uncle jamie

Footsteps 3 {Joffrey Baratheon x Twin!Reader}

Originally posted by rubyredwisp

Part One Here!

Part Two Here!

Strong Language/ Sibling Incest Warning!


Y/N made a frantic motion to remove herself from Joffrey, but his firm hands kept her in place. Her cheeks flushed a deep red, and she felt her chest constrict. Gods, she knew this would happen, she knew that there had to be some falling out from this, but she’d only wished that they could’ve gotten more time

Joffrey, on the other hand, was cool, collected, staring unblinkingly at Jamie. “Evening, Uncle.” He breezed coldly, his jaw set firmly. “You’d do well to knock the next time you intrude.” Annoyance leaked through his tone, and he finally relented, releasing the trembling girl still firmly planted on top of him. 

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The building Jamie led us to

…was discreetly hidden down a small close just above the Kirk of the Canongate, perhaps a quarter-mile above Holyrood Palace. I saw the lanterns mounted by the gates of the palace below, and shivered slightly at the sight. We had lived with Charles Stuart in the palace for nearly five weeks, in the early, victorious phase of his short career. Jamie’s uncle, Colum MacKenzie, had died there.

The door opened to Jamie’s knock, and all thoughts of the past vanished. The woman who stood peering out at us, candle in hand, was petite, dark-haired and elegant. Seeing Jamie, she drew him in with a glad cry, and kissed his cheek in greeting. My insides squeezed tight as a fist, but then relaxed again, as I heard him greet her as “Madame Jeanne.” Not what one would call a wife—nor yet, I hoped, a mistress.

Still, there was something about the woman that made me uneasy. She was clearly French, though she spoke English well—not so odd; Edinburgh was a seaport, and a fairly cosmopolitan city. She was dressed soberly, but richly, in heavy silk cut with a flair, but she wore a good deal more rouge and powder than the average Scotswoman. What disturbed me was the way she was looking at me—frowning, with a palpable air of distaste.

“Monsieur Fraser,” she said, touching Jamie on the shoulder with a possessive air that I didn’t like at all, “if I might have a word in private with you?”

Jamie, handing his cloak to the maid who came to fetch it, took a quick look at me, and read the situation at once.

“Of course, Madame Jeanne,” he said courteously, reaching out a hand to draw me forward. “But first—allow me to introduce my wife, Madame Fraser.”

My heart stopped beating for a moment, then resumed, with a force that I was sure was audible to everyone in the small entry hall. Jamie’s eyes met mine, and he smiled, the grip of his fingers tightening on my arm.

“Your…wife?” I couldn’t tell whether astonishment or horror was more pronounced on Madame Jeanne’s face. “But Monsieur Fraser…you bring her here? I thought…a woman…well enough, but to insult our own jeune filles is not good…but then…a wife…” Her mouth hung open unbecomingly, displaying several decayed molars. Then she shook herself suddenly back into an attitude of flustered poise, and inclined her head to me with an attempt at graciousness. “Bonsoir…Madame.”

“Likewise, I’m sure,” I said politely.

“Is my room ready, Madame?” Jamie said. Without waiting for an answer, he turned toward the stair, taking me with him. “We shall be spending the night.”

He glanced back at Mr. Willoughby, who had come in with us. He had sat down at once on the floor, where he sat dripping rain, a dreamy expression on his small, flat face.

“Er…?” Jamie made a small questioning motion toward Mr. Willoughby, his eyebrows raised at Madame Jeanne. She stared at the little Chinese for a moment as though wondering where he had come from, then, returned to herself, clapped her hands briskly for the maid.

“See if Mademoiselle Josie is at liberty, if you please, Pauline,” she said. “And then fetch up hot water and fresh towels for Monsieur Fraser and his…wife.” She spoke the word with a sort of stunned amazement, as though she still didn’t quite believe it.

“Oh, and one more thing, if you would be so kind, Madame?” Jamie leaned over the banister, smiling down at her. “My wife will require a fresh gown; she has had an unfortunate accident to her wardrobe. If you could provide something suitable by morning? Thank you, Madame Jeanne. Bonsoir!”

I didn’t speak, as I followed him up four flights of winding stairs to the top of the house. I was much too busy thinking, my mind in a whirl. “Pimpmaster,” the lad in the pub had called him. But surely that was only an epithet—such a thing was absolutely impossible. For the Jamie Fraser I had known, it was impossible, I corrected myself, looking up at the broad shoulders under the dark gray serge coat. But for this man?

I didn’t know quite what I had been expecting, but the room was quite ordinary, small and clean—though that was extraordinary, come to think of it—furnished with a stool, a simple bed and chest of drawers, upon which stood a basin and ewer and a clay candlestick with a beeswax candle, which Jamie lighted from the taper he had carried up.

He shucked off his wet coat and draped it carelessly on the stool, then sat down on the bed to remove his wet shoes.

“God,” he said, “I’m starving. I hope the cook’s not gone to bed yet.”

“Jamie…” I said.

“Take off your cloak, Sassenach,” he said, noticing me still standing against the door. “You’re soaked.”

“Yes. Well…yes.” I swallowed, then went on. “There’s just…er…Jamie, why have you got a regular room in a brothel?” I burst out.

He rubbed his chin, looking mildly embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Sassenach,” he said. “I know it wasna right to bring ye here, but it was the only place I could think of where we might get your dress mended at short notice, besides finding a hot supper. And then I had to put Mr. Willoughby where he wouldna get in more trouble, and as we had to come here anyway…well”—he glanced at the bed—“it’s a good deal more comfortable than my cot at the printshop. But perhaps it was a poor idea. We can leave, if ye feel it’s not—”

“I don’t mind about that,” I interrupted. “The question is—why have you got a room in a brothel? Are you such a good customer that—”

“A customer?” He stared up at me, eyebrows raised. “Here? God, Sassenach, what d’ye think I am?”

“Damned if I know,” I said. “That’s why I’m asking. Are you going to answer my question?”

He stared at his stockinged feet for a moment, wiggling his toes on the floorboard. At last he looked up at me, and answered calmly, “I suppose so. I’m not a customer of Jeanne’s, but she’s a customer of mine—and a good one. She keeps a room for me because I’m often abroad late on business, and I’d as soon have a place I can come to where I can have food and a bed at any hour, and privacy. The room is part of my arrangement with her.”

Awkward Conversations - Teenage AU

Anonymous asked:  I love a cute teenage Claire and Jamie ! Number 15 or 16 please (:

15 - Hope we don’t get caught kiss; 16 - Naughty kiss

Here you go, @outlandishchridhe! Shout out to @diversemediums for helping beta this. I don’t have time to link this to the other story at the moment, but I’ll update it soon. Enjoy!


I wait for just the right moment. Her group of friends is coming down the hall and I see her, standing a little taller than the rest. As they pass by my hiding spot, I reach out and grab her. I clamp a hand over her mouth before she gets to screamin’.

“Jamie!” she whispers harshly, hitting me in the chest. “What the hell was that?”

“Weel… I couldna kiss ye wi’ all those other girls about, now could I?”

“Oh, is that why we’re hiding in a closet?”

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Preference 04: Confession

Joffrey Baratheon:

Originally posted by hodorhodorhodooor

“You look lovely today my lady.”  He complemented, pulling her closed to his side.

“Thank you, your grace.” You smiled thankfully.

“Joffrey, please.” He spoke kindly, stopping at a bench.

“Joffrey.” You paused, closing your eyes fearing a blow to your cheek but when none came you sighed and look at him, and he flashed you a cat-like smile, “Joffrey, thank you for taking time to walk with me.”

Though it was you who requested my company.

He smiled brighter, growing into a smirk and dropped your arm for your hand, “Yes.. Sit with me.” He spoke emotionless and you obeyed quickly looking at the flowers instead of him, still slightly afraid.

“The flowers are beautiful yo- Joffrey.”

“I’m sure they are nothing compared to the ones Highgarden, I am sure.”

“Neigh.” You forced a smile as the lie fell through your lips, “Everything is more beautiful in the capital.”

“Certainly.” He sighed in a whispered tone as he grabbed your cheek and turned you to meet his eyes, placing his hand under your chin and not moving it. “Y/N… I have brought you here today, to the spot were we first met, for a reason.”

“Yes, your grace.”

“Joffrey.”

“Sorry… Joffrey…” You blinked and portrayed a look of innocence in attempts to hide your fear. But his gripped stronged as he placed his other hand on your cheek.

Joffrey smiled gently, “Lady Y/N Tyrell… I know I am promised to your sister-”

Oh gods… Oh Gods please no…

“And I did love her for her beauty. But then I laid eyes on you.. And the moment I did my world stopped… What I am trying to say is I have moved my bethrothal to you other than your sister and we will be married by months end and I couldn’t be happier.”

You were gaping but you couldn’t hide your shock.

You needed to get out, right now.

“May I be excused, your grace?” You asked, pulling away, standing up and walking off, before getting your response Tears of fear and panic cluttered your face as you bit your lips to stop a sob from escaping your mouth.


Jorah Mormont

Originally posted by pnkandpearls

The sand felt nice on your as you walked along the beach, your friend carrying your shoes in his hands.

“You are right, Jorah.” You smiled at him, then at the ocean beside you, “This truly is beautiful.”

He smiled thoughtfully at you, nodding in agreement and a calming silence filled the area.

“How is the Khaleesi?” He asked, breaking silence.

“Doing the best she can I suppose.” You shrugged sadly, “She is so strong and brave. yet so graceful. I wish sometimes that I held her faith and strength.”

Jorah smiled at this, grabbing your hand and giving it a small squeeze as you looked at him, then back out at the never ending sea as it spit in your face.

You sighed, knowing that there was no use in waiting.

If I do not tell him, Dany will.

“Jorah?” You questioned looking at him, he made a small hmmm, and looking at you, your hands shaking and you looked away. I must do it now…. “Jorah I have these feelings for you… And I have to know if you share these feelings at all or if… If I not I would not like to lose our frien-”

He cut you off by placing a sweet kiss to your forehead, squeezing your hand tightly. Murmuring against your brow, he said, “I have found myself loving you as well, Y/N”

Smiling at this, you looked up at him, leaning on his shoulder saying a silent thank you to the gods that you did not make a fool of yourself.



Jon Snow

Originally posted by howeverlongitakesklaroline

Tear flooded your eyes as you looked at his body.

This literally cannot be happening… You thought. Why is this happening…

“M-May I please have a moment alone?” You questioned the men, not looking back to see their response, only hearing the door shut.

It was then when you threw yourself onto the slab and clung to your friends dead body, sobbing uncontrollably.

He is cold.  Cold and bruised and scraped. Something he should never be.

Shaking, you placed your lips to his forehead and hugged him, whispering in his ear silent things that you had kept secret. You whispered of your love for his eyes, for his hair, for his mind, for him, and trembled at the sight of his pale skin.

You barely noticed when a women placed her hand on her shoulder and a man picked you up, setting you on a bed where you fell into a dreamless sleep.

You woke up to warm breath and the tickle of beard against your neck, the sent of pine filling your nose. Looking up, you saw those dark eyes that you had fallen for such a long time ago and reached up, cupping his face with your hands.

“Have I died from grief, my love?” You spoke weak and hoarsely, blinking several times as Jon moved closer to you.

He shook is head, a smile brightly on his lips, one you had never seen in your life. You made a small o with your lips, your voice hurting too much to respond causing both of your eyes to water slightly.

“I heard your words.” Jon confessed.

“Did you?” You asked, too weak to figure out if he was truthful or not.

He nodded, “Aye.” He smiled again giving you a small gentle peck on your lips and pulling your weak body up as to hug you tightly. When at last pulling apart, you placed your forehead to his as he mumbled against your lips, “I feel the same.”

Robb Stark

Originally posted by thelovelyrichardmadden

“Are you doing alright Lady Y/N? Truly?” He asked panicked as you nodded, grabbing his hand as you knew it calmed him down.

He was afraid, and rightfully so. A Baratheon in the North? It was danger which is why he locked you in his own tent, you sleeping in the day and him at night, though truthfully neither of you got much sleep.

You had told him all the plans you, knew, which wasn’t much but his words fear was one of his men finding you here and hurting you, perhaps even throwing you in a cell with your Uncle Jamie. Who knows what would happen from there.

“Robb your generosity is something I cannot thank you enough for.” You smiled lightly, “I am safer here than I was in King’s Landing.” You squeezed his hand gently, causing him to exhale and kneel beside you, his eyes never straying from yours. “I… I am so sorry Robb.” You sighed gently, tears in your eyes as you looked away. “I wish I could have-”

“You were packing and on your way to me, Y/N. There is nothing you could do.” He sighed to quickly, something you assumed he was doing to mask his tears. “I am sorry about your father as well.”

Smiling at the memory of your Lord Father, you looked down and sighed, “He died justly. Peacefully. It was the only way I could imagine him going I suppose.”  Robb and you both chuckled at this and silence once again fell until Robb broke it.

“I.. I think I am love with you, Y/N.”

Your heart panged in your chest and you looked at the ground blinking slightly until you kneeled beside him, wrapping him in a tight embrace.

“I think I am in love with you too Robb.”




Tommen Baratheon:

Originally posted by bericdondarrion

“Can’t we go on a walk around the garden?” You smirked at him, “Aren’t you bored?” He looked up from his desk and eyed you as you toyed with books off the shelf. Gently smiling, he looked back at his paper work. “C’mon Tommy!”

“Fine.” He confessed, “I am bored. These people think they get so much for doing so little. But I am the King. It is my duty to finish this. Ser Pounce is sure in need of a bit of fresh air though-”

You sighed, picking up the cat and sitting on Tommen’s desk, the cat being put in your lap as you stroked his ears, “ Tommy I haven’t seen you properly since Joffrey died-”

“Nor I you since the Red Wedding.” He spoke in agreement, taking a free hand to pet his cat. “Look… Y/N I-”

“Is this for the wedding?” you asked, seeing an envelope with the Tyrell Rose on it. Tommen nodded, a strange look on his face and you bit your tongue to prevent yourself from swearing, “I am very excited for you my friend.”

He chuckled curtly, “I am not.”

You eyed him suspiciously and looked him up and down, “Why not Tom?”

“She is a beauty. Any man would be lucky to call her his Lady wife, but there is such an age gap.” He pursed his lips, “Besides, my heart lies with someone else.”

Your heart skipped a beat at this. You knew that it couldn’t be you, but you truly hoped. I am a traitors daughter. A deserters sister. You reminded yourself  I mean nothing to him.

“Who?” you asked numbly. Though you did not really want to know, it was polite to ask.

Tommen blushed and dropped his pen, reaching for your hand across the desk with one arm, and the other turned you to face him. His eyes were the softest and most gentle you had ever seen and it as though you were having a conversation with your eyes.

Forcing him to drop your hand you fell into his arms, looking up at him so you could respond.

I love you to Tommen. I have always loved you.



Theon Greyjoy:

Originally posted by sciencevsromance

You couldn’t stop crying. You knew you had to, but you couldn’t. It was worse, somehow, when “Reek” had come to walk you down the isle.

Instead, you ran to him, wrapping your arms tightly around him and sobbed into his shoulder.

“Please don’t make me do this.”

“Lady… Y/N…”

“I don’t want to marry him.” You let go of Reek and began pacing. “He’s a foul creature. A monster. He’ll kill me I’m certain.”

He slowly made his way before you to reach out and touch you. “Y/N.” He repeated, still in a whisper, clearly not audible to your panic.

“He’ll poison me with his seed and as soon as I pop out a son he’ll feed me to the hounds like all the daughters I birthed before our boy.”

“Y/N!” He yelled at last but you weren’t listening.

“No… No maybe he won’t.” You pondered, oddly calm, “Maybe he’ll throw me from a tower. Or maybe he’ll cut off my legs so I can’t-”

Reek cut you off by grabbing you tightly and pressing his shaking lips to your temple, knowing it calms you.

“Y/N…” He whispered again, “I don’t want you to marry him either.”

“T-Theon?”

“Re-No… No Theon… Theon…” He smiled gently, “More or less.. Theon Greyjoy would say he has loved you for the longest time and will defend you to the best of your ability. And will kill anyone who tires to catch your fancy,”

You laughed quietly and squeezed him tightly, “Y/N Stark would say that she shares his feelings and would wed him right now to save the two of them to the bastard she is promised to.”

He kissed your chin as he let you go, looking you up to down.

“Theon Greyjoy, and Reek I suppose, must protect their lady. Starting with this.” He dropped a small vial in your hands and you looked at it confused, “Drink it now.”

You almost dropped it when a knock came at your door.

“Reek! Hurry now! Everyone is freezing.” The bastard yelled from outside the door, “Tell my bride to walk down naked if she must! I will not wait another-”

“Take it. Now my lady. Hurry.”

You obeyed and forced the liquid into your mouth, Theon, taking the bottle once you had finished and threw it into the fire, linking arms with you and leading you outside.

And you cried out again. Tears of fear, loss and helplessness, but oddly enough, tears of joy.


Tyrion Lannister:

Originally posted by aheartoficeandfire

“Why are you here, mi-lady?” He questioned you. “Is everything alright?”

You smiled at him, bowing your head before you sat at his desk, a small blush on your face.

“I am sorry to disrupt you, my lord but it is a matter of most importance.”

Tyrion dropped his pen and looked up from his piece of paper, his mind filling with concern as he went through all the possibilities big or small.

Are you dying? Are you leaving?

Did something happen to your family? Did something happen to his family?

 Are you hurt? Are you sick?

 Are you-

“My Lord?” You asked, your eyes filling with his concern, “My lord are you all right?”

He nodded, grabbing your hand and forcing a smile, “Quite. What Is the matter?”

You sighed and squeezed his hand tight before releasing the grip to calm yourself, “I have… How do I say it… I have grown feelings… But they are improper.. And I have tried to push them away but I have failed.

“Feelings?” He spoke numbing, fearing the response you would give, “Feelings for Joffrey?”

“Nay.”

“For Jamie?”

“Nay.”

“For my lord father?”

“Nay.”

“For Gods sake.. Please tell me they aren’t for the Queen regent!?”

You chuckled slightly at this, “Nay my Lord. I have grown feelings for you.”

His eyes widened at this and he opened his mouth to release an Oh, but no noise came out as he sat in shock.

“I am sorry my lord. I know of the improper nature, for I am a serving girl and you are a high born Lord but I thought it best to tell you that-”

“Nay.” He repeated and you tilted your head to the sighed, “No don’t say another word about impropertity cause I do not care.” He smiled brightly at you and brought your hand to his lips, “Meet me here come nightfall. We shall take a walk.” You bowed your head, smiling before standing up and walking to the door before he stopped you.

“Oh and Y/N.”

“Yes my Lord?”

“Thank you for telling me.” He smirked at you.

For I feel the same and never would have told you the truth

shortiemcbealle  asked:

Not an ask but just a bit of kudos, I am really diggin "Tales from the Past". I'm very curious to see if Claire thinks it all a big coincidence and how Uncle Lamb will react to all of the info they find? Thank you for the lovely writing.

Tales From the Past | Part I, Part II

Scotland was unlike anything I had ever seen before.  The land was an unbelievable shade of green and more beautiful than I could have ever imagined. The image I had of my witch and whisky maker family fit perfectly within this landscape. The rolling hills leading to towering mountains, and the glistening lakes reflecting the scenery around them gave the air of magic and endless possibilities. The deeper into the Highlands we travelled, the easier it was to see how the Scots, and my Scots in particular, transitioned and settled in the mountains of North Carolina. There was a familiarity between the two, but whereas Scotland felt old and full of legends, the North Carolinian mountains had an air of youthful mystery in comparison.

“Are we there yet, Uncle?” I asked as yet another town flashed beyond the car windows.

“Not yet my dear. We’ll be there in no time at all, just enjoy the scenery. Maybe you could come up with your own legend by the time we get to our destination!” He cheered then went back to humming a nameless tune.

I sighed and looked longingly out the window. I just wanted to be there, I wanted to see their home and find out more. “Are we going to Broch Morda and Lallybroch?” I asked not five seconds later.

“No, Claire.” Uncle Lamb said with authority. “We’re headed to a town called Inverness. My correspondent who can trace their lineage back to Lallybroch itself lives there. She’s more than willing to tell her family stories and that of her husband’s as well.”

“Fine.” I grumbled, “I still wish we were going straight to Lallybroch. Something is pulling me in that direction, we need to go there.”

“Patience my dear, we will get there, just after we’ve heard what these Murray’s have to say.” Lamb winked.

Inverness was beautiful, tucked away at the top of Loch Ness I could see the appeal and history all around, but I was restless.

“How long do we have to be here?”

“Long enough,” He laughed guiding me towards the door. “I thought you wanted to hear the legends?”

I groaned, “I do but I want to go see Lallybroch more!”

“Let’s see what they have to say first. We’ll need their story to help further our investigation, despite your curious insistence!” Uncle Lamb cut me off before I could speak further.

“Fine,” I murmured into my arm that rested on the door. My excitement crushed for a moment.

The countryside blurred by until the faintest idea of a town sprung up in spires and stone.

“Inverness?” I asked looking to at Uncle Lamb. He grinned and nodded, weaving our way through the streets to the tea room where the mysterious Murray’s awaited our arrival.

“Here we are, m’dear!” Lamb exclaimed throwing the car door open. “Would you get my satchel from the boot? We may need to take photographs and extra pens and paper! You never know what all they’ll have or have to say!”

His excitement was contagious and I felt my own lift to a nervous bubble. I still longed to see the fabled home, but deep down I knew I needed to hear what the Murray’s had to say.

“Are you Quentin Lambert?” A tall and lanky man with jet black hair and gray eyes asked as he approached our car.

“That I am! You must be Alexander Murray,” Lamb greeted, clasping the man’s hand.

Mr. Murray chuckled and nodded. “Aye, and this is my sister Jennifer.” He gestured to short girl with the same black hair and gray eyes.

“We’ve already got a kettle on, please join us inside.” Her smile was kind, but wary.

“Claire! Don’t forget the books!” Uncle Lamb called from over his shoulder absentmindedly as he entered the quaint stone building.

I took a moment to breathe in my surroundings. The bustle of people and their cars contrasting against the ancient stone buildings. If I closed my eyes and blocked out the modern sounds I could believe I was there when it all began. I could feel the clean Scottish air as it wrapped itself around me and those on the streets, smell the the roasting meats from taverns and hearth fires as well as fresh bannocks and bread, and I could imagine the sounds of wagon wheels and horse’s hooves on cobble and splattering mud. My imagination took me to a world where I could imagine my whisky making Scot walking down the street, and with a swish of a kilt he was gone.

“Miss Beauchamp?” I jumped, startled, my eyes flying open as the pack fell to the street. “Och, sorry. I dinna mean to give ye such a fright. Yer uncle was asking for ye. I came to fetch ye inside.”

My cheeks reddened from getting caught in my fantasy. The real world felt foreign and distant compared to where my mind had just held me. I slowly retrieved Uncle Lamb’s bag and followed Jennifer Murray inside.

“Claire! Claire! There you are, what kept you? No matter, you really must hear what young Mr. Murray has told me about his family! There was a tale that originated from a great uncle of sorts, and that very uncle could be the James Fraser we are striving to find! But I’m very much more fascinated in this enthralling tale of a cave, espionage and freedom! Please, come sit. Sit and listen!” Lamb managed to get all of this out in a single breath, his face red, but eyes alight with excitement. I noticed his hands were already ink-stained and smudged, his left worst of all.  

“Breathe Uncle.” I said, laying a hand to his shoulder. “I’m sure Mr. Murray doesn’t wish to recount the tale again.”

“I dinna mind at all! Would ye like some tea before I start?” Alexander Murray gestured to the barely touched tray of tea and shortbread.

“Yes, thankyou.” I replied, pouring my own cup and grabbing a biscuit.

“As I was telling your very enthusiastic Uncle, my family has many tales and legends as does most here in the highlands. But one, we can go so far to say, is one of the more famous ones.” he said lowering his voice with a wink. “This one legend was said to be the Laird of Broch Tuarach during the uprising of Prince Tearlach in 1745. It’s said that the Laird was spared at the battle of Culloden or most likely escaped the clutches of the British and fled back to his homeland. His hair was a fiery red, easily spotted and gave him little chances to hide. My–” he paused and then gestured to his sister, “–our great-great-great grandmother was this Laird’s sister. She hid him in a priest hole that her recently dead sister-in-law had told her to build. You see the Laird’s wife was a Sassenach and a faerie.

“The folk in the highlands were wary of her and her healing abilities, even though the laird loved her more than life. She was among those caught in the crossfire of Culloden. The Laird being so distraught had nearly given up the will to live and when he was well enough to stand, decided to hide in the hillside to better protect his family.”

“Och! You’re tellin it wrong Sawny!” Jennifer interrupted.

“Och aye? Am I? Weel why dinna you tell it then and let me save my voice!” he said and smugly crossed his arms and legs into a relaxed position.

“I will then!” She settled herself deep into her chair.

“As my brother said, our great-great-great grandmother was the sister to the Laird who became legend, and it is from her that we get our story. Before the days of Culloden and the blackened soul of Prince Tearlach set this bonnie nation into strife, the Murray’s and Fraser’s lived peacefully on the estate. The young Laird had taken a faerie to wife, but all that knew her well enough said she was kinder than of any fae, and that she loved the Laird and his family to the ends of time. It was when she caught a vision of great strife and suffering for her beloved’s people, she told her good sister to plant crops that would yield a great amount, and prepare hidden storages including a priest’s hole under the kitchen cellar. The fae and her husband rushed out to protect the people and try to stop the horror she had seen from coming to fruition.

“They had earned the trust of Prince Tearlach, and made their way into his inner council. Night after night, day after day, the Laird tried to convince the Prince of his doomed cause, but to no avail. The horror still approached and overcame the people of this good nation. Killing thousands, destroying homes and the highland culture at it’s roots. The faerie wife, so distraught at the destruction of her adopted home, begged for her people to save the Scots, to turn back time and not let it happen, but they didna answer. Instead, it’s said she curled up on a faerie hill just outside Inverness and died of a broken heart. Unable to save her beloved nor her new people, and the old ones wouldnae have her back.

“However, the Laird did survive! He made his way home to Broch Tuarach where his sister tended to his physical wounds, but nothing could take away the pain he felt at the death of his wife. He hid for months in the priest’s hole, listening to raid after raid from the British soldiers and he could have it no more. He was too much of a danger to his family, and he couldna bear to lose another part of his heart. One night, he hid himself deep into the caves of the hills that surrounded his property with naught but a dun bonnet to his name. Just far enough that he would pose no danger, but close enough that if he was needed, he could be called upon. For seven years he hid by himself in the caves, coming out at night, clad in brown from head to toe, hiding the flames of his hair under bonnet and cloak of night to deliver fresh meat of his kills to his people and family.

“The Laird’s most faithful servant would risk his life week after week to bring the Laird fresh ale, clothes, and news of the town and of his family when the laird could not make his way down the mountain. On a day, not unlike today, where the sun shone high and the temperature mild, the servant raced up the hill bringing his lairdship fresh supplies, only to be stopped by a wicked cluster of British soldiers. They accused the lad of stealing and chopped his hand off for his crimes, then stole the Laird’s supplies for their own gain. Outraged the Laird tended the lad as best he could in the cave before taking him to the estate for proper healing. It was then the Laird decided that his time in the caves were at an end. He had to stand, he needed to fight the cruelty and oppression being imposed on his people.

“Seven years since the uprising, and there was still a traitor’s reward for the Laird. The laird asked his brother-in-law to turn himself in, grab the stirling reward and feed the family and people he could no longer protect.”

Jennifer stood up and went to the window. I blinked trying to come back to the world around me. The tale she had spun so vivid in my mind, like that was the true reality and not this tea parlour.

“What happened to him? The Laird?” I asked, desperate to hear more.

She turned, the light a halo around her silhouette, “The Dun Bonnet Laird went to prison to save his family. If you go back to our family’s ancestral home and speak to the locals they may tell you of him in a different way, the story altering from family to family. But one thing is for sure, they say on the old fire feasts, ye can see the Dun Bonnet standing at the mouth of his cave, keeping his vigil for all who are under his protection.”

6

Sanrion children AU

Jon Lannister - Sansa and Tyrion’s firstborn, named after King Jon of Houses Targaryen and Stark. Jon Lannister is a brave young man with his father’s sense of humor (and curly golden hair lol). He’s a skilled warrior like his uncle Jamie was. Sansa raised him to be everything she ever wanted in a man once. And he is everything Tyrion dreamed to be when he was a child. Jon is called a Golden Heir of House Lannister. People from the Westerlands are very proud of him. He is popular in the Riverlands also.

Catelyn and Joanna Lannister - the red-haired twins. While Catelyn is this perfect young lady like her mother is and her grandmother was, Joanna is “little Arya”. The girls are good to each other and they don’t fight that often (though Joanna fights a lot with their little brother Rickon). Cat has a little crush on Targaryen prince (but don’t say anyone).

Rickon Lannister - Youngest child. Rickon is bookish, shy and reserved young man (when he’s not arguing with Joanna). He is very intelligent and has a great political mind. He doesn’t understand, but women find him very attractive. Sounds familiar?

The Kraken’s Arms: Euron Greyjoy x Reader

Originally posted by proinsiascassidy

You are the last surviving child of Cersei and Robert’s only true heir. Having Tomman passed, you decided you didn’t want the crown, handed it to your mother and stand by her side at all times. With war coming, your mother has to make allies and the only way to make allies, is with marriage.


(Y/N) = Your Name 

***If you’re blonde, just imagine dirty blonde because you have darker colored hair in this*** 

I DID MY BEST OKAY 

Warning: Maybe smut?????? SHHhHHhhhHHH.  

Your mother, never looked better on the Iron Throne. You knew you were never fit to sit on it, rule over everyone when so many people were against you and your house. The last surviving Baratheon child of Cersei Lannister and Robert Baratheon. 

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Bashful Beauchamp - Teenage AU

Finally! We got to see Jamie over for dinner with Claire and Lambert. Now we get to see Claire meeting the Fraser clan! How will she do? Will they treat her kindly? Read on to find out! 

Shout out to @diversemediums for helping me edit this and @outlandishchridhe for helping me with a new title!

Catch up on Jamie’s dinner in Flustered Fraser


Jamie had worn his kilt when he’d come to dinner with me and my uncle. Now it’s my turn to impress his family. So I’m standing in front of my wardrobe, trying to decide what a sensible English girl would wear. Uncle Lamb is in the living room, waiting for me to dress so we can leave.

I have my red dress, a black dress, and a blue dress all laid out on my small bed.

“Uncle Lamb!” I cry, my voice sounding frantic to my own ears.

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Uncle

Jamie x Reader

Requested by Anon


“Uncle Jamie!” You smiled when you saw him, lowering the sword in your hand.

“Are you supposed to be doing that, I believe you told your mother you were reading?” He asked, chuckling when you shrugged.

“Will you help teach me?” You asked and he nodded, taking the sword from you tutor.

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anonymous asked:

What if Jamie wasn't an outlaw when he met Claire and Jamie could court her properly? How would Claire react to that when if she was still trying to get home?

Anon asked: what do you think it would have happened if Jamie and Claire didn’t have to get married? Do you think our hero could have find a way to marry the Sassenach or at least, make her fall in love with her without all the amazing sex?

Mod Note: I genuinely did not intend to continue this story (despite many requests), but I am finally bringing one of my first Imagine pieces out of the archives to explore these intriguing prompts! A bit of a slow burn on this one, but hang in there with me! -Mod Bonnie


Hail Mary

Part I  Part II


Part III

The canteen hit Jamie’s jaw squarely with a sharp THWOCK.

“A mhic an diabhoil!” he snarled, looking wildly around and finding the culprit at once. “Damn you, Murtagh, what in God’s name was that for?!”

“To see if I could get yer gob to close all the way,” the usually-dour clansman said with a smirk, arms crossed. “A wee brown-haired lass seems to have broken your hinge this morning.”

Murtagh saw the canteen coming and ducked, laughing as it clattered against the nearby tree. “Careful, ye wee smout—that’s the good whisky!”

Despite Jamie’s annoyance, the corners of his mouth were twitching as he returned to finish unlashing the bundles from his saddle; and, conveniently, returning him to the sight of Mistress Beauchamp carrying a bedroll to the place she’d claimed for her lean-to.

The man was right: Jamie hadn’t been able to stop looking at her all day: sidelong as they rode; catching her eye as they stopped for water; training his gaze on back of her head when she nudged her mount past his on the road to speak with Ned. Always and completely: she was all he saw, this day.

He had been drawn to Mistress Beauchamp from the first—when she mended his shoulder; when he held her at Leoch; but now…Christ, he was all but consumed by her; and how could he not be? Having slept with her in his arms? Remembering the scent of her hair? Now knowing the shapes of her under his hands; what it was to hear sounds of desire from her lips as she moved against him, seeking?

And above all, to know that she had stayed. Aye, she had slept in his arms, but any lass might have done the same with any man, to save her own life….but upon waking this morning, she was flustered, had made to rise, and yet at the barest suggestion, she had stayed there in his arms for nigh on an hour, waiting for the rest of camp to awaken. They both had assumed pretense of sleep, but neither of them had allowed themselves to drift away. Her breathing had stayed quick; he could feel it, warm and shallow at the base of his throat. She surely had felt his heart thudding away, with her ear resting so near it.

No, they hadn’t slept; nor had they spoken. They’d held one another

And there, at the last, he’d brought one hand—shaking—to softly, gently, slowly come to rest on the curve of her head. She’d gasped and made as if to—say something? Move?  Christ, touch him back?

And just at that moment, the camp had come alive. Before he could blink, she had gotten to her feet and the day began as it always did. Boiling water; folding, packing; bannocks and whisky; back on the long road through the glens; all just as it was every day.

But today, he couldn’t stop looking at her.

At Mistress Beauchamp, who had slept in his arms.

But God, he had to stop thinking about her. She was the finest woman he’d ever met —but he could offer her no future, as a wanted criminal. None. He wouldn’t subject her to the dangers a life with him would entail. He had to stop thinking about her.

He couldn’t stop thinking about her.

“Ye did a good thing, Jamie, lad,” Murtagh said, yanking Jamie back once more from grim reverie, deep brown eyes watching him. “Keeping the lass last night as ye did. You’re the only one that could ha’ done it for her properly.”

“Aye,” he coughed, “well, I… she….” He cleared his throat uncomfortably, unfurling his tent canvas.  “I’m glad to’ve been of service to her.”

Murtagh made a noise somewhere between a chuckle and a harrumph.

“And what’s that supposed to signify?” Jamie snapped, tugging at his stock. Hadn’t Claire nearly frozen to death last night? Then why, by Bride and all the saints, was the gathering evening so bloody HOT?

“Haud yer wheesht, lad,” Murtagh, now chuckling in earnest at Jamie’s discomfort. “Your secret doe-eyes are safe wi’ me.”

“Not doe-eyes…” Jamie muttered, feeling all of seven years of age.

“Hey.” Murtagh’s hand clapped warm on his shoulder, his eyes suddenly soft and unusually earnest. “She’s a fine woman, Jamie, Sassenach or no’.”

Aye, Jamie thought, watching the wind lift her curls into life as she rifled her wee medicine box, then made for the wood with a basket in hand, she truly is. And I can’t let myself want her.

And then the messenger rode into camp.


He waited until it was nearing sunset, when he knew she would be out gathering her wee herbs before the light went. He made for the loch under the pretext of needing a piss, seeing Murtagh watching him knowingly. Jamie knew without asking or telling that his godfather would keep an eye on the other men and prevent any from venturing in the same direction. He said a prayer, thanking God for the gift of this protector that had watched over him all his life, and continued down the path.

Sure enough, as the woods opened out into the waning crimson sunlight, he found her seated on a low boulder, looking out upon the loch, basket at her feet.

Seeing her, her unbound curls wafting sweetly in the breeze, his throat went instantly tight.

Christ, how could he do this?

Knowing her…. How could he not?

He cleared his throat and sang out with an attempt-at-cheery, “Take care no’ to fall in.”

Her head turned sharply, surprised, but a begrudging smile was already tugging at her lips. “Ned’s nowhere in sight—I think I should be safe.”

“Good,” he laughed—God, how it delighted his soul to laugh with this woman— “Best stay well shot of him.”

“But he’s such a darling!” She pursed her lips to hold back her mirth. “I’m not sure I can refuse him if he comes calling!”

“Well, do what ye must, lass,” he grinned, “I’ll be standing by to hold ye, anytime.”

She made a small sound of kind acknowledgement but looked away, suddenly shy.The silence rang between them so acutely, Jamie could hear the voices from camp, many yards distant.

“I’ve gotten some good news, Sassenach,” he said, feeling the letter in his waistcoat pocket. “I’ve…been pardoned.”

NO!” She leapt to her feet, mouth open and excitement dawning. “Oh, Jamie, that’s wonderful news!” She grabbed one of his hands in hers and squeezed it hard, practically bouncing with her enthusiasm. “God be bloody praised!!! I’m so thrilled for you! Whatever happened to bring that about?”

They sat on the boulder and he explained, grinning from ear to ear, the contents of Colum’s letter. Unbeknownst to Jamie, his uncle had been exercising all his considerable influence to get the accusations against him dropped. By some miracle, he had succeeded, and had sent a messenger at once to share the glad tidings.

Jamie read between to lines to gather that His Grace the Duke of Sandringham had been more than instrumental in getting the matter quietly resolved and Jamie’s outlaw record expunged. Jamie could just imagine the foppish gent drawling: “Anything for my DEAHHRRRR Jamie,” in those thick, unctuous tones, wet eyes glittering with anticipation.

The Duke’s predilections were well known, and such attentions had made Jamie supremely uncomfortable at the time of the man’s last visit. However, God bless him and all his house, if such affections had just saved Jamie from a life of flight and ultimately the noose. 

And ten times the blessing to him if it meant Jamie’s honor was now completely unhindered…that he was completely free to….

“What have ye been gathering, then?” he blurted, feeling his wame clenching in anxiety.

“Good Lord,” she laughed, startled, “you suddenly want to talk about herbs after such splendid news!?”

“My life is my own again,” he said, shrugging, “I want to talk about anything and everything.”

“Cress,” she said affably, nudging the basket with her foot. “Didn’t manage to bring back any last night, after all, what with one thing and another.” 

She paused suddenly, furrowing her eyebrows. She was leaning on her hand, the fingertips just inches away from his plaid on the rock. 

When she spoke, her voice was soft and full of feeling. “Thank you again for…for everything. You were so—wonderful about it all.”

Jamie felt his chest swell. “Think nothing of it, lass. You’ve saved my poor hide more times than I can count these past weeks. It was about time that I should do ye a service in return.“

“Did you get any real rest? I’m afraid I must have given you a dreadfully uncomfortable time. ”

“Och, dinna fash, lass. It was just fine.”

It was the best night of all my years, mo ghraidh.

“Mistr—”

No. Not Mistress.

Claire?”

Even sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, facing forward as they were, he could see her straighten and stiffen at the tone in his voice.

“I find meself—” he said, trying to force his lips to move at his bidding, but finding them slow and wooden,  “—that is—”

Help me, woman. See what’s in my heart. Surely ye ken it already.

Thank the Lord it came out sounding calm and clear:

I care for you, Claire.”

She stopped breathing. The breath actually left her, for more heartbeats than Jamie knew. The absence of it—that rhythm of her that he’d memorized, he now realized— was like whisky thrown on the fire within him, the flames roaring instantly up in fear and anticipation. He wanted so desperately to take her face in his hands so he might look into her golden eyes while telling her all his heart…but his hands were shaking and he didn’t think he could get out the words if he moved.

“I care for you as I’ve never cared for anyone in my life,” he said, mustering his courage only by focusing only on the wonder of the person beside him. “Your wit, your courage, your pigheadedness,” he laughed, his whole body glowing with sudden warmth. “The–” He clenched his hands in his lap, staring at them as if they held the proper words. “– life in you Claire, is unlike anything I have ever encountered. I havena been able to get ye out of my head since the first day we met. And then last night…”  

He heard her lips part and a long intake of breath, then a soft, inscrutable, “Jamie…”

“I ken I’ve perhaps no business saying such things. Even though I’m no longer a wanted criminal, I’ve no great wealth, and perhaps I’m nothing you ought to trouble o’er.“ He shook his head, hard. “But surely…surely ye ken as well as I what there is between us, Claire.”

He screwed up his courage and turned to face her. She was staring down into her lap, hands clasped. Her lips were pressed tight, her expression, for once, unreadable.

“I canna believe I’m alone in feeling it…this…whatever it is between you and me.” He laid a hand slowly and tenderly atop hers, his heart pounding.

She jumped when his hand touched hers, and with a jolt, Jamie saw that she had been twisting her golden ring round and round her finger.

Jamie stood at once and raised his hands in a gesture of apology. “Forgive me,  lass….”

Fraser, you dolt, have ye no sense to spare a thought for what the lass is going through?

“I’m so sorry, Claire,” he repeated. “I—I ken—that ye still grieve for your departed husband.”

Her lips went tight and Jamie saw her blink several times, hard.

“It…. isna right that ye should forget him, or even try to. If ye loved him, he must have been a good man. But I–I should–”

Courage, man. COURAGE.

“…It would be my honor to see to the care of his wife.”

Finally, she looked up, sharply, her eyes wide. She spoke in barely a whisper. “What?”

Will you marry me, Claire?”

She simply stared at him, in utter shock.

He went to his knees in front of her in the oath-giving posture, relinquishing all caution and all fear. He exhaled heavily with the relief of letting the feelings for her wash over him. “I care for you—"

I love you, he wanted to scream.

“—and now that I’m a free man, I wish to give ye everything I have. My name—my clan—the protection of my body….Claire, they’re all yours, now and forever.” He reached for her hand, trembling, dying to touch her. “If you’ll have me.”

“No.”

Jamie felt as though she’d pushed him backward into the icy lake. He opened and closed his mouth, unable to find the words for the pain ripping through him.

“I’m sorry, Jamie. I can’t marry you.” She bolted to her feet, took up her basket, and made quickly back toward the camp.

“Claire—please wait—I–”

This couldn’t be happening. This just couldn’t be.

He rose on shaking legs and tried to follow, reaching for her arm. “Sassenach, stop, please—I’m sorry if I was too—I just thought we—”

She threw off his hand and faced him only long enough to say coldly:

You were mistaken.”


Mistaken.

It should have been a night of celebration; should have been the most joyous occasion of his life–to know he was a free man, could go home at last. 

But it was hell, every moment, her words tormenting him as he played each memory he held of her over and over in his mind, every time they had ever spoken, touched, laughed, or cried together, culminating in the breathtaking intimacy of the previous night. Was it lust deluding him? Was it pure, lecherous desire for her body that had colored these memories and called them love?

No.

NO, damn it all!

He knew his heart. And hers—Christ, it danced across her face so freely, that—No, he was not mistaken.

Perhaps she was frightened; perhaps it was too soon.

But he was not mistaken.

It made seeing her flitting about all evening, smiling and pouring whisky liberally all ‘round the fireside — the collective mood of festivity ostensibly in honor of his pardon — all the more galling. She laughed and joked with the lads, chatted at length with Ned Gowan over documents, and generally charmed the whole camp with her golden eyes and glorious smile…everyone except him.

She’d spoken to him only once, when she offered him drink— “For you, Mr. McTavish?”— but she wouldn’t look at him.

She didn’t even know his real name. She didn’t want to know his real name.

He had wanted to drink, but hadn’t—couldn’t allow himself the escape of oblivion. This was his penance, to survive the long hours of the evening, watching her; the longer ones of silence and desolation, seething, hurting, long after the rest had fallen into their deep whisky-slumber. He needed to think with a clear head—to feel this, to understand.  

Christ, if he could only understand why…! If she felt for him as he for her, why deny him so cruelly? Claire was shrewd, but he’d never known her to be that. Surely she had some reason. Surely, if he could only speak with her…

In the dead of night, the grief and the pain nigh unbearable, his ears pricked up. Someone moving surreptitiously about camp.

Clasping his dirk, he slowly sat up high enough to survey the clearing. Geordie, supposed to be on sentry duty, was sound asleep and Jamie gave a silent prayer of thanks to see Claire moving quietly in the direction of the loch.

Tomorrow, they would reach the crossroads and meet once more with Dougal and the rest; there would be more folk for her to tend; more folk to observe their behavior; to hear about their unorthodox night together. He HAD to speak with her tonight.

He followed quietly, but when they were far enough away to be out of earshot of the sleepers, he spoke. “Sassenach?”

She jumped and whirled, and he instantly raised his hands palms forward. “I’m sorry—” he whispered. He came slowly toward her. “I’m so sorry, lass, I didna mean to frigh—” 

He froze, seeing her clearly now in the moonlight. “…You’re running.”  

It was not a question. She was wearing her traveling cloak, and the bundle she clutched clearly contained her medicine box. Her eyes were wide and her nostrils flaring with deep breaths. She was pointed toward the road, in the opposite direction of the horses.

“And on foot?” His voice was flat. Dead.

She shrugged stiffly, tensed as though ready to bolt. “Didn’t want to risk waking the men.”

“Where?” he croaked. Why?, he wanted to scream.

Her eyes were defiant, wide with alarm and determination. “Back to where I came from—same place I’ve been trying to go since Dougal took me captive.”

“Ye canna just go, Claire,” he said, trying to sound dismissive.

Her face was stone. “I can. I will.”

“Claire, I willna let ye do this.“

“Didn’t realize you were my jailer. What are you going to do, clap me in irons?” She was backing slowly away from him and his desperation was mounting with every pace.

“It’s wild country out there! Wolves and—brigands, and—” He was petrified, heartbroken, grasping at straws to keep her from vanishing. “At least–let me accompany you to your destination—see you safe!”

A sob rising in his throat. Christ, dinna leave this way.

A hoarse gasping as he reached for her.

“Please, mo chridhe–”

Ice in her eyes. “I don’t need your ‘protection,’ Mr. McTavish.”

A knife in his gut.

‘…the protection of my body, Claire…
…yours, now and forever.’

The sound of his heart breaking.

She was leaning into her frenzied defiance. “I did have a life before I fell into your lap, you know!” She realized what she’d said, blushed, and stammered angrily. “I mean—into the–hands of the whole bloody clan. I had a LIFE,” she repeated, “and I’m far past due to return to it!”

“Aye,” he said, low and precise, shaking with anger. “you’ve made it exceedingly clear that there’s nothing whatsoever keeping you here.”

She had the grace to look abashed. “Jamie…” He saw the muscles of her face and throat working furiously; the regret in her eyes. She even took a step toward him and made to touch his arm. “Jamie, please, I’m so…so sorry for—”

He shrugged back from her touch and skirted silently around the edge of camp. She followed him, hissing out his name, but he did not slow his pace until he reached the horses. He located her mount and unhobbled it, leading it a hundred yards away from the others, picking up saddle and gear as he want.

When she at last caught up with him, he plucked the bundle from her arms, fastening it perfunctorily to her saddle.

“Jamie, wait—”

Her face was upturned to him, so white and so perfect it made the pain writhe within his chest. He marshaled his features into his mask of impassivity and gave a cordial nod. “I wish ye the best of fortune in your life, Mistress.

She reached for him, pleading. “Jamie, listen, I—”

He pressed the smaller of his dirks into her hand. “Goodbye, Claire.”

And without a backward glance—though he wished to throw his arms around her and beg her, beg her not to leave—he turned on his heel back toward the fires, listening first to the silence, then the jingle of harness and the sound of hooves going quietly off into the night.

He didn’t sleep that night. He couldn’t. He lay awake, breaking apart, wrapped in a blanket that still held the scent of her hair.


[to be continued]

Someone to Stay - AU

Previous chapters

Chapter 7

The rolling green dominated the landscape. The Range Rover came to a halt in front of a sprawling stone house, somehow managing to look older than the hills it stood upon.

“Lallybroch.” Jamie swept his hand, encompassing the house and the land and seemingly everything around them.

Claire gazed out of the windshield, entranced by the ancient feel of the very stones. “This is not a manor house, Jamie. This is a castle.”

“Ach, no,” he said, ducking his head modestly. “Truly, ‘tis only a farm. There’s a broch, but it’s old and crumbling now. We can visit it later, if ye like.”

“What’s a broch?” Claire unbuckled her seat belt and stepped out of the car.

“A tower, of sorts. The auld lairds of Lallybroch would be called Lords Broch Tuarach, after the north-facing tower.” Jamie reached for their bags in the backseat and joined Claire, taking her hand as they approached the massive front door.

“A tower doesn’t really have a face, you know,” Claire teased.

“Weel, the door faces north. That’ll do.” Jamie smiled, and made to open the door.

“Shouldn’t we knock?” Claire felt nerves and trepidation, about to meet the famous Jenny and the rest of the Jamie’s family. She knew how much they all meant to him, and how big a step this was for them.

“’Tis my home. No need.” He stole a quick, soft kiss to quell her obvious nerves and then called out, “Hello the house!” He dumped the bags by the staircase. Claire stood next to him, taking in her surroundings.

Everything looked antique, but not in a museum-like way. Everything, from the furniture to the paneled walls, looked loved, cared for. Carved tables and tapestries mingled with a modern cordless phone and lamps. Uncle Lamb would have a field day, she thought.

Thundering footsteps broke into her reverie, and a tall gangly teenager came tumbling down the stairs. “Uncle Jamie!” In a blur, Jamie was rocked back in a fierce hug.

“Ian, lad!” Jamie squeezed and lifted the boy straight off the ground. They slapped each other on the back in a great show of affection before Jamie let him go, and slid an arm around Claire’s waist.

“Ian, this is Claire. Sassenach, this is Young Ian, my nephew and godson.”

“Nice to meet you,” Claire said sincerely. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Is that so?” Young Ian grinned easily. “Welcome!” He picked up their bags and shot up the stairs two at a time. “I’ll just put these in yer room! Mam’s in the kitchen!”

Jamie and Claire held hands as they walked down the hallway towards the kitchen. They were assailed by the aromas of fresh baked bread and something delicious and steamy bubbling away on a stove. Claire half expected it to be an ancient cast-iron affair, but it was quite modern, by the rest of Lallybroch’s standards.

Jenny’s back was to them as she washed dishes at the sink. Jamie put his finger to his lips and blinked at Claire. He tiptoed (as much as a man his size might) and prepared to scare Jenny by tickling her ribs. His hands reached out but were stopped by a sudden, “Don’t even think about it, James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser.”

Jenny craned her neck over her shoulder and gave them a wicked smile. “Hey there, little brother.” Her hands never stopped working, even as Jamie smiled abashedly and gave her a peck on the cheek. She turned off the water and wiped her hands on the apron she wore, engulfing Jamie in a warm embrace. “It’s been too long,” Jenny said, pushing back and smiling. She looked over his shoulder at Claire, who witnessed the encounter wistfully longing for family.

“And this is Claire, I presume.” Jenny stepped around Jamie, giving her a quick appraising glance—cordial, but guarded. Claire extended her hand, which was enveloped in Jenny’s cool grasp.

“It’s great to meet you. Jamie’s missed Lallybroch terribly, and all your children.”

Jenny’s eyebrows rose like dark wings. Her eyes had that slanted look identical to Jamie’s, resting on high cheekbones reminiscent of Viking royalty. “I’m sure he did. Weel, dinner is stew. ‘Tis something I can leave on the stove and no’ worry, since I’ve been tending the goats and sheep, and cooking for Hogmanay with Mrs. Crook.”

“She’s the housekeeper slash cook, but she’ll be off wi’ her own family for Christmas,” Jamie interjected.

“We can sit down to eat, now ye’re here.” Jenny squeezed Jamie’s hand and turned to the stove. “Young Ian, Jamie, Maggie, Kitty! Dinner! Come wash up!” She glanced at Jamie. “Could ye get Ian from the barn? He’s been tending to the hay now Rabbie’s gone home fer the holidays.”

There was a meowing at the kitchen door as Jamie approached it. He opened it to let a grey cat in, who pranced inside as though he owned Lallybroch. From the way Jenny bent down to coddle it, Claire suspected it might be the case.

“I see Adso of Melch is still alive, Jenny,” Jamie said, an eyebrow raised in amusement.

“He is.” Jenny stood and toed the cat away from the stove. “Ye wee fiend, get on wi’ ye.”

Adso stopped in the middle of the kitchen, as soon as it spotted Claire. Jenny looked appraisingly at the cat, as though almost willing the cat to respond in some way. Claire decided to follow Jenny’s example and squatted, staring into its green eyes.

The cat slowly walked over to her, sniffing about her knees. It purred softly; Adso located her hand and pressed against it, enticing Claire to rub its ears. She obliged, marveling at the soft fur and turned to Jamie, who smiled down at her. “He likes ye, Sassenach.”

Jenny let out a contained breath, and the first truly welcoming smile bloomed on her face. “Never mind my bonny cheetie. Go fetch Ian, if ye please. And shut the door, before we freeze. Claire, we’re so glad to have ye.”

_______________________________________________________________________  

“Let me get this straight. If Adso didn’t like me, Jenny wouldn’t either?”

“Adso is held in very high regard around here, Sassenach. He’s an excellent judge of character. He led Jenny onto a nanny who would steal from her purse and a drunken horse handler.”

They trudged up the stairs after bidding the family good night. Dinner had been superb, Jenny and Ian and their children all gathered at the table. The babble and laughter of a large family tugged at Claire’s heartstrings, making her long for one of her own. The children’s ages ranged from Jamie’s namesake at 18 who attended uni at Glasgow, and Young Ian at 14; the girls Maggie and Kitty who were 12 and 9 respectively. Ian (the elder) had presided over dinner in his role of father—a far cry from the rock star life he led on tour with The Clan.

“And what is that Melch in his name?” Claire took Jamie’s hand as he led her around the dark upstairs hallway.

“Our mam always had a cheetie. They were all named the same, after a German saint. Adso of Melch, Adso of Milk, ye ken,” Jamie said with a smile.

They walked up to a solid wooden door. Jamie pushed it open, to reveal a bright fire set in the grate, and both their bags in the room. Claire swallowed nervously and glanced at Jamie.

They hadn’t slept together thus far, though they had participated in some hot and heavy (emphasis on the hot) make out sessions at Claire’s and at Jamie’s flat. Hands roving, breath panting, Jamie had given her space and time to express what she wanted and when she wanted it. Young Ian had plainly made some assumptions of his own.

And why not? They were both consenting adults in a relationship and what they did (or didn’t do) in bed was entirely their own business. Space and time—the continuum of which was grinding to a halt, as there was nothing Claire wanted more right then and there than to feel Jamie’s arms around her and—

“Claire. I can sleep elsewhere.” Jamie squeezed her hand in reassurance. “Or on the floor if I can have the quilt. Ye don’t have to—”

Claire stopped his words with a kiss her hands tangled in the ruddy mess of his hair. His hands gripped her waist as he walked her back towards the bed, kicking the door shut behind them. They tumbled together onto the carved wooden bedstead, the frame creaking slightly.

“Won’t they hear?” Claire asked breathlessly.

“The walls are made of solid stone,” Jamie mumbled, his lips on her neck. “We can be as loud as we like.”

His hand crept under her sweater; higher and higher, until she could feel it caressing the underside of her breast. It was only then that she opened her eyes and met his own, whiskey and azure, everything bathed in the light of the slowly burning fire laid in the hearth.

Jamie’s hand stilled, and he brought his forehead to hers. “Claire, I want you so much I can scarcely breathe. Will ye have me?”

She almost didn’t recognize voice as her own, so high and gasping, “Yes. Yes, I’ll have you.” Permission granted, his hands were all over her body all at once. Skimming down her back, leaving tingling desire in their wake, gliding over her navel. Their clothes came off in a flurry of wool and jeans.

Slowly and reverently Jamie helped her shed her bra and underwear, his boxer briefs following suit. Completely exposed to each other, Jamie laid his hand on her bare hip, staring at her flush curves gilded by firelight.

“Ye are so beautiful, mo nighean donn.”  

Claire felt suddenly shy and made to cover herself, but Jamie stopped her. “No, Sassenach. I want to look at you.” Claire blushed but let him gaze, slowly growing bold enough to return it.

His body came closer to hers, with his own muted fiery glow. He kissed down her neck, licking here and there. His large hands, calloused from playing guitar, teased and nipped at her breasts. Claire’s hands drifted down his back, pressing and urging him ever closer.

As his touch strayed lower, his intentions became clear. Claire raised herself on her elbows, effectively dislodging Jamie’s head from her stomach. His eyes held a question even as they seared with want.

“Jamie… no one’s ever—I mean—” Her cheeks burned red as she gestured with meaning.

He smiled and stretched up to kiss her gently. “Do ye want me to?”

“I don’t know. Won’t it… will it—”

“Let me taste ye.” Jamie trailed fingers up her leg. “Tell me if I’m too rough, or tell me to stop altogether if ye wish.” He brushed his lips over her belly, eyes blazing up at her.

Claire surrendered, falling back on the pillows and putting her arm over her eyes. Her knees trembled as he settled between them, parting them open and his arms locked around her thighs. She felt a brief kiss (right there! she thought incoherently) before she was flooded with pleasure, his tongue working magic on her most secret of places. She gasped as Jamie anchored her body to the bed with his arms, desire shooting through her veins. There were sounds coming from her lips she had never made before. Fleetingly she thought of covering her mouth before the feeling climbed higher and higher until it broke over her, making her shudder in release.

“Oh Jamie…” Her hand traced his jawline, as he smiled at her and kissed the inside of her thigh. Jamie moved and rose over her, kissing her deeply. She could taste herself and found it arousing.

He ground his pelvis gently into hers, swallowing her moans as her legs wrapped around him. Claire could feel the length of him sliding against her, and she urged him to her, hands on the small of his back.

Jamie braced himself on his forearms, and aligned himself at her slippery cleft. With a final nod from Claire, he eased himself inside her, slowly but inexorably moving forward as she dug her fingers into his back. The sensation was intense as he withdrew and pushed inside, again and again. Jamie held Claire close, the hair on his chest tickling her as they panted and he groaned and she whimpered with pleasure.

Their bodies rocked together as though they had known each other for years, simply waiting for the chance to join. Claire lost herself in pure sensation; the weight of his body perfect on hers, the spicy scent of him mingling with the smokiness of the fire, the mixture of Gaelic and English words he poured into her ear as he thrust faster and faster.

Feeling surged as they both chased the illusive spark of completion. Jamie’s hand splayed on her hip, and hitched her leg higher along his body. Her back arched instinctively. As he shifted, he hit a spot deep within her from a new angle, and in a few quick motions Claire shattered, crying out against his shoulder.

Jamie followed soon after, the tension breaking free as every muscle quivered, his mouth a wide O of relief and wonder. Their eyes met, half-lidded with satisfaction. Claire smiled languidly, running her hands through Jamie’s red curls. He withdrew gently, kissing Claire over and over, his lips at the hollow of her neck where perspiration shone and her pulse raced.

The heady feeling gradually dissipated, and the winter chill stole back into the room, making Jamie and Claire shiver with something more than spent desire. Still smiling, they crawled beneath the covers; Jamie pulled Claire close to him, her back to his front as he settled behind her, his arm holding her tightly.

“Oh, Claire… tha gaol agam ort,” he breathed against her skin.

“What does that mean?” she asked drowsily.

“I’ll tell ye tomorrow,” he said, nuzzling the nape of her neck. “We have time. I want to show you the loch, and the village, and take ye on a tour of the farm. I think ye’ll like the wee beasties and…”

She drifted off to sleep, his voice murmuring in the dark, safe in the knowledge of love and safety in Jamie’s arms and in her heart.

How You Get The Girl

Request: Could you do a Tyler Seguin imagine where he meets you at the All Star game where you’re performing at? Maybe Jamie or another player introduces you?

A/N: So I got a little carried away with this one. And honestly, I don’t know how I feel about the ending. I could probably write forever about this man. He’s just such a fine specimen. 

I hope I was able to capture the idea you had. I had some writer’s block today and had some trouble coming up with the story line. 

I’m very much down to write more about this man. Seriously. 

Word Count: 2392

Warnings: Cursing…probably.

Song Credits: How You Get The Girl; Taylor Swift


You had been in your kitchen, in your pajamas eating cookie dough from the container when you got the call.  This year you would be performing at the NHL All Star Game.
You spent the next fifteen minutes was spent dancing around your kitchen with your cat.

“Puck Mumma is going to perform at the All Star Game!” You say kissing his nose. “Do you wanna call Uncle Jamie with me?”

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Escape:   the medical school years

“I wish ye could come wi’ me,” he breathed into her ear as he nipped her lobe.

She arched at the sensation of his hot breath in her ear, pushing her hips back into his.

“You know I wish I could,” she panted back, running her hands over his bicep, and up to grasp his shoulder.  

He kissed her like a man beyond thirst.  Twisting behind her she responded like a starving woman, devouring his mouth, pushing back against him, hard. She reached between them and took him in her hand, guiding him home.  He grabbed a thigh to hitch it up higher over his hip.    

Jamie groaned at the hot, welcoming feeling that was his wife.  Claire purred when her husband filled her, rubbing her in just the right places.  

He moved slowly, savouring the last moments with Claire before dawn when he’d have to leave for the International Whisky Competition.  Claire loved when he roused her from sleep, whispering his desire, running his fingers over her sleep warmed flesh, stroking her to a fever pitch.  

He moved deeply, taking his time, feeling the weight of her breast in his hand, the pebble revealing her desire underneath his palm, drawing out the moment when she would shatter in his arms.   Drawing out the moment for himself when he would feel his heart beat faster, and his body vibrate uncontrollably.  

When she moaned his name, he smiled against the back of her shoulder, for there was nothing sweeter in this world than his name on her satisfied lips. Seconds later he called hers, lost in pleasure.  

They held each other until their hearts steadied and both drifted back to sleep.


“Sassenach, have ye seen my shaving brush?”

“Which?  Uncle Lamb’s?”

“Aye,” Jamie was frantic, looking through drawers and the medicine chest, trying to pack his shaving kit.

“God, Jamie, who can find anything in this renovation?  I can run up the stairs and check the bathrooms up there?”

“Nay bother.  Ye’d have to take the fire escape as they’re working on the kitchen and blocked off the stairs inside.” He slammed the door under the sink. 

“Since when?” Claire said as she popped her head around the door frame.

“Yesterday,”  Jamie murmured, preoccupied.  “Maybe I left it at Lallybroch.”  

He zipped up the bag and placed it into the suitcase laid out on the bed.  “I think that’s everything I need.”

Claire grabbed her backpack and met Jamie at the door. She wound her arms around his neck and raised on tiptoes to kiss him.  “I’ll miss you.”

“Miss ye, too, Sassenach,” he bumped her nose with his, “but I’m no’ ready to say goodbye to ye just yet.”  He took her hand, and opened the door.  “Come.”

They walked out onto the street to a black Range Rover waiting at the curb.  An older man, lean and wiry, hopped to attention when he saw Jamie.  He had a black knit cap pulled low over his head, and the collar of his navy blue pea coat was turned up against the cold.  His gray beard was trimmed short, and Claire was immediately drawn to the deep smile lines around his blue eyes.    

“Claire, this is Alec,” Jamie said as he introduced his wife.  “He’ll be yer driver this week.”

Claire reached out to shake the man’s hand, somewhat confused.  “My driver? Jamie.  I don’t need a driver.”

“Aye, ye do.”  Jamie clapped the smaller man on the shoulder.  “Alec is our company driver.  Takes us to the airport, picks up clients for us, takes us to meetings, and such.  While I’m away he’ll take ye to University.  More importantly,” Jamie looked intently at Alec, “he’ll pick ye up from all those late nights at the library.”  

Claire stood up straight and faced her husband.  He could see her stubbornness rise.   “Jamie, I can drive myself.  I can take our car.”  

“Sure, Sassenach,” Jamie chuckled, “because it’s not like ye never fall asleep on the way home or anything when I pick ye up.” He raised an eyebrow and opened the car door.  

Claire had the good sense to look embarrassed. “Well.  Thank you, I guess. It’s nice to meet you, Alec.  But are you sure you want to do this?  My schedule is crazy.”

“Och, no worries, ma’am,” Alec said in a thick Highland accent.  

Jamie and Claire climbed into the back of the warmed vehicle.  As they drove to the University of Edinburgh, Jamie lifted their entwined hands and kissed his wife’s ring.  “Seriously, Claire, call Alec. Dinna try to go home by bus or anything.”

Claire studied her husband’s face.  There was something in his eyes that she couldn’t quite put her finger on.  Seriousness, yes.  Longing, yes, because he wished she could travel to Chicago with him for the competition. But something else.  It looked like worry, but on a deeper level.  There was something darker in his eyes that gave her pause.  

He needed her promise.  So she gave it.

“I promise, Jamie.  I’ll call Alec.”

His eyes flashed briefly, then he nodded his head. “Good.  Give me yer phone, Sassenach, and I’ll put in his number.”

Dropping Claire off outside her building, Jamie stepped out of the car and let her out.  He wrapped her up in a bear hug, and lifting her off her feet, planted a firm kiss on her lips.  Forgetting themselves, their kisses became a bit more fevered until catcalls, and whistles brought them back to their surroundings. Jamie let her slide down his body and whispered, “Call ye every chance I get.”

“Regardless of the time difference.”  She placed a hand against his cheek, “Come back to me, James Fraser.”

“Soon as I can,” he said, and kissed her lingeringly on her forehead.  

He climbed back in the car and watched Claire walk quickly into the old stone building.  Damn, he’d miss that fine arse.  Alec pulled away from the curb and looked at Jamie in the rear view mirror. 

“I trust ye, man.” Jamie said, looking back at him through the glass.  “Ye ken what to look for.”

“Aye,” Alec assured the young man.  “Yer Da was a good man, and a friend of mine.  Ye’ve shown me a world of kindness, as well.  I’ll take care of her.”

Jamie nodded, knowing that the older man understood what was expected of him this week.  When they got to the airport, they shook hands, and grabbing his luggage, Jamie walked away.

Alec watched him go marveling at how much like Brian he was.  Same strong walk, and the same straight set of his shoulders.  He smiled at the memory and climbed back into the Rover. How badly he wanted a cigarette right now, but he would never succumb.  He owed it to Brian.  They had gone to school together and were good friends.  Then, Alec spent some time in the military while Brian went off to Uni. When they crossed paths again years later in a pub, Alec was an alcoholic chain-smoker crying over a recent cancer diagnosis.  Brian had him sobered up in rehab, and gave him a job at the Distillery as a driver.

The irony.  An alcoholic working for a whisky maker.  

Yet, Brian’s actions gave him back his life.  Cancer in remission.  Sober, and non-smoker.  It didn’t help his already broken marriage, but it did give him his self-respect, and that meant everything.  When Brian died he was sure that would be the end of his job.  He approached Jenny and Jamie, literally with his hat in his hand. Jenny had showed him into her office and wandered over to her sideboard, littered with whisky tumblers and decanters, and various refreshments.

She poured three cups of coffee, God love her. His heart melted.

She and Jamie had been talking, she explained, handing him a steaming hot mug.  They’d decided she and Ian should move to Lallybroch, now that Brian was gone.  She was pregnant and their growing family would need the space.  The commute would be a long one, so Alec would be needed to drive her and Ian to work from Lallybroch, every day.  As well, his current duties as driver would remain.  There was a small cottage in Broch Mordha that he could have, so that he’d be close to Lallybroch for the daily commute.  Then, Jamie handed him an envelope containing his new salary.  He had to draw on all of his military training to not cry at the figure on the page.  He stood, shook hands, thanked them for the coffee and stepped out into the hallway.  

At that point he allowed himself a good cry, for the loss of his friend and in gratitude for his children.  Jamie stepped out ten minutes later and handed him a set of keys.  He left him alone to find the Range Rover in the lot.  It was all too much.  From that day forward ‘Old Alec’, as the Murray kids called him, became protector of Brian’s family.  

A family that now included Claire.


She checked her phone thinking she’d calculate what time it was for Jamie. Jesus H!  11:45!  She needed to get home and get some rest before her 8:00 class tomorrow morning.

She quickly texted Alec, then started packing up. Claire was surprised at how fast her phone pinged in response.  

Which door will I find you to pick you up?

She texted back.  East door.  Thank you, Alec.

He pulled the car from its spot on the street and headed towards the library. The rain was steady, but not driving down.  Still, he’d get as close as he could. 

The night was dark as pitch but the streetlights helped.  It seemed like she wasn’t there when he pulled up.  No matter.  He punched the button to start the hazard lights and waited for a glimpse of her before jumping out to get the door.  

Claire bolted down the stairs.  She felt good about how much work she’d gotten done, but she also felt guilty for keeping Alec up so late.  She wondered what Jenny was doing for a ride this week.  If Alec was driving her, he couldn’t be driving Jenny.

In her preoccupation she took the wrong hallway to the door.  Turning quickly to correct her mistake she bumped into a solid wall of flesh.

“Umpf!”  She staggered back, clutching her bag.  “Robert!”

“Claire.”  

Horrocks bent down to pick up the book he dropped in the collision.    

“Sorry.  I didn’t see you.”  She took a moment to step around him, but he stood up and filled the narrow hallway.  She stopped, unsure of what was happening for the moment.

“It’s fine,” he said, in his charming Irish lilt. “I saw you moving like a bat outta hell, and I wondered if you were all right.”

She relaxed.  Of course.  That made sense.

“I’m going the wrong way.” She made a motion toward her head.  “Tired.” She stepped forward again, and this time he let her pass. 

The foyer was well lit and made it hard to see into the darkness.  Everything was reflected back at her in the glass, especially Robert, still behind her. However, she could make out the blinking red hazard lights and knew that would be her ride.

“Night!” she said, throwing the words casually over her shoulder.

Just before she opened the door he grabbed her upper arm.  

She stiffened.

“It’s raining, Claire.  Let me get my umbrella.”  He was standing entirely too close.  She looked up into his blue eyes.  A very different blue from Jamie’s, she thought.  Icy blue. Not the usual warm, ocean blue of her husband’s.  She shivered, and she wasn’t sure why.

“I’ll be fine. My car’s right there.”  Hitching her knapsack higher on her shoulder, she bent her head and stepped into the misty darkness.  

He held the door open as he watched her jog to the car.  

That’s when it hit him.    

He wasn’t sure what, exactly.  But he couldn’t breathe for the weight across his windpipe, and the force pressing his face into the side of the wall, away from the door. He was trying to get his feet under him from being knocked off balance but he couldn’t manage.  Stars swam before his eyes.  

And then, blackness. 

Coney Island - Daddy Daze (Bucky)

Originally posted by danskjavlarna

By: ProMarvelFanGirl

Pairing: daddy!Bucky x Reader

A/n:  New Daddy Daze posted every Monday!  I am also taking requests!

Requested by: @prettiestsupersoldier -Thank you so much again lovely!

DADDY DAZE MASTERLIST


You watched as James hopped from foot to foot in excitement as he brushed his teeth.   Bucky had promised when he turned 7 he would be able to go to Coney Island and ride all the rides.   Bucky had asked you to come but when James heard he pouted.  He just wanted a man’s day no mommies allowed.

So you agreed to stay home and let the boys have their fun.  As Bucky checked his pocket for his phone and wallet, you told James to behave and stay with his dad at all times.  “He’ll be fine doll, I got this under control.  Ya don’t need to worry.”

You followed your boys as they headed out the door, “Don’t let him eat too much junk food!  Make sure the seatbelt on every ride is secure!  And make sure that you take breaks, and drink water.”

Bucky unlocked the car for James allowing him to jump in and get buckled, “Doll I swear I will bring our son back in one piece. Don’t worry I got this!  I love you.  Now go relax.”

After pecking your pouting lips, he ran to the car, jumping in and pulling away.  You make a face when you realize neither of them even waved or looked back.

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