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eiirisworkshop · 3 years

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The Fanfic Author's Guide to Metatext

(As Used on Ao3) by Eiiri

Also available as a PDF here. This thing is 13,000 words. The PDF is recommended.

Intro: What is Metatext?

Metatext is everything we fanfic authors post along with our story that is not the story itself: title, tags, summary, author's notes, even the rating.

It is how we communicate to potential readers what they're signing themselves up for if they choose to read our story, how we let them make informed decisions regarding which fics they want to read, how we get their interest and, frequently, how they find our story in the first place. A lot of metatext acts as a consent mechanism for readers, it's the informed part of informed consent.

Since most of us who write fanfic also read it, we understand how important this is! But, for the most part, no one ever teaches us how to use metatext; we have to pick it up by osmosis. That makes it hard to learn how to use it well, we all suck at it when we first start out, and some of us may go years without learning particular conventions that seem obvious to others in our community. This creates frustration for everybody.

Enter this guide!

This is meant to be a sort of handbook for fic writers, particularly those of us who post on Archive of Our Own, laying out and explaining the established metatext conventions already in use in our community so we (and our readers!) are all on the same page. It will also provide some best-practices tips.

The point is to give all of us the tools to communicate with our audience as clearly and effectively as possible, so the people who want to read a story like ours can find it and recognize it as what they're looking for, those who don't want to read a story like ours can easily tell it's not their cup of tea and avoid it, nobody gets hurt, and everybody has fun—including us!

Now that we know what we're talking about, let's get on with the guide! The following content sections appear in the order one is expected to provide each kind of metatext when posting a fic on Ao3, but first….

Warning!

This is a guide for all authors on Ao3. As such, it mentions subject matter and kinds of fic that you personally might hate or find disgusting, but which are allowed under the Archive's terms of use. There are no graphic descriptions or harsh language in the guide itself, but it does acknowledge the existence of fic you may find distasteful and explains how to approach metatext for such fics.

Some sexual terminology is used in an academic context.

A note from the author:

This guide reflects the conventions of the English-language fanfiction community circa 2021. Conventions may differ in other language communities, and although many of our conventions have been in place for decades (praise be to our Star Trek loving foremothers) fanfiction now exists primarily in the realm of internet fandom where things tend to change rather quickly, so some conventions in this guide may die out while other new conventions, not covered in this guide, arise.

This is not official or in any way produced by the Archive of Our Own (Ao3), and though some actual site rules are mentioned, it is not a rulebook. Primarily, it is a descriptivist take on how the userbase uses metatext to communicate amongst ourselves, provided in the interest of making that communication easier and more transparent for everyone, especially newer users.

Contents

How To Use This Guide Ratings Archive Warnings Fandom Tags Category Relationship Tags Character Tags Additional Tags Titles Summaries Author's Notes Series and Chapters Parting Thoughts

How To Use This Guide

Well, read it. Or have it read to you.

This isn't a glossary, it's a handbook, and it's structured more like an academic paper or report, but there's lots and lots of examples in it!

Many of these examples are titles of real media and the names of characters from published media, or tags quoted directly from Ao3 complete with punctuation and formatting.

Some examples are more generic and use the names Alex, Max, Sam, Chris, Jamie, and Tori for demonstration purposes. In other generic examples, part of an example tag or phrase may be sectioned off with square brackets to show where in that tag or phrase you would put the appropriate information to complete it. This will look something like “Top [Character A]” where you would fill in a character's name.

This guide presumes that you know the basics of how to use Ao3, at least from the perspective of reading fic. If you don't, much of this guide may be difficult to understand and will be much less helpful to you, though not entirely useless.

Ratings

Most fanfic hosting sites provide ratings systems that work a lot like the ratings on movies and videogames.

Ao3's system has four ratings:

General

Teen

Mature

Explicit

These seem like they should be pretty self-explanatory, and the site's own official info pop-up (accessible by clicking the question mark next to the section prompt) gives brief, straightforward descriptions for each of them.

Even so, many writers have found ourselves staring at that dropdown list, thinking about what we've written, and wondering what's the right freaking rating for this? How do I know if it's appropriate for “general audiences” or if it needs to be teen and up? What's the difference between Mature and Explicit?

The best way to figure it out is often to think about your fic in comparison to mainstream media.

General is your average Disney or Dreamworks movie, Cartoon Network or Nickelodeon shows, video games like Mario, Kirby, and Pokemon.

There may be romance, but no sexual content or discussion. Scary things might happen and people might get hurt, but violence is non-graphic and usually mild. Adults may be shown drinking alcohol or smoking tobacco, and some degree of intoxication may be shown (usually played for laughs and not focused on), but hard drug use is generally not shown or discussed. There is little to no foul language written out and what language there may be is mild, though harsher swears may be implied by narration. There are no explicit F-bombs or slurs.

Teen is more like a Marvel movie, most network television shows (things like The Office, Supernatural, or Grey's Anatomy), video games like Final Fantasy, Five Nights at Freddie's, and The Sims.

There might be some sex and sexual discussion, but nothing explicit is shown—things usually fade to black or are leftimplied. More intense danger, more severe injuries described in greater detail, and a higher level of violence may be present. Substance use may be discussed and intoxication shown, but main characters are unlikely to be shown doing hard drugs. Some swearing and other harsh language may be present, possibly including an F-bomb or two. In longer works, that might mean an F-bomb every few chapters.

Mature is, in American terms, an R-rated movie* like Deadpool, Fifty Shades of Grey, The Exorcist, and Schindler's List; certain shows from premium cable networks or streaming services like Game of Thrones, Shameless, Breaking Bad, and Black Sails; videogames like Bioshock, Assassin's Creed, Grand Theft Auto, and The Witcher.

Sex may be shown and it might be fairly explicit, but it's not as detailed or graphic or as much the focus of the work as it would be if it were porn. Violence, danger, and bodily harm may be significant and fairly graphic. Most drug use is fair game. Swearing and harsh language may be extensive.

Explicit is, well, extremely explicit. This is full on porn, the hardcore horror movies, and snuff films.

Sex is highly detailed and graphic. Violence and injury is highly detailed and graphic. Drug use and its effects may be highly detailed and graphic. Swearing and harsh language may be extreme, including extensive use of violent slurs.

Please note that both Mature and Explicit fics are intended for adult audiences only, but that does not mean a teenaged writer isn't going to produce fics that should be rated M or E. Ratings should reflect the content of the fic, not the age of the author.

Strictly speaking, you don't have to choose any of these ratings; Ao3 has a “Not Rated” option, but for purposes of search results and some other functions, Not Rated fics are treated by the site as Explicit, just in case, which means they end up hidden from a significant portion of potential readers. It really is in your best interest as a writer who presumably wants people to see their stories, to select a rating. It helps readers judge if yours is the kind of story they want right now, too.

Rating a fic is a subjective decision, there is some grey area in between each level. If you're not quite sure where your fic falls, best practice is to go with the more restrictive rating.

*(Equivalent to an Australian M15+ or R18+, Canadian 14A, 18A or 18+, UK 15 or 18, German FSK 16 or FSK 18.)

Warnings

Ao3 uses a set of standard site-wide Archive Warnings to indicate that a work contains subject matter that falls into one or more of a few categories that some readers are likely to want to avoid. Even when posting elsewhere, it's courteous to include warnings of this sort.

These warnings are:

Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Major Character Death

Rape/Non-Con

Underage

Just like with the ratings, the site provides an info-pop up that explains what each warning is for. They're really exactly what it says on the tin: detailed descriptions of violence, injury, and gore; the death of a character central to canon or tothe story being told; non-consensual sex i.e. rape; and depictions of underage sex, which the site defines as under the age of 18 for humans—Ao3 doesn't care if your local age of consent or majority is lower than that.

In addition to the four standard warnings above, the warnings section has two other choices:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings

These do not mean the same thing and cannot be used interchangeably. “No Archive Warnings Apply” means that absolutely nothing in your fic falls into any of the four standard warning categories. “Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings” means that you the author are opting out of the warning system; your fic could potentially contain things that fall into any and all of the four standard warning categories.

There's nothing wrong with selecting Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings! It may mean that some readers will avoid your fic because they're not sure it's safe for them, and you might need to use more courtesy tags than you otherwise would (we'll talk about courtesy tags later), but that's okay! Opting out of the warning system can be a way to avoid spoilers,* and is also good for when you're just not sure if what you've written deserves one of the Archive warnings. In that case, the best practice is to select either the warning it might deserve or Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings, then provide additional information in other tags, the summary, or an initial author's note.

Unless you're opting out of using the warning system, select all the warnings that apply to your fic, if any of them do. So if a sixteen year old main character has consensual sex then gets killed in an accident that you've written out in excruciating detail, that fic gets three out of the four standard warnings: Underage, Major Character Death, and Graphic Depictions Of Violence.

*(Fandom etiquette generally favors thorough tagging and warning over avoiding spoilers. It doesn't ruin the experience of a story to have a general sense of what's going to happen. If it did, we wouldn't all keep reading so many “there was only one bed” fics.)

Fandom Tags

What fandom or fandoms is your fic for? You definitely know what you wrote it for, but that doesn't mean it's obvious what to tag it as.

Sometimes, it is obvious! You watched a movie that isn't based on anything, isn't part of a series, and doesn't have any spinoffs, tie-ins or anything else based on it. You wrote a fic set entirely within the world of this movie. You put this movie as the fandom for your fic. Or maybe you read a book and wrote a fic for it, and there is a movie based on the book, but the movie is really different and you definitely didn't use anything that's only in the movie. You put the book as the fandom for your fic.

All too often, though, it's not that clear.

What if you wrote a fic for something where there's a movie based on a book, but the movie's really different, and you've used both things that are only in the movie and things that are only in the book? In that case you either tag your fic as both the movie and the book, or see if the fandom has an “all media types” tag and use that instead of the separate tags. If the fandom doesn't have an “all media types” tag yet, you can make one! Just type it in.

“All media types” fandom tags are also useful for cases where there are lots of inter-related series, like Star Wars; there are several tellings of the story in different media but they're interchangeable or overlap significantly, like The Witcher; or the fandom has about a zillion different versions so it's very hard, even impossible, to say which ones your fic does and doesn't fit, like Batman. Use your best judgement as to whether you need to include a more specific fandom tag such as “Batman (Movies 1989-1997)” alongside the “all media types” fandom tag, but try to avoid including very many. The point of the “all media types” tag is to let you leave off the specific tags for every version.

In a situation where one piece of media has a spinoff, maybe several spinoffs, and you wrote a fic that includes things from more than one of them, you might want use the central work's “& related fandoms” tag. For example, the “Doctor Who & Related Fandoms” tag gets used for fics that include things from a combination of any era of Doctor Who, Torchwood, and The Sarah Jane Adventures.

And don't worry, from the reader-side of the site the broadest fandom tags are prioritized. The results page for an “all media types” or “& related fandoms” search includes works tagged with the more specific sub-tags for that fandom, the browse-by-fandom pages show the broadest tag for each fandom included, and putting a fandom into the search bar presumes the broadest tag for that fandom. A search for “Star Wars - All Media Types” will pull up work that only has a subtag for that fandom, like “The Mandalorian (TV).” You don't have to put every specific fandom subtag for people to find your fic.

If you wrote a fic for something that's an adaptation of an older work—especially an older work that's been adapted a lot, like Sherlock Holmes or The Three Musketeers—it can be hard to know how you should tag it. The best choice is to put the adaptation as the fandom, for instance “Sherlock (TV),” then, if you're also using aspects of the older source work that aren't in the adaptation, also put a broad fandom tag such as “Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms.” Do not tag it as being fic for the source work—in our Sherlock example that would be tagging it “Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle”—unless you are crossing over the source work and the adaptation. Otherwise, the specific fandom subtag for the source work ends up clogged with fic for the adaptation, which really is a different thing.

By the same token, fic for the source work shouldn't be tagged as being for the adaptation, or the adaptation's subtag will get clogged.

The same principle applies to fandoms that have been rebooted. Don't tag fic for the reboot as being for the original, or fic for the original as being for the reboot. Don't tag a fic as being for both unless the reboot and original are actually interacting. Use an “& related fandoms” tag for the original if your fic for the reboot includes some aspects of the original that weren't carried over but you haven't quite written a crossover between the two. Good examples of these situations can be seen with “Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)” vs. “Star Trek: The Original Series,” and “She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)” vs. “She-Ra: Princess Of Power (1985).”

Usually, this kind of mistagging as a related fandom happens when someone writes a fic for something that is or has a reboot, spinoff, or adaptation, but they're only familiar with one of the related pieces of media, and they mistakenly presume the fandoms are the same or interchangeable because they just don't know the difference. It's an honest mistake and it doesn't make you a bad or fake fan to not know, but it can be frustrating for readers who want fic for one thing and find the fandom tag full of fic for something else.

In order to avoid those kinds of issues, best practice is to assume fandoms are not interchangeable no matter how closely related they are, and to default to using a tag pair of the most-specific-possible sub-fandom tag + the broadest possible fandom tag when posting a fic you're not entirely sure about, for instance “Star Trek” and “Star Trek: Enterprise.”

The Marvel megafandom has its own particular tagging hell going on. Really digging into and trying to make sense of that entire situation would require its own guide, but we can go through some general tips.

There is a general “Marvel” fandom tag and tags for both “The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom” and “The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types.” Most of us who write Marvel fic are working with a cherry picked combination of canons from the MCU, various comics runs, both timelines of X-Men movies, and possibly several decades worth of cartoons. That's what these tags are for.

If your cherry picked Marvel fic is more X-Men than Avengers, go for the “X-Men - All Media Types” tag.

If you are primarily working with MCU canon, use the MCU specific tags rather than “all media types” and add specific tags for individual comics runs—like Earth 616 or the Fraction Hawkeye comics—if you know you're lifting particular details from the comics. If you're just filling in gaps in MCU canon with things that are nebulously “from the comics” don't worry about tagging for that, it's accepted standard practice in the fandom at this point, use a broader tag along with your MCU-specific tag if you want to.

Same general idea for primarily movie-verse X-Men fics. Use the movie-specific tags.

If your fic mostly draws from the comics, use the comics tags. If you're focusing on an individual run, show, or movie series rather than an ensemble or large swath of the megafranchise, tag for that and leave off the broader fandom tags.

Try your best to minimize the number of fandom tags on your Marvel work. Ideally, you can get it down to two or three. Even paring it down as much as you can you might still end up with about five. If you're in the double digits, take another look to see if all the fandom tags you've included are really necessary, or if some of them are redundant or only there to represent characters who are in the fic but that the fic doesn't focus on. Many readers tend to search Marvel fics by character or pairing tags, it's more important that you're thorough there. For the fandom tags it's more important that you're clear.

If you write real person fiction, you need to tag it as an RPF fandom. Fic about actors who are in a show together does not belong on the fandom tag for that show. There are separate RPF fandom tags for most shows and film franchises. Much like the adaptation/source and reboot/original situations discussed earlier, a fic should really only be tagged with both a franchise's RPF tag and its main tag if something happens like the actors—or director or writer!—falling into the fictional world or meeting their characters.

Of course, not all RPF is about actors. Most sports have RPF tags, there are RPF tags for politics from around the world and for various historical settings, the fandom tags for bands are generally presumed to be RPF tags, and there is a general Real Person Fiction tag.

In order to simplify things for readers, it's best practice to use the general Real Person Fiction tag in addition to your fandom-specific tag. You may even want to put “RPF” as a courtesy tag in the Additional Tags section, too. This is because Ao3 isn't currently set up to recognize RPF as the special flavor of fic that it is in the same way that the site recognizes crossovers as special, so it can be very difficult to either seek out or avoid RPF since it's scattered across hundreds of different fandom tags.

On the subject of crossovers—they can make fandom tagging even more daunting. Even for a crossover with lots of fandoms involved, though, you just have to follow the same guidelines as to tag a single-fandom work for each fandom in the crossover. The tricky part is figuring out if what you wrote is really a crossover, or just an AU informed by another fandom—we'll talk about that later.

There are some cases where it's really hard to figure out what fandom something belongs to, like if you wrote a fanfic of someone else's fanfic, theirs is an AU and yours is about their OC, not any of the characters from canon. What do you do?! Well, you do not tag it as being a fanfic for the same thing theirs was. Put the title of their fic (or name of their series) as the fandom for your fic, attributed to their Ao3 handle just like any other fandom is attributed to its author. Explain the situation in either the summary or the initial author's note. Also, ask the author's permission before posting something like this.

What if you wrote a story about your totally original D&D character? The fandom is still D&D, you want the “Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)” tag.

What if there's not a fandom tag on the Archive yet for what you wrote? Not a problem! You can type in a new one if you're the first person to post something for a particular fandom. Do make sure, though, that the fandom isn't just listed by a different name than you expect. Many works that aren't originally in English—including anime—are listed by their original language title or a direct translation first, and sometimes a franchise or series's official name might not be what you personally call it, for instance many people think of Phillip Pullman's His Dark Materials series as The Golden Compass series, so it's best to double check.

What if you wrote an entirely new original story that's not based on anything? Excellent job, that takes a lot of work, but that probably doesn't belong on Ao3! The Archive is primarily meant as a repository for fannish content, but in a few particular circumstances things we'd consider Original Work may be appropriate content for the Archive as well. Double check the Archive's Terms of Service FAQ and gauge if what you wrote falls under the scope of what is allowed. If what you wrote really doesn't fit here, post it somewhere else or try to get it published if you feel like giving it a shot.

Category

What Ao3 means by category is “does this fic focus on sex or romance, and if so what combination of genders are involved in that sex or romance?”

The category options are:

F/F

F/M

Gen

M/M

Multi

Other

The F/F, F/M, and M/M categories are for stories focused on pairings of two women, a woman and a man, and two men, respectively. These refer to sexual and/or romantic pairings.

The Other category is for stories focused on (sexual and/or romantic) pairings where one or both partners are not strictly male or female, such as nonbinary individuals, people from cultures with gender systems that don't match to the Western man-woman system, and nonhuman characters for whom biological sex works differently or is nonexistent, including aliens, robots, and inanimate objects or abstract concepts. There are some problems with treating nonbinary humans, eldritch tentacle monsters, sexless androids, and wayward container ships as all the same category, but it's the system we currently have to work with. Use Additional Tags to clarify the situation.

Multi is for stories in which several (sexual and/or romantic) relationships are focused on or which focus on relationships with multiple partners, including cases of polyamory, serial monogamy, strings of hookups with different people, and orgies. A fic will also show as “Multi” if you, the author, have selected more than one category for the fic, even if none of those are the Multi category. Realistically, the Archive needs separate “Multiple Categories” and “Poly” options, but for now we have to work with this system in which the two are combined. Use Additional Tags to clarify the situation.

Gen is for stories that do not contain or are not focused on sex or romance. Romance may be present in a gen fic but it's going to be in the background. While rare, there is such a thing as a sexually explicit gen fic—solo masturbation which does not feature fantasizing about another character is explicit gen fic; a doctor character seeing a series of patients with sex-related medical needs following an orgy may qualify if the orgy is not shown and the doctor is being strictly professional—but such fic needs to be rated, otherwise tagged, and explained carefully in the summary and/or author's note.

Much like the warnings section, category is a “select all that apply” situation. Use your best judgement. For a fic about a polyamorous relationship among a group of women, it's entirely appropriate to tag it as both F/F and Multi. A poly fic with a combination of men and women in the relationship could be shown as both M/M and F/M, Multi, or all three. A fic that focuses equally on one brother and his husband and the other brother and his wife should be tagged both M/M and F/M, and could be tagged as Multi but you might decided not to just to be clear that there's no polyamory going on. If you wrote a fic about two characters who are both men in canon, but you wrote one of them as nonbinary, you could tag it M/M, Other, or both depending on what you feel is representative and respectful.

When dealing with trans characters, whether they're trans in canon or you're writing them as such, the category selection should match the character's gender. If there's a character who is a cis woman in canon, but who you're writing as a trans man, you categorize the fic based on his being a man. If there's a character who is a cis man in canon, but whom you're writing as a trans man, he is still a man and the fic should be categorized accordingly. When dealing with nonbinary characters the fic should really be classed as Other though, by convention, fics about characters who are not nonbinary in canon may be classed based on the character's canon gender as well or instead. When dealing with gender swapped characters—i.e. a canonically cis male superhero who you're writing as a cis woman—class the fic using the gender you wrote her with, not the gender he is in canon.

Most of the time, gen fics should not be categorized jointly with anything else because a fic should only be categorized based on the ships it focuses on, and a gen fic should not be focusing on a ship in the first place.*

*(One of the few circumstances in which it might make sense to class a fic as both gen and something else is when writing about Queerplatonic Relationships, but that is a judgement call and depends on the fic.)

Relationship Tags

The thing about relationship tagging that people most frequently misunderstand or just don't know is the difference between “Character A/Character B” and “Character A & Character B.”

Use a “/” for romantic or sexual relationships, such as spouses, people who are dating, hookups, and friends with benefits. Use “&” for platonic or familial relationships, such as friends, siblings, parents with their kids, coworkers, and deeply connected mortal enemies who are not tragically in love.

This is where we get the phrase “slash fic.” Originally, that meant any fic focused on a romantic paring, but since so much of the romantic fic being produced was about pairs of men, “slash fic” came to mean same-sex pairings, especially male same-sex pairings. Back in earlier days of fandom, pre-Ao3 and even pre-internet, there was a convention that when writing out a different-sex pairing, you did so in man/woman order, while same-sex pairings were done top/bottom. Some authors, especially those who have been in the fic community a long time, may still do this, but the convention has not been in consistent, active use for many years, so you don't have to worry about putting the names in the “correct” order. Part of why that died out is we, as a community, have gotten less strict and more nuanced in our understandings of sex and relationships, we're writing non-penetrative sex more than we used to, and we're writing multi-partner relationships and sex more than we used to, so strictly delineating “tops” and “bottoms” has gotten less important and less useful.

The convention currently in use on Ao3 is that the names go in alphabetical order for both “/” and “&” relationships. In most cases, the Archive uses the character's full name instead of a nickname or just a given name, like James "Bucky" Barnes instead of just Bucky or James. We'll talk more about conventions for how to input character names in the Characters section. The Archive will give you suggestions as you type—if one of them fits what you mean but is slightly different from how you were typing it, for instance it's in a different order, please use the tag suggested! Consistency in tags across users helps the site work more smoothly for everybody.

This is really not the place for ship nicknames like Puckleberry, Wolfstar, or Ineffable Wives. Use the characters' names.

Now that you know how to format the relationship tag to say what you mean, you have to figure out what relationships in your fic to tag for.

The answer is you tag the relationships that are important to the story you're telling, the ones you spend time and attention following, building up, and maybe even breaking down. Tagging for a ship is not a promise of a happy ending for that pair; you don't have to limit yourself to tagging only the end-game ships if you're telling a story that's more complicated than “they get together and live happily ever after.” That said, you should generally list the main ship—the one you focus on the most—first on the list, and that will usually be the end-game ship. You should also use Additional Tags, the summary, and author's notes to make it clear to readers if your fic does not end happily for a ship you've tagged. Otherwise readers will assume that a fic tagged as being about a ship will end well for that ship, because that's what usually happens, and they'll end up disappointed and hurt, possibly feeling tricked or lied to, when your fic doesn't end well for that ship

You don't have to, and honestly shouldn't, tag for every single relationship that shows up in your fic at all. A character's brief side fling mentioned in passing, or a relationship between two background characters should not be listed under the Relationship tag section. You can list them in the format “minor Character A/Character C” or “Character C/Character D – mentions of” in the Additional Tags section if you want to, or just tag “Minor or Background Relationship(s)” under either the Relationship tag section or in the Additional Tags section.

There are two main reasons to not tag all those minor relationships. The first is to streamline your tags, which makes them clearer and more readable, and therefore more useful. The second reason is because certain ships are far more common as minor or background relationships than as the focus of a work, so tagging all your non-focus focus ships leads to the tags for these less popular ships getting clogged with stories they appear in, but that are not about them. That is, of course, very frustrating for readers who really want to read stories that focus on these ships.

If your fic contains a major relationship between a canon character and an OC, reader-insert, or self-insert, tag it as such. The archive already has /Original Character, /Reader, /You, and /Me tags for most characters in most fandoms. If such a relationship tag isn't already in use, type it in yourself. There are OC/OC tags, too, some of which specify gender, some of which do not. All the relationship tags that include OCs stack the gender-specific versions of the tags under the nongendered ones. Use these tags as appropriate.

For group relationships, both polycules and multi-person friendships, you “/” or “&” all the names involved in alphabetical order, so Alex/Max/Sam are dating while Chris & Jamie & Tori are best friends. For a poly situation where not everyone is dating each other you should tag it something like “Alex/Max, Alex/Sam” because Alex is dating both Max and Sam, but Max and Sam are not romantically or sexually involved with each other. Use your judgement as to whether you still want to include the Alex/Max/Sam trio tag, and whether you should also use a “Sam & Max” friendship tag.

Generally, romantic “/” type relationships are emphasized over “&” type relationships in fic. It is more important that you tag your “/”s thoroughly and accurately than that you tag your “&”s at all. This is because readers are far more likely to either be looking for or be squicked by particular “/” relationships than they are “&” relationships. You can tag the same pair of characters as both / and & if both their romance and their friendship is important to the story, but a lot of people see this as redundant. If you're writing incest fic, use the / tag for the pair not the & tag and put a courtesy tag for “incest” in the Additional Tags section; this is how readers who do not want to see incestuous relationships avoid that material.

Queerplatonic Relationships, Ambiguous Relationships, Pre-Slash, and “Slash If You Squint” are all frequently listed with both the “/” and “&” forms of the pairing; use your best judgement as to whether one or the other or both is most appropriate for what you've written and clarify the nature of the relationship in your Additional Tags.

Overall, list your “/” tags first, then your “&” tags.

Character Tags

Tagging your characters is a lot like tagging your relationships. Who is your fic about? That's who you put in your character tags.

You don't have to and really should not tag every single background character who shows up for just a moment in the story, for pretty much the same reasons you shouldn't tag background relationships. We don't want to clog less commonly focused on characters' tags with stories they don't feature prominently in.

You do need to tag the characters included in your Relationship tags.

A character study type of fic might only have one character you need to tag for. Romantic one shots frequently only have two. Longfics and fics with big ensemble casts can easily end up with a dozen characters or more who really do deserve to be tagged for.

Put them in order of importance. This doesn't have to be strict hierarchal ranking, you can just arrange them into groups of “main characters,” “major supporting characters,” and “minor supporting characters.” Nobody less than a minor supporting character should be tagged. Even minor supporting characters show up for more than one line.

If everyone in the fic is genuinely at the same level of importance (which does happen, especially with small cast fics), then order doesn't really matter. You can arrange them by order of appearance or alphabetically by name if you want to be particularly neat about it.

Do tag your OCs! Some people love reading about OCs and want to be able to find them; some people can't stand OCs and want to avoid them at all costs; most people are fine with OCs sometimes, but might have to be in the mood for an OC-centric story or only be comfortable with OCs in certain contexts. Regardless, though, Character tags are here to tell readers who the story is about, and that includes new faces. Original Characters are characters and if they're important to the story, they deserve to be tagged for just like canon characters do.

There are tags for “Original Character(s),” “Original Male Character(s),” and “Original Female Character(s).” Use these tags! If you have OCs you're going to be using frequently in different stories, type up a character tag in the form “[OC's Name] – Original Character” and use that in addition to the generic OC tags.

Also tag “Reader,” “You,” or “Me” as a character if you've written a reader- or self-insert.

You can use the “Minor Characters” tag to wrap up everybody, both OC and canon, who doesn't warrant their own character tag. Remember, though, that this tag is also used to refer to minor canon characters who may not have their own official names.

Just like when tagging for relationships, the convention when tagging for characters is to use their full name. The suggestions the Archive gives you as you type will help you use the established way of referring to a given character.

Characters who go by more than one name usually have their two most used names listed together as one tag with the two names separated by a vertical bar like “Andy | Andromache of Scythia.” This also gets used sometimes for characters who have different names in an adaptation than in the source text, or a different name in the English-language localization of a work than in the original language. For character names from both real-world and fictional languages and cultures that put family or surname before the given name—like the real Japanese name Takeuchi Naoko or the made up Bajoran name Kira Nerys—that order is used when tagging, even if you wrote your fic putting the given name first.

Some characters' tags include the fandom they're from in parentheses after their name like “Connor (Detroit: Become Human).” This is mostly characters with ordinary given names like Connor and no canon surname, characters who have the same full name as a character in another fandom, such as Billy Flynn the lawyer from the musical Chicago and Billy Flynn the serial killer played by Tim Curry in Criminal Minds, and characters based on mythological, religious, or historical figures or named for common concepts such as Lucifer, Loki, Amethyst, Death, and Zero that make appearances in multiple fandoms.

Additional Tags

Additional Tags is one of the most complicated, and often the longest, section of metatext we find ourselves providing when we post fic. It's also the one that gives our readers the greatest volume of information.

That, of course, is what makes it so hard for us to do well.

It can help to break down Additional Tags into three main functions of tag: courtesy tags, descriptive tags, and personal tags.

Courtesy tags serve as extensions of the rating and warning systems. They can help clarify the rating, provide more information about the Archive Warnings you've used or chosen not to use, and give additional warnings to tell readers there are things in this fic that may be distasteful, upsetting, or triggering but that the Archive doesn't have a standard warning for.

Descriptive tags give the reader information about who's in this fic, what kind of things happen, what tropes are in play, and what the vibe is, as well as practical information about things like format and tense.

Personal tags tell the readers things about us, the author, our process, our relationship to our fic, and our thoughts at the time of posting.

It doesn't really matter what order you put these tags in, but it is best practice to try to clump them: courtesy tags all together so it's harder for a reader to miss an important one, ship-related info tags together, character-related info tags together, etc.

There are tons and tons of established tags on Ao3, and while it's totally fine, fun, and often necessary to make up your own tags, it's also important to use established tags that fit your fic. For one thing, using established tags makes life easier for the tag wranglers behind the scenes. Using a new tag you just made up that means the same thing as an established tag makes more work for the tag wranglers. We like the tag wranglers, they're all volunteers, and they're largely responsible for the search and sorting features being functional. Be kind to the tag wranglers.

For basically the same reasons, using established tags makes it easier for readers to find your fic. If a reader either searches by a tag or uses filters on another search to “Include” that tag, and you didn't use that tag, your fic will not show up for them even if what you wrote is exactly what they're looking for. Established tags can be searched by exactly the same way as you search by fandom or pairing, your off the cuff tags cannot.

Let's talk about some well-known established tags and common tag types, divvied up by main function.

Courtesy

A lot of courtesy tags are specific warnings like “Dubious Consent,” “Incest,” “Drug Use,” “Extremely Underage,” “Toxic Relationship,” and “Abuse.” Many of these have even more specific versions such as “Recreational Drug Use” and “Nonconsensual Drug Use,” or “Mildly Dubious Consent” and “Extremely Dubious Consent.”

Giving details about what, if any, drugs are used or mentioned, specifying what kinds of violence or bodily harm are discussed or depicted, details about age differences or power-imbalanced relationships between characters who date or have sex, discussion or depictions of suicide, severe or terminal illness, or mental health struggles is useful. It helps give readers a clear sense of what they'll encounter in your fic and decide if they're up for it.

One the most useful courtesy warning tags is “Dead Dove: Do Not Eat” which basically means “there are things in this fic which are really screwed up and may be disturbing, read at your own risk, steer clear if you're not sure.” This tag—like all courtesy warnings, really—is a show of good faith, by using it you are being a responsible, and thoughtful member of the fanfic community by giving readers the power and necessary information to make their own informed decisions about what they are and are not comfortable reading.

Saying to “Heed the tags” is quite self-explanatory and, if used, should be the last or second to last tag so it's easy to spot. Remember, though, that “Heed the tags” isn't useful if your tags aren't thorough and clear.

“Additional Warnings In Author's Note” is one of only things that should ever go after “Heed the tags.” If you use this, your additional warnings need to go in the author's note at the very beginning of the fic, not the one at the end of the first chapter. If your additional warnings write up is going to be very long because it's highly detailed, then it can go at the bottom of the chapter with a note at the beginning indicating that the warnings are at the bottom. Some authors give an abbreviated or vague set of warnings in the initial note, then longer, highly detailed, spoilery warnings in the end note. It's best to make it as simple and straightforward as possible for readers to access warnings.

Tagging with “Dead Dove: Do Not Eat,” “Heed the tags,” or “Additional Warnings In Author's Note” is not a substitute for thorough and appropriate courtesy tagging. These are extra reminders to readers to look closely at the other warnings you've given.

While most courtesy tags are warnings, some are assurances like “No Lesbians Die” or “It's Not As Bad As It Sounds.” A fic tagged for rape or dub-con may get a tag assuring that the consent issues are not between the characters in the main ship; or a fic with a premise that sounds likely to involve lack of consent but actually doesn't may get a tag that it's “NOT rape/non-con.” A tag like “Animal Death” may be immediately followed by a freeform tag assuring that the animal that dies is not the protagonist's beloved horse.

Descriptive

There are a few general kinds of descriptive tags including character-related, ship-related, temporal, relation-to-canon, trope-related, smut details, and technical specifications.

Many character- and ship-related tags simply expand on the Character and Relationship tags we've already talked about. This is usually the place to specify details about OCs and inserts, such as how a reader-insert is gendered.

When it comes to character-related tags, one of the most common types in use on Ao3 and in fandom at large is the bang-path. This is things like werewolf!Alex, trans!Max, top!Sam, kid!Jamie, and captain!Tori. Basically, a bang-path is a way of specifying a version of a character. We've been using this format for decades; it comes from the very first email systems used by universities in the earliest days of internet before the World Wide Web existed. It's especially useful for quickly and concisely explaining the roles of characters in an AU. Nowadays this is also one of the primary conventions for indicating who's top and who's bottom in a ship if that's information you feel the need to establish. The other current convention for indicating top/bottom is as non-bang-path character-related tags in the form “Top [Character A], Bottom [Character B].”

Other common sorts of character tags are things like “[Character A] Needs a Hug,” “Emotionally Constipated [Character B],” and “[Character C] is a Good Dad.”

Some character-related tags don't refer to a particular character by name, but tell readers something about what kinds of characters are in the fic. Usually, this indicates the minority status of characters and may indicate whether or not that minority status is canon, as in “Nonbinary Character,” “Canon Muslim Character,” “Deaf Character,” and “Canon Disabled Character.”

Down here in the tags is the place to put ship nicknames! This is also where to say things like “They're idiots your honor” or indicate that they're “Idiots in Love,” maybe both since “Idiots in Love” is an established searchable tag but “They're idiots your honor” isn't yet. If your fandom has catchphrases related to your ship, put that here if you want to.

If relevant, specify some things about the nature of relationships in your fic such as “Ambiguous Relationship,” “Queerplatonic Relationships,” “Polyamory,” “Friends With Benefits,” “Teacher-Student Relationship,” and so on. Not all fics need tags like these. Use your best judgement whether your current fic does.

Temporal tags indicate when your fic takes place. That can be things like “Pre-Canon” and “Post-Canon,” “Pre-War,” “Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier,” “1996-1997 NHL season,” “Future Fic,” and so on. These tags may be in reference to temporal landmarks in canon, in the real world, or both depending on what's appropriate.

Some temporal tags do double duty by also being tags about the fic's relationship to canon. The Pre- and Post-Canon tags are like that.

Other relation-to-canon type tags are “Canon Compliant” for fics that fit completely inside the framework of canon without changing or contradicting anything, “Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence” for fics that are compliant up to a certain point in canon, then veer off (maybe because you started writing the fic when the show was on season two but now it's at season four and you're not incorporating everything from the newer seasons, maybe a character died and you refuse to acknowledge that, maybe you just want to explore what might have happened if a particular scene had gone differently), and the various other Alternate Universe tags for everything from coffee shop AUs and updates to modern settings, to realities where everyone is a dragon or no one has their canon superpowers.

The established format for these tags is “Alternate Universe – [type],” but a few have irregular names as well, such as “Wingfic” for AUs in which characters who don't ordinarily have wings are written as having wings.

If you have written an AU, please tag clearly what it is! Make things easy on both the readers who are in the mood to read twenty royalty AUs in a row, the readers who are in the middle of finals week and the thought of their favorite characters suffering through exams in a college AU would destroy the last shred of their sanity but would enjoy watching those characters teach high school, and the readers who really just want to stick to the world of canon right now.

Admittedly, it can get a little confusing what AU tag or tags you need to describe what you've written since most of us have never had a fandom elder sit us down and explain what the AU tags mean. One common mix up is tagging things “Alternate Universe - Modern Setting” when what's meant is “Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence.” The misunderstanding here is usually reading “Alternate Universe - Modern Setting” and thinking it means an alternate version of the canon universe that is set at the same time as the canon universe, but is different in some way. That's not how the tag is meant to be used, though.

The Modern Setting AU tag is specifically for fic set now (at approximately the same time period it was written), for media that's canonically set somewhere that is very much not the present of the real world. This can mean things set in the past (like Jane Austen), the future (like Star Trek), or a fantasy world entirely different from our own (like Lord of the Rings or Avatar: the Last Airbender). Fic for a canon that's set more or less “now” doesn't need the Modern Setting AU tag, even if the world of canon is different from our own. If you're removing those differences by putting fantasy or superhero characters in a world without magic or supersoldier serum, you might want the “Alternate Universe - No Powers” tag instead.

Some of the most fun descriptive tags are trope tags. This includes things like “Mutual Pining,” “Bed Sharing” for when your OTP gets to their hotel room to find There Was Only One Bed, “Fake Dating,” “Angst,” Fluff,” “Hurt/Comfort” and all its variants. Readers love tropes at least as much as we love writing them and want to be able to find their favorites. Everyone also has tropes they don't like and would rather avoid. Tagging them allows your fic to be filtered in and out by what major tropes you've used.

Explicit fics, and sometimes fics with less restrictive ratings, that contain sex usually have tags indicating details about the nature of the sexual encounter(s) portrayed and what sex acts are depicted. These are descriptive tags, but they also do double duty as courtesy tags. This is very much a situation in which tags are a consent mechanism; by thoroughly and clearly tagging your smut you are giving readers the chance to knowingly opt in or out of the experience you've written.

Most of the time, it's pretty easy to do basic tagging for sex acts—you know whether what you wrote shows Vaginal Sex, Anal Sex, or Non-penetrative Sex. You probably know the names for different kinds of Oral Sex you may have included. You might not know what to call Frottage or Intercrural Sex, though, even if you understand the concept and included the act in your fic. Sometimes there are tags with rectangle-square type relationships (all Blow Jobs are Oral Sex, but not all Oral Sex is a Blow Job) and you're not sure if you should tag for both—you probably should. Sometimes there are tags for overlapping, closely related, or very similar acts or kinks and you're not sure which to tag—that one's more of judgement call; do your best to use the tags that most closely describe what you wrote.

Tag for the kinks at play, if any, so readers can find what they're into and avoid what they're not. Tag for what genitalia characters have if it's nonobvious, including if there's Non-Human Genitalia involved. Tag your A/B/O, your Pon Farr, and your Tentacles, including whether it's Consentacles or Tentacle Rape.

Technical specification tags give information about aspects of the fic other than its narrative content. Most things on Ao3 are prose fiction so that's assumed to be the default, so anything else needs to be specified in tags. That includes Poetry, Podfics, things in Script Format, and Art. If it is a podfic, you should tag with the approximate length in minutes (or hours). If a fic is Illustrated (it has both words and visual art) tag for that.

Tag if your fic is a crossover or fusion. The difference, if you're not sure, is that in a crossover, two (or more) entire worlds from different media meet, whereas in a fusion, some aspects of one world, like the cast of characters, are combined with aspects of another, like the setting or magic system.

If the team of paranormal investigators from one show get in contact with the cast of aliens from another show, that's a crossover and you need to have all the media you're drawing from up in the Fandom tags. If you've given the cast of Hamlet physical manifestations of their souls in the form of animal companions like the daemons from His Dark Materials but nothing else from His Dark Materials shows up, that's a fusion, the Fandom tag should be “Hamlet - Shakespeare,” and you need the “Alternate Universe - Daemons” tag. If you've given the members of a boy band elemental magic powers like in Avatar: the Last Airbender, that can be more of a judgement call depending how much from Avatar you've incorporated into your story. If absolutely no characters or specific settings from Avatar show up, it's probably a fusion. Either way, if the boyband exists in real life, it needs to be tagged as RPF.

Tag if your fic is a Reader-Insert or Self-Insert.

You might want to tag for whether your fic is written with POV First, Second, or Third Person, and if it's Past Tense or Present Tense (or Future Tense, though that's extremely uncommon). For POV First Person fics that are not self-inserts, or POV Third Person fics that are written in third person limited, you may want to tag which character's POV is being shown. Almost all POV Second Person fics are reader-insert, so if you've written one that isn't, you should tag for who the “you” is.

A fic is “POV Outsider” if the character through whom the story is being conveyed is outside the situation or not familiar with the characters and context a reader would generally know from canon. The waitress who doesn't know the guy who just sat down in her diner is a monster hunter, and the guy stuck in spaceport because some hotshot captain accidentally locked down the entire space station, are both potential narrators for POV Outsider stories.

Other technical specifications can be tags for things like OCtober and Kinktober or fic bingo games. Tagging something as a Ficlet, One Shot, or Drabble is a technical specification (we're not going to argue right now over what counts as a drabble). Tagging for genre, like Horror or Fantasy, is too.

It's also good to tag accessibility considerations like “Sreenreader Friendly,” but make sure your fic definitely meets the needs of a given kind of accessibility before tagging it.

Personal

Even among personal tags there are established tags! Things like “I'm Sorry,” “The Author Regrets Nothing,” “The Author Regrets Everything,” and “I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping” are common ones. Tags about us and our relationship to the fic, such as “My First Work In This Fandom,” “Author is Not Religious,” and “Trans Porn By A Trans Author,” can help readers gauge what to expect from our fic. Of course, you are not at all obligated to disclose any personal information for any reason when posting your fic.

The “I'm Bad At Tagging” tag is common, but probably overused. Tagging is hard; very few of us have a natural feel for it even with lots of practice. It's not a completely useless tag because it can indicate to readers that you've probably missed some things you should have tagged for, so they should be extra careful; but it can also turn into a crutch, an excuse to not try, and therefore a sign to readers they can't trust your tagging job. Just do your best, and leave off the self depreciation. If you're really concerned about the quality of your tagging, consider putting in an author's note asking readers to let you know if there are any tags you should add.

You might want to let readers know your fic is “Not Beta Read” or, if you're feeling a little cheekier than that, say “No Beta We Die Like Men” or its many fandom-specific variants like the “No Beta We Die Like Robins” frequently found among Batman fics and “No beta we die like Sunset Curve” among Julie and The Phantoms fic. Don't worry, the Archive recognizes all of these as meaning “Not Beta Read.”

The Archive can be inconsistent about whether it stacks specific variants of Additional Tags under the broadest version of the tag like it does with Fandom tags, so best practice is usually to use both. You can double check by trying to search by a variant tag (or clicking on someone else's use of the variant); if the results page says the broader or more common form of the tag, those stack.

There's no such thing as the right number of tags. Some people prefer more tags and more detail, while other people prefer fewer more streamlined tags, and different fics have different things that need to be tagged for. There is, however, such a thing as too many tags. A tagblock that takes up the entire screen, or more, can be unreadable, at which point they are no longer useful. Focus on the main points and don't try to tag for absolutely everything. Use the “Additional Warnings In Author's Note” strategy if your courtesy tags are what's getting out of hand.

Tag for as much as you feel is necessary for readers to find your fic and understand what they're getting into if they decide to open it up.

A little bit of redundancy in tags is not a sin. In fact, slight redundancy is usually preferable to vagueness. Clear communication in tags is a cardinal virtue. Remember that tags serve a purpose, they're primarily a tool for sorting and filtering, and (unlike on some other sites like tumblr) they work, so it's best to keep them informative and try to limit rambling in the tags. Ramble at length in your author's notes instead!

Titles

Picking a title can be one of the most daunting and frustrating parts of posting a fic. Sometimes we just know what to call our fics and it's a beautiful moment. Other times we stare at that little input box for what feels like an eternity.

The good news is there's really no wrong way to select a title. Titles can be long or short, poetic or straight to the point. Song lyrics, idioms, quotes from literature or from the fic itself can be good ways to go.

Single words or phrases with meanings that are representative of the fic can be great. A lot of times these are well known terms or are easy enough to figure out like Midnight or Morning Glow, but if you find yourself using something that not a lot of people know what it means, like Chiaroscuro (an art style that uses heavy shadow and strong contrast between light and dark), Kintsukuroi (the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with gold), or Clusivity (the grammatical term for differences in who is or isn't included in a group pronoun), you should define the term in either a subtitle, i.e. “Chiaroscuro: A Study In Contrast,” or at the beginning of the summary.

As a courtesy to other writers, especially in small fandoms, you may want to check to make sure there's not already another fic with the same title in the same fandom, but this is not required. In large fandoms, there's no point in even trying. After all, there are only so many puns to be made about the full moon and only so many verses to Hallelujah.

It may be common practice on other platforms to include information such as fandom or ship in the title of a fic, but on Ao3 nothing that is specified by tags belongs in the title unless your title happens to be the same as a tag because, for instance, you've straightforwardly titled your character study of Dean Winchester “Dean Winchester Character Study” and also responsibly tagged it as such.

Summaries

Yes, you really do need to put something down for the summary. It might only need to be a single sentence, but give the readers something to go off of.

The summary is there to serve two purposes: one, to catch the interest of potential readers, give them a taste of what's inside, and make them want to know more; and two, to give you a space to provide information or make comments that don't really fit in the tags but that you want readers to see before they open the fic.

We've already talked some about that second function. When you put an explanation of the title or clarification about tags in the summary, that's the purpose it's serving. You can also put notes to “Heed the tags” or instruct readers that there are additional warnings in the author's note here in the summary, rather than doing so in the tags.

The first function, the actual summarizing, can be very hard for some of us. It's basically the movie trailer for your fic, butwhat are you even supposed to say?

There are two main strategies as to how to approach this: the blurb, and the excerpt. Blurbs are like the synopses you at least used to see on the backs of published books, or the “Storyline” section on an IMDb page. Writing one is a matter of telling your readers who does what, under what circumstances.

Depending on the fic, one sentence can capture the whole thing: “Sam and Alex have sex on a train.” “Tori tries to rob a bank.” “If anybody had mentioned Max's new house was haunted, Jamie wouldn't have agreed to help with the move.”

Sometimes a blurb can be a question! “What happens when you lock a nuclear engineer in a closet with a sewing kit, a tennis ball, and half a bottle of Sprite?”

Of course, plenty of blurbs are more than one sentence. Their length can vary pretty significantly depending on the type and length of fic you're working with and how much detail you're trying to convey, but it shouldn't get to be more than a few short paragraphs. You're not retelling the entire fic here.

An excerpt is a portion of the fic copied out to serve as the summary. This, too, can vary in length from a line or two to several paragraphs, but shouldn't get too long. It should not be an entire scene unless that scene happens to be uncommonly short. It's important to select a portion of the fic that both indicates the who, what, and under what circumstances of the fic and is representative of the overall tone. Excerpts that are nothing but dialogue with no indication of who's talking are almost never a good choice. Portions that are sexually explicit or extremely violent are never ever a good choice—if it deserves content warnings, it belongs inside the fic, not on the results page.

Counterintuitively, some of the best excerpts won't even look like an excerpt to the reader if they don't contain dialogue. They seem like particularly literary blurbs until the reader reaches that part in the fic and realizes they recognize a section of narration.

Some of us have very strong preferences as to whether we write blurbs or use excerpts for our summaries. Some readers have very strong preferences as to which they find useful. Ultimately, there's no accounting for taste, but there are things we can do to limit the frustration for readers who prefer summaries of the opposite kind than we prefer to write, without increasing our own frustration or work load very much. Part of that is understanding what readers dislike about each type so we know what to mitigate.

Blurbs can seem dry, academic, and overly simplified. They don't automatically give the reader a sense of your writing style the way an excerpt does. They can also seem redundant, like they're just rehashing information already given in the tags, so the reader feels like they're being denied any more information without opening the fic.

Excerpts can seem lazy, like you, the author, don't care enough to bother writing a blurb, or pushy like you're telling the reader “just read the fic; I'm not going to give you the information you need to decide if you want to read or not, I'm shoving it in front of you and you just have to read it.” That effect gets worse if your tags aren't very informative or clear about what the plot is, if the excerpt is obviously just the first few lines or paragraphs of the fic, if the except is particularly long, or, worst of all, if all three are true at once.

A lot of the potential problems with blurbs can be minimized by having fun writing them! Make it punchy, give it some character, treat it like part of the story, not just a book report. A fic for a serialized show or podcast, for instance, could have a blurb written in the style of the show's “previously on” or the podcast's intro. Make sure the blurb gives the reader something they can't just get from the tags—like the personality of your writing, important context or characterization, or a sense of the shape of the story—but don't try to skimp on the tags to do it!

Really, the only way to minimize the potential problems with excerpts is to be very mindful in selecting them. Make sure the portion you've chosen conveys the who, what, and under what circumstances and isn't too long. You know the story; what seems clear and obvious from the excerpt to you might not be apparent to someone who doesn't already know what happens, so you might need to ask a friend to double check you.

The absolute best way to provide a summary that works for everybody is to combine both methods. It really isn't that hard to stick a brief excerpt before your blurb, or tack a couple lines of blurb after your excerpt, but it can make a world of difference for how useful and inviting your summary is to a particular reader. The convention for summaries that use both is excerpt first, then blurb.

If you're struggling to figure out a summary, or have been in the habit of not providing one, try not to stress over it. Anything is better than nothing. As long as you've written something for a summary, you've given the reader a little more to help them make their decision. What really isn't helpful, though, is saying “I'm bad at summaries” in your summary. It's a lot like the “I'm Bad At Tagging” tag in that it's unnecessarily self depreciating, frequently comes across as an excuse not to try, and sometimes really is just an excuse. Unlike the “I'm Bad At Tagging” tag, which has the tiny saving grace of warning readers you've probably missed something, saying you're bad at summaries has no utility at all, and may drive away a reader who thought your summary was quite good, but is uncomfortable with the negative attitude reflected by that statement. Summaries are hard. It's okay if you don't like your summary, but it's important for it to be there, and it's important to be kind to yourself about it. You're trying, that's what matters.

Author's Notes

Author's notes are the one place where we, the writers, directly address and initiate contact with our readers. We may also talk to them in the comments section, but that's different because they initiate that interaction while we reply, and comments are mostly one-on-one while in author's notes we're addressing everyone who ever reads our fic.

The very first note on a fic should contain any information, such as warnings or explanations, that a reader needs to see before they get to the body of the story, as well as anything like thanks to your beta, birthday wishes to a character, or general hellos and announcements you want readers to see before they get to the body of the story. On multi-chapter fics, notes at the beginning of chapters serve the same function for that chapter as the initial note on the fic does for the whole story, so you can do things like warn for Self-Harm on the two chapters out of thirty where it comes up, let everyone know your update schedule will be changing, or wish your readers a merry Christmas, if they celebrate it, on the chapter you posted on December 23rd but is set in mid-March.

Notes at the end of a fic or chapter are for things that don't need to be said or are not useful to a reader until after they've read the preceding content, such as translations for that handful of dialogue that's in Vulcan or Portuguese, or any parting greetings or announcements you want to give, like a thanks for reading or a reminder school is starting back so you won't be able to write as much. End notes are the best place to plug your social media to readers if you're inclined to do so, but remember that cannot include payment platforms like Patreon or Ko-fi.

As previously mentioned, warnings can go in end notes but that really should only be done when the warnings are particularly long, such that the length might cause a problem for readers who are already confident in their comfort level and would just want to scroll past the warning description. In that case, the additional warnings need to go in the note at the end of the first chapter, rather than at the end of the fic, if it's a multi-chapter fic; and you need to include an initial note telling readers that warnings/explanations of tags are at the bottom so they know to follow where the Archive tells them to see the end of the chapter/work for “more notes.”

When posting a new work, where the Preface section gives you the option to add notes “at the beginning” or “at the end” or both, if you check both boxes, it means notes at the beginning and end of the entire fic, not the beginning and end of the first chapter. For single-chapter fics this difference doesn't really matter, but for multi-chapter fics it matters a lot. In order to add notes to the beginning or end of the first chapter of a multi-chapter fic you have to first go through the entire process to post the new fic, then go in to Edit, Edit Chapter, and add the notes there.

Series and Chapters

Dealing with Series and Chapters is actually two different issues, but they're closely related and cause some of us mixups, especially when we're new to the site and its systems, so we're going to cover them together.

Series on Ao3 are for collecting up different stories that you've written that are associated with each other in some way. Chapters are for dividing up one story into parts, usually for pacing and to give yourself and your readers a chance to take breaks and breathe, rather than trying to get through the entire thing in a single marathon sitting (not that we won't still do that voluntarily, but it's nice to have rest points built in if we need them).

If your story would be one book if it was officially published, then it should be posted as a single fic—with multiple chapters if it's long or has more than one distinct part, like separate vignettes that all go together. If you later write a sequel to that fic, post it as a new fic and put them together in a series. It's exactly like chapters in a book and books in a series. Another way to think of this structure is like a TV show: different fics in the series are like different seasons of the show, with individual chapters being like episodes.

If you have several fics that all take place in the same AU but really aren't the same story those should go together as a series. If you wrote a story about a superhero team re-cast as school teachers, then wrote another story about different characters in the same school, that's this situation.

Series are also the best way to handle things like prompt games, bingos, or Kinktober, or collect up one shots and drabbles especially if your various fills, entries, and drabbles are for more than one fandom. If you put everything for a prompt game or bingo, or all your drabbles, together as one fic with a different chapter for each story, what ends up happening is that fic gets recognized by the Archive as a crossover when it isn't, so it gets excluded from the results pages for everyone who told the filters to Exclude Crossovers even though one of the stories you wrote is exactly what they're looking for; and that fic ends up with tons and tons of wildly varying and self-contradictory tags because it's actually carrying the tags for several entirely different, possibly unrelated stories, which also means it ends up getting excluded from results pages because, for instance, one out of your thirty-one Kinktober entries is about someone's NoTP.

Dividing these kinds of things up into multiple fic in a series makes it so much easier for readers to find what of your work they actually want to read.

If you've previously posted such things as a single fic, don't worry, it's a really common misunderstanding and there is absolutely nothing stopping you from reposting them separately. You may see traffic on them go up if you do!

Parting Thoughts

Metatext is ultimately all about communication, and in this context effective communication is a matter of responsibility and balance.

Ao3 is our archive. It's designed for us, the writers, to have the freedom to write and share whatever stories we want without having to worry that we'll wake up one day and find our writing has been deleted overnight without warning. That has happened too many times to so many in our community as other fanfic sites have died, been shut down, or caved to threats of legal action. Ao3 is dedicated to defending our legal right to create and share our stories. Part of the deal is that, in exchange for that freedom and protection, we take up the responsibility to communicate to readers what we're writing and who it's appropriate for.

We are each other's readers, and readers who don't write are still part of our community. We have a responsibility as members of this community to be respectful of others in our shared spaces. Ao3 is a shared space. The best way we have to show each other respect is to give one another the information needed to decide if a given fic is something we want to engage with or not, and then, in turn, to not engage with fic that isn't our cup of tea. As long as our fellow writer has been clear about what their fic is, they've done their part of the job. If we decided to look at the fic despite the information given and didn't like what we found, then that's on us.

Because metatext is how we put that vital information about our fics out in the community, it's important that our metatext is clear and easy to parse. The key to that is balance. Striking the balance between putting enough tags to give a complete picture and not putting too many tags that become an unreadable wall; the balance between the urge to be thorough and tag every character and the need to be restrained so those looking for fics actually about a certain character can find them; the balance between using established tags for clarity and ease and making up our own tags for specificity and fun.

Do your best, act in good faith, remember you're communicating with other people behind those usernames and kudos, and, most importantly, have fun with your writing!

#THE GUIDE #metatext #fandom meta #fandom etiquette #Eiiri made this

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jamiemackenziefraser · 3 years

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All That Was Fair

Chapter 27: Fraser Publishing Part 2

Summary: Claire and Jamie finish out their day at work

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Read chp 27 on tumblr below the cut

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a/n: A huge thank you to my friend @isthisclever (/isthiscleverr on twitter ;) ) for being an amazing beta for this chapter and also dealing with my writer's block/overall overthinking <3. Go check out her story "The Other Side," which one of my favs and is almost completed, ahh! While you're at it, maybe just stalk her whole AO3 page.

Thank you so much for your patience, lovely readers. I managed to get past the writer's block, and this 5k if what just sorta happened after a month of not writing. Hope you like it!!

Chapter 27: Fraser Publishing Part 2

The air felt heavy despite the fresh scents and slight breeze. Hand in hand with Claire, Jamie walked slowly around the trail that wound its way in a meandering circle around the park. If he was being honest, he was stalling, trying to give them both time to gather themselves before going back to Fraser Publishing. Jamie couldn't ignore the grief tugging at his insides, but he forced it down deep, praying that Claire couldn’t feel it from where she held onto his hand like it was her lifeline.

Oh Christ, if she could feel how his grief was eating him up inside...

A cloud hung over them for a long while, but Jamie was trying his best to reassure Claire with comforting touches and sweet words.Gradually, her face began to lift, and he caught sight of the spark of his faerie beneath the sheen of guilt and lost potential blanketing her face. It was still clearly on her mind, though, and Jamie couldn’t shake the discomfort that he was trying to shove itself forward from the pit of his stomach and the back of his mind.

It was well past lunchtime and when he should have taken her back, but he couldn’t seem to bring himself to force her to go inside when she still seemed so… off.

Apparently that was the right decision because at one random moment, Claire stopped him and abruptly pulled him into a hug.

“What was that for, my wee faerie?” Jamie asked, brushing a few stray curls away from her forehead after holding her for a long moment.

“I love you,” she said simply.

There clearly was more on her mind. In that moment, he didn’t know whether to push her or to leave her be. He tilted his head down, catching her gaze, praying silently that he was making the right decision.

“What’s botherin’ ye, a leannan?” he asked. He slipped his fingers under her chin and lifted her face higher so he could press a soft kiss to her lips.

“I just..” she started, but cut herself off to take a deep breath. “I just… I don’t know how to tell you how I’m feeling, Jamie. I’m sad. But also I’m so, so happy. I want to be with you, be happy with you—” she tugged on his hand which was still gripping hers “—forever. I just… want it to last, I suppose?”

“It will, Sassenach,” he assured in an exhale. “It will, lass.

“I,” her eyes filled with unshed tears, and Jamie wished he could take them all in the palm of his hand and keep them from spilling from her eyes. She didn’t cry, though, just blinked watery eyes up at him. “I know we haven’t talked much about… the rest of our lives… but— talking about not having babies today just made me think. Maybe... maybe I’m not meant to be forever for you?”

Jamie’s heart dropped below his toes, sinking down through the grass beneath his feet and likely down into the very core of the earth. He could barely force the words out through his suddenly raw throat when he asked shakily, “Do… do you no’ want that, Claire?”

She shook her head so violently that the curls swished back and forth over her face. The expression of horror at the question eased Jamie considerably, and her answer fully assuaged the rest of the rising panic.

“I do want that, Jamie. From the second I ran to you from that hill I knew it was forever. I love you more than the life that was mine. I just… if that’s not what’s best for you, I wouldn’t take the rest of your life from you. Your dreams.” It was her turn to raise a hand to his face, cupping his cheek with oceans of tender, selfless concern swimming in her eyes.

“It’s always been forever for me, Sassenach,” he told her firmly, voice low. He believed it with every bone in his body. “And I told you before, I have no life but you, Claire.”

She blinked, and he could tell she was trying very hard not to break down into tears.

If he could have, he would have gotten down on one knee and proposed to her then and there. He knew it was forever, and he wanted desperately to share that with her, but there were conversations that needed to be had and preparations to be made before he could.

He let go of her hand and raised both to her face. He held her between his hands, cradling his whole entire world between his palms. Beseeching her to listen, he held her gaze for a long moment.

“I dinna have to be an empath like you to ken that ye’re still feelin’ guilty, mo ghraidh,” he said. “Please, listen to me. I wouldna tell ye this if it werena true.” He took a breath. “If you could gi’ up yer old life, yer people, yer home… for me... it is nothin’ for me to no’ be able to have biological children. I would trade everything I have to keep ye. Everything. And I wouldna think twice. I want ye forever, Sassenach, whatever that means.”

Her cheek was so soft under his fingers, and he was startled to find wetness there. He glanced up to her eyes to find that she’d finally lost her control and tears were escaping to roll down her face.

“Please, dinna cry anymore,” he pleaded, “I canna bear for ye to be in pain.”

“I’m not crying because I’m sad, Jamie,” she whispered. “I’m crying because I love you.”

***

Walking back inside Fraser’s Publishing some time later, Claire seemed much more at peace. She no longer visibly waged war inside herself, and Jamie felt like he could finally breathe. The heartache they’d shared was far from over, but at least its troubles for that day could be left outside in the park.

As they came inside, they were greeted by Mrs. Crook, who immediately beckoned them over to her desk with an eager wave.

“Claire, darling! I have some homemade cookies I thought ye might like to try…”

“That’s verra kind, but she has food allergies, Mrs. Crook. She doesna accept food from anyone,” Jamie quickly cut in.

“Oh, well,” Mrs. Crook looked back toward Claire again. “I saw ye wi’ the Murray weans earlier, dear. Maybe ye would be interested in seein’ some photographs of my darling grandbairns?”

The woman was clearly desperate to bond with Claire, and Jamie couldn’t help but feel proud to see how much of an impression his lass had made. Claire shot him a quick smile, giving him a nod and a look that said “I’ll be alright.”

“I’ll meet ye back in my office,” Jamie said, leaning down to press a quick kiss to the top of her curls.

Before she could even reply to him, Mrs. Crook had snagged her arm and was herding her over to her desk, Claire good-naturedly following while blowing Jamie a kiss.

Leaving the ladies in peace, Jamie started toward his office. Before he’d even made it out of the reception area, however, he found himself face-to-face with Geneva Dunsany, forcing him to grind to a halt.

Geneva was one of the lower level staff members in marketing and a relatively new hire. Jamie usually only hired people he knew personally, but John had insisted on her as a favor to her father, a longtime family friend. Jamie didn’t know much about her other than that she was competent enough at her job that he never had to interact much.

But here in front of him stood the dark-haired lass, her face caked in makeup that was a shade too dark and her fake lashes blinking up at him.

“I wondered if I might have a moment,” she asked.

Jamie spared a glance behind him, checking that Claire was alright. Upon seeing her chatting away with Mrs. Crook over a picture on the reception desk (and hopefully not in immediate danger of revealing her secret), he turned back to Geneva.

“Of course. What can I do for ye?”

“I had a question about… Well, I thought I might ask you to have a look over some quarterly reports I’ve completed.”

As she was speaking, Jamie shot another look over his shoulder. He couldn’t help but worry about Claire when she wasn’t by his side, and he was impatient to get her tucked safely away in his office so he could finally get some real work done.

Geneva was clearly displeased by his less than courteous behavior.

“Mr. Fraser,” she sighed.

He turned back toward her, reminding himself of his dedication to his company— as distracted as he was, an employee didn’t deserve to be treated like this.

Geneva was already speaking again. “I was wondering if perhaps later today you could come by my office? Or I could come to yours?”

“Ms. Dunsany, I’m afraid I’m verra busy at the moment and I’ve lost a fair bit of time already… Perhaps ye could take it up wi’ John instead?”

“But…” her response faded from his attention as a familiar wee hand suddenly wrapped itself around his bicep and a body pressed flush against his side.

At Claire’s sudden appearance, Geneva cut herself off mid sentence, her painted mouth falling open into a disgruntled “o.”

“Hi, my love,” Claire all but purred to Jamie, giving his arm a squeeze. She tugged him slightly downward, enough so that she could stand on her tiptoes and press a kiss to his cheek.

Jamie was left bewildered as one of her hands snaked over to plant itself firmly on the center of his chest and rub back and forth.

“Hi, mo ghraidh, ehm—” he struggled to find words as Claire gave him another kiss, this time to his shoulder. He could barely focus his mind as it seemed her hands were everywhere at once: stroking his chest, rubbing his arm. What the devil had gotten into her?

He finally remembered what he was trying to do, and managed out a weak, “This is Geneva, our…” her job title flew out the window as Claire’s hand went from his chest to hook into one of his belt loops on the opposite side, effectively stopping his heart and his brain in one simple motion.

“Geneva, this is Claire,” the words burst out in a rush with zero brain cells behind them as he desperately tried to fulfill his social duties in the face of his girlfriend’s advances.

He lowered his head to try to catch a glance at Claire’s face, to make eye contact and glean some sort of clue about what had gotten into her, but he found she wasn’t even looking at him. Instead, her eyes were fixed straight ahead, right on Geneva.

“Hello,” Geneva said, a hint of disapproval in her voice. She took a step back from them as her eyes flicked up and down.

“Hello,” Claire replied, but her tone made Jamie start. Never before had he heard his faerie— his joyful, bubbly, loves-everyone-without-discrimination faerie— sound so cold. Her voice was low and steady, without even a hint of smile.

Jamie’s brain went on high alert as Geneva reached a hand out for a handshake. They had rehearsed this in the car (not that Claire’d had a chance to use it yet with all the hugs she’d been giving out), but Jamie was worried that all the training had gone from her mind when she had apparently lost her marbles.

However, Claire removed her right hand from where it had been placed over Jamie’s stomach to reach out and clasp Geneva’s while keeping herself firmly glued to Jamie’s side.

He could feel her stiffen against him the moment the two lasses made contact, and then, as if a rubber band had been snapped, Claire withdrew her hand and turned to Jamie with a jerk.

“I need something from your… room, darling,” she said forcefully, clearly forgetting the word for office.

“Of course, a leannan, what do ye—”

Before he could finish getting out his question, Claire was stepping in front of him to drag him away. He allowed himself to be tugged off by his faerie, leaving behind a nonplussed and rather displeased looking Geneva.

When they got down the hall to his office, Claire all but shoved him inside. Jamie stumbled through as Claire shut the door behind them. He was just beginning to ask, “What the devil has gotten into ye—?” when Claire was suddenly on top of him, her lips claiming his so insistently that it was almost an attack rather than a kiss.

His words were muffled by her lips, and he found himself getting shoved up against a wall as she took his mouth. All protestations died in his throat and her strange behavior was wiped from his mind as her kiss clouded his senses, filling him so entirely. He let her tangle her fingers in the curls at the nape of his neck, pulling him down to her, and he didn’t resist even as she tugged hard and her tongue swiped into his mouth.

He was fairly certain that she would be the death of him, but he was more than willing to die of asphyxiation if it meant that her lips wouldn’t leave his. Her mouth pressed hot against his, demanding and consuming. Still, as his lungs screamed for air, and he urgently squeezed her waist where his hands were resting.

She tore her lips away, gasping for breath, and then stood there, panting. She was quite a sight. Her hair was mussed, lips puffy, and her eyes held a hard look, darker than he’d ever seen them before.

What the hell?

“What— what was that?” Jamie gasped, barely able to find his breath. Claire had clearly stolen it from him during that heated kiss, right along with his wits and perhaps even his free will.

“You’re mine,” Claire said hotly, drawing closer again so her body could press against his as she said it. Her eyes blazed as they locked with Jamie, as if daring him to disagree.

“Of course I’m yours, mo nighean donn, but what brought this on?”

Claire had been in the process of leaning in to trail a line of kisses down his neck when he spoke, and she halted on her second kiss to draw back with a huff.

Clearly bothered, she looked almost dangerous as she said in a low voice, “Geneva. She wants you.”

“What?” it was almost a laugh as Jamie reacted to her claim.

Claire took a tiny step back so she could properly meet his eyes, and then said, very resolutely, “She does, Jamie. I touched her, I know. I could tell even before I felt it that she wanted you.”

Jamie’s mouth fell open at this revelation. He knew better than to protest, and upon hearing her confirmation, he realized that Geneva had been rather forward lately, but that didn’t mean she…

Looking at Claire’s heated expression, it clearly did. His lass was inflamed. Her cheeks were flushed, pupils dilated, and her jaw clenched tightly.

Jamie couldn’t help it as a smirk began to turn up the corner of his lips and a warm feeling of something akin to satisfaction spread in his chest.

“So ye’re tellin’ me… that whole scene outside, and then you all but attackin’ me in here… was because ye were jealous?”

“Well,” Claire shifted on her feet slightly, for the first time in several minutes breaking free from her severe look, “yes. You’re mine, and she—”

“Aye, I’m yers, mo ghraidh, no doubt about it,” he confirmed without hesitation, making sure she knew it was the absolute truth of his heart, “jes’ as ye’re mine.”

He couldn’t help but smile though as the pieces all fell into place. She’d seen him from across the room and gotten jealous, so she had marched on over to stake her claim on him before demonstrating her power by stealing him away, only to kiss the living daylights out of him. It all made sense now. Her behavior wasn’t random. It was possessive.

“You’re enjoying this!” Claire exclaimed, looking up at him with an open mouth. She was trying to sound appalled, but he could see the smile she was trying to smother turning up the corners of her lips.

The laughter bubbled up from his chest, and he grabbed her around the waist to pull her against him as he chuckled. “Ye’re too much, mo nighean donn. And it only makes me love ye more and more.”

Despite herself, she started laughing too, grabbing his shoulders as he hauled her against him.

“I suppose it was rather… petty,” she admitted, biting her lip.

“Mmmm, the way ye kissed me, though. I think I wish more lassies would take a fancy to me jes’ to get that reaction from ye again…”

She smacked him lightly on the chest, but she was still smiling as he leaned down to peck her on the lips.

“You don’t need silly girls to want you in order to get me to kiss you like that…” Claire teased, standing on her tiptoes so she could hover her lips over his.

“Oh, is that so? What must I do, then?”

“Absolutely nothing,” she breathed.

And then her lips were on his again, and she showed him exactly how little he had to do.

Jamie lost another solid twenty minutes of work time due to the makeout session with Claire that ended up with him pressed against his desk and Claire doing her darndest to make him lose every ounce of self control he’d ever possessed. He’d never been more grateful in his life that his office window had blinds and a locking door.

As nice as it was to have the very enjoyable attentions of his love, he had wasted so much of the day away already, and there was work to be done. He reluctantly detached his faerie, pulling her away by the waist while she murmured a protest.

Jamie swiped a thumb over her puffy lips as she pouted at him, resisting the urge to laugh.

How he loved her with his whole heart.

“Sorry, Sassenach, I really hafta finish up some work before everyone leaves for the day, and at this rate, I willna ever be able to stop kissin’ ye.”

She caught his fingers in a quick kiss before she frowned. “I don’t understand why all of you are so caught up with ‘work’,” she commented with distaste.

“I’m beginnin’ to agree wi’ ye, Sassenach,” Jamie snorted. The temptation to throw everything out the window and pay attention to absolutely nothing save this alluring creature in front of him was nearly enough to drive him mad. But Jamie loved his work, cared about his business, and he had to have some self control— what few scraps remained.

“Why dinna ye look through some of my books on the shelves while I work? I ken ye canna read the words, but there are some verra beautiful illustrations— uh, pictures, drawings— in some of them.”

Jamie cursed himself for not bringing adequate entertainment for her. Although, beyond Adso, the space heater, and the garden— well, and him, of course— Jamie wasn’t sure what exactly entertained Claire.

She agreed with only a brief pout, and Jamie could finally let out the breath he’d been holding when she was safely across the room, browsing the bookshelf. Feeling his heart rate finally descend (was it safe for it to be that elevated for that long?) he settled down in front of his computer.

He managed to get a good chunk of work done while Claire busied herself with flipping through nearly every book he owned. It turned out that it was an excellent idea, as she seemed well entertained. Every once in a while, Jamie would hear a gasp and have to look up to see the adorable expression of wonder on Claire’s face as she discovered another illustration. It was mainly the kids books, he noticed, that really wowed her. Likely because she could follow the story based on the pictures, and she grew absorbed. Before long, there was a semi-circle of opened books surrounding her on the floor. It warmed him to notice that she never closed them— always leaving them open when she found an illustration she particularly liked, as if she wanted to go back and see it again.

Despite her fascination and apparent entertainment, it was what felt like a short time later when Jamie was interrupted from deep concentration by a hand sliding up his arm to rest on his shoulder.

“Claire, what are ye—?” he started, but was cut off when both of her hands smoothed over his shoulders.

“You’re so tense,” came her smooth voice startlingly close to his ear.

“Aye,” he said, rolling his shoulders, “I tend tae carry my stress there when I’m workin.”

“I don’t want you to be tense.” Her breath tickled his ear, and a shiver rolled down his spine. Warm hands began kneading into his shoulders, digging into the soreness of the muscles. Her touch was the perfect mix of gentle and strong, pulling the tension from his body. He couldn’t help the sigh that fell from his lips.

Her hands didn’t let up their work, but she sometimes paused to smooth over his shoulders in broad strokes. Without meaning to, his hands fell away from the keyboard and his head tilted back. His eyes were closed in relaxation… when had he closed his eyes?

He realized distantly that Claire was murmuring soothing words above him.

“Does that feel good? Let out the tension, darling. There. I’ve got you.”

She hit a particularly tense knot, but the magic of her fingers had it loosening after only a second.

“Oh Lord,” he breathed, feeling like he was in a trance. “Ye’re so good at this. I—”

His eyes suddenly popped open and he bolted up in his chair, “Christ, lass. Ye’re doin’ yer best tae distract me from my work, are ye no’?”

“Shhh, don’t worry about it, just relax, my love,” she murmured into his ear, pressing down on his shoulders to get him to sit back in his chair again.

He was onto her game now, though, and reached up to grab her hand and still her.

“I have tae work, lass.”

“I’m not stopping you,” she replied.

The hand he hadn’t seized stroked over his shoulder. Feeling unequipped to the task of arguing with her, Jamie simply let go and brought his hands back to the keyboard.

Alright, Fraser. This is a simple game. If you stop giving her attention, she’ll get bored and leave ye be.

He focused all this attention on the computer screen, ignoring her as she continued her ministrations. It wasn’t the best job, but he managed to type out a few sentences before suddenly there were soft lips tracing the shell of his ear.

Another shiver ran down his spine, and there was a slight tug of teeth on his earlobe before she kissed it again, soothing the spot with a flutter of breath.

“Sassenach,” he said in a warning tone.

“What? I’m not stopping you,” she replied innocently before stooping lower to brush her lips— just barely— down his throat.

“Ye ken verra well that ye are,” he sighed, the sound turning from frustration to pleasure as she hit a particular spot that made his stomach twist.

Her fingers were tracing just barely under his shirt, tucking themselves inside the collar. She didn’t seem to be listening, or maybe it was just that she didn’t care, because she refused to respond to the protestation. Instead, she breathed out, “Do you know you have beautiful collarbones?”

“I didna ken, and I thank ye for the observation. May I return to my work now?” Jamie asked, trying to keep the pleading from his tone.

She hummed to herself, “I’m not standing in your way.”

Okay. So maybe he wasn’t quite strong enough to ignore it. And she was in no mood to free him from her clutches on her own accord.

Swivelling so abruptly in his chair that Claire nearly fell over backward in surprise, he faced her. He took her hands in his and brushed his thumbs over the back of her knuckles.

“Listen, lass. There’s no way I’ll get anythin’ done while ye’re toyin’ wi’ me, and I still have much to do. So let me make ye a deal. Gi’ me one hour wi’out interruptions, and I’ll… well…” Jamie found himself at a loss for bargaining chips. Ifrinn. The lass had him so well in the palm of her hand that he already gave her whatever she wanted. He decided to flip it and open it up to her. “What do ye want? In return?”

Her eyes flashed with excitement and a twinkle of mischief. Jamie braced himself for some devious declaration or demand for a game that would prove tortuous for his self control, but instead of anything like that, Claire surprised him by smugly requesting, “I want one hour in front of the heater.”

Jamie nearly laughed out loud. He’d come to realize that the lass thought that the space heater was a precious, exhaustible commodity, not some piece of junk hooked up to electricity. He hadn’t wanted to disavow her of that notion for fear that she’d spend every waking second in front of it instead of with him, and it seemed now it was going to play the situation to his advantage.

“I think I may be able tae make that happen,” he said slowly, keeping his cards close to his chest.

“With you!” she added quickly, narrowing her eyes, “for the full hour.”

“Do we have a deal then?” he asked, putting on his best business face.

“We have a deal,” Claire nodded primly.

Rather than a handshake, Jamie opted for a quick peck of lips. As Claire drew away and made to head back toward the bookshelf on the opposite corner of the room, she looked like a cat that got the cream.

Better luck next time, lass. If you wanna bargain, better come knowing what’s of value.

Feeling smug in his own right, Jamie returned to his work. This time, it wasn’t his girlfriend’s hands on him distracting his mind. Rather, it was the unshakable feeling of fondness that filled his stomach and warmed him to his toes.

***

“Hey, Jamie?” Claire asked, breaking the silence about 45 minutes into the agreed hour.

“What is it, a leannan?”

He tore his gaze from his computer to find Claire looking up at him from where she sat on the floor at the foot of the bookshelf. Her arms were wrapped around her middle, and she looked so wee curled up in the corner, shooting him a troubled gaze with eyes that were round as a doe’s.

“I’m cold.”

Brows furrowing, he abandoned his work— in the middle of a sentence no less— and went to her. She was shivering, despite it being rather balmy in his office.

His wee faerie, typical.

“Here, lass.” Jamie stripped off his suit jacket to wrap around her shoulders. She took it gratefully, her hands brushing Jamie’s at the edges. That bit of contact jolted through him, shattering any notions of him returning to his work straight away, and he fell to his knees beside her so he could wrap her in a hug.

She melted instantly into his arms, laying her head on his shoulder. He smoothed his hands up and down her back, and it was at that moment that he felt her shivering.

“Christ, lass, ye really are cold,” he burst out in concern.

“It’s cold,” she repeated, shifting herself within his arms to burrow closer.

“It’s no’ this cold,” he breathed.

She didn’t say anything, just trembled against him. She withdrew her hands from around his middle and instead tucked them against his chest between where their bodies were pressed together.

Jamie bit his bottom lip and repositioned himself to get comfortable. It seemed he was in for a longer break from his work than expected. His heart was beginning to beat faster as anxiety for his love rose in his chest.

“This is more than temperature, a ghraidh,” he said softly.

She shook her head where it laid on his shoulder but made no move to raise it and look at him.

“Ye were fine all mornin’,” he noted quietly as his brain began working in earnest.

“I’m fine now,” Claire insisted, her voice muffled from where her mouth pressed against Jamie’s shoulder.

“I dinna think ye are,” Jamie finally said out loud, admitting the fear that had been rattling around inside of him for days now. He’d watched the little things add up, even worried over them, but every time he managed to convince himself it was nothing. Even just this morning he’d thought perhaps everything was in his head. Now, however, it was just another item to add to the growing list that was too long to be coincidence.

“I told you, Jamie. It’s nothing,” Claire said, her voice gaining an edge to it. “I can feel you worrying.”

Jamie swallowed thickly. A rush of guilt washed over him, and he wondered whether she could feel that too. Gah! It was impossible not to feel things, especially when it came to her. It was terrifying to know she could read them, and that what he was feeling could make things worse for her.

“This isna nothin’ Sassenach, but I dinna ken—”

Claire sat up abruptly, pushing herself away from him with two hands planted firmly on his chest until she had gained her distance. Irritation was rising in her as warm spots on her cheeks, and her eyes flashed a darker shade of gold.

“Don’t tell me about me like you know better than I do,” she said, brows drawing together in frustration.

“I’m no’, I just—”

Jamie reached for her, but she batted his hands away.

“I’m telling you, it’s nothing. If you were tired of trying to warm me up, you could have just said something.”

She was moving backward now, attempting to put more distance between them, but Jamie reached out to grasp her upper arm, holding her still. Her head whipped toward him, eyes hard and ready to lash out, but Jamie spoke before she could.

“Please, dinna go,” was all he could think to say.

It wasn’t like she was actually going to storm out of his office— at least he hoped not— but it still hurt for her to tear herself away like that. He didn’t want to fight.

Something— perhaps it was his pleading tone, the look on his face, or maybe she could actually feel his distress— made her freeze and give him her attention.

“I’m sorry if I made ye feel like ye werena my priority, mo ghraidh, because ye are. Always. I would abandon work entirely jes’ tae hold ye in my arms, for however long ye wanted. I’m jes’ worried, lass, I dinna mean to presume I ken more than you do about yer own body. I’m sorry. Please, lass, come here to me?”

Claire’s eyes filled with tears. She remained stock still, her eyes locked with Jamie’s. There was a long moment where he watched the moisture gather in her eyes and the gears turn in her head as she fought within herself, and then she broke the stillness. She did come to him then, scrambling up into his lap and throwing her arms around him. A wet face pressed into the crook of his neck, and Jamie quickly brought his arms up to hold her, pressing her face into him and feeling relief course through him.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I don’t know why I lashed out at you, Jamie. I didn’t mean that.”

“Hush, hush, it’s okay, a leannan,” Jamie soothed, carding his fingers through her curls and rocking her back and forth. “Ye’ve had a long day. Ye’ve felt yer share of heartache, met so many new people and seen so many new things, and ye’re tired. Why dinna we head home now, aye?”

She drew back, blinking tears away from her eyelashes. “Maybe just in a moment?”

“Of course, Sassenach.” Jamie didn’t need to be an empath to know that she needed a second to gather herself together before she could face the task of exiting the building and encountering whatever people went along with that.

“Hey, I love you,” Jamie added softly, petting her hair, pulling it back away from her neck over and over. He stretched his thumb so he could smooth over the long muscle of her neck, feeling the soft skin and wishing he were at an angle that he could press a kiss there.

“I love you, too,” came her quiet response.

***

a/n: Important Update:

Hey friends! So I may be going off the grid a bit later in June, not 100% sure yet. There probably will end up being a brief hiatus for this story, and I wish I could tell you exactly what it will look like, but I don't know yet. I will keep you posted here. Thank you so much for your flexibility and investment in the story, and I'll do my best not to leave you at cliffhangers. While I still have time left, be prepared that updates may get a bit more frequent.

I don’t remember if I’ve announced it on here yet, but I also want to officially say that an Arc III is in the works! I’ve already started writing a bit on it because I’m so excited about it. So don’t worry, even if there is a brief hiatus, there is lots of story left. Thank you for sticking with me!!!

#wooohooo finally managed to write it!!!#all that was fair #claire x jamie #outlander fanfiction #update #fae claire

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mymelodyheart · 3 years

Text

Miles Between Us Chapter 12 ~Obstacle Course ~

Previously in Suspicious Minds ...

Caught up in the awkwardness of the moment, Claire bit her bottom lip. "Well, I guess that's settled then. We best get going before Mary does something like bite some poor soul's head at the airport." Claire's attempt to sound cheerful lessened the tension in the air but not the one on Jamie's shoulders. She turned to him and tried to take her bags off his hands, but he couldn't seem to let go. "Jamie ...my bags," she whispered, her hand running up and down his forearm as if to tell him everything was going to be alright.

But instead of giving Claire's bags back to her, he begrudgingly handed them to Christie. They had a few seconds of stare off until Claire's hands on his face forced him to look at her.

"Jamie, kiss me, goodbye?"

He didn't hesitate at her request and sucked on her bottom lip as she made a sobbing noise. That wee noise she made jolted something free inside of him, and he, too, wanted to cry. He couldn't remember wanting to openly cry before. Not like this. He couldn't control it, stealing oxygen from his lungs, but Claire's touches soothed him.

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"The monster is only scary while it is in the closet.

Once in the light,

you can see its many flaws

and weaknesses.

And often,

we end up laughing,

at what we shield our eyes from

no more."

-Tom Althouse

Meticulously scanning the busy vicinity, Claire stopped in the middle of the airport's arrival area and whirled on the spot, impatiently tapping her phone against her thigh. Come on, Hawkins, where the bloody hell are you? Though she and Tom were painfully late, she didn't want to blame their tardiness on Jamie, so instead, she held the gridlock on the motorway and the rain responsible. And whyever not? If it hadn't been for Mary coming to Inverness unannounced, she would be with Jamie right now, making up for lost time and talking about his therapy from this morning. Why in heaven's name had the responsibility of Mary landed on her shoulder of all days? She sighed. It must be another perk of being John Grey's ultra-reliable and never-can-say-no star employee, she reminded herself with an inward groan.

On the way to the airport, Claire had been quiet throughout the drive and was grateful to Tom for not prodding about what happened. To her relief, he'd just given her an understanding smile and drove. Thinking of Jamie's tortured face when he'd arrived at the cottage, it had taken a lot of willpower on her part to get into the car and leave him by the roadside looking after her with a forlorn expression. His words had played on repeat until she had to do a mental scold to remind herself she had work to do and assured herself she'd see him soon enough. She'd wanted him to be alright before she left to ensure him she hadn't changed her mind about them. Though she'd hurt not hearing from him after he'd disappeared, she knew his actions had been done in consideration of her, and that notion prevented her anger from taking over. Her feeling of abandonment over what he'd done was also tempered with her annoyance at Jenny. Jamie's sister's meddling was just so wrong on all sorts of level. In the middle of Jamie leaving her, Willie checking to make sure she was alright, and Jenny coming this morning, she'd gone back and forth between a place of strength and feeling like a lamb in the eye of a hurricane. But now, as she attempted to find the anger, the rage she'd felt after discovering the newspaper clipping about her house in Jenny's possession and the interference with Jamie's love life, she couldn't find it anymore.

Sensing Tom approaching, she recentred herself and smiled in his direction. "There you are.".

"Any luck?" he asked, coming to stand next to her and looking around.

"Nope," she replied, pressing her fingers to her forehead and massaging a sudden ache as she was reminded of the reason why they were there. "How did you get a parking space so quick?"

"I have my ways." When she arched an eyebrow, he grinned at her. "I have a disabled parking permit."

Claire stopped and glared at him. "Tom!"

He ignored her disapproving expression and shrugged. "So, who are we looking for?"

She shook her head and looked around for Mary once more. It shouldn't be this difficult to spot her because she usually stood out. "An overdressed, attractive petite brunette with loads of attitude," she replied, absentmindedly. "And probably with a trolley full of luggage."

More people walked past them making their search more difficult. She was about to make another phone call to Mary when Tom whistled under his breath. "Weel, weel," he murmured, his gaze ticking past her shoulder and turning thoughtful. "I wonder if the lass walking towards us is yer Hawkins." His lips twisted into a smile. "She looks mighty pissed."

"Wot?" She spun around and drew her brows together as she saw a familiar figure approaching them. What the hell? Is that Mary? It could only be her. The woman struggling with an oversized suitcase on wheels stood out like a mini bolt of lightning in her designer four-inch heels, pristine, skinny white jeans and black fur-lined down jacket. But there was something different about the way Mary looked, and it took a few seconds before Claire realised she had done something to her hair. She nearly gasped out loud. But as soon as Mary made eye contact, Claire immediately braced herself for some telling off for being late. Mary stopped, her mouth opening and closing as if she couldn't find the words to voice her displeasure. Claire schooled her features and met her leaden glare without flinching. "Mary? I hardly recognised you."

Mary's brown eyes prettily widened, and her expression softened as some kind of realisation dawned on her. "Oh! Of course ...you couldn't have." A sound of delight puffed out of her. "I had my hair done in Paris. Now we have the same curls. If only I was as tall as you, we'll probably be mistaken as sisters." She missed Claire's intake of breath as she ran her delicate fingers through her locks. "Do you like it?"

No, I don't! What have you done to your beautiful hair? You look like a poodle! Claire swallowed hard, tilted her head to her side, and contemplated the best way to tell Mary the truth. But she didn't have the heart to say it. Instead, she opted for something closer to the truth. "Well, for starters, it looks unusual. I'm so used to seeing your beautiful straight hair. I guess it will take time getting used to," she admitted. But when a slight frown drifted across Mary's face, Claire felt bad. Taking a deep breath, she laughed nervously as she fluffed her own hair. "Look at these ...after all these years, I'm still not used to mine, and I have a bit of hate relationship with it, especially when it gets humid or when I looked at the mirror first thing in the morning. So bear with me if I'm not much into curls."

It took Mary a long time to respond. "Oh, well," she replied with a subdued smile. "You should have seen John's face when he first saw my hair. He looked shocked." She shrugged. "But in the end, he did say it was beginning to grow on him. I guess everyone's used to my limp, lifeless hair."

Ah, bless John. Claire knew his expression wouldn't have been able to hide what was on his mind, and it wouldn't have bode well for him if Mary had been able to read his face. Mary was their star author whose new book could likely save his publishing company from potential financial ruin, and anyone pointing out her disastrous new hairstyle would probably only result in tantrums and more delays in publication. She sighed. "It wasn't limp, Mary. You had beautiful, straight hair. You have no idea what I would give to have manageable straight hair like what you had." And that was the truth.

Mary perked up a bit and rolled her eyes. "Oh, God, don't make me like you even more."

They shared a slow smile, and Claire was about to make a different compliment that didn't include Mary's hair when Tom cleared his throat and stepped forward, giving them a charming smile. "Ladies, sorry to interrupt, but shall we get cracking? My car is not parked in the most ideal of places."

"Oh, of course, I'm so sorry ..." Claire had almost forgotten about Tom, too fascinated by Mary's new hairstyle. She gave him an apologetic look and turned to Mary. "Oh, by the way, may I introduce you to ..." she trailed off and stopped.

Mary's expression looked like the heavens had just opened up and bestowed them an angel. Her lips moved, but no sound came, but when she did finally found her voice, it sounded raspy. "Is this your Jamie that John was talking about?"

Claire pried Mary's hand from her suitcase. "No, this is Tom. He's offered to drive me here to pick you up."

Tom grinned and offered his hand in greeting. "A pleasure to finally meet ye, Mary. I've read a couple of yer books, and I must say, not only are ye a talented writer but a beautiful one too."

Claire mentally groaned but kept the frustration from her face at bay. Tom must have noticed Mary's reaction and had taken his flirting a notch higher. When Mary continued to stare, Claire gently nudged her with her elbow. "Mary. Shake Tom's hand, and let's go."

Mary shook her way out of her trance and smiled. "Oh, I think this is going to be a very, very interesting visit," she gushed, finally back to her being her old self again. But instead of shaking Tom's hand, she hooked her arm into his, leaving Claire with the suitcase. "So Tom ...can you recommend a perfect place to eat? I'm quite famished and can't work on an empty stomach."

Tom obliged and patted Mary's hand. "Dinnae fash, I ken just the place."

With that, Mary looked over her shoulder and winked. All Claire could do was smile back and hope they would be able to get some work done. Because if not, and there's any more cause to delay Hawkin's books, come hell or high water, she's quitting Dreamweaver.

...........

Two Days Later

Stepping out of the shower, Jamie immediately zeroed in on his phone just in case he'd missed a call from Claire. They'd briefly talked last night, and she'd reminded him of uncle Lamb's arrival, which should be between now and the evening. If all goes to plan with Mary Hawkins, Claire should be coming back too. Hopefully, tonight, he thought with a sigh. It was already late Saturday afternoon, and his work was done for the weekend. Plenty of time left to get his shit together.

Since Claire had left for Inverness, he hadn't had time to think. His brother had kept him busy with tasks and paperwork, and, on top of it all, he'd been distracted trying to comfort a distressed sister. Jenny had told him what had transpired between her and Claire. And how she'd been out of her mind, thinking she'd ruined their relationship. He'd consoled her, and in turn, she'd apologised profusely for her meddling. Her sincerity had touched him, but moreover, he couldn't help feeling amused at the thought of Jenny finally meeting her match. Though Claire was a gentle and thoughtful soul, he knew she was not the type to be bossed around. And in as much as he loved his sister, he was glad Claire put Jenny in her place and hoped after everything had been said and done, they can all move on from that incident and forgive.

Despite barely having time to be alone with his sometimes chaotic thoughts, he'd still managed to feel anxious about Christie. Jamie learned he hadn't returned to Broch Mordha, which led him to ponder if Christie was spending time with Claire. It was a lapse of insecurity, and that notion had been rubbished straight away since he knew how important Claire's work was to her. So there should be no pressure on his chest or icy tingling along his spine.

There shouldn't be, but somehow there was.

Jamie was just shrugging into a fresh sweatshirt when his doorbell rang. He glanced at the wall clock and wondered who it was. Claire hadn't given a specific time for Quentin's arrival, and if it had been her at the door, she should've let herself in with the spare key he'd given her.

"Coming!" he shouted as the doorbell rang once more. He took a deep breath expecting uncle Lamb to be standing out there. Bracing himself. he flung the door open and was surprised to see who it was. "Ge- ... I mean Dr Dunsany!"

"Hi, Jamie!" Geneva greeted. "You may call me Geneva, you know ...since we're not in my office. May I come in?"

Jamie narrowed his gaze and looked past her shoulder. He could see Mrs Fitz from across the street pretending to fuss over some leaves in her garden when really he could tell she's prying into his business. There were talks already surrounding Claire being seen with Tom, and it wouldn't do him good if words of Geneva coming to his cottage got around, no matter how innocent the visit was. He gave Geneva an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, I'm kinda busy," he withdrew, glancing casually at his watch. "I ... there's... I'm expecting a visitor. "

"Oh! But this won't take long." She stood there with laid back confidence that lured most men to look their fill. He neutrally eyed the slim-fitting turtle neck that hugged her breast and tight jeans that hung low, her scarlet painted lips pursed in a pretty pout. "I wanted to talk about the session we had the other day," she added quickly.

Jamie crossed his arms across his chest. "Couldn't this wait until our next appointment?"

She took a cautious step closer, her expensive scent drifting in the air. "I'd rather talk about it now. This is just not about your therapy." Her blue eyes seductively landed on his lips. "I want to discuss something personal too."

"Sorry, personal won't do, I'm afraid. Ye're my therapist."

"Jamie, how long have we known each other?"

"Long enough ..."

She smiled, her hand brushing something away from his shoulder. "What's wrong? Surely your girlfriend won't mind your therapist coming over to check up on your progress, will she? We live in a small place, and we all know each other here."

"Her name is Claire ..."

"And I heard she's with Tom? Is that right?"

He smothered a sigh as he could tell what this was all about. Though Geneva was an attractive lass, he'd always only felt a minor buzz for her, which paled to the mind-blowing reaction Claire caused with just a single look. Where Claire was never more than anything but herself, Geneva always tried too hard. And it wasn't just all physical with Claire. It was their connection to each other's mind and soul. The way she made it easy for him to allow her to see his vulnerability and the way she'd let him in when no promises had been made on his part when they first met. Thinking back to the other day, he shook his head. He'd known the steaming anger that had risen within him when he'd first heard of Claire meeting with Tom and how that rumour almost made him lose his sense of judgement. He could not allow room for any gossip to go around, especially when Claire was away. Geneva should definitely not come in.

"Look, as ye can see, I'm fine. I dinnae think it's a good idea us meeting like this. Let's keep personal stuff away and keep this professional, aye?"

She took a while to accept his dismissal. Sheer frustration swept over her face before she managed to compose herself. He tried to offer any semblance of an apology, but she cut him off. "I'm the one who understands your condition and how tough it is to live a normal life with your PTSD. And I know better than anyone else right now how to handle it."

Irritation coasted down his back. "There's no doubt you're a brilliant therapist, Geneva. But I am much more than a textbook scenario. Something Claire has always understood."

"But for how long, Jamie?"

"That is none of your concern," he said cooly. "Now, please go as I have things to do."

Her back straightened with steely dignity, and Jamie could tell every movement was measured to create the most dramatic effect. It was another detail he found unattractive and probably why he'd never acted on Geneva's crush for him. "Here's my theory," she began in a low voice. "You're just with her because you needed to fix someone, and she fits the bill. That's what you've been doing all your life - fixing everyone's problem. You'll never be happy, Jamie, if you keep repeating the same pattern over and over again."

He swallowed his anger. "How I choose to live my life is my concern, and if it means repeating the same pattern, then so be it. Forcing me to see things the way you want me to will only piss me off. So while I still have patience, please go."

He took a tentative step backwards, waiting for her to leave so he could close the door. Instead of walking away, she took him by surprise and threw herself against him, looping her arms around his neck and pressing her lips against his.

Christ! Repelled by the assault, he grasped her shoulder and pushed her away. "What the bloody hell was that?" he gritted angrily.

Face red, she squared her shoulders and looked him straight in the eyes. "Mark my words, it's just a matter of time before Claire is unable to deal with your PTSD anymore. I know the pattern, and I've seen it a million times. Most men with this condition end up alone because no one fully understands the extent of what they go through. Oh sure, the people in their lives say they understand but do they really? It's a scary thing for most and an uncomfortable situation to live in. As for me ... I know, and I understand, and I can handle it because I've studied and worked with people like you. And when that day comes, and she leaves you for good, know that I'll be here waiting."

"Just because you know my history, it doesn't make ye an expert in knowing how my life will turn out to be. And ye don't know a thing about Claire, her heart, her resilience ..."

She snorted in disgust. "You just wait and see." With that, she turned around and walked off.

He almost choked. Has the lass gone mad? His skin crawled with icy foreboding as he glanced across the street, his eyes searching for his neighbour. To his relief, Mrs Fitz was no longer stood in the garden to witness Geneva's kiss. A sudden ugly thought came to him, and he wondered what Claire would do if she'd been in his position. Jamie shook his head and immediately dismissed the notion. Tom wouldn't dare. Jamie had already made sure, loud and clear, that Claire was off-limits.

When Geneva's kiss drifted back to the forefront of his mind, he grimaced. His first impulse was to ignore the whole incident. But on second thoughts, he should tell Claire in case words of it reached her before he could explain. He wasn't a hundred per cent sure no one had witnessed that weird occurrence, and if someone did, it would surely be tonight's topic on every dinner table in Broch Mordha. Worriedly, he glanced up and down his street and only saw an unfamiliar car and driver on the phone. Probably Mrs Fitz's new guest, he figured. Satisfied with that thought, he shut the door.

Attempting to get his composure back before he called Claire, he headed for the sideboard in his dining area, grabbed a bottle of whisky, and poured himself a measure. He threw back a shot, his eyes watering slightly in deference to the burn that slid down his throat. He was about to pour another one when the doorbell rang. Again.

What does she want now? He slammed the glass down on the dining table and made his way back to the door. This time he was going to tell Geneva to cancel his therapy appointment. The lass was mad, and he hadn't known the extent of it until today. He'd always thought of her crush for him as a harmless fancy, but obviously, with Jenny's meddling, she'd set her hopes up. This time, he's had enough. With irritation simmering in his guts, he opened the door ...

And was met by an imposing figure obstructing the daylight.

Jamie heard an unintelligible grunt in greeting, and the smell of tobacco invaded his nostrils. He peered at the face, but it was shadowed by a wide-brimmed fedora hat and several days worth of stubble. He blinked to rid the cobwebs threading patterns on his brain and forced his body to straighten to its full height.

"What's that on your mouth?" the man growled.

What the ...? "Quentin?"

"You got lipstick on!"

Horror swooped in as Jamie realised he was still exhibiting the evidence of Geneva's kiss. He immediately swiped the back of his hand across his mouth and instantly felt nauseated when he saw the smudged scarlet on his knuckles. Jesus! "It's not ... it's..."

"It's not my niece's," the older man finished with a cock of his bushy eyebrow.

"It's not mine either," Jamie retorted without thinking. Ah, bloody fuck! "I mean ... it's not what ye think."

"I would certainly hope it's not yours." Quentin narrowed his eyes at him, taking his measure. Jamie did the same to him. He wondered what the man was thinking, but Claire's uncle spoke again before he got a chance. "Well, are you letting me in, or are we just going to stare at each other like a couple of dafties?"

Who the fuck does he think he is? But he quickly reminded himself this was Claire's uncle, so he slightly softened his stance. Swallowing the sour taste in his mouth, Jamie took a step back and motioned Quentin into his home. "Come in."

Ignoring Jamie's dark look, Quentin strode into his cottage, but he's brought up short when he saw the whisky and shot glass on the dining table. He plopped his sling bag onto the chair, opened it, pulled out a tequila bottle and placed it on the table. Then he turned around and slid his hands into his pockets. "You and I, lad, are going to talk before my niece arrives."

Jamie shut the door and eyed Quentin, carefully pondering his words. As he'd suspected, Quentin was very much like Harry but with broader shoulders, an intense darker face, and eyes that seemed to flash with diabolical laughter. It was a face that had probably seen too much in his lifetime. All his mannerisms were large, confident and perfectly balanced, like those of a wild cat, and when he stood in his space like this, he appeared to be a wild animal held in a cage too inadequate for it. His features might be similar to Harry's, but yet, their difference was like night and day.

A scoff rasped his throat. "I've had enough forced therapy for the week, thank ye very much."

"If I didn't know you any better, I would have bloodied your nose after seeing that lipstick on your mouth."

"If ye're dying to punch me on the face, then give me yer best shot. I dinnae have to explain anything to ye. I've done nothing wrong."

"No, you haven't," Quentin sighed, nodding his head. "I saw what passed."

Jamie absorbed that while keeping his features impassive. "And yet ye're still judging me."

Quentin's mouth twitched, but his eyes remained serious. "I'm not."

"Right from the start, it felt like ye've been giving me the first degree."

Quentin disregarded his words with a shrug. "I was just making sure Claire's in good hands. She's all I have."

Jamie understood the sentiment. He would have probably done the same if he'd been in Quentin's shoes. Christ, hadn't he felt like committing murder when he'd first found out about Tom?

"We've met before, you know?" Quentin interrupted his thoughts.

Jamie's head shot up.

"Way before our video chat," the older man revealed. "But I figured you don't remember."

He didn't, so he shook his head.

Quentin took off his hat and slapped it against his thigh before placing it on the table. "Claire recently told me she just found out that it was you and your godfather, ...Murtagh...I believe his name was, who saved her from the car accident. She asked me if I knew." Quentin paused to discern Jamie's expression. When he couldn't seem to read anything, he proceeded. "I admitted I did and ..."

"Ye knew who I was?"

"No. Not until you told me your family name and mentioned Lallybroch near the end of our video chat. I thought Claire would be angry for not telling her, but she didn't say much else except that both of you have been clueless all these years. So if you have any questions about what happened, I'll fill in the void for you if it'll help you move on."

Jamie shoved a hand through his hair. Feeling suddenly restless, he went to the drinks' cabinet to retrieve shot glasses. He grabbed the tequila bottle, uncapped it, and poured two equal measures. "So now you want to diagnose me? Is that it?"

"Diagnose you for what?"

Jamie realised Quentin knew nothing of his condition. Claire hadn't told her uncle. He ignored the question and handed the shot to Quentin. "Why bring it up now?"

Quentin took the offered glass, raised a silent toast with Jamie, and simultaneously threw back the shot. They both flinched at the heat. "I owe you the truth," Quentin replied, placing the shot glass on the table. "Take it or leave it. I've been silent about it for years. Tell me what you remember, and I'll tell you everything you want to know."

Did he really want to know? The past would eventually catch up and come out, that much Jamie knew, so he might as well have it out in the open. Taking a deep breath, he paced to the window and with his back to Quentin, he began recounting what he could remember from the accident. He waited for the white noise or the torture to start swarming in his head, but to his astonishment, they never came. Though the memory of that fateful day was more vivid than ever, its power to hold him in a choke was diminished. The words flowed with ease, and it began to feel like he was describing someone else's story. When he was done, he turned around and saw just in time a shadow passed across the older man's face. He looked like ten years have been shaved off his life.

Quentin took a seat and clasped his hands together. "I lied to you the day when we first met."

Jamie stilled and looked at Quentin. "What do ye mean?"

"I was in Cairo when I heard the news of the accident. I immediately took the first plane out and headed here. I was told Claire was being taken care of by your parents and that both of you were inseparable. When I arrived at Lallybroch, you were holding Claire in your lap like she was the most precious thing." Quentin paused and smiled at the memory before descending back to that sad place in his head. "But when you laid eyes on me, that's when you lost it and started screaming. Claire screamed along with you ...God, it was awful. At that time, it hadn't truly sunk in what happened to my brother and his wife, and it was torture to see you kids in such pain." Quentin shook his head. "You were shouting something like ...I should be dead and that you've seen me go up in flames. You see, I've been told beforehand you'd witnessed the accident, and that's when it occurred to me you thought I was Harry. So I did what I thought was best at that moment ...I knelt before you and fibbed. Only because nothing could calm you down, and I wanted to ease your distress. I pretended to be Harry and told you I wasn't dead, and when you asked how I got away, I made up some story like managing to crawl out the last minute. Somehow that little white lie quieted you down."

"I honestly don't remember that part," Jamie whispered, taking a seat across from Quentin. "But in saying that, all the memories of that day are just beginning to resurface. I'm just starting to remember again. It all began when ..."

"When you met Claire for the second time," Quentin finished for him.

Jamie nodded with a small smile as he watched Quentin stood up and poured them another shot.

Quentin gazed at him with all the seriousness. "May I ask you a question?"

"Ask away."

Quentin pushed the shot glass towards him. "What if, instead of Harry, you were the one that died that day?" He paused and looked directly into his eyes. "What do you think would you have missed in the years that came after?"

Jamie frowned. "Why would ye ask such a thing?"

Quentin sighed. "Because lately, I've been asking myself the same question every day. I've searched for the answer going back through almost twenty years, and I've come up with almost nothing. Besides Claire coming into my life, I have nothing to show. Of course, there were a few memorable moments when I was granted an acknowledgement of merit for my work. And then there were a few rare occasions I got to spend time with Claire. But between those scraps of time, there's only a grey empty void. The rest of my days were spent going through the motions, keeping a barrier between me and the world. I realised, ever since my brother died, I've been living in fear that the same fate could befall me ... that's why I've never married. So you see now, Jamie, I haven't been living at all. And I don't want you to make that mistake."

Jamie gave a wistful smile. "I see that, and with everything happening, I'm just starting to understand. We all have to walk around lugging a past, getting from one step to the next. Just need a healthy way to release it, as Claire often reminded me enough." When Jamie saw Quentin nodding in agreement, he saw an opportunity. He cleared his throat and straightened himself. He'd just bonded with Claire's uncle, so surely that should mean something. "So ....Quentin," he began nervously, "does this mean ye're fine with me being with Claire?"

Claire's uncle went back to looking like he wanted to rip a head off. "No. I've just arrived after a long flight, and you haven't offered me anything. I haven't eaten in the last six hours, and you're asking me if I'm okay with you being with Claire? So far, all you've done is open the tequila bottle without thanking me for it and nought to impress me."

Ah, shite! Hearing that, he pushed himself to his feet. "I ken a few good places that serve excellent pub grub," he said rapidly.

"Do you not have food in your kitchen, lad?"

"Aye, I do, but since ye're starving, I thought it would be easier if we got something out," Jamie reasoned. "So, what do ye have in mind?"

Quentin glowered at him before slugging back the rest of his shot. "Somewhere where they serve greasy food."

Jamie stopped. "But Claire said yer heart ..."

"The greasier, the better," Quentin growled.

It was clear to Jamie he's still miles away from wholly winning over Quentin. He reckoned he's probably not going to win that battle today, and one plate of greasy food was not going to kill Claire's uncle. Ah, hell! Didn't his ma once said that the way to someone's heart is through one's stomach? There's a chance that this could still work. But before he could say anything, his phone buzzed, and he almost knocked over the chair, trying to grab it. "It's Claire."

Quentin rolled his eyes.

Jamie quickly read Claire's message and smiled. Ah, there's a God after all! He glanced up at Quentin. "She's coming back home tonight."

"I knew that! Now, how about that nosh you were on about."

"Aye ...right ...I ken just the place."

..........

Five Hours Later

"This is a shithole!" Quentin grumbled, slurring his words and shoving his unfinished plate of Bangers and Mash away from him.

Tough shite! Jamie glanced out the window and then looked back at the time on his watch. Damn it! A plate of food each, five pints of lager for Quentin and three pints for him later, still no word from Claire, and if she didn't come home soon, Quentin would drink him under the table. As it was, he's feeling rather tipsy already.

"You know what?" Quentin tipped the bottom of the pint glass in his direction. "Since we arrived here, you kept looking out that window every few minutes. Am I boring you, or is there something interesting out there? If so, care to share?"

Jamie blew out a breath. "Just wondering when Claire's coming home. Haven't heard from her since her last message.."

"Is that why you're looking outside? Does she know we're here?"

"No! Christie is bringing her back from Inverness."

"Who's Christie?"

"Some bloke."

"So what's outside? You keep looking out there."

Damn, so many questions! Jamie pointed his finger towards the window. "See that red door over there? Christie lives in that building, first floor, window facing the street. We'd know when they've arrived."

"Is that why you brought me here so you could check every once in a while if Claire's arrived?"

The older man was on to him, but Jamie wasn't about to admit it. "You wanted greasy food, did ye not?"

Quentin shrugged without answering.

Jamie checked his phone again and agitatedly rubbed a hand behind his neck. What's taking them so long? Wicked thoughts were beginning to seep in. Has Claire, by any chance, heard about Geneva's visit and kiss? It wouldn't be an impossibility as rumours tended to make their way out of Broch Mordha. A part of him knew that the alcohol was dulling his reason, so he mentally shook himself. He should have called Claire earlier, right after Geneva left and told her what happened, but of course, Quentin's arrival had interrupted him from doing just that.

"Stop fidgeting. You're making me nervous."

"I'm just worried Claire would hear about that kiss ye witness earlier before I get to explain myself."

A heartbeat passed. For the first time since Jamie had known Quentin, his tough demeanour slipped, and something akin to amusement flashed through. "Don't worry. If she's heard about it, she would have given you her two pennies worth by now, and that's putting it mildly. Of course ...worst-case scenario, you'll end up with your ears ringing for days after she's done telling you off." He smirked and raised his pint to his lips, his actions revealing he was only teasing. Jamie reined in his frustration and let it go without comment.

Obviously emboldened by Jamie's silence, Quentin leaned forward. "So, have you bought flowers for Claire for when she returns?"

"No."

"Why not? It would help your cause in case Claire heard about that kiss."

Jamie glared at Quentin. "Thanks for rubbing that in. But I dinnae have time. I was too busy entertaining ye. Besides, I bought her fruits. She loves fruits. I even bought her a variety of them."

The older man's eyes bugged out. "She's got you eating healthy too, huh?"

"Nothing wrong with that," Jamie muttered. "She likes chocolates too. I got her a big box of it. Lindt."

Quentin glanced out the window to his side and perked up. "Hey, someone just went through that red door. I don't know what Christie looks like, but it could be anyone."

Jamie followed his gaze, and sure enough, the red door was just closing. He glanced back at his phone on the table, and though he knew he would hear the sound of notification, he still needed to look to assure himself. There was still no message.

"First-floor window light just went on," Quentin observed in a low voice. "That's Christie's place, right?"

His head snapped up. "What?"

"Oh, look, that's Claire, looking out. I know that hair anywhere."

Jamie looked and saw Claire just in time before she moved away from the window and pulled the curtain. He swallowed the odd lump in his throat. What the hell is she doing in Christie's place? Then it all came rushing in, in full force. He'd left Claire on her own because of his stupid panic attacks, and when he'd finally come to his senses, it was probably too late because Christie had already entered the picture. And now everything that Geneva had told him earlier was coming to fruition. No, no!

A split second later, Jamie burst out the pub's front entrance and ran across the street, Quentin not far behind him.

This cannae be happening. This is the worse nightmare ever. Ach Christ, please dinnae let this be true. Please. She's my lass. Mine. No, no, no. Oh fuck, I need her.

Thunder roared in his ears, and he'd only vaguely managed to process Quentin's remark on his overreaction and something about alcohol consumption. But all he could think of was how he and Claire needed to talk, now. He couldn't accept their relationship was over when it hadn't had a chance yet.

Jamie stopped in front of Christie's building and looked up the window, shouting Claire's name, while Quentin manically pressed the buzzer for the first floor. A few passersby eyed them warily, and a voice called from somewhere, "what the bloody hell, Fraser!" probably thinking they'd gone off their nuts, but he couldn't give a fuck. His heart hammered wildly, unable to think straight. All he could see was Claire with Christie, together. He groaned miserably, the very thought chilling him to the bone. Oh, please, God no!

No one responded to Quentin's incessant buzzing, and when he tried to yank on the knob, it didn't budge. It remained lock.

Jamie gathered a few stones that he could find on the cobbled street and started pelting Christie's window, roaring Claire's name on top of his lungs. His effort was rewarded when the curtain slid open, and he saw Claire looking down, her hair all wild and loose. But by now, they've also attracted a wee crowd that stood in a semi-circle behind him. He didn't take notice and focused his attention on the woman above.

"Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp! Don't ye dare leave me!" He shouted. "We love each other, remember? I was a prick for leaving ye on yer own when ye came to Scotland to be with me. I promise ye this will never happen again. And whatever problem we have together, we can fix this. Ye understand me?" He fell on his knees, grateful for the pain shooting up his thighs because his heart was breaking into thousand pieces. "I ken I could be a selfless arse, but I'm working on being a better person for ye ...for us. We've only known each other for a short while, but it's enough for me to see that ye're the one for me. Forever. I love ye with all my heart, Sassenach, and I cannae imagine life without ye."

Jamie paused to get his breathing back to normal and give Claire a chance to respond. But she remained immobile and continued to stare down at him. The crowd behind whispered and tittered, probably thinking he'd finally lost all his marbles. He even heard someone murmuring about him having had a bit too much to drink. But he didn't care even when he saw Quentin's shaking head, most likely in disgust at him. A hand touched his shoulder, but he shrugged it off, only focused on getting through Claire. "What do I need to do to make ye, believe me, Sassenach? Ye ken, I'll do anything to prove to ye how much I love ye. Does he ken the things I do? Like ...like what song makes ye smile? I can sing it for ye if that's what it would take." When the silence lingered, except for the hush sounds from behind him, Jamie puffed out a silent curse. "Christ ... I'll do it. For ye, ye hear me? I'll sing that damn song. Just so ye ken, I meant every word I said."

Then he stood up from his kneeling position and gave Rick Astley a run for his money.

..........

Hands on her chest, Claire stood inert behind Jamie, listening with interest as he belted out Rick Astley's Never Gonna Give you Up in a scratchy voice. She tilted her head to the side and watched in fascination his stiff, sparse hip movement that went with his song. She'd wanted to alleviate Jamie's suffering and save him from further embarrassment, but midway through his moving speech, she'd caught a glimpse of her uncle. He'd given her a warning shake of his head, telling her to let Jamie finish pouring his heart out. So with a sigh, she stood back and waited.

Oh, Jamie, Jamie!

This beautiful, rugged giant of a man and former SAS soldier was singing to her as though his life depended on it. How could he think she'd left him? She needed to put her arms around him and reassure him that he's the one for her too and that there's been nobody else but him.

"Jamie!" she rasped. When he didn't hear her, she cleared her throat and tried again. "Jamie! It's me, Claire!"

Jamie stopped and whipped around, his eyes taking her in, in total disbelief. "Sassenach?" he whispered. "It's ye."

Her throat constricted. "Uh-huh."

His head jerked back up to the window and then back to Claire. He looked as though he wanted to believe he was really seeing her but could not see past his fear just yet. "To whom the bloody hell was I proclaiming my love to then if ye were stood here all along?" he asked, throat working with emotion.

"You were singing to Mary Hawkins, Jamie," she croaked. "The star author of our publishing company."

"And what the hell is she doing up at Christie's place?"

Claire grimaced. This was really a sensitive subject, and they were talking about a public figure, and a small crowd was watching them. So she stepped closer and spoke in a low voice. "I think Mary and Tom have a thing for each other. And I have a sneaking suspicion ..." she glanced up at the window above where Mary still stood. "Tom is not going to be please when he finds out it was you who interrupted whatever they're up to."

"James Fucking Fraser!"

It was Tom, wherever he was shouting from. Jamie didn't wait to find out because, in one quick movement, he took Claire's hand and made short work of getting them into the dark alley to the applause and cheers of the bystanders. Laughing, they ran and ran until they were far away enough from prying eyes. And there in the darkened path, its only illumination coming from the full moon above, they found one another once again in each other's arms.

Dear Readers,

Firstly, thank you all for your feedback in the previous chapter. I'm going to keep this short as I still tire easily.

As I've mentioned before, I haven't been well the last few days; hence the delay for this instalment. I hope you enjoyed this one. If there are any inconsistencies and grammar mistakes, I blame them on my medication. Haha!

So that said, thank you all for the messages on my Tumblr, your feedback and kudos on AO3, and mostly for your patience. Take care always of yourself, and keep spreading the love vibe! X

#melodyheart #wonderwall #milesbetweenus #ClaireBeauchamp/JamieFraser #claire beauchamp #jamie fraser #outlanderfanfic

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thesassenachswiftie · 4 years

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Lover - Chapter 10:”Cornelia Street”

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Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 // Chapter 4 // Chapter 5 // Chapter 6 // Chapter 7 // Chapter 8 // Chapter 9

Summary: Claire and Jamie spend a night in the city. The next day, Jamie has a rude awakening and eventually our lovers head to Broadway to see Wicked.

Notes: As always, thank you for reading and leaving notes. Every time I get a notification is a small thrill and I really appreciate it. We have officially passed the half way point of this fic experiment! If you didn't figure it out from the way the last chapter ended, this one is more than a bit smutty. Smut is at the beginning and end if that's something you try to avoid. Enjoy!

Chapter 10: Cornelia Street

“I rented a place on Cornelia Street,” Jamie said casually in the car. “I was originally thinking since it’s early yet we could head to a bar down the street for a dram, but if you want to turn in for the night, I understand.” His blue eyes were twinkling with innuendo under the glow of passing streetlights.

“Hmm… I don’t think we need the assistance of alcohol tonight,” Claire raised her brow, catching his eye. “Unless you’re really set on it?”

“Nae, Sassenach, you’re more than enough for me.” he replied, stroking her thigh in the backseat. It was true, they were drunk on something stronger than the drinks in the bar. Now that the full force and truth of their love was unleashed, they were both in a state of anticipatory ecstasy. They couldn’t keep their hands off each other during the 15 minute Uber ride back to the subway station to pick up their bags and head to Manhattan. Neither of them could wait to get the other alone, enveloped in the privacy of the AirBnb. It was as if the streetlights pointed in an arrowhead leading them home.

They stepped out onto the sidewalk, Claire leading, eager to get to their destination. She turned around before she hit the subway tunnel, grabbing Jamie and wrapping her arms around his neck. They kissed passionately on the sidewalk, bodies pressed close, the promise of more a mere subway ride away.

Jamie and Claire emerged from underground just three blocks away from their destination. The nighttime autumn air was bringing a chill and a smattering of raindrops was starting to fall from the sky. Jamie draped his jacket around Claire’s shoulders, noticing that she was wrapping her arms close to her chest. Her smile lit up at the gesture. Although the warmth of their love should have, in theory, been strong enough to keep them warm, it was undeniable that the seasons were changing and winter was headed to New York.

By the time they arrived on Cornelia street, the rain had turned to a downpour and they found themselves running down the street, hand in hand to get to the warmth and privacy of their weekend abode. They dashed down the street until they stood before a building that appeared to be an old fashioned carriage house. Jamie punched some numbers into a keypad beside a side door and they heard a click as it unlocked. They scrambled through the open door and climbed up two flights of stairs where they were met with another door. Another code was entered and the door opened to reveal a spacious and airy apartment, well-appointed with cozy antique furniture and rugs, ornate light fixtures, modern artwork, and plenty of houseplants thriving among large, floor-to-ceiling windows. They were soaked through, their clothes clinging to their bodies. They dropped their bags on the floor as they entered.

“I’m freezing!” Claire squealed, reluctantly slipping Jamie’s jacket off her shoulders and slipping it on a hook by the door. She kicked off her shoes and scurried through the apartment towards what she hoped was a bedroom. Jamie found the thermostat on the wall near the dining area and turned it up higher than he normally would--but his Sassenach was cold and he wasn’t paying the bill. The heat kicked on quickly and the apartment began to fill with warm air. Jamie followed Claire into the bedroom and found it empty. He did however, notice a large armoire with a hidden gas fireplace (luckily he had read about this on the AirBNB website before booking), and took a moment to open it and turn the fireplace on. He then slipped around the corner towards the adjacent bathroom and stopped short at the sight before him. Claire had stripped off her wet clothing and was draping it over the shower rod in the bathroom to dry. Jamie caught a generous view of her backside glimpsing her through the bathroom doorway where he stood, taking in her beauty.

“I bless the rains on Cornelia Street” he lauded reverently, peeling off his own soaked shirt and guiding himself behind her, reaching over her head to drape his shirt next to hers, he moved his hands down her body slowly, settling them on her hips and pulling her close to him.

“Do you need help with those wet pants?” she hummed, turning her head towards him with a mischievous grin.

“Aye, that’d be bonny” Jamie replied. Claire turned around and put her hands on his chest, running them down to the waistband of his jeans. She unlatched his belt and slid it through the belt loops, tossing it aside where it landed with a thud on the bathroom floor. She crouched down to unbutton and unzip his fly, keeping her eyes locked on his face the entire time. She felt his hardness beneath her hands as she carried out her task. She slowly wriggled his jeans down to the floor and he stepped out of them. She picked them up off the floor, exaggerating her movements to give Jamie a full view of her arse, playfully leading him on a path there would be no going back from as she lifted them to the curtain rod, pressing her posterior against the rapidly growing bulge in his boxer briefs. “Why Mr. Fraser, I do believe despite the chill you are quite excited.”

“As if the sight of your arse in those jeans all day wasn’t enough to give a man a cock stand, to see it in its full glory… Christ Sassenach.” He’d had enough of her playing games, and spun her around to face him again, kissing her passionately as he scooped up handfuls of her arse, pulling her even closer to him. She slipped her fingers into the waistband of his underwear, edging them down gently with no small effort as they were wet from the rain. Once, they were also discarded on the floor, Jamie scooped her up effortlessly, hoisting her onto his hips as she wrapped her legs around his torso. They continued kissing, tongues dancing to steps only they knew, as he carried her into the bedroom and laid her down sideways on the end of the bed atop a soft, plush blanket, directly across from the fireplace. “Whatd’ya say I warm ya up Sassenach?” he growled as they came up for air.

“Mmmmhmm” was all she could muster out in response. The heat from the fireplace was already doing a good job of warming her, but she had a feeling it had more to do with being cradled in her Scots arms. He tented himself over her, rubbing his length over her folds, caressing her arms until gooseflesh arose. Planting hungry kisses on her neck and down her clavicle to her breast. He suckled ravenously, taking her soft pillow to his mouth, squeezing it reverently to his cheek before moving to the other breast as she bit her lip, taking in the sensation. When her wee noises indicated she couldn’t take his teasing anymore, he guided himself into her.

They gave themselves to each other fully, heart, body, mind and soul. It was a sacred new beginning for them after all they had said to each other just a few hours before. Jamie suddenly understood all that the church had taught him about marriage and sexuality. Although he and Claire were not yet wed, he realized the sacrament of marriage was not in the ceremony, but in the joining he and Claire were experiencing in this holy space. This was becoming their religion, he was worshipping the God who created this woman just for him and brought her to him safely. He also knew in this moment he could never again be parted from her. Each thrust was a commitment, to keep her safe, to love her, to see to her needs, to take care of her, to protect her from harm. He made these promises to her and himself silently, affirming each with a grunt to match her moans. He would make these commitments publically in a church someday, before God and loved ones, but for now they would stay in his head in the quiet of the room filling with nothing but the sounds of their heavy breaths and cries of pleasure. As he led them home with a final few thrusts, he cried out, “I love you, Claire. God, I love you.”

Jamie kissed Claire’s nose sweetly as they lay, wrapped in each other's arms, panting in post-coital bliss. “Now, I’m warm!” Claire exclaimed. She was flushed red, not only from what had just happened.

“Aye, so am I” Jamie agreed. The combination of forced air heat blasting from a nearby vent and the fireplace had made the room feel sultry and warm while Claire and Jamie were otherwise occupied. He was glistening with sweat, still above her, he rolled over and off the bed, and swung the window wide open, allowing the crisp autumn air to cool their skin. Claire rose to join him near the window, which looked out on an alleyway towards a brick wall. She wrapped her arms around him, bending her curls into the crook of his neck where she fit just right.

“I love you too, Jamie Fraser.” She said in a low voice as she kissed his shoulder. “Come back to bed.” She stepped away towards the bed, tugging at his hand. He cocked one eyebrow, staring intently at her.

“To bed, or to sleep?” he questioned. Claire simply eyed him with a mischievous grin and continued to lead him to the bed.

----------

Jamie, as he did the last time Claire told him she loved him, stayed awake with excitement into the wee hours of the night, softly stroking Claire’s curls and imagining their future together. Their future was a fresh page on the desk, and they’d fill in the blanks as they went, but he was certain that this was the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Sleep took Claire much more quickly, worn out from a day of carousing around the city and a night of passionate lovemaking. Due to her restful sleep, Claire woke when sunlight started creeping into the room. She slipped out of bed as quietly as possible, tiptoeing through the room so as not to disturb Jamie. Much to her dismay, she stepped on a creaky floorboard, wishing she had memorized its location the night before. She paused, taking in the sight of Jamie's limp form on the bed. He was still fast asleep, smiling slightly and Claire paused a bit longer than she intended to, taking in the sight of him, so peaceful and serene, and all hers.

Claire continued into the kitchen, barefoot and started searching the cupboards to see if there was anything edible. She might have suggested they stop for groceries the night before, but her appetite was focused solely on a different set of urges at the time. She opened the fridge, but all that was inside was a Brita pitcher of water and a bottle of champagne--a rather expensive one--already opened, with a note on it that read: the last guests left this the other night, it’d be a shame to throw it out, so feel free to help yourself! That would be a welcome treat this evening, or maybe even for mimosas this morning, but she needed sustenance and she had no doubt that Jamie had also worked up an appetite last night in his exertions. Her still-packed bag was on the floor in the hall where she left it last night, she grabbed it and snuck into the guest bathroom to don leggings and a sweatshirt, brush the morning breath from her teeth and wrangle her curls into a ponytail. She grabbed her purse and left Cornelia Street to grab supplies to make breakfast. She hoped to surprise Jamie and be back before he even knew she was gone.

----------

Jamie awoke, reaching to pull Claire close to him, blindly feeling the empty sheets and pillow beside him. “Sassenach?” he called out into the empty room. There was no response. He reluctantly arose from the bed and walked towards the master bathroom, to see if she was there, but the door was open and Claire was not in there. He headed out into the living room--still no Claire--not in the kitchen or dining room either. He peeked out the window onto the small patio behind the apartment, which was also empty. Where could she be? He went to the hallway to retrieve his phone from his bag, where he had left it last night and his heart sank low as he realized his was the only one in the hallway. His face felt hot and he felt something deep within him shatter. Not again. Please don’t leave me. I don’t wanna lose you. He unlocked his phone, hoping for a message from her, some sort of explanation, a family emergency even, anything that would explain why she had left him the morning after saying “I love you” yet again. She seemed so genuine, so sure since their reunion. He felt so certain of her love this time around--last night he could have sworn their souls were aligned. He dialed her number, maybe she didn’t have time to send him a message. It rang and rang before her voicemail message responded Hey it’s Claire, leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Was this the last he would hear of her voice? He hung up, unable to leave a message, his throat was caught holding back tears, they were welling behind his eyes as his mind tried to work through any possible explanation where Claire still loved him. He ran a hand through his curls, pacing the floor as he thought about what his next move should be. He walked around the apartment again, looking for a sign, a note, glancing out every window, peering out to the street below, searching for her, but she was long gone.

He stooped in the hallway to his bag and grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt and put them on, slipping out of the apartment and ascending the stairs to the rooftop patio. He hadn’t told Claire about it, and it was far too rainy last night to show her, but maybe she went exploring and discovered it on her own. With her bag, ya dafty? Face it, she’s gone, she played you like a card shark again, you eejit. When he found the rooftop empty as well he couldn’t hold back the tears anymore.

He rushed back to the apartment, where he could sob freely away from anyone who might see. In his personal opinion, there was nothing unmanly about letting your feelings out with a good cry, but it was still embarrassing to be seen in such a state, regardless of gender. He collapsed on the couch and pulled his phone out to try and text Claire. The last text she’d sent him, a small pink heart emoji just a day ago, appeared on his screen and his throat caught again. Oh Claire, what did I do? He tried to compose a text: Claire, I’m sorry, please come back to me. No, too desperate, he hit the back arrow and watched the message disappear. Claire, I noticed you’re gone, I’m sure you didn’t mean anything by it. Call me. No, that wasn’t right either. Hey. No, if something was wrong that was too unfeeling. Maybe this would be easier if his mind wasn’t spiraling so much.

He wondered what time the bar down the street opened, he could use a dram or two to take the edge off. It was only just after 9:00, surely they wouldn’t be open for several hours, especially on a Sunday morning. He began pacing the apartment again, unable to keep still. The last time this had happened, he found refuge in a church, but the thought of crying out to God (and likely physically crying) amongst the Sunday Mass crowd in an unfamiliar church told him that wasn’t a good idea just now. Besides, he was angry with God. How could ya? How could ya take her away from me again? After I told ya I was committed to her, after I promised I’d cherish and keep her. How could you let her back into my life just so I could see her go again? It’s not right, it’s not fair, there’s only so much a man can take!

He went to the kitchen to get some water, and when he opened the fridge, he noticed a bottle of champagne with a note encouraging him to help himself. Don’t mind if I do. He desired something stronger, but it would have to do. He uncorked the bottle and took a large swig. If he cared for more than the emotion numbing power of alcohol right now, he would have noticed it was the best champagne he’d ever tasted, but all he could think about was how the entire bottle could possibly be enough to shut down his thoughts. As he took his second swig, he felt his phone buzzing in his pocket. He pulled it out and felt a rush of emotion as a picture of Claire lit up the screen.

“Claire!” he shouted into the phone in a desperate voice.

“Jamie, I’m sorry I just saw you called, I guess I didn’t feel my phone in my purse.”

“Where are you? Is everything alright?” he was trying to hide the panic in his voice.

“I’m outside, I don’t know the code to get in”

A wave of relief washed over Jamie and he let out a breath he’d been holding. “Oh, it’s 79438.”

“Seven... nine… four… three... eight…” she repeated, Jamie could hear each number beep through the phone as she punched them into the keypad. “Be right up, see you in a minute!”

His heart was pounding with joy and relief. He left the champagne bottle on the counter and ran to the bathroom to splash water on his face, hoping to hide evidence of his tears. He would feel silly if Claire were to know how he reacted. He rushed back to the door of the apartment, opening it to greet her as she came up the last few steps, a reusable bag branded with the name of a nearby market in her hand. He pulled her to him as soon as they were back in the apartment and kissed her passionately.

“What was that for?” she inquired breathlessly when they pulled away.

“I just missed ya is all.” he replied sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.

“Remind me to leave more often” she giggled. She noticed the look on his face when she said that, he didn’t look amused by her joke at all. “Are you alright?” she asked. She also noticed that the skin around his eyes looked puffy and swollen.

“I’m fine, Sassenach.”

She took in his appearance, not quite believing him, something was off about his demeanor. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he replied bashfully, running his fingers through his hair with one hand and nervously tapping his leg with the other. Claire raised an eyebrow, silently imploring him to continue. “It’s just that… weill, I noticed your bag was gone… and so I thought mebbe ye’d left me again.” he chuckled nervously, “It’s silly I know.”

“Oh, Jamie, no!” It was her turn to throw her arms around him. “I’m so sorry! I changed in the spare bathroom and left my bag there. I didn’t want to wake you; I was trying to surprise you with breakfast but there was no food here! Just champagne.” She held up the bag in her hand to show him.

“Aye, I noticed that myself.” he said, following her into the kitchen.

“Oh, I see you’ve started without me” noting the open bottle on the counter, she pulled a jug of orange juice out of the shopping bag “you know mixing this with orange juice makes day drinking more socially acceptable.” she chuckled, trying to clear the air with humor.

“It wasna really doing the trick anyway, mimosas sound great. Sassenach.” he drew her close again and planted a kiss on her forehead.

----------

After a leisurely breakfast they dressed for the show. Even Though it was a matinee, it was still an excuse to dress up and Claire had purchased a new dress for the occasion--a flowy low cut wrap dress in a perfectly ‘wicked’ shade of green. She decided to get ready in the guest bathroom, wanting Jamie to take in the full picture once she was all ready. Jamie got ready in the en suite, slicking his hair back and donning a black suit with black shirt. After taming her curls into what she hoped were sexy waves, and applying a smoky eye, she was ready. She stepped into the living room, where Jamie was already waiting, he rose from the couch upon her entrance and was looking better than she thought possible in his suit. They had similar reactions to each other--breaths caught, eyes stared, taking one another in, lingering long enough to be uncomfortable if it were anyone else. Jamie spoke first, crossing the room as if drawn to her by a magnet, “Are ya mad, woman? I can see every inch of you, right down to your third rib!” He scolded playfully, making it known exactly how wild the sight before him was driving him.

Claire hummed a laugh in response, “you cannot!” she replied flirtatiously. “Do you like it?” she exaggerated the sway of her hips as she approached him, causing the dress to float through the room dramatically.

“Like it? I reckon ya could wear a plastic bag around ya and I’d like it, but this…” he took both of her hands and took a step back, taking her in again. “You look phenomenal, Sassenach. I’m not sure I can control myself around you all day.”

She gave him a wicked smile, pulled him close and whispered a sultry bargain in his ear “If you’re on your best behavior today, I’ll let you see what I have on underneath.” she turned around coyly and headed towards the door to get her purse and jacket.

Christ, this woman will be the death of me. Jamie thought, as he tried to think of something, anything else that would help to stop the blood from rushing to his nether region. He stepped into the bathroom to splash water on his face for the second time that day, careful not to mess up his coiffed hair and met Claire at the door. Now that she had her coat on, it was easier to control his impulses, but God, he wanted her.

----------

Claire was enraptured by Wicked. Even Jamie’s hand frequently caressing her thigh wasn’t enough to distract her from the sights before them. The tickets Jamie had won were center orchestra seats and it was delightful to see the sparkling costumes and set pieces so close. If Claire was lucky enough to attend a Broadway musical she was usually up in a top corner balcony seat, which did have the benefit of taking in the whole stage at once, but it paled in comparison to this.

She couldn’t help but cry during the song “I’m Not That Girl”--the actress did an incredible job of conveying emotion and Claire recalled how she felt just a month prior. Don’t dream too far, don’t lose sight of who you are, don’t remember that rush of joy. She had convinced herself that since Jamie wasn’t a part of the plan, he didn’t belong with her, but she couldn’t have been more wrong. With every dream and memory of him during their separation, she filled with more and more regret. Jamie noticed her sniffles and gently stroked her hand, bringing it to lips briefly to kiss her knuckles. She felt his unspoken promise, you are that girl.

Her musings continued when the opening lines of “As Long as You're Mine” started: kiss me too fiercely, hold me too tight, I need help believing you’re with me tonight. Her heart broke as she thought about the sight of Jamie’s puffy eyes in the AirBNB that morning. Knowing her responsibility for the doubt that she had planted in his heart, that their time apart was her fault. She knew now that they were solid--but could he? Could he ever fully trust her again? She firmly vowed to make it up to him in whatever way she could. The crescendo of the song built up, increasing in passion and intensity as the actors pressed their fully clothed bodies against each other, staring into each other’s eyes. How, painted green and in a long sleeve full length dress, Elphaba could convey such clear implications of sex, she did not know. Claire was more keenly aware of Jamie’s hand stroking her thigh, making its way painfully close to where she truly wanted to be stroked. When the music faded, Elphaba confessed to feeling wicked and kissed her lover passionately, the final payoff to the slow burn of the song. Claire made eye contact with Jamie, and she knew they both had little else on their mind than each other. Thank God they were half way through the second act, it would be hard to hold back much longer, and she didn’t want to be that couple caught with hands down each other’s pants in a sold out Broadway theater. For now, they would have to content themselves with stroking each other’s thighs.

The conclusion of the play was an emotional roller coaster. Claire couldn’t help but notice the parallel in her own life to the story of Elphaba--being cast out by the society she found herself in, ostracized and called names that stung even though there was some truth to them. Claire, like Elphaba, didn’t make the best choices in how she had behaved the previous spring, and had so suffered more consequences than she may have otherwise. Jamie was attuned to Claire’s feelings throughout, knowing when he needed to grip her hand tightly, or gently stroke her thumb, when to wipe a tear from her cheek, or kiss her knuckles softly. During curtain call Claire stood, enraptured, beaming and clapping furiously as each set of actors took a bow, wondering if they could see from the stage how much she enjoyed it.

Jamie too applauded enthusiastically, he thoroughly enjoyed the show finding it to be an emotionally poignant production and entertaining spectacle all at once. Most of all, he enjoyed seeing Claire’s enjoyment. She seemed so happy, so unrestrained, and he was partially responsible for it. Feelings of admiration and pride swirled around his wame, but mostly of love and gratitude. He was so grateful that Claire was the woman by his side. He didn’t know how he could live without her. The scare he had that morning made him more keenly aware of it. He was terrified of her walking away again. He was so glad she had called and showed her true hand that morning. As he stroked her leg in a dark theater all he could think was I hope I never lose you, hope it never ends. That’s the kind of heartbreak time could never mend.

They followed the crowd out of the theater and onto the streets of New York. Jamie was mystified by how the city seemed to scream Claire’s name, everything he saw made him think of her. He wanted to bring her everywhere--to the tops of all the tall buildings, the nicest restaurants, walks in the park, curbside hot dog stands, corner diners--everywhere big and small. Simultaneously, he wanted nothing more than to walk her back to that apartment and ravish her until she cried out his name. He did have dinner reservations at a nearby restaurant, but the thought of staring across a table at her cleavage in that dress, unable to do anything about it was not nearly as appealing as the thought of peeling it off her. The way she kept touching him, he had a feeling she had something similar in mind.

“So.” he stated matter-of-factly. “The plan is to get dinner at a spot around the corner.” He studied her reaction to his words and thank Christ for her glass face, he saw a twinge of disappointment that emboldened him to continue. “However, plans can be amended and if ya think you’d rather get back to Cornelia Street sooner…” The glass face perked up. “We could order takeaway and pick it up on the way back.”

“Takeaway sounds divine, what are you in the mood for?” he was keenly aware of the double meaning of her words--she was using that low, sultry voice that drove him wild.

He pulled her close, growling in her ear “you know exactly what I’m in the mood for, Ms. Beauchamp.” he sucked her earlobe, and trailed a line of wet, passionate kisses down her neck.

“So, Thai food then?” she eyed him coyly.

“Aye, that sounds bonny” Jamie pulled out his phone, first calling to cancel their reservation, then looking to Google with Claire to find a Thai place in the village with good reviews they could pick food up at. Once their food was ordered, he held her hand on the street and led her back to Cornelia Street.

----------

Once they were just inside the apartment, Jamie set the takeout on the floor and immediately pressed Claire against the closed door and took her fiercely to his mouth, pawing at the buttons on her coat, trying miserably to get it off her. Claire pressed her palm against his chest, gasping for air she pushed him back to arm’s length. He blinked, bewildered. She made eye contact with him as she tugged at the knot in the waistband of her coat, untying it. She then unbuttoned each button, painfully slow, taking her time with each one well he gazed intensely, breath heavy. Once she finished her task she slipped the coat off her shoulders allowing it to fall to the floor behind her. Jamie was back on her in an instant, planting kisses on her neck and down, down, down. He nuzzled himself between her breasts, kissing, sucking and playfully biting the soft flesh. His hands ran through her hair at first, then up and down her body settling on her arse which he kneaded and squeezed hungrily. Claire was already moaning and they were still fully clothed. She slipped his jacket from his shoulders, and he flung it behind him as quickly as possible in order to return his hands to her hind quarters. She began to make dexterous work of his shirt buttons as he lifted her thigh to his hip.

“Take me to bed” she breathlessly begged in his ear.

“Aye.” he lifted her other leg and walked backward into the apartment. Instead of heading to the bedroom, he took her to the living room, sitting on an oversized chaise lounge near the fireplace with Claire still on his lap, his face still buried in her fleshy pillows. She began to grind against him as he stroked her thighs, pushing the dress up to stroke the flesh underneath. He snaked his arm up her back, holding her firmly and turned her so she was lying on her back. “I’ve been wanting to take ya, right here, since I saw you walk inta the room this morning in that dress.”

“Hmm… is that so?” she hummed. “I believe I said I’d show you what’s underneath if you were behaved.”

“Aye, ya did. Was I a good boy then?”

“You” she confirmed, “were a very good boy.” she tugged at the tie of the dress and allowed the fabric to fall off her body, spilling around her in a pool of green as she lay on the chaise. She thought Jamie’s eyes would pop out of their head the way he looked at her so intensely. She was wearing black lacy bodysuit with a neckline that plunged all the way to the waistband of the bottom part of it. “Now, you can see--what was it? My third rib?” she smirked.

“Aye. I see it, right about… here.” He planted a kiss under her breast. “ I wonder what else I can see” he tugged at the fabric, pleased to find it was stretchy and revealed her right breast. “Mmm… now that is a sight to behold. He wrapped his tongue around her nipple.

“I showed you, now what do you have to show me?” she bit her lower lip and eyed him coyly.

“Fair’s fair I suppose.” He slipped his shirt off easily, as Claire had already unbuttoned it for him and let it drop to the floor. Standing, he slowly unbuckled his belt and slipped it through each individual belt loop. He wanted her, but he also wanted payback for the show she made of her buttons in the entryway. He made similar work of the button on his fly, and then inched the zipper down, painfully slow. He slid his thumbs into his waistband and nudged his pants down, swaying his hips in an exaggerated motion as he peeled them down slowly.

Claire was eyeing him with a desperate hunger and a naughty glint in her eye, biting her lower lip with anticipation. She decided to join him in the tease, sitting up and slipping her body suit off one shoulder slowly. She then made a show of the other side, peeling it off carefully so as not to expose her breast until the last possible second. They were playing a dangerous game, eyeing each other hungrily as they fought their own desires in order to tease each other. Claire stood before Jamie, the lower part of her bodysuit still covering the place where she was rapidly growing aroused. His arousal was still covered as well, although it was apparent through the fabric. They slipped their thumbs into each other’s waistbands, ridding themselves of the last stitches of clothing between them.

“I think you said something about taking me right here?” she inquired demurely.

“Aye.” he growled, and he did just that.

End Note: Poor Jamie! That we bit of angst he went through broke my heart to write. He loves her so much. Hopefully all the smut made up fo it. More smut next week as it seems these two can't keep their hands off each other!

#lover #outlander #outlander fanfic #outlander fic #outlander fanfiction #smut #a little angst #a little fluff #a lot of pining #jamie x claire #jamie fraser #claire beauchamp #inspired by taylor swift #cornelia street #new york city #greenwich village #broadway #wicked

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andawaywego · 4 years

Note

hey love your dani/Jamie fics would love to see a story where dani tries to leave jamie earlier in the relationship because she thinks it would be less painful but obviously Jamie ain’t having that.

hey, this hurt my feelings so i wrote it for you. it’s kinda...sad. but, yeah. here ya’ go, pal.

It would be a lie if Jamie said she hadn’t thought this would be a possibility—that she hasn’t feared this from the get-go. That first morning after, Dani had been different. Not entirely, no, but it was as if something inside of her was broken and she wasn’t sure where the pieces of it had gone. Like she’d woken up sightless and alone in a world that was not her own, that she didn’t know how to survive in.

Standing at the edge of a precipice and ready to tip over.

At the beginning, Dani tried to back out so many times. Tried to keep Jamie at arm’s-length, as if reminding her of the potential stakes would do anything to keep her from falling in love. From them falling in love. But it hadn’t worked and, eventually, Dani caved in. They fell in love and built a life together, a home together, and things were good. Fine even.

Dani hardly spoke about Bly or that night at all.

Yet Jamie is far from blindsided when she wakes up in their bed five years into their relationship to find Dani gone. The day before had been perfect, really. At least until Dani came back to the shop in the evening with dinner, face pale and eyes wide like she’d just seen a ghost.

Now Jamie is wondering if maybe she had.

It’s still early and the sky isn’t all the way awake and Jamie reaches out her arm instinctively as she flutters her eyelids open, reaching for that familiar body she’s long-since memorized. Her hand meets empty air, flattens against cool sheets and then she wakes up all the way in a panic.

Dani is gone. In her place is a piece of paper, folded and set carefully in the center of her unused pillow. Jamie sits up, tucking the sheets around her bare body, and opens it. Skims the words.

Reads: Forgive me.

And: If I stay, it will only be harder for you.

And: I love you.

Jamie isn’t certain how long she sits there, clutching the letter in her hands, but she is aware of the lead in her legs, her bones heavy as stone, mind filling with cotton. No thoughts. Just a numbing cold.

Eventually, she manages to tear herself away and throw on the first clothes she can find, running out of the apartment with her keys in one hand and her shoes untied. She’s lucky, really, to find that their car is still parked outside, meaning that Dani either called a cab to where she’s going or she’s on foot, which means that Jamie might not be too late to catch her.

The air freshener Dani picked out in the store last week swings from the rearview mirror, strawberry shaped and scented and Jamie remembers standing in the checkout line with their groceries—Dani lifting the silly thing up and mimicking the cartoon face on the front. Eyes crossed. Tongue stuck out. And Jamie had distantly wondered if loving Dani too much could be the death of her.

Sometimes it certainly feels like it.

Like when they’re eating dinner together and Dani accidentally gets a bit of food or sauce on her face—the way she laughs and pushes at Jamie’s shoulders when Jamie leans across the table to lick it off.

Like when they’re tired from a long day and they can do nothing but fall onto the couch together the moment they get home—the way Dani pulls Jamie’s feet into her lap and massages them gently even though she’s just as exhausted as Jamie is.

Like the weekend they spent in New York City two years ago—how Dani stubbornly held Jamie’s hand everywhere they walked; how she teared up during the overture when they went to see The Phantom of the Opera; how she bought a pair of “I Love New York” boxers and wore them to bed, where she pinned Jamie down to the mattress and smothered her with kisses until their laughter turned into sighs and moans and something else entirely.

And now, she’s speeding her way down the street in the direction of the airport, eyes roaming the sidewalks as she goes, looking for the familiar sight of her girlfriend. Her partner. The star-brimming love of her life.

There’s a pain in her side that digs its way in even further when she reaches the airport and hurries to park. It throbs sharply as she gets out of her car and rushes inside, looking around frantically for anything familiar.

The fear of being too late—of having missed Dani before she got on her flight; of not getting there in time for whatever it is Dani’s going to do—makes it feel like something has been carved out of her chest. She wants to be angry—wants to be livid that Dani would do this to her, to them. She wants a lot of things, but she can’t name any of them save for one:

Stop this from happening.

She checks the boards above ticketing, trying to find anything relevant. Finally, she spots a flight to London that’s set to board in forty-five minutes. Trying to walk as quickly as she can without running, she starts off toward the gate listed, zipping past families and business people all on their way in or out. All fine and normal and going about their lives with no idea as to what is at stake for the woman brushing past them without apology.

There’s a high-pitched ringing in Jamie’s ears. She feels like every single atom, every molecule, every inch of her is vibrating at a higher frequency than it should be. Her jaw is trembling and she has to clench it to keep her teeth from clacking together.

She’s trying to breathe normally, trying to pray to every deity she can think of that she isn’t too late, when she sees her: Dani. Sitting in one of the chairs in the mostly-empty space beside the gate.

She looks as exhausted as Jamie feels, wearing the same clothes she was last night. Her eyes are so bloodshot that Jamie can see it from fifteen feet away. That pain in her side aches and her chest is thumping hard against her ribs.

As lost in thought as Dani appears to be, curled up in that seat and looking like she’s just spent the last three hours crying, she doesn’t look up until Jamie is standing right in front of her.

“What the hell are you doing?” Jamie asks, unable to keep the anger out of the edges of the question.

Dani startles at her voice and looks up, blinking a few times when she sees who’s standing in front of her, as if she’s worried she may be dreaming. “Jamie?” she says. “What are you—?”

“No,” Jamie cuts in. “What are you doing? Did you think you’d get away with leaving me in the middle of the night? Did you think I’d just let you go?”

There are a few people scattered around in other chairs nearby, and Jamie knows that they are probably watching this whole thing, but she can’t bring herself to calm down. She’s not sure how she’d even begin to try.

“Jamie, I—” Dani begins, and she looks like she might start crying again.

Jamie cuts her off. “No, you don’t get to do this, Dani,” she says, pointing a trembling finger. “You don’t get to just...do something like this without talking to me about it. You don’t get to decide this for the both of us.”

Slowly, Dani gets to her feet, and there’s still space between them, but neither of them tries to bridge it. Not yet.

“Jamie, I can’t just...I can’t just wait around for something to happen,” she says. “You don’t get it. Do you know how terrified I am every...every day that I’m going to just...hurt you or-or...I couldn’t stand it, Jay. I couldn’t stand losing you like that. I have to—”

“No, you don’t get it,” Jamie says. She wants to sound fierce and as angry as she knows she is, but, instead, her words come out broken and tearful. “You can’t just...leave me. Not like this. We have so much—”

“What if we don’t?” Dani asks. “Wouldn’t it be better for us to...for it to be like this than some other way?”

Jamie shakes her head, fixing Dani with a sardonic look. “Right. Because this is so much better. Me waking up to you just...gone. You not even saying goodbye just leaving me like this, tossing me away like what we have...what we are doesn’t even matter. I love you, you colossal prat. You can’t just—”

“It’s because I love you that I’m doing this, Jamie,” Dani cuts in, and, while her tone is still guarded, her voice is softer. “I couldn’t…” She sighs and turns a little, shoulders shaking from the effort to hold back her tears. She runs her fingers through her hair and closes her eyes for a moment.

She looks broken, defeated, and it slices right through Jamie’s chest. She’s surprised when she doesn’t fall to her knees. Because, if Dani is right about this—about all of it and about what is going to happen to her, to them—then…

Then it’s only a matter of time.

She looks at Dani standing there like she could fall apart at any moment, like she already has. Her shoulders slumped and Jamie realizes that she’s crying a minute too late to stop herself. Dani lifts her head and meets her eyes again, drawing her arms around her stomach, and this is her best fucking friend and the love of her life and Jamie is so in love with her.

“Couldn’t what?” Jamie asks, so much softer than anything else said so far.

She takes in the sight of Dani standing there—dark circles under her bloodshot eyes, her clothes ruffled and her lips sore from being bitten at.

“I couldn’t—” Dani starts, but she can’t finish the sentence.

It doesn’t matter. Jamie hears the rest anyway.

Hears: I couldn’t give you what you deserve.

And: I couldn’t do this to you anymore.

There’s something in Jamie’s chest about this—the end of the rope.

“I love you,” she says quietly. “Please don’t go. Not yet.”

It feels wrong doing this here, in the middle of the bustling airport, under the harsh fluorescent lights. There are strangers around them—they are so far from alone—and Jamie really wants to be in their home for this—thinks that, if they were surrounded by their things and their life, then Dani wouldn’t possibly argue.

Dani chokes back a sob. Her shoulders stutter, then stiffen. “Jamie,” she whispers. “I—” She jumps a little when Jamie reaches out and touches her arm. Before she can draw away, though, Dani darts her hand out and grabs her, holding her tight.

Something inside of Jamie is splintering and her legs are numb. She takes a deep breath and holds it for a second. On the exhale, she says, “Dani, please. I know that you’re...that you’re scared. I am, too. I’m so…” She breathes in again, shakily this time, curls her free hand into the fabric of her own shirt. “I don’t know what...I don’t know what’s going to happen, or...how. Or when. But I love you and I’m not ready to live without you. Please, please don’t make me try.”

There are probably millions of ways to say it, but this is the only way Jamie can manage in the moment. Her chest feels tighter and tighter with every aching heartbeat and time slows down just enough for Dani to blink, to part her lips, to look like she’s going to argue again, before she says, “Come here,” and cups the back of Jamie’s neck, tugging her into a firm kiss right there in the middle of the airport.

Jamie presses her body closer to Dani’s, fists her hands in blonde hair to pull her in harder. Distantly, she feels warm fingers fist the material of her shirt at the back and she kisses and kisses and kisses Dani. As long as she can.

That’s the plan, at least.

“Please stay,” Jamie whispers when they pull apart, panting, and Dani only hesitates for a second before nodding, tucking herself into Jamie’s arms like she never plans to leave and Jamie is fine with that. Perfect, even.

“Take me home,” Dani says into Jamie’s neck, arms still tight around her.

And time and past and future be damned, Jamie does just that.

#angst #damie #dani x jamie #dani/jamie #thobm #the haunting of bly manor #dani x jamie fanfic #damie fanfic #damie prompt #andawaywego fanfic

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writing-on-a-moonflower · 3 years

Text

Glasses and gray hair

Pairing: Dani x Jamie

Rating: T (fluff)

Words count: 1160

Promtps: “Jamie complains about how much she hates the glasses but she like when Dani fix ‘em for her.” “Dani tells her she looks sexy with glasses.” “Jamie loses them all the time and Dani finds them all the time.” “Jamie takes them off when Dani’s not around but puts them back on whenever she approaches.” “Jamie loves the sight of Dani in said glasses.”

------

“C’mon Jay, ìs nothing dangerous, maybe you’ll not even need them.” Dani tries to reassure her.

“Well if that’s the case then why can’t we just go home? ... Maybe back to bed?” Jamie says stepping closer. “Nice try, this time won’t work. What do you say if I get in the office with you, mh, would this make you feel less scared?”

Jamie retreated abruptly “I’m not scared.” then seems to think better of it “You’ll stay there? The whole time?” ask seriously.

Dani smiles “Yeah Jamie, the whole time.” sees the curly brunette slowly nod taking in the new information, “Okay fine.” attempts a smile that let Dani still notice her anxiety.

“Okay, that’s perfect ‘cause is our turn to go in.”

It’s not the first time Dani goes with Jamie to doctor's appointments, they talked about her anxiety for these kinds of things, but they don’t become any easier.

Instead, Jamie tends to minimize things. Dani had to see her going to bed without first reading a book for three nights before asking, and a little more for Jamie to admit that she doesn’t see well.

Dani understands to not put pressure on this, knowing from where Jamie’s coming from, so she talks to her and persuades her to go check ‘just for good measure’.

During the exam Dani stays close up to the wall in front of where Jamie was seated. When she looked in her direction she would do thumbs up to cheer her up, which most definitely caused Jamie to raise her eyes in a dramatic way.

Turned out Jamie needed glasses and was absolutely not happy about it.

It tooks to wear them a day for her to begin to hate them and ended up keeping them on her head after a brief discussion about losing the glasses a few days in:

“I can’t do math already but without the glasses is worse, can't you just do it?” she had impatiently asked which caused Dani to use her own tone “Well can’t you wear them at least for that?”.

Jamie let out a frustrated sigh and replied “You’re better at it either way. Just, do it.” this got Dani to give her a hard look “Just do it? Get your glasses and just do it yourself.” and turned her back concentrating on the composition of flowers she was finishing. Jamie then found herself with a voice higher than she expected “I can’t fucking find them! Fine? I fucking lost them again!”

Well, ended that Dani found them immediately which maybe frustrated Jamie more that it should have, or maybe that was just a restless day at the shop -as they that night agreed when they finally spoke- either way she started keeping them that way right from the morning after.

This caused Dani to place them back on her nose while Jamie grumbled.

The grumbling, though, didn’t last long. At least whenever Dani went to fix them on her nose.

Dani notices too, Jamie takes slow breaths when she does that, not like she overstepped, more like she finds the gesture calming, grounding.

Anyway, this doesn't stop Jamie from complaining almost the whole day: when cooking the glasses fog up, when gardening she forgets the glasses and going to move her hair, they get dirty… and these are just a few of the reasons she hates them.

The complaining seems to go on for weeks, till Dani comes home one day and discovers Jamie on the couch reading with her glasses on.

Opts not to disturb her until after putting the food bought at its place, if not by looking at her every now and then: in her black low turtleneck shirt and jeans -somehow she finds comfortable to wear them at home-, her curly hair up in a bun that are starting to turn gray and her new glasses, slim and black.

It’s like a magnet pulling her towards the couch, resting her head on Jamie’s lap and taking her hand to play with.

It doesn’t take long for Jamie to close the book, smiles at Dani staring at her and puts the glasses back on the head.

“Put them back on Jay.” can’t help herself from saying, earning a snort from her “Why? they’re horrendous.” rubs her eyes “You chose them.” and already Jamie seems to know her response since she talked above her “That’s why I know they are!” snorts again dropping her head against the head-rest of the couch.

“Well that’s too bad.” Dani drops Jamie’s hand.

Jamie looks at her again through eyelashes “And why’s that?“ curiosity showing in her voice.

“They look very good on you.” answers as sitting up on Jamie’s lap “They suit you.” adds with an amused grin -earning a not convinced giggle- and goes to put the glasses at their place pushing them up.

And Jamie doesn’t stop her, instead she wraps her arms around her waist, tugging Dani closer. ‘Cause she will never admit it out loud but she likes when Dani does that, it’s caring, looks like a natural reflex to her, it’s nice.

The blonde watches the glasses for a moment then focuses on the eyes behind them and grins.

“I think you look sexy in them.” Jamie straightens her back “You really think so?” a faint smirk forming on her lips.

“It has to be the whole look, glasses plus those few gray hair of yours? You didn’t leave me much of a choice.” and the smirk is definitely back “Yeah you’ve fallen hard uh.” teases moving closer to leave a slow kiss that doesn’t take much to deepen.

Jamie, as everyone who has met her knows, can be very stubborn when she wants to be. Apparently though, all that was necessary to convince her to keep using her glasses was one afternoon filled by kisses and small talks with Dani, curled up her front.

What Dani doesn’t know -and will not know until months from now- is that Jamie wears said glasses just when she’s around, she just really has a bad relationship with them.

They feel too heavy on her nose, they slide down all the time, they fog up when she forgets to take them off cooking or when they’re on the bathroom counter while she’s having a hot shower. She knows she has to wear them but it’s too much for her, she just becomes frustrated wearing them.

But as soon as she sees Dani enter a room or the apartment or reappear from the backroom of the shop the glasses find they’re way on her nose… maybe slightly down so Dani will push them up her nose in her, by now, familiar way.

Plus during late night talking in bed with a sheepish smiling Dani means her asking if she can try them on and the whole scene it’s just a vision. Especially if the light of the moon finds its way through the drapes.

------

Note: it hasn't been long since I've started writing again so, sorry for eventual mistakes. Hope y’all liked it and be free to give me any advice.

#thobm #the hunting of bly manor #dani clayton #jamie taylor #jamie the gardener #dani x jamie #damie #fanfics #oneshot #fluff #jamie needs glasses

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dopescotlandwarrior · 4 years

Text

Sinners & Saints-Chapter 10

A special thanks to @Statell for all your help and wisdom

Previous chapters at AO3

Chapter Ten

The sun bounced its light off the surface of the water looking like a million diamonds sparkling all around them. Jamie watched Claire laughing at something Darius said and he almost pinched himself to verify this wasn’t a dream. He had not seen her this relaxed in quite some time and she looked so beautiful. Adso stretched out on her lap and she stroked him while her attention was on Darius. She turned to look at him suddenly with a smile that would melt a glacier.

“Happy birthday Jamie. I have a present for you, want to see it?”

“Nothing can top the day we’ve already had but yes please show me.”

She led him below deck and unlocked the door to the guest cabin pushing it open. Jamie’s face was unreadable as his gaze swept the room and stopped at the tubes of oil paint, the container of brushes, a pallet, turpentine, and empty canvases waiting to come alive with color. He pulled a brush and bounced it between his fingers and then smiled at her. His heart was beating rapidly as the paintings appeared to him, one after the other.

“Do you like it? Will you paint?”

“Come here Sassenach. I love it, yes I will paint,” he whispered.

Jamie kissed her softly and when she moved into him he could hear his heart ramming as his large warm hand slid down her body making his intentions known. The mind-bending heat came on them so fast their mission in life was suddenly to get the other naked. Jamie pulled where the sarong was tied and it dropped to the floor around her feet. She was naked except for her tiny thong panties.

“Ah, God, you’re a beauty Claire and I love you.”

One grab of the bed cover stripped the bed and Jamie pulled off his clothes while Claire reached for him. They were out of control and Jamie pulled away and looked into her eyes.

“This is the consummation of our marriage, Sassenach, I feel we should slow down and pay it the attention it deserves,” was panted out.

“Too late.” Claire pulled him on top of her and raised her knees on either side of him. “I’m with you until the wheels fall off sweetheart.”

It wasn’t the slow-burn lovemaking they had fantasized about but reinventing themselves, breaking all the rules, and finding the alternate route had become their forte. When they dropped back to earth, panting and clutching each other, it was just perfect.

Maia served a late lunch and then it was time for bikinis and jet skis. They played until exhausted, pulling themselves up on the lowered aft deck as the beautiful sunset filled the sky.

It was the perfect ending to a perfect day when the couples curled up on the deck couches and watched Casablanca. Jamie carried Claire to bed and spooned her into a deep sleep. He was restless and his hand itched to paint. Rather than wake his bride, he went below deck to find a suitable place to work and he set his watch for two hours to prevent painting all night. Just before dawn he pulled his wife to him and sighed his appreciation. Claire smiled to herself in the dark room, aware he had been painting all night and thrilled she could lead him back to the canvas, even if she slept alone occasionally.

In Washington, Hesser sat back in his chair and thought about Claire Beauchamp. He was impressed with what she had overcome in her short life to become a full professor at the University of Chicago. A virtual globe trotter because her appraisals were in such demand. He wondered what caused the birth of Casper and how she became so notorious for stealing art. Most likely Javier pulled her into the dark side and he would spend the rest of his life in prison. It wasn’t enough to save her, but he would be punished for what he did to her. Hesser would keep her leash short and execute Javier’s lover, Joseph, as a warning to stay in line. Jamie Fraser would be of no use to him. There was a kill on sight order on him so he couldn’t be used to pressure Claire. He just wanted this resolved and these loose ends cleaned up. It was taxing to even think about.

Claire let Jamie sleep and pulled Adso from under the covers while he stretched and yawned. Adso’s preference was to stay in bed if either of them was still in it but his purring right into Jamie’s ear would surely wake him up. She held him against her mouth and gave kisses all the way to the galley.

“Time to head out Claire,” Darius was smiling and looked sleepy. “Or, we can stay right here for as long as you want, the choice is yours.”

“I got rather excited about seeing Croatia and eating more lobster of course.”

“Where is your husband?” No response. “Your husband?” Nothing “Who is your husband, Claire?”

“Hmm?”

“Your husband.”

“My hus…” Claire’s eyes went from conversational to lovesick in seconds and she left the galley, drawn to him, awake or asleep, she wanted to cuddle with him.

“Nice going, Darius,” Maia giggled, “ my egg casserole is done and there’s no one to eat it now.”

“I can fix this sweet girl.” He bent over and hoisted her over his shoulder heading for the stairs to the upper deck. He kept climbing and smacked her ass when she tried to get down. At the highest deck, he set her down and smiled like a fox. When she turned to the stairs he ordered her to stay. Maia knew his voice intimately and could recognize happy, bored, stressed, aroused, and dangerous. She closed her eyes and felt the excitement of what was to come.

“Come here, Maia.”

“No.”

“I will come over there and get you.”

She turned around as he was advancing and she held her hand up, “I will jump overboard if you come any closer!”

Darius let his eyes wander up her body slowly and he noticed her nipples standing at attention and the flush to her face. It was like catching a wild cat that wanted to be caught sometimes but he would trick her. He held a quarter up and asked her to call it.

“Fine, then I’m jumping, heads.”

She watched the coin toss into the air and land on his arm. “Ha, you lose!”

Darius pulled his shirt off and the sun bounced off his toned bronze torso. Maia licked her lips open so she could breathe. He told her to call it.

“Heads again!”

“You lose girl, off with the shirt.”

“But I have nothing on under my shirt.”

“You should have thought about that when you got dressed this morning.”

Darius had a beautiful smile with bright white teeth and full lips that made her weak. “C’mon little one, off.”

Maia raised her chin in defiance and finally pulled her shirt off, naked to her shorts barely hanging on to her hips. She was breathing hard and called tails for the next toss. Darius barely touched his cut-offs and they fell to the ground around his feet. He was uninhibited by nature and Maia was stuck on looking at him letting him sneak forward and pull her to him.

“You have a choice, dear one, I can pull them off, or you can.” She felt his hands pull once on her shorts and they were off. He pulled her up on the handrail at the top of the stairs and sank to his knees using a slow tongue to pull her into orbit. He watched her head go back to lean against the boat and her breasts bounce as she got close.

He kissed her and carried her to a mattress dropping onto his back and pulling her on top of him. Darius moaned when she dropped her body onto him. He sat up and pulled her feet behind him pressing down on her knees to supply the needed friction. She was too good at this and he held her still while he regained control. He slipped out of her body.

“Put your legs over my shoulders.”

When she did he told her to bring it to him and pushed her pelvis up and to his mouth. Maia was losing her mind and her arms burned from holding her weight up. She was making strange noises that made Darius pull her higher and then over the top as she screamed his name. Her arms buckled and she came down on the mattress as her orgasm ripped through her. Darius pushed into her and hammered with his own need until he growled and held her against him.

“That’s a good girl,” he panted. “Now you can jump overboard.”

He kissed her face a dozen times and then ran a towel under the cold water tap behind the bar. She looked like a sated angel lying there with her eyes closed. When he ran the towel down her arms, chest, breasts, and stomach she moaned and smiled at him.

“Will you be flinging yourself into the ocean?”

“From way up here? Not a chance,” she giggled and reached for her clothes.

In Paris, Joseph sat on a park bench and watched Javier walk around the park while he talked on his phone. They had been on the surface too long, Joseph felt, and he flicked his eyes to Javier as a warning, it’s time to go. Javier walked back to Joseph growling into the phone to go two-million and make the deal by noon tomorrow or he was out.

“Two million Javier?”

He sat down heavily on the bench and exhaled nodding his head. It looked like he had aged a decade in the past week and it broke Joseph’s heart.

“Our girl needs a miracle so two million is a small price to pay.” He looked at Joseph and his eyes were full of love. “I have lived a full life, I want Bear to have that chance and it’s all I want. I’m ready to rest in the ground and wait for you Joseph.

Joseph pulled him up and walked him toward the path to the bunker hoping the package would be delivered at noon tomorrow.

Cruising back to Greece would be a memory Claire would not soon forget. She glanced at Adso sitting at the edge of the deck watching something in the water. When she looked up the water was boiling with jumping dolphins who were keeping up with the boat like it was a game. She grabbed a phone to the bridge and asked Darius to drop the speed so she could see the dolphins.

The yacht stopped moving and Darius came down to lower the hydraulic aft deck to the water level. The four of them sat with their lower legs in the water watching the playful dolphins. Several of them came close enough to touch their feet and babies would swim between their legs. When Adso sauntered out and jumped down on the platform everything changed. He sat watching like he was unimpressed and the dolphins gathered around the platform trying to see him. He walked forward and batted at the long noses making them lurch back and blast out of the water like it was the most fun thing to happen in a long time. They tried to lift their upper body out of the water to see him bringing Claire two inches from a large wild dolphin who was captivated by her cat. She didn’t dare move and scare them away but she got brave after a while and reached out to touch one of them. Jamie got to his feet which dipped the platform underwater and Adso ran into the boat like a shot, shaking his wet feet as he went.

He pulled Claire up and walked her inside because the dolphins were leaving and it was too dark to see anything. He looked at her face and chuckled at the wonder in her gaze.

“Well, my wife is in a dolphin stupor so we might have to hold dinner for a bit.”

When Santorini was in sight the next day, Jamie and Darius were chomping at the bit to go spearfishing. Once a mooring was purchased the women saw them run to the tender and wave goodbye.

Claire laughed and followed Maia outside with a pitcher of iced tea and a deck of cards. Darius had secured a commercial grade fishing pole to the boat and the baited hook drifted out to the current to spin and bounce while the girls played cards.

Claire looked up sharply at Maia, “what’s that sound? It’s like a huge zipper going up and down.”

“It’s a fish,” and then she yawned.

“It’s a what?”

Claire looked at the pole and the line was being dragged out to the open ocean at a rapid rate. She felt adrenalin course through her body while Maia walked over and waited for several minutes, then reached down and locked the reel causing the pole to jerk almost in half.

“What now?”

“We play another hand and then bring him in if we can. It’s a very big fish.”

Halfway through the hand, the pole almost jerked out of the holder and Maia ran to grab it but the pole slammed her against the railing and she couldn’t move.

“Oh my God Maia, let me help you!”

Claire held onto the pole and both women were straining to hold onto the fish. They fought with it for twenty minutes before Maia could feel a bit of slack and started reeling with all her might. The fish would let them reel it in for a few minutes and then suddenly dash back toward open water pulling the line with it. They were exhausted after an hour and both sat down on the deck, holding the pole, sweating through their light clothing. Maia smiled when she heard the tender coming.

“Reinforcement.”

Jamie came running when he saw Claire looking like she went three rounds with Mohammed Ali. When he was told there was a monster fish on the line he ran to get Darius.

Strong male hands took control of the pole and they took turns reeling the fish in. Darius had the timing down to snap the reel lock driving the hook deeper into the fish. Jamie had the strength to drag it closer to the boat. Claire brought cold beers out for everyone and was captivated by the muscles that bulged in Jamie’s arms and chest.

“It’s close Darius, how do we get it onto the boat?”

Darius laughed at the question and told him it would be several hours before they got it close enough to grab it.

“No, it’s close, I can feel it getting very close.”

When the monster fish came to the surface and saw the boat it dove deep and ran the line out to the original distance.

“My turn!” Darius sat down on the deck and pushed his feet against the rail. He let the fish fight until he got tired and then started reeling. He worked the pole, pulling it taught and lifting high overhead like he was dragging the fish toward him and reeling quickly to take up the new slack. Jamie watched and learned.

The girls brought dinner to the table and ended up setting the plates and food on the deck and they all sat cross-legged eating and encouraging whoever had the pole.

A fishing boat passed slowly coming in for the day and two crew members laughed and pointed to the line in the water giving them a thumbs-up as they motored by.

The sun was starting to go down and Jamie warned Darius the fish was close. Darius looked out at the water and seemed to freeze and blink his eyes. He squinted and stared at the water.

“Holy shit!” In the next instant, he was overboard swimming toward the fish, he yelled to Jamie to pull it to the surface and waited for the fish to come up. When he saw the sword break the surface he yelled holy shit again and swam hard toward the boat. He climbed up on the aft deck and dripped water running through the saloon to the forward deck getting a stern look from Maia.

“It’s a Swordfish for Christ’s sake! Oh my God, what is he doing close to the island? He should be long gone by now. Oh! Jamie, don’t let go.”

Claire wondered if she had ever eaten Swordfish, she didn’t think so. It wasn’t long before Jamie’s strength was too much for the fish and it was reeled close to the boat. One last push of fight or flight from the Swordfish and it was completely out of the water dancing on his tail with the long sword in the air. Jamie looked at the gorgeous fish shimmering in the moonlight, thrashing up out of the water and crashing back. He had never seen anything so beautiful come out of the water.

Darius grabbed the pole and walked it back to the aft deck by the side deck that ran along the side of the boat. He sat Jamie on the deck and told him to keep reeling. He was back in two minutes with orange gloves on a grappling hook that he carried out to the lowered back platform. When the fish came alongside the deck, Darius swung the grappling hook into its side and told Jamie to hold it. He jumped into the water and fought the wounded monster. Once he got a hold of the sword and the body Jamie lowered the deck under water so Darius just had to sit with the fish on his lap while Jamie lifted the deck up. Darius sent the fish’s soul to heaven and once dead he took a picture of it and then cut it into thick fillets.

He and Jamie worked quickly to cut and clean sections of the Swordfish put them into freezer bags and stow them in the chest freezer. Jamie was sitting on the deck with his feet in the water throwing the waste far from the boat.

“Get your foot out of the water before you get bit,” Darius warned. He flipped the underwater lights on and Jamie looked down at a dozen large sharks right under his foot. He jerked it out of the water and they wrapped it up for the night. They both carried their loves to bed and Jamie locked up and set the alarm. It was a very good day.

Claire stretched and gave kisses to Adso who purred contently next to her ear. She showered and dressed before finding Maia in the galley.

“Where are the guys this morning?”

“Darius had to clean the bottom of the boat and Jamie jumped in after him to help. You two don’t act like millionaires.”

“Ill-gotten gains, sweet pea.”

Claire looked down both sides of the boat from the foredeck and could not see the men in the water.

“Maia they aren’t in the water.”

“They are under the boat and use long tubes to breathe. Look harder for the two clear tubes just above water level.”

“No need, I’ll wait until they’re done, just looking for a morning hug.”

Claire felt her phone vibrate and opened her text messaging. She read Javier’s message and walked up the stairs to the bridge computer to read his email. She knew he was working tirelessly on a solution and she loved him for it, hoping for a breakthrough. She downloaded a video file, hovering over the video she clicked the mouse and waited for it to load into the player. She was looking out the bridge windows when she heard Frank's voice and a child crying. She turned her gaze to the video.

Maia heard something crash upstairs and called to Claire but got no answer. She bounced up the stairs and found Claire on her hands and knees retching on the floor. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and tried to say “Jamie” but she couldn’t push the words out. Maia ran to the deck and pounded the side of the boat until they surfaced.

“Claire is in the bridge and something is very wrong Jamie.”

Enough said and he was taking the stairs two at a time.

“Sassenach! What’s happened?”

He pulled her to her feet but she couldn’t do more than snivel and shake. She pointed at the monitor and said watch. Jamie felt her pull away from him and head for the stairs she turned and put her hand up telling him to watch the video. She was crying and apologizing and then slammed her hand against her mouth and ran down the steps.

Jamie started the video and the images shot into his brain where they would torment him for the rest of his life. He had seen a lot of violence in prison, some that made him physically ill, but nothing could have prepared him for this. He turned it off and ran to find Claire wondering who he would strangle for sending this evil video.

Claire laid on their bed in the fetal position, clutching Adso and crying.

“Who sent you the video Sassenach?” said through his clenched teeth.

“Javier.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s Frank!”

Jamie struggled to hold onto his composure. He wanted desperately to run to the deck and throw himself in the ocean until he felt normal again if that was even possible. He heard Claire crying and forced himself to sit down and take a deep breath. He put his hand on her thigh and promised to make everything alright. He told Claire that no one else should ever see such a thing and he was going up to the bridge to shut her email down.

“Claire, hold on for five minutes, I will close your email and clean up the bridge and be right back. Okay?”

When he saw her nod he ran upstairs and read Javier’s email message. “Darling Bear, First, load the VPN and the email security program attached to this email. The video and documents attached are not to be viewed by you, I forbid it. Forward the attached to the Washington Post and every major news outlet, the DC chief of police and the DC district attorney. Send the attached to Senator Frank Randall as well. Above all, do not view the video, just forward them. This will save you Bear.”

Christ Claire, did you not read Javier’s message? Jamie closed her email and locked the video so no one else could open it. He cleaned the floor of the bridge and went back to Claire.

“Sassenach, come here love.”

He laid against the headboard, held his arm out to her and she crawled into his strong embrace. Her crying subsided and she gripped him around his waist like a shield against the horror she witnessed.

“We will forget, eventually, your mind wants to protect you and what you saw will be forgotten. Now tell me what you intend to do with the video.”

“I will ruin Frank Randall so he goes to prison forever,” said through clenched teeth. “I don’t care about the blowback. He belongs in a dumpster, dead and rotting. I’m sending it everywhere Javier told me to.”

“So you read his email and played the video anyway?”

She dropped her head, “I wish I hadn’t but there is no turning back now.”

Jamie tried to get Claire to rest but she was hell-bent on following Javier’s instructions. Back on the bridge, she loaded all the email addresses and attached the video. Jamie watched her finger hover the Enter key and then she pushed it. Her eyes instantly snapped to his and she looked scared.

Jamie sat in the captain’s chair and pulled her into his lap where she laid against his chest with her head under his chin. He stroked her hair while they were silent, watching the water and boats below. They didn’t move or speak until the sun had set.

“It feels like we just lit the fuse on an explosion we know nothing about Sassenach.”

“I agree, but I trust Javier, implicitly. One thing is certain, Frank is no longer a candidate and I won’t be forced to marry him.”

Jamie felt their story was racing to an end and he didn’t know what to do, except run. He helped Claire downstairs and they sat at the table when Maia brought dinner from the galley. While they ate, Jamie gave a brief version of what had transpired and now felt they needed to put distance between them and Greece.

“I say we leave in the morning and head somewhere far away. Maybe Jamaica.”

Claire looked pale since she and Jamie returned from the bridge, now she stuttered out her concern.

“I need cat food, litter, and treats before we leave. It’s still early, can we tender to Santorini tonight and be ready to go in the morning?”

“I’ll go with Jamie and you two can rest. You don’t look so good Claire.” Darius looked concerned. “Let’s go, Jaime.”

Jamie and Darius made short work of their trip ashore and were on their way to the tender in thirty minutes. A junior CIA agent recognized Jamie and his eyes nearly bugged out of his head. After they passed him he stayed in the shadows and watched them tender out to a huge yacht. He pulled his cell phone out with shaking hands and dialed the private number for Hesser who was throwing every object in his office against the wall in a rage over a video that was sent to him. Hesser could hardly speak through his panting and told the agent to give him the details and say nothing until he arrived. He pulled a notebook out of his breast pocket and wrote while the agent talked.

Frank Randall sat at his desk and stared at the monitor. He knew the video was a fake because he had no memory of such brutal behavior. His mind raced to find a solution and he tried to reach Hesser over and over again. He finally made his way to Hesser’s office and was jogging to the building when he saw the man walk out. Frank caught up to him and begged for his help. Hesser towered over him, looking down at the hysterical Senator with a menacing face.

“You’re finished in politics you pustular pimple on the ass of humanity. You better get your affairs in order before they come for you. Get the fuck out of my way.”

Frank argued that the tape was fake and someone was trying to ruin his campaign. Hesser pushed by him but before he reached his car Frank pulled his arm and drove his fist into his face. Hesser was shocked and staggered a bit looking down at Frank with bulging eyes. Then he dropped to the pavement, out cold.

Frank searched his pockets and pulled out the notebook he was always writing in or reading from. He pushed it into a pocket and ran for his car. He found a parking garage to hide in and read the notebook cover to cover. He giggled hysterically at the names and events he read, happy to have dirt on the powerful people in Washington who would have to help him. He flipped through to the last page and read the notes from the junior agent in Santorini. There was a description of the yacht and location of the mooring. He read the other notes on that page where Hesser had written video=Claire? Frank’s blood boiled and he headed to the airport.

The close circuit security cameras in the parking lot recorded a clear picture of Randall attacking Hesser. It would be added to the list of atrocities and they would nail his prison door shut with the evidence. Hesser didn’t know that Frank was already at cruising altitude on his way to Greece. He got lucky, had his passport, and found an open seat immediately.

While Jamie and Darius plotted a course to Jamaica Claire slipped away to soothe her jagged nerves in a hot bath. After drying her hair she slipped her new nightgown on, and it was a near duplicate of what she wore in Paris. Candles were not allowed on a boat but every lamp in their cabin had a dimmer switch and she turned them all way down and opened the big doors to the outside.

Jamie watched Claire lean against the door looking at the water. Her bare back was crisscrossed with tiny straps from her nightgown that stopped high-thigh to show most of her tanned shapely legs. He crossed to her quietly and kissed her shoulder feeling her press into his chest. When he asked her to wait for him to shower she looked up at him with wide eyes that he couldn’t read. Worry had settled into his stomach after they sent the video so he assumed that is what he saw.

After a calming shower, Jamie dried off and walked naked to his wife. He had pulled the bedding off the mattress and wrapped an arm around her to lead her to it. She giggled at him for running his hand along the satin garment whispering how soft it was. He started at her feet and talked about how beautiful Jamaica was while he rubbed and pulled moans out of his lover. His strong hands wrapped around her calves and massaged them to her knees for ten minutes. He was not in a hurry and noticed her smile when he described the crystal clear water around the island.

He moved to her side, slowly massaging her thin arms and hands explaining how long it would take to cross the ocean to Jamaica.

“Poor Darius will be stuck on the bridge for days, I don’t suppose we can take turns driving the boat.”

“He will set the autopilot once we’re at sea. The boat will warn him of other boats or objects under the water.” He turned her over and rubbed her back, then butt, and then down her legs.

Claire wanted to look at him and flipped onto her back, searching his eyes.

“I knew you before we met at Sotheby’s, not what you looked like but certainly as an artist. I broke many hearts appraising paintings that were fake. Every master painter has distinguishable strokes and I would know your work anywhere.”

Jamie blushed and looked at the skin he was working on. “I am a forger, not a master painter love.” He kissed her before she had time for rebuttal. She felt the kiss to her toes and wanted more but Jamie indulged himself in sliding his hand up and down the satin material getting closer to her breasts and core until she opened her mouth to breathe.

When his hand slid down her inner thigh she gasped and looked at him with a mixture of heat and pure love. Jamie twisted himself and settled between her legs where his soft, wet tongue made promises of the heights he would take her. He stopped before she lost her mind, wanting to love her slowly and let their passion build with simple strokes. He entered her, feasting on the story her eyes were telling, about love, hero-worship, and devotion. She looked at him like he was the king of men and he stopped moving so he could kiss her until he found her soul. She breathed into his mouth, “I love you so Jamie.”

When they cuddled to sleep Jamie hoped to find a jewelry store in Jamaica and a beautiful diamond befitting his extraordinary wife.

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the--highlanders · 3 years

Text

7. “That could have gone better.”

on ao3.

He had missed this terribly, really. Well – not this, exactly. Not the spaceship the size of a country, filled with plants and animals. And not the machines that tended the place, either, like the one he was clinging onto, halfway between a horse and a cow and not entirely like either of them. Certainly not the soot all over his face, the tang of electricity and not-quite-steel in his nostrils, the curled bits of blasted-apart wire that had caught their sharp edges on his sleeves. None of that was familiar in the slightest. But the beast beneath him was stocky, sure-footed as it galloped up the rocky, narrow cliffside path, determined not to be wrenched away from whatever route it had picked out for itself. If he ignored the feeling of metal against his legs, he could almost pretend it was one of those fuzzy little ponies they had used back home, the ones you had to bribe with a palmful of your own oats before you asked them to do anything.

Shame that mechanical creatures didn’t eat oats.

They crested the cliff with a bound, and he tugged automatically on the ridge of wires that stuck out of the beast’s neck like a roached mane. It skidded to a halt – had it actually felt the pull, or was it just coincidence? Tapping at its sides with his heels experimentally, he grinned when it loped onwards, wandering across the plateau that faced them. Maybe whoever had made the machines had missed their horses, too.

Something scrambled up after them with considerably less grace, and he twisted around to see the Doctor clinging to his own beast for dear life. His face was as pale as Jamie had ever seen it, and his jaw was clenched like he thought he was about to be sick. When at last he spoke, the words came slowly, as if he was reluctant to open his mouth. “Jamie,” he said. “Remind me never to listen to one of your plans. Ever again.”

“Alright,” Jamie said cheerfully. The Doctor just scowled at him. “But now ye know how I feel when ye come out with one of your harebrained schemes.” The Doctor did not seem to have heard him – out of queasiness, maybe, or maybe just because he didn’t want to hear it. It was always difficult to tell, with him. “An’ aye, alright. That could’ve gone better.” Tugging his sleeve over the back of his hand, he wiped at his mouth. The fabric came back damp and blackened, and the bitter taste of smoke and metal and chemicals sat heavy on his lips. He could only hope none of it was too toxic. “But at least we’re out of there.”

“At least we’re out of there,” the Doctor parroted back, so darkly that Jamie wasn’t entirely sure he was grateful. “Well, it’s done with now.”

“Aye, exactly.”

Jamie’s beast had come to a halt on the edge of a short precipice, and the Doctor’s drew up alongside it, snorting. Well, it wasn’t really snorting, the Doctor had insisted. Just clearing its vents, which happened to make a sound rather like a horse snorting. Purely coincidental. Jamie still had his suspicions that the things were rather more purposefully horselike than the Doctor had assumed, but he hadn’t bothered to argue.

And below them – it was by far the most tempting sight he had ever laid eyes upon. A great pool of crystal-blue water, clear enough that he could see every pebble lining the bottom of it. They were just a little too uniform in shape and colour, the boulders scattered around the pool’s edges just a little too clinically placed, betraying the fact that this whole place had been made by humans and refined by machines rather than carved out by nature. But at that moment, he hardly cared. It was the water that was important.

“Come on,” he said, wheeling his beast around by the mane again to trot it over to a more gentle incline. “Best clean ourselves up, aye?”

The Doctor followed at a more sedate pace – not that Jamie had been going particularly fast. “You shouldn’t do that, you know,” he said, raising one hand for a moment before hurriedly clinging back on. His fingers were reddened from his desperation, and he dug them back into a groove in the metal plating on the side of the creature’s neck, only just deep enough for him to cling on with his nails. “You might pull a wire out, and that – ah – that would be quite dangerous, you know.”

Shaking his head, Jamie slipped off his beast’s side before it had even come to a halt. It had been slowing down anyway, tempted away by the grass, and he slapped its rump as he went, though it did not bother to trot away. Maybe it hadn’t even felt it. He had no such apathy, himself. The pool was too inviting for that, and he jogged down to its edge, splashing in until it was thigh-deep and the hem of his kilt was floating on the water’s surface around him.

The Doctor had managed to get his beast to stand still, but was looking a bit more reluctant to slide off its back. He had been onto it quickly enough, and galloped away before Jamie had even clambered onto his own – but that had been the heat of the moment, he supposed. Jamie’s own adrenaline was still clearing itself out, but the Doctor’s seemed to have drained away long ago, replaced by the sort of white-knuckled fear that made you hold onto anything and everything for dear life, even if you knew it was perfectly safe to let go. Like a fear of heights, but for strange metal beasties.

Sighing, Jamie wandered out of the water again, muttering curses to himself when he realised that he had forgotten to take his socks and boots off when he had gone in. Oh well, he thought as he toed them off. Better late than never. The artificial sun was bright overhead, and they would dry out soon enough.

Bare-footed and wincing as he stepped on some of the sharper pebbles, he picked his way over to the Doctor, holding his arms up to catch him. “Swing one leg over,” he said, snapping his fingers against his palm to beckon him down. The Doctor just stared at him balefully for a moment – but then he sat back from the beast’s neck, releasing his grip on it one finger at a time. “There ye go, that’s it.” Before Jamie could guide him any further, the Doctor had swung his leg forward, putting it over the creature’s neck rather than its rump so he had to swing it higher. But he got it over alright, leaving himself sitting there awkwardly, legs dangling over the beast’s sides, hands still clutching at whatever edges of the plating they could find. “Now just push yourself off. It’s no’ far, an’ I’ll catch ye.”

Truth be told, he didn’t think he would have a chance to catch the Doctor at all. The distance to the ground was so short that he would already be standing before Jamie could get a hold of him. But when at last the Doctor moved, he eased himself down so slowly. There was a chance, Jamie thought, that he would never manage to get himself off the thing. He would just be stuck there for hours, waiting until he fell off from pure exhaustion. Taking pity on him, he grabbed onto the Doctor’s waist, pulling his weight down so he slipped away from the beast’s side to land on the ground with an oof.

His beast certainly seemed to be relieved to lose its burden, loping over to join its companion in grazing. Or in siphoning grass clippings up into its mouth, at least. It paused, lifting its head and shaking its tail – then a great blast of fire shot out of the pipes on its sides, sending hot air streaming down towards the pool.

“Come on,” Jamie said, taking the Doctor’s hand and pulling him over to the water’s edge. “You’ll feel better.”

“I feel perfectly fine,” the Doctor muttered, though his face was still too white for Jamie to believe him. “There’s no need to fuss.” He kicked off his shoes with a touch of enthusiasm, though, wading into the water almost eagerly. That was more like it, Jamie thought. He should have known water would perk the Doctor right up. It usually did, after all. “I still think there was – ah – a more sensible way out.”

“it worked, didn’t it?” Jamie retorted, wading in after him. “An’ anyway, since when have we done sensible?” The Doctor tipped his head towards him in reluctant acknowledgement. “And,” he added, “now ye know how I feel.” The Doctor still said nothing. He was definitely ignoring the needling deliberately, Jamie thought, fighting back a smile. “Oh, cheer up,” he said, nudging the Doctor’s side. “It wasnae that bad.”

“I can assure you, it was.”

“Come on, then.” Leaning over, he kissed the Doctor, searching for even a trace of a smile. “Ye cannae go on complainin’ about it.”

But the Doctor was still pouting when he pulled away. “Jamie,” he whined. “Don’t you know you’re all covered in -” Wiping the back of his hand over his lips, he pulled a face. “I don’t suppose I want to know.”

He had grown so used to the taste of – well, whatever it was – on his lips that he had stopped thinking about it. “You’re no’ much better,” he pointed out. “You’re covered in it yourself.”

“Oh -” Reaching down, the Doctor splashed a cupped palmful of water at him. “I’m covered in it, am I?”

“Aye, ye are.” Jamie did not even bend down to retaliate, just slapped his hand into the water between them as hard as he could. The spray from the blow spattered over the Doctor, who shrank away from it, shaking himself off like a cat. “No’ that ye can tell, with how dirty that coat of yours is normally.”

“Is it, now?”

Now he’d really done it. He turned to wade away as quickly as he could, laughing, the Doctor following in his wake and tossing water after him.

The sound of their laughter and splashing ran out across the clifftop, broken only by the weary braying of the beasts.

#second doctor #two/jamie #fanfic archive #my writing #fictober 2021

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bridenore · 4 years

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Author rec : Femmequixotic

One of my favorite authors by far. Here are a few recs, listed in alphabetical order. I’ve read most of those stories multiple times, without any regrets.

***

All I Want For Christmas (Is For You To Stop Talking) by @femmequixogtic and @noeeon [162k]

The Niffler's Garden is the most prestigious wizarding nursery school in England and has been for the last century or more. Harry Potter's boys are both enrolled as pupils at the Garden. When he volunteers to assist with the Yule pageant, he has no idea that he'll be working closely with another parent, Draco Malfoy. Although they haven't seen each other much since their own school days, Harry faults Malfoy for not being a hands-on dad to little Scorpius. Will the intense weeks of preparation fan the fires of enmity or something else entirely?

Warnings: Background discussion of divorce, coming out, parenting, very brief mention of difficult pregnancy.

As Magic As It Gets by @femmequixotic [9k]

The last person Draco expects to see in the office of his relocation charity is Harry bloody Potter.

As soul from bodies steal by @femmequixotic [40k]

Hope may be found in the oddest of places, even in the bleakness of winter.

Black Holes and Revelations by @femmequixotic [38k]

What was meant to be an unexpected one-off in the loo of a Camden bar turns into something rather different, much to Harry and Draco's surprise.

Boom Clap (The Sound of My Heart) by @femmequixotic and @noeeon [39k]

Post-war Hogwarts has been energized by its new teaching fellows program. Where once bitter enmity divided the wizarding community, Malfoy and Potter chummily patrol hallways together whilst Granger and Zabini seek lost parts of the castle at McGonagall’s behest and Chang supervises Quidditch when not lecturing in Charms. It’s a veritable wizarding utopia and life is predictable for the first time in years. Which is, of course, when everything blows apart as the result of a drunken dare and Malfoy’s life is ruined beyond his capacity to repair it. Ever. In a million years.

Can't Get You Out of My Head by @femmequixotic [14k]

After he sees Harry Potter naked in the Auror showers once, Draco can't stop thinking about him.

Lost In Your Arms by @femmequixotic [257k]

Three months after their brief encounter, Draco has almost forgotten about Potter--or so he tells himself. Then a Dark wizard shows up on the Auror radar and all hell breaks loose. Draco will have to choose between everything he holds dear--everything he's worked so hard for--and a few stolen moments of passion with a certain green-eyed Inspector, once his sworn enemy and now something rather different entirely. He'll make the right choice, won't he?

Who is he kidding? He'll ruin everything, as per usual. Bad choices and the name Malfoy go hand in hand.

These Secrets In Me by @femmequixotic [357k]

Auror Special Branch team seven-four-alpha--Sergeant Draco Malfoy, Constable Pansy Parkinson, and Constable Blaise Zabini led by their SIO, Inspector Harry Potter--must handle personal and political fallout from the implication of Ministry employees and Aurors in the scandal around escaped Death Eaters and a Dementor uprising at Azkaban. On top of that, their original target, Antonin Dolohov, is in the wind.

With all the ruckus, it's a good thing they have help from Unspeakable Hermione Granger, American Unspeakable, Legilimens, and Harry's recent ex, Jake Durant, Blaise's legendary necromancer grandfather, Barachiel Dee, and his potions expert mother, Olivia Zabini. What could possibly go wrong with an army of best friends, ex-lovers, and family? Especially when you add the strong-willed Parkinson clan to the mix.

Meanwhile, troubling new leads arise, taking Our Team in a surprising direction.

And Draco, still hiding his relationship with his SIO from the upper echelons of the Auror force, is definitely not falling in love with Harry Potter along the way. Not at all. Don't be ridiculous.

Dare To Think by @femmequixotic [388k]

After recent events in New York, Seven-Four-Alpha are set to return back to London. They've captured their primary target, but by no means settled their case. They've still got rogue Dementors at Azkaban, prying investigators from Luxembourg, and a far larger Death Eater threat to manage, not to mention pressure from their own higher ups. Draco is reeling from his loss, and Harry is trying to be the best boyfriend he can, which may mean not being Draco's guv any longer. Harry's uncertain what his team'll find as they press deeper in the investigation, but he knows they will all be tested, perhaps more than they can bear.

But they haven't a choice, have they? It's the bloody Death Eaters, after all, and the political integrity of Wizarding Britain and their magical allies hangs in the balance.

Set Me Free by @femmequixotic [196k] *Incomplete

Seven-Four-Alpha are back in London with available resources of the Ministry tracking their every move. Draco Malfoy remains lost, last seen in Thibodaux, Louisiana, as MACUSA was closing in. Harry is raging, barely in control of his magic, and the rest of the team are battered and unsure. Their recent failure haunts them, as does the spectre of a MACUSA-Ministry alliance under the control of the Quahog administration and its shadow puppetmaster, Aldric Yaxley. The Dementor crisis with Luxembourg is brewing in the background, as is a conflict with Rodolphus Lestrange. And that's not even mentioning the bargain Blaise struck with Death to return his cup. The team have very little energy or resources for one fight, much less several of this magnitude simultaneously.

Should they fail, though, political tyranny will grip both sides of the Atlantic and evils recently banished may return. Each of them is fighting for something they hold dear, but no victory comes without a price. Still, desperate situations call for desperate measures, and desperation appears to be all they have.

Cigarettes will kill you by @femmequixotic [3k]

He lights a cigarette across the pub, his hand cupped to his mouth as the tip sparks to life in a faint orange flare, and my breath catches.

Kiss A Boy In London Town (And Other Intimate Misadventures of A Society Whore) by @femmequixotic [36k]

There's only one cardinal sin for a whore.

Let's Dance To Joy Division by @femmequixotic [12k]

Let the love tear us apart, I've found a cure for a broken heart...

Little Talks by @femmequixotic and @noeeon [11k]

Draco's been shagging the Head Auror for months now, and he's sure it's just a fling. Until Harry asks him to a Quidditch match, that is, and things go horribly wrong.

Once upon a time, yesterday by @femmequixotic [22k]

"You've always been obsessed with Malfoy, Harry. That should probably tell you something."

Pocket Full Of Starlight (Never Let It Fade Away) by @femmequixotic and @noeeon [46k]

When Scorpius Malfoy and Jamie Potter meet at Quidditch camp, they take an instant dislike to each other. Then they discover their lives are more connected than they could possibly imagine.

Reading Malfoy by @femmequixotic [15k]

After thirteen years of hiding himself away in Muggle London, Draco Malfoy shows up again in the wizarding world--with a wickedly amusing memoir in hand. Harry doesn't want to read it. Really. He doesn't.

Sæglópur by @femmequixotic [34k]

After a difficult breakup, Draco finds himself dragged to the land of magic, law, and natural wonders where, of course, nothing goes as planned.

Says the magpie to the morning by @femmequixotic [33k]

It's terribly bad form, sleeping with your ex when you're still half in love with the bastard.

The Silent World Within You by @femmequixotic and @noeeon [95k]

Harry only wanted Malfoy for one night, one birthday. It wasn’t meant to be anything more.

Take A Sad Song (And Make It Better) by @femmequixotic [46k]

The last thing Harry wants is to lose his kids.

Things Worth Knowing by @femmequixotic and @noeeon [164k]

After the Battle, Harry thinks he's left Hogwarts for good, but Minerva insists that all students return for an Eighth Year if they wish to sit for NEWTs in the spring, and Harry needs those NEWTs to go into the Aurors. Draco's just grateful not to be in Azkaban. Or the Manor. He's hoping he can steer clear of Potter this year and grapple with his own problems. Unfortunately for him, Potter appears to be one of those problems. And that's not even addressing the fact that Potter's got serious issues of his own, which Draco realises as he's forced to share an Eighth Year dormitory room and several classes with the Gryffindor Git. If only they can make it through the year without killing each other, it should be all right, shouldn't it?

Unkissed Kisses and Songs Never Sung by @femmequixotic [12k]

I sit silently in the shadows, staring at the tiny, pulsing ball of light that tells me my Harry's still alive.

Waiting By An Open Door by @femmequixotic and @noeeon [29k]

Draco starts following Potterwatch secretly during the War. He wishes Potter would come save him too. But that sort of thing only happens in fairy tales, and Malfoys don't get fairy tale endings, do they?

We Are Young (I'll Carry You Home Tonight) by @femmequixotic [68k]

Harry and Draco have been falling into bed on and off again since the last election five years ago, much to the amusement--and financial gain--of their circle of friends. But when Harry agrees to work with Draco to put Kingsley Shacklebolt into the Minister's office, they can't work side-by-side again every day and sleep together; that would be courting disaster. Wouldn't it?

The Weight of a Wanting Heart by @femmequixotic [11k]

After nearly two decades hidden away in the Wiltshire countryside, Draco Malfoy’s surprised to see a familiar face come into his local.

When You Kiss Me (What A Lovely Way To Burn) by @femmequixotic [22k]

A drag fairytale of New York in which Draco wears red lipstick and Potter can’t get enough.

The Years That Walk Between by @femmequixotic [15k]

Draco finds his way after the war.

***

I hope you enjoy these stories as much as I did!

#my recs #drarry #drarry recs #author rec

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famouslastwordsinmexico · 4 years

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Suggested for You

You think to yourself, I shouldn’t have looked that up online.

You’re now staring at a bunch of banner ads that frame your email inbox. Each one is attempting to entice you to purchase succulents from flower shops near and far, small and conglomerated. The bright, animated images boast to you about how their store’s succulents will set you on the path to self-care while reconnecting you with nature. You know these ads are suggested to you and tailored specifically for you based on your search history, but, really, you just wanted to know how to spell “succulent”.

To be fair, you probably shouldn’t be looking up non-work related curiosities while actually at work, but it’s been a slow morning. And yet, right as you excuse yourself for the trivial indiscretion, you’re called into your manager’s office. You lock your computer and worriedly head over to where they wait for you. Upon entering the room you see that there is someone else here for this impromptu meeting. Or, rather, someone has video-called in, their face on your manager’s monitor, which has been turned to meet yours.

“A representative from HR will be joining us remotely,” your manager informs you. They then sit on the front edge of their desk, not behind it, in a manner you suspect all managers unironically believe comes off as cool and relaxed.

“Huh. Is something wrong?” You cautiously take your seat, looking between them and the digital HR rep.

“Oh, no, not at all. It’s just a small request.” They fold their hands in front of them. “That presentation you’re working on for Friday; I wanted to ask if you would give it over to Robert.”

“Robert? Why? I thought it was supposed to be my project.” You worked hard on that presentation, and even harder on that project. It was something that was going to get you noticed by the higher-ups, a first step towards bigger things.

“It is. Or, it was. It…” They stop themselves, physically appear to reset, and adopt a concerned face. “We’re simply worried it might be putting too much stress on you.” They lean in. “How are you feeling? Is everything alright with you?”

“Uh… I’m doing fine?” You’re progressively less certain about what’s happening.

“You sure? You can be honest with us.” They lean back. “We’ve heard you’ve been depressed.”

The shock of this gives you mental whiplash.

“‘Depressed’?” you echo. “Why would you think that?”

“Well,” they begin, affecting the concerned yet distant tone in which only senior managers are capable of speaking, “it’s come to our attention that you’ve been sharing some pretty troubling sentiments.”

“I only really talk about work-related stuff with people, honestly.”

“No, I’m referring to the stuff you share online.”

Dumbfounded, you blink.

“You see,” your manager explains, “we recently employed a service that keeps us up to date with our employees.” They seem mildly pleased with themself over their technological ability. They speak to you but look at the HR rep on screen. “Of course, it’s only because we care for the well-being of everyone here in the office. And their software told us that you’ve been feeling quite down lately. They even highlighted some examples; is it not true that you recently posted about how nothing really matters?”

You don’t recall using those words for anything. As you confusedly shrug, they pull out their phone and hand you it, showing the post in question.

“Wait, what?” you ask. “Those are song lyrics. To a very popular song! I shared them for a ‘Throwback Thursday’.”

“Hmm, no,” they say, taking their phone back. “I’m still seeing a cry for help. Like, what about this one: ‘All I want is to sleep and pizza and do nothing and sleep’? That sounds pretty depressed.”

“That was one of those online things where people let auto-complete write a post for them.”

“Sure, then how do you explain this post, where you describe how you wish the food truck across the street would ‘run you over’ if you ‘tipped extra’ for your burrito before you got back in from lunch?”

“That’s a really old post I made when I was at my old job. The one I left for this job! I made that joke to vent. Other people liked it.” Specifically two people: a friend, and the food truck’s company (which you presume auto-likes any mention of their brand).

Your manager sighs as they shake their head.

“Come on, now, you don’t have to hide. You can be honest.” They lean in again. “This is sophisticated software; it wouldn’t lie. Its algorithm combed through your life and crunched the numbers. You are depressed. And, if you’re feeling depressed, we want to make sure the company isn’t placing any undue stress on you. Wouldn’t want you turning around and saying we’re unfair, or that we torment you with public speaking, huh?” No one laughs at their non-joke. The HR rep briefly writes something on their notepad. “Right. Well, when we ask you to hand the presentation off to Robert, it’s not just because we want it to turn out well, it’s because we want you to be well, too.”

“You’re punishing me because of memes?” you ask, unsure of how much incredulity you can show without further risking your job.

“Oh, no, of course not,” they reply, “we would never!” At this point your manager doesn’t even try to hide that they’re assuring the HR rep more than they’re talking to you. “This company does not punish depression. In fact,” they add, turning back to you, “why don’t you take the rest of the day off? We’ll mark it down as a sick day, a day for ‘personal care’, even.” They nod to themself, satisfied. “I’ll mark it down in your time sheet right now.”

They pull out their phone and begin typing, finished with this meeting. You want to tell them not to do that, since you only have a limited number of sick days, but feel there’d be no use arguing. You stand up, at a loss for words. As you slowly turn to leave you find the HR rep is pointing towards the printer in the room. It prints off something you deduce they sent remotely. It appears to be a pamphlet. The person in the monitor motions for you to pick it up, their face set in the textbook definition of a polite smile. The pamphlet is titled Dealing with Depression.

Your smartwatch pings as you grab the pamphlet and the screen displays an ad for succulents. You turn the watch off.

You don’t feel like going home right away. You instead head to a nearby cafe and order the kind of sugary latte you know isn’t worth the high price and higher calorie count, but you could use the comfort. There are no real baristas here, only machines that charge you extra to print a picture of yourself onto the latte foam. You pay the extra amount. You then sign on to the free wifi, checking off the terms and conditions you didn’t read, and take a picture of your cup to share online. Not five minutes of browsing later you get a call from your mom. You plug in your headset and answer.

“Are you alright?” she asks.

“Yeah, how do you mean?” You wonder why everyone’s asking you that today.

“Because you’re not at work!” You realize now that the picture you just posted is location-tagged. “And I know what kind of drinks you like when you’re feeling sad; I’m your mother, after all.” You should’ve never accepted her friend request.

“No, it’s not that, it’s just… I’m alright. Working from home today, but I figured I’d grab a coffee. That’s all, I promise.”

You don’t think she believes you but her silence tells you she won’t push if you don’t want to tell her the truth. You instead get a notification on your phone that your mom has sent you a “poke”, a feature that only moms still remember exists. She breaks the silence first.

“Well, okay then,” she offers, “if you say so. Anyways, there was something else I wanted to ask you about.” Her tone gets conspiratorial for her next question. “Are you and Jamie dating?”

“What?!” You nearly choke on your latte. “No! Why do you think that?”

“Your aunts told me,” she answers plainly. “And, apparently, some of their friends told them first. They’re still not used to, you know, those kinds of relationships.” As progressive as your mom can be, her age and upbringing still show from time to time.

“I don’t even know my aunts’ friends, why would they think I’m dating Jamie?”

“They saw your picture online.”

You rub your eye, annoyed.

“What picture, mom?”

“Well,” she starts, and if phones still had cords you could imagine your mom twirling hers now, wrapping her finger as she shares the gossip, “you see, one of your aunts’ friends was online and saw you as a suggested friend.” You never understood what algorithms determined those suggestions. “She was curious, so she went in and browsed your page. There it was, a photo of the two of you, looking pretty close and cozy.”

You check your account on your phone. There’s no way someone randomly looking you up online could’ve seen that photo. Although, how many times did the site tell you they were updating their privacy policy and you opted to skip the details of what that meant?

“Mom, didn’t you see that picture yourself before? That was just Jamie and me playing around. You know we’re just friends.”

“Yes, I thought it was nothing. But, those friends of your aunts talk a lot, and they do seem very convinced. I looked at the picture again and it got me thinking.” Her tone gets conspiratorial again. “Are you dating Jamie? I’d have nothing against it. Your father, though…” You block the headset mic to hide your exasperated sigh, and then interrupt before she can finish the thought.

“We’re not close, mom, not like that. My aunts and their friends are making up stories.” You wonder how scrutinized any future pictures you post will be. Maybe you should restrict how much of your profile your mom can access. You’ll have to figure out the new privacy settings first.

“Yes, fine, you’re right. I’m simply saying they sounded convinced, is all.” You can almost picture her busying herself with some chores at home to prove that she’s over it. And yet she adds, “I will say, though, that if you were with Jamie, I’d be very supportive. Jamie’s lovely, and would be lucky to have you.”

You hide another exasperated sigh and change the topic. When she’s had her fill of catching up, your mom says goodbye and you hang up.

You sit in the cafe, your mouth contorted in contemplation save for when you sip from your cup. You thought you were good at keeping your personal and online lives separate, but thanks to dubious algorithms and out-of-touch inquirers, your agency at work has been diminished and your sexuality is being questioned by people who’d be less than understanding. Even if you restrict who gets access to your information, what little slips through the cracks is still interpreted without context. Is that what the internet is now? For people to be data-mined so other people can make assumptions? Who wanted it that way?

Your phone sets off with another notification, informing you that a local indoor plant store has followed you online. They specialize in succulents.

You almost laugh out loud at the insanity of it. Of course; this hunt for data is mostly the hunt for ad revenue. While it’s a marvel how fervently someone on the other side of the screen wants to believe they understand you, advertisers are the ones who set the system up. And even they can’t seem to get it right!

The fever of frustration breaks, giving way to a fever of defiance. Why leave room to be misinterpreted? You decide to live your online life unabashedly and unafraid to share all. Will someone be tracking your moves? You don’t care, but if they are you hope they can keep up.

You grab your phone and browse with fury and determination. You share news articles and let your political leanings lay bare as you never had before. You hit “publish” on every dumb joke and inane thought you had previously hid shamefully as drafts. You post all of the pictures in your phone, and when you’re done with those you take a couple more. You follow musicians, actors, and influencers alike, so that no one would have to guess what your tastes are. You join in as many forum conversations as you can, and only stop when a person you’re arguing with, who has an anime-girl profile picture, threatens to dox you. You log off.

When you finally get home you’re bleary eyed from unblinking browsing and shaky from the excess of caffeine. You want nothing more than to decompress. As you turn on your TV to search for something to stream and zone out to, you call out to your virtual assistant device and say, “Play something soothing.”

Though your command was vague, as the speakers turn on they start playing exactly what you only now realize you had in mind. You love this band, even if you hadn’t thought of them in a while. Your phone goes off with a notification that this band has a concert coming up soon. As if on instinct triggered by serendipity, you click the notification to buy tickets.

While browsing various streaming services on your TV you come across several documentaries that you’ve heard confirm a lot of opinions you’ve had on the state of things. While you’d love to be proven correct, you’re more in the mood for something light. You wonder if they have this one funny movie that’s a reboot of a movie that’s based on a book. Before you can remember the title you see it listed. You hit play.

Ultimately, modern movie watching entails being on your phone, so you scroll through whatever new content was uploaded on your commute home. While you idly browse, you find another tailored ad, this time for a t-shirt boldly claiming that people born the same month as you are kind yet shouldn’t be messed with, each line in a different garish font.

“Ha,” you laugh to yourself, “what a stupid ad.” Even after all the data you gave them, advertisers are no better than your manager or your aunts, thinking they know you and what’s best for you.

Suddenly the page you’re on refreshes. What loads first is the ad, this time for a different shirt that’s admittedly more your style. The tagline reads, “Your life, your look.” Unsettled by the coincidence and feeling like you’ve found yourself in a conversation with your phone you didn’t know you were having, you try to click on a different link. More content loads just at that moment, though, shifting the layout of the page and leading you to click on the ad instead. Surprised, you fumble with your phone to close what’s popped up, but as your panicked fingers slip your phone decides you mean to go through with the order. You adjust your hold on your phone but somehow manage to set off a biometric scan that confirms the purchase.

As if queued by your consumerist momentum, an ad interrupts the movie you’re watching (since when did this streaming service have ads?). The volume seems to increase on its own as the TV blares at you.

“You don’t necessarily feel you age, so why look your age? Our skin cream can miraculously take 5 years off your face, letting your inner youth shine through.” The ad shows a model before and after using the cream. It makes a specific point of telling you the model’s age, which is your age.

You search frantically for the remote to turn the volume down. No matter what angle you point the remote at it, the TV refuses to recognize your button pushing. You get up and simply turn off the TV manually. This gives your virtual assistant device space to chime in with a separate ad.

“Tired of the long commute to your workplace? Find more free time while moving into one of the fastest growing neighbourhoods that’s perfect for you.” The voice emanating from your speakers describes listings in a building that you recognize is half a block away from your office. You run to unplug the device.

One by one more “smart” appliances in your home, devices that you now question their need for internet connectivity, begin to play or display ads that were made to appeal to you exactly.

“Our energy efficient windows fit your green lifestyle!” your thermostat boasts, citing a climate change article you just read.

“Let us deliver the groceries you need for the recipes you love!” your fridge demands, listing off your actual favourite recipes.

“Bzzt!” vibrates your electric toothbrush, calling you to look at its charger’s digital screen and see an ad for a dental clinic, featuring a close up of a mouth you’re weirdly certain is actually yours.

As your apartment comes alive with the sounds of aggressive advertising, you’re terrified. You step out onto the balcony. You think to yourself, and only to yourself, that you need to get away.

A delivery drone floats up from under your balcony and stops right at your eye level. It’s been outfitted with a display monitor. It plays a video.

“Looking for a vacation?” it asks. “Why not fly out to Pasadena, California? You can visit the Cactus & Succulent Society of America’s annual show and sale!”

#creative writing #prose #short story #technology #social media

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tuellertrails · 3 years

Text

We’re 3 weeks into our hike so far, here are a few things I have learned

- Wake up EARLY in the desert. Because it will get hotter than hell and you will die of heatstroke if you hike in the heat of the day.

- Take your shoes (foot prisons) off at every opportunity. Your feet will thank you

- The higher you go in elevation, the harder the hiking is, the less hot it becomes and the more beautiful the scenery is. The desert has its own kind of beauty, but being in an alpine environment with lots of trees and the smell of sun warmed pine needles is my favorite place to be (besides a comfortable bed watching TV and eating snacks, of course). We’ve had several days of hiking where we’ve done over 5k feet of elevation, and I find that I am particularly prone to swearing and exhaustion on those days 😂. But the incredible views do make up for it somewhat! It’s all part of the experience.

- Ibuprofen (Vitamin I) and Benadryl are a hikers best friend.

- Pack out fresh food whenever you can. Vegetables and fruit have never tasted so good.

- Kindness is EVERYWHERE. We’ve received food, cold drinks, rides, camp chairs to sit in and many other kindnesses from trail angels, other hikers, family members and random people. Everything is appreciated.

Speaking of kindness, we spent several hours one day waiting out the heat of the day in a small hut next to the wind farm made for hot, suffering PCT hikers, with a cooler of cold water for us to enjoy. It was 95* even in the shade 🥵. We did not leave early enough that day, but it gave me the chance to wait out the heat and look at my phone 😂.

Here’s some highlights/points of interest from the last 100+ miles

- We heard a great story from Trail Angel who gave us a ride out of Julian, who heard it from a different hiker that she gave a ride to. So the hiker was hiking down the trail (early on, around mile 15) when he hears a voice say "hello". He looks down and sees a guy laying in the bushes in a sleeping bag with mud on his face. "Oh, uh... hello" the hiker says. The man responds "Would you like to be blessed with magic sand?" And holds up a pile of sand in his hand. The guy wasn't sure if this dude was on drugs, was going to throw the sand in his face or what, and he's contemplating how to side step this very weird man when the dude stands up and reveals that he is completely naked and says "You should really use mud. It makes the best sunscreen". Glad that it wasn’t me, poor guy.

- We went through a small town in Warner Springs who had a gas station and some picnic tables, so basically a hiker haven. We spent a couple of hours eating gas station food, and I gave another hiker a shot in the butt 😂. Nursing skills always coming in handy out here. Landon consistently says that the gas station hot dog was one of the highlights of the trail.

- My feet are MUCH better than they were. Getting inserts and some foot compression socks were a game changer for me. I now can walk many more miles without having to stop so often to roll out the golf balls on my feet. Despite this, hiking is still hard and we still find new soreness, aches and pains every day. But I do think that we are toughening up and able to do more miles than we did the first week. My blisters are mostly hardened now, and we have done as many as 18 miles in a day at this point.

- Water can be very scarce, and you have to plan out your water carries very carefully. One water source in this last stretch was a big water tank a few hundred feet from “Mikes Place”. Mikes Place is near the trail and has a big water cistern for hikers to go and get water, but they also let hikers camp and party there and sometimes feed them. There were some comments on Guthooks (the hiking navigation app we use) about how Mikes Place was kind of sketchy and borderline sexist, but we went down there with our hiker friends Sarah and Clyde, hoping for some food. Mikes place was interesting to say the least. It was a run down one story house that looked rather shabbily built, with a blanket as a wall in one section. It’s in a few acres of property, and there are all sorts of random things in front of the house. An assortment of stools and chairs, some lawn games like croquet and darts, a fire pit, a few coolers, and then even more random things like a sword stuck in a stone (a replica like in the movie). There was also an old painted car on one end, a shabby outdoor kitchen with a pizza oven and a greasy grill and lots of bowls and plates and utensils, and lots of other items spread out across the property. It seemed a little hoarder-y to us. They had Johnny cash playing in the background which kind of fit the vibe of the place. There were a few hikers there eating already, and a more stout gentleman wearing a t shirt, shorts and flip flops whose name was Scott. He said that there was no food left but that we could cook our own if we wanted, and we were like "ummm, sure?"  So he brought out the ingredients for breakfast burritos and we got to cracking eggs and slicing veggies and fired up the very greasy outdoor grill, and within about 15 minutes we were eating breakfast burritos. Scott was a little weird. He would pop in and out of where we were cooking and then disappear again, I guess he was nice enough but he just gave off a bit of a weird vibe. Apparently Mike lives in San Diego and Scott is a caretaker of his place for now, along with another guy named Spirit who we met a little later as we ate. He was a older guy, with long white hair in a ponytail and beard, wearing a dirty green zip hoodie with what looked to be a hand painted "VVR" on it, jeans and chacos. He chatted with us briefly, he is a hiker who has hiked the John Muir Trail every year since 2014 and then decided to go work at VVR, a resort in the Sierras, after visiting it so many times. He said he was headed up there in a few weeks. Anyways, we are our burritos, washed our plates, said thank you and left to go filter water from the tank up above, leaving some money in the donation box as a thank you. The food was good but I definitely wouldn't have felt comfortable being there by myself, Mike’s Place was a little...dirt baggy, but I’m glad I got to experience it all the same. Apparently Scott is hiking now, and showed up at the campground in Idyllwild a few days later, drunk as a skunk and vomited all over 😂.

- We’re 10% done with the trail! Which really puts into perspective how long this hike actually is 😂. We had heard that our trail legs would start to come in after 3 weeks, but both Landon and I agree that we’re still quite sore and wake up with different aches and pains every day. We are definitely running a major calorie deficit at this point, burning upwards of 4K calories per day, burning much more than we are eating. This is ok with us, as we could both lose 30 Lbs or more and still be in a healthy weight range! Our friend Jamie, who hiked the trail years ago with her husband, says that we are losing our “town fat”. But we both agree that our clothes are feeling a bit looser than they were before. Who knew that 3 weeks of near continuous intense exercise would do that? We are slowly getting more fit, so hopefully those trail legs will come in soon here in the next few weeks.

- Remember the girl I talked about in our last post a few weeks ago, who woke up our friend at 5 AM and told him that she had no pants? Well, he came across her again a few days ago. She was topless, sitting in a stream in her underwear, playing a ukelele. And much to his chagrin, she remembered him! 😂 Not exactly a meet cute.

- Though there are definitely some eccentric people out here, 95% of the hikers and people we meet are wonderful. We have met the most incredible people as we hike, and are grateful to have made some good friends. They say that trauma bonds you, and all of the hikers have similar trauma out on trail 😂. We all know how hard this is, how beautiful, and have experienced first hand the heavy packs we carry after filling up our food and water, and the different aches and pains that accompany hiking day after day. Ive seen some pretty gnarly feet 🦶among the hikers out here, covered in blisters and cuts, with blackened toenails and foot fungus. Our feet are constantly getting beaten up! I’m glad to know that it isn’t just us experiencing the aches and pains. Ive always been a bit of a social butterfly, and after a year of isolation due to the Covid pandemic, the extrovert in me is absolutely loving the social aspect of our hike.

We will be getting off trail for four days this next weekend to go to a family wedding and sadly, a funeral as well. We were saddened to hear that Landon’s Grandfather has passed away, after suffering from Alzheimer’s for many years in the last years of his life. I never knew him before the Alzheimer’s had affected him, but I was told that he was smart as a whip, very funny, and a great story teller. Landon has fond memories of his grandfather, going on family trips and hearing his many stories. Even after the disease progression, Arlin was a very sweet and gentle man who was happy to give you a hug and listen to you talk, even if he didn’t quite remember who you were. We feel very lucky to have been able to spend some time with him and with Landon’s Grandmother the week before the trail, and he will be greatly missed by all. We are looking forward to getting off trail for a few days to reunite with our family to both celebrate and mourn together.

Thanks to everyone for the love and support in our PCT journey so far, this has been the most incredible experience of our lives so far and we’re grateful for every second, no matter how tough, of this great adventure.

- The Tueller’s

#pct #pct2021 #pctclassof2021 #tuellertrails #hikertrash

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thomas-reynolds · 3 years

Text

CAUGHT UP // 001

WHO: Griffin x Jamie x Thomas WHERE: The apartment. TW/NOTES: Nsfw. Griff and Tommy-boy come home early from the bar thanks to Griffin’s heavy drinking, and catch Jamie in the act with some dude. Things get heated and not in the fun way, and they end up a little worse for wear.

JAMIE ::

"My place doesn't work." Those four fateful words would normally leave Jamie shrugging and moving on to the next guy. It was a night out, after all, and he didn't have to take home the first hot guy he found. But this one was so hot. Taller than him, but just slightly. Bright blue eyes and a come and get me grin. Maybe it was more the attitude than the looks, and maybe James had downed one too many gold rushes. Maybe it was the fact that it was the beginning of summer, and hot was taking on multiple meanings here. James couldn't put his finger on what the hell it was that made him say these bolds words, but he heard himself saying them all the same. "Let's go back to my place." A husky whisper in the other guy's ear, and the two of them tumbled out of the club and into a cab.

Jamie lost his shirt at the front door, a solid thud echoing through the place as he was backed against it, and then a moan as his hookup- David? Daniel? kissed along his neck, his hands moving lower. "Don't leave a mark." He was already living dangerously. Odds were that Thomas and Griffin wouldn't randomly end up coming back home, but you could never be too careful. Now that he'd gotten that one stipulation out of the way, it was all too easy to let go and focus on the feelings. This would only ever happen once, and since he was already damned anyway, he might as well make the most of it.

More clothes were shed as they made their way to a bedroom. He didn't stop to shut the door, his hands too busy roaming Daryl's body to think of such a mundane detail. He didn't need to prepare himself much before he situated himself on top, sinking down onto the beautiful man's cock and thoroughly enjoying the view. He was close when everything went south. It was nice, having the place to himself, not needing to bother with being quiet. He was breathing hard by this point, choosing expletives that he wouldn't be caught dead saying in church instead of accidentally moaning the wrong name.

GRIFFIN ::

Getting kicked out of a bar was not new for Griffin Rollins, but getting kicked out just after nine o’clock was impressive. Or embarrassing, if he had any shame left, but he didn’t seem to, not with the way Thomas’ lecture was just rolling off his back. He could probably recite the speech back to him at this point - y’know, when he could string a sentence together without slurring. It probably meant something that the barkeep knew to call Thomas - his roommate, yes; his buddy, sure; but decidedly not a loved one, not his significant other - but that was the nice thing about being this hammered: Griffin could blissfully ignore all the flashing neon signs from the universe that he was, in fact, still a fuck-up.

That same universe was spinning by the time the men reached their front door, the dark-haired one making a valiant effort to retrieve his keys only for his hand to be impatiently batted away. As they stepped into their place, Griffin moaned out a curse - or, he thought he did, but it didn’t sound like himself. And it was coming from the wrong direction.

His eyes flashed over to Thomas’ face, trying to decipher what the fuck was going on, and he looked as far from happy as he had when he’d showed up at the bar, but now the daggers weren’t being directing at Griffin. The blonde was looking past him, and it took a carefully-executed turn to discover what he was looking at: a naked hottie riding a cock in Pearson’s bed. Griffin��s liquor-fogged mind took what felt like an eon to realize that was bad, for two reasons. 1) The naked hottie was not Thomas’ sister, and 2) The naked hottie was Pearson.

Griffin’s fingers immediately fisted in the front of Thomas’ shirt, partially in an attempt to keep him exactly where he was, and partially to keep himself upright. “Hey, hey, Tommy, hey -”

THOMAS ::

Getting the call shouldn’t have come as any sort of surprise. After all, Thomas took more phone calls regarding Griffin’s health and well-being than he’s sure Griffin’s own mother ever took. Picked him up from enough bars, enough gutters, even football practice when they were teens and his mom conveniently ‘forgot’ him at the school. Typically, Thomas wore the eternal baby-sitter badge like a medal of honor - used it to badger and annoy Griffin into some semblance of shame when he was even a modicum of sober. Now though, when Thomas himself had been getting his feet wet at the bar, a young brunette with too dark lipstick and overly straightened hair, but big enough breasts to be worth his effort practically hanging off of his arm - now it was annoying.

Even when it was more tolerable, Thomas didn’t let Griffin think otherwise anyway, but still. The point still stands, he thought, staring at the doors of a crusty old bar that screamed ‘burn your clothes when you leave here’ and definitely had enough bikers and hookers outside to make your grandmother faint on impact. Convincing the bouncer to not knock his friend’s head in was simple enough, it was actually the waitress whom Griffin palmed on the way out that seemed to cause the most trouble - and by the time they were on the way back to the apartment, drunken hands pulling at the collar of Thomas’ shirt (and stretching out the goddamned hole), Thomas had almost begun his ranting on auto pilot.

A little, “You’re a real piece of shit, you know that? Like a fucking gutter rat. What the fuck were you drinking anyway? You smell like fucking paint-thinner --” The words died on Thomas’ lips, cheeks, ears and chest heating in a way that would make him worry that he’s finally going six feet under (and maybe he is, if his blood pressure could go any higher), and it reminded him of the time he got incredibly crossfaded at Brittany Deering’s party back in 10th grade and blacked out in her bathtub for a few hours, barely avoiding being puked and pissed on by fellow students in the same position as him. It took him entirely too quickly, Thomas’ body moving on its own accord, Griffin’s hands pawing at him like a cheap stripper, and Pearson’s wide open door looked like a gateway to Heaven, or at the very least a convenience store with the automatic slider-doors jammed.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Thomas’ voice didn’t sound like his own, but he supposed that it was difficult to even hear properly with all of the blood rushing through his ears, “I will kill you.” The thump in his chest had nothing to do with the fact that his best friend was clearly cheating on his sister with some...some fruity weirdo with floppy hair and stupidly blue eyes, but he was bound and determined to ignore that little fact - ignore the voice that said just tell him already and instead, encouraged the one that said, he’s got a nice neck for strangling.

“This is what you do when we’re not here? Fool around with discount Matthew McConaughey?” It definitely wasn’t a snarl, if you asked Thomas, but the clenching fist at his side, the one not hanging onto Griffin’s half-dead body, promised something lethal.

JAMIE ::

“Fuuuuck-“ turned into “Oh, fuck” entirely too quickly for Jamie’s liking. He was off that dick quicker than he’d moved in a long time. Hastily looking over his shoulder and seeing Thomas’ face twisted in rage should have killed his hard on in an instant, but it didn’t. He’d blame that on how hot Damon was and how far along into their hookup they’d been. “Fuck off Thomas, you two were supposed to be out, anyway!” He stepped into his underwear quickly, pulling on a pair of pants hastily as well. “What the fuck?” Danny was dazed, understandably confused that all of the sudden their hookup for two was now a foursome. Then, “Is that your boyfriend?”

“No!” James replied immediately, forcing a look of disgust at the mere thought of it. Or at least, his best attempt. “You need to go.” There was no salvaging this hookup, unfortunately, and he was just glad that he’d managed to make it to his own room so sweatpants were readily available. Damian had apparently gotten the point and was quickly getting redressed as well. Thomas was still mad, and honestly it was probably best to just let him be mad instead of trying to placate him. Trying that would only make it worse. Nah, he was gonna let the anger run its course and then let it go. But then it hit him, and all the color drained from his face. “You can’t tell her.” The thought of that happening made him want to throw up, and he moved a little closer, eyes wide and a little scared even as he tried to hide it. “It was nothing. Just blowing off some steam, and it doesn’t even count, you wouldn’t have known because you two were supposed to be out!” His gaze turned accusingly to Griffin for a second, and it didn’t take long to piece together what had happened. “And besides, Griffin is drunk, clearly we have bigger problems to worry about.” Yeah, pull focus. Dawson could sneak out while the two of them had a serious talk with Griffin about substance use. Jamie’s gaze flashed to Griffin again. He couldn’t decide which one of them to look at at this point. Griffin was most likely to take his side here, so he probably shouldn’t have just thrown him under the bus.

GRIFFIN ::

Griffin managed a small, two-finger salute to Jamie’s date as he passed by, clothing in his arms - or maybe it looked like he was putting a gun to his own temple, which also seemed applicable. His eyes followed the stranger’s naked ass until it disappeared into the bathroom, just in time to detect his name tumbling into this shitshow. “‘m always drunk,” he shot back in what he genuinely believed to be a solid defense. “Dsn’t count.”

God, he just wanted to be on a horizontal surface, even if it was Jamie’s bed of iniquity, and he considered making a move toward it until his last brain cell insisted that his deadweight was likely the only thing keeping Thomas anchored in place. If he could just defuse this disaster of a situation, he knew the blonde would get him into his own bed. Or the couch. Or at least onto the kitchen floor with a towel for a blanket.

“Tommy, Tommy, TommyTommyTommy, listen ... listen t’ me ... your sisterdsn’t have a dick!” he offered, finally releasing the other man’s shirt in order to wave his hands in a messy what’re-ya-gonna-do gesture. By his incredibly flawed, alcoholic logic, if Pearson wanted to fuck a dude - and understandably so, dudes being as hot as they were - he couldn’t go to Thomas’ sister. No harm, no ... whatever.

THOMAS ::

Thomas steadily ignored his own feline-reminiscent hiss as Hunky Brewster walk-of-shame’d his way out of their apartment, passing it off as some sort of controlling his temper, or silently letting out a prayer to the God he didn’t believe in but heard enough about from Jamie. The heat turned to ice in the pit of his glorious, god-like abdomen after every single ‘Tommy’ that left his friend’s mouth, “Griff, shut your fucking mouth -- and you,” He practically spit, pulling both himself and Griffin closer to the blonde in the bedroom like a boat and a buoy toward the middle of a storm, “It’s not cheeeeeeating as long as you don’t get caaaaught.” Thomas mocked his friend as the storm seemed to settle inside of his own chest, thunder and lightning begging to be let out through some sort of violence.

“I’m going to kick your ass - and then, I’m going to call my sister, and she’s going to come over here and kick your ass, you stupid, useless moron.” The dark feelings seemed to bubble and burst all in one quick second, and if Thomas could have taken a breath and really looked at the situation for what it was, and the jealousy that seemed to eat at him, the conflict likely could have been avoided. But the thick stench of sweat and alcohol from Griffin, and the same aroma from Jamie’s room seemed to override any sort of consideration that Thomas could have provided. And with that, he dropped Griffin like a sack of fucking potatoes and darted for Jamie’s face, hissing when his hit landed. Thomas was too busy cradling his knuckles to know if he’d even hit his damned target, but the swelling would be worth it if he’d gotten to cause Jamie some sort of agony he’d have to live for the next few days too. Once the blind rage passed and Thomas was left shaking, clutching his wrist like grandmother’s prized fucking pearls, he finally bit words for Griffin instead, “I don’t care that my sister doesn’t have a goddamned dick - she’s - he spouts all of this holier-than-thou bullshit that he doesn’t even follow! He just committed sodomized, pre-marital sex! And he wasn’t even on top!”

The words felt hysterical, and the laughter that left Thomas wasn’t one filled with any sort of joy; it was hollow and empty, or maybe not empty, but only filled with envy and anger. He darted for Jamie again, hissing between his teeth.

JAMIE ::

James wasn’t sure when he realized that there wouldn’t be any coming back from this. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Thomas this pissed, and that was saying something. Hell, in the past, he’d helped talk Thomas down from being this pissed at someone else. Now the fury was totally directed at him, and he fought the instinct to move back as Thomas dragged himself and Griffin closer. He wasn’t a coward. “It’s not cheating if I don’t even know his name!” It was. It absolutely was, but he’d learned from the best how to navigate with a broken moral compass. This was quite literally a situation of how what someone didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. He’d done this for years, from hurried hookups behind the bleachers to an empty dugout, sneaking out at midnight and meeting someone he’d used to go to Sunday school with. It was a sin, sure, but he wasn’t gay. He went to confession after every incidence, and he was forgiven. It was just that simple.

“Don’t,” he warned, his expression going from worried to murderous. “Tell her, Thomas, and I swear to God.” Might as well add taking the Lord’s name in vain. Today couldn’t possibly be any worse. In that moment, the bubble burst. It occurred to him briefly that Thomas could have set Griffin down nicely, but then it was too late as he felt pain exploding across his cheek. Thomas packed a pretty decent punch, even if he didn’t much look like it. For the moment, he resigned himself to it, didn’t hit back even though his fist balled up by his side and he wanted to. He’d stumbled back after the initial punch, but he regained his footing. And then Thomas was talking again, listing off all the big sins, sins that were meant to be kept in private, in the confessional booth, just him and the priest. That alone made him itch with rage, but he held back. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he didn’t really want to hurt Thomas. But then he laughed and it all went to hell. He surged forward at the same time Thomas did, and they collided. “Fuck. You!” He threw the next punch, hoping to land a matching shiner, putting his full force behind it. He didn’t care anymore. “It doesn’t count as pre-marital,” he growled, “if it’s not a possibility to marry.” He still couldn’t make himself use the right pronoun.

GRIFFIN ::

Now, granted, he had been wanting to lie down, but hurtling to the hardwood without any warning hadn’t exactly been ideal. Griffin laid there, still more or less grateful to be off his feet, listening to an argument that probably would have seemed a fuckton more intense if it hadn’t sounded so underwater. He even missed the first punch, arm thrown over his eyes as he willed the room to knock it off with the spinning - but he did here the telltale sound of two bodies colliding, and forced himself up onto his elbows. And then onto his knees. And then onto his feet.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey -“ The man had exactly one word in his vocabulary at the moment, which he repeated as he stumbled over to a mound of limbs made up of his two best friends. He was already pushing it, with the walking, but the attempt to pull one of the guys off the other almost knocked him right back of his feet. He survived, though - until a rogue fist that may or may not have been meant for him caught him right in the gut. He reeled back, taking one, two, three steps towards the door before doubling-over and vomiting in the corner of Jamie’s room.

Well, it had been inevitable. At least now that part of the night was over. “HEY.” There he was. Still just as unsteady on his feet, but with renewed frustration, Griffin threw himself back into the mix.

THOMAS ::

"You probably wish you could! I'm pretty fantastic!" Thomas screamed over the man, attempting to shove Jamie, and petulantly ignoring Griffin until the guy practically took an arrow for him, projectile vomiting in the same space as them. "Nice fucking job - punching the fucking drunk. Want to talk to God about that too? You like things in your ass and you hit your best friend!"

Griffin managed to get between them and Thomas couldn't help the muttered, "You fucking reek, dude-" that left him, his arm reaching out to swing wildly at Jamie over the other man's shoulder. How ridiculous, they must have looked, three grown men throwing punches and shouting expletives at one another in the middle of the night. If the neighbors banging on the wall were anything to go by, they probably agreed with him.

"Don't touch me - don't you fucking," Thomas hissed as a spare slap managed to get him right in the nose, rust immediately dripping over the bottom portion of his face, "I'm going to tell her so fucking hard, you son of a bitch," He whined around the hand cupping his nose and mouth, practically shielding himself with Griffin's larger body. "I can't stand you two - I - it smells like shit in here," The babbling continued, even though he really couldn't smell anything with his nose full of blood clots.

JAMIE ::

“I was on top!” Jamie insisted, shoving back at Thomas. He really hadn’t intended to punch Griffin, but he was the one who’d ended up throwing himself in between the two of them. What did he think was going to happen. “I was aiming for you, asshole!” His blood was really boiling right now, and Jesus, how had this night managed to go so horribly wrong? It had started out hot and fun and devolved into, well, whatever this shit show was.

“Oh, come on,” he groaned as he heard Griffin lose his dinner in the corner of his room. Add that to the list of shit that he didn’t want to deal with. He’d be cleaning it up, of course, because Griffin clearly wasn’t in any state to, and he didn’t want his room to smell like puke while he waited for Griffin to sober up and handle it. The one last slap was admittedly satisfying, but he had to calm down. He had bigger problems on his hands. He had to convince Thomas not to tell her.

It occurred to him way too quickly what he had to do, the only way he was going to appeal to Thomas’ sense of reason. “Fine!” He shouted numbly. “Tell her. But who else do you think is going to be with her? We break up, she ends up an old fucking spinster for the rest of her life. Is that what you want for her? Huh?” He gave one more shove to prove his point. “You tell her, and you break her fucking heart. And for what? Because I’m getting a little on the side that she can’t give me? I’m the perfect boyfriend, Thomas. She won’t get better than me, and you know it.”

GRIFFIN ::

Somehow managing to dodge what could have been a really unfortunate elbow, Griffin was perfectly content with standing between his roommates now that things had boiled over and resolved into a simmer; still hot, still able to burn, but not quite as active. The shouting, he was pretty desensitized to. Between the three of them, someone was perpetually shouting at the other two, or two were shouting at each other, or two were shouting at one (he was usually the one, and he was usually inebriated). It was a special occasion when the trio were all shouting, though, which is normally what got the neighbors involved. Griffin reached over to land his fist on the wall three or four times, acknowledging their neighbor’s participation.

His back was turned to Thomas, who, though taller, was probably less of a real physical threat. As a result, he missed the bloody nose, but he did catch sight of Jamie’s split lip and the scarlet mark that was going to bloom into one hell of a bruise. “Better tell ‘er ya got mugged,” he suggested, finally throwing over a glance over his shoulder to survey the damage that was Thomas’ face. “Botha you. Ah, fuck, are you bleedinon my shirt?!”

Griffin was quiet for the rest of Jamie’s tirade, mostly because this was not his fight, but also because he was on both of their sides, so far as thinking the other was a royal fucking asshole. Kate was the closest thing he had to a sister, and he didn’t love the idea of her getting fucked over, but he would have been smart enough to not let an asshole like James anywhere near her to start with. And furthermore, he’d mean what he’d said, inarticulate as it may have been; monogamy was a societal construct, sexuality was a spectrum, and this was probably the best case scenario for both of them, really. Kate got to seriously level up in the boyfriend department, and Jamie got a doting woman on his arm for the sake of appearances.

“I think,” he opined on a big sigh, running a hand through his hair as though he was going to lay down some actual wisdom - but that wasn’t his brand. “I think that we should get nachos.”

THOMAS ::

Clicking his tongue, Thomas swished the copper around in his mouth, glaring daggers at his roommate. He probably looked like he'd been bobbing for apples in fake blood at this point, but it felt oddly satisfying to look a little deranged compared to his normal well-kempt state. "Should I let her be with a cheater and a liar anyway? Yeah, real fucking smart, asshole --" Even with Griffin's knocking effectively breaking the tension, the neighbors yelling back through the wall, there was something still boiling under the surface.

Something volatile, something that went by the name Jade.

"You don't need any nachos," He murmured, somewhat numb, yet manic. Auto-pilot had taken over, his palm running over his face, and Thomas wiped the mess on the back of Griffin's shirt. Eyes never leaving Jamie's, Thomas slowly slipped forward face impassive, blank. "One more thing," Oddly calm, Thomas reached out with a gentle, blood-smeared hand and laid the palm of it on Jamie's shoulder. He let the moment settle, let the silence take over for a moment, until it was bordering on confusing, before throwing himself forward and headbutting the man in turn, immediate pain blossoming behind his forehead, and spraying them both with his now-unclotted nose. "Bitch," he snarled under the waterfall of blood, before groaning and taking a hasty step back toward his drunken friend, ready to use him as a shield again if need be.

JAMIE ::

"Why, so you can throw 'em up in a different part of my room?" He usually had the decency to at least make it to a communal space, and yeah, James was still a little pissed that he needed to be taken home at all when the two of them had planned to be out and about for the night. It was a valiant effort, trying to get the two of them back on the same side so they could stop with the arguing, but deep down, Jamie knew this wasn't the kind of fight that Thomas would just get over. He'd fucked up, big time, and now instead of facing the music, he was doubling down. It had all seemed so innocent, harmless even, when it was just him and the flavor of the night. If what's his name that started with a D hadn't been so fucking hot, maybe this whole thing could have been avoided.

He ventured a glance at Thomas, partially hating himself for the fact that he'd messed up such a pretty face, but a small little part of himself was satisfied at the damage done. Served him right. How fucking hard would it have been to just turn around and go somewhere else for ten minutes? By that point, the hookup would have been kicked out, and they could all pretend that it had never happened. Jamie could have been blissfully ignorant, and honestly, that was one of the most underrated states a person could be in.

When Thomas put a hand on his shoulder, he tried to keep his expression neutral. As much as he hated to admit it, that hand on his shoulder had grounded him many times in the past, and its presence was all tied up with feelings of comfort and safety, feelings he definitely wasn't getting just now. Sure as shit, next came the sucker punch in the form of a headbutt, and the "Ow!" was almost equal parts pain and surprise. "Asshole!" he groaned, and he couldn't even get to him without Griff getting involved again. "Griffin, just get out of here. This is between me and him, and some of us can't take a hit." Unfortunately for him, all of the hits were starting to take a toll.

GRIFFIN ::

“Ahhrgh, God damn it,” he growled as he felt Thomas’ hand smear his bodily fluids down his back, rolling his shoulders in discomfort before yanking his shirt off, rolling it into a ball and tossing it out into the hall. At least the blonde’s shirt was just as fucked, he noticed, attention on the slightly taller man as he approached James. Good, fine, Thomas would say his final piece and then everyone could just - “Fuck!”

Before he could fully process the sudden movement and the accompanying spray of gore, Thomas has slipped behind him and he was staring down Jamie, the youngest of their dysfunctional little crew. “C’mon, Jay, jus-go lay down,” he muttered, intending to give a good-natured push to the kid’s chest, but still intoxicated enough to not know his own strength. The adrenaline he didn’t realize had been streaming through his system turned it into a fully aggressive shove, and Griffin felt the muscles in his shoulders tense as some part of him anticipated retaliation. Blue eyes flashed. “Go ta’ bed, Jamie.”

THOMAS ::

"Suck my dick, Pearson--" Dark pupils dilated at the shove, watching with intense interest. It wasn't often that Jamie and Griffin disagreed wholeheartedly, or at the very least enough to get into a physical altercation. Usually it was Thomas gravitating toward the violence, toward harsh words that stung and bit at insecurities - usually he was the flint and steel basking at either of his friends' heels.

Still, it ignited something in him, to see Griffin shove the younger man, even if unintentionally. While they all agreed to disagree at who really was whose best friend, Thomas liked to believe he was just as much of a fire as he was the glue keeping them together. "You shoved him, man," The words were weirdly tense, odd even to himself, in the quiet of the room. "You gonna take that?" Blue eyes flick to Jamie's.

JAMIE ::

For a second, he considered it. He wasn't going to just lay down, but getting himself to a different room, where they kept the cleaning supplies probably, and doing something else was probably the best way to handle this. But then he shoved him, hard, as if to make sure to drive his point home. "Seriously?" he demanded, his own gaze accusing.

"You're seriously gonna take his side? I woulda come to get you too, and then none of this would have happened." He shoved back, not knowing or caring if Thomas was close enough to catch him. "You go to bed. I have someone else's mess to clean up, as usual." The puke in the corner of the room wasn't going anywhere, after all.

GRIFFIN ::

As he stumbled back into Thomas, Griffin’s ego maintained that he never would have budged if he’d been sober. Maybe it was true, maybe it wasn’t; really, how often was he truly sober, so there wouldn’t be exactly an opportunity to find out. If he’d been sober, he also probably wouldn’t have lunged for Jamie, taking him out at the waist and forcing him to collapse onto his own mattress. “Said, LAY DOWN,” he repeated, scrambling to straddle the man’s hips, and trying to grab at his wrists. “Enough!”

The word was paired with a death glare to Thomas, who may not have been pinned under him, but only because it was physically impossible for Griffin to sedate both of them at once. “You’re both douchebags!”

“I called you,” he muttered after a moment, still slap-fighting James for submission. “You were busy.” It was completely lost on the brunette, of course, that his current position wasn’t terribly different from the way they’d stumbled upon Jamie a few minutes before.

THOMAS ::

Despite the urge to cover his throbbing nose from any more of the crossfire, Thomas stood back from the other two men, eyes dark and irritable. Thomas was the reliable one - was the man you called when you needed someone to get you out of a mess, or pick you up at the bar on a Friday night at 9pm because you were so drunk you couldn't see straight. He was the ultimate provider, the best friend any guy could ask for. Clearly, Griffin appreciated that more than Jamie.

"Am I interrupting?" He blinked his eyelashes prettily, words mocking as they left his lips. His shirt was the only one left on, and it was...incredibly sticky at that point, if he was being honest. With a grimace, he plucked at the collar, hissing when his hand came away sore. He would be bruised and battered, and rough the following day - no amount of cover-up was going to suffice to hide the giant bowling ball of a bruise on his head, or the massive swelling of his nose. He'd talk like a fucking Lollipop Guild member for a week at this rate.

"I went to pick up this clown while you were out here blowing some guy." Thomas stuck his chin up, defiant despite the angry look sent to him by Griffin, who was oddly being the sensible one (not that Thomas would ever admit that. To anyone. Ever.)

JAMIE ::

James was honestly taken aback by Griffin's sudden lunge in his general direction. He was stupidly effective for being drunk, and Jamie wanted to be mad about it, but he was suddenly distracted by how Griffin was just on top of him like this. He blamed that on the surprise of it all as well. Griffin never would have gotten him into this position if James had seem him coming.

Ignoring the insult, he frowned when Griffin mentioned that he had called him. "Well, what the hell." He could have sworn he would have noticed a phone call from his best friend, but apparently hookup's dick game was too strong. Usually he was much more reliable than this. "Shut the fuck up, Thomas," he said, and the only reason that Griffin was still on top of him was because he didn't want to hurt him on accident. Again.

His face hurt and he wanted to either drink or take some ibuprofen or both and clean up the fucking mess that was still in the corner of his room. "Christ, get off me, Griffin." Why was he the one being restrained instead of Thomas? Thomas started this shit. He gave a considering expression before going for Griffin's ticklish spot instead, hoping the sudden distraction would give him some leeway to get out from under him and back toward his original target who couldn't keep his mouth shut to save his own damn life. "I didn't blow him, I was on fucking top!"

GRIFFIN ::

If he’d been able to read the other man’s thoughts, he probably would have chuckled, the low one that was particularly disarming when it was paired with his trademark sideways smirk. Sure, they’d blame it on the “surprise” and not the decade of running tackle drills before and after school, five days a week. Drunk as he was, muscle memory was a hell of a thing.

That, and puking up a stomach full of bourbon.

“Wash up, look like a fuckin’ horror movie,” Griffin ordered in Thomas’ general direction, not moving a muscle, not just yet. If the two of them were going to lunge at each other again, he could sit right there all night - or at least until the hazy, spinny kind of sleep that went along with being this sloshed came to claim him. “You, jus’ stop talking,” he muttered, quieter considering that James was only so far away from him. “Nobody cares ‘fya sucked a dick, Pearson.”

When he eventually slid from the younger man’s waist, Griffin moaned in relief at the feel of a mattress beneath him, bribing his body to move with the promise that if he stretched out just the slightest bit, he’d finally be able to close his eyes. “Why’s yer bed so nice?”

THOMAS ::

A flash of something dark flickered over Thomas' face, his struggle with authority desperately trying to rear its head. With a calming breath, he tried to pull that little voice inside of his head that sounded like his dumb, quack sister that reminded him about breathing exercises and adrenaline. After counting to 10, Thomas gingerly pulled his collared shirt over his head, the polo wet with moisture and a stink of dried blood. Scrunching his nose, he dropped the offending garment into Jamie's hamper, on top of clothes probably covered in some dude's jizz. "Looks like you have a roommate tonight," He pointed out helpfully, making his way toward the bathroom.

He was back a quick moment later, having procured the small cleaning caddy from under the bathroom sink, including the hand-held spot cleaner. It was uncanny, how many times they'd had to clean up 90% alcohol-vomit, and Thomas hated that he'd grown so used to it after 15-odd years of knowing these morons. "Take your shoes off, you heathen," Thomas spit at Griffin without much effort behind it, focused instead on cleaning the puddle out of the corner of Jamie's room.

After scrubbing for a few odd minutes, and one glare in Griffin's direction later, Thomas picked himself back up, knees aching with the effort of the movement. He was getting old. He stored the cleaning products back in the cabinet and found himself leaning against the doorframe when he re-entered the room. "What food do you want, Griff?" Thomas asked, placated and quiet after the fall-out of so much drama. Getting his face bashed in was a reset button, apparently. Annoying, but effective. "I'm not dealing with the whininess when you're hung over tomorrow."

JAMIE ::

"He started it," James muttered in response when Griffin told him to stop talking. It was juvenile, but he couldn't help it. This whole thing could have been avoided about six ways to Sunday. If Griffin hadn't gotten drunk, if Thomas hadn't immediately started raging about it, if he hadn't brought someone home in the first place. It was pretty clear that they were all partially to blame for this shit show, but the petty side of him wanted to be the one that ended it.

He still had no idea if Thomas was going to tell Kate, but that seemed like a problem for future Jamie. For now, he just wanted to wallow in his failed hookup. He figured that since he hadn't even gotten the chance to get off from this one, there wasn't really a need to do any sort of confessional. Jamie scoffed at Griffin's next words. God cared if he sucked a dick, which also, he hadn't. "Don't tell anyone." These words were directed at both of them, quiet, yet deeply meaningful. He didn't know what he'd do if people found out. Hell, his two best friends had just found out, and he wasn't exactly sure what to do about it.

Jamie had no idea where Thomas was going when he headed out of his room, and a part of him wondered if he was going to make that phone call. Anxiety prickled all over his body, and he had to remind himself to breathe. A moment before he was going to get up and follow him, Thomas came back with the cleaning supplies. A begrudging "Thanks," rolled off his lips as he sat up in bed to address Thomas' next words. Rolling onto his knees, he took off one shoe and tossed it out into the hallway, landing with a thunk. The other came next, tossed in the same general direction. "PB&J?" he asked Griffin, knowing that it'd be best to go for something easier on the stomach.

GRIFFIN ::

This was how the world worked for Griffin Rollins, the way it had always worked. He did what he wanted to do, it made a fucking mess, he smiled and fumbled his way into some unintentional wit, and it all ended up being taken care of ... usually by one of the two bloodied men who were currently milling around the room, no doubt accomplishing just that. He didn’t open his eyes to check. That was the way he preferred it, really; if he never fully noticed just how much other people did to save his ass time after time, he never fully needed to thank them.

“Nachooooos,” he moaned at the mention of food, knowing full well he’d likely pass out before anything that required delivery would arrive at the apartment. As it was, he was already slipping in and out of consciousness. The bed smelled like sweat and Jamie’s shampoo, the sortakinda expensive stuff he got frustrated at Griffin borrowing when his own had run out. It still came from the drug store, but from the higher shelf; not the 3-in-1 body wash bullshit that Griffin smeared through his own hair.

“Go shower,” he mumbled to both and neither of them.

THOMAS ::

With narrowed eyes, Thomas turned to retreat into the kitchen, slapping together a few hastily made sandwiches (which were still entirely too neat, cut diagonally into two separate pieces) and brought them back to the bedroom, just in time for Griffin to begin bossing him around again. "What, this isn't doing anything for you?" Thomas pointed to the bloody mess on his face, chest, and arms.

Rolling his eyes, Thomas passed Jamie the plate, their hands brushing as he released the paper to him. Always something unbreakable, when Griffin was involved. Thomas would have loved to frequently use real plates and cups, but when a bumbling, drunk idiot was constantly falling around your apartment, it was better to have something that couldn't accidentally kill you. "If anyone needs a shower here, it's you. The landlady lives 5 miles away and I'm sure she can smell you from here."

Despite his deflections, Thomas really did need a shower. His blood had become caked and sticky on his skin, drying into flakes that made him want to scratch at his skin like a mangy dog. "Just...eat." With a tired sigh, Thomas ran a bruised hand through his hair, closing his eyes for just a moment. How did he always end up back here?

:: END ::

#001 #gjt

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scapegrace74-blog · 4 years

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Saorsa, Chapter 27

A/N Here is the next installment of Saorsa. Jamie finally acknowledges what we knew all along, and Claire takes a bath.

Rather than link to all previously posted chapters, I’ll just direct those of you wanting to catch up on your Saorsa-reading to my AO3 page, where the fic is posted in its entirety.

Thank you to each of you liking and reblogging! It does my little fanfic writer’s heart good.

Shearing sheep hadn’t changed much in two hundred years, Jamie thought as he hefted another startled ewe from the shearing pen and pinned her to the ground with a well-placed knee. Murtagh mentioned that some of the larger farms used a mechanical trimmer, but they both preferred the time-honoured method of metal shears, sharp as daggers. Today was their third day. Jamie’s shoulders and arms were throbbing from the constant effort, but they were almost done.

“Tis good fortune we’re having a bonnie spring,” Murtagh commented as they broke for a drink of fresh water from the well.

“Aye. I need tae be on the road wi’in the week, if I’m tae be back a’fore the bairn arrives.”

“I’m surprised the mistress is allowin’ ye tae go at all, wi’ the way she fusses o’er ye like a wee whelp.”

Jamie’s mouth opened and closed, trying to find words to defend his masculine honour against the truth in the old man’s claim. He caught the twitch of Murtagh’s lips through his heavy beard. He cuffed him on the shoulder, laughing at himself.

“She’s lining ‘er nest, ye ken. I reckon she needs me tae practice upon, a’fore the we’un gets here,” he quipped.

“Oh, aye. I’m sure tha’s it.” Murtagh’s sarcasm was so thick, you could serve it on toast.

Jamie groaned as he lowered himself into the armchair in their bedchamber, trying to reach down to untie his laces and failing miserably.

“Here, let me,” Claire offered, before realizing she couldn’t bend over the growing bulk of her belly.

“We’re a fine pair. I’m too lame and ye’re too big a’bout the middle.”

“Speak for yourself,” his wife retorted as she carefully lowered herself to the floor. She gently eased off each boot, then proceeded to unbutton and draw his trews down as well. He sighed and cupped her jaw as she began to gently knead the bunched muscles of his thighs.

“Careful, Sassenach. Ye wouldna want tae start somethin’ ne’er of us is in fit condition tae finish,” he warned, feeling himself stir despite his bone-deep exhaustion.

“Wouldn’t I?” Warm eyes gleamed up at him. And then, more gently, “Lean back.”

Unsure what was being asked of him, he complied by letting his back fall against the cushions, his long legs stretched on either side of where Claire knelt on the floor. Having never accustomed himself to the modern notion of underclothing, he was naked from the waist down and hardening quickly below the flimsy hem of his linen top.

Leaning forward so that her moist breath seeped between the buttons of his shirt and over the fine hairs of his belly, Claire began to run her hands languorously up and down his legs, reaching higher with each pass.

“Sassenach,” he warned, and then more urgently, “Claire.”

“Shhhh,” she whispered, before her fingertips brushed against his baws.

“Christ!”

“I’ve never done this before,” she murmured, as though speaking to herself. “Tell me if… well… if it doesn’t feel good.”

And before he could wonder what she meant, she was lifting his shirt, exposing his very emphatic endorsement of whatever she was planning. A tentative moist swipe against the head, where it lay aching against his quivering belly, and then a sensation unlike anything he’d ever experienced. It was the humid welcome of her sex combined with the nimble manipulation of her fine-boned hand, and yet so much more than the sum of those parts. A lightning bolt of sensation shot up his spine, lighting the back of his eyeballs with colourful explosions. A senseless groan burst from his lungs.

Between the exertions of shearing and the elaborate logistics of making love to a woman almost eight months with child, it had been nearly a week since he’d last lain with his wife. A lifetime, in the bountiful feast that marked their newborn marriage. He wasn’t certain it would have made much difference, though. Anything that felt this absurdly good was certain to be over soon, lest it kill him with pleasure.

As it was, it was mere minutes after first feeling her mouth around him before he knew the end was nigh.

“A dhia. Sassenach. Mo nighean donn. Christ, please, ye must…”

Whatever pleas he was trying to utter were lost to the onrush of his release, racing from his body with the force of a gale, whipping around to slam his head backwards as he groaned in blissful agony.

When he was next able to focus, Claire was carefully unbuttoning his shirt. She extended her hands so that he could help her to her feet. He rose as well, naked and blushing to the tips of his ears. Whatever had just happened, he felt compelled to apologize, if only he could do so without alluding to the actual event.

“Sassenach…” he began.

“Let’s get you washed up, shall we? It’s been a long day.”

He was still new to the art of reading his wife’s unspoken wishes, but this one was plain enough. She did not want to discuss or debate the propriety of what they’d just done, probably a bit shy herself. They would leave it here in the murky shadows of their bedchamber, where it could visit with the other nameless wonders they’d released inside its walls. He followed her docilely from the room.

One modern amenity Jamie had absolutely no qualms about embracing was indoor plumbing, and the associated boon of having a bath whenever a bath was needed or desired. Claire lit thick-trunked tapers in the washroom, formerly a servant’s room adjacent to the laird’s quarters. Bent over the billows of steam that rose from the gushing copper pipes, she reminded him of a painting of a water nymph he’d seen as a boy, all translucent skin and bonnie curls.

He gingerly lifted his legs over the high-backed tub and grimaced as the water seared his skin.

“Too hot?”

“Nah. Jus’ right.” He extended his hand gallantly, as though assisting a lady from her carriage. “Join me?” he offered, before adding, “If ye dinna think it immoral.”

Something about the scene struck them both as a trifle ridiculous, and they snickered.

Claire slipped her nightgown over her shoulders, letting it puddle around her feet, before carefully stepping into the water, holding onto Jamie for balance.

“Now what?” she challenged, eyebrow raised.

“Now I hold onto ye. Ye and the little one.” They sunk together into the steaming water.

She found a resting spot between his legs, forehead tucked under his jaw. Jamie amused himself by scoping up palmfuls of water and letting them loose to roam across the hills and valleys of her torso. Time slowed, as did the vigilant beating of his heart. The water cooled and one by one the tapers guttered, and still they did not move. It was in those peaceful moments, with nothing but the silky stroke of water, the honey whiff of candle wax and the quiet stirrings of a new life beneath the taut skin of her belly, that he realized he loved her. Not in the demure, fitting way that a man was meant to love his wife. But in a pivotal, essential way that was as integral to him as breathing and as endless as the tides.

“Ye’ll watch o’er her? Make certain she is no’ rebuildin’ the castle nor tilling the fields by hand, or whate’er stubborn notion settles in her hard heid?”

Murtagh had heard this request, or others very similar, every day for the past fortnight. It spoke to his forbearance that he produced his standard response without a flicker of exasperation.

“Aye, lad. I canna promise ye she willna be stubborn, but I’ll see her safe.”

It was the best he could hope for, and the primary reason Murtagh was staying behind at Lallybroch rather than accompanying Jamie on his journey to Galashiels, much to Claire’s vocal displeasure. She only acquiesced when it was agreed that Rupert would join him as far as Edinburgh, ostensibly to visit relatives. Jamie had an opinion on the true reason for Rupert’s sudden interest in leaving the Highlands for the first time, but he wouldn’t be sharing it with Murtagh.

Fourteen bales of wool were loaded carefully into the estate’s hay wagon. Weighing over a tonne, it would take both Clydesdale plow horses to drag the load over two hundred miles to Galashiels, near the border with England. Rupert would drive the wagon while Jamie rode his favourite horse, Donas.

The smoothest, most direct route southward was available to them only after nightfall, when motorized traffic was forbidden on the roadways on account of the blackout. That meant they’d do most of their travelling by night, which posed its own challenges. In addition to a small bag of provisions and spare clothing, Jamie was also armed with a dirk and a pistol, though he longed for the familiar heft of his broad sword.

The whole trip should take two fortnights, a little less than a month. The plan was to leave immediately after Easter, so he could be home by late April with time to spare before the Duke of Sandringham’s visit and Claire’s confinement.

In the early morning hours the day before his departure, Jamie crept out of the castle while everyone was still abed and walked up the hill to his parents’ graves. He was pleased to note that the exertion no longer winded him; that he had regained his previous strength. He owed that to Claire; that and so much more. She had given him back his freedom when he thought he was trapped in amber. Offered him a place to stand when every other foothold was lost. She was his redemption. Saorsa.

He knelt beside the graves, now cleaned of moss with bluebells sprouting between the stones. Resting his forehead against the cool stone, he began to pray. That Claire might be safe. That the bairn be healthy. That his voyage be swift and without peril. And selfishly, that he be the kind of man his parents would be proud of in this strange new world.

#my writing #outlander

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matrixaffiliate · 4 years

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Prefix

New Story! FFN and AO3

Being a godfather can be complicated, especially when you're Harry Potter, but thankfully his godson is always ready to set him straight. Hinny family fluff piece. One-shot. Rated T. Happy Birthday Meg! @thisismegz birthday is this week and this little fic is for her! Love you darling, and all the wonderful ideas you share with me! Thank you!

Prefix

Harry set another balloon up on the ceiling with his wand and turned to survey the front room again.

"It looks fine, love," Ginny called from the kitchen.

"Says the woman who has been putting final touches on Teddy's cake for the last thirty minutes," Harry called back.

"Well, I'm done now so you should be too," Ginny grinned as she levitated the cake into the room and onto the table.

"I suppose I have to be," Harry looked up at the clock, "Andy should be here any minute with Teddy and the boys."

"And that means that Teddy's friends will be here in the next twenty minutes." Ginny set a cooling charm on the drinks.

Harry shoved his hand into his hair, "Do you think this was a good idea?"

"A birthday party?" Ginny tilted her head at him.

"Just, having it here instead of at Andy's?" Harry sighed and shook his head.

"Hey," Ginny wrapped her arms around his middle, "Remus and Tonks made you Teddy's godfather because they knew they could count on you to treat him like your own. And his home is our home, right?"

Harry pulled her closer and swallowed the lump in his throat further down.

"You're right, I just…" He trailed off.

"I know," Ginny rested her head on his shoulder.

Teddy was ten years old, today. Nearly ten years ago Remus asked Harry to be godfather. Nearly ten years ago Remus and Tonks would leave their son and never make it back to him.

Harry and Ginny had three children of their own now, the youngest of whom was sleeping in her room, but Harry felt guilty whenever he considered Teddy his own. Harry's feelings about the whole situation were complicated. He worried about taking more from Andy than she had already lost. He worried about erasing the importance of Remus and Tonks from Teddy's life by trying too hard to be the father figure in Teddy's life. And he worried most of all that he wasn't doing right by Teddy. That he was only going to make things worse for this fellow orphan.

But before he could rehash all these concerns with Ginny for the millionth time, the fireplace burned green and the birthday boy tumbled out of the grate, hands tightly gripping Jamie and Al.

"Is Lily awake yet?" Teddy pulled Al up from the floor as he stood before helping Jamie to stand.

"Not yet, dear," Ginny laughed as Andromeda stepped gracefully out of the fireplace.

"You two have outdone yourselves," Andy smiled as she looked around the room. "This looks wonderful."

Harry ruffled Teddy's hair and smiled, "It's not every day one turns ten."

"Daddy," Jamie pulled on his leg, "Can Teddy play the video game with us until his friends get here?"

"Sure thing, mate." Harry nodded the cheering boys towards the Muggle-room.

Andy sighed, "I can't believe that one more year and then we'll send him off to Hogwarts."

Harry felt his hand in his hair and took a deep breath.

"How did we get here?" He chuckled and grinned at Ginny. "I still feel like the kid that snuck around at the Burrow with you."

"Oh, you'll always feel like that," Andy chuckled. "I still feel like the girl that sat in the back of an automobile for the first time with Ted and felt like the biggest rebel in the Wizarding World."

Ginny grinned, "Little did you know that your cousin would be on a mission to take your title."

Harry laughed as the stories of Sirius that Andy had told them came to mind.

"He was more worthy of the title than I was in the end," Andy smiled.

And then the doorbell rang and the circus began. Harry both loved it and felt like they were insane. Within about five minutes they had nine ten-year-old boys, Victoire, and his two boys running through the house like the world was on fire - and they had started it.

"Why is there a girl here?"

Harry spun around from where he was to defend his niece's presence at Teddy's party only to see Ginny advancing on the unsuspecting boy. But she never got to say her piece.

"Vicky's my best friend," Teddy pulled Vic into a one-armed hug. "And she has really good control over her magic already. Show them, Vicky, make those bright blue flowers."

And suddenly Victoire was the coolest one at the party.

Harry shared a smile with Ginny as relief washed over both of them.

When Lily woke up, Ginny brought her down to join the party, but the minute Teddy saw Lily he asked to hold her.

"You like to hold the baby?" A different little boy asked as Teddy started explaining to Lily the game that was being played.

"Of course, I do," Teddy smiled, "she's my sister."

Teddy kept Lily with him until she'd had enough and wanted to eat.

The boys ran and played choosing to play games in the back garden for a time. Harry volunteered to be the adult to go out into the damp weather, and that was when it started.

"Hey, Teddy's dad," one of the boys ran up to him. "Can you help me? My shoelace is knotted and I can't get it undone."

Harry's brain stopped. Mechanically he undid the knot and even tied the boy's shoelace, but inside he was panicking. What was he supposed to do? Should he correct the child? Would that embarrass Teddy? Would it be better to pull Teddy aside and ask what he wanted? Was Teddy telling the kids Harry was his dad?

It all felt overwhelming.

Then another of the boys ran up. "Teddy's dad, where's the loo?"

Harry took a deep breath and directed the boy back inside. Why was this happening? What was he supposed to do? Why was there not a book or something that Hermione could throw at him about how to be a proper godfather to a child who was orphaned because you couldn't defeat a crazed murder with a world domination complex fast enough?

"Teddy's dad, what time is it?"

Harry thought he might scream.

And then Ginny was there.

"Why don't you lot all come inside and we'll have Teddy open presents?"

Harry could have kissed her. It was hard enough seeing how fast Teddy was growing up and knowing that Jamie and Al and even tiny Lily would follow suit, let alone adding these awful mixed-up feelings about the ten-year anniversary of the end of the war and now being called Teddy's dad.

"Teddy's mum, have him open mine first!"

Harry looked up and caught Ginny's eye. She looked about as floored as Harry had felt the first time one of the boys called him in the same fashion.

They both turned to look at Teddy.

Teddy smiled and reached out for the present. Ginny handed it to him with a watery smile.

"Oh wait," Teddy paused and turned to Andy, "can I hold Lily? I want to show her how to unwrap a present."

Andy handed over Lily and shared a long look with Harry and Ginny. She smiled encouragingly at them and Harry determined that as much as he didn't want to, they really did need to address this. But the birthday and the party came first, and so they finished up the last hour with presents and a trip to the Muggle room where Teddy introduced all his friends to video games.

It flew by and in a blink everyone was back home, Bill picking up Vicky last and leaving the Potter-Lupin-Tonks family to sort out their insanity.

"Did you have a good party, Teddy?" Ginny asked as Teddy showed Jamie how to use one of the presents.

"This was awesome! Thank you!" Teddy grinned before trying to lure Lily over to him with her blanket.

"Mate," Harry waved the last of the rubbish to the bin, "we noticed that you didn't correct your friends when they called us your mum and dad."

Teddy scooped Lily up and gave her a hug, "Yeah, it's easier."

Harry's heart clenched, and he wasn't sure which emotion within him was going to win out.

"What do you mean, love?" Andy put a hand on Teddy's shoulder.

Teddy changed his hair color and made Lily giggle.

"Well, I mean, I guess they're sort of right. Some of the lads know that you two are my godparents, not my parents, but I guess, well..." He frowned.

"Think it through," Ginny smiled, "there's no rush."

Teddy nodded and his hair slowly shifted back to its regular brown. Then he looked at Harry.

"You once told me that you were going to try and be as good as my dad."

Harry nodded, finding that pesky lump in his throat trying to climb higher.

"And, well," Teddy paused again, "I guess that I don't correct them because you are as good as my parents. They can't be here, but you can, and so, I guess, I guess that it's not worth correcting them because they're not wrong."

"Well said, Teddy," Andromeda smiled at them as she squeezed Teddy's shoulder.

Harry moved to the floor and wrapped Teddy in his arms, quickly feeling Ginny there with him.

Lily immediately took advantage of the proximity to steal his glasses.

But Harry didn't mind at that moment. Because this amazing boy had managed to settle the anxiety that Harry had been feeling all day with the simplicity that can only come from a child. Remus and Tonks weren't here, no matter how much Harry wanted to change that, and he owed it to them to be there for Teddy in every way he could.

And that included being the godfather that Teddy needed, the kind that let him choose when to worry about the prefix, and when not to.

#Prefix #hinny #hinny family #hinny family fluff #hinny family feels #harry x ginny #harry potter x ginny weasley #harry potter #ginny weasley #teddy lupin #teddy turns 10 #teddy's birthday #andromeda tonks #post hogwarts #harry potter fanfiction #birthday fic

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three-drink-amy · 5 years

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Sweet Creature

Thanks so much for the support for this story! After this chapter, just two chapters left. The next one will be up on Saturday!

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Chapter Fourteen

Jamie was already in bed as Claire walked out from the bathroom in her pajamas. She smiled at him as she caught him staring at her. All she was wearing was a simple t-shirt, but she couldn’t help but appreciate his eyes lingering on her.

“What is that?” Jamie asked, disgust coloring his tone.

Claire looked down at her shirt before glancing back at him with a confused look. “My pajamas,” she told him. “I’m sorry that I didn’t pack for some sexy vacation when I was coming to Edinburgh by myself.”

Jamie shook his head, turning toward her. “No, that’s no’ what I mean. That’s my shirt.”

She scoffed at him. “Please. This is my shirt. Why would I be sleeping in your shirt?”

“Beats me,” he agreed. “But I can tell ye that it is in fact, my shirt.”

Claire walked to the front of the bed to rifle through her bag. “Please, this is from my university.”

“We went to the same university!” Jamie jumped out of bed, walking toward her. “Just admit ye stole my shirt.”

Claire stood up, going toe to toe with him. “I will not, because I’m no thief! This is mine.”

“So ye bought yerself a shirt that was clearly too big for ye?” Jamie asked, one brow raised. “Come on, that was my favorite shirt.”

“Clearly not your favorite if you lost it,” Claire retorted.

“Show me the tag,” Jamie said, stepping toward her, an arm reached out.

She stepped back, her hand covering the neck at the back of her shirt. “What? Why?”

“Because one of lads on my floor used to steal clothes so I started putting my name on my tags. Prove it, Beauchamp!” He moved closer toward her but she stood her ground. Reaching out, he tickled her til she leaned forward as she squirmed. Acting quickly, he pulled at the tag, zeroing in on his name printed largely across it. “Aha!” he yelled, letting go of her. “Tis my shirt!”

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “Seriously?”

“How long have ye had my shirt?” Jamie demanded playfully.

“Long enough,” she answered evasively.

Jamie stepped closer, fixing her with a look. “When did ye steal it, ye wee thief?”

Claire looked at the floor, muttering her reply. “When we lived together.”

“When we lived together?” Jamie echoed. “Ye’ve had my shirt for six years?”

She sputtered out a response. “It’s really soft, okay?”

“Of course I know that. Why do ye think I bought it?” He shook his head at her. “I want my shirt back.”

“I’m not giving it back. You went six years without noticing it was gone.”

Jamie stepped right up to her. “Well, what if I just take it back?”

Claire glanced down at her front before looking up at him. She knew what she was wearing beneath the shirt and it was very little. Their eyes locked as the air changed between them. They both knew what his empty threat could mean.

Claire cleared her throat, not breaking eye contact with him. “Maybe you should.”

His breath grew heavy at her suggestion. He looked at her, brows raised. She swallowed thickly, nodding to him. His fingers reached out, dancing along the hem of her (or his) shirt. He was giving her one last out. They’d been there, on the precipice of this, numerous times. But this time, no out would be taken. She was ready. With one more nod, she encouraged him. His hands quickly grabbed at the fabric, pulling it up and over her head, throwing it behind him.

He let out a small gasp at the sight of her. She fought every urge to cover herself the longer he stayed silent. Slowly, hesitantly, his hand reached out, gliding from her collarbone to the swell of her chest. Her breath hitched as he stepped closer, his hand closing around her breast. She leaned into him. His eyes flitted up to look at her. Suddenly, his hands left her chest, pulling her in close as his mouth crashed against hers. Her hands flew to his neck. She reveled in the feel of his hands moving up and down her bare back.

Breaking their embrace, Claire yanked at his shirt, trying to get it off him. He took the hint and ripped it off. For good measure, his pajama pants also hit the floor. Claire moved closer to him, her hands reaching out for him when a panicked look crossed his face.

“Claire, wait,” he said, holding his hands up. She froze, a bit scared of the dramatic change in him. He took a deep breath. “My...my back. After the accident…”

She let out a breath, relieved that it was only vanity concerning him at the moment. “Jamie, I don’t care. I care that you lived. That’s all.”

He closed his eyes as he nodded. “Aye, but it’s no’ pretty.”

Claire stepped closer, her hands gently gliding up the sides of his arms to the tops of his shoulders. “Does it hurt?”

“No’ anymore.”

“Then that’s all I care about. Some scars aren’t going to scare me away.” She laid her hands at the base of his neck and pulled him closer to her, kissing him hard. His arms came around her, eliminating any space between them. They kissed passionately, not holding anything back this time. Jamie’s hands slid down, landing on her arse and squeezing. Her hips rocked against his, making him groan. He leaned down further, picking her up. Her legs curled around his waist, though her lips didn’t leave his.

Jamie walked over and laid Claire down on the edge of the bed. She expected him to move over her, but he didn’t. Instead, he worked at removing her panties. She lifted her hips up to help him. He pulled them off, tossing them behind him before he fell to his knees before her. Gently, her legs were spread with his encouragement. She was about to say something when his mouth descended on her. Any comment she had was lost as his mouth worked against her core. Her hand flew to his head, keeping him there and fulfilling her need to touch him. His tongue was swirling against her most intimate parts and she could only gasp in reply. Her hips bucked against his face and she heard and felt him chuckle.

“Bastard,” she sighed.

His hand squeezed where he held her thigh. Her breath was short as she felt her pleasure build within her. He added his fingers as she climbed higher and higher, her belly tightening in anticipation. She moaned his name repeatedly, no doubt spurring him on. Her fingers tangled tightly in his hair as she got closer and closer to her release. “Don’t stop,” she commanded breathily. Falling over the edge, she called out his name, throwing her head back.

He eased her down from her release before moving to join her on the bed. She scooted back, making room for both of them. The smug grin on his face did nothing to ease her still pulsing desire for him. He leaned down and kissed her deeply, his hands running up and down her body. She laid her hand at the back of his neck and pulled him down to her, his body fitting between her legs. Her body arched upward, feeling how ready he was for her. She reached down and took him in hand, marveling at how his eyes fluttered closed as she grasped him.

“Claire,” he groaned.

“Do it now,” she breathed.

Jamie flashed her a look before guiding himself into her. They both cried out loudly. She grabbed his neck, bringing him down to her and kissing him thoroughly. He broke their kiss as he started moving within her, pulling out before driving back in. Claire was glad they were in a hotel so she didn’t have to face her actual neighbors the next day. But she couldn’t keep quiet. Her hips rocked against his, meeting him repeatedly. She clutched to his back, feeling the scars left there from his accident. Feeling a bit scared at what could have happened, she brought his mouth back to hers and kissed him, holding him there til she was out of breath.

His eyes were locked on hers as they rocked against each other. He sighed her name as her hands reached down to his arse, pulling him in deeper. She wrapped her legs around him, moaning as his mouth attached to her neck, surely marking her. The thought of bearing his mark excited her. His hands ran down her body, one finding its way to the place of their joining. He stroked her, pushing her further and further to the edge for a second time. She could tell he was getting close as well when his thrusts grew erratic. Leaning forward, she panted in his ear, telling him to let go. He groaned, shaking his head, refusing to finish before her.

She was close. Grinding her hips against his, she tried to find what she needed most. Jamie moved her leg higher on his waist and moved over her, hitting at a different angle. A loud keening sound escaped her as she clenched around him, finding her release. And there he was, right after her, spilling into her.

He collapsed next to her, his body still touching hers. Claire looked over, reaching a hand up to touch his cheek. With an exhausted smile, he took her hand in his. She leaned in, kissing him softly. They were both spent and laid there staring at each other.

“I’m glad I said it before because it wouldna seem genuine now,” Jamie whispered, “but I love ye.”

Claire smiled, reaching a weak hand out to cup his cheek. “I love you, too.”

His arm came out, pulling her to lay against him as the sweat cooled on their bodies. They laid there in silence for a while, simply holding each other.

Jamie kissed the side of her head, his arm tightening around her slightly. “We’re fools.” She turned and looked at him, a bit confused. He sighed, nuzzling her neck a bit. “To think we could have been doing this for years.” Claire tensed a bit in his arms. He noticed right away, pulling back and looking at her. “Shit,” he whispered. “Claire, I didna mean to hurt ye...I just meant -”

A soft look came over her face as she reached up to cover his mouth. “It’s fine. I know what you meant.” She took a deep breath. “And maybe if I hadn’t been so scared to say anything for so long, we could have.” Claire leaned in and kissed him softly. “We figured it out eventually, right?” she breathed.

“Aye. And that’s all that matters,” he agreed, leaning back in to kiss her slowly.

Jamie broke their kiss, curling her in against him. Claire noticed the strained look on his face. “What?”

He glanced over at her, shaking his head. “Nothing.” All it took was one look from her to make him talk. “I wanted to ask ye something, but I didna want to — well, to make ye hurt or uncomfortable.”

Her brow furrowed. Instead of looking at his face, she stared at his chest, her fingers playing with the fine hairs there. “You can ask me anything.”

Jamie took a deep breath. “Was it hard for ye when we lived together?”

She looked up at him, surprised by the question he’d asked. Thinking back on their time living together, she knew how to answer him. “Yes,” she said softly. His face fell, his mouth opening to reply. “I mean, you couldn’t properly wash a dish to save your life. You left your socks everywhere, which honestly, Jamie, was just disgusting.” He shook with laughter against her. “The only bright side was taking ownership of that shirt.”

“Which, I’ll be taking back, by the way,” Jamie told her.

Claire scoffed. “Fat chance.” She looked over at him, her hand moving to rest on his face. “But as for this, no, it wasn’t hard. It was just...how it was. Some people have roommates they get along with. Some people have roommates they can’t stand. I had a roommate I was more or less in love with. It didn’t make it worse or better. That was just how it was.” She laughed to herself for a second. “Granted, you never brought a girl home the whole time we lived together. That could have ruined it all.”

Jamie laughed, kissing her head. “Most nights, I didna go out because it was the only time I got to see ye. Even if ye were just studying or trying to forget about school.”

Claire turned more toward him, wanting to look at his face. “Can I ask you something now?”

“I’m an open book,” he replied. “Well, at least to ye.” He nodded for her to ask.

“This was something John asked me somewhat recently. And I thought I knew the answer, but I wasn’t quite sure. Why did you move to Glasgow?”

Jamie stared at her for a moment, an almost confused look on his face. “Oh, I thought ye kent that. I moved there for ye.” Claire gaped at him for a second before her face broke out in a touched smile. “As ye recall, everything had rather gone to shite and ye found a program in Glasgow that took ye. But I could tell that something was still off and I didna think ye needed to be undertaking all that alone. So, I quit that job in Inverness and moved to Glasgow so ye wouldna have to be alone.”

Claire shook her head, laying it down against his shoulder. “I’m going to say something incredibly obvious, but I’m glad you did.”

Jamie chuckled, kissing the top of her head. “Me, too.”

“Aside from some rather obvious reasons, I’m just glad our friendship didn’t go the same way that mine and Rupert’s did,” Claire added.

“Well, aye. Though I feel confident in saying that it never would have. But then again, that’s why ye got me in the divorce,” Jamie joked. His hand reached over and took one of hers. “Even if I was a bit oblivious to the way things were — or could have been — between us,” he started, almost a bit cautious, “ye’ve always been the most important woman in my life.”

Claire tilted her head back to look up at him with a soft smile. She leaned in and kissed him slowly. “Me, too.”

“Ye’ve always been the most important woman in yer own life,” Jamie teased, whispering against her lips.

Claire shook her head, rolling her eyes. “Shut up.”

Her arms wrapped around his neck as she leaned in and kissed him again. He took her advice and stopped talking, putting all his efforts into their kiss and pulling her against him. She lifted her leg, gliding it up along his before resting it at his hip. As she got impossibly close, she could feel him harden against her. His hand reached out and grabbed ahold of her thigh, holding her leg in place. Their hips started a slow rhythmic roll, heightening things between them. He grazed her, teasing her and making her squeak. Jamie grinned against her lips, feeling the need to try and make her make that sound again. Claire reached down and dragged her fingers up and down his length before they were joined again.

* * *

They didn’t do much else the rest of the weekend but spend the time making new discoveries in each other. After being friends for ten years, she’d have said Jamie knew basically everything about her. But for the next two days, he spent his time trying to find all the ways to make her moan or scream. She was more than happy to reciprocate as well. It was more or less the final frontier of their relationship and they were fine crossing that line.

When Sunday came, neither of them wanted Jamie to have to leave. Claire was getting ready to walk with him to the train station as Jamie finished up throwing things back in his bag. “I saw that, Fraser. Put the shirt back!” she called from the bathroom, looking at him from the mirror.

“Tis my shirt, Sassenach,” he replied, echoing himself from Friday.

She turned around and walked out to the room. “Not anymore. I’ve officially had it longer than you ever did. So, it’s mine.”

“I’m taking my shirt.”

“And what will I sleep in, then? The nude?”

A devious grin crossed Jamie’s face. “Ye didna have much of a problem wi’ that this weekend.”

Claire glared at him as she walked closer to him. “Yes, but you won’t be here to take advantage of that,” she reminded him, leaning in to kiss him quickly. “Look, I will share it with you when I officially return to Glasgow. How about that?”

His eyes narrowed as he watched her. “Fine. But I’ll make ye keep that promise.”

Her arms wrapped around his neck. “I’m sure you will.” He bent down to kiss her, enveloping her in his arms. Similarly to nearly every other kiss that weekend, it grew steadily more passionate as they ignored Jamie’s impending departure. “Jamie,” Claire cautioned in a whine.

Jamie’s mouth moved to her throat as he walked her backward til she met the wall. “Surely, we have time.” His hips pressed against hers. She let out a small moan.

“Fine, but if you miss your train, that’s on you,” she said breathily.

“Do ye really think I’d care?” Jamie asked, one brow raised at her. She grinned before pulling him back and crushing her mouth to his.

She held him against her while he worked at removing both their pants. A small cry came from her as his fingers grazed her center. He lifted her up quickly, her legs resting on either side of his hips. With one look at her, he was inside her, thrusting madly. She cried out loudly, as she had multiple times all weekend. Her fingers were tight in his hair as she held on for dear life. Jamie grunted as he rocked against her. They both were racing toward their climaxes.

Her body tightened around him, pulling him in deeper. “Claire,” he groaned, his head falling to her shoulder. After a particularly deep thrust, she was moaning his name in reply.

Faster than she was expecting, she clenched around him as her release hit her hard. Stars flashed behind her eyelids as she held onto him and rode it out. His movements grew faster, finishing quickly within her. He pulled back to look at her, both of them panting wildly. A small, smug grin pulled at his lips. Her hand stroked his cheek before she leaned forward to kiss him again.

After cleaning themselves up a bit, they finally had to leave the room and get Jamie to the train station. She walked all but to the platform with him, not ready for him to leave yet. The weekend had been a defining moment for them, both physically and emotionally. Having to separate again for an unknown amount of time just felt brutal. Jamie held her hand the entire time they waited.

When it was absolutely time for them to part, Jamie turned to her. “You’ll let me know when you get home?” she asked. He grinned and nodded. “And you’re still checking on my flat every now and then?”

Jamie laughed. “Aye, of course I am.” He stroked a curl behind her ear with a small sigh. “I dinna want to go.”

Claire’s hands clutched at his waist. “I don’t want you to go either, but you do have to work.”

His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “I’m no’ so sure about that. I do have a lot of money.”

Claire laughed as she rolled her eyes at him. “What happened to James ‘I’m smart with my money’ Fraser?”

Jamie leaned down close to her, whispering in her ear. “He didna have an irresistible girlfriend living in a different city.” He pressed his lips to hers.

“It’s not forever,” she reminded him softly. “And if things go well, I should be able to make a trip back to Glasgow soon.”

“Or maybe I can come again soon and I can help ye wi’ things around the bakery?” Jamie suggested.

Claire raised her eyebrows at him. “Well, I like that idea.”

“Then we can make that a plan.” He gave her one more long, lingering kiss. They looked at each other for a moment before Jamie regretfully pulled away. “I’ll see ye soon?”

Claire smiled. “Talk to you sooner,” she said, repeating his line from when she left for Edinburgh. Jamie grinned, leaning in to kiss her again quickly. “I love you,” she said as he picked up his bag.

Jamie cupped her face. “I love ye, too.”

They shared a small moment before Jamie headed to the platform. He had just settled into his seat on the train when his phone began to vibrate in his pocket. “Did I forget something?” he asked.

“No,” she replied. “I just felt like talking to you.”

“Even though we parted merely a few minutes ago?”

“Yes. Do you have a problem with that?’

A wide smile spread across his face as he settled further into his seat. “No’ at all. Though, it does seem a bit mushy.”

“What can I say, you must bring it out in me,” she joked.

They teased each other back and forth as Jamie’s train pulled away from the station. He watched as the city fell away and gave way to the Scottish countryside. All the while, Claire chatted in his ear. A feeling of hesitant contentment washed over him. He only hoped it could hold him over til the next time he saw her.

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#outlander #outlander fanfiction #outlander fanfic #my writing #sweet creature

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