i like how unhinged he became in the second half of this

anonymous asked:

(a Feysand fic) Feyre and Rhys are in the lingerie shop, Feyre tries on a set and this time Rhys and Feyre aren't alone in the shop and when Feyre is in the changing cabin, Rhys comes in and things turn out smutty and Rhys teases her but they have to be really quiet because there are other people in the shop... ( Please don't end the fic without the really smutty part and thanks if you decide to take the request) I love your fics by the way <3

Well,nonnie I hope you like it but know this that I don’t write smut because it tends to get choppy so forgive me.I only wrote this because you said that you love my fics and that made my heart splutter.I hope you love it.

A visual on Feyre’s lacy underthing ;) because I’m not a master at describing.

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I Wouldn’t Leave You If You Let Me

I’ve been out of sorts with my Blindspot muse lately. I have several ask prompts sitting in my inbox that I need to get to, so I apologize to my askers for not having answered them yet—promise it will happen! I think once the show starts back up, I’ll be back on track. I hate writing not having some idea of what direction it’s already headed in for the characters, since I’m such a canon whore, but this random Jeller-ish snippet hit me tonight. I’m not sure where it came from. Hope y’all enjoy it. :)

Music inspiration, Halsey’s “Is There Somewhere”.

Title: I Wouldn’t Leave You If You Let Me
Ship: Jeller
Summary: Everything always leads him back to her.

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Fanfiction - Beauchamp Riots (Part IV)

It’s the final chapter!! And it’s here! I’ve actually written this small story in less than a week!! I’m beyond humbled, emotional and grateful for all the comments and feedback. This truly only makes sense because you guys are here to share it with me. I hope it ends on a good note! Without further delay – see you on the other side! <3

All my fanfiction

Part IV – Morning Glory

I woke up to a small wail that made the strings of my heart resound like a guitar. He was already moving beside me in bed – I could feel his warmth slipping away, my body bent in a mirror shape of his own. I didn’t open my eyes, content with feeling the heart-breaking tenderness of his thumb tracing my earlobe.

“I’ll go.” He whispered in my ear. “Rest some more, mo nighean donn.”

I hummed, knowing that he would be back to me. He always did. I could already anticipate his powerful hands, insinuating themselves bellow the hem of my nightgown. I would be instantly aroused by his touch, the smell of morning glory on his skin, highlighted by our daughter’s sleepy scent. It was the smell of love – and I was lucky enough to be bathed in it each dawn.

After a few moments, I listened as he strode across the room again, raising the sheets to lie down next me.

“She’s sound asleep.” He kissed the back of my neck. His voice was husky – unhinged after a night of silence. “Have I told ye today how much I love ye?”

“Hmhm.” I smiled. Jamie was brushing my wild curls away from my shoulders, so he could more easily access the exposed skin of my shoulder. “I believe you haven’t.”

“I love ye.” His hand caressed me and slid to nestle against my breast – possessive, famished, loving. “Yesterday, today and tomorrow. And all the wee hours in between.”

The alarm clock went off and I almost jumped out of bed like a rocket ready for launch. I turned it off, rubbing my eyes to persuade sleep to go away from me – I felt boneless and exhausted after a week of nightshifts and very few hours of sleep. And when I did sleep, I dreamt – vivid images of a lost life, that left me aching and irascible – so much so that I became weary of falling asleep altogether.

I mechanically moved to open the water tap for a shower, turning on the coffee machine on my way. I brushed my teeth and dressed with the precision and discipline of a trained soldier. It was easier that way – to function and appear normal, not allowing my mind to drift to unwanted places. I needed to maintain a routine, to keep going – or I might be doomed to stand still for the rest of my days.

Jamie didn’t marry Geneva - that much I knew. Ian phoned me, the night after our argument at the pub, to let me know Jamie had called off the engagement. I recalled that moment – when I had felt so hopeful and joyful – with anger and frustration. I was, of course, expecting him to drop at my door – but he hadn’t. Instead Jamie had gone home, to Lallybroch, to heal and get away from all the gossiping and harshness – where he still remained to my knowledge. I hadn’t seen him or heard from him in over a month.

I looked at my image in the mirror with detachment. My hair was unruly – but that wasn’t a novelty – and deep dark circles surrounded my eyes. I looked half as tired as I felt. Adso came and sat by my feet, looking at his reflection with mild interest – by then he knew better than to try to tackle that weird cat that moved in front of him. He touched my leg with his paw and meowed in sympathy.

I grabbed my purse, mentally listing the groceries I needed to acquire at the supermarket, and opened my front door.

He was standing there, his eyes downcast, his hands hidden in the pockets of his coat. I noticed his hair was shorter than the last time I had seen him. How long had he been there, summoning courage to knock at a door that used to be always open for him?

Jamie breathed deeply and raised his eyes to meet mine.

“May I come in?” He asked softly.

I honestly thought for a second of closing the door on his face, but something in his tone forced me to be gentler. I nodded and silently fell back and allowed him in.

Adso padded towards us and greeted Jamie in his usual fashion – purring and rubbing himself against Jamie’s legs, begging for his attention and long fingers.

“Must all males in my life be such obnoxious traitors?” I grumbled, throwing Adso a resentful look. “We don’t like him anymore, remember?”

With a mixture of gestures and monosyllables, I invited Jamie to sit on my kitchen table and placed a cup of strong tea in front of him. I sat on the opposite side of the furniture – as removed from him as possible.

We both sipped our tea in silence, playing a game of hide and seek with our eyes.

“This has been lovely.” I finally said, setting down my cup with a tump. “But unless you actually have something to say, I have places to go and things to do. Not all of us can go into hiding and leave our entire lives behind.” I watched as my words hit him, the invisible wound formed underneath his skin – we were fortunate that words didn’t leave bruises, or the both of us would be disfigured.

“Do ye remember…” He started slowly. “After the bombing, when I left the hospital and came here to convalesce?”

“I do.” I replied softly.  I did, of course. I had been covering the ER the day of the attack – sometimes I could still close my eyes and see the image of endless corridors filled with people screaming, blood and tears streaming like rivers of sorrow, my trembling hands continuously stitching and holding people together with small threads of kindness. I was still shaking with tiredness and horror when they called me – from that exact same ER – as mine was his top listed contact.

I had felt like screaming and crying when I saw his back – but I hadn’t. I remembered the strong lines of his back, the grace of bone and muscle, the softness of his skin under my fingers when I occasionally had touched him there. But I had locked away my feelings of loss and surrendered myself to the task of nursing him back to health.

It hadn’t been easy – he was in serious pain, although he tried to hide it under cheerful remarks and crude jokes. He was incredibly weak and depended on another person for every small task – even wiping his own arse. When he had completed the initial skin grafts, I had taken him to my house and continued to nurse him there.

I think, perhaps, that was truly the moment I knew I loved him. There is something terrible and wonderful in seeing someone stripped of every mask of civility; of every notion of propriety or ego.  The man that remained under every one of those layers was still Jamie – and as deserving of my love as the handsome young man that had saved my broken heart in a pub.

“Sometimes I would come awake from the pain.” He proceeded, searching my eyes. “It was unbearable. It tainted my dreams and I thought I’d go mad from it. But then I saw yer face, lying next to me, half smiling in your sleep…” Jamie gulped. “So serene and beautiful. It soothed me enough for me to bear it another day.”

“Why did you decide not to marry Geneva?” I asked, fighting against the tears that had formed in my eyes at his words.

“Ye were right.” He smiled, a sad smirk that made me well up even more. “She wasna right for me – or I for her, for that matter. Marrying her would be deceiving us both.”

“So, you realized that you weren’t meant to be.” I stood up and placed my empty cup in the sink, bracing it for support. “Is that it?”

“Not all of it.” He whispered, moving his shoulders against the fabric of his jumper. “I’m in love with ye, Claire – have been, from the moment we talked in the pub five years ago. Maybe even longer, when I first saw ye there, so unware of how remarkable ye are.”

“And yet you needed me to tell you that.” I bit my lip, turning my head to face him. “You were about to marry another woman!”

“Aye.” He said, his voice coming out stronger. Firm. Decided. “I had lost all hope that you’d ever be mine. So I accepted this small thing, a pale shadow perhaps, thinking that it might be best for the both of us. Do ye know what is to live each day so close to the person ye love, yet not being able to touch her or hold her, having to pretend ye feel nothing? Having to talk and smile when inside yer head ye’re screaming so loud ye can barely think?”

“Yes!” I exclaimed. “I bloody well do know, James Fraser!”

“Aye?” He raised and grabbed my arms, his hands hot enough to sear my skin. “And why did you tell me all those things in the pub, Claire?”

“Because I wanted you.” I whispered, letting him see on the glass of my face how honest I was. “More than I ever wanted anything in my life.” He had never been good at hiding his emotions from me – his face changed, like deep dark waters lighted by a moonlight beam.

“But ye only realized that when I told ye I was engaged?” He licked his full bottom lip. “Are ye no confusing the fear of losing me with really wanting me?”

“No.” I asserted. “I was just blind before – so afraid things would change. But I’ve always known.”

He nodded and smiled tenderly, his palm coming up to touch my face, tracing me from brow to chin with moving lightness.

“I’m sorry I dinna come sooner, mo nighean donn.” He slowly leaned over and rested his forehead against mine, so close I could feel the warmth of his breath, the smell of earl grey tea and the slight tremors that coursed through his body. “But I was so ashamed. I dinna ken how to tell ye that I’ve been such a fool. How to amend for making such a mess of things.”

“I was so angry at you.” I was shaking too, from relief and strong emotion. “I thought you had left me.”

“I could never leave ye, mo ghraidh.” His finger caught a curl and entwined it on my hair, keeping me close to him. “No man can live long without his heart.”

He tilted his head – a movement so imperceptible that no one but me would have noticed – and I knew he was searching for a way to meet me. My hands travelled to his short, but still softly wavy, auburn hair and nestled there. I already knew the ways of his heart – and was confident that it would take me a very short time to be as knowing of the mechanisms of his body, so complicit with mine.  

We kissed then, passionately, with a desire and longing that had been five years in the making. There are plenty of beautiful descriptions of a kiss in literature – the feelings, the slow burning dance, the fight that comes from the will to surrender – but they would never be enough. Not to describe what it is to be kissed by Jamie. Not to portray what it is to be made anew.


Calman geal.” Jamie whispered, brushing my hair away from my face. We were lying down on my bed, bared, facing each other. I had spent the last few hours busy with the pleasant job of discovering his beautifully made body. I felt a sore happiness in every limb, as if my arms and legs could open up and laugh from joyfulness.

“That one is new.” I kissed the sensitive skin inside his forearm. “What does it mean?”

“White dove.” He smiled, as his hand fondled my waist, quickly making its way to the curve of my bottom. I was right – he did like it quite a lot. “I never knew a woman could be as beautiful as you, my own.”

“Hm.” I hummed, satisfied. “I’ll accept that - even if I still think you were actually calling me something funny.”

“Ah.” He laughed. “Perhaps tomorrow we can have a proper first date? I’ll take ye out to dinner somewhere nice.”

“I think we have exhausted every possible first date and conversation a long time ago.” I bit him on the chest, close to his nipple. “This seems like a perfect date for us, if you ask me.”

“I bet there are still things ye don’t know about me, tough.” He kissed me thoroughly on the lips. “We could talk about those. Maybe dance a little afterwards - put those waltz steps to good use.”

“Is this a challenge, James Fraser?” I blew away a curl. “I thought I’d spent the last hour showing you how much I do know you.”

“So ye did.” He rolled on his back, pulling me to straddle him. “But I want ye to have everything ye deserve, Claire. I want to go out and shout to the world that ye’re mine now, as I am yours. I want to do those silly things, like holding your hand in the darkness of the cinema and send ye flowers. I want ye to be surprised when I steal a kiss from ye and find every new way to love ye. We lived a lot together, already – but it ain’t enough. It will never be enough, Sassenach.”

“Please do, Jamie.” I winked and rolled my hips, taunting him. “Or I might just riot.”

The End

A Year Every Minute Pt. 50

A story centered around the lives of Gaster, Sans, and Papyrus from beginning to end. Themes will be both happy and tragic.

“so.” Sans began again, his arm outstretched. His magic kept the flower and its vines pinned to the ground. “who are you and why are you doing this?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, you smiley trashbag.” Flowey hissed. Sans wasted no time in slamming the disk of the flower’s face into the ground a few times. “GAH!”

“let’s try that again. who are you and why are you doing this?”

“Why would I ever tell you?” The flower narrowed it’s already tiny eyes.

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