yes jamie it is a big one

Fanfiction - The Teacher

Request for a fic. Everyone is joking about professor Sam in Barbour. Could you write a professor Jamie story. Claire is a student but Older and more intriguing than all the young giggling co-eds

…In the meantime, I had this anon ask sitting on my inbox for some months now – and I’d hate to let this fantasy go unattended!

The Teacher

Those girls were ridiculous, Claire thought. Madly fluttering their eyelashes as if a constant influx of dust was getting into their eyes and always bending over, using the pretence of catching a fallen pen or pencil, only to expose their cleavage. Claire felt she was inside a documentary on the mating rituals of college girls and, even if slightly amusing, it also disturbed her in an irrational way.

Health Management was an extra class for her – a way to get a couple more credits that would speed up her academic course. She was already almost ten years the senior when compared to the other students attending Medical School – her years as a nurse had given her a lot of useful resources, but also made her feel she was constantly battling time. It was an interesting class, that mixed concepts of health and economics, to ensure the future doctors based their decisions in cost-effectiveness. In spite of being well taught and useful, whispering was a constant background noise – clearly the result of female hormones going rampant. The problem was not the subject, Claire knew – was the man leading the class.

Professor Fraser was young and remarkably handsome – his Scottish accent and deep voice, combined with astonishing blue eyes, which he hid behind black rimmed glasses, inspired great admiration amongst the women in the classroom. The fact that the class functioned at all was a testament to Fraser’s capacity of using leadership skills and imposing respect.

A couple of girls next to her giggled and Claire distinctively heard one of them, a blonde bombshell that undoubtedly belonged in a house named after a Greek alphabet letter, saying “I would slide my hand bellow his kilt anytime…”

Pursing her lips and rolling her eyes, Claire continued to sketch with her sharp pencil in the back of her notebook, struggling to focus again on the contents of the class. The shade in the external corner wasn’t quite right, she noticed, furrowing her brows in annoyance.

“Am I boring ye, Miss Beauchamp?” She heard a voice demanding her attention. Claire looked up and noticed all faces turned to her, clearly awaiting her reaction to being caught distracted. James Fraser stood next to the board with his arms crossed, his lips forming a half smile, expecting her answer.

Yes. “No, Professor Fraser.” She replied in a casual tone. “I was just taking notes and got distracted. May you repeat the question, please?”

“I see.” He said in a serious – disappointed? – tone. “Anyone knows the answer? Miss MacKenzie?”

“Replacing the blood gas machine would be the best measure.” Laoghaire MacKenzie glowed like a lit candle - marvelled that for once she had managed to upstage Claire and gain Professor Fraser’s attentions - offering a victorious look through the corner of her eye, which Claire blatantly ignored.

“That is correct.” He nodded, raising a brow in Claire’s direction. “I’d recommend that ye pay more attention to the class, Miss Beauchamp.”

“I bloody would if it wasn’t for your fan club.” Claire complained in a low voice, after he had resumed the class.

As the class ended – students rushing to the door to get to the refectory in time for lunch, talking about a hot party later that week -, Claire assembled her notebooks and pencil, storing them inside her green rucksack – made of what looked like army green fabric with a painted red cross, akin to something a doctor would wear during the Second World War.

“May I talk to you, Miss Beauchamp?” Professor Fraser asked politely, as she walked down the stairs in direction of the door. The room was almost deserted, only a couple of latecomers remained inside, struggling with coats and piles of books.

“Of course, Professor.” Claire stared at him, expectantly.

“Ye were distracted today.” He pointed, closing the book he had used to prepare the current subject. “Is something bothering ye, Claire?”

“No.” She firmly replied, her eyes downcast. “I’m sure I can’t be the first student you caught daydreaming. Why are you making such a big deal about it?”

Jamie gave her a concerned look, his blue eyes wrinkling in the corners. He was sporting a small stubble, that combined with his impeccable plaid shirt, gave him a look of casual handsomeness.

“Ye are one of the best students in the class.” He said slowly, neatly placing his books inside his own bag. “I wouldna like ye to squander yer potential. If something is disturbing ye, I’d like to help ye if I can, that’s all.”

“It’s fine.” She insisted in a harsher voice, her hands slightly trembling. “I don’t really need another man to tell me I’m not good enough and can’t handle things. Because I am quite capable!”

“I’m not saying ye aren’t, Miss Beauchamp.” He pointed patiently, glaring at her increasingly red face. “In fact, I think I just said quite the opposite.”

“I can’t focus because all the girls around me are acting like crazy hens, cackling over you!” She accused in a mordant voice, going completely berserk despite her best rational alarms going off in the outskirts of her brain. “I’m here to study – I have so much to learn still and my age will hurt me in spite of how good I keep proving myself again and again – and all they can think is to shag the teacher!”

“Ye’re crossing the line, Claire.” Jamie warned, his voice now low and dangerous. “I might be younger than ye – just a few years, really - but ye’re not exactly old enough to convince me ye’re getting senile by acting out and being disrespectful. I am the teacher here.”

“Then you should bloody act like it!” Claire growled, the hammer of anger – and jealousy? – pounding against her ribs. “Stop being so nice and attentive, because you’re clearly giving the wrong message!”

“What?!” His mouth was ajar, the pulse on his temple throbbing in anger. He practically tore his glasses away from his face, discarding them on the table with a dry sound. “I never made any advances on one of my students. The mere suggestion my behaviour is borderline unethical is a verra serious one, Miss Beauchamp. It can get me suspended if anyone in the faculty board hears it.”

“I’m sorry.” She hissed, fidgeting with the closing mechanism of her rucksack. “But you have to recognize that you are young and…handsome.” Claire swallowed her, her voice strangled. “You can pass the wrong impression just from breathing.”

“Maybe ye should drop this class.” Jamie suggested, slightly turning away from her in order to shield his face from her sight. “I can ask Professor Raymond’s permission for you to assist his Alternative Medicine class. It will give ye the same credits as mine.”

“Yes.” She swallowed hard. “Maybe I should.” They stood there, facing each other, their eyes battling when words had failed them.

“Claire.” He asked, his voice ragged but softer, warmer. “Who told you ye werena enough?”

“My husband.” She avoided his eyes, twisting her lips in a grimace. “Ex-husband. He was a teacher too. Thought I couldn’t handle becoming a doctor – I should settle to what I already was. He was very vocal about it. That’s why we divorced.”

“He was wrong.” Jamie said softly, but firmly. His eyes were all shades of blue – stormless skies, bottomless oceans, rare wild flowers, starry nights, infinite horizons. “I hope ye ken that. Because I certainly do.”

“Oh.” Claire babbled, feeling utterly ridiculous after her outburst. He had his long-fingered hands placed on the desk between them – in her eyes they seemed made to lovingly caress a female body, to demand responses with brutal kindness, to hold a smaller hand that could fit perfectly. “Thank you.”

“It has been a pleasure teaching you, Claire.” He said quietly. “You have a lively mind and a sharp wit. They’ll serve ye well. Yer age won’t hinder ye, lass – it only makes ye that more intriguing and capable.”

“I’m sorry.” She gave him a weak blushing smile, reinforced by the way he responded with a small grin. “I can be quite…rebellious, when my heels are being stepped on.”

“I have witnessed it first-hand.” He laughed, brushing his copper hair in a display of nervousness. “Ye seem to have forgotten one of yer wee notebooks.” And, without waiting for her answer, strode to the place where she had been sitting, collecting her pad.

She knew he would see it – she had been working on it for most of the class and had left it open as she hurried to leave. It was a rough drawing of a blue eye, with a familiar catlike shape – framing it was a verse from her favourite poem in her stylized hand, “Da mi basia mille”.

Deinde centum.” He completed, caressing the sheet with his fingertips. “If ye’re not my student anymore,” He said in a hoarse voice, turning to look at her with a burst of hope in his eyes. “I’m finally free to ask ye out on a date, as I’ve wanted since the day I first saw ye sitting on my class.”

Escape:  the residency years

Claire sat cross-legged on the bench outside of the hospital.  She was trying to decide if she should call Jamie or take the bus home after her appointment. Her OB-GYN had given her the all clear today.  

Six weeks.

Six weeks since she’d lost her daughter.  Six weeks since her body had survived a bloody nightmare.  

You can resume a normal life, her doctor had said.  

There was nothing normal about her life, except for the hospital.  Her life as a doctor was normal in that chaotic, hectic way.  

Her home life wasn’t normal.  Jamie was quiet, and distant.  Some nights she would see him at his drafting table gazing off, unfocused, his face a mix of sadness, and introspection.  Some nights she would get home from working late, and see him on the fire escape sipping from his tumbler of whisky.  He was a strong man, yet even he had his limits.  

She wasn’t normal.  She felt and looked different.  She was softer now.  Her mind, her body, her strength all so much softer than before.  Her stomach was far from the flat plane it once was.  Her mind was plagued by insecurities, what ifs and why me. 

You can resume a normal life.

It was time to reconnect.  Reconnect with her husband, with herself, and with her dreams.  

Claire unfolded herself from the bench, gathered her things, and began walking to the bus stop.  She was standing at the corner waiting for the light to change when the small shop caught her eye.  Normally she would walk past. That was for other women.  Life was no longer normal, so maybe a trip to that shop would be what she needed.  A suit of armor, so to speak.  

She crossed the street and pushed open the glass door.  


Jamie was waiting for her text.  He’d asked her to tell him what the doctor said, and she nodded absentmindedly.  He didn’t want to badger her, so he waited. He checked his phone obsessively, and fought against the impulse to call her and ask. By three o’clock he’d had enough of waiting.

“Gu ifrinn le e!” Jamie said, and started to pack up for the day.

 “Willie!” he shouted to the outer office.  

His assistant lifted his head.  “Aye, Jamie?”  

“We’re done for the day, mate.  Let’s go.  It’s Friday. We’re knocking off early.”


Jamie walked into the flat laden down with his computer bag, and two grocery sacks.  He bustled in banging into the door frame, his keys wound around a finger, and the post in his mouth.  

“Claire!” he said, and dropped the envelopes in surprise. He laboured over to the kitchen trying not to drop anything else.  “What are you doing home so early?”

“I could ask you the same thing?  And what’s all this?”  Claire got up from the sofa to check out what her husband had brought home. The floppy leaves of fresh leeks were sticking out from one of the brown bags, and in the other she could see the tiny spears from a bunch of asparagus peeking over its edge.

“Ach.  It’s been a long week.  Willie and I skived off early.  Also,” he said a little sheepishly, “I saw this dish on Instagram today and I wanted to try it.”  

“Jamie Oliver?” Claire laughed.  Ever since she started her residency Jamie had done the cooking, and once she got pregnant –

You can resume a normal life.

“Aye.”  Claire’s breath caught at his smile.  Jamie really did have the most beautiful smile.  “Risotto.”

“Oooooo!”  Claire started removing the foodstuffs.  

Jamie looked at this wife.  She was freshly showered, her curls drying around her face. She had on one of those wee dresses she found so comfortable, and that he found sexy.  He could see most of her legs, and the fabric clung to the curve of her bottom.

“Ye look beautiful, Claire.”  

She paused for a moment, and glanced up at her husband.  It was his voice that stopped her.  That mixture of wonder and awe that sometimes crept into it. She could see truth in his eyes.  After all he had witnessed, after all the ugliness, he still found her beautiful.  His compliment was a soothing balm to her mental wounds.  She walked around the counter, and placing her hands on the sides of his jaw, kissed him softly on the mouth.  

“Thank you.  Now go change.  I’m starving.”  


Dinner was amazing.  The risotto was delicious, and it did his heart good to hear Claire laugh as he tried to juggle the recipe on his phone and imitate Jamie Oliver while he cooked.  They’d had wine, and talked.  Claire told stories of people at the hospital that made him laugh until he ached.  He caught her up on the recent projects at the Distillery and showed her a couple of his newest designs.  

When he sat down on the couch with a beer and turned on one of his many recorded rugby games, she stole upstairs.

You can resume a normal life.

Jamie stretched his long legs out in front of him. He sipped from his beer, still content from dinner and the fact that Scotland was winning.  It took him a minute to register the shape at the top of the stairs.

“Jesus.  God.  Claire.”  He fumbled trying to put down the bottle without knocking it sideways.  He almost missed the table because he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.

Her breasts were plump over the barest of lace cups.  He couldn’t tell from this distance but there was no way they covered her areolas.  The panties hugged her low on her hips.  Her hair was a riot of curls dancing over one shoulder, thick and full.  She smiled like the devil herself, twirling one curl around her index finger.  Well, if that wasn’t a damn metaphor for how he felt right now.      

Red.  She was wearing scarlet red lingerie.  

She set him afire.  

Mesmerized he walked slowly, one bare foot in front of the other, to the bottom of the stairs.  

“Holy Mother of God.”

Claire laughed out loud.

“What?  What did I say?  Are ye laughing at me?”  Jamie’s brain was completely addled.  

“Yes, I most certainly am!”  She couldn’t stop giggling.  

What had he said that was so funny?  

“You can call me Claire, darling,” she added, teasingly.

Jamie bit his lip.  Aye, she wasn’t exactly the image of an angel.  “Don’t make fun, Claire, or ye’ll get what ye deserve.”  

“Promise?”  The vixen turned, and walked away.  The scrap of lace from behind framed her bottom in such a way that her bare skin resembled the shape of a heart.  

He groaned and missed the first step, swearing as he stubbed a toe.  The sight of her bare arse swaying in front of him was too much.  He sprinted up the stairs two at a time.  

Their bedroom was dark, just the light from the hallway seeped through his first few steps into the room.  He moved to turn on a lamp but she stopped him.

“Please don’t.”  Claire stood by the foot of the bed, twisting her fingers.   She was nervous.  She had been offered so many opinions. Women telling her it would be different.  It would hurt.  Don’t expect too much.  

“What’s this, then?”  Jamie approached her cautiously.

She shrugged.  Her eyes begged him to acquiesce to her request.    

Jamie moved to the window and opened the curtains. The pale gray light of the streetlights coupled with the moon bathed her in a pearly glow.  She was luminescent.  Claire covered her tummy, just below her belly button.  Ah. So that’s how it is.  Jamie moved toward her slowly, linked his pinky fingers through hers and slowly drew her hands away from her body, and the flesh they covered.  One red striation snaked down the left side of her tummy.  Her belly button was droopy.  Jamie looked at his wife, and saw the insecurity in her eyes.  

“It’s ugly,” she whispered.  

You can resume a normal life.

“Aye,” Jamie whispered back.  “I ken a wee bit about scars, Sassenach.”  He let go of her hands, and pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it to the side.  “I ken how they make ye look at yerself.”  He turned his back to her, and spoke over his shoulder.  “Because I once looked at myself, and felt ugly, too.”  

Claire made a small noise that made him turn around and face her once more, fingers tapping nervously on his thigh.  Claire needed his reassurance.  He would give her the same gift she gave him years before.

“I remember every minute, every second of that first time we made love.  Ye walked around me, and ran yer hands over my back.  I waited to see revulsion in yer expression, and when I looked at ye, weel, I saw lust.”  Jamie chuckled. “Ye’ve no idea how relieved I was because by then I was so turned on I couldna bear it if ye walked away.”  

Claire smiled at the memory.

He ran his index finger lightly down her stretch mark, and hooked it under the lace edge of her panty.  He heard her breath hitch.  He tugged at the fabric, just enough to knock her off balance so she had to take a step toward him.  He placed his big hands on either side of her, and slowly ran them over her hips and down her backside.  He cupped her, lifting her slightly.  Her face was close to his, her mouth a fraction away.  “Now kiss me, mo neighean donn, and let me show ye how beautiful ye are to me.”

Claire grabbed her husband’s shoulders, and hung on. He kissed her, pouring all of his love into that first meeting of their mouths.  She ran her hands over him, feeling his familiar scars.  The scars that made him Jamie, and no one else. This big man who was the gentlest of lovers when she needed him to be. 

Tonight, she needed him to take the lead.  She surrendered herself to him, let him turn her around in his arms and hold her against his chest.  Let him run his hands over her body, feeling the weight of her breasts as he kissed the side of her neck.  Let him slide a hand down over her soft stomach, and find the heat between her legs, making her feel warm, and sexy while he nipped at her lobes.

Jamie led her by the hand to their bed.  He slid off her panties, murmuring in Gaelic, his eyes hooded.  He worshiped her body, kissed every inch of her skin.  He ran his tongue down her stretch mark, and kissed her misshapen belly button.  He took her slender legs and placed them over his shoulders, making her writhe and buck, and finally shatter.  

Then, he stood and shucked his jeans.  Climbing onto the bed, he nestled himself between Claire’s thighs before she could catch her breath.  He balanced on his elbows, and kissed her again.  

He felt her tense beneath him.

Jamie pulled back and looked at her.  “What’s wrong, mo graidh?”  

“I’m scared,” she breathed.  “I’m scared it will be different for you.”

You can resume a normal life.

“Och, aye.  After 2 months without my wife, it’ll feel different right enough.  It’ll feel like Heaven.”  He bumped his nose against hers, waggling his eyebrows.  

Claire did not smile.  “They say,” she swallowed, rubbing the back of his neck. “They say after you give birth that it’s….it feels….looser, down there.  To a man.”

A Dhia, she was struggling. Jamie had no idea that Claire had all of these thoughts battling inside her head.  While he appreciated her honesty, she picked a fine time to reveal her anxieties, when he was fit to bursting.  He took a deep breath, and brushed her hair away from her face.  Laughing through dinner relaxed her.  Their banter on the stairs relaxed her.  He’d carry on with the humour.  

“Is this yer way of saying size matters, Sassenach?”  He teased her with the tip of himself.  “Are ye afraid ye’ll find me lacking?”

Claire grinned, and slapped his bottom.  “That is not what I meant, and you know it!”

Jamie took that moment, when her legs relaxed, to enter her.  She arched her back, and gasped.

“Can ye feel that?” he asked, breath hot against her neck.  “For I surely can.” He kissed her, licking her bottom lip.  “And it feels like I’m home.”

You can resume a normal life.

It did feel like home.  Jamie was right.  He was in her arms, and in her body, and it felt like it had a hundred times before.  It didn’t matter what she looked like, how many stretch marks she had.  Even the damn lingerie didn’t matter. This was right.  This was perfect.

In response Claire locked her legs around his back.  She shifted and settled him deeper between her thighs. Reaching up, she brought his head down for a scorching kiss that had him rocking instinctively.  She gave him all of herself and took nothing in return.  When Jamie shouted and stiffened above her she felt the joy of loving him fill her heart.


Jamie’s head was pressed against her neck as he tried to catch his breath.

“So, where did ye find this?”  He pulled at the strap of her bra.  

“At that lingerie shop near the hospital bus stop.  The doctor said I could ‘resume a normal life’ and I wasn’t sure I could without a bit of help.  A suit of armor, so to speak.” She ran a hand over his bicep.

“Christ, Sassenach.  Dinna show up to battle like that again.”  He dropped a kiss on her shoulder, and mumbled sleepily.  “My heart canna take it.”  

Claire woke up some time later to the sound of cheering. Slipping out of bed she stole downstairs to find the television still on, and Jamie’s beer warm on the table. She hit the button on the remote, and silence fell. She took his bottle to the sink, and turned off the lights.  

Darkness in the flat allowed her to look out the window at the lights of Edinburgh.  She could see the fire escape that mirrored their stairs inside. She had taken those outside steps, cautiously, years ago, not knowing where it would lead her.  Now, she was on the inside, having taken those steps towards love, marriage, medical school, and a family.     

As she climbed up on her way back to bed she laughed softly thinking of how Jamie had bolted up these stairs tonight at the sight of her.  Honestly, why had she worried so much?  Scars be damned. They didn’t change how she looked at him, how could she have been so shallow as to think hers would have mattered to him?  Resuming a normal life had made her think that how they had been living for the past six weeks was somehow abnormal.  Wrong. Flawed.

It wasn’t.  

They would carry their scars together.  The ones on their bodies, and the scar of losing Faith on their hearts.  Together.  Forward in life.  

She crawled into bed next to her husband,and stroked the russet coloured curls back from his forehead.  He smiled briefly, and her heart melted. Jamie was still Jamie.  They still found pleasure in each other’s bodies.  They still had the same dreams.

Everything was normal.  

Flood my Mornings: Unimaginable
  • This story takes place in an AU in which Jamie travels through the stones two years after Culloden and finds Claire and his child in 1950 Boston.

@themusicsweetly​ asked:  For when Claire eventually is preggers, their first time with an ultrasound machine.

So here’s the thing: 1951 is at *least* ten years too early for fetal ultrasound. 

HOWEVER, this was one of the first FMM scenes I wrote after the reunion (even before this prescient ask!)  and at the time, I wasn’t even thinking about historical accuracy. Soooooo, I’ll ask you to put on your suspenders of disbelief (TM @stageandhistory​‘s teacher) and just enjoy the anachronistic ride. 

[Also, there’s a bit more of a time jump on this one than I normally go for, but I was feeling antsy to get to a landmark scene, so HERE WE ARE. (but I’ve got some planned flashbacks in the works for later, so don’t hesitate to request scenes from the months I passed over, if you’ve got a need!)]


Late April, 1951; Harvard University Hospital 

“Fine—Sweetheart—I’m fine!” 

The words were barely more than a muffled mumble into his shirt. Based on how tightly he was clutching me, I should have insisted to speak with him directly instead of leaving the message with the Fernacre receptionist; or at the very least, I should have been more emphatic with her that there was absolutely no emergency at hand. 

I hugged him tighter in reassurance. “I’m so sorry, darling—I truly didn’t mean to frighten you. Everything’s fine, I promise.” 

“But Nancy said ye were in hospital.” 

At the hospital—at Harvard—” 

“Aye, not your proper hospital—and I was in the furthest pastures—” he said in a rush, cupping my head hard. “It took them so long to ride out to track me down—that—and then the Traffic—I thought—the bairn—

God, and what must he have thought? With my being several weeks past six months, the same time at which—

“We’re fine, Jamie, I swear. See? We’re in the academic wing, not intensive care.” I pulled out of his arms and tugged him toward the open door nearby. “Come with me: I have something to show you.” Trying to suppress my grin, I ushered him into an empty lecture hall and closed the door behind us. 

Standing there, still in his work clothes and smelling of horse, Jamie was breathing heavily and looking as though he meant to either cry or fight someone or both. “Please say what’s happened so I can stop this aching in my chest.”

Despite his agitation, I managed at length to get him to sit in the professor’s chair. I leaned against the desk facing him, trying to keep back the storm of happiness. “You know I had my final examinations this morning?”

 A nod, a pause, and then a tentative, “…Did they go well?”

 “Very well, I think. But as I was gathering my things and headed out, my professor suddenly stopped me and asked if I’d be willing to assist one of the med-tech research departments with a demonstration. I was taken aback of course, but I trust Dr. Gordon—you remember, he’s the one that’s been so impressed and supportive?— so I was willing to see what was what, at least.” 

This exposition did not seem to have done anything to lessen Jamie’s tension; in fact, he looked downright ALARMED at mention of me participating in some sort of vague experiment. Well, so had I been! 

I went on, hastily. “And so he led me to the research wing and introduced me, and—And well, I called Fernacre as soon as they explained what it was that they were going to be testing out, because—Oh, Jamie, it would have been absolutely magical to show you as it was happening. But I managed to get the next best thing.” 

I handed him the glossy print, heart thudding. “It’s something like an X-ray, see? This was only a prototype—very few people in the world have used this technology.” He kept staring down, and I babbled anxiously to fill the silence. “It isn’t even a good likeness of the fuzzy readout I saw. I badgered someone to find a camera, and the flashbulb reflecting against the glass television screen makes it quite hard to see, and I’m sure the print itself isn’t great, either—I badgered another department to develop it for me quickly, so it’s barely more than a blur, but…”

For more than half a minute Jamie had stared down at it, turning it this way and that—

But finally, the image must have clicked into place, for he gasped and nearly dropped it. 

“You see it?” I was beaming, holding back tears. “Can you see?

“Is that…?”

Yes,” I choked out, “that’s him.”

So engrossed was Jamie in the image before him that he didn’t immediately seem to hear me. Then, he looked up so sharply it must have hurt his neck, blinking like he’d stepped into bright sun. “H—him??”

“You can’t tell in this shot,” I whispered, not meaning it to be a whisper, but so hoarse with feeling I couldn’t help it, “but the technician was certain.“

“We’re going—” Jamie was grinning like an utter addle-pated simpleton. “—to have a—a wee lad?

I nodded, smiling back but also weeping, lips pursed tight, and suddenly unable to speak at all through the lump of happiness in my throat.

“Oh, Claire…” Jamie was on his feet in a second, laughing and holding me as tightly as in the hallway, but this time in joy. “Oh, LOVE!” 

The next I knew, he was beaming into my eyes, holding my face. “I’d have been just as thrilled wi’ a wee lassie, mo chridhe, but….Jesus, God, to KNOW—!! It’s…absolutely miraculous.”

“Honestly, this is— unimaginable to me, too,” I whispered, leaning my forehead against his as I looked down at my belly (at my son!). “To be able to see an unborn child….To be able to see right into the womb without cutting! I never even dreamed of such a thing. Jamie, it…I saw him.” 

“And he’s—alright?”

“As far as they could tell.” I sighed and smiled, giving in. “Yes…yes, he’s alright.” 

If two sane people could be delirious with joy and relief, it was us. We must have looked quite out of our senses to any passerby, so intensely we were beaming and grinning and clinging tightly to faces and hands. 

Without preamble, Jamie stuck the precious photograph in his breast pocket, swept me up into his arms (ignoring any protest against handling my massive bulk), and settled back into the chair, cradling me in his lap. 

We sat there in beatific silence for I don’t know how long, with soft touches and wordless sounds of tenderness and awe. 

At last, Jamie simply couldn’t contain himself. “What will we name him? Our—son?” 

We hadn’t discussed names at all, to date—both of us perhaps afraid to tempt fate until the birth was closer at hand. But I had seen him, today—seen the outlines of his tiny feet move at the same exact moment I’d felt him kick—And it changed everything. There was still risk, and there was still fear; but the hope in me was glowing and radiating throughout my entire being. This child, this little boy, was alive and well. He would be well. And he needed a name. 

“Well, let’s see….” I beamed and traced patterns on Jamie’s shoulder. “I suppose we can’t have a Brian AND a Brianna.”

Jamie laughed, “No, indeed. The first Brian Fraser will get the big head up in heaven. Though what about your Da? Henry’s a good, strong name, aye? What d’ye think?” 

“I’d very much like to use it as a second or third name… but I can’t quite see it as his first.” 

“’His,’” Jamie echoed in a gleeful murmur. “…He’s a him.”

My delighted giggle hit me mid-kiss.  “Yes, darling,” I crooned against his lips, “he’s a him.” 

Jamie brightened. “Say, now, what about Robert? That was my wee brother’s name, and one of my Da’s as well.”

I must have made a face at this, for he smiled and rubbed my belly, leaning down to whisper confidentially, “Your mam doesna like your name one bit, wee Rabbie.”

I laughed and amended, fairly, “If you feel strongly about it, I might be persuaded. I’ve just—Honestly, I’ve never liked the name Robert. Robert…. ROBERT….” I tried the name several more times, making grotesque faces as I tasted the syllables. “No, sorry, just won’t do.”

Jamie wasn’t offended, and in fact, we both repeated the rejected name a few more times each, trying out ridiculous accents and intonations to completely rule it out as a frontrunner until we were little more than a mass of giggles there in the professor’s chair. 

Then, as if by magnetic force, we quieted and turned our eyes back to my belly—to our little him. 

We were still for a long time, both of us imagining we could see our son curled up asleep, as I had so briefly and hazily today.

“Lambert?” Jamie said. 

I smiled fondly, but shook my head.

“William?” I offered softly, a while later. “For your brother?”

Jamie made a sound of acknowledgment, thinking, but said nothing.

There was a bird singing outside the tall, sunny window. Leafy sun-shadows spangled the walls and a tiny breeze brought the scent of spring to surround us. 

And as a second bird chimed in outside our little haven, Jamie’s hand tightened lightly, significantly, on my belly, eyes shining. “What about…Ian?”

“…Ian…” I breathed back, putting my hand over his, feeling something settle perfectly into place. “Oh, yes, that’s….Ian…”

Not the blood-brother long-mourned: the brother of Jamie’s heart whose loss was still an open wound. They’d known each other all their lives; had fought together and defended one another, had been each others’ champions in battle and at home. And it struck me for the first time that Ian Murray was the only brother I myself had ever known, too. Ian had been a true kindred spirit, ever an ally in our den of blood-Frasers. And beyond that, Ian was—had been my friend. I missed his ready smile and his wit, his compassion….

Ian. 

It was painful—but perfect. 

“Ian…Henry,” Jamie murmured reverently. “A fine name.”

“Ian Henry…Fergus?…” I offered, my voice cracking.  

I felt the convulsion go through Jamie and I touched his face. I know, love. I know.

Lord, the grief—the grief of holding one son between us and longing for the one we’d left behind; and for Jamie, how much more raw that grief. For Fergus had been there with him for those two broken years, had been a joy and a comfort to him when little else could be; and we could never see him again. 

“Aye,” Jamie said at last, smiling weakly through reddened eyes. “Ian. Henry. Fergus. Beauchamp—”

Fraser,” we finished together in a whisper, all four hands covering our little boy. Life and loss, joy and mourning, so inextricably intertwined. 

There were tears in Jamie’s eyes, as there were in mine, and his voice was deep and husky with love as he looked down at our hands and rubbed gently. “You’ll do them all proud, Ian.”

And damn me, if our little guy didn’t kick, right on cue. 


Sisters and Misters

“So you and professor Tyrion, why, how and when?” Arya said dumping her school bag in Sansa’s bed and letting her stuff spill all over the sheets “talk, now” she ordered giving her older sister the look that warned her against lying

“We kinda, might have, sort of….slept together this one time the day Joffrey dumped me for Margaery” Sansa had the decency to look ashamed, this was Arya, not Bran, although if Arya was here then it was probably because Bran knew, and that was way too many family members keeping tabs on her

“Wait! Didn’t Asshat dump you during summer camp? How did you go from there to having sex with your political science professor?” now Arya was intrigued, one thing was to hear it from Bran’s Three Eyed Raven surveillance system and another was to hear the details from the source. Normally Sansa was an insanely private person who only trusted a few of her girlfriends, but she was also the only source of feminine wiles that Arya would ever listen to, so finding out she was not as perfect as mom and dad thought was exciting as hell.

“I didn’t know he was a professor at King’s Landing’s University when I met him! Let alone Joffrey’s uncle” Sansa hissed “to me he was this short man in a bar who was also getting publicly dumped, we comiserated over our sorrows you know, he was funny and witty and…”

“And you had drunk rebound sex I get it” Arya stopped her sister before she got to the dirty bits “Doesn’t explain what happened after though, let’s face it Sansa professor Tyrion is not exactly your…type”

“Why do people keep saying that? Lyanna said the same thing” Sansa huffed crossing her arms over her chest “so what if he’s not tall dark and handsome, he’s witty and devious and terribly funny, we can talk for hours and still want to see each other next morning”

Apparently the last part went right over Arya’s head “Wait a minute Lyanna knew you were banging your professor before me? Who else knows?, I’m your sister, I should come before Lyanna Mormont”

“Lyanna knew something was up the first time she saw my scooter outside the tower of the hand, nothing escapes that brat” she remembered she’d been so completely frozen when she arrived late to her first day of class only to find out that her new professor was the Mr best-sex-ever that she hadn’t been able to concentrate on his lecture at all, which was fine because she later she found out he only talked about KLU’s honor code on loop for forty-five minutes.

Tyrion had asked her to stay back in order to apologise and Sansa had willfully misinterpreted the whole thing to avoid his apology so he’d asked her about her political ambitions and they ended up sharing a meal in his office while Sansa bitched over how creepy Petyr Baelish was.

“Also I’m not banging him!, we just have lunch together a lot….and maybe dinner, he takes me to all these exotic restaurants and I like dragging him to Hot Pie’s for some good northern cusine, its nothing bad, we just talk about class and family and stuff, sometimes we see a show in the Targaryen Arena or go driving around town”

“But no sex?” Arya observed Sansa closely, so far she’d been truthful “not even a handjob under the desk?” Sansa shook her head which made Arya laugh “Does he have brain damage? What man in this universe has a one night stand with you and never tries getting into your pants again?”

“He said he wouldn’t, well not unless I ask him to that is” Sansa blushed “Tyrion isn’t like that, he’s very respectful”

“Are we talking about the same Tyrion Lannister?, Founder of the ‘God of tits and wine’ wet T-shirt competition back when he was a student?” Arya snorted “You’re crazy”

“Maybe he doesn’t like me that way, ever thought about that?” Sansa muttered picking at the threads of her floral pajamas “Maybe he feels sorry for me, after all he knows Cersei pulled strings and kicked me out of Royal House sorority when Marg got together with Joffrey so he’s trying to make it up to me”

Arya looked at Sansa’s blush, turned her face to the side and studied the way her lips suppressed a sigh “But you WANT to, oh my Stranger I’m so telling Jon about this!” She made to leave but Sansa tackled her to the ground

“Don’t you DARE, Jon will tell Sam who will tell Gilly who will tell Roslin who will tell Robb who will tell Dad who will tell Mom who in turn will DEFINITELY kill me”

“But professor Tyrion practically adopted Danny, don’t you think Jon should know you’re dating his unnoficial future father in law?”

“WERE NOT DATING” Sansa growled clasping a hand over Arya’s mouth “Besides Tyrion isn’t like a father to Danny, he’s more like a fun uncle, or an annoying elder brother, if anything Danny adopted Tyrion not the other way around”

Arya twisted out of her tackle and licked Sansa’s hand to make her move it “Sansa hate to break it to you miss prissy but if he’s taking you out to nice places, spend your weekends together and ditch family dinners to meet up in the library while you secretly want to bang in the nearest surface” Arya levelled Sansa with her best bitch face “That’s called dating” she started to head for the door again

“If Jon hears about this Arya I swear I’ll tell him about the greasy mechanic from Fleabottom that you like so much” Sansa shot back crossing her arms over her chest “let’s see who wins the prize for 'most disappointing significant other’ in our parents eyes this year”

“Go ahead!” Arya called her bluff “I’ll even invite Gendry over to tonight’s Thanksgiving dinner, because unlike you I’m not ashamed of my friends”

“You mean it’s serious with the guy? I’ll have you know I’m not ashamed of Tyrion! I’m afraid dad will kill him, there’s a difference” Sansa was actually very proud of him and would have loved to parade her non-relationship all around campus if it wasn’t for the fact that “He’s also my professor, people will think I’m with him because I want an easy A” Cersei would definitely make it look that way

“So?” Arya deadpanned “Jon is practically married to a pyromaniac distantly related to him by blood, Robb hooked up with Roslin Frey, who’s the daughter of the biggest creep in Westeros, I have Gendry who I really like, Gendry who dropped out of highschool and currently works for less than Rickon’s allowance, Bran has both Meera and Jojen because he thinks he’s the next Oberyn Martell all that was missing in the table was your addition to the list”

“You’re right, dating Tyrion could only make him lose his job and get me expelled” Sansa felt like the worst, but Arya was right she had to face the music “all right, if you bring Gendry tonight, I will drag Tyrion up here for Turkey, besides who in this family could disappoint mother more this year anyway?” And then Sansa’s eyes lit up “unless…”

“Sansa NO” Arya warned her big sister “I know that face, it’s not going to work!”

“But Brienne likes you, ask her to come over with Jamie, she won’t say no to you” Sansa begged with her best puppy eyes “it works in your favor too, mom will take one look at the Kingslayer and we’ll all be off the hook because she hates him since his last reality TV show”

“You’re not wrong” it was a testament to how much Arya liked Gendry that she was seriously okay with throwing Brienne to the big wolves “as far as extreme disappointment goes, short of dating Tywin himself there is no topping off Jamie Lannister in mom’s mind and Brienne doesn’t have to live with mom, unlike us, she can walk out of Thanksgiving dinner unscathed”

“So you’ll ask her?”

“Yes” Arya bargained “but only if you convince professor Tyrion to come too, I don’t want Gendry to be the only one suffering”

Sansa considered it for a minute and sighed extending her hand “it’s a deal” this was going to be the most awkward Thanksgiving ever

Red Jamie and the White Lady - Part 2

Well, since your response was so overwhelming, here’s part 2! Many many thanks to @diversemediums for helping me think things through! She and I are both excited to see what happens next. I can’t remember the last time when I had absolutely no idea what was coming on next in a story. Thanks for enjoying part one so much!

Catch up HERE


Claire didn’t go home with Geillis that night, unsure about what had happened with that strange psychic man.

“Claire please! You have to tell me everything!”

“There’s nothing to tell! He read my tea leaves, read a little from my palms and told me to come back.”

“Then why won’t you come home? Afraid I’ll pester you until you crack?”

Smiling, Claire rolled her eyes.

“Well you’re likely to do that anyway. But no. I’ve got a date with Frank tonight.”

“Oh,” Geillis said flatly. “You’ll be spending the night with him, then?”

“Yes. Unlike you, I prefer my love making to be private.”

Geillis gave her a coy smile.

“I can’t help it if I’m a passionate lover.”

“My only wish is that your ‘passion’ would be a little more quiet. I’m just going to change and then meet up with him for lunch between his classes.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll get the details out of you later.”

As they headed back toward their apartment, Claire realized she hadn’t gotten the number for the place or made an official appointment to return. No matter. She’d just come back when she had time.

Her lunch with Frank was normal, same as always. He talked about his classes, his problem students, how many he thought would pass his exams. She told him about the film she and Geillis had watched the night before. For some odd reason, she couldn’t bring herself to tell him about her strange experience with the mysterious Jamie Fraser.

She made dinner for them both in his apartment, ready and on the table when he arrived. They ate and made plans to go see a new museum exhibit the next week. A life with him would be comfortable, uneventful, and she would want for nothing. He would provide a good home and be a good father.

The palm of her hand tingled where Jamie had touched her and she thought about his words.

As if you’ve a big choice to make. Neither will lead to destruction, but one is clearly the better of the other.

Looking up from her own hand, she saw Frank waiting for an answer.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Are you ready for bed?”

“Oh, yes. I’m sorry, I completely zoned out for a moment.”

She followed him back to his bedroom where they made love the same way they always did. It wasn’t bad, but neither was it as amazing as Geillis always made it sound.

When she finally drifted asleep, she had the strangest dreams. The air around her smelled different, everything seemed younger, fresher.

She was walking, barefoot, through the wet grass. It was raining, but that wasn’t surprising for her. She was searching for something. No, for someone. He promised he’d meet her here, that he wouldn’t make her wait a moment longer.

“Christ, ye look like a wee Faerie, running about through the grass like that. Come here to me, Sassenach.”

“You’re late,” she said, turning to the familiar voice.

Turning around, she searched for his eyes, but her gaze couldn’t move from his lips.

“I was here on time, as I promised. But I didna want to interrupt ye.”

“Please, it’s been long enough!”

Large hands moved over her body in a way that only a lover would do. She felt him untie the laces at the back of her gown.

“It’s been two whole days, a nighean. Surely ye canna be that desperate.”

Her fingers found the sturdy folds of his kilt and began to tug them up. Finally, her gown loostened and she wriggled out of it, standing before him in only her thin shift.

“Closer to three, and yes I can. You’ve rather a voracious appetite, my lad, and I’ve gotten used to it.”

“It’s that good then, is it?”

“You know it is, you Scottish bastard.”

He had several days of stubble on his chin as he bent and kissed her. But oh! How she’d missed this mouth! Rough hands ran over her back and down to her buttocks, where he squeezed and let out a sigh.

“Roundest arse I’ve ever had the pleasure to see. And fondle.”

“I’m really not concerned with the fondling of my arse at the moment, good sir.”

“Fair point, my lady.”

While he worked on the ties of his shirt, she pulled his belt free and shook his kilt out on the ground. While this wouldn’t be the first time they’d made love out of doors, she wasn’t fond of the debris that got stuck on her everywhere.

God the smell of him, the feel of his toned body beneath her hands, the taste of his tongue probing inside her mouth. It was all too much. She shrugged out of her shift and lay down on his kilt, watching as he admired her naked body.

“Have I told ye lately, mo chridhe,” he whispered, speckling her skin with kisses as he made his way up to her lips. “How much I love ye?”

“Not in the last hour, no.”

“I love you,” he kissed beneath her left breast. “I love you.” A kiss beneath her right. “I love you.” A kiss right between them.

Taking fistfuls of his bright red hair in both her hands, she pulled his mouth up to her own.

“Come show me how much, my beloved husband.”

Then two blue eyes locked with her own. Eyes she’d seen before. The color seemed to be shifting through every shade of blue in existence.

“MINE,” growled his voice, thick with lust. “You are mine alone! Mine forever! I’ll no’ give ye up to another! No’ now, no’ ever!”

“Yes!” she screamed back at him, digging her fingers into whatever flesh she could find.

Her body was trembling beneath him, though not from cold. Both of her legs struggled to lock around him, her hips lifting to meet his thrusts. God she didn’t want this to ever end.

“Look at me, Claire!”

Forcing her eyes open, she met his gaze.

“Promise me. Promise me that we’ll always find each other. In this life and the next.”

“I swear it. I’m yours, forever and always Jamie. I love you.”

Claire shot up in bed, panting and sweating. Her body shook in a way it had never done before. Her breasts ached and there was a heavy dampness between her legs that hadn’t been there before.

Trying not to wake Frank, she got up and went to splash water on her face. Staring at herself in the mirror, she ran hands through her hair.

“What the hell was that, Beauchamp?”

***

Jamie tossed and turned, restless. In all his reading through his journals, he’d gleaned no further information on Miss Beauchamp.

Then all at once, he knew he’d fallen asleep. This wasn’t a normal dream, but the first vision he’d had in years.

He watched her wander through the field, stalking her as a wolf did a rabbit. But he would have her in his arms soon enough.

And then he had her, in his arms, smelling like the wet earth and that heady scent of her arousal. He couldn’t undress her fast enough, couldn’t feel her bare skin soon enough. Nearly three days, sleeping alone. Far, far too long.

Then he was above her, staring down into those inhumanly golden eyes, her breasts rubbing slightly against his chest as she panted.

“I love you,” he whispered against the skin of her chest.

“Come show me how much, beloved husband.”

Husband. They’d been married a month ago in secret. No one knew they had. He’d given her a silver ring and the key to his estate, along with his heart and virginity. But she kept them hidden.

He’d felt the ring sewen into one of her pockets, always with her. He had no idea what she’d done with the key. It didn’t matter. They belonged to each other and no one else. Soon enough, he’d get her with child and no one could separate them.

White hot pain pricked over his body where she clawed and drew blood.

“MINE,” he growled into her ear, resisting the urge to bite ite. “You are mine alone! Mine forever! I’ll no’ give ye up to another! No’ now, no’ ever!”

“Yes!”

Hearing her say that, while her hips lifted to meet his, gave him a primal pleasure he didn’t understand. Her body jerked as he felt himself prepare for release. His howl started low and guttural, growing in volume until-

Throwing the sheets off, he swung his legs over one side of his bed and put his hands on his knees. It took him several minutes to catch his breath and keep his hands from shaking. Christ he’d forgotten how intensely real these visions could be.

Visions of things he’d never experienced were the worst. Having never lain with a woman, he could only assume it would feel like that.

“Holy God,” he muttered to himself, running a hand over his head. “What just happened, Fraser? Get yourself together, man.”

Missing his longer hair, he took another breath and reached for the empty dream journal he kept beside his bed. For now he would jot down the notes and quick sketches quickly. Later, after he’d had time to study the vision, he’d write it down properly in the big book, sketch things out and take his time about it.

Wondering when he would see Miss Beauchamp again, he decided to take a shower and not dwell on his vision; or how he could still taste her in his mouth, or feel her breasts beneath his hands. Christ he could still feel her nipples between his teeth, feel her trembling, smell the intensity of her want for him. Perhaps it would be a cold shower.


Continue to Part 3 

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?”

Keep reading

athenahyena7  asked:

It's finals week for me and I'm stressing big time. Can I get some fluff/cuddle imagines for poly roadrat, and poly mchanzo if it's not too much?

For you, to clear your stress (I wish you the best of luck on your finals!!), and for me, to cure my cold, and for everyone else, to feel amused at our problems but also to feel fluffy and warm inside because poly cuddles are great.

Tbh, I just want a big boyfriend, a small boyfriend, and a girlfriend. Is that too much for a polyamorous person to ask?

I’ll tell ya. Yes. Yes it is. Apparently.

Moving on. I love your username. (I also said so in the tags.)

~~~

Roadrat

  • You both cuddle up on Roadhog’s belly
  • But y’all share a bath or a shower first, as to not get your cuddle supplies all dirty
  • Jamison probably encourages onesie-wearing but there’s not a onesie big enough for Mako, so Jamie either tries to make one or the large piggy wears sweats
  • Movie/TV binging (usually provided by you) and loads of junk food (provided by them)
  • No food-shaming here
  • Eat to your heart’s content
  • Usually cartoons or animated movies unless you can convince Jamison to agree to watch something else
  • Roadhog will cut you both off if either of you start complaining about stomachaches though
  • If this happens, he’ll probably rub and kiss your belly/bellies (if the same happens to Jamie) to make you feel better
  • Roadhog always has one hand on you and the other on Jamison
  • Usually on your butts, if the reach is possible (ex. y’all are curled up on your sides against this big beautiful man)
  • Furniture forts
  • Pillow Pets
  • Plushy piles
  • Being wrapped up in sleeping bag burritos
  • Roadhog nose boops
  • Jamison smooches
  • Whenever he gets the chance to tbh
  • Lots of Jamison smooches and squeezes and touching for both you and Roadhog
  • Jamie’s a very touchy, squeezy person
  • And he’s just excited about the experience in general
  • Pecious man-boy bean
  • Roadhog’s smooches are less frequent and usually only happen during breaks but he always gives plenty of nuzzles to make up for it
  • He always wears his hair down when you guys are just chilling out at home
  • Also that hand is always holding you or squishing you or rubbing its way along your body, so he’s definitely not lacking affection at any point in time
  • At times he’ll nuzzle your head or ear and make little snorty piggy noises at you
  • Or he’ll nuzzle a pig plushie against your cheek and snort
  • Jamison might copy him just to make you giggle
  • Mako laughs and gets so happy if you do it back
  • Y’all will probably end up falling asleep after like twelve movies/seasons and then sleep for like six more hours
  • Or the boys will, at least
  • Roadhog sleep-snorts
  • Jamie mumbles and drools a bit

McHanzo

  • Lord, fucking help me please I want to be sandwiched between these two men; not even sexually just let me be snuggled between the two of them please and thanks
  • One’s on either side of you at all times
  • Bigger couches need to exist/be bought for times like these
  • Y’all will just lay somewhere like that for hours
  • Bed, floor, couch, patio, porch swing, backyard, wherever the fuck you feel like
  • Hanzo’s hands usually end up roaming your body and playing with your clothes while Jesse’s constantly playing with your hair
  • Competitive kissing
  • Hanzo kisses your neck, Jesse kisses your jaw, cheek, and nose
  • Jesse kisses your hairline, Hanzo kisses all the way down the side of your face
  • Hanzo kisses you, Jesse kisses harder
  • Simultaneous neck kisses on either side of your neck
  • It’s a dizzying experience, really
  • Could this lead to you three doin’ the fukk, who knows?
  • They’re both competitive boys
  • You three will usually just cuddle someplace in silence but every once in a while you and Jesse can convince Hanzo to join for a cuddle pile while watching musicals
  • Hanzo’s critical about just about everything you and Jesse pick out to watch though
  • He’ll end up picking the movies instead
  • He doesn’t pick too bad of movies
  • He’s actually one hell of an oldies/classics nerd
  • Jesse, stay away from the fU C K iNg Westerns goddammit
  • You get your choice of wearing Jesse’s hat or serape
  • Hanzo usually gets the other
  • Sometimes all three of you will share the serape
  • Sometimes Jesse’s in the middle because A) He’s the biggest B) He’s a natural heater and C) Just don’t give a fuck however you lay on top of, next to, or wrapped around him
  • Hanzo’s kind of picky and a bit claustrophobic, so he doesn’t do the middle often; he likes having a free side
  • Unless he’s in a bad mood; then smother the grumpy ninja boy
  • The noodle dragons usually join in on these cuddles
  • They each pick either you or McCree to cling to or they wrap around both of you
  • Dragon pillows
  • Dragon scarves
  • Hanzo usually ends up with dragon tails in his face
  • He gets a bit jealous of his dragons and depending on his mood he’ll shoo them away
  • Again, smother him if this happens
  • Jesse will probably be the one to suggest forts, pillow fights, and onesies
  • Hanzo will engage in only the fort building
  • And the pillow fights
  • But if those to really start, you usually end up watching from the sidelines and eating popcorn while they wrestle around for a while
  • They’ll stop eventually, after falling off or hitting their head on some piece of furniture
  • If this goes on too long, they’ll apologize and make it up to you by smothering you is scratchy facial hair kisses and getting you your favorite treats
  • Literally hotheaded teenagers in scruffy men’s bodies

books-and-barns  asked:

A Flood My Mornings prompt. Night check at the stables is often a separate shift from day shifts that start as early as 6am. It's usually around 9pm, often a separate employee does it from day shift workers during the week, and sometimes on weekends or holidays an owner or manager would do it. A 'night check moment' with Jamie and Claire might be fun, or even a Fraser family outing with Brianna in her little jammies :)

Flood my Mornings: Night Check 

Notes from Mod Bonnie:

  • This story takes place in an AU in which Jamie travels through the stones two years after Culloden and finds Claire and his child in 1950 Boston.
  • Previous installment: Plymouth Trace (Jamie and Claire take the new car for a whirl. Yes, THAT kind.) 

October, 1950 

“Thanks for doing this, bud,” Tom said, pulling his coat off the hook by the lounge door and shrugging into it. “Really. I owe you big time. Honestly, I’d cover it myself, but I’ve had this  special night out planned with Marian, and—”

“Dinna mention it, Tom,” Jamie said, gesturing reassurance. “Truly, I’m happy to be of help.”

Tom rummaged in his pockets for his keys, still looking regretful. “Was Claire spitting mad at me for stealing you away for the night?”

“No, no, not at all. On the phone just now, she bade me wish Nelson the best o’ luck wi’ his recovery. The gri–” Careful, man, “—that is, the Flu is a nasty business, and I’ve reason to know it.”

“Well, you’re a saint for stepping in last minute to cover his night watch shift, J—really really appreciate it,” Tom said once more as they walked out into the car yard. 

It was approaching sunset, and the last of the horses were being led to the stables for the night. It would be a peaceful night, if a long one, Jamie hoped. 

Tom opened the door of his 1946 Chevrolet Pickup (black, with silver trimmings and the special wide-base wheels) and sat behind the wheel, looking up at Jamie as he cranked the engine. “Jerry will be in at five in the morning as usual—Don’t you even think of staying to work tomorrow though, hear?”

“I hear. Have a good night, Tom. And give Marian my best, aye?” He slammed the door and waved Tom off on his way. 

It was a peaceful evening, on the whole. He saw the last of the day staff off to their homes and made the rounds as night fell, changing water, food, and blankets and taking special care to inspect several of the beasts that hadn’t been given proper attention of late. 

He loved being among the horses—always had, ever since he was a wee lad. The quiet strength of them, he supposed it was—the knowledge that they were large and strong enough to kill a man, but kind and soulful nonetheless. He loved speaking to them in Gaelic. He got a few odd looks for it during the day, to be sure, but other than Brianna, who understood and could speak a few words, the horses were the only folk in this new life to whom he could speak in his heart’s tongue, and feel as if he were fully understood. Claire, of course, knew his heart, regardless of the language; but speaking soft words to the horses, they seemed to have a knowing in their large, round eyes that transcended time and its changings. Aye, they seemed to say, you’re of long-ago stuff, man; and so am I. 

Or maybe you’re just a horse, aye, Val?” he said, rubbing the beast affectionately on the nose before closing the stall and heading back to the lounge. 

He was dismayed to find it was only half-past ten, for the length of the day had caught up with him. He rubbed his eyes but couldn’t seem to shake their bleary view. If only he had a book with him—Just yesterday, he had gotten from the Library a tome on American government, and he’d been itching to read it and figure out this country once and for all. 

He tried to make do with jotting notes in his wee book on the happenings reported by the man on the Wireless about the war in distant Korea. Though it pleased him that he was able to understand most of it, the news of the fighting chilled him, and he couldn’t make himself mind it for long. 

Before heading back out into the chill to make another circuit of the stalls, he set about making coffee in the wee machine, now feeling weary in more ways than one. As willing as he’d been to come to poor Nelson’s aid, he would’ve given most anything to fall into a soft bed with Claire at that very moment.

As he was adding a dollop of whiskey from the cupboard above the Frigidaire, there came a small knock and a soft, musical, “Hel-looo-ooo?” from behind him.

To his immense surprise, Claire was standing there, wearing blue jeans, boots, and wool coat against the crisp chill of early October; In her arms, Bree, pajama-clad, covered over with a warm sweater and a knitted cap. 

“Well, if this isna a pleasant surprise!” He said, hastily setting down the bottle and going to them. “I was just thinking of how I wanted to see my loves.”

“Horzzis, Mama?” piped Bree against his ear as he pulled them both close. 

“Christ, but it’s late, mo nighean donn. Is everything alright? And how did ye get—?

“Everything’s fine, we just couldn’t sleep; took a taxi,“ Claire explained her voice sounding small and tired. She laid her head on his shoulder as they swayed. “Hope it doesn’t disturb you, we just— needed to see you.”

He squeezed them both tighter, kissed Claire’s cool cheek, and stepped back, feeling warmed to his core as he took Bree happily into his arms. “I’ll never say no to my lassies, no matter the hour.”

“Da-me-in-go–” Bree gasped out, brimming with excitement. “Da-n-go mitta-seeinn-th-horzzis, m’okay, Da-ddy? M’okay?”

He laughed and sputtered a bit as he took in the rapid fire. Brianna, little more than a month away from two years of age, had been making leaps and bounds in terms of her vocabulary of late, beginning to get the way of longer, more complicated sentences. Increasingly consistent in this endeavor she undoubtedly was, but it always took that extra second for Jamie to mentally translate the stream of almost-correct syllables, a delay that invariably peeved the speaker, who never could understand why folk were being so slow.

“Horzzis, m’okay?” she repeated.

“Seeing Da and seeing the horses were on an equal footing, as far as Bree was concerned,” Claire said, smiling, but still sounding tired. “She’s never seen a horse in person, before.”

“Horzza-horzzis!” Bree insisted again, craning around for sight of one, then squaring back up to look him sternly, her hands on his cheeks. “Seein-th-horzzis–m’okay, Daddy?”

“Okay, a leannan,” he grinned, squeezing her tight and kissing her wee nose. Christ, but he loved this feisty wee baggage. “Let’s go see the horses.”

“What have you been doing to pass the time?” Claire asked as they entered Stable B.

“Oh, coffee, the Radio, thinking, talking wi’ the horses.”

“Do they make good conversation?”

“Oh, well enough,” he said, clucking his tongue to beckon Cornflower to the stall door.

Bree gasped at sight of the huge, grey flanks rotating in the stall. “Issa horz–AGHHH!!”

She squawked as Cornflower’s head came around and jumped so violently Jamie nearly lost his grip. “Och, come now, lass, it’s only one o’ the horses ye wanted to see, aye?” He took a step closer and turned so she could see Cornflower over his shoulder.

“Noooo!” Bree squealed, terrified, cowering under Jamie’s chin. “‘Inna like-’im!”

“Nothing to be scairt of, mo chridhe.” He reached out a hand and firmly stroked Corny’s soft nose. “See? She’s gentle—just like a big dog.”

“Notta dog!” Bree wailed sharply as she tried to get as far as possible from the beast, almost sobbing.“‘Ssa horssiz!”

No matter how much they coaxed and wheedled, Brianna could not be persuaded to touch Cornflower or any of the other horses. She would show interest in them from a distance, but when confronted by their huge toothy faces, she would wail and burrow– terrified–into Jamie’s chest.

They walked amongst the stalls, talking contentedly of Jamie’s day at Fernacre, Claire’s day at the hospital, and so on. Claire still seemed quieter than usual. Just as Jamie was about to put Bree down so that he might hold Claire close and ask what was amiss, Bree suddenly lurched her body toward the opening of the next stall and whispered. “Daddy! Is–horzzis is–’im sleepin’?”

“Oh, aye,” he said, encouraged by her interest, “that’s wee Valkyrie. And aye, she’s taking a nap. Here,” he said, opening the door and stepping gingerly inside, “shall we bid her hello?”

“No-oooo!” Bree began to squeal as they approached the horse, twisting in his arms to get away.

Whisht, whisht, be still, a chuisle, there’s naught to be afraid of.” Holding Bree tight—the lass would have to get accustomed to horses, and that’s all there was about it—he knelt down next to the jet-black mare, reaching out a hand to gently rub her neck.

Val, who was evidently only dozing, whuffed in acknowledgement, and Bree actually giggled at the resultant spray of wind and spittle. She then froze and looked up at Jamie, thoroughly stricken, evidently taken aback by her own delight and in complete indecision over how to act with this monster. Bless her heart, there were tears already building in her eyes.

“See, lovey, it’s a nice horse,” Claire said quickly, seeing the impending meltdown and settling next to them, holding their Thermos of coffee. “What does the horsey say, pumpkin?”

Bree, eager for diversion, produced a startlingly accurate whinny, and accepted applause with good grace.

With a sudden flash of inspiration, Jamie reached out and laid a hand on the beast’s swollen abdomen. “D’ye ken something else, Bree? This one is a mama horse.”

“Mama-horzz?” she repeated, looking sharply at Claire.

“Aye, sweetheart. That means there’s a baby horse inside.”

Beebee horzz…” she whispered, suddenly enraptured. Bravely, she slipped down from Jamie’s arms onto the ground and, stepping closer to the huge, recumbent body, laid both hands on the jet-black hide next to his. A moment later, she looked up in her usual business-like manner. “Munna lookint th-beebee-horzz, m’okay, Da?”

No, lass,” he laughed, “we canna look at the babe, yet. She has to stay inside her mama to grow big and strong, first. Then when the right time to be born comes, the wean will––”

With a jolt of realization, Jamie snapped his head around to Claire.

Her courses would have started today—unless she were—

Claire met his eye directly….and shook her head.

“Oh, lass,” he moaned softly, his heart breaking to see the sadness and disappointment in her face, to feel the sorrow in his own heart. He reached for her, pulling her close.

“I know it’s foolish…,” she said, her voice quivering as she wrapped her arms around his waist and burrowed against his shoulder. “There’s no reason it should have happened on the first month…I just can’t help but feel the… loss.”

“It’s no’ foolish, Claire,” he said, being obliged to release one arm from around her to intercept Brianna, who—startled by a sudden shifting from Val—had scurried back, anxiously scrabbling against him. He held them both, but squeezed Claire tightest. “But dinna fash, mo ghraidh: ‘tis only a matter of time.”

Keep reading

Escape:  the residency years

Claire returned to work.  She did rounds, ran labs, and even had a hand in a couple of surgeries, but she avoided the fourth floor at all costs.  If she had to go up, she used the stairs because she wouldn’t risk the elevator opening by accident.  She didn’t want to see the balloons, and teddy bears.  She didn’t want to hear the laughter, or the tiny cries. Not yet.  

Joe and Fiona had taken the time to fill everyone in, so there were no awkward moments.  The ones she was close to just gave her a comforting squeeze, the others, a polite yet heartfelt condolence.  No one spoke of it again after a week.  

It helped heal Jamie and Claire to be around family, so Claire began to accompany Jamie to Lallybroch for Sunday suppers again.  It was a balm to their battered souls to read to their nieces and nephews, play with them, and just wander around the estate hand in hand.    

Yet some wounds have a way of developing an infection under the skin when you least expect it.

“Oh, sure.  She’ll come for Sunday supper now.”  Jenny threw the utensils in the sink with a crash.  “I mean, why come before when yer pregnant.   Come now, after ye’ve lost the child.”  She turned on the water full force to rinse the dishes before loading the dishwasher.

“Jenny,” Ian admonished, “don’t judge.”

“Don’t judge?  Ian, listen to yerself.  She ran herself ragged!  And to what end?  Tell me!” Jenny spun around to face her husband.

And found Claire standing in the doorway to the kitchen.  


Monday afternoon Jenny presented herself at Jamie’s office with take away curry.  “Ye’ve fed me lunch every week for 20 weeks.  Figured it was time I returned the favour.”

Jamie flinched internally.  Twenty weeks.  “T’was not a favour, Janet.  Ye dinna need to do that.”  Jamie didn’t even lift his head from his desk to look at her.

Janet. Oh, yes, he was angry.  “So.  I’m Janet now, am I?  For how long?”  In true Fraser fashion she faced the conflict head on.

“Until I’m done being pissed at ye.”  Jamie set down his pencil, and leaned back in his big leather chair.  He shook his head, then raised his arm and waved her in.  She shut the door behind her.

“I’m sorry, Jamie.  Truly.”

“Dinna apologize to me, Janet.  Apologize to my wife.”  Jamie was not going to make this easy.  He loved his sister, but what she did was not easily forgiven.

“What even possessed ye?”  Jamie said, incredulous, as he made his way over to the conference table, hand outstretched for the bag of food.  

Jenny raised her chin.  “I was angry.  Angry at the situation, and if I’m honest, angry at Claire for going to France when ye didna want her to, for doing too much, and risking the baby.”

Jamie sighed, exasperated.  “I explained this to ye.  I told ye on the phone from Paris, and I told ye when we got back home here.  There was nothing anyone could do.  Not Claire.  Not a doctor. No one.  And frankly, Janet, thinking a weekly Sunday dinner would have made a difference is madness.”

“It’s not just ‘Sunday dinner’ Jamie.  It’s our family tradition!”  She sat down hard in her chair.

Jamie stopped unpacking the food and leveled a look at his sister.  “No, it’s yer tradition. Ye started it after Da died.  That was yer choice.  I came because I had nothing else to do.  And if ye remember, when Claire and I first got together, I missed a few dinners. So, whatever that was yesterday,” he waved his hand in the air, “that lashing out at Claire, it wasna fair.”  He walked over to his small refrigerator, and pulled out two waters.  

Jenny sat and absorbed what her brother just revealed.  The dinners were a means to an end.  She needed something to keep them together after yet another family death.  Jamie, and Ian needed to heal together after the accident. Somewhere along the way she’d lost sight of what she was actually trying to do.

“Maybe,” Jenny hesitated. “Maybe I just wanted her around more, to share pregnancy stories, and build a kinship with.  I never see her anymore.”  

“Ye’ve a funny way of building a kinship.”  Jamie pulled out his chair, and sat down.  “Would ye begrudge my wife her dream?  Hmmm?”  Jamie took a bite of his food.  

Jenny said nothing.  She poked around in her container for a moment.  Then, looked at her brother.

Jamie raised an eyebrow.  “What if it were wee Kitty, wantin’ to be a doctor? Would ye tell her no because it might take away from her family for a time? What if Maggie went back to school at the same time she was pregnant, wantin’ a career and a family?  Would ye turn yer venom on her?”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic, Jamie!  Venom, indeed.”

Jamie set down his fork, and wiped his mouth. He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Did ye ever think, Janet, that in all the ways it matters to a woman, ye’ve had it easier than she has?  Do ye ever think, period?”

“What does that mean?”  Jenny’s voice rose in indignation.

“Ye grew up on an estate, with parents who loved ye.  She lost her parents at five years old.  Dammit, she canna even remember her mother!”  He leaned forward to make his point, “Ye had siblings, she grew up alone.  Ye were given a place in the family business, and she’s still trying to find her place in the world.  Ye’ve had bairn after bairn, no problem at all.  And Claire and I,” he swallowed, hands braced on the edge of the table, “Claire and I canna manage to have one in our four years together.”

Jamie looked hard at his sister, voice controlled but quivering.  “I’ll never forget what Claire said after they took Faith away. She said, we didna just lose a child. We lost a lifetime with someone we’d never even met.”

Jenny reached across the table and laid a hand on her brother, squeezing his forearm.  

“I am sorry, Jamie.”  

Jamie covered his sister’s hand with his own.  “I keep tellin’ ye.  It’s no’ me ye need to apologize to.”


Claire walked out the front doors of the hospital hearing the swish of the large glass panes close behind her.  She heard a sharp whistle off to her left, and turned her head.

“Alec!”  She strode over to the black Range Rover happy to see the man who was both friend and protector.  He came around the back of the car, accepted her kiss on his cheek, and opened the back door for her.

“What’s this?” Claire asked.  “Where’s Jamie tonight?”  

Alec just inclined his head towards the interior of the vehicle.  Thinking Jamie was inside, Claire grinned and poked her head inside.

“Hello, Claire.”  

Jenny.  

Claire cut her eyes to Alec.  He stood stoic, looking over her head. “Coward,” she whispered.

“Aye,” he whispered back.  

Claire shoved her bag at him, hard, making him grunt in the process, and climbed inside.


They tucked into a pizza, both using the distraction of food to break the tension.  Two pints later the surface chatter was abandoned.

Jenny took a long swallow of her beer, fortifying herself.  “I’m very sorry for what I said, Claire.  I didna mean a word of it.”  Jenny looked her sister-in-law in the eye, hoping Claire saw her sincerity.

Claire returned the solemn gaze.  “That’s the problem, Jenny.  I think you did.”

Jenny’s eyes glistened. It seemed she would have to open up to Claire as she did to Jamie.  She took a deep breath. “A small part of me blamed ye for the miscarriage.  When Jamie told me what happened I thought ye must have done something to bring it upon yerself.  Worked too hard, not thinking of the consequences.  And then I thought, if I had made ye come to Sunday suppers so I could get ye off yer feet a bit, it may have made a difference.”  

Claire sat still, hands in her lap, letting Jenny work through her feelings.  The noise of the pub surrounded them with soft chatter, the clink of glasses, knives and forks hitting plates.  If there was one thing Claire learned as a doctor, it was to listen to patients.  

“I think,” Jenny continued honestly, “I think a small part of me is wanting to replace what I lost.  A brother, mother, father.  I want a big family, and perhaps that’s why.  When Jamie married ye, I was thrilled to have a sister.”  She wiped at her nose.  “Never had one of those,” she chuckled.  She was relieved to see Claire’s small smile.  “And I know my brother wants bairns.  I want them for him.  And for you,” she added hastily.  “So. So when Faith was lost, I got angry. Angry at the both of ye, but maybe mostly angry at God for taking yet another one of my family members away.”  

Jenny wiped her eyes, and looked at the woman who was sister and friend to her. “But since my parents always told me it was a sin to be angry at God, I got angry at you instead.”

Claire reached across the table to took both of Jenny’s hands in her own, and squeezed them tightly.  

“I am very sorry for what I said, Claire.  I didna mean a word of it.”

“I accept your apology, Jenny.”  The women gazed at each other in silent understanding.  They, just like Ian and Jamie, would have each other’s backs from this point forward.  

“Now,” Claire said, letting go of Jenny and lifting her glass, “Let’s get drunk.”


He heard her well before she arrived at the door. He heard her stumble and the backpack skitter down the stairs. “Fuck!”  

He opened the door to their flat and peered over the banister.  She was trying to turn around to go back down.  

“Leave it, mo graidh!  I’ll get it.”  He stepped quickly down the stairs, passing his wife in the process.  “Christ, Sassenach, ye smell like a brewery.”  He grabbed the bag, then strode up the stairs and tucked an arm around Claire, leading her up to their flat.  “Had a good time wi’ Jenny, then?”

“Oh, aye,” Claire said.  Jamie laughed loudly.  Aye?  She was completely sozzled.

He escorted her slowly up the stairs, catching her every slip.  Claire kept up a slurring commentary of her and Jenny’s evening.  When he finally got her in the flat, she turned and wrapped her arms around his waist.  

“You’re half naked,” she said, eyes unfocused. She leaned forward and kissed the middle of his chest.

“I’m ready for bed, that’s why.”  He breathed deeply.  “And you,” he said, pushing her away from him, “need a shower.”

“Too tired.  Too drunk.”  She smiled up at him, “But maybe if you helped me?  Washed my back?”  

Jamie smiled.  Vixen.  “It’s not been six weeks yet, Claire.”  

He locked the door, flipped off the light switch, and bustled his wife off to the bathroom.

But only two more weeks to go.  Not that I’m counting.

If Jamie and Claire could text : seeing Jamie/"Alessandro" on the beach in Voyager Edition [[BOOK SPOILERS]]
  • Claire: JAMIE
  • Claire: oh thank god I CAN SEE YOU
  • Claire: who the bloody hell are those soldiers you're wth??
  • Jamie: Marsali lass, stay hidden, d'ye hear?
  • Jamie: and since when do you use such unladylike language?
  • Claire: oh Christ sorry
  • Claire: this is marsali's phone but it's me
  • Claire: ClAire
  • Jamie: ---
  • Jamie: CLAORIRE?
  • Jamie: TRUKLYTT???
  • Claire: truly
  • Claire: I'll prove it
  • Claire: you dropped your phone in the sand right before those last messages
  • Claire: and now you've got your hand on your heart and look like you're about to pass out
  • Claire: OH MY GOD JUST GOT A FULL VIEW OF
  • Claire: //THE BEARD//
  • Claire: Jesus h roosevelt CHRSIT!
  • Jamie: Christ, mnd
  • Jamie: when i learned the gddm porpoise had taken ye
  • Claire: god I know
  • Claire: and I left my phone on the bloody Artemis so i couldn't reassure you
  • Jamie: and then I came for ye learned that ye'd been lost in the storm and
  • Claire: oh my love
  • Claire: you must have been frantic, I know I certainly
  • Jamie: and THEN
  • Jamie: to learn that //NO//
  • Jamie: ye'd JUMPED INTO A HURRICANE SEA //OF UOUR OWN FREE WILL//
  • Claire: have I ever complimented you on how you can text without looking at the screen?
  • Claire: That's terribly impressive darling, you must show me how it's done
  • Jamie: DINNA CHANGE THE SUBJECT
  • Jamie: YE COULD HAVE //DIED// CLAIRE
  • Claire: well, YES
  • Claire: but to be fair
  • Claire: I could die any day living in this century
  • Jamie: HOW HAVE YE SURVIVED THIS LONG IN LIFE?
  • Jamie: IMPULSIVE FECKING MANIAC OF A WOMAN
  • Claire: NOW who's talking all unladylike?
  • Claire: if it counts for anything
  • Claire: i'm ecstatic to see you
  • Claire: and i'm happy you're safe
  • Jamie: *sigh*
  • Jamie: i'm happy you're safe, too, ssnch
  • Jamie: i'm glad you're no' dead or in danger
  • Jamie: for the moment
  • Claire: WHAT?
  • Jamie: nevermind
  • Jamie: everything will be fine
  • Jamie: prbably
  • Claire: what exactly is the plan with these soldier brutes?
  • Jamie: oh,
  • Jamie: tie them up in the hold until further notice
  • Claire: and //i'm// allegedly the foolhardy one in this marriage
  • Claire: do you SEE how heavily fcking armed they are???
  • Jamie: dnf, ssnch
  • Claire: jhrc
  • Jamie: where are ye
  • Jamie: need to see ye for a moment
  • Jamie: **need to have my hands on your arse for a moment
  • Claire: ahem this is your daughter's phone, remember?
  • Jamie: SHIT
  • Jamie: delete that
  • Jamie: but in all seriousness
  • Jamie: I need to touch you in some moderately indecent fashion
  • Jamie: right this minute
  • Claire: i'll meet you near the big palm tree at your 4:00
  • Claire: watch out for snakes
  • Jamie: on my way
  • Jamie: tho i think that's better advice for *you* right now, mnd
  • Claire: what ?
  • Claire: oh AhAHAH
  • Claire: charming
  • Claire: just how "moderate" is the indecency you have in mind?
  • Jamie: getting more extreme by the minute
  • Claire: DEFINITELY leaving this entire chat for marsali to peruse
  • Jamie: dinnaevencare jsut get over here and take a look at this ferocious snake

anonymous asked:

You all are so talented. This one is for the Modern Glasgow world. We've seen a few of Jamie's incidences from the books in this story and how Claire helped him through it. Could we see one of Claire's and how Jamie reacts and helps her?

anonymous asked: Hi! Love Modern Glasgow! We’ve seen some of Jamie’s misadventures from the book get translated into this story. Could we see one of Claire’s? How does Jamie and the family react?

Modern Glasgow AU

“And ye’re sure ye dinna need some extra help? There’s no shame in asking – the drought this year has made it hard for everyone.”

“I ken that – but I’ll manage.” Joe Fraser extended his work-roughened hand to grip Jamie’s. “And I thank ye for yer offer. But Rosie and me – weel, we always plan for this. The coos will have a bit of a lean year, but nobody will starve.”

Jamie nodded and opened the driver door of his battered Land Rover. “We’re settled at the Big House now – I’m just a phone call away.”

“Oh, that’s right! Ye and the missus and how many bairns, now? Three?”

“Five,” Jamie laughed. “Can ye believe it?”

Joe slid his hands into his pockets, shaking his head. “Mary, Michael, and Bride! Yer poor wife.”

“She had more of a say in it than I did, Joe. She kent weel what she was I for when she took up wi’ me. And she’s the head doctor at the clinic in Broch Mordha now – but I’m sure ye’ve heard already. Broken bones, cuts, you name it and she can fix it.” He slammed the door shut and turned on the ignition, leaning out through the open window to wave goodbye.

“I’ll be back in a week or so – and let me know how the animals are getting on, aye? We always plan for this as weel.”

Joe waved a final hearty goodbye and trudged back to his barn, the setting sun striking the dust brought up by his boots.

Jamie sighed, ran his hands through his hair, and reached for the glove box, fishing around for his phone. Thumbing it to life, he couldn’t help but smile at the lock screen – a selfie Fergus had taken of him and his four siblings. They all had massive grins on their faces, even ten-month-old Julia, proudly showing her five teeth.

It hadn’t been easy adjusting to life in the Scottish Highlands when living in their cramped Glasgow flat – or in Paris, in Fergus’ case – had been the only life his children had ever known. But he and Claire knew they had made the right decision – right for their family, and right for the two of them. Selling his stake in the printing business had netted quite the tidy sum, and she was more than willing to give up her high-pressure surgery job for a quieter pace at the rural clinic. That they both spent much more time with the children – watching them grow, guiding them, showing them how to live – made every single sacrifice worth it.

But now Jamie frowned – ten missed calls, just in the hour or so he’d spent with Joe.

Four from the Big House’s number. Two from Fergus. Two from Jenny. One each from Ian and Murtagh.

Christ.

He swallowed and quickly called Murtagh.

“Thank God,” his godfather’s voice crackled through the line. “Ye need to come home.”

Jamie’s heart stopped. “What is it? The bairns?”

“No, lad. No. They’re fine. It’s Claire.”

With shaking hands, Jamie activated the Range Rover’s BlueTooth and tore out of poor Joe’s driveway.

“Tell me everything!” he desperately shouted into the speakerphone, swerving around the potholes in the dirt road connecting Joe’s farm to the motorway.

“She got a call, around midday. An old woman having heart trouble – perhaps a stroke. She left the number here and drove out to make a house call.”

Jamie roared down the motorway, limbs shaking.

“When she didna come back an hour ago, we started calling her mobile. No answer. And then Jenny called the woman’s house – her son said she was fine, and that Claire had left two hours before that, and said she was coming straight home. So nobody has seen or heard from her for three hours.”

“We need to go find her!” Jamie screamed, passing two sedans full of tourists and simply not caring that he was at double the speed limit.

“Aye, lad. We do. Calm down. I’ve got Ian and Jenny and Suzette here, waiting for ye. We can each drive out and search. Fergus wants to go – ”

“No. Put him on the phone. Please. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

Muffled sounds – then Fergus’ surprisingly deep voice. Jamie blinked, remembering that his eldest son was now eighteen. A man grown.

“Papa?”

“Listen to me, Fergus. Do yer brother and sisters ken what’s going on?”

“No – they’ve been playing with their cousins. I want to help you search - ”

“No, Fergus. You must stay behind. They canna know what’s going on. Do you understand?”

“But –”

“Damn it, Fergus. You need to protect them. They need an adult to watch over them – to keep them safe. And that adult – that *man* - that’s you, *mon fils*.” Do ye understand me?”

Silence. Then – “Yes. I understand.”

“Good lad. I’m just turning off the road. Can ye ask them to meet me outside?”

Thirty seconds later, he pulled up to the main house and jumped out of the Land Rover, leaving the engine running. It was full dark now, but he recognized the silhouettes waiting in the driveway.

No time to feel, now. Just to think – and to act. And to find Claire.

Five agonizing minutes to plan – four separate cars, driven by Jamie, Ian, Jenny, and Murtagh. Suzette would ride with her husband and continue calling all the places where Claire could have gone – including Mrs. Crook in the main house, just in case Claire appeared at home.

Ian handed each driver their own walkie-talkie – the best way to communicate, given the patchy mobile service.

Then their caravan crunched down the gravel driveway and back to the main road, tracing Claire’s movements.

So many memories flashed in front of Jamie’s eyes – Claire burning dinner in their first apartment; Claire bravely introducing her family to her ex-fiancee, just a few months before; Claire’s ecstatic smile as she showed him William for the first time; Claire’s beautiful face, just this morning, as he gave her what they had come to call a Full English Breakfast…

If she was gone –

No.

For the bairns’ sake, he would push on. But not for his own.

So he prayed, fervently, in every language he knew. For God had brought them together – why would He dare to pull them apart?

Up and down the small country lanes, high beams bobbing in the pitch dark.

A light drizzle had started.

Was she cold? Was she shivering?

He kept dialing her mobile. Over and over. And every time it went straight to voicemail.

“You’ve reached Dr. Claire Fraser. I’m not available at the moment – ”

“You’ve reached Dr. Claire Fraser – ”

There was no life without her.

“You’ve reached – ”

And then he turned a corner – and she was there.

Face glowing with the soft light emanating from the boot of her Volvo, rummaging around for something.

It took everything Jamie had to not run off the road as he slammed on the brake and fell out of the car, running toward his wife like a man possessed.

“Jamie?”

Then he caught her up in a tremendous bear hug, and didn’t let her go.

“Are ye all right? For God’s sake, Claire, are ye all right?”

“No,” she gasped. “Jamie – you’re crushing me.”

So he did let go – and her face swam with his tears.

“Hush,” she whispered, framing his face with cold hands. “Hush. It’s all right now. I’ve just got two flat tires and no mobile service. I’m fine.”

“Are ye all right? Truly?”

“Yes,” she said softly, patiently. “I’m cold and I’m starving. You didn’t happen to bring any food, did you? I could murder some neeps and tatties right about now.”

He let out a strangled laugh, and kissed her long and hard.

“Ye gave me quite the fright,” he whispered against her temple. “I did think ye were maybe dead.”

“Why are you so dramatic?” she teased, digging her hands in the back pockets of his jeans. “You know I can fend for myself.”

“Aye, I do. But – ” he swallowed.

“Hush, love. I know.”

Ten seconds – he counted and cherished every one of her heartbeats.

“I need to be inside ye now, Claire. I – I need to feel whole.”

She kissed him gently. “Tonight. Let’s get home. I want you to take care of me. Can you do that?”

“Aye,” he pledged. “Aye, I can do that.”

She nodded. “Good. Now can you please tell whoever is on the walkie that I’m all right, and I need a tow? I just want to go home, and kiss the children, and then be one with you.”

He inhaled the curls at the top of her head – damp with the rain – and trotted back to the Land Rover. Murmured a few words into the walkie – and Claire couldn’t help but smile when four cheers crackled back.

“And don’t think I won’t scold ye when we get home,” Jamie admonished. “I’m just too happy to have ye here wi’ me to say anything else. But don’t think ye’re getting off easy for scaring me half to death.”

She sauntered over and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I look forward to it,” she whispered, grinding her hips against his.

He playfully smacked her bum, then wrapped her legs around his hips and hoisted her up against him, leaning against the Land Rover, devouring her mouth.

Not even the beeps and high beams and cheers of Ian, Jenny, Murtagh, and Suzette broke them apart.

“Shall we leave the two of ye out here alone, then?” Murtagh jibed – silently sagging with relief against Suzette.

Claire pulled away, grinning. “If I knew it took me disappearing for him to get all riled up like this – I’d do it more often!”

“No’ bloody likely,” Jamie growled, pulling his wife back for more.

Two Sugars, Extra Cream

Hello, lovelies! 

I do not expect chapter 2 of Bid Ye Soft Farewell to be up until next week (My SO is in town and I haven’t seen him in a while). SO, I’ve created this silly little ficlet in the meantime. Kind of crazy, kind of out of character. But I had a hell of a good time writing it! Hope you enjoy!


Caramel-Nut Latte, extra hot. Okay, 2 pumps caramel, 3 pumps hazelnut. 2 shots of espresso. Steam milk for extra 20 seconds and a caramel drizzle on top…

Beautiful, Beauchamp. You’re a goddamn coffee wizard.

“Caramel-Nut Latte for Duncan!”

I had been working for Mrs. Fitz for nearly a year at this point while putting myself through school. Though I loved the work that I did at university, there was always something so comforting and homey about the café. Perhaps it was the mismatched green walls, the exposed brick. Perhaps it was the baubles thrown haphazardly on the shelves, or the odd paintings Mrs. Fitz liked to pick up at second-hand shops. (The one with the chimpanzee queen was my favorite). Perhaps it was just the constant smell of coffee that reminded me of my Uncle Lamb– God rest his soul. It was an odd little place, but it was mine. I belonged here.

As if conjured by my own thoughts, I heard the tell-tale backfire of Mrs. Fitz’s ridiculously old car.  She really needed to upgrade.

“Ooooh, Claire, lass! Come help me with the milk! I heard we were runnin’ low, so I bought three crates full!!” Mrs. Fitz was terribly excited about that milk. I, however, did not share in that joy. I knew “helping” in this case meant “carry them all in for me.”

“Aye, aye, Captain Fitz,” I saluted her before going into the trenches. Or the trunk of her car. They looked similar at any rate.

She was making herself a latte when I walked back in with the third crate of milk.

“Mrs. Fitz! I’m utterly shocked that you would waste company products for your own use!” I placed my hand over my heart dramatically.

“Ach. I bought the stuff. I’ll do wi’ it what I please.” And with that she took a sip, smiling the whole time. Should I tell her she had foam on her lip? “Help yourself? I need to speak wi’ ye for a moment.” I waved her off.

“I’m all right. What’s going on?”

“My nephew is moving back into town, and he was needin’ a job. I told him he could work here. Could ye train him a bit? Show him how everything works?”

“Mrs. Fitz…” I was feeling extra dramatic today.

“Claire, dinna…”

“I am appalled that you would use your position as owner and operator of this establishment to hire those you are close to. Where is the democracy?”

“Tis no a democracy. Tis a dictatorship.” Mrs. Fitz was the great-auntie I never knew I wanted. I couldn’t help but laugh at her wit.

“Of, course I’ll help. When is he coming?”

“This Saturday, he’ll be back.”

“I’ll be here. Oh, and Mrs. Fitz?”

“Hmm?”

“You’ve got some foam on your lip.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Saturday mornings were slow mornings. No one had to be at work. Well, besides me, I suppose.

I was leaning against the counter when the overhead door bell jingled. Perk up, Beauchamp. Don’t look like a slacker.

“First customer of the day! Congrats! What can I get for you?” I looked up at the man. I mean, really up. Could a man really be that tall, or were two kids pulling a Little Rascals on me? He leaned down, elbows on the counter. Now, I could really see him. Red curls. Blue eyes. Freckled nose. Was he made out of marble? I had never seen features so sharp.

“Are ye Claire?” His voice was like the honey I put in my Darjeeling.

“Yes, I am. Who wants to know?”

“I do. I’m Jamie. Mrs. Fitz is my great-auntie. She said ye’d be helping me? Learn, I mean.”

“OH! Of course! I’m sorry. Come in, come in,” I said as I lifted the flip-counter. He ducked under my arm to get through. “Sorry, that was a bit awkward. You could have lifted it yourself.”

“Aye, it’s all right. I appreciate the chivalry, madam.” He drew out the word ‘madam’ as long as he could. I bowed in return. He chuckled. We were off to a good start, here.

“So, Jamie what to you know about coffee?” His cat-eyes went totally round at the question.

“Well, ye drink it.”

“Mmhmm. And have you ever made coffee before?” I was skeptical that he had even heard the word coffee before today.

“Aye! I make it every day in my Bunn coffeemaker.”

“Bunns are for shmucks. This is the big league. Can you handle it?” He faked a look of concern before turning his attention back on me.

“Aye, I think so.” He nodded as if trying to convince himself.

“Can you take the heat?!” I was starting to sound like a coach, and he, my star player.

“AYE!”

“All right! Let’s start with espresso, shall we?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“So, you’ve grinded the espresso beans. Now what?”

“I put it in the machine…”

“No, no! You’re missing a step!”

“I tamp it!”

“Yes!” Jamie was a quick learner, his brain absorbing the things I said and did. Like a big ole ginger sponge. “You’re really getting the hang of it, especially for someone who didn’t even know what a tamper was when he woke up this morning.”

“It looks a bit like a weapon.” He rolled the bell shaped instrument in his hands.

“Perhaps to people with violent tendencies,” I said, giving him a pointed look. He just rolled his eyes. “How about you try to make yourself a latte or cappuccino?”

“Nay. I dinna drink lattes,” he answered distractedly, still playing with the tamper.

“Have you ever tried one?”

“No. I’m a simple man. Dark roast. Two sugars. Extra cream. These other drinks, they’re much too fancy for me.”

“Oh, Jamie,” I whined. “Be adventurous. Live a little!”

“Aye! All right! If it’ll get ye to stop squealing like a wee hog!”

“Did you just call me a hog?” I should be offended shouldn’t I?

“No, I said ye were like a hog. Big difference.” Yeah, definitely offended.

“Oh, well. Of course. Huge difference.”

“Oh, come, Sassenach. I was only teasing ye.” Oh, no, Mr. Fraser. You would not get off that easily.

“I know,” I mustered to most dejected voice. “No, big deal, right?” Could I fake cry right now? That would be the icing on this revenge cake.

“Claire, lass. Truly. I dinna mean it. Ye’re no like a hog. Ye ken that right?” God, that sincerity was killing me. I’d have to put him out of his misery…

“Oh, I know,” I perked up with a huge smile on my face. I’m pretty sure I was showing top and bottom teeth. Realization cam over his face.

“You wee-“

“Gotcha!”

“Ye’ll pay for that. Make no mistake.”

“Bring it on, Fraser,” I crooked my fingers at him, and then quickly let them fall. “Later. We have a task to accomplish.”

“Which would be…?”

“You. Drinking some frilly, fancy coffee you wouldn’t have otherwise.”

“Fine.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

               I decided to make Jamie my favorite specialty latte. 1 pump chocolate. 2 pumps almond. 2 pumps coconut. 3 shots of espresso. Extra hot. Whipped cream and chocolate drizzle. I handed it to him hesitantly.

“What did ye put in this potion?”

“Just drink it, Ron Weasley.”

He took a small sip, smacking his lips a bit and licking cream off his mouth. That motion was a bit distracting.

“So…?” He contemplated for a second, eyes studying the ceiling.

“Weel, tis a bit sweeter than I like…”

“But…”

“But, it’s no bad. Well done, Sassenach.” I blushed prettily and batted my lashes.

“They do say I make the best coffee in town.” This wasn’t a lie. Some people did say that.

“Do they now? Well, I’m glad I was adventurous and tried one of your frilly lattes.”

“Good.” We sat in silence for a few moments, as customers milled around. He was sipping coffee. I was day dreaming about that argument I had with a customer last month… What an arse.

“Claire.” Jamie broke me from my reverie.  

“Jamie,” I answered just as formally.

“Since I’m being daring, I’d like to ask ye a question.”

“Um, sure.” Weird, but okay. He took a deep breath.

“Would ye like to go to dinner wi’ me sometime?” That was definitely not the question I was expecting. I was thinking more along the lines of ‘Not to be rude, but why does your hair look like that?’ or ‘Can you help me bury a body?’

“I’m sorry?”

“Dinner. Wi’ me. Tonight, possibly?”

“I wasn’t expecting that, but yes. Jamie, I would love to have dinner with you.” I pleasant surprise, that was.

“Aye? Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“Thank God. That could have been embarrassing. Is 7 okay?”

“7 sound perfect.” Jamie Fraser, prepare to get the pants charmed off of you.

Hopefully literally.

Escape

Two years.


Two years without contraception.  


And nothing.

Until now.  Valentine’s day dawned with a new hope.  This would be week six. 

She didn’t tell Jamie, but she’d been charting her basal body temperature. One of the older nurses at the hospital had told her to try it, so she did.  She even took a pregnancy test at work and the little pink line showed up.  It was faint, but it was there.

That morning as she lay in bed, Jamie, dressed for work, stopped and sat down beside her.  He splayed a big hand across her abdomen and smiled tentatively.

“Ye think maybe yer pregnant, Sassenach?” he whispered.  He dared to meet her eyes.

“I think I might be,” she whispered back.  

He stroked her flat stomach briefly.  Rested his hand there for a moment, eyes closed, kissed her softly, and left for work.


She spent the afternoon drudging through the cook books in the kitchen. She shopped for what she needed, and tackled a bloody fancy dessert.  It would be a Valentine’s dinner to remember.  She wanted to tell him she knew for sure. Take another test together.


And then she went to the bathroom.  


Her hopes slashed red.  The feelings of guilt, and despair tore at her.  A fear clawed inside her chest that it would never be her turn. Never have her wish fulfilled. Never have her hope realized.  

She sobbed.  Sobbed for herself, for her foolish belief that she was that lucky. That she was that worthy.  What did she know of motherhood?  

She sobbed for Jamie.  A man craving to be a father, yet every month for the last year steadfastly pretending he wasn’t worried, that it didn’t matter, that it would just happen.  She’d let him down.  Again.

She pulled herself together enough to finish dinner.  


He opened the door carrying the biggest bouquet of flowers he could muster. Pinks and reds and white.  He couldn’t contain his smile.  When she stepped into view from the kitchen he knew immediately.  

She took in his smile.  Her eyes darted to the flowers and widened.  

Then, her beautiful face crumpled before his eyes.  She turned away from him, shoulders slumped and folded in.  Her posture broken and bent.  She disappeared into the kitchen. 

His heart stopped, then pounded double time.  

He brought the flowers to her and she took them.  Tears coursing down her face.  Silent.  Stoic.  Shattered.  She set them on the counter amidst the chaos of preparation.  

“I’m sorry, Jamie.  I’m so sorry.”  The words choked her.

He gathered his wife to him and held her.  He willed his heart to slow.  

“Shhhh, mo graidh.  Shhhhh.  Our time will come.”  

Looking resolutely to Heaven, his mind screamed, When?  When? 

The answer was the same.

No child.  Not this time.

borkbirk  asked:

Meihem

I looooooove love love me some Meihem

notp / not really / meh / I could / sometimes / maker, yes / my otp babbies

and answer:

  • Who is the most affectionate?
    • Jamie is super super physically affectionate. He is all hugs and kisses and hand holding and head petting. Mei is more subdued, hers come in the form of compliments and smiles , she is quite shy but she loves you regardless
  • Big spoon/Little spoon?
    • They switch a lot but Jamie is the big spoon a lot. Mei keeps him grounded in his sleep and his warmth around her chases away the icy nightmares
  • Most common argument?
    • Cleanliness, patience, not creating bombs in the home
  • Favorite non-sexual activity?
    • Inventing things with one another! They make a lot of interesting weird trinkets
  • Who is most likely to carry the other?
    • Jamie loves to pick up Mei, much to her chagrin. 
  • Nicknames?
    • Snowflake, darl, luv, sweets, mine/my girl
    • Jamie,  Shǎguā (fool),  Qīn'ài de (Darling),  Bǎobèi (Babe)
  • Who worries the most?
    • Mei. Mei is constantly worrying. Is Jamie going to blow himself up. It’s too cold to be without a shirt! Has he washed recently? Is he sick?
  • Who tops?
    • I say Jamie, Mei does like being in control occasionally but Jamie usually takes the lead
  • Who initiates kisses?
    • Jamie is the most obnoxious kisser ever. So definitely him. But Mei after being super worried at times will practically tackle him and lay a massive kiss on him
  • Who wakes up first?
    • Mei, she has a lot of work to do!
  • Who says I love you first?
    • Jamie. Mei says it soon after but he isn’t one to shy away fro mwhat he’s feeling

kaitrionabalfe  asked:

#8, please!! 😘

Since you, as well as @thistlekat777 both requested no. 8, here it finally is! My inbox is also still open for prompts, which I should have much more time to answer now! Enjoy!

“You’re seriously like a man-child.”


Claire rolled her eyes in exasperation, arms folded across her chest and one eyebrow arched upwards. “Really, Jamie? Must you make such a big deal out of everything?”

Jamie’s nose wrinkled in response, and he lifted his chin, peering down the length of his nose at her. “Aye, I must. Someone has ta maintain order around here.” His own ruddy brows shot up to his hairline, and a smirk played at the corner of his mouth.

Claire made a noise of exasperation.

“You’re seriously like a man-child,” she murmured as she stomped across the living room, shrugging her jacket on and snatching up her keys in one swift motion. She turned as she grasped the door handle, jabbing one finger in the direction of the couch, where Jamie had sat down. “You’re going to pay for this one, Mr. Fraser.”

He responded with a wolfish grin, head tipped backwards so that he was looking at her upside down over the back of the sofa. “Oh, I’m sure I will, Mrs. Fraser.” He blinked, eyes shining with mirth, and Claire rolled her eyes with a huff, though she couldn’t resist a half smile as she walked out the door.


She came back half an hour later, a bag of steaming Chinese food hanging from one arm and a bag of ice cream cartons on the other. Jamie jumped up to take them from her as she kicked the door closed behind herself, and wandered into the kitchen to put the ice cream in the freezer and open up the bag of Chinese while Claire took of her coat and shoes.

He had two plates set out and most of the cartons open when she came around the corner, clad now in his sweatshirt and a pair of slippers, and she dropped gratefully into one of the bar stool chairs, automatically reaching for a fortune cookie.

“That wasna so bad now, was it?”

“Yes.” She popped half the fortune cookie in her mouth, deftly pulling out the paper and reading it as she reached for one of the take-out containers.

“Oh, and I’m the one making a big deal o’ things?”

Claire turned to him, eyeing him with exasperation, and put down the food, swiveling in her chair to fix him with a steadier gaze. “Jamie. It’s eleven o’clock at night and you just made me go out and get Chinese food and ice cream.”

He grinned, and lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “Ye lost a bet, Sassenach. It’s only fair.”

“I lost a game of Jenga!”

“Aye, and now ye must pay the consequences.”

diversemediums  asked:

How will our newlyweds handle the aftermath of their first night together in The Black Watch? Will Claire come out of her shell and surprise us all?


The Black Watch: Part 4:

Pulling the duvet up and over her head, Claire listened to the soft swish of the dog’s tail against the small rug that sat in front of the fire. Bran liked to keep her company, and usually she liked it in return.

Covering her ears, she tried to block out the noise, all manner of disturbance disrupting her calm.

True to his word, Jamie hadn’t touched her again –leaving her, instead, to her own devices.

Instead she’d begun to wake, alone and covered in a cold sheen of sweat, her mind replaying erotic imagery that she just couldn’t shake. Trembling, she curled her knees up to her chest and felt beside her, the small dent in the mattress evidence that Jamie had not long been up and away. His side of the bed was still warm, the scent of his flesh buried deep into the down of the duvet.

Her thighs, drawn together by the pulse that throbbed solidly between them, curled towards her chest as she tried to contain the feelings that had been steadily mounting inside of her.

Shrugging her shoulders, Claire slid herself out from under the covers in preparation for the day.

The water in the basin beside the fire was cold, but Claire dipped her hands in nonetheless, ensuring that her skin didn’t freeze too much before washing her face and neck. Shivering, she pulled the cloth from where it sat on the arm of the chair and began to dry the cold droplets from her skin.

Gathering her sewing basket, she pulled the delicate wool of her blanket around her shoulders and curled up on the chair. Usually Claire would do her darning downstairs in the company of Jenny and the others, but today she felt the need for some privacy. Her heart was still racing from her dream, the blood in her veins boiling beneath her skin.

Her hands shook as she ran the coarse fabric of Jamie’s socks through her fingers, poking her fingers through the small holes he’d managed to create with his toes. Claire wriggled her hips, trying desperately to concentrate on her task and not the unspoken devil that seemed to have taken up residence in her tummy.

“Ow!” She yelped, the needle pricking the skin of her fingertip as she lost focus for just a second. Dropping the sock, needle and thread, Claire curled her knees up to her chest as she sucked the injured article into her mouth.

Feeling daft, she closed her eyes letting the damp digit fall from her lips before bending down to collect the limp sock from the floor. Claire continued on, managing to ignore the persistent niggle that had begun to irritate her now.

One sock down, Claire placed her sewing kit safely down on the mantle over the fireplace and paced in front of the fire. The pile that she had to complete seemed to mock her as she puffed and panted stomping her feet against the neatly woven rug. Her discomfort had only grown and instead of dissipating once she’d busied herself it had solidified, causing her skin to tingle periodically, gooseflesh rising on the tops of her thighs as they brushed together.

Below, Jenny glanced towards the ceiling as the rhythmic creaking stopped and started once more. She smiled to herself recalling the conversation she’d overheard between her brother and father only days before.

Jamie had been worried about his approach to Claire after their first *unsuccessful* interaction. In an attempt to comprehend the subtleties in his new marriage he’d approached his father for some sage advice. Jenny, well trained in the art of eavesdropping, had busied herself far enough away that she wouldn’t be noticed, but close enough to hear their conversation.

Having some idea as to Claire’s dilemma, Jenny hitched her skirts and climbed the stairs quietly. She opened the door carefully, hunching her shoulders as she leant her head around the entranceway.

Keeping her voice low, Jenny stuck one foot over the threshold as she approached Claire cautiously.

“I noticed ye didna come to join us, Claire,” she said, breaking the silence.

Turning her head slightly, Claire nodded over her shoulder at Jenny, her hands clenching in the loose fabric of her night-shift as she swayed to and fro. “No, I just wanted some time alone,” she replied smiling slightly as she faced Jenny fully.

“Get yersel’ dressed, lass,” Jenny asked, waving her hand towards the wardrobe as she marched towards Claire’s dresser, “I think we need to have a wee chat, aye?”

Nodding, Claire did as she was told, unable and unwilling to put up any resistance against her – more than compelling – sister-in-law.

The morning air was warm as Claire walked slightly behind Jenny her mind flitting all over the place as she tried to enjoy the fresh air and Jenny’s company.

“You’re restless, Claire,” Jenny interjected, stating the obvious as they stood at the edge of the very field Jamie and Brian were hard at work in. Waving at her brother and father, Jenny bumped her shoulder gently against Claire’s in a familial show of camaraderie.

“He’s restless too.”

Claire’s eyes held Jamie’s as he bowed, winked and continued with his work. Her heart ached a little as she rested her palms on the fence allowing her thick curls to fall over her ears.

“He was asking da for advice the other day so you can trust me when I say this, Claire. He’s a good man, and I’m no’ just saying so because he’s my brother.” Placing her hand on top of Claire’s she squeezed lightly. “He’s too scared to touch ye again, for fear that ye’ll reject him…or that he’ll hurt you again.”

Staying quiet, Claire let Jenny’s warm touch soothe her as she allowed her words to sink in.

“That feeling ye have, the one inside you that willna leave ye be,” Jenny continued, a knowing glint in her eye, “you canna ignore it, Claire. Let it guide ye instead. I promise you, trust in it, and trust in Jamie.”

Jenny left her then, returning to the big house with an impressive smile on her face.

Dipping her toes into the hot water, Claire slid the robe from her shoulder as she sunk into the tub, the steam rising around her as she turned her face towards the fire. She’d taken Jenny’s advice to heart and had spent hours preparing for Jamie’s return eager to attempt intimacy once more.

But the sun had long since set and Jamie had yet to turn in.

Pushing the disappointment away, Claire reached for the soap rubbing the thick bar against her sodden skin as she washed the dirt from the day away.

She closed her eyes, letting the soft lap of the water lull her. The fire kept the tin warm enough that the bath retained its heat. Basking in the glow, Claire dunked her head under, letting her hair float around her face as her feet dangled over the edge. With her ears plugged by the water, Claire failed to notice as Jamie finally appeared.

Closing the door behind him, Jamie held his nerve. Undoing the buttons on his waistcoat, he plucked it from his shoulders, unbuckling his belt next as he neatly folded his dusty clothes and placed them carefully over the arm of the chair. Sitting, he toed off his boots before stripping the shirt from his back leaving him naked as the day he was born.

Upon hearing the noise, Claire peeked her head over the metal edge of the bathtub, her nose butting against the moist, tepid surface as she glanced over to watch her naked husband. Hidden, Jamie could only see her bright whisky eyes as they slid over his nude form.

“Ye waited up for me, sassenach?” Jamie asked, seeing her lost for words.

Smiling coquettishly, her mouth still hidden from view, Claire nodded. Pulling herself up further, her fingers gripped the rim, her knuckles going white with the pressure of holding her weight steady. “I miss you,” she whispered, her wet hair bobbing on the surface of the water as she levered herself so that her elbows now rested along the top of the bath, bringing her head and shoulders fully upright.

Raising himself from the chair, Jamie strode over to Claire and knelt beside her, reaching his hand out to run his finger along the length of her sodden cheek.

“Do you?” He returned, a hint of humour in his tone.

“You spoke to your father about me?” She asked, curious as to what had transpired between the Frasers.

Blushing, the red stain ran along Jamie’s cheeks and down his neck as he dipped his head a little, his forehead coming into contact with Claire as his hands snaked further down her bare body.

The ache intensified as Jamie’s large palm ghosted against the side of her breast.

“Aye,” he whispered in return, his lips resting softly over hers as he wetted them with his tongue, tasting Claire for the first time in weeks. “I wanted to ken how to be a good husband to ye, Claire. HIm and my mam loved one another deeply and I hope,” he paused, placing one delicate kiss against her mouth before continuing on, “one day we might have the same bond.”

Sloshing the water surrounding her, Claire pushed herself up, Jamie’s words warming her inside and out as she joined her lips fully against his now, her hands tangling in his hair as she dragged him forwards.

Doing as Jenny said, he allowed the neediness that she’d been holding back since their arrival at Lallybroch to take precedence over the fear.

“Can I wash you?” She mumbled, pulling back a little now, panting with the exertion of her forceful embrace. Taking a moment just to breath, Claire realised suddenly how little she knew of Jamie. She’d learned, of course, about him as a man, but his flesh was a mystery to her.

Wanting to memorise every inch of him she climbed from the bath and ushered him into the cooling waters, intent on her mission.

Allowing her to take some form of control, Jamie obeyed her signals, plunging himself into the bath in front of her, his back to her chest as Claire lathered up the sponge. Gazing around at her, he reached his hand backwards to keep contact with her, tickling his fingers along the smooth expanse of her arm, the tips of them gathering up the droplets of water her own dunk had left upon her skin.

“Beautiful,” he sighed, blinking rapidly as she began massaging suds into the dirt that’d smeared over his chest during the day.

Claire smiled, a small thing that tugged at the corners of her mouth as her cheeks began to flame under his scrutiny. “Not too bad yourself,” she returned, her tone breathless as if she were struggling to speak.

Leaning forwards, the peaks of her breasts brushed against Jamie’s back as her hands reached below the water line to wash his submerged belly. Trying to contain herself, Claire swallowed, her heart picking up paces as it thudded harder beneath her chest.

He was aroused. His hard flesh bobbing against the back of her hand as she ran the sponge over his groin. Trying to remain calm, she attempted to ignore the sight of him, only failing when she heard him moan lightly. Turning her head she could see his pained expression. Head falling back against her shoulder, Jamie had his eyes squeezed shut, his mouth hanging open as if he were trying desperately to stay still.

“It’s alright, Claire,” he groaned, unable to keep the lust from his tone as he twisted towards her, causing her to drop the sponge in the water and raise her hand to take hold of his. “Ye dinna need to stop…”

“Take me to bed, Jamie,” she stuttered, the throb between her legs intensifying at the mere thought of him holding her against his chest now. Gone were the awful memories of their first encounter, replaced now with a softer image of Jamie, one moulded by the gentleness of his father instead of the merciless Black Watch.

She knew he wouldn’t hurt her, she could feel it in the air that whirled around her in their large master bedroom.

“As you wish,” Jamie returned, quickly rising from tub to take Claire into his arms as they clasped each other close, the moisture making their combined skin slippery as Jamie walked Claire slowly towards their bed.

“I promise–” he began, tipping his head to the left as he nudged her nose.

“I know,” she interjected, her thighs hitting the solid base of the bed as her hands came round to grip his arse. “I trust you, Jamie.”

Wrapping his arms around her hips, Jamie placed Claire gently onto the bed, on top of the sheets, opening her legs with his knees as he crawled over her. Brian had opened his eyes, talking to him about the *proper* way to love a woman. Instead of –coming from behind–, he’d been advised to place himself face to face with Claire, making him more able to watch her. Being more conscious of his movements meant that he’d be able to ensure her pleasure.

Claire lay silently beneath him, her eyes half closed as she ran her hands up and down Jamie’s back. Waiting patiently. Content to have broken the divide that’d separated them, she was happy for Jamie to take his time.

With his father’s advice at the forefront, Jamie slowly pushed his way forwards, twisting his hips upwards stopping just shy as he captured her lips, kissing her passionately until he felt her legs wrapping around his waist.

Reassured that she wanted him, Jamie pressed his way inside her.

Biting down on Jamie’s bottom lip, Claire made a quiet keening noise as her muscles tensed. Pulling her legs closer to her chest, she kept her bottom levered to allow Jamie free movement against her, the pain nowhere near as harsh as she’d remembered it.

Breathing through his nose, Jamie swivelled his hips as gently as he was able, pushing and pulling himself against Claire, holding his weight over her as the pleasure built within him.

Muted gasps filled the room as Claire uncovered the small place inside of her that had been plaguing her dreams. Shuddering with the thrill of it, she rolled her arse upwards, thrusting her hips flush against Jamie as the twinge of something incredible bubbled beneath her skin.

Claire tensed as the sensation grew, her vision blurring as she opened and closed her eyes as she tried to make sense of the ever increasing titillation.

As the room seemed to tilt and swirl below her, Claire cried out, oblivion claiming her for seconds before allowing her body to collapse, fatigue overtaking the pleasure.

Jamie stilled for as long as he was able, his heart pounding as he watched Claire. The whole time he’d been hyper aware of her wellbeing. Cautious of every movement he made, not wanting to hurt her as he had done before. Safe in the knowledge that he’d shielded her from that, he finally let himself go.

Claire smiled, opening her bleary eyes now as she felt Jamie climax above her. Placing the flat of her palm against his cheek, she traced the heated sallows of his face, cementing the vision of him as he panted, trying to fill his lungs with as much oxygen as they could take.

Falling to the left, Jamie shimmied himself and Claire under the covers, keeping her close to his chest as she dozed soundlessly against him.

Kissing her forehead, he linked his legs with hers beneath the duvet and joined her in slumber, the crackle of the fire the only noise remaining as silence engulfed the lovers.

A Candle For St. Valentine

Hello my lovelies! I thought I’d write a Valentine’s fic so that we could all celebrate the greatest love story ever told together and also, by way of apology for leaving Thing 4 on a cliffhanger. Hopefully it will help fill the time until I can finish Thing 5. Thank you all for your lovely comments and a few harmless? threats. They mean the world to me. Hope you enjoy. And a quick shout out to @sileas84​ She knows why.

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Claire had the most wonderful idea. The seed had been planted a while back when she was sorting through the things Murtagh had brought with him from Leoch, dear man that he was. Thanks to him she had her medicine box, her pearls, and the few bits and bobs she had collected in her time at the castle. She hadn’t thought much about it while she was so busy settling into life at Lallybroch, but now that she had a routine of sorts, and knew what was expected of her, she had more time to think.

The seed had lain dormant in her mind for some time, until someone pointed out the date. Then it all clicked. The seed began to germinate, and a plan was formed. Claire was giddy with anticipation, so excited to surprise her husband that she almost blurted out everything to him that morning over his parritch.

“Ye have a queer look on yer face, Sassenach. Is aught amiss?” Jamie asked.

“What? Me, erm, no, nothing. I’m fine, Jamie. What are your plans for the day?” Claire hoped the question would divert Jamie enough not to enquire further. She knew well enough by this time about her glass face, and really didn’t want to spoil the surprise. The diversion worked, and Jamie told her about his plans before kissing her briefly on the way out. She smiled in satisfaction, already anticipating when she would get to see him next.

Claire worked through the day, visiting a few of the closer crofts, and dispensing medicines for the congestion and runny noses that were endemic at this time of year. By afternoon, though, it was time to put her plan into effect.

Claiming headache, Claire retired to her room, where she strategically lit candles and changed out of her heavy dress, petticoats, stays and shift. She set their table with wine, bread and cheese, apples, nuts and a few sweet cakes she had cajoled Mrs. Crook into making for her. Just before dinner, Jamie came into their room looking for her. He had washed before coming upstairs and his face was flushed and glowing. He paused at the door, cocking his head to one side as he contemplated the image of his wife, lounging on their bed wearing a dressing gown of green silk, tied at the waist with a sash.

“Sassenach,” Jamie inquired, “Jenny told me ye had a headache. What’s this then?” His gesture encompassed her, the gown, the candles and the table.

“Jamie, have you ever heard of St. Valentine?” Claire asked.

“Aye, Sassenach, I’ve read Chaucer. I ken who the Saint of Courtly Love well enough. Why do ye ask?”

“Well, you see Jamie, in my time, Valentines Day was a holiday we celebrated. It wasn’t a big feast day or anything, but people would give cards and small gifts to their loved ones on that day. Lovers of course celebrated. A man might give his girl a scarf or a handkerchief or a box of sweets. But friends and even children celebrated. School boys might give a card to the girl they fancied, often in secret. And girls would hope all day to get a card, and then try to guess from whom it came.

During the war, the soldiers loved to give us cards, hoping for a kiss in return. We all got involved, exchanging cards and sweets, and occasionally a kiss. It was such a relief from the horror of the war that everyone participated.” Claire looked coyly down as she finished her explanation.

“It’s nice to hear more about your time, Sassenach, but why are ye telling me these things now? And why aren’t ye dressed?” Jamie’s eyes were travelling up and down the length of her body, covered as it was in embroidered silk. He paused at her hips and stayed there.

“Well, Jamie, today is Valentine’s Day, and I thought maybe we could celebrate it the way people do in my time. I’m not in my clothes because that’s part of the way we celebrated. At least it’s how lovers celebrated.”

With that, Claire stood and let the dressing gown slide from her shoulders as she unbelted it at her waist. Soon, it was a puddle at her feet and she stood before Jamie in the brassiere and knickers she had been wearing when she fell through the stones.

Jamie’s eyebrows rose clear to his hairline, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed slowly and audibly.

“Ah, Sassenach, what’s that you’re wearing?” he croaked.

“These are the undergarments a lady would wear under her clothes, rather than a shift. It’s a brassiere and knickers.” Claire replied primly.

Jamie’s eyes glazed over and unfocused for a moment, coming back into sharp focus at the level of her breasts, covered by the silky sheer cups of the brassiere. They lingered there while his breath became ever more erratic.

“Mary, Michael and Bride! Claire, are ye telling me you were wearing no but these and yer shift on the day we found you?” Jamie was tapping his fingers on his leg as he did when he was thinking or planning. He wore the look of a determined hunter on his face which might have alarmed her, had she not been so eager to be his prey.

“That wasn’t my shift, Jamie. It was a dress. Yes, it’s what I was wearing when I went out to explore the stones. It was considered a perfectly acceptable day dress in my time.” Claire pouted ever so slightly, and Jamie bit his lip and narrowed his eyes as he continued to consider the sight before him.

“So, you’re telling me that you strolled about town wearing naught but a shift…dress,” he amended, as Claire huffed audibly, “and your husband allowed it? Do people no longer have any decency in your time? Claire, I can see your soft round arse right through those…what did ye call them?”

“Knickers.”

“Knickers. ‘Tis a strange word and I’ll tell ye, they’re indecent.” Jamie stated boldly. “I’d not allow you out in such a getup.”

He had a look of such prudish censure warring with blatant lust on his face that Claire couldn’t help but giggle.

“Jamie,” she cooed, “It doesn’t matter what went on then. Don’t you want to know what I plan to do with them now?”

Lust won out over censure, and Jamie took a few steps further into the room, shutting and bolting the door behind him.

“Aye, lass, I do. What, my wee vixen,” Jamie whispered with mock menace, “do ye plan on doing with them now?” He looked pointedly at her, and the heat that until now had been pooled comfortably in her belly, started to spread.

“Well, you see, Jamie,” Claire said, attempting nonchalance, “I planned to take them off.”

“Oh, did ye now? Weel, no, I don’t think ye will. Not yet, at least.” Jamie strode forward, closing the distance between them, and gripped her by the shoulders. He was breathing heavily, and she could feel it on her neck as he bent his head to hers.

He grazed his lips behind her ear and across her jaw, as his hands slid from her shoulders down to grab two handfuls of her soft satin covered bottom. He sighed in pleasure and pulled her closer, letting his hands glide over the silky fabric.

“Claire,” he purred, “how do men in your time get anything done in a day, when they know their women are all about them wearing naught but these scraps?”

With that, he let her go, released his belts, shrugged out of his shirt and stood naked before her. He reached forward and cupped her breast, just as he had done on their wedding night, rubbing her through the silken threads, delighting in the novelty. Her nipple sprang up hard beneath his fingers and he exhaled in a groan, stepping in close and seizing her other breast. He lingered there, hands roaming over the sleek cups until her breath came out in rasps and her hands grasped his arse, pulling him in desperation.

“Nay, lass, seas, be still. This is my gift, and I mean to unwrap it slowly.”

He kissed her then, beard stubble rasping her cheeks, pulling her closer still to feel the truth of his arousal. They lingered on the kiss, drinking in the sweet aroma of their mingled desire.

Jamie let his hand drop further, tracing his fingers down her torso until he felt the sensual smoothness of her drawers, and slid a finger under the waistband, just to feel her skin, hidden below. He withdrew his finger and continued down, finding the heady wetness between her legs. He cupped her with one strong hand, whispering into her ear, “Lass, I’ve never felt ye so; covered, but so close that I can feel every bit of ye, and know that ye are warm and wanting me, and I canna touch you.” He bent to kiss her again, and lifted her swiftly, moving to the bed.

He watched her as she lay upon their quilts, clad in the remnants of her former life, and thought that to strip her of that would take something from her she didn’t wish to lose. His feelings were urgent, and full of a great need, but they were also tender, and he wished her to know that he accepted the real gift she gave him, the gift of herself, her honesty, and her past.

“Claire,” he uttered, stumbling in his desire to pay her court, “I thank ye for this. For showing me a part of who ye were before I knew ye.”

“Jamie, I…” Claire, started but Jamie interrupted her with a gentle waive of his hand,

“Nay, Claire, I know. This isn’t what ye meant by this but ye must know. I told ye once that it was a gift and a wonder to me to know that I could please you. I meant that, and I’ll live everyday trying to do so. But, Claire, you must know, it is a gift and a wonder to me to know that you desire to please me. That you will show me yourself, give me yourself, offer me your body for my pleasure. Claire, I do love ye so much, I’m bursting with it.”

He knelt down beside her, littering her body with soft, sweet kisses, until he could contain the fire no longer. He moved then to lie at length upon her, and claimed her mouth, stoking the fire burning between them into a glorious blaze of heat and passion that consumed them both.

“Sassenach,” Jamie murmured into the dark sometime later, “I dinna really understand what any of this has to do with a wee Roman martyr who had his head chopped off, but remind me to light a candle for him later.”

anonymous asked:

What if Dougal tried to marry Claire off to another member of the rent party? How would Jamie react?

anonymous asked: I don’t know if this has been asked before, but what if Dougal suggested someone else, not Jamie, marry Claire? We know Jamie wouldn’t let that happen! Thank you and bless you all for the amazing work you do!

anonymous asked:What if Claire wanted to consummate the marriage before the wedding to avoid having witnesses in the room to prove it

The fire sparked sending fiery red ashes into the inky night air. Jamie sat with his back to the party, their lively Gaelic conversations going mostly unheard as he turned over the proposition Dougal had levelled at Claire only hours before.

Willie.

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Imagine being Jamie's girlfriend and going to Reagan family dinner for the first time

(A/N: Another Jamie Imagine. Hope you all enjoy. Sorry for the wait.)

Continuation of this imagine here 

Imagine being Jamie’s girlfriend and going to Reagan family dinner for the first time

“Why aren’t you nervous?” Jamie asked suspicious, looking over at you momentarily from the drivers seat.

“Should I be?” You smirked meeting his gaze for a second, looking up from your phone as you were checking your emails from the hospital.

“I don’t know. Aren’t most people when they meet their partners families for the first time?” he questioned slightly panicked.

“I guess so but I’m just not. It’s weird but I’m not worried at all.” you offered, confused yourself.

“Why is that?” he questioned.

“I don’t know. I guess I’m just focusing on the the hope that they’ll like me.” you chuckled, putting your phone down.

“They will. You great.” he nodded as if he was trying to reassure himself, “They’ll love you.”

“As much as you do?” you teased.

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