dani had replied, laughing. She hadn’t said she’d already been in bed for an hour, the phone resting on the pillow beside her head so she wouldn’t miss the buzz of a new message. It had seemed perfectly reasonable at the time, with wine-warmed blood and the happy haze of good conversation. Jamie made her laugh. Jamie put her at ease. Jamie might not have been real, but she felt real, and that was good. 

Better than anything she’d felt in years, if she was honest with herself. 

Still, when the next day had come and gone with no message, she’d thought, Fair enough. Jamie had been good virtual company for one night. It was more than she’d expected to get out of this app.

Far more than she’d expected, particularly when Thursday night rolled around and her phone buzzed.

Teacher, yeah? No school on Saturday?

Correct, Dani had replied, as amused by the out-of-left-field text as she was irritated with how her stomach had flipped over upon receiving it. You have figured out the complexity of the American school system. 

I am a genius, Jamie sent back, followed quickly by: Drinks tomorrow night? 

Drinks. A thing that people do. A thing that adult people do for date reasons. 

She isn’t real, she’d thought, even as her thumb was punching back: How’s 8? Miller’s?

A mistake. Definitely a mistake. Because the app had been a lark, and the conversation had been too easy, and the fact that she can’t quite pick out the colors in Jamie’s eyes from a single photo is making her crazier than she’d like to admit. 

A mistake, saying yes. A mistake, suggesting the local pub-like establishment around the corner, whose beer-and-burger specials had kept her fed on too many evenings spent working late. A mistake, because once this goes south--as it’s absolutely bound to, as everything Eddie-shaped always has--she’s going to lose her favorite hangout in the deal, too.

And yet: here she is. Standing at the door, wondering if the outfit chosen for the evening festivities--tight jeans, pink blouse, hoop earrings--is too much or not nearly enough. 

What am I doing here?

Maybe, she thinks with mingled alarm and hope, she won’t even have showed up. Maybe it’s all part of the ruse: look approachable, look human and normal, look a little too beautiful in the most grounded way possible--then, cheerfully, invite a woman to drinks and just don’t show. A fun story for whoever comes next. Can you believe she thought I’d want to meet her after one night of texting?

“Dani?” 

English, Dani thinks with a sudden rush of heat. Right. Somehow, she hadn’t quite been prepared for the accent, which--coming out of this woman, draped with languid ease at a table--is truly a little more than Dani thinks she can handle just now. The accent, combined with the mess of curls dragged back from her face, and a dress sense that manages to be both casual and deeply attractive at the same time, is...

“Jamie,” she says, her voice a little lower, a little more hoarse, than is truly necessary. The woman pushes up from her seat, a small-framed figure in a black button-down, suspenders, ripped jeans. She’s pressing a hand toward Dani, offering a firm shake as though they are business partners, not an off-the-cuff bad idea of a date. “You look--”

“Never been here before,” Jamie says, almost apologetically. She gestures for Dani to sit before dropping back down in a sprawl that implies exactly the opposite of what her mouth is insisting. “Wasn’t sure about the, ah, dress code.”

“You--you did fine,” Dani tells her, wishing suddenly she’d gone for a dress. Or a  different human body altogether. She feels too tightly-strung, too anxious for the easy smile on Jamie’s lips. “Um. You’re very. In person.”

“Very,” Jamie repeats, a hint of uncertainty in her voice. “Is very American for wish I’d gone left, after all?”

“No. No. Absolutely not. That.” Bit too forceful, she suspects, judging by the smile spreading into a grin. “No, it’s just--your picture didn’t--tell me you’d be so...”

“Clean?” Jamie suggests innocently. She raises her hands, wiggling her fingers in a small wave. “Scrub up fine, when I need to. Seemed to call for it.”

“And you...sure did answer,” Dani says stupidly. “The. Call, I mean. I’m sorry, I really don’t do this often.”

Something seems to soften in Jamie, her smile less teasing as she leans across the table. “Hey, no worries here. Same person you were talking to the other night.”

Dani nods, embarrassed, and flags down a server. Drinks ordered, she draws in a deep breath.

“I mean, I haven’t done this in years. Or. Ever, I guess.”

“A first date?” Jamie asks. When Dani doesn’t answer, she adds in a knowing tone, “A date with a woman?”

“Both,” Dani says honestly. “My last relationship was--well, I mean, we were engaged--”

Jamie whistles under her breath, reaching up to scratch her head. “Blimey. What happened?”

“He’s...him.” It’s too much to go into on a first date, too much to explain, even though talking to Jamie over text had been so dangerously easy. “My best friend growing up, but that was...growing up.”

Jamie nods thoughtfully, tilting her chin in thanks when the server deposits two full pint glasses and a basket of fries on the table. “Rough time, sounds like. I can relate. My last relationship also did not go well.”

“Was he also a man who thought you’d be all too happy to quit your job and take care of a bunch of babies?” Dani asks, perhaps a little too bitterly for the occasion. Jamie flashes another grin, sipping her drink.

“She was a woman who thought I’d be all too happy to take the fall when she got busted for possession.”

Dani gapes. “Oh. Oh--I didn’t know--I’m so--”

Jamie shrugs. “She wasn’t wrong. I was nineteen, and deeply stupid. Live and learn, as the poets say.”

“Which poets?” Dani asks, smiling a little. Jamie’s brow furrows.

“John...Lennon, possibly? Hard to say. Anyway, relationships are a chore and a half, but the greatest people in the world tell me thirty is too old to play musical bedframes, so. Here we are.”

No bullshit, thinks Dani approvingly. For what little she’d put into her profile, Jamie evidently hadn’t been lying about that.

“You haven’t been in a relationship since you were nineteen?”

“In my mind, I was still in the relationship at twenty-four, when they let me out. She didn’t agree. Found out she’d been married two years, by then.” Something darkens in Jamie’s eyes for a moment. She sighs. “Like I said. Not my finest. But I am, as they say, a shining beacon of reform these days.”

“Now, when you say they,” Dani teases, grinning. Jamie nods decisively. 

“John Lennon. Definitively.”

There it is, thinks Dani, watching Jamie pop a fry into her mouth. There, the easy roll of conversation from the other night. As though they’ve known each other forever. As though two people who have thus far failed irrevocably at relationships make a perfect match.

Easy, she thinks. Don’t go wild, now. 

“So,” she says, when the comfortable silence between them has grown a bit too comfortable for the setting, “who are the greatest people in the world? The ones who tell you thirty is too old for...did you say musical bedframes?”

Jamie laughs. The ring of it curls gently around Dani’s head like a soft hand, a sound she’ll find herself replaying later with a skipping heart. 

“Not many willing to put up with a grump of my caliber, but Hannah and Owen fight the good fight. So long as I at least pretend to try.”

“Let me guess. They set up the account for you?”

Jamie makes a sort of gesture in the air with the hand not holding her glass. “Threatened to bury me in puns and children, respectively, if I kept putting it off. Owen’s still grumpy about the photo choice.”

“I liked it,” Dani says without thinking. Jamie raises an eyebrow.

“Well, you did swipe as much. Mind if I ask why?”

Walked into this one. Still, she doesn’t mind as much as she probably should, not with the genuine curiosity in Jamie’s eyes. “You looked--don’t laugh.”

“No promises,” Jamie says, but with the gentle tone of one who knows exactly how much to tease before it’ll hurt. The idea warms Dani in a way she’s not quite ready to look at yet.

“You looked real,” Dani says. “Like you weren’t going to play games, or waste anyone’s time. Like you just wanted to be happy in peace.”

“That is,” Jamie says, holding out a fry for Dani to take, “sort of the idea, yeah.”

There’s an almost puzzled cast to her smile, like she didn’t entirely expect this answer, and is pleased by it at the same time. That same sense from the photo sweeps over Dani now--that this woman is authentic, even if she’s not always shiny, that she’s kind even if not entirely clean. That she doesn’t have any interest in muddled expectation or living a comfortable lie.

“And me?” Dani asks. She doesn’t entirely mean to--but she’s sure, in asking, that Jamie will answer. Jamie is unlike anyone else she’s ever met, the first person she’s ever known to meet each question head-on. 

“Honestly?”

Dani nods. Jamie seems to consider it, turning it over in her head as she twists a fry between her fingers like a cigarette. 

“All of it.”

“That’s,” Dani begins to laugh, “that’s not--”

“No,” Jamie says, and she isn’t smiling, exactly. Her eyes have a sort of shine Dani likes very much, but there is no hint of teasing in them now. “Really. All of it. You’re...very pretty, and that’s--but the way you described yourself. Like you didn’t care to be anyone in particular. You like new experiences, and bad coffee. You hate being called Danielle. I...I wanted to know why.”

“It’s not my name,” Dani says simply. Jamie gives a brief laugh, her hand moving across the table to lightly brush Dani’s fingertips. 

“I wanted to know why all of it. Why do you like bad coffee--”

“It’s the only kind I know how to make,” Dani says automatically. “Just sort of leaned into it.”

“--and teaching--”

“I want to make a difference,” Dani says. 

“--and where you most like to go on those long walks--”

“Anywhere I can breathe,” Dani says. Her fingers are hesitant, tracing the tips of Jamie’s. There’s something electric about this, about barely touching, about barely knowing someone and still wanting to give them neatly-packaged secrets shaped like the mundane. 

Jamie is smiling. “See, that. I like that. All of it.”

It’s nothing, Dani thinks reflexively. A collection of details. A sparse approximation of a life. Eddie knows all of this, and then some, and never matched up to knowing her.

But this woman, leaning across the table with one hand outstretched, looks so different. Watches her with steady interest. Is listening to every word Dani says, though the bar is growing crowded around them, and soon, conversation will become a task instead of a gift.

“Would you,” Dani says, feeling certain that some mistakes are not as bad as they seem, “like to take one of those walks?”

“Tonight?” 

“Yeah. Tonight.” Emboldened by the smile, by the curl falling into Jamie’s eyes, by the knowledge that she still can’t quite make out what color those eyes are, Dani takes her hand. It’s so easy, she thinks she could do it even without looking. “Right now.”

No bullshit, she thinks. No expectations. Just Jamie looking at her like she can’t quite believe what she’s seeing. Dani can’t blame her. This isn’t at all what she’d thought she was getting, walking in tonight. 

But there’s something about it--something about the feeling that she’s been here before, or should be here forever, or will always find her way back to a woman who looks at her just like this--that almost makes her feel brave. Almost makes her feel wonderful. She rises from the table, laying cash beneath her half-empty glass, and feels a pleasant jolt in her chest when Jamie follows without another word.

If this a mistake, she thinks as they step out into the brisk evening air, it’s one she’s hungry to make. 

[that-kid-from-vault-101]

Aaron had been expecting another pithy remark, another overtired declaration of the Minutemen’s burgeoning strength and the Colonels own personal resolve. Some deep and silent part of the man held pride over how the other had finally come into his own, but the Elder was growing utterly exhausted of the barely-clothed hostility.

But it does not come.

“Step out.”

The words are so quiet that the soldier standing directly next to him simply turns and stares, a soft and questioning sound turned into a quiet buzz by his vocabulator. “Sir?”

The Elder doesn’t even look at the man, waving his hand before taking another long drag of his cigarette, the smoke streaming from his nostrils giving him the image of a particularly irate bull.

“Leave us. Set up sniping positions if it eases your mind, but this is not a conversation for you.”

There is no further questioning, only the whirring of servos and the quaking stomp of armored feet as the Paladin and his knights give one last look to the Colonel and his Lancers before filing out of the ruined doorway.

Of course, Aaron knew all about Malcolm Lawson. Jamie’s father had been the subject of quiet conversation when they had served together, when sleep deprivation and combat had loosened out soldiers lips and the ghosts of the past had come to haunt them around their watch fire.

Elder Sheling rises, his pistol sliding back into its holster silently, the dead air of the room broken by the pops of buttons as he shrugs off the worn blue robe that hung over his armor, draping it over the back of his seat.

When he sits again, it is clear that Jamie’s request has been met. For the first time in the better part of a decade, Aaron Sheling sits across from Jamie Lawson, elbows rested upon his knees, the man he had known with scalpel in hand and blood in his eyes.

“What do you need, Jamie?”

It’s a tone that he hasn’t heard in years. Devoid of maneuver, tactic, or calculation. A hand reached out without the other concealing a blackened dagger in its palm.

“Are we killing him or putting him in chains?”

“You smug, arrogant, prick.”

It was a simple response unit deployment. A scout noting dark, armored, and armed figures skirting Brotherhood territory and Aaron had happened to be in the area. Say what you wish, the Paladins were well-disciplined and had held their fire when they had come gun barrel to gun barrel with the Minutemen’s prided special forces unit.

“I am doing everything in my power not to let this escalate into a conflict, and this is the kind of shit you pull?”

It wasn’t Elder Sheling speaking, not quite. For the barest of moments in the timbre of his voice and the movement of his shoulders he was a man that Jamie knew, the good doctor who spoke this way to patients who had hurt themselves doing something particularly stupid. Who had spoken this way after yanking him out of the simulation.

“What do you think you’re doing? Just passing through, taking a shortcut? Spying on us? On your way to commit an act of sabotage?”

The tone isn’t as dire as a genuine accusation, simply trying to impress upon the Colonel the seriousness of the situation they had found themselves in.

“We have done well so far, Colonel. We have kept our relations on an even keel, with nothing exchanged between us but barbed words and perhaps the occasional rotten tato. I don’t ask for a play by play of every single thing you do, but by God, I at the very least expect a ring from your General whenever you and your murder of crows decide to skulk around near our lines, so I don’t mistakenly drop a kill team on you.”

He reaches a hand up, drawing his own pack of cigarettes from his pocket, lighting it and dragging back half of the thing in a single pull.

“It’s you who doesn’t understand, Jamie. The Brotherhood is not the wounded, dying animal it was when you left. My men here, the ones you are so adamant that you are on an even keel with? They’re an expeditionary force. The bulk of our forces are in D.C, West Virginia, and Long Island. I do not want to fight you. I do not want to destroy the Minutemen. I implore you to hammer this through your skull.”

[extremelyblackandwhite]

innocence - 24

PAIRING: bodyguard!bucky barnes x innocent actress!reader

WARNINGS: none

A/N: i took three weeks to post, i am very sorry but i’ll now be posting the holiday chapters i was supposed to but i got lost in eating mince pies. hope you enjoy xx

NEXT CHAPTER

   - Bucky, what are you doing? - Y/N smirked as she returned from set, still dressed in a scandalous dress covered by a beige rain coat. Small droplets of water covered the beige waterproof fabric which rolled onto the ground as she made her way further into the small flat. 

Bucky was sat in bed, looking at a pile of clothing thrown next to an open old military green rucksack by his feet. A few worn out brown leathered tags we attached to one of the handles and had she been wearing her glasses, she could’ve probably guessed what it was written on them. The brown haired man rose his head at the mention of his name, eyes widening at what she was wearing. He was used to seeing her in tight, revealing dresses but this dress was something else and he wondered how she could walk with such a skin tight garment. 

    - I’m just deciding what to pack. - he shrugged, trying to forget about the dress his girlfriend was wearing. 

   - Just pack warm. - she sat next to him, leaning her head against his shoulder, an immediate smile extending in her limps. - Mum said it might snow. Can you imagine, a white Christmas?

   - Did they give you a bad time on set?

A bad time? A bad time was an understatement. She had gotten an earful from everyone who passed by her that day from her manager to her personal assistant to even Mr. Hayworth who just screamed about how stupid she was. Even half the cast was upset, not enjoying the publicity it would bring to the movie and while she would normally end up crying in her trailer, Chuck ensured to follow her around to make sure she was alright. Yet, none of it matter. It was the last day of shooting before she got to go home to her parents and forget about the mess she had willingly created. It was only a day before she could spend the holidays with someone who chose her and kept choosing her for the first time. It really didn’t matter if she had a bad time, things were starting to look up for her. 

    - Other than the stripper dress? Not as bad. - she giggled. Bucky looked at her, trying to peak through the coat. - I was thinking ... maybe we should have a nice long bath together? I’ll light some candles, get some nice wine from the shop down the street.

    - You little vixen, I still have to go see my sister. If I take a bath with you I will end up staying much more time than I should. - Bucky kissed the side of her face. - Did you wear that dress just to tempt me?

    - I would never. It is not my fault you cannot control yourself. 

    - That dress is staying until I come back, though.

    - I want to come. - she got up from the bed, pulling the dress from her body and grabbing her white jumper and pair of jeans from the wardrobe. - You’re meeting my family, it’s only fair I meet yours.

    - I’ve told you already, princess. We don’t wanna poke the media, they’ll bite us back with no mercy. I don’t want people hurting you because of me.

    - You can’t sneak me into a care home? My, my, Mr. Barnes, I thought you could get anyone into anywhere. Your CV said so.

   - Are you doubting my abilities, princess? - he grabbed her by the waist, pulling her closing to him before starting to tickle her sides. - It’ll be boring to you, my princess. Just stay here, put back that tight little dress and I’ll make it worth your time.

   - No way. I’m meeting your sister. 

   - No baby pictures, Y/N. 

   - I would never. - she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a hard felt yet soft kiss. - Only childhood stories. 

Bucky rolled his eyes, handing her the jacket and hat as they made their way onto a taxi. Bucky visited his sister a lot but he’d never mentioned Y/N. Not that he didn’t want to, of course he did. In all honesty, he could speak about his girl for as long as someone allowed him. However, Y/N was still a public personality and he wouldn’t want to let something out that she wasn’t comfortable with people knowing. Besides, he knew how much his sister still adored to gossip and he wouldn’t want to possibly hurt Y/N or be the cause. 

She, on the other hand, was excited. She knew Steve and Steve was the oldest of Bucky’s friends but she never thought she would get to meet someone from his family or that he’d even want to introduce her to someone from his family. After all, he was a war hero and Y/N was an actress from a small town in London who everyone seemed to despise at the moment.

The man drove them up to small complex building of what seemed to be newly built flats. Bucky was the first one off the taxi, running up to her side so he could open the door. It always left her feeling like a school girl; the pageantry, it is. She never believed she would find someone and the fact someone rushed to go and open the door for her and held his hand out.

    - Anything you’d like to confess before I ask your sister? - Y/N teased, hugging him side eyes as he led her to the entrance.

    - Do not believe what she says, I did not date too many girls.

    - Steve disagrees with that.

    - How would you know what Steve agrees or disagrees with? 

    - I called him to wish him happy holidays.

    - I didn’t know you and Steve were friendly.

    - Don’t be jealous, love. I’m not stealing your best friend. - Y/N pinched his cheek playfully as the two of them stopped in front of a wooden door with the number 35 in gold numbers pinned to it.

Bucky knocked on the door, announcing himself before holding Y/N once again close to him. He went through his mind, wondering if there was anything Rebecca could tell which would upset her. Sure, he used to be a bit of a womaniser in his youth but Y/N knew that. He hadn’t gotten anyone pregnant, he hadn’t proposed and ran off, he was off the hook. Still, he didn’t like the idea of Becca telling Y/N about his past quests.

Y/N waited patiently until someone held the door. The first thing she noticed were her eyes, the same as Bucky’s and she could recognise them anywhere. The woman had perfectly styled grey hair and a smile on her lips as she recognised her brother.

    - Who is this lovely girl, Buck? You didn’t tell me you’d bring company, I would’ve gotten some biscuits. 

   - This is Y/N, she’s my girlfriend. 

   - Steve told me you were seeing someone, I just didn’t think she’d be this pretty. Come in, come in. - Becca grabbed Y/N away from Bucky leading her to the living room. - What you wanted is in the bedroom, Buck.

   - Behave. - Bucky told his sister before he went into the bedroom to look for what he had come in from. 

   - I have some photos I think you’d love to see, darlin’. - she pointed the couch for Y/N to sit in before waddling to the big mahogany bookcase. She had a huge collection of books from old classics to new contemporary masterpieces which Y/N would love to read someday. The house itself was cozy, way more comfortable than other care homes she’d seen but she guessed Bucky would’ve only allowed for the best for his little sister. - It’s been ages since I’ve seen one of Bucky’s girlfriends. Not that he used to bring them home, but I used to sneak in and take a peak. You’re definitely the prettiest of all of them. 

   - Thank you. - Y/N couldn’t help but feel her cheeks heat up.

   - Ah, there it is. - she dropped a photo album on Y/N’s lap. - My father gave my mother a photo camera and she went crazy with it. Too many photos. However, when Bucky was born, it was a special occasion. Dad used to say she wanted a professional photo taken with her Jamie. 

She pointed at a photo of an woman probably in her early 20s holding a baby wrapped in several blankets, accompanied by a man who Bucky resembled very much. Her fingers traced the face of the baby, a little smile forming on her lips. It was nice to see him like that, normal. No mentions of the Winter Soldier, no pain, none of her constant drama due to her profession.

   - He was the eldest of four and despite what my mother would say, he was always the favourite. The only boy. He got away with whatever he wanted.

   - Bucky has three siblings?

   - Three sisters. Some of them didn’t survive. It was war. - her voice softened with sadness as she turned the page for a photo that Y/N wasn’t expecting to see. The same woman from before, his mother, was hugging a shirtless Bucky who had some boxing gloves on. Her face contorted into curiosity as Bucky exited the room and leaned against the couch, standing next to the two women.

  - What are you two ladies looking at? - Bucky kissed Y/N’s head, putting his hand on her shoulder. 

  - I think Y/N is very curious about your welterweight boxing past.

  - You did boxing?

  - Princess, I was a three-time YMCA Welterweight boxing champion. - Bucky closed the album before any of the photos of him with some of the ladies he used to hang around with showed up. - Becca, we should get going. We have an early flight tomorrow. 

  - You need to bring her more often. - Rebecca got up from the couch to accompany them to the door. - Did you find what you were looking for?

  - Yes, Beccs. Thank you so much for keeping it all these years.

  - Pretty sure mum would come back to haunt me if I hadn’t. Have fun meeting the parents. - she kissed Bucky’s cheek allowing for the two of them to leave. Bucky immediately wrapped his chunky knitted scarf, something his grandma had knitted for him ages ago, around Y/N’s neck, pulling her to his side.

He couldn’t truly remember a time where he was this happy, so full of need to continue living. She really brought him to this sort of weird normality where his past didn’t seem to affect him or at least not as strongly as it usually did. The two walked into grey skies, it was probably going to rain but none of them cared, walking side by side like those couples on Christmas songs. 

   - A boxing champion? 

   - Knock it off, princess. - Bucky helped her into the taxi, telling the driver his address before fastening his seat belt. - It was a long time ago.

   - Do you miss her? - she questioned, leaning her head against his shoulder, watching the horizons run through in blurs. - Your mother. Rebecca said you were the favourite.

   - Rebecca is always saying that. - he scoffed. - I do miss her. She was a swell lady, always caring about us, not complaining whenever she had to travel around because of my father. She was the best mother someone could’ve asked for. She would’ve liked you.

   - You think so?

   - I know so. Dad would’ve liked you too so would aunt Ida. Of course there’s still my nephews and nieces and their kids, but they don’t really want to speak with me ... - she didn’t need to ask why, she could see it in his eyes why and it made her sad. It made her sad to think of his family not wanting to be with him, specially during the holidays. - But I’ve had Rebecca and Steve for all these years. They’re my family and now I have you.

    - Well, I can’t promise my family will like you but they’ll definitely found the fact I have a boyfriend amusing. 

   - You mean to tell me I don’t have any ex boyfriends I’ll have to fight once we get to London?

   - That’s just unfair, Bucky. You’re a three-time boxing champion. 

   - You’ll never let that one go will you?

   - Nope. Dating a three-time boxing champion is a new identity I can get used to. 

taglist: @disasterbii @lookiamtrying @buckysteveloki-me @americasass81 @jamesbarnesappreciationclub @lostinthebeans @mariahthelioness29 @buckyandsebastian @peaches-roses-sins @theadorasabditory @sipsteacasually @saiyanprincessswanie @booktease21 @noiralei @learisa @everythingisoverratedbutgreat @uglipotata72829 @naturalthrone22 @husherstan @mandiiblanche @vicmc624 @newyorkgoddess @itsallyscorner @chipilerendi @emzd34 @writerwrites @bluevxnus @that-girl-named-alex @captnrogers @nsfwsebbie @sarge-barnes-sir​

[dameronology]

aftermath {natasha romanoff x reader}

summary: when the snap happened, everyone’s minds immediately went to the person they loved the most. natasha romanoff’s went to you. (for @writefightandflightclub​!! i hope you enjoy❤️)

warnings: set during the snap, so all the canon angst of that + swearing 

- jamie

Natasha Romanoff had a long to-do list.

Declaring her love for you was certainly on there. 

It’s just - as life often went - she got busy. You got busy. There were missions that took you to opposite ends of the globe and meetings that pulled you apart at all hours of the day. There was something between you - something strong and pure, something sweet against that contrasted against the dark world you’d both come to discover - but Natasha couldn’t quite work out what. She’d never felt the need to. It didn’t have to be explained. Unlike everything else in her life, it wasn’t complicated. You were consistent. You someone she could count on. A constant and steady presence among a world that never seemed to slow down. 

It was stolen kisses as you brushed past one another in the corridor. It was slow mornings under the covers of the dark before you had to drag one another out of bed to face the day. It was knowing in your very souls that you had one another; knowing that no matter where or when, you could turn to each other for anything. You never rushed her into anything, or asked her too much of her - that was something she was particularly thankful for. She couldn’t work out if she was just lucky, or if she’d been a saint in a past life to deserve you.

But, in the same way that life had plenty of highs, it came with lows. It could pack a punch and whilst you both prided yourself on your ability to get back up, some hits kept you down. 

The snap had been a flashpoint moment for everyone who survived it. You could have asked anyone and every person would remember where they were, who they were with and what they were thinking. No matter how many years passed, they would remember. The loss, the pain, the panic. The not knowing if their loved ones were alive. 

Natasha had been in Wakanda. You had been in the States. The last few days had worn you both down to your very cores and you’d barely had a chance to speak. The only thing that had kept her going was the occasional sound of your voice over the comms - reminding her that you’d see each other in a few days, that everything would be okay and that you could go home. Maybe you believed your own words. Maybe you didn’t. Either way, feeding yourself false hope was the only way you could have possibly pulled through to the final battle. 

Vision. T’Challa. Strange. Bucky. Sam. 

All gone. One by one. Bit by bit. Ceasing to exist in a matter of seconds. 

Natasha had realised what was happening - and her heart dropped. It fucking plummeted. You were the first place her mind went. She hadn’t heard anything from your comms line in a while - but you’d been busy fighting, busy holding up the other end of the fight across the ocean. You were okay. Of course you were. 

You had to be. 

She slowly - and almost dubiously - raised her hand to her ear piece, pressing the receive button. There was a crackling sound, but no voice. Why hadn’t you said anything? Maybe you were still busy in battle, or you were on your knees mourning for your friends in the same way people around her were. Her brain spat out a million different possibilities at once but not one of them seemed to cover the worst possible scenario. 

You’d been lost in the snap. 

Natasha knew that it was the most likely outcome. Fifty percent of all living things - she didn’t like those odds, especially not given her track history. Whenever she felt like she finally had something good and pure, it got ripped away from her. It had happened a thousand times before and she’d been insane to think it wouldn’t have happened again. This time, she’d really let herself be aloof; she’d let herself be naive enough to think that you were a permanent fixture in her life. 

The realise that she was in love with you hit Natasha Romanoff like a ton of bricks; like a freight train to a strewn car. It was the most obvious thing in the world but still, the biggest shock her system had ever experienced. She’d always wondered what love felt like, what it was - and it had been right in front of her the whole time. 

The journey back to the Compound was only a few hours, but it felt like lifetimes. There was so much hanging in the balance and Natasha almost didn’t want to land. It would mean knowing for sure that you were gone, that Tony was gone, that so many of the people she’d come to care for were gone. It was like a mutated, screwed up version of Schrodinger’s Cat. There was still the possibility that you were alive and kicking but the Black Widow was nothing if not a realist. She knew how these things usually went. 

Steve nor Bruce said a word the entire way back. Even Thor was uncharacteristically silent, tucked away in the corner of the quint-jet with his knees pulled to his chest and a solemn look on his tired face. The life had been pulled from all of you over the last few days, and even the demigod’s humanity was starting to peep through. They were all spent. Mentally, emotionally, physically. 

‘Look after yourselves.’ Steve’s instructions were a little half-hearted as the four of them traipsed of the ramp of the jet. Even in the darkest of times, he was still trying to be the leader. 

‘Don’t forget to do the same.’ Natasha spoke for the first time in what felt like hours. ‘You look like hell.’

‘Feel it too.’ He murmured in response. 

Natasha was working on autopilot, letting her legs simply drag her from the jet and towards the living quarters. She usually went to your room after long and tiring missions - the way you greeted her with a warm hug and encouraging words never seemed to get old. You were always the first thing her mind went to when she thought of coming home. You were her home. 

Your room had always felt a thousand times more comfortable than hers. It was a mess of clutter and pillows and discarded clothes but it was welcoming, and filled with tiny reminders of you. There was a strewn book on the bed, alongside your reading glasses. The walls were filled with photos of you and the team; there was one of the time that Thor had dragged you all to Winter Wonderland in Hyde Park. Steve was grinning, Tony had ice cream on his nose and you and Nat were in one another’s arms. There was a Polaroid from your brief trip to the Bahamas, when Sam had sunscreen on his nose and Bucky was scowling under the bright sun. Most of the photos, however, were just random ones of you and Nat. 

She was grateful to have those photos. They were something to hold onto, something to remember you by in case you didn’t-

‘- where the fuck have you been?!’

The cry of someone’s voice pulled Natasha from her thoughts and less than a moment later, your body collided with hers. You hit her with a thump, arms instantly wrapping around her waist to cling onto her. 

It took her a minute to react; to realise that you were real. You were alive. You’d survived the snap and you were here, clinging onto her for dear life and practically crying into her shoulder. Natasha had forgotten for a moment that she’d been radio silent too, working on the assumption that you were gone. Grief went both ways - of course you’d felt it for her. 

Her arms came to hold you back, tightly clinging onto your shoulders. Your bodies were tangled together, skin to skin and nose to nose, the smell of your perfume and shampoo immediately bringing her to reality. You’d survived. For once, she’d assumed the worst and was wrong. 

‘My comms went down when it happened and I tried to call you, and Bruce, and Steve-’

‘- I love you.’ 

You pulled back from Nat, an o-shape on your lips as you stared at her with wide eyes. It was as though she’d knocked the air from your lungs and stolen your ability to speak, or to function as a human being. That was the Black Widow’s speciality, after all. 

‘You love me?’ You repeated it back to her. 

‘You were the first person I thought of when...when it happened.’ She still couldn’t bring herself to acknowledge what had happened earlier that day. ‘I feel like I’ve always known it but I thought we had time, that I could wait to tell you-’

‘- I love you too.’ 

‘You do?’

‘Nat.’ You squeezed her arms, giving her a tearful smile despite everything. ‘You’re all I can think about on a good day. The world was literally crumbling around us and I couldn’t think of another person.’

She gave you a knowing nod - you had both lost a lot of the last few days. Near enough everything, in fact. Most of the world had barely even begun to process what happened, or even thought about accepting it. You were on that page too. Everything had changed and the world was never going to be the same again. It was though someone had taken the idea that nuclear war was the worst possible outcome and they’d laughed. 

‘I don’t even know where to begin.’ Nat murmured, hand ghosting your cheekbone. ‘Everything is....’

‘...gone?’ You offered. 

‘Gone.’

The euphoria that came with her declaration was only fleeting. It was the relief you needed after days of battling but it didn’t change anything that had happened. Still, at least you had her by your side.

‘Whatever the next few days - or months or years - bring, you have to promise me one thing.’ Natasha took your hands in hers, gently intertwining your fingers.

‘Anything.’

‘We’ll do it together.’ 

You nodded. ‘Together.’

She finally closed the gap between you, softly brushing her lips against yours. You’d kissed many times before but this held something different; love, panic, desperation. It was a testament to the last few days - the feeling of losing someone and regaining them all without truly ever realising. It made you cling onto her a little tighter, savouring the taste and feel of her a little more. 

You didn’t even know where to begin - there was no doubt that the mantle of protecting the Earth still lay in the laps of the Avengers. That would come once people had accepted what had happened and frankly, you weren’t even there yet. Your brain was still processing seeing Thanos in person, let alone the rest of the what kind of fuckery is this that had followed.

But in that moment, Natasha was the only thing on your mind. She was in one piece, and so you were you. Neither of you had any idea what was to come, but there was one thing you were certain of.

You had Nat and she had you. Nothing else mattered.

[springsaladgaming]

Follower Milestone

Hey there, all! I recently passed 400 followers, so I thought it would be nice to gift you all some writing!

I had a particular short story that I wanted to gift when we got here, but I’m not entirely happy with it and want to rewrite it.

So, instead, I thought it would be fun to share the predecessor of Ninelives. For those of you who don’t already know, Ninelives was adapted from a short story that I wrote a decade ago for university. It is about a young man who is struggling with depression and, in a failed suicide attempt, learns a small thing about his parents that could potentially evolve into something explosive.

When I started writing this short story, I realized that I wanted to turn it into a novella. The main character would have met someone with a very Carpe Diem attitude and made the shift into a healthier headspace while dealing with his family problems. The overarching theme of the story was the way that little secrets add up. It was always my plan to go back to it once I was done with school, but then real life happened a little too hard (shitty job, pretty severe depression, and some family issues). I never touched it again.

My memory is pretty famously bad about certain things (due to I think ADHD and anxiety). But, of all the short stories that I wrote at uni, I remembered this one like the back of my hand. When I started writing Ninelives, I technically still didn’t touch the old story. I didn’t need to look back at it to remember the overall narrative. I just went at it. And then, a couple of weeks ago, I found the old external drive that I used to store all of my work on and dug up this short story once again.

I think you’ll find the similarities between this short story and Chapter 1 of Ninelives pretty quickly. Dad is kind of an asshole, Mom is pretty dismissive of the main character, and the brother seems to be the only one who cares. Ninelives is also carrying on the theme of secrets in a way. I was actually a little surprised by how similar the two still are, even though they are now different works with a decade of time between them.

This short story is a decade old, thus it hasn’t been edited or revised in the same amount of time, so read it with that in mind. Also, just to be on the safe side...

CONTENT WARNINGS: discussion of suicide, drug abuse/overdose, cigarette use, verbal abuse

And now, without further ado...

Jamie’s ass was beginning to stick to the porcelain tub, and it was getting to him.  As if that weren’t enough, the paper sign taped over his crotch created a pocket of hot air that made his dick stick to his leg. The sign read HOW’S THIS FOR AN EXIT, but Jamie wasn’t going anywhere, and that’s what bothered him most of all.  He’d downed his father’s bottle of blood pressure meds, but nothing was happening.  At least, nothing seemed to be happening, except that Jamie was now hot and sweaty.  He had no idea what ODing on blood pressure meds did, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t this.  He was even more sure that he wasn’t dying.

This would go down in history as the most anticlimactic suicide ever.

Ten minutes.  Twenty minutes.  Thirty.  An hour.  Jamie felt some discomfort—a little sick to his stomach, the porcelain pressing against his boney ass—that was it.  Now he was bored and naked, and someone would probably come looking for him soon.  Probably.

His brother, Graham, was the one who called up to him.  “Hey, Jammy,” he said.  “Dinner’s ready. Get down here.”

Jamie spent a good five minutes after that staring at the ceiling, which was covered in a layer of grime from years of shower steam.  Either that or the years during Jamie’s childhood when he’d come in here to smoke.  His parents had never looked for him here.  That hadn’t changed now that it was the spare bathroom instead of Graham and Jamie’s.

But Graham knew Jamie’s hiding spots and came looking for him.  Jamie heard Graham call for him in the hall for a few minutes, maybe less.  Then Graham knocked on the door.  “Jammers, dinner.  What are you doing in there?”

Jamie hadn’t locked the door.  That would have been too dramatic.  Now it was a mistake, and Graham walked in just as Jamie got out of the tub and crumpled up his suicide note.  The family always seemed to be catching Jamie with his pants down, just never quite so literally.

Graham didn’t seem surprised or the least bit embarrassed.  Jamie felt one of the two emotions, though he wasn’t sure which, and it wasn’t so much over his nakedness as it was the other circumstances.  Graham crossed his arms and said, “Taking a bath?”  He raised an eyebrow and cleared his throat.

“No, I wasn’t jacking off,” Jamie said.  “Just being here makes me limp.”  The fact that Jamie hated coming home wasn’t news to Graham.  Jamie thought that would be enough to end the conversation, but Graham’s eyes flashed to something behind him, and Jamie remembered he’d left the empty prescription bottle on the side of the tub.

“What were you doing, Jamie?” Graham asked.

Jamie grabbed the bottle and tossed it in the garbage along with his suicide note—or maybe it was better to call it his ex-suicide note.  It would be the only ex he’d ever had.  He grabbed a towel from the wall to cover himself and said, “Remind me to tell Dad that Mom’s been giving him placebos.”

“Jamie—”

“Gonna let me get dressed for dinner or what?” Jamie said.

Graham let Jamie pass but followed him down the hall to his old room.  Jamie packed clothes in his backpack instead of leaving some here like Graham did.  It took him a few seconds to get the shirt he was looking for.  He could feel Graham’s eyes on him.  He gave up on pulling out his nice pants and put on the jeans he’d worn earlier that day.  Graham was getting suspicious, Jamie knew.  But it didn’t matter why he was staring; it made Jamie self-conscious of just about everything under the sun.  He fumbled with the button on his pants for a good few minutes—almost broke the thing off—before he got it.  When he turned back to the door, Graham was still staring.

They made eye contact and Graham asked again.  “What were you doing?”

“Nothing,” Jamie said.  He tried to make his way downstairs, but Graham was blocking the door.  This time, he didn’t move.

“Jamie, you’re scaring me,” Graham said.

“Would it make you feel better if I said I knew they were placebos?”

“Did you?”

Jamie pushed his way past Graham.  Graham grabbed Jamie for a second and then let go, as if unsure what he was supposed to do once he had him.  Jamie didn’t have the answers either, wasn’t sure what he’d do if he their positions were reversed.  They would never be reversed, though.  Graham’s life was perfect; suicide wasn’t even an option for him.  He had no idea what it was like.  Maybe that’s why he was silent now.

Once they were seated around the dinner table, it was almost as if it never happened.  Their parents went on about their usual praise of Graham’s life, but not before ragging on Jamie about his.  “Dinner has been at seven sharp every Saturday for the last fifteen years,” Margery said.  “I don’t know why you can’t get that through your head.”

Jamie knew that.  That’s why he’d chosen the time he did.  “I lost track of time,” Jamie said.  He didn’t say more; they were going to tear him apart either way.

“It’s those work hours of his,” Hugh said.  “He has a different schedule every week.  If you’d get a real job, you wouldn’t have that problem.” Hugh didn’t look up from his plate as he cut his meat.  He always ate the meat first, but not before cutting it into perfect little cubes.

I have a real job, Jamie might’ve said, but they’d had this conversation before.  Hugh meant a salary job.  Flipping burgers didn’t count unless Jamie was making more than twenty an hour.

“Speaking of work,” Margery said, “How did your last settlement go, Graham?” Margery went for her veggies first.  She didn’t eat meat and only let Hugh at dinner, though Jamie suspected he snuck it during his lunch.

“It went well,” Graham said.  He’d barely touched his food, but Hugh looked up from his plate at that moment, and Graham dug in.

“You’re not usually so tight-lipped,” Hugh said.

Graham kept his eyes on his plate.  “It’s pretty easy to reach a settlement when the couple agrees on it before they even come to see me,” he said.

Graham was a divorce lawyer, carrying on the family tradition.  Sort of.  Their grandfather had been a judge and a prosecutor before that.  Hugh was also a prosecutor.  Graham’s decision to become a divorce lawyer had been met with a little resistance, but Hugh readily accepted it once Graham proved it made a lot of money.  Everyone’s getting divorced these days, Graham had said.  I’ll never be out of the job.

“That’s how prevalent your brother is, Jamie,” Hugh said.  “Divorcees go to see him even when they don’t need his help.”

Jamie kept his face in his plate and poked at his food with his fork.  What Hugh really meant was, “Why can’t you be successful like your brother?”  It was the same game every Saturday; that’s why Jamie hated coming here.  But it meant a free meal, even if Jamie had usually lost his appetite by the time he got it.  Besides, if he didn’t come, that would be just one more disappointment.

“Jamie will figure it out,” Graham said.  This was his way of taking Jamie’s side.  Usually.

“As soon as he figures how to pay his rent on time,” Hugh said.

Will you please stop talking about me like I’m not here, Jamie wanted to say.

“You’ve paid this month’s rent, I hope,” Hugh said.

“I paid it last month,” Jamie said.  He’d borrowed some money from Graham to do so with the promise of paying it back once he found a new roommate.  The last one packed up and left without a word.  Jamie's parents didn't know about the money, and he wasn't about to tell them now.

“You need to learn how to get ahead in all areas of your life, not just your bills,” Hugh said.

“Jamie,” Margery said, “get your chin off the table.”

Jamie felt like he was eleven again.

Jamie went outside for a smoke when dinner was over.  He didn’t smoke anymore, but he kept reserves for these occasions.  Few Saturdays passed without a cigarette.  He usually kept with the old ritual, smoked on the edge of the tub with the bathroom door closed and the window open.  After today, he avoided that bathroom., and not only because it embarrassed him.  Graham was like a hawk for the rest of the night.  He didn’t take his eyes off Jamie, even when they were cleaning the dishes.  He’d gone so far as to clean all the knives himself.  Jamie couldn’t lay a hand on them.

Graham was outside with Jamie, too, hovering over his shoulder like Hugh used to do when Jamie was a child.  “You still smoke,” Graham said.

“Only after I’m well-cooked by the parents,” Jamie said.

“Smoking will kill you, you know,” Graham said.  He shifted his stance.  “Why not just smoke two packs a day?”

“Because so far the only life goal I’ve met is not getting cancer.”

“We’re switching rooms tonight.”

“Why?”

Graham took Jamie’s cigarette and tossed it into the gravel.  “My room doesn’t have a lock,” Graham said.

“Oh, please,” Jamie said.  “I didn’t lock the bathroom door, did I?”

“Thank god for that.”

“What does it matter?” Jamie said.  “Dad will kill me when he finds that bottle in the trash anyway.”

“Let’s go inside,” Graham said.

“I didn’t get to finish my cigarette.”

“Inside, now,” Graham said.

Jamie didn’t have time to move before Graham corralled him inside with a hand on his shoulder.  When they came in, Margery was on the landing and Hugh was shouting at her from their bedroom.  To Margery, Jamie and Graham must have looked like two brothers who’d just shared a special moment.  It was some kind of special moment, but she didn’t pick up on the animosity and smiled down at them.

“What’s Dad shouting about?” Graham asked.

“He can’t find his medication,” Margery said.  “I’m sure he just misplaced it.  Wouldn’t be the first time.  I assume you two are leaving early tomorrow?”

Graham nodded.  “Actually, I’ve been talking to Jamie about moving in with him.”

“Oh?” Margery said.

Jamie echoed the oh so immediately that they almost said it at the same time.

“Yes,” Graham said.  His fingers dug in to Jamie’s shoulder.  “At least until he can find a new roommate.”

Margery smiled.  “Maybe you can help him get his life on track,” she said.

“Something like that,” Graham said, and he shook Jamie’s shoulder.

Graham was true to his word and made Jamie take his room.  He opened the doors wide and, instead of going to bed himself, sat and watched Jamie from across the hall.

“You have to drive in the morning,” Jamie said.

“You’ll drive,” Graham said.

“Not afraid I’ll crash the car?”

“No,” Graham said, “because then it would be a murder-suicide.”

“You’re not moving in with me,” Jamie said.

“Either I move in with you or I check you into a psyche ward on suicide watch.”

“The apartment is small.”

“Jamie, I lived in a smaller apartment through eight years of college,” Graham said.  “I’ll manage.”

“You’re really going to watch me sleep?” Jamie asked.

“Get used to it,” Graham said.  “From now on, I’ll have to watch you do a lot of things.”

In the morning, Graham was still watching.  The two of them drove back to Denver in Graham’s SUV, and Graham started moving some of his things into Jamie’s apartment later that day.

[anniesocsandgeneralstore]

Normal Love and Superheroes: Three - superdawgs

Summary: Bruce Wayne is nicer than expected and Leena finally gets her bike back. 

Pairing: John Blake x OFC (Leena Duckett) 

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: Bruce Wayne being intimidating, awkward first date things, uuuuhhhh I’ve forgotten how dialogue works so like that’s my b

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven

“Are you seriously wearing that to meet Bruce Wayne? And on your first date in over a year?” Jamie asked as Leena shrugged on her long yellow jacket.

“What? What’s wrong with this?” Leena gestured down at her clothes.

She hated dressing up — plus, she didn’t want Bruce Wayne or John Blake thinking she was taking either of these meetings too seriously. So instead of a cute skirt or even a dress, she opted for her favorite pair of khaki green overalls and a red and white striped turtleneck, all matched with that classic yellow jacket. She thought she looked cute.

“You just look very…Casual,” Jamie said from her spot sitting cross legged on her bed, “You could borrow something of mine you know.”

“Jay — “ Leena shoved her worn brown Docs onto her feet. “You’re six feet tall. I don’t think anything of yours would fit me. It’d look like I was wearing a sleep shirt.”

“Oh, God, I remember sleep shirts!” Jamie laughed.

“Always came from relatives back from vacation.” Leena stepped in front of the full length mirror and started giving herself double french braids. “Like — I’m five Aunt Georgia I definitely don’t wear a youth large.”

“Was Aunt Georgia the one that married that really old guy when she was like twenty then he mysteriously died a few months later and left her his entire estate and fortune?”

Leena turned to Jamie as she tied off the second braid. “That’s the one.”

“Do you ever wonder if she actually killed him or not?”

“Every day of my god-damn life.” Leena pulled out a few baby hairs to frame her face then grabbed her bag along with the canvas carrying case the gallery had let her borrow, painting stowed away safely inside. “But she lives in a beach house in the Cayman Islands and my dad hates her so I’ll probably never get to ask.”

“Unless — “ Jamie held up a finger. “She asks for you on her deathbed, pulls you in close, and whispers that she done it. And, also, leaves you all of her money that you also generously share with your best friend.”

“Uh-huh.” Leena shook her head with a smile and grabbed the car-keys from the dish by the door. “Alright, I gotta go. Thanks for letting me borrow your car.”

Jamie got up from her bed and moved to where Leena was standing. “Hey, no problem. I got nowhere to be today. And, just so you know, if anything goes wrong today I’ll have a bottle of tequila waiting for you.”

Leena gave her a skeptical look.

“I’ll have half of a bottle of tequila waiting for you.”

“Hm, much appreciated.” Leena pulled open the door. “Bye!”

“Bye!”

Leena stayed outside the door until she heard Jamie lock it, then she was off. Jamie’s car was a piece of junk. A leftover from the 80s that somehow still managed to function on most days. It needed to be retired. But it was also the only car between the two roommates and neither of them could afford even a newer junker at the moment. So, Leena climbed into that Jeep Cherokee with wood paneling on the sides fully prepared to feel extremely out of place at Wayne Manor.

The drive to the grand estate just outside of Gotham City proper and across the Strang River felt neverending to Leena. Especially since she kept glancing into the backseat at the bag that held her painting and wondering what on earth her and Bruce Wayne were supposed to discuss. Then her mind would jump to later in the day when John Blake would come pick her up for their date. What were they supposed to discuss? The only men she talked to anymore were Mr. Nooley, the Community Center director, a few of the older men at the center who came in for water aerobics, the gallery owners who only seemed to half pay attention to anything she said, and she didn’t even know if she should count the boys who partook in her art lessons twice a week. With those men it was simple and route. She knew what to say and could gain control of her mouth that seemed to have a mind of its own sometimes. But with Mr. Wayne and John? She was lost.

Even the driveway up to the actual manor was long. Lined with trees and shrubs, all perfectly trimmed. Leena could feel her heart beating quickly in her chest. Could feel the sweat pooling in her palms as she adjusted her grip on the steering wheel. Then, she suddenly came out of the woods, turned a corner, and there it was. She had never seen a manor in person before. It was beautiful, ornate, huge for just one person and his butler. The stone it was made of seemed nearly golden in the afternoon sunlight. There was a fountain in front that the driveway curved around, water glittering and splashing down. Leena pulled the car up and put it in park. Yeah, that Jeep Cherokee really looked odd out in front of a house like this. She should be in a carriage instead.

She got out of the vehicle and stared up at the manor with a slack jaw. The curved double staircases up to the front door were something out of a Jane Austen novel. She could see unkempt gardens expanding to the left. It was a very inspiring house she had to admit. It made her want to wear a ballgown and run down a long, gilded, candle lit hallway to some violin music.

Alfred came out the front door with a smile on his face wearing a finely pressed black suit. He came down the steps and called, “Do you need help with anything, Miss Duckett?”

“Oh, no!” She quickly snapped out of the trance the manor had put her in and opened the backseat. “I’m fine, Alfred, thank you!”

She pulled the canvas carrying case from where it was leaned against the seats, but then it was gently being taken from her. “I’ll give you a hand anyway, Miss.”

“Well, thank you.” Leena smiled and slung her bag over her shoulder.

“I’ll have tea set up in the drawing room — what do you prefer in your tea, Miss?” Alfred led her up the front steps and into the manor.

Leena’s jaw dropped all over again. Vaulted ceilings, marble flooring, ornate crown molding, a gold inlay table with an overflowing bouquet of flowers sitting on top. Everything was so clean and pure and so unlike anything she had ever existed in before. Through a wide and tall archway ahead she could see what she could only describe as the great hall of the manor. Littered with stone artwork, gilded light fixtures, and seemingly designed for some form of grand ball.

“Miss?” Alfred asked again.

“Oh, sorry — um, is it black tea?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Then I’ll have honey and lemon — if you have it, please.” She could hardly keep her eyes on Alfred, she kept getting distracted by new details throughout the space.

He seemed to notice this with a smile. He gestured to further inside the house. “I’ll take you to the drawing room so you can get settled. Master Wayne will be with you shortly.”

Leena’s head twisted and swiveled like an owl searching for prey in the night as she walked behind Alfred through the manor’s great hall and up a short set of stairs. This was where Bruce Wayne grew up? She couldn’t imagine living in a place like this when she was a kid. Especially since her house as a child was nearly the exact opposite of this one. It was small, barely enough room for them all, and constantly had problems. The ceilings leaked, the floors creaked, the paint on the walls was always chipped, the water always ran too hot or too cold, there was a harsh draft in the winters that left her with constant illnesses they couldn’t afford to go to the doctor for. It hadn’t been much, it had been tough sometimes, but it was her life. A life she couldn’t go back and change.

The drawing room was equally as beautiful as everywhere else. Maroon wallpaper that somehow didn’t look garish. Wingback chairs and wooden armed sofas. A large set of windows looked out over the gardens. There was an empty easel set up off to the side. Leena took the canvas case from Alfred with a smile and let him go complete his duties. She walked over to the canvas with a nervous, shaky breath.

What did this man with billions of dollars even want to talk to her about? What made him think that he was so utterly important that he could call her to his house on a Saturday that she actually had off? Probably the billions of dollars…But that wasn’t the point. The point was that this guy had some nerve and she was about to tell him as such. She had never been afraid to speak her mind before and she wasn’t now.

She pulled out the painting that was set in a frame that probably wasn’t ornate enough for this kind of house, and set it up on the easel. She hid the canvas case behind one of the sofas. Her limbs were too fidgety to sit down so she moved to stand before the windows with her hands in her overall pockets. It was a beautiful day for a walk — she hoped that the weather stayed this nice for her trip to the park with John later. A smile, involuntary and attempting to be contained, krept onto her face.

“Alright, Alfred, what do you need that is so important?”

Leena turned to see a man standing there. He looked just about as shocked as she did to see her standing in his drawing room. Though he was better at hiding it. Only his brow furrowed as he stared at her. Was he wearing…Sweatpants? And a robe? His brown hair was long, probably usually worn slicked back, but he couldn’t have been bothered. A few strands flopped in front of his face that could use a shave.

“Uh — “ Leena spoke first but instantly regretted it. “Mr. Wayne?”

“That’s right — Who’re you?”

Alfred came into the room as if he had been waiting for that moment to do so, carrying a silver tray with tea assortments on top. “That is Miss Leena Duckett — she painted that picture from the gallery website you mentioned, Master Wayne.”

“Alfred,” Bruce Wayne sighed with a drop of his head, “Did you seriously convince this girl to come here because I mentioned I liked her painting once?”

“No.” Alfred set the tray down on the coffee table. “I told her to come here because you have a job offer for her.”

“I do?”

“He does?”

“Both of you, please, come sit down.” Alfred began to pour the tea as Leena and Bruce Wayne reluctantly did as they were told, albeit sitting on sofas across from one another. “Several years ago — there was a fire that burned down Wayne Manor — “

Bruce Wayne seemed to catch on. “Oh, no.”

“And along with the house all of the portraits of the Wayne family through the years were destroyed.”

“Alfred, please — “

Leena only continued to stare in visible confusion.

“Master Wayne would like to see those portraits back up in the halls of this manor.” Alfred finished pouring the tea with a small, triumphant smile and took a step back.

Bruce Wayne had his head in one hand. Leena looked back and forth between the two.

“So you — you want me to repaint the portraits of all your dead relatives?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Bruce Wayne looked pointedly at his butler. “Alfred, thank you, I think you’ve done enough.”

Alfred, not looking offended in the slightest, gave a slight bow of his head before walking out of the room. Leaving Leena alone in the room with Bruce Wayne. He was silent for a moment. Which somehow made it all the worse. Leena sat there, messing with a button on her jacket absentmindedly as she stared, lips sucked between her teeth, at his slippers.

“Am I — Am I still getting paid for the painting  — Or?” Leena asked with a squint of her eyes.

Bruce Wayne sighed and turned his head to the canvas over in the corner. He stood up to take a closer look. He had a slight limp. “Did you really paint this?”

“Um, yeah.”

“It really is very good.” He looked over his shoulder at her. “How much?”

“$500.” Leena got up from her seat and joined him. He was nearly a head taller than she was. “Alfred said you liked it because we share similar views of Gotham.”

“Did he?”

“That Gotham — despite it’s flaws — was still worth saving.”

“But Gotham is saved,” he sighed, “The Dent Act is going to put all the criminals in jail — for good.”

She looked up at him with a furrowed brow. “Do you seriously think that’s the only thing that Gotham needs?”

“They — those criminals — are the reason that Gotham is the way that it is. This city wasn’t always this way. When my parents were alive, it thrived.” He turned to face her now with crossed arms.

“See, I never knew a Gotham like that, Mr. Wayne. I grew up with the slums of Burnley and the East End. Kids joining gangs because there were no jobs for people like them or their parents just couldn’t afford them anymore.” She looked up at him now with a challenge in her eyes. Her heart racing and unable to stop her mouth from opening and letting her true feelings fly. “Then again, I didn’t live in a place like this growing up.”

Surprisingly, he smiled at her. A small thing full of intrigue — but still a smile. One that made her uneasy. “How old are you?”

“I’m twenty-one,” Leena replied.

“God, you’re just a kid,” he chuckled, “So — What do you think Gotham needs?”

“Love. And someone willing to love it enough to save it.” Leena looked back at the painting. “To see the people who live in this city  — and not just the elite in their penthouse suites. Because love is generous and good. Love does not manipulate, take advantage of, or abuse. At least — it’s not supposed to.”

“Those elite in the penthouse suites give a lot of money away you know.” Bruce Wayne limped back to the couch and sat down.

“And for every dollar they give, 100 is given back to them by the companies they run where they underpay their employees.” She crossed her arms and shook her head. She should have rehearsed what she was going to say to this man. “Gotham doesn’t just need money. It needs…Someone willing to give of themselves. Like Batman.”

“But Batman fought crime — which you’ve said is not what Gotham needs.”

“I’m not talking about the man under the mask. I’m talking about the symbol. He may dress as a bat but he gives a lot of people hope. Hope that things will get better. Hope that — anyone could be Batman. Anyone can make a difference.”

Bruce Wayne stared at her for a long time. The more he stared, the more uncomfortable she felt. Leena glanced around the room. Hoping Alfred or literally anyone else would walk into the room and get her out of here. Or at least make him stop looking at her. One minute he was so gentle, the next he was all intensity. It confused her how he flipped around his emotions like that — his tone. It reminded her of her father in a way. A man who fought long and hard during a war that could gently and encouragingly teach her how to ride a bike one minute and then the next scream at her for falling off.

“Come with me,” Bruce Wayne suddenly spoke as he lifted himself from the sofa.

Leena reluctantly followed. He took her upstairs and into what appeared to be a spare bedroom. Curtains closed and bed covered with a white linen sheet. She looked around the room for a moment then to Bruce Wayne who she hadn’t noticed had stayed just beyond the doorway.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“Your new work space.” He put his hands in his pockets casually. “If you want it.”

She paused, brow furrowed. “Wait — what?”

“I’m offering you a commission.” He stepped further into the room. “But I only want one portrait. Of my mother and father.”

“Portraits aren’t usually my style. How much?”

“Let’s say…$100,000. Plus I’ll pay for all the supplies.”

It was now Leena’s turn to stare at Bruce Wayne. Her eyes were wide and unbelieving. That was more money than she made in a year. In two years even. Just for one painting? He looked like he was about to start chuckling.

“Is this some kind of joke?” She made to leave. “Cause I can just go right now — keep the painting for all I care.”

“No! No! It’s no joke!” He held up his hands to stop her exit. Which she did with a bit of reluctance. “I — I think you’re a great artist and you seem like an amazing girl. I would love for you to be the one to recreate the portrait of my parents. Only stipulation is that you have to paint it here. As all Wayne family portraits have been done.”

“You’re — You’re not joking?”

“I am not.” He looked so sincere. So earnest. “Do we have a deal?”

Leena nodded her head. “We have a deal.”

_______________________________________________________________________

“Yeah, I’ll have a superdawg without the onions and a water.” John Blake leaned into the window to talk into the drive thru microphone better, then he turned to Leena sitting in his passenger seat. “And whadda you want?”

“Uh — “ She glanced over the menu even though she already knew what she wanted. “Yeah, I’ll take a superdawg — everything on it’s fine. And I’ll take a lemonade to drink.”

He repeated her order into the microphone. While he wasn’t looking, Leena took the opportunity to admire him. He looked nice — casual. Plaid button up and jeans. The ride over to Superdawg was nice, albeit quiet. She just didn’t know what to say, and apparently neither did he. She wanted to ask about the orange bike on the rack attached to the back of his car but felt that would’ve been rude. It was nice to be getting it back, but it wasn’t really the most important thing right now.

“Alright, hon, your food’ll be out in a few minutes.”

“Thank you.” John leaned back in his seat and rolled up the window. “So, uh — how was your week?”

“It was good…Until today.”

“Oh, uh — “

Leena’s eyes widened. “Oh, God, no! Sorry! This is great — I’m having a good time! I mean I’m starving, but that’s not something you can control. Uh, sorry — anyway — um, what I mean is, I met Bruce Wayne today.”

He looked at her a moment with raised brows. It wrinkled his forehead in a way that made him look older than he really was. “The Bruce Wayne? Like Wayne Enterprises Bruce Wayne?”

“Yeah, that one.” She chuckled nervously. “Apparently his butler tricked me into coming out to the manor so I could….Re-do some old portraits that got burned up in a fire? But Wayne didn’t know about it — but he offered me the job anyway.”

“That’s good right?”

“Yeah, I guess. Just weird.”

“What’s the butler’s name again? Albert or something?”

“Alfred.” She put one foot on the seat and leaned her chin on her knee. “Wait — have you met them before?”

“Yeah — the Wayne Foundation donates to St. Swithens. He…Uh, he visited once.” John suddenly looked away from her and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“St. Swithens the — ?”

“Yeah.” He smiled but it didn’t really relieve the tension that had suddenly settled between them. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

Leena swallowed thickly and turned her gaze towards her lap. She wanted to keep quiet. She wanted to not dredge up something that never sat well with her — that often made her soul sit at a tilt. But she could see from the way he now nervously popped his fingers and the way his forehead was buckled in on itself, that his soul too sat at a similar angle.

“I know this probably isn’t really comparable,” Leena said, “But my dad died when I was thirteen.”

“I’m sorry.” His voice came out huskier, deeper than usual.

I’m not, Leena thought. She accepted his condolences with a smile.

The food came shortly after. John paid and they drove over to Robinson Park. They set up to eat their food at one of the many picnic tables. One that was closer to the water and off to the side of the few groups of people that were playing games in the park's large open field.

Before they could even take the first bite of their hotdogs, however, John spoke up with a sigh. Leena had her hotdog poised ungracefully before her wide gaping mouth.

“Look, I’m sorry I brought that up. I didn’t mean to.” He sighed again. “Not great first date material I’m sure.”

Leena reluctantly put down her hotdog. “Oh, no! It’s okay! It’s a part of who you are. And I’d like to get to know…Who you…Are. That came out weird.”

“No, no, you’re good.” He laughed and took a huge bite of his hotdog. Leena gratefully dove into her own food after his lead. “I’m John Blake. I love hotdogs — “

They both laughed.

“I started at GCPD a little over six months ago and I love Stargate.”

Leena raised her brows with a smirk. “Stargate, huh?”

“It’s a good show!” he defended, picking up a few of his fries and popping them into his mouth.

“Isn’t it just discount StarTrek?”

“No! Look — have you ever even watched it?” She pulled a face and he pointed at her. “See! Watch it and then maybe you can judge. You can even borrow my DVDs if you want.”

“I might just take you up on that.” Leena smiled at him, admiring the way his ears tinged pink when he blushed, holding the sloppy last few bites of her hotdog delicately over her cardboard container.

“What about you?”

“Oh right, me,” she spoke around those last few bites of food she made into one giant one. She swallowed. “Well, my name is Leena Duckett, I too love hotdogs — I work at the Sheridan Art Gallery as a tour guide, I find a guilty pleasure in lawyer shows, uh…What else…I went to Gotham University for a while…”

John’s brow furrowed. “Did you graduate?”

“Um, no.”

“Why not?”

“For reasons that are…Also probably not great first date material.” Leena picked at the last of her fries.

“Look, I don’t mean to push,” he said, voice gentle and caring, “But we did just talk about our dead parents so like — I don’t see how it can get any worse.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I feel like it’s a little taboo to bring up your ex on a first date.”

“Oh.” He shifted uncomfortably. “Sorry. Must have been…Pretty bad?”

“You can say that.” She nodded. “You can also say he cheated on me. Was seeing the girl for months while he was going to school in Metropolis and when he showed back up for the holidays he had her on his arm instead of me — he told me he forgot to break up with me.”

John looked at her for a moment. She stared right back. She hadn’t meant to say all that. But once she was started, it was so hard to stop. But she didn’t see any judgement or awkward feeling in his eyes. She only saw sympathy and maybe a hint of offense lying underneath. The expression didn’t help her relax. Great. First date in over a year and she blew it. All because she couldn’t keep her stupid mouth shut. He seemed so great too. With those hard yet kind brown eyes, that button up flannel, the fact that he liked Stargate enough to offer her his DVDs, that similar tilt she could sense in him. Leena put her hands on the wooden picnic table and prepared to get up, give some excuse as to why she had to go back home immediately. He wouldn’t have to drive her, she would just take the —

“Jesus,” he finally said, “What a prick.”

The tension in her shoulders let up a little, but she didn’t move her hands. “I’m sorry — I’m not saying that to like — you know what I mean? You’re not a rebound or anything. This happened like a year ago. Cause I know it’s like, oh, if she’s talking about her ex on the first date then you’re just being used — “

“Leena, I get it.” He smiled, closed lipped but soft and understanding. “We’ve all got dirty laundry and baggage. Trust me, I know. And to tell you the truth, this has been the best first date I’ve ever been on so far.”

“Seriously?” Her shoulders visibly lowered as she dragged her hands from the table top. “I feel like I have about ten feet in my mouth right now.”

“Nah, only about five.” He smiled at her again, boyish and sly and it made her heart beat funny in her chest.

She had a quick reply though. “Oh, look who’s talking around at least thirty toes.”

He laughed and rolled his eyes in that semi-dramatic way. “Come on, let’s take a lap around the park before it gets too dark.”

They leisurely strolled around Robinson Park and talked for at least an hour. Maybe even more. Leena definitely couldn’t tell you. She was too enraptured in the way conversation now seemed to flow so easily between them now that both of them said something they regretted. They talked about Gotham, sports (they both preferred baseball to Gotham’s more popular football), other pop culture things they liked besides Stargate, their experiences growing up in the city, Leena even talked about her art a little bit but only because he was genuinely interested in her art style and why she liked it. Jacob had never been interested in her art. Neither had her father. John kept his hands in his jean pockets the entire time, Leena had her’s balled up tight in the deep recesses of her yellow jacket. Part of her wished their hands were free. Maybe their hands would accidentally brush as they walked and then he would take her hand in his, gently, reverently. But the other part of her was glad that there was no such intimacy. She was more comfortable that way.

When they finally made it back to the picnic table, Leena fetched one of the Superdawg cardboard boxes out of the trash and tore off one side of it. There were a few grease stains, but it was still usable. It was a good thing she always kept a few pens in her overalls. She told him, with a mischievous grin as they sat back down, that she was going to draw him. He immediately protested with a wave of his hand.

“Would it make you feel better if I was in the drawing too?”

“I suppose.”

The cartoon doodle took her all of ten minutes. Bean shaped heads that vaguely looked like the two of them with tiny little bodies, floating on either side of a ridiculously large glowing hotdog. John cried he was laughing so hard when she let him see it.

“Oh, my God!” He wiped at his cheeks and let out one last laughing breath. “That’s a good one.”

“It’s for you.” She held it out to him with a smile.

He took it from her gingerly with his forefinger and thumb, his brow furrowed. “Why?”

“For being….” She thought for a moment then sighed. “For being understanding. And kind. Being up for the stupid challenge of getting my bike back just so you could go on a date with me. Which I’ll admit was a bit cruel of me.”

“Hmm, just a bit.”

“I wasn’t done,” she laughed, “This is the best date I’ve ever been on, to be honest. And, uh — “

“Hold on. I gotta admit something first.” John got up and went over to his car parked next to them. Leena got up and followed. He put a hand on the bright orange bike secured to the back. “This isn’t your bike.”

Leena looked at the bike for a moment. It sure looked like the Orange Streak of Lightning. Orange paint, white basket — it even had those stupid tassles. She looked back at him. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He back a bit with a look of guilt then said, “The guy who stole your bike only lived a few blocks away from the Community Center. I saw your bike leaned outside. When I asked him about it — he immediately confessed. He said he stole it for his daughter’s tenth birthday. The only thing she asked for was a bike. So, uh, I let him keep it. I found another orange one at the store but it didn’t have the basket or tassels. So I had to add those on. And, please, as far as you know I never found the guy — “

He let out a huff of air as she crushed him in a hug. Leena was overwhelmed. How could one person be so good? So generally wholesome and kind and generous to others? He broke the law by letting that man go. He probably even lied on reports he had to send in to his boss. All because he saw a father doing what he could for his daughter.

“How are you real?” she mumbled into the collar of his flannel.

“What?”

Oh, thank God he didn’t hear that.

Leena let go of him and readjusted her jacket. “Sorry. That was just…Really nice of you. Now you really deserve my dumb doodle.”

“I think it’s a nice doodle.” He pulled it out of his back pocket and looked at it again with a smile.

“Thank you. Seriously. You didn’t have to do all that.” She looked back to the bike. “I get around just fine without the bike.”

“You’re welcome. And I want you to have the bike. Makes me smile to picture you riding around the city on that — tassels flying in the breeze.” She punched him in the shoulder when he cracked a smile and he laughed at the sad attempt. “And, ya know, I wouldn’t mind doing something like this again.”

She smirked with a quirk of her brow. “Are you asking me out on another date, Officer John Blake?”

“Yes, I am, Artist Leena Duckett.”

“You have yourself a deal.”

[eclecticstarlightconnoisseur]

Paying It Forward

Good Evening all,

Ok, I know I haven’t posted the next chapter of Edinburgh to Boston. I am sorry about that. But it has been a pretty bad, horrible, no good end of the year for me. Hubby got sick again and I had to rush him to hospital. He needed heavy duty antibiotics.  He is now ok, but still very debilitated after his illness. Me? I have been taking care of him, going to work, and my characters have decided not to play nice with me. Hubs said I painted myself into a corner. Not exactly, I just haven’t figured out how to get them to do what I want them to do. And I am tired. Which is partially how this fic came about.  

I decided that I would start to read MOBY for two reasons. One, it has been some time since I read it and I am hoping that Bees will be out this year and I wanted to refresh my memory of what happened previously. Two, I was hoping it would help my writer’s block. It did but in an unexpected way. After getting to a certain point in the story, I went to sleep and dreamt the story you are about to read. It played in my head over and over, like it had to some out. So I wrote it and here it is.

Now that I said MOBY:  SPOILER ALERT!  SPOILER ALERT! If you haven’t read MOBY and don’t want to find out what’s going to happen, PLEASE DON’T READ THIS. The story actually draws on ABOSAA, ECHO, MOBY, and a tiny bit from the TV program.

As always I am indebted to @scubalass for her most excellent work as my beta. Also she contributed to the story which made it so much better. I’ll tell you at the end. I am also grateful to @gotham-ruaidh who told me it was different and good. And that I should go with it. The other important thing you need to know is it is written like one of Claire’s voice-over monologues. I know that people hate the monologues, but that’s how it was and I kept to it.

So I give you Paying It Forward. I hope you like it. 

The detritus of the woodland floor muffled the sounds of the Army advancing. Moldy leaves crackled and fragrant pine needles from fir trees helped to disguise their steps. But, it is not in the make-up of the military to travel quietly especially in the 18th century. Horses neighed and harness jingled. Goats bleated. Shot pouches and cartridge-boxes buckled to belts rattled and clinked  Wagons creaked under their heavy loads. Carriages groaned pulling the weighty cannon along. And, of course, there was Rollo, half-wolf, half-dog. The mongrel barked madly harassing man and beast alike as he weaved among them. The voice of my nephew, Ian Murray, called to the animal, “ Thig an seo cù .” Yipping with glee at the sound of his master’s voice, he raced to Ian’s side.  The sounds of infantry on the move certainly broke the peace of the coppice.

Our journey became hampered by the dense forest we traveled through. It was thick with trees, bushes, and bramble impeding the progress of the Continental Army as they marched toward Monmouth. Once there we were to muster with General George Washington and the other battalions.

Commanding this regiment is the newly ordained General James Fraser, my husband to whom I serve as company surgeon. I do admit it was quite a shock to first see him dressed in the full military regalia of a Continental Officer.  I began to tremble becoming a quivering mess when I first took him in wearing an officer’s dark blue and buff.

“Why does it always have to be you? Haven’t you, haven’t we given enough? Isn't it time for you to put down your sword and pistol?” I shuddered as I recalled the failed attempt by Charles Stewart to regain the Scottish crown which resulted in our twenty-year separation. The skirmish at Alamance that resulted in Murtagh’s death and the hanging of our son-in-law Roger which almost cost his life. The battle of Saratoga where I amputated one of Jamie’s fingers. Now, we were being pulled into another conflict. Was it too much to want to return to our simple life on the Ridge I wondered? But Jamie, my Jamie, is a highlander born and bred. A decent man, with strong principles and morals. He is a man of honor and that is not a small thing to be. I watched him as he sat at the head of the column, sitting straight and tall in his saddle like the true highland warrior he is. The breadth of his powerful back and shoulders would leave no doubt in anyone’s mind that he was born to lead, to command, to this moment in history. And command he would, braving the responsibility of leading his battalion to fight against the oppression of the British king.

Jamie knew the meaning of suffering, cruelty, and loss at the hands of the English. The loss of his home, his country, his own personal freedom came at their hands. And the loss of his family. He had quite the history with the Redcoats. Arrested for obstruction, escaping, then being recaptured. He ran afoul of a sadistic dragoon captain who had him flogged most cruelly one hundred lashes upon one hundred lashes. He escaped again and lived as an outlaw on the run instead of facing the gallows for a murder he did not commit.

Then there was Culloden. Where he, or should I say we lost everything. I was pregnant with our second child; our first child, a daughter, was stillborn. On the eve of battle, Jamie forced me to return to my own time for the safety of myself and our child. Jamie believed it would be his destiny to die in battle. Instead, he lived. Again he went into hiding for seven years living in a cave in Lallybroch. The Redcoats continued to harass his family, stealing what they wanted from the estate. They arrested Ian, Jamie’s brother-in-law as the Redcoats believed he knew of Jamie’s whereabouts. And there was the Highland Clearances which destroyed homes, Scottish culture, language, and their way of life.

Jamie was not driven to this war because of a need for revenge because of his losses, but rather he felt he was honor-bound as a father to take up his sword to protect those he loved. Even if those he loved lived centuries after him.

“Ye said that this was meant tae be Brianna’s home, her country, aye? Then I must do what I can for our daughter and her bairns. ‘Tis my duty as sire and grandsire to see that they will live free, Sassenach.”

And he would do what he must for Brianna, Jem, wee Mandy, and Roger. No matter the cost to himself.  

My mind completely focused on Jamie and our immediate future prevented me from noticing a tall man thin as a rail standing in the middle of the road blocking our progress. Immediately, Jamie’s second in command rode up next to his commander.

The man did not budge an inch. He was rather rough looking. Wearing a knitted cap on his head, his long greasy hair protruded out. A grizzled beard covered his face. His clothes were quite worn having been patched many times. He wore no shoes. In all, he looked quite primitive.

Suddenly, he moved with a decided determination; a man on a mission.  The man strode up to Jamie assuming correctly that he was the man in charge.

A strong downward breeze announced his presence. Most likely the man had not bathed in months if not years. The odor was enough to make your eyes water.

The old man came forward eyeing Jamie like an entomologist studying a new species of bug. Relaxing he gave a tug on his cap and briefly bobbed his head.

“Ye in charge here?” the old coot demanded.

‘Aye, I am. General James Fraser at yer service sir. Might I enquire to whom I am speaking?”

“Mortimer Hepplewhite the owner of this here land yer trespassing on. And I want tae know when ye will be gone.”

“Mr. Hepplewhite, we shall be off yer land as soon as may be. We need to travel off the main road for now as there have been sightings of English troops nearby.”

“Well, all yer clanging and stomping about is disturbing the peace of me home.”

Jamie turned around to look at the property. It had not been cleared for planting nor were there any animals grazing. All that stood in the distance was a ramshackle cabin with a lopsided chimney discharging an inordinate amount of smoke.

“I dinna see any crops, or animals grazing, or people that we might be disturbing, sir.”

“Not disturbing he says! Why I’ll have ye know me Arabella is in a right fit. She doesn’t care much for strangers.”

The recluse, a long-limb man, raised a heretofore unnoticed ball of fur and thrust it under Jamie’s nose. He focused on it intently causing his eyes to almost cross. It hissed, spit, and yowled with great ferocity.

It seemed that Arabella was a cantankerous cat. And was as ill-kempt as its master with matted fur and bald in spots. One fang hung outside its mouth and on closer inspection seemed to be missing an eye.

Mortimer drew the beast close to his chest whispering sweet words of comfort while tenderly stroking its scraggly fur. The cat settled in his arms and even began to purr.

Jamie called to his Lieutenant and leaned over to whisper in his ear. He nodded and rode off to follow his orders.

I sat on my horse watching this spectacle play out. Without warning, I felt the sudden loss of my cat and worried about his well-being. Adso was part house cat and part feral cat. However, he was my cat. He loved to jump onto my lap to snuggle and drift off to sleep. Or lie on the windowsill basking in a sunbeam tail swishing like a metronome. He did wreak havoc in my surgery at times but he was mine, a gift from Jamie. Adso was just as much a part of the family as any of us. So why couldn’t Arabella be this lonely man’s family?  Family is whoever you say they are.  

The Lieutenant promptly returned carrying a bundle which he handed to Jamie.

Jamie slid down from his horse and approached the gentleman.

“On behalf of the Continental Army, I would like tae offer ye recompense for disturbing yer peace. Please accept this small token from myself and General Washington. And for the lovely Miss Arabella, I make a gift of this fish just caught this morning.”

Jamie removed his hat and bowed to the man.

Mortimer truly wasn’t sure of what to make of this but graciously accepted the parcel. He removed his cap revealing a head of matted hair and returned the bow.  He replaced his cap, straightened his shoulders, held his head high as he strolled back to his home, a rich man. A man made richer not for what he received but for the respect given him.

Later that night as I lay in Jamie’s embrace I asked him what prompted his actions on the road.

“Do ye ken the conversation we had in the gardens in Philadelphia? The one about what happened between ye and his lordship?”

Did I remember, he wanted to know? How could I forget?

“Of course I remember, you said that you would mention it from time to time.  Am I to take it that this will be one of those times?”

“Aye, ‘tis. But not what yer thinking about,” he said with a sidelong look. “I’m speaking of how John’s friendship healed us during times of great need. Mine at Ardsmuir, Hellwater, and Jamaica. Yer’s when ye thought I died.” The topic of my hasty marriage to John (for strictly political reasons) was still a sore point to him. He understood it, but didn’t and wouldn’t like it.  

Jamie let out a sigh trying to collect himself before continuing, “Mortimer was naught but a poor lonely old man, Sassenach. And I did not do much for him. I gave him a wee bit of flour, lard, dried meat, apples, and some parritch.” Jamie stopped to think for a moment, “Oh, a razor, a lump of soap, and a fish for his mangy cat.”

“Are you saying that you did this because of the kindnesses John showed us?”

“Exactly so, mo ghràdh . I felt..it just felt like the right thing tae do.”

I raised my face to look at him, “There’s a term for that and it's called paying it forward .”

He looked quizzically at me trying to understand what I meant.

“What that means is when someone does something kind or helpful for you, you return that kindness to a different person instead of repaying the person who originally helped you. Did you know that the man who started this idea is alive now?”  

“Och, aye? Who is he Sassenach?”

“Benjamin Franklin. I think you would like him. He was a founding Father, freemason, inventor, scientist, and a printer.”

His eyebrows lifted at the mention of Franklin being a printer and a freemason. “I should like to meet this man one day. “

Jamie grew quiet as he attempted to digest this information. “Paying it forward,” he rolled the words around in his mouth tasting them. “Aye, that’s it. Just so, I was paying it forward.”

“Jamie, I think what you did was far greater than repaying a kindness. I think you gave him something more than he ever expected. You gave him respect and a way to restore his dignity.”

He leaned over and kissed me, “Aye, Sassenach, respect is something every man or woman deserves.” Jamie stopped to think for a moment, “No man wants to go about stinking if he can help it.” I knew he was thinking of his time hiding in the cave and as a prisoner at Ardsmuir. “There were days I thought I would never get the stink off my body, dirt from under my nails, or be rid of the lice. ‘Twas a small thing but it may make a big difference to him. Maybe it will help to restore his self-regard.”

The following day we resumed our journey. Once again a man stood in the road again blocking our path. There was something vaguely familiar about him. It was Mortimer, now clean-shaven, clothes washed having removed several layers of filth, and much less fragrant. He carried a pack strapped to his back probably containing all his worldly possessions. Strangely he carried a beautiful and well-maintained musket in his hand.

He approached Jamie, removed his cap, and bowed deeply.

“Yer Excellency, I have decided tae travel with ye fer a while. If ye dinna mind.”

“Yer presence is welcome, Mr. Hepplewhite. Find yerself a place among the men. This evening please come by tae see my wife. She is the physician of our troop. She will see tae yer physicking needs should ye have any.”

“I thank ye, sir.” Mortimer replaced his cap, lowered his head, and took a position among the rank-and-file.

Jamie smiled, a pleased look playing across his face. His arm raised and he waved us forward.

As the men resumed their march, a wee black puff ball of fur stuck its head out of Mortimer’s bag evidently Arabella had a wash-up too.

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

Thig an seo cù - Come here dog.

If anyone wants to know, Jamie’s white stallion’s name was Samson. And he sneezed violently when he sniffed Mortimer.

A little bit of history here. Benjamin Franklin lent Benjamin Webb a sum of money to start a business. He told Webb that when his business was successful and he had paid all his debts, he should likewise help someone else like Franklin helped him. In return, that gentleman would have to assist someone else like Webb helped him. Franklin hoped this would continue until some knave would stop its progress. The idea of paying it forward was born.

We can all thank @scubalass for telling me about Ben Franklin and Paying It Forward.  She is truly an amazing person and a fount of information and wisdom. I think that this added so much to the story and found it quite interesting.

Thank you for reading. I hope you liked it.

It is also on AO3 where I am LadyJane518:   https://archiveofourown.org/works/28907349

[let-the-dream-begin]

In My Daughter’s Eyes Chapter 20: Lightweight

Chapter 19

 Read on AO3

“Go on, baby. Tell Aunt Claire she looks smokin’.”

“Yup. You’re real pretty, Aunt Claire.”

Claire fussed with her hair and pulled up the top of her dress for perhaps the millionth time since the Abernathy’s had arrived. They were standing in front of Claire’s full length mirror as Faith jumped on the bed in the background, completely nonplussed about her mother’s impending date. Gail brought over Lenny and Delia to watch Faith for the night so that her nighttime routine would not be disrupted if she fell asleep at the Abernathy’s. 

Claire had agonized over what to wear for hours, having Facetimed Gillian for help after the woman threatened to kill her if she didn’t. She’d had a veritable screaming fit after Claire had told her the events of the Fourth of July party, demanding every single detail or else. Gillian had suggested all of Claire’s sluttiest outfits for tonight, which Claire had shot down immediately.

“I don’t want him to think I’m putting out!”

“Ye don’t?”

“No! It’s the first date!”

“Well, ye already used him to — ”

“No need to go any further.”

“Is it…modest enough?” Claire asked Gail, fussing with the neckline again.

It really was a pretty dress, her first post-Frank splurge purchase. At the time, it had felt silly, since the only occasion she’d had to dress that nice was for Oxford events, and that was something she no longer had to endure. But once it had arrived in the mail, she’d felt pretty putting it on, and she figured it did no harm to indulge herself in her newly divorced depression.

It was white and covered in large arrangements of sky-blue flowers, with desaturated leaves to accent the blue. It fell just below the knee in the front and mid-calf in the back. She’d been drawn to it for tonight immediately because the blue reminded her of Jamie’s eyes.

“Is that silly? Is he going to look at it and think I’m a nutter?”

“Ye are a nutter if ye think that’s what he’ll be thinking about when he sees ye.”

The V of the neckline went just down to her sternum, low enough to shut Gillian up about looking like a prude, but high enough that Claire didn’t feel like she was spilling out of the dress. The sleeves came halfway over the shoulder, just long enough to not be considered sleeveless.

“It’s perfect. Would you relax?” Gail squeezed her shoulders and gave her a little shake. “He’s gonna be in Heaven when he sees you.”

“The make up isn’t too much?”

This was perhaps the first time Claire had worn more than concealer under her eyes and mascara in almost two years, and even that much was only for special occasions. Tonight she donned eyeshadow, blush, and a neutral lip with the tiniest hint of pink.

“Not at all. You’re a regular angel. And besides.” Gail smirked. “I think you could show up in a trash bag and he’d still faint at the sight of you.”

Claire snorted. “I don’t know about that.”

“You’re leaving your hair, right?”

“Hmm? Oh, I was going to — ”

“Well don’t. It looks great the way it is.”

“It’s…a mess!” Claire ran her fingers through the poodle fur that was her hair.

“It’s you. He likes your hair.”

“And how do you know that?” Claire crossed her arms over her chest.

“You had it down at Faith’s party and he was all over it. With his eyes.”

Claire rolled her eyes, but couldn’t suppress a silly grin. A knock came from the front door, and Claire very suddenly felt like she would throw up. Before anyone could blink, Faith catapulted herself off the bed with a great leap and dashed to the door.

“Don’t forget your shoes, Aunt Claire.” Delia tugged on her arm before she could follow after Faith.

“Oh, thank you, darling.” Claire turned around and sat on the bed to tug on the white wedges she’d picked out.

“Can’t I just wear flats?”

“No! If ye refuse to go sexy wi’ the dress, ye have tae go somewhat sexy wi’ the shoes. I dinna make the rules.”

Gillian had better be right.

By the time Claire got to the front door, Faith was tugging on the locked door and moaning with impatient annoyance.

“Alright, alright. Take it easy, lovie.” Claire pried Faith’s hands off the door handle and held tightly to her wrist as she moved to open the front door.

He was right on time, five o’clock sharp.

Why was she so nervous? The man had seen her in all states of informality at the stables, messy hair, glasses, whatever clothes she had time to throw on after a shift. He’d seen her sweat through her scrubs as she blubbered like a baby. There was no reputation left for her to protect, no reason to need to impress him. He’d fallen for the blubbering mess in her scrubs, so why did one date make a difference?

Because now it’s real.

After months of pretending that she didn’t want to take his face in her hands and kiss him, pretending that she didn’t imagine what it would feel like in his arms, ignoring the fantasy she’d had of this exact moment, of getting dressed up and opening the door for him…it was real.

She opened the door and there he was, and she almost laughed.

He was wearing a shirt nearly the exact same color as the flowers on her dress, a shirt that paled in comparison to the blue of his eyes. It was tucked into perfectly pressed khakis, complete with a tan leather belt that matched his shoes.

“Hi,” Claire said, breathless, almost not even hearing Faith’s loud excited humming as she tugged against her mother’s grip to get to Jamie. He was smiling in that endearing, lopsided way of his, his pupils dilating further the longer he looked at her. “Uh, come in. Please.”

As soon as Jamie crossed the threshold, Faith began patting his thigh with her free hand. When Claire released her after Jamie shut the door, she began rubbing the material of his pants and swaying absently.

“The texture,” Claire said sheepishly. “It feels nice to her.”

“Glad to hear it,” he said, beaming down at her. “Spent long enough ironing them.”

“Hi,” Delia said abruptly, and Gail hushed her.

“Hallo.” Jamie waved at Gail and Delia. “Nice to see ye again.” Gail greeted him similarly, and then Jamie produced a bouquet of flowers that Claire hadn’t even noticed he’d been holding behind his back. White roses with forget-me-nots stuck in throughout, arranged perfectly.

“These are for you.”

Claire felt her blush deepen and her smile widen. “They’re beautiful, Jamie…” She took the arrangement in her arms and beamed up at him. “That’s why you wanted to know my favorite flower.”

He grinned and rubbed the back of his neck. “Thought that’d be pretty obvious.”

“I didn’t even think…” Perhaps it was because Frank had never bothered with such frivolities — insisting that his wife was far too practical for such things, but Claire hadn’t thought twice about Jamie’s out-of-the-blue text over the week. He’d sent her good morning and good night texts every day since last Saturday, and they even briefly chatted on the phone when Claire wasn’t dead on her feet after a shift.

Seeing each other at the stables had been awkward and not without lots of ribbing from every adult present, but they’d managed to keep it professional, save for Jamie’s suggestive, “See ye tomorrow, Sassenach.”

“They look bonny in yer arms, mo nighean donn.” Jamie’s eyes twinkled, and Claire nearly melted into the floor. “Ah, here.” Jamie plucked a rose out of the arrangement and gently pried Faith’s hands off of him. “Here ye are, lass.” He knelt down and presented her the rose, and Faith took it eagerly in her hands. “Jest fer you, since ye’re letting me borrow yer mam all night.”

Faith gave an excited little hop, and then skipped off with a hum into her room.

“She’s going to file that away somewhere,” Claire said as Jamie stood up. “I’ll, uh, put these in a vase…”

“Let me take care of that,” Gail said, taking the flowers from her. “Go get your purse and get going.” She winked.

Claire looked at Jamie sheepishly. “Right. One moment.”

After retrieving her purse, she called Faith back into the living room to say goodbye.

“Remember what we talked about. You will have quiet hands and quiet feet for Aunt Gail. And you will use your ears to listen, like you do for Mrs. Lickett when Mummy is at work. Yes?” Claire repeated the mantra, this time gripping her hands, touching her feet, and giving her ears a little pinch. “You’ll be a good girl. Won’t you, Faith?” Claire gave a thumbs up, which Faith returned. “That’s my girl. Okay, hugs.” They shared a brief hug, and Claire gave a squeeze with a dramatic little oomf sound effect.

Claire’s eyes flicked up to the bouquet in Gail’s arms, and then to Jamie.

“Just one more thing.” Claire crossed to Gail and plucked a forget-me-not out of the arrangement. She returned to Jamie and tucked it into his shirt pocket, keeping her eyes locked with his the whole time.

“There,” she said, slightly breathless. “Now we’re ready.”

Jamie ushered Claire out the front door with his hand at the small of her back, as Gail encouraged Faith to “say bye-bye!” until the door was shut. The second the door clicked, Jamie’s hands were on her face, his lips claiming hers hungrily. She eagerly kissed him back, one hand playing with the flower in his shirt, and the other squeezing his shoulder.

“Christ,” Jamie breathed when he pulled away. “Ye look…beautiful, Claire.”

She laughed softly, peering up at him through her lashes. “You’re as dashing as ever.”

He gave her another soft peck and then swept his eyes over her face, as if drinking her in.

“And what was this for?” His fingers laced with hers atop the flowers in his shirt, and Claire felt herself blush.

“I wanted to be able to look at them while they were still perfectly fresh,” she said, biting her lip as she smiled up at him. “And your eyes are forget-me-not blue, after all.”

He raised a brow in a devilishly handsome way. “Are they now?”

“Mhmm.” She leaned in to kiss him again, and then broke away with a giggle. “We said goodbye five minutes ago and we’re still standing on the porch.”

He chuckled softly, then took her hand in his. “Shall we, then?”

They descended the steps together and made their way to Jamie’s car, parked on the street since Gail’s was in the spot behind Claire’s. Before Claire could even think about opening her own door, Jamie was in front of her, doing it for her. She blushed deeply as she got in, feeling his eyes on her all the while. He slid into the driver’s seat beside her and he paused, eyes settling on her as she looked up from buckling her seatbelt.

“What?”

He shook his head. “Nothin’. Just…seein’ ye there, sitting in my car, waiting for me to take ye on a date…” He bit his lip, and it sent Claire’s mind spinning. “It’s incredible, is all.”

Claire self-consciously pushed some hair out of her face, blush deepening. “Are you trying to make me melt into the seat before we even pull away?”

He chuckled as he put the car in drive. “Wouldna be very intuitive, but I wouldna mind all the same.”

She rolled her eyes, and then became lost in the way the late-afternoon summer sunset danced in his auburn hair. Not wanting to be caught staring, she took a breath and then broke the small silence.

“What did Jessica say? About yesterday?”

“Ah,” Jamie said, smiling. “She said she’s more than happy to take over for such a ‘cutie-pie,’ I believe was the term she used.” Claire beamed with pride, knowing full well that her daughter was indeed an adorable child.

“Does she think that Faith will be okay? With the switch?”

“Oh, aye. She has full confidence in the lass.” He moved one of his hands off the steering wheel to take hold of Claire’s hand. “As do I.”

Claire watched as he brought their joined hands to his lips to kiss her knuckles, never once taking his eyes off the road.

Jamie and Toni had been coming up with a plan to transition Faith to a new main therapist over the course of the week, and Jamie had been keeping Claire updated over the phone or over text. Miss Jessica was available during Faith’s scheduled hour, and she was always at the events the stables hosted, so Faith was at least familiar and comfortable with her.

It was to be a slow, gradual process. The switch could not be too fast or jarring. Faith could not feel that Jamie was abandoning her at the stables, but she also could not get too comfortable with him. The longer she perceived him as part of the family, the more of a risk they were taking with her behavior at the stables. Children always behave better for non-family members, and autistic children — and especially Faith — were no exception.

And the truth was, Jamie had been family for far longer than either of them cared to admit.

The goal was to eventually have Jessica be Faith’s full-time therapist, with Erica staying on as the volunteer for stability and consistency. Jamie would be there, of course, but the endgame goal was for him to stand outside the fence with Claire and watch. They'd agreed, along with Toni, that even having him working with another child in the riding hall at the same time would not be fair to her; Faith should feel like Jamie was still completely invested in her time with Pippi, even if he could not be the one holding the reins.

They passed the rest of the drive in relative silence, their hands linked, Jamie occasionally brushing his thumb across her knuckles. Occasionally, Jamie would remark on some local place they passed that he wanted to take her to eventually — “if ye’d allow it,” he would add nervously. They passed a lively carnival in a mall parking lot, and Claire smiled wistfully.

“Have you ever been there?” she asked.

“Nah, no’ that one in particular. Been to traveling carnivals as a bairn in Scotland, but I never went once I moved here. I always wanted to take Jenny’s bairns, but the timing never worked out.”

“I only have once. Faith was still a baby, only two. You might have seen the picture on the carousel in the living room.”

“Aye, I remember it.”

Claire smiled warmly at the thought of Jamie not only noticing, but remembering the photographs on display in her home.

“I might have also gone with my parents but that would have been too long ago to remember. And I’ve been too afraid to take Faith anywhere like that since her diagnosis.”

Jamie was silent, the carnival disappearing from view.

Damnit, Beauchamp. Dead parents are not very good first-date talk.

“Ye were young, then? When ye lost them?”

His voice was gentle, yet trying to stay casual.

“Yes, only five.” She forced a tight-lipped smile. “Car crash.”

Jamie exhaled heavily and squeezed her hand. “I’m…so sorry, Claire.”

“Thanks…it’s…it’s okay. I had a good childhood with my uncle. I hardly remember what it was like to lose them. Which…could be sad depending how you look at it.”

He brought her knuckles to his lips again, kissing there fervently.

“I’m glad ye had love from yer uncle, mo nighean donn. Dinna ken if I could bear to know ye lost them only to be raised in loneliness.”

Their hands returned to rest in the space between the seats.

“Sorry,” Claire said.

“Fer what, Sassenach?”

“Bringing the mood down.” She looked down at her lap sheepishly.

“Hey.”

His voice and the squeeze of her hand brought her gaze back up, and he was staring at her, stopped at a light.

“Ye’ve nothing to be sorry for. At all.”

She offered a tiny smile, then brought their hands to her own lips so she could kiss his hand. “Thank you.”

The rest of the drive was not long at all, and soon they were pulling up to a building Claire hadn’t seen before, lined with trees strung up with lights. After they were parked, Claire unbuckled and almost opened her door as a reflex, but she stopped, not wanting to deflate Jamie’s chivalrousness. She grinned at him as he opened the door and took her hand.

“Such a gentleman,” she teased, leaning into him and linking their arms together.

“Well, I try,” he said, pressing a kiss to her temple.

Giggling slightly, Claire allowed Jamie to lead her inside; of course, he released her to open the door for her. It was dark inside, save the dim chandeliers dangling from the cathedral ceiling. Claire gawked at their elegant surroundings as Jamie checked in with the reservation for “James.” She ran a self-conscious hand through her wild hair that had been tossed about by just a few seconds outside. She observed the other women sitting down with their dates or small groups, hair elegantly pinned up in its entirety or at least halfway, and Claire suddenly felt like a slob with her wild mane frizzing freely.

The hostess led them to a candlelit table in a beautiful dining room, and her first thought was that she was not worth all this. Her second thought was that she hadn’t been somewhere remotely like this since the last Oxford event Frank had dragged her to, and she’d felt like she was under a microscope at every single one of those. Every other professor’s wife always looked like they had a thing or two to say about her appearance, and she always felt like fresh meat to Frank’s male friends.

She forced herself to focus on now, however, and reminded herself that she was here with a man that thought she was beautiful, a man that did think she was worth all this. A man who would not ask her every five minutes to pull up her dress and cover herself up, dammit.

He didn’t choose this place so you could start thinking about your shitty ex-husband, Beauchamp. He couldn’t possibly know.

Jamie held out her chair for her, and her heart calmed itself as she allowed herself to find peace in his eyes.

“Jamie…this place is just beautiful.” She giggled again as he pushed in the chair for her. “I feel like royalty.”

“Good.” He said, grinning as he sat down across from her. 

A waiter came and took their drink orders, and Claire felt her pulse increase. She didn’t have a clue what to get. She knew she wanted wine, but the list was far too extensive. She felt like she was eighteen again, freshly legal and clueless on how to order a drink. Jamie confidently ordered “two fingers of Lagavulin, neat,” and Claire stammered for several seconds before blurting something out that she didn’t even remember after she said it.

The waiter left, and Claire smiled sheepishly at Jamie, feeling quite silly for nearly causing a scene over the drink menu. She took the dinner menu in her hands to start perusing. It was an enormous menu, and an expensive menu. She had to fight the urge to tell Jamie that he didn’t need to be so extravagant for her sake. It was endlessly endearing to her, but she also couldn’t help the pangs of guilt knowing the size of the bill he was going to be met with at the end of the night.

As she continued to become overwhelmed by the menu, Jamie’s hand was suddenly touching her elbow on the table, and she peered up at him. She could tell he was smiling just from his eyes, and she returned it. His hand crept up her arm until he was grasping her hand, pulling it off the menu and settling their joined hands in the center of the table, beside the candle.

In the past, Claire was one to gag at those stereotypical couples playing footsie, holding hands, and getting lost in each other’s eyes. In fact, she and Frank used to openly mock couples like that. They’d taken some sort of pride as a couple that they never looked like that in public. 

Yet, here she was, clasping hands with a man at the dinner table, occasionally brushing her leg — crossed over the other — against his, and unable to stop staring, the menu going largely ignored by both parties.

And not only did she not give a damn how she looked, she was enjoying it.

The waiter came back to take their appetizer orders, and neither of them had read more than two words of the menu. They sent him away, laughing at themselves as he went.

“How will this ever work if I can’t get anything done with you around?” Claire teased, smirking at him.

“I think I could survive on the sight of you alone, Sassenach.”

A chill ran down Claire’s spine.

They decided to get a shared appetizer of fried artichoke hearts, something Claire hadn’t been able to get her hands on in ages.

“Are they good here, do you know?” Claire asked after they placed the order.

“No’ sure. Never been here.”

“Really?”

“It came highly recommended,” Jamie assured her, nervousness flashing over his face temporarily. “Just never had a lass worthy of such attentions before.”

Claire rolled her eyes. “I’m not sure I’m worthy of all…this. I don’t think I’ve ever eaten somewhere so exquisite in my life.”

“D’ye like it, then?”

“Of course, Jamie.” Claire squeezed his hand. “Like I said, it’s…more than I even deserve.”

“Ye deserve the world, mo ghraidh.” He kissed her hand, and she blushed deeply.

Her eyes darted over his face and around the table, unsure how to respond to his reverent proclamation.

“What sort of music do you like?” she said abruptly, and then immediately wanted to kick herself.

“Playing twenty questions, are we?” he teased, resting their hands on the table again.

“I suppose.” She rolled her eyes upward, in admonishment of herself. “Had to come up with something to say. I’m not a walking poetry collection like you are.”

Jamie exhaled a breathy laugh and then rolled his eyes upward as well, shaking his head with a smirk.

“Well, I’m a fan of country music, actually.”

“So you really are a cowboy,” Claire said, grinning widely.

“Och.” Jamie waved her off as if in annoyance, but she could see the glimmer in his eye. “Aye, I suppose ye could say that. Always loved John Denver, he was my Ma’s favorite. Mine too. Blake Shelton, Luke Bryan, Keith Urban, all those, ye ken.”

Claire hummed in fascination, then cocked a teasing eyebrow. “Not a fan of female country singers, then?”

“Ye cut me to the quick, lass! Ye think I didna grow up wi’ Reba, wi’ a woman like my mother running the house?” Claire laughed out loud, picturing a little redheaded boy dancing in the kitchen to Reba with his mother, as Claire did with Faith to Disney music. “Aye, she’s a right legend. But then there’s Miranda Lambert, Faith Hill, Martina McBride…”

“Alright, I approve,” Claire said smugly. “Anything besides country?”

“Billy Joel fer one. And Manilow. Both Long Island natives.”

“If memory serves, I believe Barry Manilow is from Brooklyn.”

“Och, close enough,” he said.

“Hardly,” she teased right back. “How about Elton John?”

“Well, of course.”

“He was always one of my favorites,” Claire said. “I do like country, too. Just not my favorite.”

“And what would that be, then?”

“I adore Ed Sheeran and Michael Bublé. And that style in general. Smooth like old jazz, but has a contemporary twist.”

“What, Sassenach, no female singers?” He cocked an eyebrow at her, his eyes glistening with mirth.

“Oh, you…” She playfully swatted his forearm, but couldn’t suppress her grin. She then blushed, looking over her shoulder self-consciously, wondering if she should be hitting her date in a place like this. “If you must know…as a teenager, I…well…I was known to listen to Brittney on occasion.”

“Aha! Ye were a nineties pop-band lass.” He grinned triumphantly. “And ye still are, I’d wager.”

Claire rolled her eyes and bit her lip, chuckling through her nose.

“Ye are! Ye’re no’ denying it!”

“Alright, alright, don’t rouse the entire fancy restaurant,” Claire swatted at him and flitted her eyes around them again, and Jamie began visibly trying to restrain his laughter.

“I’m sorry, it’s really no’ that funny, but jest…you, yer proper English-doctor-self, listening to Brittney in the car…” He wiped away tears of laughter with one hand, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It tickles me, is all.” 

“I can see that,” she said through her own laughter, looking around yet again. She felt like a child that was far too young to be taken somewhere like this but didn’t have any say in the matter, and had no idea how to behave. There was something about this man that made her want to throw her head back and laugh at the moon, and something else about him that made it impossible to stop herself despite their surroundings.

They finally ceased howling at themselves, and Jamie spoke again. “I’m surprised Disney music wasna the first thing ye said.”

Claire chuckled. “Right. Well, I suppose I thought that went without saying. I do love it, more so now than I even did as a child. Faith really…brings out that side of you. The child in you. I’m not sure if it’s like that with every child, or because she’s, well…her.”

“Aye, I suppose any bairn has that effect on ye. But ye’re right. Faith is…special in that way.” He ran his thumb over her knuckles, back and forth, his eyes twinkling as he spoke so fondly of Faith.

Claire almost burst into tears.

“You know, it…” She cleared her throat to keep herself together, leaning closer to him. “It really means more than I can ever say that you…that she…”

“I ken, Sassenach.” He squeezed her hand again.

“I just…I couldn’t be with someone who didn’t.…know her. So deeply. I really couldn’t,” she went on. “I couldn’t just…meet a man and tell him I’m a single mom and wait on pins and needles for the day I introduce him to my kid, and then he doesn’t understand what he’s really in for no matter how much I tried to explain…” She sighed, trying to calm herself.

No need to get worked up over an imaginary scenario. Her reality was infinitely more wonderful than all that.

“I couldn’t just…see someone. With us, you’re really seeing…both of us. And I couldn’t have it any other way. I don’t even know where I’m going with this. I’m just…grateful, I suppose.” She looked into his eyes, her own eyes watering. “Really, really grateful.”

“Aye. Me too, Sassenach.”

She leaned across the table to kiss him gently, onlookers be damned. In that kiss, and in the lingering gaze afterward, Claire gave him every word and phrase that she would just stumble through if she tried to say them aloud. Looking into his eyes, without speaking, she said:

Thank you.

The fried artichoke hearts arrived shortly after, and Claire dug in greedily. They were very good; she honestly could have eaten the entire platter herself and then some. Jamie seemed entirely too amused by her enjoyment of the food, but she was too delighted herself to care.

When they were gone — much too quickly for Claire’s liking, Jamie once again took up the menu, and Claire followed suit.

“Have any ideas what ye want?”

Claire flicked her eyes to him and she exhaled with a soft laugh. “I…have no idea, actually. There’s too much on this bloody menu.”

He chuckled. “Aye, I’d have tae agree wi’ ye there.”

“I mean…even the number of categories…it’s almost overwhelming.” She punctuated her sentence with a laugh, not wanting him to think she was complaining or ungrateful.

But she was overwhelmed.

“And it’s…” She bit her lip before she could continue, but of course he noticed.

“What, Sassenach?” Jamie put down his menu and met her eye.

“Nothing, really.”

He cocked an eyebrow, and Claire wanted to kick herself again.

“It’s…very expensive.” Her face felt hot as the words tumbled from her lips.

“Ye dinna think ye’re paying, do ye?” Jamie said incredulously.

“Well, I was going to offer, of course…but either way…I can’t ask you to pay this much for me to eat. It’s completely unfair.” She put her menu down as well and looked at him sheepishly.

“Claire, I wouldna take ye somewhere I canna afford.”

“I know! That’s not what I mean,” she said quickly. “Christ, can my foot get any deeper in my mouth?” She buried her face in her hands, but only briefly, as Jamie was prying them away before she could even lean on them.

“Claire.”

The way he said her name forced her to meet his eye, and she almost melted at the way he was looking at her.

“D’ye want tae leave?”

She blinked dumbly before vehemently shaking her head. “No! Jamie — ”

“I meant d’ye ye want tae leave with me,” he clarified, his lips twitching upward. She blinked at him again, and he leaned forward. “Ye dinna seem comfortable here, mo nighean donn. I can see ye looking over yer shoulder like ye’re about to be scolded by a schoolteacher. I thought to impress ye wi’ finery and such…but it seems foolish now.”

“No, Jamie, really…” Claire sighed, her heart almost breaking for him. “This place is beautiful. And those honest to god were the best fried artichoke hearts I’ve ever had. And the wine is delicious.”

“But look at us, aye? Hanging on each other and guffawing like bairns.” His smile widened, and Claire couldn’t help but grin as well. “I think we’d fit in better elsewhere.”

Claire’s brow furrowed. “Like where?”

Jamie’s grin broke as wide as possible, his teeth flashing brilliantly at her. “A carnival.”

Claire’s teeth broke free of her tight-lipped smile as well, and she laughed out loud. “Are you serious?”

“Serious as the plague.”

She laughed again, shaking her head. “So we just…leave?”

“Well, I was thinking we’d pay first.”

Claire rolled her eyes, but her smile widened. “That’s not what I meant…”

“Finish yer wine, lass. I’ll get the check and then we can go.”

She blinked at him in disbelief, her heart fluttering. Frank had never, ever picked up on her discomfort at those uppity events in the eight years they’d been together, and Jamie had done so on their first date. Frank had never offered any sort of reprieve from the onslaught of formality. Claire had always been good at pretending for appearance’s sake; but how difficult was it really to play the professor’s pretty wife, eye candy and arm decoration? After Faith was born, Claire used to rush home from said events and play with her and babble senselessly to her until the poor little thing could no longer keep her eyes open just to feel some semblance of herself again.

She could not imagine Frank ever even thinking of taking her somewhere considered so juvenile and silly as a carnival. Somewhere she could laugh her head off, even scream, and not have anyone eye her like she didn’t belong there. She realized at once that Faith was not the only person that made her connect with her inner child. Jamie had been doing it all night, poking fun at her, pushing all the right buttons to make her walls come down, struggling to keep his voice to a reasonable volume in a fancy restaurant, snickering at her across the table.

Like bairns, indeed.

And she loved it.

Claire did as he said, releasing his hands so she could take a few long drags of her wine.

“You’re alright to drive?” she said, watching as he took a final sip of his whisky.

“One drink isna enough to inebriate me, Sassenach. I’m no lightweight.” He winked.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were calling me a lightweight,” she challenged.

Jamie just shrugged, smirked at her, and then called over a passing waiter to ask for the check.

Blood rushed to Claire’s ears, and she felt her head swimming as Jamie turned away from the waiter and settled his smoldering gaze on her again.

Well, I’m either a lightweight…or this man has me under some sort of spell.