silent gesture

  • being friends with a gryffindor is: never having to worry about not having someone to fight for you; knowing that you are arms length away from receiving the warmest hug you have ever had, like hot apple cider or hot chocolate; pillow fights at 1AM because why not? it's not like sleep could ever give you this feeling of joy; it's sitting next to a roaring fire painting nails, or trying to braid hair [and failing miserably]; it's watching the sunset together, and trying so desperately to memorize how the colors from the sky are making their face glow; it's standing up for them, even if they screwed up - because they're your friend, and what they did isn't worth giving up those uncontrollable giggles late at night; it's teaching each other how to grow up, and be mature, and learn from your mistakes; it's often going out of your comfort zone to do things that you might regret later, but you know will be worth it in the end; it's trying new recipes together and almost coughing it back up because you seriously needed to have had a recipe; it's always being there for each other when it counts.
  • being friends with a ravenclaw is: turning around in your seat during class, to look at them and roll your eyes simultaneously; coming up with new conspiracy theories about your favorite tv show; writing messages on each other's jeans and hands/arms, and getting in trouble with the teachers for not paying attention; it's not being afraid to tell them that they need to go back upstairs and change their outfit; it's not being afraid to give them the facts, and show them how it correlates with their circumstance; it's watching the stars together, and having a contest about who can spot the most constellations, before you both decide 'screw it,' and make up your own constellations - each with their own history and characterization; it's trying out new things together, whether it's completely foreign to the both of you, or just one of you - to please the other person and to gain their perspective; it's reading to each other late at night, while the other plays with your hair; it's always going above and beyond to keep your friendship alive.
  • being friends with a slytherin is: silent gestures and small smiles during the day, to let the other know you care about them; it's like finding a four-leafed clover - once you find it, you never let it go; it's throwing rocks in water and watching the ripples as they calm you; it's not being afraid to point out the bad qualities in each other, as well as the good, and have conversations about them; it's doing each others makeup and laughing so much that your eyeliner is all over the place, and you can forget about mascara; it's seeing who can sculpt the weirdest animal [with a backstory, please and thank you - along with its diet and habitat]; it's staying on the internet until dawn, and barely speaking, but giggling as you send each other memes; it's jumping on the bed to your favorite music while singing in a hairbrush; it's texting each other in near-tears, spilling your heart out, while the other listens and comforts you, and tells you all the reasons why you'll get through it, and how you don't need the person who is the source of your hurt; it's constantly picking each other up after someone's knocked you down; it's knowing that you have someone you can be completely bare-faced with, and know that they'll either cut all ties with you, or know that you have someone to love you for life.
  • being friends with a hufflepuff is: late-night talks about nothing and everything; sending each other baby hedgehog videos; hand-holding; seeing who can eat the most in one sitting [and then comforting each other the rest of the day, because oh my god who would even eat fifteen pieces of toast in their right mind]; sketching each other [and failing miserably]; lighting dozens of candles and laying down on the couch side-by-side, whilst your favorite instrumental record plays in the background; not being afraid of tear-stained clothes; sometimes having to pull all-nighters working through problems with each other, due to too much blatant and tactless honesty; always smiling at each other while you pass in the halls; always lending an ear when needed, even if you can't give advice; squealing at seeing their selfies, because oh my god, I am friends with the cutest little bean in the universe; making road-trip plans for the future; tripping over air while going on hikes together; drying flowers together; knowing that although they might have their head in the clouds, they will always come back down to earth just for you.

Do you think Derek ever remembers the Stiles that he first met, the loud mouthed, cheerful, quirky, smirking, always moving, always curious Stiles, basically the definition of ALIVE, and he knows Stiles has been through a lot even before that but it never crushed his spirit completely.

Do you think he looks at the Stiles after the nogitsune and everything else he’s had to go through, seeing right in front of him how much quieter Stiles is, how he might flinch at surprise noises or contact, how he doesn’t strive to know everything about anything anymore, how he keeps his head low and approaches things in a more calculating way, a tired way, rather than wholeheartedly.

Do you think he sees the tight lipped smile and the dark eyes and thinks to himself how he should have been more present, how he should’ve been able to do something, ANYTHING, to stop this from happening. Because it happened to himself, he should know how it goes by now, he should’ve seen the signs, he should’ve dared to believe the nagging voice in the back of his head and should’ve stepped forward when he saw that no one else would. But no, he had let himself believe in his self-pity, that Stiles, someone so great could never fall, that he could never experience something like Derek because he was too strong and too precious and too amazing, that he could never need someone like Derek when he has so many people around him.

Do you think he blames himself for not realizing sooner that they are both just people, that he is not some monster who attracts and deserves all the worst for just existing, that what happened to him could happen to anyone, and that Stiles is not an actual angel, who is immune to everything (even if he was Derek’s guardian angel).

Do you think Derek’s heart breaks over and over again every time Stiles half heartedly jokes that they’re all just broken now and that Derek isn’t alone.

Do you think he sees the plea in Stiles’ eyes that he doesn’t dare speak, the way Stiles had seen it in his before he had even known what he wanted, a touch, a hug, unconditional trust, but that he doesn’t know what to do because he still doesn’t trust himself, and all he wants to do is fall to his knees and tell Stiles he’s sorry for letting things go this way, and he knows that it’s pathetic and he’s just being his self-deprecating self again, and that it’s not helping anyone - it never has - but he doesn’t know what to do, all he knows is what Stiles had done for him and he knows he can’t be as great as Stiles, he can’t.

Do you think he tries anyway because he would give his heart and his soul, or what’s left of it anyway (sometimes he doesn’t believe there’s anything left at all but considering he’s alive, and considering the way something beats hard in his chest when Stiles’ eyes meet his there must be SOMETHING there) no matter how small and shattered- he’d give it all for Stiles. And he can’t rewind time and he can’t fix him, and Stiles deserves so much more than his shattered pieces, and one day surely, Stiles will find someone better, someone who serves as a cooling balsam to the pain within, and that thought makes his throat close up and his chest burn and it almost makes him turn away from Stiles because he’s been taught in the past not to give anything if there’s a risk he’ll get burnt- but he does it anyway, because this is Stiles and if he’s not getting what he needs from anyone else, if by chance he’s not letting anyone else in for the moment, if Derek knows where the cracks are and how to warm them, then he’ll be there. And he might not be enough but at least he’s something and maybe, just maybe he can serve some kind of purpose, whichever it may be, to preserve that last part of Stiles that’s hidden behind the cold exterior, maybe he’ll be just enough to help Stiles survive until his life pieces itself back together again and Stiles is back on his own two feet.

Do you think he takes Stiles’ hand, silently because he was never good with words, and because he remembers that most of the time Stiles had comforted him by touch alone, small gestures, rather than his wide vocabulary of words, and that he’s surprised when Stiles isn’t.

Do you think that the tears that form in Stiles’ eyes at the contact take all of the sorrys from Derek’s lips because he loses his breath when Stiles gives his hand a gentle squeeze and sniffles, smiling ever so slightly, not strong enough for an honest full fledged smile, because it would be a lie if he did, but this one is real and it’s the most beautiful thing Derek has ever seen because it means he was right, Stiles is still in there and he might know the one or other thing about getting him out.

Do you think they’re still overly careful around each other and about digging too deep, they’re cautious to protect each other, and they might seem to bicker and argue harshly on the outside about trivial things, but when it comes to words with depth they’re both quiet and calm, and Derek sticks to his silent gestures until they start losing their power.

Do you think the time he sets a hand on Stiles’ back and Stiles pulls away, fear makes his chest tight that he’s reached his limit and he’s not enough anymore, that he’s got nothing more left to give and that this is the point where he has to let Stiles go to find someone better, someone worthy, who will put that real, honest, full fledged, ear to ear grin on Stiles’ face in the most vulnerable of moments.

Do you think Derek remembers that time, where Stiles broke through all his walls and looked straight into his soul with just one word, a seemingly irrelevant word in an irrelevant conversation that had nothing to do with either of them, really, except for fighting off a threat with a paralyzing tail.

Do you think he remembers how Stiles gave everything back then, prior to that word, he used all the energy he had left in him to keep both their heads over water and that he would’ve died to try and save them both, and Derek had found a way to dismiss it, thinking Stiles is the kind of person who would sacrifice himself for anyone, kind of like himself except that Derek did it because he thought he deserves to die much more than anyone else and Stiles probably did it because he thinks no one deserves to die unless they’re trying to kill someone else.

Do you think he takes a step forward to chase the step Stiles took away and tells him simply “you’re not alone”, and it’s three words to Stiles’ one but it’s the best he’s got and he always knew his best is not even close to Stiles’, and he knows he’s got to try everything, give it everything he’s left in him all the way to the end, because Stiles’ would do the same for him if he let him, and he has to take the chance just in case Stiles lets him to the same.

Do you think Derek keeps on talking, thinking about the way he likes hearing Stiles’ voice when he’s down, and talking might not come easy to him but it gets easier when he sees Stiles is listening and his shoulders slump as if he’s finally letting some of the weight of his walls fall.

Do you think Derek envelopes Stiles tightly, not trying to prevent it when he breaks and starts sobbing into his chest, but holding him together so that he doesn’t feel shattered and scattered all over the place when the tears slowly cease, and it hurts, seeing Stiles like this, hearing the sobs that wrenched from him, and maybe it’s such a punch to the gut that Derek tears up himself, but this time he has to be there for Stiles so he keeps talking, making sure Stiles has something to focus on beside the sounds of his sobs.

Do you think that maybe when they both quiet down, exhausted, and Derek sees how reluctant Stiles is to leave his side just for a shower, even if he can’t look Derek in the eyes at the moment, and how they somehow drift back to each other when they lie down, how Stiles grasps onto his shirt tightly when Derek brings his arms back around him, that maybe Derek starts to think maybe there was a reason they kept getting pulled back to each other, maybe there’s a reason they can see past each other’s defenses and see more in each other than either would ever dare to admit, maybe, just maybe, he can be enough for Stiles, the way a scrawny, pale but dotted with moles, sarcastic 147 pounds of skin and bones teenager simply believing in him was enough or him years ago.

a CP ficlet, as promised

(idea courtesy of @echoing-artemis, who said CAPTIVE PRINCE BACHELOR AU which then turned into UNREAL AU in my head because let’s face it, in any situation like this, laurent will still be full of machinations.)

***

When Damen laces his hands together, the left thumb is on top. Laurent fixes this detail with a look that is, as it were, a warm-up for the look he’s about to direct at Damen’s face. Damen is perched on the edge of the plush, over-quilted, impeccably white satin bedspread, elbows resting on his spread knees. He is crushing some of the red rose petals. Laurent makes a mental note to send a production assistant in here with fresh ones before they film the individual segments after the cocktail party.

Someone knocks at the closed door and says, “Um, I think–”

No,” snarls Laurent, wasting the first and most icily searing few seconds of his expression on the door. Silence follows.

“All right, what is it?” Laurent demands of Damen. “Is it drugs? Do I need to send someone out for some cocaine? Do you have a fucking headache? Has a soft-hearted AD whom I will summarily fire snuck you your phone, and you’ve found out that your cat’s died?”

“No,” Damen says, apparently to all of the above. After a moment he adds, in a tone that Laurent can’t parse, “I don’t have a cat.”

“Then what the fuck is wrong with you? I’ve seen potato salad with more vivacity than you’re showing out there.”

“It’s all so–staged,” Damen says, with distaste.

Laurent manages not to roll his eyes, but the violence with which he wishes he were rolling his eyes causes dull pain to gather behind them like a stormcloud.

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supportive shance.

when shiro has nightmares or panic attacks, lance is always there for him, offering to talk about it and asking if it’s okay to touch him before moving on to physical comfort. whatever makes shiro comfortable. and sometimes he’ll just ramble about old garrison or family stories or something one of the other paladins said to fill the silence so shiro won’t have to feel alone with his thoughts. 

when shiro gets insecure about his arm and his position as team leader, lance is there with every compliment possible for shiro, validating his existence and telling him how important and appreciated he is. he’ll put both hands on shiro’s face and say, “i love you, you know? all of you.” and then as an afterthought (except this is always planned), “i mean, all of us love you but no one else appreciates the booty like i do.” and sure nothing is completely fixed, but shiro is laughing and that’s all lance could ask for.

when lance’s homesickness gets so bad he loses sleep, shiro can always find him wandering the halls huddled in his “cape blanket” until he settles in on the bridge to watch the stars. shiro joins him and holds his hand, pressing into his side; a constant warmth. on nights like these, lance doesn’t talk. he just squeezes shiro’s hand in a silent gesture of thanks and appreciation for him being there. the next morning, lance kisses shiro’s face over and over again until they’re both laughing and they know they’ll be alright.

they both have their insecurities, but knowing that the other is there, that they can reach out for comfort, makes them stronger. of course they can’t love each other better, but their support is that little something they need to get through the days. 

friendship goals // stiles stilinski

Summary: Having only ever been acquaintances, Stiles & Y/N find out what benefits come along with being friends

Requested: no, collab with @sincerelystiles

Pairing: Stiles & Y/N

Warning: yes, mature language & smut throughout

Masterlist

“Why does Scott insist that playing hide and seek in the middle of the pitch black woods is going to bring us closer together as a pack?” Y/N sighed, annoyed as she pulled her thin jacket closer around her shoulders.

“Quite complaining.” Stiles shushed her, bringing a finger to his lips. “You’re only upset because you’re stuck with me.” He smirked.

They had never been anything more than acquaintances. She was friends with Lydia, automatically making her friends with Scott and in turn, Stiles.

“It could’ve been worse.” He offered his hand to her, helping her over the large tree trunk that had fallen over blocking their path. “You could have been stuck with Liam.” She smiled as she reached for his hands. 

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Things about 12x16 “Ladies Drink Free” #3

Alright, excuse me for a second, but it’s things like this one that make me love Jensen’s acting so much. It’s not the big and huge dramatic moments or fight scenes or whatever that capture what amazing an actor he is (I mean those do too, but those aren’t the ones that make me go “heart eyes”), it’s the aspects like this one right here, the way Dean is flexing his hand. It tells so much about Dean in this moment, the tension and unease he feels, how short tempered he may be beneath the surface. It is a wonderful visual for Dean’s discomfort and annoyance and we have seen him do that a few times before (I remember talking about it in S9 I think but I can’t find a link now). So yeah, subtlety that’s what I love about Jensen’s acting. The silent moments, the small gestures, the short looks and whatnot, because it’s those things that make Dean Dean.

you’ve met one another, right?

words: 4337.

or the one where everything is still the same: even and isak still do happen. but it’s observed under sana’s watchful inspection. on even.

(or the one where ten times, sana sees even, as even and isak happen.)

canon compliant, but, with a little bit more. this wasn’t meant to turn into a full blown fic but, oh well, no can do.

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02 | flashing red

( things you said through your teeth + vampire!kim taehyung )
word count :: 1,319

He interrupts you before you can even get a word in. “Drop it.”

You scoff, exhaling in a laugh that brings the uneasy smile across your lips. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“Of course I do,” He retorts, straightening up and turning his neck to glare at you, red eyes and all. “It’s written all over your face.”

You furrow your eyebrows together. “If you know, then why won’t you let me—!”

“I said to drop it,” Another interjection, this time through clenched teeth, balled fists, every red flag to show that you cannot win in this argument. Normally, you would let it go, let the fury from arguments simmer over until things really got better. But how can you drop something like this, how can you wait until things get better if he won’t get better?

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still breathing

A lil 4x03 bellarke speculation fic for your enjoyment

Bellamy can’t stand to watch Clarke cry.

Under other circumstances, he would consider himself strong. He threw away his chance at a normal life the moment he held baby Octavia in his arms, he’s gone to the ends of the Earth and back for her and the other delinquents time and time again. He’s watched loved ones die over and over and still pushed on—

But he can’t stand to watch Clarke cry.

As she sits in front of him, sobbing, he can’t help but to reach out to her, just a hand on her shoulder, a silent comfort, a gesture of solidarity. He lets it rest there for a second, giving her a light squeeze, and he’s about to pull away when she rests her hand over his, anchoring him.

Then she turns her head, resting her cheek over the hand that has a death grip on his. He can feel the wetness of her cheeks, and he is so, so weak.

Bellamy kneels in front of her, sliding the hand on her shoulder up her neck to delicately cup her jaw, his thumb swiping away a stray tear.

“Clarke,” he says, voice low. “We’ll figure this out. We always do.”

Another tear slips down her cheek, and he gently wipes it away. He brings his other hand to rest above her knee, thumb tracing patterns back and forth over the fabric there.

She reaches out and grips his shoulders, still catching her breath from crying, and its natural, the way his hand travels from her knee to rest on her hip, his thumb continuing the comforting circles over her hipbone.

Having her this close—it’s terrifyingly intimate. It’s more intimate than anything they’ve done before, but somehow, it still feels right. His heart feels like it’s beating out of his chest, but he’s breathing easier than he has in months.

He shivers when her hands on his shoulders snake around his neck, fingers curling into the ends of his hair. With a sigh, her head falls forward, forehead resting lightly on his, noses barely brushing.

They stay like that for a moment, just breathing the same air, and he can feel Clarke start to relax before him. It would be so easy, he thinks, to close the gap between them—only a few inches—and just kiss her.

He wants to map her body with his lips. He could make her pain go away, even for just a few minutes—he could make her feel good, if that’s what she wanted.

It startles him, when the thought crosses his mind, that it’s not what he wants.

Of course, he’d do anything he could to take her pain away.

But he wants more than that.

He knows, that as much as he’d like to kiss her at this moment, the timing is wrong. The way things are right now, with both of their still healing hearts, the ticking time bomb that is a nuclear apocalypse hanging over their heads—he could never have more.

It’s why he’s so caught off guard when Clarke closes the distance between them and presses her lips to his.

At first, she’s tentative, her kiss gentle and unsure. She presses another slow kiss to his cheek, his temple, his forehead, and then she seals her lips over his once more.

He’s ready this time, and against his better judgement, he kisses her back.

The second kiss is more demanding. She swipes her tongue across the seam of his lips, demanding entrance, and he gives it to her. She groans into his mouth, and that’s when he knows he’s fucked.

The hand resting on her hip slips under her shirt, smoothing over the soft skin of her stomach and sliding up her spine. His other hand curls around her neck, tangles in her hair, holding her as close as he possibly can.

One of her hands remains anchored in his hair while the other fists into the collar of his t-shirt.

Her mouth moves desperately against his, and she presses against him, silently pleading for more.

He lets his hand roam from her spine back to her stomach, and when he traces his fingers over the skin beneath the underwire of her bra, he feels her whole body shudder.

It takes all his willpower to wrench himself away from her mouth. He tries catch his breath, to get himself under control, to tell her that they can’t, but Clarke takes the opportunity he’s presented her and attaches her lips to his neck, trailing hot, wet kisses across his jaw and collarbone.

“Clarke,” he tries, but it comes out more like a sigh when he feels the light scrape of her teeth against his skin.

She finds his lips again, but he feels wetness on her cheeks. He pulls away.

“Clarke,” he says, more firm this time, and she hastily tries to wipe the tears from her face.

She brings her forehead back to his and grips his biceps. “Bellamy, please.”

He rubs his hands up and down her arms. “We can’t, Clarke. Not like this.” She looks at him then, her bright blue eyes boring into his. “Not when we only have months to live.”

He’s afraid, after he’s said it, that Clarke wouldn’t even want this if they weren’t about to die.

“What if we did?” she asks, and her voice is strong, sure. “What if we did have time?”

He searches her eyes for any evidence of hesitation or uncertainty, but he finds none. Instead, her eyes are clear.

It takes him a long time to find the words. “If you still want this after we both survive the end of the world,” he starts, and even he is surprised at the confidence in his words, “then I’ll be here.”

It feels like a promise, somehow, and she squeezes his arm to tell him that she feels it, too.

She looks at him then, eyes a little watery but otherwise composed. “You still have hope?” she asks.

He almost wants to laugh. The only reason he’s had hope since he landed on this radioactive wasteland of a planet is sitting right in front of him.

“Are we still breathing?”

Just Trying to Help- Peter Parker x Reader

Originally posted by allenparker

Originally posted by marvelmuggle

Prompt: Can I request one where the reader is Starks teen daughter but she’s very shy, on the petite side and very nerdy? While other kids her age are at parties and malls she’s in her room reading comic books and playing with science experiments. But she gets bullied. She doesn’t tell her dad about the bullies but peter Parker does cause he really likes her. So one day tony decides to pick her up from school and brings along Bucky for the intimidating effect. The bullying stops from there on

Word Count: 1248 

Your name: submit What is this?

You stood in front of the bathroom mirror, trying to calm yourself down and hide the fact that you had been crying. The taunts, whispers, and mocking glances had been going on for months, and you told yourself you wouldn’t cry over it anymore. You had hoped you would be able to shrug it off. But you couldn’t. Your already low self -esteem couldn’t take it. You may be a Stark but that didn’t make you bullet proof or confident. You pressed a cold paper towel to your face hoping to diminish the blotchy patches forming around your chin. Regulating your breathing, you slung your backpack over your shoulder and made your way through the hallways, wanting nothing more than to be curled up in your bed or messing around with DIY science experiments with Peter. You became acquainted with him after your dad recruited him and your friendship had been growing slowly. But you’d also be lying to yourself if you said you only liked him as a friend. He just understood you. He didn’t make fun of you for your interests. You couldn’t tell how he felt, so you kept your mouth shut. You were too shy to make the first move anyway.

As you pushed through the doors and made your way down the front steps you spotted your dad’s car. You thought of all the comments, about how you would never be as successful as him, about how you didn’t fit in and would amount to nothing. It was rare for him to have the time to pick you up himself, but he promised you at least once a week. You took some more deep breaths, determined to not let your dad find out about your situation at school. You didn’t even want to know how he would react. He was overprotective, to say the least.

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guys remember when gansey was trying to drive adam anywhere but adam’s trailer home after The Incident but gansey kept fucking up with his words and making it worse and adam was so broken that all he could say was, “fuck you, gansey.” and he couldn’t get the door to latch when he stormed off & slammed it so he had to do it again, and then when gansey followed him in the camaro and begged him to get back inside, adam still had to struggle with the door because can nothing fucking go right right now and he couldn’t speak and he just ended up burying his face in his hands and trying to hide his imminent breakdown with jagged breathing

and then gansey and adam pick up adam’s things in heavy silence

all while ronan lynch is at the library cramming for an exam on monday

Alistair Theirin - He would be half asleep and confused, smacking his lips as he tried to get the cotton taste out of his mouth. He’d grow more awake though, eyes snapping open. An awkward chuckle would bubble out of his lips and he’d raise an eye brow. “Can you…Uh…Can you run that by me again? Didn’t quite hear you correctly.” When he’s reminded, though, his face goes a little red. Awkwardly shifting under the covers, he’d scoot to the side. “Uh. Sometimes, some of the younger Templar recruits would. Ya know. Want to…snuggle or whatever. Just um. Pretend to be small.” He understood wanting to feel safe at night, so he’d try not to feel awkward about it. Key word being try.

Alistair Theirin (Romanced) - Alistair wouldn’t even bother with waking up. He’d just grunt, lifting up the blanket so the warden could climb in. When she did, he’d wrap the blanket around her, slinging a leg over her and tugging her close. The warden has dug her own grave. Now she will never escape.

Zevran Arainai - He was a light sleeper. Had to be, really, what with the grisly business he was involved in. He would peer out at the opening of the tent, the knife under his pillow ready to be drawn out in a moments notice. Of course he had no need of it! Because there they were, the Warden. A grin curled onto his lips, eye brow cocking up. “Oh? Visiting me, in my tent, in the dead of night? How scandalous, dear warden. What would dear Wynne say?” Upon hearing their request, he’d hum. “A bit too tame for my liking, but yes yes, come in.” He’d demand to be the big spoon, of course, arms holding the warden to his chest. He’d listen to them breathe, silent, a smile curling on his lips as he closed his own eyes.

Zevran Arainai (Romanced) - Chances are they were both already in the tent to begin with. Zevran would not be ashamed to admit he’d be a wee bit disappointed in the fact that he would not be making love to his warden tonight, but he would have no qualms. He’d press a soft kiss to their neck, still demanding to be the big spoon, a hand sliding up their shirt to gently rest on their stomach, gently stroking their skin. “Goodnight, my Warden.”

Leliana - She, also like Zevran, is a light sleeper. Though not as paranoid, a knife not under her pillow. She blinked sleepily, tilting her head at the Warden at her tent flap. She stayed silent, waiting for them to talk. They seemed troubled, and she hoped the smile on her face put them at ease. Though, at there request, her smile fell, eye lashes fluttering. “Oh? Well, I don’t see any trouble in it. I mean, my tent is small, but yes! Come in.” She smiled, patting the spot next to her. She coaxed them to relax, her arms wrapping around them no matter how large they were. Though, they would be waking up with a foot in their face and an elbow in their ass. 

Leliana (Romanced) - The warden is more than aware of her cuddling habits and have long since learned it is best to have their arms wrapped around her as tight as possible, lest they wake up with a mouth full of hair.

Morrigan - She would be asleep, and less than happy to be waken up. Her piercing yellow eyes would glare at the warden, an eye brow slowly raising as she tapped her thigh. “Yes? Spit it out! As it were, we do not have all night. Time is precious rest.” When she hears there request, she looks shocked. She is the last person one would ask for a…’cuddle’. And yet, here they were, asking her. “What do you take me for? Your mother? Warden, you are not a child, and I am certainly not here to mind one! Tis most disappointing that you…that…you.” Her lips would thin as she stared at their saddened eyes and quivering lip. “Ugh. Fine. But if at any moment in time I want you to leave, you go, or you will have to get your ‘cuddles’ as a toad!” Morrigan is a cuddler. The warden would wake up with her curled up, nuzzled into them, face calm. And if they brought it up at any moment in time it was like asking for death.

Morrigan (Romanced) - Morrigan, despite proving that she was indeed a cuddler, would still be hesitant. Though, waking up, curled up, safe and warm in her wardens arms? Worth it.

Ohgren - “…Bah! Not drunk enough for this.” He’d grumble, grabbing the closest container of ale he could get his hands on. He’d chug it, let it burn his throat, then move on to the next one. After he considered himself suitably inebriated he’d give a vague wave of his arm, allowing the warden in. On that day, the Warden learned that Ohgren truly did smell as bad as the others say, but that he was the warmest out of them all.

Shale - No.

Sten - A double no.

Wynne - She would probably be awake, reading or whispering to herself, eyes far away. Her attention would snap to the flaps of her tent and she’d tilt her head, a warm smile coming to her lips. “Hello? What is wrong?” And then they said what they needed to say. A part of her, long forgotten, abandoned and buried ached when she heard their words. When they both heard their words. Her smile grew worried and she was silent, then she gestured for them to come in. She guided them onto their side, their head on her lap. “Here. Sleep as much as you like.” She said softly, hesitantly petting their hair. She wondered, for a startling moment, if this is what it would be like with…with Rhys. She continued to gently stroke their hair, tears pricking at her eyes.

Dog - The dog is already sitting on your chest. Hope you didn’t enjoy having lungs. Because you don’t have them anymore. You did this to yourself, Warden. I hope your happy.


Words: 1173

“I can’t believe it!” Stan exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. “After all these years, you’re finally here! Brother!” He took a step forward, arms out wide to embrace his long lost twin. He didn’t expect the reaction he got.

Ford backed away, his hand flying to the blaster in a holster at his hip. He chided himself silently. This was his brother. It was his twin. He couldn’t shoot him, no matter how terrified he was right now. There were two young kids here too, anyway, along with some sort of large hairless hamster-like man. His heart pounded in his throat. Every instinct he’d developed over the last thirty years was telling him to run get away no run away danger danger danger death you could die.

Stan frowned, taking another cautious step forwards. “Ford? You okay bud?”

Ford shook his head quickly, already beginning to hyperventilate. His back pressed up against the cold metal of the now-closed portal and he held his hands out in front of him, a silent gesture for Stanley to stay away no don’t come closer I’m scared no please no-

Stan registered the fear in his brother’s eyes and stepped away, giving Ford his space. His heart sunk. Ford was acting like a terrified, helpless animal, cowering in the corner from a vicious predator or a cruel owner. He swallowed. What had happened to his brother while he was lost? What had been so terrifying that it had rendered him unable to speak?

Stan took a deep breath, his own hands out in front of him. He took a slow, careful step forwards, keeping his voice low. “Ford, listen to me… I am not going to hurt you…”

Ford pressed his back against the portal even harder, his terrified eyes locked onto his brother. He kept his mouth shut, shaking his head frantically. No no no no get away get away from me get away danger danger

Stan stepped forward again. “Please… I want to help you… I am not going to harm you…” He kept his gaze down. He knew damn well not to ever make eye contact with a terrified animal and right now his brother was no different. He kept his head down low. “Just breathe, okay? Breathe for me, you can do that, okay?”

Ford inhaled through his nose slowly before exhaling through slightly parted lips. He repeated the process until he got his breathing under control, yet he still didn’t say a word.

“Grunkle Stan? Is he okay?” A quiet, soft voice from across the room made Ford’s pulse speed up again and he started breathing quickly. Stan took another step forward until he was within arm’s reach of his twin.

“Easy there, Ford… it’s okay… that’s my - our niece. She’s just a child, she means no harm.” Ford slowed his breathing down again. Stan took this as a sign to move forward once more. He put a hand on Ford’s shoulder, recoiling instantly as his brother slapped the hand away.

Ford took a step sideways and tripped, landing on his backside on the ground. He kicked his legs and scrambled away - danger no no no too close too close - until he was pressed up against the stone wall. He brought his legs in close, his hands up to shield him from everything.

Stan slowly walked over, kneeling down to Ford’s level. “Hey, Poindexter,” he murmured quietly, “look at me. Just look at me, okay?”

Ford slowly lifted his head from behind his hands, lowering his arms to his sides. He laid his right hand over the blaster. He raised his head to meet his brother’s gaze.

“I’m not going to hurt you, I want to help you, okay?” Stan asked softly. “Please, just trust me. I know what I did was terrible and I’ve worked for thirty years to bring you home. I want to help you, Stanford.”

A second quiet voice - much like the first, only male - piped up from across the room. “Stanford? But you’re Stanford, Grunkle Stan.”

A sudden flood of anger rushed through Ford and he fixed Stan with a cold glare, getting to his feet and shoving his brother away from him. Stanley stumbled back and was about to retaliate with a punch of his own, but stopped. He couldn’t lash out at Ford, not while his brother was so petrified. He took a deep breath and got up. “I’m sorry, kids, but I’ve been lying to you all summer. This is Stanford Pines,” he gestured to the furious, terrified man in front of him. “My name is Stanley. I had to lie to keep myself safe long enough to bring my brother home.”

“It’s okay, Grunkle Stan… we understand.” The young girl said softly. She took a few steps forward towards the newcomer. “So you’re our great uncle too, huh?”

Ford swallowed, the anger leaving his face. He exchanged a look with Stanley, who nodded. Ford looked back at the little girl and nodded. The girl grinned widely and took a step forward, her arms out to hug Ford. Ford took a step back. His hand drew the gun from the holster, causing the girl’s eyes to widen and step back.

Stanley saw what was happening and moved in front of her, his arms thrown out wide to shield her. Ford had the gun halfway up to aim at the girl until Stanley knocked it out of his hands. It clattered to the floor and slid out of reach. “She’s a child, Ford. She was just going to hug you.”

Ford chewed his lip, guilt seeping into his mind. He’d been about to shoot her. A young girl. She’d done nothing wrong, but because of his own paranoia he’d seen her as a threat. He took a deep breath and knelt down, holding his arms out. He let a small smile creep onto his face. The young girl ran around Stan and embraced Ford in a hug. Ford sat down on the ground, holding the small girl in his arms. It had been decades since he’d had a proper hug from anyone. He’d missed it.

The young boy, presumably the brother of the girl, walked over slowly. Ford looked up as he came over and smiled a little bit. He held one arm out to him, the other still wrapped around the girl. The boy grinned and ran over, wrapping his arms around Ford.

“Mr Pines?” Ford blinked as the new voice filled the room, coming from the person he’d thought was one of the residents from Rodentus 7. “What are we gonna do about those agent guys upstairs?”

Stan noticed Ford cast him a questioning glance and he scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, well… uh… the entire US Government may or may not have found out about this place.”

Ford’s expression turned cold and hard. Stan sighed. He sat down on the floor beside his brother and gestured for the other man to join him. “I’ve got some explaining to do…”

_____

@sixerpines

Gah! I wanna write so much more for this but I’ve already got a plate full of writing to do, alongside college work and drawings and UCH!

This prompt was great!

anonymous asked:

When can we get more Renewed?

The light blinded Claire as Murtagh pushed the door open, the sunshine streaming through the gap as she took her first steps towards the church, her heart thudding in her chest.

“Are ye truly ready, Claire?” Murtagh muttered as the pair stepped forwards.

Claire’s eyes saw the back of him before he’d even turned, and her breath caught in her throat.

“Uncle Lamb?” She whispered, almost in disbelief, “is that you?”

The greying older man turned, a wistful smile alight on his face as he took in his niece, his arms open as Claire bolted from Murtagh’s side and thrust herself against his chest.

“I never even –I didn’t *think*…” she sobbed, her face buried into the hollow of her wayward uncle’s neck as she tried to vocalise her thoughts.

“I came as soon as I heard, Claire,” Lamb began, a hint of apology in his tone, “I’m only sorry I wasn’t here for you during, you know, the turbulence with Franklin.”

Coughing, Murtagh raised his bushy brows in the direction of the church doors, “I’m sorry, Claire, but I think he’ll be waiting for ye…”

Twisting Claire around, Lamb reached out his hand to take Murtagh’s, a large grin lighting his face. “Ah, Mr Fraser, it’s so good to finally meet you!”

“Ye too, Mr Beauchamp. But now, I think puir Jamie might want to see us enter,” winking in Claire’s direction, Murtagh nudged the reunited Beauchamp’s towards the entrance, “we dinna want him to think we’ve escaped.”

Claire couldn’t keep the smile from her face as Quentin slid his arm through hers and led her to the end of the aisle. The congregation was minimal, just a few of Jamie’s and Claire’s workmates (including Glenna) but the moment she stepped foot inside the building Claire had her eyes set on one person, and one alone.

Jamie stood side on, with Murtagh freshly to his right, looking more dapper than she’d ever seen him. Trussed up with a brand new kilt with his hair slicked back, he looked so handsome that she could hardly believe he was hers.

“He’s a lucky man, Claire, my darling,” Lamb whispered in her ear upon seeing her gaze soften.

Passing her over, Lamb made sure to bow formally to Jamie, a coy glint in his eyes as he did so.

Hearing the message loud and clear, Jamie bowed back, placing his hand over Claire’s as he did so.

‘Look after her,’ it said, ‘look after her and never let her go.’

-

The ceremony itself went off without a hitch. Soon, Claire and Jamie had exchanged vows, an excited lilt to their combined ‘I do’s’ and the newlyweds were on their way –in a horse-drawn carriage no less– to the reception.

Murtagh and Glenna had stayed up most of the night decorating the tiny hall that Jamie had procured for the occasion. Fiddling with the last of the placemats, Glenna added Lambert Beauchamp’s nametag to the small head table, a rather large grin on her face as she did so.

“Yer doing a braw job there, Glenna,” Murtagh praised, wrapping his arm around her shoulder as he kissed her forehead, “how on earth did ye find the man, ye wee genius?”

“Ach!” Glenna returned, shaking her head at her friend, “it was nothing, truly. I just made some enquiries and there he was all of a sudden, listed in one o’ those journal things, Quentin Lambert Beauchamp,” elbowing Murtagh softly she clicked her tongue at him in satisfaction, “which is why ye and Jamie couldn’t find the lad. He isna simply listed as ‘Lambert’.”

“I told ye, Mrs Fitz,” he replied, using the name the bairns gave to her, “a wee miracle worker!”

“…and don’t I ken it weel,” she joked, her hands running over the cream tablecloth, smoothing out the remaining ruffles, “what would you all do wi’out me, eh?”

-

Outside the hall, Jamie stood watching as Claire twirled *his* wedding ring around her middle finger, a tiny red mark appearing as she pushed it against her skin.

“Ye look so bonnie today, Claire *Fraser*,” he cooed, his eyes tearing a little at the memory of their wee ceremony.

“You don’t look half bad yourself, Jamie Fraser.”

Her smile was radiant as he plucked her from the carriage and placed her down on the tarmac drive leading into the hall. Balloons decorated the outsides, their names plastered in big, bold letters on the biggest banner Claire had ever seen.

“How on earth did they pull all this off without me knowing?” Claire sighed, her voice full of awe and wonder. “*And* to have my uncle here! I’m…well,” she stammered, her cheeks burning red with happiness, “speechless.”

“Weel,” Jamie whispered, nipping at her ear as he wrapped his arms around her waist, “I think it might have had something to do wi’ me, aye?”

“You think a lot of yourself, don’t you…” Claire returned, a light jest to her words as she swayed to and fro in the evening air, her eyes closed and her head leaning back against Jamie’s shoulder as she enjoyed the peace.

Standing in her wedding gown, Claire couldn’t help but relive those early moments over and over again in her head.

All of those nights, frequenting that same coffee bar with no knowledge of Jamie’s investment in her presence. So many cups she’d drained with a heavy heart, paying no mind to the stranger who would eventually pluck up the courage to make the first move, the move that had brought them here.

Realising the motions she’d set in place with the removal of her wedding ring that fateful night, Claire reached a shaky hand towards her face and wiped a stray tear from her eye.

“What’s wrong, mo nighean?” Jamie crooned, his voice low and sweet.

“I just realised how much I owe you, James Fraser.” She whispered in reply, her lips quivering as she spoke, her throat dry as she tried not to ruin her precise make-up with yet more tears.

“Ye are a daft one, sassenach,” Jamie continued, his arms gripping her tighter now as he began to walk her closer to the reception hall. “Do you not know? It is I who owes you, Claire Fraser.”

Smiling, Claire twisted herself, turning to face Jamie.

His eyes were the most vibrant blue, the sunlight catching them, causing the faintest glimmer of yellow and green to merge in the middle where iris met pupil. He was stunning.

Jamie blinked slowly, allowing Claire her calming moment as he tilted his head to the left, cementing this moment in his brain as accurately as he could. She had fallen into his life a mess of curls and warm words. A broken lass just desperately in need of something on he could provide for her. And she, in return, had blessed him with the type of companionship and love that was present only within her.

“Should we…?” Claire broached, tipping her head towards the door in an almost silent gesture that suddenly pulled Jamie from his thoughts.

Remembering where they were –finally, both Jamie and Claire took one deep breath and readied themselves for the welcome that would await them inside.

“Aye, my bride,” he replied, squeezing her hands gently, “I think we should make an appearance.”

Slamming the hotel door behind them, Jamie had Claire at his mercy in seconds, his lips fused to hers as he held her hands over her head and kissed her into submission.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for so long, Mrs Fraser,” he gasped, pulling away for only a minute as she pulled herself forward, aching to have his mouth on hers, not caring too much about what he was saying.

“Me too…” she returned, her fingers twitching against the painted wood. “So don’t make me wait, Mr Fraser.”

The party had gone on into the wee hours. The DJ had played the setlist as instructed and the guests had all danced the night away, their hearts full of love and their bellies full from the buffet.

In those few short hours, Murtagh and Lamb had become fast friends.

Claire smiled as Jamie’s lips bruised hers, a punishing kiss that had her straining…and wanting. But those few glimpses of their wedding party crept through the building lust, making her chest tight with gratitude.

“Come back to me, Claire,” Jamie begged, sensing her lapses in attention as he rocked his body softly against hers.

Fluttering her eyes open, Claire panted as she filled her lungs with air once more, her mind solidly on Jamie now. Her heart raced as she saw how enamoured he was, his gaze dark as he rested his forehead against hers, taking the chance to breath himself.

Suddenly the prospect of seeing Jamie fully naked hit her and she gulped in a large breath of air.

Jamie smirked, watching intently as her pupils dilated and her hips swayed slowly closer to his. No matter the temptation they’d been accosted by, both Jamie and Claire had decided to wait until this night before actually *sleeping* together, choosing instead only to indulge in –heavy petting–.

Pulling herself back into the present, Claire’s mind, overwhelmed by the myriad of images currently pummeling her, chose to focus in on her last sexual encounter. Immediately her cheeks flooded, the redness spreading down her neck as she tried to force the memory away.

“Not here.” She whispered, the subtle twinges of careless embarrassment gaining purchase, uninvited and unbidden.

“Ye didna think…” Jamie returned, his brows creasing as he noted her sudden change. Biting his lip, he refrained from making comment on the blush that had taken root across her face.

“Claire, I said come back to me…no’ reappear briefly and then go away again,” he joked, thinking the unthinkable name, his smile coaxing Claire forward, away from the door and towards the bed. “I love ye, Claire, mo nighean donn,” he murmured, holding his hand out to her and bringing her slowly onto his lap, “yer my wife, we have one another…we will always have one another.”

Leaning her forehead against his, Claire expelled all of the stale air from her lungs.

Jamie. His clear blue eyes bore into hers as she pulled at the buttons along the side of her dress. The shoulder of her dress slid along her smooth skin, revealing the long line of her neck as she shimmied out of the delicate fabric.

Jamie held his breath as the silk fell, watching and waiting as her pale cream bra became exposed.

“Beautiful,” he sighed, his eyes flickering from her face to her chest as he slipped his fingers along the soft planes of the sides of her and up along the ridges of her spine. Clasping the latch of her bra, he pulled together his thumb and finger, freeing the metal that held her breasts captive…freeing her of so much more than simply cotton, lace and metal.

“You’re biased,” she retorted, a hint of humour in her voice as she bounced gently, her knees digging further into the mattress. The inside of her thighs shifted the course material of his kilt as she pulled herself free of the restraint.

“Biased I may be,” Jamie replied, his head falling forward, taking advantage of Claire’s new position, “but, sassenach…I amne wrong, aye?”

HIs tone was low, the deep baritone of his voice rumbling through her from head to toe as he spoke quietly but clearly.

Opening his mouth at the opportune moment, Jamie slipped his tongue along the ripples of her pert flesh, taking her nipple into his mouth as he listened to the faint mewling sound that fell from her lips at the sustained contact.

Scrunching her eyes closed, Claire let her head loll backwards, her hair falling in waves over Jamie’s hands where they lay clasped behind her back – holding her chest against his lips.

“You still have far too many clothes on…” she moaned, licking her dry lips as her shaky fingers ran along the length of the collar of his dress shirt, “I want you, Jamie, I really want you…naked and beneath me.”

Clutching his fists together, Jamie exhaled a jagged breath before flipping Claire onto her back and hovering over her prostrate form.

Running his fingers along the front of his shirt, he toyed with the buttons, teasing as Claire watched through hooded lids. Her hair had fanned out naturally above her head during the move and her curls lay tangled across the hotel pillows, silver and brown combined, glinting delicately in the pale evening light as it filtered in through the curtains, the wind keeping them eerily afloat.

“Sae beautiful ye are, Claire.” Jamie crooned as he stripped, throwing his shirt and kilt into a pile with her wedding dress.

Smirking, Claire reached up. Dragging her finger along his chest she tried her best to keep her eyes level with his, but the sprinkling of hair that dusted the lower half of his tummy called to her. She’d felt him, they’d been close…but seeing him was another matter.

Taking her hand, Jamie massaged her palm delicately as if to encourage her. Seeing the want in her eyes as she blinked slowly, he urged her on with a nod.

One glance was all it took, one short longing look downwards, and Claire was lunging forward, her hands coming up to grip Jamie’s bare arse as she forced him forwards.

Latching his mouth onto hers, Jamie caught himself just in time, his hands pushing deep into the soft pillows as his hips fell naturally between hers.

She really felt him then, the hard length of him nestled against her as he kissed her into oblivion. Feeling like she had her first time, Claire clenched her toes and wrapped her trembling thighs around his waist, anchoring him to her.

“I’m so grateful,” she gasped, angling her hips in preparation, eager to consummate their marriage as soon as possible.  “That I found you, Jamie.”

“Same,” Jamie returned, his kiss stained lips breaking from her neck for just a moment, “Claire.”

Matching her movements, Jamie twisted himself a little to the side. His heart pounded out a maddening rhythm against his chest, the feel of it reverberating through every inch of him as if he were a livewire, sparking as it hit water and flaring before slapping against the cold, wet concrete.

He felt alive.

“You’re shaking,” she whispered, feeling his damp skin against her own, “are you scared, love?”

“No…yes,” Jamie sighed and laughed lightly, “I might be a wee bit scarit…o’ disappointing ye.”

“That won’t happen,” Claire soothed, urging him forward, her thighs pulling him closer and closer. “You could never *do* that.”

Gasping, both Claire and Jamie squeezed their eyes closed as Jamie thrust himself inside her, the feeling of it causing his hands to grip the pillows painfully as he arched his back, the droplets of sweat dribbling along each ridge of his spine.

“A-ah…” he half-whispered, half-moaned into Claire’s mouth as she lifted her shoulders from the mattress, eager to have his lips against hers.

Using her tongue, Claire drew intimate patterns against Jamie’s lower lip as he moved ever so slowly against her, the fine hairs on the base of her belly catching his thicker ones as they moved together. She could feel the muscles of his stomach tighten as he lowered himself against her, the plateau of his usually sculpted abdominals even more defined now as he hovered over her.

The intense pulsating feeling between her legs grew as Jamie inched his legs further apart, lowering himself so that he could push himself directly against her and then hold himself still for a moment, his eyes half open as he gasped and took her in. She could feel his gaze over every fibre of her, as if her body knew he was memorising every goosebump-covered particle of her flesh.

Smiling, she raised a shaky hand up to cup his perspiration coated jaw. Her eyes, glazed and half closed, glinted in the dim light of the room as she tightened her legs around his hips and ground herself against him.

Wordlessly, Jamie shuddered, almost launching forwards on his knees as he flopped his head backwards. His mouth fell open, but no actual sound fell from him

Claire could tell from his short, sharp movements and the position of his tense shoulders that he was close. Leaning herself backwards, she gently began to roll her hips, her soft motion causing the most delightful friction to begin to build between the two of them.

Understanding the silent messages of her body, Jamie steeled himself, forcing the almost instant need for gratification to the back of his mind as he mimicked her movements.

A sea of calm covered them both, lying cautiously over the thin sheen of sweat that covered them head to toe as the world suddenly stilled around them, almost as if time had come to a complete stand-still.

“You don’t have to…” Claire mumbled, his tone breathy and light,

“I do,” Jamie returned, answering her unspoken remark. Gripping the pillow, his fingers turning white where they delved deeper into the plush pillows at her head. Locking eyes, he nodded as she did as they felt, simultaneously, flashes of uncontainable carnality rush through them both.

Blinking, Claire felt her cheeks flood with heat as her heart picked up pace, her ribs vibrating with the pressure of it. She was almost certain that Jamie could hear the pounding beat as he lowered his forehead to hers and slid his hands across the slick fabric of the comforter to link with hers as the pressure built within them.

Boiling over, Jamie tensed and moaned, jerking himself against Claire until he could barely hold himself over her. Shaking, Claire waited, inhaling jagged breaths as his hips began to slow, resting just where she needed them to and pushing her over the edge as she cried out and slumped back against the aired sheets.

Rolling himself to the side, Jamie wrapped his arms around Claire, a small smile tugging at his lips as he shifted them both below the sheets, tangling his feet with her as she slowly but surely joined him in their love-drunk haze.

“I want to wash you,” Claire whispered, her hands roaming once more over his humid skin, her eyes barely open as she nuzzled against him.

“Aye?” Jamie replied, licking his lips as he shifted his weight, the idea sending a shot of pleasure through him.

“Yes…” she mumbled, “right after we nap…”

“Alright, sassenach,” he sighed, watching as she began to doze in his arms, “first sleep, then bath.”

Lying in the bath, the water swished gently around them as Jamie slowly washed Claire, his hands roaming across her submerged belly.

Leaning forward, Claire leaned her arms onto her elbows, letting him run the sponge over her back, washing the sweet perfume from her skin. Out of nowhere, two cold droplets ran down her spine causing her to sit up a little straighter. Ignoring it, Claire wrote it off as her imagination.

Jamie’s hands seemed to moved slower as more cold drips hit Claire’s warm flesh. Holding herself still, Claire took an internal breath, keeping her ribcage steady as she breathed through her nose and out again.

“Jamie,” she whispered, her lips shaking as she massaged the back of his hand with her own. Feeling his muscles clench beneath her palm, Claire twisted her head a little to glance at him out of the corner of her eye.

Swallowing, she saw a stray tear roll down his cheek as he dipped his head closer to the top of her exposed shoulders.

“I love ye, Claire,” he sighed, his heated breath fanning over her, ruffling the damp locks of her hair.

Slowly, turning her hips as carefully as she was able, Claire moved to face him, her legs sitting either sit of his in the tub.

Silently she reached her hand out and laid her palm against his wet cheek, the warmth of it seeping through her already heated skin.

His face was red, a bright crimson that wasn’t solely indicative of the hot water surrounding them.

Claire’s eyes softened as she took in her husband.

Husband. The word sent a jolt of pleasure through her as she bent forward to kiss away Jamie’s tears. Salt coated her mouth as she sighed softly against him, her heart thudding dully in her chest.

“I’m here Jamie,” she soothed, her fingers brushed lightly against the thin smattering of hair that had grown along the bottom of his jaw throughout the day. The tense set of his shoulders relaxed as she spoke, her touch causing his fears to dissipate. “I love you too.”

For a moment they say quietly, the water cooling around them as Claire held Jamie close. He desperately wanted to talk to her, to tell her how much her commitment to him meant but the words simply wouldn’t come. His ‘I love you’ was all he could vocalise for the moment.

Thoughts of his sister swirled around him in the damp mist of the hotel bathroom as his imagination brought her back to life. Apart from Murtaghs’ companionship, he had been alone for such a long time that now that a small part of him harboured such a deep-seated fear of loss. In the space of a few months all of his family and been taken from him, and now, since he’d been afforded a second chance, there was a tiny voice that suddenly lived inside of him –mumbling a number of incredulous ideas. He knew they were unlikely to occur, he’d been tested for the cancer gene that had been present in Ian. But since Ian wasn’t in anyway a direct relative, both Jenny and himself had been cleared.

The sound of distant humming brought him from his morose thoughts and Jamie suddenly became aware of himself. He was sobbing, the force of his shuddering rocking the water in the bath so that some of it splashed over the edges and onto the tile floor.

“Hush now,” Claire sing-songed, breaking from her tune to calm him as much as she was able. “How about we go to bed?”

Running her fingers through the greying hair at his temple, Claire wiped the moisture away, once more, from his eyes, kissing him softly as she rose from the bath and offered him her hand.

“Let me care for you, Jamie,” she broached, trying to coax him back to her, “for once, let me look after you, yes?”

“Aye.” He returned, a distinct crack of emotion in his voice, “take me to bed, Claire.”

Pulling back the sheets, Claire led Jamie towards their marital bed, ignoring the faint drip-drop of the bath water as it slid from both of their skin as they padded across the plush carpet to the large king sized bed.

Tilting her head to the side, Claire indicated to Jamie to get in. He obeyed, curling himself under the duck-down duvet, the softness of the sheets allowing him to slide in with ease. Following suit, Claire folded herself around Jamie, twinning her legs with his and wrapping her arms around his waist as they settled themselves.

It was warm under the covers, almost too warm, but Jamie didn’t mind. Guided as he was by the position of Claire’s body, he didn’t much mind the heat as it set him alight.

Leaning her forehead against his, she quietly moulded her lips to his, kissing him softly as she turned out the bedside lamp. In the background, a gurgling filled the large master suite, the plug spitting back out the water it couldn’t feasibly drain.

Jamie laughed, the sound of the emptying bath disturbing the peace of the moment.

Claire smiled as she watched him, the years just dropping from his face as he finally shed the last of the tension he’d been holding in.

“Welcome home, love.” She cooed, nuzzling his nose with hers and pecking him slowly on the lips. His blue eyes shone in the dark of the room, the moonlight flooding the room as the pair drank in the sight of the other, reinvigorated from their busy day.

A spark of light glimmered behind Claire’s eyes as she ran the flat of her hand along the expanse of Jamie’s back, feeling every wee bump along the length of his spine as she slowly investigated every inch of his bare skin.

Jamie held his breath as she explored. Hair grew more prevalently now, thicker on his chest and thighs than it had done in his twenties and thirties. He liked it. He’d always felt a little scrawny in his youth, his shoulders not quite wide enough. But now, as he’d entered his forties, he’d filled out. The build up of muscle finally cementing itself over his ample chest. True, he’d put a little weight on his tummy, but if anything it just matched the rest of him.

Claire too was changed. Her hips were probably wider, her breasts a little fuller. Jamie glanced downwards, taking a wee keek at her as she looked back up at him, her lids half closed, her amorous gaze falling solely on him.

“You are sae beautiful, mo nighean donn,” he purred, his voice soft as the finest velvet, “the way the silver glows in yer hair wi’ the white light of the moon, takes my breath away.”

Claire blushed, his complement causing the blood to rise to the surface.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” she returned, her hips meeting his under the covers as she cuddled up against him, skin to skin.

Jamie buried his nose in her wayward curls, inhaling the scent of the remains of her perfume as the slid together beneath the covers, the thick blanket shielding them from the world.

Together they fell asleep, Jamie’s faith in their union burning brighter than ever before as Claire rocked him gently. He couldn’t love her again just yet, their lust filled entrance to the bridal suite still glowing just under the surface of them both as their breathing evened becoming shallow in sleep.

“Dream of me, Jamie,” Claire sighed, her hushed whisper echoing around the room as she snuggled closer, “because I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

Safe in the arms of the other, Jamie and Claire drifted steadily out of consciousness. On the bedside table, the ink of their recently signed marriage license dried slowly, its dark fluid staining the parchment and sealing their combined names; eternally tattooed onto the sturdy paper. A solid reminder of the vows they’d taken, of the future they’d secured for one another. More stable than the one Claire had signed before, Jamie was unconsciously convinced of its validity. His belief in fate –renewed.

anonymous asked:

yo, i hard core relate to your last couple posts, take a walk for fresh air if you need to? thats what i do. sorry things suck, hope things got/get better!

It did.

STORY TIME
————–

So, I’m sitting on the floor, against the couch reading. I’m avoiding everybody, and they’re ignoring me. Yet, I’m still lowkey freaking out.

As I’m sitting, minding my own business, I see my little cousin wander into the kitchen. She waddles over to the mini refrigerator and opens it with small difficulty. Her grandmother looks over, asking her what she’s doing, and she replies something I can’t hear.

I look back at my book.

A moment later my little, three-year-old cousin pads over to me, placing a Capri Sun next to me, before sitting down beside me with her own juice pouch.

I blink, looking from the juice package to her. “Is this mine?” I ask her, holding it up.

She nods. Fiddling slightly, she tears the straw off her own pouch and starts trying to take the plastic off.

“Do you need help?”

She shakes her head, ripping the wrapper away from the straw. She takes a moment, trying to puncture the pouch. After three unsuccessful tries, she holds it out to me, and I promptly insert her straw for her, doing the same to mine a moment later.

We sat in silence, drinking our juice for a few minutes.

Once she finished her entire pouch, my little cousin stood up, smiled at me, and left to throw away her pouch.

I just sat there, silent.

With one little gesture, my toddler cousin calmed my nerves better than anything else had all night. All she did was give me a juice and sit next to me for a few minutes in silence. She didn’t know I’m the outcast cousin. I’m the one with different priorities. I’m the one who does weird things. She just wanted me to have a juice because I was alone.

She wanted to share something with me, and didn’t care about any family ties whatsoever. All she wanted was for me not to be alone for a few minutes.

And honestly, I think that’s the best thing to ever happen to me at a family reunion.

Protect children and their innocence.

“So,” Isak began as he moved into Even’s side, who instantly put his arm around him to bring them even closer. Isak smiled up at his happy looking boyfriend. “This went over pretty well, huh?” 

Even grinned at him and nodded, squeezing his hip and Isak grinned back. He tilted his head up a bit, the silent gesture asking for a kiss. Eyes growing incredibly soft Even drove the tip of his nose over the back of Isak’s up and down before he connected their lips. 

“Isak?” the name murmured silenty while their mouths were still on each other. 

“Hmhm?”

“I really, really love you a lot.” 

ladythugs  asked:

OMG I just had the cuuuuuutest headcanon: So we all know Tony knew Peggy as his Aunt Peggy but what if he grew up knowing the Howling Commandos as his uncles? I can just imagine little Tony being told stories of the war by his Uncle Dum Dum and then growing up a bit and going to college and building a robot and naming it after his favorite Uncle... I mean we've already seen his affinity for naming his mechanical babies after important people in his life *coughJarviscough*

Imagine Steve when Tony told him.

Idk maybe they were just chilling in his workshop while Tony was doing a little bit of maintenance work on Dum-E, and then Steve just asks him out of the blue, “JARVIS was a person, before he was an AI, right?”

And Tony freezes for a moment, before looking up at the ceiling and nodding his head a little. “Yeah. One of the best men I grew up with, honestly. Seemed only fair he got to… I don’t know, be remembered? And he always used to look out for me when I was a kid, so - carrying on tradition? I guess?”

“What about the others?”

Tony stopped, raising his eyebrows in silent question. Steve just gestured at Dum-E and sat back, waiting for the story.

“I… well this one,” Tony patted Dum-E fondly on the head, “he was kind of based loosely off an uncle of mine? Not by blood,” he added, when Steve’s eyebrows raised in surprise, “just… a good guy. He’d swing by with Pegs sometimes, tell me cool war-stories. And Howard was never an ass when he was around, ‘cause Uncle Dummy would just clock him on the nose.”

Steve smiled in amusement. “Uncle Dummy?  What a respectful name,”

Tony shrugged. “Pegs always called him Dougan, but it was too long for three-year old me. So he told me to call him Dum-Dum. He was… he was always fun like that-”

“Whoah whoa. Wait. Hold up,” Steve had stood up and crossed the room before the was even aware of what he was doing, taking Tony’s shoulder and clutching tightly. “You… you knew Dougan?”

Tony stared in shock for a moment. “You knew Dougan? But- but he never mentioned you! I talked about you all the time and he never…” Tony trailed off, getting sad for a moment as he thought back. “Oh. He… he always got sad when I spoke about you. After a while I just stopped asking. Was- was he a Howling Commando?” Tony asked quietly, but Steve couldn’t miss the childish little spark of excitement in his eyes.

Steve smiled fondly, and looked down to Dum-E sat patiently, as if he were listening to the entire conversation. Steve could almost see the shared traits, now he was looking. The clumsiness. The general loudness. The mood-swings.

“Yeah,” Steve replied softly. “He was… he was one of my best friends. We pretty much all lived in each other’s pockets back then, so it was hard not to be.” 

Tony looked at him, and then placed a gentle hand over Steve’s. “Want me to tell you about him? What he was like after, I mean. With me. Because he was great, honestly, I adored him-”

“Yeah,” Steve answered, smiling weakly. “That’d be… nice.”


And so they just talk. For hours. And it’s the first time Steve ever sees Tony’s face light up when he talks about his childhood. 

He leaves, six hours later, with a feeling that isn’t pain from talking about the people from his past. Just happiness.

Dum-Dum had looked out for Tony. He’d been doing Steve’s job before Steve had even known about Tony Stark.

And not that Steve likes picking favourites, but… it’s Dum-E

anonymous asked:

OMGOMGOMG. Please, more of The Getaway! It's so cute and I can feel the fluffy angst coming our way. What happened to poor Claire?

anonymous asked:
The Getaway was fantastic!!! I absolutely LOVED it!!! Reminds me of my family holidays, the innocence of young love, and it makes me very nostalgic. Could you please continue it? It would warm my heart to see what happens next. Thank you, your work is always amazing!


The Getaway: Part 2.

Find part 1: HERE.


As the sun set on the end of their first week, Jamie sat alone in his room sipping on the cold beer his father had procured for him from the free bar. Placing the glass carefully on the coaster, he gathered up his reading book and lay back against his pillows, determined to get some rest in preparation for tomorrow’s planned activities.

All of the adults had gathered together for the evening to go out of the hotel and eat together. Jamie had coaxed Claire from her room on the promise of food and company, promising to return her early enough that she could relax for the rest of the night.

They’d had a good time. Claire had been talkative, in fact they had conversed more in one dinner time than they had all week.

After their first afternoon out, the pair had been wrapped up in the whirlwind of trips that their parents had planned for them all and neither had really had a moments peace.

Just as Jamie was reaching to turn off his nightlight, an almighty crash sounded from the room beside his.

Claire.

His mind immediately raced with all manner of possibilities, but before he could consider the danger, he’d ripped the sheets from the bed and rushed from the room, forgetting to even put something on his feet as he began pounding on the Beauchamp’s combined rooms.

“Claire? Are ye alright?” He asked between knocks, trying to keep his voice low in order not to disturb any other guests, “Claire, please?”

The sound of a stifled sob made his ears prick as he leaned against the cool wood to try and hear her better. “Claire, can I come in?” He almost begged, his chest constricting painfully at the thought of her alone and upset.

Friends, he scoffed internally, hardly likely.

“It’s open…” a low voice spoke, hardly audible and from –possibly– deep inside the suite.

Twisting the knob, Jamie pushed lightly, causing the door to creak as he opened it and slid inside. Closing it to, he padded through the main lounge and into the tiny single room that Claire occupied.

At first he couldn’t spot her, sat as she was beside the best, but then he caught sight of her hair, the mass of curls spiking in all directions as she lay her head back against the mattress.

“What’s the matter?” Jamie whispered as he walked around the bed and knelt at her side.

He could see the fresh tear tracks that ran down her face, the thin moonlight filtering through the net curtains throwing a melancholy blue hue over her curled form.

“It’s nothing, honestly, Jamie,” she murmured back, her voice unsteady as she tried to show some strength.

“It isna nothing if it has ye on the floor in tears, Claire.” He returned, unwilling to accept that she was fine. She wasn’t, that was clear to see.

Her cheeks flushed as she viewed him –with some caution– out of the corner of her eye. “I just had a nightmare, that’s all. Don’t worry, really. I have them all the time. It was just waking up in a strange bed that startled me more than usual.”

Jamie reached his hand forward to brush a wayward lock of hair from her damp brow, bringing his digits down lower afterwards to wipe away some of her tears.

“Does this happen every night?” He asked, softly, the need to acquire as much information about her overwhelming him.

“M-most,” she stuttered, sliding herself off the floor as she shift the twisted bedsheets, straightening them out as best she could, keeping her hands busy as she spoke, “but when I’m at home I’m not usually so…jumpy. Here, with the h-heat, and the strange room –and bed– I’m more hyper-aware, I think.”

“Do ye want to talk about it?” Jamie broached, his tone wary but open as he tried to offer his support.

Claire squeezed the cotton linens between her fingers tight, her knuckles going almost white as she licked her lips and shifted her feet against the cold tiles of the bedroom floor. Shaking her head, she glanced towards him once more, a beautiful pink glow lighting her high cheekbones.

“Would you just…stay with me, just for a little while?” Shrugging her shoulders, she let the much abused sheets go, watching as they fluttered slowly back onto the top of the bed, ruffling once more as they landed in a small heap.

Claire didn’t dare look up, lest he reject her.

He could feel her vibrating, her knees shaking as she waited for his response. She wanted to talk, of that he was sure, but she was also hesitant.

Jamie had yet to learn of the traumatic event that had her so subdued, but if she needed him to rest with her whilst she relaxed, he would do it.

“Aye, o’ course, Claire.” He replied, finally, making his way around to the other side of the bed and holding the sheets up for her to crawl under.

Wrapping her up to her waist in the flimsy fabric, he curled himself by her side, fitting himself neatly onto the queen sized mattress.

Claire closed her eyes and shimmied herself to his side, nuzzling her nose against the exposed skin of his collarbone as she snuck her arm around his waist.

As they settled, a sort of calm quiet rose up around them. Jamie was half convinced she’d fallen asleep in his arms. And, although he didn’t altogether mind (in fact, quite the opposite), he knew their parents would riot if they came home to find Jamie in Claire’s bed.

Just as he was about to reignite the conversation, Claire shifted ever so slightly. The gently waft of her breath blew over his sensitive skin, making him shudder at the contact. It wasn’t long before he felt her blink her eyes open once more as she mentally prepared herself.

“It all started back in September,” Claire began, a hint of hesitance lingering in her tone as she relayed her story.

“He c-came from another school, the boy. He’d failed his A Levels and had been forced to take them again. But his previous school hadn’t allowed him to do that there. It all seemed innocent to us, back then.”

Pausing, Claire took a deep breath and steadied herself, her hands curling around the bottom of Jamie’s shirt as she grounded herself in him.

“He seemed nice at first, friendly, just the sort who wanted to fit in, you know? But then, after we came back from Christmas holidays he became really –intense…” gulping back the saliva that had gathered in her mouth, she took another deep breath.

Jamie could feel the fear radiating from her and he began rubbing soothing circles against her back as she let her shoulders slacken with every sweeping motion he made.

“Did he hurt ye, Claire?” He broke in, his voice low but steady. He had wanted to stay silent and let her just tell him, but his impatience got the better of him.

“He asked me out, we had a Valentine’s Day dance coming up and he’d wanted to take me…but I said no. I didn’t mind him as my friend, but–” stopping, Claire’s heart began to pound.

Jamie sensed the story was coming to a conclusion and brought his lips to her forehead as his silent gesture bade her to continue –at her own pace.

Not ready to admit the main reason she hadn’t wanted to accompany another to the dance, Claire shimmied her hips closer before finishing, an inbuilt need for close comfort rising inside of her at Jamie’s close proximity.

“I could see it made him mad, but I didn’t think anything of it. After that I didn’t see him again until after half term. I didn’t go to the dance, I had exam prep and I really didn’t want to go anyway…” steeling herself, Claire prepared to skip to the end, eager for this to be over once more, “I was studying with my science teachers after school one day, t-they’d all left moments before and I just stayed to pack up my books. He waited for me there. Jumped out when I came out of the lab and t-threw me against the lockers…I don’t, well, I–” she sobbed, squeezing her eyes closed tight as the images of that fateful day exploded before her eyes.

“Oh, Claire,” Jamie sighed, his heart going out to her as he hushed her and rocked her shaking body as best he could, “I’m sae sorry, mo chridhe.”

“I was lucky,” she whispered, sorrow laced into every syllable. She didn’t sound particularly lucky. “One of the teachers had forgotten his books and came back. He saw it all and forced him off me…I honestly don’t know what I’d have done without him.”

“You would have fought, Claire,” Jamie interceded, trying to lend her as much emotional support as physical, “ye would have screamed and punched and kicked as best ye could.”

Laughing humorlessly, Claire shook her head. “But I didn’t. He had me by the throat, his knee between my legs…I couldn’t even move to defend myself.”

“That wa’ just the shock. You are so brave, Claire Beauchamp, braver than me. I truly believe ye would have plucked up the strength. As ye have done to continue on as ye have after it.”

Running her damp lips against him, Claire let her tongue taste the salty-sweetness of him, her hands quivering as she pulled herself flush against him.

Now, a small part of her tried to reason, when she was in a heightened state of awareness and anxiety, was not the time to be making advances. Especially not on her parent’s best friends son.

“I lied before,” she said, her voice clear now as she sniffled, the last of her tears shed on the matter.

“About what, Claire?” Jamie returned, a low sort of seduction in his tone as he battled with himself.

She was so very warm and pliant –and she wanted him.

“I don’t want to just be your friend, but I was scared…so I lied.

Swallowing audibly, Jamie ran his nose down her forehead to the bridge of her nose, his eyes hooded as he kissed the tip of it. The reverent gesture sent lightning bolts of pleasure down Claire’s spine as she rolled her hips away from his and then back again.

Ah Dhia, Claire,” he gasped, goosebumps rising over his arms in waves as he tried to remain calm. “I want ye too, but we canna…”

“Why not?” She interrupted, need seeping though every word.

“Because yer hurting now. Ye’ve relieved all those horrid memories from only a few short months ago. I willna take advantage of ye when yer morale is low. That wouldna be verra gentlemanly of me–”

“It isn’t taking advantage, Jamie, if I *want* you,” Claire cut in, her hands resting softly against his lower back as she spoke, “but if you don’t want to, then I understand.”

Something about re-telling her traumatic tale had set alight the previously stagnant embers, causing a roaring flame to spark within Claire as she smoothly scooched her head backwards. Opening her now glazed eyes, she viewed him with a sort of wonder. The idea of him, the same Jamie Fraser she’d seen grow from a boy into a man, loving her made her thighs tingle pleasantly.

“Claire; how could I *not* want to?” He replied, his heart running at a million miles a minute as part of him actively contemplated this new situation.

Could he?

“Then come to me, Jamie,” she whispered, her tone seductive as she tilted her head against the pillow and moved forward, her lips hovering so close to his in askance. “I want you Jamie Fraser…to be the first –the only– one to make love to me.”

Without waiting for him to respond, Claire closed the gap, letting her lips seal tightly against his in a searing kiss. Her hands tugged at his shorts as she tried to untangle her legs from beneath the blankets without much success.

“Please, Jamie,” she half-begged, half-coaxed, their mouths parting only briefly for her to say the words, “I want this, I really want this. *I love you*”

Running his hand through her hair, Jamie lightly pulled Claire away, his eyes meeting hers in a very serious gaze. She was serious, in this moment, as they were, she was completely serious about this.

“Bloody hell, Claire, ye arena making this easy,” he sighed, resigned, “but I want this too. I want ye.”

For the second time that evening, the weight left Claire’s shoulders and she slunk towards him, a small smile adorning her lips. She could feel the victory just in her grasp.

“But I have conditions first, aye?”

Glancing at him with a wary expression, Claire nodded, urging him to continue.

“If yer still sure o’ this tomorrow, I promise ye I’m yours, ken? But I want ye to sleep on it –and–,” he finished, noticing her irritation at his stalling tactics, “I’ll make sure I have protection. I dinna have any on my now, and I willna do it wi’out protecting ye –and me– first. Do ye agree?”

Sighing loudly, Claire swallowed and nodded.

“I won’t change my mind, Jamie. But you’re right.”

Snuggling down once more, she clenched her thighs together, willing the fervour that had built within her to at least lessen as she closed her eyes and let her head flop against the soft pillow.

“Just don’t leave me,” she added sleepily, yawning as she spoke, “stay with me, Jamie. For tonight, please?”

Wrapping the comforter around her shoulders, Jamie nodded, shutting his own eyes now as he began to relax.

“Aye, mo nighean donn. I’ll stay wi’ ye. Sleep now, Claire –I love ye.”