#this might be like my step one every time i get a ken to customize. all my kens are top surgery kings.

[marklikely]

transsexualizes your ken doll

[script-nef]

Compensation | Gojou Satoru

Category: fluff

3k words; Dinner date [5/6]

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The door clicks behind you as you retire into your room after another day of work. Fatigue aches at your bones and the bed is soft underneath as you flop onto it. Investing in a cushiony blanket and mattress is probably one of the best decisions you made in your life. If not the best. 

Drifting away into dreamland sounds amazing. If not for All Might.

“A text is here!” 

“Toshinori…” Even though your favourite character is Hawks, there’s no way you’re not setting Yagi as your ringtone. Groaning, you blindly reach for the phone while not moving your smushed face. Comfort prioritises over the ability to breathe. 

Gojou: Hey! T minus an hour to our reservation! Get ready!

Ah, this. Gojou has made good on his promise to make up for the dinner you missed thanks to his theatrics. Something bubbles in your chest.

Since the beach incident, which ended fine with everyone happy and well-rested, something shifted. In the relationship between you and Gojou. Tensing in the neck, quicker palpitation sometimes. Like the feeling you had when you went on that flight to Shinjuku and also at the beach. Repetition is making it concerning. Maybe a trip to Shouko is overdue.

Gojou: Wear smth nice! Me: ? What? Gojou: They have a policy about ties n dresses or smth. Or we can show up in jeans n see how they react! Me: Let’s not. Gojou: K then! C you in 56 mins ;)

There it is again, the bubbles. Shaking your head to dislodge the feeling, you get ready for dinner.

Joints pop as you rise, lazily gathering towels and clothes. Something nice. If it’s a place with attire regulations, it must be pretty high-class. Or maybe he’s just messing with you to see what you would wear. Better not take any chances. 

Thirty minutes and your muscles are much looser thanks to the hot water. The fragrant smell of your shampoo and body wash puts you in a good mood as well. You quickly slip into a dress, a present Gojou got for you some time ago. It’s a soft and flowy one with intricate snowflakes decorating the ends. It became one of your favourites pretty quickly. 

Rhythmic knocks on the door alert you of Gojou’s arrival just as you’re done drying your hair. After checking in the mirror to see if everything is fine, you open your room door.

The only thing same about him from his usual self is the hair and smile. His casual outfit is replaced with a black suit, presumably the one he bought weeks ago when he tagged along with you to buy Ken-chan a present. Somehow it looks better on him now than it did before. Probably the antique hallway lighting than the department one, it just gives him a more cozy vibe. The blindfold is gone, replaced by sunglasses. His gorgeous irises are still hidden from your view. He cleans up well. 

“M’lady.” Bowing slightly, he stretches his hand out for you to take. You oblige with a giggle. The whole gentleman thing is cute.

“You’re on time for once! No, wait, you’re early!” Time seems to elude Gojou all the time. In the years you’ve known him, he’s never come to a meeting on time, let alone early. Especially ones about him by the higher-ups. There was one time where he didn’t even bother to come but Masamichi-san dragged him by the ear. Unfortunately, there’s no photographic proof which could have been used to mock him with.

“Of course I’ll come on time. Oh, you’re wearing the dress I bought you!” Gentleman vibe goes out the window, him returning to his hyperactive self. It’s still pretty cute. Where the hell is this coming from? There’s a constricting feeling in your throat. 

“Oh, you’ve never seen me wear it. It’s one of my favourites now, and I thought you’d like to see it. What do you think?” By now you’re out in the courtyard, illuminated under the moon. Skipping up ahead, you spin a bit, letting the dress flow out. He doesn’t say anything for a while. “Gojou?”

“You look beautiful.”

“Eh?”

“You look… beautiful.”

The softness in his voice catches you off guard. You stop in your track, the clothing falling and resting against your legs. This is a Gojou you haven’t met before, one with such sincerity and tenderness. He steps up, taking one of your hands in his. Something tingles inside your stomach, like fireflies buzzing around and lighting it up with warmth. What’s happening right now?

“I mean it. You’re dazzling.” 

Fire burns under your skin, originating from where he’s holding you and threatens to consume your entire body. The flutter in your stomach is nothing compared to this. Time stops. The only thing you can hear is his breathing and your heart beating. 

Moonlight cascades over him, showering him in an ethereal glow. Snow white hair shines brilliantly and something seizes at your throat. He slowly lowers his lips to meet with the back of your hand, pressing a light yet somehow heavy kiss. 

You're not moving. Not breathing. It feels like you're standing on a sheet-thin glass, a bottomless abyss underneath you. If you move even a centimeter, take even the slightest of breathes, the moment will break and you'll plummet down. 

Lungs scream at you to breathe. You can't. Not while he's still holding your hand with such gentle sincerity. Heat travels to every cell in your body and the flicker inside your stomach gets unbearable. 

The moment finally ends when his lips detach from your hand. Air slowly returns as he runs his fingers over your knuckles. When he peers down at you, there's just a momentary flash of piercing blue behind his sunglasses that makes your breath hitch. 

"Shall we go?" 

Shooting you a sweet smile, he doesn't let go of your hand and marches on forward. You barely remember to keep up, brain scrambled and chest exploding.

“This is an exclusive place. How did you get reservations this fast?”

“My stunning good looks!”

“Gojou.” 

“Apparently someone cancelled their reservations. Looks and luck. What don’t I have?”

“Humility.

“That cuts me, [Name].”

Stifling laughter, you look out of the window and onto the street. A few weeks ago the view would have been amazing, but now that you’ve experienced flying, nothing measures up to it. There hasn’t been another flight break as you couldn’t bring yourself to ask him for one, since he was so busy, but the exhilaration of the trip never quite left your body. 

When you turn your attention back to him, there’s a lit candle on the table and Gojou’s resting his head on his hand, staring at you. The intensity can be felt over his sunglasses.

“What’s up with the candlelight?”

“No idea.”

Attempts for small talk are useless. A silence sits in the air. Not the comfortable kind that you normally have with him, working in your office while he takes a nap on the sofa nearby. Or the one when he unceremoniously interrupts a break in the garden by coming up and resting his head on your lap, enjoying a soak in the sun with you. Or when you’re eating in the cafeteria together.

Something is just off here. It might be because of… his act earlier. Just thinking about it is enough to bring the blush back. But no, it's more to do with this place. It's much nicer than your school, expensive chandeliers and tablecloths, the air of refinery that everyone else naturally oozes. But it’s distant, detached. It doesn’t suit you or him. Eventually, you break.

“Why did you bring me here?” The smile disappears off of Gojou’s face and his brow scrunches in confusion.

“I thought girls liked this kind of thing!”

"Well, yeah, it’s exclusive for a reason. But I… don’t feel comfortable here. I’m grateful that you brought me here, and I appreciate all the effort you put into this to secure a place for us. It’s just that this feels way too serious to make up for a missed meal. I feel terrible that you went through all that trouble for me. I’m fine with somewhere more casual and comfortable, not the most expensive place you can take me.”

“You think this is the most expensive place I can take you? I’m wounded.” Gojou grips at his heart but the easy-going smile tells a different story. You give him a tentative smile back, worried he might be offended underneath his smile.

“Unless you want to stay here? I’m fine with that as well, this is completely up to you.”

“Nope, it’s up to you. Wanna head out then?” He holds his hand out again. You take it without a second thought. 

“Where is this?”

“My favourite restaurant! They have the best dango for dessert. And of course, the main menus are good as well.” He’s so consistent. 

Customers and chefs alike stare at you two when you walk in. Which is expected when Gojou’s dressed in an immaculate designer suit that’s in complete contrast to the humble and cozy interior of the shop. Some avert their gaze when they realise they’re being rude, but you can see them sneaking a peek from the corners of their eyes. You’re not dressed up as Gojou is, but mortification still flushes your cheeks. It gets worse when he guides you over to a table, leading you to a table by hugging you from behind. This never bothered you before so why is it affecting you so much now?

“Here you go.” He pushes a chair back for you to sit in. A server greets you with a smile, handing over the menu then disappears again. “Is this place better?”

It really is. Spices and the smell of broth leak into the eating areas, triggering your taste buds and causing you to salivate. People chatter and yell and cheer, the cacophony of noises filling the place with livelihood unlike the cold silence of the previous restaurant. This is somehow more peaceful. A smile blooms on your face. 

“This is perfect.” 

The rest of the night is smooth sailing. Gojou knows your taste in food perfectly, expertly recommending which ones to try out. The food is impeccable and the dangos are exquisite, the perfect blend of sweet and chewy. Conversation flows easily once you’re comfortable and blocking out whatever the courtyard thing was. 

He's been away for a while due to a sudden influx in curses so it's nice to have some quality time together like this. With your belly full and warmth spreading over your body, you were ready to hit the sack. 

That is, if he didn’t offer sake to end the night. 

“Hmmm sleepy…” Alcohol doesn’t taste nice. Fuzziness takes over your brain, like thoughts are all mixing with each other and the room is spinning weirdly. Closing your eyes helps. Lights are way still way too bright and it feels like sweat is pouring off you by buckets. Someone’s calling your name but the wall is so nice and cool against your blazing skin. 

“Didn’t know you’d be this much of a lightweight. Hey, hey, you with me?” Gojou’s blurry face comes into view when you open your eyes. Giggles escape you for absolutely no reason. 

“Gojou!” 

“Yes, yes, I’m here. I think you need to stop drinking. Nanami might never let me see you again.” 

“Your cheeks are so squishy!” It’s soft and smooth underneath your fingers, like he doesn’t have pores. Maybe you can’t feel pores with fingers but his skin is just that flawless. “Drop your skincare routine, baby skin.”

“You had like three cups, how are you this drunk? I already paid so let’s go back to school. Lift your arms?” You obey obediently and something warm encases you. A familiar and delightful scent assaults your nose. There’s a click, a lot of clicks, like someone’s taking a photo. You can’t be bothered looking to check. “Can you stand?”

“Mm…” 

“Guess that’s a no. Keep your eyes closed.” 

Your stomach lurches as you’re pulled onto your feet, supported by something under your arms. Cold air rushes onto your face and makes you whine. There’s a call of “thank you” which you reply in your drunken stupor with “I’ll be back!” Laughter comes somewhere from above. 

It’s dark enough outside that you can open your eyes again. Everything’s still a bit hazy but you can find your balance now.

“You think you can handle flying?” There’s really no way to tell other than to try it. So you nod.

There’s a blank memory between that decision and the moment you arrive at your doorsteps. Literally nothing. You blinked after making that choice and now you’re standing outside your room door. You would have fallen thanks to disorientation if not for Gojou supporting you by the small of your back.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed.” 

He stands around while you get ready to sleep, helping you tie your hair and catching you when you lose balance. After washing, you stare at him and he stares right back. The stare-off continues. He finally gets the message when you point at the dress and walks out. It’s a struggle to get out of clothes in an inebriated state but after much wrestling, you manage. 

Climbing into the bed, you’re about to actually fall asleep when there’s a knock on the door. Groans answer it because it’s way too far away. The person opposite seems to get the message and comes in. You peek and it’s Gojou with a plastic shopping bag. Sitting down and making himself comfortable on the bed, he ruffles through the bag.

“Hey, you have to drink this. It’ll help tomorrow.” He helps you sit up but pauses for a second. Your eyes flicker open. He’s looking at your body. “Are you still wearing my jacket? After you’ve changed?”

“Yup! Smells nice!” You bury your face in the lapel as if to prove a point. The grip on your arm tightens and he looks down. 

“It smells nice?” 

“Mhm. It's you. I feel like I'm being protected." He lets go of you, instead choosing to cover his face in his hands. His ears look red. Flicking it looks fun. "Gojou? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. Drink the medicine." Even with your messed up, alcohol-ridden tongue, it tastes bad. Attempts at whining and escaping is futile because he's stronger than you. "There you go. Now sleep."

He helps you down this time, brushing your hair with his fingers and cleaning up after himself. It's nice and fluffy inside the covers. Gojou takes your hand again, pressing another kiss on the back of it. Shorter than the last time but the intensity hasn't changed. 

"Don't leave." It’s basically a whisper, but Gojou freezes immediately. There's no sound for a while and you can't see what's happening because of your drooping eyelids. Alcohol is great at inducing sleep. A rustling sound and his fingers interlocks with yours. 

“You want me to stay? I’d almost say you like me.” His voice is low as well, but still with a teasing lilt, like he's trying to help you fall asleep. So considerate. Always so considerate.

"Maybe." The word trails off into a mumble. Alcohol also gets rid of your filters and the understanding of when to stop talking.

"I'm sorry, what?" 

"Dunno… You're making me feel weird things…" Digging yourself further into the covers, you try to block out even the faint lamplight. Having none of that, Gojou pulls you out from the blanket cave, ignoring your whines.

"You'll suffocate in there. I'm fine with doing CPR but Nanami might not. What do you mean by 'weird things'?" 

"I don't know… There was like… this thing inside my stomach when you did the thing out in the uh… place. My insides felt itchy and weird thanks to you. Take that!" It probably could not have been more easier to catch your fist. "Noooo, you deserve to be hit! You did something to me… That's why I feel so weird when I'm around you. Ever since the beach trip… I sometimes get heart thumps when I see you… It doesn't make sense why I'm feeling this… I don't feel it with other people…" 

In an attempt to show how annoyed you are, you try to flail around on the bed but it comes out more as a tiny jiggle. Like a caterpillar. Gojou lets out a chuckle. It sounds like he’s laughing at you. Smacking him comes to mind but you’re comfortable right now so you’ll forgive him. By now you’re just mumbling into the blanket.

"Because like… it's the same. You know? This, this… whatever this is… Like in the movies, the fluffy ones. When the girl falls in love with the guy. They show like the whole thing with like the thingies… The close up, the blush, heartbeat getting quicker in the background… Thump thump, yeah? Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Silence is his answer. You know he's still there because his hand is still connected to yours.

Sleep addles your mind. There's a whole lot of words popping up, like "Gojou" and "dinner" and "date" for some reason. But it's too late and everything is shutting down. Softly, slowly, you sink into slumber.

"Gojou?" Still nothing. "Hmmm you're asleep as well, huh? That's fine, that's good. You do so much to save everyone, you deserve a break. Like a hero… So brave, so selfless… Really stupid as well, so immature… Hn, maybe I do like you…"

"Say that again?" Oh, he's back. And he's gently shaking your hand, trying to keep you awake. But your consciousness is slipping away and soon everything turns into a pleasant hum.

The last thing you feel is something soft pressing against your forehead.

Next chapter →

[bruhlsbees]

better man || ken hutchinson x fem!reader

summary: still wrecked from being put on suspension and learning about starsky's application to be transfered, hutch calls you to come over to comfort him

pairing: ken hutchinson x fem!reader

word count: 4,762

warnings: smut, 18+, minors dni, angst, maybe a little ooc!hutch?? i made him super soft in this

a/n: pls accept this soft!hutch fic as the first of many owen wilson related content coming from yours truly

You weren’t expecting to get a phone call from him that night, let alone ask for you to come over.

It wasn’t his usual night for you to meet up. The both of you had a mutual understanding of each other’s outside lives - him working during the day, you working at night. Unless he came around to Huggy’s, you’d only ever see him on the night you had off - where it was usually spent at his house, listening to him play the guitar and having one too many drinks.

So when you got a call from him that night only minutes before leaving for work, desperately pleading with you to call in, you couldn’t help but ask why.

“Huggy ain’t gonna like this, Hutch. You know we are already short-staffed with the girls. Can’t you come down to Huggy’s and we can talk there? What’s going on?”

You heard him whine faintly over the phone, sighing throughout your words as he tried to think of a good reason on the other end as to why he wanted to see you. Would it be so wrong to just say he just missed you?

“Tell Huggy I’ll pick up some extra jobs for him. Tell him I’ll owe him any favor he wants if you can get tonight off. Please, do this for me. Just this once.”

Something about the phrase ‘just this one’ didn’t sound too believable. Hutch had a good way of getting what he wanted even if he said prior that it was just a one time thing. But you couldn’t point all the fault to him, cause every promise you believed - you still ended up giving in.

“Fine,” You agreed after a moment of thinking, “I’ll give Huggy a call and then I’ll head over. Just give me a little bit to change. I’m not walking down the road in my work uniform. I don’t need to get picked up.”

Before you could get another word out, you heard Hutch rush his goodbye before hearing the phone call end with a ‘click’.

So after calling into work, relaying the deal that Hutch wanted you to negotiate with Huggy, you were free from your night of dancing down at Huggy’s Place and changed out of your uniform and into something less revealing and more comfortable.

Whether you would just be taking them off when you got there or not didn’t matter, you weren’t heading out into the neighborhood in your nightclub uniform for someone to mistake you for something you weren’t.

It only took you about twenty minutes before you were at Hutch’s front door, rapping your knuckles against his screen door until you waited for him to let you in or call for you to just come in. Not even thirty seconds later the door opened and you were greeted by Hutch.

“Hey...thanks for stopping by.” He greeted, stepping out of the way for you to walk in before he shut and locked his door. You nodded, slipping your shoes off before heading into his living room.

“Yeah, no problem. Huggy said he’d let you know if he needed a favor by the way, but he also said if you were going to start making this a habit, you’d need to pay for me to come over.” Unzipping your sweatshirt, you tossed it on his couch before turning, looking back at him.

Chuckling to himself, Hutch shook his head and made his way towards you, hands at his waist until his toes touched yours, hovering above you.

“Why do I get the feeling you made that last bit up?” He questioned, smirking down at you. You returned the smirk back, shrugging your shoulders before your hands moved to the front of his button up, resting on his chest as you hummed.

“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.” You moved your hands up his chest before wrapping them around his neck, feeling his own arms wrap around your waist as he kept you close. “So are you going to tell me what you called me over here for or what?”

Leaning forward, Hutch pressed his lips to your forehead, exhaling through his nose while he held his position for a moment, until he pulled back to look down at you.

“Work stuff. Apparently I’m a shit cop with a partner who would rather transfer to another precinct than work with me,” He paused, shaking his head and pulling back from you, heading over to his couch to plop down on, running his hands over his legs, “Guy’s such a tight ass, I don’t know why I’m even letting him get to me.”

With a sympathetic smile, you listened to him carefully until he was finished, heading over and sitting down in the spot beside him, your left hand going to his hair to play with while your right hand found one of his hands to hold.

“It sounds like you care about him...and care about how he sees you,” Before he could protest your observation, you moved your hand from his and pressed your fingers to his lips to hush him, “You’re not a bad cop. Yeah your ethic might not be as union-friendly as it could be, but that doesn’t make you a bad cop. You’re a good cop, a great detective, and an even better man.”

Your words came to him like a prayer, taking in every syllable you spoke. He hadn’t planned on you coming over to praise him, but damn did you do a good job with it, and it did cheer him up...so maybe all along this was what he was looking for.

The relationship you had with Hutch was...interesting to say the least. It was well known down at Huggy’s that you were his favorite dancer and he was your favorite customer. The first time he walked in alone turned your legs to jelly and ever since then he had you wrapped around his finger.

What you had going on had been happening for a while now, escalating into not-so-secret evenings spent together at his place usually. Maybe it was just a hookup sort of deal, but you ignored that idea entirely, focusing on how Hutch made you feel.

He was a flirt with any pair of legs that walked by him, but he always knew how to make you feel special. The other girls down at Huggy’s always seemed to point out how well he would tip you, or even the look he’d give when you were giving him a dance. ‘He’s a customer, that’s what customers do,’ you’d remind them.

But that wasn’t the entire truth. You knew not too deep down you enjoyed being the only one he looked at, being his girl on the nights he came in and his pretty thing when you’d go to his house. The sex with him was great, there wasn’t any doubt about that, but you enjoyed the nights just as much when you didn’t have sex - when all you did was talk.

It felt, almost, like something real...hell, like you were dating.

His eyes moved from the coffee table and to you, smiling weakly as his blue eyes took you in. You looked tired, drained from the long nights at work, but there was still something so gentle about you, so pure.

“You’re the prettiest thing to walk this Earth, you know that?” Hutch whispered, head beginning to lull forward, closing the space between you.

Blushing, you followed in suit, your own face leaning closer to his, “When did you start going soft on me?” You found yourself asking, but before he could answer, your lips were already on him.

Humming into the kiss, your hands moved to cradle his face, holding either side in your hands as you were pulled into his lap, straddling him now as you continued to make out on the couch. He tasted sweet like honey and bitter like whiskey - overall though, sensuous.

You felt his hands run up your back, under your shirt until his fingers found the back of your bra. Being the man Hutch was, the back of a bra was like the back of his own hand. He could unhook a bra in his sleep if he wanted.

Maybe he was a grade a sleaze for the most part, but in times like this when that facade broke, and Hutch was just himself, nothing else really mattered besides you and him.

Pulling away from him, you leaned back to pull your shirt off, slipping your bra off your shoulders before tossing it to the side to join your t-shirt. At the sight of your exposed breasts, Hutch leaned forward with a sigh, his mouth warming your left breast while his right hand massaged at your other.

“O-Oh...Ken.” His name left your mouth like a song, holding his head close to you as he continued to suckle at your nipple, overstimulating your breasts until you began to shake in his arms.

Pulling away with a ‘pop’, Hutch looked up at you with a smile, keeping his eyes on you as he kissed up your chest, to your neck, before finally reaching your face. As he made his way up your body, your fingers found the front of his shirt and began to fumble with the buttons until his chest became exposed.

“You know everyone calls me Hutch, right?” He reminded you, smiling against your cheek before peppering your face with kisses. He couldn’t help the grin that pulled at his face, hurting his cheeks at the sound of your laughs.

“I know that, but you’re my Ken. Can’t I call you Ken when we’re alone?” You watched as his face pulled away, smiling your way and looking at you so endearing, as if you were his. Could there ever be a time where you could call him yours?

You shivered under his touch when you felt his calloused hand hold your face, fingers bending to stroke up the side of your face, “You can call me whatever you want.”

Pushing his shirt off his shoulders, you leaned forward and pressed yourself against his warm torso, wrapping your arms around him again as you went back in for another deep kiss. This time, while his right arm was wrapped tight around your middle, his left hand held your ass, lifting you up as he carried you to his bedroom.

Clinging to him until your back hit the mattress, you sank into his bed with ease, sighing against his lips as your muscles relaxed. He always did have a better mattress than you did. You were half expecting him to stay on top of you.

At first you were disappointed when he stood up, standing at the foot of his bed, only for that disappointment to turn into a grin when you saw him unbuckle his belt and pull his jeans and boxers down. He leaned forward and grabbed the waistband of your pants, yanking them down your legs and off, throwing them behind him.

Grabbing onto your calves, Hutch pulled your body down his bed and towards him, grinning at the way you stretched out on his bed, staring up at him with that serene look he always felt safe with. Before he could lean forward to sink his teeth into your plush thighs, you unexpectedly grabbed him there, possessively almost, your gaze darkening when you met his.

He choked on his words when your grip tightened around the base of his cock, slowly pumping him - your eyes never leaving his. His chest raised and fell back, staring down at your hand until his chest tightened, closing his eyes.

You leaned forward and swiped the tip of his cock with your tongue, continuing to slowly pump him as you heard the low grunts come from him above you, his head falling back and mouth gaped open.

“Y-You don’t gotta do that, you know.” He choked out, gasping when he felt you spit on him to later in your hand, the slick sounds of your spit mixed with his pre-cum sending him over the edge.

Pulling his cock up, you leaned forward and took his tightened balls in your mouth, sucking on them before pulling back and letting them fall out of your mouth. At this point, Hutch didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to hold on.

“I know, but I want to. You always take care of everyone, why don’t you let me take care of you?”

He carefully opened his eyes and let his head fall back forwards, looking down at you and reaching forward to tuck some of your hair behind your ear. You smiled and closed your eyes, leaning into his touch before feeling him shift in front of you.

Crawling on top of you again, Hutch pulled you up by your thighs, wrapping them around his waist as he quickly positioned himself at your entrance, running the tip of his cock between your folds, sighing at how wet you already were.

“Next time,” He promised, pulling you even closer to him, if that was even possible, “Right now I just need to be in you. Okay?”

Nodding, your hands found his shoulders, holding onto them as your head settled into his pillows, staring up at him. You couldn’t help but admire his features; how his eyes were blue but sometimes twinkled green, the obvious bend to his nose where he broke it all those years ago, and even if you never meant to kiss him - you still ended up doing so because his lips were just that desirable.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” You found yourself admitting, blushing when you caught the words slip out of your mouth. He didn’t seem to mind though, his cheeks going pink for a moment before he kissed you quickly.

“That’s supposed to be my line, you know that?” He teased, mocking you. Before you could really lay it on him, wanting to be the one to have the last word, your breath hitched to your throat, choking on your words as he suddenly pushed inside of you, filling you up instantly.

Hutch wasn’t cruel, he could be rough sometimes in bed, but he wouldn’t let you spend the entire time wincing away in pain. As he stayed inside you, feeling your walls clutch almost too tight around him, he waited until you adjusted to him, letting out a shaky breath before nodding for him to continue.

You didn’t need to tell him verbally to move, your nod was enough for him to grip the sheets beside your head and begin pumping in and out of you, staring down at your face as your mouth fell into an ‘o’ shape and your eyes fluttered shut.

He couldn’t say it enough, how beautiful you were. In the dark overcast you were his sunshine. And maybe that’s why it hurt so much to know that you weren’t truly his.

You could lay under him all day, any day, crying out his name and whimpering in his neck until you both came undone together - but there was still that empty feeling inside of him, like something was missing.

As a cop, he knew he had a commitment to his job that left him with a bare minimum social life - which is why he was often found socializing on the hour. It wouldn’t be fair for you to be sitting around waiting for him to come home everyday - Jesus, was that the best excuse he could come up with?

No, that wasn’t the case at all. He knew the real reason why - of all the men on your street, hell, in Bay City in general, there were plenty of better men out there than him. Hutch was selfish and if he couldn’t have you, he didn’t want anyone to.

“Hutch? I think I’m close.”

Pulling out of his thoughts, Hutch looked down at you, feeling your hands move to hold his face as your body began to tremble under him. How long had he been thinking for you to already be close?

That didn’t matter though, the clamping of your walls around him were enough for him to feel his own climax rising. Nodding his head, Hutch grabbed onto you and pulled you up, flipping so he was sitting and you were in his lap.

His face fell back into your breasts, cheek resting over your heartbeat and listening as the rhythmic pumping picked up as you clung onto him tighter, bouncing in his lap. With his fingers sinking into your sides, Hutch kept you at your current pace, helping you move when your thighs began to quiver and you began to choke up.

This was about him, you had to remind yourself. This wasn’t anything more than a quick fuck, and maybe that’s why it hurt so bad to feel him hold you the way he did. With your own face resting on the crown of his head, kissing his hair, your hands grabbed onto any part of him you could find.

Continuing to rut up inside you, leaving you bouncing in his lap like a ragdoll, your stomach began to twist and coil into knots, leaving your walls pulsating around him. Usually you’d last longer than what you were going at tonight, but you weren’t complaining, and neither was Hutch.

When he heard your breath hitch, your movements freezing, his own movements picked up, feeling everything inside of him tighten and burn up until he was coming undone inside you, gasping against your skin, pressing light kisses to your collarbones.

You weren’t far behind, whimpering when your toes curled as you felt the wave of relief hit you, the high feelings hitting you like a wall until you laid slack against him in his arms. Hutch held you in his arms, stroking your hair, “Don’t worry...I got you.”

When the both of you finally came down from your high, Hutch felt you push off of him, groaning at the loss of weight inside of you and the loss of heat for him. You weren’t entirely sure if he wanted you to stay, or if this was just what he wanted you for, so you began to search for your clothes, picking your jeans off the floor until you felt his hand grab your wrist.

Turning you first looked down at his hand before at him, seeing him seated in the same spot, his bangs sticking to his slicked forehead. He looked tired, but more at peace than before when you first arrived. You sent him a smile, moving your hand to hold his, giving it a squeeze.

“I should probably go so you can get some slee-”

“I’m not working right now...you don’t gotta leave just yet, if you don’t want to,” He moved his thumb over your knuckles, gently caressing your hand until he pulled you towards him again, “You could stay the night if you wanted to.”

Now this was new. You had never spent the night with him before, let alone did he ever offer you to. There was the one time when you had quite a bit too much to drink, but you insisted on him just walking you back home. Tonight though, tonight he had actually thrown out the idea for you to stay with him.

At first you didn’t know if you should, but with how he was already feeling, how you were feeling in the moment, and how late it was - you knew you’d regret it if you didn’t say yes.

After not-so-careful consideration, you smiled weakly and nodded, “I’d like that.” Your words came out in a hush and before you knew it you were being pulled down into his bed, letting him hold you in his arms as he pulled the covers over the two of you.

You weren’t exactly tired, seeing as though you were usually up late anyways, but in that moment - feeling the weight and warmth of him around you - the safety and security of him brought you into a slow lull.

With your cheek pressed against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, you hummed quietly as you felt his fingers trace patterns along your back, his movements growing slower until the both of you fell into a state of slumber.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

Hutch wasn’t expecting to wake up to the smell of bacon being cooked, nor was he expecting to hear the sound of you singing ‘Good Vibrations’. It was a pleasant surprise though, one that he could get used to.

Shifting his body a little in bed, Hutch stretched up and reached towards the shelf above his bed, pulling up his alarm clock to see that it was going on just a little after nine. It wasn’t too early for him, but he knew for you it must have been hell getting up.

Then he began to think, had you even slept the night before?

It didn’t take him long to get dressed. Pulling out a clean pair of boxers and one of his old concert t-shirts, Hutch headed out of his room and down the hall towards the kitchen. At the sight of you lost in your own thoughts, dishing out food onto plates, Hutch could only lean against the doorway and admire you.

To think - he got so lucky, and yet you weren’t even his.

When you turned around, the plates in your hand, you jumped at the sudden sight of him, letting out a gasp before settling back down, letting out a weak laugh to match his.

“Hutch! Hi, morning - I’m sorry, was I being too loud? I was hoping to surprise you with breakfast in bed.” You explained sheepishly.

Shaking his head, Hutch took a couple steps forward towards you, taking one of the plates from you before kissing your cheek, “No, you weren’t being too loud. Sorry for ruining your surprise.” He listened to you tell him not to worry about it, beginning to ramble on about how you couldn’t sleep and went out to get stuff to make breakfast.

He hadn’t noticed at first, but now that he was hovering over you, he noticed you were wearing one of his turtlenecks, the long-sleeve swallowing you. When you realized he had noticed, you watched his free hand grab onto your waist, his thumb running up and down.

“I can take it off, I just couldn’t find my-”

“No, no, don't worry. It looks good on you. Hell, I think it looks better on you than it does me.” He admitted, watching as you smiled and shook your head.

“That’s not true, you always look good in your turtlenecks.” You leaned forward and met him in the middle with a kiss, pulling away after a moment to follow him into the living room, settling on the couch to enjoy breakfast.

He appreciated the kind gesture, having you take care of him the night before and that morning after explaining his situation with work. It made him realize just how much you cared for him, and how much he began to accept the feelings he had for you.

Chewing on his strip of bacon, Hutch glanced over your way and watched as you were contently eating, your eyes casted down at your plate, thinking to yourself. Leaning towards you, Hutch pressed another gentle kiss to your cheek, watching as your head pulled up and looked towards him.

“Thank you, for everything,” He began. When you opened your mouth to tell him that it wasn’t anything, he stopped you by stuffing the rest of his bacon strip in your mouth, smiling as you giggled, “What are you doing today?” He asked out of the blue.

After chewing the rest of the strip of bacon, you shook your head, “Nothing...tonight’s my day off so I don’t really do anything,” You explained, watching as he nodded his head in thought. “Why?”

Shrugging his shoulders, Hutch dropped his head down towards his plate, picking at the eggs, “Oh, nothing really I was just thinking that since you’re here, and wanted to, maybe you and I could go out for dinner or something? If you were up to do something today?”

Taken back by his suggestion, your expression faltered slightly, not sure how to take his offer. Would you be going out to dinner as friends?

“LIke a date?” You questioned hesitantly, clearing your throat to choke back your own nerves with the question.

You were surprised entirely to see him nod, smiling at his plate before he looked back up at you. “Yeah...a date.”

Staring at one another, Hutch carefully watched your face, waiting for your reaction. When you let out a laugh, Hutch frowned, cheeks going pink at the embarrassment that now settled in.

Had he gotten the wrong expression all this time? Were you not interested in the way he was with you?

Seeing how red he became, your laughs died down and you reached towards him, grabbing the back of his neck before pulling yourself to him for a kiss. When you pulled away, you saw him return the smile, visibly relaxing.

“Ken Hutchinson, when did it become so hard for you to ask a girl out?” You teased, caressing the side of his face. He shrugged his shoulders before leaning forward to kiss you again.

“When ‘that girl’ is someone I really like.” It was your turn to turn red, falling back in your spot, looking back down at your plate with a smile stained to your cheeks. So he did like you like that. “I just hope she feels the same way.” He whispered.

“She does,” You confirmed, slowly picking at your eggs, chewing them carefully so you didn’t choke, trying to find the right words to say next. “She just didn’t think you liked her.”

He couldn’t question why you had thought that, because it was the same way for him. At this point, the both of you were settled on the couch silently kicking yourselves as the revelations became clear. All this time, mutual pinning, and yet neither of you were able to see it.

“So it’s a date?” He confirmed after a minute, waiting for your answer.

Smiling, you looked up at him and nodded, “Yes, it’s a date.”

Letting his head fall back down to his plate, Hutch finished the rest of his plate with a smile on his face, the same as you. This time, while you ate, your body perked up at the thought of going on a date with Hutch. What would you wear? Where would you guys go?

For the rest of breakfast, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, eating the rest of the food that you made that sat in the kitchen before you decided it was time to go - wanting to get some sleep and get ready at your own place for that night.

Later that night, when Hutch came to pick you up, you were pleasantly surprised to see him holding a small bouquet of roses, wearing one of your favorite outfits of his - a pair of slacks, his black turtleneck, and brown jacket.

On the other hand, he nearly sank to his knees at the sight of you dolled up. Wearing a dark red dress that stopped at your calves, paired with a pair of black heels and makeup to match. He all but choked up on his words, watching as you pulled the bouquet from his hands to smell.

“Thank you, Ken, these are beautiful.” You noted, smiling up at him.

His own lips pulled into a smile, hands stuffed in the pocket of his slacks to keep from nervously twiddling with his fingers, “Well I had to find something equally as beautiful to match the owner of them.”

You blushed at his words, nodding in acknowledgement before motioning to the inside of your place, “Let me go put these in a vase really quick, and then we can go.”

Nodding, Hutch watched you walk inside and towards your kitchen, waiting out on the front porch for you.

Turning towards the street, the moon illuminating the neighborhood, Hutch couldn’t help the smile that stuck to his face, or the warm feeling he had in his belly. At that moment, he could believe your words now from the night before. It didn’t matter what anyone else said, so long as you believed in him.

With you, he knew he could be a better man.

[jamiemackenziefraser]

All That Was Fair

Chapter 24: The Rubber Stamp

Summary: “It seemed that every time someone was at the door, Jamie was confronted with a disaster. (...) He had no desire to answer it and whatever trouble it might bring.”

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a/n: I'm hardcore procrastinating right now, so here's a next day update! This chapter picks up on the same day as the last chapter. Hope you enjoy and thanks so much for reading <3

Chapter 24: The Rubber Stamp

There was a solid knock at the door, three raps showing no particular urgency but also leaving no room for Jamie to pretend he hadn’t heard. It seemed that every time someone was at the door, Jamie was confronted with a disaster. First it had been the mailman that had resulted in Claire crying in his arms over never being able to go home, and then it was Jenny… being Jenny— twice. He worried at first that it was his sister back again to stir up even more trouble, except the knock was most certainly not his sister’s style of ringing the bell like a maniac. Still, he had no desire to answer it and whatever trouble it might bring. He wanted to stay wrapped up in his fantasy with his faerie forever. 

At the sound outside the door, Claire jerked her head up from where it had been laid on his shoulder. They were having a lazy Sunday afternoon, sitting on the couch in quiet companionship after having finished up their chapter of Lord of the Rings. Claire had been just slightly dozing at his side when the sound disturbed their peace. 

“Dinna fash,” he said quietly as she shifted a bit so he could stand, “stay here.”

As he made his way to the entryway, he could sense his stubborn faerie getting up and following behind him. He stopped in front of the big oak door and Claire pressed herself behind him. He shot a glance over his shoulder to see her peeking curiously around his side. 

“Sassenach,” he said patiently, “why dinna ye go wait in the other room?” 

She shook her head stubbornly.  

Jamie rolled her eyes and decided not to argue with her. (He was beginning to miss the early days of easy compliance— not that he wanted her to be as timid as she used to be, he just should have enjoyed telling her what to do while he’d had the chance). She seemed content enough to mostly hide herself behind him, so maybe she wouldn’t be visible to whoever was at the door. 

He unlocked it and pulled it open a crack. 

Outside stood none other than his Godfather, Murtagh Fitzgibbons, looking particularly dour under his bushy beard. As soon as the man caught sight of Jamie, he grumbled, “took ye long enough.”

“Murtagh!” Jamie exclaimed, feeling the rush of fondness he always did at the sight of his godfather, “what are you doin’ here?” 

The only thing lacking from the expression on Murtagh’s face was an eye-roll. “Care tae explain why yer sister is bletherin’ on in my ear every day and night for the past week about how her brother has taken up wi’ a trollop and gone off the deep end? Mind,” he shot a look to the side of Jamie that made his eyes go wide, and Jamie felt a sinking feeling in his gut that his godfather had caught sight of Claire peeking around him, “I wouldna have been inclined tae believe her if not for the fact that I havna heard from ye. And now I see… ye do have... company.” 

Murtagh gave a nod at Jamie’s side, where he knew Claire must have been showing herself. 

Jamie let out a sigh and gave into the urge to check behind him. Claire had drifted forward and was hovering at his side, looking out the cracked door with huge doe eyes. 

“This is Murtagh, your…?” she spoke up, addressing Jamie. 

“Aye, my Godfather,” Jamie said, reluctantly accepting the unplanned meeting, “well I suppose introductions are in order. Murtagh, this is Claire.” 

“Hello, lass,” Murtagh said, politely enough. He held out his hand, saying “so you’re…” 

“The trollop,” she answered, completely innocently. 

Jamie had to bite down a laugh. The lass didna even ken the meaning of that word…

Murtagh’s eyes went wide, and he looked rightfully embarrassed. “I didna mean… I—” 

Claire still hadn’t taken his hand (yet another human custom she didn’t know— Jamie had to remind himself to teach her that one), and Murtagh glanced down at his proffered appendage, then back up at Claire. Assuming she was too offended by his earlier statement to shake his hand, he dropped it back to his side. 

Jamie decided to try to ease the situation and offered, “why dinna ye come inside?” 

Murtagh made a sound of assent deep in his throat and stepped inside the door. Just as Claire started to turn toward the living room, Jamie suddenly remembered that she was wearing the low cut dress— the one that so prettily displayed her wings. He threw himself behind her just in time to use his bulk to prevent Murtagh from seeing her exposed wings. With urgency, he grabbed Claire’s arms in front of him and pulled her against him so her back was pressed to his front, safely hiding the wings from view. 

He herded her toward the living room, pushing her so fast that she nearly stumbled. But they needed to get there before Murtagh so he’d have time to rip off his jacket and give it to her. 

Sure enough, Murtagh was ambling lazily enough, so the second they were in the living room, Jamie whirled her around so her front was facing the entryway and then let go of her to tear off his jacket. He swung it around her shoulders just in the nick of time before Murtagh arrived. 

Trying to disguise what he’d been doing, Jamie pulled Claire close and draped an arm around her, feigning nonchalance as best as he could. Meanwhile, Claire was clutching Jamie’s jacket closed in front of her, holding on with a white-knuckled grip. 

“Murtagh,” he said, trying to get his brain to catch back up to the situation, “I’m glad ye’re here, truly. Now ye can officially meet my girlfriend.” 

To Murtagh’s credit, his eyes only went wide in shocked disbelief for a second before he managed a polite, “nice tae meet ye, lass” for Jamie’s now-claimed girlfriend. 

“Why dinna ye have a seat?” Jamie suggested, gesturing toward a chair. 

In the meantime, Jamie brought Claire with him over toward the couch. On the way, Claire reached up on her toes to whisper softly in his ear, “is it okay to hold your hand?” 

He looked down at him, confused for a second to see her anxious expression, before he remembered their conversation about PDA and how it’d been inappropriate in front of Jenny. Jamie nearly had to laugh at her earnestness to do right by his customs. 

“Yes, lass,” he whispered discreetly as they sat down together, “as long as ye dinna sit on my lap this time.” 

Claire seemed greatly relieved by this, and as soon as they were seated, she reached out to lace their fingers together. She held on more tightly than normal, and Jamie gave her a squeeze, trying to reassure her that Murtagh was not, in fact, like Jenny, and she didn’t have to worry. 

Jamie was rather worried himself though. Murtagh had been like a father to him ever since his own had passed a few years back; his opinion about Claire (who he hoped he’d spend the rest of his life with, God willing) meant a lot to him. He could only hope that Jenny’s sour words hadn’t already cemented Murtagh’s opinion. 

Naturally, Murtagh began with questions that Jamie had a hard time answering. 

“So, when did ye two…” he fumbled. It was unlike Murtagh to waver so indirectly, but it was clear what he was asking. 

The next few minutes were spent feeding him the fake backstory Jamie had concocted. As he’d explained to Jenny, Jamie said that he’d met Claire at university in Paris and they’d kept in touch. When she’d come to visit, they’d reconnected. Claire extended her trip, and they both realized they’d been in love all this time. 

Murtagh seemed to take it mostly in stride, nodding politely but keeping his expression neutral. Jamie had no idea what was going on underneath that impenetrable beard of his, and it worried him to no end. 

“So, lass,” Murtagh said, sounding conversational, “let’s hear from you. How do ye feel about our Jamie, then?” 

Jamie’s head whipped to her, and found she was smiling nearly ear to ear. “I love him,” she answered without hesitation, “I think he’s the most amazing man I’ve ever met.” Her voice was fond and sincere, and she looked up at Jamie with a smile, as if she couldn’t keep her eyes off him. “I think he’s kind, and giving, and thoughtful, and intelligent. And so much more than that. And I think I’m so lucky to be here with him.”

His heart clenched nearly painfully in his chest, and it took all his self control to keep from kissing her, or from breaking into tears. God, he loved her. 

Forgetting Murtagh for a second, he grew lost in her warm gaze, that honey look like a caress on his skin. 

“I think I’m the lucky one,” he said softly.

Murtagh cleared his throat pointedly, breaking the moment, but when Jamie looked away from Claire and back toward his godfather, there was none of the animosity in his eyes that there’d been in Jenny’s. His grump of a surrogate father just held his usual “why are you subjecting me to the nonsense” kind of expression. 

Just as Jamie was about to open his mouth, floundering for something to say, Adso came prancing into the room, looking distinguished and ready to grab the attention. He was quite successful, too, because the non-existent conversation ground to a halt. 

“Adso!” Claire cooed, as she always did when the cat approached. 

The cheetie meowed back at her in greeting, and Claire’s face softened ever-further. She always got this sweet expression on her face around Adso, like the look of a loving caretaker. Jamie couldn’t help but wonder whether she’d wear the same expression with their kids… if they could even have kids… 

His gut clenched for a second in uncertainty, thinking about the very real possibility that they couldn’t actually procreate. Jamie knew they would have to talk about it someday, but he was terrified of hearing that his dream of having children was an impossible one. He could manage without a big family— all he really needed was her— but he’d prefer to live in hopeful ignorance for a short while longer, imaging bairns running around with her whiskey eyes and his red hair.  

When Jamie managed to drag himself back to reality, he saw that Claire had repositioned herself to sit on the floor, and Adso was already settled in her lap, purring away. 

His faerie looked up at Murtagh. “Do you like cheeties, Murtagh?” she asked, looking the picture of innocent enthusiasm. 

Murtagh— the hard man that he was and usually so unshakeable— looked taken aback at the question. 

“I canna say I have a strong opinion on the matter,” Murtagh answered. 

“Oh, well I love them. I’d never met a cheetie before Adso, but I’m sure he must be the nicest there is,” Claire said simply. Jamie had to clench his jaw, finding her incredibly endearing but infuriating at the same time. She was drifting carelessly into dangerous territory….

“Never ‘met’ a cheetie, meanin' ye’d never had one or…” Murtagh was looking dubious, and Jamie’s heart beat faster, his muscles coiling as if he could face the threat of Murtagh’s suspicions physically. 

“No,” Claire said, and Jamie had to hide a grimace, knowing exactly where she was going. She was always so honest, his faerie. “I mean I’d never seen one.” 

Murtagh’s brows drew together as he squinted down at her. “Where did ye say ye were from again?” He asked, not unreasonably. 

“A verrra small rural town near Oxfordshire,” Jamie jumped in hastily, for fear that Claire would forget herself. She seemed to be going off the rails, there was no telling what she would say, even knowing as she did that she shouldn’t say anything to give her secret away. 

Claire, still sitting cross legged and stroking the cat, gave a nod of affirmation. 

Murtagh’s only response was a grunt, followed by silence. Ever a man of few words, he didn’t seem inclined to further the conversation himself. 

Unfortunately, that meant that Claire, in her eagerness to get to know him, was jumping confidently back into the conversation. “So, Murtagh,” she said, “what do you do?” 

Alright, good. That’s a relatively normal question. Good, lass. 

“Construction hereabouts,” Murtagh replied, seeming less than interested in the small talk. 

Claire’s eyes widened, and she put on an excited face that Jamie thought was very genuine. 

“Building? That’s lovely! What do you build?” 

While Claire likely meant the question quite literally, having no idea what the job of construction entailed, Murtagh thankfully took it at face value. 

“Mostly residential. Many of the houses ye see hereabouts are our work,” Murtagh said, a hint of pride showing from beneath his busy beard. 

“Ohh…” Claire said, probably sounding a little too awed for the occasion, but it was sweet nonetheless, “so you build places like this? How—”

Jamie, sensing that she was about to question how one goes about building a house, tried to avert disaster by quickly cutting in before she could finish her strange question. “Claire, mo ghraidh, would you mind grabbing me a glass of water?” 

Claire shot a sweet, indulgent look at him from over her shoulder and gave a nod. “Of course, Jamie.” She unceremoniously dumped the cat from her lap as she stood, and she gave a polite nod to Murtagh, saying, “sorry for leaving the conversation, I’ll be right back.” 

As she left the room for the safety of the kitchen, Jamie felt his heart rate drop back to normal rhythms. 

Just as quickly though, it was ratcheted back up when Murtagh gave him a long look and commented, “She’s a wee bit… strange, isn’t she?” 

Trying not to break out into nervous sweats, Jamie reminded himself that there were strange humans too, and nothing Claire had said had been that bad. 

“Aye, a bit. But I love her for it,” he said honestly, throwing a look into the kitchen where Claire was currently studying the sink closely as she tried to recall how to turn it on. Jamie sent her good luck and tried not to smile to himself. They’d worked the sink together before, but she never really had a reason to use it on her own. Jamie was often around to turn it on for her after she’d been gardening and needed to clean up. He made a mental note to stop enabling her lack of human skills. 

Murtagh was staring at him in the meanwhile, looking lost in thought and careful evaluation. Meeting those dark eyes, Jamie found himself feeling nervous over what was going on in the impenetrable head of his godfather. 

“Ye’re sure about her?” came the question. 

All Jamie managed to get out was an “aye,” before Claire was returning to the room, looking triumphant with a full glass of water in her hand. 

The next few minutes were spent catching Murtagh up on the happenings at Jamie’s publishing company, which thankfully did not involve a grilling on why Jamie had been taking so much time off. Claire was quiet during the conversation, but feigned engagement well, looking invested in Jamie’s words in a way that made his stomach warm. The sweet lass truly knew nothing about his work, but apparently loving him was enough to make her love hearing about his passions. 

Then, at a break in the conversation, Murtagh stood up, wiping his hands on his pants. 

“I’m sorry to cut the visit short,” he said abruptly, “but I hafta be somewhere, I canna stay much longer. I jes’ wanted tae drop by and check on ye, lad.” 

Taking Claire’s hand, Jamie stood as well, bringing her with him. Murtagh’s eyes fixed on Claire. 

“Can I have a moment tae speak wi’ Jamie alone before I go?” he asked her once they were all standing. 

“Of course,” she said graciously, “it was so nice to meet you, Murtagh.” 

She shot a quick glance at Jamie over her shoulder and, at his nod, gave one last smile to Murtagh— who gave a soft “you too, lass”— before leaving the room. Alone with Murtagh, Jamie’s heart began to race, wondering if he was about to face the “are ye daft?” intervention talk. 

Murtagh approached him, clapping a hand on his shoulder and walking him toward the door. When they reached the entryway, both of them stopped, and his godfather looked at him for a long second. 

Jamie braced himself, trying to be strong for the moment Murtagh expressed disapproval. He could handle it. The world could hang, all he needed was Claire— he tried to tell himself despite the rising anxiety in his chest. 

Murtagh’s stare didn’t break, his usual dour expression holding fast on his face. His bushy brows were low over his unreadable eyes, but there seemed to be a clenching in his jaw that was unusual for the hard man. 

“What do ye think of her?” Jamie finally burst out, trying to bite the bullet he knew was coming. 

Murtagh gave a sigh, his shoulders sagging slightly. “Ye love her?” he asked simply. 

Jamie nodded immediately and answered without hesitation. “I do.” 

His godfather looked away, his eyes lifting toward the heavens. 

This was it, the moment when Jamie would receive a famous Murtagh tongue lashing for his idiocy…

“Your mother…” Murtagh started, very slowly. 

‘Would have disapproved’… please don’t say those heartbreaking words…

“Had the sweetest smile,” Murtagh said instead. He looked back up at Jamie, his eyes softer than he’d seen in years, “Would warm a man to the backbone jes’ to see it...” He gave himself a nod, as if reminding himself of the conviction of his next words, “Claire’s smile is jes’ as sweet.” 

Jamie’s world suddenly fell entirely into place as Murtagh finally met his eyes, his godfather’s lips turning up into as much of a smile as the man ever gave. 

Approval. Unspoken between them, but clear and plain as day. Murtagh gave another nod, now trying to smother the uncharacteristic smile on his face. Jamie’s excitement must have been showing plain. 

“I can see it when ye look at each other, ken,” Murtagh said, clearing his throat a little, “ye love her, and she loves you.” 

“Aye,” Jamie choked out, trying desperately not to fall to pieces in front of his godfather. 

“I’m happy for ye, lad,” Murtagh finished. He placed a slap on Jamie’s shoulder. 

Jamie gave a nod of acknowledgement, pouring all his gratitude into it, and he smiled so emotionally that his lips turned downward. Together, they walked toward the front door, and Jamie opened it for him. 

“It was good to see ye, a ghoistidh,” Jamie said quietly. 

“And ye, lad,” Murtagh answered. 

Another moment passed between them, short but just as meaningful, and as soon as it had happened, Murtagh turned on his heel and walked out, with no more of a goodbye needed. 

Closing the door behind him, Jamie was nearly bursting with joy. Quick as he could, he rushed through the room until he found Claire lingering in the kitchen. 

“Sassenach,” he said, trying to keep his voice from trembling. 

She turned toward him and had just enough time to raise her arms before he was embracing her, nearly overcome by emotion. He was so happy he was nearly shaking, and he hugged her tightly to him, squeezing her close. 

“He likes you,” Jamie said, his voice nearly breaking as he spoke into her hair, “He approves of us.” He took another shaky breath before repeating, “He approves.” 

***

a/n: I’m really curious if anyone reads on tumblr rather than AO3, so if you made it down here, would you drop me a comment? For research purposes? Thanks so much for reading, loves, however you choose to do it :) 

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[bad-bitch-beauchamp]

Songs About Me: Thistle & Bloom (CH7)

Jamie and Claire end up in Claire's shop. More revelations, a mysterious phone call, and exchanged promises. SO sorry about the gap between chapters! I've been pretty sick over here, and just needed a break to get better. I'm feeling better and glad to be writing again!

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CHAPTER SEVEN

Claire Beauchamp’s front porch, a late October night, Louisburg Square, Beacon Hill, Boston

“Claire, I--” he swallowed and took a step back from her. She noticed that in the distance he created, his hand still held onto her waist. His fingertips pressed into her flesh and goosebumps erupted under the fabric. She met his eyes and sank into their ocean depths.

“I’d verra much like to kiss ye. May I?”

Words had never failed Claire before. She spent her free time letting sentences flow around her, wrapping her in warmth and comfort. Words were her solace and succor. When Jamie’s eyes flicked from her lips to her eyes in question , in longing , any word she thought of failed her completely. She nodded quickly, for it was all she could manage in the moment. Whatever she had been expecting from Jamie, whatever she expected a first kiss to be like with the stranger who had enchanted her from their first meeting, whatever she expected failed in comparison. Jamie leaned forward, and steeled himself with a slow swallow. Claire watched his throat bob with the effort, and for the first time, wondered to herself how much power he was holding unchecked in the moment. There wasn’t time to think before he had regained his composure and moved closer into her. His clear blue eyes had darkened to the color of Claire’s favorite coastline, and her breath caught in her throat. The moment she met his eyes, everything faded away. There were no words, no chill in the late October air, no more spiraling thoughts… there was just Jamie. His woody cologne swirled together with the scent of fallen leaves on wet, worn bricks; their air mingled together, and it was happening. His mouth found purchase with hers, softly, tenderly. He tasted like a smoke-filled whisky and something so inexplicably him. Had she been sober, she might have had the thought to hold back some, to not devour this man before her… but she wasn’t sober, and couldn’t have been with the intoxicating feel of him against her body and in her mouth. Her hands moved from his chest up his neck and into the curls at the nape of his neck. He moaned when her fingers moved upwards into his hair. “God, Claire…” His hands roamed around her waist and up the expanse of her back, down her ribcage and almost to her arse, but pulled back to crush her to him instead. She moaned in protest and he laughed breathily as he whispered, “Ye have no idea how badly I’ve wanted to kiss ye like this.” Claire smiled through his returning kisses. An arm snaked around her waist while the other ran up the length of her spine. She was being greedy, she knew it, and couldn’t stop it. Her tongue softly ran along his lips and he nearly spasmed at the contact. Apparently one little tease was all the invitation he needed -- a hand was in her hair, his tongue was in her mouth, her body was crushed against the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. They were playing a dangerous game, the two of them, and she was ready to explode with the fire he set in her.

“You’ll stay…?” He moved his mouth to her ear, nibbling her earlobe just a bit. “God, Jamie…”  Hot breath from a small chuckle made her skin erupt in shivers. “You’ll stay? Tonight?”

Stubble scratched her neck, soothed by wet kisses. “Hmmmm?”

She drew his face back to hers in her hands and kissed him soundly. “Come upstairs with me, Jamie.”

Navy orbs met dark gold ones in the glow of lamplight. He made for their mouths to meet again, but didn’t close his eyes. He released her finally, but kept a tight grip on her waist. “Yer so beautiful, Claire.”

She felt her cheeks burn at his compliments. How did he do that to her? Just a few words, a pointed look, a whisper in her direction and she was absolutely melted. She reached for his hand and moved to open her door, but Jamie stayed rooted to the spot.

“I cannae go inside wi’ ye tonight, mo nighean donn.” Surely she hadn’t heard him right. Was he rejecting her? She dropped his hand and stepped back, turning toward the door to turn her key in the lock.

What the fuck happens now? Claire turned, stood up straight, and outstretched her hand. “Well, this really has been a great night. Maybe I’ll see you around sometime?” She tried to keep the hurt off her face, but knew she was failing.

Jamie looked at her hand like it was a foreign object, and stepped forward. He took her small hand in both of his and brought her knuckles to his lips. “Claire, ye have to know how much I want tae go inside with ye. God, I’ve never wanted anything more than I want ye in this moment. But lass, I don’t just want this moment… I want so much more with ye. The way I feel about ye, I know ye feel it, too. I’m not willing to let this get out of hand. Ye mean too much to me. This, means too much to me. I’m going to do this right, mo chridhe.” Claire’s whole body had felt warm with adrenaline moments before, but now it surged with affection for Jamie. “If ye wanted to kiss me like that again though, I wouldna complain one bit, though,” he added with a smirk breaking through his serious facade.

Claire laughed in earnest and kissed him with all the passion she could muster. Her hand rested on his heart and it pounded faster with the seconds shared in their kiss. Before she was lost in him once again, she pulled away and he let out a strangled cry at the loss of her. His eyes hadn’t opened before she had completely extricated herself from him and had her front door open. “Goodnight, James!” she laughed.

---

“You’ll be the death of me, Sassenach!” The door was closed before he had time to recompose himself. He sighed and ran a hand through his mussed curls. He absolutely stood by what he said about wanting to honor what they had, and he had not planned on following her to bed tonight. He wouldn’t treat this like it was disposable or quick. Then again… no lass had ever kissed him the way Claire Beauchamp did. Before he could knock on her door and beg her to let him in, he forced himself off the porch and down the sidewalk. One more look at her windows, one more second in place thinking about her, and he’d end up back in her arms tonight. One day, lad. One day.

Jamie had mentioned he had to be at the bookshop the next day, and Claire had every intention of not bothering him at work. She had planned to answer a few emails and do some administrative work with a coffee and then head down to her own shop to work on propagating some of the rarer plants. She loaded her leather messenger bag with her laptop, notebook, writing notebook, an assortment of her favorite pens, and headed down the street. Twenty minutes and a large chai later, she aimlessly strolled toward her shop on Garden Street. She found herself drifting a few blocks south of the direction she should be headed in and a few blocks closer to Fraser Literature. Surely there was no harm in working at one of the tables in the courtyard at the bookshop, right? She wandered through the streets with a new purpose and was soon setting up shop at one of the familiar cafe tables outside her favorite shop. Had the store not been open today, she would have wasted the morning away there in the courtyard, letting the sun glow around her, warming her chilled surroundings. Alas, being a business owner was not exactly as freeing as someone may think and she had work to do. A while later, Claire was zoned-in on an email about variegated monstera deliciosa orders when a voice behind her nearly made her fall out of her chair.

“Whatcha working on today, Sassenach?” She clutched her chest and turned to see Jamie arched an eyebrow and crossed his arms, clearly pleased with his startling announcement of arrival.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, Jamie! Are you trying to give me a heart attack over here?”

“Ach no, jes’ reveling in the fact that ye clearly can’t get enough of me. Getting me drunk at dinner, encouraging puir decisions, the way ye kissed me last night, trying to get me into yer bed, and now, I find ye waiting for me outside my shop. I jes’ find it interesting , is all.”

“I was doing no such thing! This is just were I work! I’d been working here long before I knew this was your shop!”

“Likely story, Sassenach.” Claire assumed he was trying to wink, but in much the same way an owl does, he just blinked both clear blue eyes at her and scrunched up his nose, making Claire snort in laughter at his attempt.

“I do actually have to work, though, and now that I know you’re distracted, I should go so we both actually get something done today,” she said, and began to pack up her bags.

“Tis a timely distraction, actually!” Jamie handed her a yellow notebook and raised his brows when he gestured throwing her empty drink in the trash.

Claire nodded in response to the cup and continued to pack up. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“We’ve been getting some feedback from customers lately that they’re very much enjoying the ‘atmosphere’ of the store, and more and more people at checkout say they like all the plants hanging around! The boys and I were discussing taking that idea and running with it… kind of an arts experience, ken? The music, the books of course, and bring nature into it all. I’d like to add in some more plants, but dinna ken what would work best. Is there any way ye could help me figure it out? Maybe I could stop by your wee shop sometime and we could talk it out?”

Claire swung her bag over her shoulder and smiled at Jamie’s nervousness in asking her for something so… chill . “Of course you can stop by, Jamie! Actually, I’m headed there now, if you’d like to join?” His smile could have rivaled the sunshine for brightest thing in the courtyard. Claire waited inside the store’s entrance while Jamie told Angus and Rupert he’d be back in a while and noticed the way Jamie’s ears pinked at the tips when Angus leaned in to whisper something and Rupert playfully punched Jamie in the arm. She pretended to fuss with something on the bookshelf, but smiled to herself nonetheless.

“Ready, Sassenach?” Jamie was waiting by her side a few moments later. It was Claire’s turn to beam up at him.

“Always.”

---

Thistle and Bloom was Jamie’s second-favorite place in all of Boston. It was the word “thistle” that had originally drawn him into the shop shortly after moving to the city. It reminded him of home, of the Highlands, and of all the things that just felt like home. He had met the redhead behind the counter a handful of times, always hearing the owner was out back working, or gone searching for herbs, or otherwise occupied. He and Geillis had become friendly over the years, and the other lads had become more than friendly with her on more than one occasion. It was Geillis that had invited them all out to karaoke, and he would forever be grateful for how fate had worked in his life. Geillis, this shop, his bookstore, Scotland… all of it played a part in getting him here today, with Claire.

They approached the storefront and Claire absolutely beamed with pride. The outside of the shop was ornate for Boston, but beautiful. The building was brick, with a white-washed wood first story with large arched windows. Painted with forest green on the arches of the facade, a heavy naturally-stained wood had the name of the wee shop painted in gold lettering, and a heavy carved thistle painted in gold sat as the crowning jewel in the signage. English ivy crawled and sprawled up the planters on the sidewalk and up the white wood over the green arches and up the antique brick. Whisky barrels sat in front of the windows exploding with blooms in modern arrangements, like they had truly come to life in the most whimsical and elegant way. Now knowing it was Claire behind it all, everything made sense. He thumbed a rogue branch of the ivy, it’s Englishness not lost on him. Inside the store, Jamie saw it all with fresh eyes.

Jamie was a fair gardener -- truth be told, he hadn’t needed explicit help in finding the right plants for his store, but he’d near say anything to spend time with Claire. She nervously showed him around, occasionally muttering the scientific name of a houseplant or remarking about the rarity of another under her breath. Only once did she catch one yellowing leaf on something that trailed up the wall, and she plucked it off and shoved it in her jeans pocket. Jamie shook his head in exasperation at her -- didn’t she know, everything she did was perfect? They continued their little tour and examined every plant in the store for Jamie’s needs. Jamie occasionally hummed or nodded in agreement of Claire’s assessment of the plants, but he knew she really wasn’t talking to him. Sometimes, she’d look at Jamie or ask for his opinion on a plant, but otherwise, she existed in her own little world. Claire had amassed a collection of medium-sized plants on the counter she assured him wouldn’t be too much work but would flourish with his attention, and turned the most brilliant shade of pink when she caught sight of him watching her work.

Seeing that the shop was empty for the moment, Jamie moved in toward Claire. Watching her like this, in her element, so happy, he just wanted to kiss her again. Just steps away from her, she turned to him, smiling. One more step until bliss…

Jamie jumped. His phone rang loudly from his pocket. Rushing to silence it, he pulled it out of his pocket to a blonde woman’s smiling face on the Caller ID. He shut off the ringer and looked for Claire. She was shuffling plants at the counter, not really rearranging anything but trying to make herself busy nonetheless. Ifrinn. She saw the damned phone.

“So, Claire…” he was interrupted by a voicemail notication. He ignored it. “I was wondering if ye grow these plants yerself, or…” another loud beep followed by another indicated he was getting texts at a rapid pace. “Jesus, fuck!”

“If you need to get that, it’s really fine, Jamie!” Claire was trying for a breezy tone and failing miserably. She’d seen the beautiful woman on the phone. They never said they were exclusive or anything, it was awfully presumptuous of her to assume that in the two days they’d known each other, that he didn’t have any other ties. She was spiraling but a warm, steady hand brought her back down to reality.

“I dinna need to do anything, Sassenach. Nothing matters to me now except for being here with ye.” He gave her a reassuring smile, and with only the briefest hesitation to make sure she was caught up with his feelings, he kissed her chastley. “Now, I was asking how ye came to amasse such a small jungle.”

Claire smiled adoringly at Jamie, pushing any nagging thoughts about the mysterious caller to the side. “I’d like to show you something, if you can be away for a little while longer,” Claire said. Jamie nodded and followed her when she went out the back door of the shop.

Instead of finding a back door leading to an alleyway or a small yard, Jamie stepped into pure light. A white wooden door with paned glass led the way into the most beautiful greenhouse Jamie had ever seen. It was a few small rooms, each terraced with a few cement steps leading into the next. Slowly walking through, Jamie noticed each tiny room was a different biome: one for tropical plants, one for houseplants, one for cacti and sand-dwelling plants, and one with plants he’d never seen before. The windows were probably once crystal clear, but now the glass was clouded with condensation and moss in the corners. The cream paint on the window and door panes was chipping away in places, and the floor was covered in loose dirt and a few errant leaves. Everything was diffused light and shades of green and white and warm air. It was warm inside and Jamie wiped away a bead of sweat from his forehead. He turned to Claire, who stood in the far corner, awaiting judgment like a child. She smiled shyly, hugging herself and leaning against a potting bench. Her hair was conspiring with the humidity to add more curls to her head at an alarming rate, and she looked like the queen of her own personal Jumanji. Jamie had never seen a more ethereal sight in his life.

“Ye know, I always come here when I miss home,” he held a leaf the size of his own head in his hand and made his way along the rows of flora as he continued. “Scotland is so green, ken? I think it’s the thing I miss most. The traditions there are so old but it’s so green and fresh and new out in the moors and the lochs and munros. This shop, yer shop,” he smiled at her, “it always felt the way I felt about being home in Scotland.”

“Have I told you I grew up in Scotland?”

Jamie’s head snapped up at that. “Ye said ye were from Oxford?”

She nodded. “Yes, originally. I went to school in Oxford, and Oxford was where I thought I’d build my life. Actually though, in between travelling with my uncle, we’d always end up in Scotland. My uncle had a place in Glenfinnan?” Jamie’s jaw dropped. “I take it you know the place?”

“Aye! I’m from Inveraray!”

“I’ll jot that down in the list of things we have in common!” She laughed. “Anyways, he had a croft up there and we’d go all the time. It’s mine now, but I haven’t had time to make it back there after opening up shop here in Boston. Scotland holds a very special place in my heart, though. All the important moments in my life happened in the Highlands: my best birthdays, my first kiss, my biggest adventures, it’s where I went when I left my ex, when my uncle died…” Jamie came to her, stroking her arm when he saw her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “The highlands always felt wild and peaceful and magical to me. I wanted to have a slice of that here. It’s obviously for work, too, but this… this is my favorite place. My oasis. It feels…”

“Like heaven,” Jamie finished. The moment he said it, he almost wished he could take it back not because he didn’t mean it, but because it really did feel like heaven here with her.  

“Like heaven,” she repeated. He found her staring longingly at him, and he couldn’t help it then. He kissed her with as much admiration as he could possibly muster in a kiss, and it still didn’t feel like enough when she drew back for air.

“Having you here with me, in this place… This is more than I could have ever hoped for.”

“Make me a promise, Sassenach?”

Claire was puzzled. She brought him into her very favorite place, and he’s asking for random promises right now? “Yes, Jamie?”

“Promise me we’ll end up in Scotland together. I’ll take ye up the munros and down in the lochs and we’ll laugh and drive and get caught up in sheep herds together. We’ll drink ‘til we cannae walk we’ll talk about how the universe conspired to get us here. Me and you, mo nighean donn. Promise ye’ll let me follow ye around the world and back to the place we both love. Promise me that one day, we’ll get back there together.”

Despite knowing Jamie for such a short time, despite the day that was supposed to be a fun, non-committal one picking out plants, Claire found herself swimming in the depths of his ocean eyes with no plan to get out and dry off. Despite the rational part of her brain telling her she should not be making plans so soon, she saw an entire lifetime in his face. Maybe it was the ethereal atmosphere, maybe it was that he made her drunk on his presence alone, maybe it was magic that made her match his eyes and say, “Scotland it is. I’ll follow you anywhere.”

[silverlightqueen]

Writing’s On The Wall 

silverlightqueen’s SKZ Scarefest

ghost!Jeongin x human!reader - comedy, angst, Jeongin will stop at nothing to make sure no one moves into his house and y/n is tired of it

Word Count: 2.8k+

Summary - y/n’s job as a real estate agent has always been easy. Selling houses in District 9 has never been particularly difficult - people line up to live in the famed ‘Spooky City’ - and y/n just has the gift of the gab, meaning she’s got the highest number of sales in the company. But one house, she just can’t seem to shift. It could be the tiny box room on the third floor, or the slightly beaten down garden fence, or the ghost that scares away every family that comes to view the house. Yeah, it’s probably the ghost.

Warnings: death, ghosts, stuff that looks like blood but isn’t, I think that’s it but please let me know if I missed something!

a/n: and here is the eighth instalment of my SKZ Scarefest! I really hope you guys enjoy this, and thank you @silverlightprincess​ for proofreading, you’re the best! please be sure to check out the previous parts and keep an eye out for the last part tomorrow! x

taglist: @kodzu-ken​ @cloudsgathering​ @silverlightprincess

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My heart gets heavier and heavier as I near 325 Sunshine Street, my mood souring when I turn onto the road. Don’t get me wrong – it’s a beautiful neighbourhood. If someone’s on their front garden as you drive past, they’ll wave and smile, and everyone is so generous, kind and friendly. The houses are all big and pretty, and I can see myself living somewhere like this one day, when I’ve got a family of my own. But now, whilst I’m a struggling real estate agent, this road is my personal hell.

Maybe calling myself ‘struggling’ is an exaggeration. I mean, I’m fresh out of school and my sales are already blowing my colleagues’ sales out of the water. It probably helps that my parents own the company, so they tend to give me the best houses to sell, but that’s beside the point. The point is that I am far from struggling. But this house, 325 Sunshine Street, is the bane of my existence. I’ve been trying to sell this house for months, and every time someone shows interest, it just gets ruined.

I pull up in the driveway, having a moment to collecting myself before I push open the car door, stepping out and smoothing down my pink skirt. I reach in and grab my handbag from the passenger seat before shutting the door behind me. I look up at the house, taking a deep breath, before heading up to the front door. I push the key into the lock, turning it and opening the door, wiping my court shoes on the mat as I shut the door behind me.

I hear a sudden commotion from upstairs, sighing as I head into the kitchen, and I decide to busy myself with the coffee machine whilst I wait for him to grace me with his presence. It doesn’t take him long to materialise, and I don’t even bother looking up when he walks in, just raising a hand in greeting. ‘Morning, y/n,’ he says sweetly, and I can hear the grin in his voice, just humming in response.

It started with little things. Taps suddenly running in rooms we weren’t in, or the back door creaking whilst we were upstairs. These things weren’t enough to put the customers off – leaky taps can be fixed, and so can dodgy doors. So then, when customers would come for their second viewings, things became a little worse. Flickering lights and glasses smashing. Most people would decide against the house at the point, but the slightly braver ones would be subjected to even worse. Doors slamming in their face, or things levitating and then flying at them. They’d leave the house running and screaming.

At first, I’d been a little unnerved, wondering if the house was possessed or something, but eventually, I just got annoyed. This house was taking up too much of my time, and totally ruining my sales stats. So I made a decision that I’d fix this problem, no matter what.

The next time I went was not for a showing, or an open house. I went by myself, and I sat in the living room, and waited. For hours and hours. So long that I fell asleep. When I woke, it was late evening, pitch black outside, but the lamp had been turned on, and there was a blanket on me. I came back the next day, and did the same, and there was a blanket on me again when I woke, the lamp on and a lukewarm hot chocolate on the coffee table before me. I drank the hot chocolate before making another one and leaving it out on the counter. When I came back the next day, the two mugs had been washed and put away in the cupboard.

There was someone living in this house, but I had a feeling they weren’t actually… living.

For weeks, we did the same thing nearly every day. I’d fall asleep after waiting for so long, and I’d wake up to a warm and bright house with the radiators blasting out heat and the lights turned on, a blanket on me, and a hot chocolate ready and waiting. Sometimes, I’d arrive to a book on the sofa beside where I sat, there for me to read, or I’d wake to my phone on charge because it had died. A few times, when I didn’t bring any food, there’d be a pizza or a burger and chips from the takeout place down the road waiting for me, and I’d always leave half. When I’d come back the next day, it’d be finished with the packaging thrown in the bin.

Around two month ago, I woke up to a boy with bubblegum pink hair sat on the sofa opposite me. His face was young and innocent, but a little sharp around the edges. I blinked in surprise a couple times before asking, ‘What’s your name?’ He was silent for a moment before replying in a small voice, ‘I.N.. And you’re y/n y/l/n, from y/l/n Estate Agents.’ ‘I.N., why haven’t you said hello to me yet?’ I asked, and he hesitated. ‘I thought you might be angry with me,’ he said quietly, looking down at his hands, and I felt my heart go out to him a little. ‘I’m not angry. A little frustrated, and curious, but not angry.’ ‘Curious?’ ‘Why don’t you want anyone to move in?’ I asked, and he didn’t reply for a few moments. ‘Because… I want to live here. Not with anyone else,’ he whispered, and I raised an eyebrow.

‘You’re a ghost. You can literally go anywhere you want, in the whole world, and you want to stay at 325 Sunshine Street?’ I asked, and he nodded. ‘There’s nowhere else I want to be, other than here,’ he replied, not meeting my eyes, and I sighed. ‘The thing is… the previous owner needs me to sell the house. They need the money,’ I said, and he looked up at me in confusion before realisation passed across his face, and I wondered what he was thinking. ‘Well… can’t I just buy it?’ ‘Do you have money?’ I asked, and he shook his head miserably. ‘So… no, unfortunately, I.N., you can’t buy it. I have to sell it.’

‘But you can’t sell it if no one will buy it.’ ‘No one will buy it because you’re scaring them off. So you need to stop,’ I said softly, and he looked up at me with pity in his eyes. ‘I won’t stop. I’m not letting anyone move in,’ he said gently, as though breaking bad news to me, and I raised an eyebrow at him. ‘So, if I can’t sell the house by a certain time, someone else will be given the house to sell, and they won’t be as kind as me when they find out a ghost is living here. They’ll call the Busters to get rid of you,’ I said, his eyes widening. ‘But… but I can’t leave. I have nowhere to go,’ he said, beginning to panic, and I took a deep breath. ‘I.N., the world is your oyster. You have so many different places to go.’ ‘No, you don’t understand. I have to stay here. Please, y/n,’ he begged, and I was taken aback. ‘But, I.N., there’s nothing I can do. I have to sell the house.’

It’s been two months since then, and the house is still not sold.  As you probably guessed. I even offered for him to move in with me, I was that desperate, but he would not leave that house, not for anything. And over time, he only got worse and worse. I’d arrive with potential buyers to find dead animals dotted around the house, terrible rotting smells hanging thick on the air, bees’ nests planted in the kitchen cupboards. And yet, when it was just he and I, and he’d materialise from thin air beside me, I never had the heart to shout at him. He’s looks my own age, and I just found him so tragic. A young boy who died and is now doomed to roam the Earth until he figures out what his unfinished business is, and is too scared to venture out into the world, so he sticks to 325 Sunshine Street. And so instead, I’d order takeout and we’d sit on the floor of the living room with blankets and watch a kids’ film together.

I’ve been getting a lot of shit from my parents – they just don’t understand why I can’t sell the house. It’s in the perfect location, and it’s the perfect house. But I can’t bring myself to tell them that even though people want to live in the Spooky City, they don’t want ghosts living in their houses. They’d probably get Busters into the house without another word, and I can’t let that happen to I.N., or whatever his real name is. He’s too… young, too sweet.

‘How many people are viewing today?’ he asks, jumping up onto the countertop as I hand him a cup of coffee. ‘Just one family. What have you got planned today?’ I ask tiredly, before taking a sip of my coffee, and he looks a little uncomfortable. ‘I… I’m not g-’ ‘gonna tell me, okay,’ I say, sliding into one of the seats at the dining table, and he’s just silent. ‘y/n-’ ‘Don’t, I.N., not today. I’m too tired. They’re gonna be here in about ten minutes, and I want to save my energy,’ I murmur, and he just nods, the air tense as we drink our coffee. I really like him, maybe a little too much, but my patience is starting to wear thin with this damn house.

We sit in a slightly uncomfortable silence, but I don’t mind, sipping on my coffee and collecting what’s left of my sanity for these potential customers today. When we hear the knock on the door, we both look at each other, I.N. grinning at me, and I can’t hold back the small smile on my face, rolling my eyes as he fades into thin air. I head to the front door, taking a deep breath and smiling widely as I open it, greeting the family warmly.

I let them in, and the kids are practically bouncing off the walls in excitement as I show them around the bottom floor, giving them the speech I’ve said enough times to be able to recite in my sleep. Everything’s going well, no dead animals or bad smells, and I can feel myself getting more and more nervous with each room I show them around, wondering what he’s got planned, but there’s nothing. We do the entire second floor, and not one thing goes wrong. I wonder if he’s decided to give up with scaring people off, hoping that, finally, this goddamn house will be off my hands. The family all seem to love the house, and I start to get a really good feeling about this.

And then we head up to the third floor, and as we reach the top of the stairs, my heart drops. There are little red drops on the floor, leading around to the bedroom, and I can hear the family whispering behind me as I continue on with my speech, trying to pretend that nothing’s happened. But when we step into the bedroom, I can’t really pretend anymore.

The words ‘GET OUT’ are written on the wall, massive bright red letters from floor to ceiling, the thick liquid dripping down in sinister lines. The family behind me are gasping, the kids screaming, but my reaction is pure rage, my fists balling up as I try to contain myself. ‘Is that blood?’ one of the kids asks, running into the room, and then I spot a bucket hanging on the light fixture. I feel time stop when the bucket tips a little, the kid stood just beneath it, and I act quicker than I ever have before, though it feels like I’m moving in slow motion. I grab the little kid, moving them out of the way and I feel the bucket land on my head only a moment later, liquid splashing all over my body.

I pull the bucket off my head as I take deep, ragged breaths, trying desperately to keep hold of myself as the family stare at me in shock and fear. They don’t even ask if I’m okay before they grab the kid and run, their footsteps thundering down the stairs. I’m silent until I hear the front door slam behind them, and then I scream, ‘I.N.!’

He materialises in front of me, panic all over his face, and I look down at myself, my pretty pink skirt and blazer set, my white blouse, my entire body covered in the thick red bloodlike liquid that’s on the wall. ‘Is this blood?’ I ask calmly, closing my eyes to try and keep myself together. ‘No, no, it’s this recipe I found on mumsnet, with corn syrup and food colouring and stuff. It wasn’t supposed to go on you, though, y/n, I’m s-’ ‘Don’t tell me you’re sorry, because you’re not. If you were sorry about all this, you wouldn’t have done it,’ I whisper, the boy looking at me with frantic guilt in his eyes. ‘y/n-’ ‘Don’t. I’m leaving. Someone else can try sell the house. I’m done,’ I say softly, stepping around him to leave. He grabs my hand and I wrench it away, not looking back at him once.

I hear him following me, but he doesn’t say a thing, not whilst I put our coffee cups in the sink and fill them with water to soak, not whilst I tidy my things away into my bag, not whilst I head towards the door. And then he whispers something, so softly I can’t hear, and I hesitate with my hand halfway to the door handle. ‘What was that?’ ‘I said… I’m Yang Jeongin,’ he breathes out, eyes full of tears, and the words hit me like a ton of bricks.

Everyone knows the Yangs. They were a lovely family who lived in Spooky City, just a couple streets over from where I grew up, and even if you didn’t know the Yangs personally, you knew of them, and how kind and generous they were. Their son went to my school – he was a couple years older than me, and he had this friendship group, 8 of them I think. They were the popular boys – you wanted them, or wanted to be them. I didn’t really know any of them except for the most popular one, Felix, who was known for his deeper than deep voice. I couldn’t tell the others apart, or even pick them out in a crowd, so I didn’t really know Yang Jeongin.

Everyone knew that that friendship group had bought a house together, the worst one on Sunshine Street, and had planned to move in together just after school. They spent months fixing it up, making it fit to live in, and they finished just before end-of-year exams. After exams, the Yang family went on holiday, and died in a tragic plane crash. It broke the boys to lose their friend, and they ended up not moving into the house. I never heard about what happened to the house but now, I finally connect the dots and realise I’m stood in it, with Yang Jeongin himself.

‘I can’t let go of my house, our house, that we spent so long on, that we put our hearts into. This was gonna be our home. I can’t let it be anything other than our home. I’m sorry, y/n, but I can’t. I’ve had to let go of my family, but I can’t let go of my brothers. They still come here sometimes – they just drive past and stop for a second – and I don’t ever want them to come here and see another family living in our house, our home. I know they’re trying to sell it, they think that’s what they want, but they don’t. They really don’t. They can’t let go of our home,’ he breaks down, tears running down his face, and I feel my heart breaking. ‘I.N.. Jeongin. I… I’m sorry,’ I whisper, lifting my arms, and he falls into them, and I just hold him, his choked sobs the only noise in the quiet house.

And then I wait until he’s calmed down a little before I take my arms from around him, holding his hands in mine and stifling a laugh when I see that he’s now covered in the fake blood too. ‘We won’t let go. We’re not letting of this house. I promise you,’ I say to him seriously, eyes locked with his soft brown ones, ‘I’ll keep hold of your home if it’s the last thing that I do.’

[bee-kathony]

Kneading Love | Ch. 2 “Picnic for two” 

a/n: thank you so much for the lovely comments on the last chapter! I love these two cuties and I’m glad y’all do too! as always, thank you to @julesbeauchamp for the cute wee moodboard. enjoy! 

Chapter One 

He spotted her just as soon as he walked through the door. Claire was talking with his sister Jenny about something he couldn’t hear, but their heads were leaned in close. Both of them turned to look at him, smiles forming on their lips.

“Look who finally showed up,” Jenny smirked. “I would introduce the two of ye, but I take it ye’ve met?”

Jamie gave his sister a look, and then focused his attention on Claire. She looked so bonny, with a few curls pinned back to show off her beautiful smooth skin. He felt himself getting nervous, though he didn’t know why.

“Aye, we’ve met,” Jamie smiled and closed the distance between himself and Claire. “I saw my bike this morning. Thank ye for mending it.”

“Oh, you’re welcome!” Claire smiled. “Jenny was telling me you got a new tire for it which is for the best because I’m not sure how long my patchwork job would hold up.”

Moving around the counter, Jamie looked behind him and motioned for Claire to follow him to the back. Without a word, she took that step that turned her from customer to special guest. Jamie felt his sister’s eyes on the back of his head, but paid her no attention. He didn’t want Jenny’s prying ears listening in any longer.

He led her into the back where the kitchen was. It was filled with pans and bowls from this mornings baking. Seeing the bread come out from the oven, that perfect golden brown always gave Jamie an odd sense of purpose and fulfillment. While it wasn’t something grand or exceptionally meaningful, coming in to bake gave Jamie a sense of peace he hadn’t been able to find elsewhere.

“Sorry tis a bit of a mess,” Jamie shrugged, pushing his hair off his forehead. “I usually clean it when I come back in the afternoon.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Claire said. “I like a bit of mess.”

“I suppose ye would,” Jamie replied and then saw Claire’s odd expression and corrected himself. “Bein’ a gardener I mean! Ye would get yer hands in the dirt and such.”

“Ah, yes,” she smiled. “I find most of my clothes have got dirt on them or seeds in the pockets.”

Now that they were back here, Jamie wasn’t quite sure what to do. They knew very little about each other, seeing as how they only met the previous day.

“Do you have any plans for today, Claire?” Jamie asked.

She had been looking around the kitchen and when he asked her the question, her eyes landed on his once more — nailing him in the heart with their whisky color.

“More of the same as I did yesterday,” she sighed. “Cleaning up the shop, trying to figure out what I still need to get. Tedious really.”

“I ken ye dinna know me,” Jamie said, leaning against a counter with his ankles crossed. “But I suppose I am the only one besides my sister that ye ken in town?” Claire nodded. “Would ye like to come out and have a picnic wi’ me? I could show ye a bit more of the town.”

Before she could answer, Jenny burst into the kitchen.

“Jamie, Mr. O’Greggory is here askin’ for ye! He wants to ken why his delivery had one less loaf in it than usual. I tried to tell him about the oven no’ workin’ properly, but he wouldna listen.”

Jamie cursed Mr. O’Greggory for interrupting, but knew the matter must be settled then and there. He glanced at Claire and sighed.

“This won’t take but a moment.”

He walked back out into the front of the store, seeing the small figure of his bereaved customer. Two sets of footsteps followed behind him.

“Good morning, Mr. O’Greggory,” Jamie said politely. “Before ye chastise me, I hope ye can maybe understand that our oven wasna workin’ as it should these past two days.”

“Aye, I can, but I don’t see what that’s got to do wi’ my loaves!” The man shouted.

Jamie could see Claire out of the side of his eye, standing there beside his sister. He hoped the man wouldn’t make a fool out of him in front of her.

“I bake the loaves in the oven, man,” Jamie shook his head. “Ye’ve paid me for yer order and I dinna intend to steal from ye. The oven is back to normal, so will ye take an extra two loaves tomorrow for all the trouble?”

“And a basket of a selection of our baked goods thrown in for yer troubles,” Jenny chimed in.

“Aye, that too,” Jamie agreed.

The small man on the other side of the counter seemed to be weighing his options, and with a curt nod, that was that.

“I’ll have yer order first thing tomorrow morning,” Jamie said. “I’m sorry about all the trouble.”

“Not a worry, lad,” Mr. O’Greggory tipped his hat at Jamie and then left without another word.

With one problem out of the way, Jamie took a deep breath and then looked back at Claire. He was surprised she had waited and hadn’t just left.

“You handled that very well,” she said.

“Och, he likes to pretend he’s tough, but the truth is he’s afraid I’ll squash him with my fist,” Jamie laughed.

“And would you?” Claire asked.

“Jamie wouldna hurt a fly,” Jenny smirked. “He may look strong and tall enough to bump his head on every door he comes to, but he’s a kind man.”

“Thank ye, Janet for interruptin’ me yet again,” Jamie rolled his eyes and saw Claire smiling. “The answer, Claire is no. But that doesna mean that I don’t want to clap him on the ears every time he comes in here wi’ a complaint!”

Another customer walked in, and Jenny went to help them. Jamie stepped aside and Claire came to stand next to him. He wanted to reach out and take her hand, but he worried it would be too soon. There was something about her, some magnetism that drew him to her.

“Before we were interrupted,” Jamie said. “I asked if ye wanted to go on a picnic wi’ me. Would ye like to do that, Sassenach?”

“Sassenach,” Claire said the unfamiliar word, no doubt recalling the first time he had said it to her. “Well, seeing as I would much rather be out on a picnic than pushing shelves around, yes. I’d love to.”

“Och, I’m glad!” Jamie grinned. “I’ll need a bit of time to prepare some food for us, so why don’t I come by yer wee shop in an hour and we can leave from there?”

“Me and my stomach will be happily waiting,” Claire laughed. “Oh! Could you maybe pack a few of those delicious croissants? I had one yesterday, and I’ve been dreaming about it ever since.”

“Aye, of course, Sassenach,” Jamie smiled.

++++++

Claire was grateful for the distraction in the form of Jamie Fraser. If she was honest with herself, she would have been distracted by him no matter if he had asked her on a picnic or not. Ever since their first meeting yesterday morning, he hadn’t left her thoughts. She had never been in love before, or at least she thought at one point she was, but the man turned out to be a bit of a scoundrel.

There was hardly any time for love during the war. When all she had time to think about was the patient stretched out before her in pain. Claire had spent very little time thinking about herself and so making the move to Scotland was one of the first decisions she made for herself in years.

Jamie said an hour. So this gave Claire an hour to make herself look more presentable. When she reached her shop, she leaned the bike against the wall out back and dashed inside. Her belongings were few, but she wanted to look nice for the afternoon.

She found her favorite blue cotton dress and changed into it. The weather outside was lovely, especially for Scotland, but she grabbed a light sweater just in case. The town excited her, and she would be glad for a chance to see more of it, and for Jamie to be the one to show her it. For someone who had only moved into town two days ago, Claire felt she was doing quite well.

Glancing at her watch, she saw she still had a bit of time before Jamie arrived. With nothing else to do to occupy her mind, she went downstairs into the shop and busied herself with small tasks.

What had to be thirty minutes later, a knock came from the door. Claire looked up to see a tall shadow in the doorway and smiled. Jamie stood on the other side, a large basket hooked on his arm and a small bouquet of flowers in his other hand.

“For ye,” he smiled, handing them to her.

“I’m the gardener, shouldn’t I be giving you flowers?” Claire laughed, but took them happily, leaving the door open for him to follow. “They’re lovely.”

“Och, well I picked them as I walked,” Jamie smiled shyly and set the basket down at his feet. “I thought ye might like to see what the town has to offer in way of greenery.”

“Thank you,” Claire grinned and sniffed the assortment of flowers. “I’ll just put them in a vase and we can go.”

She walked to the back of the shop and grabbed the right size vase before putting a small amount of water in it from the sink. The flowers fit perfectly and as she placed the vase on the counter, they brightened up the room.

“They look good in here,” Jamie smiled. “I expect this place will look beautiful once tis ready.”

“I hope it will,” Claire sighed, her hands resting casually on her hips as she surveyed her shop. It was daunting, to see it bare, but also exciting and she knew she could bring life to it. “Would you like to come out back and see the greenhouse? It was the main reason that I picked this place.”

“Aye,” Jamie smiled and followed her through the back.

It was a decent sized greenhouse, with only two broken window panes that could be easily fixed. Claire assumed that someone had previously had a sort of gardening shop here at one point. When she asked around for a space with a greenhouse, she had never imagined to find one with everything she needed.

“I’ll have every herb you can imagine,” Claire pointed out to Jamie as he walked beside her. “Ones for eating or for medicinal purposes. Then of course, I’ll have all sorts of flowers from roses to hydrangeas. I would love to grow some forget-me-nots as well if I can get a hold of some seeds.”

When Claire looked at Jamie, he was looking at her with a funny expression on his face, and Claire felt self-conscious. She reached up to her face, wiping at her cheeks, wondering if she had something on her face.

“What are you looking at?” She asked.

“Och,” Jamie shook his head, as if he had been in a trance and hadn’t realized it. “I just like hearin’ ye talk about yer wee plants. Tis no’ often ye get to talk wi’ someone wi’ such a passion for things.”

“I could say the same about you and your bakery,” Claire said. “You do love it, don’t you?”

“I do,” Jamie nodded. “I’ve been around it my whole life.”

Claire wondered then what it must feel like to grow up in the same village where one was born. She had only vague memories of her parents — they died when she was only five years old, and for the rest of her life until she was eighteen, she lived with her Uncle Lamb traveling all around the world. Meanwhile, Jamie had been born and raised in the same city, he probably had memories of walking through the village as a boy.

“Do you live near here?” Claire asked.

“Aye, my sister and I live just a short walk from here wi’ our mam,” Jamie said and a sadness came over his face. Claire took a step closer to him, reaching out instinctively and touching his arm.

“My Da passed just a few years ago,” Jamie said, confirming what Claire had wondered previously. “The shop was his, and I took it over after he was gone. I suppose tis why I feel so passionately about it — because he did.”

“I think that’s a wonderful thing to do for your father,” Claire squeezed his arm.

They both stood there quietly for a few moments before Jamie drew in his breath. “Shall we go? I ken I’m famished and I reckon ye are too.”

“Let’s,” Claire grinned.

Claire let him take the lead, as she clearly had no idea where she was going. He offered her his arm which she took and together they started walking down the street. There were a few people out and about, but it was quiet and peaceful.

“Ye said ye moved from London?” Jamie asked.

“Yes, I did. I lived there before the war and then I volunteered as a nurse and spent the next several years in France,” Claire said.

“Och, I went to university in Paris,” Jamie said, shocking Claire.

“Really?” Claire squeezed his arm. “But I thought you said you had always lived here?”

“I was born and raised here, aye, tis true,” Jamie nodded, seemingly pleased to have shocked her. “I studied there for three years, but sadly I didna finish my studies. I received a letter from my mam… about my Da.”

“Oh, Jamie,” Claire gasped softly.

“He had fallen ill, ye ken,” he said sadly as they walked over a small hill. “So, my mam suggested that I come home to say goodbye, only that he hung on for a bit longer than we all expected. And when he passed, there was a lot to figure out wi’ the shop. We would have had to give it up had I no’ taken it over.”

“What were you studying at school then?”

“I wanted to be a teacher,” Jamie smiled wistfully, glancing down at Claire. “Does that surprise ye?”

“Well, I don’t know much about you,” Claire smiled. “I suppose anything would surprise me at this point.”

“I planned on coming back here or maybe going to Edinburgh and teachin’, but I never finished my studies,” he shrugged. “But I suppose it all worked itself out. I love the bakery and my Da loved it as well. I can feel him there sometimes if that doesna sound too silly.”

“Not at all,” Claire felt her throat closing.

“Ah, there it is,” Jamie pointed out in front of him to a wide open grassy area. Claire had been so captivated by Jamie’s story that she hadn’t been paying any attention to her surroundings. They had been walking alongside the road that led out of the village and were now looking out at a great wide open glen with mountains surrounding them.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!” Claire exclaimed, her hand flying to her chest. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in all my life.”

“Neither have I,” Jamie grinned, but he wasn’t looking out at the glen. “Shall we sit?”

“Oh, I should have brought a blanket of some sort,” Claire cursed herself.

“Dinna fash, Sassenach,” Jamie said proudly and reached into the basket he had brought along. “I’ve thought of everythin’.”

He pulled out a deep red tartan plaid and flung it out in front of him, letting the wind unfold it as he placed it down on the grass. They both took a seat, and began to take things out of the basket.

“My goodness,” Claire said with wide eyes. “This basket must weigh a ton! How did you manage carrying it all this way?”

“Kneading dough is good for the muscles,” Jamie smirked and Claire shamelessly let her eyes drift over his body. It was true, he was very fit and this wasn’t the first time Claire had thought so.

“I didna ken exactly what ye might like so I just brought all the fixings for a sandwich. Plus those wee croissants ye like so much,” Jamie smiled.

“It all looks so delicious,” Claire licked her lips and felt her stomach growl at the spread before her. “I do have to thank you, Jamie. For being so kind to me — a stranger.”

“Well, yer no’ a stranger anymore,” Jamie smiled and laid his hand gently over her knee. There was a buzz of electricity in the air as he touched her.

“I’m starving,” Claire blushed and Jamie moved his hand, coughing to clear his throat. They fixed their sandwiches and Claire embarrassingly moaned as she took the first bite — it was heavenly.

“This bread is absolutely delectable,” Claire wiped her lips with the back of her hand. “Compliments to the chef.”

“I will let him know ye are verra pleased,” Jamie laughed. “Ye know, I could teach ye one day to make yer own bread. Tis no’ verra hard once ye learn it.”

“Really?” Claire asked. “But then if I made my own bread, I wouldn’t need to come round to the bakery anymore.”

Claire bit the inside of her cheek, wondering why on earth she had said that out loud. She had known this man for all of two days and here she was, admitting she had only come to his shop to see him.

“Well,” Jamie coughed, the tips of his ears turning a bright pink. “Perhaps I shouldna teach ye then if that’s how it’s goin’ to be.”

Claire took another bite of her sandwich to stop more words coming out of her mouth.

“I said I’d teach ye how to make one type of bread,” Jamie said thoughtfully. “There’s still more things at the bakery ye’d come by for… like these croissants.” He held up one and took a bite out of it.

Claire reached for it, but he pulled it back, laughing. Abandoning her own sandwich, Claire lunged for the croissant again and Jamie moved his hand high into the air.

“Give me it!” Claire laughed and reached up, but lost her balance, tumbling on top of Jamie. She lay there in a fit of giggles on his chest. He brought the croissant in between them, and Claire held Jamie’s gaze as she took a bite out of it.

“Delicious,” she said with a mouthful. One of Jamie’s hands settled on her waist and she has the urge to push the croissant away and kiss him, but she didn’t want to come on too strong.

All of a sudden, Jamie’s face turned red and he was pushing her off him. He crossed his legs awkwardly and then it dawned on her. She had just been lying on top of his body, chewing on one of his own baked goods. Claire didn’t want to assume Jamie had caught feelings for her, but the deep crimson of his cheeks and position of his body just now told her otherwise.

“Sorry,” Jamie coughed.

“Don’t apologize,” Claire smiled softly and tried not to laugh. There was a reason why this blue dress was her favorite. “I think I’ll take you up on that offer. For you to show me how to make my own bread.”

“Really?” Jamie grinned, his body already relaxing. “That’ll be great! And then maybe ye’ll let me come and help ye wi’ yer shop. Surely ye canna fix it up all on yer own?”

“Actually,” Claire mused. “I would be grateful for your help with the heavier things. And I have a bit of painting that I would like to do on the outside of the building.”

“I’ll help wi’ anythin’ ye need, Sassenach,” Jamie grinned. “Anything at all.”

Claire put her remnants of her sandwich back in the basket and then lay down on the plaid. “Do you mind if we stay out here a while longer? It’s such a lovely day.”

“I dinna mind,” Jamie said, laying down next to her.

A light breeze drifted past them, and Claire let her eyes shut as she took a deep breath of fresh air. She was all too aware of Jamie’s presence next to her — his body radiating heat in every direction. With her eyes still closed, she felt his hand move next to hers and then his pinky finger nudged hers.

With a burst of joy, Claire moved her own little finger and wrapped it around his, feeling hopeful for the first time in many years.

[wildwarcat]

Flashing Lights (AU!Pietro Maximoff x F!Reader)

100 Word Prompt Challenge Day 10: Rich

Day 9: Poor

Masterlist Link

Summary: Pietro survived the Battle of Sokovia and became an Avenger along with his sister. Following the battle, Tony throws a charity gala to raise money for relief, and he expects you to bring a date. 

Never in a million years would you have pictured yourself dressed to the nines the way you were. Yet here you were, on the carpet heading toward Tony’s Sokovia Relief Charity Gala, dressed in a beautiful midnight blue gown that fit your form perfectly. In your hands you held a small silver clutch that matched the diamonds that adorned your neck and hung from your ears. 

As cameras flashed and reporters called your name, you sent a brilliant white smile their way, your y/e/c eyes sparkling bright as you made your way inside. Once you were there, you were greeted by Steve, dressed in a custom-tailored tux that Tony insisted he buy every guy. 

“You look like your about to hang yourself with your bowtie.” You laughed, straightening the black tie a bit. 

“If Tony doesn’t show up soon, I might.” He confessed, looking around for the host of the gala. 

“You know him, Steve. He’s a fan of being fashionably late.” You reminded him. 

“You always know what to say, Y/N. Go dance, have a drink. Impress the big wigs.” He said, spotting Natasha and Clint over your shoulder and making his way over to them. 

You began to make your way into the ballroom, grabbing a flute of champagne from a passing waiter as you progressed further into the room. By the time you made it to the bar, the flute was empty and you asked for a glass of water from the bartender, not wanting to make a complete fool of yourself. 

“You look like you don’t want to be here.” A heavily accented voice said behind you. You turned around to see Pietro Maximoff, one of the newest additions to the team standing there in a tux, his face freshly shaven, his hair neatly trimmed. 

“And you look like a Sokovian Ken doll.” You quipped, “Seriously, you need to relax.”

“You can’t blame me for being uncomfortable.” He told you, “I’ve never been surrounded by so many rich people.”

“Well then,” You smiled, setting your glass down and grabbing his hand, “Allow me to show you the ropes of high society parties.” 

You led Pietro onto the dance floor, amongst the sea of corporate heads and trophy wives, and came to a stop in the center of the room. 

“You do know how to waltz, right?” You asked him, turning around to set your hand on his shoulder. 

He nodded, setting his own hand on your waist, “My father taught me when I was a boy.”  

“Then you already know about half of what you need to know for these parties.” You smiled as he began to lead you around the floor elegantly. 

“Well, it certainly helps to have a beautiful partner to dance with.” Pietro smiled gently, his blue eyes locked on you. You turned your head away, trying to hide the blush that had crept on to your cheeks. 

He chuckled at your discomfort and tugged you a bit closer as the string quartet continued to play. 

“There she is!” You heard Tony call out from across the floor. You groaned, setting your forehead on Pietro’s shoulder. 

“Step aside, Vladimir, I need a minute with Y/N.” Stark pushed Pietro aside, taking up his position without any hesitation. The younger Avenger glared at him, but you gave him an apologetic look that made his gaze soften. 

“I’ll find you later.” You promised him. He reluctantly nodded and went off to find his sister, leaving you and Tony alone. Your soft gaze turned to a hardened glare as Tony began to lead you around the dance floor. 

“So you’re into Speed Racer now?” He asked you quietly. 

“Maybe... what’s it to you?” You snarled. 

Tony shrugged, “Y/N, you’ve spent the past few years lonely and miserable. Seems like it’s about time you found someone that made you happy.”

Your glare melted away and a smile formed on your face. You wrapped your arms around Tony’s neck and gave him a tight embrace. 

“Thanks, Tony.” 

“Sure thing, kid.” He smirked, releasing you and pointing in the direction that Pietro had gone off in, “Now get your boy toy.”  

[starcrossedimbecile]

Femboy Hooters

The imagine(?) is finally here! It's slightly male x male, and it involves some of my original characters (OCs)! It's also a crackfic (though taken somewhat seriously), but I hope you enjoy!

. ˚◞♡ 🎐 *ೃ༄

I laid in bed staring at the ceiling. Today I was supposed to be starting my first day at work at Femboy Hooters. It was a new joint that just opened up not far from where I lived, and it was honestly the stupidest shit I've ever heard. And yet Baba somehow managed to talk me into applying for a job there. He wouldn't stop talking about it, saying how amazing it was and that "I should TOTALLY get a job there."

I hesitated at first, but I eventually caved in. I applied for a job, went to the interview, and they pretty much hired me on the spot. They told me that I was "perfect" for the job. As much as I hate to admit it, it was actually a pretty good ego boost hearing that in spite of my overall opinion on Femboy Hooters. And besides, I've gotta earn money somehow.

As I laid in bed doing absolutely nothing, my phone buzzed. I lazily picked it up and stared into its almost mesmerizing glowing screen. It was a text from Anzu.

Bitch-ass Springtail mofo🌚: Hey Ken, I heard you got a job at Femboy Hooters.

How the hell did he know about... that? Oh, Baba probably told him. The little bitch doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut.

You: Yeah, I'm supposed to be starting today. I've gotta leave in a few minutes.

Bitch-ass Springtail mofo🌚: I see. Well, I'll see you there, I guess?

Damn, Anzu sure is quick to reply. Wait, what does he mean by that?

You: What?

Bitch-ass Springtail mofo🌚: Uh... You'll see. And when you do, PLEASE don't laugh. Already got enough of that from Rei.

You: Um... Okay? Well, I've gotta go now. If I don't, I'll be late.

Bitch-ass Springtail mofo🌚: Alright. See you there.

I turn off my phone and stuff it in my pocket. I put on my shoes and toss on a generic black jacket over my generic t-shirt and walk out the door. I get in my car and set my phone's GPS to the Femboy Hooter's location and drive off.

━━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━━

I arrive at the Femboy Hooters, which looks like every other Hooters with the word "Femboy" slapped onto it. I assumed it must be some new chain Hooters decided to open, as if the original wasn't doing well enough (albeit not because of the food).

I exit my car and lock it with a sigh, walking up to the building before being stopped by a guy standing at the door. Wait, they have bouncers? I thought this was some low-class restaurant, not a fucking club.

"Excuse me," the guy spoke. "We don't open for another-- wait, are you Kendric?"

"Yes, I am. And..." I let out an audible gulp, swallowing my hesitation. "I... work here."

"Oh! You're the new guy, right?! Right this way~."

Suddenly, the guy took me by the hand and led me inside, where I was soon met by a guy who was a bit taller than I was. He wore professional-looking clothes, but dressed in a way you'd probably expect a woman desperate for head to wear them. Uh, to put it simply, he dressed somewhat like a woman. And in all honesty, I was pretty fucking intimidated by him. I mean... from the looks of it, he might be the goddamn manager of this place! I definitely don't wanna get on his bad side.

"Ah, you must be Kendric!" He spoke in a slightly feminine tone, which threw me off-guard. "Welcome to Femboy Hooters. I'm Aiden, and I'm the manager here. It's a pleasure to meet you."

He extended an arm for a handshake, and I shakily accepted it, trembling in my own skin for some reason. "I-It's nice to meet you, too, Aiden..." I spoke, but my voice cracked like a little bitch.

"Oh, there's no need to be nervous. It'll take some time, but you'll get used to everything here soon enough," he reassured me, which helped me to relax a bit.

Aiden then handed me a bundle of clothes, which I immediately recognized as the uniform I was supposed to wear. "Here's your clothes. You're going to be a waiter here. You can change into these in the employee bathroom."

"Um... Thank you, sir. Err..."

"Sir is fine."

"Right... Thank you."

After that, I headed to the bathroom to get changed, entering an empty stall and locking it thereafter. I stripped out of my clothes and into the uniform, which immediately made me feel embarrassed as fuck. The "uniform" was a small revealing(?) white tank top with the Femboy Hooters logo on it coupled by a pair of tight, orange booty shorts that I swear to god revealed the bulge of my dick.

I can't believe Baba talked me into this. I think I'm gonna commit toaster bath. Or maybe step on a lego and die.

...Eh, I guess if the other employees will be wearing this, then I guess it's not that bad. I'm probably just being overcritical.

Letting out a deep sigh, I exit the bathroom. I happened to notice a few of the other employees (who looked oddly familiar) and decide to see what they were up to. Sure enough, some of these employees were people I knew, but the one that really caught my attention was the small winter springtail standing at the bar—Anzu.

Anzu was wearing the same uniform as, well, everyone else, and I almost burst into laughter. I know I had no place to laugh at him, but he looked so ridiculous in it! There was no way I could look at him without desperately trying to stifle my laughter.

"God dammit, you said you wouldn't laugh!" Anzu shot a glare at me as he spoke, his small insect arms making their way to his hips.

"A-Actually, I didn't," I responded through stifled laughter.

He rolled his eyes. "Whatever. You're wearing the same thing, too, you know."

"I... I know, but..." I took a deep breath in attempt to get myself to calm down. "It's just... You're so tiny! And it just... You look hilarious."

"What does being small have to do with anything?!"

At this point, Anzu seemed pissed, which told me that I should probably back off. It wasn't until Junpei walked over to us and tried to calm us down, her bug antennae bobbing as she did. She had the body of a human male, just like me, but had antennae extending out of her head. It's kind of like what you'd see in a kitsune or okami, where their animal ears stick out of their head, if you know what I mean.

"Come now, is it really necessary to fight? I'm sure Kendric didn't mean to laugh at you."

"What?! I... He... Err... I guess you have a point."

"Very good. And Kendric, apologize to Anzu for making fun of him."

As much as I didn't want to apologize, I knew that that was the only thing I could do in this situation. So reluctantly...

"I...I'm sorry, Anzu, for making fun of you..."

"Alright, I suppose I can't stay mad at you. I forgive you," Anzu replies.

That went surprisingly well.

After that incident, a large, muscular ant-like creature walked over to us. "Alright, they're about to open up this place!" he shouted. "So get busy! I'll be in the kitchen if any of you need help."

"Ah, well, I guess we'd better get to work. Take care!" Junpei waved to us, then left. I watched her walk away before I felt a cold hand resting on my shoulder, causing me to jump.

"Ack! Hey, get your hands off of--" I was about to turn around and roundhouse kick the owner of the hand before I locked gazes with the ant. He looked big looking at him from a distance, but now he was practically towering over me. Holy shit.

"There's no need to be alarmed. You're the new kid, right?"

"U-Um... Yeah." I gulped as I spoke.

"It's nice to meet you. I'm Alexei, one of the chefs here."

"K-Kendric. I'm Kendric."

"I see. Well, don't get discouraged during your first few days working here. You'll eventually get used to it."

"Ah... Thank you." As soon as I'd said that, Alexei nodded and began walking over to the kitchen and entering. I sighed as I turned to the sound of one of the main doors opening and closing in the distance. Oh, it's a customer.

Shaking off my anxiousness, I approached the customer as they took a seat. The customer was a man around my age who had dark purple hair with a small tuft of white highlights around his right ear. The clothes he wore were almost classy, as though he was a businessman of sorts. If he's that professional, assuming he is, then what the fuck is he doing at a place like this?

Anyway, before I could take the time to think of a response, his indigo eyes met my topaz ones and began to speak.

"Ah, hello there. Come to take my order?"

Holy fuck. Holy fuck. Was this guy seriously talking to me? I mentally panicked. I was never good at talking to people. I have no idea what to say! Frantically, my gaze darted around the room. I happened upon Junpei, who was also taking an order. She was talking to them in such a strange manner, but perhaps...

I turned to the man and began to speak.

"Hello! Welcome to Femboy Hooters~!✨ How may I help you today~?"

He simply chuckled. "Aha, someone seems awfully happy today. I'd just like a Pepsi and a grilled cheese."

I flustered a bit at his response, but took his order nonetheless. "Wonderful! Will that be all~?"

"Hmm... Yep. That's it. Unless..."

"U-Unless...?" What the fuck? What was that about? A hypothesis came to mind, causing me to fluster a bit more... before he laughed again.

"Nah, I'm just teasing. But that's about it for my order."

I let out a relieved sigh and nodded. "Very well. Your order will arrive shortly~!✨"

After that, I made my way towards the kitchen area to give the chefs the order. In all my life, I'd never expected for something that... strange... to happen. And Junpei wasn't making anything better, either.

"Hey Ken, were you about to get some head over there?" she asked in the worst teasing tone imaginable.

"Ugh, Junpei, you're being fucking ridiculous." I will admit, though, he did seem a bit attractive. Dunno if he's straight though.

Junpei laughed at my response. "Whatever you say."

I sent her an annoyed glare as she walked away, but recovered quickly. Before I knew it, the chefs had finished the man's order and handed his dish and Pepsi to me through the window. I carefully took it and made my way to him.

"Here you go! A grilled cheese and Pepsi, just like you ordered~!✨"

"That was fast. Thanks, sweetheart."

Sweetheart? Holy shit, he was definitely flirting with me. At this point, I couldn't help but blush at his statement.

"Ah, there's no need to feel shy. I'm Dmitri Ashford, by the way. I'll definitely be coming here more often."

Somehow, just hearing his voice made me calm down a bit. Feeling my embarrassment wash away, I began to speak. "I-I'm Kendric. It's nice to meet you."

"A pleasure to meet you, too, Kendric. Perhaps I'll be seeing you tomorrow?"

"Y-Yeah... I'd like that."

"Wonderful. Well, I guess I shouldn't be holding you up. I suppose you have more customers to attend to."

"Yeah. Well... I'll see you later, then!"

"Without a doubt."

We waved before I departed. In the distance, I could make out Junpei's faint chuckles. God fucking dammit.

I guess I'll be looking forward to working here every day after that encounter.

[tastyliltina]

SnackInc 1/?

A/n:  This has been sitting in my drafts for a while and I've been meaning to post it...kind of a worldbuilding thing I made back when Fern was still a newer character of mine.  Not really sure if I'll continue it or not, but the basic premise is that Fern works at a corporation that commissions humans out to be used as snacks for more feral giants/predatory creatures.  This keeps random attacks on humans down and helps settle cravings the giants might have.  Fern's a pretty well known snack but fell on hard times and had to resort to more shady deals outside of the corporation.   So...yeah, have a worldbuilding thing ;;w;; If you enjoyed and want a story for yourself, feel free to inquire about commissions!:  tinascommissions.carrd.co/ All stories are on sale 50% off until Dec. 10th!   Now, onto the story! ~~ Fern stumbled through the street, clutching his wad of cash. Thick, warm liquid slimed his clothes as he moved away from his client. The giant looming behind him chuckled, and Fern turned to face the beast.

“Look, man…” Fern sighed, trying to brush back his hair. “Keep this quiet, alright?  Don’t want it getting around I’m offering this...service to random giants on the street.” He thumbed through the payment, ensuring the bills were all there. Once he was sure, he glanced back up to the grinning giant.

Pearly peaks of white shimmered in the moonlight. Something about fangs in the dark was much more terrifying. Still, Fern held his ground.

“Heh. Whatever you say, morsel~.” A tongue traced over smiling lips, and Fern rolled his eyes.

“If that’s your best compliment, I’d hate to see an insult,” he muttered. The giant scoffed, but straightened. Deals like this weren’t appreciated among watchful eyes. Departures needed to be discreet.

Fern sighed. He watched his client stalk away, and tried to grasp what little pride he had left. The fact the ground shook with every step the giant took did little to help. Being treated like food for a quick cash grab...how humiliating. Still...money was nice. And with more wealthy clientele, maybe working in the food industry wasn’t so bad. Turning, Fern descended into the dim alley. He shivered as the drool clinging to him reacted with the wind…. Getting home would be hell.

Slowly, he traversed the desolate streets. Runoff from a recent storm splashed beneath his feet, though hardly drew Fern from his thoughts. With the money he’d gotten from tonight, he’d almost be able to pay off rent. If he did that, maybe he could find some more high-end clients. Spending night after night in another mouth, in another reckless giant was getting old. Most of the bastards didn’t use mints... Others liked to bite.  At least through SnackInc, he got the clinets that cared about their treats a little more...he missed the days of pampering.  

But damn, having extra cash felt so, so good. Fancier outfits and attending clubs where the high-end clients frequencted wasn't cheap.  The reassurance dinners would be easy was well worth a few showers, he supposed. As long as rates didn’t spike, maybe there’d be enough for something hardy. A soup, or...maybe just burgers. Either sounded fine, as long as it wasn't a steaming bowl of ramen.

Soon enough, Fern found his apartment. The building was silent as Fern ascended the stairs. He supposed that made sense at this time of night. Just as he slid his hand into his pocket, Fern heard a rustling behind him. He stiffened. Giants and humans alike knew not to visit the others' living quarters, especially this late at night. It wasn’t worth the jail time or the fees. Some, though…

“Easy, pal.”

The voice was calm. Casual. Fern blinked. He turned, and was met with a pair of golden eyes. The rings of yellow peered down at him, squinting in the dark. Fern didn’t miss the reptilian features on the creature before him, and felt part of his blood run cold. Reptiles were the worst for rando attacks.

“What.” Fern snipped. His tone wasn’t aggressive enough. Fern didn’t care. He didn’t want to be yelling at a giant he didn’t know, especially one that knew where he lived.

“Said easy, man,” the giant continued. He was small, green-skinned and husky. Scales patched across his face, and a black sweater draped the giant’s torso. Unlike Fern, he appeared calm and collected.  “Not gonna try anything. Just wanted to know where the nearest gas station was.”

Fern raised a brow. Oh.  Though he didn't know if he trusted that answer or not, Fern could take it.  He lifted a hand, pointing south. “‘Bout five miles that way. You can’t miss it.” The giant followed his gesture, squinting again. Then, he nodded.

“Cool, thanks.” Instead of leaving, or moving at all, the giant remained seated. Fern furrowed his brow.

“Well...okay. I’m-I’ll be going,” he mumbled. The giant nodded, not seeming intent on leaving. Fern felt something twist his stomach as he stepped into his place. That had been...unnerving, almost as much as approaching random giants to get them to eat him.

Slowly, Fern stepped into his living room. He flicked on the light, and was greeted with the familiar sight of...mediocrity. Beige walls, a beige couch, dirty carpet. Even the flickering light emulated half-assed effort. But, this was home. For now. Fern stretched, sighed, and made sure to lock his door behind him.

He sauntered down the hall, the thought of a shower making everything a little less horrid. Clean clothes, a clean bed… Even with the uncleanable stains of previous occupants on the mattress, sleep sounded so wonderful right now. Fern stepped into his bathroom. He stripped, tossed his clothes aside, and turned on the shower. God, hot water felt good.

Several minutes and layers of body scrub later, Fern scooped his soiled laundry up. His nose wrinkled at the stench of unmasked slobber. He tossed the clothes in the washer, ran a hand through his hair, and returned down the hall. The bed creaked as he collapsed into it, the scent of occupants past filling the air. Fern didn’t care. By the time the smells registered, he was already asleep.

~~

Fern woke up to the sound of his alarm. He groaned. Another day, another customer to please. Sitting up, he snatched the offending device from his nightstand. Who was on the calendar today…

Wait. Fern’s eyes scanned over his clientele list. There was a new face among the regulars... Green skin, yellow eyes, red Mohawk...damn. It was the giant from the other night. Fern grimaced, setting his phone down and rubbing at his face with a sigh, taking a moment to collect himself.

Normally, the ones that approached Fern outside of business were scouting for fresh meat after some kind of falling out. They were the ones that made this job hard. Fern stood, looking over his calendar. For today, at least, there weren’t any taken slots. He had that much. Maybe he could do some cleaning? Cleaning sounded great.

He stood. No point planning the day without getting it started, he supposed. Fern stretched, sighed, and ambled down the hallway. He scouted the kitchen for food, and settled on some bacon and eggs.  There was always a sense of pride that came with making his own food. Fern stepped up to his stove, twisting the stove knobs.  

Soon enough, a steaming pile of eggs and bacon littered a paper plate.  Fern grabbed some silverware, once again checking his schedule for today.  Nothing new. He rubbed his chin, opening the file of his newest client. As expected, there wasn’t much available.  Most clients went by a first name basis, and the majority didn’t include any other information but a phone number and place to reach them.  Fern wasn’t sure how the new guy found out about what he offered, but decided to shrug it off.  

Breakfast was quick.  Fern took his time cleaning his plates, wishing he didn’t have to go out to the store today.  But, one couldn’t get by without dish soap and food. Fern was too much of a neat freak to live a day without one, and food wasn’t a necessity when some clients bought him dinner before having him for dessert.  He trudged down to his bedroom, throwing on a simple sweatshirt and jeans.  

Fern slid out of his apartment, slipping his hands into his pockets.  The jingle of keys signified him locking his door before he peeled away from the familiarity of home.  Human-sized creatures traversed the narrow sidewalks, hustling and bustling to and fro. Fern didn’t miss the stares of those passing him.  Word got around. Some people looked to him with admiration, being able to take on such an important, and yet demeaning task. Others scowled at him, and some took things to a physical level.  Fern ignored those that bumped into him without saying anything, reserving his battles for those that had the guts to say something and make a scene.  

Walking to the market never took too long, one of the perks of living in a small town.  The building smelled like cinnamon, a warming reminder of the chilly air outside. Fern slid in with a small crowd.  He headed for the cleaning section first, rubbing his hands together as he searched the shelves for his usual dish soap.  

“Hey.”

The voice snapped Fern to attention.  He blinked, turned, and smiled at the familiar face behind him.  Kenny stood with her hands in her pockets, oversized sweatshirt complimenting her ripped up jeans.  Fern relaxed. It was nice seeing a familiar face, even if it was of a cranky and potentially crazy bitch.  

“Hey, Ken.”  Fern nodded. He took pride in the ability to shorten her nickname without getting shanked.  Kenny stepped up next to him, sliding her hands to her hips. Unlike Fern, Kenny had a more vanilla career.  She was a well-renowned tattoo artist. Fern’d debated going to her for a few years, but didn’t know if their history justified her making a few creative decisions while he was under her needle.  

“What brings you to market?  Finally decide to crawl out of your slimy cave?”  Kenny’s voice lowered. While she wasn’t a friend per se, Kenny was one of the few people Fern opened up to about his career choice.  She’d never given him a hard time about it. If anything, she almost seemed in awe...or disgust, it was really hard to tell as far as Kenny was concerned.  

“Ran out of soap,” Fern shrugged.  “Can’t go without it,” he paused to pluck a bottle from the shelf.  “Got a new client today. Some giant approached me after a rough one last night…  Had to scrub myself for hours, the guy had way too many drinks before he gave me a call.  Starting to think he ate me on a dare, y’know?” “Shit man,” Kenny shook her head, somehow without disturbing her loose bun.  “I still don’t get how you deal with those assholes day in and out. Doesn’t it get...I dunno, gross after a while?”

“It does get gross, but really...someone’s gotta do it.  If not me with all the magical guards in place, then it’d be someone else, or no one at all.  And we know how big folk can get if they don’t get their...fix.” Fern tried to hide the bitterness in his tone, but he could still feel it in his voice.  Anyone who didn’t live under a rock knew how bad things got before the Snack business stepped in. Disappearances, random attacks on towns… Even if it wasn’t a well-liked profession, it was an important one in order to keep the peace among different species.  “But, there’s perks,” a crooked smile plastered Fern’s face. “Don’t gotta worry about a giant trying to mess me up, y’know? I’m...valuable.”

Kenny scoffed, “Valuable my ass,” she shook her head and sighed.  “But yeah, you gotta point. Still...”

“Don’t you go worrying about me,” Fern laughed.  “You’ve got a badass persona to keep, y’know?” He yelped as Kenny’s hand whacked the back of his head, but snickered at the fuming woman.  She crossed her arms and sneered at him.

“Oh, shove it up yours.”

“Sorry, only know how to go down, I’m not into that-” “Fern I swear to God if I didn’t like you I’d shove my foot so far-...you know what, fuck it.”  Kenny grabbed the back of Fern’s sweater, and the next thing he knew, he was flat on his back. A dull ache spread along his back and head, and he groaned.  

“Nice...seeing you, Ken…” Fern mumbled as he pushed himself up.  As usual, Kenny’d vanished into the crowd. Fern expected as much.  Kenny never liked being forced to admit she had other emotions besides anger and rage...Fern liked to tease it out of her when he could, even if the result was almost always the same.  Rubbing his head, Fern grabbed the soap from the shelf and headed towards checkout with a chuckle.  

[hostingdynamics]

How domain registration and website hosting Work

How domain registration and website hosting Work

Hstariq

Just now·9 min read

what’s up everyone

in the last 10 years I’ve built almost

70 websites and haven’t gone through the

analytics they’ve been seen by close to

1 million people which is pretty

mind-blowing all of those website

projects were unique however the core

elements of how to set up a website

remain the same every single time this

article is for the beginners out there

that want to build our first website and

are confused by all the tech jargon that

goes along with that process if that

sounds like you stick around because

we’re gonna go through the basics of how

domain registration and website hosting

work and then we’ll discuss what the

various web hosting package types mean

and the pros and cons of each and

hopefully by the end you’ll have a

better understanding of how to choose

the right one for your situation so

let’s start with how websites work and I

created a real simple graphic here to go

over the process of domain registration

and website hosting for this example I

picked some of the big companies out

there Bluehost.com godaddy.com and Hostgator calm I

use all of them personally and bluehost

is most popular for domains but all of

these companies generally offer all

services so bluehost has hosting domains

website builders and Hostgator does the

same exact thing I have had a good

experience with bluehost hosting which is

why I’ve stayed with them from

hosting perspective but I’ve had no

problems with them for a domain

registration so when you register your

domain with bluehost you’re gonna get

access to these DNS settings for each

domain that you register and then when

you sign up with a hosting company like

Bluehost or Hostgator they’re gonna send you their

DNS servers so you sign up with your

bluehost account and they’re gonna send

you likely to DNS servers all you have

to do is go into your bluehost settings

and plug in your bluehost dns servers

that’s literally all you need to get set

up with your website and the DNS server

its function is to translate your domain

into an IP address so all it does is

when you as the visitor go to a website

you know you open up your browser and

type in a domain name it’s going to send

that domain name.

to a DNS server where it maps it to the

IP address of your web host and that’s

where it gets all the files from so

that’s how the website is downloaded so

hopefully that wasn’t too confusing for

you and I hope that this graphic is

simple enough to understand but really

all you need to remember is that when

you register your domain wherever you

register the domain you should have

access to DNS settings and whatever you

put within those DNS settings that’s

going to define where your website is

hosted now before we go into the hosting

packages we have to figure out what your

goal is you might be one to do one of

many things so the first questions that

you’re gonna want to ask yourself are do

you want to create one website only or

if we project into the future

are you planning to build multiple

websites and as multiple websites mean

two or three or does it mean maybe 10 or

20 and then you have to think about the

software that you’re gonna use to build

the website are you building from

scratch with HTML do you want to use a

content management system like WordPress

are you just going to use templates or a

builder offered by the web hosting

company like bluehost or GoDaddy or are

you planning on doing custom development

and maybe even code with a higher-level

language like PHP or JavaScript and last

but not least consider the traffic of

the website so if you’re just starting

out a website it’s not gonna have high

traffic it’s gonna take a while to build

up the traffic and then even for

established websites they might be low

traffic if they’re local and then on the

other end of the spectrum you might have

a global oriented website based around a

hobby or a general interest that applies

to people worldwide and in those cases

once you get to a point of high traffic

your web hosting options are gonna

change and I have to point this out

you’ll see a lot of people that leave

bad reviews for cheaper web hosting

companies there are people that don’t

consider the beginners experience you

know you can always upgrade there’s

nothing wrong with starting with a

cheaper package and upgrading down the

road when you start getting more traffic

so let’s look at the options that are

going to be available to you on the

majority of web hosting companies across

the Internet

more than likely you’re gonna be

choosing from one of these types of

packages shared hosting reseller hosting

a virtual private server dedicated

hosting cloud hosting and managed

WordPress hosting the first one is

shared hosting and this is the cheapest

the quickest and the easiest to get

started you’re gonna see really great

deals for shared hosting packages and

this is really dominated by the big

companies I mean that’s really how all

markets are anything cheap is gonna be

dominated by big companies and anything

that’s really expensive is by small

companies that offer a high end customer

service experience with that said the

main Conda shared hosting is that as the

name suggests you’re gonna be sharing

your hosting package with a lot of other

websites depending on you know who your

neighbors are that might mean that your

website is gonna load slower now what

that said I think it’s the option that

you should start with if you’re a

beginner for the reason of it being

cheap and that you can always upgrade

the next one is reseller hosting and

this is what I started with

many years ago I had the vision that I

wanted to create websites for small

businesses and local businesses so from

the get-go I knew that I wanted a plan

where I can create multiple hosting

accounts and that’s really what it

resell roasting is it’s pretty much

shared hosting but where you can create

unlimited websites and as as this name

suggests you can actually sell hosting

plans you don’t need to create websites

specifically you could literally just

create hosting accounts and let the

people figure it out themselves a step

above that is VPS hosting and this is

virtual private server and with this

you’re getting resources that act like

your own so so it acts as though it’s

not being shared with other websites

even though from a physical perspective

it might literally be on the same server

but their software overtop of it they

give you dedicated resources to run your

website so you don’t have to worry about

other websites interfering with your

performance they also give you root

access so if you need to do any

technical stuff for IT level stuff

you’re gonna have

more options with a VPS server versus a

shared hosting server and the main

downside is that this is going to cost

more than shared hosting and it’s also

not as scalable as some of the other

options if you do start to get more

traffic one step above VPS is dedicated

hosting so this is where you actually

get physical resources you know you get

a physical web server that is all yours

and that’s where your website runs so

this is generally expensive I think I’ve

never looked into this for myself but

just having browsed around I’ve seen

prices anywhere from like seventy five

dollars to two hundred dollars per month

for dedicated hosting plans so this is

something that you’re really only gonna

need if you have a high traffic website

and you’re a technical kind of person

nowadays a popular option is cloud

hosting so instead of your hosts being

on a physical computer you know sitting

somewhere maybe in the United States or

internationally your website hosting is

on the cloud and the big advantage to

this is that you have redundancy so it’s

usually faster it’s more scalable

especially if the traffic surges start

to happen you know your site’s not gonna

crash as easily as it would if you were

on a shared server that only had a

specific amount of you know RAM or

memory so this is gonna cost you a

little bit more and the other downside

is that you might not get the same

access that you would if you had a

dedicated server and a similar version

of cloud hosting is managed WordPress

hosting so this is specifically

optimized for the WordPress content

management software and database

oriented websites they also do a lot of

updates for you so it’s gonna be more

secure you don’t have to worry about

doing that manually and similar to cloud

hosting the downsides to this or pricing

control so I had to do this from one of

my websites it started to get a lot of

traffic and the performance of all the

websites that were on that shared server

and that included both personal and

client websites the load speed of all of

them started to decline so I knew I had

to get my high traffic websites off of

that shared server and just keep the low

traffic websites on there and when I

switched over to managed

Press hosting and the company I chose

was Ken stay calm the performance of the

website just went through the roof the

page for the time before was something

between a second to two seconds when I

transferred over to Kinston it’s now

down to like 0.2 seconds so it improved

way more than what I could have done by

tweaking all the settings within

WordPress or anything like that if

you’re a beginner though don’t worry

about any of that stuff

start with the most basic shared hosting

package and get your website up and

running if you’re ready to do that right

now I highly recommend Hostgator I’ve

used them for almost a decade now so

they’ve been around a long time

they’re very reliable and I think

they’ve been one of the easiest to use

go to hostgator.com slash WPC — I’m

partnering with them to give you the

best offer for a one-year term you’ll

get 45% off and if you get to the

checkout page in another way you can

apply this discount using the coupon

code wpa2 and if you don’t have the time

right now to set up your website or

maybe you just want a little bit more

guidance go to website profit course

comm slash beginner I’m gonna put

together an email series where you’ll

get this video along with WordPress 101

tutorials so you can get accustomed to

how to edit and create a website with

WordPress and on top of that you’ll get

a full length tutorial step by step on

how to create a business website from

scratch that should be more than enough

to give you the confidence to create

your own website this year go ahead and

check out that beginner series and if

you found this video helpful make sure

you give it a thumbs up if you’re

interested at all in building websites

you’ll definitely want to subscribe to

my channel because I’m gonna be coming

out with a lot of videos a lot of short

tutorials along with other teaching

videos like this my goal this year is

really to help as many people create

their website I’ve learned so much

through all of my websites personal

websites client websites I like to say

that websites are the best vehicle to

learn about business because you could

touch every aspect of business with a

website so they’re the the perfect

launching pad that doesn’t take a

massive investment you know it doesn’t

cost that much you can get started for

a hundred dollars in almost every case

and if you have a little bit more to

work with then that’s where you want to

invest more in the strategy set of

things I don’t think you want to invest

right away and the best technology when

you have don’t have a web design you

don’t have any traffic all the links

that I mentioned here will be in the

description below that’s all that I got

for you today I want to really thank you

for taking the time to read this and I

hope to see you on the next article have a

great one everyone.

https://www.bluehost.com/track/hstariq/

[successionsideblog]

you know what, if you want a taste of the tomgreg i’m writing here ya go. i’m not spellchecking this and it has no title. here is your taste 

The fallout unravels in a series of afters.  

Fifteen seconds after the press conference ends, Kendall rips up his approved statement and tosses it behind him to the ubiquitous uproar of the roomful of press. He has just killed his father on national television, a new wave patricide for the twenty-first century, and Greg, well, Greg gave him the gun.

Thirty seconds after the press conference ends, Greg follows Kendall down a stretch of hallway like a rescue dog abandoned by the train yard having attached itself to the first person who threw it a bone. His hands are clammy against the yellow manila folder, making sweaty fingerprints against the cheap, Office Depot paper. The skin of his thumb pulls away from the nail with his incessant fidgeting and it stings like hell. Kendall is walking too fast despite his much shorter stride. Jess and Karolina crowd his side, but Kendall barrels past them.

Colourful language is exchanged. Phone calls are made. Greg can barely hear what is being said with the blood rushing from one side of his head to the other. His ears sound like oversized conch shells that swell with the shutter of every flashing camera that follows them past the podium.

“Sorry.” Greg offers them an uncomfortable wave, or what was supposed to be a gesture of apology. “Sorry for the—uh—inconvenience.”

“Alright, Greg, my comrade in arms,” Kendall says, holding out his hand, making a grabby motion. He looks composed, not even a decimal place to the right as nervous or overwhelmed as Greg is. “Sauce me the docs.”

“Right,” Greg says and surrenders them without protest. It feels good to finally let them go after they had been eating away at the argyles in his sock drawer for weeks. “Sorry, um, about the sweat. It’s my flight-or-fight response. I guess my body thinks I might be dying.” 

Kendall ignores him, then passes the documents to an assistant so haphazardly that Greg almost wants to cry out, or at least make everyone in the room go through a strict vetting process before the manila folder can disappear from his sight. His worries are quickly quashed, however, when the folder is ripped open and the distribution of dozens of photocopies begins amongst the Kendall approved reporters waiting in the wings. 

One such reporter, who must have seen Greg hand over the folder, pounces on him, blonde and plasticky in that white-midwestern-Fox-News-anchor sort of way that immediately waives his interest. The foam headed microphone she poises in front of his face is uncomfortably phallic.

“Your name?” she asks.

“Uh, Gregory—”

“Roy?”

“No, Hirsch. I was, um, the one who fucked up—sorry—my testimony in front of Congress? You might have seen me on the front page of Reddit. Wait—are you broadcasting this?”

He gives a statement, then he and Kendall are ushered into another room, stale with the smell of dispensary coffee and complimentary pastries, then a second room where a legal team made up of people Greg has never met pulls Kendall aside. Their conversation is hushed, their faces pinched and wrinkled like globs of malformed Play-Doh. 

Greg stands in the corner, ignoring the urge to lean his forehead against the spackle wall and find his breath. He was privy to Phase 1 of the plan and only Phase 1: get in a helicopter, get on a private jet, transport the super-secret documents, attend the press conference, give Kendall the super-secret documents, watch Kendall hand over the super-secret documents, et cetera. By now, they must be at Phase 2: try not to poop your big boy pants in front of the Wallstreet Journal.

Afterwards, Kendall pats him on the back and tells him to “gear up for the clusterfuck,” so Greg does. They get into separate cars, pulled in separate directions by the tailing reporters. Greg watches the second black car shrink into a dot behind him: Phase 3, which Greg isn’t destined to be a part of, apparently.     

Greg holes up in his apartment with his phone readied and ATN on mute. He waits for the word from Kendall, but it never comes. He paces, showers the corporate stink off him, and changes into sweats. As he towel dries his 100 dollar haircut, his phone pings, then pings again, again, and again. It vibrates against the custom-made coffee table with such force Greg thinks the glass might shatter. 

He snatches it up. A text from Gerri, from Tom, from Shiv, Roman, Karl, Frank, all spouting a thesaurus worth of expletives and a row of question marks, as well as several emojis Greg has trouble deciphering in this context. At the top of his lock screen is a notification for the New York Times article Kendall warned him about yesterday, then the statement he gave to the tabloid in all caps, bold Helvetica font.

“Oh, okay, okay, okay, shit. Shit!”

He puts his phone on silent and goes to the balcony to smoke a joint, realizes reporters are swarming his building like worker ants in camera-ready makeup and drugstore hair gel, and hurries back inside. He flexes his fists, chews up his lips until they look like a crime scene. He knew what he was getting into when he handed over those two sad, crumpled pages he saved from certain Wambsgans branded death. But maybe not to the extent of being called out for it, or having to face the ridicule of a family he just settled into. He was supposed to be the backup, a co-conspirator behind the scenes, not the second fall guy. He texts Kendall “Hey man, I’m kind of freaking out right now” but gets no reply.

Kendall is persona non grata. As far as Greg knows, he could be holed up in a Soviet-era Siberian bunker somewhere, eating beans from a tin can and waiting out the aftermath.

Greg kicks himself. He should have thought of that.

*

Ten hours after the press conference ends and five hours after the media shitstorm hits peak shit, Greg hears a knock at his door. Half-asleep from a nap he was unaware he was taking, he instinctively reaches for his phone again. The sun is setting, shrinking behind the eyesore of an office building that blocks his view and decreases the property value of his apartment. He grumbles as his phone screen illuminates, stinging his dilated pupils. 

(15) Unread Voicemails from Tom Wambsgans.

“Shit.”

The knocking continues.

“Hey, Greg, open up,” Tom shouts, sing-song in a threatening sort of way. His voice is muffled by the door, the knob twisting back and forth. Greg half-expects an ax to come flying through the wood and plaster. “Greg, I swear to God, open this door or else you are dead to me.”

Greg stumbles over himself, nearly tripping over the edge of his Sherpa rug as he turns on a light. He unlocks the door and yanks it open. The smell of tropical suntan lotion and Armani cologne immediately wafts into his nose, like a bowl of fruit salad left sitting on a department store perfume counter. 

Tom stands there, his fists balled up at his sides like a petulant child waiting for his mother in a long line at the supermarket check-out. His skin is tan and slightly sunburnt around his nose from their time spent in Greece, but his loose-fitting yacht clothes have been replaced by a stark white button-down and an Yves Saint Laurent suit jacket. Greg tries not to notice. 

“What the fuck did you do?” Tom asks. 

His eyes wide, his affectation intensified by his disbelief. He looks angry, jaw jutting out. For a second, Greg thinks Tom might hit him like he has other times Greg has told him something he doesn’t want to hear. But the scale is much bigger, with implications that extend far beyond extramarital activities and open business relationships.

“I, uh, well.” Greg finds his words then loses them, then finds some new ones. “I mean, is it bad?”

“Yeah, Greg, it is. It is very bad.”

Tom pushes past him into the apartment. Greg hesitantly shuts the door behind him, trying not to shrink in on himself. Meanwhile, Tom appears to be near hysteria, halfway between laughing and crying like he was when he first dragged Greg into the death pit. Tom glances out the window where a few straggling news crews remain, then turns to face him.

“Do you have anything to say to me?” Tom asks.

“What?” Greg avoids his eyes. “Like—like an apology?”

“Yeah, like an apology.” Tom lets out a humourless, near sociopathic chuckle. “You fucked me over, Greg! You fucked me!” Every consonant is especially harsh when Tom says his name. He pinches his thumb and forefinger together. “We were this close to all of this going away and poof! Fucking front-page news. I feel like I got caught with my pants down and everyone is laughing at my junk.”

Greg tries not to let the off-colour simile faze him. “Look, Tom, to be fair, I kind of fucked us both.” He takes a step forward to close the room width of space between them. “I mean, I implicated myself as much as I implicated you. But Ken said he would take care of it.”

“Oh, he did, did he? So, what, are you his bitch boy now? First comes corporate scheming then comes marriage?”

Greg makes a face at him, ignoring the jealousy uncomfortably sandwiched between every word. Sometimes he thinks Tom forgets that Shiv, Roman and Kendall are his cousins, like a baby who lacks object permanence for Fortune 500 surnames. 

“Uh, not sure I would use that term but okay.” Greg tries not to pace. “Come on, this is what you wanted in the first place. To come clean, get it all out in the open. Like, it was the right thing to do, right?”

Tom raises his eyebrows, mouth falling open. “You are unbelievable.”

“What?”

“Jesus, Greg. I know it was you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You were the one who told Gerri I wanted to hold a press conference, you piece of shit.” The hurt that lines Tom’s face catches Greg off-guard. Tom tries to hide it with a self-satisfied grin, seemingly for having figured it all out, but Greg can see it in his eyes, festering. “So, now you want to claim the moral high ground? You lied to me through your fucking teeth.”

Greg had almost forgotten that had happened. It feels like it was years ago, not months. He was a fish out of water back then—he still is—but he thought it might allow him some wiggle room, help him avoid being caught in the clean-up net, gutted, then served on a platter if cruises ever came out. He supposes he could play the “I was oblivious” card—because he was—but that might not fly considering he just blew a big, shiny rape whistle on Waystar senior management.

“Look, Tom, I’m sorry, like really, I am, but you told me not to trust anyone, least of all you, and then you trusted me? It was your own advice!” Greg raises his hands as if to deny culpability. “So, you know, that, uh, that sounds like a you problem, dude.”

Something shifts in Tom’s expression, the hurt turning to resentment. “Is this unassuming nature of yours, this fresh-scrubbed sincerity, all an act?” Tom asks, gesturing to Greg and all Brobdingnagian six feet and seven inches of him. “Have I been duped, bamboozled, hung out to fucking dry? Again?”

Greg knew Tom would be upset, but this is something else, something that runs deeper than possibly facing jail time. Tom has never been especially easy for Greg to read; he masks his sincerity with deceit and covers up his deceit with generosity, trying to play at the Roy game by Roy rules until his intentions pervert into some sick joke only he’s in on. 

Would you kiss me? What if I asked you to? What if I told you to?

At best, Tom is unpleasant to work for and borderline abusive to his employees. At worst, he’s strangely endearing. If Greg really wanted out from his clutches, he would have used the documents as leverage a long time ago. But Greg feels oddly attached to him still, like a pair of Siamese Twins held together by their liver: an organ that could be severed in two if need be, but Greg would likely miss the feeling of working so close to Tom by virtue of needing to keep their heads above the water before cruises sank them completely. 

“Tom, come on—I just—I want you on my side.” Greg feels pathetic as he inches closet to pleading with Tom, but for what? Forgiveness? Understanding? A second chance? He’s not so sure.

Tom scoffs. “Why? Because I present a tactical advantage? Did Kendall ask you to recruit me?”

Greg would be lying if he said he hadn’t considered nudging Tom over to the Kenstar Gregco team, but Kendall had never given him the rundown on how this was going play out, or which factions the family might divide into. Truthfully, Greg didn’t think that far ahead when Kendall laid out the initial plan. There had been no time for that. 

“Kendall has nothing to do with this,” Greg says, motioning between them. “The documents were a favour. I was just doing Kendall a favour.”

“Yeah, sure.” Tom grits his teeth. “You used me, Greg. You were a featherless chick, trying to fly from the nest, and I took you under my wing! Now you want to significantly alter the pecking order?” He shakes his head. “All you Roys are the same. Like a piss of leeches in cashmere turtlenecks and cable-knit sweaters.”

Greg feels the urge to tell Tom he’s technically not a Roy, but it would be fallacious. Tom isn’t one either, not really. They’re both nameless actors on the outskirts of the freak show, one of them a clown that married into the circus, and the other a clown that has trace amounts of circus in his blood. This was their choice.

“I’m indebted to you, Tom, I really am.” Greg reaches out and lays a hand on his shoulder. Even though they’re barely touching, he can feel his body heat radiating from beneath his primly ironed Oxford. “Look, what can I do?”

Tom goes quiet, glancing at where Greg has made contact. For a moment, Greg naively thinks they have reached some sort of understanding. His hopes are quickly dashed.

“Alright, Greg,” Tom says, his performative smugness returning. “You can tell me where Kendall is for starters.”

“Kendall?”

“Yes, Kendall. Come on, where is our quasi-Dmitri Karamazov? Has he gone AWOL or is he out roaming the streets covered in blood with three thousand rubles clutched in his tiny fist?”

Greg narrows his eyes at Tom, dropping his hand from his shoulder. “Okay—um—no? And I don’t know where he is. He kind of went dark on me.” 

“Oh, so you two are in cahoots but not really in cahoots?”

Greg ignores how pleased Tom sounds. “Is everyone back yet?”

“We flew in a couple of hours ago.”

“And?”

“Oh, they’re beyond pissed. Your balls will be in a little brass box on Logan’s desk come morning.” 

“Makes sense, I guess,” Greg says but he doesn’t really believe it. Tom is just playing the game again, trying to intimidate him with lowbrow banter fit for any fraternity hazing ritual. It only signifies that Greg has passed the threshold of what is expected of him again because, in actuality, Logan is in a worse spot than anyone. Except maybe Kendall who has to deal with the consequences of putting him there. “So, where do you stand? In all of this.”

Tom snorts, but he looks unsure. “Oh, please. Stop with this which-side-are-you-on bullcrap. You sound like a fifth-grader picking teams for kickball.”

“Hey, I’m being serious. Like, what do you owe Logan? What do I owe him? I mean, I owe you more than anything,” Greg says and the compliment makes his back teeth ache. “I want you there—here—like, I want you to play on my team. Or you could, maybe, play both sides. You know, do a little undercover. It could be like a James Bond, Q type situation.”

“Greg, you’re being ridiculous.” 

“How? How is that ridiculous?”

Tom just shakes his head. The sadness Greg had taken note of before returns to his face. Greg knows Tom has a responsibility to Shiv, and whichever way Shiv goes he has to follow. Greg was just hoping their alliances had yet to be decided, but it sounds like she has made up her mind, so Tom has too. No game plan, no strategizing, no conspiratorial comradery. Greg feels stopped in his tracks, pushed to the outskirts by someone who has always tried to bring him in.

Tom heads towards the door, removing his phone from his back pocket. “Keep in touch.”

It sounds like a threat and a promise rolled into one.

[prairiesongserial]

epilogue 12

All Lady did was make phone calls.

In Auntie’s day, it hadn’t been like this. Lady couldn’t imagine Constantine content with the boring day to day of leadership - which, even on the road, was an onslaught of phone calls and memos. Yes, some poor courier sent by Lady’s Chief of Intelligence had managed to intercept her and Mac on the road with a memo. Mac had nearly shot him, and all for a brief note requesting that all Hemisphere personnel planning to attend the annual gala RSVP before such and such date. Lady felt that she needed a new Chief of Intelligence, if hers was doing party planning.

Mac waved from his own bike, a few feet ahead, for Lady to pull over on the side of the highway. Lady did, though she didn’t take her helmet off. They’d stopped in front of a gas station. Mac was already off his bike, walking over.

“Might have a phone,” Mac said.

There was a chance, in any case. The little store looked well taken care of, even if the pumps had rusted beyond use. A hand-lettered sign over the door declared the store open.

Lady heaved a long-suffering sigh, and nodded.

Traveling through this part of the States was... interesting. Hemisphere’s grasp on Appalachia had never exactly been absolute, and this particular highway in Tennessee hadn’t passed through Hemisphere territory in a good long while. On paper, it all belonged to Hemisphere, but holding any actual authority over the outskirts depended on the manpower to assert that right. At present, Lady’s manpower was her and Mac. There had been no commandeering accommodations - or phone lines - for a while.

Mac strode off toward the store. He remembered to take his helmet off only when he paused to notice his reflection in the glass door. A little bell chimed when he went inside, seeming too loud on the quiet highway. They were well and truly in the middle of nowhere. It was as if even the birds and squirrels had found someplace better to be.

Lady stood up and stretched. She took off her helmet as well. She should probably have told Mac to buy some gasoline while he was at it, but there would be time for that. Lady stopped mid-stretch, her arms extended over her head, as something caught her eye. She dropped her arms and walked over to the side of the store. A closer look would only confirm what she already knew, but if she was going to be mad, at least she’d be good and certain of the reason.

The tin drum against the outside wall of the store, fitted with a tap, had TEXAS WATERS stamped in big white letters across the side. Lady stood and stared at it.

“There you are,” Mac said, coming up behind her. “Said we could use the phone if we bought something first.”

Lady struggled to pull her gaze away from the tin drum. She only succeeded when something cool touched the knuckles of one hand, and she jerked away in surprise. Mac was holding a glass bottle of cola out to her. He held two of them in one hand, the stems of the bottles pinched awkwardly between his fingers. His other hand was occupied with a container of gasoline.

“What is this?” Lady snapped, taking the bottle from him. She had a hunch, though, and she didn’t like the answer. “Never mind,” she sighed. She twisted the cap off. The bottle was unlabeled, because Atlanta at least had the sense not to stock the proof they were operating outside their territory on the shelf of a backwater Tennessee gas station. But the taste confirmed exactly what it was.

Marc didn’t appear to mind. He put down the gas can to twist the lid off his own bottle. Lady tapped a fingernail against the glass. Without looking at a map, Lady would guess this little gas station was a hundred miles from the Georgia state line - and even farther from the Old World demarcation of Georgia’s northern border, which was some forty miles further south. A hundred miles. That was how out of line the Atlanta crew was. And still, a hundred miles was nothing next to what Marc was doing here, with his drum of water. The man worked the Mexico border, for Christ’s sake.

“No kidding, is that…?” Mac began. He gestured with his bottle of cola to the tin drum.

“Yep,” Lady spat.

She’d approved a Texas Waters deal with Everglades City, letting the two gangs do business across the Gulf, but now she regretted it. You give an inch, they take a mile. Or a few hundred.

“I’m going to make those calls,” Lady muttered, after a few seconds of silence had ticked by. She turned her back on the tin drum, handing the bottle of cola back to Mac as she passed him.

Constantine had been a conqueror. That was the problem. Auntie had conquered it all, had spent the manpower to create an unassailable infrastructure, and had retired after a job well done. As a result, Lady’s inheritance had been a network of telephone lines. Telephone lines were the thread that stitched Hemisphere together - that, and a quickly fading memory of Constantine and war. No wonder the Dead-Eyes didn’t think twice about burning though every state between Oregon and the Mississippi, and Marc, from his bubble bath, thought he might as well start selling water wherever he pleased.

Lady wasn’t set up to go to war if the States started turning against her. She didn’t have a posse of roving gunslingers instilling terror in her wake. She had a secretary. One who was currently holding her Coke for her.

The bell chimed above the door as Lady entered.

“You’ll have to make a purchase if you want to use the phone, young lady,” the man behind the counter said. He licked his fingers and flipped to the next page in his catalog.

Lady set her teeth. She hadn’t mentioned the phone.

“My friend made a purchase,” she said. “Two colas and five gallons of gas.”

“That may be,” the man replied. He didn’t look up as he licked the tip of a pen and marked a red circle around one of the items in the catalog. “But you’ll have to make a purchase, Miss.”

The phone was hanging on the wall behind the counter. Lady stared at the man. He was bald, middle-aged, with an impressive salt-and-pepper mustache. Lady stepped around the counter. She pulled the receiver from the wall and started to dial the number for Central Headquarters.

She paused. Her impulse was to get her Chief of Intelligence on the phone and lay into her for a good forty-five minutes over how she could have possibly overlooked huge breaches by both Georgia and Texas. However, her Chief of Intelligence was Deaf, and whatever Lady had to say to her was necessarily defanged when relayed via interpreter. Maybe it was better this way. Lady could make that conversation a lot more intimidating if she had it in person. It was all in the eyes.

“Miss, I told you, the phone is for paying customers only. You can buy something, but otherwise, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Lady hung up the phone. The man had his hands on his hips, showing off his holster. Lady stared at him, calculating.

“Miss, I don’t intend to say it again.”

“I’ll just be a minute,” Lady said, crinkling her nose and smiling. She picked the phone back up. She tucked the receiver in the crook of her neck before dialing, not looking at the man anymore. She could hear the operator speaking into her shoulder, and dialed the appropriate code rudely over the operator’s voice. Her other hand went to her shoulder holster.

The man hadn’t even drawn his weapon, she noted, after she’d fired a round. Lady had thought as much. There was a reliable correlation between people who called her ‘Miss’ and people who weren’t willing to shoot her.

Lady picked up the receiver properly, only to hear some bullshit.

“...Um, I’m sorry, but that code refers to the Good Guys, and they…” the operator trailed off. Lady waited for her to finish her thought. “They, according to our file here...Hold on, my supervisor is coming over.” Lady heard her add, “It’s Lady, Ken,” before the voice on the other end became, presumably, Ken’s.

“Hi, Lady. This is Ken Laurens, shift manager. So, what we have here is…” Lady’s attention strayed from the phone call to the man she had shot. He was spitting and swearing at her, bent double over the counter. He was getting blood on his catalog. She’d gotten the shoulder of his shooting arm, but Lady still lazily trained the gun on him. Just in case.

“...didn’t pay their dues last term. Our records are incomplete, being as we’re quite literally just the messenger,” Ken laughed awkwardly. “So...so there’s no further explanation, but that’s why their code is no longer operational.”

“Ken, I’m going to have to ask you to reinstate that code,” Lady said.

“O..oh, okay,” Ken said. “So, reinstating a code is done in Technical Services, and that only with the go-ahead from some folks well above my pay-grade…”

“Ken,” Lady said sweetly. “Am I not well above your pay grade?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Ken said. “I’ll see if I can’t find a work-around from our end.”

“That would be wonderful, Ken,” Lady said.

An annoying little jingle chimed through the receiver, and Lady held it a little way from her head. Mac appeared in the doorway.

“Finished gassing up the bikes,” he said. The bell chimed again as the door closed behind him. “Hey, now,” he added, when he noticed the store owner bent double over the counter.

“He wouldn’t let me use the phone,” Lady said.

“I told him you were with me,” Mac replied. He leaned back against the door. “Unbelievable. Some people, huh?”

Lady rolled her eyes in agreement. Ken was back on the line.

“So, okay, you still there, Lady?” Ken said. “So, this is unorthodox for sure, but we have the, well, the number for the phone the Good Guys have called in from in the past, and we can place an unsecure call to…”

“Sure, fine,” Lady said.

The phone rang, without another word from Ken. It continued to ring, until it rang out with no answer. Lady slammed the phone down and re-dialed Hemisphere Central. When the chirpy operator picked up, Lady snapped “Ken,” at her.

The phone rang out again on the second try. On the third, someone picked up.

“Yeah?” they said, voice garbled and crackling, as if there was something wrong with the phone line.

“This is Lady,” Lady said. “Put the King on the line.”

“If this is about those dues, I just don’t know what happened,” the voice drawled. “I think your courier might have taken them for himself. You should investigate that. Or not.”

“The King,” Lady repeated.

Lady listened to static and what sounded like the occasional drip of water on the other end of the phone. She watched the store owner slide down to the floor, huffing and puffing, looking up at her with hatred.

“We’ll just be another minute,” Lady mouthed at him.

Lady would not have chosen the Good Guys for this. But as luck would have it, the Good Guys were the only Hemisphere operation along the scheduled route of the Madsen and Graves Circus with enough time to intercept before the circus reached D.C.

“King speaking,” said a subtle voice through the phone.

“This is Lady,” Lady said. “You’re going to do something for me.”

12.14 || 13.1

[jamiemackenziefraser]

All That Was Fair

Chapter 9: Terrors and Delights of the Great Unknown

Chapter Summary: Claire gets her first taste of the human world.

Read on AO3

Read chapter 9 below the cut

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Chapter 9: Terrors and Delights of the Great Unknown

***

Claire clung tightly to his hand as he led her through the streets of Inverness. Her eyes were huge as watermelons, pupils blown wide as she tried to take in all the sensations assaulting her. 

Jamie thought the buildings were the first shock she was trying to come to terms with. Her neck craned up to look at them, glancing nervously at their looming presence all around them. She’d seen Jamie’s house, of course, but that was nothing like the crowded buildings of the city. Her eyes glanced upward toward the sky— likely grounding herself with the one familiar aspect. Much to Jamie’s delight, she then glanced toward him, and peace flashed across her face. 

If Jamie’s nearness offered comfort akin to the sky, he could die happy. 

The buildings were quickly overshadowed by the disconcerting nature of the people around them. She shied toward him— her body pressing to his side like it was her refuge— every time another person passed, even if they were meters away. Some of the passersby gave her strange looks, apparently seeing her odd behavior (not to mention her attire) which completely unnerved Claire. In addition to never having interacted with another human save Jamie, she was used to being invisible to them. The puir wee thing trembled at his side, but bravely continued on. 

“Dinna fash, they’ll no’ harm ye,” Jamie reassured quietly. 

She gave him a wordless nod, lips pressed tightly together, and continued to meld herself to his side. She no longer stared like a deer in headlights at every person close by, but he could tell she still snuck wary glances at those who wandered near. 

As they continued to walk on the cobblestone street, passing by shop windows with elaborate decorations and advertisements, Claire’s anxiety gradually subsided. She began to sneak peeks at the shops as they passed, and Jamie smiled to himself. As the trepidation was replaced more by curiosity, she melted inch by inch. Soon, her death grip on his hand became one of simple connection. She would pause every once in a while to study a shop window, tugging on Jamie’s hand to get him to stop. 

He catered to her every whim, even when she wanted to stop and run her hands reverently over the bricks of one building for several minutes while he struggled to explain the basics of construction. 

During their (very slow) progress down the street, a broad smile gradually formed on those bonny pink lips. Her eyes now wide with intrigue, Claire was coming alive. 

It lightened his heart immensely to see her beginning to enjoy herself and overcome her apprehension. At first, he’d worried to himself that it would all be too much for her— that maybe he’d scare her away from the human world with this single traumatic experience. But that wasn’t the case, and his own anxiety had eased along with hers. He delighted in watching her explore the world with endearing enthusiasm. 

He was pulled to a stop once again as Claire peered into the window of an ice cream shop. 

“What is this place?” she asked in wonder. 

“Och, ‘tis a place where they make food— a special kind called ice cream that humans particularly enjoy.” Jamie was starting to get better at his explanations, trying to boil them down to the simplest things she would understand. (That was more difficult than he would have imagined, mind, because a usual explanation for ice cream would have included descriptors such as “dessert” and “sweet”, but Claire of course lacked the background knowledge for that to make any sense.)

She nodded at his words but didn’t tear her eyes away from the displays of colorful ice cream inside. A smile spread across his face as he watched her take it in, his heart swelling with affection yet again for his strange lass. 

“God, I wish ye ate. If this were a movie ye ken there’d be a grand scene where I take ye inside and ye’d experience ice cream for the first time, yer world lightin’ up the instant ye taste it,” he said to himself. 

She did tear her eyes away then, to give him a furrowed-brow look of bewilderment. 

“What?” 

Jamie laughed and shook his head. “Dinna mind me, Sassenach,” he dismissed with a chuckle. 

They continued on at their snail’s pace, but before long, Jamie was nearly hauled off his feet by Claire abruptly stopping in front of a trash can. 

“What’s this?” she inquired as she reached a hand toward the nearly overflowing bin. 

“Dinna touch it,” he pulled her back rather forcefully by their joined hands, and he felt bad when she instantly latched onto his side again, thinking it harmful because of his forceful response. Her fingers were clutching his shirt in a white-knuckled grip.  

“It’s no’ dangerous,” he quickly amended, “that’s jes’ what humans do with waste. Things that arena good any more or they dinna need.” 

“Why don’t they need all these things?” Claire asked in confusion, squinting her eyes at the contents. 

Jamie wasn’t sure exactly how to answer that. “Weel, did ye no’ have things that once served a purpose but then no longer did?” 

She peered up at him and gave a shake of her head. 

“The Earth provides what we need, and when we’re done, it returns to the earth to be used again.” 

“Aye, that’s a good way to live,” Jamie murmured. 

Claire still seemed disturbed by the trash as they began walking again, but she soon forgot all about it as more things caught her attention. A passing bicycle brought up a whole new conversation, and Jamie had to chuckle to himself imagining his graceful faerie bumbling around the pedals and clinging to the handlebars. Maybe someday… 

Finally— after taking more than three times the amount of time it would have taken the average person to go this short distance— they arrived at the wee thrift shop, tucked on the corner. 

Jamie knew the owner, a Mrs. Fitz, who was a very distant relative of his. Although to be fair, everyone in the highlands was practically related. As Jamie pushed open the door and led Claire inside, the little bell rang in welcome and Mrs. Fitz instantly popped up from behind a rack of clothes, her face shining with enthusiasm. 

“Och, Jamie, lad!” she exclaimed, “it’s sae good t’ see ye!” 

She clasped both her hands over her chest in delight and gave him a wide smile. The shopkeeper quickly bustled over to him, arms outstretched for a hug. But as he tried to withdraw his hand from Claire’s, she stubbornly refused to release him, so he was left giving Mrs. Fitz an odd, one-armed side hug. 

Drawing back, she seemed to notice Claire for the first time, and blinked at her for a second. 

“Ah, and who is this ye have wi’ ye?” she asked Jamie. She looked pointedly down at their clasped hands, up at Jamie, and then back at Claire. 

He looked on in amusement as Mrs. Fitz truly took in Claire’s appearance— the wee lass standing there in his huge jacket, sagging sweatpants, and feet clad in socks and sandals. Mrs. Fitz’ eyes seemed to bulge as she looked at her, and Jamie realized he’d better give an excuse before the shopkeeper combusted. 

“This is my… friend, Claire. She’s visitin’ but lost her luggage, and we need tae get her all new stuff. Could ye maybe help us out?” 

Mrs. Fitz’ agog morphed quickly into a motherly look of sympathy. 

“Ye puir thing, of course we’ll get ye everythin’ ye need.” 

She made toward Claire as if she was about to hug her and then lead her toward the racks, but Claire hastily took a step away, bumping into Jamie in the process. 

“No’ a hugger I see, no problem,” Mrs. Fitz said accommodatingly with hands raised. 

Instead, she simply turned on her heel and headed over toward the first rack in sight— jeans. 

Claire was quiet, looking around the room abstractedly and not paying the slightest bit of attention as Mrs. Fitz prattled on about the pants, speculating about Claire’s size and which might best suit her. Jamie was trying to answer the questions on her behalf, but was distracted by the look on Claire’s face, which had suddenly lit up as something caught her eye. 

For the first time the entire trip, she let go of Jamie’s hand. (The moment felt absurdly monumental, and he found himself feeling empty without the sensation of her hand clasped in his). He resisted the impulse to gape at her with an open mouth as she wandered across the room with rather astounding boldness. Then, he spotted exactly what it was that had caught her attention. 

A gauzy white dress hung on a display hanger, it’s hem fluttering just in the slightest from the air vent above it. 

“I like this,” she announced, halting Mrs. Fitz from her perusal of the jeans. 

“Och, a dress lass, are ye? Well I think that’d suit ye jes’ fine. Why dinna ye try it on while I grab some others I think might work for ye?” 

Jamie quickly thanked her and took Claire’s elbow, steering her in the direction of the dressing room. 

“Ye can change into it back here to be sure it fits,” Jamie murmured into her ear. 

In one fluid motion, he opened the curtain of the dressing room, shoved the dress into her arms, herded her inside, and then closed the curtain again. Every second Mrs. Fitz wasn’t studying her made it more likely they’d get through this without arousing too many questions. 

It took Claire a rather long time to change, he thought. Although she did have a lot of layers to peel off. While she was still inside the changing room, Mrs. Fitz returned and deposited an armful of dresses into Jamie’ lap, all in the same size as the one Claire had picked. 

The shopkeeper was just about to open her mouth to ask him something when the bell over the door rang and she scurried away to greet the other customer. Jamie breathed a sigh of relief. 

It was then that the curtain flew open and Claire emerged, clad in her white dress. 

Jamie nearly had a stroke on the spot. 

She was divine. The white dress fit her perfectly, clinging to her curves down to her waist where it flared out into the draping of the skirt, the hem falling to just below her knees. A hint of cleavage teased at the neckline, skin creamy-white and looking oh-so soft. She swayed gently back and forth with a faint smile, and the gauzy material of the skirt flowed around her with the movement. It was as if the dress had been made for her. 

Under the bright lighting of the shop, Claire’s glow seemed muted to him, although certainly still there. It seemed to accentuate the perfection of the white dress and her dark hair that flowed down her shoulders in sharp contrast— giving her the air of an angel. 

Jamie was astounded. 

Unaware of how speechless she’d left him, Claire asked shyly, “do you like it?” 

He had to swallow three times before his dry throat was capable of answering her. 

“Ye look beautiful,” he forced out. 

She beamed, twirling around in excitement— which made the skirt billow up around her— and then suddenly she was launching herself at Jamie. Claire hugged him tightly, bare feet on tip-toes as she tried to reach up to be closer to him. 

“Thank you, Jamie,” she breathed warmly. 

He was ecstatic that something as simple as a new dress could make her this happy. 

Mrs. Fitz chose that exact moment to return, her footsteps pattering over and barging in on what Jamie considered a rather private moment. 

“Oh, my dear!” she exclaimed as Claire and Jamie parted, “ye look breathtakin.” 

Jamie couldn’t have agreed with her more. 

Claire flushed, eyelashes lowering demurely, and quietly thanked her. She had barely gotten the words out when Mrs. Fitz began shoving a couple pairs of shoes into her hands. Then, just like the whirlwind she was, Mrs. Fitz breezed off again. 

Jamie handed Claire another dress to try on and took all but one pair of the shoes from her. Then, he sat back down to wait. 

When Claire next emerged, she was wearing a black sundress with a floral design. Although the hem was above the knee, it wasn’t quite as form-fitting or astonishingly perfect for her (although he thought everything suited her, of course), so Jamie managed to better keep his composure this time. 

But the moment she turned around to show him the back, Jamie’s heart stopped beating and his blood ran cold in shock. 

He all but tackled her inside the dressing room, falling in after her and then frantically slamming the curtain closed. Once Claire was safely behind him in the privacy of the fitting room, Jamie peeked out a little to ensure no other customer had seen. 

Then, he very slowly turned back toward Claire, whose big honey eyes were staring up at him in question. 

He didn’t address her. Instead, very gently, he placed his hands on Claire’s shoulders and turned her so he could look at her back again. 

The sundress had a low back— a very low back— which exposed the two delicate appendages there.  

Wings. 

Transparent, beautifully fragile— wings. That laid perfectly flat against her back and shoulders. 

Jamie reached a finger out, mesmerized, to gently trace the outline of them. 

But the second he made contact with the edge of one, she let out a little squeal and jerked away. 

Jamie withdrew his hand as if he was burned, clutching it to his chest in shame. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldna have—” 

“It’s alright,” she said as she turned to face him, “I just wasn’t expecting… Is that why you shoved me in here? My wings?” 

Jamie blinked several times, trying to get his brain to catch up to the situation. 

Of course she had wings. She was a faerie after all. 

The sound of his name jerked him back to reality, and he realized he’d never answered her. 

“You have wings!” he exclaimed daftly, still failing to answer her question and merely staring at her, open-mouthed with astonishment. 

“Oh,” she said, glancing behind her at her back casually, as if checking to see they were still there, “of course I have wings. Purely decorative though, I’m afraid.” 

Jamie was still struck dumb, but he longed to look at them again. The dressing room was too small for him to be able to walk around her, so he simply reached out and turned her a second time. 

They were beautiful. Heartbreakingly delicate looking. He could see through them everywhere except where the veins laced through, like a butterfly’s wing. The edges curved gracefully up toward her shoulders, ending in a point. It took all his willpower to resist the urge to touch them again without permission. They laid flat against her back, and he wondered distantly if she could move them. 

As if sensing his curiosity, they suddenly fluttered back toward him— nearly hitting him in the face— and Jamie jolted backward with a surprised laugh. 

Claire shot him an amused look from over her shoulder, and fluttered them again in demonstration. 

“They’re… beautiful,” he breathed reverently. 

“Thanks,” she replied bashfully, “I always thought them dull, really. Some fae have much grander wings, mine are rather small.” 

Jamie couldn’t bear to hear any disparaging remarks aimed at the perfection that was Claire, and he made a Scottish sound of derision deep in his throat. 

“Everythin’ about ye is perfect,” he stated firmly. 

Her wings had settled back flat on her back by this point, and Claire turned around to face him, cheeks adorned with a becoming blush as she adjusted the straps of her sundress over her shoulders again. 

“Well…” Jamie said, eying her up and down, “as bonny as ye look in this dress, I’m afraid we canna buy it for fear of exposin’ ye to the world. Ye’re no’ exactly verra inconspicuous...” 

Claire bit her lip, perhaps embarrassed about forgetting that minor detail when she’d showed him outside. But he was quick to reassure her. 

“Dinna fash, Sassenach. No one saw ye earlier. Yer secret’s safe wi’ me.” 

He tried to give her a wink, which he was aware was a skill at which he was woefully inept, and she burst out laughing at his attempt. 

In that moment, he wanted more than anything to lean down and press his smile to hers. 

Before he could do anything foolish like act on the impulse, he quickly ducked out of the dressing room, eyes still fixed on Claire. 

He slipped backward through the slit at the edge of the curtain… and right into Mrs. Fitz. 

Stumbling away from her, he whirled around to find the shopkeeper with her hands on her hips, face red with admonishment. 

“James Fraser,” she uttered in a menacing voice that indicated he was in big trouble, “I understand that ye’re infatuated with yon lassie, but I canna believe that ye’d engage in�� in— such depravity. In my shop!” 

Jamie fell back a step, hands raised defensively. 

“I wasna…” 

But Mrs. Fitz wasn’t having any of it. “I wilna condone such behavior, especially not in public when other customers are around. I’m appalled by your behavior, Jamie Fraser—” 

When she paused for breath in her tirade, face growing redder by the second, Jamie took the opportunity of the minute gap to jump in, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Fitz, but I promise we werena doin’ anythin’ untoward. Listen, we’ll take the lot and be out of yer hair.” 

Jamie gestured frantically toward the pile of dresses and shoes, then reached into his pocket for his wallet. He produced a wad of cash and held it out toward Mrs. Fitz like a peace offering. 

She looked him up and down for a long moment, eying him and the money with narrowed eyes. Jamie thought for a second that he’d be taking Claire home empty handed, but then Mrs. Fitz reached out and snatched the cash from his hands. 

“I want you out,” she said curtly. 

Jamie nodded frantically and instinctively backed away a step. Without breaking wary eye contact with Mrs. Fitz, he called into Claire, “get dressed, a nighean, we’re leaving.” 

With that, Mrs. Fitz turned on her heel and stalked away, as if she couldn’t stand to be in the presence of such a depraved lecher for one more second. Jamie sighed to himself. All of Inverness would be hearing about this within the day… no way he could hide Claire from Jenny for long. 

A minute later, Claire emerged from the dressing room, clutching the jacket to her chest. 

“Jamie, what—?” She started to ask. 

But Jamie cut her off by simply taking her hand and tugging her toward the door, his other arm juggling their purchases (which of course he had no bag for since there was no way he’d push his luck asking for one). 

Once they were safely outside in the Scottish gloom, Jamie slowed down— realizing he had been dragging the puir lass nearly off her feet in his haste to be gone. 

“What—?” She tried to ask again. 

“Nothin’ tae fash about, a nighean,” Jamie assured her, “it was only a wee misunderstandin’ wi’ Mrs. Fitz. But hopefully these dresses will do.” 

Claire, bless her, tended to take Jamie at his word, and so she didn’t press him for any more details. Quite honestly, her trust in his dismissals of things was a breath of fresh air in contrast to his sister Jenny’s stifling desire to wring every last bit of information from him. He wondered distantly just how long Claire’s innocence on this front would last. But for now she was content to let him take the lead with all things human, and he was happy to take it. 

Jamie’s strides were still long and hurried as he brought Claire back toward the car. Thankfully, she was unresisting— she’d probably had enough exploring for one day. Although Jamie knew he hadn’t actually done anything wrong (save going in the dressing room with a fully clothed lass— because she had wings for pete’s sake!), he still felt like a young lad caught with his pants down around his ankles. He wanted to be away from the shop and the talk that surely would be following in their wake. 

The stream of thoughts that occupied Jamie’s brain was interrupted by Claire tripping and nearly toppling over onto the cobbles stones. 

“Woah, lass,” tumbled from Jamie’s mouth at the same time as the pile of clothes on his arm started to fall to the ground. 

With an impressive feat of juggling, he managed to pull Claire upright with one hand and only lose a couple dresses and one pair of shoes with the other. 

“Sorry,” she mumbled, letting go of Jamie’s hand so she could stoop down and pick up the fallen items. When she straightened, she pulled at the legs of her sweatpants in frustrated illustration as she said, “I keep tripping over these.” 

“Weel, ye needna suffer them any longer, a nighean,” he laughed, and he lifted the shoulder holding the new clothes, “let’s find ye somewhere tae change.” 

The “somewhere” Jamie settled on was an old bookshop. It was right across the street, so Jamie simply herded his wee faerie inside, trying to make his armful of items look as discrete and nonchalant as possible. 

The bookstore was old and musty. Something about it had a feeling of another time, as if the world stopped the moment you stepped in. The bookshelves were crowded, with only narrow aisles between, and every one was stuffed to the brim with books. The lighting was rather dim, and Jamie had to squint his eyes a bit as he took it all in. Spotting the front desk, he brought Claire over to it. 

Attending the shop was a woman nearly the same age as Jamie, with long red hair that cascaded down her narrow shoulders and over a name tag that read “Geillis”. When she looked up at them, he saw that she had the most startling shade of green eyes. Almost like a cat’s, he thought distantly. Something about her prickled the tiny hairs on the back of Jamie’s neck. 

But she greeted them quite warmly. 

“Good day, how can I be assistin’ ye?” she asked with a bright smile. 

“We’re jes’ needin’ a place tae change, do ye have a loo?” 

The lass, Geillis, eyed him up and down for a long moment before her gaze flicked to Claire. To his astonishment, the lasses made steady eye contact for a long stretch of time, green meeting whisky, and then she suddenly broke it to smile politely at Jamie. 

“Of course,” she said, “we canna have yer hen paradin’ around Inverness in that outfit, can we? It’s on the far side.” She pointed helpfully in the direction. 

“Thank ye,” Jamie said, and quickly dragged Claire off. 

After seeing her inside the bathroom to change into her white dress and new shoes, Jamie took to perusing the shelves. All the books were old, likely this was a secondhand shop, and mostly titles he didn’t recognize. He became absorbed in the looking, though, so much so that he nearly jumped out of his skin when a figure appeared beside him. 

“Find anythin’ interesting?” Geillis asked. 

Jamie quickly composed himself after the fright, and answered, “eh… jes’ lookin’. Quite an assortment of titles ye have here.” 

He ran a finger over the spine of one of the books. 

“Quite,” she agreed, “I take pride in procuring the selection.” 

“Ye own the shop then?” Jamie asked. 

A nod in confirmation. “My name’s Geillis Duncan, nice tae meet ye,” she said, extending her hand. 

Jamie took it, shaking amicably, and replied, “James Fraser.” 

“It appears ye and yer lass have had quite the… adventure…?” She said with raised brows and a glint in her eye. 

“Oh, she’s not my—“ but Jamie cut himself off, finding that he didn’t have it in him to deny the thing he so desperately wanted. Instead, he finished lamely, “aye, we have.”

He wasn’t exactly sure what compelled him to admit it, but he suddenly added, “honestly, I’m at a bit of a loss.”  

At that moment, the door to the washroom opened, and Claire emerged, clad in her white dress. As she made her way toward them, a book was suddenly shoved into his hand. 

He looked down in surprise, and then up at Geillis. 

“This one is on me,” she whispered, drawing close to his ear, “read it carefully, fox.” 

Bewildered, he didn’t have any reply. And apparently he didn’t need one. Because he had glanced over at Claire, and when he looked back toward Geillis, she was gone. 

“Ready?” Claire asked as she reached him. 

Jamie shook himself out of his startlement at the shopkeeper's abrupt disappearance and gave Claire a smile. 

“Aye, lass.” 

Hand in hand again, they walked out of the shop, the book Geillis had given him still tucked under his arm. 

*

Next

[itsafanficthing]

My Sassenach - Chapter Two

Because why not.

If A03 is more your thing: here

Chapter One: Here

---

“The date went well.”

That was putting it mildly. Claire didn’t actually know how to describe her first date with Jamie. Mind blowing. Extraordinary. Overwhelming. Satisfying. There were too many ways for her to describe it.

Easy. It had been easy; once they were past the awkwardness and pressure of a first date. One evening to determine if the person sitting across from you, or next to you at the bar as Jamie had sat, was worth entertaining the thought of a second.

“Well?” Geillis repeated somewhat skeptically. “That does’na sound promising.”

Claire hummed, trying for nonchalance and failing miserably. Her cheeks gave her away first as they flamed bright red as she thought about Jamie lying in her bed and the steps that had led him there. Next to go was her mouth, as it became devoid of any moisture as she thought about Jamie’s touch on her skin and her reluctance to let him leave the following morning. Not meeting Geillis’ eyes as she tried to shrug was the nail in the coffin.

“Claire Beauchamp. What aren’t ye tellin’ me?” Gellis demanded as her eyes widened at her friend.

Claire cleared her throat before responding, “It went very well.”

“Verra well, is it?” Gellis crossed her arms, eyeing Claire up and down.

Claire nodded quickly, avoiding looking directly at Geillis, knowing that once she did, it would be useless and Gellis would soon drag every last scandalous detail out of her.

“Spit it out. What aren’t ye tellin’ me?”

“Nothing,” Claire replied too quickly and too loudly. Geillis was like a bloodhound on the hunt. She slapped her hand down on the table, making Claire jump.

“Is he married? Divorced? Multitude of bairns runnin’ about the countryside with 12 different women? He’s a criminal? Smuggler? His cock is bent?” Gellis continued a litany of guesses before Claire interrupted her.

“None of those things. It was a perfectly lovely date.”

“Will ye see him again?” Geillis pushed, clearly unsatisfied.

“Yes, I believe so,” Claire replied demurely, eyes focused on her nails, rather than the burning glare of her best friend.

“Ye… ye believe so,” Geillis repeated in exasperation. “Christ, it’s like pulling teeth.”

Claire grinned in response as her phone vibrated in her pocket.

“Did I, or did I no’ call ye the second my date with Dougal ended? Did I,” Gellis continued holding up her hand to stop Claire’s interruption, “call ye the morning after we’d finally done the deed to describe to ye in exquisite detail, our night together?”

“Yes, but I didn’t ask you for any of that. Especially the “exquisite detail” of your night of debauchery,” Claire counted as Gellis scoffed in disbelief.

“Ye did’na have to ask. Such the friend that I am, I willingly shared the intimate details of my night with ye. And ye will’na even tell me about yer date, beyond “it went well”.”

Claire snorted in laughter as Geillis continued.

“Far be it from me to be interested in my best friends life. To be interested in the men that are interested in her. And need I remind ye, that wi’out me, ye woulda have even had yer “lovely” date.”

“How do you figure that?”

“Was it not I that suggested ye go as yerself and not some other numpty?” Geillis’s green eyes zeroed in on Claire.

“Well yes but–” Claire started before Geillis interrupted her.

“And was it not I that asked yer Wee Fox out for a date when ye’d been speaking with the lad all night and somehow never managed to get that bit done?”

“Well yes, I suppose–” Claire tried to interject but there was no stopping Geillis once she’d started.

“So do ye not owe me the kindness of tellin’ me about what happened on the date that I had an 80% hand in setting up?”

“80%?” Claire questioned.

“Fine. 75%,” Geillis conceded. “Now tell me about yer date.”

“Have you thought about being a lawyer? Wasted talent in my opinion,” Claire mumbled as she shuffled on her seat uncomfortably.

“Yes, I’m brilliant. Get on wi’ it.” Geillis waved her hand impatiently, brushing away Claire’s comment.

“Maybe a priest. You can certainly preach well enough."

"Aye, but we all ken I'm no' getting' inta the holy land. Now get on wi' it."

Fine,” Claire groaned as she rolled her eyes at her friend. “Well you saw what I wore, I sent you that picture.”

Geillis nodded excitedly, clearly thrilled that Claire was finally giving up the details.

“I arrived at the bar early–”

“Course ye did,” Geillis chuckled under breath.

“And he wasn’t there so I had a glass of wine.”

“Christ, ye were’na shitfaced when he arrived, were ye?”

“Goodness no!” Claire laughed. “What do you take me for?”

Geillis fixed her with a look.

“Don’t answer that,” Claire said quickly, stopping whatever her friend had been about to say. “I was contemplating ordering a second before he arrived and then… he was there... Tapping me on the shoulder.”

Claire paused, wondering how she was ever going to get to the part of Jamie’s virginity, or for that matter– if she would even tell Geillis that part.

“And?” Geillis prompted when Claire’s silence had apparently gone on long enough.

“And,” Claire exaggerated, “I was awkward and babbling. I knocked my wine glass over, it was empty, thank goodness... and it was a first date,” she finished somewhat lamely.

“Tha’s it? That’s all yer going to tell me?” Geillis asked skeptically.

“Well, once the awkwardness settled and we were a few more wines in, we chatted, and then he took me out for a bite to eat.”

“What did ye have?” Geillis interrupted.

“If you must know… a burger.”

Geillis almost shouted with laughter. “If ye two get married, ye can thank me for that. I’ll put it in my bridesmaid’s speech; about how if it was’na for yer wisest oldest… best looking friend, ye wouldn’t have gone on that date as yerself and ye wouldn’t be married wi’ sixteen children.”

“I thought this was your bridesmaid’s speech? Why do I have sixteen children? And who said you were my best looking friend? You are entirely discounting Joe,” Claire argued as Geillis continued to grin at her.

“I’m jus’ sayin’, I should be the first one ye thank when yer givin’ yer wedding toast.”

“It’s only been one date. I hardly think wedding bells are ringing.” Claire shook her head, smiling at her friend. It really was thanks to Geillis that she went on her date with Jamie, and she really did owe her… not that she would ever admit that out loud. The gloating from Geillis would be too much to bear.

“So then what happened when ye were stuffing yer gob?” Geillis prompted, earning a disapproving look from Claire.

“I did not “stuff my gob”. I still have some decorum.”

“Aye, sure,” Geillis rolled her eyes, “I’ve seen ye after a few wines. I ken what ye look like when yer hungry.”

“So, after the burgers we… erm… we went home.” Claire looked away, unable to meet Geillis’ eyes and that was ultimately her downfall. For a moment Geillis was silent, and then the barrage started.

“Ye… ye went home… separately. No, of course not. Why would ye not be able to look at me when ye said that? And ye would have said something like “and then we called it a night, made plans to catch up again, he text me when he got home saying what a nice time he had”–”

“He did do that actually. When he got home,” Claire interrupted, trying to derail Geillis current train of thought.

“Aye, but when did he get home?” Geillis asked raising an eyebrow at Claire. “Ye said, we went home. WE, Claire. WE. Ye went home with him. Or he went home with you. Either way, ye went home together.”

When Claire didn’t respond, Geillis actually hooted. Claire had never heard Geillis hoot before. It wasn’t quite a squeal, nor a scream, but closer to a yell. It was certainly an exclamation and several other patrons at the coffee shop turned to look at the two women sitting by the window.

“I knew it!” Geillie announced in victory. “I knew it when ye walked in. I said to myself, “there’s something different about Claire”. I thought that the date just must have gone well, but no, this is different. Claire Beauchamp, you’ve been well and truly fucked.”

“Keep your voice down!” Claire hissed at her friend, trying to hide from the glares of other customers behind her unruly mass of curls.

“Ye are’na denying it though,” Geillis continued victoriously. “Oh. My. God. Tell me everything!”

“I’m not telling you anything if you’re going to act like a horny teenager at the slight implication that we went home together. We might have gone home and played jenga for all you know,” Claire replied indignantly.

“Aye, but ye did’na, did ye? And it was’na a slight implication, ye did go home together, didn’t ye?”

The expression “shit-eating-grin” came to Claire’s mind as she looked at her best friend, who was smiling back at her triumphantly.

Claire pursed her lips and tried to look menacingly at Geillis, whose smile only widened. It had never worked before, she didn’t know what made her think that a stern look would stop her now.

“Fine, yes, we went home together, and yes I’ve been well and truly fucked,” Claire hissed the words and Geillis sat back in her chair proudly as Claire buried her burning face in her hands.

“On a first date. Tsk, tsk,” Geillis tutted as Claire tried to bury herself further into her hands. “Ye said ye had some decorum.” Geillis snorted again as Claire audibly groaned. “How was he then? Ye look… satisfied, I’ll give ye that.”

“It was… it was very good,” Claire mumbled as Geillis grinned.

“‘Very good’, she says. Yer face is saying a bit more than verra good, let me tell ye.” Geillis laughed at Claire’s expression.

“So ye have plans on seeing the lad again then?” she asked demurely, seemingly she had gotten what she wanted, which was Claire’s embarrassment.

“Yes,” Claire groaned looking up again at her friend. She was never going to hear the end of this. “Tomorrow actually. He’s taking me on a whisky tour.”

“A whisky tour? Ye dinna even drink the stuff. I bought ye a bottle, a verra good bottle might I add, a few years ago and I’ve not seen hide nor hair of it since I gave it to ye.” Geillis frowned at Claire. “Did ye even talk to him about what ye like? Or did he just not listen?”

“Well, no… that bottle… when we got home… I cracked it open and we had a sampling.”

“Christ!” Geillis exclaimed. “Must have been some date to open that.”

“Well I didn’t know it was a good bottle. How should I know that you bought me a bottle of very expensive scottish whisky?”

“Because I’m yer best friend and I do nice things for ye?” Geillis replied in confusion making Claire laugh.

“You are my best friend,” Claire agreed, “but I don’t know about the nice things part. In any case,” Claire spoke louder over the top of whatever Geillis’ rebuttal was going to be, “he knows that I don’t know whisky so it was his suggestion that we go for a tour and I can learn.”

“Perfectly good waste of a fine bottle of whisky, on yer first date if ye ask me. Bet ye hardly even drank any of the stuff a’fore ye were tearing each others clothes off,” Geillis continued to grumble.

“The bottle’s open now. Feel free to come over and drink as much as you like.” Claire smiled as Geillis rolled her eyes.

“Ye ken I’m taking ye up on that,” Geillis said before tossing back the remainder of her coffee.

“Wouldn’t doubt it,” Claire laughed as she picked up her bag and her phone vibrated in her pocket again.

--

Standing in front of her mirror Claire fiddled with her cardigan, fussed over her hair and checked her makeup. This was the second date. She’d already slept with the man, how badly could this date go? She considered straightening her hair, but she knew what Geillis would say if she found out that she did, and Claire decided that it wouldn’t be worth the beratement from her friend.

How was one supposed to dress for a second date anyway? Or at least a whisky tour? She’d settled on jeans and a simple t-shirt. It wasn’t over the top and at least she was comfortable. But she should be putting in more effort? Was her make up alright? She wasn’t wearing that much, so maybe she should put in a little more effort.

Geillis’ voice chastised her in her head. “Go as yerself and not some other numpty.”

Claire shook her head and looked herself over once more in her mirror. This was as good as it was going to get, and if Jamie couldn’t see that, then that was on him. Besides… he had seen her first thing in the morning, no make up with mussed up “sex hair” so surely what she was wearing right now couldn’t be that bad. He had wanted another go another round after eating the toast and having some coffee the next morning, so really, she clearly couldn't look completely horrendous when she put in at least a little bit of effort.

Why was she overthinking this? Why was she so nervous? Claire knew the answer to that; it was because she actually liked Jamie. It had only been one date, but she did quite like him and if the second date didn’t go well… she wouldn’t be heartbroken, it was far too early for thoughts like that, but she would be disappointed. She supposed, there were still other “fish in the sea” but Jamie seemed like quite a catch.

She wasn’t quite ready to delete the dating app from her phone, and there was still Frank that she could message back if she wanted to. Why was she thinking about another man- one that she hadn’t even spoken to- before her date with Jamie?

Nerves. She was nervous. And she was trying to protect herself. If things with Jamie didn’t work out, even after their excellent first date, if today, their second didn’t go well… well at least she’d tried. At least she had back up. At least she would be ok.

Huffing and shaking her head, Claire picked up her bag and locked her apartment. Ready or not, she was going on a second date.

—

They agreed to meet at the whisky distillery rather than carpool. Claire was nervous and couldn’t maintain conversation with her Uber driver. Only managing a few “uh-huh’s” and “mmm sure’s” in response to whatever he had been asking. Soon he gave up trying to engage her in conversation and they continued the journey in silence.

2pm. That’s what Jamie has said. 2pm at the Scotch Whisky Experience. Claire’s knees were bouncing in the car and then shaking upon her exit. 1:38pm. Of course she was bloody early. She was always bloody early.

Claire looked around to see Edinburgh Castle looming beside her. She hadn’t walked through the castle in goodness knows how long. It was very touristy and as much as Claire was very decidedly not from Edinburgh, she did feel like she was more of a local nowadays. Geillis had a big hand in that, opening her home, and her city to Claire when she had first arrived. Would there ever be a part in Claire’s life where Geillis was not somehow involved?

20 minutes to kill. What was she going to do for 20 minutes? Claire huffed in frustration. She was too anxious about being late so she arrived stupidly early. Maybe she should have stayed in the Uber and made the driver go around the city for a few loops.

Spying a free bench under a tree that was providing absolutely no protection from the sun at all, Claire decisively made her way over and was about to take a seat when a voice interrupted her.

“Claire.”

Christ. It had been 48 hours and his voice still did things to her insides. Claire turned back slowly toward the sun to see the outline of Jamie standing in front of her. She blinked a couple of times, trying to clear the glare from her eyes. Was she always going to be perpetually awkward and dumb when it came to Jamie?

“Jamie, Hi,” she smiled at him. What was the protocol here? Was she meant to hug him? Kiss him? Shake hands? They’d slept together and then parted ways. There was no rule book for this. Were they dating? Was this exclusive? Was this far too soon to be thinking about any of that? Yes was the definitive answer to that particular question and Claire shook her head looking down at her feet. Good lord, she was embarrassing. Thankfully Jamie couldn’t read her mind or else he’d be running for the hills from the idiot, love sick puppy standing in front of him.

Jamie’s fingers were tapping against his thighs in an uneasy drumbeat.

“Good to see ye again,” he said ducking forward to her.

Unfortunately at the exact same moment Claire said “you’re looking well,” and moved forward to give him a hug. A hug was, after all, a friendly gesture.

Claire’s chin collided with Jamie’s shoulder and she jolted forward in pain. Jamie’s hand was somehow in between their bodies and as Claire lurched forward his fist collided with her stomach, somewhat winding her.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” Claire gasped one hand flying to her chin, the other to her stomach.

Jamie jumped about a foot in the air at the exclamation and his hands fluttered around her helplessly.

“Dhia, I’m sorry Sassenach. Are ye alright?” He sounded panicked and Claire snorted with laughter which turned into a gasp for air as her stomach muscles recoiled.

“Give me a second. Just winded me is all.” Claire held up a finger as she doubled over and tried to take some deep breaths.

“I’m so sorry.” Jamie was shuffling from foot to foot as Claire tried to catch her breath.

“What’s your shoulder made of? Cement? Nearly shattered my jaw,” Claire said as she slowly stood up straight and rubbed her bruised chin.

“Just bone as far as I’m aware,” Jamie answered nervously running his hands through his hair with nerves. “Are ye alright? Jesus. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m fine,” Claire tried to smile. The pain was already subsiding but goodness it had hurt.

“Great start to our date, aye,” Jamie said sheepishly.

“You certainly took my breath away,” Claire joked and Jamie let out a breath of relief.

“Aye, I’ve been told I have that effect on women,” Jamie replied lightly.

“Well, with a right hook like that, I’m not surprised.”

“Truly Claire. I am so sorry. Are ye alright?” Jamie asked in concern again as Claire nodded in response. “Ye still want to go on a date with me?”

“I suppose so. I’m already here, and we did already buy the tickets. Seems like it would be a shame to waste them,” Claire grinned at him and watched as his face relaxed in relief. “Maybe just warn me before you make any sudden moves so I have at least a chance to prepare myself.”

“Aye, will do.” Jamie grinned as his cheeks darkened slightly and a smattering of red flush appeared on his throat. “Just one more thing…”

“What’s that?” Claire asked curiously before Jamie, with slow, exaggerated and deliberate movements linked their hands together.

“Ye look lovely, Sassenach,” Jamie said before ducking down and placing a swift kiss on her cheek, making her blush.

—-

Whisky tasting, as it turned out, was quite a lot of fun, especially with a private expert who whispered facts while sampling the smokey alcohol.

Jamie laughed as Claire’s nose scrunched up upon tasting a very old, very rare whisky that Jamie insisted was like honey. Claire thought it tasted more like eating a mouthful of ash, but she wasn’t about to say that to Jamie or their host.

Claire watched in fascination as Jamie chatted with their guide, asking poignant questions about their ageing process and the barrels they were using. Anyone would think that Jamie owned his own distillery with the way that he spoke to the guide. Claire soon stopped listening to the questions Jamie was asking in favour of simply watching him talk about something that he clearly loved.

He spoke a lot with his hands when he was particularly passionate about something. He moved fluidly as he tried to articulate with his hands what he couldn’t with his words. When he laughed at something the guide said, the rumble started somewhere deep in his chest before exploding from his mouth and Claire could help but smile and chuckle along as well, even if she had no idea what she was laughing at.

When he was listening intently to something the guide was saying (for the life of her, Claire had no idea what it was) there was a crease that appeared between Jamie’s eyebrows as he lost himself deep in thought. He nodded in understanding, a slow and measured move before he asked his next question.

His fingers tapped impatiently against the bar as the guide turned and spoke to some other patrons and Jamie waited to monopolise his time again, a fresh barrage of questions in his arsenal, ready to fire.

The guide himself seemed thrilled that someone like Jamie was in his audience and would more than likely have spent all his time indulging Jamie’s questions, if not for the other guests that had also paid for his services.

“Are ye enjoying yerself?” Jamie asked snapping Claire out of her study of him.

Claire thought about the amount of time she had spent watching Jamie in comparison to actually listening to the distillery owner talk about the whisky creation process, or for that matter, actually sampling the whisky.

“I am,” she replied with a smile. He didn’t need to know what the smile meant, or that is was specifically from the joy of watching and learning about him. “You certainly seem to know your stuff.”

“Ach,” Jamie grunted and waved away her comment with his hand. “My father and my uncle worked in a distillery when they were younger, passed the love of good whisky down the line, I s'pose.”

“You take a lot of your dates on whisky tours then? Impress them with your knowledge?” Claire asked slyly, turning on the stool she was sitting on to face him properly.

“No’ really no,” Jamie answered seriously. “I usually have much better taste in women, who already ken their way around the drink.”

Claire scoffed in response, playfully whacking him on his arm. “Date a lot of alcoholics, do you?”

“Aye, must be why it has‘na worked out for me. I always loose them somewhere between the fourth and nineteenth drink.”

“Have you considered that they were drinking to forget your awful company?” Claire teased as Jamie shuffled his stool closer to her.

“Why, Sassenach! How dare ye! And here I was thinking that we were having a lovely time!” Jamie replied in mock outrage.

“You did greet me by almost dislocating my jaw and socking me in the stomach,” Claire pointed out with a grin, which widened as Jamie’s cheeks flushed with colour. “Not to mention the fact that you’ve spent most of our date with our tour guide.”

“Well he’s a very fetching man, Sassenach.”

Claire looked over to the barrel chested 50-something man, who had clearly enjoyed a life of whisky if his reddened cheeks and prominent belly were anything to go by.

“What a monumental disappointment I must be, if that’s your type,” Claire snorted as she looked back at Jamie. He was looking at her intently and she felt herself blush slightly under the intensity of his gaze.

“Aye, ye’ll do,” Jamie hummed before the guide approached them with a new sample and Jamie was lost once more in the experience.

—

Their date was coming to a close and now there was one question on both of their lips. Owing to how their first date had ended, how could they think of anything else? Your place, mine, or neither? Claire had a good time with Jamie. He made her laugh and blush profusely when he complimented her, but they had rushed things when they’d slept together on the first date. Claire didn’t regret it, of course, but she knew that it had been too soon, especially as she planned to see Jamie for many... many more dates.

And so where did that leave her now? Was it an expectation that she would take him immediately home and ravage him (not that the thought was far from her mind, of course). Something about this date was different though. They had moved passed the awkwardness of the first date. The awkwardness of knowing that an app on a phone was responsible for bringing two people together.

And what an odd thought it was. The algorithm that simply located two people within a certain radius, a certain age group, with a certain preference and that were both willing to date; to bring two people together that were meant to be what? Soulmates? No that was perhaps too strong of a word. But two people that were meant to find, what was it? Satisfaction? With one another? What an odd thought that was to entertain.

Claire, however, was still left with the conundrum of what were she and Jamie supposed to do now? It was too early for dinner, too late for lunch. While not completely inebriated from the tour, Claire was decidedly tipsy. She wasn’t sure how Jamie was faring after the alcohol consumption but he seemed to be standing quite solidly next to her.

Though, Claire had decided, they had moved passed the awkwardness of the first date and getting to know each other, here she was feeling very, very awkward about what was supposed to be her next steps.

Was she supposed to invite Jamie back to her place… again? Were they supposed to just part ways and wait for the next date? Surely there would be no harm in kissing him goodbye. She’d remembered how he kissed her and what it did to her insides and she involuntarily shivered at the memory.

“Are ye cold?” Jamie asked snapping her out of her inner monologue. It was the middle of summer and no doubt it must have been at least 28 degrees (which was wildly warm for Scotland, even at the peak of summer, but global warming was a myth right?).

“No, no, I’m fine,” Claire replied, slightly embarrassed that Jamie could see her physical reaction to him. Although, she couldn’t really avoid it with Jamie standing as close to her as he was.

“Well, I … ahh,” Jamie began and Claire realised he was as lost as she was when it came to their next steps.

“I had a nice time. Very informative.” Claire swallowed the lump in her throat. Should she just invite him back to her place? It didn’t seem like that kind of a date.

“I’ll make a Scot of ye yet,” Jamie smiled at her as she snorted in response.

“Is that what you’re trying to do? After only two dates? I think you’ve got your work cut out for you, good sir.”

“Oh aye?” Jamie replied, his eyes alight with mischief. “Why’s that?”

“I’m an English woman. Born and raised,” Claire retorted. Which was not technically true. While she was born in England, Oxfordshire to be exact, Claire had grown up all over the world, only spending the latter of her teenage years back in her homeland. “The blue blood of royalty runs in these veins. You can take the girl from the motherland, but you can’t take the motherland from the girl.”

Jamie grunted in response, a sound that sounded so distinctly Scottish and so distinctly Jamie that Claire scoffed with laughter.

“Truly are a Sassenach, then aren’t ye?”

“It would appear so,” Claire readily agreed. The name didn’t sound so bad coming from Jamie. It was, dare she think it, somewhat sexy when he said it.

“Canna say I did’na try then,” Jamie admitted with a shrug.

“Canna indeed.”

Jamie grinned at Claire’s (atrocious) replication of his accent, shaking his head at her, she was sure she heard him mutter “terrible” under his breath before he looked back up at her.

“Well. I suppose we should call it a day then,” Jamie said nervously. His hand rubbed the back of his neck; a habit, Claire had noted, he did when he was nervous or uncomfortable.

“Yes, I suppose we should. Unless there are any more whisky facts that you insist that I should know.” Claire looked up at him hopefully, not quite wanting their date to end.

Jamie thought for a moment, before looking back at her, his eyes bright with an inside joke that Claire wasn’t quite a part of yet.

“Tasting whisky. It’s similar to somethin’ that ye’ve said to me,” he said confidently.

“Oh?”

Jamie nodded seriously, but Claire could somehow see the humour in his eyes.

“Aye. When ye taste whisky,” Jamie paused for dramatic effect and Claire nodded eager for him to continue, “go slow, and pay attention.”

—

Claire left Jamie feeling giddy. They had parted ways but not before Jamie had kissed her, with an intense kind of passion that was sure to stay with her for several days. They made plans to see each other again, but with Claire’s night rotation coming up, things were made quite difficult.

Eight days. Eight days before she would be able to see Jamie again. She could still text him of course, but it wasn’t quite the same as seeing him, sitting with him, watching him, listening to him… kissing him.

She was somewhat glad they hadn’t gone back to either of their places after their date. Their first had been so rushed, it was nice to start slowing down with each other and giving themselves the space to start growing a relationship.

A relationship. After two dates. Is that how quickly it always worked? You clicked with someone and that was it? Exclusivity? After two dates… they hadn’t discussed it of course. It was much too soon for that. Or was it? Claire wasn’t the type to see several people at once. Especially since she had connected with Jamie more than she had connected with any other man. But the thought of seeing other people didn’t interest her and she was embarrassed to admit that the thought of Jamie seeing someone else made her stomach turn.

She would need to ask Geillis about how quickly she fell for Dougal and what the protocol was for being exclusive. Although, perhaps that was a can of worms she was not prepared to open.

Eight days. It seemed like such a long time but at least she would be occupied with work. At least that would take her mind off Jamie and over analyzing every detail of their two dates; trying to find what went right, wrong and anything in between.

Eight days. That was when she planned on seeing Jamie again. Sunday night. They were going to have dinner. They hadn’t decided where yet, maybe a restaurant or maybe one of their places. Jamie had boasted about his ability to cook, and while Claire was not completely redundant in the kitchen, she was by no means the chef that Jamie had made himself out to be.

Eight days. That’s when she was expecting to see Jamie again, and so it was a complete surprise her she saw him walking down the street, arm in arm with a shorter dark haired woman, stopping outside a cafe, throwing his head back in laughter at something she said, then swooping down to kiss her on the cheek.

Claire felt her stomach drop to somewhere around her ankles and struggled to pick it back up. They hadn’t discussed exclusivity. Claire had just assumed, and perhaps she shouldn’t have. It only “made and ass of you and me” as her uncle used to say. Well, Jamie was certainly a very specific type of ass, maybe an arse was more accurate and Claire very much felt like an ass for thinking that what they had was something deeper.

She shook her head trying to clear it, she’d just come off a night shift and maybe she was seeing things. She could just stroll past the coffee shop and take a peek inside. Perhaps it was nothing.

Gathering her courage Claire slowly passed by the coffee shop, walking slowly in the pretext of looking for something in her bag, while slyly trying to look through the window. There was no mistaking Jamie, as large as he was with red hair on show- it was definitely him. Claire felt her heart squeeze in adoration as somehow his large frame was squeezed into a small and delicate coffee table and chair. But there was also no mistaking the way that he was holding the other woman’s hand across the table, looking at her with soft eyes as he nodded at her. He squeezed her hand before he jumped up, pulled the woman with him and grabbed her in a bone crushing hug.

Claire couldn’t watch anymore. It was embarrassing and a wave of shame and regret passed through her body like lava, slow and burning from the top of her head through to her toes. As she turned away from the window trying to regulate her breathing, it was like a bucket of ice was thrown over her and her body struggled to regulate its temperature. Shame. Embarrassment.

Claire felt tears spring to her eyes. She was being ridiculous. She was just tired. Well, if Jamie was going to see other people, then so was she. They hadn’t discussed exclusivity after all. Perhaps this was her own fault for moving too quickly too soon. She’d “popped his cherry” as it were and now he was looking to roll his oats...sow his oats- whatever the saying was; Claire couldn’t think properly. She was still standing stupidly in front of the window and she heard her name being called, muffled from behind the glass of the cafe. She needed to get out of there.

She quickly turned on her heel, pulling headphones from her bag and stuffing them into her ears. She walked quickly in the hope that Jamie wouldn’t follow her. It’s not like he would abandon his date to go chasing down after her. That would be ridiculous. She heard her name being called again and she kept her head down. It wasn’t muffled now, he was clearly outside of the cafe. He called again and she crossed the road. She hadn’t even turned on music to drown out the sound. She heard him call once more before she turned the corner out of his sight, and fell against the wall of a building, breathing heavily.

Opening up the dating app on her phone, she scrolled quickly to find the message that Frank Randall had sent her and without giving it a second thought, she replied.

They hadn’t said anything about exclusivity, after all.

[themandylion]

[fic] Stat Roll

Please enjoy this little story about a certain smol dragon’s boyfriend in honor of the first Saturday in May.

—

"You can help out in the shop Saturday, right?" is the first thing out of Jason's mouth when Tim sticks his head in at the end of the day. Normally he'd be a bit less snappy, but he's trying to get everything in order and he's already feeling frazzled even though he's still got a few days.

"Uh, but peewee game?" "Postponed until next week. I don't need one more thing to deal with along with everything else." Jason tugs the vacuum closer and does another pass by the used and discount racks. Honestly, he has no idea how the carpet gets so much dirtier over here than the rest of the store. "Wait, is something going on? I know Bart wanted to get together and do something for May the Fourth, but I told him I couldn't because of the peewee game." Jason stares at him. "Seriously? And here I thought you were the comic nerd in this relationship. Tim, it's the first Saturday of May." "Okay...?" "Free Comic Book Day." Tim blinks, then straightens. "Right! Any heavy lifting you need me to do?"

——— "Thanks again for doing this, Kyle." He honestly wasn't sure the guy would show up, especially since Jason hadn't offered him compensation aside from lunch and free publicity, but apparently his pleas hadn't fallen on deaf ears as he'd originally feared. "You pulled the guilt-tripping ex card and offered me free food, of course I wasn't going say no," Kyle says, dropping his bag under the table and plopping himself down. "Do I need to stay the whole day, or just a couple hours? Only I told Jade I was doing this and she wanted to swing by, finally meet you." "Er, as long as you can stick it out, really? I'm not sure how much of a draw you'll be, most of the customers skew on the younger side." Jason had asked Tim to put out word that the author/artist of the City Dwellers series is going to be at Knight & Page, but he has no idea if it did any good—the mysteries of social media are beyond his ken. "Sounds good. Say, speaking of meeting people, do I finally get to meet the mysterious 'Tim'?" Kyle waggles his eyebrows, because he is ridiculous. "Yeah, he's agreed to help out. He'll be back any moment now, just ran out to get bagels or something for all of us." Jason nods over at where Sin is getting herself situated at the free comic table, Charlie helping her straighten stacks. "He better hurry up if you want a chance to eat them before the masses descend. They're already starting to look restless out there." Kyle gestures to the window, where a small crowd has already gathered out front, waiting for the doors to open. "I don't know why they do this every year. They know I'm not opening those doors until 10 o'clock." "Ah, but what if one year you decide to open at 9:30 and that's the year they wait until 10? They'll never forgive themselves." Jason makes a face. "And now I'm once again reminded why I broke up with you. Ugh. I'm going to go check on Tim—don't you dare open those doors." ——— If the bagels are ever a thing, Jason never sees them. Heck, he doesn't even see Tim until quarter-past noon, when a pair of arms snake around his middle and a sharp chin digs into his back. "D'you know you've got a dryad hanging out at the signing table?" Jason glances over, sees the pretty woman sitting next to Kyle, and shakes his head. "That's just Jade." Who he'd finally had a chance to meet earlier, albeit very briefly before being called away to check the basement for extra stock. "Pretty sure she's not a dryad—she's dating Kyle, and he's completely mundane." "Yeah, no. Definitely a dryad. Her aura's all green, very pretty," Tim says. "Also, met your ex. Nice guy, cute butt." "How can you even see his butt, he's sitting down? Never mind, don't answer that." It's probably some weird magical thing that Jason has yet to learn. "Shit, I can't believe she's a dryad. Don't magical types generally stick to dating other magical people?" He hopes this isn't going to come back to bite Kyle in his apparently cute rear end. Kyle likes Jade—quite a lot, from what Jason's gathered—and he deserves to catch a break with his love life after the shit show it's been (and yes, Jason's including himself in that). "Love doesn't always follow rules. I started dating you when you were still mundane. And, actually, there's might be some latent potential in him—two potentials hooking up, one of them later going on to date a dragon, the other a dryad? Magical people tend to gravitate towards one another, sometimes without even realizing it." Tim pulls away slightly, allowing Jason to turn and slip an arm around his waist. "Well, in the case of me and Kyle, it was more we had a really good time in bed nearly bit off each other's heads the rest of the time. I don't know if gravity even really factored into it, just two dudes being kinda horny for each other." "I really want to make a bad pun in response to that, but it wouldn't work on account my not actually having horns," Tim grumbles. "Oh, hey. Reason I'm over here aside from wanting to appreciate your very cute butt—it's nearly 12:30 and Kyle mentioned something about you promising him food?" "Shit, I totally forgot. Do you think you can handle things here if I slip out for fifteen, twenty minutes to get it? I'd ask you to do it, but I already know what kind of things he likes." "Go, take a break. Regain some of your last sanity," Tim says, giving him a swat. "Bring me food too?" "Of course." ——— He ends up getting enough food to cover the girls too because it's always best to stay on Babs's good side, and, after a moment of hesitation, enough for Jade as well. It's probably weird to want to make friends with his ex's girlfriend, but Kyle's still his friend and he wants to make a good impression. Laden with bags, he reaches gets back to the shop and finds he doesn't have a free hand for the door. Luckily, an older man quickly steps forward, opening it for him. "That's quite a haul there, young man. Are you planning to feed a small army?" "Feels like it, but no. I've got friends helping me out with something today and I figure the least I can do is make sure they get fed. Thanks for getting the door." "Not at all, I was on my way in anyway." Jason can't help the, "Really?" that slips out in response. He know he shouldn't be surprised that old people are interested in comics as well as young, but even his older customers are rarely as long in the tooth as this guy. "Well, I haven't been by since Hiram passed, so I figured it was about time." The man smiles, his blue eyes positively twinkling in the afternoon sunlight streaming in through the windows as he straightens so he's no longer leaning on his cane. For one brief moment there's silence, all the crowds vanishing and leaving the store completely empty except for just the two of them. Except it's not one moment—or, if it is, it's a moment that's stretching on for forever.

"Oh," Jason says a little dumbly, staring at the man.

"Hello, Jason, I'm Alan. On behalf of the local wizard circle, I'd like to welcome you to our little community."

"Who in the what now?"

"When my daughter said you'd eaten the egg, I figured it was past time for me to come see you myself."

"But, wizard…?" Tim made it pretty clear to him that wizards are not the type to be having kids.

"Yes, well. That's the curious thing about dryads, you know—they're plants, and not all plants strictly ascribe to one sex. Jade's other parent was a real character, lemme tell you!" The wizard laughs, clapping Jason on the back. "Come on, let's pull your friends into the time bubble. From what recall back when Hiram used to run this place, I'm sure they're all in need of a bit of a break before heading back into the fray."