that haze feeling

Murata stream update: the arrival of an egg so amazing it brings you to tears :’)

Forgetful (Jack x FemReader) Fluff drabble

Originally posted by nurulsafika

(( gif not mine ))

(A/N): This could technically be considered a continuation of ‘Oh my God’ but whatever

Request:  Can I request 58. “My clothes look good on you.” with Jacksepticeye and the German reader from my last request? Maybe after they’ve spent their first night together? Thanks in advance!

58. My clothes look good on you.

( the whole prompt list is somewhere on my page… )

Warnings: Sexual reference ??

_____

Gold sunlight lazily spilled through your drawn curtains, smearing over your peaceful face.

Your nose twitched in reply.

Stirring awake quietly, you opened both eyes in a heavy haze; automatically feeling a warmth on your left. Directing your jaw to look, your gaze came into sudden contact with a mess of faded green.

Sighing inwardly, you smiled at your wandering thoughts. Lost looking at your wonderful boyfriend. Though your hand felt a pulling want to caress this hair, you shied away from doing so. You had no desire to wake him quite yet.

So instead you slipped around slowly and faced the opposite direction.

He felt it, and came alive himself; only barely though.

“Morning..” Jack grumbled, confusion hitting him hard for a moment. He registered the fact you both were lying in your room, and not his own.

“Good afternoon, lover boy.” you smiled.

Your hand went to the corner of the cream coloured duvet, about to toss it off of you so you could get up.

“What are you doing?” Jack pondered, his accent thicker than normal in his hazed position.

“Getting dressed and stuff.” you laughed “Has to happen at some point. Du bist ein erwachsen.”

You threw your legs over the side of the bed, and was about to push yourself up when Jack’s arms reeled you back in. Pulling your back tight to his chest.

“I don’t think so.” he scoffed.

You chuckled quietly and patted his arm “Okay, I know, but we have to-”

“Nope. You can stay here.”

You went to get up again, but his arms just tightened.

He blew into your ear jokingly and you giggled, causing him to laugh as well.

“Here’s a deal. I have a shower, you make the bed, and we spend the day binging movies and make a video later?” you bargained, putting your head back to look up at him.

Jack let out a soft groan and pretended to think before saying “Alright, deal.” and he kissed your forehead.

You smiled and struck yourself upwards once he let go. You twisted around in a stretch and yawned; quickly covering your mouth.

Trotting to the bathroom door, you turned back around when you heard Jack call your name. You tilted your head at him in question.

“My clothes look good on you.”

You didn’t understand at first, until you noticed Jack was shirtless. Then everything from last night came flooding back, and your face was dusted a pretty shade of powder pink.

_____

(A/n): I love writing for youtubers gosh dang. Plus this one was cute too

4

Top- 3/13/17 Bottom- 3/17/17

I struggled with taking the bottom photos, please forgive my drama queen eyes 👀

+The good news is that I broke my record! I went a whole month without clawing up my face. As you can see from the top photos, my scars were starting to fade and it was a very happy feeling that I am glad I was able to witness that kind of healing, I am very proud of myself. +The bad news is that I spend a very significant amount of energy and time trying to cope with my OCD. Resisting the urges, replacing self destructive rituals with gentle skin care routines, combatting the rising anxiety by taking extreme measures to avoid and prevent triggers, etc. +So of course this relapse has been very disheartening, as they all are, but at the same time very grounding. I’m trying to just stay positive & continue to the self lovin’ stuff my therapist and I have been working on for 2 years now. **I have to remind myself that these are the moments that really count- when I am so disappointed, disturbed and discouraged. Bouncing back from this is what I have been training for. **Recovery isn’t a linear process. I’ve learned this lesson thousands of times, and this time won’t be the last. My skin will heal again, and bleed again, and that’s going to have to be okay. It’s not fair for me to hate myself when I am putting so much honest effort into helping myself. That’s definitely never come easy for me, so I have to try to forgive myself for my setbacks & not abandon myself.

*And if you can relate to this, I hope that you know that you deserve to forgive yourself, too. Keep trying, keep writing, keep reading, keep dreaming & keep reminding yourself that you were designed to win this battle, we will heal

anonymous asked:

… So you deny that 90% of the Earth's population exists? Am I wrong?

i used to run a bar, back in the day. right about twelve years ago now. maybe that’s not what most folks would consider back in the day, but i aged fast. you would too, in my position. 

it was a great place down in the south, decent sized joint with a close knit staff. always bustling with business. saw quite a few commotions in that tavern. more often than not, that’s where the town’s rumour mill would catch wind. despite being a northerner myself, the cowboys seemed to like me well enough. i made a handful of friends. god, i loved our cook. great woman, jess.

now, i closed the bar at the peak of its popularity. everyone had their own idea why, some of those ideas being the right one, but— anyway. i left. i got the hell out of dodge. closed the bar as quickly as i could, packed my shit and left as soon as the sun started rising, gossip and friendships be damned.

i just didn’t have any other choice.

i’m always waiting for sunrise these days. i never used to be a night owl, really, i was one of those “early to bed, early to rise” types. sure, sometimes my work kept me up, but i had some semblance of a sleep schedule goin’ for me. i was a productive member of society, for whatever that’s worth now. i suspect it’s nothin’. 

i don’t take to the night too well. i find myself waiting in that darkness, sometimes clutching a knife close to my chest. anything i think could hurt someone. something. i don’t look out the window. i don’t do anything but look straight ahead until the first pieces of morning overtake the room, wash it in that grey-blue haze. i always feel like i’m waiting for the other shoe to fall. for the ax to finally land on my neck. 

i moved back to good ol’ new england afterward, straight into the depths of the woods. i’ve really never been a paranoid person, but i can’t feel safe in a crowd anymore. can’t stand towns, really can’t stand cities. who knows what lurks in the hearts of men? 

i do. that’s why i stay the fuck away.

it’s about 6:37am on a tuesday morning, and there are two knocks on the door. soft, in quick succession. an even softer falls against the wood, like it might be a mistake. like someone’s hand was shaking. i hadn’t heard a car, hadn’t seen one in days, even–

i open the door slowly. revel in the creak, how unwelcoming it sounds. my nearest neighbour is a good drive down the mountain, moved here to take care of her grandmother and didn’t relocate when she passed. nice woman with a faint boston accent, emotive dark eyes.

she’s standing on my doorstep, and her hand lashes out to grip the door frame. i don’t see a car. “hi,” she says, and there’s some edge in her voice i can’t identify. some cut to it. “hi,” she repeats. her eyes are wild.

“can i help you?” i ask, carefully measured with what i hope is the right amount of nothing, but she’s already pushing past me, stumbling into my kitchen.

she’s suddenly digging through my drawers, tearing the whole place apart. i notice she’s barefoot as she turns to me and hisses, “phone.” 

“pardon?”

“where is your phone?” and her mouth is opened like she’s about to say something else, but nothing comes. a choked syllable seems to trail off to its untimely death. she only looks at me. she only looks past me.

a chill passes over the room and when i turn to shut the door, to tell her to get the hell out, i see it. he’s standing stock-still in the yard, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat. the tall figure he cuts is still the same offsetting sharpness i remember from twelve years ago. his eyes gleam like disaster, like doom, like the ax about to fall.

i’m not afraid of him, i find. i’d like to make my morning coffee now. i’d like to have breakfast. i’d like him to leave.

“straightpeoplereceipts,” he practically sings, self satisfied and unbearable. “you deny that ninety-percent of the world’s population exists?” 

i take a glance at the woman in the kitchen behind me. something seems to click then, and i don’t look back. i shut the door.

Moving On

pairing: Lin x reader

warnings: alcohol. swearing. SADNESS.

summary: TEN moments in the journey of moving on

I rose from the dead to bring you all some PAIN. It took me a while to get this done because I wanted to get it right. A big thanks to @l-nmanuel for being my sunshine, @linslovelylocks for helping me out with the Pain, and @gratitudejoyandsorrow for making me read Love & Misadventure (which inspired this fic). (@imkindapassionate-kindasoulless)

words: 2,592


ONE (play is all it takes for her to fall in love)

You remember seeing him for the first time in a school play, all untidy black hair and dark wild eye. He was confident, almost arrogant in the way he commanded presence onstage. You ran to him after the play to congratulate him on his excellent performance.

You expected a haughty smirk from the lead actor, but instead he grinned bashfully and admitted that your pieces in the school magazine was always the highlight of his Tuesday.

“If only I was as good a writer as you are, I could write the greatest play in the history of ever,” he had said.

Just for a moment there, you saw the bleeding edge of insecurity underneath his sunny exterior. All it took was an exchange of numbers, a series of texts overnight, and by the next day, the two of you were already best friends.

TWO (people play acting. or are they?)

Lin is pacing the length of his bedroom, looking absolutely terrified for his audition tomorrow.

“I wish I could help,” you say absently, editing your article on your laptop. His head immediately snaps to you.

“Help me act out some scenes?”

You raise your eyebrows at him. He grins, pulling on his ‘but-I’m-your-best-friend’ face. You’ve never been able to say no to that smile. He grabs your laptop from you and types something, then shows you a list of prompts. So you spend 5 hours switching between at least 20 different characters, ranging from an angry grandmother to a hot girl he meets at a bar. You both turn to your laptop to see the final prompt.

‘A and B are best friends. A’s reaction to B getting married. ’

“Congrats,” you say, turning to him, already in character.

“That’s a lie.” He gives a mirthless laugh.

“I’m not! Congratulations,” you repeat, wondering where he was trying to steer the script.

“You’re lying! Why aren’t you happy for me? What are you trying to say?” he said fiercely, his black eyes boring into you.

“I’m trying to say that I’m in love with you!” you yell.

Right after the words leave your mouth, your heart stops. That isn’t part of the prompt. Your feelings aren’t supposed to get tangled with your improvisation. Wait, your feelings? For him?

“You have no right to say that just before I’m getting married,” Lin hisses.

“I’ve tried, you idiot. You think I want this?” you snap.

“I’m sorry. I can’t do anything about it,” he says, looking down. Your heart drums against your chest, and then you grin.

“Aaaand, scene.”

THREE (times he rewrote the script and it was still rejected)

He slumps down in the seat next to you, everything in his movement looking drained. You ask him if anything is wrong, but he just shakes his head mutely. You try again, taking his hand in yours. And for some reason, he tells you.

“My script was rejected,” he says quietly. “I thought I already knew rejection, but not this. I put everything into this. I rewrote the entire thing 3 times.”

You squeeze his hand. “Keep rewriting. You have all the time in the world.”

His smile is sad, and grateful, and something in your heart tightens. You smile back at him, hoping that he can’t see the butterflies in your stomach. You stare at his brown eyes. They aren’t the colour of the ocean, but you can drown in them anyway.

“Mi corazón,” he says, smiling at you.

“My nerd,” you reply affectionately.

(at) FOUR (a.m. he decides to get a tattoo because he can’t stop thinking about someone)

Lin gets paired up with Natalie, the future valedictorian, for a project. You see them and the first thing that you feel is a loud, stinging pang of jealousy, but in the back of your mind, there’s a click that tells you they’re meant to be. You ignore it and keep it to yourself, because that’s what you do best.

He texts you. ‘hey i’m getting a tattoo of a mic, come with?’

You accompany him to the tattoo parlor as he gets the mic. He’s over the moon as you drive home.

“What do you think?” he asks, trying to catch a glimpse of his tattoo for the first time.

“Personally, I wouldn’t get a tattoo that says daddy in cursive, but-”

“What the fuck?” he yells, wheeling around to try to see his back in the mirror.

“I’m kidding! Who inspired you to get a mic anyway?”

His face transforms into a wide, carefree smile, and his entire being relaxes. “Natalie.”

You turn up the volume of the radio so he doesn’t hear your heart breaking.

FIVE (Gordon Ramsay insults. technically, the last one isn’t an insult.)

You’re there when Lin finally kisses her.

It’s her birthday, and she tries to pass it off as low-key by calling it ‘just a barbeque’, but the truth is that it’s a very expensive beach party. You and Lin are piling food into your plate, trying to fit in with the rich kids by shouting Gordon Ramsay-esque insults.

“The pork is so raw it’s still singing Hakuna Matata!” you yell, stabbing it and taking a big bite.

“Why did the chicken cross the road? Because you didn’t fucking cook it!” He says in a terrible British accent.

“Maybe you should give this piece of meat to the gods; I hear they like burnt offerings.”

He puts both hands on your cheeks. “What are you?”

“An idiot sandwich,” you say, faux tearfully. The two of you cackle in amusement, stealing bits of food of each other’s plate. Lin is about to launch into Ramsay mode again when Natalie approaches the two of you.

“Hey, guys,” she says happily.

“Hello, linda,” Lin interjects quickly, taking her hand. It’s a joke he always uses when trying to pick up girls - calling them linda so they’d say “my name isn’t Linda” and he can reply “linda means beautiful in Spanish” and watch them turn red.

Instead, a dusty pink blush spreads across her cheeks. “Quiet, you,” she laughs. Lin’s eyes light up in disbelief, like ‘holy shit, this amazing girl knows Spanish, she just got even hotter’. His eyes flit to you for permission, and you give him a big thumbs up.

You watch as Lin walk Natalie to the edge of the water, and they sit down. Gently, he puts his hands on her cheeks and says: “What are you?”

Natalie grins. “The love of your life?”

Even from a distance, you can hear Lin’s warm laugh, fading away as he leans in to kiss her. Everyone ceases their conversation to cheer and whistle at them. When Lin pulls away, he’s wearing a smile similar to a Cheshire cat’s.

Daniel, Lin’s roommate, lunges forward and pushes Lin towards the water. Natalie’s friends catch on to the idea and push her towards the water until the two of them are knee deep in water. You laugh along with everyone, until the crowd starts to dissipate. You return to your room.

It’s past midnight when Lin tiptoes into your room to grab fresh clothes that he keeps in your drawer. “Good night, Lin,” you whisper as he passes your bed.

He gasps. “Shut up, (Y/N).”

“I’m happy for you.”

“Shut. Up.” You can’t see his face in the dark, but you’re pretty sure he’s smiling as he leaves the room.

SIX (songs that aren’t even dedicated to her)

The worst thing about being in love with your best friend is that you can’t tell your best friend about it.

Your heart skips a beat when Lin texts you. ‘heya i’m making you a mixtape! it’s cute and adorable and fluffy (like me)’

You reply within seconds. ‘hm, what’s it about?’

‘SHIT sorry that message was for natalie!! actually, since you are a fellow pretentious fuck when it comes to music, can you help me out with the mix?’

‘sure. tell me about it.’

‘okay so i already have Perfect by Ed Sheeran, for obvious reasons, and Don’t You Forget About Me. what else?”

‘Ignition (Remix)!!!!’

‘are you fucking kidding no way’

‘come on, dude.’

‘fine. I’m also feeling The Fray. How To Save A Life?’

‘no wtf that song is mainstream and irrelevant. Heartbeat.’

‘good one. 505?’

‘YES. also. Cherry Wine.’

‘It’s done! It’s a mini-mix, i’m putting together a longer and better one for her birthday. THANK YOU, wingwoman.’

‘send it to me for prooflistening!!’

My Only Sunshine, by Lin-Manuel

Heartbeat - The Fray
505 - Arctic Monkeys
Ignition (Remix) - R. Kelly
Perfect - Ed Sheeran
Cherry Wine - Hozier
Don’t You Forget About Me - Simple Minds

‘nice job, cabrón.’

SEVEN (billion people in the world and she chose to fall in love with the one who doesn’t love her back)

“Natalie’s parents are thinking of saying no if Lin proposes to her,” Chris announces, placing a plate of eggs in front of you.

“What?” you splutter, dropping your spoon. “No. The wedding has to happen.”

Chris gives you a long, measured look. “I thought their wedding being cancelled would save you from a great deal of pain.”

“It doesn’t matter if I tear my own heart in two. Because if Lin is happy, then it is worth it-”

“God!” Chris’ eyes narrows. “What could possibly be worth it?”

“Everything that I have lost!” you shout. “Lin!”

Chris breathes in and out slowly, and there’s something like pity in his eyes when he looks at you. “7.5 billion people in the world and you had to choose the one who doesn’t love you back.”

EIGHT (bottles of beer and she still misses him)

“What’s up, big shot?” you slur, holding the phone in one hand and a bottle of cheap beer in the other.

“Fuck,” he exhales, realising you were drunk. “I’ll be at your place in 5 to make sure you’re okay.”

“You’re so far away, Lin,” you complain. “Souls don’t understand the notion of distance, you know that? They only know how right it feels to be with one another. I miss you even when you’re just a room away, because my soul only feels the absence of yours.”

He laughs, and through the haze of alcohol you feel warmth spread through you, like a sun peeking from behind the clouds. “You only miss me when you’re drunk.”

“I’m drunk because I miss you,” you say softly. A beat of silence passes, and time stands still. You wonder if he hung up.

“Natalie’s calling.” The sound of her name shatters the moment like glass. You can’t find it in you to reply.

“Don’t do anything stupid until I get there,” he jokes. His voice is rough, scratchy, and he mutters a goodbye before hanging up.

True to his word, he appears 5 minutes later in your doorstep. He notices the empty bottles of beer on the floor and sees you lying down on the couch. Without hesitation, he gently pushes you to make space for him and lies down next to you.

You grin sleepily up at him. “Thanks for coming, but I’d rather sleep.”

“Sleep, mi corazón,” he whispers softly, pulling you closer to him. You know that he isn’t going to stay the night, but it’s still a slap to your face when he’s gone in the morning leaving nothing but a note taped to a glass of water.

For the first time, you feel white-hot jealousy flare up in you. All you wake up to is a hastily scrawled note, while Natalie gets to wake up to the life-sized, walking, talking Lin: to the sizzle of him cooking bacon, to his raspy humming, to his brown eyes half-lidded with sleep, to him.

(he’s on cloud) NINE

“(Y/N). You should fall in love. It’s amazing.”

He sounds drunk, but he actually isn’t. Drunk on love, maybe. It’s a joy for you to see your best friend like this, but it hurts like hell to see him like this because of another girl. It’s like he can’t stop talking about her, he always slides her name into every single sentence, twisting every conversation to relate it back to her.

You become so worried about losing your best friend that you check his phone to see what your name is in his contacts. You breathe a sigh of relief when it’s still mi corazón. You look for Natalie’s contact. Mi alma.

Mi corazón, my heart. You’re his heart; you know what he likes, what he hates, you see all his dark and you love his light.

Mi alma, my soul. She is his soul; he lives and breathes her, she sees the stars in his smile, everything he does is either with her, because of her, or for her.

TEN (years after meeting him and she finally lets him go)

Lin appears in your house with two cups of coffee. “I’m thinking of proposing to Natalie,” he says, after taking a long sip from his cup.

“Do it,” you cheered, grinning. He looks at you, searching for any kind of falseness, but there is none.

“I- Are you sure?”

“Yes. When I met you, I thought you hung all the stars and the moon in the sky. But I came to realise that you are just like me. You know the shape of my soul and the words of my heart. You’re my first love, Lin, and you always will be. But I deserve someone who loves me back, so I can be the poem instead of the poet I’ve always been. I’ve been stuck in your orbit for years, and this is me breaking free.”

He bites his lip and stares at the ground. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you say softly, pulling him into a hug. You savor the moment, drawing it out for as long as possible, and then you pull away. The smile that he gives you afterwards is worth everything.

The next day, you’re out at dinner with Natalie, and you can tell that she has something to say by the way she cuts her chicken into smaller pieces than is necessary. “I think Lin’s going to propose to me.”

“Really?” you enthuse. “That’s great!”

“Any words from his best friend?” she asks.

You’re silent for a long moment, trying to find the words. “Take care of him. He looks like he has enough love to give to everyone, but sometimes he needs love as well. Be honest about his work. He enjoys criticism. He’ll sometimes think he’s the dullest of the bunch, when in reality he’s the brightest. With every word, pen stroke, and touch, you’re going to fall deeper in love with him. Please, just love him with everything you have.”

She holds your gaze, and between the two of you, there was some kind of resolve; an understanding. She knows. And she knows you’re moving on.

“Oh, and Natalie?” you ask, just before the moment fades.

“Yeah?” she says, with a smile that eases your mind. Not many people deserve Lin, but she definitely does.

“Don’t you fucking dare break his heart.”

Rent Re-Imagined. A One-Shot Fic.

Anonymous said: What if Jamie and Claire gave into their feelings before they married and murtuagh caught them…


…well, I hope this matches your vision, Anon.

Thanks to @outlandishchridhe as always for writing my grammar wrongs, you gem. 

A tiny break in the university madness gave me a bit of a chance to write. If you’ve asked me for something, never fear…I am still going to honour them. Just when I have time to do them justice.

MWAH.


Slipping behind the largest trunk, Claire slunk closer to the debris at the base of the tree. She could hear Dougal and Jamie talking –animatedly. Jamie, it seemed, did not agree with his uncle on some matters pertaining to the earlier escapades with the locals and his eager need to tear the shirt from Jamie’s back at any God-given opportunity.

Claire didn’t blame him. Thinking about it made her blood boil and she had to grip the bark with some vigour in order to keep herself sat still and not go tearing down the hill towards Dougal herself.

Taking a deep breath, she leaned her head backwards, thinking instead of her own intimate matters. As much as she tried to force back the *affectionate* feelings that had begun to manifest themselves deep in her chest, the camaraderie she felt towards Jamie had bloomed. Claire found herself almost drawn to the Scot, her movements mimicking his in the strangest of ways. Her body was attuned to his.

How else had she found herself here? Close to him once more, eavesdropping on his conversation, not for the actual words, but just to be within close proximity of the man.

She was so consumed by these thoughts that she failed to notice Dougal stomp passed her, his long gait extended by his increased ire at his argumentative nephew. The crack of fallen branches pulled her from her reverie though, and she dipped lower, her shoulders hunching closer to the trunk in order to stay out of sight.

A distinct sound of gaelic curses rang out only moments later, causing Claire to jump a little. Turning onto her knees, she crawled over the roots and glanced down into the small valley beyond her hiding place.

Watching, she scrunched her eyes to see in the dark as Jamie, venting his frustration in the safest way possible, smacked his clenched fist against the closest tree. Claire, from where she knelt, could see the tense set of his shoulders as he pulled his arm back once more, his head falling forward as he pounded the rough bark.

His words, foreign to Claire’s ears, were almost unintelligible from this distance, and she climbed closer in order to get a better view. Arguing with herself, she decided it was best to let him get this pent up aggression out of his system before she showed herself.

“Ye can come out now,” Jamie spoke, his voice hushed as he turned a little. He could see her slumped behind the hillock, catching a brief movement out of the corner of his eye as he stood still facing away for the most part.

Standing and brushing herself off, Claire stumbled down the wee bank and brought herself to Jamie’s side.

Holding out her hand, she wiggled her fingers towards his blood-stained ones, not saying a word as she summoned his knuckles for inspection.

“You should be more careful, Mr MacTavish. You could easily pop the joint if you catch it wrong. Tree bark isn’t known for its gentle properties you know,” she teased as she turned his battered fingers over in her hand, examining the damage as carefully as she was able.

“Jamie, please mistress,” he whispered, nothing but humour in his tone, “…and trees are safe, Sassenach.”

Smiling, she tugged him over in the direction of the small fire he’d lit for himself and bid him to sit.

Pulling a small tin from her pocket, Claire reached for her small collection of medical supplies.

“Verra prepared, mistress Claire,” Jamie joked, quirking a brow at her stash. “Expecting to ha’ wounds to attend were ye?”

“Well,” Claire returned, too fast for Jamie to concoct a response, “if *you’re* involved –Jamie– there is bound to be physicking required.”

That silenced him, and he kept his mouth shut whilst Claire finished off cleansing his cuts and bandaging them to avoid the filth of the road.

Though large, Jamie’s hands weren’t callused. Working as he did with heavy tools, Claire had assumed differently, but as she twisted and turned them about, ensuring her handiwork would stand the test of their arduous journey, she realised that they were incredibly soft and mostly free from scars.

She recalled that first day in the stables at Leoch and his tales of outlawry. It was hard to imagine, with him here now in front of her, that he was wanted for murder. Looking up at him, she could see the firelight glint in his aqua eyes, the red/yellow tint shining in his vivid irises.

He had a kind face and a gentle touch. Nothing about him suggested violence or danger.

Licking her lips, she shifted her bottom, her knees slipping further apart as she leaned closer.

Unaware of her subtle movements, Jamie had almost completely closed his eyes now. Lulled by her rhythmic ministrations, he’d chosen blissful ignorance ahead of actively contemplating what he might like to do with Claire.

Her skin glowed in the flames, the pale ivory of her flesh catching the dim flickers as it illuminated her from behind. She was something –otherworldly.

Cracking, the fire spat out a stray piece of ash as it sparked and settled once more, shocking Claire as she shimmied closer to Jamie in an attempt to stay away from the burning debris. The action brought them nose and nose, and Claire held her breath as she tilted her head to the right, sliding the tip of her nose along the bridge of his.

He smelt…intoxicating. Whisky and woodsmoke lined his skin, the calm puffs of his breath wafting over her lips as she held herself steady.

She didn’t mean for it to happen, but the moment she felt his tongue peek out from behind his lips, darting out to moisten his dry skin, she was lost. Leaning forwards she took his mouth against hers, sucking his upper lip between her teeth as they moved together unconsciously.


Claire didn’t recall turning, but before she could pull herself away and apologise for her rash actions, she was on her back in the leaves, her legs parted as Jamie angled himself as close to her as he could get, tugging his kilt out of the way in the process.

Too late, she realised, as she pulled her skirts up, wrapping her feet around Jamie’s knees and urging him forward with her body.

Gasping, she opened her eyes as bare skin came into contact with bare skin, her head unable to comprehend the actions that had led them here. Jamie’s brow was scrunched tight, his eyes clenched as he fought not to simply thrust his hips forward and end this subtle dance. Claire could see it in his face, how much he ached to let go, how much he wanted to twist his hips and sheath himself deep inside her, but something was holding him back.

“Y-you haven’t…have you?” Claire stammered, the dull thud of her heart audible in her ears as she spoke, “you’ve never lain with a woman before.”

Shaking his head vehemently, Jamie pursed his lips together and rolled his arse in time with Claire, her thighs tightening around his hips as he felt the telltale dampness coat him.

Gasping, Claire rocked herself closer still, angling herself into the right position for him to simply slide himself upwards…

She waited, her heart picking up pace as she tried to stay as motionless as possible.

“It’s alright, Jamie,” she coaxed, pushing her shoulders against the cold ground to lever her upwards as she kissed him softly, her tongue lingering on his lips as she relaxed once more, “I want this…I want *you*.”

Pushing himself inside her, Jamie moaned, his whole body trembling as his will broke, her words shattering the carefully built wall that had kept him from destroying Claire’s fragile reputation.

Unable to think, he let his body guide him. Claire’s hand roamed over his shirt-clad back and down until she’d pulled his kilt up further. The cold air slid along his exposed legs, causing his arse to clench as she took one naked cheek in each palm and directed him.

Digging her heels into the sodden earth beneath her, Claire let her legs fall open wider, her knees almost touching the ground as she met Jamie’s movements. Pushing her groin against his over and over again, grinding herself against him to create as much friction as possible.

With one final groan, Jamie juddered, tensed and flopped against Claire, his energy spent as he wrapped his arms around her and buried his face against her neck.

Panting, Claire twined her legs with his as the tingling faded from her extremities.

Rendered insensible by the blinding lust that had just consumed them, both Claire and Jamie lapsed into unconsciousness, the chilly air unable to penetrate the heat their combined bodies had just created. Steam seemed to hang in the space around them as the fire dwindled, a fine mist encasing the now-sleeping lovers.

Coughing – loudly – Murtagh kicked Jamie’s filthy boots as he crossed his arms, his ire showing openly on his face.

“Ay! Laddie…wake up ye lazy dolt!”

Stunned by the sharp intonation of his godfather’s voice, Jamie hunched his shoulders to hide the shock he’d just received at being so rudely woken. Forgetting himself, his hands tightened on Claire’s shoulders, his sleep-hazed state making him feel as if she’d always been there, not remembering that she was a new addition to his nighttime routine.

Tugging the shawl around her half exposed shoulders, the colour drained from Claire’s face as the sudden realisation of her late night actions sunk in. Untangling herself from Jamie’s grasp, she sat up and slowly opened her eyes.

She prayed that only Murtagh stood before them, hoping beyond hope that she could convince the dour Scotsman to turn a blind eye to her less than reputable actions. But luck wasn’t on her side.

“I see our feral cat has some…impressionable skill at leading men astray,” Dougal muttered, his tone dripping with derision.

Claire could picture the look on his face without having to see it, but she was no coward. Opening her eyes fully, she rolled her shoulders back and clenched her teeth together to avoid saying something cutting in return.

Jamie remained silent too, his hands grappling to find hers as he rubbed some manner of warmth back into her digits, calming her as he did so.

“Uncle,” he began, an air of warning to his tone, “dinna go throwing insults around, aye?”

Scoffing, Dougal twisted the knife in his palm, using its sharp point to balance it precariously in the centre of his hand. “What else would ye have me call it,” he mocked, his eyes narrowing to slits as he began pacing in front of them.

Murtagh remained quiet now, his focus solely on Jamie as he tried to block out the view he’d had of the intimate moment between Jamie and Claire. Not meaning to catch them in the act, he’d come searching for his godson only moments after Claire had. Knowing the lad probably needed some alone time, he’d waited for just a wee bit longer than normal before heading off after him.

He’d had time to think as he’d clambered away from the scene, eager not to hear any more of their amorous activities. Desperate to keep the others in the rent party away, Murtagh had occupied the group with bawdy songs and whisky until most had passed out drunk.

Dougal, however, saw through the act. Noticing that Jamie hadn’t returned and that Claire had seemingly vanished, he’d bided his time before creeping off in search of the pair of them.

Finding them curled up, asleep by the fire he’d watched Jamie stoke earlier, a devious smile had lit his face and he’d snuck back off to contemplate his next move.

“Weel, tis of no matter,” Dougal continued, smirking as Jamie’s face turned a lurid red. Claire gulped loudly, her pulse throbbing painfully as her throat felt like it might close. She could tell from the devious look on Dougal’s face that this wouldn’t end well.

“No matter?” Jamie spat out, incensed by his uncle’s games.

“Aye, my boy. Ye ken the way of it. If you canna keep yer legs closed there are consequences.”

“Don’t you dare–” Claire began, her embarrassment completely fizzling now. Replaced, instead, with white-hot burning rage.

“Och, I *dare*,” Dougal sneered, interrupting her diatribe, “mistress Beauchamp. If you canna contain yerselves, then you will have to be marrit. Do I make myself clear?”

Claire’s eyes widened, her heart stuttering in her chest as the words found purchase in the air around them.

Married?

No.

How could she…?

She was *already* married.

Jamie’s hand tightened on hers, the warmth of it silently soothing her frayed nerves.

“Married?” Murtagh whispered, echoing Claire’s unspoken sentiment. “Are ye mad, Dougal?”

“Am I…? No. I amne. We dinna ken fer sure, but he’s lain wi’ her now, she could be with child. It has been known. Do you wish her to be kent as a hoor, spoilt goods for anyone to take a wee keek at?” Dougal glowered, his advantage hard pressed to be beat.

Even Murtagh couldn’t disagree with his assessment of the situation.

“Married…” Claire murmured, her voice sending warm shivers down Jamie’s spine as he brought her closer to his side. The shuffling of the leaves around them made Claire blink as she turned to stare at her husband-to-be. “Jamie, I-”

“Hush, Sassenach,” he interjected, quashing her apology before she could voice it. “I promised I’d look out for you at Leoch, didn’t I?” he reminded her, his kind eyes holding hers as she nodded in reply. “And that hasne changed between here and there.”

Turning back to Dougal and Murtagh, Jamie clasped his hand around Claire’s back and brought them both to their feet. “Aye, uncle,” he agreed, holding his hand out as if to cement the *arrangement*, “but I have three conditions…if we’re t’ be wed.”

Laughing, Dougal shook his head, running his hand over the peak of his forehead, “T’would be easier to just kill ye both!” He jeered, a tiny hint of promise in his tone.

“That is as maybe,” Jamie returned, an equally dark hint to his voice as he gently drew patterns over Claire’s back, “but much harder to explain, wouldn’t you agree?”

Spitting a mouthful of saliva at his feet, Dougal blinked slowly and turned from the pair, stomping off once more in the direction of Rupert and the others.

Claire exhaled, her lungs pulsating from holding in the oxygen for so long. Leaning her head against Jamie’s shoulder she made to apologise once more, only finding herself incapable of speech, decided instead to forego it in favour of clenching his hand softly in hers.

Sensing her meaning, Jamie kept her close, turning them both in Murtagh’s direction as they awaited his reaction.

Quirking a bushy brow, Claire saw his lips twitch beneath his thick beard as he reached forward and smacked Jamie, his fingers catching Jamie’s thick curls, the smack echoing through the trees surrounding them.

“Foolish boy…” he spat, keeping his voice low as he went from anger to acceptance in two words, “it’s a dangerous game yer playing here. Ye ken well how changeable Dougal can be. How easy his moods slip from playful caution to deadly.”

Shrugging off Murtagh’s warning, Jamie sighed and kissed Claire on the forehead. “Then maybe it’s best if we’re wed quickly, aye?” He replied, walking himself and Claire in the direction of the camp.

Murtagh hovered behind them for just a moment, scratching his head as he watched the pair walk away, seeing the strange closeness they’d come to accept in just one short evening. “Aye,” he mumbled. “I guess ye had.”

“In a church!” Jamie yelled, his head turned towards Murtagh, a coy smile lighting his face, “afore a priest.”

Letting Go

Description: After a hunt and argument with an over-protective Winchester, sometimes you have to let go of some of the frustrations and desires. GIFs aren’t mine. 

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Reader, Bed (yes the bed is worthy) 

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

A/N: First time writing an SPN imagine…fuck me. Feedback is appreciated. 

Warnings: smut, oral sex (female receiving) and stuff that usually happens during sex

-oOo-

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