#never posted these on tha tumble!

[screahms]

[yazmarina]

close to you

for hit play, a drabble event.

—"break my heart and start a fire, you got me overnight, just let me be" (close to you by gracie abrams)

oscar piastri (f1) x afab!reader

warnings/notes: smut, protected sex, cunnilingus, first date, basically you match with oscar on a dating app lol

a/n: what a weekend guys. have this as the cherry on top <3

You never really expected anything much to come out of it.

You swiped right on the app, highly suspicious if this was really even him, but for the plot (as the kids say), you wanted to try anyway.

The screen graphics confirmed that it was a match and you felt your blood run cold.

Oscar Piastri, Formula 1 driver, had matched with you on a dating app.

You locked your phone and paced about the room for a solid five minutes, refusing to pick your device back up. You yelped as you saw the screen light up. You shoved it under your pillow, rushing out of the room and pacing even more, but this time, around your living room.

It took another ten minutes for you to gingerly return to your room, your trembling hand flipping your phone upright to expose your notifications.

Oscar: Hey :)

You nearly dashed out onto your balcony and leaped off the edge right then. With bated breath, you tapped on the notification, thoughts cycling seemingly a million miles a second.

You: Hi! Fancy seeing you here haha

You groaned immediately after sending the message, cringing at the utter lack of eloquence.

A sob nearly escapes your lips when you see his reply.

Oscar: Don't tell on me, then ;) I take it you're a fan?

"You have no idea, Oscar Piastri," you whispered to yourself as you tried to maintain a semblance of composure in your following messages.

You really should have practiced restraint, a cautious approach to this whole situation. What if it was some sort of poser? What if whichever dickhead pretending to be Oscar posts your responses online to dunk on you? Your face was exposed, goddammit.

But after two hours of messaging and a selfie sent from his side to prove that, yes, he really was Formula 1 driver Oscar Piastri, the two of you agreed to meet the next day.

You're still not fully convinced at that point but you decided to go with it. You sent a vague yet urgent message to your friend who lives nearby, in case you need an escape plan.

You covered all your bases, said all your prayers, and plucked every stray eyebrow into perfection.

Your heart nearly gives out now as you look up to see Oscar approaching your table, the sun gleaming down, casting a glow on his wavy brown hair. You're seated just outside the restaurant doors, the breeze gently displacing some of your own hair.

A nervous giggle escapes you as you tuck your hair back in place. Oscar beams and pulls the chair out in front of you.

"Hi. Sorry to keep you waiting."

You shake your head almost instantly. "No, it's okay. I wasn't here for long."

Oscar smiles even wider and you clamp your hands together under the table to stop them from shaking.

"It's nice to meet you," Oscar says, reaching his hand out. You chuckle at the formality but grasp his hand in yours nonetheless.

"Same here. Though, I'm a little nervous," you reply.

"Though, I hope you aren't super weirded out about going on a date with a fan," you rush out. "I just really enjoy the sport and I think you're a great driver."

You see a hint of pink dusting Oscar's cheeks. Your own face heats up at the realization.

"It's fine," Oscar consoles. "Thanks, by the way. I mean, you're gorgeous, so you're not the only one in awe here."

Oscar's eyes widen as he realizes the words that had come tumbling out of his mouth. Your own jaw slackens and another nervous laugh rises from your chest.

"Thank you," you manage to splutter out. "I-I don't know what else to say to that without sounding like some lovesick fan."

Oscar bursts out laughing, his hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. You realize that every inch of skin above his shirt collar is tinged with red.

"I think that's our signal to order," Oscar offers, flipping through the menu in front of him.

You nod silently, doing the same.

-

The text you send to your friend after your lunch with Oscar is just as vague, if not a little more.

You tell them that your date went well and that you'll be moving to another place. You don't exactly clarify what this other place is, but with the way your friend tells you to be safe and call immediately if anything goes wrong, you know that they're aware of where this is going.

You lean back, comfortable in the passenger seat of Oscar's car. You set your phone down, sneaking a peek at the man beside you, and for a split second your eyes meet.

"You good?" Oscar asks, his eyes trained back on the road. There's an easy smile playing on his lips and you can still see pink on his cheeks.

"Yeah," you say, digging through your purse and retrieving some breath mints. You pop two in your mouth and you offer Oscar the container.

You smile knowingly as Oscar glances at your outstretched hand, his smile widening into a bashful grin.

"Want some?" you offer, toying with the candy in your mouth. Just then, you come upon a stoplight and Oscar turns to you fully.

He holds up his palm and you shake out two more mints onto his awaiting hand. Oscar places them in his mouth, watching as you put the candies away.

"Any particular reason you'd be needing breath mints?" Oscar asks almost playfully.

You snicker. "Not really. Just wanted to get the taste of food out of my mouth."

Oscar hums, eyes trailing down your face. You can see him continue to suck on the mints but he soon loses his patience and bites down, grinding his teeth.

Yours are all dissolved, the fresh sting of spearmint settling on your tongue.

"I don't really do this," Oscar suddenly declares.

You raise both of your eyebrows. "Do what?"

"Take girls home on the first date."

A grin settles on your face as you hear the words. You lean in closer, over the center console, noting the way Oscar inhales as you do so.

"I'm flattered," you admit. Oscar laughs, mirroring your posture, the proximity between you two diminishing.

Oscar kisses you, tenderly at first, his hand automatically coming up to hold you in place. It's easy to forget that it's the middle of the day in sunny Monaco, the tint on his car windows not the ideal shade to necessarily hide what you're doing.

You pull, back glancing at the stoplight just as it turns green.

It takes a honk from the car behind you to get Oscar out of his daze.

-

Oscar is a gracious host, as you quickly learn. Gracious in a way that his hands immediately cradle you close the second his front door latches shut. His lips are just as welcoming as they trail down your neck, careful and almost nervous. It's also so hospitable how he so eagerly ushers you into his room, settling you down on the sheets as he does all the work for you.

Your clothes are stripped one by one and the familiar anxiety rises back up in your throat. Oscar senses the shift in your mood and pauses just as he's undoing his own pants.

"We don't have to," Oscar offers, taking ahold of one side of your face.

You kick yourself in your mind. This is an opportunity you would never pass up and it's right in the palm of your hand.

You shake your head. "I want to. I really want to. With you."

Oscar grins and practically tackles you down on the bed. It takes some effort but the rest of his clothes finally come off and the two of you lay bare on his bed.

You can feel the desperation in his movements and you reciprocate with as much eagerness. You think for a moment what it could have been in your lunch that caused the both of you to just want to jump in bed together, but you ultimately doubt that the tapas had anything to do with it.

It feels surreal, having Oscar's mouth on your core, and even more unbelievable the way his fingers work as if they already know you, how to please you. You're trembling by the time Oscar comes back up, lips smeared with your arousal.

You blink the tears out of your eyes as you watch Oscar reach over to his nightstand, expertly dispensing a condom, rolling it down on his rock-hard shaft.

You scramble to get him close, not even caring about how quick he plunges inside you, the stretch eliciting a hiss from between your teeth. You relax and Oscar takes this as a sign to start moving.

"Jesus, fuck—" Oscar curses. "You're fucking tight."

You let out a breath, holding Oscar's body close as he fucks you, steady and unrelenting.

You don't particularly care if everything he's said up to this point is a lie. You could be his fifth this week, you could be herded out his apartment the moment he finishes. You really don't mind, not when he feels this good inside you.

"Oscar," you gasp as he starts to pick up his pace. Even that doesn't seem real. The way his name rolls off your tongue registers like a faraway dream to you.

Oscar pulls back to look at you, his hair falling over his eyes. You've gushed about this exact look a few times online. The thought embarrasses you a bit and you can't help the blush that creeps up your neck.

"What?" Oscar asks, the corners of his mouth turning up as he watches you.

You shake your head. "Nothing. Don't look at me like that."

Oscar smirks, pressing his mouth to yours in a heady kiss. Your whines and moans are muffled as Oscar takes you closer and closer to your release. You claw at his back, digging your nails into his supple skin. Your hips start to move along with his, your own orgasm now within reach.

The two of you cum almost simultaneously and Oscar stills inside of you, his mouth hanging open as the euphoria completely washes over him. You're panting, eyes unfocused, even as Oscar pulls out to discard the condom.

Oscar plops back down beside you and you can't help the giggles that erupt as the two of you catch each other's eye.

"That was great," Oscar muses, staring at the ceiling, his hand patting around the bed until it finally finds yours. He slots his fingers between the spaces of your own.

You risk a peek at him and you take it all in. A strange feeling blooms in your chest.

Oscar turns to you and you quickly look away.

"It's kind of cute how you think I don't notice you looking," Oscar says, scooting closer.

You meet his eyes again and the strange feeling only flourishes. Pessimistically, you think of that one quote about never meeting your heroes. You start to think that it might be true.

The illusion is shattered. You've come too close. Icarus reincarnated, the sun staring you right back in the face.

You anticipate the sugarcoated rejection.

"Wanna stay over?"

You blink.

"Stay over?" You repeat rather plainly. Oscar nods.

"Yeah. I'll get us dinner." Oscar tucks your hair behind your ear. "Unless you'd rather I drive you home."

A giddy sort of sensation shoots through your body. You tentatively reach out, laying a hand on Oscar's face.

Maybe you could get just a little closer to the sun.

You peck his lips briefly, smiling as you pull away.

"No. I guess you can have me overnight."

[eyesxxyou]

Never smoked weed (or anything at all) in my life. And Oh my God, Hobie would be SUCH a good teacher. So fucking gay with it too

Wrapping his big fingers around your jaw, thumbing at the soft skin of your bottom lip urging you to open your mouth. Blowing smoke into your mouth to get you used to it, before gently placing the blunt in your mouth

I'd let him shotgun me and make me as high as he wants.

-🐘

I WROTE SOMETHING LIKE THIS BUT NEVER POSTED IT!

Here it is!

The flat smelled like weed. Your roommate, Hobie, was smoking. You didn't like it. He was otherwise a great roommate. Cleaned up after himself, remained considerate of the time and didn't listen to his music on full blast when you were trying to sleep, and kept his visitors to a minimum.

You didn't bother to put any clothes on, walking around your room in a pair of panties and a small tee. With a groan, you rolled out of bed and left your room to open up a window. It needed to air out or the smoke would stain everything in its vicinity. It’s not that you hated the smell either. It was just so pungent.

Walking out into the living room where Hobie was rolling his own joint with another sitting neatly between his full lips. His nimble fingers handled the thing delicately, rolling it up and using his tongue to seal it. Before tucking it behind his pierced ear. “Look a’ tha’. Ya come ‘ere to put on a show f’me then?”

You ignore him for your own sake, ignore the heat permeating your face as you suddenly realize how much you’re revealing in front of him, and go around cracking windows. You don't say anything to reprimand him, far too timid to do so. All you want is to go back to your room and hide away from his prying eyes.

“Wai’, dove. C’mere fo a bit.” Hobie motioned you over with two flicking fingers and you halted, watching as he took a long drag of his joint and let smoke tumble from between his lips and float up to disappear within the air. It mingled with the air so delicately, you wanted to mingle with him the very same way.

You fiddle with your fingers and hesitantly make your way over to him just in your panties and a tiny tee shirt. You aren't even eating a bra. How embarrassing. Can he see your nipples? The mound of your love?

You stand before him and Hobie motions you closer before patting his thigh. “Come on, luv. Ya won't break me. Sit.” His voice held a gentle persuasion. It didn't demand, didn't threaten, it was all but a suggestion. A silent, ‘if you want to’ implied by his tone.

And you wanted to. Oh how his lap looked so inviting, spread and open like a seat waiting for you. Was every one of his manspreads simply an invitation for you to sit in his lap?

You shuffled closer and stiffly, awkwardly, sat in his lap. Hobie wrapped a hand around your back and held you close. His fingers stroked the small of your back just above your ass, his thumb against your spine. “Relax.” He muttered. “Ya shakin’ like a scared puppy.” Hobie let out a smokey chuckle and looked at you with low eyes and a pretty smile.

You watch him smoke while his fingers tangle themselves into the band of your panties at your hip. You don't stop him, never even thought of it. His skin was hot, fingers calloused as they rub into the bare flesh of your hip.

You eye the joint between his fingers. You were never a fan of the smell but you were always curious what it was like. You had never smoked in your youth for reasons unknown. Your parents weren't overly strict, your friends occasionally did it but you never partook in it. Maybe you were waiting for the right time and this felt better than any.

Hobie’s fingers stroked your hip lazily, coy laughter escaping his lips. “Ya wanna try, lovie?” He offered the joint to you, the place where his lips once sat now in front of your own lips. You look at him unsure. “Go ahead.” He nods his head at you with an encouraging spark in his eye. His grip tightened on you and you felt safe enough to try it.

You shake your head, looking away. “I never–” you rub your neck sheepishly. How cute, he thought and turned the joint back to him. “Takin’ ya virginity then?” He chuckled in a baritone that had you swooning even further for him. “We’ll go slow then, yeah? Ion like t’be rough.”

He took a long, slow drag of his joint, the end glowing with embers that turned to ash. You watched, fascinated, your lips parted and eyes wide. Hobie took the joint from his hip and held it between his fingers as he went and grabbed the back of your head to pull you in. He eased his lips on yours, a full lock, and let the smoke billowing from his mouth and into yours.

It was easy to take it that way, his sweet lips on yours, kissing you between hits so you can taste the smoke. His hand holds your jaw with each smokey kiss, each one leaving you a little dizzier and you aren't sure if it’s from the weed or him making you so high.

You two go on like this for a while before you decide you’re ready to take a real hit from the joint that was almost out. Hobie’s more than happy to share, handing it off to you as you hold it with pinched fingers.

You placed your lips on the end of the joint and took a sharp inhale. Immediately, your throat and lungs filled with smoke and ash and you let out a smokey cough, nose scrunching as you shook your head.

Hobie stroked your back just above your low-hanging panties. “Try again. Slowa this time.”

And you did try again. You took a slow drag and felt the smoke fill your mouth before you released it past your lips. It almost tickled. You shuddered softly and looked at Hobie as you giggled.

“Good job, luv. Good boy.” Hobie hummed softly and watched you take another hit with a little more confidence. You lean into him and kiss him again, harder than before, with more want and vigor.

Hobie chuckled, smiling into your kiss as he slipped his hand past the band of your panties, his long fingers dipping between your lips to find your sweet little spot.

“Go ‘head. Take anotha hit.”

[thepromisesatsundown]

BELIEF | WENCLAIR

Wednesday Addams x Enid Sinclair

Description: When Enid's struggles with the aftermath of that night, all she needs is for someone to believe in her. Luckily, if there's one person Wednesday Addams could believe in, it's Enid Sinclair.

Tags/Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Crying, Soft Wednesday Addams (for Enid only), A bit of Canon-Divergence, Healing, References to PTSD

WC: 2.6k

A/N: Uh hi so this is the first oneshot I'm posting and bare with me, it is far from perfect haha I pumped it out really late at night but wanted to get something out there at least. I'm truly just going through as many random prompts I can find and writing oneshots based on them- if anyone sees this and has requests please send them my way. Anyway, enjoy!

Nevermore Academy bustled with a manufactured merriment that Wednesday Addams found entirely too fraudulent. Garlands in a shade of green that nature had never intended dripped from every railing, fairy lights winked with seizure-inducing frequency, and an enormous pine tree hulked in the corner of the common room like a many-armed monster playing dress-up.

The new principal, a man whose name Wednesday had forgotten as soon as she’d heard it, had decreed that festivities would continue until the very eve of winter break. Something about “breathing life back into Nevermore.” Wednesday thought the only thing Nevermore needed breathing into was sense.

Amidst the aggressive cheer, a lone figure caught Wednesday’s eyes. Enid Sinclair, lifelessly sorted through a box of baubles. When a strand of lights tumbled from the mantelpiece with a shatter of glass, Enid flinched, her entire body constricting inward.

Wednesday’s eyes narrowed. Enid’s enthusiasm for all things bright and jolly was constant, a northern star in Wednesday’s sky of black. To see her so dimmed, so diminished, sparked an unfamiliar ache in Wednesday’s chest. She could still see the gouges in the wall from that night, could still hear Enid’s howls of pain echoing through the woods.

Belief. Such a simple word for such a complex thing. Enid had believed in the fundamental goodness of people, in the magic of the holidays, in the power of a well-timed hug. And in one blood-soaked night, those beliefs had been shaken to their core.

Wednesday watched as Enid attempted to hang a glass reindeer on the tree, her hands trembling. The reindeer slipped, tumbling end over end before shattering on the floor. Enid stared at the glittery shards, eyes wide.

Without a conscious thought, Wednesday found herself moving toward the werewolf. She didn’t know what she would say, what she could possibly offer in the face of such quiet devastation. But she knew, with a certainty that surprised her, that she had to try.

Because in a world where monsters lurked in friendly faces, where the line between good and evil blurred like ink in the rain, belief was a fragile thing. And Wednesday realized, with a jolt that felt suspiciously like the ghost of a feeling, that Enid’s belief was something worth protecting.

Wednesday was already halfway across the room when the crack of a party popper rang through the air. It sounded like a gunshot, like the snap of bone, like a mirror shattering. Enid, who had been reaching for another ornament, froze. Her hand hung suspended, nails curled into claws.

For a moment, the world stopped. Enid shuddered. A full-body shiver that seemed to start at her toes and work its way up, leaving her shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps, each one a serrated knife to Wednesday’s ears.

The common room fell silent too. Conversations died mid-word, laughter cut off like a guillotined head. Every eye turned to Enid, who stood in the center of it all.

Wednesday saw the exact moment the attention became too much. Saw the way Enid’s eyes darted wildly, searching for an escape. Saw the tremble in her lip, the heave of her chest. And then, like a startled deer, Enid bolted.

She moved with a speed that rivaled her wolf form. A speed born of desperation and fear. She was out the door before anyone could so much as draw a breath, leaving only a streak of blonde hair and the lingering scent of cinnamon in her wake.

Wednesday didn’t hesitate. Didn’t pause to consider the implications of what she was about to do. She simply moved, her feet carrying her after Enid as if they had a mind of their own. Behind her, the common room erupted into a hive of buzzing speculation, but Wednesday paid it no mind. Her focus had narrowed to a single point, a single purpose. 

Find Enid. Help Enid. Protect Enid.

As she ran, Wednesday’s mind spun, gears turning in unfamiliar patterns. Enid was sunshine personified, a beacon of unwavering optimism in a sea of teenage angst. To see her so shattered, so utterly undone… it stirred something in Wednesday. Something fierce and primal, something that snarled at the thought of Enid in pain.

Memories flashed through her mind. Enid, face matted with blood, running towards her despite the pain. Enid, her voice hoarse from exertion, insisting she was fine even as her body was torn in pieces. Enid, always Enid, putting on a brave front for the world while she crumbled inside.

Not this time, Wednesday vowed. This time, she would be the strong one. This time, she would be the believer.

She just had to find Enid first.

Her pace never slowed as she continued through the halls. She checked all the usual spots—their shared room, the greenhouse, the hidden alcove behind the staircase where Enid sometimes went to think. But each place was empty. Devoid of the warmth and light that seemed to follow the wolf wherever she went.

Frustration mounted in Wednesday’s chest. Where could she be? Where would Enid go when the world became too much, when the memories nipped at her heels like hungry wolves? And then, it hit her. A flash of insight that stole her breath. The library. Of course. Where else would someone go to hide from their own story?

Wednesday changed course, her strides lengthening, her pace quickening. The library was an oft-overlooked part of Nevermore, a labyrinth of shelves. It was the perfect place to get lost, to disappear into the stacks and let the world fade away.

The minute she burst through the door, Wednesday’s voice was a knife cutting through the gloom. “Enid?”

Silence. Then, a sniffle. A hitched breath. A muffled sob.

Wednesday followed the sound, weaving through the aisles. She turned a corner and there Enid sat, with her knees drawn up to her chest and her face buried in her arms. She was shaking, fine tremors running through her frame like electrical currents.

“Enid.” Wednesday’s voice was softer than she’d ever heard it, nothing more than a mere wisp in the silence.

Enid’s head snapped up, her eyes swollen and glassy. “Wednesday? What are you doing here?”

Wednesday crouched down, bringing herself to Enid’s level. “I could ask you the same question.”

A watery laugh bubbled up from Enid’s throat, but it sounded more like a sob. “Hiding, I guess. Pathetic, right?”

“No.” The word was out before Wednesday could stop it. “Not pathetic. Never pathetic.”

Enid blinked. It was rare for Wednesday to be so vehement, so unequivocal. Usually, her words were measured, carefully weighed and parceled out like precious gems. But now, at this moment, there was no hesitation. No second-guessing.

“I just…” Enid’s voice faltered, her gaze dropping to her hands. They were clenched in her lap, fingers intertwined so tightly the knuckles had turned white. “I can’t stop thinking about that night. About the hyde. About… about Tyler.”

His name hung in the air for a beat. It was a name that carried the scent of betrayal, of shattered trust and broken promises. A name that tasted like ashes on the tongue.

Enid swallowed. “Every time I close my eyes, I see him. Not as he was at the end, as he was before. When he was just Tyler. When he was… when I thought he was someone you could trust.”

Her voice cracked on the last word, fracturing like a pane of glass under too much pressure. Wednesday felt something twist inside her. A sharp, unfamiliar ache. It was a feeling she couldn’t quite name, but it burned like poison.

“I trusted him,” Enid whispered. A confession. A secret shame pulled from the depths of her soul. “I trusted him, and he… he…”

She couldn’t finish it. The sentence lodged in her throat, choking her, strangling her. Enid’s shoulders began to shake, more tremors that quickly escalated into full-body shudders.

“I can still feel it,” she gasped out. “The hyde. Its claws on my skin, its teeth. I can still hear the sound it made when it… when Tyler…”

Another shudder ripped through her, so violent it seemed to shake the very air. It was as if the memory itself was a physical thing, a malevolent presence that sunk its own claws into Enid’s very being.

Wednesday felt a surge of something hot and fierce burn in her chest. That same protective instinct, stronger this time. She wanted to reach out, to gather Enid into her arms and hold her until the shaking stopped. She wanted to hunt down every last one of Enid’s demons and banish them to the darkest pits of hell.

But she didn’t know how. Comfort, empathy, these were foreign lands to Wednesday. Uncharted territories with no map to guide her. All she had was the compass of her own heart, spinning wildly.

So, she did the only thing she could think of. She reached out, slowly, tentatively, and placed her hand on Enid’s knee. It was a small gesture, a tiny point of contact. Buti t was a start.

“Enid,” she said, ever so softly. “You’re safe now. I swear it. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Enid’s eyes finally met Wednesday’s. There was a vulnerability there, a look she’d never seen on the girl’s face before. A look that spoke of sleepless nights and unspoken fears.

“I want to believe that,” Enid whispered, voice trembling. “I want to believe it so badly. But every time I close my eyes…”

She trailed off, but she didn’t need to finish. Wednesday could see it in the shadows under her eyes, in the pallor of her skin. The nightmares, the memories, they were eating away at Enid, stealing her sleep and her peace.

Wednesday’s heart clenched. She felt lost. These sorts of emotional situations were Enid’s strengths, not hers. But for Enid, she would try. She would reach into the depths of her own soul and find a way to be the rock Enid needed.

“Tell me about them,” she said, and it wasn’t a demand, but an invitation. “The nightmares. Perhaps… Perhaps talking about them will help.”

Enid hesitated, her lower lip caught between her teeth. For a moment, Wednesday thought she might refuse, might pull away and retreat back into herself. But then, with a shaky sigh, Enid began to speak.

“It’s always the same,” she said, lowering her gaze back down. “I’m rushing back into the woods, trying to find you. But the hyde… Tyler… he’s there. He’s coming for you, and I can’t transform. I can’t move. I can’t run. I can’t do anything but watch as he… as it…”

A sob wrenched itself from Enid’s throat, and Wednesday’s hand tightened on the werewolf’s knee.

“Sometimes I wake up nearly screaming,” Enid continued, the words tumbling out now, as if a dam had burst inside her. “Sometimes I don’t sleep at all. I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, afraid to close my eyes.”

Wednesday’s heart ached harder. She knew what it was like to be haunted by the past, to have ghosts that refused to be laid to rest. But she’d always faced her demons alone, armed with nothing but her own stubbornness and wit.

Yet Enid… Enid was different. She was sunlight and laughter, warm hugs and bright smiles. She wasn’t meant for the shadows, for the cold embrace of fear.

“I’m sorry,” Wednesday said abruptly, though it felt inadequate, too small to encompass the depth of what she was feeling. “I’m sorry you must bear this burden. But you are not alone, Enid. I am here. Right here.”

Enid drew her eyes back up to Wednesday. “I know,” she sighed. “I know you are. And I… I don’t know what I’d do without you, Wednesday.”

The words hit Wednesday like a physical blow. She’d never been anyone’s anchor, anyone’s safe harbor in a storm. She’d never been needed like this, never been trusted with something so precious, so fragile.

It terrified her. It exhilarated her. It made her want to be better, to be stronger, to be everything Enid needed her to be.

Without thinking, Wednesday opened her arms. And for a moment, Enid hesitated, eyes wide and uncertain. But, with a sob that sounded like a release, Enid lunged forward. Crashing into Wednesday’s embrace, the wolf buried her face into the crook of her raven’s neck.

The Addams closed her arms around Enid, pulling her close. She could feel the girl shaking, could feel the hot splash of tears against her skin. But she didn’t pull away. She didn’t let go. She held her close, held her tight, as if she could physically hold Enid together, could keep all her broken pieces from flying away.

And slowly, Wednesday’s arms tightened around Enid. It was a strange sensation, holding someone like this. Wednesday was used to keeping people at a distance, both physically and emotionally. Touch, for her, had always been associated with pain or discomfort.

But holding Enid… it didn’t feel wrong. It didn’t feel intrusive or uncomfortable. It felt… right. Like a piece of puzzle slotting into place, like a chord resolving after al ong, tense progression.

She could feel the rapid beat of Enid’s heart, the way her chest heaved with each shuddering sob. It was overwhelming, this closeness. It was scary and beautiful all at once. It felt like standing on the edge of a precipice, staring down into an unknown abyss.

But not once did she pull away. Not once did she let go. Instead, she lifted one hand and began to rub slow, smoothing circles on Enid’s back.

“Shh,” she murmured. “It’s okay. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

The words felt strange coming out of her mouth. Unfamiliar. Clumsy. Wednesday wasn’t used to offering comfort, nor being gentle. Her tone was nothing short of sharp and cutting. But now… now she needed to be soft. Now she needed to be the balm to Enid’s wounds.

Enid’s sobs began to gradually quieten, her shaking beginning to still. She seemed to melt into Wednesday’s embrace. It was as if all the tension, all the fear and pain, was draining out of her, leaving her empty and exhausted.

Wednesday held her through it. She didn’t speak, didn’t offer any more platitudes or reassurances. She simply held on. Even as time began to stretch and warp and seconds bled into minutes.

But finally, after what could have been a lifetime or a heartbeat, Enid stirred. She lifted her head from Wednesday’s shoulder, eyes red-rimmed and puffy. But there was something else in her gaze now, a flicker of something that looked like hope.

“Thank you,” her voice was hoarse and raw as she whispered. “For… for everything. For being here. For not… not letting me be alone.”

Wednesday’s heart swelled. It was a feeling she couldn’t categorize nor even identify, but made her feel light, made her feel as if she could take on the world and win.

“You are far from alone,” she said firmly. “You shall never be alone, Enid. Not for as long as I am alive and breathing.”

Enid’s lips trembled, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. But these tears were different. These were tears of relief, of gratitude, of something that might have been love.

“I know,” she said, and there was a new strength in her voice. A new steadiness. “I know that now.”

And it was in that very moment, with Enid in her arms and the scent of old books in her nose, Wednesday realized something. Something vast and horrifyingly wonderful, something that felt quite like the first flicker of belief.

Enid, she knew, wasn’t just something to protect. She was something to fight for. Something to believe in.

And Wednesday… Well, Wednesday was ready to believe.

[goat-guy-tm]

Welcome to me trying to build a proper timeline of the events in the Aphverse in my rewrite, aka me sharing something I remembered about my rewrite;

A way my rewrite differs greatly is that Laurence isn't knocked out by Garroth at the end of season 1, because their dynamic in my rewrite would make that, really out of character for him (they are unofficially married by like mid way through season 1). Laurence ends up being part of the group that gets blasted to the Irene dimension, but, something strange happens.

Laurence instead ends up waking up in a strange forest, and the first person he finds is this strange kid covered in completely black burns.

When being forced through dimensions, Laurence instead tumbles out into Void Paradox, giving him an wven bigger reason to be hell bent on returning to the OverWorld, because for all he knows Garroth, Aphmau and the others could be dead, or even lost in their own random realms.

It's also kind of Enki's (Travis' mom) fault. Being the not really designated but designated realms protector she also basically oversees all transportation between realms, and of course seeing such a large group of people going from the OverWorld to Irene's dimension makes her freak out a little and accidentally plucked Laurence out of there and threw him to Modzilla.

I realize saying "Yeah Travis' mom is an ethereal realms overseer between worlds in the vacuum of non existance physically fighting off the void" without context of this post <SO TURNS OUT I NEVER POSTED SAID POST I WAS TRYING TO REFRENCE, SO LOOK OUT FOR THA :[]

[ineffabildaddy]

post-ineffable divorce hatefucky ficlet (featuring fem!crowley)

so, i banged a quick one out (no pun intended) late last night after this exchange with @actual-changeling, plus some encouragement from @crowleyslvt in the dms

summary: aziraphale and fem!crowley are hatefucking on the regs post-ineffable divorce. despite setting out some ground rules, they can't help breaking them…

obviously, this ficlet is of an explicitly sexual nature, so please proceed with caution!!!

-

They had settled into a rhythm. Crowley liked that. Well, she didn't like it, but it was easier than the alternative.

Every panting breath Aziraphale released was pronounced. Beads of sweat which looked suspiciously like tears tumbled down his flushed cheeks. He was fucking Crowley with the best dick he'd ever manifested; her splayed out on the nearest table they had come upon moments earlier, him in a standing position, rutting into her with the grunts and groans of a furious wounded animal.

Crowley appeared positively relaxed as she leaned back on her hands, head tilted upwards slightly, the cascading crimson waves of her hair falling over her tits, with her legs enveloping his hips so he could fuck her deeper. Not only did she have a delectable view of Aziraphale unravelling before her, but from this position, she was also able to maintain the distance required to keep her from grabbing at him, or kissing him, or worse - crying her fucking eyes out.

In other words, she had everything under control.

That is, until Aziraphale, without leaning forward, wrapped one hand around her neck.

Wordlessly, he continued to thrust into her without breaking eye contact. She stifled a whimper as the pad of his thumb pressed into her skin with disarming gentleness. Sporting a pair of pupils as dilated as Aziraphale had ever seen them, Crowley clasped Aziraphale's occupied wrist with both hands and clung on for dear life. Though uttering a moan would be conceding to him too much, she knew that with the minimal effort of keening a couple of times through deep breaths, she could drive him dangerously close to insanity.

So, that was what she did, glaring back into Aziraphale's eyes with an intensity that she would certainly regret if she was able to perceive the look that adorned her own face. Aziraphale's countenance betrayed nothing, but for a split second, Crowley felt his thumb move markedly downwards, as if he was determining whether or not to caress her with it.

Then, Aziraphale let go.

"Bad girl."

As his arm fell to his side, so did both of Crowley's hands. Her heart did that thing where it's sort of like - what was that cruise ship called that went down about a century ago? Well, yeah, it did a thing rather like that.

"Fuck you," Crowley spat back, with such bile that a flash of guilt immediately assaulted her gut.

"Very bad girl," Aziraphale retaliated without so much as a moment's pause while he continued fucking her. "What happens to bad girls, my-" he broke off and cleared his throat. His voice rang out an octave lower the second time he attempted to speak the same sentence. "What happens to bad girls?"

"B-bad girls don't come." The stammer that accompanied Crowley's speech was borne more out of confusion than anything else. She still failed to understand why Aziraphale insisted on establishing that each time they fucked - after all, he never kept his word. She came more than he did, every time, but her orgasms were not administered with the patience or the tenderness required for her to really lose herself in them. Instead, they wounded and incensed her (but not as much as they drove her wild with passion, and the desire for a warmer, more rewarding form of intimacy with him; no, never as much as that).

"That's right," Aziraphale growled. "Touch me like that again and..."

Crowley raised an eyebrow, waiting patiently for the end of Aziraphale's statement. She rolled her hips and felt Aziraphale's dick hit just the right spot as she did so, serving as a reminder that two could play this game.

"... You are impossible."

Despite knowing better, Crowley wanted so badly for him to be right. She grinned a grin which didn't quite reach her eyes while Aziraphale's nails sunk into her thighs just hard enough that, if she were human, they would've drawn blood.

-

thank you for reading!! tagging @celestialcrowley @procrastiel @sad-chaos-goblin @genderqueer-hippie @crowleys-bentley-and-plants @dancingcrowley

feedback is very much appreciated<3 i've posted the ficlet on ao3 too so if you'd like to leave kudos and a comment there, that'd be incredible!!!

[palaceofpassion]

More than Friends

I seriously can’t remember, if I ever even posted this here or not!  I swear I did, but I can’t find it.  Maybe tumblr being messy.  Anyways, here it is again.

Slightly NSFW as usual, but mostly fluff.

“Why would I need friends when I have you?”  The voice of a young rose cut through the busy noise spread throughout Beacon’s courtyard.  Before her a young woman with a forest of yellow hair simply gave her a smile, and a quick tilt of her head.

“Well actually my friends are here now!  BYEeeeeee~!”  

Quickly taken aback as a group of unknown individuals formed behind her sister, she was caught off guard when they dashed away, leaving her head spinning, as well as her body.  Before she knew it she was tumbling backwards, the world around her a blur, only stopping when she came crashing into something.  

Her body hit the floor and her heart stopped, removing her hood revealed that she’d not only damaged, but trashed a young woman’s luggage.  “No no no no, this wasn’t how I wanted things to start.”  She whimpered to herself quietly.

She felt fear form as a bubble within her belly, the snowy white woman eyeing her suspiciously.  Trying to move backwards she found herself tripping over her own cape, the long fabric stuck under her bum, relenting in its ability to keep her still.  

The small girl cast a shadow above her, this was it, she was going to get yelled at, she’d seen that cross face on many before her.  The look of judgment, the way she tapped her fingers against her arms, this was it.  

“Are you alright?”  

Her concern proved to be completely unwarranted as the other woman stuck out her hand, waiting for Ruby to reach out and grab it.  Though confused at first Ruby nodded, “Yes… thank you… I’m sorry.”  

With a strength betrayed by the other girl's size she was easily lifted, something pushing her up from her tush and sending her onto her feet, the unknown girl keeping her steady.  

“There is no need to apologize.”  

Ruby froze as the other girl gave her a once over, to her surprise not judging her as harshly as she thought she would.  

“I happened to see the strange occurrence beforehand, it could hardly be called your fault.”  

“Tha…thank you…”  

The girl gave her a simple curt nod before attending back to her things, grabbing at any fallen bottle of dust that may have spilled onto the ground and putting everything back in order.  Ruby felt a tinge of embarrassment covet her heart, her face heated slightly at the realization that she should be helping.  

“Here uhm, I made everything fall so let me help you.”  

She half expected the other woman to simply ignore her, or to brush her off but-

“I appreciate it, thank you kindly.”  

'Maybe Beacon won’t be as bad as I thought?'

While the two worked on getting everything set up, she tried to think of busy talk to keep the feeling going.  But she found herself at a loss for words, small talk had never been one of Ruby’s strong points, and well this awkward situation wasn’t really helping anything for that matter.  

So it came to both her surprise and relief when the other girl started to speak.  “It’s curious to see someone as young as you here, are you perhaps visiting a relative?”

Ruby blinked, she hadn’t expected to be asked THAT.  “Oh uhm no!  I uh… I stopped a robbery in Vale, and Headmistress Goodwitch was there, and well one thing lead to another and I was in front of Headmaster Ozpin and now I’m here.”  

She noted the quick change of expression, the other girl's eyebrow quickly cocked as if she meant to say something, but quickly went back to normal.  Shaking her head she simply started to converse again.

“You must have been exemplary to be noticed by the headmaster.  I look forward to perhaps working with you in the future.”  

“Oh uhm no no!  I’m just a normal girl, normal knees.”  

That got another questioning gaze, this time causing Ruby’s face to flush slightly hotter.  

“Either way, if the headmaster saw something in you, there must be something more.  But only the future will tell… aaaand, all done.”  

The last of the dust and luggage was put on her cart, finally letting Ruby get a good look at the other girl.  She noted a few things, her elegant battle skirt, the soft baby blue colors of her outfit which matched her shimmering eyes, and the soft almost silver color of her hair.  Then there was her white as snow skin, it was almost as if she was, “Are you a princess?”  

Ruby had NOT meant to say that outloud, but now that she had, there was no going back.  Though she could feel the blood pump through her face as her ears were coated in a bright burning crimson.  

She expected some kind of strange look, or some kind of annoyance, but all she got was a soft giggle.

“Ah, I haven’t been called a Princess… no my preferred nickname is Snow Angel, but only by a specific person.”  Ruby noted the longing in her eyes, and the soft smile that graced her pale lips.  

“No, I am-”

Before she could answer however, she was rudely interrupted by another individual.

“Weiss Schnee, heiress to the Schnee Dust company: one of the largest producers of energy propellant in the world.”  

If Weiss was bothered by what this stranger butting in, she didn’t show it, instead she simply tied to create small talk, “Yes thank you Ms-”  

However, she was cut off again, this time with a scalding look from bright golden eyes, “The same company infamous for its controversial labor forces and questionable business partners.”  

Weiss froze, now she looked offended, her fingers tightly winding into her palm as she tried to keep her temper under check.  

Ruby looked back and forth between the two, noting the rising tensions, but before she could say something Weiss simply turned around.  And though quiet as it was, Ruby was able to hear Weiss’ last words before she walked off, looking far sadder than Ruby would have liked.  

“I’m not my father…”

More questions, more concerns, but Ruby would get no answers as not only did Weiss suddenly leave, but the other mysterious girl was gone before Ruby could say anything.  Instead she was left there, befuddled, and dazed.  

Falling back down on her rear she simply laid on the ground, saddened and a little frustrated.  “Welcome to Beacon…”  

And like that a shadow was cast upon her, her silver eyes quickly gazing upwards onto a rather tall figure hidden by darkness.

As the day came to a close, and everyone began to fall asleep, Weiss sat alone, trying not to freak out, “I hope I didn’t mess up.”  

She knew that, or at least she thought that running away when she did hadn’t set a good look for her.  But… but she couldn’t be there, not when that girl had so harshly accused her.  “Why did she say that?”

She knew that the practices under her father were awful, downright evil she may add.  But she wasn’t her father, she wasn’t like him, she would never be like him.  “Blaming me for the sins of my father… how cruel.”  She’d never even met her before, but the look she’d given her the way those vile yellow eyes peered at her, she’d felt a chill run down her spine.  It was like she was nothing but prey, a target to remove… and yet, she couldn’t help but feel she’d seen her somewhere before.  

Holding onto her legs, she kept herself in a back corner curled into a ball.  Her blanket covered her so that no one could see the shimmering tears running down her cheeks.  She… she may have been a Schnee, her father may have done his best to try to snuff her emotions, but… but she wasn’t heartless.  She wasn’t some soulless monster, and she thanked the gods that she wasn’t, though it had nothing to do with deities that kept her as her.  “I miss you…”  Her voice was soft, and quiet.

“Who are you missing?”  

The sudden squeaky voice threw her for a loop, due to having been wrapped in her emotions she’d not only failed but had been horrified and surprised by the sudden intrusion.  

Her blanket swiftly falling leaving her red touched cheeks in plain view, the soft moonlight shimmering off her pale white skin, giving her the visage of a young goddess.  Though those thoughts had not come from herself, but another who sat not too far away dressed in a rather peculiar onesie.

“Wha?”  Her voice hiccuped as she tried to speak, the young girl in front of her catching on immediately.

“Oh!  I’m sorry I’m sorry!  I didn’t mean to spook you!  Oh uhm!”  Weiss noted the way she started to panic in concern, something that she found oddly comforting.

“No… no it’s okay… I was just thinking about something.”  In a rather unlady like show, she chose to wipe her face with her sleeve.  “How can I help you?”  

“Well… I had uhm, wanted to introduce myself, we’d gotten interrupted earlier so I never got to give you my name.”  

Soft snowy eyes blinked, “Oh, I suppose that is correct.”  

“Right!  So I’m Ruby Rose!”  She reached out her hand, confusing Weiss for a moment, before she realized she’d probably wanted to shake hands.  

Weiss responded in kind, reaching her hand out and gripping firmly but softly onto Ruby’s hand.  “You already know, but I’m Weiss Schnee, it is a pleasure to meet you Ruby Rose.”  

The beaming smile she received was perhaps a little too powerful, Weiss found herself curling backwards afraid that she’d be burned by the overpowering light which emitted from the younger girl.  “Are you sure you’re not a princess?  Cause you look like a princess!”  

Weiss couldn’t help but chuckle, though she didn’t get a chance to respond right away as another person approached them.  A young woman, the young woman from earlier who’d left Ruby alone to be exact.

“Howdy!”  She spoke with a level of enthusiasm that Weiss wasn’t quite used to, forcing her to reel a little.

“Hello.”  But it would have been impolite not to greet them.

“So you’re the chick that helped my sister out!  It’s a pleasure to meet you, name’s Yang!  Yang Xiao-Long.”  

She too extended her hand, reaching out to Weiss, though Weiss responded in kind like she had with Ruby, she was greeted with a much stronger grip and a wild shake.  She felt her arm nearly pull from its socket, thankfully Ruby came to her quick rescue.

“Yang!  Stop it!”  

A quick smack to Yang’s hand was enough to get her to stop.  

“Aww come on sis!  I got to meet your hero!  Of course I’m going to get excited!”  

Weiss blinked as the two started to enter a conversation of their own.  Though neither looked alike, she had just been assured that the two of them were siblings, and from the way they acted she could definitely see it.  Though her relationship with her sister was strained, due to her no longer living with the family, she’d made great efforts into reaching out to her brother.  And despite their differing personalities, she liked to think the two were close.

But watching the two of them before her, she couldn’t help but feel a slight bit of jealousy, however that was quickly resolved once they both turned their attention back towards her.

“So!  My sister here wanted to thank you, and so I brought her over so we could have a little sleep over!”  

Weiss blinked again, she was doing a lot of that she noted, as Ruby seemed to turn towards her sister in aghast.  

Weiss considered refusing the proposal but… she’d been feeling rather lonely since coming to Beacon, her special someone not being here didn’t help.  So- “Yes, I think I would enjoy that.”  

“WOOHOO!”  Both sister’s shouted aloud, though that seemed to have disturbed a few other guests as they received a few boo’s and a rather vapid.

“Shut up.”  

Weiss felt a chill run up her spine as she found the source of said voice, the girl from earlier had been staring at them, glaring at her to be more exact.  Her golden eyes pierced the darkness, practically glowing… no they were glowing… that… that actually explained a few things.  

Still, even with the rather obvious, and unjustified hatred, she chose to ignore her.  It was best not to let herself be pulled into any dangerous situations, especially if she was one of them.  That… that had her worrying… even as Yang and Ruby crowded around her, she couldn’t help but wonder, “I hope you’re doing okay…” 

Little did she know, not far from them, the onesie dressed figure from earlier watched, a soft smile on his face as he moved to fall asleep, ignoring the laughs thrown at him from those who’d seen him earlier.  

Pyrrha had several pre-planned ideas how a conversation with Weiss Schnee would go.  She had assumed the girl would approach her, accost her for a partnership, earn her ire from the start.  Even flirtation was within the realm of possibility-  Pyrrha was no stranger to amorous advances, even from those who should have known better.  However what she hadn’t expected was what was happening right this instant.

Just a few seconds ago, as she was preparing her gear, Weiss Schnee appeared before her, the girl fidgeting in a way that Pyrrha had seen countless times.  However, the words that had come out from her mouth had been… it had been a first.  

“WOULDYOULIKETOBEFRIENDS?!”  

Stunned, absolutely silenced, lost and perplexed!  Those were things Pyrrha was feeling and going through, she’d not expected not in her wildest of dreams that Weiss Schnee would… would earnestly like to be friends.  

She’d seen, been through, and spoken with many who’d faked interest in her but this?  The way Weiss acted, it was… it was natural.  So Pyrrha said the only thing she could in this situation, “It would be my pleasure.”  Though it came out more like a, “Yes?”  

Pyrrha had to say, she felt a bit bad, “Apparently even I have preconceived biases…”

“Oh!”  Weiss’ expression was enough to tell Pyrrha that perhaps she had not expected this to go so smoothly.  “Well uhm!”  She took a step back, bowing slightly and giving Pyrrha a curtsy, “It is a pleasure to have you as a friend Pyrrha.”  

Pyrrha, for what it was worth, simply held back the giggle that began to brew within her.  The way that Weiss moved was perhaps a bit archaic, but she was starting to understand what was going through her mind.  

So… Pyrrha in a rather uncharacteristic moment, mimicked Weiss, a small curtsy of her own followed.  “It is a pleasure to be friends with you as well Weiss.”  

What followed was a bout of silence as the two stared at one another, only ending when the giggles began to break out.  Both girls bent over as they freely started to laugh.  

Though… something happened, something that only happened when two people who had very low social experience met together.  Though both Pyrrha Nikos and Weiss Schnee had spent countless of years putting up facades, handling the rich and the fancy, and meeting with those that they could not call a friend, they’d yet to experience the true terror of social gatherings.  What to say to break the ice with your friends…

“SO!”

Both tried to speak at once, “I apologize you go first.”  

“I’m sorry you go!”  

Both of them tried to let the other go first, neither sure how to proceed from there, the silence from before turning into a rather awkward and uncomfortable one.  Pyrrha started to look for a way out, though she need not look long as a figure taller than her approached them.

“Excuse me.”  

His sudden intrusion caused the duo to jump, both turning their attention towards the newcomer.

“Yes?  How can we help you?”  Though she thought it was a little rude to be intruded on, there was no need to show hostility, even if Weiss seemed to eye him with suspicion.  For now PYrrha would be civil.

“I’m sorry, the two of you are in front of my locker.”  

A few blinks and Pyrrha felt her face flush in embarrassment, “Oh!  I’m sorry!”  

“Oh no it’s no problem!  I just need to get my stuff.”  

Though she moved out of the way she quickly noted that Weiss hadn’t, instead she was eyeing the tall figure suspiciously, and he for what it was worth attempted to keep his hood drawn and away from her.  

Which gave Pyrrha the chance to see a few strands of golden wheat colored hair peek through the hood.  

“Jaune?”  

Pyrrha’s eyebrow cocked as the boy stiffened.  

“Jaune is that you?”  

He gave a deep breath while he pulled his hood down.  And for once, it was Pyrrha’s turn to be awestruck, her face flushed red for a different reason.  A strange and unusual heat running up her neck and coating her ears in crimson as she finally got a look at the mysterious individual.  A young man with a soft looking face, glimmering sapphire colored eyes, and hair which reminded her of a wheat field.  She couldn’t help but be taken back by how handsome she’d found him.  

The strangest thing was however, that he didn’t strike her as much of a fighter.  The way he carried himself made it obvious that he wasn’t used to combat… a suspicion she had answered quickly as the two started a conversation.

“Hey Weiss.”  His tone seemed reluctant, almost scared.

However Weiss apparently didn’t notice, because the moment she realized that she’d known him she’d rounded on him pulling him into a tight hug that he quickly returned.  

Pyrrha couldn’t stop the warmth on her face from growing hotter as the two shared a rather intimate looking exchange, Jaune’s hands creeping to Weiss lower back as he pulled her upwards so she could nuzzle into his neck.

However, things turned sour as soon as he let her down.

“Jaune…”  There was a tinge of happiness and confusion in Weiss’ voice, “Jaune… what are you doing here?”  

Now Pyrrha was confused.

“Oh you know… applied, got in…”  

Her acute vision caught the way he swallowed, and noted the way Weiss looked around to see if there was anyone in earshot or view of them.  She quickly reached out, her pale fingers suddenly pinching the much taller boy's face.  

“You don’t have aura…”  

Pyrrha blinked, now finding things rather ‘suspicious’.  

“Oh uhm well…”  

“Oh you fool… you ran away didn’t you?”  

“I… uhm…”  

“Excuse me.”  

Pyrrha couldn’t help but butt in, “What’s going on?”  

Weiss froze, having almost completely forgotten that Pyrrha had been there.  

“Oh well you see uh-” 

“I… may have snuck in?”  

Pyrrha was aghast, this handsome boy snuck in?  “Why?”  She took a step back covering her mouth with her hands at the realization she’d asked her question out loud.

“Oh uhm… well…”  He stared at the floor, “Promise not to laugh?”  

Pyrrha nodded, though she could tell Weiss had some modicum of an idea on what he was going to say.

“I’ve always wanted to be a hero?”  

Now it was her turn to give him a concerned look, her arms crossed.

“Now hold on, so… all my life, I’ve always wanted to help people and well… I’ve… I’ve never had the chance.”

“You helped me…”  Pyrrha almost missed what Weiss said, her voice coming off as a mere whisper.

“And… my parents wouldn’t train me so-... so I worked out… I got in shape… but… but it wasn’t enough so… I may have uhm… snuck in…”

“And what would you have done if you’d gotten hurt?!  You don’t have any training.”  

Pyrrha watched with concern at how concerned Weiss was… 

“I… I don’t know, I thought I’d wing it?”  

She had to admit, while she liked his ideals, if he didn’t have the strength to back them up then he’d only hurt himself, so- “Jaune, right?”  

He nodded.

“I don’t think it’s safe to be here- you could get really hurt and-”

He interrupted her, his voice pitching higher in worry, “Look uhm, Ms…”  He paused for a moment as if trying to guess her name but continued after, “I… I promise I won’t get in your way, just please don’t tell anyone.”    

She stared at him for a moment, “You don’t know who she is, do you?”  Weiss asked him.

He only shook his head, “Other than being the second most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, no… sorry.”

Pyrrha’s blush came back the sincerity in his voice and the way he kept his eyes on Weiss showed he wasn’t simply flirting with her.  Though her emerald eyes quickly scanned to Weiss to see if she’d been offended by his statement.  .  “Of course you wouldn’t, you dork.”  Though the word may have seemed harsh, Pyrrha could tell it carried a bit of warmth to it.

“She’s Pyrrha Nikos, she’s a well known competitor, and aspiring huntress.  Though…” She paused as if thinking about something,  “Seeing as your parents never let you watch anything to do with huntsmen, I guess it makes sense you wouldn’t know.”  

“Oh!  I’m sorry!  I uhm… like she said my parents didn’t really like me looking at stuff… I only know as much as I do because of Weiss.”  

Weiss nodded, “I would have unlocked your aura but… I just don’t have a lot so…”  Weiss sounded disappointed.  

Though… it was here at this moment that Pyrrha decided something, perhaps this would prove to be a mistake later.  But as she watched her new friend and her ‘boyfriend?’ She decided to take destiny by the horns.  “I can unlock it for you.”  

“Really?!”

“Really…?”

Two tones of varying excitement reached her.  Jaune looked positively ecstatic, Weiss less so, but she seemed interested none the less.

“Ye…yes!”  

Jaune grabbed her hands, holding them tight as he practically wept.  “Thank you… thank you so much.”  

Pyrrha felt her heart flip, that strange sensation coming back to her.  

“O…of course!”  

She tried to see if Weiss was bothered by his sudden abruptness, but when she didn’t see any change in her demeanor she herself calmed down.  If she was being honest with herself, she knew this was a bad idea… but… as she stared at the boy in front of her and perhaps new friend… she felt like being a little bit selfish.  And perhaps… there were more than a few ulterior motives hidden away…  Though… “Perhaps not here?  Once we’re out in the field I’ll assist you.”  

“O-oh!  Okay yeah!  We’ll meet up then.”  Jaune shook his head, and Weiss gave her a look that… well she hadn’t expected such a soft but thankful gaze drafted upon her.

“Thank you… thank you so much…”  To any who happened to see, any cold impression of Weiss one may have had was quickly vanquished as she took Pyrrha’s hands into her own and profusely thanked the taller girl.

As night came upon them, and everyone in Beacon readied for bed, Pyrrha couldn't stop herself from thinking about how fortunate today had been!  She’d ended up with… a rather handsome, if she had to say partner.  And to her surprise the rather timid team leader.  Speaking of, her eyes gently glanced over to her new leader, the dainty heiress dressed in nothing but a soft blueish gown which only came down to her upper thighs, the young woman currently brushing her long hair, waiting for her partner to come out of the bathroom.  

The young woman had really surprised her, she hadn’t expected her to take the lead like she had, even more when she was able to comfortably use all of not only Pyrrha’s assets, but Jaune’s and Ruby’s as well.  It had come to a shocking truth that perhaps Pyrrha had been a little more biased than she’d meant to.  

As things stood, she felt… rather happy with the state of affairs, and was sure that they would make a wonderful team!  

Speaking of team though, she brought her attention to the final member of their little family, Ruby Rose, she hadn’t known what to make of the girl especially when she excitedly went to greet her.  But when she learned that Ruby had not only gotten in early, but by two years!  She couldn’t help but be impressed, as well as letting her off the hook as she’d nearly shaken her down for an autograph.  She wasn’t the worst kind of fan, but it was a little tiring.  Still the girl was rather cute, and had even been friends with Jaune at this point.  

Speaking of Jaune, she swallowed a little as she kept her attention at the door… perhaps there would be a slip of wardrobe?  

“Focus Pyrrha!”  Speaking of him, Pyrrha’s eyes wandered to the rather shapely young man.  The lack of combat training had been obviously apparent to her from the moment they’d stepped out onto the field.  Despite his clumsy nature, he’d listened to her on the basics as they hadn’t had enough time to get used to working together right away, and had somehow managed to not only formulate a plan to take down a massive Deathstalker they’d accidentally stumbled on, but had also figured out how to use her, Weiss, and Ruby as easy as pie.  

If there was any doubt that Jaune belonged here, that was quickly and instantly squashed.  It didn’t help that Pyrrha found him entirely enticing.  She wasn’t sure what it was that lured her vision to him, her gaze hungrily eating his well built frame, oh that was the other thing he definitely worked out.  Not the kind of work out that was done through weight training either, it was hard labor, farming if she had to guess. And while that would take a while to work into functional combat muscles… Pyrrha rather liked what she saw.

Though she did her best to hide her gaze, using her currently covered sheets to keep her eyes well shrouded, she couldn’t stop the heat from building within her womanhood.  Her fingers tantalized her slippery wet sex.  She could feel her pajamas tightening and riding into the moist slit, hungrily being eaten by her lustful mound.

She’d never been good with dealing with the opposite sex, nor did she have the proper experience that should have come along with it.  She’d always been so focused on training and combat that such thoughts were elusive to her, so making being around Jaune?  That… that did things to her, especially because he was going shirtless.  Why?  She didn’t know, nor did she care… she knew she wasn’t the only one.

Ruby had given him a few glances, her face quickly matching her red cloak.  

“Right!  Good night everyone!”  

Ruby’s rambunctious voice called out to her, quickly pulling her from her lurid thoughts and taking her focus away from Jaune just long enough that he’d hopped into bed.  

“Good night Ruby.”  

“Good night.”  

Afraid of being the only one not to say anything, she quickly squeaked out a soft, “Night everyone!”

The lights turned off shortly after, yet even as she attempted to close her eyes, she found her thoughts wistfully whisking back to Jaune.  The boy lay still in front of her, the soft silver moonlight being just enough to make out his figure.  

She felt her heart palpitate within her chest, her thoughts in disarray and turmoil.  Then things got worse, so much worse.  She heard the shuffling of sheets, the very shadowed rising of his blankets.  

Her eyes widened almost instantly as she realized Weiss was slowly crawling into bed with him.  

Her breath stilled as the sheets descended past her back, the young heiress straddled against her childhood friend.  There she sat upon his waist, looking down at him with adoring shimmering blue eyes.  Ones that he easily matched in care.

Their voices were quiet, but just enough that she could hear them.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too Weiss.”  

As her eyes adjusted to the lack of light, she started to notice a few things, Weiss was bare of any clothes.  Her beautiful pale skin shown in a ghostly white against the moon’s light.  She was nearly breathtaking in her naked beauty.  

She swallowed as she lowered herself, her lips gently placing a soft kiss against his forehead, then another at the side of his lips.  She wondered if they were going to do anything more.  Would this turn out like the videos she’d seen online?  

The ache between her thighs only grew stronger as Weiss evened herself out with him, a few rough movements between the two and they nestled in together.  

Pyrrha couldn’t help but feel a tinge of disappointment as Jaune’s hands gently pulled the sheets back, but at the same time… she wondered if perhaps things would get more heated now than ever?  

In her own bed, a pair of silver eyes watched everything unfold in front of her.  

[bloodfin]

Happy Fan Friday 💚 who are three blogs you really like and would recommend?

#more hype less hate

hi friend!

this is so lovely, you're such a light!

so not a blog rec per se, because i'm not sure if they're on tumble or not but longwalkoffashortpier on ao3 has some beautiful fics! a very long and very excellent SwissDew fic, some great Phantom is new and inexperienced fics, just all around a wonderful writer so if anyone isn't familiar, check out their work!

next i'd say people should check out @midnight-moth-draws because tumble is the world's biggest hater and never shows their art blog posts!! shame, honestly, because their drawings are so, so beautiful! (and hop over to their main to read theeeee most beautiful belltom fic, makes my heart do the tha-thunk thing ough)

and last but most certainly not least, everyone should go check out @anotherbananasong ! tumble really is the biggest art blog hater and zapped the original account, but they've got so many lovely art pieces and stories!

this fandom is amazing and full of absolutely amazing creators (you included!!!!) and i hope everyone can enjoy the space and have fun 🤍 have the beautiful day you deserve!

[goblininawig]

Red Dwarfcember: Santa

@red-dwarfer thought it would be fun to write some Christmasy Red Dwarf fics, so I'll be posting a few I wrote based on her prompts.

Prompt: Santa

Words: 727

Summary: Rimmer explains Io's version of the Santa legend.

Rating: T

A03 link or keep reading below.

“Oi,” Lister calls down to Rimmer. “When you were growing up on Io, did you learn about Santa Claus?”

“What the smeg are you on about now, Listy?” Rimmer says, turning a page in Fascist Dictator Monthly. Lister never can stay quiet when he is trying to read. It would be obnoxious if he didn’t expect it by now.

Lister’s locs and then his upside-down face appear, followed by one hand holding a girly magazine, folded open to reveal a smiling, scantily-clad model in a provocative outfit that vaguely resembling a Santa suit. Lister’s other hand drops out of the bunk to point at it.

“Santa,” he emphasizes. “What’d they teach about ‘im on Io? I mean, it was one thing hearing that he traveled all around Earth in one night, but that couldn’t hold much weight up in the space colonies.”

Lister loses his grip on the glossy pages and the magazine plops onto the metal floor. He shrugs and turns his attention back to Rimmer.

“So, did you hear Santa stories on Io, or not?”

Rimmer gives up on reading his own magazine, and drops it into his lap. He watches as Lister tumbles down from his bunk and settles into a seat at the table, swiping his fallen mag up from the floor.

“Don’t be a gormless git, Lister. Humans took everything they could get up into space with them, including the legend of Saint Nicholas.”

“But how did that work?” Lister asks, “if he was meant to live on Earth?”

“Well, obviously he wasn’t on Earth in our stories,” Rimmer states as if it should be obvious. “He had a base on the ice moon Europa. Humans couldn’t live there, because of the radiation, but jolly ole Saint Nick used his magic to put up protective domes for himself, Mrs. Claus, and the elves.”

“He wha’?” Lister snickers. “And kids believed that?”

Rimmer crosses his arms over his chest and glares at Lister. “How is it any more ridiculous than a man living with elves at the North Pole?” he demands. “If you ask me, the Io Santa is far superior – a Santa for the modern era!”

“All right, all right, no need to get tetchy,” Lister says, putting his fingerless gloved-hands up in mock surrender. “So how’d your Santa get around then?”

“Well, obviously he had a rocket ship that was crewed by reindeer-human GELF hybrids. How else would he travel?” Rimmer retorts, as if that should be obvious.

“And I suppose GELFs made the toys as well?”

“Well, why shouldn’t they? They were made to do what humans want, weren’t they?”

Lister chuckles. “Man, what a smegging story. Did you ever believe it?”

Rimmers stiffens defensively, and deflects rather than answer. “I don’t know what you’re acting so smug about. At least Io’s Santa was based on scientific facts! GELFs and starships actually exist! Earth’s Santa is just a bunch of nonsense and fairy dust. There’s no such thing as elves and a sleigh is one of the most out-moded methods of transport there is! Utter tot,” he concludes dismissively.

Lister laughs, tossing the magazine in the air and letting it fall on the table, where it flops into the remains of his evening curry. “Well, yeah, that’s why only kids believe in it. So, did ya?”

“Did you?” Rimmer returns.

With a shrug and a shake of his head, Lister replies, “Nah. Growing up in an orphanage, they don’t really bother with all that. And by the time I was adopted, I was past being fooled about it.”

“Ah,” Rimmer vocalizes. “Well, that’s probably for the best.” 

“Why do you say tha’?”

Rimmer scowls. “At least you didn’t have to watch, year after year, as Santa left your brothers gifts, while you got a lump of coal, only to find out that it was your own mother doing it all along.”

Lister expression softens. “Sorry, man. I wouldn’t’ve brought it up if I’d known…”

“Yes, well, I’m sure she was just pushing me so that I could achieve greatness,” Rimmer says, almost to himself, as he looks down at a black-and-white image of Mussolini.

“I think you’re great,” Lister declares.

Rimmer looks up at him, hazel eyes wide before narrowing in disbelief. “Do you?”

“A great big smeghead,” Lister concludes with a cheeky grin.

To both their surprise: Rimmer laughs.

[gyahyahyahayhahayahyahyahyahyaha]

So there was two parts to this one

watchign it from the pov of or I guess one could say that iw as just simply that woman,., an so like Theres this like show opening with this woman dancing in this like park area, and then breakdancing next to this bus loading up fulla ppl. She'd/I'd be doing all sorts of acrobatics and flips and swinging around on nearby lamp posts and slingshotting between them because Id be building up so much momentum from swinging around an all that. Eventually we'd all board the bus, start driving out and then she'd drive the bus after a point in the song for the opening and it would always like. Cut to this pov like the skyrim death cam following along as the bus would tumble and roll and slide its way down a mountain. Or like glaciers.whenever this started happening, it was framed likea comedy show with lots of sfx and like crowd cheering or booing sfx. Specifically the onesi  remember was like this audience of children cheering n clapping sfx accompanied by like a "correct" sfx when the bus stopped moving and landed upright like as if nothing happened, signifiying that every9one on board as well as the bus itself was just fine, and then gasping or booing sfx + an "incorrect buzzer" sfx, whenever the bus took some nasty hits or flipped in aparticularly violent way tha would have normally, definitely killed at least SOMEONE on board. But it never did. And it kept happening. oh yeah i was wearing like a plain pink turtleneck sweater with ab lack skirt and black leggings and some like some dark coloured boots of some kind… had a headband too. And likje two really big flower barrettes on each side of the headband… was wearing brown gloves. Not sure what kind. I can say for certain they werent fingerless. Maybe they were driving gloves. From the beginnin of the shows opening, From the dancing, then the breakdancing and other acrobatic shit in front of the bus, and then to the driving of the bus until it cut to the bus being on topa cliff face or a slope that lead to the quickest path down the mountain/glacier, it was all just. Was done in slight variations each time. then the music stops and the sfx starts as it starts, crashing, flipping, rolling, tumbling and sliding violently or slowly on its way down. And every time it would land upright atht he very bottom and the cheering and clapping sfx would play every time. Eveyoen would walk out and it'd start again. And again and again. Getting quicker and quicker in the process. However This whole processs was changing everyone on board.

It was making all of us evolve into creatures that would make this whole process go by faster? or smth lol, And so for the next like millennia or hwoever long, we kept repeating this process until we all turned into like actual whales. Like as if whales were the most efficient animal to be for this process to continue as efficiently and quickly as possible. The bus was gone by that point and it would quickly loop a few times as whales until I remember hitting this large lunar crescent shaped recess in the mountain that formed from the bus crashing and falling into this particular area so many times over such a long time period. And a large body of water had formed, connecting to the ocean or soim ereally big sea. The water was dark. like had a sludge like colour. not so sure abou thte actual consistency of the water itself tho. And it was full of tiny and neatly cubed ice less than a centimeter in size, and some other mysterious clear solid substance… the first dream ended when I landed in the pool and was like kinda sick of this cycle, and during thist ime I apparently still had a human shaped arm and hand. Which I then stuck deep into the centre of this deep dark lunar crescent shaped body of water forming at the base of the mountain and as I did, I  screamed. I felt hundreds of thousands or perhaps millions of years go by in an instant of me and the other, now at this point, whales, going thru this cycle of tumbling and rolling down this mountain/glacier go by. And as I felt it happening the body of water was like reacting almost like I could feel a consistent, thin layer of almost powdery solid particles suspended a set distance abovce the waters surface and where I drove my hand into the water, a whirlpool of sorts was forming around my hand. But instead of spiraling or anything or forming currents, it was like being absorbed by the passage of time. Or by my hand. Or both. It was like the whirlpool was forming at the bottom of my hand and the water was vibrating so quickly and strongly that it wasli ke evaporating or smth. I couldf eel like a vacuum where my hand was. But it wasn’t suckign anything up. The water was just kinda like dissapearing into where my hand was. And Holy shitt hat scream I made. it was a haunting way to wake up. Felt this weird sensation in my right arm for a while after waking up too…

[drunkjaked]

[3:55am] ft park jongseong

established relationship + smut + 1043 words

this is a second part to 5:53 (the first ever thing i posted on here ☹️) but u can read this without part one !!!

posting this exactly one month (down to the minute) after that timestamp im so 😵‍💫😵‍💫!!!! gahhhhh i love u all sm u all are awesome and im so happy i decided to post that day.. thank u for all the love i appreciate it and u all so much 💌🫀

Wanna suck it, YN mumbles against his lips, hands already fumbling over his belt buckle.

This makes Jay grin, amused (and aroused) by how eager she always is, and the fact that they’ve barely made it across the landing to her bedroom but she’s already shrugging her cardigan off of her shoulders.

Combined with her lack of a bra, the thin material of her strappy sundress does nothing to hide the way her nipples are pebbled underneath it. The fuck is so soft when it falls from her lips as she pulls away from him to pick up her cardigan from the floor.

And she trips a little on the way back up.

“Easy, tiger.” Jay chuckles, holding onto her arm to steady her and using his free hand to sweep the hair from her face. It finds a home on the nape of her neck, pulling her in to leave a soft kiss on her forehead.

YN’s back is to the door now, and there’s a frown etching its way across her lips as he says goodnight, baby, backing away from her.

“No, noooo.” And despite being sad about him trying to leave she can’t help the giggles that tumble from her lips, hand flying over her mouth to quiet them a bit.

Though the way Jay starts laughing only makes her laugh more - burying her face in his chest, trying to calm down.

When they eventually manage to collect themselves, she remembers that he doesn’t seem to have any intention of fucking her until she can’t speak (or fucking her at all) and feels her brows knitting together.

“Not this, please, not tonight.” YN’s hand is tight around his, pulling him back (though it’s not like he’s putting up much of a fight).

He shrugs. “You know the rules.”

Her lips push into a pout as she fakes a sob so quiet he can only just hear it over the Johnny Mathis record that had lulled her parents to sleep on the couch while he and YN tidied up in the kitchen.

Though given the amount of wine they’d had (and the (half) brownie they’d split in the downstairs bathroom), the short task dragged on as they kissed and danced around, laughing about nothing.

“And you know I want you.” The way she looks up at him with her wide (and slightly red) eyes is almost enough to dismantle his resolve. But he’s stronger than tha- “Daddy.”

“Why are you making so much noise?” Jay mutters, pressing a hard smack to her ass before leaning over her back to cover her mouth. “You’re never loud like this when I fuck you at home.”

YN’s dress is soft against his chest and he thinks he might prefer leaning over her like this because he doesn’t have to see the way the white fabric is bunched up around her waist, only reminding him of how desperate she was for him.

No foreplay and hardly any time to strip off either, leaving Jay with his shirt unbuttoned and pants around his ankles.

Though she’s always like this after smoking - or.. eating. Whiny, ea-YN’s moan is muffled into his palm, but there’s no such filter over the groan that slips past his lips when she clenches around him. Shit, he lets his head fall back.

“You wanna wake them up?” He asks, rocking his hips harder against her.

No response.

He stops, right in the middle of his thrust, scrunching up his nose slightly at the way the cool air nips at his dick. “Answer me when I talk to you.” His voice is low.

“I don’t wanna wake them.” Her voice rings clear now (though shaky), Jay’s hand gripping at her dress. “I don’t.” She repeats.

“So what’s with the volume?”

I’ve been thinking about you fucking me into these sheets since I saw yo-”I don’t know.” A sigh. Of relief. Letting her back arch deeper and pushing herself back onto his cock, the skin of his lower stomach hot against her ass.

He crinkles his nose at the sudden movement.

“I think I might have an idea.” Jay starts, his thrusts agonisingly slow. “I think you’re a dirty girl who wants everybody to hear how well daddy treats her.” (And she clenches around him as soon as the word daddy comes out of his mouth).

YN’s thighs are burning from the sudden change of position, Jay’s grip firm on her ankle as he holds it up on his shoulder, heat swirling in her stomach as she feels him deeper than ever before. Every pore, every vein more prominent than she remembers.

Jay’s movements are definitely probably a little too harsh for the bed which creaks with every stroke. He feels good about this. And the way her swollen lips are wrapped around his thumb as she sucks on it, tits spilling out of her dress with each thrust, is making it harder for him to hold out.

His thumb comes out of her mouth with a pop and he could finish just from looking at her. The way she whimpers at the feeling of his fingers pressing on her clit, has him crying out a little too.

Leaving him more than a little embarrassed as he lets go of her ankle, collapsing on top of her and letting his head fall into the crook of her neck.

Jay’s hair is damp with sweat against her skin, lips soft as he leaves wet kisses beside her ear. I love you, he whispers, grinning against her cheek at the hum she lets out as she nods her head slightly.

Me more, is the only thing she can manage - the room spinning around them as he slaps at her clit, leaning over her, lips moving against her own.

But the kiss isn’t enough to muffle the way she screams as he pulls out almost all the way, leaving just his head inside. Jay’s release is hot when he leaks into her, his thrusts harder than before as he fucks her full of his cum.

The sensation makes her dizzy, has her eyes rolling to the back of her head and it’s safe to say they probably won’t be visiting her parents for a little while.

©drunkjaked (2022) ALL RIGHTS RESERVED,

masterlist | other jay fics

[theladyofbloodshed]

Au acosf - part 27

@sv0430 @mis-lil-red @confusedfandomslut @emily-gsh @sunsetsofanemoia @a-court-of-valkyries @swankii-art-teacher @moodymelanist @nestaarcher0n @my-fan-side @c-e-d-dreamer @nestaspegasus @champanheandluxxury

Posting early to put @a-court-of-valkyries out of her misery

From the first moment Cassian had met Nesta, he had been utterly under her spell. Never before had he met such a worthy rival, one who could cleave apart a man with one scathing line. He fought with weapons, she with words. As they sat in the garden, listening to the crickets chirp and the din of the songs in the distance, Cassian could not have imagined such a peaceful moment would ever be theirs.

The back of Nesta’s hand pressed lightly against his thigh while her other one idly stroked the dog. He hated that he had to shatter their peace.

‘I have bad news, Nesta.’

Her head turned. In the darkness, there was no mistaking the predator’s gaze. She was already assessing him. He could feel it tumbling down the bond, the barrage of questions running through her mind; why hadn’t he shared the bad news as soon as he’d arrived? Was it Elain? Surely it couldn’t be that bad if he’d withheld it for so long?

‘Briallyn is working with a being of immense power. Koschei the deathless, they call him. That was who kept Vassa the firebird trapped on her island before your father and Lucien freed her. Briallyn has managed to seize control of a band of Autumn Court soldiers. They had to be dispatched.’

‘Dispatched as in killed?’

‘They were utterly under her power, Nes. It was too much of a risk to leave them. They’d been in the Autumn Court for a while. Eris said they had travelled with Beron, but they were his own, skilled soldiers. There’s no saying how much information they passed to her.’

Nesta rose from the bench, face contorted with confusion. ‘Eris’ soldiers?’

‘He rules most of the armies – with his father’s say so. They were aloof and distant he said, prior to Az and Lucien finding them.’

‘How long has Eris known?’

‘Lucien told him yesterday. I’d have come last night, but Lucien came back to Velaris before I was about to leave.’

‘No,’ Nesta said, still frowning, ‘I mean, how long as Eris known there has been something amiss with his soldiers?’

‘I can’t say.’

Her brow was pinched together, worry leaking down the bond she hated. ‘And did he know it was Briallyn?’

What games was he playing with this female? Eris was not being wholly honest with Nesta. He couldn’t help but wonder what half-truths he’d fed her. Whether he was helping to prise her away from the Night Court with his meddling. But he knew Nesta; knew she was shrewd and clever so was unlikely to be wholly taken in by his lies. Cassian couldn’t decide which one was more likely to get burnt from the two – but he knew who he’d rather have as his ally.

‘He had his suspicions. But he has known for some time that Briallyn is working with Koschei.

Nesta had been too long without her armour. She put it on slower this time, unpractised. Cassian caught sight of the disappointment glimmering on her face before she could force her expression into one of indifference.

‘I see. Well, it’s getting quite cold. I will head inside. Are you flying or will you be winnowed? I take it that wasn’t Azriel who brought you earlier.’

Her voice had grown pricklier with every syllable.

‘Rhysand.’

The slight tremble of her hands was buried beneath the sleeves of his jacket, but even if the Mother stole his sight, he would know Nesta’s tells – the fear she had never managed to master.

‘This is not a court he can waltz into any longer. I expect your high lord to formally request visitation from now on.’

He could not have her afraid. He could not have her worried for her safety. Cassian would set the world on fire to protect her. And to protect her now, he had to turn her fear to fury; a duty he excelled at, even if it damaged their friendship beyond repair.

‘I’ll pass the message along, sweetheart.’

Cassian drew himself up to his full height so that he dwarfed her. Somewhere below his thigh, he heard the familiar rippling growl of that damn smoke hound so he reluctantly stepped back a pace or two. Nesta only smirked in retaliation. He’d wipe that smug look from her face to keep her anger simmering.

‘The Night Court sends a gift to Spring. Our court would like to begin the path back to friendship.’

‘Oh really? What’s the gift then?’ She crooned.

Cassian grinned at her, showing all his teeth then gestured to his broad body. ‘Me.’

‘Are they so short of funds? Have Rhysand and Feyre built too many mansions on war-decimated property so all they can offer is an overgrown bat?’

Cauldron, why did he ever think he could match her wit when hers was as fast and darting as a viper.

‘Since you don’t know how to defend yourself and Tamlin won’t bother, I am staying here to protect you incase of an attack.’

Nesta snorted. It was the most shameful dismissal he had ever had. How many males had underestimated him in Illyria and pushed him down, pushed him along? None had ever done it as effectively as Nesta.

‘No, you’re not. You and your little inner circle have no authority here. You will not be staying here unless the high lord extends an invitation. Considering he hates you all, it will not happen.’

‘You are in danger.’

Her voice was magnificently bland when she said, ‘I’ve been in danger ever since I was forced into the Cauldron, it’s nothing new.’

‘Stop being stubborn, Nesta, please. I have to keep you safe.’

One day, he might tell her how he failed his mother. How he’d razed that entire camp to the ground when he had discovered what foul ending his mother had endured. That if a hair on Nesta’s head was hurt, and he had not been able to stop it from happening, he would never get through that darkness.

‘No. After the war, you gave up on me. Around Morrigan, you are ashamed of me. Don’t act like you care now.’

This was not how it was supposed to go. Cassian had notions of Nesta leaping into his arms, glad of the chance to spend time together with a reason behind it. Her anger with Eris had thrown a curveball that he’d not expected.

‘I care, Nesta,’ he ground out. ‘I care so much about you.’

She laughed derisively and held his jacket out for him. Cassian refused to take it. She’d rather go cold than accept him. She waggled the jacket, urging him to take it. When he didn’t, Nesta let it fall to the grass. A bastard-born brute. He would never lose his beginning.

‘I’d like you to leave. I have a lot to do tonight.’

‘What? Like the high lord?’

‘I prefer their sons.’

Cassian hated himself the moment that had come from his lips, but Nesta’s words had brought him to his knees. So that was her choice: better to have a high lord’s son, no matter how cruel and slippery he was. He stormed away, leaving her stood with a satisfied expression. She knew which parts of him were tender; which parts of him were best to strike.

***

Cruel Nesta Archeron. Horrid Nesta Archeron. Vicious Nesta Archeron. She was all of those things and more. Too-proud-for-her-own-good Nesta Archeron. His words had hurt her, but her pride would never let him know that. It was better to kick him to the ground than ever let him know what he could do to her. She never wanted Cassian to know the power he held over her. That his opinion of her mattered so much. That she knew she was not worthy of him so it was better to prove it over and over than ever admit he had a far better heart than she.

The hurt in Cassian’s warm eyes had fractured a part of her. She had struck him often enough, but had that been the fatal one?

She heard the boom of his wings as he departed. Their bond was so frayed, she wondered how there was anything left of it.

Nesta bent down to retrieve his black jacket. She pulled it to her chest, letting the smell of crackling embers and snow kissed wind fill her senses. The tears that threatened to spill from her eyes were brushed away with the back of her hand. She would not cry. She would not let herself break again. Zasha leaned against her leg, a constant warm presence; the only one who would never be driven away from her.

Regret was a burning pain in her stomach. How much of it belonged to his own emotions, she did not know. Nesta was tired of others making decisions for her; of Eris withholding information because it did not match his agenda, of Rhysand deciding what was best for her safety. If Cassian had asked her if she wanted him to protect her, she would have said yes. There was no male she would trust more to protect her than the one who had vowed to protect innocent mortals. It was the lack of choice that drove her to madness. Then he had said that about the high lord. Nesta sucked in a breath as she departed the gardens for her bedroom, mood glum, heart heavy.

She was back at their manor. Her hands rested on the wooden windowsill looking out towards the front of the house. It was dark but lamps flickered along the path lighting the way to the guests streaming in for… Nesta did not know. She was somewhere between a memory and a dream. Another carriage pulled up at the gates and Nesta watched the coachman hold open the doors for the newly arrived guests.

‘My sweet, it is time,’ came a familiar voice.

Her mother stood beside her, as if she had been there the whole time. Her face was thinner than Nesta’s, more pinched, but there was no mistaking them as blood. Each feature of Nesta’s was crafted from her mother’s.

‘Time for what?’

‘He is here, my little queen.’

Her mother was leading her along a corridor of the house, past Feyre’s room then Elain’s. Her body felt odd; the movements heavy and slow like walking through water. She caught her reflection in a mirror hanging from the wall. She was younger, still mortal. The pointed ears had been returned to their original way; her face softer, on the verge of womanhood. A blush was upon her cheeks, her full lips painted a rose pink. A child. A child dressed as a woman.

‘Who?’ She dared ask her mother.

A flash of annoyance appeared on her mother’s face. ‘Your betrothed. He has come to take what is his. What was promised.’

They stopped at the top of the stairs, poised on the balcony like two queens assessing their subjects.

‘All you are is what I made you to be. A queen to conquer nations. A queen to bring men to their knees. A queen who will turn the world to ash and dust.’

Nesta saw her father engaged in conversation with other men – his business partners and rivals - all invited in a lavish show of wealth. The room was filled with laughter and gentle dancing. There were faces Nesta recognised from her past. The duke whose hand she had won easily out of spite. The girls who mocked Elain all dressed in their finery and draped with jewels desperate to ensnare a husband. The males her mother had turned her nose up at for not being rich enough for Nesta; ones she said might be more suitable for Elain or Feyre.

Slowly, her mother led her down the stairs and attention turned to them. Nesta, young as a fawn, lifted her chin as though carrying a crown atop her golden hair. Made for this very moment. All of her mother’s training had led to his defining moment in her life.

The room in her periphery blurred. This was what she had been created for. Her mother’s daughter, ready to be given to the gentleman who deserved her.

The crowd parted, stepping to either side as they crossed the room. A male stood at the end, awaiting her arrival. Male, not man. His ears were pointed, eyes wholly black as though they could devour galaxies. His hair, so bleached of colour, was white. But the man himself, tailored in regal black, was broad and youthful. Hungrily, he gazed upon his betrothed.

Her mother gave her away to his awaiting hand. Music bled into Nesta’s ears. She had not seen any musicians but still it came. Those black eyes holding her gaze, firm hands keeping her in hold as they danced.

‘How lovely you are,’ he said, voice curling over her like a wave, cold and unwanted. ‘You are the one the sea and the wind and earth whispered of. You, who took from the Cauldron itself, gifted to me; a queen for eternity.’

The grip the male had on her was too strong to pull away from. Her mother’s face stood nearby, proud that her protégée had won a male so powerful.

Her father’s head jerked to one side, his neck jutted at an odd angle, the life drained from his eyes.

All around them, the crowd was decaying, skin peeled to expose rotting flesh and bleached bones. The manor began crumbling; the walls cracked and ivy grew up the walls. Still, the male held her locked into their dance. They span and span, imprisoned in a waltz that made her feet bleed.

Nesta tried to rouse her power into action. Tried to conjure the flames that had forced away two high lords, but his power stifled her own like a finger stubbing out a candle’s flame. And they danced. The hand on her back was as cold as death, seeping through her skin turning the blood in her veins to ice. The breath that tickled against her face from his lips was as putrid as one who had died.

‘You are mine,’ he said. ‘Forever.’

Lips and teeth collided with her mouth. It was a kiss of death, so cold, her body shivered. A tongue delved into her mouth; the taste of rotten flesh making her gag. But he would not let her go. Nesta fought and fought, harder than she had that day in the Cauldron, fought against death and dying, fought against-

A barking roused her. Nesta forced her eyes open; the wooden beams of the Spring Court manor were above her. Beneath her, it was hard. Her shaking fingers touched the cold, marble floor. Her nightdress was charred where flames had begun to devour it. Zasha still barked, guarding over her, attention fixed down the hallway.

A silver glow emanated from her bedchamber. The acrid smell of smoke filled her nose. Shakily, Nesta staggered down the corridor.

Her bed was alight. Scratches covered the burning head board. She glanced down at her fingers; the nails had been ripped off and blood seeped from the raw skin.

Coughing, Tamlin threw another basin of water across the sheets although it was not enough to quench the flames; her fire would always be starving.

Nesta delved deep inside of the cavernous hole in her chest, drawing the last dribbles of her magic up to somewhere useful, to combat her own flames until they no longer burned.

The high lord opened the windows, casting out the smell of smoke into the night air. Her bed was in ruins. She could see the outline of where she had been burning in the night.

Her hand rested against the doorway to stabilise her weakened body. The doorframe was splintered and broken where Tamlin had kicked down the door. Beside her, Zasha trembled. She locked eyes with the high lord; his hands were burnt, his clothes charred too from dragging her to safety. She had scratched him down the face in his attempts to pull her from the bed.

‘Thank you,’ she said, voice hoarse.

‘Who is he?’

Nesta stiffened. ‘Who?’

‘You were screaming “he is coming, he will come and he will take it all”.’

‘The King of Hybern,’ she lied.

Nesta sat against one of the high-backed chairs in the office with Zasha held in her arms. Her face buried into his grey fur, stifling her sobs. Her magic had been drained, leaving her cold and scared. She knew who the male in her dream had been: Koschei the Deathless. But it had felt more than a dream. It had been woven into her memories. What had her mother meant? Nesta had been promised to him. A dream. A dream she could not tear her fearful thoughts away from.

Her father had been there – the prince of merchants, how he had been before their wealth had been drained. And there he stood again with his neck broken. Her father had made a deal with Koschei to free the fire bird; what if he promised Nesta, the daughter he liked the least, but the one who held the most value? Would her father have traded her? For all her cruelty to him when they were poor, would he have sacrificed her for the greater good?

‘Nesta,’ a growling voice came from the doorway. ‘Do you require a healer?’

On one hand she could count the number of times he had ever said her name – or indeed engaged with her of his own accord. The high lord was already dressed for the day in fighting leathers with his long, blonde hair tied back. The scratch on his face was already healing, just as her own broken nails were.

‘No.’

‘There is food in the dining room. Eating will give you strength.’

Although the sun had only just begun its ascent into the sky, both of them seemed to realise there would be no more sleeping. Nesta nodded a dismissal and the high lord took off for the gardens, ready to rouse the sentries. Whatever threat he thought she had encountered in her dream, no sentries would stop it. None would ever stop Koschei. Not even death himself could kill the immortal.

Nesta managed a few bites of porridge before she’d rushed to the sink and vomited until the bile burnt her throat. What would the bat have done if they had not parted ways with such hostility? Burnt with her? Ran to his high lord to tell him what a devastating mess of a female she was?

When the first servants arrived, she asked them to retrieve her belongings from her bedroom. There was no strength in Nesta to force herself into that room today – and she doubted she would enter it again. The servants, as always, were polite and followed her request, moving all she owned into another portion of the house. Despite clamping her jaw shut the entire time to not cry out, Nesta made herself wash and dress as if that might give the illusion of normality. The high lord’s meeting was the next day. Nesta had to be whole – Tamlin had to be whole too. She could not allow herself to crumble. Not now. Not ever again.

[roger-that-cap]

doubt comes in

orpheus!bucky barnes x fem!eurydice!reader

summary: a retelling of orpheus and eurydice for an extremely late entry for a mythology challenge!!

warnings: uh- yeah i was not playing with this myth lol… fluffy beginning, uh, that’s all imma say about that and ALSO i haven’t edited this so haha, i am running on fumes but had to post this jeez 

word count: 11.3k good god

There were gods that were unexplainably strong. There were some that could bend fire and metal to their will, some that could string up love and cast it upon others, and others that knew more of war and how to win more than they even knew themselves. Others were the faces of glory, like Zeus and Hera and the sun god Apollo and so many others. There were many that were worshipped by humans every day of every week, and others that were forgotten until they were desperately needed. There were some that lived immortal lives and demanded respect from humans and gods alike, and then there were the ones invested in their art, in themselves, in the beauty of life itself.

That was Bucky. He was so immersed in song, in the gift that he had inherited from his mother, Calliope, that it was all he could think about. It was what made him different, it was what made him stand out from the boys that he grew up with that were just plain old strong. He had a talent, he had a mother that was a myth and a legend alike, and he had a lyre. He had a lyre, a lute, his voice, and a bit of speed, and that was all that he would ever need in life. That, and a pretty landscape to look at while he strummed his golden strings. But that was all he ever thought he would need- which was why he was knocked right off of his planted feet when he saw you walk by.

You were a human. You were a beautiful girl, probably the most beautiful being he had ever seen in his entire life. He had met goddesses and nymphs and princesses alike, but never had he met someone who had such a sweet face, such a gentle aura, and even more, a beautiful voice. You had only said a few words to someone else that were delivered with a gentle smile, but he could have sworn that your words were a melody. Before he knew it, your entire being was stamped into his mind, and he knew that he would never be able to forget you.

It was by complete chance that the next day, he decided to wallow in his sadness by a fountain in public, strumming his lyre too quietly for anyone else to hear. Anyone who knew him knew that he was devastatingly off. And coincidentally, the only ones who truly did know Bucky were Steve and Sam, two forest nymphs that had been his best friends since he taught them the ways of the lute years and years ago. They were sitting by him in silence on the marbled fountain, waiting next to him for the second shoe that they doubted would ever drop. But then, like Bucky was a sunflower following the sun itself, his back straightened, his head perked up, and his mouth dropped, his eyes wide and swirling with admiration as he watched you- the same human woman he was enamoured with- walk through the square again, a woven basket full of fresh fruits on your arm and your lilac dress swishing in the wind.

“No way,” he heard Sam mutter, and Steve poked his side.

“You were always such a doubter,” Steve mumbled, but the smile on his face was audible through his tone. “There she is, in the flesh.”

Bucky could hardly hear anything but the soft melody stirring up in his mind, louder than his racing heart, and just as tender as the feelings swirling inside of him. He saw you wave to the older woman you were talking to and then start to walk away, and he knew that he couldn’t let you go, not when the Fates so obviously gave him a second chance. Without a second thought, he slid off of the fountain, leaving his friends and his lyre, striding towards you with the brightest smile, trying to cover the fact that he was nervous.

His clumsy feet were carrying him a little too quickly, and he could hear the snickers of Steve and Sam from behind him. He craned his head backwards to look at them and laugh too, but he tripped over his own left foot, barreling right into you and knocking you flat onto the ground. His half immortal heart beat heavy and hard in his chest as he watched you wince under him. He scrambled up, cheeks flushed and hand shaking as he watched you sit up and brush the dirt off of your dress. He was looking down at you with a look that he prayed wasn’t as desperate as he felt. But he had to know you.

“I’m Orpheus,” he started, and when you turned your bright eyes to him with your brows furrowed, he shook his head like he was trying to get water from his hair. “No, I meant that I was sorry- I’m so sorry. For knocking you over, miss.” He extended his hand to you again, and he swore that he saw your lips quirk up a bit at him. You took his hand and stood up, brushing the fabric of your dress once again. He caught a trail of your scent, and he was immediately overtaken by the scent of fresh flowers and lavender.

That was when he really got a good look at you for the first time. The first time he saw you had been brief. You weren’t even looking anywhere near his way, and he only caught a look at your stunning side profile before you walked away. His vision had been practically blurred from excitement while he walked up to you, and he was so embarrassed about crashing into you that he was subtly trying not to look in your eyes. But… damn, he had been missing out.

He swore that time stopped. His own heart stopped beating, even the sluggish beat leaving for a few moments. The noises from the town square were so dull that they seemed muted. The stares of Steve and Sam felt so far off that he didn’t even notice them. All he knew was that he was utterly entranced by you, and for a second, he could have sworn that by the look in your eyes, you felt the same way. But like the blaring of an alarm, something knocked you both out of it, putting you in the present, with present problems.

“Oh, the fruits,” you muttered, looking at the peaches and apples that tumbled right out of your basket, bending over quickly to collect them despite the fact that they had gotten bruised. Bucky’s heart jumped to his throat with guilt when he realized he had ruined the fruit you had either picked or paid for, and then he was rushing to get them even faster, praying to the gods that you didn’t automatically hate him.

After looking into your eyes, he doubted he could live with himself if you even so much as disliked him. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to, I don’t have the best footing,” he apologized again, gently placing the fruits back into your basket.

“It’s okay,” you said, and your eyes trailed behind him to look at his friends that were howling with laughter, holding onto each other. He saw your displeasure, and his heart dropped when he understood that you probably thought they had sent him over just to mess with you. Your eyes whipped back to Bucky, and he blushed something fierce. He felt his cheeks warm up under your scrutiny, and then there was a smile creeping back onto your face. “I'm Eurydice.”

Oh, Gods. Eurydice. He swore that he had never heard something so beautiful in his life. He had grown up with the Muses, even had a mother as one, and was surrounded by music and poetry and epics every second of his childhood. Music was imprinted in his mind, every note embedded in his everyday life, yet still it was the most beautiful- “But I go by Y/N.” No. Eurydice was now second. But your name, the one he knew you had chosen for yourself, was the most beautiful thing that life had ever offered him to hear.

His brain was going many miles a minute, as quick as Hermes on a mission, but all he could do in the end was blink and offer his true name first, like politeness called for. “I’m Orpheus,” he extended his arm again to you, and you shook it twice. Your hand was soft, so soft that he didn’t want to let go of it. He would never forget the feeling of your hand in his, and the way he swore that the nerves under his skin were alight with the gentlest and sweetest of fires. “You can call me Eurydic- I mean, Bucky. I’m Bucky.”

You could both hear the laughter coming from Bucky’s friends, and while you were cracking a small smile, Bucky was dying on the inside. “You like to be called by other people's names?”

“I wouldn't mind being called by yours,” he blurted softly, his words coming out as a quick and uncalculated slur. He blinked abruptly when he realized that he was truly having the worst first introduction he had ever had in his life, and it was the one that somehow meant the most to him. “I- only because Eurydice is such a pretty- so is Y/N- I… I’m sorry.” He shook his head, knowing that he was so close to just having to walk away. Instead of embarrassing himself further, he just gave you a short smile and waved, turning on his heel.

“I’m Orpheus, then. Maybe Bucky, too.” He slowly turned back around, a shocked look on his face. Had you really spoken to him again with your own free will?

Bucky knew that he wasn’t ugly. No god or demigod was ever ugly, other than poor Hephaestus. He knew that he had his own sort of charm and that he could bring the roughest of people to tears and the saddest of people to joy with his music, but he didn’t know anything else. He had three redeeming qualities that swirled in his head constantly- he was pretty, he had music, and he had a famous mother.

“Are you a singer?”

“Huh?” So much for eloquence.

You bit your lip. “You speak… you speak like you have a song in your heart. Are you a singer?”

He was stumped. Most knew at least of his music if nothing else. He was the most famed god or man to ever strum a lute besides maybe Apollo. Most knew nothing of his personality and nothing about him other than the fact that he was born to play and sing, and you didn’t? Where had you been living? “Well, I’m Orpheus.”

There was a grin on your face, and Bucky knew that he never wanted to see anything other than that for the rest of his life. “And that makes you a singer?”

He opened his mouth again, ready to talk about who he was born from and where he learned to play and who taught him, but when he looked deeper and saw the spark of mischief in your eyes, he leaned back and held back a small smile of his own. His heart fluttered and grew two sizes. “You know who I am, don’t you?”

“Maybe I don’t,” you said, obvious teasing in your voice, and somehow it still stayed kind. “Maybe I do, and just wanted a free song out of you.”

She knows me, he thought, and his heart may as well have let out a lovesick sigh from within the confines of his chest. She has never heard me sing before, but she will. I’ll sing her a thousand songs.

“I’ll sing you all the songs you desire if you marry me,” he blurted, and while his mind was scolding him for uttering those words so quickly, his heart was steady on beating and so sure of itself that he told his mind off.

To his subtle surprise, you didn’t look shocked. You weren’t disgusted by his rather bold approach and most importantly, you weren’t laughing at him. He held onto your silence in limbo, waiting for you to say something that would either crush him to bits or send his soul rising so high that he reached the cloudy gates of Olympus.

“If you can make me a song that can make the skies open up and weep without singing a word, then I’ll marry you.”

His heart soared. His hands shook. He could have sworn that even his toes clenched. But all you could see were his wide, boyish eyes, and the hopeful look that dawned across his face. He nodded quickly. “I’ll do anything.”

He saw your lips pull up into a smile, genuine and even a little shy, and he couldn’t help but want to step closer. But he knew he had already been up front and abrupt, and the last thing he wanted to do was scare you away.

“Okay,” you said, nodding your own head slowly. “I’ll see you soon, then, Bucky.” You took a step back, eyes still connected to his blue ones until you finally turned around and walked away with the same basket on your arm, same dress swaying with the tuneless song of the wind.

The three of them stood in silence, watching you walk away, taking pieces of Bucky’s heart with you in your cradled arms. The bustling of the town was loud, moving about like nothing of significance had happened right where they were all standing, and Bucky found it nothing short of insane. Did no one else just see how the world stopped turning for that one girl? How the Fates put a pause on the clock just so that they could meet?

Steve’s voice brought him out of it. “Did you just ask for her hand in marriage?”

He didn’t even have the energy to shrug. All the swirled in his mind was love, passion, music, and you. You, you, you. “I had to.”

“How will you even find her again?” Steve asked, his logic once again being the only thing that held Bucky down to the ground.

“I know the work of Eros when I see it,” Sam said to Steve, shaking his head somewhat fondly at the pale boy with brunette hair who was still staring off in the direction you left in, like you would miraculously appear again. “They’ll find each other again soon enough.”

The hours went by and then the daylight turned into night and back to day again, and Sam’s words couldn’t have been truer. Your spirit and your face and your voice found Bucky with every few seconds that passed by. He couldn’t blink without seeing you. He couldn’t listen to anyone without hearing you. He couldn’t breathe without smelling your beautiful scent. Everything tasted bland, looked plain, and sounded like white noise after he met you. He knew that until his last (and unlikely) breath, his heart would ache for nothing more than to be yours. He wanted his ring to be on your finger, and yours to be on his.

So he began to make a song.

§§§

He worked tirelessly. The hours below the sun that used to be spent laughing and playing with Steve and Sam were exchanged for hours of composing. His normally perfect posture was hunched over as he tried to find the melody that had stirred in his heart when he first saw you- because he knew that was it.

By the end of twelve days of pure struggling, most of the song was finished. He was a fast worker, so fast that it made everyone else’s heads spin, but he felt it was going too slowly. But then again, he was fast at everything. The melody was as stuck with him as his skin was to his body. He was sure that it would never leave him, even if he wrote a thousand more songs. And part of him never wanted it to go, because it was so you.

He had only held one conversation with you, and it wasn’t long enough, but he felt like he had known you for years. He felt like he had sung to you hundreds of times and danced with you a hundred times more. Your soul felt so familiar yet so foreign that he had to chase after you, and had to discover anything that he could have missed. He knew that you were his destiny, and he had a feeling that you knew he was yours.

The song he was writing wasn’t sad, but it brought tears to his eyes all the same. It wasn’t about longing or loss or chasing after something that would never come to you, but it made Steve and Sam wipe their eyes all the same. It was about your beauty, your inherent wit and kindness, and the way that you set his soul free from chains he didn’t even know of. It was about a love he had never dreamed of finding or even thought to be true, and that was enough to make the three of them weep.

“I think it’s finished, Buck.” This came from Steve after he wiped his eyes again, sitting through the full song again even though his heart aches for a love he had never felt before. “Sam thought it was done days ago.”

Sam had left the two of them alone days ago, claiming that he couldn’t stand to hear the melody and cry each time, claiming that it was beautiful but too much. It made sense. Even Bucky himself was starting to feel the effects of it. But Steve was a stubborn thing, and he would sit through it for as long as Bucky would play it.

“You think it’s enough to make the skies open and cry?” Bucky breathed out, loosely quoting the words he had heard from you not too long ago.

“Even if it’s not, it will surely win her over,” Steve said. “She was already wooed by you, you’re a fool not to see it. She was excited enough that you even agreed to make the song in the first place, anyway.”

Bucky sat there for a few minutes as his fingers tingled, expecting to be used again to pluck the magnificent strings. But he set his instrument down on the log he sat on, sighing and placing a hand under his chin, his thoughts trailing over to you for the thousandth time. “I hope she accepts it.”

Steve just looked at him. “I think that if you came empty handed and told her half of the words you tell me and Sam, she’d follow you anywhere.”

Steve was right. Steve had to have been right, or he was going to wilt right in front of you. He had to be. The brunet nodded, biting his pink lip before opening his mouth again. “Where do you think I’ll find her?”

§§§

It didn’t take long to find you at all. Bucky went to find you alone, finding you because something inside of him told him to search the flowering fields nearby, and there you were. There was a hat made of straw over your head to cover your eyes and face from the sun, and you had the same basket on your arm that you had the other days. It was empty this time, and he had no doubt that you were looking at the flowers for fun before going to look for fruit. He couldn't help but smile fondly at you from across the field, and then he was gripping his lyre and taking a deep breath.

“Y/N,” he called out, his voice full of emotion instead of being the strong sound he wanted it to be. Nonetheless, it caught your attention, and then your pretty eyes were wide on him. Immediately, your feet turned in his direction and you made your way across the meadow, and he followed suit. He met you in the middle, so nervous that the grin that was deep inside of him wasn’t coming out at all.

You were both at a loss for words as you stood close to each other. His hands shook at his sides, aching to hold your hands in his. He wondered if they were as soft as your voice, or as smooth as the petals flowers you admired. “You came?”

He blinked. Of course he did. It was all he could think of doing. “My only regret is not coming sooner,” he admitted, and he watched you angle your eyes downwards, and he smiled at your shyness. “Would you like to hear it?”

Your eyes were connecting with his again, and he could have sworn that your smile could have put him in an early grave. He was momentarily stunned by you and your brightness, so stunned that he hardly even heard what you said. “Of course I would.”

“So then you’ll hear it,” he said softly, his heart and mind completely taken over by you in your presence. He fixed his lyre into position, his fingers already fixed into the correct spots as he began to play your song.

His eyes were shut as he strummed just as he had practiced thousands of times, but he knew it felt different. His body was buzzing with excitement and something else he couldn’t identify, but he loved it. It made him play stronger. His eyes shut even more as he felt the music, swaying side to side a bit as he felt his heart open up to you, finally content with you hearing the song.

He didn’t even realize that he was done until all he could hear was quiet sniffles. He pried his left eye open, almost too scared to look for your reaction, but when he saw that you were just looking up at him with watery eyes and a wobbly smile, he opened his other eye, ready to spring into action.

The only thought going through his mind was that it was impossible that you liked it. The way you were looking at him reminded him of the way people looked at sculptures of ancient monsters— a muted type of awe, but also a sense of discomfort. He brought you to tears, and not in the way he wanted to. He ruined it.

“I- was it bad?” He blurted out, and he cursed himself at ruining his own chance. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry you didn’t like it-”

“How long have you been playing that song?”

You were too beautiful. Too gentle. You were melting his brain into mush, and he doubted that he would be able to pick up his lyre for another round even if you begged him. “I… I just made it. For you, I made it with you in mind.”

Your facial expression didn’t change. “Where’s the ring?”

He blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“The rings we’re going to wear when we wed,” you said, almost teasing. “Do you have them?”

His eyes widened. “You want to marry me?” He asked, leaning forward a bit in shock. “The sky didn’t- the rain never came.”

“I cried,” you said, a small smile on your face. You still hadn’t wiped your tears, and he watched them frozen on your face, stuck in time. “I didn’t expect the work of the gods. I just wanted you to play for me.”

He was bewildered. He had half of the mind to ask you if you truly meant it again, but he took his excitement and ran with it. “And you… you feel this too?”

You took his right hand into yours, and he swore that his souls ascended to the gates of Olympus and waltzed right in. “I felt it the second I saw you, Bucky.”

He blushed something fierce before looking down at the ground, shame overtaking his sheer admiration for you. “There’s something I should tell you before you say you want to be with me.”

“Tell me anything,” you encouraged softly, one of your hands coming up to brush his warm cheek.

“I don’t have much.”

And he didn’t. He had Sam and Steve and a nomadic lifestyle. He never stayed in the same place for long, and he didn’t have a roof over his head. He didn’t need one. Rain and wind and fire didn’t bother him. He preferred to live under the canopy of trees and the protection of nature. But he knew humans didn’t. He knew humans— especially women— liked when their partners brought things to the table, and he had nothing but strings and whistles. He had nothing materialistic. He had no gems, no coins, no house, and fancy clothes— nothing money could buy. But he looked at you and saw that you deserved it all, and even more he saw that he had no way to even provide it for you.

“I live in many different places, I don’t have a home. I don’t have money. I don’t have… I can’t buy you dresses or shoes or any of the stuff you would probably like… and I’m sorry. I know that will probably change everything, but I just wanted you to know.”

You took a step forward, strong and secure, and then your chin was tilted upwards. “Like I said, where are the rings?”

Bucky grinned.

§§§

The day of your wedding was blessed by the gods, whether they admitted it or not. You married each other in the meadow Bucky found you in with a small crowd of people, and when you kissed as man and wife, peace washed over the both of you, and it felt like your marriage had been approved by all far and wide. The kiss that you shared to make the wedding official was short and sweet and full of the most innocent of passion, and he felt so adored by the soft touch of your lips that he felt a singular tear cross the terrain of his pale face for the first time in years.

He didn’t even deny it.

He didn’t deny the way that you danced together was perfect. He had never guided you, had hardly even danced with another woman, but it was perfect. It was like he had practiced with you before a hundred times, and the feel of your hands in his was what kept him sane. He was convinced that you could do anything new with him and it would feel like you had done it before, just because you were so familiar to him as a whole.

He had known you for what felt like seconds in the grand scheme of things, but you knew him inside out and he knew you better than he knew himself. He could find you in the dark, you could identify him with just a whisper of his voice, and he could fall in love with you over and over without even touching you. He would perform the Sisyphean task of falling in love with you over and over again if it meant that he could be next to you.

And luckily, it turned out that you didn’t need the things that Bucky was sure you were going to. He got you a small house just for the two of you to come back to, and he still roamed around in the area. Steve and Sam would walk off and come back weeks later, just like they used to when it was the three of them together. And there would Bucky be, at the house he made possible for you, and happier than ever.

Bucky lived an extremely modest life with you, and he liked it. Farming and getting water from wells and working for the food that was on your tables, cutting wood to feed the flames in the pit in the middle of your main room. Life was somewhat repetitive, so repetitive that he was scared he would lose you to your wild imagination and beautiful, adventurous heart. But it had never been as fulfilling as it was with you.

The little things were what made his day. It was waking up with you at his side, tucked into his arms and still sleeping soundly while he made songs up in his head dedicated to you that made him smile. It was listening to you hum to yourself while you washed corn and peaches and squash in the buckets of water you had carried down the hill that served as your property. It was the way you would pull him out of a funk by taking his hand and leading him out of his chair, dancing to music that didn’t exist, or the way you would coax him to sing to the moon because you wanted a longer night. A longer night meant more time spent with each other.

When you woke up after your long nights, sometimes you would coax him out of bed for some daily challenge, a challenge that usually he would end up beating you at. Part of him believed that you just wanted him to show off, but you always said otherwise. You would challenge him in singing only to have him go first and not even sing, claiming you had already lost. You would tell him you wanted to race him to the stream and back, knowing that you would lose by a long shot. He could run circles around you if he hardly tried, and that was just in his godly blood. But there was never any jealousy, never any animosity, never any bitterness. It was all just sweet, it felt.

You were just so magical. It was so simple, the things that made him happy, but he knew that just one call from your soul to his was more than just communication. He craved it. He knew from the moment that he met you that his soul would always seek yours, even into the afterlife. He knew that every day with you would be as beautiful as you were on your wedding day, shining brighter than any gem or any star in the night sky. And none of it would ever change.

§§

Things changed. Just as the sun rose and set, so did time. It cranked on without a single hint of Bucky aging, and you were still as youthful as you were the three years prior. Life was still beautiful, and that was all that mattered.

You had traveled around the world with him, kissed in so many different cities with different kings and different cultures and different music. You had met so many different people, lived so many different lives, just to go back home and settle there. It was wonderful. He loved you, and you loved him. It was the kind of love that was never at risk of fading or thawing away. It was the kind of love that was only spurned on as the years crawled by, the days acting as twigs added to an already strong fire. It was such a beautiful thing that he had with you, and every day with you felt like one that was blessed by the gods themselves.

Until it didn’t.

Bucky had never felt fear in his heart like he did when he heard your scream travel across the meadow. He didn’t even put on his shoes before tearing off to find you, torn between begging you to make another sound so that he could hear you or pleading the gods to make the sound of your distress stop and never happen again. His chest rose and fell with the exertion, and he knew that he had never been so afraid in his life.

The scream was all that echoed in his mind when he ran through the woods, and as he stumbled upon fallen fruits and flowers that he just knew were yours. He realized he was at the end of a ravine almost too late, and when he looked down, following the steep curve of the slope with wary and partially-knowing eyes, he immediately doubled over.

There you were in all your fallen glory, legs bent unnaturally and neck twisted even worse. The light yellow of your dress was stained with brown and dark green, and in some places a deep red that made him sick to his stomach. Your eyes were looking up at the sky, staring right into the sun as it shone down on your figure, taunting him just like the breeze that began to make your dress look so lively.

Bucky fell to his knees right on the edge of the ravine, his heart not even lurching when he lost his balance. An arm reached out to you, like it was stuck in the moment before you fell and he could reach you. Tears were coming down his face slowly, steadily as he fought to get breaths in. He called your name.

He didn’t know how many times he called your name, or how far the sadness in it traveled. It must have been loud and long enough, because before he knew it, there were hands on his shoulders. They were warm and familiar and even the smallest bit comforting in that moment, but not enough. He wanted your hands.

“Let’s get away from the edge, Buck.” It was Steve’s voice, strong and gentle and the backbone of the situation. Bucky’s eyes pried open at the feeling of Steve’s sturdy hands pulling him backwards, and he retched in his mouth at the sight of your broken, soulless body at the bottom. He hadn’t even realized he had gotten so close to it himself.

“I’ll go down to…” Sam started, trailing off with a soft and distraught look on his face when he caught sight of Bucky again, and Steve nodded at him.

“Let’s get you up, Buck. Up and Washed off.” He hadn't even realized he was dirty at all. His hands were covered in dirt and under his fingernails were the same earthy brown he was used to. He had been pulling up grass from where he grieved without even noticing.

His sobs were so loud that they hurt Steve’s ears. His dragging steps were causing such a disturbance to the land around him that animals seemed to crane their necks at him and cast their glances his way, as if wondering how on earth a person could be that distressed. His mouth was moving, but it looked and sounded more like babbling and trembling as waterfalls came down the canvas of his pale skin.

“Buck, you have to calm down. You’re about to have an attack.”

He didn’t know if he meant heart attack or a panic attack, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that you were dead, all twisted up at the bottom of a ravine. Your soul had left the earth, left your body, and you were just laying there like you had never been alive. Like you had never held his hand, or kissed his cheek, or wore his ring or laughed or sang or read fine poetry while eating the fruits you had picked. Seeing you down there with your open and dim eyes felt like you had never lived at all.

“Keep walking with me, buddy. You’re going to be just fine.”

But he wasn’t. Every step he took away from you made bile come up in his throat. He wanted to be as far away from your lifeless body as possible, but he didn’t want to ever let you go. He wanted to hold you close to him until it felt like you were alive again. But as his heart beat seemed to freeze up but race like a horse all the same, he realized that you would never be alive again. You were only as alive as your last few moments, whether they were filled with the joy and freedom of having the wind on your face or the fear of falling. He could do nothing to change it.

But he would try to do everything.

§§

He spoke to everything and nothing. Steve and Sam would take turns coming to him after they celebrated your life. It reminded Bucky of the way that his mothers friends used to come watch him while his mother was off and away somewhere, and how it felt like they thought of him as a cute little burden. He knew deep down that his friends cared for him more than anything and that he cared about them just as much, but he couldn’t think about anything but you. He wouldn’t.

It was a service that made the skies open just like you said they would for his voice. The day lilies that surrounded you and Bucky seemed to be weeping with him. The wind came from east to west and west to east, spinning around and throwing in the scent of the flower with the smell of oncoming rain, reflecting the turmoil he was feeling on the inside. He could have sworn that the earth had trembled just like his hands that held your cold and still ones. But if the world had caved down under him at that moment, he wouldn’t have moved. He wouldn’t have opened his mouth to scream, or even say a word. He would have only held your hand tighter.

He spoke to the moon more often than he did Steve and Sam. They hovered, but it was the kind of hovering that Bucky felt he would appreciate sooner or later. He would sit every night and talk to the moon with his legs pulled into his chest, small and in such a vulnerable position that it would have made him feel uncomfortable at any other time. But he was vulnerable. He had been knocked off of his feet and winded. The world kicked him while he was down more times than he could count, and they had opened his chest and peeked right into his heart before seeing it was unworthy and walking away from him. It left him bleeding out in the forest while he listened to the birds eventually go on back to chirping, and watched the flowers push through and grow, and people laugh and smile and talk like nothing changed.

He was doing just that. He was lying in the flowering fields that he would always swear belonged to you, the both of you, when he heard soft footsteps. He didn’t care to look up. He knew it wasn’t Steve or Sam, but why would he care? He had nothing to be scared of now that you were gone.

“You’re Orpheus.” It wasn’t a question.

He didn’t even blink, but an annoyance he couldn’t shake bubbled up inside of him at hearing the name his mother granted him coming from a stranger. As much as he wanted complete silence, he couldn’t help but say- “Bu- sure. I’m Orpheus.”

“Everyone heard, you know.” The voice was of an old, frail woman. Bucky knew that without even looking, He ignored the fact that pity was strong in her voice, and that he knew exactly what she was talking about. He ignored the way he knew that she thought that she had the right to talk about his wife, about the way he had lost you far too soon. She knew nothing. But he let her speak. “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t say a word. He didn't even recognize words as an option. He would stay silent and wait until she left. Maybe if he was quiet enough or stared up at the sky in such a still manner that it scared her, she would leave him. If he pretended to be as dead as he felt, he was sure she would leave.

“There hasn’t been a good song since you’ve stopped playing.” He heard rustling, and then he dared to look off to the side to see the old woman struggling to sit, cane wobbling in her hand as she finally plopped her frail bones onto the ground near him. He sighed heavily and looked back up to the sky. “You know, you’ve gotta be the most moving musician to ever walk the earth, from both god and man.”

It was a compliment that would have had him blushing years ago. It would have had his young mind fumbling for his lute or lyre and clearing his godly voice, asking if she wanted to sing with him or just listen. Now, it incited nothing. It meant nothing. “I doubt I’ll ever play again.”

“You pleased god and man,” the old woman carried on, almost like she had never heard him open to speak with that raspy voice of his that was so uncharacteristic of him that it hurt to hear. “Anyone would have done anything to hear your music.”

He finally turned to the side to look the old woman in her face, and he blinked at her. “I’m grieving.”

“You could persuade anyone with seven strings and five notes, don’t you understand that?” Her voice was almost angry. It was hard and nearly pleading, so different from her previous tone that Bucky snapped his head her way. “If I were you, I would have been at Death’s gates.”

They were staring at each other. Bucky was looking at the decrepit woman with curly gray hair that looked like she had dodged a visit to the Gates of Death herself more than once with shocked eyes. His heart started to beat again, like her words were arousing some kind of vicious hope that he never even knew could exist.

“The gods blessed your union. They won’t ever say, but they did bless your marriage. What makes you think that if you beg, you won’t get a blessed reunion as well?”

She disappeared within seconds of her final words, leaving a revelation swirling around in his mind and haunting his every thought.

§§

His feet ached. His hands were beginning to blister from stroking the strings of his tired lyre, and his throat was even beginning to strain. He had been singing for hours, pouring his heart out at the hidden gates of the Underworld, begging for an audience. But above all the physical pain ranked the ache in his heart, the unbearable feeling of your death sitting on his shoulders and ripping him apart from the inside. His grief was destroying him.

Hades might as well have had ears plugged up with the same wax that was used by Odysseus and his men. Usually he went undisputed, because just as life was certain, so was death. There was no questioning the decision of it, or the Fates, or the rule of Hades and his acceptance of his dear Eurydice into his kingdom. Everyone was allowed to plead and beg, but no one ever went down to the gates of the Underworld to ask for the release of a loved one, whether they were man or god. But there he was, standing in dirtied pants with fingertips plucked pink, and tears running down his face.

He didn’t know if he would ever gain the strength to leave. He didn’t know what he would do if someone even bothered to humor him. He wasn’t going to be able to have you back. He was never going to be able to bring you back up above, have you under the sun and shining beautifully like you were born to do. What would he beg of them? For them to let him see that your soul ended up in the Asphodel Meadows? For them to let him hold you one last time before you drank from the Lethe and forgot everything that happened? What if you had already drank from it? Each thought made his stomach lurch more, and his music grew louder and more desperate, like the final battle cry of a warrior.

His back was up against a tree as he sang out again in the night, praying for someone to hear him and take pity on his poor soul. Strike me down and send me with her, if you cannot give me the gift of seeing her again. The same tears that had been steadily pouring down his face were gathered in a puddle at his unmoving feet, yet he didn’t mind. He couldn’t.

“You have woken my wife.”

Bucky’s playing stopped immediately. “What?”

The man before him was dark. He was tall and seemed to take up almost the entire space even though he was only a bit wider than Bucky. His shoulders were broad and his chin was strong, and his eyes were sharp even under the gloomy look they had to them. His cheekbones were sunken in and his eyes had a ring of black around them, like he hadn’t slept in a thousand years. His lips were set in a hard line, but he didn’t look displeased. Most notably, he had a dark aura surrounding him, even black most coming from behind him and nearly encasing him.

“I don’t repeat myself, and luckily, it looks like you heard me the first time.” His voice was deep, enthralling, like a song that Bucky would never dare write himself.

What was a man this terrifying, this powerful, doing in the forest? How had Bucky woken a soul when he was in soulless territory? He hadn’t seen houses for leagues.

Something inside of Bucky begged him to apologize. It begged him to get into his knees and look downwards towards the growing grass and hope to be spared. If this was before he lost you, maybe he would have listened to it. But what did he have to truly live for now that his darling was gone?

“I’m sorry to have brought you out of your dwellings because of my grieving.”

There was a certain kind of silence that would have made Bucky’s skin crawl if he even dared to look the being’s way. “Grieving?”

“My wife.” He breathed out, finally letting his arms loose as he let his trust lyre fall down to his side. “She… has fallen prey to death.”

“Ah,” the man said, his voice nearly a scoff. “I see. The circle of life.”

“And now my life shall go in circles, on and on and down the same miserable path without the woman I love,” Bucky stated, resting his head back against the tree. “I wish I knew a man that grieved. Me… I live amongst gods. We don’t grieve. We don’t die. I have never met a man who had an inch of grief in his heart. I feel like the first to ever feel it.”

“We can lose people in other ways than death,” the man said. “Death is the most absolute, but it seems to hurt a lot less than voluntary abandonment.”

“This is my first brush with death, and I have to admit that I’m not the biggest fan.” What an understatement.

“That’s a shame. My wife is quite the fan of you and your… grief. She says it’s the most moving thing she’s ever heard.” Bucky just nodded, eyes far off. “She wants to meet you.”

“I don’t really want to meet anyone.”

“You don’t want to see my wife? You don’t want a two way ticket to the world you’ve been singing about taking passage to for days now, Orpheus?”

His head turned slowly, eyes widening as he tried to piece thoughts and facts together with his sluggish mind. “What?” But he knew. He knew with another glance at this man that he was no man at all, but one of the original gods. He was Hades, in the divine flesh, standing right before him with a glint in his eyes that meant he was satisfied by Bucky’s shock. He went to his knees, kneeling as a sob piled up into his throat.

“Your Excellency,” he began to plead, recalling back to the times he was a young god, listening to his mother explaining the way that he should speak to all the gods who came before him- especially one as powerful as Hades. “I apologize. My mind is not set right— the loss of my wife has taken a toll on me. Please forgive me.”

“Your grief blinds you.”

There was no point in lying. “It does.”

“I, too, was blinded by grief. In fact, it happens every other six months, though I suppose you young gods and humans call it winter and fall. My wife would leave, gone with a stroke of wind and then come back only to wilt again. But she, just like your own wife, will learn that there is nothing we can do about the situations we are in. Destiny will have us where she has us, and your Eurydice’s path above has ended.”

Bucky wanted to scream at him. He wanted to refuse him and tell him that Destiny and the Fates would have to bend to his will, because there was no other way. He couldn’t last another day without you, let alone a lifetime. But the god he was speaking to was Hades, and Bucky was just Orpheus, a low level demigod.

“However, my wife still wants to meet you. She wants to hear your song clearly, where it’s not muffled by distance.” His heart began to race. His hands were shaking. His eyes were wide as he tried to take in a deep breath, waiting for the gloomy god’s next words. “If you agree to see her and play her that song of yours, I’ll let you see this wife you speak of. Does that sound fair?”

Nodding was all Bucky could do to stay awake.

§§

The Underworld was just as gloomy as it was in the stories. Black and grey ran together to create a shadowy world, dismal and dark. It was full of strange sounds, like the whistling of thick wind that almost sounded like wailing humans. The air was so heavy that Bucky was finding it hard to breathe, and there was a mist so hard to cut through that Bucky could hardly see more than three feet in front of him at a time. Hades led him, and the only reason he could see him was because of his true height showing, and the fact that his dark smoke was even darker than the mist.

His hands shook. Both of them held onto his lyre for dear life. It was close to his chest, strings facing away from him, but still it felt like he could feel the vibrations of it, like the air was mocking him back by playing a song of its own. He resisted the urge to close his eyes and fall to his knees, the environment putting him in near shock.

But he had to find you.

Hades stopped in his tracks, turning his sunken face towards Bucky, who had to fight to not flinch. “If you play for my wife and she likes it, I’ll take you to see yours.” He nodded his head quickly, putting his lyre into position, his arms trembling with anxiety. The double doors opened without the old god even touching them, and then Bucky was faced with an ancient throne room, elegant and dark all the same.

The first thing he did once he got near the sitting Queen of the Underworld was kneel. Tears were already swirling in his eyes, and his throat was lurching. If he were a human, he was sure that he would have been throwing up. He prayed silently to his mother, calling upon the strength of the Muses and their talents into his blood once more.

It was silent until the queen finally spoke. “So you’re the musician?”

“Yes, Your Excellency.”

“I expected you to be much older,” she said, her soft voice a plain contrast from her husband’s, and the dark setting of the Underworld. And then, Bucky understood that the stories weren’t embellished. At first thought, she didn’t seem to belong down there, least of all with Hades. He didn’t dare look up at either of them. “Your grief seems to be centuries old.” It felt like it was. The hole in his heart felt older than he was.

“This is Orpheus, son of Calliope,” Hades explained. “He can’t be more than a few thousand years, if I remember correctly.”

“Young, very young.” Persephone mused, the tone of her voice almost curious. “And what causes you to play this song?”

He explained it. He explained all of it. Your death, his need to see you, his stupid hope of bringing you back home where you belonged. He left it all on the table for them both to hear, even though he knew that the odds were unlikely for him. He didn’t care. He didn’t care if he got ridiculed or thrown back out of the gate, all that mattered to him was that he tried his hardest to get you. And that you knew, deep down in your forgotten mind, that he tried.

“Your music has moved me so, truly.” Persephone said, and then Bucky looked up. She was beautiful, flowers all over her body. She was the brightest thing down there, no doubt, and she still had that godly glow that all the other gods had, a golden rim around her body. She turned her face toward her husband without taking her eyes off of Bucky. “And I want to give you a chance.”

Bucky’s heart stopped. “Your Excellency?”

She was facing Hades now. “Give him a condition.” She muttered, her hands gripping the arms of the throne she sat on. “But let him try.”

Hades frowned. “If I let her go, how many humans do you think will hear of this tale and try to do the same?”

“None.” The goddess answered quickly. “They’re afraid of you. This boy is not. And unlike gods, humans accept death. They know that it is a part of the cycle, and they wouldn’t dare dispute it. This is just a confused young god. He hasn’t seen death before. This will be the only time anyone will ever ask this of you, Hades.”

It was pure silence. It seemed to stretch on for eons as Hades contemplated his wife’s words. The lyre had fallen to the ground minutes before, and Bucky felt himself reaching for it. Tears were streaming down his face now. “I’ll play for you again. I’ll play for you for a decade straight if you let me take her home at the end, if you let her remember me.” He added desperately, body trembling with anticipation.

Hades had dark eyes, and those dark eyes were full of uncertainty and something close to anger while he stared at Bucky, with a look on his face that was so blank that it frightened him. His wife’s hand was on his chest as she pleaded with him on Bucky’s behalf, yet he only stared Bucky down.

“If you can walk your way out of my domain without turning back to look at her, you can take her with you above ground.” Bucky sobbed. “If you look back, boy, she stays in the Asphodel Meadows.”

Bucky sobbed again.

§§

His back faced everything. He couldn’t hear anything except for the beating of his own heart, the heartbeat that seemed to extend all the way down to the fingertips that gripped the infamous lyre in his hand. He shook with every breath, and every blink was harsh on his eyes as he tried not to cry.

He wished he could hear you. He wished he could hear your soft voice reassure him, tell him that you remembered everything, that you were right behind him and that you would follow him everywhere, just like he would follow you. Just like he had followed you. He wished he could hear you.

He wished he could feel you. If your warm hands could just ghost over his shoulders and push him forward without quite letting go, he would have made the trek a thousand times. If he could feel your hands brushing away the hair out of his line of sight, he would have been walking before Hades even gave permission. He wished he could feel you.

He couldn’t. But he would walk anyway.

He hardly heard Hades give permission, his ominous tone echoing through the otherwise empty cavernous area, or the sound of Persephone’s whispers. But he could feel it in the air, suffocating and burying him.

Every lift of his foot was agonizing, every step far heavier than he ever imagined he could bear. But he would do it for you. He would push. Every whisper of doubt that crossed his mind, he would throw away.

It didn’t matter that at times, he wasn’t sure if you got what you needed from him. It didn’t matter that he felt like you weren’t fulfilled by the life you had with him. He had faith. It dwindled with every step, but he had faith. He would keep it and nurture it with every breath he had inside of him on the long journey back home.

Seconds started to feel like minutes, and minutes started to feel like hours. He hated it. His throat was closing in on itself like his voice was his enemy, like the voice everyone thought was so golden was the voice that would be the final nail in his coffin.

His feet were still aching, but the ache had become dull. Louder and more painful was the feeling of the cold biting his skin, like it was a reminder to stay conscious, to stay alert and thinking. Thinking was his vice and virtue. The silence was too loud. His mind was in pain, his heart even worse as he started to feel like the cold was his antagonizer. It was cold up above. It was in the cold where you suffered the most, where you struggled to stay positive. It was in the cold where he could hardly provide for you. It was in the cold where he had to hold you so close to him that air didn’t stand a chance between the two of you because every other man had already chopped the good wood.

But at the same time, he began to feel warm. It felt so warm to his skin that it felt like he was about to step into Tartarus. And it was in the warmth that you dressed in that pretty, short dress that got you harassed by men without humanity. It was in the summer that he found he couldn’t defend you. It was in the summer that he had a flash of realization that he wasn’t strong enough. It was in the summer that he got an even more fleeting flash of the thought that he wasn’t enough at all.

It was in the spring, in the months where there was sun and soft breezes, that he realized again that he was of no help. He had gotten a job one spring that was honest work, but brought in a lot less for the household than you did. He was working with the hands that were already calloused over to help men far more experienced than him craft things to sell to the town. He worked hard to come home tired just to know deep down that for all his work, he had not much more than chump change and a positive outlook to his name.

It was one autumn that he realized how much he had failed you, and he swept it under the rug like he did every other season. One autumn, he walked in on you crying in the arms of your friend- the local plum vendor that Bucky always used to buy from- about how you were terrified of being pregnant. As he walked through the Underworld, he asked himself how he could have ever forgotten that moment. Because what you said had shaken his heart to the core.

“There’s no way I would be able to take care of it.”

It wasn’t the certain doubt that was plants in your mind. It wasn’t the fact that neither of you had noticed Bucky hovering in the door because you were sobbing so hard. It wasn’t the way the woman comforted you better than he thought he was ever able to- because with him, you just never addressed the bad. It was as swept under the rug as dirt was. It was the way you said “I”. Alone. By yourself. Him and his contributions weren’t even in the picture. Were they even contributions?

It was never his voice that was his greatest feature and his worst. It was his mind. His mind was his killer. His mind was a killer, his poison and his weapon, and he was turning it right onto himself. His legs trembled as he fought the urge to look, to crane his neck and get his disappointment over with. Were you following him? Did you even remember him- or had you already drank from the river that would steal all of the life that you had before? Had Hades tricked him into leaving quietly?

And if you did remember him, why on earth would you follow him? You would be following him back to a land that was full of struggle and making it through day by day. You would be trudging after him this time only for him to bring up the rear in everything else. He would be the one smiling at you after you came from working to the bone, providing for him and yourself. That was all he ever had to offer, a smile and a song. What could he truly trade for a smile and a song? What could he get you?

Nothing.

What could he do if you got hurt again?

Nothing.

What could he do with his life when he surfaced and found you not there, far behind in the Underworld?

Nothing.

The doubt piled up. It replaced the faith like the faith was a forest and doubt was a wildfire. Every footstep added to it. He was convinced. He was sure that the result of him turning around at that one moment could be no worse than him turning around when he got to be above ground and away from the suffocating death. You weren’t going to be there. Whether he turned right then or in a hundred years, you weren’t going to be there. If you were in your right, beautiful mind, you would have seen him begging and turned your eyes from him and pretended like you hadn't known him.

He couldn’t tell where he was. His breathing was too shaky for him to think about anything else but breathing and thinking about you. It was too dark. His feet hadn’t touched grass yet and he knew he had to try to keep pushing, but he couldn’t wait any longer. He was bursting at the seams to confirm something that he already knew was coming for him.

His feet dragged. His steps sped up but it felt like he was fighting quicksand. He was struggling to walk through it, fighting to take breaths in it. The shallow breaths were somehow pitched high, bouncing off of the rocky, cavernous walls he began to hate. The only thing on his mind was doubt, doubt, doubt. It was a fever he couldn’t sweat out. A tremor he couldn’t shake away. A dark color he couldn’t paint over. A shadow he couldn’t run from. And just when he couldn’t fight it anymore, he saw light.

He never ran so fast in his entire life. He wanted to escape the feeling clawing at his throat and chest, the dread and preparation for pure disappointment. He wanted to step into the light, step into something he knew, before he allowed himself to collapse in grief again. It felt like the light was getting closer, and then it would fade again and come back lighter. He didn’t register the sound of sobbing until the sound faded out and stopped echoing, and then he was aware that his feet were touching the grass.

His feet were touching grass.

His hands shook as he raised them to his face, cupping his cheeks as he came to the realization that he was out of the nightmare that was the Underworld. Emotions were rushing into him faster than he could understand what they were, and then his mind stopped. His face was dry. His head whipped around.

Your eyes were wide and watery. Your dress was torn and bloody, just like it was when you had died. Your hair was a mess, and you were shaking from crying so hard. You stood there like a ghost, transparent and out of place, but crying real tears all the same. The sobs he had been hearing weren’t his own. They were yours. And you were still encased by the shadows of the Underworld.

You had been trying to catch up to him.

“Oh!” His exclamation was more of a dying moan than anything else. His trembling hands cupped his mouth again as he watched you cry again, crying even harder than that one time where the leaves were falling. He uttered your name once, and then once turned into four times, and as your cries got louder, his muttering turned into a shout, your name the one word he was calling out over and over again.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry baby.” He watched as you opened and shut your mouth over and over, shaking your head as silence was all you could produce. “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” He was drawing blood from how his fists were clenched. “Baby, my sweet love, my darling,” the names were dripping from his tongue like honey, like it was a balm that could soothe the both of you. His apologies were just as tender, as quiet and disbelieving as the language his eyes were speaking. He couldn’t help but reach out to you with a dying apology on his lips, his foot crossing the barrier you would be stuck behind forever, and just before he touched what must have been your cold skin, there was nothing but air.

Nothing but your lingering presence and his poisonous mind.

§§

He never thought that life could be so meaningless. Even before he met you, he felt like he had a purpose. He was an entertainer, a traveling man, a man who brought joy and music with him effortlessly wherever he went. Not anymore.

He was empty, and he felt like an empty glass jar. He wasn’t even an empty box— he was something anyone that had eyes could see right through. Everyone saw him and knew he was the one who had lost a wife and in turn given up all his divine talent. They looked at him through lenses that were wet with pity. He hated it.

He hated himself for doing the same to the humans who had lost loved ones. He felt horrible for giving them those looks, for telling Steve and Sam their stories without really knowing it. Now he was going through the unimaginable.

Nothing mattered, he learned. He thought that thought over and over again every time he woke up and every time he was going to sleep. He thought it while he sat in the cold on one winter night with no fire in the fireplace. It was something that would have made him worry a bit, or made him irritated at himself. Nothing really caused him to get angry or sad anymore. He was just there. It was like he was living yet another death by extension. The world gave him his cards and he played them in the worst way possible. But that’s what he did. He couldn’t change it.

He couldn’t change anything. All he could do was pray that you forgot the way that he failed you time and time again, and then where it was most important.

He would remember enough for the both of you.

****

hi guys! i feel like i literally have come back from the dead with all the time i’ve been in and out of here. it’s been so hectic and busy that i’m proud i got this out so soon lmao- i worked hard on this, so if you were feeling it please like and reblog!!

[mcdonaldsnumberone]

sir, you should only gamble for fun

“start talk with the demon under the table.”

cater x reader

gender neutral reader

synopsis: what is love?

Love.

A word unfamiliar to Cater. He’s used to the word “like”.

The heart underneath a Magicam post. A notification on his blank phone screen. A pursuit of the temporary in hopes he could chance his way into longevity. After all, there’s nothing in the world that could be powerful enough to ground him: at least, enough to wipe away the empty film that rests above his eyes.

Except for you.

What makes you so different? Cater doesn’t know the answer to that himself. Maybe it’s the way you look at him. Maybe it’s the way he unconsciously finds himself reaching for your hand whenever you aren’t around. Maybe it’s the way you look at him with pity, rather than love. Just like how everyone else does.

Nothing about you is really different. It’s him deluding himself into thinking you’re special. That he’s special.

You’re the only one who would tangle your fingers in his hair and tell him that his locks are the same color of the sun. You’re the only one who would bite his fingertips to make him wince and whine. You’re the one who would press a kiss right on the diamond stamp on his face and then drag your lips away, the crimson streak across his cheek a scarlet letter.

The diamond screams, “He’s in love! He’s in love! He’s in love!”

When he lies next to you, he wonders if what he feels is the same for you. Do you whisper his name like he does yours? Do you kiss him with the same intensity, hoping that you could taste the words he’s swallowed back so many times? 

Love.

It feels so foreign to Cater. It feels so good. It feels so horrid.

His heart hurts when he looks at you. The hourglass has already been flipped over, and the sand has already started falling. Cater doesn’t know when the last grain will slip through his fingers, just like the previous ones that escaped him. You’ll take flight, just like the wandering soul you are, and you’ll assimilate into a distant past.

Would it hurt less if your face blurred over, covered with his tears in a futile attempt to kill and bury the emotion that claws so monstrously inside of his chest? He would be content to keep this distance if it were anyone else, but he can’t be satisfied.

Because it’s you.

He kisses you carnally. His hands are tools of destruction—his mouth a weapon meant to slice and maim, his palms akin to the cracks on the earth. You should be afraid when you can feel his confusion tumble into the inside of your cheeks, and Cater wants you to be disgusted and yank yourself away from him.

But you don’t. You never do. That’s what wounds him the most. He almost wishes that you weren’t so kind to him. It would be easier for him to come to terms with himself if you hated him, spat at him, told him that you couldn’t stand to see the sight of someone so pathetically incapable as him.

No. You don’t do that.

You grab his collar with the same vigor that he does, pushing him towards the edge and sending him spiralling even deeper into the personal hell that he’s built up. Like dominoes, they always come crashing down, landing in a reckless clattering cacophony on the floor.

Why do you do this to him? Why do you make his heart hurt like this? What is it about you that makes it so impossible for him to do anything?

You kiss him. You kiss him back, and Cater’s nothing but a wisp of air between your arms. 

Love.

It hurts. It hurts too much for him to bear. He wants to rip his heart out of his ribcage and shred it to pieces. He wants to lay the fragments at your feet, knowing perfectly well that he can’t bring himself to throw them at you like he had done with others. He wants to snivel and cry and beg with his head in your lap, looking up at you as if you’re something to be worshipped.

The cadence of your lips on his is unbearable. 

It’s hot—so hot—and Cater’s a sinner in hell, too far beyond salvation to save himself. You can’t save him; you can pretend that you can all you want, but you can’t save him. How can the one who stole his wings and made him tumble like a deadweight through the sky be the one to save him? 

You are by the far the worst and the best thing Cater has never had. Your kiss is like molten lava dripping down the inside of his throat, and yet, Cater does everything he can to not waste a single drop. It burns and it makes his stomach turn and it forces him to yearn.

How pathetic.

But you don’t care. You never did. 

It’s you, after all.

You’re one and the same with the crowd that blurs over in Cater’s mind, yet you stand before him, so prominent and clear. The hands that grab at his collar are as real as his frustration, and the mouth that seals him into silence are as real as the twist inside of his body.

He can’t take it as it is. He doesn’t know what this is, but he knows it’s poison. You’re poison, flowing underneath his skin and tainting him. You’re tearing him apart and setting him on fire to turn him to ashes, and he’s so close to enjoying it. This is what you do to him. This is how you destroy him slowly and surely: from upside down to inside out, from the top of his head to the soles of his feet, from the bottom of his heart.

When he kisses you, it hangs on the tip of his tongue. Threatening to spill over his lips and to you.

I love you. I love you. I love you. 

x

[eclecticstarlightconnoisseur]

EDINBURGH TO BOSTON - CHAPTER 21 - SECRETS AND TRUTHS

Hello all, Finally the new chapter of Edinburgh to Boston is ready.

As I said in my update this has not been betaed. Therefore, any mistakes. lack of continuity or general mess-ups are all mine. I hope you will forgive me and overlook them. It took some re-writing when I read it over several times and I hope I caught all the mistakes.

This has been my baby for a long time and honestly, I think that was another reason that took so long to finish it as this is the last chapter. There will be an epilogue to clean up some things that are hanging around.

Just because this is the last chapter, does not mean this is the end. I can't really let go of these two people. They are so dear to my heart. Besides that, as I wrote this I realized that I did not totally address the opening premise that I made. If you recall I said that Fate and Destiny had their hands in seeing these two come together. There are other stories to tell about how such forces brought them together. I do plan a Part II but how I will do it has yet to be planned out.

I can't thank you all enough for being patient with me during times of difficulty when it took so long to get a chapter posted. I am so honored that so many of you liked this story which I honestly thought was going to fall flat on its face. I never dreamed I would get the response to it that I did. I thank you all for reading, commenting, giving the story some love. I am truly overwhelmed by your kindness.

As always I need to thank my betas who helped me along the way and gave me the encouragement to continue when I didn't think I could do it. @scubalass you're the best.

Without further ado and a tear in my eye, I give you Chapter 21 Edinburgh to Boston.

Edinburgh to Boston

Chapter 21

Secrets and Truths

“Come On! Come On! COME ON!” Claire groused at the tardy lift. It really wouldn’t do to be late for surgery on her first day back to work. She wanted to give the damn thing a good kick but thought better of it since she would be standing for most of the day. The idea of standing on a sore foot did not appeal to her.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, what is taking this thing so long? For a new building, you would think they would have installed a better lift system.” Finally, the doors slid open on the fifth floor where the cardiothoracic surgery department offices were located.

She ran down the corridor trying to free herself from her coat while hanging onto the bag containing her morning fix.

Claire ran through the building’s front door shouting a greeting to Eddie, the security guard on duty. She made a beeline for the Cafe to get her morning coffee before going up to her office. It would be a long and trying day and the caffeine jolt would serve as her means of survival.

Niall stood behind the counter and grinned at her. “Late Dr. B?”

“Whatever made you think so?” she replied rather dryly. Her face was flushed and her hair exploded out from her wooly cap.

“Just a wild guess,” he smirked.

“Humph!” she snarled. “I would love to stand and chat with you but I have surgery in an hour. I’ll have a…”

“Here it is Dr. B. Large black coffee with one sugar and a raisin scone.” Niall smiled showing her the takeaway bag with her name on it.

She looked flustered, “How did you…”

“Dr. Fraser came by earlier. He ordered for you thinking you might be...um, in a hurry.”

“You say Dr. Fraser’s here already?” Claire grimaced ashamed of her lateness. It seemed, however, that curiosity got the better of her. Doing her best to look nonchalant, she casually asked, “Um, how did he look? Tired was he?” Dark smudges rimmed her eyes from lack of sleep. Claire would have liked nothing more than to curl up in bed and pull the covers over her head.

“Nay, no’ at all. Dr. Fraser said he worked out in the gym first then ran here. He looked quite hale and hearty actually. A wee bit pink from the cold, but truly well.”

“Of course, he did,” mumbling with annoyance to herself, “the man is made out of steel.”

Opening her overstuffed slouchy bag, she began the ritual of hunting for her wallet.

Cocking his head to the side, Niall pushed the bag toward Claire, “Oh, and he paid for this too.”

“Thank you, Niall and I’ll thank Fraser when I see him.”

Grabbing the bag, she made a mad dash toward her arch-enemy, the lift.

As usual, the ride to her floor became an act of slow torture and unmitigated agony. Once the lift doors opened, she sprinted down the corridor shaking one arm out of her coat while juggling her purse and the bag with its precious contents in the other hand. As she arrived outside her office door, her other arm managed to jiggle out of its sleeve. Finding the key to her office would require a balancing act considering the disordered state of her handbag. Placing her coat between her teeth and the bag containing her coffee and scone between her knees, not the soundest of ideas mind, she rummaged inside her handbag. Of course, the key could not be found being buried in the deep recesses of the purse. Needing a little extra stability, Claire leaned against the doorway. The door swung open making her lose balance and stumble into the room. Her mouth opened, squawking in surprise causing the coat to drop to the floor. Flailing hands pinwheeled around trying to maintain equilibrium rather than land ignominiously on her arse. She managed to keep her footing but lost the grip on her purse and watched as the contents tumbled out spilling haphazardly around the room. By some miracle, the sack with the coffee and scone remained intact. Not a drop of the rejuvenating liquid spilled. Which, of course, was the most important thing.

Surveying the mess she had inadvertently created, Claire concluded it was going to be one of those days. No doubt about it. And to make matters worse, she would have to operate without Fraser. Not to have his strong capable hands there moving in concert with hers, well the thought just soured her stomach. Of course, Pound would be there to help, but he was still in training even if he was Chief Fellow and she would still have to monitor him.

Mumbling words that a lady should not use, Claire picked up her coat and tossed it on a chair. On her hands and knees, she crawled around picking up the scattered bits and bobs shoving them back in the purse.

Standing, she walked toward her desk and saw it. In the middle of the desk stood a small beautifully cut crystal vase filled with forget-me-nots, white heather, and baby’s breath. A handwritten card placed in front of the flowers was written in a distinctive script declaring, Tha gaol agam ort, J. Claire could not read Gàidhlig but she instinctively knew what it meant. Her eyes misted over as she touched the delicate blooms.

How do you do it, Jamie Fraser? You take a terrible day and turn it into something magical.

Claire put on her lab coat, grabbed the bag with her coffee and scone, and walked out closing the door behind her. She strolled toward her nemesis, the lift, smiling and humming happily.

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

“Aye, that’s right. See how Dr. Beauchamp keeps her field clear. It gives ye an unobstructed view and prevents postoperative infection.” Jamie turned to look at his students and they all dutifully nodded in appreciation.

“Watch how Dr. Beauchamp creates the anastomosis. Then she’ll tie it off. See how she makes her knots! ‘Tis a thing of beauty, is it no’? Perfect technique!” Jamie praised. Peering at his beloved, he saw her eyes crinkle with pleasure and her cheeks blazed red above her mask.

He came alive while he watched her work. As a surgeon, she was smart, talented, and highly sought after. Not only because of her skill but because she deeply cared about her patients. Some colleagues thought her “too involved” or believed her gender would make her“too soft” to become a competent cardiothoracic surgeon. Other critics thought her involvement with her patients would undermine her professionalism.

They had made love. Legs twined together; her head rested on his shoulder while his arm curled around her protectively. Jamie turned on to his side just enough to allow him to see her nakedness gilded by the moonlight. She curled into him clinging to him like a limpet anchored to a rock. Her muscles tense where normally she lay in his arms boneless after their intimacy. Finding a particularly tight knot he massaged it and felt it go slack.

“Is something wrong, my own? Did I no’ please you?” he asked anxiously.

“No, you were wonderful, really, Jamie. It’s just me. I started thinking. I don’t know why. But it’s nothing at all truly. I’m fine, just fine.”

“Sassenach, I ken well enough what ‘I’m fine means. Why dinna ye tell me what’s upsetting ye.” Jamie pulled her closer, tucking Claire’s head under his chin.

“We need to go back soon,” she said in a voice so low as to be almost inaudible. “And I’m so happy here with you,” she looked up into those startling blue eyes. “Then I started thinking about what it took for me to get this far in my career. My residency. My Fellowship. And suddenly I wondered if it was all worth it. I wondered if they were right in the end.”

“Who was right, Sassenach?”

Heaving a heavy sigh, Claire shared her trials as a cardiothoracic fellow. The competition for the position had been fierce. Only the top five candidates were called back to interview for the one open position. Even though she was highly ranked among the candidates for the fellowship, her prospective mentors suggested that perhaps she would be more suited to pediatrics, dermatology, or aesthetics as one of those specialties might suit her female sensibilities better. They had suggested cardiothoracic surgery might be too rigorous for a woman. The hours too demanding for a married woman. What would her husband say? Wouldn’t she like to have a family someday?

“The only qualification I didn’t have was I didn’t have a prick,” she said with some bitterness. She never expected an easy time. A distinct amount of sexism existed in medicine and women were not welcomed with open arms. She worked the worst schedule and given the most complex cases. Evaluations were harsh and judgmental. All done in the hopes that she would quit. Instead, it just made her work harder. And she turned a blind eye and a deaf ear to the mockery heaped on her. Claire succeeded where many others failed. She became their first female Chief Fellow; won several prestigious awards for her research. More importantly to Claire, her patients thrived.

“I am beginning to think they were right about some things. There is so much more to life. Much, much more,” she said drowsily. “And I want to have it. All.” Yawning, her eyes fluttered closed, and fell into a contented sleep.

“Aye, mo nighean donn, ye will. I’ll see tae it,” and leaned over kissing her brow.

Truly Claire is a woman of rare spirit, he thought. A woman who overcame many challenges and obstacles from an early age and was better for it. After all, she survived a plane crash that claimed the lives of her parents, lived like a vagabond with her archeologist uncle, and prevailed over a nightmare marriage. Many people would have been crushed under such hardships. But not his Sassenach; she endured. She managed to overcome them and emerge victoriously. A woman of rare spirit indeed. And one who deserved to be loved and loved well.

Jamie’s narrative kept pace with Claire’s every movement. Occasionally, he fired off questions at various intervals to his followers which they answered to his satisfaction. They remained throughout the entire procedure until skin closure finished and the patient made ready for transfer to the CSICU.

“Dr. Pound will accompany the patient to their room and start to write the postoperative orders. Please go with him. I will meet you over there.”

“Dr. Beauchamp, a word if ye please about yer next case,” called Jamie.

“Of course, Dr. Fraser. I would be delighted.”

The doctors exited the operating room on the pretext of being nothing more than two colleagues engaged in a discussion about a patient scheduled for surgery that afternoon. They approached an out-of-the-way corridor between the OR and the CSICU stealing down the passageway like two thieves in the night. Jamie’s head spun around looking for anyone who might have observed them. Deciding that they had not been seen, he seized her hand and pulled her into a little-used utility room. He locked the door behind them and drew her close, kissing her thoroughly.

“I missed ye.”

Claire cuddled into him resting her head on his chest. “I missed you too.”

Lifting her arms, she wrapped them around his neck. “Come here,” she whispered as she tugged his head down toward her.

Claire kissed him once, then twice.

“No’ that I’m complaining but what’s that for?”

“One was for the coffee, the other was for the scone. This one,” her voice turned provocative, “is for the flowers.” Her mouth latched onto his giving him a proper thank you kiss. The kiss, a searing flame, igniting them like a match to dry kindling. It left them both breathless and wanting for more.

She pressed firmly against him. He could feel her nipples rigid and taut through the thin scrub top. He knew she felt him; his hardness pressed against her body. If only I were home with her I’d carry her off to bed. This thought, naturally, made things much worse for him.

“How did you manage it?” she asked, her voice a sultry husky tone.

“Ewan gets the credit.”

“Be sure to thank him for me.” Claire crushed her body closer to his taking in his warmth. She buried he nose against him absorbing his smell. His scent was masculine, with the tang of antiseptic and just a dash of laundry starch hovering around him. Some things completely stirred her soul.

Clearing his throat, Jamie asked in a shaky voice, “Will ye, ah, will ye… Christ Claire, I canna think with ye so close tae me. Will ye take yer lunch with me?”

“Yes,” she said breathily.

“Why don’t ye go dictate yer op notes while on check on Pound? I’ll meet ye in about thirty minutes.”

“That’s a fine idea,” she leaned forward giving him a quick kiss. “Don’t be late.”

Jamie opened the door enough to peek out and found the corridor remained empty.

“Ye go first, I’ll follow after ye shortly.”

Claire slipped through the door while Jamie watched as she left. He noticed a little extra sway to her hips as she walked away. Damn little vixen. She did it on purpose. Sighing, he closed the door and leaned his head against it. He would have a wait a minute or two until his “problem” disappeared. It was becoming truly uncomfortable as he sought to adjust himself. “She’ll be the death of me yet.”

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

Walking into the CSICU after completing a successful surgery always filled Jamie with a certain satisfaction. He felt overjoyed that he and Claire helped patients return to their life, their work, their family, and without pain. He would tell patients, when he first met them, that this surgery was “enabling”. It would enable them to return to the life they wanted and not become a bystander.

With that thought in mind and a large grin on his face, Jamie swiped his badge across the electronic keypad granting him entrance into the Unit. The sounds of controlled chaos greeted him, voices raised, ventilators whooshing delivering needed oxygen, the soft beeping of heart monitors keeping time with healing hearts, IV pumps clicking as they delivered medication critical to the patient’s recovery.

He walked briskly toward the nurses’ station with gladness in his heart for he was back where he belonged.

“Fiona, ‘tis good tae see ye. How have ye been?” he inquired of the Unit’s charge nurse.

With the sound of his voice all conversation, all activity ceased, and every eye fastened onto him. The silence in the room would have been deafening if not for the continued mechanical sounds. Jamie became keenly aware of the absence of sound and the staff rooted in position. And just as quickly as it started it ended with activity resuming at its normal pace.

Fiona MacGowen kept her eyes glued to her computer screen, deliberately not making direct eye contact with the doctor. “Oh just braw, Dr. Fraser, just braw. Dr. Beauchamp’s patient is in Room 10 with Dr. Pound, Elspeth, and Iona getting him settled,” she said with her lips slightly turning up in a smile. “They’ll be waiting on ye.”

“Thank ye, Fiona. I’ll go and see how they are getting along.”

Jamie walked away, stopped, and turned back to look at Fiona once more. He thought her behavior a bit strange. Generally, one would say Fiona was a gregarious person with the reputation of being a chatterbox. Today, however, she acted more like a nun under a vow of silence. But to be honest, as he gazed around the Unit once more, everyone’s behavior seemed strange. And he had yet figured out what to make of it.

As Jamie approached the room the sounds of busyness gave the impression of a beehive humming with activity. As he stepped into the entryway, activity ceased. Again, all that remained was the soft mechanical sounds made by the life-sustaining equipment.

Elspeth stood quite still and uttered a little gasp. Meanwhile, Iona took a step back bumping into the ventilator; her eyes round with surprise. Dr. Pound cleared his throat glaring at the two nurses. They resumed their usual pleasant expressions with lips curling up into crooked smiles.

Jamie looked at the three of them thinking his team had gone daft.

“‘Tis good to have ye back Dr. Fraser,” declared the Fellow. “The ladies and I were just finishing getting Mr. MacNichol set up.”

Pound grabbed one of the portable workstations and began reviewing the patient’s current vitals as well as the orders he had written with the surgeon. They discussed the ventilator’s and pacemaker’s current settings, and when to call Dr. Beauchamp with any changes to her patient.

“Well-done, well-done. Mr. MacNichol is in very capable hands,” he smiled at his team. “I am off to lunch. Ye ken how to reach Dr. Beauchamp or me.”

Jamie walked out of the room and on impulse turned back to see the three heads buried in whispered conversation. He shook his head and left thinking about having lunch with Claire wanting to discuss the staff’s strange behavior with her.

Preoccupied with his thoughts, Jamie walked smack into his cousin Rupert almost knocking him down. Extending his arm quickly he caught his cousin by the shoulder steadying him.

“Sorry about that Rup. Doing a bit of wool-gathering I suppose.”

“Oy must be something awfully important to have ye so distracted.”

“I promised Claire I would have lunch with her and I dinna want tae be late.”

“Tae tell ye the truth, I am on my way tae find Geillis. We’re supposed to have a bite together too. Suppose ye two join us, aye?” He grinned broadly, “Twill be interesting to see if the plan

succeeded.”

“Sounds like a good idea cuz,” Jamie clapped an arm around Rupert’s shoulder as they strode off in search of the lasses.

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

Seated at one of the dictation corrals, Claire began her op notes. Her cardiac anesthesiologist, Geillis Duncan took the hutch next to her.

Dr. Duncan was a beautiful woman, with a trim figure, flaming red hair, and eyes as green as spring grass.

“Claire, ‘tis good tae have ye back. I’m sorry I dinna have much of a chance tae speak with ye this morning before the case. Did ye enjoy the conference?” Dr. Duncan gave Claire a sly side-long look.

“Wouldn’t you know it, Boston had a blizzard and the speakers weren’t able to make it.”

“No. What a shame. Ye flew all that way for nothing,” she sympathized.

“Too bad, right? Dr. Fraser and I were looking forward to hearing about those peripherally inserted heart valves.”

“Aye, but ye had the fox cub with ye. Perhaps it wasna so bad after all,” she leaned over jabbing Claire in the side. “Did ye maybe get tae share a room and have a go at him between the sheets, um?” She gave Claire a wicked smile. “I ken if I was snowed in with him, I would.

“Geillis!” Claire swore. She blushed from her hair roots to her toes.

Geillis gave her a sly smug smile. “After all, Georges X is an exclusive luxury hotel. Verra private, and verra, verra discrete. Or so I’ve heard,” she said shrugging her shoulders. “They have those flowers, all over the place. What are they? Orchids? she asked while tapping her nail against her white teeth feigning an attempt at recalling. I understand the lobby is decorated with a fortune in artwork. The rooms are quite grand, are they no’, with a fireplace, champagne, chocolate-dipped strawberries, fine whiskey. And I hear the bed is big enough to sleep an entire family. How could ye no’ entice him into yer bed, is what I want tae know?”

Claire glared at her friend, “What I want to know is how you know I stayed at Georges X. I know I never told you.”

Geillis chuckled nervously, “Why of course ye did. How else would I ken that?” Geillis became uncomfortable under Claire’s scrutiny.

“Spill it, Duncan. You know more than you’re telling.”

Geillis affected a look of innocence, “I swear tae ye Claire, I dinna ken anything.” She nervously scanned the area looking for any means of escape from further questioning. Her eyes latched on to Dr. Rupert MacKenzie ambling directly toward her, along with Jamie. “I need tae go. I promised tae meet Rupert for lunch. See ye later, Claire.”

Reaching out, Claire grasped Geillis by the forearm, “That’s a load of rubbish and you know it. I suspected there was something dodgy about that trip right from the beginning. I need answers and you have them, Duncan. You’re coming with me.”

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

The two male surgeons walked amicably through the corridor talking and laughing as Rupert entertained Jamie with tales of hospital gossip. As they approached the physician workstation, they noticed a loud commotion that seemed to be attracting a crowd. Jamie wondered what caused the kerfuffle this time. Most such squabbles centered around obtaining a certain OR room or available time for surgery. This behavior bordered on the ridiculous in his opinion.

As the men came closer to the center of the fray, they saw two female doctors engaged in a struggle. One of them had wild brown curls bouncing around her head. Claire? The second doctor had hair the color of flame. That head of hair belonged to the fiery Geillis Duncan. He quickened his pace needing to reach Claire.

“Claire! Claire,” he called, “What’s amiss?”

“‘Claire’ he calls her now. No’ Dr. Beauchamp,” Geillis snorted.

Claire’s posture had all the hallmarks of frustration and anger as she tried to drag her colleague toward the doctor’s lounge.

Claire’s eyes locked on Jamie, “It seems that Dr. Duncan knows a great deal about our trip. Particularly where we stayed and I want to know how.”

Rupert took Geillis firmly by the elbow and leaned over to hotly whisper in her ear, “Wha’ have ye done woman!?”

Cold green eyes glared fixedly up at him disliking his insinuation. “I may have spilled a bit of tea is all,” she said, wrenching her arm free of his grip.

“Sounds more like ye spilled the whole damn pot,” he growled at her. “Ye ken they were never supposed to find out, at least no’ this way. We were supposed to tell them gentle like. Now what?”

Dr. Duncan gave her shoulders the tiniest of shrugs. “Dinna fash. We’ll think of something,” and walked toward the lounge.

He squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth, “Aye, that’s what I’m afraid of.”

Rupert held the lounge door open for his co-conspirator trying to usher her quietly into the room. Geillis, however, turned to observe Jamie and Claire huddled deep in discussion.

“Are ye both going to stand there all day blethering, or are ye coming? I’m hungry and I want my lunch.” she snapped.

The crowd lingered about waiting for the fuse to be lit and the fireworks to begin. Dr. Duncan had a very volatile reputation easily flying into pieces like an unstable explosive device. Whereas, Dr. Beauchamp was a genial person, kind and caring. But, the one thing she was not was a meek individual. When pushed beyond her tolerance limits, she could be as ruthless as a she-wolf defending her pups.

Jamie placed his hand firmly on the small of Claire’s back giving her a little nudge forward. The crowd began to murmur heads close in a whispered discussion, Some rudely pointed a finger at his hand on her back, while others outright stared. Jamie flushed. He should have known such an intimate placement of his hand would draw attention. They saw he claimed her. Not knowing how Claire would feel about this public display, he thought he needed to break up this crowd before someone accidentally said something.

“Show’s over everyone. Just a private meeting among friends. Nothing tae see here. I’m sure ye all have some work tae do. Patients are waiting for ye. Go on with ye.” Jamie said dismissing the loitering group.

Following behind Claire, Jamie entered the room and shut the door.

Claire wanted to get to the bottom of things quickly and stormed up to her colleague in a blazing fury. “Alright Duncan, spill what you know.”

“I already told ye. I dinna ken anything about ye trip. As I said either you or Jamie must have mentioned where ye were staying. Beyond that, I dinna ken anything.”

Jamie looked at Claire and shook his head signifying that he had never mentioned the hotel to anyone.

“Um-hm. Since when does this institution send a chauffeured car to pick up two staff surgeons? For the Chief certainly but not for ordinary staff personnel. And we’re supposed to believe that the hospital made five-star accommodations with all expenses paid for us? Hmm? I think not. Did I not say so, Jamie?”

“Aye, ye did. Several times.”

“Claire began to pace while considering the other strange occurrences surrounding their trip.

“And what about my clothes? I most certainly did not pack away that nightgown. It was a mere scrap of silk and lace. And that lingerie! Those panties and bras were not something I would have packed for a conference trip.”

“I’ll bet he enjoyed it,” Geillis muttered under her breath a sly grin curling up on her lips lighting up her face.

Jamie leaned forward, his eyes narrowing, staring intensely at the female doctor, “I am inclined tae agree with Dr. Beauchamp that the circumstances surrounding our trip tae Boston were, tae say the least, most unusual. I also had clothes in my suitcase that I ken I dinna pack and I’m wondering how they got there. Can ye shed any light on this mystery?”

As Jamie questioned Geillis, an acrid odor caught Claire’s attention. Being a very astute doctor, she was used to the various malodors emitted by humans and knew what they meant. She raised her nose into the air and sniffed delicately. The pungent smell seemed to be coming from the direction of Rupert. A light sheen of sweat glossed over his forehead and there was a distinctive musky odor about him. Fear. Anxiety. Her intense scrutiny seemed to worsen whatever internal conflict plaguing him. Unable to withstand the intensity of her stare, Rupert turned away not wanting to meet her eyes.

Claire jabbed Jamie in his side with her elbow gaining his attention.

“I think Rupert has something to add to this conversation.”

Jamie walked over to his cousin and stared at him intently. Rupert took a few steps back, feeling the unconscious need to put some distance between them.

“Aye, I think yer right. Rupert, ye look like ye have something ye’d like tae get off yer chest. Out with it man.”

Deciding that the best defense is a good offense, Rupert widened his stance and crossed his arms over his chest.

“I dinna ken what yer talking about Jamie lad. As the lady said, I dinna ken anything about yer trip either. And dinna ask if I ken anything about how yer jeans, duck boots, and down jacket got into yer suitcase,” he replied, a self-satisfied look plastered across his face.

“Ye great dunderheid! Do ye ken what ye said?! Ye just gave it away,” Geillis shouted giving him a slap upside his head. “And ye were worried about what I said.”

“Wha’ are ye talking ab…” He had that startled look that one has when they realize they stuck their foot in their mouth. “Oh! Oh, shite.”

“Ye just admitted that ye changed Jamie’s clothes in his suitcase.”

“Dinna blame me for everything. You changed Claire’s clothes,” Rupert countered.

The two combatants escalated the argument going at each other nose to nose, eyeball to eyeball, tooth, fang, and claw.

“And whose ideas was this? Mine. Who made the hotel arrangements and spoke tae Joe Silverberg in Texas to get him on board with the plan should one of them call to discuss the meeting?” Geillis boasted as she swung her hair over her shoulder. A dreamy look took over her as she recalled the conversation with Dr. Silverberg. “I invited him to come to Scotland, ye ken. Told him I would show him the sights and a good time. Said he may take me up on that too.”

“Mmphm, so ye did,” Rupert grumbled with annoyance. He did not like the suggestion of Geillis showing the American surgeon a good time. “Ye forget I made the plane arrangements and got Kenny to print up the fake conference brochure. And who enlisted their secretary’s help to slip the vacation request under the Chief’s nose and have him sign it? Cost me a night out as payment for that,” Rupert griped.

The two doctors continued in their game of one-up-manship, oblivious to Jamie and Claire standing in the room.

Unable to take the bickering anymore, Jamie bellowed, “Haud yer weesht!!!”

Geillis and Rupert looked up in bewilderment having forgotten where they were and that Jamie and Claire stood listening.

“Do ye two realize that what ye did invaded our privacy? That ye had no right to interfere in our lives?” Jamie growled.

“So, that’s it then? The whole thing was a setup, some sort of game? None of this was real? ” Claire said as she looked at Jamie.

“I beg tae differ, hen,” Gellis walked over her expression softening and gently took hold of Claire’s hand, “it’s as real as it can get. We all saw the lovesick eyes, the secret peeks ye two gave each other, and the way ye fuss over each other. If two people were meant to be together it’s ye two. We just nudged things along is all, ” said Geillis.

“Aye, yer right,” Rupert chimed in. “‘Tis the truth that NO one could take watching ye two anymore. The whole hospital wanted tae see ye together.” Rupert smiled at Claire. He quickly turned his vexation on his cousin. “And if Fraser here was no’ going tae be a man about it and make the first move, well by God someone had tae,” he snarled at Jamie. “What are ye then, cuz, a man or a moose?”

Jamie ran his hand through his hair and rolled his shoulders as if trying to loosen his shirt that had suddenly become too tight. A shy crooked smile flashed over his face; his lip curling up on one side.

“Aye, yer right. I, ah, I… Well, tae tell the truth, I am a bit of a coward. Ye ken, I dinna think um, I dinna know if Claire felt the same about me.” Jamie turned and looked deeply in Claire’s eyes, “I was afraid tae lose ye. If being yer friend would be the best of it, then that would have been enough.”

“I was afraid of losing you too, Jamie. I’ve had feelings for you right from the start. Only now do I dare to admit them,” Claire turned toward Rupert and Geillis giving them a look of gratitude. Moving closer, placing her hands on his chest. “I love you and I always will.” Her arms went up around his neck, standing on tiptoe, she leaned in, and kissed him soundly.

The kiss finally ended, each blushing from making a display of themselves.

Geillis stood there making gagging noises as she watched their affection. Rupert looked at Geillis with a smirk on his face.

“What’s the matter, lass, jealous?” Rupert said with a grin on his face.

“Certainly not,” Geillis waved off that idea with a flip of her hand and turned away.

“Well then, ye won't be minding this. I've wanted tae do this for a long time.” Rupert turned her around, took her in his arms, and kissed her.

“And I dinna want tae hear about ye showing any other men a good time, either.” He gave her a look that told her he would not brook no for an answer.

Geillis, looking dazed readily agreed.

Jamie coughed loudly, reminding the other couple they were not alone.

Wrapping his arm around Claire and pulling her into his side, Jamie smiled at their friends, “We want to thank ye, both, for bringing us together. We are truly grateful.”

Claire nodded in agreement, forgetting about her anger with the unorthodox methods they used to bring her the love of her life.

“Since we are all telling the truth,” Rupert reluctantly admitted, “there’s a wee bit more to it.” “We were not the only ones involved in this. When other staff members heard what we about they wanted tae be part of it. And so...”

“And so everyone began to contribute money tae help pay for the trip. So that’s how ye had such fine accommodations and such.” Geillis huffed, “We told ye that people could no longer stand tae look at ye. They wanted ye two as a couple, no’ apart. Now can we stop havering about and get some lunch? My wame is empty. Besides, everyone is waiting in the canteen tae see ye both.”

“Oh, God,” Claire groaned as she grew red and buried her face in Jamie’s chest.

Jamie chuckled and rubbed her back in long soothing strokes.

“Are ye ready then, Sassenach? Let’s go give these good people their money’s worth,” he grinned.

“Yes. We should thank them all, don’t you think?” Claire replied, running her fingers through her hair trying to tame her wayward curls.

“Ye look fine, lass,” he bent to kiss her gently on the cheek and took hold of her hand.

Rupert and Geillis led the way, laughing and talking. Claire and Jamie walked behind them holding hands. Nerves were getting the best of her and her hands became sweaty. She surreptitiously wiped her free hand on the scrub pant leg.

“Dinna fash. Ye’ve faced worse and ye’ll no’ be doing this alone. We’ll face them as one.”

One.

ONE, he said. But. What did that exactly mean?

“What do you mean by that? Being one?” She held her breath waiting for an answer.

Jamie frowned, crease lines set upon his forehead.

“It’s like I’ve kent ye my whole life, even before that, if that’s possible. I mean yer part of me. I ken that sounds crazy, but I…”

“I know what you mean, Jamie. I feel the same way too. It’s hard to explain, but it’s there.”

“Aye, lass, it’s most definitely there.”

Approaching the canteen seemed a surreal experience. Normally, one would call the dining hall a lively place, with the sounds of laughter, chatter, mixed with the scrape of dinnerware against plates. Today seemed different. A thrum of excitement and perhaps expectation filled the air as if waiting for something to happen. As Jamie and Claire approached the door a steady vibration emanated from its core.

Geillis waved them back signaling she and Rupert would enter first. Rupert lifted his hand spreading his fingers indicating they should wait five minutes before entering. Jamie nodded and Rupert and Geillis entered the dining room.

Jamie and Claire waited in companionable silence. Who would think that five minutes could feel like an eternity? But it did.

Jamie looked at his watch; it was time.

“Are ye ready, Sassenach?”

“Je suis prest,” she acknowledged.

Their fingers reached out seeking their mate bonded the two hearts and souls into one. Turning they gave each other a nod and walked through the door only to meet with absolute silence.

All eyes turned upon them and it became unnerving. Claire inched closer to Jamie, if that was even possible, drawing on his strength.

Then the cheers began along with the whistles and applause. Someone from the back of the room called out, “It’s about time, Fraser.”

“Och why don’t ye just give us a bit of peace, aye?” came his laughing response.

They were rushed by a mob of well-wishers. Men clapped Jamie on the back wishing him well. Others made jokes, at his expense, about his manliness for taking so long.

The women embraced Claire telling her how happy they were for her. Some gave her sly looks while others made off-color jokes causing her to blush.

Eventually, people began to amble back to their tables and lunch, and the couple discovered themselves alone. Finding a table in an out-of-the-way corner, they sat to eat.

“I guess we are out as a couple officially. It’s no’ how I would have wished it tae become common knowledge, but…” Jamie shrugged. “They are good people and they meant well.”

Claire nodded in agreement as she moved her salad around on the plate not eating.

“It’s a strange feeling. Knowing that someone orchestrated this relationship. I know how this will sound, but I feel like this happened to me, to us before.”

Claire looked up at Jamie, eyes pleading for understanding.

“Forget what I said, it’s silly.” She stabbed a particularly tender piece of lettuce and ate it.

“Nay Sassenach, it’s no’ silly at all. I feel it too. It’s as if I am drawn to ye as if I kent ye from another lifetime. Like we were meant to be together, bonded if ye like.”

“That’s it, exactly.” Claire looked at him with a sense of relief. Looking up, she noticed the clock on the wall, reading 12:55 PM.

“Damn, we have to go. We’ll barely make it in time for Dr. de Gascogne’s appointment for your hand.”

Jamie muttered something in Gàidhlig which Claire really didn’t want a translation of.

“I dinna ken why everyone is making such a fuss over my hand. It doesna hurt and it will heal in a few more weeks.”

Claire blew out a breath of exasperation, “You know very well why Dr. Fraser. Your one of the best cardiac surgeons in all of Scotland. Well, next to me you are,” she said teasingly. Besides, the hospital needs you, your patients need you but most of all I need you. So that’s why.”

“I ken, but I dinna like being fussed over.”

“Yes, I know; you’re a doctor and doctors make terrible patients. You think you’re supposed to do the healing and don’t like when you need help,” Claire said with a raised eyebrow. “Now, let’s get your hand attended to, shall we?”

They hurried through the corridors, making it to the appointment with seconds to spare. Jamie was whisked off for X-Rays then he and Claire were escorted to an exam room. He sat on the examination bed while Claire took the chair next to him awaiting Dr. de Gascogne’s appearance.

Jamie studiously inspected an anatomical chart of the hand and wrist hanging on the wall in the room.

“Ye said ye need me,” he said almost inaudibly. “Do ye mean as yer surgical partner or as something more?

Claire noticed him drumming his fingers on his thigh anxiously.

“I need you, Jamie, in every sense of the word. As my partner, my friend, my lover, my everything. I. Need. You.” Claire stood and walked over to him. She wrapped her arms around his neck pressing her forehead to his.

“Aye, weel I wanted to make sure, is all. Yer the prettiest lass in the hospital. Any man would want tae be with ye,” and gave her a shy smile.

“Jamie Fraser, you say the most…” There was a knock on the door, the knob turned and Dr. de Gascogne entered the room finding the lovers locked in an embrace.

She looked at the two, raised an eyebrow at Jamie’s hands on Claire’s hips, “Un jour, quelqu'un entrera dans votre vie et vous fera comprendre pourquoi cela n'a jamais fonctionné avec quelqu'un d'autre, mes chers. Et il semble que vous ayez. I believe congratulations are in order. My secretary tells me you have announced that you are a couple. You two made quite a stir in the dining hall?”

Claire jumped away returning to her seat cheeks and nose bright red. While Jamie’s ears went pink.

“Well, um, ah, yes. Thank you. I believe that we made quite a spectacle of ourselves and continue to do so, it seems,” Claire replied mortified having been caught.

“Ah, mon chéri never be ashamed to show that you are in love. We are born of love and seek out love. Many have sacrificed greatly for love even died for it. It truly is a treasure to enjoy. No?” Dr. de Gascogne said with a smile. “Now to business.”

Dr. de Gascogne opened the electronic medical record and began her inquiry. Jamie explained how he injured his hand - twice - causing Dr. de Gascogne to raise her eyebrows in total disbelief.

She reviewed the X-Rays; then removed the splints. She moved and wiggled the fingers finding them healing well and moving to her satisfaction. The splints were replaced and Jamie was dismissed with a caution not to hit any more people or trees. She instructed him to see her again in one month for a further follow-up.

The two surgeons graciously thanked Dr. de Gascogne for her time and casually left the examination room. As soon as they could not be seen, they bolted toward the operating suites as quickly as they could eager to leave behind another awkward situation.

The remainder of the afternoon went on as planned. Claire completed her second surgical procedure without incident. Jamie’s students doggedly followed him from place to place. Finally, the day came to an end. The surgeons tiredly returned to their offices, checked in for urgent messages and for their schedule for the next day. Each too exhausted to do much of anything else, except want the comfort of a bed, chose to go home. It was a short walk to Claire’s flat from the hospital and Jamie escorted her home. He wrapped his arm around her waist and she leaned into him. They spoke of this and that sharing different events of their day. Arriving at Claire’s flat, they walked up the stairs toward the front door. Jamie stood one step lower than Claire allowing them to be of an equal height.

A wave of fatigue washed over her, but Claire did not want Jamie to leave despite her tiredness.

“Would you like to come up? I have some soup in the fridge. Mrs. Bug made it. She’s quite the cook. Won’t take more than a moment to heat up. Or maybe a glass of wine or a dram? To help unwind?” she said looking at him hopefully.

He unzipped both their jackets and pulled her into the depth of his wrapping the jacket around her. He wanted her close to him and to share his warmth with her.

“Mo chridhe, yer completely knackered and ye need yer rest. If I come up with ye, ye ken neither of us will get any sleep,” he said pressing himself against her his desire completely apparent. “It’s no’ that I dinna want tae, but it wouldna do tae have ye fall asleep tomorrow during yer procedures.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve worked with little sleep, just like you have, during residency and fellowship,” she pouted.

“Aye, but ye need to set an example for the students and fellows. And what about yer patients? They need Dr. Beauchamp at her best. They’re counting on ye.”

Claire luxuriated in the radiant heat of his body and the knowledge that he wanted her as much as she wanted him. But, she still did not want him to leave. For to be alone with Jamie was bliss but to be alone was, well, to be alone. She racked her fatigued brain for anything that would keep Jamie with her. She blurted out the first thing that came to mind, “I love you.”

“I ken ye do, mo nighean donn. I feel it every time ye touch me,” Jamie took her hand tenderly placing a kiss on her palm. Gently, he folded her fingers over to seal his kiss against her skin. “And when ye kiss me,” he brushed his lips over hers. “Most of all, when ye lie with me. I ken the truth of it in our lovemaking,” he pulled her even closer to him until no space existed between their bodies. “Woman, ye’re like a live wire. Yer body fairly pulses with yer love and it flows out from you into me. It’s no’ just lust between us. ‘Tis love that brought us together and binds our souls. ‘Tis a thing that I never knew I wanted or needed until I found ye,” his hand moved to cup her face.

“It’s the same for me. I never knew it could be like this. Especially, after Frank. I thought all relationships would end up like that one. I see how foolish I had been to keep myself closed. To close my heart from love. If not for this trip, this may have never happened. We may have never happened.”

“Mo leannan, I would have found ye somehow. Whether I found ye now or even if I had to wait two hundred years to find ye, I’d find ye. We are meant to be together. I ken it.” His forehead pressed to hers each inhaling the other’s breath.

It began to rain lightly; a mizzle he had once called it. Tiny droplets of water clung to his hair. In the light of the streetlamp, his hair looked like a ruby adorned with sparkling diamonds.

They stood locked in an embrace for several moments; neither truly wanting to part from the other.

“Sassenach,” he whispered into her ear, “go on up. Ye need yer rest. Yer poor wee eyes are closing and there are dark smudges around them. Go on then. I’ll see ye tomorrow.”

He kissed her on the forehead and she nodded her head in agreement. Claire walked up the last two steps and slid the key into the lock of the front door. She turned to watch Jamie as he disappeared into the night walking toward his home and it occurred to her that this was just the beginning of their life and of their story.

The End - Part I

Tha gaol agam ort: I love you. (As if you didn’t know already.)

Anastomosis: An anastomosis is a surgical connection between two structures. It usually means a connection that is created between tubular structures, such as blood vessels or loops of the intestine.

CSICU/Unit: Cardiac Surgical ICU.

Blatherer: Chatterbox.

Dunderheid: An idiot, a stupid person.

Haud yer weesht: Be quiet.

Moose: mouse

Un jour, quelqu'un entrera dans votre vie et vous fera comprendre pourquoi cela n'a jamais fonctionné avec quelqu'un d'autre, mes chers. Et il semble que vous ayez.: One day someone will walk into your life and make you see why it never worked out with anyone else, my dears. And it seems that you have. (Google translation. If it’s wrong I apologise.) The quote is attributed to anonymous.

Mo nighean donn: My brown-haired lass

Mo leannan: Darling

Mizzle: A light rain

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. This Jamie and Claire will return. When I don't know. I also have several other stories in various stages of completion sitting in my files. I would like to give them a little attention too. And I still need to get through all the other stuff going on in my life.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you for reading. 🧡🧡🧡🧡

[bastard-of-the-barrel]

Hey, odd request but could you post the scene about where Kaz faints in the prison truck? I lost my copy of the book and I really wanted to read that scene today

The hinges held.

Another shout in Fjerdan, more footsteps. Then the crack of the reins and the cart surged forward, rumbling over the road. Inej let herself exhale. Her throat had gone completely dry.

Kaz took his place beside her. He shoved a hood over her head, and the musty smell filled her nostrils. He would put his own hood on next, then lock himself in. Easy enough, a cheap magician’s trick, and Kaz knew them all. His arm pressed along hers from shoulder to elbow as he locked the collar around his neck. Bodies shifted against Inej’s back and side, crowding up against her.

For now they were safe. But despite the rattle of the wagon’s wheels, Inej could tell Kaz’s breathing had got worse – shallow, rapid pants like an animal caught in a trap. It was a sound she’d never thought to hear from him.

It was because she was listening so closely that she knew the exact moment when Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands, the bastard of the Barrel and the deadliest boy in Ketterdam, fainted.

---

The money Mister Hertzoon had left with Kaz and Jordie ran out the following week. Jordie tried to return his new coat, but the shop wouldn’t take it, and Kaz’s boots had clearly been worn.

When they brought the loan agreement Mister Hertzoon had signed to the bank, they found that – for all its official-looking seals – it was worthless paper. No one knew of Mister Hertzoon or his business partner.

They were evicted from the boarding house two days later, and had to find a bridge to sleep under, but were soon rousted by the stadwatch. After that, they wandered aimlessly until morning. Jordie insisted that they go back to the coffeehouse. They sat for a long time in the park across the street. When night came, and the watch began its rounds, Kaz and Jordie headed south, into the streets of the lower Barrel, where the police did not bother to patrol.

They slept beneath a set of stairs in an alley behind a tavern, tucked between a discarded stove and bags of kitchen refuse. No one bothered them that night, but the next they were discovered by a gang of boys who told them they were in Razorgull territory. They gave Jordie a thrashing and knocked Kaz into the canal, but not before they took his boots.

Jordie fished Kaz out of the water and gave him his dry coat.

“I’m hungry,” Kaz said.

“I’m not,” Jordie replied. And for some reason that had struck Kaz as funny, and they’d both started laughing. Jordie wrapped his arms around Kaz and said, “The city is winning so far. But you’ll see who wins in the end.”

The next morning, Jordie woke with a fever.

In years to come people would call the outbreak of firepox that struck Ketterdam the Queen’s Lady Plague, after the ship believed to have brought the contagion to the city. It hit the crowded slums of the Barrel hardest. Bodies piled up in the streets, and sickboats moved through the canals, using long shovels and hooks to tumble corpses onto their platforms and haul them out to the Reaper’s Barge for burning.

Kaz’s fever came on two days after Jordie’s. They had no money for medicine or a medik, so they huddled together in a pile of broken-up wooden boxes that they dubbed the Nest.

No one came to roust them. The gangs had all been laid low by disease.

When the fever reached full fire, Kaz dreamed he had returned to the farm, and when he knocked on the door, he saw Dream Jordie and Dream Kaz already there, sitting at the kitchen table. They peered at him through the window, but they wouldn’t let him in, so he wandered through the meadow, afraid to lie down in the tall grass.

When he woke, he couldn’t smell hay or clover or apples, only coalsmoke, and the spongy rotting vegetable stink of garbage. Jordie was lying next to him, staring at the sky. “Don’t leave me,” Kaz wanted to say, but he was too tired. So he laid his head on Jordie’s chest. It felt wrong already, cold and hard.

He thought he was dreaming when the bodymen rolled him onto the sickboat. He felt himself falling, and then he was caught in a tangle of bodies. He tried to scream, but he was too weak. They were everywhere, legs and arms and stiff bellies, rotting limbs and blue-lipped faces covered in firepox sores. He floated in and out of consciousness, unsure of what was real or fever dream as the flatboat moved out to sea. When they tumbled him into the shallows of the Reaper’s Barge, he somehow found the strength to cry out.

“I’m alive,” he shouted, as loud as he could. But he was so small, and the boat was already drifting back to harbour.

Kaz tried to pull Jordie from the water. His body was covered in the little blooming sores that gave the firepox its name, his skin white and bruised. Kaz thought of the little wind-up dog, of drinking hot chocolate on the bridge. He thought that heaven would look like the kitchen of the house on Zelverstraat and smell like hutspot cooking in the Hertzoons’ oven. He still had Saskia’s red ribbon. He could give it back to her. They would make candies out of quince paste. Margit would play the piano, and he could fall asleep by the fire. He closed his eyes and waited to die.

Kaz expected to wake in the next world, warm and safe, his belly full, Jordie beside him. Instead, he woke surrounded by corpses. He was lying in the shallows of the Reaper’s Barge, his clothes soaked through, skin wrinkled from the damp. Jordie’s body was beside him, barely recognisable, white and swollen with rot, floating on the surface like some kind of gruesome deep sea fish.

Kaz’s vision had cleared, and the rash had receded. His fever had broken. He’d forgotten his hunger, but he was thirsty enough that he thought he would go mad.

All that day and night, he waited in the pile of bodies, looking out at the harbour, hoping the flatboat would return. They had to come to set the fires that would burn the corpses, but when? Did the bodymen collect every day? Every other day? He was weak and dehydrated. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer. The coast seemed so far away, and he knew he was too weak to swim the distance. He had survived the fever, but he might well die out here on the Reaper’s Barge. Did he care? There was nothing waiting for him in the city except more hunger and dark alleys and the damp of the canals. Even as he thought it, he knew it wasn’t true. Vengeance was waiting, vengeance for Jordie and maybe for himself, too. But he would have to go to meet it.

When night came, and the tide changed direction, Kaz forced himself to lay hands on Jordie’s body. He was too frail to swim on his own, but with Jordie’s help, he could float. He held tight to his brother and kicked towards the lights of Ketterdam. Together, they drifted, Jordie’s distended body acting as a raft. Kaz kept kicking, trying not to think of his brother, of the taut, bloated feel of Jordie’s flesh beneath his hands; he tried not to think of anything but the rhythm of his legs moving through the sea. He’d heard there were sharks in these waters, but he knew they wouldn’t touch him. He was a monster now, too.

He kept kicking, and when dawn came, he looked up to find himself at the east end of the Lid. The harbour was nearly deserted; the plague had caused shipping in and out of Kerch to grind to a halt.

The last hundred yards were hard. The tide had turned once more, and it was working against him. But Kaz had hope now, hope and fury, twin flames burning inside him. They guided him to the dock and up the ladder. When he reached the top, he flopped down on his back on the wooden slats, then forced himself to roll over. Jordie’s body was caught in the current, bumping against the pylon below. His eyes were still open, and for a moment, Kaz thought his brother was staring back at him. But Jordie didn’t speak, he didn’t blink, his gaze didn’t shift as the tide dragged him free of the pylon and began to carry him out to sea.

I should close his eyes, thought Kaz. But he knew if he climbed down the ladder and waded back into the sea, he would never find his way out again. He’d simply let himself drown, and that wasn’t possible any more. He had to live. Someone had to pay.

---

In the prison wagon, Kaz woke to a sharp jab against his thigh. He was ice cold and in darkness. There were bodies all around him, pressing against his back, his sides. He was drowning in corpses.

“Kaz.” A whisper.

He shuddered.

Another jab to his thigh.

“Kaz.” Inej’s voice. He managed a deep breath through his nose. He felt her pull away from him. Somehow, in the cramped confines of the wagon, she managed to give him space. His heart was pounding.

“Keep talking,” he rasped.

“What?”

“Just keep talking.”

“We’re passing through the prison gate. We made it past the first two checkpoints.”

That brought him fully to his senses. They’d gone through two checkpoints. That meant they’d been counted. Someone had opened that door – not once but twice – maybe even laid hands on him, and he hadn’t woken. He could have been robbed, killed. He’d imagined his death a thousand ways, but never sleeping through it.

He forced himself to breathe deeply, despite the smell of bodies. He’d kept his gloves on, something the guards might have easily taken note of, and a frustrating concession to his weakness, but if he hadn’t, he felt fairly sure he’d have gone completely mad.

Behind him, he could hear the other prisoners murmuring to one another in different languages. Despite the fears the darkness woke in him, he gave thanks for it. He could only hope that the rest of his crew, hooded and burdened by their own anxiety, hadn’t noticed anything strange about his behaviour. He’d been sluggish, slow to react when they’d ambushed the wagon, but that was all, and he could make up some excuse to account for it.

He hated that Inej had seen him this way, that anyone had, but on the heels of that thought came another: Better it should be her. In his bones, he knew that she would never speak of it to anyone, that she would never use this knowledge against him. She relied on his reputation. She wouldn’t want him to look weak. But there was more to it than that, wasn’t there? Inej would never betray him. He knew it. Kaz felt ill. Though he’d trusted her with his life countless times, it felt much more frightening to trust her with this shame.

The wagon came to a halt. The bolt slid back, and the doors flew open.