A/N: Alright y’all. Here it is. After this chapter, we can officially head into everything @ellieljade and I have planned. You’re not ready, tbh. As always, thank you to Nicole for being my beta and soundboard.
First and foremost to all my new followers…and there seems to be a decent amount of you. That kinda makes me nervous, but…I am a shipper. I ship end game. I don’t care if you’re a shipper/neutral or anti. All are welcome if they wish. I only care if you’re a hater. If you are, kindly move along. I have no time for negativity. I typically write S/C stories, with the occasional Outlander one thrown in.
While I know she wanted something sexier, the story she gave me could not have been anything that what it became. I swear I had ghost around me. My ghosts, writing this. I didn’t want them, but they were there.
I cannot write Jamie for the life of me, and I hate that I can’t, but there you have it. But it’s his story and only he could tell it.
I gripped the shift, thin and worn, like it was still draped along yer body…
With a thunderous howl, the wooden door was wrenched open,
Jenny appearing on the other side. I could see her brush the soot off her
skirts, but I dinna look up. I could feel m’heart beating something fierce; racing
round like Jenny’s wee bairns after the chickens.
I felt the dress ripped from my grasp, and a tear sprung
from its edge. I stood quickly, ducking out from under the cubby, but looked
down upon my sister with an anger I could feel surgin’ inside of me.
“Give it back.”
She stood back, holding the shift up high, tight in her hand.
“She’s gone, Jamie. Ye said so yerself. Why must you keep bringing her back?”
“Janet Murray,” I could hear my words, steady and firm, “Ye give me
back my wife’s clothes, or I
“Swear what?” Jenny stood before me, her eyes blazing, “Ye
canna do a thing to me, James Fraser. I come to tell ya the red-coats have
gone, so ye can ferret back up to yer hole in the hills, and I find ye frozen
in place, wi’ your face in her shift. She’s gone.”
I pulled the shift from her fingers, holding onto it for
dear life. I wouldna let go of this, the way I had with her hand that night, so
“Aye. She’s gone,” I agreed. “I’m reminded of it every day.
Claire was,” I stood straight as an arrow, my voice lowering, “Claire is my wife.” I was quiet, our anger
equal in fierceness, but on opposite sides. “And what do you mean by hidin’
this from me all this time?” I waved the shift in my fist, before bringing it
to my nose and closing my eyes. Her memory always pricked my skin like a
thistle, but I felt alive in that pain; her face reflecting back in my blood.
I grabbed the bag Jenny and Ian had filled wi’ food and
trinkets to keep me entertained, and stealin’ a quick glance outside to make
sure the soldiers had disappeared as quickly as they had come, fled back to the
home I had lived in for nearly six years.
Wi’ the red-coats so close tonight, I couldna make a fire.
But as I sat in my cave, the chill of the wall against my back, I ken I wouldna
be cold tonight. I breathed in her scent, faint, but still there, “Ah, mo
nighean donn, you’ll keep me warm, will ya not, Sassenach? Ye always could.”
awake,” she hissed, pushing my hand away from her breast.
“Aye, everyone is,”
nudging my morning wakefulness against her round behind. She laughed a laughed
that warmed my soul each time it floated passed my ears.
She tried to pull away
from me, giggling “Your feet are cold.”
“Hmm…I ken you’ll warm
She turned over in my
arms, her breath hot against my lips. I kept trying to catch them, but she’d
keep on pulling away, giggling, before coming close again.
growled, before showin’ her I could take what I wanted. I gripped her body,
pullin’ her into me. She ran her fingers along my side, just in the wee spot
she ken would always get me. I laughed, lettin’ her break free, until she rolled
on top, pinning my arms above my head.
“Did ya now?” I
quirked my brow nudging my cockstand against her bottom.
I fell against my blankets, her shift, heady wi’ her scent,
even after all this time, whirling around my brain.
I closed my eyes, taking hold of myself through my breeks.
It had been so long, I dinna want to disgrace her wi’ what I was doin’. But I
couldna stop myself.
“Could ya maybe, Claire?”
I could hear her answer, it came through the cave softly, and
wrapped around my body, keeping me safe and warm, as she took my cock in her
Each night she’d come. I’d watch her face lookin’ upon me
from the walls; her smile caught in the steady flow of water, dancing along the
stones, hiding in between the cracks, before bursting through the other side
with fire and light. I would feel her
hand upon my cheek, her breath upon my lips.
She was soft, those nights. Her skin chilly and smooth. Pernicious
bliss, I thought with a smile. She was lovely in the dark. Almost hidden, my
thoughts only allowing for fragments of her to come through.
“You know I’m not really here, Jamie,” she would say.
I would just hold on tighter to her shift, curling myself
into her body.
The nights a fire was lit, though, she was fierce. Her
anger, punching me in the chest, ferocious and strong, leaving marks, wounding
my flesh. Or was tha’ me? She was strong and passionate, then. Would push me to
the wall, grabbing and fighting, thrashing about. She rode me hard, those nights.
Taking her own pleasure wi’ every part of my body; her hair wild, falling
across her shoulders. She was strong in the fire.
Some nights, she’d walk away from me. I would see the shape
of her through her shift, the dampness causin’ it to cling to her hills and
valleys, just so. Her nipples pointing hard through the thin cloth. As the
ember flame perished, I’d shiver. I’d call her back, my legs not moving to run
for her. She’d duck, curling herself around the edge of the cave so that all
I’d see were her fingers clinging to the stone. I’d call out to her, my throat
hoarse from the smoke and chest tight wi’ fear.
I’d wake with my hands bloodied from the ground, the dirt
itching under my nails. I’d look to the entrance, the light barely shining
through, and she wouldna be there. She wouldna be there until I breathed her
in, calling her forth, again. Then, she’d come.
My heart would warm, beating faster beneath my chest.
chridhe. You are a sight.”
I’d watch her dance in the cave, the dark, damp walls
turning to the blue paper of the Laird’s room. Our room. She’d sing songs to
me, from her time. Songs that would make me laugh, and she’d laugh along wi’
me. She’d take my hand, pull me up beside her.
“Dance with me, Jamie.”
“Ye know I canna dance, Sassenach,” I’d say.
“I can’t sing, has that stopped me?”
I would laugh, hearty and healthy, “Nah. And I would never
wish ye to.”
And we would dance, her voice echoing around the cave,
bringing it to life. All the creatures hidden in the dark would slink out,
coming to clap and stomp their feet as we did.
We’d fall into the piles of blankets and I would kiss her
deeply, lifting her shift up, and I would push inside her. My name would fall
from her lips, and the creatures around us, would leave us in peace.
Some nights I was quick. Some nights I would take my own
pleasure inside her body, forgetting her. Other nights, I would love her in
every way imaginable. I would kiss every part of her, leaving a trail of heated
flesh that would bubble up in the cool night air. I would nurse from her
breasts, let her nourish me, before moving on. I’d play around her tummy, my
tongue tickling her by her sides, and she’d push me away in fun, but she’d
always pull me back. Back into her.
I would taste in her most private of places, her honey
pooling on my tongue as her legs would tighten around my head. And when she
called to me, when she would beg to be taken, only then, would I enter her,
swiftly and to the hilt. And I would be home. We would be home.
I turned my head, my fingers drawing across the scars on my
back. The scars she left from the night before. I set her aside, dropping the
shift to the blankets, and I would brush away the dried blood, only nothing
fell away; so, I’d feel again, but the marks under my fingers were old. Nothing
remained but scars from so long ago.
I would break. I would fall to my knees, cursing you.
Cursing God! I promised I would gladly walk through two hundred years of
purgatory for ye Claire. But did ye have to punish me yerself, while I did?
I settled myself in, one hand tucking under my breeks as the
other held yer shift to my face, once more. I closed my eyes and ye came to me
with yer hand open, taking hold of mine, beneath the breeks. I could smell yer
hair all round me.
I buried myself in her
hair, inhaling, and she whispered in my ear, scratching her face across my
beard,“What is it you want, Jamie?”
“You.” I dropped the shift, wet from my tears, from my hand and let
it fall into the fire.
request: Bts - Taehyung. Smut. He’s your boyfriend and he’s on the phone with someone impt (Bang Pd/mom/dad) but your super desperate tonight and just start to mess arnd with him and little taetae while he’s on the phone and it slowly escalates. Thanks babe !! 😉😆
( lord please forgive me for the sins i have committed in this fucking chapter lmao )
I came out of the Majestic Theatre’s stage door one night in 1988, long after the crowds had gone, heading through the long alley on my way to Forty-fifth Street and the cab ride home. Suddenly a woman appeared from round the corner, striding toward me, full sail followed by four young people at the trot. She spoke to them in tones that reeked with resolution: “It’s got to be here somewhere.” (That voice. Where had I heard it before?) She paid no attention to me and strode past. Then she abruptly changed her mind, turned and started back, quickly gaining on me.
“Young man,” she called - her voice resounded along the walls of the alley - “Where’s the stage door to the Golden (Theatre)?”
I turned and looked into Katharine Hepburn’s marvelous face. “Uhhh,” I stammered, mentally grappling for a brilliant phrase to stun her with the force of my personality, “it’s right there.” I pointed the way. (That’s terrific, Crawford: this is a chance meeting she’ll never forget!)
“Right,” she said. “Thank you.” She brushed past me, and she quickly disappeared down the alley with her guests in tow. Only in New York, I thought. Where else would you meet Katharine Hepburn in a dark alley!
A week later she came to see The Phantom of the Opera and visited my dressing room afterward. It was clear that she’d been crying. “You!” she drawled in that crisp metallic voice of hers. “I have never seen anything like that in my life! And I’m going to bring people back ah-gain, and ah-gain and AH-GAIN!”
“Thank you,” I said, “and I give good directions, too.”
She raised a perplexed eyebrow, smiled a polite - if puzzled - smile, and left. But she is a very generous woman, and she forgave my bit of brash humor. She kept her word as well and returned on many occasions with members of her family. She was reportedly seen in the orchestra, crying happily every time.
Michael Crawford, from the book Broadway Day and Night
erwin is Big and levi is just. gay, hes just so gay
coincidentally, erwin is also just, so gay for the tiny angry raven
they get together because isabel and hanji were tired of watching them eyefuck each other in class
erwin goes 2 levi’s house to pick him up for their first date and meets levi’s mom who is rlly sweet and levi’s uncle who he is absolutely terrified of
kenny doesnt say anything but he makes a point to be sure erwin can see him sharpening his collection of knives while erwin anxiously waits for his tiny boyfriend to Save Him
levi eventually comes downstairs and drags erwin outside while kuchel tells them 2 have fun and kenny just Glares
levi later tells erwin that he’s pretty sure kenny’s been to jail at least once and erwin knows Only Fear
they see a movie and levi makes fun of it pm the entire time and erwin finds it Endearing
afterwords they go to the arcade and levi kicks erwins ass at air hockey but erwin beats him at skee ball and shows him how to win the cyclone arcade game
they get a ton of tickets and erwin uses it to buy levi this stuffed teddy bear that he said he didnt want but erwin saw him eyeing anyway
instead of going home immediately they get milkshakes, two separate ones because levi “will not do that romantic shit i want an Entire Large Milkshake to myself and i will probably drink some of yours anyways”
erwin is In Love
levi just turned erwin’s Straight A+’s into Gay A+’s
they sit on the roof of erwin’s used car and stare at the stars and erwin is ever a Gentleman and puts his jacket on levi so that hes warm and they are just. so gay
so damn gay
erwin eventually takes levi home, making sure to have him there by curfew Of Course and theyre doing that awkward standing on the front step like “this was nice” “ya it was” “would you wanna do it again sometime?” staring into each others eyes
and levi actually looks Shy™ erwin is Startled and then levi grabs the front of his shirt and yanks him down and kisses him on the cheek and Dashes into his house yelling “BYE”
erwin just has to stand there for a couple minutes this little punk just turned blue eyes blonde hair catholic boy gay as hell he needs a Minute
he finally gets back in the car and drives home just Grinning and him and levi text the rest of the night
levi blabs about the date 2 his mom and kenny just Sulks his nephew is growin up that aint r i g h t
kuchel glares at kenny when levi aint lookin because boy if you dont let my baby be happy youre gonna have somethin else 2 worry about
levi names the teddy bear “blondie” and sleeps with it Every Night
he Normally holds onto it while texting erwin late at night long past time for both of them to have gone to bed
How do you headcanon Yuri will propose? Will it be smth planned or he'll just wake up one day and think it's the day? Will he be nervous? Which language will he speak? Will Otabek suspect that the proposal is coming? Ugh i have so many questions sorry
I have a little of this written out, but its on my other laptop which is getting put back together rn. I basically believe that Yuri will tell Nikolai that he wants to ask Otabek to marry him while they both go for a visit. Maybe it just so coincides with them finishing the restoration on the motorbike in Nikolai’s shed.
After a long night of drinking and playing cards for spare roubles and Otabek has gone to bed early, Yuri pours Nikolai one more drink. He tells him that he wants to propose.
After a discussion about the issue, Nikolai retrieves a jelwery box of Yuri’s moms old rings. There’s all kind of rings in there. Cocktail rings, her wedding band, maybe even some of his moms’ moms’ stuff.
Yuri takes the box under his arm into his bedroom and tries to hide it from sleeping Otabek. Except Otabek is wide awake, sitting quietly with the lamp on. It becomes very clear to Yuri that Otabek has heard everything.
So they dig through the rings together trying to find something they can pull stones from and make something new.
Otabek points out that Yuri hasn’t really asked anything yet.
So Yuri asks, and Otabek agrees if only they can retire in Almaty someday.
But imagine if, in ACOTAR 3, Tamlin realizes all of his mistakes.
He was sitting in his study, Feyre long gone and having returned to the Night Court, a brief note left on her bed and he hadn’t suspected a thing. He had been foolish enough to truly believe that the bond between Feyre and Rhysand was broken. That there had been nothing between them.
A damned fool.
He had been blinded by love, surely. He had wanted to deny what had been so plainly before him; Rhysand and Feyre were mates. And he had not crawled into her mind and put the idea there, it was as real and true as it was hard for Tamlin to understand.
And he feels guilty for having done what he did to Feyre. For having oppressed her, denied her, refused her. She had given him everything and he had basically shoved her into Rhysand’s arms. He had given her everything Tamlin had failed to.
Though he knows full well that there is nothing that can stop a mating bond, he ponders if Feyre would still be his if he had done something differently.
And then the battle comes.
It is just as bloody and devastating as they had all anticipated it would be. The King of Hybern had certainly not disappointed them in that aspect.
Feyre is there, never too far away from her High Lord as they both fight and fight and fight.
But there is an unseen threat. And Tamlin knows about it. He has known for quite some time, as the King of Hybern had entrusted him with this knowledge.
It was a weapon that was sure to bring down Feyre, and in turn, bring down Rhysand as well.
Tamlin was many things, and he had done many regrettable things in his lifetime, but there was still love for this girl in his heart. And he could not allow her to die.
Even if it meant his death.
So he pretends to fight on the evil king’s side, seemingly killing in his name.
But when the time comes for that heinous, despicable dark magic to sweep through and torture Feyre, to kill her…
Tamlin tears through hell to get to her, changing into his beast form one last time to shield her—
And it burns and is excruciating. Agonizing.
Feyre’s eyes turn up to him, at first filled with an astonishing amount of hate.
But he cannot shield her from all of this dark magic, some of it slips through his walls and reaches her.
He clenches her tighter.
The venom in her eyes melts to sorrow and understanding. He will die for this.
He can already feel time slipping away from him. But it will be okay because she will live and love and her life will continue. They will defeat the King of Hybern.
It will be okay because at least the last thing he will remember before he slips into eternity will be the color of her eyes, the feel of her skin…
The pain is like a thousand knifes thrusting into him at once. Like being dumped in a pool of acid. Like all the pain and sadness of losing a loved one.
He will not cry out. He refuses to give anyone that satisfaction. He will go silently.
Her hand reaches up to touch his cheek…
The words form on his lips, but refuse to expel.
I love you
I love y–
A flash of light and then…
Feyre will never forget how Tamlin had given his life for her. How, until the very end, his first instinct was to protect her no matter what the cost of it was.
Rhysand comes to respect the High Lord that had given his life for her.
There is a garden created in Velaris, and it is named after Tamlin in his honor. There is a Celebration of Music once every year in Velaris, and all of the High Lords travel to the Night Court at its opening because if not for Tamlin’s sacrifice, they would not have defeated the King of Hybern.
And Feyre is aware of the last words he had wanted to say to her. She had slipped into his mind and felt just an inkling of the pain he had been going through, but through all of that, she felt his love for her still burning through him.
And both of them—Feyre and Rhysand—will never forget the High Lord who had realized his mistakes.
“Cassian? What in the world, it’s two in the morning.”
Nesta pulled open her front door to find her once best friend slash ex slash person who confused her beyond reason standing on her front porch. His eyes were red and his hair was sticking up every which way. But there he was, on her porch. Holding a child in his arms. A little boy who looked exactly like him.
He sighed. The boy, who couldn’t have been older than three, clung to him. He looked half asleep and terrified of wherever he was. Cassian winced as Nesta glared at the man who had taken her heart and torn it apart inside her chest. She wasn’t sure how it was still beating.
“I know we haven’t really talked in the last three years. But I um,” he looked into those gray blue eyes that seemed to be made of steel, her jaw set tight, and he felt it. How much he missed her. How she was the only one he wanted to ask for help, “I had nowhere else to go.”
Nesta bit the inside of her lip and then looked at the boy in his arms, “who’s this?”
Cassian smiled then, lifting the tired child closer to the girl who still meant the world to him, “this is Ash, my son. His mother decided she likes freedom more than him and well. She left him with me.”
In which Damian wants to be an adult, accidentally stumbles into friendship with some dumb ten-year-old half-alien kid, and maybe finds appreciation for the kid still in him too.
Damian Wayne is not a kid.
He lets Grayson call him “kiddo,” sure. And much to his
dismay, there have been times when he, Pennyworth, or Father carried him to his
bedroom after he dozed off somewhere else in the Wayne Manor.
And he lost his last ba–deciduous tooth more recently than he liked.
But that doesn’t
make him a kid.
Damian’s earliest memories are being pushed to
climb mountains, taught how to fling swords into an opponent’s gut, and told,
time and time again, of the legacy he will fulfill. Visceral violence and blood. There was never a time for
childhood. At least not one in the traditional sense that everyone else seems
Besides, he’s thirteen. Surely that adolescent age
is finally old enough to be considered on his way to adulthood, his lack of
growth spurt and still-high-pitched voice be damned.
Jon Kent, the half-alien, on the other hand? Is
perhaps the biggest kid he’s ever known.
Creepypasta #1087: It Doesn't Matter How Many Times I Tell My Babysitting Story, Because No One Believes Me
Listen, I’ve told the
cops my story three times now. You can keep asking but I’ll keep saying the
same thing. I know what I saw. I’m not crazy.
They were advertising for a babysitter on Craigslist. The
post read “WANTED – BABYSITTER. ONE NIGHT ONLY. PARENTS NEED A DATE NIGHT
DESPERATELY! $50. MUST LIKE GAMES.”
Well, I needed cash and I like kids. I like games too. I
figured it would be easy money for just one night, so I responded. Back and
forth, the typical shit - “We’re so happy you answered”, “When do you want me
to come over?”, “Here’s our address”. All that stuff was pretty
straightforward. Nothing really jumped out at me.
I should’ve realized they never mentioned who I’d be
So I pull up to the house and it’s a real shithole. One of
those that’s in an okay neighborhood and probably looked fine a long time ago
but it got really gross and now their neighbors are pissed because in between their
all-right houses is a total dump but no one says anything about it. And they
had real weird decorations, too – next to the mailbox were these little
bird-things with stone eggs for bodies and old metal limbs sticking out. Pointy
rusted beak heads bobbing on weak springs. Real weird.
I knocked on the door because they didn’t have a doorbell.
Right away, it opened, like someone was waiting for me.
First off, the guy was old. Like way, way older than I’d
expected. I mean, the ad read like a couple with a baby who hadn’t been out in
forever and this guy couldn’t have been a day under 70. Kind of stooped over,
bald, skin sort of hanging off his face like it does with some old guys. His
nose was all red, burst capillaries, most likely from too many years in the
“You’re here,” he said, excited, waving me in with a
gnarled, liver-spotted hand. “Come in, come in!”
A/N: Wowie, this was requested a loooooonnng time ago (and probably one of the most requested)! Only getting to it now because I’ve juts finished school, and I’m so sorry! This is the last part of the series. I gotta say, I had a lot of fun writing these, so thanks for all the feedback and requests!
Summary: Just a not-so-normal school day after an encounter with a creepy old fart and Spider-Man the night before.
Warnings: Itty bitty use of the a-word. Just a bunch of fluff and cheese! It’s also pretty long so sit down and enjoy!
I don’t remember much about last night. That happens sometimes, after having gone too long without sleep. It never bothered me before. But I remember falling asleep on the couch and here I am now, lying in my bed and John sitting on the chair in the corner of my room. Asleep.
I should have told him. The moment Sebastian contacted me, I should have told him. I find myself not wanting John to leave Baker Street. I want him to know the truth.
…I’m lying in bed at night, I really miss you. Not the ordinary I miss you type of thing where I wish you were with me. But the type of miss that feels like a part of me is missing. As if it’s gone and I need it back. That’s the type of miss I feel. It’s not an I want you with me; it’s an I need you with me.
A/N: This time it’s from Jacob’s POV and the reader is not in love with him…or at least tries to pretend she’s not. It is very angsty and it leads right up to the Jack the Ripper DLC. I may do a part three depending on how well this part does. Thanks for reading.
It switches POV towards the end and it’s marked so you’ll know where.
Words: 4,611 Warnings: Angst, mentions of violence, mentions of blood
Jacob woke with a start and a pounding headache. He groaned
as he rolled over only to find the other side of the bed empty again.