#Clair sling bag

[rafeny]

Can I Tell You...about Clair Concepcion-Barberis.

Can I Tell You…I have known Clair Concepcion-Barberis since the late 80s when I started my fashion brand in Manila. She and her best friends were rebellious teenagers who dared to defy the rules of their strict Catholic school to model for me. We had so much fun going against the status quo in those days. We kept in touch after I moved to New York and whenever I was in Manila, I would always make time to see her and the gang for a proper catch-up.

About twenty years ago, Clair and her husband purchased an island in Palawan as a private family retreat. Slowly over time they built a few more cottages to accommodate more people and eventually due to popular demand opened it up as a boutique resort called Bamboo Private Islands, available to rent for the entire family or a group of friends. The next time I’m back in the Philippines, it’s definitely going to be on top of the list of places to go for a long weekend.

But Clair isn’t one to sit still. She had been dabbling in creative projects over the years and finally decided to launch a design workshop called Artifeks. The goal is to partner creative individuals with artisans who can realize their designs using local materials. Case in point, if you want a chic umbrella similar to the one Clair is holding in the photo, they can make it for you.

On a recent trip to New York, Clair had expressed her desire for a bag that she could wear with everything and wear anywhere, a bag that could dress up even her most casual looks. The #ClairSlingCrossbody I designed with her in mind is crafted from handwoven leather in a super neutral color I call stucco. It’s a grab and go kind of bag that compliments Clair’s easy breezy style.

And judging from these photos, it looks like she loves the bag. It’s so her!

Read our Q & A below :

1.    What is your idea of happiness? That moment or time of deep, real connection. 2.    What is your greatest extravagance? Travel is priceless. 3.    What is your current state of mind? Thunderous! 4.    Whose style do you most admire? Carmen Dell'Orefice and Isabella Rossellini. 5.    What do you consider your greatest achievement? I wouldn't go so far as calling it my greatest achievement (yet!) but certainly an achievement. Starting Artifeks, a design and manufacturing business at an age when one typically slows down.  6.    What is your most treasured possession? Printed photographs of family and friends. 7.    Who is your favorite writer? Too many! 8.    Which living person do you most admire? I admire a few people, many of them are friends. Each one possesses a particular quality I am inspired by which I try to consciously apply in my life. 

9.    Where is your dream destination? Bhutan and Machu Picchu. 10. What is your motto? Amor Fati.

[iconsfinder]

[rowniebow]

we were here | steve harrington x male!reader

summary: you and steve are good friends and someone feels it's about time to take it to the next level.

pairings: steve harrington x male!reader

cw: bickering, fluff

word count: 2.6k+

an: steve harrington is bisexual and it's definitely cannon! (/s, i wish) if you read/watched all the bright places...you get it

masterlist

⭒

"dude, we're slinging it right now!" robin called out.

"we're totally slinging it." you echoed.

"we're slinging so hard."

"we're so slingin' good at slinging."

"will you two please shut up?" steve interjected.

silence came between you and robin for only a moment as you shared a glance with two sets of pursed lips.

"but we're slinging so hard right now, steve!"

"we couldn't be slinging any harder!"

steve groaned from the back room. "you guys make taking my break like hell!"

"that's the goal, dingus."

steve stomped up to the door to look out at us from the back room. "no one is even here! you're not slinging shit!"

your scooper seemed to gather ice cream in itself on it's own. you placed your scoop into a cone and took a bite that stuck needles into your teeth and all the way up your skull.

"i slung that."

"oh, you slung it so well!" robin cheered for you while steve groaned again.

⭒⭒

"you're really slacking with the ladies, man." you taunted with a smile as you watched claire robbins walk away with a grimace on her face.

"yeah, well i don't see you pulling any." steve groaned.

"oh, i could if i wanted!" your eyes danced as you found an opportunity to play your favorite game: teasing steve harrington.

"prove it."

"i will!"

⭒⭒⭒

"i love that necklace, angela! where'd you get it?" you spoke over the counter to the blonde you had no real interest in.

"it's sick how he can just ... look at her like that." steve's narrowed eyes watched your laughing back. how you could conjure a sparkle in your eye like that was baffling.

"what, are you jealous, harrington?" roving smiled at the glaring man next to her.

"jealous of what?" the venom in his voice told robin all that she needed to know.

"jealous that he can charm any girl in a mile radius and you can't even get one? or that he's not looking at you like that?"

"shut up." steve pouted his way into the back room of the ice cream shop.

⭒⭒⭒⭒

robin kept a count on her whiteboard.

steve: 0

you: 9

⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒

"what's up, lover boy?" you cheesed at steve as you climbed in his car through the window. when you would use the door like a sane person - he'd never know.

"w-watch the seats!" he groaned watching your dirty shoes leave marks on the leather. "i just cleaned this car."

"sorry!" you mindlessly apologized as you pulled a map out of your bag and unfolded it. several bright sticky notes that you had plastered on to it fell on to the floor of the car.

"where are we going?"

"you'll see when we get there!"

"it better not be like the gas station from last time. shit was creepier than the monster dogs."

"it'll be fun for me, at least."

"yeah, you said that about the gas station..." steve mumbled to himself seeing you were too entranced by your map of excitement.

he noticed that your collection of road trips around indiana (that you were keeping for you two to travel to had grown from not just a green (the scary gas station), yellow (a river in south indiana that you wanted to show him), and blue (wherever you two were to be headed today) route. now, various shades of reds, purples, pinks and browns littered the page.

"what are those new ones?" he asked, his eyes trailing from the road to you.

"you'll see when we go! don't get ahead of yourself." you folded the map onto your lap and pulled out one of the many cassette tapes from you bag and popped it into the car radio.

'oh! darling' began humming from the speakers. steve rolled his eyes. you had abbey road on repeat for far too long. he didn't need to know every single word in the album.

though, he didn't hesitate to start screaming along with you and your air guitar by the time the third section of the song came along, of course.

⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒

steve's car couldn't seem to fight off the summer heat. sweat dripped down both of your foreheads. the windows rolled down allowed the blue sky and fluffy clouds to leak in and fill your noses with hot humidity. your shirt clung to you and constricted your breathing.

"there it is!" you shouted, nearly falling out of the window after steve slammed on his breaks.

a green sign with white print read 'hoosier hill - indiana's highest point - elev. 1257'.'

"pull over, pull over!"

"oh, you gotta be shitting me," steve grumbled under his breath. you heard it very loud, of course. you always heard him loudly. you were also always very aware that his complaining meant next to nothing when it came to you, though.

you climbed out of the car before steve could turn the car off, "c'mon, steve!" you practically whined for him.

"is this really it?" he questioned as if he were going to leave you there if you said yes.

"no, there's stuff up there!" you pointed up a hill amidst the trees and green bushes to a faded trail that looked as if it were going to blow away in the summer breeze.

steve huffed, preparing himself for the short walk that would feel like miles in the heat. you didn't take a second to wait for him, though. you ran up the hill even with the heat filling your lungs and making them as small as could be.

steve watched your frame stop. "this is it!" you called to him.

he shrugged after arriving next to you and catching his breath. "it's a little underwhelming but at least it's not that gas station."

you both stared at a wooden sign that restated what the green sign said. steve plopped down onto a bench that sat on the same small plot as the wooden sign.

you looked at it for a moment more.

then ran down the hill and back to steve's car. he stuttered out a call for you, but found his attempts fruitless.

you returned a moment later, out of breath and more sweaty, but with your bag. you fished out a push pin with white fabric on it and a black marker.

you tossed the bag to steve, scribbling your name down on the fabric.

"the hell are you doin'?"

you scooted the pen over to him with the fabric, "write your name."

"what? no, what is this for-?"

"steve," you watched him with a look he knew all too well: 'just do it for me'.

he rolled his eyes and participated, "i swear to god, if this is going to put my name into a cult or something i'm never forgiving you."

you snatched the fabric and pen back and finished what you wanted to write, then went to pin the fabric to the wooden stick.

steve and y/n were here.

⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒

"you have to bring extra shoes," you scolded in through the window of his car. your backpack begged you to set it back down in his car but you needed to go home for the night.

"what the hell do i need extra shoes for?"

"you should bring some you don't care about,"

"i'm not bringing extra shoes, alright?"

"if you say so. you're going to regret it, though." you turned and began taking your steps toward the door.

"why would i regret it?" he called to your retreating figure.

"eight a.m, harrington! we need to go before work!"

steve watched your door shut.

"god-dammit!" he muttered to himself as he began driving home into the newly born night.

⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒

"we're going to milltown, you should probably get gas," you choked out while you climbed into the car. dirty feet all over the seats (once again).

"milltown? dude-,"

"no complaining! i'll pay for your gas if your going to have a hissy fit about it."

"maybe you should try driving for once."

"no thanks," you plugged a cassette in to the car radio, 'come on eileen" started playing from the middle of the song.

steve mindlessly nodded his head along to the songs, listening to your mindless humming.

⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒

"you know what? this one is actually kinda cool." steve admitted.

"right!"

you two stood admiring what looked to be several trees that had been covered in shoes with their laces tied so they hung off the branches.

you plopped down on to the grass. the cold morning dew seeped through your clothes and pinched your legs. you tugged your dirty reeboks that were too small off of your feet. "you brought extra shoes, right?"

steve let out an extended breath as he watched you tug a pair of converse out of your bag and pulled them onto your feet.

"i told you to bring some!"

"yeah, i know!" he rolled his eyes but sat next to you and pulled his own pair of reeboks off.

you both tied the laces of your pairs together, tugging to make sure they'd stay on with the rest of the hanging shoes.

and off they flew as you both tossed your pairs in the air together. the summer breeze carried the two pairs of reeboks onto the branches, shaking the tree and it's leaves and shoes.

"dude, you didn't get yours anywhere near mine. how will the people know that we came together?"

"'the people' wont give two shits about where our shoes are on the tree. they're all in that pile."

"i will care!"

"alright, well you can get a ladder and go move the shoes." steve said as he sat on the ground and leaned back onto the soft grass. "i will be right here whenever you're done with that."

you glanced from the lounging man with his eyes closed to still swinging shoes in the sky.

you decided it wouldn't matter in the long run, and at least he had done it with you despite having no extra shoes to wear (maybe it'd be nice if you offered yours to him but, also, maybe he should have just listened to you!).

you laid down next you him with your hands behind your head and stared up at fluffy white clouds that swam in the sea of blue above. the breeze moved the blades of grass to dance along your cheeks and neck. your hair danced with them.

you watched the clouds mold into their own shapes and pointed out different things you saw to steve:

"that one looks like a turtle!"

"that's a fucked up turtle."

"that one looks like a shark!"

"it looks like it's swimming after the turtle to eat it."

you both continued on like that for seemingly forever. the midday heat began to creep in and making it to work began to clog your mind but steve was in no rush, so you pushed the thoughts away.

"i gotta ask you for advice about something." steve began out of nowhere. he dressed his words in formal attire. "i've gotten really close to someone recently, like a lot closer than we've ever been before."

steve doesn't get serious with you (or anyone) often. so, of course, you listened with every fiber in you. you treated his concerns with upmost importance.

"and i've - i don't know. i've started to-to like this person. a lot. but, well, i don't even know if they'd feel the same way about me."

"that's never stopped you before," you smiled, glancing to the side to read his features.

"yeah, but this person is just... different."

"what do you mean?"

"well, for one, i can't even imagine what other people would think. my dad for sure. he'd kill me. but, i also just actually like this person. and like... care about them and our relationship, and what would happen if they didn't end up liking me, too."

"does it really matter what your dad thinks?"

"i mean, i don't really care. i just always imagined he'd be at my wedding and it would be pretty shitty if he wasn't there."

"you're already thinking about marriage with this person and you haven't even asked them out yet?"

"yeah, is that bad?"

"i think that just proves that it shouldn't matter what your dad thinks if you really are already thinking about marriage with them. since when does steve harrington think about marriage with a girl?"

"i-i mean, yeah! that the dream, you know?"

"really?"

"i'd love to have a bunch of little harrington's runnin' around."

"so what advice do you need from me? it sounds like you already know what you want, you just gotta get the balls to go get her."

"sure, sure. you're right. thank you."

"'course man," a nervous silence overwhelmed you. you could never tell if you said the right thing, especially with steve. he was so difficult to read.

"that one looks like a squirrel that can't get open an acorn," steve pointed to a cloud above with a smirk over his features as if he knew he just said the stupidest thing in the world.

"no it does not, you idiot,"

⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒

your name echoed from the street outside of your house that night. your eyebrows shuffled together in confusion as you scurried to your window to see what - or who - could be causing all that noise.

you peaked your head out to see steve harrington holding roses, 'i just called to say i love you' blasting through his car stereo from one of the cassette's you had given him.

you couldn't help but let a smile creep onto your face at how absolutely sweet he looked with his nervous feet and fingers tapping. his eyebrows were sewn together and his lips looked licked raw. he motioned for you to come down stairs and that's exactly what you did.

"what the hell are you doing?" you laughed as you ran out in your pajamas, sandals, and a sad excuse for a jacket.

"listen to me,"

"you are so lucky my parents aren't here right now, harrington, they'd kill you for being so loud!" you reached in his car and turned the volume down to a reasonable volume. the smile never left your face, though.

steve spoke your name again, and grabbed your arm to turn you around. "listen, i-" his eyes searched your face for the words he wanted to say. he couldn't find them, though.

"i'm listening," you smiled, leaning against his car as stevie wonders continued to play.

he rolled his eyes (at himself) and found his answers away from your face. "i-i-i-i've just- i've been talking to robin a lot more lately and she's helped me understand that i-i, you know, i like you and i think you're really cool but i've never liked a guy before you, ya know? i don't know how to do any of this shit," he mumbled to himself. "here," he shoved the flowers into your hand.

the smile never left your face, "steve,"

he looked up at you. he hadn't realized how close he had come, practically trapping you against his car.

"is it okay if i kiss you?" you whispered into his ear.

his cheeks went as red as could be. you'd never seen him so flustered (or flustered at all, for that matter).

his mouth opened but no words came out. just an eager nod.

the hand that wasn't holding the roses found its way to his cheek and pulled him in to meet your lips. it was short and sweet, the smallest bite of chocolate. it drew steve in and let him know what he was in for in the coming future with you.

and steve was absolutely in love.

[turbulenthandholding]

👀 just wondering if you’re writing anything these days!

1. Hi, hello, thank you for the ask @anxietycroissant! ❤️

2. I am...or I am trying! I am about 16,000 words into what is probably going to be a pretty long fic. It's an unexpected pregnancy/speed-run-the-relationship Sydcarmy and I am happy to be writing it because it's what my brain wants to read but it alternately falls out of my head and gives me great angst. I had been pretty blocked for more than a week but 3000 words fell out of my head like nothing last night which was a nice surprise.

Excerpt (Syd and Carmy are at IKEA):

“Sammy, right? Weren't you Carmy's sous?”

Sydney looks up to see Claire standing before her. “Claire. Hi. It's Sydney, actually,” she says and rises. Claire's eyes fall to Syd’s abdomen. “And I'm his CDC now.”

“Oh, that's so cute!” Claire says, her eyes falling to Syd’s belly. “You finally got over your weird obsession with Carmy and moved on,” Claire says. “Congratulations!”

“Weird obsession?” Syd asks. She feels pinned again like she did the first night she met Claire during the reno, glared at for reasons Syd at least thinks she understands now. Jealousy, and this time, lingering anger at her breakup with Carmy, which Claire lobs at Sydney like a knife.

Syd struggles to respond. “Sorry...are you like here to look at a couch? Or like, eat some meatballs? Sorry.”

“How do you feel about a lingonberry juice box?” Carmy asks Syd as he returns, focused, unaware, unwrapping and inserting the straw as he moves to hand it to her. “Got some water too,” he says, finally engaging with the scene in front of him.

“Carm, hi,” Claire says, features pinching. Syd takes a sip from the straw.

“Uhh, hey, Claire,” Carmy returns. He slips his arm around Syd, possessive fingers digging into her hip. A united front.

“Just one…” Claire begins. “Did this, uh, overla…how far along are you?”

“Due at the end of February,” Syd says.

Claire calculates, glares at Carmy. “You didn't waste any time.”

Carmy shrugs.

“Well, this is just so fucking precious,” Claire says through clenched teeth. “I guess when you said you didn't have space for fun or enjoyment in your life, you really just meant you don't have space for me. Cool. Cool. That's just…I’ll see you around, Bear. Good luck with whatever.” She slings her bag over her shoulder and stalks off back towards the escalators.

“Uhh,” Syd says, before taking a last drink from her juice box. The lingonberry juice is good, a little tart cutting through the sweetness. The box scrunches and crunches in her hand and makes the sound that juice boxes do when they are finished. “Sorry, that was loud. And just like…sorry that, uh, this happened.”

(2.5 - I could probably use an alpha reader if any of my Sydcarmy mutuals wants to take a look and tell me if it's bad or that I'm crazy because it could very well be!)

3. I'm also working on a soul mark/soul scar Sydcarmy. It's probably about 3k words so far but I put it to the side because I realized I had a huge plot hole and haven't quite figured out how to come back from it yet.

Excerpt:

Sydney gets really good at applying foundation to her arms, pressing it in with setting powder to help keep it waterproof just in case. The number of tattoos gracing her arms has been growing exponentially over the last few months. There's a pyrex measuring cup holding the whole world, a couple of angels, a fish. S-O-U on the fingers of her hand. She's a senior in high school on track to graduate with honors and the body art would be a distraction, a mark against her. An indication that she's not serious enough to do anything other than make terrible decisions or jeopardize her future; a constant, tangible reminder that she doesn't have the grace about things like this than people whose skin is lighter than hers. She wishes she didn't care. But she does, so she covers them up every day in a routine that feels like it has become her religion. She wears button-down shirts with long sleeves secured at her wrists most days, even when the heat and humidity in Chicago are oppressive. Counts the seconds until she can go to the CIA where maybe the sight of Schrödinger’s tattoos (simultaneously hers and not hers) won't hold her back.

[ladyviolethummingbird]

The Gloaming

An Outlander/Jane Eyre crossover

Read chapter 1 here

Read chapter 2 here

Chapter 3: Wolverton Hall

An imposing grey stone building, Wolverton Hall looked like the kind of place that would be draughty even in the summer. A thick wood bordered it on two sides and in the pale morning sun it almost melted into the landscape. Boots crunching on the gravelled forecourt, Jamie headed towards the front door. Made of oak, it held a sizeable wrought iron dragon’s head as a knocker. Rapping with the metal ring, he took a fortifying breath and waited.

The minutes ticked by and Jamie wondered if the servants had been given the day off. At length, the door opened and he was greeted by a man in his mid-thirties wearing a fine blue coat. Jamie stuck out a hand by way of introduction.

“James Fraser, pleased to make your acquaintance, Sir”

The man in the blue coat’s eyes widened as he took Jamie in.

“Good heavens man, what happened?! Are you all right?”

No overcoat, arm in a sling, suit torn and muddied: Jamie looked quite the sight. As first impressions go, it was a terrible one. His face fell, convinced he’d be turned away from the house before even starting his new job.

“I ah...got into a spot of bother on the way here from Lerwick. But if ye have a laundry I can use...”

“Oh don’t worry about any of that, I’ll have one of the maids sort some clean clothes for you. Do you need a doctor?”

“No, I’m fine; really, Mr...?”

“Abernathy, Joseph Abernathy. I’m the butler here at the hall.”

To Jamie’s great relief Mr Abernathy had a kind face and, smiling, ushered him into the house.

“Now, if you’re sure you’re all right Mr Fraser, at least let me take your bag for you.”

“Thank ye, Mr Abernathy”

Jamie followed his host through to a wood-panelled parlour. Hunting trophies adorned the walls and suspended from the ceiling was a candelabra at least triple the size of a carriage wheel. Mr Abernathy poured Jamie a glass of whisky and bid him to wait while he went to speak to the cook about lunch.

Settling into a plush leather armchair, Jamie sipped his drink - enjoying the heat it brought to his belly. His chair was positioned beside a sizeable fireplace, the fire within crackling and popping as it warmed the room considerably, allowing his bones to begin to thaw from the chilled morning’s walk. Despite this, Jamie noticed a definite coldness to the house. It felt like he’d walked into a museum rather than a family home.

After being provided with fresh clothes and a bowl of warm water to clean himself up, lunch was served in the butler’s sitting room. Jamie was presented with a steaming bowl of stew and a large chunk of crusty bread, his empty stomach grumbling from the mere site of it. The meat it contained was was juicy and tender, leaving Jamie struggling to remember when he’d eaten a cut that wasn’t sinewy and requiring several minutes of chewing in order to swallow it. Those times, he dared to hope, were in the past and he wolfed the meal down, eagerly accepting seconds.

While they ate Mr Abernathy told him about Wolverton Hall. Built by Lord Jonathan Randall in the 1720s, it had remained in the family ever since. The present occupants were the English widow of the late Lord Franklin; Lady Claire and their son Fergus. Eight years old and with a mop of wild brown curls, he was a cheeky lad with a good heart. The information put Jamie at ease considerably.

“Is the family home at present?”

“No, her ladyship and Master Fergus are away on business. We’re not expecting them back until early next week”

Jamie breathed a sigh of relief. His shoulder would be healed by then; the last thing he wanted was his new employer to think he was unfit to perform his duties.

After lunch, Mr Abernathy showed Jamie to his new room. At the workhouse, bed was a canvas cot in a room with twenty seven others. At the blacksmith’s it was a mattress on the floor separated from the workshop by a thin sheet. Walking into his quarters at Wolverton Hall, he was dumbstruck. A canopy bed, writing desk, window overlooking the kitchen garden and a fireplace all to himself. As far as rooms in large houses went, it was perfectly standard, but to Jamie it was a palace.

The rest of the afternoon was spent touring the house and grounds. Marvelling at the fine stable of horses kept at the Estate, Jamie was in awe that all this finery was for the use of just two people. Assuring Mr Abernathy that he was well enough to ride, he saddled a grey speckled mare that afternoon and trotted through the wooded paths surrounding the house. There was so many new areas to discover and despite the chill in the air, Jamie was excited to begin work. It gave him a little thrill to know that he’s be back in the saddle again, especially riding horses as fine as those kept at Wolverton Hall.

As he lay down to sleep that night (on what he was quite certain was the softest bed he’d ever rested upon), Jamie reflected on the day. Despite their short acquaintance, he’d decided Mr Abernathy would be a source of congenial company; something that had been sorely lacking in his life for many years. The Butler was clearly a man of intelligence and Jamie had enjoyed discussing a number of subjects with him over supper. Originally from America, Abernathy had met the Randalls whilst they were travelling through Europe, and having no fixed plans himself had accepted an offer of employment. That had been eight years ago and in spite of the remoteness of the location, he found the situation suited him perfectly.

“Plenty of time for reading, Fraser. My mind can travel, even if my body does not. Do you read?”

Jamie had nodded in the affirmative and they’d spoken of their favourite tomes; Mr Abernathy offering to show him the library the following day.

“It’s an extensive collection, plenty of things to keep one’s wits sharp. Lady Randall is an erudite woman and would be pleased to have another reader in the household I’m sure”

“What else can you tell me of Lady Randall? I’m afraid I know very little of my new mistress”

Abernathy smiled at mention of the lady of the house, telling Jamie that when he’d first met Lady Randall she was one of the funniest and liveliest people he’d come across. Hailing from Oxford, which is where she’d met Lord Randall, they’d married when she was just 17. Doing the quick calculation, Jamie was surprised that a woman of the mistress’ age would be shut away in one of the remotest corners of the country. Intrigued, he wondered if perhaps she’d not recovered from the death of her husband to such a degree that she chose to shut herself away from the world? Keen to understand what he’d be dealing with, he pressed the butler further.

“I hope it isn’t out of place for me to ask, but did the passing of Lord Randall affect her deeply? Does she mourn him still?”

Mr Abernathy’s fork hit his plate with a clang. Collecting himself he quickly stood and began clearing the table.

“Yes very much. A wonderful man was Lord Randall. A great loss to us all”

It had been clear to Jamie that Abernathy was lying, but the butler’s diverted gaze told him that the subject was closed. Lying in bed hours later, Jamie pondered the reason for Abernathy’s reaction. Had Lady Randall been driven mad by grief? Was he worried that Jamie would leave if he knew the true state of his mistress?

Jamie did not have too much time to ponder this, as with a full stomach and a comfortable place to sleep for the first time since he’d been forced from his beloved Lallybroch, he was soon drifting into a blissful slumber. When dreams came however, they were not of Wolverton Hall but the golden eyes and gentle touch of the mystery woman in the forrest. Jamie smiled in his sleep.

[swagdad6]

time to talk about music

clairo's live at electric lady album is currently my favorite release of hers!

as a short time clairo fan, sling was my first listen of hers, and i'm so happy that she has continued to stick with giving it all the love and attention it deserves.

this new texture for bags is amazing. it keeps the tone of the original but in an angrier voice, a side of claire that we dont get to see in a lot of projects. the rockier elements give it a lush feel and it's overall an incredible stage-version-to-recording translation.

for the four sling songs on the single, i'll apply my comments to all at once to save words, and also because i have so much i could say about all of them.

in comparison to the album versions of these songs, they are equally as beautiful and intimate sounding, but the most noticeable difference for me is the step up in confidence in each song. it's clear that she loves the original works but feels that they have room to improve as well.

this has been one of my favorite works of music of the past four years.

my favorite song on the single is partridge.

[starlingsrps]

when you know, you know

it matters very much to eliza that she look nice when indigo comes to visit her in santa monica. they’ve talked on the phone damn near every day in the month since they met so she clearly left an impression but still - she left an impression in her flight suit and reeking of engine grease. sue her if she wants to knock him dead a little. she’s pretty all the time but she’s prettier in a dress and smelling like flowers.

she snatches her green dress with the cap sleeves and little buttons back from dorothy’s closet while she’s at work and trades dishes duty with claire to have her brush out her bangs  when she realizes she’s all thumbs. while the boarding house isn’t her favorite thing (privacy is a foreign concept and someone is always borrowing something without asking) but it does come in handy. she only had joey growing up and while she certainly misses him, she still hasn’t stopped wishing she had an older sister instead. it’s nice to have friends to help her get ready for a date instead of a brother lurking nearby being vaguely threatening.

instead she has claire, who has been perched against her headboard like a mother bird.

“one more time,” claire asks. “where are you going?”

eliza rolls her eyes at the floor while she squats to buckles the ankle strap of her shoe. “for the last time: the pier, dinner, and then we’ll figure it out.”

“dinner where?”

“no idea,” she straightens and laughs at the look on claire’s face. she looks like she’s been sucking on lemons. “what?”

“do you plan anything?”

“claire, look: when you see him, you’ll understand why there’s no plan. if he wants to park and screw, i don’t care if he wants to buy me a hot dog when it’s over.”

“your funeral. i’d at least try to get a steak out of it.”

“i’m not going to stop him if he does. might even bring you a doggie bag.”

“ass.” claire shifts to her knees and eliza’s bed and gives her a long, steady look. “do you have rubbers?”

“claire!” eliza feigns shock, as though she’s not checking her purse for them at that very moment. “what kind of girl do you take me for?”

“well, at least one who’s not getting knocked up by an airman. aren’t you the one who always says they’ll fuck anything that moves and hump anything slow enough to catch?”

eliza clicks her tongue and gestures for her to get off of her bed so she can lock her door and go downstairs to wait. “there’s always an exception.” while locking up, there’s a rustle and the door opening down in the entry hall and she hears the chirp of linda’s voice answered by the rumble of indigo’s voice. she hadn’t heard it a month ago and now can’t picture going without.

claire leans over the edge of the bannister and whistles under her breath. “shit. hell of an exception.”

“when i do it, i do it right.” eliza smooths her dress over her hips. “do i look okay?”

“i’d buy you a steak.”

———

he buys her a burger when they emerge from the backseat and finally make it to the pier. 

eliza can’t remember ever feeling this comfortable with anyone but with indigo, she can’t picture any other way. his arm slings so easily around her shoulders when they’re walking that it’s only natural for her to reach up to twine her fingers with his. she knows from their phone conversations that there’s very little they haven’t talked about yet but they don’t seem to run out of topics. 

texas feels less like a fluke and more like fate.

they make their way down to the beach when the sun starts to set, settling on the sand. generally, she doesn’t think much of california - it’s where she hangs her hat between flights and she misses the rain - but times like this, she understands the appeal. sitting on the beach with a gorgeous man she’s definitely falling in love with? that’s almost certainly worth getting sand all over.

“what do you want to do when it’s over?” she asks, bumping her shoulder against his. 

he shakes his head and snorts. “no idea. probably go back to seattle, make it up as i go along.”

“i could go back to seattle,” eliza says, hoping she sounds casual.  

he surveys her and then smiles. “good. i guess keep flying but-“ he shrugs. “bound to come up with something. now you.”

“me?”

“yeah, you. you want to fly?”

“i do but not all the time,” she says honestly. “just for fun. i want a husband and kids and all that but i’d be miserable if i couldn’t fly.”

“how many are you thinking?”

she screws up her face, pretending to think. “ten.”

“ten?” he laughs. “how about three?”

“six.”

“five. final offer.”

“six. i like even numbers.”

he rolls his eyes and huffs a laugh before extending his hand for them to shake on it. “deal.”

“seattle and six it is,” she says, kissing him instead.

his smile is soft around the edges when they part. “seattle and six.”

[steele-soulmate]

Tattooed Wings, CHAPTER 383, Peter Steele & OFC, Soulmate AU

SUMMARY: Mary Claire Bradley meets her soulmate- literally- the famous Peter Steele of metal group Type O Negative. But will obstacles including trauma, stalkers, and toxic family members get in the way of their life?

WARNING: mentions of child rape (nothing graphic) PTSD, milk kink, soft smut, grinding, assault, fingering, hand jobs, blow jobs, 69, P in V sex, blood, noncon rape, blood, violence, death, vandalism, graffiti, attempted kidnapping, break-ins, wild animal attacks, terrorist attack (sabotage)

WORDS: 1287

“Sweetheart, oh my sweetheart, are you alright?”

I squeaked softly as gentle lips were pressed to my brow, strong arms wrapped around me, snugging me in tightly to a beefy chest.

 “My love…” I whined softly, peeling my eyes open and smiling at the groggy face of one Peter Thomas Ratajczyk. “Are you alright?” I touched his face, concern flooding out of my every which pore as I took in his leg, heavily wrapped in a thick cast and elevated in a sling. In little baby cots next to the beds slept Baby Tommy and little girl. Baby Tommy had a little green cast on his little leg, having fracture it during all the chaotic excitement the night before.

 “The babies?” he demanded to know with fear in his eyes as I tugged the cots closer so that he could look in on the two slumbering kids. “Sweetheart, what happened to Baby Tommy?”

 “He suffered a minor fracture,” I told him, lifting the kids out and settling them onto the Ratajczyk patriarch’s chest. “Ryley thought it would be best to put him into a cast until it healed up fully.”

 “Poor babies,” he whimpered, cradling them close to him as I crawled out of the uncomfortable hospital issued bed and began to putter about, my anxiety at an all-time high as I just sorted through the duffle bag of clothes that James had dropped off after running the girls back to the house.

 “Rescue efforts found Baby Tommy’s dollie, James took it home with him last night and the girls stuck it into the wash,” I told him with a sniffle, pointing to the little man’s favorite toy, who also had a bandaged leg. “My love, the unmentionable one’s fan club has already copped to the sabotage from last night. Law enforcement are hunting them all down as we speak.”

 “Mary Claire…” I looked up at my husband’s emotional whimper. My lower lip trembled before I dropped the shirt that I was refolding and buried myself deep into his side, dry heaving as my dry eyes stung painfully. “Sweetheart, my sweetheart… you are safe… Baby Tommy is safe… Elizabeth is safe… Elle is safe… Katie is safe… Jing is safe… little girl is safe… I am safe… we are all safe…”

 I just couldn’t stop hysterically sobbing, my emotions running every which way as a nurse came in to check up on my husband’s vitals.

 “Sweetheart, can you please stop crying?” Peter murmured, baring his teeth when the nurse tried to take the babies from him. “You keep your fucking hands to yourself!”

 “I can run a line of fluids for your wife sir,” she offered, laughing away Peter’s clear threat. “She has been crying for most of the night last night and she’s running a high risk of becoming dehydrated.”

 “Do it,” he grumbled, maneuvering me to recline against his chest, giving the nurse plenty of room to work on me. “You’re safe now sweetheart, my sweetheart, love of my life, mother of my children, blueberry of my heart.”

 I giggled watery at his sappy words, cooing tiredly as I settled myself down to sleep for a few more hours.

 I kept being roused from sleep when people would come in- nurses to check up on Peter and the babies and check that they were doing alright, Elizabeth and Katie, Aaron and James to pay us visits, a doctor entered at one point to pay Peter a visit and discuss what would happen now that my husband had a rod in his leg, and pair of federal agents who came in to get statements from us. At one point, Slitzy had popped in to drop off Elle and Jing, who the girls had forgotten to grab during all the chaos the night before.

 “Sweetheart?” Peter ask me in an annoyed tone of voice later on the morning. “I need to pee.”

 I jumped up at once, grabbing a bed pan and closed the door to offer him some privacy before heading into the bathroom to grab a fistful of toilet paper for him to wipe himself clean with. I heard him shuffling about before the faint sound of trickling liquid met my ears.

 I came out of the bathroom and kept my eyes focused on his face as I handed him the bath tissue with a kind smile on my face.

 “Here we go now, my love,” I told him, smiling when he motioned for me to wipe him off. I did so awkwardly- I never had the privilege of wiping my husband’s massive dick clean before. “Is that good?”

 “It is, yes,” he rasped, suddenly looking sleepy. I slid his limp manhood back into his pants before carrying the bedpan into the bathroom to flush his urine down the toilet, rinse out the bedpan and wash my hands. I came back out of the bathroom to find him dead asleep with a small smile on his face as the babies napped on his chest.

 I cooed softly as I laid myself down next to him, tugging the babies’ sleep cots closer to us before curling up and drifting off to sleep again.

 I woke up later that night, opening my eyes to see a nurse drawing blood from my husband, jumping with a soft yip when I raised my head to blink sleepily at her.

 “So sorry, I didn’t want to wake any of you,” she meeped. “Do you know if he needs to use the bathroom?”

 “He already did earlier,” I rasped out, crawling out of bed and picking up Baby Tommy to have his diaper changed. “I brought him a bedpan and grabbed some toilet paper from the bathroom.”

 “Do you know if he had any trouble going at all?” she asked me in a kind voice, coming over to offer me a helping hand.

 “No, I don’t think so,” I answered, placing my son back into his cot and grabbing little girl next. “I didn’t hear him having any difficulty, to be honest with you.”

 “Well, if he would prefer it, the doctor can put a catheter in,��� she suggested, reaching out to grab little girl’s foot. “Oh, how I love babies!”

 “Yes, those two as the bestest babies in the world,” I hummed, resettling the child back down again. “So what now? Another surgery, physical therapy, Peter just goes about life as normal…”

 “Peter will need at least two to three months of physical therapy, recommended three times a week,” she read for his folder at the door. “I can send the residential physical therapy specialist your way tomorrow morning, how does that sound?”

 “That sounds perfect,” I breathed. “Thank you.”

  TAGLISTS ARE OPEN/ ASK BOX IS OPEN/ REQUESTS ARE OPEN/ PLOT BUNNIES ARE WELCOMED

 If you liked this, then please consider buying me a coffee HERE It only costs $3!!!

 PETER STEELE TAGLIST

@starchild0985​

[coloredgirlshuffle]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Gorgeous Ora Delphine Claire Bucket Bag.

[tychsen19tychsen]

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[leejungchans]

caught : y.jh

word count | 1.1k

pairing | yoon jeonghan (svt) x female reader

warning(s) | none (lmk if i missed anything!!)

genre | fluff, humour (a lil), coworkers au

summary: valentine’s day means helping your students make valentine cards. you didn’t know you’d be receiving one too, though.

a/n: @hannietonin happy belated valentine’s day 💗 this really, really isn’t much, but here’s a little ‘thank you’ for hosting the carat admirer event 🥺 i hope you enjoy (it’s a little bleh ><) and ily!!!!

“That looks very nice, Isaac,” you say, smiling down at the young boy, “I’m sure your mom will love it.”

“Thank you!” he chirps, chest puffing up with pride as he proceeds to explain the various doodles he had drawn on his card. You listen intently, nodding along as he tells you about his mother’s prized rose (“I didn’t know she grew roses!”), the pearl necklace she always wears that was a gift from his father (“That’s so romantic!”) and their family’s pet dog Bacon (“That’s an… interesting name, I like it!”).

You leave Isaac to finish the rest of his card when your other students rush up to you, eager to show you their own cards. “One at a time, one at a time, guys,” you laugh as their little hands lightly tug at your sleeves and jeans, all wanting you to react to their creations first. “I promise I’ll get to everyone!” This seems to do the trick for most of them, and they quickly leave your side to add the finishing touches to their Valentine’s Day cards.

You can’t help the fondness that blooms in your chest as you watch your students animatedly interact with one another; being a preschool teacher came with its stressors like any other job would, but the time you spend with your students reminds you of not only the beauty of youthful innocence, but also your personal goal to ensure they come to school feeling safe and leave feeling understood.

You don’t realise how quickly time flies by until you hear the familiar chime of the bell, signalling the end of the school day just as the last of your students finishes her sharing about the recipient of her card.

“Your older sister will love it, Judy,” you say sincerely, smile growing at the beam that lights up the young girl’s face. “Okay, Class Sunflower, it’s time to pack your bags! If your loved ones are picking you up today, you can even give them your card right when you see them!”

The classroom buzzes with energy as your students, excited at the thought of presenting their gifts, gather their belongings in record speed, slinging their tiny colourful bags over their shoulders before neatly lining up by the door so you can take them outside.

You’re bidding your students and their families goodbye at the front gate when you feel a gentle tug on your sleeve. Excusing yourself from the parent you were talking to, you peer down to find a student from Class Tulip gazing up at you with adorably wide eyes.

You kneel down to match her height, shuffling forward a little when the girl beckons you closer; her breath tickles your ear as her tiny hand forms a barrier around it like she’s about to tell you a secret.

“Mr Yoon told me to tell you he has a present for you,” she whispers, “he says it’s important.”

“Really?”

She giggles with a nod, turning to point in the direction of Jeonghan’s class. “He’s waiting for you inside!”

Oh, what could he be up to this time?

“Your student told me you have a gift for me?” Your smile is teasing as you lean against the doorframe of his classroom, amusedly observing him as he hastily hides something behind his back.

“Ah, I knew I could count on Claire.”

A playful tsk falls from your lips. “You keep turning your kids into your little personal messengers.”

“They love it,” your boyfriend responds cheekily while striding over to you, “then they report back to me about how shy you get after.”

“I’ve never gotten shy because of that! You’re a liar, Yoon Jeonghan.” Okay, so maybe you do get a tiny bit flustered every time he gets one of his students to deliver a sweet message to you—not that he needs to know.

He places a hand over his heart in feign hurt, long lashes kissing his cheekbones as he makes a wounded expression. “My angels would never lie!”

“Mm, I don’t know about that, Hannie. You’re a bad influence on them sometimes.”

“I beg to differ. Now close your eyes and hold out your hands for me, love. I’m gonna give you your present.”

You oblige, resisting the urge to peek as something light and smooth meets your skin, a smile unwittingly stretching across your face when you quickly figure out said present.

“Okay, you can look.”

Jeonghan watches you closely as your eyes flutter open, landing on the red heart-shaped card in your hands, completed with sparkly stick-on gems and your name written in gold glitter glue.

“Oh! Uh… the glue isn’t fully dried,” he scratches the back of his neck sheepishly, “might wanna be careful there.”

You throw your head back as you laugh, making sure to avoid the sticky parts while reading the contents of the card, a warm rush of adoration coursing throughout your body as you take in his heartfelt words.

“Thank you, Hannie,” you smile softly, “I love it. Really.”

“Well, I had some help,” Jeonghan admits with a twinkle in his eyes, closing the space between you as he wraps his arms around your waist while your own loosely drape over his shoulders. “Happy Valentine’s Day, love.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Jeonghan.”

Your boyfriend flashes you a crooked grin, gazing at you with half-lidded eyes as he asks, “Now, how about a Valentine’s Day kiss?”

Shameless. So shameless.

Just as he’s above to dive in, however, a startled squeak emits from behind you. Utterly embarrassed, you glance over your shoulder to find Claire, the same girl from earlier, standing in the doorway.

“Oh, hi, Claire,” Jeonghan casually greets with a lazy smile like the two of you didn’t just get caught nearly kissing by one of his students. “Why are you back?”

“I forgot something,” she giggles as she runs over to her seat to fish out a pink umbrella from the drawer. “Bye, Mr Yoon! Bye, Miss L/N!”

She’s gone as quickly as she appeared, vanishing around the corner with a wave goodbye. You can still hear her delighted giggles as her footsteps retreat, and you bury your face into Jeonghan’s shoulder with a loud groan. “Oh my God, we’re never living that down! This is all your fault!”

He merely chuckles at your embarrassment, hand rubbing up and down your back to calm you. “Well… at least we didn’t actually start kissing?” he offers, yelping when you weakly slap at his chest.

You pull away with burning cheeks, already knowing the news of what just happened will surely spread to your own students by tomorrow morning. “I’d be more annoyed with you if your card wasn’t so cute,” you grumble halfheartedly, unable to bring yourself to actually be upset.

Jeonghan wriggles his eyebrows. “Well, then you’re going to love me after you see the huge bouquet of roses in the teachers’ lounge.”

“The what?”

a/n: thank you for reading and feedback is greatly appreciated hehe!!! 💗💗💗

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

TEACHERS PET- J.B BARNES

Pairing: Professor!Barnes x Student!Female!Reader

Word Count: 2k

Summary: Professor Barnes wants to reward you for being such a good girl and for being such a good, hardworking student. You meet him after class for some much needed release. 

Warnings: SMUTTTYY SMUT, swearing, pet names, PRAISE KINK LORD, slight degradation kink kinda, teasing, slapping (face and pussy bc the best of both worlds am i right?!), fingering, blowjob mentioned, professor/ sir kink

Notes: Sorry this took so long to upload, I was watching Knives Out:) Also Y/N is a consenting adult! Would like to make that very clear. Enjoy!

-claire bear

The clock struck seven, as night began to fall, stars appearing from the sky through the hazy clouds. Students began to shuffle from their seats, gathering up their pens and papers in a rush, the faint sound of students murmuring fell across the room.

 You were much slower packing up your belongings, hand straying on your test for far longer than it should have. You glanced at the front page again, wallowing in fear. 

You had got a 97, the highest mark in the class. Yet in red ink, the words meet me after class was scribbled right under the gleaming A+. 

This could go one of two ways. 

Professor Barnes wanted to know where the other three percent went, or he wanted you. You prayed it was the second option. You had been crawling after the man all semester, doing anything to please him. You studied harder than anyone else in the class, getting straight A’s. You craved his validation like a drug. 

But you craved what was under the confinement of his black dress pants more.

 “Remember to read pages one thirty-seven to one fifty-two please!” he called after the students leaving the door, eyes straying from them to linger on you, gaze full of desire. He often looked at you like that, between reading the pages of his books or explaining lessons when no one noticed.

 It made you tremble, and clench your thighs harder together each time. His gaze burned a hole through you, and sometimes you swore he could see the wet patch that was displayed whenever he was around from under your skirt.

 You wanted nothing more for all the students to leave, and for him to take you over his desk- rough and hard.

 Tonight, it appeared, you would finally be getting your wish at last. 

The last student left, the door shutting softly behind them. You smiled softly, standing up to shrug your bag across your shoulder, walking slowly over to the man leaning against his desk, hunger burned in his eyes. “ You wanted to see me, Professor Barnes?” you asked meekly, swishing your hips softly as you made your way over to stand in front of him and his mean demeanour.

 “ Miss. Y/L/N, I’m glad you could stay. Come to my office with me?” he asked, voice gravelly and rough. You shivered, clenching your bag tighter. “Of course.” you smiled, watching him place his belongings in his leather satchel, slinging it across his shoulder. 

He clucked his tongue, urging you to follow him with his finger as he shut the classroom lights off and shut the door behind him gently. “May I ask why your office, Mr. Barnes? Have I done something wrong?” you questioned, worry laced in your voice. “ You’ve been a good girl. Nothing to worry about.” he chuckled, looking back over his shoulder to smile mischievously at you trotted after him like a lost puppy. 

You nodded quickly, eyes flickering over the closed doorways as you walked down the dim hallway. The lights were glowing a soft yellow, making shadows flicker across the room as you turned the corner. Suddenly, he stopped, fishing for his keys to unlock the ash door that stood in front of him. 

You nearly ran into the man, catching yourself with an oof! He was large, lean, and built of pure muscle, and you could feel the size of his biceps as you steadied yourself. It made you gulp, knowing he could easily toss you around like a rag doll. He looked back at you, eyebrow raised. “I’m sorry.” you whispered, and he laughed with a shake of his head.

 The door opened with a creak, and he slipped inside, flickering on the antique table lamp that lay on the corner of his desk. Bookshelves covered the walls, the odd painting of vintage art hung up. No photos of a wife, or kids of any kind, you thought, shutting the door slowly behind you. “ Lock it.” he murmured, setting his bag down on the ground. 

You obeyed.

  Click!

“Do you know why you're here honey?” he purred, hands resting gently on his desk as he stared you down. Like a hunter who caught its prey. Your hands fidgeted as you slung your bag down to meet his, wetness pooling to your thong as his gaze burned you like fire. “N- no Professor Barnes.” He beckoned you over.

 “Come.” 

You slowly made your way over to him, skipping around the desk to stare up at him. “You listen so well honey. You’re such a good girl, you know that?” A blush filled your cheeks, and you stared nervously at the floor, your heart beating faster with each passing second.

 “Thank you, Professor.” 

“None of that, don't be shy. You deserve the praise. I’ve noticed how hard you've worked.” he smiled down at you, cupping your chin with his hand to force it up to meet his eyes once more.

 “Really?” you giggled, clenching your thighs together tightly. The short little skirt you were wearing did nothing to hide the fact your thighs were quivering, his eyes sliding down to marvel at the sight.

 “Really. You’ve been so good I think you deserve a reward honey.” he cooed, thumb brushing your cheek lightly. “Yes sir.” He groaned at the name, his cock twitching in his pants. 

You’d be the death of him, truly. 

“Open.” he commanded, and you stuck your tongue out happily. A soft purr rumbled through his chest as he slid his thumb on your tongue, rubbing your saliva around and tapping it lightly, making you jolt. “Oh baby christ. Such a good girl.” he moaned as you took his thumb in your mouth, swirling your tongue around it and letting it go with a pop, innocent eyes gazing up at him in delight at the praise.

 A light smack was placed to your cheek and you giggled, nuzzling into his palm, his rings cooling your red cheek. “Oh you like that don't you? Naughty girl.”

 “Yes sir.” you giggled, letting him smack you gently again. A loose moan escaped your lips and you blushed deeply, embarrassed that this man could do so little to you yet you felt like you were floating a cloud of bliss. “Up we go pretty girl.” he cooed, lifting you up by your thighs to sit on the edge of his desk, legs parted slightly.

 “ Want you.” you cooed, grabbing his tie and yanking him closer to you, your lips inches from his. A smirk adorned his face, and you let out a whine as he grabbed your hair in a makeshift ponytail, baring your neck to him. “ I’ve wanted you ever since you've stepped foot in my classroom whore. You think I don't see the game you play with your short little skirts and those little socks? Makes me so fuckin hard every time I look at cha.” he growled against your skin, biting down harshly on your neck as you squirmed.

 “ Well I won the game, didn't I sir?” you teased, fingers wrapping around the desk so tight it hurt. “ You may have won the game honey but you're gonna have to keep playing it. I want you all to myself.” he smirked, flipping up your skirt to reveal the wet patch that dripped on your white lace panties. 

“You’re dripping on my papers baby.” he chuckled, running a finger against the patch. “S-sorry-” you keened, back arching as you gripped onto the desk, his fingers stroking your clit through the fabric. 

“It's embarrassing how wet you get for me whore and I haven't even touched you properly yet. But I don't need to do I? You’d cum like a little slut in these panties, wouldn't you?” he cooed, stroking you slowly as his thumb pressed on your clit, rubbing little circles on the nub. 

“Yes!” you moaned, beginning to rut against his hand like a bitch in heat. Your thighs were sticky and you desperately tried to close them, but Bucky wouldn't let you. 

He was in control here. He wanted you to know that. 

“Can I come James?” you asked, a growl emitting from his chest at the way you said his name. “Make a mess honey, but you're cleaning it up.” Your toes curled at the delicious friction he was providing you with, and with a scream, you clamped around nothing, cum seeping out of your quivering heat. 

“So pretty when you cum baby.” he sighed, rubbing your shaking thighs slowly as you came back to reality from your orgasm. He scooped up the cream from the desk that had leaked out of you, slapping your cheek again to get you to open. 

You happily obeyed, letting him smear your juices on your tongue with a wild look in his eyes. “Such a good good girl.” he praised, spreading your legs even farther apart as he slid your panties to the side, exposing your quivering cunt to the cool air. 

“Look at the way she's quivering and begging for me honey. I’ll give her what she needs.” He began to unbuckle his pants and you whimpered at the pure size of him, his thick cock slapping his stomach, pre cum leaking out of its red and swollen tip. 

“ Will it fit Mr. Barnes?” you asked, emitting a prideful smile from him. 

“We’ll make it fit honey.” Gripping the head, he began to swirl the tip around your soaking wet entrance, teasing you until you were about to cry. “So creamy.” he cooed, smacking his cock against your clit causing you to squeal. 

“Please!” you begged, tears brimming to the surface. He chuckled, sinking in it into the hilt, causing a scream to leave your lips.

 God you've never felt so full, so stuffed. 

He wasted no time letting you adjust, beginning to drive himself in and out of your spongy walls. “Feels like heaven around be honey you're so tight. Tightest little cunt I’ve ever had.” he moaned, gripping your thighs hard enough to leave bruises that would linger the week. 

“S’full professor please!” you babbled, the feeling of his cock hitting your g-spot with each thrust making you weak. “That's the spot right there isn't it baby? Yeah it is. You like being stuffed with your professor’s cock slutty baby?” “ Yes oh, gods yes!” you cried, gripping onto his shoulders as he pistoned into you with a roughness you only thought could happen in your wildest dreams. 

“ My honey likes it rough hmm? Such a good girl.” he growled, feeling your walls clench around him like a vice. “ James I'm gonna-” You came with a cry, body going weak in his grasp, your vision turning blurry at the feeling of release. You were in heaven as he continued to pound into you. “ That's it baby milk my cock. You want me to fill your pretty cunt full?” 

“Yes!” you moaned, head-turning to mush. With a growl, his sticky white seed coated your walls, making you clench and shake around him uncontrollably.

 “Gooood girl. Take it all baby take all your professor's cum like a good girl.” he cooed, cock twitching as he pulled out of you slowly, watching his cum spill out of you and mix with yours down your pussy and onto the desk. 

“Thank you professor.” you mumbled, voice hoarse from screaming his name. 

“ You're welcome, sweet girl. Did so good for me.” he smiled, brushing your hair with his hand gently. 

That same hand gripped your hair tightly as you sat under his desk the next lecture, warming his cock with your mouth until tears spilled down your cheeks, mixing with your spit and his cum.

 “Use your headphones today class. I don't mind.” he smiled, feeling extra generous. 

After all, he didn't want anyone to hear the slurping noises you made from your hiding spot as you took him all in your mouth, nose pressed to his chest as you swallowed his load once more.

[writethelifeyouwant]

Good Influence - Part 1

Pairing: Dean x Claire Tags: Dean, teenage angst, dirty talk, Daddy kink, female masturbation, pussy spanking WC: 2153 Bingo Squares:@spnkinkbingo - Pussy Spanking |@spnrareshipbingo - Dean |@spndeanbingo - Dirty Talk |@j3bingo - Dean Winchester

“Thanks so much for agreeing to stay, boys,” Jody shouts from behind her car as she slings her duffle into the trunk, shotguns and salt rattling against each other.

“Don’t mention it,” Dean waves off her gratitude, rounding the car and loading a gallon jug of holy water in behind her bags. “You sure you don’t want one of us to tag along?” he checks again, he’d already asked her twice.

“I’ll be fine Dean, me and Donna are big girls,” Jody laughs. “Plus, the girls might not act like it but I think they really enjoy having you two around more often. Things have smoothed out a little more since the last time you came to stay with them.”

“Uh, smoothed out?” Sam scratches at the back of his neck awkwardly, his other hand shoved deep in his jeans pocket.

“Oh, you know,” Jody rolls her eyes, “Claire isn’t as angry these days, she and Alex seem to hate each other a little less than usual. And Alex even brought home a friend from school the other week! I didn’t know she had friends.”

“That’s nice,” Sam agrees, nodding.

“I don’t know what you two did to them the last time you stayed but whatever it was, keep it up. I think you’re a good influence on them,” Jody smiles kindly, giving Dean a quick hug goodbye, and then Sam.

The Winchesters stand in the driveway, waving goodbye to Jody with forcefully cheerful smiles plastered on their faces. As soon as she’s out of sight their hands drop in unison and their smiles vanish. Dean’s is replaced with a look of abject horror, Sam’s with poorly disguised guilt.

“Dude, she’s gonna castrate us if she ever finds out,” Sam grits his teeth, looking to his brother nervously.

“Hey, she’ll go for you first. You’re the one who deflowered her precious first daughter,” Dean grins ruefully.

“Well, if Jody doesn’t manage to kill you, Cas still might,” Sam reminds him and Dean’s expression grows shadowy for a fraction of a moment before he shakes it off.

“If Cas pulls out the father act Claire’ll have his balls before he gets to mine.” Sam pulls a face that Dean understands to mean ‘good point’, and Dean slaps his little brother on the back supportively. “C’mon, Claire sure as hell ain’t gonna tell her, and I severely doubt Alex will,” Sam nods in agreement. “So, she’s not gonna find out. Now, why don’t we go back inside and show those girls just how good an influence we can be for them, huh?”

Several Weeks Earlier

Claire stomped into the living room, yanking her headphones out of her phone as she flopped back onto the couch with a grunt.

“I’m bored,” she complained to Dean, who was on the couch already watching a rerun of some shitty medical drama.

“Tough luck kiddo,” Dean’s reply was wholeheartedly unsympathetic.

“Why can’t we go hunt something?” Claire whined petulantly, her head lolling to the side and rolling towards Dean, attempting to copy that look Sam can give Dean that gets him anything he wants.

“Because I’ve already saved your ass once this week, and I’m not jumping to do it again anytime soon.”

Claire pouted but she didn’t protest, she knew Dean was right.

“Why are you watching this crap?” Claire gestured to the TV where some surgeon with hair that reminded her of Sam was giving someone mouth-to-mouth on an operating table.

“Don’t knock Dr. Sexy.” Dean didn’t look at Claire as he spoke, just took a swig of beer, eyes focused intently on the screen where Dr. Sexy was now making out with a nurse in the scrub room. Claire eyed Dean disdainfully, eyes dragging across his flannel covered shoulders, down his arm to his mostly empty beer, resting carelessly in his lap.

“Can I have some?” Claire pointed to the bottle and Dean scoffed.

“You’re only nineteen, sweetheart.”

“So you think I’ve never had a drink before?” Claire laughed brightly. “I’ve done a lot more than that.”

“Yeah, I bet you’re a real deviant,” Dean rolled his eyes humourlessly.

“You don’t believe me?”

“Not really,” Dean shrugged. “I know your type.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Claire cracked her knuckles in her fists, trying to reign in her irritation, but she can’t help glaring at Dean.

“Means I know you think being nineteen means you’re grown up now. And I know you think bummin’ smokes off some random guy in an alley behind a bar makes you tough, but none of it really means shit. End of the day you still come home to your bed with the homemade quilt and dinner on the kitchen table. You’re not the ‘bad girl’ you think you are.” Dean smirked at Claire ruthlessly, eyes hard and challenging.

“You don’t know shit about me,” Claire bit back.

“So what about what I just said isn’t true then? Huh?” Dean challenged, but Claire stayed stonily quiet. “Thought so,” he smirked again and downed the rest of his beer.

Claire’s eyes followed his hands, focused on his lips as they wrapped around the mouth of his bottle, caught a glimpse of pink wet tongue through the tip of the amber glass, lapping up the stray drops still trickling out. Her own tongue darted out to wet her lips reflexively, pink, soft and sweet. She saw Dean notice. Then she had an idea.

Dean wanted to call her a ‘good girl’? She knew exactly how to prove him wrong.

“If I wasn’t a bad girl, why would Jody ask you to stay and keep an eye on me?” Claire quirked a blonde brow and arched her back, sinking further into the couch cushions, jutting out her breasts and hips. Dean didn’t answer, but she saw his knuckles whiten against his empty beer bottle, his eyes fixed resolutely on her face. Claire smirked and dropped a hand to the button of her jeans, fiddling with the top of her zip. “Last time I was in an alley behind a bar with a strange guy, Alex didn’t find me sucking on a cigarette."

Her button was flicked through the hole in the denim that was wrapped around its base. Dean sucked in a breath, audible even over the nonsense drone of the soap opera still on in the background.

“What are you doing, Claire?” Dean grit his teeth, beer bottle dangling between his legs suggestively, and Claire couldn’t help looking, wondering if he would be as big as that glass.

“Showing you what a bad girl I am.” It was hard to restrain her grin from breaking through the sexy pout she was aiming at the older man.

“Stop it.”

“Why?” Claire blinked innocently up at Dean, sliding her zip down slowly, tooth by tooth, like she was practicing to be a stripper. Dean didn’t answer her question, so she didn’t stop.

Right there in Jody’s living room, with Dean Winchester sat stoically on the knobbly couch beside her, with Alex and Sam who knows where in the house, Claire pushed her fingers beneath her jeans and into her panties. They weren't anything fancy. Multi-pack grey cotton boy-shorts from Walmart, with a narrow border of white elastic that was stretched thin across her wrist now.

Her eyes fluttered closed briefly when the tip of her finger brushed over her clit on the way to the small opening between her legs, guarded by folds of soft, pink skin and a sprinkling of dark blonde hair. She tugged on the strands a little, moaning under her breath. Her eyes opened lazily and rolled to the side to find Dean’s. The green she was so used to seeing there had been nearly eclipsed by the dark of his pupils, wide and hungry.

“Claire,” Dean’s voice was a growl, so low in his throat it was almost his chest. There was warning behind it, danger, and her eyes flicked to the shiny brand on his forearm, the dull red skin twitching over the pump of Dean’s blood so close to the surface of his skin.

“Dean,” Claire answered in a sigh, the fingertip circling her entrance catching on the first trace of slick as her arousal coursed through her blood vessels towards the space between her legs. “You know,” Claire kept talking but slid her eyes shut, remembering, “if I met you in a bar, and you bought me a drink, I’d definitely go there.”

“Doesn’t even look like it takes a drink to get you to open your legs,” Dean grunted, his voice suddenly against Claire’s ear, and she shivered deliciously, tilting her head to display the smooth creamy stretch of her neck, where she knew an almost faded hickey would flash into Dean’s view. She moaned when Dean’s tongue darted over the bruise, and let a triumphant smile float across her lips, eyes fluttering open to look up at the older man’s face.

“Can’t help it, I’m a slut,” Claire shrugged, fingers circling faster over her entrance as she locked her gaze with Dean’s.

“Yeah, you fuckin’ are, aren’t you sweetheart.” Dean’s grin wasn’t warm, Claire would go so far to say it was almost cruel. “Maybe I was wrong about you. Maybe you’re a very bad girl.” Dean’s teeth scraped over the shell of her ear.

“Told you I was,” Claire made a high strangled noise when she pushed a finger inside herself, her wrist flexing uncomfortably against the restriction of her underwear and her jeans.

“Get your fingers out of there,” Dean snarled against her neck. Claire ignored him. “Fucking slut.” Dean’s hand plunged into her panties and pulled her hand out of her pussy, a thread of slick trailing off the finger that had just been inside her.

“Thought you liked your girls easy, Dean?”

“You’re not my girl though, are you sweetheart? You’re Cas’ baby girl. What do you think he’d say if he saw you spreading your legs for his best friend?”

“Castiel is not my dad,” Claire halfheartedly struggled against Dean’s grip on her wrist.

“Too bad,” Dean tutted. “Because you need a man’s guidance, don’t you? Need a firm hand and a watchful eye?” Claire shuddered beneath Dean’s body, which was pinning her side to the couch now.

“And you think that should be you?” Claire glared up at him challengingly. “You want to be my Daddy?”

“I’d sure as hell be a better Daddy than Randy.” Dean sneered. Claire flinched when Dean mentioned Randy’s name. The man he’d murdered to protect her. “Did you try to touch yourself in front of that jag off too? That why he let you stay? You whore yourself out to him and all his friends?”

“So what if I did?” Claire arched under Dean, trying to get his hand between her legs where she was wetter than she’d ever been before.

“Well, I think any good Daddy would have to punish his baby girl for slutting around town like that, wouldn’t he?”

Claire surprised herself by nodding, a small whimper clawing its way out of her throat. “Are you a good Daddy?” she panted, bucking her hips off the couch towards his hands again. Without preamble Dean released her wrists and shoved her knees wider, the denim stretching away from her skin with the tension.

A hollow slap echoed around the wood panelled room, not much sound behind it because Dean’s hand hadn’t actually collided with any skin, just denim stretched over air. Dean clearly wasn’t happy with the result because he roughly dug his fingers beneath the waist of Claire’s panties and jeans, tearing them down her legs and leaving her glistening and bare, spread across Jody’s ugly plaid couch.

The next strike landed on Claire’s skin, slapping wetly over her pussy and sending a sting through her already sensitive nerve endings. She moaned wantonly, rubbing herself against Dean’s fingers, heavy and warm against her pussy.

“That feel good, baby girl?” Dean asked menacingly, tracing one thick finger around her entrance. Claire nodded mutely, eyes pressed tight against the pleasure. “Well, then it’s not much of a punishment yet, is it?” Dean smacked her even harder, and Claire flinched but still arched into the touch.

“Fuck, Daddy,” she whimpered, sounding much smaller than she had moments earlier. Dean delivered three more smacks in quick succession, each one more painful than the last, until Claire’s skin was burning beneath Dean’s touch, and positively sopping wet.

“Look at you, you little slut. Dripping all over the couch. You’re so desperate for it, aren’t you baby?” Dean spun a hand through her curls and tugged them back, forcing Claire to look him in the eyes. “You my bad little girl?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Claire licked her lips, breath coming in aborted little huffs that made her breasts shake, she hoped appealingly.

“Too bad,” Dean sneered. “Only girls who are good for Daddy get his cock.” Dean got up off the couch with a huff of effort and left Claire half naked behind him without a backward glance.

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[tibbinswrites]

Day 1 - Harvest

You reap what you sow. Dean had always been taught that. In John’s very specific way of course. He reaps, those he saves get to sow. 

Watching autumn press closer this year is a strange feeling, he thinks from his vantage at the corner table in a coffee shop. The shorts and tank-tops begin to shift into jeans and sweaters. The frappuccinos become pumpkin spice (Dean isn’t complaining, not that he’d ever tell Sam) and the laziness of free summer days take on the more polished air of competent people with competent routines. He wonders, too often, if Cas ever felt like this, watching humans evolve over the eons, day by day, so slowly it’s hard to pinpoint the exact moment when everything changed.

Once his mind begins to wander that way, it’s hard to pull back from. He doesn’t mind dwelling on thoughts of Cas anymore, the sharp edge of his loss has eased into a dull ache. It still cripples him sometimes, but less, and the memories are comforting. They’re about all that he has that can even make him smile anymore. He barely notices the sadness clinging to them. All his memories are sad in some way or another.

The bell above the door tinkles and a man enters in a beige coat. It causes a stab in his gut even though the man is light-haired, and the colour and cut of the coat is completely wrong anyway. It’s a thin coat, light. It’s not yet so cold for anything heavier, indeed, the man discards the coat almost immediately after entering the cosy interior of the coffee shop, folding it over his arm. Dean looks back out the window.

Perhaps it’s the chill draft from the briefly open door, perhaps it’s the turn in weather, or perhaps Dean just hasn’t had enough coffee yet, but he can’t help a sudden overwhelming feeling of bitterness as he looks out at the world, seeing the traffic, the people hurrying to and from places, ducking into shops, laughing, chatting, embracing, waiting at the crosswalk. All of them alive because of him. All of these people get to reap the rewards of his labour, of his loss, without even knowing a damn thing about it. But Dean Winchester doesn’t get a fucking harvest. All Dean Winchester gets is to watch the happiness that exists outside of himself. Sometimes it’s enough, most times it isn’t.

He knows it’s selfish, that once, not too long ago, seeing his brother happy and thriving, in love and fulfilled in his life, would have been all he needed to be content. Maybe even as little as a year ago he could have kidded himself. But they had come too close, he and Cas, far too close to becoming something, so close that began to rely on it as an option if he ever got strong enough to take it, began to look forward to that time even. And now, months after Cas’ confession and subsequent death, it’s the almost that kills him. The realisation that Cas felt the same, and the immediate knowledge that it was too late. The whole time they could have been… not more exactly, what Cas had been couldn’t take up more space in his heart if he’d tried, but something else, something that Dean had desperately wanted. Still desperately wants.

The man in the beige coat sits down opposite him, pulls out a brown paper bag and shoved it towards him with a glare. Dean responds in kind, tugging the bag towards him and peering inside. Then he nods, satisfied.

“Tell Rowena thanks.”

“She requests that you all come by when you’re done.” His face twists. “For tea.”

“We’d be delighted.” Dean says evenly. “I’ll keep her updated on how it goes.”

Draining the dregs of his coffee he stands, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair and slinging it on, carefully tucking the jar of blood-red viscous liquid into his inside pocket. Fat droplets of rain begin to hit and slide down the glass of the window, increasing their intensity even in the short walk from his seat to the door. He pushes out into it and starts as a cold droplet immediately hits his face. Heading to where he parked Baby a block over. he sends a quick text to Sam, telling him that he’s on his way and that he’d managed to pick up the sap of the dragon’s blood tree, found only on a specific island off Yemen and the last ingredient they needed for the spell.

Dean placed the jar in the box he’d packed with bubble-wrap in the footwell of the passenger seat before making his way around to the driver’s side and opening the door. He pauses before getting in though, taking a moment to lift his face to the sky, allowing the rain to fall on his skin, and sends a quick prayer to Jack that he does what he can to make sure this one thing, just this one, goes right.

There’s a sudden break in the clouds overhead and Dean finds himself in the only spot of warm sunshine for probably a few miles. Then the rain closes in again, and Dean smiles, comforted in knowing he was at least heard.

As he gets in and starts up Baby’s engine, his bitterness from before transforms into hope, and a deep gratitude that everyone around him has been willing to help in this months-long endeavour. What had started as an insane idea born of the deepest kind of grief, accidentally voiced to Sam and Eileen one drunken night, became a kind of group cultivation. Calls had gone around the rest of the family, research had been done, strings had been pulled all over the country, theories had been brainstormed and tested. Cases had been handed over to others so that they could focus, even though Claire had been chomping at the bit to go out and kill something. He couldn’t have done this without them, and he knows that they’re (at least mostly) doing this for him.

He’s getting tired of reaping after all. He just wants the chance to help something grow.

[clandonnachaidh]

Light Across The Seas That Sever (Ch6)

AO3

“Mind ye’ve got that meeting this afternoon?” Ian reminded him for the thousandth time as they all sat at the breakfast table and Jamie fought the urge not to roll his eyes, already mildly annoyed at the fact that his bowl of porridge wasn’t quite right. He should’ve made it himself without backing down when Jenny had insisted on doing it for him, that way it would’ve been thick enough to plaster a wall with, just how he liked it. But his sister would never surrender the spurtle, working it through the oats and milk until they became creamy and setting a large bowl of sugar on the table, much to Jamie’s distaste. Thick enough to clart a wall and with enough salt to make your eyes water, that was exactly how he’d had it since he was a bairn, their mother taking hers in the same way. Only Jenny and their father had preferred that their breakfast be covered in sugar and the sweetness of the Scottish strawberries that grew wild on Lallybroch estate.

“Aye, I ken fine well enough,” Jamie grunted without turning his eyes towards Ian who was trying to encourage a spoonful into Wee Ian’s mouth. “Whit was the name of the estate again?”

“’Tis the only estate in Tomich but did I no’ tell ye? He’s changed the meeting to the golf club.”

It had been his idea to begin with but now Jamie was uncertain about how their drunken plan was taking shape. After one too many whiskies of a night, he and Ian had been sprawled in front of the fire as they chastised the blend that they were imbibing, arrogantly announcing that the two of them could do much better. Jamie hadn’t thought anything of it as he’d stumbled to his bed and let sleep take him but a few days later he found himself mending a fence post in the back field as Ian continued his musing about Broch Mordha putting its stamp on the world as a new destination for a premier whisky distillery and the two of them, its innovative creators.

Jamie grunted as he rose to his feet and deposited his bowl into the deep sink, letting the tap run to soak the dish and refusing to turn his body to take in the picture perfect family scene that was sat at the kitchen table.

“Mr Dunsany—“

“He’s a Lord, is he no’?”

“Is there a reason yer being a particularly crabbit arse this morning, brother?” Jenny’s voice was dripping with irritation, not wanting her nice family breakfast to be ruined by the interminable grey cloud that had been brewing over Jamie’s head for the past few weeks.

“Jen, leave him be.”

“I will not. He’s been a moanin’ greetin’ face since he came back from that bloody reunion and ’tis hell time he snapped out of it,” she said a little louder to ensure that Jamie heard the emphasis that she placed on the insult as it flew from her mouth.

This caused him to turn on his heel and level his sister with a careful eye.

“I’m sorry, Janet, but sometimes I think ye forget that there is a world outside of Lallybroch. Life can be a damn sight more complicated than poppin’ out weans and tending tae chickens, ye ken.”

If her temper didn’t hit the roof, her eyebrows certainly made a good go of it. Silently, her fingers curled tightly around the spoon, stilling herself against the pull of Wee Ian’s chubby little hand that was fisted in the material of her shirt, demanding attention.

“I ken that fine well, James. But ye canna jus’ come home every time ye see her and sulk like a wee bairn that doesna get what he wants. Grow up a wee bit, aye?”

At the end of her parting shot, Jamie felt the anger licking at the sides of his throat. The rage that he’d been directing towards himself was now begging to be let loose on someone else, someone that would bite back and Christ, Jenny would do just that. It had been this way since he’d come home, the frustration melting into a sullenness that had punctured the idyllic bubble that the family lived in at Lallybroch. In his worst thoughts, he resented both his sister and his best friend and the happiness that they shared. Jamie loved them to their bones, of course he did, but after leaving Oxford with yet another memory of how he’d let Claire slip through his fingers, the last thing he wanted to see was the very evident love between Jenny and Ian and their three children.

And so he found himself, in a suit that was a bit tight across his shoulders but he’d purchased anyway in a department store on the Inverness High Street, shaking hands with Lord William Dunsany in the bar of a golf club that he’d never seen fit to frequent himself. Jamie tried his hardest not to let the glances from the club members get to him as they walked around the lounge with an understated belonging the he’d never feel himself. He made sure that he gave a strong handshake, looking the shorter man straight in the eye and made the informed decision to swap from his usual Scots to his best Received Pronunciation, assuming that Lord Dunsany was one of those people who claimed to be a ’Scotchman’ but was as English as they come with the age old story of inheriting Scottish land as a birthright. Jamie had realised, however, that the man certainly knew his whisky and would make a not-half-bad business partner with himself and Ian if he managed to convince him to part with some cash.

Jamie was fuzzy on the details of how’d they’d come to the agreement but two hours and four whiskies later, he found himself once more shaking hands with Dunsany. The Lord would foot the seed money in exchange for a fairly sizeable but not unfair amount of the business and as a personal favour, Jamie would escort his eldest daughter around Edinburgh the following evening.

“She’s up here with me to get away from some nonsense that’s gone on at home but she’s been cooped up in her hotel for days while her mother tries to organise a townhouse for her. I just want her to get out and see the city. Who better to show her around than a native?”

Late next afternoon, his slight hangover thankfully having subsided after a coffee and a square sausage roll, Jamie stepped off of the train and onto the platform of Waverley Station in the heart of Edinburgh.

The tang of the breweries immediately filled his nostrils and he breathed deeply as the ever present sound of bagpipes floated down from the upper level of the street. While Lallybroch where was his heart lived, and he loved the humour and familiarity of Glasgow, Edinburgh held a special place in his heart. He never got tired of grabbing a coffee and walking the length of George Street in the sun, the castle bursting into view if he turned his eyes to the east.

Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he made his way towards the hotel that Dunsany had insisted on to putting him up in, the same one as his daughter just to make things simple. Although Jamie had spent many a morning diving into the spectacular breakfasts put on at one of his favourite places in Edinburgh, The Huxley, he had never imagined staying at The Caledonian that loomed over the small establishment just metres from its door.

Jamie didn’t quite know what to do as the doorman who was wearing a bloody top hat opened the door to the hotel for him so he settled on giving the man a polite smile, resisting an absurd urge to give him some type of formal bow. He had been in nice hotels before but nothing like this with its polished marble floor and a huge vases of fresh cut flowers on most surfaces that he could see.

“Mr Fraser, we have you in the Robert Louis Stevenson Suite for two nights. Here is your room key and it also includes the number for the Concierge, should you have any need. We have a table booked in the Peacock Alley bar for you and Miss Dunsany at 6pm this evening and I would be happy to make any dinner reservations you would like to make, within or outwith the hotel. Michael can get the rest of your bags from the car,” a neat blonde woman smiled at him from the reception desk as she inclined her head to the bellboy hovering at a polite distance over Jamie’s right shoulder.

“It’s nae bother, lass, I’ve only got the one bag,” Jamie muttered with a hint of embarrassment as he pulled the bag from the floor and swiped the keycards from the desk, smiling back at her. “Thank ye.”

When he stepped through the door that bore the name of one of Scotland’s most beloved authors, his growing Imposter Syndrome ramped up a few notches. Crossing the floor towards the window, Jamie was greeted by a beautiful view of the castle as it loomed over the city. He didn’t quite know how to act, having never been in such a large and clearly expensive hotel room. In fact, it wasn’t even a room, the woman at the desk had called it a suite.

Flicking through the TV channels for a little while, settling on the new show about Billy Connolly’s upbringing in Scotland, his fingers lazily scratched at the bare patch of skin just above his belt buckle. Something about being in a different city and having some time to himself made him feel lighter than he had in weeks and he gave himself permission to laugh at a particularly lewd joke that spilled from The Big Yin’s mouth on the TV.

Jamie’s phone, lying face up on the mattress beside his left shoulder, startled him as it gave a firm buzz. Sitting up, he opened the latest message from Geneva, telling him that she wanted to go out for dinner somewhere nice tonight. He was under no illusion as to the fact that when someone like Geneva Dunsany used the words ‘somewhere nice’, she was actually saying ‘somewhere expensive’. But thankfully, Jamie knew just the place and sent her a reply saying that he had it in hand before phoning down to the reception and having the helpful woman book a table at a restaurant he knew would be impressive enough but not so posh that he would feel out of his depth by eating there.

Although they’d messaged back and forth that afternoon, he hadn’t bothered to enlarge the tiny picture next to her name at the top of the screen. Toying with his phone, Jamie resolved that he had to know what the lass looked like, not wanting to have to shuffle embarrassingly around the bar trying to figure out who he was there to meet.

Her picture brought to its full size, he looked at her for the first time and tried was pleasantly surprised. She was clearly beautiful. Dark hair that flowed in loose waves over bare shoulders, her skin a beautiful olive brown from a summer tanning on a beach somewhere. She was looking at the camera dead on with a surety that came from a privileged upbringing, her face painted perfectly and a twist of the lips that couldn’t really be called a smile, as if she didn’t want to be seen to be having fun. She looked like every posh girl that Jamie had met in his life, every girl at university who would air kiss their friends on both cheeks while their manicured hands clutched at bags that cost more than his first car.

Suppressing a groan at the thought of spending a weekend with a person who no doubt came from an entirely separate world than the one he’d grown up in, Jamie divested himself of his socks as he plodded, bare feet on plush carpet, through to the bathroom to take a shower and clean himself up ahead of his evening.

Later, he sat at the bar, his fingers playing with the patterns on the cut crystal glass that housed his double whisky, he felt a gentle hand rest on his shoulder.

“James Fraser?”

His stomach dropped into the floor.

The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind at what hearing his name fall from the lips of an Englishwoman would do to him. He felt an absurd wave of revulsion swipe through him in an instant and he took a quick drink before turning on his stool to face her, swallowing the bile that had risen up in his throat.

“Och, lass, nobody really calls me James. Ye can call me Mac. ’Tis another one of my family names,” he tried to sound light and not as if the sounds of his name leaving her lips felt like the flesh on his back had been ripped open to the bone.

There was a reluctance in her eyes and he immediately knew that she was uncomfortable so he did his best to send her his most charming smile, gesturing for her to sit and then signalling to the bartender.

“What would ye like tae drink?”

“Martini, if you would, extra dry, extra dirty,” she ordered confidently as the bartender nodded and turned to begin preparing it for her.

With her chin in the air, she asked, “So, my father said you were a business associate?”

“Aye, I suppose I am now. My brother-in-law and myself wish to start our own whisky company. Your father has kindly offered to help.”

“My father isn’t generally in the habit of helping out of kindness.”

“Aye, well, hopefully he trusts that we ken what we’re doing. Or that we’ll figure it out at the very least,” Jamie tried to joke but she gave him nothing. There was something cold in her demeanour that he hoped he wouldn’t have to fight against for the whole evening.

After watching the martini disappear down Geneva’s throat in record time, he offered her an arm as they left the hotel and were hit by the cool air of Edinburgh in the evening. As soon as Jamie took the first step towards Princes Street, Geneva halted.

“We’re walking?”

“’Tis no’ far, only ten minutes or so. We have time before our reservation,” he replied, gently tugging on the arm that she’d looped through his so that she would begin to walk with him. Her feet stayed firmly planted on the concrete.

“These are £500 shoes, I’m not walking anywhere.”

“Lass, Edinburgh is a city tae get lost in. If we get a taxi we’ll just be looking at the sides of buses and traffic lights. Yer father asked me tae show ye the city,” letting her arm slip from his, Jamie took a step forward and gestured towards the castle, atmospherically lit from beneath now that the sun had gone down. He turned back to her with a kind smile and held out his hand. “Let me, aye?”

Reluctantly, she acquiesced and let him lead her away from the hotel. Jamie’s skin tingled at the contact and he realised that he hadn’t touched a woman apart from Jenny since the university reunion with Claire. He flexed his fingers experimentally and felt something swell in the pit of his stomach when Geneva tightened her grip in response.

The two of them made small talk as they walked through Princes Street gardens and up towards the restaurant, Geneva seeming happy enough with the venue that he’d chosen. He’d heard good things about The Witchery before and as they sat down at a table covered in a pristine white cloth, surrounded by painted dark wood on the walls and ceilings, he noticed how pretty Geneva looked in the candlelight. Only a fool would try to argue that she wasn’t beautiful. But there was a coldness to her that hadn’t warmed yet and so he kept on being as charming as he could, hoping that another glass of wine might bring down the steely demeanour that she seemed to hold on to for dear life.

Oxford had been full of girls like Geneva Dunsany. Wealthy, privileged and confident. After four years of university, Jamie had perfected the art of tuning out their inane conversation about which exotic place they’d spent their summer, who’s guestlist they’d been placed on for the weekend and what they were planning on wearing. So he knew how to respond to her constant stream of speech, nodding and agreeing in the right places and sending dazzling smiles across the table when he felt like rolling his eyes. Though somehow, he found that he didn’t actually dislike Geneva Dunsany. Something in her eyes, or maybe it was the way she chose her words, showed Jamie that the poor little rich girl personality was an act. Underneath the mask, she felt the same way that he did—unfathomably sad.

Something inside of him felt sorry for her, recognising the pain that he knew all too well in another. And while he didn’t particularly care for the woman, Jamie decided to be kind to her. He leaned closer across the table and started to respond to her stories with anecdotes of his own. With the help of another two martinis, she began to blossom in his company and the two shared a relatively pleasant evening together.

When they reached the hotel elevator, Jamie had nothing on his mind other than stripping off his constricting shirt and sleeping off the whisky cloud that was hanging somewhere around his temples.

“What’s on the agenda now, then?” Geneva asked as they stood side by side.

“Shower then bed, I think.”

“Sounds good to me,” she all but whispered, Jamie’s head twisting to see the dark look of seduction that was painted on her face. “Mind if I join you?”

He didn’t say no.

It was shocking how easily he slipped into the worst version of himself. There had been a few nights in the past where he’d spent too much time and money in the pub in Broch Mordha and woken up the morning with some woman curled around him at whatever bed and breakfast they’d invited him back to. He only ever slept with women who were in the area for the moment, never anyone who he’d run into again. It was always when he was half gone with drink, his body acting solely on blind need that he succumbed to his baser instincts.

The doors of the elevator opened and Geneva walked in purposefully, turning to look at him with an alluring smile. Jamie walked in beside her and pressed the number for her floor.

They found pleasure in each other’s bodies but it was skin deep at best. A simple matter of scratching an itch that they both clearly had and had resolved to using the other to sate that particular need. There were no delicate touches or gazes held for any real length of time. Jamie set himself to work, making sure that she got hers before followed suit. It was perfunctory. Pleasant. And when they both uttered their subdued sounds of fulfilment, Geneva immediately rolled away from him, shielding herself once more.

“Do ye want me to go?” Jamie’s voice broke through the dark silence of the room.

Her response was barely a whisper, “Please.”

He dressed quickly, roughly, and scrambled around in the dark for his phone that had fallen from his pocket. Geneva was lying as still as a statue but Jamie could hear the odd sniff from her and realised that she had begun to cry. After dithering between his options, his inherent gentlemanliness won out.

“Is there anything I can do?”

There was no response for a few seconds and he took that as his answer, beginning to move towards the door of the room when a single word stopped his hand from turning the doorknob.

“Stay.”

Keeping his eye on her as though she was a frightened animal that might bolt at any provocation, he slowly began to undress. When she moved over slightly to give him room to get under the covers, he did just that and felt a strange sense of kinship as she wrapped her body around his. Jamie held her, stroking her hair until she fell asleep in his arms. The sound of her gentle breathing was the only thing filling the room until his phone suddenly pinged with a notification.

Facebook Congratulate Claire Beauchamp on their engagement!

Before he could stop himself, he opened the app and looked at the posed photograph of the two of them, her left ring finger showing off an almost comically large diamond ring.

After telling our friends and family, we are so happy to announce that we are engaged! We thank everyone so far for their kind words and well wishes. From the future Mr and Mrs Frank Randall.

Every muscle on his body was thrumming with energy. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what the energy was made from. Rage? Fear? Utter desolation? Whatever it was, it was coiling its way around his ribs, holding him in stasis and holding him hostage as he experienced it.

He wasn’t even considered a friend anymore, seeing as he hadn’t been given the privilege of a private message, having to find out through fucking Facebook. She had clearly changed in her time in Boston, the Claire he knew would never have given up her name and become Mrs Frank Randall. Randall-Beauchamp at the very least, for Christs sake.

Tasting the rare metallic nature of blood in his mouth, Jamie realised that he was biting the inside of his cheek. He felt the need to get up and do something, anything to expel the energy that was going to burst out of him if he didn’t channel it into something. But he was stilled by the feel of Geneva’s naked body against his and a rush of guilt tried to swallow him whole.

How dare he question Claire’s life, assume to know her situation all the while he was in bed with another woman. Reminding himself for the hundredth time that Claire had made her choice and it wasn’t him, he swallowed his pride and went to send her a message, even though he knew it wasn’t a smart idea.

He shouldn’t have had that final whisky.

Jamie: Just seen the news. Congratulations to you and yours.

A blatant lie but what was he supposed to say?

To his surprise, her reply was almost immediate.

Claire: Thank you!

Short and to the point. Two words that would shut down any further conversation, a feigned attempt at excitement and gratitude that he prided himself on being able to see through.

He knew that he would have been one of many to send the same sentiment that day but he had kidded himself that his text would receive a more personalised response. Maybe all she thought of him was a copy and paste response as she planted her phone down screen first on the sofa before climbing into the arms of her future husband.

In an attempt to hold the tears at bay, Jamie curled an arm around Geneva’s prone body, bringing up his hands to his arm and pressing his palms into his eyes until he saw stars.